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onlyseokmins · 24 days

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$$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

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

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

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cinnbar-bun · 4 months

Text

Trading Cards- Cross Guild's Day Off 1 (Cross Guild x Reader)

Summary: In which you work with the three Cross Guild officers and stumble across a new trading card game to introduce to them. Hilarity ensues.

Rating: SFW/Crack

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes: No relationships are defined, so feel free to headcanon whatever you want. I know it says x Reader up there and I wrote it in mind that it's a weird ass polycule but I made sure to leave it ambiguous for your reading pleasure. Reader is GN and gets Gumshoe'd, while Mihawk gains a gambling addiction. Minor swearing and violence (but funny).

A/n: Yes I collect the trading cards and I'll be damned if I don't put these three men through hell for funsies in this series (guess what's gonna happen next time).

"What's with all those boxes?” Buggy rubs his red nose as he twirls a knife in hand as you walk into the office.

“You’ll never believe this! Apparently, someone’s been selling trading cards of famous pirates and marines! It’s a crazy new thing!” You happily plop the boxes on your desk. “And so, I managed to nab a few boxes!”

Crocodile lowers the newspaper he’s reading to reveal his agitated face. “With whose money?”

“Oh, that’s no biggie,” you wave off.

“I’m docking your next paycheck,” Crocodile states as he goes back to reading. Mihawk raises a brow.

“I have to ask, can they really just sell cards of us like that?” The swordsman questions. “Besides, what makes cards like that so interesting? Isn’t this simply a child’s collection?”

“That’s what you think! But apparently, there are some secret rare cards everyone’s been dying to get their hands on!”

You get a dark blue box and marvel at it.

“Hey, why the hell is that Straw Hat on it?!” Buggy screams. “He’s a nobody! Who the hell wants a card of him?!”

“Don’t worry, there’s cards of you, I think,” you respond, and Buggy gasps before lunging for the box. “Where?!”

“I think it’s in one of them,” you point to the many boxes, and Buggy huffs.

“Well hurry up and get to them!”

“Don’t you guys wanna open them? They’re meant to be played in fun games,” you ask. “Here, I’ll separate them by fours, and everyone gets to make a new deck!”

“I have no desire to-” Crocodile begins as you drop the card packets on his desk.

“This is a strange form of games, but my interest is slightly piqued. I’ll take some,” Mihawk says, extending his hand. Buggy pouts as he’s the last to get them.

“Now, open!” You yell, while you and the Cross Guild leaders begin to open the card packets. Buggy is tearing through them, shuffling through the cards manically.

“HUH?! ALVIDA?!” He screams. “That’s not fair! How is she in this?!”

He gets more frustrated as he opens the remaining packets. “They all say ‘C’ on them!”

“They’re all common then,” you explain. Buggy lets out a sob at his bad luck. Mihawk and Crocodile ignore Buggy’s wails before Mihawk clears his throat.

“I’m not asking for any particular reason, but since this is supposed to contain the most famous pirates, does that mean Red-Haired Shanks is a part of this?” Mihawk asks, a curious tinge in his voice.

“I believe he is in here,” you nod. At your confirmation, Mihawk glares at the cards in his hands and tears them up.

“C. C. C. C. SR. SR. C. C. R. R. C. UC,” Mihawk reads aloud his card rarities as he opens the pack.

“Woah, who’re the SR’s?” You ask before Mihawk tosses the cards to the floor and opens another pack.

“C. C. C. C. C. R. R. UC. UC. R. C. C.”

“Mihawk, are you-”

“C. C. C. C. C. C. C. UC. UC. R. C. L.”

“Holy shit,” Buggy stares in awe as Mihawk’s hands move faster and his eyes frantically roam over the cards.

“C. C. C. C. C. C. C. R. R. UC. C. L.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes as Mihawk eventually covers his face with his hands, the non-Shanks having pile of cards a mess on the floor.

“What do you have?” The hooked man asks you.

“Let’s see…” you open some packets and shrug at the some of the common cards, before you smile at an SR card. “I got you!”

You proudly show off your new SR rarity Crocodile card. Crocodile motions you to step closer and gazes at the card. “Huh. That’s interesting. I better be strong.”

“Maybe. I mean, it is an SR, and that’s pretty good!”

“Why the hell are you an SR?! That’s bullshit! You got your ass handed to you by Straw Hat-”

Crocodile immediately silences Buggy by pressing his hook onto the clown’s throat. “Want to finish that?”

“N-no-”

You continue to hum as you go through more cards. “Oh, Boa Hancock!” You squeal. “She’s so cool!”

“Not as cool as us…” Buggy whines. Mihawk is still despondent on the couch.

“Woah, I got Mihawk, too!” You gasp as a very cool card of Mihawk sitting on his throne is in your hands.

“Okay, now that’s complete and utter crap! These two get in, but I don’t?! What the hell! I should burn these guys!”

“How did they find out how my outfit and room looked like…” Mihawk mumbled as his face scrunched up.

“You guys are getting so worked up over some silly cards,” Crocodile clicks his tongue as his cigar hangs from his lips.

“Easy for you to say! You at least have a card in here!” Buggy whines. “This is so stupid! (Y/n), give me the other boxes, now!”

“Hey, don’t grab them!” You swat your hands at the clown. “Crocodile still has to open his.”

“I don’t care about him! I want to find me!” Buggy grabs the first box you opened and notices a pamphlet.

“Huh? ‘Get your starter packs to begin playing’?” Buggy squinted as he went through the listed starter packs. “Let’s see… Straw Hat, that red-head-”

“Shanks?!” Mihawk jumps.

“Not that red-head,” Buggy interjects, and Mihawk sighs. “Kaido, Big Mom, Crocodi- wait a damn minute! How are you the face of one of the starter packs?”

“I am?” Crocodile blows a puff of smoke.

“Yeah! ‘Seven Warlords of the Sea’ starter pack! You jerk! Why is it you?!” Buggy screams angrily as Crocodile chuckles and twirls his cigar in his fingers.

“Well, I am the obvious choice, aren’t I?” Crocodile strokes his chin. “I am strong, handsome, and far more intelligent and renown than the others. Why wouldn’t they put me on the cards?”

“And humble,” you mutter.

“Another dock to your paycheck,” Crocodile adds, the smile on his face returning to his usual humorless appearance.

You slump your shoulders pitifully. “Crocodile, I can barely afford instant ramen at this rate.”

“Aw, it’s okay, Buggy’s here for you,” Buggy chuckles as he pats your back, relieved he’s not at the receiving end of Mihawk and Crocodile’s torment.

The four of you continue to open box after box of booster packs, with you mostly happy to just see the cool art, and Buggy hitting the floor in retaliation to his awful cards.

“Nothing! Not even one of me! And they’re all commons!”

“I really don’t know how that happened…” you pitifully look at him.

“You making fun of my nose?!” Buggy screamed, looking up at you as his makeup smeared down his face due to his crying.

“Oh…” you wince at the sorry state he’s in. “It’s okay, we can always-”

“Shiny foil!” Mihawk shouts, making everyone in the room jump. “Is it finally-”

He pulls out the card, only to scream in agony as he drops to his knees and lets the card fall through his fingers.

You curiously pick up the card, only to see it’s sadly not Shanks, but someone called… “Sogeking”?

“Who is this?” You stared at the card.

“(Y/n),” Mihawk shakily fumbles through his pockets and pulls out a bag of berries. “I don’t care what it costs. Go. Buy more boxes.”

He drops the bag in your hands and shields his eyes with a hand. Crocodile opens another packet and lets out a chilling laugh.

“What’s so funny, Croc?” Buggy asks, nervously anticipating how badly things will go when Crocodile is laughing like that.

“You’re looking for a card of Red-Hair, aren’t you?” Crocodile’s voice lowers, the smirk on his face widening.

“No we’re not!” Mihawk and Buggy shout at the same time, making you and Mihawk raise a brow at Buggy’s admission.

“Oh? So then it’s fine if I keep this card? Perhaps sell it even?” Crocodile holds up the card and everyone’s eyes are wide as you three gasp.

In his hand, is the Secret rarity Shanks card.

“You…” Mihawk says under his breath.

“How the hell did…” Buggy’s eye twitches.

“Woah… so lucky,” your eyes lighten. Crocodile’s chest rises with every laugh he lets out.

“Since no one else wants it, I think I may just sell it and get back the money (Y/n) stole for this!” He proclaims.

In an instant, Mihawk stands up and pulls out Yoru, pointing it at Crocodile.

“Hand it over.”

“You don’t get to make the demands here, Hawk Eyes,” Crocodile shakes his head. “What are you willing to offer?”

“Give it, or I’ll kill you.”

“Okaaay, well, there’s no need to kill each other-” you stand up, trying to get between the two men.

“I’m not asking again, Crocodile,” Mihawk threatens. Buggy scowls and then jumps to his feet, pulling out his knives.

“Yeah! We aren’t asking again! Hand it over!” Buggy yells, feeling confident with Mihawk’s strength at his side.

Mihawk locks his gold eyes onto Buggy and Buggy cowers in fear.

“N-never mind! Have it!” He surrenders.

You nervously think of what to do before you rip up the last packet in the room and pray to whoever is listening for another Shanks.

C. C. C. C. C. C. UC. UC. C. C. C.

You gulp. There’s only one more card. This card can either save your life, or lead to a massacre from Mihawk. Your fingers reach in and pull out the last card, and you raise a brow at the shiny gold border.

“What is this,” you murmur as you finally reveal the full card.

A Secret rarity Shanks card. But unlike Crocodile’s card, yours is a stunning art piece of Shanks. With a gold border and a badass look in Shank’s eyes, you’re in awe. Even Buggy gasps at the sight.

“M-Mihawk! We got you a Shanks!” You flail the card in your hand to draw his attention, and Mihawk swipes the card from you.

“Don’t do that! You’ll ruin it!” He lectures you and stares at the card. “Incredible. I never knew this was in here.”

He drops Yoru to the ground and presses the card to his chest, as if all the weight in the world was finally gone from him. Crocodile rolled his eyes and promptly threw his card to the ground in front of Buggy.

“Come the hell on, (Y/n)! I was negotiating!” Crocodile sighs in frustration and rests his chin on his hand. “I’m not paying you at all this week!”

You don’t even care anymore, crying tears of joy at the fact the sword that clattered on the ground beside you was not spearing your chest.

“Since we all got decks now, why don’t we try and play the game?” You innocently suggest. You lay out the multipage rule guide and manual as the three men surround you to take a peek.

Immediately after seeing the abundance of rules, all of you grimace and shake your heads.

“Maybe another time.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.”

“Great idea.”

#one piece x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece #dracule mihawk #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #cross guild #cross guild x reader #cross guild's day off #buggy x crocodile x mihawk #buggy x crocodile x mihawk x reader #x reader

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 11 months

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Don't Touch Her - James Wilson x peds!reader

description: y/n will challenge whatever threat there is to her children, at any consequence to herself. James will always be there to pick up the pieces.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: sexual assault, child sexual assault, mentions of rape, yelling, angst

authors note: I've realised I'm great at writing angst!

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

House’s pov

I stared at the test in front of me.

Everybody lies.

I held the DNA test in my hand, and I could feel it burn through my skin as I limped my way down to the office of my ‘sister-in-law’.

Knock knock.

“Is that Mrs Wilson in there? I can hear you caring.” I shouted through the wood in hopes of gaining access. The door was flung open. I was met by sunshine itself.

“Mrs Wilson? I thought that was you?” She jabbed. “What can I do for you, House?”

Her face was the picture of innocence, and the smile never left her face despite the witty comment. I worried about her reaction. Usually, I relished in the extent of human outbursts, wondering how far I could push them so long as the consequences never fell on me. But this didn’t feel right. This wasn’t going to be fun. I only prayed I could get to Wilson fast enough before these consequences ricocheted back on to her.

She widened her eyes in a silent question of why I was here. Her eyes flitted down to the piece of paper in my hand.

“Well come on, what medical supervillain are you going to brag about curing to me now?”

“Actually, this isn’t my patient. It’s yours.”

She scoffed at my ambiguity and proceeded to take the paper from my hands.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She giggled at the joke she assumed I was trying to make. But my face revealed the truth. When she received no further taunt or clever wordplay her smile dropped. Without much further thought she practically tore the paper trying to unfold it. Her eyes danced across the words on the page and each word took a little bit more life from her face each time.

In a flash she had exited her doorframe and had unceremoniously crashed into my shoulder. I couldn’t even bring myself to mock her for ‘injuring a cripple’ because as I watched her frame run further down the hospital hallway I had more important things on my mind. Primarily, protecting her from herself. And there was only one person I needed for that.

I limped down a few more doors and finally barged into the one office I needed. Wilson turned away from the new photo he was hanging on his wall. It was him and y/n at the beach.

“Please, come in. Have a seat. Thank you for knocking.” He mocked but I remained unmoved. “You’re not taunting back?” His brows furrowed at the abnormality. “Why are you here?”

I looked to my feet, suddenly afraid of my friend’s reaction.

“Your girlfriend is about to do something incredibly brave and incredibly stupid.”

Wilson carefully removed the nail and placed the picture neatly back on his desk. His eyes never met mine until he said.

“Where is she?”

Your pov

Flames burned my soul, and my heart was filled with anguish. I flew down the hallway. People jumped out of the way when they saw my sunny disposition replaced by hard stone. Normally, I didn’t like feeling like an imposition in the hospital. I would run towards a patients room when they’re seizing whilst simultaneously apologising to anyone who moved out of the way for me. Yet here I was, a torpedo through a sea of colleagues.

I made it. Room 309. The doors creaked at the weight of my push. A mother and father sit at their daughters bedside. 10 years old, in for a heart attack. The two parents turned towards me as their daughter remained peaceful and sedated. I was thankful, as the words that were about to spew out of my mouth were not for young ears. I held up the paper and presented it in front of them like a detective who just cracked the case.

“Three days ago, your daughter was brought in for a heart attack. Because of her extremely young age I decided to keep her in for observation so I could come up with a diagnosis for a myocardial infarction in a 10-year-old girl. I was coming up blank and eventually I was going to have to release her back into your care, but I was terrified. Terrified that if I let you go, I’d be dooming your daughter to a disease I missed. That was until today when I found out that your daughters heart attack was brought on by a short but severe onslaught of emotional distress.” At this point the two parents had closed in on me, eager to hear my findings. At this the mother became confused and sought answers amongst her tears. The father remained quiet.

“Emotional distress-I don’t—I don’t understand? Nothing happened before. We would---I would’ve known?”

I opened my mouth to speak but it just wouldn’t come out as my eyes fell on the little girls sleeping form. My eyes drew in and I decided to merely hand the mother the results which I had been given moments ago. She took them from me with shaky hands. I turned to face the man to the side of me.

“The police are on their way.” A loud shriek exploded from Mrs Hart as the words on the page resonated in her already fragile mind. I stared him down. “I don’t suggest running.”

I made my way to exit the room, preparing to actually call the police but also because, as selfish as it was, I couldn’t be subjected to that level of despair any longer. The screams of a mother learning about her child’s pain were enough. However, I was harshly ripped away from the door.

“What the fuck do you mean by that.” Mr Hart had my arm in an iron grip.

“I think you know. And now, so does your wife.” I tried to pry myself free, but he was too strong, and I was thrown up against the wall.

“What are you insinuating!”

“She had vaginal tearing, and her 10-year-old uterus was filled with semen. Semen that was just confirmed as having your DNA from a test which your wife is now holding the results of. Along with a comprehensive list of the injuries you subjected your daughter’s body to.”

I gained new strength and shoved the significantly taller male away from my body.

“My professional opinion is that when you crept into your daughters room that night and started subjecting her to your own examinations, the extreme emotional distress caused her body to shut down and brought on a heart attack. At least we now have the cure, no more playtime with daddy.”

“YOU BITCH!”

He lunged for my throat but not before I fled the room. I should have ran; found James or House or anyone. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I just couldn’t. This man disgusted me, and he needed to feel it. I needed to say it. The police would deal with him later, but I needed to get a few shots in first. I turned back to face him.

“That little girl in there, she depends on you because she has no one else. She trusts you to take care of her and you treat her like that. Every day I take in children, and I work to save them and I work to protect them. Every day I do my job as best as I can only for there to be people like you who take the innocence of a child and control it for their own perverted needs.”

Now he was fuming, and he stalked towards me. A lion to its prey. My resolve began to crumble, my bravery slowly lacking. He towered over my body, and I suddenly felt the fear that his little girl felt every night when daddy came in to her room. His face was confident, but his body held an anger.

“You’re lying.” His face was now inches away from mine. His hot breath washed over my face, and I began to shrink into my body.

“I have the proof. I have medical proof.” I whispered, my eyes struggling to hold his firm gaze

“Papers can go missing. It happens.” As he spoke his tainted fingers found a new resting point in my hair as they slowly began to stroke through my locks. I shuddered at the action that I ordinarily found so much comfort in. I remembered the nights where I would lie on James’ chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. The memory couldn’t save me from the situation I currently found myself in. As I went to speak I could feel the words crawling back in my throat. ‘Don’t antagonise. Play along. Wait for someone. He’s stronger. He’s bigger.’ But these inner thoughts were overshadowed and my mind replayed the first moment that little girl walked into my care.

“Enjoy your last moments of freedom.”

“I’m not going to prison.” He smirked at this, concocting a plan of escape. I had to say it.

“Really? I hear it’s so much fun for kiddy touchers.” In my peripheral I saw his hands fly up to grip my neck. I gasped. But before I could even feel his icy touch around my throat, he was ripped away from me and his back hit the floor in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t ever touch her.” James stood over his body. Just looking at him I felt my racing heart slow. He wasn’t wearing his lab coat, only his shirt and tie with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He panted from the long run from his office. Once he composed himself his professional nature returned.

“Officers, please escort Mr Hart off the premises. I believe Dr Y/l/n and Dr House have the medical proof of the sexual assault of a minor along with the DNA evidence to prove Mr Harts involvement.” The two police officers, who had obviously been called, but not by me, held Mr Hart by his arms as they hoisted him up off the floor. They secured the handcuffs around his wrist whilst reading him his Miranda Rights. “Whilst you’re there you can also add the physical assault of Dr y/l/n to his list of accusations.”

As he spoke, James approached me. At this point, I realised I hadn’t moved since the confrontation. James noticed my thousand-yard stare and approached me like how one would handle a skittish horse. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of my lab coat and he saw the beginnings of a bruise where his hands had gripped me.

I uttered a less than believable, “I’m fine.” Despite the lump in my throat.

His arms eventually wrapped around me, and I sunk into his embrace. He placed a gentle kiss onto my hair. I allowed myself to sink into him more. My head rested on his heart and the gentle thud offered me a consistent beat to focus on.

“How did you know?” My once strong voice came out as a whimper. He only needed to utter the word.

“House.” I felt a warmth spread through my heart at that. He knew. Somehow, he’d known. And James had known. And he knew how to take care of me.

“I don’t need you to defend me.” I spoke, uncertainly, into his chest.

“I know.” James softly said as he stroked my hair and brushed his thumb against the exposed skin of my waist.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He punctuated his sentence with the lightest kiss to my lips. As he retreated, I leaned in to seek him out again and he answered with another, deeper kiss.

We stayed there for a while. Neither of us speaking but our breaths saying everything for us. In that moment, despite what my words said, I had needed him and now, more than ever, I needed him to save me from myself. From the spiralling thoughts that flooded my head ready to push me down further and further. Eventually we separated but our intertwined hands meant I could still make sure he was there, and he wasn’t going to leave. He led me down the corridor, in the direction of his office rather than mine.

“What did you tell the police, when you called them? I was so blinded; I couldn’t even think about following procedure.”

“I didn’t call them. House did. Seconds after he got the results.”

We made it to his office where I remained for the rest of the day. James explained what happened to Cuddy and she allowed me the rest of the day off. James offered to drive me home but, honestly, there was nowhere I wanted to be, nowhere I felt safer than in his arms. So, he sighed and pushed out his chair in a silent allowance. I curled up on his lap as he sat and filled out forms. His left hand wrote as his right gently ran up and down my thighs. We didn’t need to speak; we were just there.

---

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emeritusemeritus · 5 months

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Sauron’s Secret [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: Sauron’s Secret, one ring to rule them all.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Wife!Reader {Established but hidden relationship}

Timeline: Around S4- slight alternate timeline, no Vecna. No mention of past events in Hawkins.

Summary: Eddie’s hiding a secret and Dustin is determined to figure it out.

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of marriage. Hidden relationships, secret marriage. Mentions of drugs and marijuana. Dustin is a sleuth and I love him for it. Lord of the Rings references.

I had so much fun writing this. Set in mostly 3rd person/ Dustin POV.

Eddie Munson was allusive and mysterious, even to his closest friends.

He shared only what needed to be shared and kept his business private, just how he liked it. Eddie's favourite colour? Who knows, probably black or red but you'd never get a solid answer. His favourite movie? He says it's some old slasher film from the 50's that defied cinematic structure and gave the middle finger to the 'man' trying to oppress the creative spirit of filmmaking. Was it the truth? Probably not. His favourite book? He’d alluded to it being Lord of the rings but if questioned he would act like he’d never heard of it.

The only things he was open about were his love for heavy metal, pizza and D&D, and even then he kept his sadistic and intricate campaigns under wraps for as long as possible before the big reveal, trusting no one with his secrets.

Despite his attempts at general ambiguity, there were a few 'tells' in his behaviour, if read carefully, that could clue your in to his inner workings.

Dustin Henderson in sheer contrast is a completely open book; wears his heart on his sleeve, has little to no filter and will openly discuss all of his favourite things, regardless of if the audience is listening or not. But Dustin is also naturally inquisitive and curious, always trying to dig deeper and see the little idiosyncrasies in people that clue him in to their internal thoughts. He notices things that most people overlook and in the case of Eddie, someone he looks up to and proudly calls his friend, his curiosity is never stronger, particularly around the subject of Eddie's concealed love life.

It started a while ago, just a random day at Hellfire when Eddie came in a little late, trying to downplay his flustered nature as he shot off a roundabout apology and began setting up his campaign as Dustin looked on. Eddie had never been late, always having the table laid out perfectly, the mood lighting and repositioning all done ready for the Paladins, Wizards and Artificers ready to commence their quest. Dustin noticed as the game wore on that Eddie smelt better than usual, not that he ever smelt bad before but he seems to have a little more cologne on and his clothes smelt clean. Sometimes Eddie's clothes would have a faint tinge of damp, like they'd been sat in the dryer a little too long before airing out and being worn, only occasionally but that seemed to disappear completely after that specific meeting.

Sometimes, Dustin swears that he can smell a faint whiff of strawberries emitting from their Dungeon Master, specifically from his hair. At first he thinks he's crazy but the second or third time it happens it's definitely too much to be a coincidence.

A few weeks later when Hellfire had just come to a close, Dustin watched as Eddie shrugged on his signature two jackets and instantly frowned as he looked at the patches on the outer battle jacket. He quickly dropped the frown on his face, unknowingly doing it in the first place, before shifting subtly closer to that he could look to see what was different. The Dio patch on the back piece of the jacket was no longer raised or peeling upwards as it had been before in the bottom corner. He couldn't see any additional patches so he put it down to a fluke that Eddie just have re-sewn the patches, this time doing a much neater job than before.

But then he notices the lunches. Eddie had always brought something easy for his lunch, a bag of trail mix or questionable nut and pretzel mixes but suddenly there were sandwiches and the odd leftovers. That's when things began clicking into place for Dustin, realising that he might actually be on to something. He kept quiet about it, uncharacteristically, until he had more concrete evidence that supported his theory.

One day at lunch, Dustin walked in to see Eddie frantically scrawling ideas and little drawings on to a notepad, an actual wire bound notebook. Dustin had asked Eddie where he got the notebook but he just received a harsh glare and a dismissive insult in reply. Unfazed, Dustin smiled to himself as he tucked into his lunch tray, adding another point to his mental list, taking Eddie's defensiveness as evidence that he hadn't just stolen it from an unfortunate freshman, it was given to him. Eddie usually scrawled onto little slips of waste paper he'd find in his pockets or donated by his friends, never having brought an actual book to school in all the years that Dustin had known him, which were then folded or crumpled up and thrust into one of his many pockets.

The first Hellfire meeting after Christmas break is when Dustin realises that he'd been right all along. Eddie lights up a smoke after getting things loaded into the truck and for the first time since Dustin had known him, he wasn't using gas station grade clippers nor a random pack of matches he sometimes carried when the shitty lighters inevitably died on him. He instead lit the questionable cigarette with a black zippo lighter, one of those that were built to last, refillable and much, much nicer than any he'd ever seen in Eddie's possession before.

Still, he says nothing, content in knowing something about Eddie that no one else did, almost gleeful actually. He decides that if he's going to find anything else out then he needs to tread carefully, not wanting to alert Eddie to his inside knowledge or tip him off that he's digging around in matters that were not his own. He has to plan this carefully, asking questions that are only appropriate in the right setting, not out of the blue.

Luckily for Dustin, the moment presents itself not too long after at Hellfire when mid roll- Eddie's shirt shifts just enough for a second chain to be seen beneath his shirt, the movement of him shaking and rolling the dice allowing the pendant and chain to slip out from under his neckline. Eddie had always worn the guitar pick necklace, he never hid that beneath his shirt but this one had definitely not always been there. Dustin doesn't miss the golden glint of something hanging from the necklace, a ring that looked like a simple band. There's a few tense moments where Dustin studies the ring intensely before Eddie notices it slip, trying to quickly instil it into his mind for future reference before Eddie is alerted to his necklace being on show.

It lasts all of ten seconds before Gareth pipes up about the curious piece of jewellery in a less than delicate manner, his face scrunched up and turned to one side as he questions Eddie about it. Seemingly not missing a beat, Eddie quickly looks down at the offending article and smiles before he stuffs it into his shirt.

"That my friends is a custom made ruling ring, one ring or Isildur's Bane if you will. Genuine lord of the rings replica, 'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them'." He smirks dangerously at the crowd after replacing the chain inside of his shirt before crouching down and casting aside one of the figurines on the table, "now, gentleman, are you prepared for your next defeat? You've fought valiantly but it may not be enough to save your sorry hides!"

Dustin gives him a lingering side eye, knowing that there was way more to that then he's made out; He'd seen the face Eddie had involuntarily pulled when he realised his mistake. Dustin was moving in on him now, biding his time until he can make his move and actually probe Eddie for the truth.

What Dustin doesn't expect however, after the months he'd spent agonising over gathering secret intel and evidence on Eddie is that one day soon, Eddie would put himself completely due to unfortunate bad luck.

It's raining, tipping it down as the Hellfire club burst through the doors of the school in sheer elation, celebrating their defeat of Vecna and his cult. The gang separates into separates cars all waiting for them and disperse as they run to get out of the rain. Dustin's mom was at work and he'd have to cycle back regardless, cursing himself for not bringing his waterproof. Eddie offers him a ride in the van, only for him to scream multiple profanities when the van only stutters before giving up completely. He kicks the wheels in frustration, already stoked to the bone from the rain in just his two jackets before he turns to Dustin to ask for his cellphone. Dustin watches him closely as Eddie dials a number entirely from memory, moving away so that his conversation would remain private as he quickly talks to someone at the other end of the phone. Dustin quickly shies away as Eddie's gaze flickers over to him briefly, acting as if he wasn't paying attention at all, until Eddie ends the conversation and hands him back the phone.

"Got a ride, stick around and we'll drop you off at home," Eddie says, nodding his head back towards the school so that the two of them could stand under the canopy to avoid getting wetter. Dustin watches as Eddie rings out his nearly flat curls, boosting them up so that his signature look wouldn't be ruined. Dustin however, pays no mind to his wetness and instead stares intensely at the road leading to the school, not wanting to miss who would be picking them up, transfixed on the idea that it might be someone he'd been waiting to meet, or prove was real, for a long time.

Dustin has to fight back a happy jig when he spots an old looking pickup truck driving up the road towards the school, eyes stinging with the rain as he daren't even blink, desperate to catch sight of whoever was driving.

When the truck comes to a stop, he falters as he sees an old man get out, wearing a boiler suit uniform having clearly been a mechanic of sorts. He then notices the logo on the side of the truck, something or others repair shop. Eddie steps forward and has a brief conversation with him but Dustin pays no mind, throwing himself down onto one of the benches under the canopy, his chin resting on his hand as he pouts.

When the older man begins to tow away Eddie's van with one last wave and a pat to the back for the dungeon master, leaving Eddie and Dustin stranded, he shoots Eddie a confused glance. Eddie simply averts his eyes, shooting him a strange look before wrapping his arms around himself, the cold clearly getting to him.

Nearly as soon as the old truck pulls away with Eddie's van, a second truck pulls around the corner, pausing briefly window to window to talk to the man in the truck from their respective vehicles. This truck is all black and seemingly well loved, an old Chevy of sorts but Dustin's not great with car models. The trucks pull away from each other and the second truck comes to a stop outside the school, right by the canopy.

"Wait here Henderson," Eddie mumbles, eyes focused on the truck as he ducks out of the canopy and into the rain. The windows are slightly tinted so it's hard to see what's going off though Dustin desperately tries to sneak a peak at the owner of the truck.

"Haul your bike in the back," Eddie calls out, pulling open the passenger door, only to be met by resistance from the person inside the car. He huffs, closes the door and helps Dustin lift the bike onto the truck bed before he opens the passenger door again and slides across the bench, giving Dustin room to climb in.

He notices the woman driving immediately but doesn't recognise her at all. She's pretty, really pretty and is dressed in a leather jacket with a material hood that is hardly concealing her hair, dark jeans and fingerless gloves.

“Hi, you must be Dustin,” she smiles towards him and Dustin has to fight a blush that the pretty girl was talking directly to him. His momentary silent pause isn’t missed by his dungeon master, who shoots him a harsh look before letting out a low chuckle at the kids face.

“Hi,” he says shyly with a small wave, which only makes the woman smile wider.

“You’re up on Cornwallis right?” She asks, turning the key in the ignition to start up the truck. He gives a little nod, still not finding his voice entirely and she smiles back, turning to check her mirrors.

“How’d you know?” He asks only a few seconds later as the truck begins to pull away. He frowns when both Eddie and the mystery woman share a little mischievous smile, an inside joke of sorts.

“I’d like to tell you it was seeing you riding past on your bike when I’d visit Barb but,” the woman says, barely taking her eyes off the road as she navigates through the heavy rain.

“Skull rock’s just behind your house, dude,” Eddie says with a chuckle, finishing the sentence for him.

“Oh,” Dustin says, “oh.”

Both of the older constituents chuckle and Dustin takes a moment to watch them, seeing that they both had a natural ease with each other, like they’d known one another for a long time. He decides a little harmless digging wouldn’t hurt.

“You knew Barbara Holland?” He asks, watching her reaction carefully. She gives a sad little smile before shrugging gently, the faint rustle of leather ringing out in the near silent truck cabin.

“Our dads used to work together at the shop, before all the shit went down, nice kid,” she replied. Dustin watches as Eddie’s hand seems to move just slightly so that he’s touching her thigh, though it’s subtle, no doubt on account of Dustin’s presence.

“So you didn’t go to school with her?” He digs further. Something tells him that with the addition of the woman, who still remained largely a mystery to him would shield him from Eddie’s wrath if he caught on, like a buffer for the situation.

She snorts a little at the thought and shakes her head, flicking the wipers up a speed as the rain continues to pour, the windshield hardly clearing before it’s full again.

“Don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by that,” she says with a smile and a chuckle. Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side, like he was trying to hide his smirk. “I graduated in 84, spend two years at high with her but we didn’t interact much, she had her friends and well, I got stuck with this degenerate,” she laughs, gesturing to Eddie beside her. He shoves her, muttering his outrage at her statement but she merely laughs harder.

So they were at school together; before Dustin had ever reached high school. He wondered if Steve knew her? He didn’t recall him ever mentioning her, though he didn’t even know her name so that was one issue. He notices they are already on Cornwallis and he pouts again, wanting to find out more about the woman but by the time they’d pulled up to the mini intersection of Old Cherry, right by his house, it was too late.

“Thank you!” Dustin says very pleasantly as he prepares to make a run for it to grab his bike from the bed of the truck, frowning as he wonders how he’d lift it by himself.

“Eds, go help him,” the woman says, urging Eddie to help with the bike. Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t hesitate much and does actually move to help

Dustin, who gives him an odd look.

“Thank you again, errr,” he pauses before hopping out of the cab, hesitating so that he’ll grab her name.

She’s about to reply but Eddie shoves him quickly out of the cab and reaches for the bike himself before placing it on the floor and handing it to Dustin.

“Night Henderson,” Eddie says, quickly messing with Dustin’s wet cap before he smirks and hops up into the truck again. The truck doesn’t pull away straight away and Dustin realises they are waiting for him to let himself in, checking he wouldn’t be left outside. That had to be the woman, Eddie would have been nothing but exhaust smoke and tyre screeches in the distance by now.

As soon as he opens up the garage, the truck begins pouring with loud music, something heavy and angry sounding and the truck begins to pull away with a single beep of the horn.

This brief but important encounter has only spurred Dustin on further, amping up his desperate need to find out exactly who she was and who she was in relation to Eddie. They seemed overly friendly but comfortable, could she be the one that had given him the necklace? She wished he was sat next to her so he could get a whiff of her hair; if it was strawberry scented he’d have been on to a winner. The next day, he cycled to the library, thankfully it much better weather than the previous day, and had scouted through pages and pages of source material trying to find old yearbooks from Hawkins High that might have illuminated who she was. Nothing.

He cycled to family video, scrambling for any information Steve could give but he was nearly as clueless as Dustin.

“Dude I’m telling you, I never noticed Munson until the satanic rumours started, never paid any attention to him,” Steve shrugged, already having told Dustin this at least three times but the kid was persistent.

“She had * colour hair and she was wearing a leather jacket, really pretty,” Dustin tried to explain her but Steve looks vacant.

“There were tonnes of girls with her hair colour and pretty,” he says defensively.

“I said really pretty,” Dustin says, adding the inflection. Steve huffs and takes a seat on the stool behind the counter, trying to rack his brain for anyone that might have been with Eddie. Until a faint memory appears at the very edge of his brain, making his face squint as he tries to recall it, having been so long ago.

“There was a chick, she was into rock music, saw her with Billy once,” Steve says, still squinting.

“Ughr,” Dustin says, his face distorting into disgust. Steve immediately sees Dustin’s reaction and clarifies.

“No, she told him to fuck off,” he then chuckles, “was pretty funny actually.” He’s quiet for another moment before it comes to him, the memory getting clearer in his mind, the vision of her coming into full view, he clicks his fingers in a eureka moment. “Hot girl! Munson pulled hot girl?” He sounds aghast, muttering it again under his breathe as he questions it over and over again.

“Hot girl? Come on Steve, names, I need names!” Dustin says, banging his hand on the counter.

“Alright alright! Sheesh,” Steve says, running his hand through his hair. “Umm, it was… something hot.”

Dustin gives him a thoroughly unimpressed glare but he doesn’t notice, too consumed with mentally searching for the name on the tip of his tongue. “Ashle…bec..ayleigh…Rox… y/n! It was y/n!” He clicks his finger again, smiling proudly that he’d been able to recall the information. “Y/n L/n!”

“Hey!” He suddenly shouts after Dustin who races out the door with no reply and no thank you. “I need new friends.”

Dustin wastes no time as he pedals harder and quicker, his destination set in his mind, with her name repeating in his head so that he didn’t forget even a single syllable. As he pulls up in front of his house, he doesn’t even slow before dismounting the bike, leaving it on the grass in front of his house without a single care. He runs in, completely ignoring his mums greeting and whizzes over to the phone book that Claudia Henderson always had sat on the side table. He leapt towards the book and quickly began searching for her name, endlessly trawling through the alphabetical listing until her name would show.

Nothing. It was like she never existed.

“Mom! How olds this phone book?” He shouts, his volume way above appropriate for inside. When she tells him that she only got it last month, he frowns and sinks down into the chair with a slump.

“Dammit!”

“Dusty-bun, language!”

He lays off the trail for a while, exhausted by his extreme efforts, pleased that he knew her name now but feeling deflated at not getting any further. He still watches Eddie for any signs and notices a few odd things here and there but nothing feels groundbreaking anymore.

Until the Byers’ pay a visit to Hawkins. Will is immediately accepted back into the group and whilst Mike is distracted with El and Lucas at basketball, Dustin spends most of his time with Will. Jonathan mopes around most days and even his spirited friend Argyle seems a little lacklustre and irritable at times.

“What’s up with them?” Dustin asks, nodding his head towards the two older boys who are sat on the couch moping, hugging pillows to themselves and barely watching whatever’s playing on tv.

“I thought it was just Nancy stuff you know, but they’re been like it for a few days,” Will says with a shrug, casting a look towards Jonathan and Argyle who look visibly irritated.

Later that evening, Argyle catches Dustin alone and delicately tries to swoon him with pleasantries and chitchat until he finally asks the question that seemed wholly inappropriate.

“My dude, where can we find the devils lettuce?”

“What?” Dustin asks bluntly, completely lost.

“You know,” Argyle says, mimicking smoking a blunt, “some green, some kush, Chiba Chiba, ‘pass the kutchie pon’left hand side’.”

“Weed? You want weed?” He asks bluntly, not caring for the theatrics one bit.

“Well yeah my dude, if you have to be so crude about it,” he says jokingly. Dustin rolls his eyes and walks over to the telephone on the side, reaching for the phone book and flipping it straight to ‘M’ for Munson. Eddie’s side business was the worst kept secret in Hawkins, especially to his friends even though he kept discreet about it for good reason.

Dustin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came across the name beside Eddie’s seeing it listed directly beneath his. Y/n Munson.

“My dude! I’m the delivery guy, don’t sweat it!” Argyle shouts with a laugh as Dustin suddenly takes off, offering no explanation as he grabs his bike and pedals away, straight towards Forest Hills.

He doesn’t stop, not even to catch his breath as he nears the entrance to the trailer park, flicking his eyes around for Eddie’s van. He’d been here once or twice, mostly to try and visit Max and had spotted Eddie in the opposite plot, assuming that he lived there and had visited once when Eddie needed something for D&D that Dustin had mistakenly taken. He pushes on, catching sight of Eddie’s beat up van and the black truck parked beside a trailer and doesn’t stop until he’s immediately outside. Dismounting his bike, he gasps for air and pulls out his inhaled from his jacket pocket, wheezing as he puffs on it a few times to catch his breath.

He walks up the steps to the trailer door and knocks over and over loudly, insisting that someone come to the door. The door opens to reveal Eddie in a Metallica shirt and some lounge pants, something Dustin would never believe he would wear, assuming he wore his jeans all the time.

“Henderson?” Eddie looks around behind Dustin and pulls him inside, “the hell are you doing here?”

The place looked very, very different from when he’d been here last, the rooms clean and not fusty anymore. The walls were no longer lined with display mugs and trinkets but rather nice homely decorations that were a little off centre, framed band posters and photos of people in nice frames.

“Dustin?” He hears the all too familiar woman say as she walks through into the kitchen. She’s also wearing a band T-shirt, Judas Priest he thinks he can make out, with some plaid pyjama shorts and a cardigan. She reaches up to smooth her hair down, not having expected anyone to turn up and a glimmer of something on her left hand makes Dustin freeze, before he remembers exactly why he came here.

“You’re married?!” He asks, turning to Eddie, shocked and outraged that he’d managed to keep it a secret. The woman, who Dustin now knew to be Y/n Munson, bursts out laughing as she throws herself down onto the couch, immediately covering her legs with a soft blanket.

“You’re still playing that game?” She asks, turning to look at Eddie, who looks like he’s about to spontaneously combusts.

“Fucking Christ Henderson, you came all the way here for that?” He asks, ignoring his wife’s laughter. Dustin simply shrugs, appearing resolute on the outside but internally he’s beginning to see how much he’s overreacted.

“You ashamed of me, Munson?” His wife teases, turning her head to the side, goading him with a smile. He finally turns to her and snorts, also amused by her words.

“Yeah like getting the hottest girl in Hawkins is something I’m ashamed of.” He sends her a wicked smile and she blushes just slightly, both of them smiling at each other as their eyes meet.

“So what am I missing?” Dustin says, not reading the room. Eddie breaks his gaze with his wife to glare at Dustin for interrupting the moment, the kid clearly had a lot to learn about women.

“Just tell him,” y/n says encouragingly, reaching for the cup of tea in front of her as she watches on with rapt interest, and slight amusement.

Eddie huffs and sighs, his shoulders dropping a little as he prepares his explanation, though why he was explaining things was a little lost on him.

“We got married in October,” he pauses as Dustin immediately looks like he’s going to blow a fuse and with one harsh glare, he closes his mouth, allowing Eddie to continue. “Been together for a few years but Wayne moved out last summer so my girl moved in and then we got hitched just after,” he explains, taking a seat on the little chair, offering the other to Dustin who declines. “I didn’t tell anyone because being a married man, still in school and DM’ing a kids D&D club isn’t exactly ‘cool’,” he says, sounding honest and a little deflated.

“To be clear, you weren’t that ‘cool’ before,” his wife snarks, thoroughly enjoying the show. He shoots her a look and she simply sinks at him, seeing the argumentative look diffuse immediately from his face as he smiles at her, seeing her beaming back at him, if not a little sarcastically.

The pieces slowly meld together in Dustin’s mind, illuminating the big picture, each little thing he’d noticed now becoming clear.

“So the ring,” he says, gesturing towards the chain around Eddie’s neck. “It’s not a Lord of the rings thing?”

Y/n’s loud burst of laughter breaks the last lingering slither of tension in the room and once again Eddie sends her a warning glance though she ignores it completely.

“Yes that very powerful wedding ring forged in the fires of Orodruin by the dark Lord himself, Edward Sauron Munson. Does it enhance your Dungeon Master powers specifically or is it like an all around enchancement? Because as far as I can tell there’s been no improvement to your cooking skills,” she says with a chuckle.

“Sweetheart you are in for it,” he says threateningly, though his eyes still shine with amusement. She lifts her eyebrows once as if goading him, hopeful that his words will take on a very different meaning later.

“Why not just wear it on your hand?” Dustin asks, missing the point of it all being hidden.

“Because, Henderson,” Eddie says, leaning forward to push Dustin back to fall into the seat opposite him. “My girl got me this ring,” he says flashing him the skull ring that sat on his left ring finger. “18th birthday. Couldn’t get married using that so I got a normal band but this means more to us,” he says, gesturing back to the ring. “Plus.”

He then slips off the ring and extends his hand under Dustin’s frowning gaze until he spots what Eddie is trying to show him. Her initials, tattooed on his ring finger, concealed by the skull ring he always wore.

“Soon as I graduate, it won’t be a secret anymore, hell, I’ll probably shout it from the rooftops,” Eddie says with a beaming smile, “but for now, it’s just between us three okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s graduation day and Eddie proudly walks the stage in his cap and gown to accept his diploma before giving the finger to Principle Higgins on the way. His friends sit in the auditorium and cheer him in but no one cheers louder than ‘hot girl’ who stands and cheers, clapping loudly for her husband who had finally graduated.

“Dude,” Gareth says, pointing towards the side of the stage after everyone had walked and the procession was over. They all turn to see Eddie place the cap onto the woman’s head before pulling her in for a searing and very public kiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Hot girl?”

“What?!”

Dustin smiles, watching the pair only briefly before the scene suddenly becomes decidedly less PG, turning to his group of friends that all look on in complete amazement. He smirks, ready to unleash the secret he’d been hiding for months, keeping his tone casual as if it were completely obvious.

“Oh, you guys don’t know Eddie’s wife?”

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #eddie munson comfort fic #eddie munson masterlist #eddie Munson x reader #eddie Munson x you #stranger things #eddie Munson

309 notes · View notes

l-littlebird-l · 8 months

Note

Hello, little bird🥰✨ I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to thank you once again for the masterpiece “The Blind Dance”, that was breathtaking!❤️‍🔥

If you don’t mind, I’d love to share with you some of my thoughts, they might be veeery stupid, I’m sorry in advance, that’s just what happens in my feverish brain (Ominis’ been filling my mind completely for several months🙈)

So, personally I’m into powerful and let’s say dominant Ominis hehe. What do you think about it:

Ominis and MC are friends and of course both of them have hidden feelings for each other. One day, MC appears to have a bruise on her neck from some regular fight she had. Ominis can’t see it obviously, but hears some ambiguous remarks about her neck. He gets super jealous and storms to his beloved Undercroft/dormitory/any empty classroom to let off some steam, she notices his state and follows him. And when she asks wtf with you, he bursts out. Like... slams her up against the wall, holds her neck where the bruise is and smth like “who the hell was he?!” (maybe some assumptions that it was Sebastian, cause he knows they spend a lot of time together), basically revealing his dark intimidating side a bit. There can also be insults and some parseltongue spilling of course cause this boy can’t control himself hehe. She’s outraged, trying to push him away, but he realizes how stupid he was, apologizes passionately and then.. no less passionate and possessive sex with parseltongue as well🔥

Gooods I just needed to share it with you, and maybe you will find some ideas inspiring for your incredible talent! And it’s totally fine if you find it an utter rubbish, my brain’s just not working properly when it relates to Ominis😂

Thank you again, we’re all so happy to have you in this fandom!💕

Thank you so much for your patience with this piece! I loved writing it and I had a lot of fun playing around with Ominis’ emotions. 😉 Rest assured, your prompt for this piece was amazing. Thank you so much for being my first request, and I really appreciate all the kind words you give me. The Blind Dance is one of my favorites as well. Ominis just has this way about him. 💕 You definitely piqued some ideas for later stories. Thank you again, and enjoy!

• Jealousy Is a Terrible Thing •

Ominis Gaunt x MC (Smut)

— Requests are Open —

Summary: Ominis’ jealousy flares up when Sebastian returns to the common room well past midnight, carrying your scent. The accumulation of lies and excuses reaches its breaking point, leading to a heated confrontation between you two.

—

Ominis is a master at finding every possible opportunity he can to get closer to you. He's like a magnet, whether that means strategically choosing the seat next to yours in class, skillfully appearing in the same hallways as you, suggesting lunch dates at The Three Broomsticks, or inviting you to join him for study sessions in a cozy corner of the library.

For him, every minute spent by your side fills his day with an unparalleled sense of happiness. It's as if the entire world around him had shifted since you entered his life. He now has something, or rather someone, to look forward to greeting every single day.

But today, however, things took an unusual turn. Ominis had hardly slept, and his mood was decidedly foul. All night, his mind had raced, tormented by the question of why Sebastian had returned to the common room so late last night, bearing the unmistakable trace of your scent. He wrestled with this enigma throughout the night, and what compounded his distress was Sebastian's blatant falsehood. Sebastian was notorious for brushing things off and fabricating the flimsiest of excuses. But that scent, Ominis recognized it all too intimately—it was unquestionably yours. A fire churned within him, a spark of jealously aflame.

(Recap)

As the clocks hands inched past curfew, Sebastian clandestinely slipped into the common room, his movements shrouded in secrecy. His arrival, however, didn’t go unnoticed. Ominis lifted his head from his book as he drew a deep breath, catching a tantalizing trace of your scent emanating from Sebastian's clothing.

Without missing a beat, Ominis confronted Sebastian, his voice laced with an unmistakable sharp edge. "Sebastian, you're out past curfew. What were you up to?"

Sebastian, however, was quick on his feet. He met Ominis' gaze with a feign air of innocence. "Oh, nothing much, just a late-night stroll. Clearing my head, you know."

Ominis slammed his book shut and rose from his seat, his brows knit together with irritation. "Late-night stroll? Clearing your head?" he scoffed, his voice tinted with bitterness. "Don't insult my intelligence, Sebastian. I can smell her on you."

Sebastian tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, beads of sweat formed along his forehead. "You're imagining things, Ominis. Just a bit paranoid, aren't we?"

But Ominis was having none of it. He took several steps forward, his words biting through the air. "I know the scent of her perfume, Sebastian. Don't think you can play the fool with me."

Sebastian's mask of indifference began to crack as Ominis' possessiveness pressed in on him. "Fine," he spat back, the veneer of politeness shattering. "I was with her. So what? She can choose who she spends her time with."

Ominis' patience wore thin, and his anger flared as he leaned forward. "You're playing a dangerous game, Sebastian," he growled, his jealousy unleashing. "She's mine, and you'd do well to remember that."

Sebastian, seemingly unfazed, crossed his arms with a smirk, his voice edged with false nonchalance. "Why do you care so much, Ominis? What I do with her is none of your concern."

Ominis gritted his teeth, his temper burning from within. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but his pride kept him restrained. “Just answer the question, Sebastian. What were you doing with her?”

Sebastian leaned forward, his tone a venomous whisper. "Maybe you're just not man enough to satisfy her."

Ominis clenched his jaw, his jealousy scraping the forefront, but he couldn't bring himself to reveal the true depth of his feelings.

Sebastian leaned back, a smug grin playing on his face. "You're so possessive, Ominis. It's pathetic. She's not yours to control."

Ominis, his anger boiling over, shot back, "You're just a playboy, Sebastian. You don't understand what it means to truly care about someone."

Their words hung in the air, charged with tension and unresolved emotions. The common rooms quiet atmosphere seemed to amplify, and neither of them was ready to back down.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, as he leaned in closer to Ominis, his voice dripping with venom. "And what would you know about caring for someone? You've never even seen her face, let alone know what it's like to be with someone like her."

Ominis couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration, the jealousy, the pain all swirled inside him like a tempest. He had been holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but Sebastian’s taunts and insinuations were pushing him over the edge. A dark, sinuous whisper echoing within his head.

With furious colors, Ominis lunged at Sebastian, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers. He grabbed Sebastian’s collar, his fingers digging into the fabric as he shoved him forcefully against the wall. His face was contorted with rage as he leaned in closely.

Sebastian was caught off guard by Ominis’ sudden loss of control, despite being pinned against the wall and faced with Ominis' seething anger, he managed to taunt one last time. He grinned, though there was a nervous edge to it.

"Ominis, you're blind in more ways than one," he sneered, digging in with a final jab.

Ominis' grip on Sebastian's collar tightened, his knuckles turning white. He was on the verge of losing control completely, his anger and jealousy driving him to the brink of madness. The whisper inside, growing louder with each passing second.

As Sebastian's taunting words hit Ominis, they seemed to strike a deeper chord. Ominis' anger slowly faded, replaced by a wounded look in his eyes. He slowly released his grip on Sebastian's collar, taking a step back and facing away.

His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a poisonous blend of hurt and resignation. "Fine, Sebastian. Have it your way," he muttered, his anger now overshadowed by a sense of defeat and pain.

Sebastian held his gaze on Ominis’ back for a moment longer before breaking away, storming off to bed with Ominis' words echoing in his ears.

Left alone in the dimly lit common room, Ominis couldn't quell the burning jealousy that gripped his heart. His mind raced with turbulent thoughts, imagining what you and Sebastian were doing together. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as his possessiveness over you gnawed at him, making it impossible for him to find solace in sleep. The scent of another man, bearing traces of you, lingered in the air, a reminder that he couldn't shake off.

As the day dragged on, he found himself in the library, waiting for your arrival. The evening had been earmarked for a study session between the two of you. He positioned himself in a secluded corner of the library, setting the stage for a mental game amidst the book-lined corridors. Aware of the intricate nature of his little mind game, he knew that extracting answers required meticulous finesse. Every move, every word was a potential gambit on your friendship. His mind was a turbulent sea of unanswered questions, each wave threatening to consume his thoughts. The stakes were high, and the risks, even higher. But his determination burned in red. He needed answers, and if Sebastian wasn’t going to give them to him— then you will.

Even moments before your arrival, his mind raced with restless thoughts, the relentless curiosity within him clawing at his very core. A low grumble slipped from his lips, his fingers sinking into the pages of his book, an unsettling image flashing vividly within his thoughts.

"There you are," a familiar voice greeted him with enthusiasm, the sound of your steps weaving around the bookshelves as you plopped your stack of books on the table.

Ominis, drawn by the melody of your sweet voice, lifted his head, and his countenance transformed. His features softened, and a smile, one reserved solely for you, gently curved his lips. The crashing waves of his mind finding ease.

"So you decided to come after all," he teased, deliberately averting his gaze back to the book in his hand as his grip softens.

"Of course I'd show up, I'd never miss our study time together. It’s too precious," you playfully retorted, settling down next to him.

As you opened your books, the sound of the pages turning harmonized with the subtle waft of your scent, enveloping the space around him. That same, familiar scent, lingering in the air, stirring something within.

The library was unusually hushed, the subtle sound of his nails picking at the corners of parchment, bending them with a nervous energy. Your gaze instinctively followed the sound, an elegant dance of curiosity shifting between his fidgeting fingers and his pensive expression.

You sat there, quietly studying him for a few moments, pondering on what’s occupying his thoughts. Something about him seemed amiss, though you couldn't quite pinpoint it.

You leaned into him, your body brushing against his as your lips drew close to his ear, your voice a soft whisper. "You're not typically one to fidget with your hands. Is something on your mind, Ominis?"

Your closeness seemed to have a calculated impact, causing his demeanor to subtly shift. The sound of the parchment ceased as he turned his focus toward you, his face adorned with a serene mask of calmness. "Hmm? Oh, no. Nothings on my mind."

Your concern etched lines of worry onto your brow, still convinced that something weighed heavily on his mind, but he wasn’t budging.

"Ominis..." you hummed, your hand gently finding its place against his thigh, your voice carrying a soothing, reassuring tone. "You know you can talk to me."

In a fleeting moment, all his defenses crumbled. A lump formed in his throat, your sweet, captivating scent enveloping him like a warm embrace. The gentle brush of your hand against his thigh ignited an indescribable sensation deep within him. In that moment, he wished for time to stand still, for this instant to stretch into eternity. Just you and him, a world apart from everyone else—a world far from Sebastian. It all faded into obscurity. It was as if only the two of you existed in that space.

You couldn't help but notice how your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him. Your fingers traced a gentle, reassuring path up and down his thigh, and a soft, affectionate grin danced at the corners of your lips as you observed him intently. He looks so sweet…

In this sanctuary, Ominis felt a newfound comfort, an urge to confide in you, to lay bare everything that had tormented him, and perhaps even to express the emotions he'd kept concealed for so long. He yearned to spill it all out, to finally lay his heart on the table.

Just as he was about to speak, a subtle squeeze from your hand against his thigh brought him back to reality. His lashes faltered, and with a soft, deliberate hold, his hand grazed against yours, seemingly hesitant to speak.

His lips were parted, and for a brief moment, he seemed as if he was on the brink of saying something, but his lips drew a line. Instead, he took in a deep breath, casually flipping to the next page in his book with a flick of his wand.

"You needn’t worry about me, I'm fine," Ominis insisted, his words carefully neutral. "I just couldn’t find sleep."

You sighed, not entirely convinced by his statement, but willing to go with it. "How come?" You inquired gently, your fingers naturally gravitating toward the comforting warmth of his inner thigh.

His breath hitched for a mere second, the feeling of your hand tantalizingly close clouded his mind with your sweet, intoxicating presence.

"Sleep often seems to evade me more times than I care to count. So I opted for some light reading in the common room last night," he began, his voice steady. A momentary pause followed as he carefully considered his next words. He taps his nail against the parchment with an unsettledness. “Just as I was wrapping up on my reading, a rather… perplexing encounter held me.”

His eyes lined up with keen perception as he sensed your hand twitch in response to his words, a restrained, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew he had you hooked.

"Oh? And… who might’ve that been?" Your words faltered, your heart beginning to race as the realization set in, that you had unwittingly walked into his cunning little trap.

"Sebastian," he stated firmly, the pretense of an unruffled countenance still in place as he smoothly turned to the next page in his book.

"S— Sebastian, huh?" You gradually withdrew your hand from his thigh, fingers curling around the contours of your book as you anxiously flipped through several pages.

"Any thoughts on why he might have been up after curfew?" He nonchalantly twirled his wand between his fingers, deliberately taking his time as he keenly detects your composure slowly unraveling beside him.

"No— not at all. Why would I have any insight?” You brought your hand to your lips, your teeth nibbling nervously at your nails as your thoughts begin to race.

"Really, now?" He leaned back, drawing in a deep breath as he meticulously assessed the situation. "I had thought you two were rather… close. Mayhaps I judged wrong," he mused, his finger idly tracing the edges of his book, waiting for your next answer.

You cleared your throat, collecting your hair in your hands as you lifted it up off your neck and sweeping it aside to cool off.

“We should get back to studying, Ominis.” You mumbled quietly, adverting your attention back to your books.

A pit formed within his midriff, an uneasy sensation coursing through him as he discerned that you had just lied to him and casually brushed aside his inquiry. Lost in his thoughts, something had sparked his attention, a faint, distant sound emanating several tables away. His ears perked as he found himself inexplicably drawn into the poison of hushed whispers and muted laughter.

"Did you see that mark on her neck?"

"Gods, what is it?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's a hickey!"

"Merlin's Beard... who do you think it was?"

"I bet you 5 Galleons it was Sebastian Sallow."

"What— no way."

"You think she's been snogging Sallow?"

"By the looks of it, she's been doing more than just snogging." The subdued group of students snickered amongst themselves.

"And…. guess what I saw last night… I saw the two of them leaving the castle after curfew."

"What, really..? That's foul... and she has the audacity to put her hands all over Gaunt— are you going to report it to the Headmaster?"

“Not yet, I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”

“You sneaky little minx.”

“She deserves it. I can’t wait to see her crumble.”

"She should be ashamed of herself...”

"Isn't one enough? Leave the rest of them for us."

“She’s such a slut.”

A flush of crimson spread across Ominis' face as his anger surged like a rising tide within. His fists clenched together in a white-knuckled grip, his imagination running wild with scenarios from last night, each one more maddening than the last. Thoughts became an impenetrable fog, clouding his usually sharp mind. His jaw clenched as he slammed his book shut, the resounding thud echoing throughout the library. He stormed out, leaving behind a wake of turbulent emotions.

Ominis could hear his heart ringing in his ears. The whole world around him fading into a distant blur as he pushed himself through the crowded halls. His nails dig into the handle of his wand as anger, frustration, and jealousy envelopes him whole. The thought of you doing something so vile with his best friend tinged his heart. He felt as if the air was sucked right out of his lungs, his own emotions strangling him.

You sat there, bewildered by his sudden outburst. Trying to make sense of what just happened, you close your books in a hurry, leaving them behind as you quickly followed suit. Your eyes glued to the back of his pristine button-up as you chased after him, deftly slipping through the turbulent sea of students and nearly stumbling over an outstretched foot.

"Om— Ominis, wait…" your voice caught as you hastily found your footing, resolutely following his swift path into an unassuming classroom, leaving behind a clear path of confused faces.

As you enter the classroom, your eyes swept across the empty space, finding no trace of Ominis. You take a hesitant step back, perplexed. Suddenly, the wooden doors behind you click shut. You quickly pivot around to find Ominis standing there, blocking the only exit out.

“Ominis…” you muttered, standing there frozen and confused as an uneasiness settled within your midriff.

His eyes almost gleamed with a shade of green, as if a dormant darkness within him had awakened. A pure-blood Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the snake with no eyes, now revealed itself. His once-hidden frustrations surged to the surface, directed towards you. His body burned with resentment, hands trembling at his sides.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and tinged with a threatening edge, leaving no room for evasion or lies. "What were you doing with Sebastian last night?"

A sudden chill runs down your spine, as if he could actually see into your soul. You stagger back, your heart racing in response to his probing question.

"What do you mean..?" you stammered, desperately searching your mind for any little thing to grab at.

Your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the fear of angering him and the guilt of keeping the truth from him. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Ominis’ words pressing down on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it, not yet. The room seemed to close in and crackle with tension, clashing with your desire to protect the truth.

"I— I was…" your words faltered as Ominis took an intimidating step forward. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, struggling to find the right words. Your tongue felt heavy, surrendering yourself to complete silence.

Suddenly, he lunges forward, his fingers wrapping around your jaw, pivoting you around, and slamming you against the closed doors. His breath brushes against your lips as he leans in, his eyes effortlessly locked onto yours.

You winced, your eyes squeezing tight from the sudden force, his hold around your jaw softening as his fingers grazed down your neck.

"You were?" He asked, his voice baring a darkness you hadn’t seen before.

"I... I was just... studying," you muttered, attempting to maintain the facade, but the heat of his body pressed against yours and his possessive hold shattered your composure.

Your mind raced, torn between your desire to protect Sebastian and the overwhelming presence of Ominis. His demeanor was suffocating, hard to resist the urge to spill the truth, but you stubbornly clung to your feeble lie.

Every word you spoke, every lie you told, was like fuel to the fire. His fingers encircled around your throat, tightening with warning. "Tell me then, what's this?" he inquired, the pads of his fingers pressing into the tender, bruised skin below your jaw.

You yelped, your hand reaching for his wrist in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He took your hand in his, pinning it against the wooden doors. With a low, frustrated growl, he eased his grip from around your throat, his fingers still remaining over the mark.

“Speak,” he said, as if you were some pet of his to command.

You gasped, finally able to breathe, your head spinning. "Ominis, what's happened to you?" you whispered, your voice colored with confusion.

He grew tired of waiting for an answer. His mind filling in all the details on its own. He pushes your jaw to the side with his thumb as he leans into the crook of your neck, his breath scraping against your skin. His soft lips brushed across your bruise, that same dark whisper filling his head with poisoned words.

“You like this?” He growled, his lips barely transgressing against your skin.

Your voice caught in your throat as Ominis' grip tightened, preventing you from speaking.

"Have something to say, do you?" Ominis’ voice dripped with irritation at your feeble attempt to speak.

An agonizing silence enveloped the room as you nervously shook your head in response.

"I didn’t think so." He sinks his teeth into your bruise, eliciting a pained wince from your lips. The warm caress of his tongue against your skin, paired with his piercing teeth digging into your neck sent an indescribable sensation pooling between your thighs. His hand snaked from your throat and down your waistline, gripping into your hip. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his knee stopped you from squeezing your thighs together.

He had you within his grasp, a pretty little thing trembling against the doors. In this moment, you were unequivocally his, a possession to be claimed. The air felt thick and heavy. He relished in the power he held over you, knowing he could do anything to you. It was crystal clear: You were his to mark, not Sebastian’s, his. And he intended to make that known.

"You like being a little slut for me?" He drags his lips agonizingly slow against your skin, catching your breath.

Despite the fear and the turbulent emotions, an undeniable surge of desire coursed through you. Ominis' dominance had awakened a primal longing within you, and your response was unmistakable. Your breath hitched, and your body caved into your desire, your hips arching slightly against his knee.

Ominis was acutely aware of your response. A sly smirk curled his lips as he felt the subtle shift in your body, the way you arched against his knee, the way your arm fell limp within his grasp, and the subtle wavering within your breath. It was evident of the power he held over you.

Ominis couldn’t help but taunt you further, his voice dripping with possessiveness and a hint of cruelty. “You feel that?” he whispered, pressing his knee against your damp knickers.

Overcome by lust, you found yourself writhing in place, unable to contain the fiery yearning that coursed through your veins. Your heart hammered within your chest, a relentless rhythm of anticipation and longing, each beat echoing the insatiable need for more. Every inch of your skin felt like it was burning, burning for his touch.

Ominis, consumed by his desire, pushed your thighs apart with a dominating force, making it clear who was in control. He pressed his hips into you, his hunger evident in the way he held you against the doors. There was no denying the raw and burning need he felt for you in that moment.

“You like being fucked so hard there’s bruises all over your pretty little skin?” He growled through gritted teeth, his grip around your wrist constricting. The anger in his voice sent tremors through your body, leaving you almost afraid to utter a word. A barely audible gasp escaped your trembling lips.

He couldn't fathom how you could lose your self-control so easily under such circumstances. His mind seethed with jealousy and anger. Were you always this easy to rile up? Is this what you and Sebastian do when he’s not around? Is that what you want from him? Unable to contain his rage any longer, he lashed out, slamming his hands against the wooden doors, staggering backwards.

"Is this what you want? Isn't Sebastian enough for you? You think you can go around putting your pretty little hands on guys and expect us to fuck you? You're— you’re such a..." He growled, his voice a mixture of anger and hurt.

Ominis leaned back against an empty desk, running his fingers over his jaw, a look of shame crossing his face. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he attempted to collect himself, but the damage was done. He knew he had lost control and shattered any chance of friendship that remained between the two of you. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his trembling hand, overwhelmed by the strangling feeling he has in his heart.

You were left speechless, your heart aching at his distress. With cautious steps, you moved towards him, your hand finding purchase against his shoulder as your thumb brushed with a soothing comfort.

"Ominis…" you whispered softly, your voice wavering with concern and immense sadness. "Please, just talk to me… What's going on with you? Why did you say such hurtful things?"

You settled down next to him, your hand gently gliding down his back. "This… this isn't like you, Ominis..." You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist, embracing him from behind.

The softness within your voice melted away all his defenses. Unable to contain his turmoil any longer, he began to unravel, pouring out the torment that had consumed him. His voice quivered. It sounded like he was on the brink crying. Your embrace around him tightened, unable to bear the sound of his shuddering voice.

"Please…" your voice trembled as you pleaded in him, the agonizing prick of tears welling within your eyes.

Ominis drew in a deep breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. Slowly, he lifted his head from his hand, his gaze, blankly fixed upon the floor.

"It was him, wasn't it?" His voice held a note of anguish, as if he didn’t want the truth at all.

"What was him?" You asked gently, lifting your head from his shoulder and resting your chin against its curve.

He took a few moments, taking in deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to come to terms with it himself. “That bruise along your neck… It was Sebastian.”

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows, your fingers instinctively brushing across the mark that adorned itself just below your jaw. "This?" Confusion filled your voice as your mind raced with questions. “No— Sebastian never hurt me, why would you think that?”

He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his hands clenching in visible disarray. "Not hurt you…" he uttered with an evident struggle in his voice. His head turns toward you as you break from the one-sided embrace. Your eyes traced along his pained face, tears glossing over. You tenderly cupped his cheek, urging him to face you.

“Ominis…” you murmured softly. “What then?”

He slowly picked his arm up, his fingers gliding over your caress with gentleness, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. This warmth was what he so desperately needed. His gaze lowered with somberness, his other hand reaching out to hold yours within your lap.

He shifted towards you, his hand falling from his cheek, finding purchase against your thigh. He appeared hesitant, at a loss for words— his mind wrangling with itself to even speak.

"That mark," he started, his head still lowered. "It was from making love, wasn't it?"

You sat there, blinking for a moment, caught off guard by his accusation. Speechless, you almost let out a baffled laugh but quickly restrained it. "Making love?" you retorted, your hand lowering from his cheek as you wrapped your fingers around his nape, drawing him in closer.

You pressed your forehead against his, gazing into his soft ocean eyes. "Listen to me, Ominis… There’s nothing going on between me and Sebastian,” you hushed, your voice filled with sincerity.

He pulls away with furrowed brows, disbelief etched across his face. You clasped your hands around his, pulling him back in. "Ominis, please… This bruise here, it was from an encounter with goblins. Sebastian and I… we snuck out of the castle last night. We wanted to have a little fun, go for a midnight adventure,” you paused briefly, a heavy sigh filling the air. “But I… I got into a little trouble. I messed up my footing and a goblin attacked me. I was exhausted. Sebastian had to carry me back to the castle… I’m so sorry, Ominis. I should’ve been honest with you… I had no idea how much this pained you."

He felt ashamed, he felt hopeless, and he felt so, so indescribably ignorant. The weight of his emotions hung heavy within the air.

“I promise you, there’s no other man out there that has my heart,” you continued softly, your words piquing his interest. Ominis slowly lifted his chin as his gaze fell upon you.

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, brushing your thumb in soothing circles over his hands. “No one else, but you.”

His lashes faltered, and that very pit within his stomach had completely vanished. He felt all the heaviness within him lifted, the venomous whispers within his head— gone, replaced by a sense of clarity and peace."No one else?" He asked softly, his voice broken.

“Ominis, I love you… I love you so much that it pains me. It pains me to see you like this. I fell in love with that very sweetness you hold so deep within your heart. You’re someone special to me…” you wavered, the weight of your confession hanging in the air, your heart pounding within your chest as the gravity of your words settled between you both like a weightless plume.

He gently withdraws his hand from your grasp, his fingers tenderly tracing along your jaw as he clasped his hand just below your ear. His soft touch sent a shiver down your spine as he tilts your head back, his thumb brushing against your cheek, pressing his longing lips against yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sweet taste of his affection, your lips molding together in a tender, passionate kiss. In that moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. Everything that had just transpired, gone. All that remains now is the unyielding confession of love. The kiss lingered until he finally pulled away, his lips hovering just an inch from yours.

His warm breath caressed your lower lip as he spoke in an unwavering, gentle, and remorseful tone. "I've loved you from the moment I met you, more deeply than I could ever express. I've tried to hide it, to bury it, but it's always been there… burning within me. You mean more to me than words can convey, and I can't imagine my life without you."

Ominis’ voice quivered with emotion, "I love you with everything I am, and I always will, no matter what. I love you, all that you are, my dear little bird. I’m so… so so—"

You cut him off before he sank back into his darkness, your lips locking together in a fervent embrace. His brows furrowed as his lips followed suit, firmly. The kiss deepened, a passionate, unending surge of emotion that left you both breathless. In that moment, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place, and your hearts were bound together as one.

You wanted to reassure him, to make him understand that he had nothing to worry about. Your heart belonged to him and him alone. You hooked your leg over Ominis’ hip, gently lowering yourself into his lap. He wrapped his hand around your waist with a tender embrace.

With a shared urgency, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth, eliciting soft sigh past his lips. In the midst of your heated kisses, soft whispers of, “I love you,” flowed freely between you both. It was as if those three words had become a cherished refrain, a reminder of your unwavering love for each other, and neither of you could get enough of it.

Your kisses became a sweet storm. Peppering his lips as your hands cradled his jaw, your hips moving in a rhythm of their own, swaying with the desire that coursed through your veins.

A burning sensation snapped you back to reality, a tantalizing stiffness pressing against your knickers, awakening you from the flames. You were acutely aware of the desire that had burned between you.

Unable to resist, you both tumbled against the desk, your lips still locked in a fiery embrace. The kisses turned heated, sloppy, and wet as you explored eachothers cavity with unbridled hunger. His grip around your hip tightened, pressing you firmly against his arousal, a quiet moan of pleasure escaped your lips. Desire pooled between your thighs, wetting his trousers from the friction.

With a final, lingering kiss, you gradually poised yourself up, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest. Your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, but something about his presence made you feel safe and unashamed. The embarrassment you anticipated seemed to melt away in his soft, gentle touch.

A sweet, contented smile graced your lips as you began to roll your hips, a gentle grind that pressed your soaked knickers against his clothed arousal, eliciting a soft, quiet hum from Ominis’ lips.

He tilted his head back with a warm moan, the sharp contour of his jaw capturing your attention. You reached for his hands, delicately intertwining your fingers with his, guiding his touch as you circled your hips. A quiet sigh of pleasure escaped your lips, filling the thick air around you.

Ominis’ lips parted, eliciting an unrestrained moan as his cock twitches beneath you. He lost full control over his hips, incapable to stop them from moving in rhythm with yours. This was everything he had ever yearned for— your sweet hands in his, the soft, quiet moans that slipped past your lips, the constant whispers of affirmation. Yet, amidst this symphony of pleasure, there was one thing he longed to hear… the sweet sound of you moaning his name.

Feeling your hands withdraw from their loving embrace and hearing the subtle rustling of fabric above him, Ominis reached out, gently clasping your hands in his once again.

"Allow me," he whispered in a tender tone, his desire to adore you evident in his gentle pale eyes.

Your hands slowly dropped as he began to unbutton your blouse with a tantalizing slowness, savoring every moment so he could etch this memory into eternity. His fingers brushed across your shoulders, unable to resist the urge to whisper with admiration, "So soft..." He slid your blouse over your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your elbows. Your fingers curled under the rim of his trousers, eagerly reciprocating the desire.

Ominis, however, wasn't met with the expected sensation of a bra strap along your shoulders. Instead, he found himself intrigued, his fingers tracing down your collarbone until they reached the supple, sensitive flesh at the curve of your breast. His feather-light touch sent a cascade of goosebumps dancing across your skin, eliciting a subtle sigh of approval from your parted lips. His large hands then enveloped your breast, gently squeezing and kneading without hesitation.

Your eyes locked onto his almost devious grin. You unhooked your fingers from under his trousers and smoothly shimmied the rest of your blouse off, your gaze then moving toward his buttoned shirt, relinquishing it’s hold. You pushed open the flaps of his shirt, your eyes feasting on the sight of his well-formed figure. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the dots that adorned his pale flesh in a playful zigzag pattern until they reached his hip. He was truly a vision of beauty, and in this moment, you couldn't fathom how he could doubt your desire for him over anyone else, even Sebastian.

"Ominis… I want you," you whispered, the words dripping with desire.

"Then take me," he dared, his expression sweet and inviting, in stark contrast to everything below.

Your cheeks blazed with a deep, rosy hue as you bit into your cheek, his words leaving you breathless with desire. With a sultry grace, you lifted yourself onto your knees, your hands working deftly to tug down his trousers and briefs just enough to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. It was much larger than you had imagined when you were grinding against him, and the sight left you speechless. Even his length was adorned with a scattering of freckles.

His hands, warm and tender, snaked up your thighs, just under your skirt, cradling them with a gentle hold. He showed incredible patience, letting you take your time and go at your own pace. You reached below you, your fingers curling around the soaked fabric that clung to your heated flesh. Pulling them aside, you wrapped your fingers around his base, slowly lowering yourself onto him.

The pink crown of his arousal glistened with pre-cum, slipping between your slick folds as you guided him into your eager core. His length squeezed into you inch by inch, eliciting a joined shudder. Ominis tightened his grip around your thighs as he felt your cunt slowly enveloping his length, drawing him deeper inside you. A hushed wince escaped your lips as he pushed you firmly against his hips.

A low, guttural curse slipped from Ominis’ tongue, the agonizing sensation of your tight cunt gripping around his cock with raw hunger.

With slow, deliberate movements, you took control, lifting your hips and sensually lowering yourself onto him, savoring every inch of his throbbing desire as it filled you completely. Finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies. Ominis' hands ventured further under your skirt, his fingers clasping possessively around your hips, pressing deeply into your skin as you surrendered yourself to the veil of desire.

The sensation of his pulsating cock reaching deep within you, hitting the depths of your cunt and clenching around his cock in a strangling hold. It was everything he had ever fantasized about. The tantalizing stride and rolls of your hips, the softness and warmth of your skin touching his. The labored breaths and sweet moans he elicited out of you, it felt so fucking good.

The way you rolled your hips and took his cock like it was meant for you. How your body trembled every time he hit that sensitive spot. The desperate moans escaping your lips as he started to force your movements quicker by your hips. It drove him mad, mad for you. He craved more, wanting to hear those pretty little lips of yours gasp and scream his name, and he knew exactly how to make that happen.

With a firm grip around your hips, he easily maneuvered, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself over you. With one hand supporting his weight, his other guided the underside of your thigh until it was pressed against your side.

"Ominis, wai—"

He silenced your protests with a deep, penetrating thrust that sent a loud moan spilling from your lips. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as a sly grin curled at the corners of his lips. Your slick cunt tightened around his cock as he continued with long, measured strides in and out of your slick heat, drawing a soft yelp from the depths of your throat. Your hand clutched around his forearm, anchoring yourself as he quickened his pace.

"Ah, fuck..." you winced, furrowing your brows in pleasure as he drove into you relentlessly.

A deep, guttural groan reverberated within his throat as he reveled in the tightness of your cunt. He shifted his hand from your thigh to support his weight against the desk, looming over you with a demeanor that made you feel small and trapped beneath his towering figure.

He may be blind, but Ominis was attuned to your every desire, intimately aware of what turned you on. A sly grin danced along his lips as he continued his relentless thrusts, each one hitting that sweet spot that drove you mad.

He swooped down, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his labored breaths crashed against your skin. The sweet sound of your whimpers riled something familiar within him. "You like that?" he growled against your neck.

You gasped, your nails digging into his forearm as your body shuddered from his words. A subtle sneer lathered your tender neck with hungry kisses and soft bites.

His lips trailed sensuously along your neck, planting soft, teasing kisses against your earlobe. “I know you like this,” he grunted, his hips driving into you with hard, measured thrusts that left you gasping with desperate approval. The needy whines that escaped your lips were all the affirmation he needed. His tongue traced the contours of your ear, soft nips and low growls that sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh fuck, Ominis..." you pleaded, gasping for air as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“You’re so tight…” he snarled, his voice thick with desire, peppering your ear and neck with a trail of hungry kisses and licks. His pace slowed into long, tantalizing strides, all the while bearing knowing smile.

"Ominis, please..." you whimpered softly, your nails digging further into his skin.

"Please, what?" His voice shuddered, sinking his teeth into your neck as he maintained his steady pace.

"Oh, fuck… please—"

He hummed against your skin, seemingly oblivious to your intent, relishing in the sweet desperation of your trembling voice.

"Please… fuck me harder," you exasperated, writhing beneath him.

He gripped your hip in place, preventing your movements as he continued with his slow, ruthless strides.

"What’s my name," he demanded, his voice a heated whisper against your ear.

You panted heavily, your thighs trembling at his hips, your voice a sultry plea, “Fuck me harder, Ominis…” Before you could finish the rest of his name, he slammed his hips into you with a hungry growl against your ear. You bucked your hips with an arch of your back, eliciting a yelp that echoed within the halls of the castle.

“Good girl,” he whispered, sending an intoxicating blaze of fire coursing through your body. With every forceful thrust, a torrent of pleasure surged within you, an unrelenting tempest that threatened to consume your very being. A knot of insatiable desire coiled deep within your midriff, pulling tighter with each invasion of his hips.

Sweat glistened across your entwined bodies, his movements a fevered dance of untamed lust and longing. Your nails etched fiery trails along Ominis’ back, branding him with your passion. The pain that etched along his back soon became pleasure as he lost full control of himself. The classroom echoed with a crescendo of fervent gasps and uninhibited moans.

As he surrendered to his primal desires, his voice became a sultry serenade, a soft trail of parseltongue with unbridled lust slipping from his lips like a seductive spell. He teetered on the precipice of release, the moment of climax drawing tantalizingly near with each scorching thrust.

His head hangs low, driven by an insatiable need as he plunges deep into you, his hips etching a delicious soreness into your supple flesh. Your thighs trembled against his hips, helpless to resist the throbbing sensation as he fills your needy little cunt to the brim, spewing threads of his warm, sticky desire that claimed you as his.

Exasperated curses punctuated the air, escaping your lips as your body contracts beneath his rigid thrusts. Your back arches with a deep curve, your hips locked in a drunken lust as he fills you to the rim. Ominis hovers above you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his thoughts lost in the intoxicating haze of euphoria.

A heated warmth seeps from your defiled cunt, dribbling sensuously against the smooth wooden desk beneath you. Ominis, with a heavy and contented sigh, begins to slowly withdraw, his cock sliding out with a wet, suctioning noise that lingers in the air.

You gaze at him through half-lidded lashes, your face carrying the unmistakable weight of exhaustion, each breath labored with fire. Ominis' well-satisfied cock twitches, strings of cum dripping from his tip.

With an almost inconceivable smirk, Ominis runs his fingers through his tousled hair, his freckled cheeks flushed from exertion. “You’re mine, you know that?” He said softly, delicate beads of sweat tracing along the contours of his midriff, a captivating sight only for you to see.

You nodded obediently, with a soft, weary sigh, “I’m yours.”

He left you utterly spent, your body feeling heavy against the wooden desk. Your legs remained parted, trembling from the aftermath, as you struggled to catch your breath, your mind remained shrouded in a tantalizing fog of lingering lust.

“Ominis…” your voice wavered, still carrying the heat of the fervent moment.

A mischievous chuckle escaped his lips as he gazed at you with desire-fueled hunger. “Round two?” His suggestion hung in the air, a tempting invitation to plunge back into the depths of pleasure once more.

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julia4today · 25 days

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can you do like hobie x reader but miguel is readers father and he finds out that reader is dating hobie

yes. for this though we will have to kind of work around gabriella. we’ll just say she exists and is your older sister || i’m not really sure what ages i should use so i’ll leave that ambiguous.

——

mahogany fluff —- pt .1

(hobie x spanish speaking!reader) —— fem prns

avoidance. a skill you need to learn if you are going to sneak around and evade your parent. especially if that parent is 6’9 and 110% muscle.

————

your origin story with hobie is one that’s messy at best. especially considering the obvious blockade that was your father. him being overprotective and also hobie’s boss are two things that one never wants paired together. yet, love is one thing that can overcome. — i’m just kidding, there wasn’t a powerful we love each other moment, mostly just a lot of laughing.

it was mid july and your father was just as engrossed with work as always. you wanted to spend time together, have fun. he said he would love to but honestly you didnt think it would happen. you began to go to headquarters yourself and drag him from work. like, literally drag him.

this obviously garnered lots of attention, for one, who is this girl yelling at boss? a certain spider also happened to catch wind of the girl. he would join the crowd, laughing, cheering mildly aswell.

“dijiste que vendrías a cenar conmigo y con gabi . ¿y dónde te encuentro? ¡no en la cena! ¡hicimos empanadas, imbécil!”

“¡lo siento, mi princesa! i promise i didn’t mean to miss dinner.”

“yeah well you did, no empanadas for you. we’ll feed them to chester instead.” you say, turning around and walking away. leaving miguel to bask in the shame. you giggled at the thought of your dog getting more empanadas than your own father.

while miguel was busy being questioned about the strange girl who just walked up in here, hobie walks off to go talk to her.

“man you are an ace! that was barmy. who are you?” hobie leads with a compliment, genuinely impressed and a little refreshed at your presence, how not scared you were to yell at miguel. “a new spider recruit?”

you stop, rolling your eyes a little, still fuming at your dad. turning to greet the voice your mood immediately switches. his smooth accent and his sharp features should’ve made you a puddle right there. “n-no i’m not a spider recruit. i’m that pendejo’s daughter.”

“na shot,”

“don’t get your knickers in a twist,” you say mildly mocking his thick cockney.

“how d’you know?”

“i watch a lot television.” a laugh coming from both of you meld together.

“i’m just amazed at how you stood to the boss like tha’,”

“it’s a lot easier when the boss comes home and watches the soaps with you. what’s your name mysterious spider who’s following me home?”

“hobie, hobie brown. you’re a cheeky one, can’t believe you come from ‘im.”

“no, i’m y/n.” he laughs at your stupid joke, making your face heat up.

“i’d be chuffed to hang out with you sometime y/n. maybe visit my earth?”

“papá no me deja ir a diferentes tierras,” you shrug. “says it’s too dangerous.”

hobie nods, pretending he knows what’s you said. “atleast let me get to know you. ya like ackee?”

“mhm,” you say, a little suspicious but also mildly intrigued.

“‘ow bout tomorrow you come ‘ere n i’ll take you to some real jamaican food.”

“alright hobie, i’ll play.” you giggle and continue to your car.

he smiles waving. knowing what he’s getting himself into.

————

alright that’s part one! idk when part two is coming. sorry this is so short i didn’t have many ideas. reqs are open! —-

#hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader

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sillyyuserr · 2 months

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idk if you could call this an analysis but something i wanna talk ab

i expect like 1-2 ppl to see this but i cant stop thinking ab chapter 96 😭😭

Lets look at this, a “private” (kind of out in the open) conversation between akane and aoi, but in the circled panel it almost looks as if a 3rd party is looking in. who could that be?

Even in the next panel it looks as though someone could be looking down on them from somewhere. It also shows in the bottom corner someone literally looking down at them.

who could that be?

this fucker. “aoikane” this “aoiaoi” that WHAT ABOUT HIM 😭

like you can see here he’s almost disappointedly looking down at them from afar, with akane more in the middle, seemingly looking at him

which im not Implying he’s all “omg akane 🥺 dont flirt with her ….. 🫣😔💔” which very well could he what he’s doing (less exaggerated obv) but i really have no clue. AidaIro did a really good job at keeping his stance on how he sees akane ambiguous, that he really could be thinking anything here. And yes, they do show us he cares about him but caring about someones is very different from the way you may view them / feel about them.

but why would he be disappointed/sad? Let’s look at possible opitions.

Option 1, he could like aoi and not like how akane seems to be “genuinely” smiling at her when talking to her and holding her hand.

“but evie! wouldnt he be sad ALL the time since akane’s ALWAYS fawning over her?!!”

he literally has stated he doesnt like how akane likes aoi (or at least how he shows it)

Option 2, he straight up wasn’t even peeping in on their convo and was just looking down on them all having fun w/o him (haha loser) (jk i love him)

3rd and final Option, he’s sad akane and aoi are closer, not because he wishes downfall on their relationship but maybe because he likes akane.

which he himself literally said he likes someone, and at this point in time he hasnt met aoi yet, but from panels of akane + teru when they had recently met, he was in a middle school uniform showing that they had known eachother for a bit.

And yeah, this is from CHAPTER 1 and it could have very well been an excuse but cmon man this is enough to take into consideration.

To boil it down, the big question is: “does teru like akane, or aoi?”

Also bro literally tried to stop them from kissing 😭 like which one do u like man JUST CHOOSE

Edit:

I JUST REALIZED HE NEVER CLARIFIED IF IT WAS A GIRL OR NOT. HE SAYS THEM NOT HER (also meaning it could still be a girl 💀)

#terukane #aoi akane #minamoto teru #akane aoi #tbhk #jshk #bruh

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ultfreakme · 6 months

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Honestly Geto and Gojo having the same death anniversary which happens to be the most romantic day in Japan, with a character in-story stating how romantic it is should be enough evidence to convince anybody that SatoSugu are supposed to be a romance.

On top of that, we hear that JJK0 is about Yuuta and Rika's love but it's also about Geto and Gojo's relationship.

Then Gege Akutami specifically assigning break-up songs to Geto and Gojo.

AND THEN; they each get canon songs made in each other's POV speaking about their feelings specifically for one another. Where Gojo's song contains lyrics like "Even though I’ve come to know the scent of you being different from mine" and "Any prayer, any word Could bring us closer, but they couldn’t reach you Just like a silent love, In the summery colors along my cheeks". And Geto's song has lyrics like "Even trivial conversations are fine. Show me your blushing face once more" and "It exists only here. I want to touch you" and "Though I understand a wounded heart. Why do I end up hurting and leaving the same scars?"

The animation team going out of their way to give these two more soft moments hanging, creating visual parallels through the Betta Fishes, the flowers, the entire OP for Hideen Inventory but especially the part where we are seeing Gojo's vision being filled with Geto looking amazing while he rides Geto's rainbow dragon.

I saw someone say we're just projecting western views of romance onto satosugu but like, LOOK AT ALL THIS. I cannot stress enough the insanity of their death dates. It's like two people dying one after the other on Valentine's Day. This is some Romeo & Juliet bullshit. JJK in general has next to no romance, no one's pining after each other, the few times there are implications, it's very short. The most obvious one is Mechamaru and Miwa. Now imagine if Mechamaru and Miwa were the ones who got Ao No Sumika and Akari. Imagine they got 5 episodes dedicated to their story and Mechamaru dies on December 24th and Miwa's the one forced to put him out of his misery for betraying them to Mahito and Kenjaku.

Okay do you fucking see how ridiculous denying SatoSugu is? If Mechamaru and Miwa got all that even WITHOUT saying an 'I love you' no one would question their romance.

I know people keep making fun of shonen animes for having a stronger 'romance' between the two guy leads than with any other love interest but I've seen that stuff and even there it isn't nearly as deliberately romantic as SatoSugu. I can tell that Kuroko & Kagami, Gon & Killua or Levi & Erwin are supposed to be friends, the shipping thing is based on the established friendship stuff but SatoSugu are so blatant it's hard to think of another explanation.

I saw a point about how people are projecting western perspectives of romance on platonic friendship expression in a different culture, which I do get, I think it's a valid point. Idk much about how people express friendship in Japan but I have heard there's a lot more skinship and openness as compared to western cultures.

But w/ SatoSugu there isn't anything that can be read as purely platonic, there's always an ambiguity or it's directly romantic.

#satosugu #tired of dudebros freaking out over how on the nose satosugu is #'oh they're brothers' buddy maybe I could still believe that for narusasu because the author mentioned basing it on his brothers #but satosugu in-text are aligned with lots of romance #THEY'RE VISUALLY CONTRASTING BUT COMPATIBLE TOO #i know i know amatonormativity #I GET THAT #but you can't deny these two are romantically involved when the OST that played over their final scene together was called-#;This is pure love'#genuinely how can you explain it as anything else?

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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Sad that there’s no valentine fragrance for Rollo or Fellow or even Neige and Chenya. For fun, what do you think their hypothetical fragrances would be like?

[Referencing this post!]

Oooh, what a fun question! I'm a fragrance fiend (I have sooo many little perfume samples lying around) so this ask got me super excited.

I'm going to give my thoughts on Gidel as well, since he comes as a pair with Fellow~ Cheka is here too. Let's include the little guys in on this!

Che'nya - creamy sugar, larkspur and clover, dark musk and myrrh

The top note is “creamy sugar”, but it’s not something overly heavy. Think like super fluffy, slightly sweetened whipped cream, something that easily melts on the tongue… like how Chenya’s UM allows him to vanish from view. He’s also known for stealing Trey’s desserts, so I imagine he has sticky, sugar-crusted fingers that give him away as being guilty of the crime.

Larkspur and clover are green scents that are not very strong; I felt that these match Chenya more than more intense smells. It gives the impression of someone who has been lazing around in trees or rolling around in an open field, leaving just a subtle hint wash of chlorophyll and sunshine on him.

The base notes are dark musk and myrrh. Chenya is by no means a sinister person, the musk and myrrh are moreso to ground the wistfulness of the fragrance make it more mysterious. I feel that it suits his ambiguous way of speaking and his Cheshire Cat inspiration very well.

Fellow - whisky, popcorn and coffee, tobacco and 1-pentanethiol

First up is whisky. Why? Well, firstly: Fellow strikes me as a guy that wears cheap cologne to give off the impression that he’s put-together, and one of the giveaways of cheap fragrance is a strong alcohol smell. The character Fellow is based on, Honest John, is depicted drinking and smoking in Pinocchio. The whisky note is also a throwback to that particular scene.

Popcorn and coffee dominate in the middle notes. The two work well with one another; the butteriness of the popcorn enhances the bold caramel tones of the coffee and results in a unique richness. Coffee is what I think Fellow drinks when he’s on the job and needs something “appropriate” to help him cope when dealing with his difficult boss or victims. The popcorn, meanwhile, is something served at Playful Land so the smell has buried itself on his clothes. It’s also the one smell that has a “childish” air to it, a small piece of hope and fun that has yet to be lost.

Finally, we have tobacco and 1-pentanethiol. As I previously said, Honest John is shown smoking in the film so the tobacco present here is a reference to that. 1-pentanethiol Crowley has “fatty aldehyde” so let me have this provides a smell similar to cigarette smoke, which deepens the overall aroma.

Altogether, it’s a very mature smell which hides a hint of playfulness in it. The fragrance characterizes Fellow as an adult with a dream he still wants to recognize.

Rollo - cotton, lavender and red flowers (rosewater + red lotus), oud and birch

This fragrance is one I would describe as layered and complex, as well as something that reflects his own twisted character. We open with cotton, something very try clean and fresh—like freshly washed linens. This makes sense for someone who stresses tidiness, and as a Noble Bell Student, who values cleanliness.

In the middle we have flowers, which I stress must not be overpowering or cloying. There is lavender (for protection and spiritual enlightenment), red lotus flower (symbolizing purity and virtue, as well as a reference to the crimson flowers/fire lotuses), and rosewater (represents devotion, and a substance used in religious ceremonies to banish evil. The flowers selected have meanings related to Rollo’s ambitions—and furthermore, it makes sense that he may smell of flowers, given where he lives and his skill in gardening.

At last, we have oud and birch woods. A whiff of these, and your mind will conjure the image of smoke and ashes, something burning. It’s very different from what you were smelling before; all the flowers have faded now, leaving you only with your sorrows.

To summarize, the scent changes from clean to floral to… the aftermath of a fire 💀 When we first meet him, Rollo gives off a very prim and proper aura, only for it to devolve into reverent madness later… The fragrance is designed to emulate that evolution.

Side note: I thought about including grape and orris root (a butter-y smell), but they both sounded too “foodie” and indulgent for someone like Rollo and didn’t make as much sense with the other notes.

Gidel - candied apple and cotton candy, popcorn, cedarwood

Since Gidel is notably younger than Fellow, his fragrance is a more juvenile one. There is a lot of focus on the sweets the park offers here, opening with notes of candied apple core and cotton candy. I don’t think he and Fellow can afford to eat that many luxuries, so they take Playful Land’s treats when they can.

As you can see, Gidel shares a popcorn mid-note with Fellow. This is here to show their relation to one another. After all, Gidel also helps out with luring people to Playful Land. The popcorn smell could very well also cling to him.

Cedarwood has a slight citrusy profile to it despite being a wood. It keeps the smell from being super sweet while also making it feel a little… clumsy? Like you’d expect it to be all sweet but then there’s that little something that keeps it from completely toppling into that categorization. I think it suits Gidel with his mismatched socks, untied boots, patched clothes, and oversized sleeves.

Neige - apple blossom, gardenia with some citrus, white musk and amber

When I think of Neige, I think about something soft and approachable yet also bright. I of course had to include some variant of apple and chose the blossom form for something flowery with a subtler apple scent. It’s a cuter and more innocent flower to go against Vil’s opening note of cassis.

The middle is gardenia, a white flower that is similar the “white bouquet” in Vil’s fragrance. Gardenia is delicate and sweet, much like Neige’s personality, and it has a slight citrus twist to help uplift the flowers without making him smell like a whole orange. The citrus could be a little leftover (like, lemon dish soap/detergent?) from the cleaning he does around the living space he shares with the Seven Dwarves!

Amber is calm and relaxing while white musk is often used in “wintery” smells to achieve a crispness. The white musk is a nod to the “snow” origins of Neige, since he is twisted from Snow White, while the amber is there to soothe and comfort all who gaze upon him. This makes Neige’s fragrance an airer alternative to Vil’s… cuz they’re rivals in the entertainment biz www

Cheka - sweet citrus, neroli, dirt and moss

I imagine Cheka’s scent as a more youthful version of Leona’s. They both have neroli in the mid-note, perhaps a nod to their royal lineage and/or just to their savanna homeland in general.

Cheka’s fragrance opens with sweet citrus (think tangerine or mandarin!), which reminds me of his enthusiasm. Now, citrus is not something that readily grows in the savanna but it does have a loose tie to the film. In The Lion King, Timon and Pumba serve Simba grubs. When certain bugs die, they release a fatty acid that warns other bugs of their kind to not come near—it’s a signal of danger. Most of the time, these acids smell rancid as heck and are not suitable for perfumes. I did find some bugs that release a citrus-like smell though, so I went with that since it’s the only smell we wouldn’t turn our noses up at.

The last notes are dirt and moss, meant to imply Cheka’s adventurous and bold nature as the type of kid who sneaks away from his guards to see his ojitan 😂 The earthy dirt is a smell that sticks with him from the kingdom he will one day rule, and the moss is a little bit of green to brighten things up. The moss is also meant to allude to the jungle that Simba grew up in along with Timon and Pumba—the world beyond what Cheka will one day rule.

I really REALLY wanted to somehow include “Cheka smells like crayons” somewhere here, but that ended up not fitting and I couldn’t find what the “crayon smell” is. I see Cheka writing notes and drawing to his uncle every so often and then being sad when he doesn’t reply…

This was a fun creative exercise ^^ Hope you had as much fun reading about my thoughts as I did writing them out. Maybe I’ll make up fragrances for some other NPCs except Rollo is no longer a NPC later?? We’ll see.

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blog-name-idk · 1 year

Text

The Plot Twist | 01

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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AN: Hello all!

This is a fic that is being co-written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle (who also has their own crack/soulmate subversion AU which is INCREDIBLE and HILARIOUS go read it). The inspiration for this fic was that one meme about the anime protagonist avoiding their fate, and then it became a monster. We are having a great time writing this and we hope you enjoy it as well!

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Chapter 1: "What are soulmates, even?"

A prevailing belief amongst the aging population of overbearing parents is that an unattached woman, of average birth and social standing, professionally situated in one of the high-rise buildings in modern-day Seoul, must be in natural want of three things the very morning she turns twenty-five: an envelope of birthday money, a spa coupon, and a blind date prospect. Society’s elders allege that the advent of the twenty-fifth age prompts the rightful transition of the child-minded miss into a full woman, the barest hints of her girlish whims to be cast aside for her foray into the next, imperative stage of life.

Ha! Whatever the hell that next stage is, you have absolutely no care, no inclination to find out. Altruistic as they pretend to be, those very same elders are possibly bored, amateur matchmakers, or worse: aspiring grandparents.

You have your own priorities. You're living the good, simple life of binge-eating all the snacks you can now afford, buying questionable decorations for your single-bedroom loft, and, with undeniable consistency, sleeping in and gaming at ambiguous hours. Half-baked attempts at health fads and investments in miracle under-eye creams notwithstanding, you're barely halfway through your twenties but already living the dream!

Whatever that happens to you after this point? Unimportant. You have all the time in the world and your inner child to appease.

Heavy footfalls thump across the wooden floor of your bedroom, abruptly pulling you from the safehaven of your subconscious. The shrill, scraping noise of your floor-to-ceiling curtains being pulled open flag your internal alarm, but the matronly scolding that greets your senses, voiced in a too-familiar hometown dialect, subdues it just as quickly as it comes.

Burying your face into your pillow with a weak groan, you resign yourself to the loss of another wonderful morning spent in bed.

You should have known this would happen. As long as this woman breathes you will never know true peace.

“Eomma.” You scowl, throwing your blanket to the side as you sit upright on the bed. “This is exactly why I moved out.”

“Bah! Look at you!” your mother scoffs as she takes in your bedraggled appearance. “I booked you an appointment at The Deluxe and instead you want to waste it?” Busying herself all over the room, bending over and picking up litter – the remains of your night's valiant efforts – she crows, “And all these junk food wrappers on the floor! You pigged out, playing those games all night again!”

Well… yes, there was no denying that. It had taken you until early hours of the dawn (and three much needed, middle-of-the-night, rage-reducing convenience store trips) to reach your current savepoint in-game. Although it seems highly unlikely that your mother would be impressed by your latest feat at Super Mario – Kaizo, because somewhere inside you rests an unlovable, masochistic monster – you still cannot find it in yourself to want to change the way you had spent the previous night given half the chance.

Your mother, bless her old-fashioned heart, is simply predisposed to worry about your dubious gamer-slash-working-girl lifestyle, which, not only being within her rights, is also completely understandable! So as long as you kept up visible effort at maintaining the “beauty sleep and charm regimen” she swore by, she usually fell somewhere between unbothered and complacent.

But no. Not today.

"What did you threaten the landlord with to get the key this time?" you query under your breath, too quiet for her to hear. Sleep-addled as you are, you still have some sense of self-preservation.

It just… doesn’t help that your whole face looks as puffy as it feels. Judging by the tight set of your mother’s mouth also reflected by your bedside mirror, her slanted eyes pinned on you, you're sure she’s set to try and advertise the benefits of gua sha within the next minute.

Clearly, getting your own apartment had afforded you more freedom, but not the complete detachment you had been hoping for. And that was fine – every so often you do have the solo-living blues and miss her grapevine chitchat – it just isn’t apparent to you now in your half-comatose state, berated even before you have a chance to obtain caffeine.

Sighing in defeat, you move up and lean against the headboard. Your swollen eyes try to peek past the door frame, to no success. There’s an undeniably hopeful lilt to your voice when you ask, “So appa’s here, too?”

“Ha! That man drank himself silly, crying all night long!” At the mention of your father, your mother’s tone transitions from frenzied to fond, soft mirth dancing in the brown of her eyes. “‘Starting tomorrow she won’t be my girl no more,’ he’d said! It was a right mess! Your uncles had to help me carry him home…” she prattles.

Rounding the bed as she makes her way to you, she pulls you close to her chest, surrounding you with the comforting, familiar scent of her – and your – favorite laundry detergent and the faint smell of the kimchi she had for breakfast. She places a doting kiss on the top of your head then assures you in a rather soft murmur, “Sorry, sweetheart. He’s not here. He was so down he couldn’t even get out of bed, but he’ll call you later when he feels better, I’m sure.”

“Alright,” you concede, melting into her embrace and choosing to let her love bloom in your chest instead. Sometimes you complain about her lightning-fast mood changes from holy terror to loving mother, but after twenty-five years of being your appa’s girl, you figure you can give her this one morning. You snuggle into her. “Thanks for coming over, eomma. I can already smell the seaweed soup.”

“Of course, dear. I heated it up. Happy birthday.” She angles your face upward and pinches your cheeks.

You groan and paw at her to fight her off, but the playful moment is broken when she holds your face hostage and threatens very seriously, “If you don’t make it to the appointment, I’ll drive you to that speed-dating event in Hannam myself. I know for a fact they’re taking walk-ins tonight.”

“But eomma…” you whine, feeling like a fool for letting her motherly love lull you into a false sense of security, “I’m the birthday girl! Shouldn’t I get to decide my itinera–”

A familiar gleam flashes in her eyes and you immediately pinch your lips shut.

You may have gotten your father’s dimpled smile, but the stubborn fire in your spirit, the fierce glow of your gaze… These are the attributes that make you a famed corporate demon and Nintendo speedrunner.

These traits are also definitely, absolutely, undeniably from your mother. And alas, she has had more years and recognition in perfecting her technique.

With the Hyundai car keys twirling around her index finger, you just know she’ll make good on her threat. Your mother, dramatic as she can be, is bull-headed enough to follow through on every ridiculous warning she makes.

Another quality you yourself have inherited.

Glancing at the clock, you scramble off your mess of sheets and pillows and hastily set your feet onto the hardwood floor. Chuckling nervously as you avoid the course of consoles and controllers strewn about the room, you wonder aloud, for no reason at all, “The appointment has a fifteen-minute grace period… right?”

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You don’t know what happened after stepping into The Deluxe, not exactly. Scrambling past the morning rush on foot, desperate to avoid all kinds of traffic in your anxious, sleep-deprived state, you barely even recall getting to the spa’s reception area in time.

Upon confirming your appointment, a chic lady handed you a satin robe and ushered you into a private room, pointing you to your assigned spa bed with a gentle, amicable smile. Hypnotizing oils and calming tones sang to your senses, beckoning you to slumber with the promise of warmth and safety. The moment the lights dimmed and the massage therapist placed her hands on you, kneading your stiff shoulders, total exhaustion had taken over and you’d blacked out. An instant, indisputable K.O.

When you woke up it felt like you had re-spawned. Misplaced and mistakenly rearranged, put back together in a whole different body. You weren’t even sure if a body spa was all that had happened… You wonder for a moment if you might have been secretly brainwashed and implanted with a trigger command to kill an unsuspecting prime minister somewhere down the line, but you figure the gods have something else planned for a plain shut-in like you. Surely something less cinematic?

Seeing your reflection in the mirror, your split ends gone and your hair somehow now highlighting your best features, your face made up… Well, now it's clear that a lot more had happened to you. Your skin feels creamy to the touch and smells like rich patchouli, your nails are trimmed and painted ballet pink. You doubt their in-house aestheticians had taken one look at you – dehydrated and soulless to the brim – and voluntarily offered their services… Perhaps your mother did splurge and book you the full blowout package.

In that case, considering the luxurious upkeep of The Deluxe, you send your mother a heartfelt message of thanks followed by a cheerful selfie before finally stepping out to stroll through the nearby streets of Yongsan.

Unlike your usual self, you actually feel good. Very, very good. Beautiful, and rested.

Who wouldn’t love turning twenty-five if this was all it entailed?

As you make your way across the uptown plaza, the phone in your tote bag vibrates suddenly, chiming its innocent, dulcet tones. You stop, retrieve the gadget, and stare at the institution-registered number on the display screen of your phone before clicking to accept the call.

“Hello?” you answer tentatively, hoping you're not about to get called for jury duty.

“Good day. Is this L/N F/N?”

“Yes, but who…?”

“I am Junior Liaison Officer Choi Mijin from the Ministry of Korean Domestic Affairs. I understand you turned twenty-five today, L/N F/N-ssi. In accordance with Republic Act 134340 promulgated January of this year, this is your mandatory communication from the Soulmate Registry Department. May I proceed with the orientation, or is this a bad time?”

“Huh?”

Did she just say soulmate…?

You blink once. Just ten meters from where you stood, a squealing toddler startles and chases away a flock of unsuspecting pigeons perched on the brickstone plaza, wings fluttering against air and cobble. The cacophony washes over you in a raucous echo.

You blink again, stupefied. “Sorry, what?”

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“I understand this must be confusing for you. Although our record here indicates that your parents are soulmates, L/N F/N-ssi?”

“M-My parents?” you stammer. There was that word again!

Despite your obvious bewilderment, Junior Liaison Officer Choi Mijin remains unfazed. Not missing a beat, she draws in a quick breath and launches into a clearly scripted monologue: “Historically speaking, the Soulmate Phenomenon was first observed to affect a significant percentage of the adult human population by sociological groups and academic societies. Throughout the years, in tandem with the discoveries of international research institutes and medical community programs based locally, the national government has authorized a domestic agency to advise the public on matters that directly concern their health, relationships, and cosmological well-being. The current research consensus theorizes this phenomenon to be amplified by genetics, meaning that those with parents who are soulmates are highly likely to experience the phenomenon themselves. On these grounds, to offer you a better civilian life, we at the Soulmate Registry Department would like to confirm if you, L/N F/N-ssi, have been experiencing symptoms relating to this phenomenon…?”

You don't reply, locked in a cage of dumbfounded silence. Junior Liaison Officer Choi Mijin simply continues as response, “If so, I am pleased to report that cosmic interference will now rise to thirty-eight percent, with a ten percent margin of error per day, per soulmate–”

“Cosmic interference?” you interrupt, still quite lost in disbelief. "Per soulmate? What?”

"It's possible to have more than one soulmate," replies the desk worker, matter-of-fact. In rehearsed evenness, she elaborates, "It is the department's official advice for soulmates to initiate friendship at first introduction. Otherwise, aggravated cosmic interference can be expected, and may even escalate to public duress."

“Aggravated…? Duress? Uh, give me a second.” You pinch the flesh of your arm. “Ow.”

Eventually, after getting some of your thoughts in order, you manage to ask, "But what if I answered that I wasn't experiencing any of the symptoms? That I don't have a… soul-mate?" The word slides weird and heavy off your tongue.

"Ah. In such cases, please do not be alarmed. The natural implication is that you may continue to live life as usual," the girl's tinny voice reassures. "If you do not have a soulmate then you will not be subjected to visual, somatic, auditory, kinesthetic, olfactory, or gustatory anomalies. This kind of life is plain, but also advantageous, in its own way."

…Too much. This is just too much.

“But what if I do? What if I do have a soulmate, but I don't want to acknowledge it? What if I want to keep my life as it is?"

Choi Mijin pauses, not having a prepared response for the first time.

"Hm? Let me look that up." After audible typing noises and the near-infinite scrolling of her computer mouse carrying over, she finally speaks again. "Hmm. Nah. Nope. Not in our F.A.Q.’s. I wouldn’t not advise against that, no.”

Those were so many negatives you don’t even know what had been implied in the first place.

“I could forward the call to my supervisor," Mijin suggests, trying to be helpful. “The average standby time is one hour and forty minutes. Do you want me to?”

Massaging your temple with your free hand, you attempt to ignore the blooming headache ruining your prior good mood. "I… guess not? I’m not experiencing anything, Choi Mijin-ssi. That just means I don’t have… a soulmate… right?”

Mijin makes a grunt of assent. "Correct. If you did have a soulmate, you’d have to submit forms DR-2a and FS-3c to our main office in Hongdae. There are housing subsidies, minimal tax deductions, and life insurance programs that can be applied for.”

You do not know what else to say. Of course bureaucracy would somehow be involved in the systematization of the soulmate phenomena. You clear your throat and settle for, “Ah.”

“For now, L/N F/N-ssi, your status with us is PR - Pending Registry. Please confirm your status with us in person within the year, else the aforementioned benefits are considered irredeemable. Late registration is prohibited by the Ministry of Korean Domestic Affairs. This is only to ensure civilian and public safety, you understand?”

“Um.”

You look down, stare at your sandaled feet.

You can feel your toes, yes. You're alive, yes. You look at your hands and see all five fingers.

This is real life, yes.

“Yeah, okay. I understand… I think. Hmm. Yes.”

“Great. And, ah, happy birthday. I guess. Twenty-five sure is… something.” Ever since the beginning of the conversation, it is only at this moment that the liaison officer’s tone betrays her professional disposition. Despite your inner turmoil, you do feel for the girl on telephone duty as she sighs and says, “I’m really not paid enough for this.”

The line goes dead, and you’re left to pretend your world has not just shot off its axis.

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Kim Namjoon loves the chaos that is his fucking life.

It’s just. He constantly struggles to be the pillar of peace in the middle of it all.

"What are soulmates, even," whines Namjoon. "People who share the same taste in music? People who finish each other's–"

"–sandwiches?" Jeon Jungkook suggests, throwing a hopeful look at the snack in Namjoon’s hand.

Namjoon sighs in defeat and tosses the gremlin his sandwich. It’s gone in seconds.

No, really. Namjoon loves his life. Despite the near-chronic muscle ache and subtle paranoia that comes with baring his artistic, musical persona at a global scale on the daily, Namjoon still truly believes his life is wonderful. It’s meaningful, it’s spontaneous, and he never feels stuck. In fact, he gets to wake up assured that the world has something new planned for him. He gets to navigate life with a profound sense of purpose each day because he gets to rise from bed, head to the bathroom, take a look in the mirror and complain, “Which one of you did this bullshit?!” in countless, exasperated variations.

Because he is truly, utterly blessed.

Namjoon collapses against the plush armchair and rests his legs on the coffee table (yes, like a neanderthal), reinvestigating the faint bruising he’d found this morning on his limbs. Reaching over, he presses on his blemished skin and feels nothing.

“Taehyung’s been practicing cartwheels again,” he realizes.

The entirety of it had overwhelmed Namjoon, at first. Despite his height, he’d acted like a giddy kid about it, because nobody else in his family had – or even seriously regarded the concept of – soulmates. The library books he’d consulted said he was unlikely to experience the phenomena for himself, and so he’d thought what was happening to him was some type of ghost experience, shamanistic punishment, or hallucination that accompanied the grievances of becoming older. That his mind had finally reached its breaking point. Since he was, after all, for the past ten years, what people would refer to as, overworked.

Mm-hmm. Indeed.

From Ilsan to Seoul, desperate only to chase his dream and share his love for the written cadence, he’d found six of the most precious, talented, hardworking, beautiful people he would be happy to maim and kill each godforsaken already-late-for-our-schedule morning instead. It had been a running joke amongst the staff that the group only survived their initial years in the industry through their unmatched chemistry, but once the youngest of them all – Jungkook – turned twenty-five? Everything clicked.

The team wasn’t just a team.

Namjoon still thinks about it a lot. The evolutionary metaphysical logistics of it all. How, upon turning twenty-five, the human “cosmologically matures,” and with the prefrontal cortex of the human brain fully developed, its high cognitive reflex for recognizing patterns in daily life is traded for identifying patterns in the amalgamation of the universal consciousness instead.

It’s some high-level, fucked-up, oddly wholesome matrix shit.

Along with its regulations, the national registry for soulmates had only been established earlier this year. And though Namjoon would have appreciated any primer on the shared experiences he’d soldiered through with the boys, it was nothing short of a miracle that they had all met, grown, and gotten this far together since the beginning. In place of scars they had anecdotes of each other, kept and cherished all the same. Mountains of memories, good times and bad…

A decade. Ten years since they had shared their first greetings at a rundown garage, bright-eyed with the single aspiration of producing heartfelt, healing music.

Ten whole years.

The matter at hand is what happens now. With their original ten-year contract fulfilled, all the shows and radio stations only seem capable of talking about (read: dissing on) Bangtan Sonyeondan. So-called “experts” and industry seniors hinging on their disbandment. Like the seven of them had made it to the top, and now was high-time to let the accolades go and freefall.

Namjoon wants to scream and curse and tell them all off and yet…

All seven of them are at a standstill. One wrong move could push all seven of them off the ledge, off the pedestal of their own making. Their contracts are hybridized now, solo and group opportunities taken into serious consideration. Clauses had been inserted for mixed agency projects, brand endorsements, business ventures, and, most importantly, well-earned rest.

The immense physical and emotional battery of being in an idol boyband, the relentless media scrutiny, the hardship of being isolated and away from home – none of them wanted another ten-year repeat. The legal discussion of it had been fruitful, but in the aftermath the grueling effort had sucked the – bear with him on this – soul out of them.

And it wasn’t just Namjoon. At the latest dinner everyone had admitted to feeling… off. Petty bickering had been frequent lately, uneasy afternoons as well as uncharacteristic detachment. Moodiness. Namjoon’s afraid to put a name on it, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

Could depression be shared through their soulmate bond? God, Namjoon hopes not. So many things could happen, and this time, no amount of planning makes it seem possible to control. It feels like something else. Something familiar but new and oddly foreboding.

Well. Whatever the hell it is, Namjoon doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit.

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Instead of attending the blind date event for dinner, you find yourself standing at the porch of your parents’ diner instead.

Your father hurriedly shuffles to the doorway to usher you in, struggling to hide his excitement with the bogus scowl he plasters on his face.

“Young lady, why are you here?” he admonishes. Deciding to act preoccupied, he starts wiping down the tabletops, grumbling all the while, “Shouldn’t you be at that event in Hannam? Your mother said you wouldn’t have the time…”

You want to march over and hug your appa. You know what he’s really asking, why he’s glancing nervously past your shoulder. You’re here? Does that mean you’ve met the one who will replace me as your most important person? The government people nagged us about registering and they said in the future you might find yourself in this soulmate business too and you’re my little girl but… are you still?

You playfully nudge him by the shoulders with a bump of your own. “Naw, but don’t tell eomma I skipped it.”

Your father's lips twitch but then settle into a secretive smile. You both know that The Madame would drag you back by the scruff of your neck if she knew. And possibly send your father to the doghouse.

For some reason you can’t fathom, it frightens your mother to see you living the bachelorette life so well. Despite their being soulmates, her opinion is at complete odds with your father's, who basks in the joy of being the most important man in your life. And while you can kind of understand where your mother is coming from, chasing after boys… filling your heart with sweet nothings and butterflies… You’re not thirteen anymore. You're past that phase now. You know better than to put all of your romantic hopes and dreams into something that will inevitably let you down.

“Maybe that kind of thing isn’t for me, appa.” you admit. “You and eomma found each other, that’s good enough for me.”

Your father glances at you as he flips the store sign from open to closed, and says, solemnly, “Wildflower, you never know what the universe has planned.”

You take a deep breath, shoulders pinched. “But…”

“But what? But you don’t want love?”

“Appa…”

Your mother walks in through the backdoor. When she sees you next to your appa, her eyes shine with happiness.

They’re your eyes, too.

Your father hums. “Look at you. The best of both of us.”

Because It’s fine. You’re fine. You don’t need a soulmate. Your happiness couldn’t possibly be dictated by a cosmic phenomenon. Your life is beautiful, and simple, and enough. The things that you have, the love around you – they’re already more than what you deserve.

You pluck off a spare apron and help out with the rest of closing. Your father brings out his special blend of makgeolli and leaves you in-charge of hotpot prep for dinner. Drunk in just two bottles of soju, your parents compete about who had cooked the better seaweed soup, crooning absurd versions of the happy birthday song until you yield and promise to stay the night.

Chatting with them, laughing yourself to tears, you completely miss the double-decker bus that passes out front.

Unlike most city buses, this one has its exterior gorgeously laminated in purple, black, and gold. The vehicle is sleekly rendered with congratulatory greetings for the tenth anniversary of an all-male idol group, along with well-wishes of their fans upon the announcement of their individual pursuits as artists.

Your mother squints quizzically at the fan-made bus as it passes, an arm lifting to point it out to you. In her drunken haze though, she barely manages a garbled whine before her head bows and drops onto the table with a soft thunk.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

In the backseat of his custom-interior Palisade, Park Jimin groans, letting his face fall into his palms.

How is it even possible to get stood up at a speed-dating event? When he’d gotten there, everyone had already been paired up, and sure, work had held him up and made him late, but weren’t people supposed to turn up no matter what? Damn. Maybe the organizers were right. Maybe he is at the age and status nobody wants to be matched with anymore.

God, Taehyung is going to make so much fun of him for this.

The only silver lining is that this means Namjoon and Sejin can't chew him out for being "irresponsible" and "putting himself in danger." But come on, no one would believe that a member of BTS would have to resort to a speed-dating event. When he's bare-faced the worst that could happen would be for someone to say he kind of resembles Park Jimin. Probably.

Yes, he has six great soulmates he loves with all his heart. But he loves five of them like brothers. He does want something more, and it's gotten to the point where seeing an old man pushing his wife's wheelchair brought him to tears. Or as Jungkook would say – he wants a soulmate that makes his privates happy, not just his heart.

Is it that so much to ask for? He knows he’s already lucky. So lucky, far luckier than most of the world. He's blessed to have one soulmate, let alone six. The success of BTS wouldn't have been possible without everyone's hard work, but there are many groups that work just as hard and never see the light of day.

Maybe he just needs space. Maybe he should get his own apartment, spend some time outside of the house he shares with his six partners in crime. Somewhere he can just be Park Jimin, a boy looking for love, and not Jimin of BTS.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he grabs his phone and starts looking at listings.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #eserethriddle #reveri #fruit party 🥭🍒

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gh0ulixs · 8 months

Text

Roller Rinks and Killing Streaks

Ghost face (Ambiguous) x GN!Reader

(inspired by Mary On A Cross - Ghost)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

You had one reason to always stay late at your boring old job. After all the guests left, and you stayed behind to lock up the doors and make sure all the skates were in place, you always had a routine to take a pair..

It was relaxing- headphones on as you glided along the wooden floor. The neon lights and the empty ambience felt like a second home to you. It was the one part of the job that made it worthwhile.

Despite the recent serial killings happening around town, you ignored the warning to stay in groups and stay at home at night. This habit was just too precious to you to let go of, Serial killer on the loose or not.

As you got lost in the music playing in your headsets, you didn't hear the slight creak of the employee door opening. You continued skating, a content smile on your face; humming the tune of your favorite song to yourself.

The faint clack of skates hitting the wooden floor nearly went unnoticed, gaze catching on a piece of black fabric that briefly zipped by. You stop for a moment, glancing around but spotting nothing...

Odd, but you didn't question it too much, chalking it up to stress and an overactive imagination as you continued on. A feeling of being watched lingered and sent a chill down your spine, looking over your shoulder to spot what the cause was.

A robed figure was gliding behind you, white screaming mask tilting to the side a bit as you finally noticed it. Or, them rather. Your eyes widen, heart skipping a beat as the realization that you've been silently skating around with a serial killer settles in.

You're not too far from the opening, picking up speed to try and make it back before you're the next body on the news. The figure follows close behind, leaving a few inches between your bodies before grabbing you, quickly moving to slam you into the nearest wall with a painful amount of force.

You gasp, trying to catch a bit of air back as they stare at you; the silver blade of a hunting knife reflecting the neon lights. The music still plays in your headphones, providing a mocking soundtrack for what may be your final moments. Eyes closed, you brace yourself for death..

But it never came.

You open your eyes slowly to find them just.. Staring at you, almost admiring your frame.. The knife has switched hands, allowing their free one to ghost over your cheek and neck. The gloves are oddly warm. A thumbs moved to trace over your lip, parting them slightly as you keep your gaze on the white plastic.

They're silent, hand glossing over your waist and resting comfortably on your hip. You feel something slip into your pocket, attention being snapped to it. The second you look up again, they're gone; a pair of skates left on the counter across the way.

You cast your gaze back at the paper, unfolding it and scanning over the Messily written words:

"I had fun tonight. Expect a call later, and maybe we can even do this again. <3"

You fold it back up, multiple thoughts in your head as you skate over towards the exit, soon slippingt he skates off and heading towards the front doors. You look back at the now empty rink one final time before heading out to your car.

Maybe you'll stay just a little later next time.

#ghostface dbd #ghostface #danny johnson #dead by daylight #danny johnson x reader #ghostface x reader #scream

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the-boy-meets-evil · 8 months

Text

can't run away | vernon

summary: running is the only life you've ever known. running away from your home planet, running away from anyone that gets too close, running away from officials, running from other smugglers. it's not easy but it's better than the pain that comes with staying in place and definitely better than getting caught. everyone has heard of you but nobody actually knows you. the last thing you want is to take on a passenger, especially when that passenger is a robot from one of the most popular groups in the universe. why would you let him stay when nobody else ever has? pairing: ai!vernon x smuggler!afab!reader word count: 15.6k genre: sci-fi au, angst, fluff (?) warnings/content: vernon is an automaton, reader is a smuggler (across the galaxy), references to injury (when vernon escapes, to reader as well), questionable methods of finishing a job (reader), suggestions/implications of sex/hook-ups (reader x unnamed characters), questionable legality on the jobs, exploring emotions for automatons, fights, open/ambiguous ending rating: mature (this is SFW but i prefer only people 18+ interacting with my blog) a/n: thank you so much to @idyllic-ghost for this incredible collab and this banner. i don't think i would've written a sci-fi fic otherwise and it's been so much fun. check out all the other amazing fics here! also thank you to the loml @hot-soop for *volunteering* to read through this fic. you're an angel. finally, thank you to @strawberryya for letting me use your brain and your planet.

“100 years ago it was thought that the Earth, as we know it, would disintegrate. That the sun would implode and leave everything in darkness. Miraculously, it didn’t. Due to some external force, human scientists still haven’t agreed upon what it exactly was, none of the planets in our former solar system were ever destroyed. The Earth, along with the other planets, were pushed away from each other, and ended up in different parts of the universe. Earth just happened to come to a solar system with alien life. At first, we were cautious, and people were prepared to fight. However, the aliens were welcoming of our planet. Those of us who didn’t die from ‘The Great Journey’ or from trying to fight the aliens, were welcomed into the new solar system. Soon enough, we had integrated completely, and we received materials and assistance from our sister-planets in exchange for human labor. What humans knew of technology was very limited, but with the resources of the aliens we created artificial life forms. We named these robots Automaton, and they served as workers when humans couldn’t. Eventually, there was no need for human labor at all. To pay back for the help the aliens gave us, we used Automatons. With the extensive development of these robots, we eventually managed to create artificial sentient life. These Automatons were human-like in looks and had human consciousness, but they could not bleed and were stronger than we ever could be. At the present time, there are even different levels of Automatons. Level 3 robots are the workers, level 2 robots are the caretakers, and level 1 robots are the celebrities. The Automaton music group 53V3NT33N (SEVENTEEN) is made up of 13 members, all very talented, and all representing two human states of mind.”

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

“Chirron,” you call and wait for his hum to let you know he’s listening, “we have to go. Like 10 minutes ago.”

“Why don’t you try something helpful?” he shoots back at you.

“The last time I got near the controls, you slapped my hands and shrieked,” you answer.

“I did not, it was not a shriek,” he hisses. He’s not really offended, it’s just how the two of you are. You’ve run hundreds of jobs together at this point and there’s nobody else you’d trust. And certainly nobody that’s better at getting your ship in the air and away from trouble. “And it was for a good reason. You’re a menace to society and to the controls, specifically.”

“Every button looks the same,” you huff.

“Will you just shut it for 2 seconds so I get us off this awful planet?” Chirron asks.

“Hey, this is my home planet!” you protest. You’re not sure why you’re distracting him like this when you want to leave just as badly as he does. Need to for the sake of your job.

“I swear to…” he says and stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just a minute, I’m begging you.”

There’s a retort about begging on the tip of your tongue, something you know will get under Chirron’s skin. Something you know better to say and are going to say anyway. Really, what’s the worst he could do? Except just as you’re about to say it, someone comes rushing in through the open door of your ship.

Chirron seems to register the newcomer, but says nothing. In fact, he goes back to working on one of the control panels that’s currently preventing you from leaving the planet. That leaves you to deal with this new person. Or…no, could he be an automaton? There’s something familiar about him that you can’t quite place. There’s also something that doesn’t scream human about him. Maybe the blue hair or the way he moves through expressions. He looks relieved now even though you’re a complete stranger.

“Please, help me,” he rushes out, already moving from relief into something else. He reaches out to take your hands in his and you barely have time to register it. “I’m begging you, I’ll do anything.”

Your first instinct is to flatly tell him that you won’t help him, that you can’t. After all, you’re not exactly the type anyone looks to when they need help. A fact Chirron is always quick to point out. But, you also see that this could present an interesting opportunity for someone such as you. And maybe now you can make some begging jokes without getting your head bitten off.

“And just what are you willing to do?” you ask, arch an eyebrow as you watch the expressions cross his face.

“Oh, well I can…you know, I could…” he sputters along and you laugh.

Just as you’re about to take pity on him, you see a rush of guards coming through the spaceport. It’s the last thing you want to see. Your papers are solid and you’ve already made the very real excuse of needing to fix one of your systems before leaving the planet. Then again, you’ve had enough close calls for a lifetime and you’re not really looking to add another one to that list.

As you watch, the guards talk to some other people milling about in the spaceport. The man who rudely burst onto your ship seems to catch that you’re watching something and immediately ducks down. If you weren’t a little nervous about the guards coming aboard, it would be comical. He’s literally not even hiding behind anything.

“They lookin’ for you?” you ask quietly and clock the answer in his eyes before he even opens his mouth.

“I think so,” he says.

You sigh and ignore Chirron looking back at you. “Back that way, there’s a door in the wall on your left. Nobody ever knows it’s a door, but run your hand on the wall, you’ll feel it.”

“What?” he asks.

“Go,” you hiss and walk towards the open door.

It’s perfecting timing, too, because two of the guards are approaching. One of them, thankfully, is one you’ve dealt with before. And it’s mostly been positive. At least you know he can’t seem to stay away when you breeze in and out of this part of the planet. With any luck, he’s in a good mood.

“Thought that was your ship,” he says with a smirk, ignoring the look from the other guard.

“Guilty,” you smile. “Always nice to see you, Kyun.”

“You two know each other?” the other guard asks skeptically.

“Sure, she runs cargo,” Changkyun says. You can’t fully fight the smile because you know it means you’re safe after all. The two of you have spent enough time in his bed, post hook-up, for him to know that’s not the whole story.

“And I would be gone already because we’re behind schedule, but we had a little mechanical trouble,” you say, laying on the act a little thick.

“Need a hand?” Changkyun offers.

“We’re supposed to be asking about someone,” the other guard reminds him.

“It’s fine, we’ve got it handled anyway,” you say and send Changkyun a flirty smile before turning to his partner. “Ask away.”

“Have you seen an automaton running through here? Blue hair, about this tall, wearing a plain white shirt,” he asks and you pretend to think for a second.

“There’s been a lot of people coming through,” you offer apologetically. “I think I did see someone with bright hair rushing off in that direction. Could’ve been blue.”

“You’re sure about the hair color?” the other guard asks.

“Not really, it happened fast. But it could’ve been blue,” you shrug and then look like you’ve realized something. “Wait, there isn’t a reward is there?”

“Last I heard, you were doing fine,” Changkyun says and you smile as his partner walks off to share your info with a group of guards.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” you say with a wink.

“Make sure you come by next time you’re here,” Changkyun says with that look you’ve seen before.

“I will, promise,” you say.

“Have a safe flight!” he calls. He’s already heading off to join his partner.

When he looks back, you wave. For good measure, you look over your shoulder like Chirron said something and nod. You’re closing the hatch with a last wave to Changkyun. Once you’ve also made sure the shields to protect anyone from seeing in are activated, you head back to find your new friend.

“Seems like people are looking for you,” you say when you open the door.

You don’t bother waiting to see if he’s going to follow you when you walk back towards Chirron at the front of the ship. The blue haired man, who still hasn’t introduced himself, follows you instantly and then ducks when he sees the windshield in front of him.

“They can’t see you,” Chirron says in a bored voice. Mostly likely unimpressed by a decision you don’t actually remember making.

“You almost done?” you ask again.

“Yes, actually, that little disruption got you to leave me alone long enough to fix it,” he says with a glare at you. “Now be quiet again.”

“So rude,” you say quietly without any bite.

“Control, Vega Three requesting clearance for take off,” Chirron states over the communication system.

“Clearance granted,” comes an immediate response.

“Finally,” you say and take your seat next to Chirron. You twist over your shoulder to look at your unexpected guest. “I’d buckle in if I were you, sweetheart.”

“Are you…are we taking off?” he asks, seemingly unable to sit still.

“Unless you had a different idea when you tried to sneak onto a ship,” you respond.

“But you don’t…” he begins.

“You’ve got your reasons for wanting to get off this planet, and we’ve got ours, best to discuss those once we’re actually off the planet. So, strap in,” you instruct.

The stranger in question doesn’t need to be told a third time, thankfully. He slides into the seat behind Chirron and buckles himself in. With a sideways glance at you to confirm he’s clear, Chirron uses the recently repaired controls to get you going and safely off this planet. Even though it’s your home planet, and you definitely can linger, this job is a little sensitive. You really can’t afford to be late on the delivery, though your reputation with this buyer is spotless. It only stays spotless as long as you finish your jobs as quickly and discreetly as possible.

If you expect the stranger to say something as Chirron navigates you out of the spaceport and into the air, you’re left wanting. When you look back, you find him relaxed back into the chair. It’s like he’s completely at ease. Or maybe just feeling a lot of relief that you let him stay on board. Or even relief that you lied to the guards. Something you do often, though he doesn’t know that. His eyes close as Chirron types in the course to autopilot until you get close to your destination.

While the stranger rests, something kind of surprising to you given that he doesn’t know you at all, you briefly wonder if it’s sleep or just a sort of recharging. Chirron claims your attention and you quietly discuss your plans for once you get to your destination. Salax is known for…discretion. People don’t tend to ask that many questions there because of the types of humans and aliens alike that follow their desires there. But, since it’s a place for your deepest desires, people are also wary of suspicious behavior. You’ve spent plenty of time there, both for your own pleasure or, like now, for a job.

The downside to this planet, though? It’s the type of place no robot would ever be seen. Certainly not a Level 1. They’re far too pure for that. And judging by the number of guards employed, and the fact that you were on Earth, you’re willing to bet your new passenger is a Level 1. So that’s going to add its own unique set of challenges. Something that has you buzzing with adrenaline, but has Chirron looking sterner than usual.

“We need to know who he is,” Chirron repeats quietly.

“And we will,” you answer easily.

“If he’s a Level 1…” Chirron starts before trailing off.

“What? You’ll turn me over for the reward you asked about?” the stranger asks. You’re a little startled because you didn’t realize he had woken up. Or stopped resting, whatever.

Chirron scoffs as he takes in your amusement. “No.”

“It’s not a ridiculous question,” he insists.

“It is if you know her,” Chirron says and nods in your direction.

“Why? You’re wondering if I’m a Level 1 so you know how high the reward is,” he insists and you finally take pity on him.

“No, I have no intention to collect some reward for you, if one even exists,” you confirm.

“But why?” he asks. He’s fidgeting in his seat like he can’t sit still. It’s interesting to see when he was resting so peacefully without moving.

“Because,” Chirron interjects, clearly intent to take away any fun, “she prefers not to deal in things as meaningless as currency or credits.”

“How do you live?” he asks, genuine curiosity coloring his face.

“I’ve got enough credits to keep us going for years,” you answer vaguely.

“What else is there to work for?” the stranger wonders.

You turn your seat fully so it’s facing him and lean forward, dropping your voice a little. “So many things, sweetheart. Favors, information, gossip…secrets.”

His eyes go wide, like it’s something he’s never considered before. And he probably hasn’t. If he’s a Level 1, and you’d bet your ship that he is at this point, then this is so wildly out of normality for him. The Level 1s are pristine, like the celebrities of the galaxy living in luxury with someone to help keep them functioning at the highest levels. They’ll never see the types of jobs that Level 3s see, those jobs that nobody else wants to do. They’ll never work the way that Level 2s do, or have to work for humans in that way. Which isn’t to say their lives are perfect. It’s just not the kind of life where they see the dirty types of jobs that you and Chirron are used to.

“Why don’t you give me a name, sweetheart? Unless you prefer the pet name, which is fine by me,” you say.

He hesitates, before saying, “Vernon.”

You and Chirron look at each other, like you’re both wondering why this automaton seems familiar and why everyone is looking for him.

“Well, V3RN0N actually, from 53V3NT33N,” Vernon adds.

And that makes everything fall into place. Not that you pay much attention to groups of performers like that, it’s kind of hard when you’re constantly on the move, but everyone in the galaxy knows them. Everyone in the galaxy also knows that the members just…disappeared. There isn’t much information, at least not from reputable sources, about what happened. Thankfully for you, you don’t really deal in reputable sources. So you’ve heard your fair share about the escapes, each tale sounding a little wilder than the last. You at least know someone is desperate to find all 13 of the automatons, given how popular the group is. Or maybe it’s because they’ve resorted to asking in places they’d normally never be caught to find information.

When you assure Vernon that your previous statement still stands, that you’re far more interested in your form of currency than any reward you’d get from turning him in, he relaxes a bit again. He’s worried, still, that he admitted to complete strangers who he really is, but you give him your real names. You tell him what you actually do, despite Chirron’s protests. That’s when he starts telling you all about the escape. The way that he got away, the way he doesn’t know what happened to his other members, the way he hopes they’re all okay too.

It’s a little depressing and a lot too close to home for you to hear what life was actually like for Vernon and the other Automatons in his group. Not that you’ve ever been famous or had people across the galaxy expecting you to perform, but you know a thing or two about someone else making your decisions. Chirron knows it too, knows your story intimately, so he probably also sees where this is going before you do.

It’s difficult, you think, to listen to Vernon talk about his experiences and why he chose to run. Humans and aliens had worked together to create these new beings. Perfected them until they were indistinguishable from humans and even gave them emotions. Yet beings like Vernon and his group are expected to just perform. To essentially serve at the wishes of the public for entertainment value. Have to uphold the highest standards and can’t ever do something that would look bad. Have to remain pure, whatever that means.

From there, you come up with a plan. One that will at least give you time to come up with some next steps on Salax. Vernon is restless again when you share your destination. Of course he’s never been there, but he knows all about it. It’s hard to tell if he’s just nervous that he’ll look out of place or if he’s curious about what actually happens there. In either case, you need to make sure he’s prepared for the stop. There isn’t much choice anyway, you’re on a schedule and he’s just an unexpected passenger. Before he can continue protesting, you send him to the back of the ship to look through the clothes and accessories. Anything to hide who he is.

“He’s not you, you know,” Chirron offers.

“I know that,” you answer.

“Do you?” From anyone else, the question might sound accusatory. From Chirron, it only sounds concerned.

You sigh. “I do, but what they put him through is awful.”

“He’s an Automaton,” Chirron reminds you.

“I’m well aware,” you say with a slight snap to your words. “You heard him, though. And you’ve seen the Automatons we’ve come across. It’s different.”

“Does he know what you’re going to tell them when we get to Salax?” Chirron asks, switching tactics.

“Do you?” you ask back.

“An overly sheltered Automaton on Salax?” Chirron raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re going to bring him along as your ‘date’ who’s just testing the waters to see if it’s his thing.”

“I am not that predictable,” you retort. But you don’t disagree because you can’t.

“What else would you say?” Chirron asks.

“I don’t know, I just hope it works,” you say.

“Luckily for him, you’re a frequent visitor,” Chirron says with a shrug.

You decide to let that comment lie. Partly because you don’t want to argue with Chirron too loudly and draw Vernon’s attention. Partly because he’s not entirely wrong. You do like to spend time on Salax, looking for things that you can’t find when you’re constantly on the move. Looking for people that don’t expect you to be there when they need you. That’s something you can’t do. Chirron would ask ‘can’t or won’t’, but the difference hardly matters.

After another minute you go and check on Vernon because you really do need to get going. For a number of reasons. He’s dressed and looking like he’ll at least moderately fit in at the club you’re taking him to. It’s clear he still wants to stay on the ship, or to go with Chirron, but you remind him that won’t work. Chirron is leaving the ship to get supplies for after your errands and to make sure you’re ready to leave the planet. Even without Vernon, you don’t want to linger. Not this time. Going with Chirron to run errands would be even more suspicious. He so rarely has anyone around when he’s anywhere, let alone Salax. He keeps to himself so the appearance of a beautiful stranger would be out of character. No, it’s much easier to have Vernon with you. You’re much more likely to have someone around on this planet. And you’re certainly had enough beautiful strangers with you on Salax to blend in. You ignore the way Vernon reacts each time you call him beautiful because, really, it’s just a fact.

Vernon tags along a half step behind you when you leave the ship. You’re considering telling him to walk beside you when you think you might as well sell it. If you’re going to be telling people that he’s your pet, just someone you picked up for the time being, then it makes sense that he wouldn’t walk quite beside you.

This club is so familiar to you. Once you’re inside, you make your way to one of the back rooms, the same room you always meet your client in every time she hires you. Nobody asks questions as it is, but certainly not of her when she books private rooms. You know she’ll be seeing someone else before or after you. Or both, knowing her.

Thankfully, Vernon keeps his head down like you told him to while you’re winding your way through. You offer the occasional smile or nod as you see people that you know, people you’ve worked with professionally and people you know personally. Some look at your companion, but nobody says anything. Both you and Chirron were right. Though this puts Vernon in contact with more people, it’s far less conspicuous. Besides, with his hat and clothing, nobody would guess he was a Level 1.

Circe is waiting in her back room, sprawled out on her lounger when you enter, surprisingly alone. Then again, she probably got word when you landed and then again when you entered the club. As usual, she looks completely stunning in her figure hugging outfit. It’s enough to send anyone’s mind into overdrive.

“My, my, darling,” she says as she takes in both you and your companion. “I would scold you for keeping me waiting, but you’ve brought company.”

“You know I’d never dream of keeping you waiting,” you say with a smile at her. “We were…held up a bit. Had some ship trouble.”

“And picked up a new toy,” she comments. “Please, sit.”

“Ah yes, well he’s…curious about expanding his horizons,” you say with a glance at him. The two of you sit in front of her.

“Maybe we can share,” Circe offers and you chuckle.

“Circe, love, he’s nowhere near ready for that,” you answer.

“Always keeping your prettiest toys from me,” Circe pouts.

“Now you know that’s not true,” you chastise. “The last time I was here for fun rather than work…”

“Was very fun, that’s true,” Circe concedes. “Should I assume you’re not staying around this time, then?”

“I’m afraid not,” you say and inject as much sincerity as you can.

“Would that happen to be because he’s one of those escaped Automatons?” Circe plays it off like idle curiosity and you only smile fondly.

“If he were, what kind of fool would I be to bring him here?” you wonder.

“The kind that does trust me despite your insistence that you trust nobody other than yourself and Chirron,” she answers without missing a beat.

“Well,” you shrug.

“I thought…” Vernon says quietly to you.

“Relax, whoever you are is no concern of mine. She knows I won’t blow your secret because I know that there’s nobody better in the galaxy than her at what she does,” Circe says softly.

“You flatter me,” you say. This time the sincerity comes in earnest.

Circe waves it off like it’s nothing. You also know she means what she said. “I assume you have what I sent you off for?”

“Of course,” you respond and reach into your bag.

“This is why I protect her,” Circe says, leaning forward like she’s sharing a secret with Vernon. “I’ve never met anyone that can do a sensitive job for me like she can.”

“And have you met a lot of people?” Vernon asks.

Circe’s eyes sparkle. “You may be one of the only ones who can understand when I say thousands, probably.”

You watch the interaction for a moment because it’s so mundane, so simple. Shaking your head to clear the scene, you hand over a small device. Circe takes it and examines it for a second, looking over the markings on the side. Her smile is almost instant.

“This looks full,” she comments.

“It is,” you answer.

“How sensitive is the material?” Circe asks.

You hesitate and look over at Vernon. “I wouldn’t watch it with just anyone. There’s…well I don’t have to tell you that people get more honest when they’re in compromising situations.”

This seems to amuse Circe as she watches you form your words. It’s different from how you usually are and it’s entertaining. “Are you in it?”

“No,” you answer with a little laugh. “Someone owed me a very big favor. Well owes me several favors, actually. He’s not off the hook yet.”

“I’ve known you for years and I still don’t think I understand the extent of your network,” Circe observes.

“Probably not,” you acknowledge.

“And what about you, my little mystery, what do you owe her?” Circe asks Vernon.

“I’m…” he starts, looks over at you for guidance. “I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s dangerous,” Circe adds.

“We haven’t really figured…” Vernon begins, still very nervous. “She got me off Earth.”

“That’s actually part of what I needed to talk to you about. I need to get him an introduction to someone,” you say. Circe’s eyes turn back to you.

“To whom, darling?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “I need a recommendation. Someone that you trust that can help him disappear. Help him reappear as someone new.”

Circe regards the pair of you for a moment. Probably a moment too long for Vernon’s comfort. “I can’t help you.”

Your frustration gets the better of you before you even consider the why. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Pumpkin,” Circe says, full of affection and patience that you’re not sure you deserve. “I know the kind of favors you’re offering for something like this. I’d be stupid to turn it down if I could help you, but unfortunately I like you too much to pull the wool over on you.”

“Why can’t you help?” This, at least, comes out calm.

“I’m not sure where to turn, not now at least. There are too many people looking for him,” Circe admits.

You sigh heavily at that. In the seven years that you’ve known Circe, this is a first. It’s the first time you’ve ever presented her with a problem that she couldn’t solve. It leaves you feeling a little helpless, a feeling that you really don’t enjoy. Maybe she takes a little bit of pity on you because she does tell you to see one of her workers before you leave. He can help Vernon look a little different, at least. That’s all she can do, though, and she knows she’s still going to owe you after this.

So you’re going to have to take Vernon with you, at least for now. You feel some amount of responsibility, even though he jumped onto your ship. But he’s far too sheltered for this life, too innocent, too naive. He isn’t hard around the edges like you, doesn’t know that he can’t trust anyone, hasn’t been hurt by people he depended on.

You finish up the conversation with Circe and say your goodbyes. It completely slips your notice that Vernon isn’t right behind you when you head out the door.

“Wait a moment,” Circe says, lightly grabbing Vernon’s arm.

He looks down at the place her hand touches his arm before meeting her eyes again. The confusion on his face must be clear.

“Be careful with her,” Circe says. Vernon’s eyebrows only knit further in confusion. “I love her dearly, but it always comes at a price. She’s the kind of girl you’d name one of those hurricanes after back on Earth.”

“I’m not sure…” Vernon tries to begin. Circe waves a hand to quiet him.

“She’s wild and wonderful,” Circe says with a soft smile that only lingers a second. “But she will destroy everything in her path.”

Vernon is about to say something when you pop your head back through the door. “There you are, come on. We should really get going.”

Vernon looks back at Circe, tries to make some kind of sense of what she said. It’s pointless, though, and instead he just follows you out without a word.

If Vernon is expecting you to head straight back to the ship, he’s mistaken. You wind through the hallways like you’ve been through a hundred times before. Which is entirely possible, it’s not like Vernon knows much about you or your history. He just knows he couldn’t navigate back out if he got lost, so he stays close. It’s not that has a bad memory, it’s just that his brain is currently on overdrive. He’s thinking about what Circe said about you. But he’s also just taking in all the things he never even knew existed.

It doesn’t seem like you’re heading anywhere, even when you stop. The room is empty except for a large desk in the center. Vernon wants to ask what it is you’re doing. One look at your face tells him not to. You quickly reach into one of the drawers, like it’s the most normal thing, and pull out another device that looks like the one you gave to Circe. You stow the device in a pocket that Vernon hadn’t even noticed and make your way back out without another word.

In fact, you don’t speak again until you’re back on the ship. Vernon has a second to note that Chirron is missing before you head to the control panel and start pressing buttons. The door closes and something seems to shift with the windshields. It’s like the ship is going into some sort of shut down. You walk back past Vernon to a table and slide into one side of the booth. Vernon takes the cue and slides in across from you.

“So that didn’t exactly go as planned,” you observe.

“You were expecting her to help,” Vernon says and you nod.

“Circe knows everyone, has eyes and ears everywhere, so it’s…well I don’t want to scare you, but it’s concerning that she can’t help hide you,” you say.

“Maybe I should just go back,” Vernon wonders out loud.

“Look, you ran away for a reason and I know the kind of desperation it takes to just…run onto some random ship,” you let him know. “I’m not really sure why I’m helping, but I’m going to help. There’s just one rule.”

“What is it?” Vernon asks. He already knows he’s going to agree.

“Whatever I say, you have to follow,” you say. It sounds so simple, Vernon is sure there’s some kind of catch when you continue. “If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say leave me behind, you have to.”

“But…” Vernon starts and you shake your head.

“I’m going to try to find a solution, but I have to keep working too. And this isn’t exactly a safe line of work,” you tell him.

“I’d gathered,” he says before he can stop himself. You chuckle.

“At least you’re observant,” you say.

Since Chirron isn’t back yet, you send off a quick message to him that you’re going off the ship for one more quick stop. That you’ll be back within the hour and ready to go if he is. With that out of the way, you take Vernon to see Circe’s friend about blending in a little better. You’re just hoping that this isn’t going to be a waste. And also hoping that nobody recognizes him in the meantime because the last thing you need is for your name to be plastered next to his.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

Two hours later, you’re all back on the ship and taking off. With a quick message to Circe, you thank her and request that she keep you updated if she hears anything interesting. Thankfully, she seems to know what that means and there’s nobody better to keep an eye out. Vernon looks different, too. His hair is a different color and style, his eyes are no longer the same shade, his clothing is entirely different, even some of the shape of his face is different. Despite his protests, you also got him a face mask and sunglasses to wear. Although he thinks that it’ll make him stand out, you insist that in your line of work, it’s standard.

Although you know you need to talk, you tell Vernon that it’s time for you all to get at least a little sleep. Chirron put it on the slow track to allow everyone a chance to rest before getting to their next stop. It’s standard practice for the two of you, but entirely foreign to Vernon.

Once you wake up again, it’s time to talk. “We need a story.”

You, Chirron, and Vernon are sitting at the table in the main part of the ship. The ship itself is on autopilot to your next stop, which Chirron says will take at least 3 more hours.

“Better late than never, I guess,” Chirron says.

“Would you stop being grumpy?” you fire back.

“No,” Chirron answers without hesitation.

“Uh, a story for what?” Vernon interrupts.

“Who you are and why we’ve let you join our missions.” Chirron gives the straightforward answer before you can be a smartass.

“Does there need to be a story?” Vernon asks, causing Chirron to sigh.

“Yes, there does,” is all Chirron says.

You shoot him a look. “Our entire livelihood depends on us staying off the wrong radars, which we’ve been good at. But it also depends on our current…clients continuing to trust us. You’re new. And while our reputation is excellent, we tend to deal with a lot of people who value privacy and secrecy over everything.”

“So she can’t just tell them we’ve picked up a rogue celebrity on the run and just go with it,” Chirron says.

“Maybe I should just…” Vernon starts.

“What? Get off the ship and try to hide on your own?” you wonder.

“I don’t know,” Vernon says.

“Remember what I said when you got on the ship? The one rule is to do what I say?” Vernon nods at your question. “That’s still in effect, sweetheart.”

“So what’s the plan?” Chirron asks you.

“What are you good at? Besides singing and dancing?” You direct this question at Vernon.

“Rapping, not singing,” Vernon corrects quietly. “What?” you ask.

“I rapped, I didn’t sing,” Vernon tells you. “And I produced some of our tracks. In my free time, when I actually got it, I played a lot of games.”

You’re looking at Vernon like he just handed you the easiest line and he doesn’t realize it. His head is down, he’s not confident about anything he said. But you know better. You know that he just handed you the perfect solution.

“You any good with tech, then?” You try to throw out the question casually.

Chirron actually approaches a smile then. He knows where this is going and enjoys the way Vernon’s head pops up. It’s almost endearing the way his eyes go wide and he looks innocent again.

“Uh, yeah, I’m decent with it. I, well I used to try and practice any time I could get my hands on any tech. I had to use all the programs to produce the songs, so I got pretty good at it,” Vernon says.

“Chirron, I’d like you to meet our new tech specialist,” you announce and Chirron chuckles.

“Bout time I didn’t have to stumble my way through reprogramming shit,” Chirron says.

“I don’t know,” Vernon says.

“Look, I’ve got plenty of old tech on the ship that you can practice on. After the next job, we’d planned a break anyway. So, for real, I won’t pick up anything new…” you start to outline.

“Thank fuck,” Chirron whispers, silenced by your look.

“And we can lay low at our place while you figure out if you’re really our new tech guy,” you say.

“Your place?” Vernon asks.

“Yeah, I mean we’re not always on the move,” you say with a shrug.

“Okay, might as well try, I guess,” Vernon says.

“That’s the spirit,” you encourage.

Vernon shits in his seat and winces. It’s the first time that you’re actually looking at the way his body moves. You hadn’t even looked when he changed or when he had his appearance worked on, hadn’t checked for injuries or done any of that. You’re not used to having someone new around. For all yours and Chirron’s faults, both of you trust the other and know well enough to admit if you’ve been hurt. This new addition doesn’t.

He winces again and runs a hand over his chest, something he clearly hopes you don’t notice. You do, though. His eyes meet yours and he looks scared, like he’s still not sure if he can trust you. Like he’s still on edge with every move.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle so you don’t scare him.

“This is all a bit weird to get used to,” Vernon answers.

“That’s not what I meant,” you level.

“It’s nothing,” he insists.

“Vernon, if we’re all gonna be in this, then you have to tell us what’s going on,” you say with as much care as you can muster. Certainly more care than Chirron is used to.

“It’s not that bad, it could be a lot worse, it’s just…well it’s the communication device that I used to have. My manager, he had to stay behind, he’d been loosening it for weeks so it wasn’t as painful when it came out but I had to run before he could finish. And I almost got caught trying to have someone fix it for me,” Vernon says.

“You’re going to need to let us see,” Chirron says. Vernon looks between the two of you before he lifts his shirt over his head. Beneath it, he’s wearing a bandage that wraps around his body. You lean forward to start unwinding the wrapping, needing to get a look. It’s weird, you think, to brush your fingers against his skin and have it feel so much like your own. Weirder still is seeing the partial hole leftover in his chest. You can see where some of the edges need to be smoothed and where he needs to keep it covered. Vernon doesn’t seem nervous under your touch, which reminds you that he’s not actually human, despite how much his upper body seems like he would be.

“Chirron, can you go get me my toolkit?” you ask.

“What are you going to do?” Vernon asks suspiciously.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make it more comfortable while we’re on the ship and then we can figure out next moves once we land,” you say.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Vernon protests and you just raise an eyebrow.

Chirron reappears with a box and stifles a chuckle at the scene. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“How do you know what to do?” Vernon tries a different question.

“She worked as a Automaton mechanic for almost a year,” Chirron answers, taking your fun of torturing him away.

“I thought you were a criminal,” Vernon admits and this does make Chirron laugh. You join in.

“I’m a lot of things, sweetheart, I’ve lived a very full life,” you say and don’t offer any further explanations.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

Back home, you get settled and suggest you all get some rest before you decide on next moves. You know that Vernon doesn’t actually sleep now, but you also know he has to recharge. Which is all sleep is anyway, so you send him off to his own area to recharge. Once you’re all awake again, Chirron helps you come up with a more permanent solution to the whole where Vernon’s communication device used to be. It’s painful, you know that it’s painful for him and you wish you could help. But you can’t. All you can do is help him through it and know that when you’re done, he shouldn’t be in pain anymore. He takes even longer to recharge after you’re done. When he emerges, though, he does feel a lot better and he’s incredibly thankful.

It’s been just over three weeks since Vernon ran onto your ship without looking back. Just about three weeks since you finished the last job after leaving Salax. Chirron has loved every minute of getting to take the break. In fact, you’ve gone entire days without seeing him while he takes time for himself. It’s one of the longer breaks you’ve taken and he’s actually enjoying it.

You, on the other hand, don’t like to be still. Don’t like to be stationary. It gives you entirely too much time to think and to remember all the reasons you’re in this position now. For the first few days, you tried to give Vernon his space like Chirron. He had more tech and gadgets than he’d seen in his entire existence, which is good. It seemed like he was enjoying getting to work on them and learn as he went. Annoyingly, he took to it almost immediately.

But then he seemed to realize that you didn’t like to be left to your own devices. That you’re the opposite of Chirron and would probably never stop moving if you had the choice. So he asks if you would be willing to keep him company while he works through things, insists that he doesn’t need silence in order to work. Actually, he thinks that he’s gotten a good handle on it and it would be better having you around. Even though you look skeptical, you take him up on the offer.

While Vernon works (and occasionally curses at something, using a swear word he learned from you), he asks about your life. Usually you keep all of that to yourself. It’s not really comfortable for you to share the parts of your past. But this isn’t a normal situation. Meeting someone like Vernon isn’t an everyday occurrence. So you find yourself telling him things that it took you months or years to tell Chirron without giving it a second thought. Everything just feels…easy. There’s no other word. Vernon has experienced things you couldn’t ever imagine, but he’s still so new at people and interactions. There’s no fear of judgment with him. It’s almost refreshing.

Vernon listens intently as you talk about your childhood and how you got to where you are now. It’s hard for him to really imagine having parents like yours that loved you and cared for you. That’s not an experience or relationship he’s had, even as close as he is to his other members. When you start to talk about things getting harder, you pick up a communication device to start fidgeting with it. Something you may not even realize but Vernon has learned enough of human emotion to know you’re uncomfortable. Not so uncomfortable that you stop talking, just unused to talking about this part of your past. The emotion is clear on your face when you talk about losing your parents, even for Vernon to pick out. Although you insist they weren’t perfect, they were all you had and you were way too young to try and make it on your own. Yet that’s exactly what you had to do. Exactly what landed you here.

It surprises Vernon when you’re equally as interested in hearing about his experiences up until this point. About how others interacted with him, about what his emotions are like, about just generally how he feels. Which catches him off guard. He can’t remember a time in his existence where someone has actually wanted to know how he was doing in that way. Sure, people cared that he was performing at the top level and there were plenty across the galaxy that claimed to care about him. But Vernon could not recall someone asking him how he felt about any of it like he had a choice to feel anything at all. Not until you, that is.

So that made Vernon want to talk. He started at the easiest place to tell you about performing and about his members. Even with the space and distance from them, he thinks he did genuinely care for them, genuinely enjoy being around them. He realizes that he enjoyed the performing aspect of it too. What he found he didn’t enjoy was the control and the treatment behind the scenes. He was always a commodity, always expected to do as he was told. Never permitted to see other parts of the world, interact with others the way he might want to. None of his time was ever truly free, his every move was watched. It was fine, at the beginning of Vernon’s consciousness, to live that way.

However, as Vernon became more aware of the universe around him, he began to feel that he was missing something. He wanted to see more, know more, experience more. It made him restless. Sure, he’s not human, or even alien, and he can’t bleed or die the way others can. But he was given consciousness, given the ability to think and move freely, the ability to form bonds with others, the ability to question. With that had come the thought of something more than he currently had. All of that had led him to this moment.

It’s hard, hearing about the life Vernon led. But you can also see how talking about his feelings with someone that cares changes him. He’s able to sort through feelings that he never considered before. It’s really nice to be able to offer that to him, to be able to support him in such a human way. Whatever else is true about the Automatons, they clearly have enough consciousness that they deserve to be treated far differently.

It also naturally flows into you sharing what work actually looks like for you and Chirron. And Vernon now that he’s joining the team. You outline the jobs you take, the types of clients you have, the methods that you use to get a job done. Vernon seems a little wide-eyed at some of the jobs you take or how you get them done. But that’s when you remind him that getting a job done by any means necessary is kind of your whole motto. He doesn’t have to worry, you’ll never put him or Chirron in a compromising situation and never ask either of them to do something they’re not comfortable with. If it’s something…compromising, you’ll always do that yourself or call in a favor from your network. Although Vernon doesn’t look like he likes the answer, he accepts it.

Neither you or Vernon notice the moment when your days shift. What started as the two of you going about your days separately before ending up chatting about something turned into being together throughout the day, not even really tracking the last time Chirron had been by. Although you assured Vernon it wasn’t really an issue, both you and Chirron wore bracelets with trackers in them so you’d always know where the other was. That’s a relief, because honestly Vernon likes this comfort between you and him. He does ask if he should get a bracelet too and you say that you’ll get him one as well.

Finally, though, all good things must come to an end. You manage to call Chirron back so that you can move forward with your plan. Everyone is still looking for Vernon and his other members, but it seems that nobody has reported any sightings. At least not of Vernon.

“Are you ready to move back out?” you ask Chirron over dinner.

“If we must,” he sighs. Then he turns to Vernon. “Though I should thank you, actually, she’s never stayed still for this long.”

“Not like she’s stayed still while we’ve been here,” Vernon offers.

“Hey,” you protest.

“You haven’t,” Vernon doubles down. He’s different now, much more comfortable pushing back against you like an equal rather than someone who just needs to be saved.

“This is still unprecedented for her,” Chirron says. “I was sure we’d be back on a job within the first week.”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt.

“Do you have a job lined up for us?” Chirron asks.

“Several, just deciding the right one. I’m going to reach out to Circe first, though, on the unsecured line just to plant the first seeds,” you say.

This is part of the plan. You trust Circe, despite your insistence that you don’t trust anyone, but you can never be too careful. So you have two ways to talk. One is the most secure, locked down communicator in the galaxy and it’s strictly for sensitive jobs or when you can’t drop in to see her in person. It’s how she’s been keeping you updated on any rumblings about Vernon. The other is for things that wouldn’t matter so much if someone else saw it.

You: hey love, just wanted to let you know that we finally expanded the crew beyond chirron and myself Circe: about time, who’s the new addition? You: he goes by sol, caught the fucker trying to hack one of my comms and offered him a job on the spot Circe: only you Circe: so you finally have a tech specialist? You: looks like it Circe: well stop by the next time you’re in the area, first round’s on me

Vernon offered up that he was also called Hansol as an actual name. Though he preferred to keep going by Vernon, Sol would make for a good name to resurface under. Nobody would be able to put those two together, so it seemed safe while still ringing at least partly true. You taught him that the best cover stories or lies had a little bit of truth to them. It made it easier to navigate.

Predictably, after reaching out to Circe, you got several more job requests. Each one came with a message that they’d heard about the new addition to your team and were looking forward to hiring you even more. Which is exactly what you wanted. Although the other two had initially been skeptical, they had come around. There was undeniable logic in the idea of Vernon hiding in almost plain sight. Nobody in their right mind would go looking for a missing Automaton on a ship of questionable legality that made frequent stops on a planet like Salax. Everything in his programming should have stopped that.

Which just leaves picking a job to start with, something you do all the time. Vernon can tell you’re a bit nervous, and he is too honestly, but it’s going to be okay. It has to be okay.

“I’m just gonna remind you before we head out,” you start, allowing Chirron to go ahead onto the ship, “you can leave any time you want. After the first two jobs, that is.”

“But you’re still gonna be doing this, right?” Vernon asked.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly.

Vernon shrugs. “I’m with you then.”

“Vern,” you caution. He only shakes his head.

“I wanna stick by you, you’re the first person that’s ever given a shit about me,” he says.

That makes your heart skip a beat, which you don’t really have time to consider since you’re supposed to be taking off any minute now. In fact, if you don’t follow Vernon onto the ship, you’re sure that Chirron is going to come storming off to yell at you for holding them up. There are certain windows that you need to operate in. So you file the feeling away to be dealt with later, like so many other things in your life, and get on the ship. You still have a team to run.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

Everything goes fine with Vernon on the team. At least for a while. That’s the good thing about the type of work you do. Nobody really asks that many questions about your team or your backgrounds or where you were before. Nobody really cares, honestly, when your reputation is spotless and you’ve never missed a job. Honestly, you think that this whole situation is pretty perfect. Even Chirron, ever the pessimist, seems satisfied.

Which is why you don’t see the issue coming. You should, you know it’s your job to see every possible outcome and calculate the likelihood of success, but you don’t see this one. Don’t anticipate something going wrong because of Vernon nearly blowing your cover. Don’t even consider that he might have an issue now, when it’s been weeks, with your methods for getting something done. Don’t think that you have to remind him that the number one rule when it comes to jobs is by any means necessary.

Yet that’s what happens. He turns remarkably human, even with the restlessness that you’ve come to expect, when the three of you are sitting with an unsuspecting mark. Another human that doesn’t realize you’re on a job rather than just enjoying some drinks on a night out. You’re getting ready to take the mark to a backroom so that you can get the information you need and Vernon seems like he wants to stop you. Actively tries to delay you, actually.

“Baby, it’s getting a little crowded in here, why don’t you go ahead and see about a room reservation,” you say, offering your most seductive smile. The mark hesitates for a moment, thrown off by Vernon’s last comments.

“I would hate to get in the way…” he begins and your hand is on his arm immediately.

“I assure you, you’re not,” you say with eyes only for him. “I promise, I’ll meet you at the desk in just a minute.”

“How can I say no to that?” he asks, enamored with you again. Like too many before him.

The second he’s out of earshot, Vernon exhales and opens his mouth to say something. You’re quick to plaster on the same smile.

“Chirron, take him back to the ship and wait for me there,” you say quietly, making sure nobody can hear you and nobody realizes you’re unhappy.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just…” Vernon starts.

“Not here,” you respond quickly, keeping the smile in place.

“Okay, but…” Vernon tries again, but Chirron is nudging him out of the booth.

“Let’s get something to eat, I’m starving,” he says without bothering to be quiet. He knows your moves well enough to play along.

“All you think about is food,” you jibe affectionately.

“Don’t take too long, we’ve still got work to do,” Chirron calls over his shoulder as he leads Vernon away.

You watch the two of them disappear into the crowd before you join the mark. Thankfully, he seems so taken by your flirting that he accepts your excuses of your friends being hungry. Everyone gets a little cranky, he sympathizes. The desk attendant offers you the key to one of the private rooms and you lead the way, feeling the mark following you without needing to check.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

It takes a little longer than normal and definitely longer than you’d like before you’re also headed back to the ship. This mark needed a little more foreplay before he was ready to spill the secrets that you need. Or maybe you’re a little off your game from the near issue that Vernon created. You know you’re good, you’ve done this enough times to know that you can be irresistible, but you don’t like unexpected interference. You definitely don’t ever expect that to come from your own team. And you don’t like having to resort to different plans, like you did tonight. Normally, you don’t take it that far. No matter. You got what you needed.

Once you’re heading back to the ship, you fire off a quick message to Chirron to ask if he’s got any food leftover on the ship. He knows it’s code. You’re asking if he actually went to get something to eat or if they went straight back to the ship. His answer comes immediately. They do have food, he lists off what the leftovers are, but you took too long and it might be cold. A suggestion to get your own food if you’re hungry. And also a suggestion to take an extra beat if you need it before you come back to the situation on the ship. So you take heed and pick up some food from your favorite stand before returning to the ship.

Both Chirron and Vernon are sitting in the booth as soon as you turn around from closing the hatch. Chirron looks tired, like he’s run an entire marathon in the time since you parted ways. Vernon looks restless, like he’s barely able to stay seated. Maybe that’s why Chirron looks so worn out.

“What the fuck, Vernon?” you ask as soon as you’re sitting down and setting out your food.

“What do you mean?” he asks as if it’s a completely unreasonable question.

“You nearly blew our cover!” you retort.

“Because you were going to…you were taking him, you were going to…” he stutters out.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was going to fuck him,” you cut over him.

He blanches at the bluntness of your statement. Even after all the time he’s been around you, he’s still surprised. “Well that’s just…you shouldn’t have to do that.”

Your eyes flick to Chirron, as if you’re asking what he’s been doing the last two hours that you were indisposed.

“He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say,” Chirron says. Vernon glances between the two of you. It’s still foreign to him that you can communicate without using any words.

“No, I don’t,” Vernon agrees.

“Well, you should,” you say flatly. “Chirron is just as much in charge as I am. Whatever he says, also goes.”

“Not when it comes to you doing…that,” Vernon says.

“No, that was my choice,” you agree.

“And you shouldn’t have done it,” Vernon argues.

“According to who, Vern?” you ask.

“You just shouldn’t have to…use your body like that,” he says and looks down. He’s embarrassed, but you’re not sure why.

“Sweetheart, you knew the game. I told you that jobs get done by whatever means necessary. I told you that I’d never ask you or Chirron to do what I did, but that if it came to it, I would do it,” you explain.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he says quietly.

“So, what? You thought you’d come in like some Knight to protect my honor and risk blowing the job?” You’re a little incredulous at that.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t like the idea of you and that guy…” Vernon starts and stops. Chirron, thankfully on the edge of the booth, gets up then.

“We need some supplies before we leave here. I’ll go grab them,” he says and leaves before either you or Vernon can object.

“What was the first rule, Vernon?” you ask when the silence gets too deafening.

“That we finish jobs by any means necessary, I know,” he huffs out.

“No, the real first rule. When I agreed to help you,” you prompt, voice soft. He finally looks up at you. He knows and doesn’t want to say. “That, no matter what, you had to listen to what I told you.”

“I know,” he answers like a defeated man.

“Then why didn’t you?” you press.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just…I knew you were about to go into that back room with that guy and I knew how far you’d be willing to go to get what we need and it just…it made me mad.”

“Mad?” you ask. “Why are you mad?”

Vernon is frustrated, you recognize it immediately. Not because of what you did, or not entirely, at least. He’s frustrated because he’s feeling an emotion that he doesn’t understand and doesn’t know how to describe. This isn’t the first time you’ll have to walk him through sorting it out. But it is the first time you’re not sure if you can. You’re nervous about what he’s feeling and why. Nervous about what he’s going to say. Nervous about what he’s actually feeling.

“I don’t know,” he admits. He’s frustrated. He doesn’t like not understanding how he’s feeling. “I just, I had this feeling in my stomach when you started making plans with that guy and I didn’t like it.”

“That’s understandable,” you offer.

“Is it?” His question comes quickly. “I wanted to, I don’t know, I wanted to tell him to get lost or just tell us what we needed to know but stop looking at you like you’re a meal. Or like you’re something to win. You’re not a thing, you’re a person.”

You’re relieved, mostly, because you think you can identify this emotion in a way that doesn’t complicate an already overly complicated situation. Your smile at him is soft, sofer than he’s seen on you since you left the break between jobs. Softer than you give to anyone on jobs and far more genuine. “Yeah, it is understandable. It just means you care, you’re protective over me.”

Vernon seems to consider this for a second like he’s not entirely sure that’s it. Seems to want to say something else. “I do care about you.”

“I know you do,” you say.

“I don’t like feeling like this, like I want to protect you and I know that I can’t,” he admits.

“It’s tough,” you agree and then decide to admit something. “I feel that way about you, too.”

“You do?” Vernon looks hopeful, like you understand.

“Course I do,” you say easily. “I feel, I’m not sure, responsible for you, I guess. Like I threw you into this life without much choice and I worry that I’m putting you in more danger than when you ran onto the ship in the first place.”

“You’re not.” He’s quick to reassure you. “Life in the last month or two with you has been better than my entire existence up to meeting you.”

That shouldn’t warm your heart, shouldn’t make it beat irregularly, shouldn’t make you feel something more than just the care you mentioned. It does, though. It’s making you feel a lot of things that you really don’t need to be feeling.

In contrast, Vernon seems much lighter. It seems like he’s relieved by understanding the care he feels for you is normal and relieved he could let you know how good things have been since he met you. It doesn’t go deeper for him, at least not now. Not when you gave him a simple name for the emotion. You don’t think he realizes that you’re in your head about the entire conversation and what this means for the two of you going forward. You don’t think he realizes that there’s another emotional explanation for his reaction and you’re not going to tell him.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

Vernon thinks about that conversation with you a lot over the next several weeks of missions. He thinks about how he felt watching you make plans to go somewhere private with a person that you called a mark. He thinks about the feelings that boiled up inside of him that he described as anger when they felt like much more. He thinks of the way you react to him almost ruining a mission and how you reacted to him after you got back. He tries not to think about what you did while he waited in too much silence on the ship with Chirron.

He spends the most time thinking about what you didn’t say. Even though he’s not sure what it was, he knows there’s something. Your face can be really expressive when your guard is down, as it usually is around him and Chirron. Part of him wants to think he reacted the way he did only because he cares about you in the same way that Chirron does. That you’re a team, some kind of weird version of a family that protects each other. But then he remembers how you went quiet after he accepted, with relief, the idea that it was only caring about you. Too many times, he finds himself wanting to ask what you didn’t say.

The three of you all agree that he should stay on the ship more during those kinds of missions. There’s really no reason for you all to be off the ship, anyway. You’re usually the only one that interacts with people like that, the only one that seems comfortable putting yourself out there like that. Vernon hates that you feel like you have to take those jobs, hates that you’re willing to go to those lengths. Although you tell him a lot, he doesn’t know that you don’t mind that part of it. That you don’t see yourself as someone that forms actual romantic attachments, that sex is just sex for you. Just another part of life.

It’s another mission where you think you may need to get close to a mark, another mission where you think you may need a back room without prying eyes. Whatever that means. This time, Chirron offers to stay on the ship with Vernon. He says it’s because there’s some things he needs to work on, but Vernon sees it for what it is. He doesn’t want to leave the newest team member alone. Chirron is much more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for.

“You know, I never asked you,” Chirron starts, causing Vernon to look up from the transponder he’s fiddling with. “What were you hoping for when you ran onto our ship?”

Vernon considers this for a moment. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet also feels like it was just yesterday. “I’m not sure. I think I just hoped that I could catch my breath long enough to figure out my next move.”

“Not join a team that takes on illegal jobs across the galaxy?” Chirron asks, that dry humor surfacing again.

“No,” Vernon agrees with a small chuckle.

“Why do you stay?” Chirron wonders.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Vernon asks in response.

“No,” Chirron answers immediately. “No, having you around has been good for her. For both of us, really. I’m just curious about why you stay when you don’t have to. Is it just because you don’t have anywhere else to go?”

Vernon, thankfully, is used to Chirron’s way of speaking. So he knows there’s nothing malicious behind the question, only curiosity.

“No, it’s not that. Not that I have some idea of where to go beyond that one sanctuary planet I’ve heard of,” Vernon says. “I like being around both of you. It feels like I belong? I haven’t felt like this before. It’s nice. Kind of like a feeling of being warm all over.”

“I’m glad,” Chirron says genuinely.

“I don’t like this part though,” Vernon says and shifts in his seat again.

“The waiting?” Chirron wonders, but there’s something on his face that Vernon can’t place. Thankfully, he carries on. “Or the waiting when you know what she’s doing?”

Vernon frowns at that. He’s still not sure he has the right name for this feeling. “Why does she put herself in positions like this?”

Chirron shrugs. “Don’t know. I’ve tried to tell her that some jobs aren’t worth it, but it’s like she has to prove something. To who, I’m not sure.”

“You don’t stop her, though,” Vernon observes.

“No, I don’t,” he agrees.

“Why?” Vernon presses.

“Because, as you saw on that mission a few weeks ago when she sent us away, she’s going to do it anyway. I know the difference between when something is actually dangerous and when it’s just not what I would do. So I let her go unless it’s actually dangerous,” Chirron says.

“It still doesn’t feel good,” Vernon admits.

“No, because you care about her,” Chirron says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Of course I do, I care about both of you,” Vernon says. “You care about her too.”

“I do,” Chirron agrees and that look is back, “but not the same way as you do, I don’t think.”

“Are there multiple ways to care for someone?” Vernon asks.

Chirron chuckles, a low, comforting sound. “Of course. There’s the way her and I care about each other, like family. Like someone that could drive you absolutely insane, but you still love them and you’d still be there for them in a friendly way.”

“And what’s the other way?” Vernon wonders.

“Caring about them like you have feelings for them. Like they’re the first one on your mind when you wake up or the last one on your mind before you go to sleep. Like you just want to be around them and feel a little empty when you’re not. Like you’re not entirely sure what you’d do if one day they just weren’t there anymore,” Chirron explains.

“Oh,” is all Vernon can say.

“I don’t know how you feel, or how she feels, but it doesn’t seem like just the kind of caring like it is between her and I,” Chirron says. “I love her and I’d do anything to protect her, but I don’t have feelings for her.”

“Do I?” Vernon asks quietly.

“I don’t know, only you can figure that out,” Chirron says.

Feelings are difficult, Vernon thinks as he contemplates Chirron’s explanation. Every time he thinks that he’s got a handle on them, something else comes up to throw him for a loop. His body almost relaxes to help the fact that his mind is going entirely too fast. Chirron, seeming to sense that he gave Vernon a lot to think about, goes back to what he was working on before the conversation.

It’s easy to be around Chirron, something Vernon has known since the beginning. But now he realizes that it’s easy in an entirely different way than being around you. With Chirron, there’s a comfort and a familiarity and definitely a care. Just like he describes feeling about you. With you, it’s entirely different. Vernon finds himself wondering about your past, wanting to know every detail even though you’ve shared a lot. He wants to know what you think, especially when you go silent. What thoughts are you keeping to yourself and why don’t you want to share them?

The worst, though, is easily the way Vernon feels when you’re off on your own like this. He’s not sure how to put it into words or how to even Chirron about it. Or if he even wants to ask Chirron about it. He just knows that he doesn’t like it, that it makes him feel unsteady and unfocused. That he makes mistakes on whatever he’s working on when he thinks of this aspect of the jobs. It’s like he wants to lash out at the marks or the clients that hire them in the first place. He wants to let these people know that you’re not actually interested in them. That it’s only for work. But is that true?

“Chirron, can I ask you something?” Vernon finally asks.

“Sure,” Chirron says. He’s much more relaxed around Vernon, probably because he doesn’t try to rile Chirron up.

“I’ve got this feeling that I’m not sure about, it pops up when we’re on missions like these,” Vernon begins before outlining just how he feels when he thinks about what you’re doing.

Chirron is quiet, thoughtful as he listens, giving Vernon his full attention. He lets Vernon finish uninterrupted before he’s quiet for a second. “Well, it sounds like jealousy.”

“Jealous of who? Of her?” Vernon asks. He knows what jealousy is, just like every other emotion, because it’s simply knowledge of the existence of emotions. He doesn’t know how it feels though, not really. Like every other emotion, it’s something he’s had to learn as he goes.

“Of the people she’s with,” Chirron answers, amused.

“Why would I be jealous of them?” Vernon asks.

“I can’t tell you the why, Vernon, you know that,” Chirron says without any hint of frustration. “I can just say what it sounds like. Which is that you’re jealous she’s behind closed doors with someone other than you.”

“You think I want…to do that, I don’t even know…I’m not sure how something like that would even work,” Vernon splutters, tripping over his words worse than he’s done in a while.

Chirron takes pity on him and only gives him a sympathetic look. It allows Vernon to gather his thoughts before he says anything else. A blessing, actually, because a minute later, the door opens to allow you back onto the ship. You look a little like you’ve been up to something that Vernon doesn’t really want to consider. Like you tried to straighten yourself out again, but couldn’t quite get everything. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice the tension in the air and just immediately go to pull out something to eat. Life moves on for you like nothing else happened.

Thankfully, Vernon can pretend he’s working on reprogramming a communicator, something he needs to do for a job anyway, and stay back away from the cockpit of the ship. He also knows that you’ll eat up there with Chirron to talk about how things went. To talk through the finer details of the information you were able to extract. You don’t talk to Vernon about those details and he doesn’t stop to think about why. He’s just glad you don’t. Not that you go into explicit detail with Chirron. It’s just…well maybe Chirron is right. Maybe Vernon is jealous because he’s got deeper feelings for you.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

It’s supposed to be easy. That’s what you say. You don’t take on jobs that would put the team at too much of a risk and you don’t ask them to do anything they don’t want to do. You haven’t even taken on a job recently where you’d have to leave Vernon and Chirron on the ship while you entertained a mark. This is an exception, you say, too good of a job to pass up given that it should be simple. So simple.

Vernon makes it back to the ship before Chirron does, which makes sense. All Vernon had to do was meet with one of your contacts to swap out some tech he’d been using. After all this time, Vernon isn’t entirely sure what Chirron does when he’s off the ship. He asked once and didn’t get a straight answer. You shrugged it off and said that Chirron does a lot of things, some of which you don’t even know or understand. When you didn’t seem concerned, Vernon let it go as well.

Once Chirron gets back, Vernon pays more attention to the feeling in his stomach since you agreed to this mission. Something just feels…off. Not right. He’s trying not to dwell too much on it because he’s very aware it might be, at least in part, due to his feelings for you. Feelings that he now very much recognizes are real. Whatever that means for him. He hates watching you walk away when he thinks about what you’ll be doing. And he agrees it’s best for him to stay on the ship rather than risk blowing the mission.

Except…well now he’s actually getting worried. It’s been too long since you left the ship, longer than usual. Long enough that even Chirron doesn’t shoot Vernon down when he brings up his concern. Which only serves to concern Vernon more because Chirron is almost always level. Even now, only his eyes give anything away when Vernon mentions just how long it’s been since you left the ship. After several minutes of back and forth, Chirron agrees that it should be Vernon that leaves the ship to try and find anything out about you. As much as Chirron tries to stay in the shadows, he’s been working with you for years now and people automatically associate him with you.

So Vernon enters the building, manages to figure out where you had gone without raising any suspicions. After all, your reputation for chasing after pleasure proceeds you. Something Vernon is cursing himself for even considering. The thought flies out as soon as he’s in the room and he sees you lying on the couch, covered in cuts and bruises, only half-dressed. He’s beside you in what feels like a second, checking to make sure he feels a pulse. But, up close he can hear your slightly labored breaths. It could be worse, he reminds himself, as he gets you dressed and wraps you up. He doesn’t want it to be obvious just how beaten up you are before he’s had time to think. Or to consider what you’d do in this situation. Everything in him shuts down apart from the need to get you out a back door and onto the ship as quickly as possible.

Back on the ship, Vernon collapses into the booth while Chirron takes over and takes you into the sleeping cabin. Thankfully, Chirron knows enough basic First Aid that he’ll be able to patch you up before taking you to see a professional. Someone that you and Chirron trust enough to take you there. But, for now, he’s cleaning your wounds and wrapping you up as best he can. Vernon knows he should be helping, knows that an extra set of hands would help. He just…can’t. Can’t seem to find the strength to see you in this condition. He’s just amazed he got you back to the ship without losing it or without anyone seeing you. And thankful, so very thankful, that Chirron is keeping it together.

Without a word, Chirron emerges from the sleep cabin and heads straight for the front of the ship. Vernon’s barely even sat down in your usual seat before the ship takes off. Chirron doesn’t fly too high, he’s just going to a different part of the planet. That’s what he said when he said that you and him knew someone that could help. It both feels like an eternity and no time at all when the ship lands again. Vernon expects to help you off the ship. Instead, Chirron tells him to stay put, that he’ll be back.

Doc, that’s what Chirron calls him, looks like a man that’s aged beyond his actual years. He looks like he’s seen more than most people would over several lifetimes. Yet, he seems kind. Seems like he could be anyone’s father or uncle. This time, Vernon does actually follow them back to the sleep cabin, careful to stay out of the way. Doc starts taking stock of you and attaching a number of devices to various parts of your body. They start beeping and it should calm Vernon, because at least something is happening. They don’t, though. All he can think is that you shouldn’t have been in this position in the first place. This was the wrong job to take.

Vernon’s learned a lot about emotions during the time with you and Chirron, a lot more than he learned in all his time before. He knows, now more than ever, that he cares about you far beyond just being friends. He knows that he’s never felt this kind of fear. Knows that he can’t be still, even for a second. It’s always been like this, Vernon has always suffered from restlessness. It’s a million times worse now. And it’s getting in the way of your care. Somewhere in his pacing and mumbling, something he doesn’t even realize he’s doing, Chirron sends him away. Doc gives him a sympathetic look, like he understands, before turning back to you.

It’s not any easier to be outside of the sleep cabin because Vernon can still hear everything that’s happening. The entire ship is silent except for the work Doc is doing. Not seeing what’s happening is even worse and Vernon’s restlessness turns into something more like anxiety. He can’t imagine going on without you. Not that anyone has said that would be a possibility. In fact, Doc seems to think you’ll be fine in no time. Most of the injuries are merely surface level. Chirron comes back out with a list of things that they need and tells Vernon to go take care of it. It’ll help you and help him in the process. He’s not doing anyone any good in the state he’s in now.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

It takes a few days, but you’re mostly back to your normal self. The worst part, for you, is that you fractured one of your ribs. So that means rest, Doc’s orders. Vernon was happy to hear it because it meant that you had no choice but to take a break. Chirron seemed pleased as well, saying once Doc was off the ship, he’d take you back to the homebase.

You, however, wake up back home and seem irritated. Remind both Vernon and Chirron that you still have a job to do. Can’t seem to wrap your head around your injuries or the severity of the situation. That’s the first time that Vernon sees Chirron raise his voice with you. It’s the first time he sees the usually calm force standing firm in his position. You’re on bedrest for now so that you can actually heal. Together, you can all figure out what to tell the client. But your health is most important or it’ll be a lot longer than a matter of weeks that you’re out of commission.

Vernon doesn’t get to listen in on the conversation about what happened. It’s Chirron’s decision, saying that he thinks it’ll just be easier. So Vernon doesn’t know what happened, not really. Sure, he can guess and probably paint at least a picture. Does he really want to know, though? He’s not sure. He doesn’t want the details of just how you were going to get the information, so maybe it’s better like this. What he does need, though, is to talk to you. Chirron gives him that chance as soon as he can, which Vernon is thankful for.

“You look better,” Vernon says after a light knock on your door frame.

You laugh lightly and Vernon worries for a second, but you seem fine. “Wow, you really know how to butter a girl up.”

“I was worried about you,” Vernon says as he crosses to sit in the chair next to your bed.

“It takes a lot more than that guy to take me down for real, sweetheart,” you offer.

Vernon’s jaw clenches. “Still.”

“Hey,” you say and reach out to take his hand. “I’m really okay. I’ve had worse than this, I promise.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Vernon wonders with a shake of his head.

“This is a dangerous line of work,” you say.

“I’m aware of that,” Vernon answers.

“What’s really on your mind? Chirron’s worried about you,” you admit.

“We could have lost you,” Vernon says, barely more than a whisper. “I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” you say gently.

“But I could have and it’s like,” Vernon presses, pausing to think of the right word. “It’s like you don’t even care. Like it’s all a joke.”

“Of course I care, Nonie,” you say. Vernon tries, and fails, to stop his heart from skipping over the nickname that falls so easily from your lips. “This is the job, I know you and Chirron were worried about what was going to happen to me…”

“This isn’t about Chirron,” Vernon snaps and you pull your hand away from his.

“What is it about?” you ask, guard up.

“It’s about me almost losing you. About me feeling something that I didn’t even think I was capable of feeling and then worrying I’d lose you before I ever got to tell you,” Vernon says.

“Vernon, I don’t think…” you start again, only to fall silent at whatever look you see in his eyes.

“I know it sounds crazy, I know what I am,” Vernon says without meeting your gaze. “We were never supposed to be more than robots. I’ve heard it all. Nobody ever could have predicted that we’d get a consciousness. Nobody seems to know what that even means or what it is. I just know that I ran from the only other beings that I’ve ever known straight onto your ship. And I thought it’d be scary or I’d regret it, but I don’t. You taught me and guided me without making me feel less than. I was teetering on the edge of way too much…whatever this restlessness is. You were like a balm for that.” “I’m glad,” you say, voice just as quiet. “It’s easy to be around you, Vernon. I’m glad you feel at ease here.”

“I don’t understand how…feelings work or what they mean, not when it comes to what I feel for you,” Vernon says. He looks at you, so hopeful. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Vernon, I’m not…I don’t think I’m built for something like that,” you say, pleading for him to understand.

“You don’t care about me?” Vernon wonders.

“No, of course I do,” you disagree. “I just…I don’t know what I really feel either. I just know relationships, they’ve never been what I sought out. They get too complicated in this line of work where anything can happen.”

“So leave,” Vernon offers, like it’s so easy.

“Leave?” you question.

“Yes, quit doing this kind of work. Leave and start a new life away from all of this,” Vernon pleads.

“And what? Just abandon Chirron?” you ask angrily.

“Of course not,” Vernon retorts. “You and I both know that he only stays because you’re family to him. He doesn’t want to do this forever.”

“Is that what you and him talk about when I’m off the ship getting information?” You’re angry now, but Vernon thinks he’s a little annoyed too.

“No,” Vernon says. “The only time we’ve talked about you is when he helped me process what I was feeling. I just, it doesn’t take some kind of genius to see he stays because he cares about you.”

“This is the only life I’ve ever known,” you say, anger subsiding to be replaced by you looking smaller than ever before.

“No it’s not,” Vernon disagrees. “You told me about your family.”

“Don’t bring them up,” you caution.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, surely you see that,” Vernon pleads again.

“If I say no, will you stay? Or are you asking me to choose between you and this entire network I’ve built over years?” As soon as you say it, Vernon knows he’s lost. Knows that you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m not asking you to choose anything,” Vernon says. “But I’m not going to continue to watch someone that I care this deeply about put herself in so much danger. So you don’t have to leave this life. I’m done, though.”

“What?” You look like you’ve been smacked.

“I’m done,” Vernon repeats. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t feel the way I do every time you leave the ship. I can’t keep wondering if I’m going to find you in an even worse position. So, I’m leaving. I’d love for you to come with me, but you’ve made your position clear.”

“So, that’s it?” you ask.

“That’s it,” Vernon confirms.

He leaves the room for long enough to say his goodbyes to Chirron, who doesn’t seem surprised that it’s going like this. He’s sad, for sure. Vernon knows what he said was true, Chirron would leave if he could, but he won’t leave you alone. The two of you are family and Vernon’s thankful that you’ll still have someone to depend on.

There’s nothing left to say to you, nothing but all the things left unsaid. Things that he wishes he could say and things he knows you want to say. Things neither of you will say to the other. Which is fine. It has to be. Vernon has gotten a crash course in humanity, so he tries to squash down the disappointment when he says goodbye to Chirron and you don’t even bother trying to stop him. Barely registers Chirron asking where he’s going. Truthfully, he doesn’t have a plan, so he blurts out the first thing to come to mind. He’s heard of another planet, he thinks it’s called Lumen, that’s something of a sanctuary planet. He’s going to need time to get things together before he can depart. This isn’t something he’d really thought would happen. For the time being, he’s going to stay with another of your contacts that he’s worked closely with since joining the team. One of the only other beings that he trusts apart from you and Chirron.

Just like that, he’s out the door without a backward glance to see that you got as far as your door. Without seeing the way your face falls at him leaving. Without seeing the way Chirron shakes his head at the situation. But you don’t call out, don’t try to stop him. You just let him go like there aren’t any other options.

*+:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+*

It takes a couple weeks to arrange the transport (and Chirron helping Vernon out by sending credits and outstanding favors to cash in along without you knowing) to Lumen. He stays with a contact he met while working with you that knows someone named San. That’s where the idea of Lumen comes up. It seems like there’s a chance Vernon’s other members are there. And if Vernon has a chance to see them again, he has to take it. Even though he wants to see them all, he really hopes Seungcheol is there. If not for the leader, none of them would have been able to escape.

Vernon gets a last message to Chirron to let him know that he’s leaving in two days. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Vernon hopes that Chirron will share the message with you and maybe you’ll say goodbye. You don’t. Even though Vernon wants to be upset, and he is, he’s still thankful that Chirron helped in the first place. He knows that without that help, he wouldn’t be able to get on a ship to Lumen.

The journey itself is uneventful. Vernon’s spent enough time on your ship to be used to the travel, but he’s still worried initially that something will go wrong. It’s got him a bit on edge, to say the least. Until he realizes that this isn’t one of your jobs, this is just a regularly scheduled trip to Lumen that the ship was taking anyway. The only difference is one extra passenger. It’s not until they approach the planet’s atmosphere that he starts to get nervous again. The crew agreed that Lumen seems to be a sanctuary planet, and that’s great. It’s just, well Vernon hasn’t really considered what to do when they land.

The planet is beautiful, like what it seems like Earth looked like before, at least from pictures he’s seen. There’s so much life and color everywhere that immediately puts him at ease. He’s still skeptical, how could he not be? But there’s also a sense of immediate relief that washes over him. WIthout even realizing it, he thinks that this is home. At the dock, he inquires about a place to stay, hesitantly admits that he’s a level 1 automaton, and says he doesn’t have many credits to barter with. What he’s not prepared for is the smiles that form instantly. Someone tells him about a house that he might be interested in and gives him directions.

It’s not long before he’s approaching the large house, far bigger than he’s expecting it to be. This is definitely too much for him to stay in when he’s not sure how he’s going to afford anything. It’s then that he notices someone working in a garden, tending to plants. They look up and smile the second they see Vernon. He can’t quite hear what they say when they turn to look over their shoulder.

And that’s when Vernon’s entire world shifts. The very one he’d been hoping to see comes out from behind the house and erupts into a smile. They’re both moving towards each other, neither quite believing the sight before their eyes.

“Vernon?” he asks.

“Seungcheol,” Vernon says with so much affection for his leader.

“Welcome home,” Seungcheol says and hugs him.

Home. This can be home. Maybe it’ll all be okay. Maybe this is where Vernon was meant to end up all along and maybe working with you and Chirron had just been a stop along the way.

i'm sorry for leaving it open like that at the end, but it's kind of what felt the most realistic for them. i hope you enjoyed it and check out all the amazing fics 💕

#vernon x reader #vernon imagines #svthub #kvanity #vernon scenarios #vernon au #vernon angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #vernon x you #sci fi au

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