#and then we will hold hands and explode into the sunset

[naenaex0xx]

you guys deserve the best in the world I swear 😭

[littlegochu]

Can we get a big one shot or a series, of single daddy JK and reader is an assistant at HYBE daycare while she temporarily figures her life out (she’s an artist trying to make means meet). She also bartends on the weekend and runs into JK one of the nights he is out with the boys.

I feel like you’ll be incredible in writing this

after hours│ jjk 18+

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: single dad jungkook, slow burn

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: y/n juggles quiet days at a daycare and late nights bartending, never expecting her life to shift when jungha — a soft-spoken kid — walks in with his ridiculously attractive, unreadable dad.

between shared coffees, late-night drives, and silent promises, y/n learns that love doesn’t always arrive loudly. sometimes it shows up in small, steady ways — and maybe this time, it’s hers to keep.

-

i really hope this is applesauce.

it’s barely 10 am and my jeans are dotted in glitter glue and something sticky.

"gina," i murmur, crouching beside the low table where a few kids are coloring. "we can get you a new one, okay?"

i try to console her as she's having a full-body meltdown because her juice box exploded.

beside her, haru’s chewing on a blue crayon like it’s a snack. again.

surprisingly not the worst morning i’ve had.

i've been working here for about 6 months now, as a daycare assistant with my bestfriend. unlike her, i never aspired to work anything in child care industry.

but life doesn’t really ask what you want.

it's been hard to keep myself up recently, not after my mom's passing. i dedicated the last 2 years of my life as her caregiver, cutting my own dreams short to tend to her illness and keep us afloat.

i would do it again in a heartbeat, its just funny to think that i wasted my time just to see her go.

after she left i've just been trying to survive, i work at the daycare in the mornings, bartending at night.

my real dream? probably to be an artist.

i was always obsessed with painting, color palettes were my own way of expressing myself—

"miss y/n, how do you draw a sunset?"

jiwon holds up a paper with orange scribbles and a sun in the top corner.

i crouch down beside him, resting my chin in my hand. “well… sunsets aren’t perfect circles. they kind of melt into the sky, right? like when your ice cream melts.”

he blinks. “so i draw a puddle?”

“a pretty puddle,” i say, smiling, and he giggles.

i help him blend red and orange together with his stubby fingers, showing him how to smudge the lines just a little.

“can i put it on the wall?”

-

“alright, clean up time!” i call, clapping my hands twice. “parents are on the way!"

i help the kids line up their drawings on the little gallery wall we made near the door with their names are signed at the bottom.

"say bye to miss y/n and miss kyla!" summer's mom smilies as she carries her toddler between her arms, holding her lunch bag in the other.

"bye bye!"

i wave, already turning back toward the cubbies when i hear someone crying over a missing sock.

"look who’s here, y/n," kyla says behind me.

i glance over my shoulder.

she’s holding a sleeping haru on her shoulder, smirking. her head tilts toward the front door.

i follow her gaze and stop.

standing in the doorway, all black casual business attire and silver rings, hair slightly messy.

mr. jeon.

he's one of those quieter parents, always on time. he's been bringing his 3 year old here for about 2 months and its always been him picking him up.

and never once have i heard jungha bring up his mom.

proabably a busy woman, i cringe at myself everytime i think i have a chance.

seriously? finding your student's dad attractive? you're sick y/n.

but he's such a dilffffffffffffffffffff—

"i'm here for jungha?"

i snap back into reality as i scan for jungha, my eyes land on a small figure by the gallery wall, quietly adjusting his drawing. when he sees his dad, he doesn’t run. doesn’t yell. he just walks over and tugs the edge of mr. jeon's sleeve.

“ready?” he says softly.

he crouches down, pulling him into a one-armed hug. his hand rests gently over jungha’s back, a subtle kind of affection.

“he was good today,” i say, stepping forward. “still quiet.”

mr. jeon looks at me. dark eyes, unreadable. “he usually is.”

i nod, offering a small smile. “he drew a rocket for you.”

jungha glances up at me. not a smile, exactly — just a blink, a flicker of acknowledgment.

he stands, adjusting the strap of jungha's bag. “thanks.”

he doesn’t linger. never does.

-

i slowly close up the bar as the clock hits 12am.

we don’t shut down until 2am but the rush is over. the shift’s been steady, not as wild as it got earlier during the basketball game, but a few stragglers here and there.

yoongi (he’s a newer face), is here — tucked into the end of the bar, sipping a belgian moon. he's been coming around more often, doesn’t talk much, doesn’t cause trouble, he tips well and waits quietly usually.

“refill?” i ask, wiping down the bar in front of him.

he lifts his glass slightly.

i pour a new pint and slide it back to him. “you waiting on someone?”

he glances at the door. “yeah. friend of mine.”

the door chimes.

i look up.

and stop breathing.

in a black shirt button up shirt, silver chain around his neck, the same messy-styled hair this morning.

mr. jeon.

he doesn’t notice me right away, more focused on yoongi, walking toward him with a nod.

they do that half hug — a quick clasp of hands and a shoulder tap before settling into the bar stools beside each other. mr. jeon mutters something low, and yoongi huffs a tired laugh in response.

i’m frozen in place behind the bar, turning away and crouching down pretending to find the bottle opener.

"congrats on your cousins gallery, man, you built that?"

“a bit,” yoongi answers. “been working on it since two years ago. happy to see it up.”

another soft chuckle. mr. jeon's voice is sounds lower, quieter, more relaxed than during his pickups. i peek up from behind the bar, just enough to catch him resting his forearms against the counter, silver rings catching the low light.

he looks good.

they talk about some mutual friend i don’t know, then mr. jeon finally glances toward the drink menu on the bar.

“you got tequila?” he asks, not looking at me yet.

i don’t move. just grab the bottle automatically and start pouring. “silver or gold?”

his head tilts. “gold.”

i slide the shot across the bar without thinking.

he reaches for it, fingers brushing the base and finally looks up.

his eyes meet mine.

and he freezes.

there’s a beat of silence where even yoongi seems to notice something shift. he blinks, eyebrows just barely lifting.

“…miss y/n?”

i raise a brow. “mr. jeon.”

yoongi turns, looking between us with a slow blink. “…wait.”

mr. jeon exhales like he’s trying not to laugh. “you work here?”

“four nights a week,” i say casually, resting one arm on the bar.

yoongi stares at his drink like it’s suddenly gotten way too interesting.

mr. jeon glances at him, then back at me. “she’s a teacher at jungha’s daycare,” he says, lips tugging into the smallest smirk. “interesting seeing you here.”

yoongi clears his throat like he’s trying not to get dragged in. “small world.”

“too small,” i mutter, pouring another round for someone down the bar.

-

yoongi finishes his beer, checks his phone, and lets out a sigh.

“alright. i’m calling it. see you?”

“depends if you call me first,” mr. jeon says, not looking up from his drink.

yoongi stands, gives me a small nod. “goodnight, y/n.”

“night, yoongi.” i manage, offering a small smile.

yoongi turns to mr. jeon. “you staying?”

“for a bit.”

yoongi just shrugs and claps a hand to his shoulder. “don’t bother her too much.”

“wasn’t planning to.”

once the door shuts behind him, the silence shifts.

mr. jeon doesn’t say anything. just sips from his shot glass and scrolls through his phone while i work my way around the bar, wiping down tables and stacking chairs.

-

by the time i flip the lights behind the bar, it’s just the two of us left.

he stretches slightly, standing as i pull on my jacket.

“you can call me jungkook, by the way,” he says suddenly, voice low.

i glance over. “oh?”

“i figured since yoongi’s throwing your first name around like that...”

i smirk. “y/n.” tilting my head a little—“you sure? ‘mr. jeon’ has such a nice ring to it.”

he laughs softly, a bit breathier this time. “only during pick-up hours.”

i zip up my jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder.

he doesn’t move right away, just watches me from where he’s standing, hands in his pockets, eyes following every small movement.

i head toward the front door and flick off the last neon sign in the window. silence wraps around us.

“where’s your car?” he asks.

i hesitate. “a couple blocks down.”

he nods once. no hesitation. “i’ll walk you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

he says it so simply. i look at him for a second longer than necessary, then push the door open.

outside, the street is quiet. the sky’s clear, streetlights humming. my boots hit the pavement, his strides just slightly heavier beside mine.

we don’t talk for a while, just walk. his hands are in his coat pockets, mine gripping the strap of my bag.

after a minute, he glances over. “do you usually get off this late?”

“mm. depends on the crowd. tonight was mild.”

he hums in acknowledgment. “do you walk to your car alone every time?”

“i don’t really think about it.”

“you should.”

he’s not looking at me. just ahead, eyes calm, jaw clenched.

my car comes into view, we slow to a stop beside it.

“thanks,” i say, turning to unlock the door.

he nods. “you get home safe, y/n.”

it’s the way he says it; like it’s a request and a promise at the same time. its makes my chest feel strangely full.

i open the door, one foot inside, then glance back at him.

“see you tomorrow?”

his eyes flicker to mine, a corner of his mouth barely tugging up. “yeah. see you tomorrow.”

i get in.

he doesn’t walk away until i’ve closed the door, engine rumbling to life. hands in his pockets. watching.

-

ugh, its the morning.

i’m half-running on fumes when i open the daycare doors at 7:20.

my hairs tied up, coffee half-spilled on my hoodie, and a stack of paper stars tucked under my arm for today’s “space explorer” theme.

i kneel by the cubbies, taping up names for coat hooks when the bell above the door chimes.

i don’t look right away. just call, “morning!”

small footsteps patter across the floor.

a quiet thud against my leg.

i freeze.

then look down.

jungha.

his little arms wrap around my shin, his cheek smushed into my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

i blink.

"morning jungha,”

his face stays buried for a second, then he pulls back just enough to hold up something clutched in his fist.

a folded paper rocket with red scribbles, my name in shaky letters on the side.

“you forgot this,” he mumbles.

my chest squeezes unexpectedly.

i take it, kneeling down. “thank you, astronaut jungha. i’ll keep it safe.”

his lips twitch upward, just barely—before he scurries off toward the coloring table.

then i glance up.

and there he is.

mr. jeon. leaning in the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a slate grey crewneck. same silver chain, one hand in his pocket, the other resting against the doorframe.

his gaze is steady.

not cold, not unreadable, just… watching.

something flickers between us then—small, unspoken.

“you get home okay the other night?”

my breath catches a little.

i nod. “yeah. thanks again.”

his mouth curves, subtle. “see you.”

“see you.”

and then he’s gone.

but i’m still standing there.

paper rocket in hand.

“...you good?” kyla’s voice floats in from the other side of the room, casual, but i know her too well.

i turn, slowly.

she’s leaning against the play kitchen with a plastic banana in one hand, eyebrows raised.

i clear my throat, shove the rocket into my hoodie pocket. “yep. great. just.. tired.”

“mhm.." she hums, biting back a grin. “tired from working late… or from walking to your car with mr. jeon?”

i blink. “how—”

“you had that look.” she shrugs.

“kyla.”

“he walked you to your car, didn’t he?”

i press my lips together. silence is apparently confession enough.

she whistles. “girl. i’ve been saying. the way he watches you at pick-up like he’s trying not to cross a line? but also might be imagining you in nothing but one of those tiny daycare aprons?”

i groan, dragging a hand over my face. “stop.”

“what? i’m just saying. he’s quiet. hot. good dad. you’re single. he’s single. jungha likes you. the universe is doing its job.”

“he’s a parent.”

“and?”

i narrow my eyes. “you’re impossible.”

she winks, already turning back to the kids. “just don’t be surprised when he shows up with a second paper rocket and a coffee.”

-

aaaaaaaaand.. what the fuck.

jungkook walks in at pickup with a coffee in his hand.

i dont even need to look back at kyla to hear her snickering behind me.

i pretend i don’t notice. pretend i’m completely focused on taping up the last few drawings from this morning — crooked crayon suns and glittery stick people — even as i feel him walk closer.

“you’re early,” i say, not turning.

“got off work early.”

i glance over, finally.

he holds the coffee out toward me. “thought you might want this.”

i blink. “…for me?”

he nods, a little too casual. “you looked tired the other night.”

i take it, slowly. the cup’s warm against my palm, and for a second i forget how to hold eye contact properly.

“…thanks.”

his mouth twitches. “cream, no sugar. that okay?”

“how did you—?”

“jungha says you like it like that. said you told him it was ‘adult coffee.’”

i blink again.

kyla cackles from across the room. i don’t even try to hide my glare.

“you have spies,” i mutter.

“i have a very observant kid,” jungkook replies smoothly.

i turn to see jungha run toward him at full speed, backpack swinging wildly. jungkook crouches and catches him effortlessly with one arm, pulling him in.

“did you draw another rocket today?” he asks softly.

jungha nods and glances at me. “this one’s for miss y/n.”

he digs around in his cubby and hands me a folded piece of construction paper. the rocket is lopsided, the stars are pink, and my name is spelled wrong.

i feel my chest actually ache.

“thank you, jungha,” i say, kneeling down. “i’ll put this right next to the one from this morning.”

he just nods again and slips his hand into his dad’s.

jungkook meets my eyes as he adjusts the strap on his son’s backpack. “see you around, y/n.”

“you too… jungkook.”

as they walk out, kyla sidles up next to me.

“you’re so fucked,” she sings.

i sip the coffee. it’s perfect.

“…yeah,” i whisper. “i know.”

-

it’s sunday night and the bar is slow — the kind of slow that makes you count bottle caps and restack coasters just to feel like time’s passing.

the overhead lights buzz louder without a crowd. the tv murmurs with a baseball game no one’s watching. it’s been like this all shift. mellow. forgettable.

and i was kinda hoping it wouldn’t be.

friday came and went.

so did saturday.

no jungkook.

no black button-up, no tequila order, no silent glances from across the bar that made my chest feel like it couldn’t settle.

i told myself it wasn’t a big deal. how he probably got busy or had plans or maybe walking a daycare teacher to her car once at 2am wasn’t as memorable for him as it was for me.

i mean… maybe i looked into it too much.

maybe it was just a one-time thing.

he was being polite, protective. like any decent guy would. i’ve just been tired, maybe the attention felt warmer than it actually was.

maybe i wanted it to mean something.

i lean on the bar, drag my rag across the same spot again.

“you’re spiraling,” kyla says from behind me, not even looking up as she restocks the glasses.

“i’m not.”

“you are. your face does that thing.”

i frown. “what thing?”

“the pouty one. where you’re convinced you read a guy wrong and now you’re punishing the countertop for it.”

i roll my eyes. “very specific.”

she shrugs. “very accurate.”

before i can argue, the door chimes.

i glance up automatically.

a group of three walks in. not him.

i swallow the twist of disappointment and straighten my posture. “booth or bar?”

kyla nudges my shoulder as she passes. “he’ll show.”

i don’t say anything.

but i hope she’s right, not just because it would mean he cares —

but because i think i really, really want him to.

-

the bar’s mostly clean. the register's closed, and i’m reaching under the counter for my bag when i hear kyla’s voice from the front.

“i’m heading out. you good to lock up?”

“yep,” i call back, pulling my coat on.

she swings the door open with her jacket already half-zipped, she turns to glance at me over her shoulder. “text me when you're home. don’t get kidnapped.”

“i'll try.”

the door clicks shut behind her, and then—

a knock.

i pause, slowly leaning to peek out the side window.

and there he is.

leaned up against the brick wall just outside the door. he’s scrolling his phone like he’s been there a while or like he only just got here and makes it look good.

i crack the door open. “we’re closed, you know.”

his eyes flick up from his screen, the corner of his mouth curves. “figured.”

“then what are you doing here, mr. jeon?”

he shrugs. “sunday’s slow. thought maybe you’d need a walk home.”

i blink. “you stalking my schedule now?”

“maybe.” he shifts off the wall. “or maybe your friend told me you usually bus it on sunday nights.”

kyla.

“and you waited out here?”

“you’re not the only one with good timing.”

i step out and lock the door behind me, shoulders hunching slightly against the chill. he walks beside me, casual, hands stuffed into his pocket.

“you missed friday and saturday,” i say after a beat.

“wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“who said i was thinking that?”

he laughs under his breath. “were you?”

“if i was mistaken,” i murmur, “i’d think you have a crush on me, mr. jeon.”

his steps slow just a little.

“you’re not mistaken.”

my breath catches.

“but if it makes you feel better,” he adds, a slight curve tugging at his mouth, “i’m trying to be subtle about it.”

“this is you being subtle?”

he finally lets out a low laugh. “you should see me when i’m obvious.”

he says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker in his eyes when he looks at me that makes my pulse stutter.

i try to ignore it.

“so,” i say, clearing my throat, “do you do this for all your kid’s teachers?”

“just the pretty ones that make my kid smile,” he says, no pause.

i stop in my tracks.

he doesn’t.

just keeps walking a few steps ahead, like he didn’t just casually drop that into the night air and walk away from it.

“…wow,” i mutter, catching up. “bold.”

we fall into step again, quieter now. the wind rustles through a tree nearby.

the breeze gets there first, curling under my coat sleeve. i shiver.

he notices.

“cold?” he asks.

“a little.”

without a word, he tugs the jacket over his shoulders and holds it out. it smells like clean laundry and faint cologne. i hesitate, but he gives me a look.

i pull it over my head.

“you look warm,” he says, flicking his keys from his pocket. “come on. i’ll drive you.”

“you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he says again, unlocking the car. “but i want to.”

the inside of his car smells like pine and something faintly sweet. the passenger seat’s already warm from the heater. i buckle in, tucking my hands into the sleeves.

he glances over as he pulls out onto the road. “comfortable?”

i nod.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. we fall into a silence, the city blurs with amber lights and red signals, windshield wipers wiping the early drizzle.

i swallow. “you know this is weird, right?”

“what is?”

“you. me. this.”

authors note: i kinda liked writing this, it was a very new trope for me but ill have part 2 soon!

[pankowcrumbs]

The grid's secret X Lando Norris (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Request: Lando Norris x Reader The whole grid helps him planning a marriage proposal.

I should’ve known something was up the moment George Russell started acting weird.

We were all gathered in Monaco for the Grand Prix weekend, and somehow, everyone on the grid had time for me. Too much time. Max kept asking if I liked sunsets. Charles insisted I join him for a "random" walk along the pier. Even Fernando complimented my dress twice.

“Don’t you think this is a bit… suspicious?” I asked Lando that morning, narrowing my eyes at him as he tied his shoelaces.

He looked up, innocent as ever. “What, that the guys finally realised how great you are? Shocking.”

I rolled my eyes, but dropped it.

Until the paddock cleared earlier than usual that evening. Until Carlos gave me a suspicious wink as he handed me a small envelope with my name scribbled in Lando’s handwriting. Until I found myself following a path of Polaroids tied to string lights, leading through the quiet marina, each one a memory of us: our first karting session, our first win together (well, his, but I was in the garage crying like I’d won), our first trip to Portugal.

My hands were trembling.

The last photo was of us at Silverstone, arms wrapped around each other, both sunburnt and smiling stupidly at the camera. On the back, he’d written: Meet me where it all began.

The rooftop. Our rooftop.

I turned the corner and there he was Lando, standing under a canopy of fairy lights, in that black suit I loved, hair slightly windswept, eyes wide and nervous. Behind him, the rest of the grid stood at a respectful distance, each holding a sparkler, trying (and failing) to look casual.

My hand flew to my mouth.

“I know I drive fast,” he began, voice shaking slightly, “but I’ve never wanted to slow down more than I do right now. Every lap, every race, every season... I want them all with you.”

He dropped to one knee, the sparkles of the marina dancing in his eyes.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears blurred my vision as I nodded, barely managing a breathless, “Yes.”

The cheers from behind us exploded like champagne corks. Oscar tackled Charles in excitement. Lewis clapped and laughed. Even Esteban raised his sparkler like a proud uncle.

Lando slipped the ring on my finger simple, elegant, very me and pulled me into a kiss that tasted of salt and joy.

He whispered, “I couldn’t have done it without the boys. They’ve been planning this for weeks.”

I laughed into his chest. “I should’ve known they were in on it.”

George shouted from the back, “We’re expecting a wedding invite, by the way!”

Lando winked. “Hope you’re all ready to be groomsmen.”

As the sun dipped below the waterline, I stood there, surrounded by our motorsport family, holding the hand of the man who loved me enough to make the whole grid part of his plan.

It was perfect.

And it was just the beginning.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.17

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒�� 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, barely any sight of the boys this is just reader gushing over babygirl lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Today is just for you and your babygirl

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The estate was unusually quiet that morning. Rafayel had an early meeting with Thomas, something about contract revisions and a press interview, and with a little pout, you watched him vanish out the grand front doors with a sleepy wave and one last kiss to both your lips and your daughter’s cheeks.

“She’s mine today,” you declared proudly the moment the door shut, cradling the chubby little bundle of pink and lace against your chest. Your two-year-old babygirl blinked up at you with sleepy blue-and-pink eyes, just like Rafayel’s, framed by soft curls of lavender hair. Every time she looked at you with that pouty mouth and the faintest beauty mark under one eye, your heart melted all over again. She looked so much like him it made you squish her just out of instinct.

“No daddy today, huh?” you cooed, pressing a hundred soft kisses along her cheeks. “Just mama. And we’re gonna have the cutest garden day ever.”

You dressed her in a little puff-sleeved sundress that matched yours, all soft strawberry cream tones and frilly lace, and pinned a dainty satin bow behind her ear. The moment you walked into the garden, your daughter gasped like she’d forgotten how magical it was, tulips taller than her, glittering koi in the ponds, soft pastel rugs and tea sets laid out under cherry trees. The gardeners had already prepared your space with parasols and cushions. A basket of plush toys and snacks waited by your side.

“Mamaaaa,” she squealed, chubby legs wobbling toward the patch of wildflowers.

“Careful, princess!” You rushed after her, arms open and ready for any stumble. But she was getting better every day. You watched her toddle into the sunshine with the most dramatic expression of wonder, like the flowers were clapping just for her.

You chased her, picked her up, spun her in your arms, then kissed her cheeks so much she burst into shy, breathless giggles. And you couldn’t help it, you smushed her again.

“I can’t take it. You’re so squishy,” you whined, half-laughing and full of cuteness aggression. “Why are your thighs this chubby, huh? You’re not allowed to be cuter than Mama! I’ll eat you up!”

You spent hours in the garden like that, playing peekaboo behind rose hedges, laying her on the blanket while you gently braided her soft curls with little daisies, feeding her bite-sized fruit with your fingers while she cuddled against your chest. She kept holding onto your dress like a safety blanket, rubbing her face into your collar and muttering sleepy babbles like “Mama smell nice… no daddy, just mama…”

Your heart exploded all over again.

You kissed her forehead, cheeks, tummy, toes. You took dozens of pictures to show Rafayel later. One of her holding your finger, one of her napping belly-up in your lap with a half-eaten strawberry in hand. And one of the two of you nose-to-nose, both smiling with your eyes.

By afternoon, she was dozing off in your arms, full and warm and happy. You whispered lullabies in her ear and cradled her like the precious thing she was.

Rafayel returned home at sunset, quiet as always, slipping in through the garden gate, and froze when he saw the two of you. His eyes softened at the sight of his baby curled in your lap, her tiny hand resting over your heart.

You looked up at him with a soft smile. “We had a very important girls’ day.”

“…Looks like she didn’t miss me at all,” he said dryly, but with the faintest smirk tugging his lips.

“She said I smell better,” you teased.

“I taught her taste,” he deadpanned, bending to kiss your head. Then he crouched beside his daughter, brushing a curl from her flushed cheek. “You two looked like a painting.”

“She is a painting. My masterpiece,” you whispered, rocking her gently. “She looks just like you, but she’s all mine.”

“…Hmph.” He leaned closer, eyes flickering between you and your sleeping baby girl.

“Don’t even think about stealing her. She’s still on my lap.”

He smirked. “You’re both mine anyway.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Zayne’s clifftop estate sat perched high above the ocean, its private gardens spilling out in terraces of lavender, roses, and soft clover. The breeze was salty and crisp, and the morning sunlight bathed everything in gold. Normally, Zayne would have already made his rounds at the hospital and returned to hover over you both with quiet, protective doting.

But today, he’d been called in for back-to-back emergency surgeries.

You stood at the estate’s glass balcony doors, your baby girl on your hip, both of you in matching flowy dresses the color of honeyed cream.

“Looks like Daddy’s saving lives today, huh?” you whispered, nuzzling her soft cheek.

She looked up with the same hazel-green eyes as her father, wide, thoughtful, and full of quiet mischief, and murmured, “Mamaaa…”

You pressed a hundred kisses to her cheek in response. “That’s right. You’ve got mama all to yourself today, little lovebug.”

The upper garden was reserved just for the two of you. Zayne had designed it that way, lush hedges for privacy, tall hydrangeas along the edge of the cliff, soft walkways paved in imported stone. He had even added shade pergolas and built-in heaters for days like this. But today, you chose to lay out a thick silk picnic blanket in the sun, where you could sit and kiss your baby endlessly.

Your babygirl was chubby and curious, toddling through the grass with a little bonnet on her head and ribbons tied at the ankles of her socks. She looked like a tiny doll version of Zayne with her deep, thoughtful gaze and soft dark hair, except every time she fell or tumbled, she turned to you, not for comfort, but for praise.

“Good girl!” you gushed, clapping as she plopped onto her bum with a squeak.

She lit up like it was the best applause in the world, giggling wildly. You scrambled over to her on your knees, cupped her cheeks in both hands, and smothered her in kisses.

“Stop being this cute or I will bite you,” you warned playfully. “I’m serious. These cheeks? These chubby little arms?? You’re just like your daddy, making mama crazy with that pouty face!”

You squished her little belly and she shrieked in laughter, clinging to your gown and clambering into your lap. “Mamaaaa,” she babbled, cuddling you like a favorite plush.

She didn’t want anything but your attention all day. You spoon-fed her bits of mango, wiped her mouth like the princess she was, and brushed her hair with a soft gold comb Zayne had custom-made. Every five minutes, you had to pause just to squeeze her again because you couldn’t take it, she was that cute. That soft. That squishy. You weren’t even sure your heart could take another giggle.

By the time afternoon sunlight turned golden-orange, she was fast asleep in your arms. Her bonnet had slipped, and her cheek was pillowed against your chest, little lips parted and damp with drool. You didn’t dare move. You just rocked gently, brushing her hair back again and again, overwhelmed by how much she looked like him.

Then you heard the familiar quiet footsteps behind you. Zayne, still in his scrubs, coat unbuttoned, stethoscope hanging forgotten around his neck. He froze at the edge of the garden when he saw you both in the sun.

“…She didn’t nap in her crib?” he asked quietly, walking closer.

“She refused,” you whispered with a smile, “She said she’d only sleep with her mama’s heartbeat.”

Zayne knelt beside you, his eyes soft, tired hands brushing a finger along his daughter’s cheek. “Her heart rate’s steady… skin’s a little warm from the sun.” Then his eyes flicked to you. “You too. Did you rest?”

“I got my cuddles in. That’s rest enough.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh and leaned in to kiss the crown of your head. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work knowing you both look like this all day.”

“You don’t,” you said smugly. “You retire. Stay home. Join the mama-baby club.”

Zayne chuckled, low and warm, and kissed your temple again. “I’ll think about it. But only if I get to be the one holding you both next nap time.”

And with that, he lifted your baby gently into his arms, then reached out to you too, pulling you against his chest so you could rest together in the sky garden, wrapped up in love.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The penthouse garden floated high above the city, an enclosed Eden nestled in the clouds. Lush and carefully overgrown, it brimmed with soft grasses, glowing fungi, glimmering pools, and bioluminescent petals that curled open in the sun. It was your favorite place in the whole world, especially when it was just you and your daughter.

Xavier was gone for the day, called away for a mission debriefing. He’d left just before sunrise, kissing the crown of your head as you sleepily clutched his robe and muttered, “Hurry back…”

Now, with the afternoon light spilling golden across the greenhouse-glass roof, it was just you and your babygirl.

Your daughter looked exactly like Xavier, down to the faint silver undertone in her soft hair and the luminous, piercing blue of her eyes. She blinked up at you with that same quiet stare he had, like she could see things you couldn’t. She was your precious, clingy baby, but today she was exploring.

Well… trying to.

She wobbled in her little bunny-printed bloomers and puffed-sleeve top, her chubby legs unsteady on the mossy floor of the garden path. “Mamaaaa!” she squeaked, lifting her arms.

“I’m right here, baby,” you laughed gently, already scooping her into your arms before she could tip over again. “Mama’s always here.”

You kissed her soft cheek, then the tip of her button nose. She gave a giggle so pure and bubbly you felt your entire soul squeeze. Then she rested her head on your chest, thumb in her mouth, sighing like she’d just been through a long day of very serious baby work.

You were helpless. You squished her. You kissed every inch of her. You sniffed her hair and cooed, “Why are you so cute? This isn’t even fair. I’m gonna eat your cheeks, don’t test me, bunny.”

Her only reply was a sleepy babble and a giggle that made your heart ache.

You laid out a soft blanket on the glowing clover patch, Xavier had enchanted it to hum faint lullabies when weight was applied, and set out a tiny tea party for two. Strawberry-shaped cups for juice, soft steamed buns, little fruit hearts cut just for her. She babbled away as you pretended to sip tea with her plush fox in your lap.

“Mamaaa sip,” she insisted, holding up a cup with both hands.

“Yes, ma’am.” You took the tiniest sip, then gasped dramatically. “The flavor! You’re a genius! What did you put in this?”

She giggled so hard she tumbled over.

You immediately squished her again, unable to resist the giggle. “Stop it, stop it, I’m going to burst. My babygirl is too cute. TOO CUTE. Daddy gave me a clone of himself but squishier and clingier and I can’t breathe!”

You kissed her belly while she laughed and kicked, then held her up so you could kiss her face all over again.

Later, you both napped on the swing under the star-glass dome. Your baby slept with her fingers tangled in your sleeve, cheek pressed over your heart. You stroked her back softly, humming lullabies you’d made up just for her.

The door hissed open softly.

Xavier stepped in, cloak draped over one shoulder, his expression unreadable as always, but the moment his eyes fell on the two of you asleep in the garden, something cracked. His gaze softened like sugar in tea.

You stirred. “…You’re home early.”

He nodded, voice quiet. “I told them I had more important matters.”

Xavier walked over and gently traced a gloved finger along your daughter’s hair. “She smells like clover.”

“She was rolling in it.”

“Mm.” He slowly sat beside you, pulling you gently into his lap, wrapping his long arms around both of you. “I dreamed of this once,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You and her. Here. In a world that’s not falling apart.”

“She had the best day,” you whispered, already nuzzling closer. “But she did say she missed you.”

He glanced down at her.

“…I missed you both more.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It was a rare still day in one of Sylus’s quieter safehouses, this one nestled deep in the hills, surrounded by encrypted security walls, scent-tracked fauna, and a carefully curated garden that stretched behind the estate like a pocket of private paradise.

He’d left at dawn for a meeting with some arrogant arms investor, muttering under his breath about amateurs wasting his time, but not before cupping your face and kissing you deeply, gaze flicking to your babygirl asleep in her lacey crib beside you.

“Don’t let her take over the world while I’m gone,” he teased lowly.

“No promises,” you whispered back.

She was taking over your world by midmorning.

Chubby. Silky soft. Your perfect little babygirl who looked nothing like you and exactly like Sylus, silver hair, sleepy blood-red eyes, even the tiniest curl of smirk on her pouty mouth when you doted on her. You were obsessed. Dangerously obsessed.

Today, she wore a tiny puff-sleeved dress in cream and garnet, with matching socks and delicate pearl clips you swore she let you place just to be admired. You’d picked everything to match you, a soft frilly dress set with your hair curled and lips glossed just for her. You looked like a pair of porcelain dolls in a painting. A queen and her heir.

“Look at you,” you cooed, scooping her into your lap on the silk picnic spread in the garden. “Daddy’s little menace. Mama’s squishy doll. Do you even know how perfect you are?”

She giggled and nuzzled her face into your chest like she knew exactly what she was doing.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh no,” you whispered, wide-eyed, lifting her under the arms and staring at her tummy. “Not the belly. Not this soft chubby belly, you’re doing this on purpose.”

She let out a squeal of laughter and you immediately kissed her tummy with loud dramatic mwahs, smothering her in affection as she giggled so hard she hiccuped.

“You’re lucky I’m the one who made this tummy,” you said, mock-scolding as you blew another raspberry on her belly. “I fed you every single meal. I gave you the best milk. Look at this! Look at what a masterpiece I made!”

She kicked her legs and reached for you with a soft, clingy “Maaamaaa…”

“Yes, baby. You can have everything. You already own me.”

You spent the entire afternoon like that, brushing her hair, feeding her tiny fruit hearts, giggling as she waddled around and then demanded to be held every two minutes. Every time you looked at her you had to smother her again. You held her in your arms, cradled her in your lap, rocked her in the garden swing and kissed her eyelids when she yawned.

And when she fell asleep cuddled to your chest in your lap, you whispered, “You’re just like your father… but soft. But mine.”

That’s when you heard the low hum of the front gate disengaging.

Sylus returned earlier than you expected, sleeves rolled, gloves off, dark eyes scanning instinctively, until he saw you.

You, sprawled on the garden blanket, pretty hair pinned back with a bow, soft dress wrinkled from crawling after your babygirl. And your daughter, asleep in your lap with her round tummy rising and falling, pearl clips glinting in the breeze.

He stopped in his tracks.

Then—slowly—he smirked.

“…Did I leave you two alone for five hours or five years?”

“You should see her walk now,” you grinned, stroking her silver curls. “But you’d better brace yourself.”

“For?”

You gently tilted your baby girl to show off her adorableness.

“She’s even squishier today,” you whispered like it was classified intel. “You’re gonna lose it.”

He chuckled low in his throat, crouched beside you, and reached to trace her cheek with one long finger. “I’m not the only one losing it,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head. “Look at you. My beautiful little wife going absolutely insane over a baby that looks like me.”

“She doesn’t just look like you. She’s better than you. And she came from me,” you sniffed proudly.

Sylus chuckled again, dark and soft. “Of course she did. I wouldn’t let anyone else make her.”

He kissed your lips, slow and deep, then rested his forehead against yours.

“…She’s perfect,” he whispered.

“So is her mama,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around both your loves and closing your eyes with a sleepy smile.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The Skyhaven penthouse was unusually quiet without Caleb home, no bootsteps on marble, no rustling of tactical coats or comms crackling through speakers. He was off at a Farspace strategy summit, something high-priority, something political. He hadn’t wanted to leave.

“Only for a few hours,” he’d said, hands resting protectively on your hips, eyes flickering down to the tiny bundle in your arms. “Keep her close to you.”

“As always,” you’d whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips, then to the forehead of the baby in his arms before he reluctantly handed her back.

Your daughter was still the sweetest thing you had ever seen.

A chubby little angel, soft and smiling, with her father’s deep violet eyes and rich dark hair, curled against your chest in a cloud of tulle and satin. You had dressed her in a little lilac puff-sleeved romper with bow socks and a lace bonnet, and the moment you picked her up to admire her, you squealed.

“Caleb,” you whispered aloud to no one, cradling your daughter against your chest as she blinked up sleepily, “How did we make something this sweet? I can’t even breathe, she’s too precious.”

Your baby let out a gentle coo, nuzzling her face into your neck.

“Oh my goodness, do you want me to explode?!” you gasped, clutching her close and peppering soft kisses all over her cheeks, her chubby hands, her dimpled arms.

You took her out into the private Skyhaven rooftop garden, just as the artificial sky dome adjusted into warm sunlight. Everything sparkled, the skyline, the flower beds, the soft playground padding Caleb had installed just for her to crawl on safely. You laid down a blanket and placed her gently on your lap.

“There,” you whispered, beaming. “My pretty little babygirl. You look like a doll. You are a doll.”

She smiled, wide and gummy, clapping her hands together with glee. Her curls bounced beneath her bonnet as she babbled toward the clouds.

You couldn’t take it.

You leaned down and kissed her tummy over and over, then buried your face in it with a muffled squeal. “You’re so soft and squishy because mama made very good milk, yes I did,” you cooed proudly. “Your thighs are so chunky. Your arms are little dumplings. You’re perfect. And you’re mine.”

She giggled so sweetly, so softly, like a flower blooming in the sun.

You had never loved anything this much.

Hours passed just like that, nuzzling, playing, feeding her, cuddling her until she drifted to sleep in your arms, fingers curled into your gown.

You were so in love with her that you barely noticed the faint sound of the elevator until it opened quietly behind you.

Caleb.

Bootsteps were light today. He wasn’t in uniform anymorec just a soft black shirt, sleeves rolled, no tie, eyes a little tired, but the moment he saw you and your baby laying in the garden sun, he paused.

He said nothing for a long moment.

Then, “You two look like you were painted here.”

You smiled and glanced up, still cradling her sleeping form. “She had the best day. We played all morning. I dressed her up. I kissed her so much I think she’s sick of me.”

“She’s never sick of you.” Caleb came closer, crouching beside you both. “I’m not either.”

He brushed her cheek gently, then leaned in and kissed your lips with reverence. “She’s getting chubbier.”

“Because I’m doing a very good job,” you said smugly, kissing the top of her head. “She’s a total mama’s girl today, by the way.”

Caleb raised a brow. “That so?”

“She wouldn’t even look at your picture on the comms.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully and scooped her up into his arms with the softest, most careful grace. “What about now, sweet pea? Hm?”

Your daughter stirred softly, her little mouth forming the beginning of a yawn, until her sleepy gaze landed on him.

“Da…dy…”

Caleb’s entire expression shattered.

“…Oh,” he murmured, voice thickening. “There you are.”

You leaned your head against his arm and smiled at the two of them. “Told you. She’s the sweetest baby girl in the universe.”

He glanced down at you, eyes impossibly gentle. “Like her mama.”

And he held you both close for the rest of the sunset.

[so-mordor-itis]

On the Edge of Your Knife

I know I've written for Sakura a lot, but the more I read the manga the more I just wanna HUG him holy shit

Also huge shoutout to @arget-star , their fics were a huge inspiration! Check them out!

Warning, this wasn't edited that much, so apologies!

Word count: 1.3k

“You can take your time, you know.” 

A sentence Sakura hears from you too often now. That he’s allowed to take his time, to stop and smell the roses or sakura trees or something along those lines. The words are odd sounding together, as if they were a mythical creature that hadn’t been discovered yet. And while you keep telling him this, that he can, he still can’t decide if he should. Especially since every time you remind him, it’s something related to you.

He keeps trying so hard to hold your hand without his cheeks exploding into a blood red. You could be doing something so simple, so normal, and he’d feel his fingers twitch, desperate to reach out and grab your own. To knot your hands together in union. He has tried three times now.

 First time, you two had only been dating for two weeks. He was walking you home after school, the sun was low, turning the sky into a beautiful orange and purple hue. You had sighed in awe, “What a pretty color.” The glow of the sky had created a halo around your face, and he couldn’t help himself. He reached for your hand, and when you immediately folded your fingers against his own, he jumped as if something cold pressed against his skin. 

“Oh, you okay?” you gasped at his sudden movement. 

“I–uh–ah, forget it,” he grumbled, shoving his fists into his pant pockets. “It’s gettin’ late, let’s hurry.” He swiveled himself around as fast as a lightning bolt. 

“It’s okay,” he heard you say, followed by a chortle. “If you want to hold my hand, all you have to do is ask.”

“Forget about it.”

The second time he tried was when you came over to his shabby house. He doesn’t exactly remember why you had knocked on his door and then plopped yourself on one of the shitty plastic chairs he had in his tiny kitchen, but you did. You were telling him about something, a hobby of yours you enjoyed, if he squints hard enough to remember. Sakura could never forget the way your eyes lit up, how they genuinely twinkled like the stars twinkled in the night sky. You turned away to grab something out of your bag, leaving one of your hands out in the open. A perfect opportunity, or so said a voice remarkably close to Suo’s in his head. He reached forward slowly, attempting to have his fingertips touch yours. Once they made contact, he couldn’t help but notice the difference between them. How soft yours was in comparison to his rough, tattered and bruised. 

You were fast with your movement, locking your fingers against his just like before. He held his stance a tad longer, but retracted once again, blush high on his features. 

“It’s okay, you know,” you told him, a smile on your face as if he didn’t do something stupid just now. “You can take your time.” 

Sakura didn’t answer, all he could think about was how dumb he was being. Holding your hand should be so simple, yet whenever he felt the skin on skin contact, he’d retreat. He recalled the analogy Kaji had used about him, that his behavior mimicked a wounded animal, lashing out or retreating when anyone showed him any type of kindness. 

The third time he tried to hold your hand, it was right after you had paid for dinner one night and you were getting up to leave your spot. On instinct, Sakura had reached up to grab your hand, only to fail and grab your sleeve instead. As if he wasn’t already pink from being in public on a date, his face flared in his usual sunset red hue. “...Sorry.”

You gave him a confused look, “Why are you sorry? You’re fine.” You reach to grab his hand before hesitating, probably remembering the few times he’s tried and retracted. “Like I said, you can take your time. We don’t need to rush things.” 

He couldn’t remember what else happened that night, but he wouldn’t be able to forget the lingering void in his gut, and Kotoha’s look of confusion and pity. 

—

“How does it not bother you?” He asks one day, as the two of you were sitting in his shabby house once again, playing with a deck of cards you had brought over. 

“How does what not bother me?” you quickly reply, taking your eyes off your deck. “The fact you have a very bad poker face?”

“I do not!”

“You were smirking like a cat last round, that's why I easily beat you.”

“I–I just let you win is all, like a good boyfriend should.”

You snicker, “You? I doubt that.” 

“What’s that mean!”

“Nothing,” you roll your eyes, but there’s no malice or annoyance in your tone.

“Anyway, it’s not that…” his eyes trail off to the side as he starts to glance at the wall of his supposed living room. It’s cracked. Some of the fissures reach all the way to the ceiling. “How does it not bother you that…that I can’t…uh…” The words won’t leave his mouth, and suddenly his tongue feels sticky. Not to mention, his cheeks are once again on fire, buzzing almost. He gives up after a good minute of trying. “Nevermind, forget it.” 

“Can’t hold my hand?”

He sputters, immediately looking towards you with surprise. “Uh, yeah. How’d–”

“I’m not stupid, you know,” you tell him, putting down your deck. Your eyes hold this odd warmth, something he can’t recognize. It makes his heart flip, whatever it is. “You’re very hesitant with this.” You motion your hands between you two. “And that’s okay. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Shouldn’t I be, you know, the one making all the moves?”

“Real life can’t be like a romance novel, but it’s really cute seeing you try so hard.” 

He looks away again, grumbling under his breath. “‘m not cute.”

“I mean it, you know?” you tell him, a small smile forming on your lips. “You really can take your time with this.” 

“Won’t you get bored?” 

Your face falls, a mixture of sadness and something else. “No, never.” 

Sakura feels the void in his gut from before. The question sounds so small, the sentence of words feel so light, but why did your reaction make them feel so heavy? 

“Listen to me, okay, Sakura?” You say, scooting closer to him. “I couldn’t get bored of you, even if I wanted to. You’re loud and fun and spontaneous and so so good.” Your eyes look as if they’re shimmering, are you about to cry? “I’m dating you for a reason, and if I get bored of you, then honestly, I’d deserve to be kicked to the curb.” 

His mouth is agape as he watches tears slide down your cheeks. You sniff and quickly wipe them. “Sorry, your question just…made me feel so sad. You deserve to be loved, you know? Have you been told that?”

(No.)

“I…” The words won’t form again, and he swears he’s going to punch himself in the gut. “Sorry.”

“Wha–huh?”

“I…I made you cry.” 

Your arms wrap around him faster than he can blink. You hold him tightly, as if you have just jumped from a cliff and landed in his arms. “No, you didn’t. I promise.” 

You two sit there for a minute, with you holding his form as he stares into his cracked walls with shock before he reciprocates. His movement is as slow as molasses, but eventually he holds your form tightly in return. 

“Take your time. I promise I’m not leaving. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.”

Even if he tried to get rid of you, he’d be killing himself in the process. 

It hasn’t even been five minutes before you try to let go. “Ah, sorry, I should’ve–”

“Can we just…” he interrupts you. “Can we just stay like this for a minute?”

“Yeah. Yeah we can.”

—

The next day, he knots his fingers around yours with no hesitation, no retraction. Just pure affection. 

[38riku]

𝐁𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎂 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

scenarios based on their birthday voice line. includes trey clover, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, and idia shroud.

/ suggestive if you squint. some of their voice lines are so flirty it's not my fault. gender neutral. /

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

"ha-ha, way to put me on the spot. well, thanks. you know, according to the Queen of Hearts' laws, we're allowed to ask for anything we want on our birthdays ... h-hey, chill. I was joking."

it was slightly amusing to see the usually composed and cool headed trey clover flustered. his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. 'why did I say that?' he questioned over and over silently until his head started to spin.

"well, I'd hate to break one the Queen's laws." golden eyes widened in bewilderment at your statement. you were having the time of your life teasing him, weren't you? giggling like the menace he knows you to be.

your hands toyed with his tie, slowly and gently tugging at the fabric. if riddle saw him he'd surely hear an earful about proper dress, but, who cares? not him. not when you were flirting with him so blatantly in his room.

"what will it be clover?"

"what're you willing to give darling?"

the look in your eyes answered for him. everything. anything. no matter how ludicrous the request or object it would be his.

"you know you have my consent, yes?" your question was met with a nod, and a very deep gulp. he was great at keeping up the calm, cool and collected facade but, upon closer inspection — thundering heartbeat, cheeks now turning a deep red color, sweaty palms — he was, in fact, far from that.

trey didn't realize he had leaned in until he felt your breath fan his cheek. the faint smell of his birthday tart from the party reminded him that anyone could walk in. even so, there was no need to rush this moment.

it's his birthday after all. he deserves to be a bit selfish.

especially when it tastes like cherries.

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 ☀︎ 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘

"you remembered my birthday? thanks! you're so nice, taking the time to celebrate with me. okay, bring it in for a pic! gotta commemorate this on Magicam."

"today was fun! i can't believe you planned all this just for me." although he kept his usual happy go lucky cadence, there was an underlying tone of disbelief. he had asked you to pinch him many times during your outing yet it still didn't feel real.

each part of the day was calculated. no matter how many times you deny it, he was in the forefront of your mind.

there was no cake or sweet treat. instead, a plate of spicy curry with happy birthday written in sauce. it was a bit sloppy but made his heart warm and brain fuzzy.

he half expected the two of you to go shopping, however, you surprised him again with a trip to the bookstore. cater knew you enjoyed manga. it was a popular topic amongst you and the underclassmen.

"branching out is an important part of growing up!" you had lectured him. he found it amusing but allowed you to coerce him into getting a few volumes of your favorites.

not that it took much. you could ask for the moon and cater would find a way to make it happen.

lastly, was his dislike for crowds. thus, the two of you were on the quiet beach, watching the sunset as the sky exploded in various hues of warmth. it had been a cinematic ending to his birthday. and, for once, he didn't want it to end.

the celebrations typically left a bad taste in his mouth. literally.

if anyone were to make today the least bit tolerable it would be you. the two of you were friends, not super close but far from distant, and today – like many other days – time went by too fast, and wish you'd stay beside him a but longer.

"let's take a picture!" cater smiled, not waiting for your answer as he pulled you close. hopefully you didn't notice how nervous he was to hold you like this, so close, so warm.

with a silly face for the camera he snapped the photo, only to feel a burst of warmth on his cheek.

"happy birthday cater!" you were so genuine, smiling softly and asking "same time next year?"

cater couldn't bring himself to answer. but, if his toothy smile was anything to go by then it was a resounding yes.

for once he looked forward to next year. more importantly, spending it with you.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

ain't nothin' great about birthdays. it's just the day I was born. but if you really wanna celebrate it, I won't stop you. I always welcome presents.

"you know it's rude not to greet the birthday boy." it wasn't unusual to hear snide remarks from leona. in fact, he was ninety percent sure you expected this from your reaction. or the lack of one.

he didn't know why you gave him a birthday gift. but, since you did, it irritated him that you didn't deliver it yourself.

"you don't like it?" tease. even when you're cornered by a predator like himself you find time to dig under his skin. it was entertaining most of the time. right now, it simply pissed him off.

"if you're gonna be so bold as to give me a gift, at least deliver it yourself." huffing, he stood straight, content with getting his point across.

as hard as you tried to remain unbothered by his presence, you failed. your eyes watched him warily, anticipating something but not knowing what.

"leona, I don't know what you're planning but–"

"just thought i'd take the rest of my gift to go."

and, just like that, you were over his shoulder. as far as he's concerned the rest of your schedule is cleared to entertain the birthday boy.

what were you thinking? giving someone like him "coupons" as if he didn't already have someone to do his tedious work. as stupidly endearing your gift is, he intends to use each and every one.

naturally you end up in his room. unnaturally, he placed you down on your feet gently. he snorted at your surprise and handed you a small stack of clothes.

"your ... gym uniform?"

"put it on. you smell like your friends, and cat, I won't be able to sleep peacefully like that."

you scoffed at his reasoning but it was very very believable. leona felt a tinge of guilt for lying but, in his defense, if he was going to use you as a pillow you could at least smell like him.

the shirt was too big and you replaced his pants with your own clean pair of sweats. it seemed to have sufficed, because a moment later the two of you were, what he calls 'platonically cuddling'.

in his eyes, there was nothing platonic.

not the way you gently scratched his hair while scrolling on your phone.

not the way his tail curled around your waist protectively.

not the way he felt so at ease it he's barely conscious long enough to question the feeling before drifting to sleep.

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔�� ☀︎ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄

what's up? I'm kinda busy collecting birthday voice clips from my game faves. after all, the only people who celebrate for me IRL are, like, my relatives. huh? you came to throw a birthday party? f-for me?! hrk... c-couldn't you give me a ready check or something before springing a raid on me?! i'm totally ungeared, and I haven't even watched a tutorial video yet!

the party wasn't as bad as he expected. just as you predicted, there are people who enjoy the same things he does — he and lilia play the same type of games, ace is a manga nerd — in short, his pop culture skillset was a sufficient substitute for his lack of social exp.

"look at you, increasing buddy levels with npc's. is now a bad time to say i told you so?"

"yes. you can't make fun of me on my b-birthday."

you laughter caused his hair to flare underneath his hood. although the party wasn't as overwhelming as he expected, you were still ... well, you, and you never failed to reduce his HP to zero with a smile.

imagine the damage he took when you suddenly took his hand, dragging him off to who knows where?

it was a critical hit.

"one more surprise." you giggled, opening one of the many doors in your recently renovated dorm. this specific room was decorated with the purpose of gaming.

the pc was decent, dual monitors, a soundbar, and a handful of game systems that cost more than a few thaumarks.

"now you can teach a mere noob like me all about gaming in the magic world."

all of this, to play games with him? it was unbelievable. he didn't deserve it. you were friends with plenty of maxed out characters and there were various love interest routes for you to take, yet, you chose him.

"i am pretty g-good. tutorial videos wouldn't help someone as h-hopeless as you."

it was the first time he spent his birthday with someone that wasn't related to him. teaching the main character (in his eyes) how to play video games. your shoulders were touching, faces inches apart whenever you'd turn to him, listening to him explain this and that.

idia had muted the party. buddy levels with npc's didn't matter when he was filling the romance bar.

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[magicalmatcha]

SWEET LIFE: Missin Something

@/offbrandheiress tweeted!

↳ i have to work a 12hr shift and ashido mina is partying it up 😒

LONG WRITTEN PORTION UNDER THE CUT!

"Katsuki!"

The party was bubbling, music thrumming through the decks of the yacht, laughter ringing out beneath the soft burn of the setting sun. Dozens of guests moved like light across the sprawling vessel, each one draped in summer looks that cost more than most people’s tuition.

Bakugou stood near the starboard rail, one hand shoved into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other holding a half-finished glass of mead. He listened, mostly tuned out, while Kyoka and Hagakure chatted beside him, their voices trailing between beats of the ambient lounge track humming through the yacht’s sound system.

His head snapped to the side at the shrill, familiar voice. His scowl didn’t shift.

Barreling toward him in a whirlwind of pink and white silk was Mina Ashido, radiant and visibly unhinged, dripping in Swarovski jewelry like it was armor. Behind her, Kirishima followed fast, holding a tiny gold Prada clutch with both hands like it might explode.

“This caterer,” Mina hissed, skidding to a halt in front of them, “thinks takoyaki is a suitable finger food. Takoyaki, Katsuki!”

Kirishima grimaced in agreement. Mina tossed her hair over one shoulder and threw her arms up dramatically. “And it’s not even the fact that it’s takoyaki, it tastes like it came from a street cart. He’s making a fool of me.”

Katsuki stared at her for a beat, vaguely amused. “Have you ever even had street food?”

“No,” she said instantly, appalled. “That’s why I need you to try it.” She grabbed his forearm in desperation, about to drag him off when he planted his feet and pulled away.

“Calm down, Princess Bubblegum.” He reclaimed his arm with a shake. “I got the caterers, remember? They’re the same people who did the afterparty for Seoul Fashion Week 2022. The squid’s wild-caught, flown in from the damn Caribbean.”

He said it casually, but there was weight behind it, and Mina stilled, visibly unclenching.

“Right. Of course.” She smoothed her silk skirt as Eijirou wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her.

“Just relax, Mina,” Kirishima said gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “The sunset hasn’t even peaked yet.”

Katsuki raised a brow, taking a sip of his drink. “What, you doubted me?”

“A little,” Mina admitted without shame.

“Fuck off.”

She grinned, crisis averted, the gleam returning to her already over-glittered eyes.

Sero and Denki wandered over, their presence announced by the faint sound of Denki chewing gum too loudly and Sero glancing down at his camera, flicking through footage with practiced swipes. Denki tugged on his arm impatiently, trying to get him to keep pace.

“Yo, has the Golden Trio pulled up yet?” Denki asked, eyes scanning the yacht’s entrance. “Yn promised we could use her for clout for at least three minutes of the vlog.”

Mina shrugged, effortlessly elegant as she plucked a cosmopolitan off a passing tray Kirishima flagged down for her. She held the glass like an accessory, nails glinting in the warm gold of the setting sun.

“Party started at five,” she said, sipping without smudging her gloss. “They’ll come fashionably late, just late enough to make an entrance, but not late enough to look like they’ve stopped respecting time entirely.”

“Elite punctuality,” Sero muttered, checking his screen again. “The most terrifying kind.”

“They’ll be here any minute,” Mina added, glancing up just as a new wave of laughter rang out from the upper deck. A smaller boat had just docked, a sleek, minimal thing with all-white trim, and more guests filed in, the yacht tilting ever so slightly beneath the shift.

A drone floated overhead, lazily circling, its blinking red light barely visible against the darkening sky. Whether it belonged to an influencer’s vlog or a Tattle Tokyo scout was anyone’s guess and no one cared enough to find out.

Bakugou’s brow furrowed faintly, listening. Kyoka had pulled her phone low, glancing at the screen like she was trying to read discreetly under the table.

“She’s here,” Kyoka murmured, not bothering to raise her voice.

“How do you know?” Sero leaned over curiously, handing the camera to Denki without taking his eyes off Kyoka’s phone. “When I checked her location thirty minutes ago, she was still holed up in some house in Azabu.”

Kyoka flipped her phone around to show them.

On the screen was a grainy zoomed-in photo from the Tattle Tokyo live stories, Yn, unmistakably poised, descending from the new boat in a stunning dress and heels too high to be safe on a floating structure. Behind her trailed Momo, graceful and immaculately composed, and just a step back from her, Todoroki, looking every inch the heir to a dynasty.

The caption underneath read:

“BREAKING: Japan’s princess has docked. Yn Fushikage, flanked by her famously difficult-to-access entourage, has arrived at Ashido’s end-of-summer sunset soirée. Todoroki in white linen. Yaoyorozu carrying what looks like a vintage Bulgari clutch. And All Might's protege clad in Versace. A strange girl seems to be accompanying them. We’ll be watching.”

Denki let out a low whistle. “We are so getting the thumbnail.”

“God bless Tattle Tokyo,” Sero muttered reverently.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Bunch of creeps with a drone.”

“You’re literally in three of their top-viewed posts,” Kyoka said without looking up.

“And you looked good in them,” Mina added with a smirk. “Be grateful.”

Just then, the ambient music dipped for half a second, the kind of subtle signal a DJ might cue when something or someone notable entered the space.

And like clockwork, the golden light of the setting sun spilled across the upper deck, and the Golden Trio stepped into view. Accompanied by Izuku. Of course. A vaguely familiar face.

They were late, an hour and forty two minutes but who's counting, probably. Her sunset-toned gown matched the color of the sky behind her too perfectly for coincidence, delicate gold accents catching the last of the light as if the setting sun had chosen her for a final bow. Her hair was in a style Mina would later describe as “casually imperial.” A glass of something citrusy and expensive was already in her hand, and she hadn’t even spoken to a single person yet.

There were air kisses exchanged with the artistic elite, someone from the Tokyo Ballet circle, a fashion house heiress, an actor’s daughter. Todoroki and Yaoyorozu flanked her with practiced ease, stepping into conversations with ghost-like grace. Midoriya, in tailored off-white and nerves, trailed just behind, caught in a too-long conversation with a P.R. girl who worked for Valentino.

And glued to Yn’s side was someone Katsuki vaguely remembered, a short-haired brunette with a nervous smile and a hand that clutched Yn’s arm like she might float away without her. Greece trip. Mykonos. Something about a villa and too much talent but not enough money.

She looked terrified now.

“That’s the ballet girl,” Kyoka murmured, having sidled closer beside Katsuki, eyes flicking between the newcomer and her phone. “Uraraka something. I remember her from Greece, Fushikage must have used her plus one after all.”

Mina arched a brow. “She looks like she’s one shaky breath away from falling off the yacht.”

“She’s new,” Kirishima offered gently. “She’ll adjust.”

“Or get eaten alive.” Denki appeared again, camera in hand. “This place smells blood in the water faster than actual sharks.”

Sero nudged him. “Let’s get the shot. Yn’s dress is doing 90% of the work for us.”

Katsuki didn’t speak. He just kept his eyes trained on her, on the way she laughed with someone she didn’t like, no-one liked, the way she held her glass like she hadn’t been raised around people who had to hold glasses like that. Regal. Remote.

She looked good.

Too good.

And then she glanced down.

Not at him. Not yet.

At the stairs. At the party below.

The golden light softened her already-gentle features as her eyes skimmed across the crowd. Her smile, polite, practiced, and warm enough to be disarming, never faltered. Even when it landed on them.

Mina straightened instinctively.

Kirishima gave a tiny wave.

Denki whispered “here we go” like a man preparing for liftoff.

And Katsuki—

Katsuki narrowed his eyes the second her gaze locked on his.

Because she saw him. Oh, she saw him. And the worst part?

She smiled.

Not like she was amused. Not like she was being sarcastic.

No. Yn Fushikage smiled at him like he was a welcome sight. Like he was someone she was happy to see.

Her head tilted just so, one hand resting lightly on the banister of the upper deck. That same impossibly soft smile still playing at her lips. She didn’t wave, didn’t smirk. Just dipped her chin in a delicate, regal nod.

The way one might acknowledge a butler who’d done something correctly for once.

Bakugou scowled. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand.

Yn turned away like she hadn’t just mentally dropkicked him off the side of the boat using nothing but grace and composure.

And worst of all?

The moment she vanished behind the sweeping curtains of the lounge deck, he could still feel that perfect little smile burning a hole in his skull.

“We have to greet Ashido,” Momo murmured, her voice low and deliberate in Yn’s left ear.

“Honestly, it’s the first thing we should have done,” Shoto added from her right, eyes flicking toward the glittering upper deck.

“I just saw them,” Yn said evenly, swirling the pale pink drink in her hand. Her voice was calm, aloof, detached in a way only she could pull off in four-inch heels. “Didn’t say hello, however.”

The three of them stood in a quiet alcove near the edge of the main deck, half-shadowed by a canopy of gauzy linens and warm string lights. Around them, the soirée glimmered like a perfume ad, music pulsing softly under the chatter of guests, designer fabrics rustling in the warm breeze off the water.

Midoriya appeared beside them like a ghost, Ochaco trailing behind, fingers wrapped tightly around his arm like a lifeline. His voice was quiet and firm. “We just went to say hi to the Brat Pack. I'm about to get Raka something to eat. Or snack on, these are finger food at best."

“Oh, great,” Yn sighed, finishing the last sip of her drink and placing the glass on the tray of a passing waiter without ever breaking eye contact. “So everyone’s said hi but us.”

Shoto didn’t bother to look smug, but his silence did it for him.

With a soft sigh, Yn reached into her bag, already resigned. “Hold this.”

Shoto flipped open her compact mirror before she had to ask, holding it up with practiced ease. She caught her reflection, hair still perfect, lashes curled, the faintest shimmer of champagne highlighter on the high points of her cheeks. Still, she reapplied her gloss with surgical precision, pressing her lips together once before sealing the tube.

She stared at herself a moment longer than necessary.

Then she shut the compact with a quiet snap.

“Alright, fine.” She turned toward Momo with the air of someone walking into a war council, not a party. “Let’s go."

They made their way across the yacht with the quiet precision of seasoned diplomats. Shoto trailed just slightly behind, unbothered, unreadable, while Momo walked with purpose, all elegance and posture. Yn was in the center, unhurried, letting people part around her like tides.

“Try not to look like you’re marching to the guillotine,” Momo said softly, offering a half-smile.

“I might as well be,” Yn muttered back, flashing an award-winning smile at some politician’s son in Gucci loafers.

A gasp caught in Momo’s throat. She stopped abruptly, causing both Shoto and Yn to freeze mid-step.

“What’s wrong, Mo?” Shoto asked, brow raised.

“Oh, I just remembered, we have to say hi to the president’s son. His father’s approving the expansion of the railroad industry. My family benefits greatly from that.” Her eyes darted around the crowd, her voice coated in an obvious lie.

Shoto blinked at her, unimpressed. “We can do that afterward. We have to say hi to the host of the party. It’s only polite.” He nodded slightly toward Yn as they continued walking.

But Momo quickly grabbed both their arms, tugging them back. “Oh, but I insist, they’re on the other side of the boat. Let’s go. Please.” Her tone had changed, urgent, tense.

Shoto narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never been a good liar, Mo. I saw you talk to him when we got here. What—is this about some guy? You have feelings or something?”

Yn gasped, eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s so cute! Momo with a crush? Never thought I’d see the day. But please, you know we have to say hi to Ashido firs—”

Her voice faltered as she caught the direction of Momo’s gaze.

“Wait… why do your eyes keep darting behind me?”

Shoto turned first. Then Momo. And finally Yn.

Her heart didn’t shatter, it sank. Quietly. Slowly. Like a ship folding beneath the waves with no fanfare, no warning. A collapse so still it almost didn’t look like anything at all. The silence inside her felt too loud.

There, near the second staircase at the far end of the deck, sat Hugo.

Her Hugo.

He was laughing, half-listening to some Arsenal player she didn’t recognize. He looked good, effortlessly so, in that untouchable, aloof kind of way that used to draw her in. His curls caught the light just right. His posture was casual, relaxed.

His arm was draped lazily around a girl with brightly green dyed hair. Her laugh rang out like wind chimes, airy and thoughtless, as he leaned in close, whispering something into her ear. His lips brushed skin. The girl’s nails matched her Balenciaga wedges. Yn hated how easily she noticed that.

She giggled.

He smiled.

Yn blinked.

The image stung with a slow, dull ache. Not like a knife. Like a bruise. Like a realization.

Shoto and Momo stood still, unsure of what to say.

It didn’t matter. There was nothing to say.

Yn exhaled once, the sound short and clean, like the click of a clasp. She reached for her composure like it was just another item in her clutch, matte, minimal, and ready for use.

“Well,” she said softly. “That’s humiliating.”

She smiled—cold, perfect.

Then turned her back on him completely.

The sun dipped lower behind them, bathing the yacht in a wash of molten color. Somewhere on the deck, the laughter of strangers echoed, and Hugo didn’t even look up.

inside scoop!

momo is a bad liar, if you want to keep a secret you don't tell her

if this was any other story maybe yn would have confronted him but as much as she's the biggest hopeless romantic, she also has an appearance to maintain and she can't have a break down on in front of people

Also that whole bit of "maybe Hugo's sleeping bc time zones" yn knew he was in Japan. Her friends didn't. Thats what made her even more confused

that took me forever to write, I didn't know how I wanted this to flow. I still don't like the way it turned out

Mina's party had 215 people in attendance. The yacht is not that big. Actually idk how big yachts are.

Now the songs/titles will actually pertain to the story

Not proofread. I got lazy.

<< paper machine | waste my time >>

Send an ask to be added to the taglist! Also my inbox is always open, Sweet Life related asks are under 🥂 — sweet life!

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[just-b-yourself]

What Happened to The Handmaid’s Tale? A Eulogy for Nick Blaine, and My Faith in TV Writing

I wasn’t going to write again.

But then, one quiet afternoon, I remembered Nick Blaine.

And the rage came back.

I’ve written about this show so many times, you’d think I’d have found closure by now.

But here I am. Still grieving. Still bitter. Still trying to figure out how one of my favorite shows of all time managed to destroy its own legacy — not with a bang, but with bad writing, broken characters, and one very disrespectful airplane explosion.

It’s honestly impressive how the writers of Season 6 managed to take a show once praised for its layered character arcs, emotional realism, and slow-burning tension — and reduce it to a mess of incoherent choices, character assassinations, and empty symbolism. It’s like they held a bonfire in the writers’ room and tossed in all the previous seasons’ scripts, just to make sure no one accidentally referenced anything consistent. The show used to be about trauma, survival, resistance. In Season 6, it became about… who knows? Betraying long-standing character arcs? Gaslighting your audience? Maybe the writing team got stuck in Gilead themselves and started drafting episodes from inside a Commander’s basement. Or maybe they tried to escape to Canada but got caught mid-draft. Either way, it’s clear someone was sleep-deprived, emotionally unavailable, and possibly writing on a dare. What happened to subtlety? Continuity? Depth? Oh right — they exploded in that same plane as Nick.

How to Lose a Loyal Audience in 10 Episodes ?

Want to lose your fanbase? Step 1: Ignore years of thoughtful character building. Step 2: Undermine the most emotionally resonant relationships. Step 3: Kill one of the most beloved characters offscreen and call it closure. Step 4: Promote your spin-off like nothing happened. Congrats, you’ve just alienated half your viewers and turned what could’ve been a legacy into a cautionary tale for future writers.

Let’s talk about Nick Blaine. Again.

A character so layered, so quietly devastating, so beautifully restrained, that he somehow managed to express a full novel’s worth of emotion with a single conflicted glance. A man who risked everything in silence. Who rebelled not with fireworks, but with quiet, impossible choices. A man who loved June with a kind of quiet devotion that never asked for recognition — and rarely got it from the writers either, apparently.

Because whatever the hell Season 6 was… it wasn’t written by anyone who had watched the previous five.

This is a man who:

Was always part of the resistance (yes, even when no one else knew it).

Played the long game, while everyone else played checkers with a blindfold.

Loved June with a kind of brutal, sacrificial tenderness — and proved it over and over again.

Carried guilt, grief, and agency in every scene, even when he said nothing.

Was literally canonically confirmed to be part of The Testaments, which takes place years after the events of this show.

Did the writers:

Decide subtle male characters are just "too much effort"?

Confuse "minimalist" with "nonexistent"?

They didn't just underwrite him — they actively un-wrote him. All the nuance, the inner conflict, the impossible choices? Gone. Swept under the narrative rug like inconvenient canon

Because no matter how much you try to fade him out, Nick Blaine’s story matters. His choices mattered. His love mattered. His presence in the rebellion — quiet, strategic, constant — mattered.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t flashy.

He was the man in the shadows, protecting what he could, loving who he shouldn’t, and carrying the weight of every compromise he ever made.

And for six seasons, we watched him try. And try. And try again.

And this is the thanks he gets?

I knew they wouldn’t give him a happy ending.

I knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t ride off into the sunset with June, holding Holly’s hand and planting tomatoes in some post-Gilead garden. That was never his path.

But I thought — I hoped — they would at least honor him.

Instead, they reduced him to a name on a report.

A body in an exploded plane.

A casualty of a mission where he gave everything, only to be erased with a single line of dialogue and a flicker of guilt in June’s eyes.

He didn’t even get a scene.

He died offscreen. Like a narrative inconvenience.

Because Nick was never just a love interest.

He was never just “the other guy.”

He was the one who saw June when no one else did.

He carried her in silence when she had nothing left.

He protected her when it cost him everything.

He stayed loyal — not to Gilead, not to any side, but to her.

To love, in a world where love was weaponized, forbidden, devoured.

He lived in the grey, and he died in the dark.

And the writers didn’t even give us a light.

No real goodbye. No reckoning. No moment of honesty between him and June.

No justice for a man who spent six seasons playing chess while everyone else smashed pieces on the floor.

Nick Blaine didn’t need a happy ending.

But he deserved a real one. One that acknowledged who he was. What he did. What he carried. The love he held and never demanded. The quiet war he fought until the very end.

Nick was never loud. Never dramatic. Never the obvious hero.

He was quiet resistance. A man who lived in grey zones, made impossible choices, and never once stopped fighting — even when it cost him everything.

He saved Luke. He saved Moira. He got June out — twice. He handed over intel. He infiltrated Command. He put himself on the line every single season for the people he loved.

He didn’t have big speeches or dramatic gestures. He was quiet resistance. The man in the background.

The one who sacrificed his safety, his freedom, and eventually his life — not for recognition, not for power, but for love.

For June.

For his family.

For the rebellion.

For a world better than the one that had broken him.

He was the most selfless character in the entire series.

He showed up — always.

When June called, he came.

When others hesitated, he acted.

He got people out. He gave everything — and asked for nothing.

And the irony?

He’s canonically alive in The Testaments.

He’s meant to continue. To matter. To exist in the world after all this.

But not here. Not in the show they gave us.

They killed him off like a side character in someone else's story.

No goodbye. No final scene. No dignity.

Just: boom. Plane gone. Problem solved

But the writers clearly didn’t rewatch their own show before writing Season 6.

Because they destroyed Nick’s arc in two or three lazy scenes, like all that nuance was just a narrative inconvenience.

They needed someone expendable. So they made it him.

And June?

She betrayed him. For the “greater good.”

And we’re supposed to buy that?

That she’d let him die so quietly after everything he did for her, for her family, for the entire resistance?

This isn’t the June I knew. Not the woman who carried trauma and fury and compassion in equal measure.

In Season 6, she’s… different. Detached. Not just hardened — hollowed.

I understand what they were trying to do — “the greater good,” sacrifice, etc. — but it felt false. Like she’d lost her humanity, and the show didn’t notice.

Her fire turned to static. Her decisions made no emotional sense.

The writing didn’t just drop the ball — it launched it into orbit and called it a finale.

There were so many ways to honor these characters.

So many chances to bring their arcs to a meaningful close.

But the final season was a mess of plot holes, character inconsistencies, and writing that felt like a stranger finishing someone else’s story.

They didn’t just forget Nick — they forgot everything that made the show worth watching in the first place.

Let’s talk about the unholy trinity of Gilead’s architects: Joseph Lawrence, Serena Joy, and Aunt Lydia — three characters who, despite their haunting résumés of systemic cruelty, have somehow been offered redemption arcs as if trauma had an expiration date. Joseph Lawrence isn’t just a “complicated man” with a tragic wife — he’s the very engineer of the Colonies: the mass grave of Gilead, where infertile women and “undesirables” were sent to suffer and die in radioactive agony. Then there’s Serena Joy — the woman who wrote the book on Gilead’s theocratic oppression. Literally. A mouthpiece of rape culture wrapped in pearls and condescension, Serena held June down — while pregnant — to be raped by her husband and stole a child from her biological mother. And finally, Aunt Lydia — the evangelical war criminal disguised as a devout caregiver. She tased, beat, and psychologically broke handmaids with gleeful fervor. She abducted children from their mothers, broke their spirits in “Red Center” indoctrination camps, and justified every scar with a Bible verse. And the fact that they were offered forgiveness, understanding, and even sympathy — while a character like Nick Blaine, who resisted from within and bled silently for the cause, was thrown away — isn’t just insulting. It’s revisionist fiction disguised as nuance. Their crimes didn’t fade with time. The show just chose to forget.

Let’s not even talk about the show promo.

Because wow — the disrespect.

The gaslighting.

The interviews where they teased fans like we were children.

The smugness. The vague answers. The flat-out contradictions.

You could feel the disdain.

It was clear they didn’t know what story they were telling anymore.

Or worse — they didn’t care

I’ve written so many posts about this. I’ve tried to make peace with it.

But every time I revisit the show, every time I think about what it could have been, I feel that sting again. That betrayal.

Because this wasn’t just about a character dying.

It was about a show giving up on itself.

Nick Blaine deserved better.

June deserved to be written with care.

We, the viewers who stayed loyal through the darkest moments, deserved better.

We didn’t love The Handmaid’s Tale just for the plot.

We loved it because of the people. The characters. The layered, flawed, beautiful writing that made us feel something real.

And no character represented that better than Nick.

He’s not a villain.

He’s not a traitor.

He's not a nazi.

He’s a man who lived in darkness so others could find the light.

A man who died alone, unloved, uncelebrated.

So here I am, again.

Writing another eulogy.

Not just for Nick — but for a story that forgot how to tell itself.

And I wish I could say I’m done now. That I’ve moved on.

But the truth is… when a show breaks your heart like this, the ache lingers.

RIP Nick Blaine.

And RIP to the version of The Handmaid’s Tale that once meant the world to me

So this is my final post.

My final grief.

Nick Blaine deserved better.

Not just a longer scene. Not just a different ending.

He deserved to be seen, understood, remembered — for the choices he made, the burdens he carried, the love he gave without ever asking for it in return.

But I remember him.

We remember him.

And we will carry that with us — in the silence, in the spaces the show forgot to fill, in the stories that were never told.

Goodbye, Nick.

You mattered.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Like there was no tomorrow." CH.7—Daryl Dixon.

Chapter Summary: After days and nights on the road following the loss of Bob and Tyresse that night in the church, it all comes down to the reunion with your father. But after a revealing conversation, you finally understand why Daryl broke up with you. Then, April asks Daryl an important question before he asks you an important question as well.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads this story! We got to the moment where you and Daryl agree to form a home for yourselves and for April. Yeeeh. I hope you like it! And one detail, I love Beth but since her death left a void in my heart I didn't write about her here and about Maggie, Daryl and the others suffering because of it. It breaks my heart too much :c (I hope you understand)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

“I have a message for you.” Down on his knees and even a few seconds away from being killed, Gareth smiled at you, leaving you that dark memory before he died in God’s house that night. “Daddy’s coming for you, baby, you can’t hide forever.”

Far in the distance, the bus explodes as you continue deeper into the woods, leaving behind a monstrous flame whose warm colors resemble the sunset—a heartbreaking imagine of a promise for either party, that at the end of this day, some will die.

The ambush. The group splitting up because of those people. April getting lost in the commotion. But now, even with your hair wet, with some strands sticking to your face and the raindrops that surprised the summer season still falling down your forehead, nothing blocks your vision of that man when you finally find him there where nightmares live: always with a cruel, mocking smile on his face. In front of you, your supposed father had aged faster from the inclemency of that new life, but his right hand holds the gun against April’s temple like an expert.

Like a bad joke from a cruel and short life, April relives that hopeless sensation of feeling another gun pointed at her, frozen in fear, but murmuring mommy under her breath, with tears that get lost under the incessant rain. Hidden in the shadows because that was where the monsters lived, the man who always tried to break you showed up this afternoon with his people, the person who trapped you in a windowless castle where he kept you as his favorite prisoner, protected by the gigantic dragon, always making you feel so small, always afraid.

You can shoot him now, you can, but he had been such a good cop that, in a millisecond, he could shoot April even if he were dying.

“Dad, just let her go, okay? This is between you and me.” You use a friendly tone, lowering the long–range weapon you had shoved against your shoulder, so hard that it leaves the bright promise of a bruise even in the dull rain. The crumbs of your relationship with him make you do so, only to show him that you are harmless, and to go back to being that helpless little girl who could never live up to putting his life in danger. He always underestimated you like that, even now. “Whatever problem you have with me, she’s not to blame for anything.”

Your dad lets out a dry, sarcastic and small laugh, but you can feel his repulsive disgust even in that sound.

“You’re not my daughter, you never were, you were just a nobody that I kept with me even after your mom died.”

You swallow the pain, your throat so dry that you wince in silence, but keeping a flat expression. Your mind is racing a mile for second, and yet, suddenly the world seems clearer with that cold revelation even under the stormy weather—with raindrops that don't let you see very far—because now you can give meaning to everything, a reason to every word of his, every look, every action, to finally stop walking through that father–daughter relationship in the dark, blindly, always lost in the infinite why?

“It’s okay, Jeff, I understand. In fact, my whole life is starting to make more sense now, so thank you for the clarification.” Your tone is still calm, an action that masks the fear and the painful beating of your racing heart. “But I ask you again, can you let my daughter go, please? Look at her, she's just a baby. You don't have to ruin her life, too.”

His free hand holds April's small shoulder, keeping her firm against him.

“Your daughter is pretty, and I guess this is better than the disgusting idea of ​​you getting involved with that nobody, that drug dealer’s younger brother. Daryl, isn't it? Although I can see that the bastard didn’t stay as far away from you as he promised he would.”

You blink, trying to keep your emotions behind the line, but stunned by the thought of Jeff and Daryl meeting in the old world, after years of thinking you were hiding your relationship from him perfectly.

“You met Daryl?”

Another short laugh answers you before his words do.

“I have to give you credit because you hid your relationship pretty well those years, but I raised you better, sweetheart. Did you really want to end up being the wife of someone like him?”

Your common sense pushes your own laughter to the back of your body, because answering his sarcasm with more sarcasm would only make his short patience run out faster.

“I still don’t understand how you did it; would you mind explaining it to me?”

You want the full story, pieces of it that you apparently always ignored, and Jeff sighs, as if talking about Daryl is so exhausting that it leaves him without any energy.

“I saw you one night in the city when my partner was driving me home. I was a little drunk. You were sitting on someone’s motorcycle outside a bar, and for a second I thought that my son had finally come home…” The few seconds of his smile die cruelly, all under the words that come next. “But then I saw someone come out just to grab your face before kissing you. And I felt sick when Matthew filled me in on who he was. A redneck, a nobody, and worse, the younger brother of a drug dealer who’d been in jail. Not the right image for the police chief, sweetheart.” Jeff clicks his tongue in disapproval. “It was easy to look into their backgrounds, and with a little heavy–handedness, he swore he’d walk away from you rather than see his older brother in jail again. So I guess he didn’t love you as much as he swore he did: you know no man gives up on the woman he truly loves…”

His words hang in the air, cruelly with the happiness Jeff feels for having hurt you with the truth. But like that little boat that finally finds its way to shore thanks to the lighthouse, after having been adrift for so long, it all makes sense, everything you thought life took away with that farewell comes back to you. The end of the relationship, the words, the abrupt end to an affection that only seemed to grow stronger with time, it had all been cut off by a human hand.

There’s peace in knowing the truth, but there’s also anger in knowing that he deprived you of any other kind of love because your so–called father never wanted you to feel any, not from him, not from anyone else—Leaving you lost, feeling nothing. No. That’s a lie because you’re feeling absolutely everything right now. The pain of having been nothing to him. The unbearable pain because you did love him once, until you finally accepted his inability to return that love to you.

“Well, you got it, Jeff. That relationship was over long time ago, so… do you feel better about that, big boy?” You chuckle, showing the sarcasm he always hated hearing from you, and you let out a tired sigh next, like that last breath before you perish on the floor. “I guess your hatred for me makes sense now, because don’t think I never noticed the way you looked at me... why do you think I always locked my door? What I don’t understand is why you stayed by my mom’s side like a wimp? Begging for love from the person who apparently cheated on you.” You scoff softly. A drop falls to his lip and the light weight wipes away his winning smile, but his pulse quickens, matching his heartbeat, threatening to destroy everything in a single second. “I honestly thought you died that night, but at the same time, I’m not surprised you ended up in Terminus. You were a good cop, but you were never strong enough to do things alone, so I guess someone saved your ass that night, Matthew probably... because even he knew you're not as brave as you think you are.” His brow furrows at the shock of your words, and hatred gleams in his gaze like those days long gone, but never blurred. “I was a kid though, Jeff. So what’s your excuse? What was my sin in all this? What crime did I commit against you?”

But he remains silent, ineloquent and spiteful.

“And Austin, is he actually my brother?”

He nods.

“Okay. Now, let my daughter go, and you and I can work this out.”

But the attempt of a step dies before you can take it as his body tenses, gripping April’s shoulder tighter.

“Mommy…” Her voice is a whisper, a soft cry that barely manages to find its way through her closed throat.

You swallow the fear.

“It’ll be okay, honey, trust me, okay?”

April can see through your terror, eyes bright with tears that are free again, but panic sets in as Jeff tries to take a step back, taking her with him. However, like a slow–motion movie, your own heartbeats slow as an arrow sinks into his shoulder, a loud cry pushing out of him with the pain. And like a slap from life, something breaks in the sky and the rain falls more dreadfully, seconds of bewilderment that April takes to run towards Daryl the moment you raise the gun again, firing a bullet that sinks to the height of his chest.

You know why Daryl didn’t shoot him in the head, but the instant he holds April as Jeff falls against that tree, you reach out to him kicking the gun hanging in his hand.

“Are you really going to kill me, baby?” He tries to laugh, but the action makes his expression twist in pain.

You let out a defeated sigh, like part of your soul is about to go with him, even though he didn’t deserve it.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? I found a baby that isn’t mine but I love her like she is, unlike you, who had a little girl in your house that you never knew how to love even when I tried to.” His gaze locks with you at your own revelation, an incredulous expression on his face that came through even despite everything he put you through, in the past and now. “Thank you, Jeff, because you saved my life in this new world even though your intention was for me to die young, don't think I didn't see it in your eyes, but now it's my turn to give you back the lesson: I must break you before you break me, because I know you won't stop until you ruin me completely, and I can't give you that pleasure anymore, not now that I have to protect my daughter.”

A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lip, feeling, for the first time, proud of you just seconds away from everything being over.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).”

You nod absently before raising the gun and firing.

Then, you let the raindrops cool your head and your thoughts, a long moment before you slide the gun strap over your body to free your shaking hands, free from holding any instrument that only served to end some lives that crossed your path. Bad people, you want to believe as you turn around to leave behind every vision of that man, next to everything that happened at his side. For a few minutes, everyone needs a moment of silence to face what happened, but when you see Aeris on Daryl’s shoulder, you chuckle softly.

“Are you and my baby friends now? Like besties or something?”

Daryl scoffs before standing up while taking April’s hand, holding it gently but firmly before walking with you at their side.

“This ain't a damn friendship, woman, jus' a truce between me an' the bird.”

Like a respite from that crazy life, the path back to the main road is clear of walkers. But you and April chuckle, amused glances passing each other as a good sign that not everything is as dark and dull as the rain and the forest—a good omen that life is not a selfish b*tch, not that much at least.

“You’re not as good a hunter as I thought if my bird had to bring you to me. You don’t get tired of me, do you?”

“Stop it.” Daryl grunts quietly, shooting you a warning look before continuing to look ahead.

You sigh before changing the subject.

“Please tell me the others are okay. Judy?”

Daryl looks at you again, silently telling you that the bad guys are gone.

“Everyone’s okay, peach. No one is hurt. An' when all the craziness was over, Glenn came back sayin' he found a cabin. It smells like horse shit, but it works… fine, sorry!” Daryl whines when April tugs at his hand, a frown on her face as if her little mind lets her overlook the danger to her life, but not the bad words. “Ya need to get used to me, monkey.”

The little girl has her gaze fixed on him, as intense as Aeris and her overflowing curiosity.

“You don’t have to say so many bad words all the time, Da…” Caught in the constant confusion, April bites her lip to stop from saying out loud the word she wants to say to the first man she considers a true father figure. “Okay?”

Daryl scoffs.

“I ain't promisin' anythin'.”

But there’s a moment between them, that complicity, like father and daughter in their own world, and you look at him: a man who would surely scoffs (as he still does all the time) if you called him that prince who, unknowingly, without any intention of doing so, saved you from that cruel fate that you would never have been able to escape from alone.

Finally, in the middle of the unstable path, the small hill ends in a cabin in the middle of large trees, and Sam is the first to hold you in a hug: her body is warm despite the cruel cold, as is the warmth of Carol, Maggie and Rick.

Inside, the small campfire is still breathing and the warmth spreads throughout the place, the colors of the fire flickering to paint the emptiness of the place with soft shades of orange—some are awake, others have chosen to spend the rest of the night in gentler dreams, like Aeris who flew to one of the tallest trees. But as if she knows what’s coming and you don’t, Sam takes April to sleep near the campfire, and in silence, Daryl places his hand on your lower back, triggering memories, but you let him guide you to a side of the cabin where the light from the flames doesn’t shine brightly, making the scattered hay into a comfortable makeshift bed. Putting his crossbow and your weapon aside, Daryl lays there with you, one arm behind his head and on his left side, watching the profile of your face, while, lying on your back, you finally let go of all the pain that was building up in your body.

“I know it’ll sound stupid but, ya okay, peach?”

You sigh, wishing that, just like the air you let go, you could do the same with everything else inside you—and you want to start by telling the truth behind the separation, but you’re not ready for everything that would be unleashed after that.

“I heard what April called you when she ran to you… did you?”

Daryl’s heart races, as if an overwhelming emotion called fear and happiness put a hand on his neck, but it’s not because of fear of ruining it (although Daryl does feel that), but rather it’s because of the possibility of a better future, like a new version of a warm home he thought of building with you. And he wants that to happen, desperately, but he is scared of it, too.

“'bout her callin' me daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” He murmurs, softly so as to not clash with the mood inside the place. “I think it hit me harder than a truck.”

You laugh softly, and finally, gathering courage, you turn your body to face him as well, watching him with a gentle gaze so as not to scare him with the overwhelming truth.

“Do you want to be? Because no one would blame you if you didn’t.”

Daryl gulps.

“I do, but m’ terrified of ruinin' it.” His free hand that rested at the height of his chest makes contact with your cheek, rough fingers caressing you lovingly, the other’s skin reminding you of the warmth you two shared in the past. His gaze on yours is deep as the sea, but now, you know you could never drown in the color of his eyes, not when Daryl would always be there to keep you afloat. “I was always scared of the idea of ​​being like ma dad, of hurtin' someone like he did with me and ma brother.”

“Hey, no…” You stop him fondly, your own hand holding his, because there was always a fragile part of Daryl, the boy who became a man but still felt pain like a child. “You are not your father, Daryl, and you never will be. He never knew how to love anyone and you did even though they never repaid you in the same way. I know you loved your mom and your brother… everyone can see how you feel about Carol and the family you formed all this time, and I’m sure even April does it. And yes, sometimes you have a short temper and you act like an asshole, but I know you did so you don’t feel too much when you lived so long bottling up your feelings to feel little or nothing, but I also know that this world has only shown you that you are capable of protecting and loving people you didn’t know.”

Between a sea of ​​words that calm his heart, Daryl finds the strength to chuckle.

“To be fair, I did warn ya I was an asshole when we started datin'.”

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I threw that peach at your head when you were being one?” You chuckle back. “Believe me, I saw the signs, but you were always incredibly hot so I guess I didn't care much about the rest.”

“Stop.” Daryl grunts in embarrassment, pulling his hand away as he feels the heat shooting through his whole body, but his shyness makes you chuckle a little harder.

“Please, you are. And now even more so with your long hair.” You frown, but keeping a smirk. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

He clears his throat, but Daryl can feel the blush blooming on his cheeks.

“Nah, I jus' didn’t want to cut it all the time.”

You nod, but not believing him at all.

“Well, let me tell you, that was a very good decision ‘cause you look very, very attractive, so much so that it should be a crime to look like t—”

Your words become prisoners within your lips as he places his hand over your mouth, his brow furrowed in the failed attempt to look serious despite the obvious embarrassment that accompanies it as a result of your unfiltered words.

“Woman, please stop.” His hand smothers your laughter, but you nod as a promise not to continue, causing him to pull away. “Jesus, I forgot how much ya loved to make fun of me.”

You try to keep a calm expression.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t like it. You didn’t have a sense of humor until I came along.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I never said I didn’t love it.” The word love pulls the scale to one side, so drastically that it breaks it, but you manage to keep the surprise from showing on your face. “An' yeah, ya always seemed to enjoy teasin' me, but ya were so damn cute that no one noticed that sassy mouth of yers.”

You scoff, just to hide the tickle in your chest.

“Look who’s saying it, the person who didn’t know anything else to say but sarcastically. But seriously, didn’t your face hurt from having that scowl on all the time?”

Daryl chuckles, but there was something in his eyes when they turned honest when he became capable of showing his pain: transparent, just like now—however, the sadness you can see in them feel endless, like there’s something broken behind his tear–crystallized gaze that Daryl struggles to keep from falling.

“M' sorry, peach, m' sorry, I was a fuckin' coward.”

“What?” You can’t find the right words because suddenly, Daryl seems to choke on his, but he’s ready, you can see it, to let everything he kept hidden finally find the light. “I don’t—”

“I love ya, so fuckin' much.” His voice is soft, but decisive. “I always did, peach, an' despite that shitty thought in ma head tellin' me all the time that ya deserved someone better, I did try really hard to become that someone 'cause I never wanted to let ya go, but yer dad threatened to put Merle back in prison if I didn’t stay away from ya… an' Merle was a bastard, but he was ma brother, an' I knew ya were ma real family, but I was afraid to break ya just like yer father did all those years. I could see the pain in yer eyes, n’ I didn’t wanna do that to ya, too.”

The truth is overwhelming, even though you already knew it, but hearing the guilt in his voice makes it all the even more painful because Daryl did care about leaving you, he suffered too, unlike Jeff, who made him do it without a shred of remorse.

“Daryl, it’s okay.” Your gaze is warm and kind, a small demonstration that your words are real and you mean them. “It’s not your fault, it never was, you were doing what you thought was best. You protected your brother, Daryl, and that’s what family do.”

Daryl swallows the lump in his throat, holding your gaze through his sad eyes.

“But I pushed ya away, peach, even though I knew ya didn’t wanna leave.”

With a slight broken smile, you try to hold back the first tear—the one that is the hardest to keep in line, because after that, the others would come like an unbridled sea.

“Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t want to leave you.” With one hand, you rub your face to remove all traces of hopeless expression. “Try to sleep, okay, love? Since we left the church you haven’t slept much, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

The pain is beating, but his serious expression breaks with a sad smile because Daryl knows he won’t force you to talk.

“Ya’ve always been such a mom. With April, Sam, with me, an' even with Merle the idiot.”

You let out a tired chuckle before closing your eyes, hands under your cheek to keep them warm.

“I know, but don’t pretend you didn’t like it either.”

A few seconds pass, until Daryl finds his voice.

“Woman, there’s nothin' 'bout ya I don’ love.”

His words hang in the warm air all night, eyes closed for a short time before falling into his own paradise, dreaming of something that would come true in the very near future. And at some point in the hours that passed with a blink, his free hand sought out your body and the warmth that emanated from it, crawling until his body is pressed against yours, fitting perfectly like it always did since the first time you both slept together. Little memories came back to his sleeping mind, happy moments between holding hands, the first kiss and the ones that came after, when Daryl realized you were trustworthy and showed you his scars, with your gentle hand caressing every past pain, all before make love for the first time.

But when the day starts to return, Daryl feels the slight push of his heavy body and the emptiness beside him.

“What?” His voice is even deeper in the morning, and he sits up to see April through a blurry gaze for a few seconds. “Ya okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but I need to ask you some questions.”

Daryl frowns, confused.

“Okay?”

“What’s mommy’s favorite color?”

Daryl frowns even more at a question that seems to come out of nowhere, but he ignores that April had already asked you the same questions days before just to check compatibility between you and him like Auntie Sam had said.

“Blue.” He answers, not missing a beat—like your eyes, she wants to say, but April decides to continue.

“Coffee, hot or cold?”

“Depends on the season, but always with sugar… sometimes too much.”

“Seafood?”

“Forbidden forever. Mommy ain’t a fan of the texture; she says it feels too funny in her mouth.”

“Favorite fruit?”

“Peaches.”

“Favorite flowers?”

“Tulips.”

“Favorite book?”

“Pride and Prejudice, but that’s a trick question 'cause she kept fallin' in love with every leading man like she didn’t have a damn boyfriend in real life.”

April laughs at Daryl’s expression, eyes still a little closed and hair a little disheveled.

“Can I ask you another question?” Daryl nods, not noticing her own expression. April is confused and terrified, her little mind racing like her little heart squeezing almost painfully. “If I asked you, would you be my daddy, Daryl?… but you can say no, too, it’s okay.”

Like that imaginary truck that seemed to have run him over, or faster than the motorbike he used to ride when he didn’t even care about his own life, Daryl smiles despite the inner terror, that misguided idea of ​​ruining everything because that’s what his own parents taught him, but as he holds April with ease, lifting her up to bring her closer to him, because, although Daryl knows that life is unpredictable, the only thing he can be sure of is that he can love the little person who had seen through that shield of his, the real person behind, the older but scared person, with the little girl in front who wanted to give him a chance to have a family now that life had put her in front of him.

“Ya’ve been ma daughter since I met ya, sweetheart, since the first time I held ya in ma arms as if ya were mine. Ma lil’ baby.” Daryl pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, an expression that is so simple and yet so powerful. “Is that okay?”

Her relief is so overwhelming that it can’t fit in her chest and her small frame, but it’s the impulse that makes April wrap her arms around his neck.

“Yes, daddy.” She smiles through her tears, her voice cracking but dripping with happiness. April feels loved in his arms, and that's enough for her. “Mommy’s outside. Go give her the ring before the others wake up.”

April pulls away as Daryl has the same confused expression.

“How do ya know 'bout that, young lady?”

The little girl shrugs before running to the place where she was sleeping with Sam. Sure enough, the place is still silent, with soft breaths and some light snoring mixing together. His sleeping heart wakes as Daryl stands up, sweeping some piece of hay from his body before opening the door of the cabin and closing it behind him, taking in your profile a few steps away where the hill ends, framing the sunrise between two trees like a moving photograph, with Aeris in your hand until the falcon takes flight when Daryl approaches.

“That man ya said ya could see in me... do ya think ya could give him a chance, peach?”

Like a reflex, like a magnet that always draws you two together, you turn to see him, finding each other face to face.

Your gaze is confused, but always kind.

“What do you mean?”

“Peach…” His voice is low, a little nervous, and maybe even unsure because the constant fear of that wrong idea still looms before him, more fearsome than a walker, but Daryl has never been more sure of what he is about to ask of you. “Ya know I ain't good with words, but I want to tell ya that ya an' April are ma family, the home I never thought I deserved. And s' kind of funny that the world had to go to shi—” Daryl decides to stop and use another word, just because his little girl doesn’t like them. “That this new world had to start over so I could find ya two, an' I want to make things right if ya’ll have me again. So, will ya jus' lemme be yer husband... please?”

When Daryl pulls a ring out of his pocket, your breath seems to catch in your throat, and although your mouth threatens to fall open, you keep it closed while making the monumental effort to hold his gaze when his returns to yours.

“When did you get a ring?”

“Ya don’ wanna know.” Daryl lets out a small laugh, shy and scared. “I want to be with ya an' our baby girl for as long as we can live in this world, peach. I love ya for who ya are, for yer stubbornness an' for yer strength, but also for how sweet yer all the time, with our family an' with me. An' I wanna hug ya, kiss ya, hold yer hand and be able to be at least a lil’ bit of that man ya always saw in me… I know we could die tomorrow but I hope not, I hope life gives us time to build somethin' for April, for us and for everyone. An' yeah, I know I can be an asshole sometimes but I promise I’ll be better, an' although I can’t promise ya a story like the books ya used to read, I can promise that I will love ya n' our kid for the rest of ma life.”

His words travel around the world and they come back to your heart at a breakneck speed, making you feel overwhelmed by his sudden confession just when you had thought that you two would never, ever be together again. But as the day grows brighter and you take all in, so does the realization that there is only one answer to his question.

“Peach, could ya give me an asnwer? M’ dyin’ here.”

You chuckle, but as your eyes returns to him and a soft smile appears on your closed lips, you now know that what Jeff said was a lie—Daryl loves you, he always did, so much so that he walked away from you despite his own pain.

“Of course I’ll marry you, silly.”

Like the first breath of air after being submerged for too long, Daryl feels like he can finally breathe as he holds you in a hug after placing the ring on your finger, the warmth of your bodies recognizing each other after a long time. As if the world has been put on pause, everything feels infinite, erasing all traces of the pain of each other’s absence, leaving only the immense joy of being together when that was the only thing you two had ever wanted. And when you part slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his hand caressing part of your cheek and your hairline.

“You know I should make you beg, don’t you?” You’re playing and he knows it, and even though you squint in mockery as you pull away, Daryl can feel the relief tickling his chest.

“Yeah, I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.” You nod. “And who would marry us anyways? Because it’s not like there are many priests in this world to officiate a wedding.”

Daryl nods too, keeping an amused expression.

“We can ask Gabriel.”

You grimace.

“You sure? Cause you told him religion was crap.”

Caught off guard, Daryl clears his throat.

“Or ya could ask him. Yer the nice one in this relationship.”

You shrug.

"I guess you're right. And I guess this will be the perfect excuse to find you a better shirt, maybe one with sleeves."

Daryl frowns.

"What? Woman, this one is fine. Besides, I wore ma best shirt the first time I asked ya out."

“Hi.” Your laugh catches in your throat as the male voice draws your attention, but as a reflect of his protectiveness, Daryl steps in front of you, his hand pulling out gun that was always at his waist. The young man in front of you two raises his hands in a sign of peace, maintaining a friendly smile. “Hi! Sorry for scaring you like that, but I’m not the enemy, I promise.”

His words seem honest, but the muzzle of the gun is still pointed in his direction.

“Whatcha want?” Daryl is calm, and his hand doesn’t tremble.

“My name is Aaron, and I’m looking for Rick. You two are his family, aren’t you?”

The silence falls heavy for a moment, until the chirping of birds breaks the strange spell, but it is Aeris’ singing voice that draws your attention as she joins the melodious chorus for the first time—perhaps as a divine sign that things are finally about to get better.

@fluffy-dixon @stunkbiggu @kurogxrix @ffsjustletmesleep @kaz11283 @daryldixmedown @enretrogue @carbonnite-copy

[metallicames]

Imagine,

James is driving his black Mustang along the Route 66 wearing his cowboy hat, you are next to him with your hair blowing in the wind enjoying the ride with your arm out the window listening to the music.

Every now and then your gaze goes from the landscape in front of you to James, you observe every feature of his face, his gaze focused on driving, his tattooed arm stretched out towards the steering wheel that he holds firmly with his big hand.

"You're so beautiful" you blurt out as the sunset light illuminates the cabin and makes his eyes even more blue and intense. He glances at you quickly from the corner of his eye, his mouth letting go in a smile as his hand moves from the steering wheel to your bare thigh, up and down from your knee to the edge of your miniskirt, shivers immediately appear on your skin and spread throughout your body in an instant.

A few moments later his rough, warm hand slides between your legs, his fingers apply a little pressure to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, moving in circles with slow movements, he knows what you like, what turns you on in seconds.

Your eyes follow the movements of his hand as your breathing begins deeper and your excitement increases. As he moves up with his hand he spreads your legs slightly and his eager fingers reach the lace of your panties sending a shock of pleasure throughout your body as you feel his gentle touch on your clit.

“Take them off babe” he orders you in a low, vibrant voice, his gaze never leaves the road but you can tell how excited he is by looking at the boner in his jeans.

"As you want daddy" you slowly slide your panties down your legs letting them fall to the floor, the moment you open your legs his gaze drop for a split second towards your thighs as his fingers grip the steering wheel harder. "My pants are exploding" he says in a playful tone.

His hand returns in between your thighs, his index and middle fingers making their way to your clit, then down your soft, damp lips to reach your core.

"Already wet uh?!" he says in a provocative tone while your gaze is fixed on his hand disappearing under your skirt. He deliciously slides his thick fingers inside your pussy and shortly after he brings them back to your clit to draw little circles on it making it throb, at that point your eyes instinctively close and you let your head fall back against the headboard of the seat in ecstasy.

His fingers do everything that makes you go wild, making you squirm every time he touches your most sensitive spots.

"God.. I love your pussy, so wet and warm just for me.. so perfect." He purrs "I can't wait to fuck you as soon as we arrive at the hotel.. in the jacuzzi, on the bed in the shower.. everywhere" you love when he talks to you like this while touching you, each word punctuated by sighs as his fingers continue to move skillfully in your core, going deep and then stimulating your sensitive clit making you let out soft moans.

"James..." you say panting heavily, "Yeah?" he replies without ever stopping moving his fingers, "Make me come..please" you beg him while you see a pleased smile appear on his face: "Don't you want to wait until we get to the hotel? Are you that needy baby girl?" He teases you already knowing the answer.

You take his wrist with one hand and squeezing it pushing his hand against your groin making his fingers sink even deeper where you need them the most, you move to make it easier for him to touch you while one of your legs ends up on the dashboard and your miniskirt is now past your waist leaving your pussy exposed.

James gets the message and biting his lower lip he starts moving his fingers frantically pushing you more and more towards the limit adding a third finger making you moan louder: "is this too much baby?" He breathe out "Nnno daddy.. god.. don't stop!" you whine.

With one hand you hold onto the seat behind you while the other squeezes his thick forearm, as you feel the climax growing inside of your body automatically your hips push forward seeking even more friction against his hand increasing the sensation of pleasure that reaches its peak shortly after making you moan and tremble while James continues to sink his fingers inside of you without ever stopping.

"FFFUCK!! Oh my god!" you gasp as the wave of pleasure expands throughout your body making you arch your back and leaving you breathless.

You open your eyes still dizzy while James slows the movements of his fingers until he stops.

He looks at you satisfied for a few seconds and then brings his tatooed hand to his mouth sucking his wet fingers slowly and sensually as if he was waiting for nothing else: "Damn.. how bad I need to eat you right now".

[numinousher]

“Fucking asshole.”

Those were the first words you uttered out as soon as you finished reading Jong-seok’s messages. Years together and he really left you like that? A complete utter trash of a man. And a pussy, too, for not being able to tell you to your face that he found another girl.

You sniffed, holding in your tears. You don’t know who to call. Jimin and Taehyung are finally getting some after who knows how long and you didn’t want to deal with their pissy attitudes.

You continued to sniffle, immediately throwing away pictures of you and Jong-seok throughout the years. You grabbed any stuffed animal, any shirt of his, jewelry, and threw it away.

“A fucking bitch,” you angrily grumbled to yourself. “When I see him I’m kicking his ass. I’m kicking his ass so hard for wasting my time and for fucking breathing.”

You heard rapids knocks as you talked to yourself and ignored it. You bumped into a table and groaned with annoyance once a cup, a cup that Jong-seok still left there after you told him to wash it, fell down and broke.

“Piece of trash,” you told the cup as if it was Jong-seok. You sniffled as you stared at it, your tears threatening to spill.

Jungkook, having been outside knocking, opened the door—tested his luck—once he heard the glass shattering. He came to see you looking at a broken cup, with your bottom lip jutted out and your eyes set in a hard glare as if the cup was a person.

“Hey, idiot,” he muttered, catching your attention. “Move away from the glass.”

“What are you doing here?” You sniffled, wiping away your tears.

“Where’s your broom?” He asked in a low tone, not looking at you. You gestured to it in the small space between your fridge and the wall and watched as he kneeled down to pick it up. You silently watched him. “You’re Jong-seok’s girlfriend?”

“Ex,” you scoffed out. “Why?”

“He and my fucking girlfriend were cheating on us with each other,” he roughly said. With the way he was picking up the glass and the way his hands shook with anger, you backed away a little because it looked like he was going to explode. “Texted me saying that they were going to move in and if I had known you, Jong-seok’s girlfriend, lived next to us, I would’ve cheated on her with you. Because what the hell.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” you said, processing the news about your ex-boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend. “You don’t look like the cheating type.”

“I’m talking out of my ass,” Jungkook mumbled. He threw away the shards of glass and looked at you. “I wouldn’t have done anything but I’m so fucking pissed and I blame myself so, I’m thinking of the what-if’s.”

“I’m so mad,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “It’s 2 am. 2 am and they just-they just decided, “Hey, we’re going to leave the people that loved us and gave us a home because we love each other”? I wasted years with that piece of shit.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he breathed out, taking off his hoodie. You looked at his arms due to the black tight t-shirt he had on—hey, Jong-seok cheated, you could at least look—and looked up at him as he went to speak again. “I really thought me and Sienna were going to get married. Hell, that’s where I was going with after. We just moved in, bought an apartment together, and I was so ready for the next step… I feel like my heart is broken.”

“On the good news, I at least don’t have to listen to you moan like the other day,” you lightly teased, hoping to make the situation lighter. But, a dark look overcame his face.

“The other day?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “The day after we met.”

“Idiot, I was working that day,” Jungkook blinked, taking out his phone. He showed you the pictures of the sunset he took. “I wasn’t even home until, like, 6 PM. Did you not hear my motorcycle? I revved it extra loud for you around that time and in the morning.”

You paused. “Oh, yeah… then who the fuck did I…” Your face immediately scrunched up at the realization. “Ew! Did I hear my boyfriend fucking your girlfriend?”

“Oh, god,” Jungkook groaned in disgust. “In my bed?” You winced. “Wait, what about you? I heard you guys around two-ish weeks ago.”

“I wasn’t even home, I was at my mom’s to take care of my grandmother for 2 days,” you paled. You gulped and looked towards your room as if there were a monster inside. “I don’t want to sleep in my bed no more.”

“I don’t want to sleep in mine either,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. “Oh, my God. Wait, did your boyfriend get quieter during sex around the same time we moved? Because we moved in a month ago.”

“Yeah!” You nodded. “Had your girlfriend gone quiet, too?” He nodded, too. “Did you find this place or did she?”

“She did…” Jungkook’s face fell even more at the pieces being pieced together. “They’ve been cheating on us for a while, Y/n.”

You stayed in your spot, frozen, before looking up at him. “Want some hot chocolate?” Without hesitation, he nodded. “Sit on the couch. We need to talk more about this because what the hell.”

He nodded.

He sat down and watched the decor of your apartment. He hummed under his breath. “Your decor doesn’t scream… you.”

“Because it isn’t me,” you snorted as you heated up the milk. “Jong-seok didn’t live with me but, he would come over a lot and would judge everything so I started switching up things for his sake.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he began as he recalled his own experience with his relationship. “Sienna doesn’t like my dog so he travels between my home and Namjoon’s.”

“You have a dog?” You gasped excitedly.

jungkook nodded with a nod. “Yeah, his name is Bam. He’s a Doberman and very silly. You’ll like him but I don’t trust you considering you lost your friend’s dog.”

“Ah, our infamous first time meeting,” you recalled in almost a sarcastic, yet dramatic tone. “Talking about first time meeting, how do you know Jong-seok?”

“His brother is one of my friend’s,” Jungkook explained, glancing over at you for a sec before looking away. “Hoseok?” You nodded. “I met him through Namjoon after the two found my tattoo page.”

“I’m not even surprised,” you muttered under your breath at the mention of his job. “You’re so tatted up, dude.”

“It looks nice, huh?”

“Very.”

You take him his mug and plop down next to him. You see he’s glancing at the TV and pass him the remote control.

“What?” He questioned, wondering why you decided to give him the controller. He took the hint before you could even open your mouth. “Oh, can I actually put a movie on?”

You nod.

“Whatever you want. It’s going to be a long night.”

He hummed in agreement before turning it on and seeing that a movie was opened up. He looked at it with amusement. “Pretty Woman?”

“Oh…” you winced. “We don’t have to watch—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll watch it. I’m craving a romance movie.”

2U⭑.ᐟ ── OO4. the ones that were left

BEFORE • MASTERLIST • AFTER

NOTE: was supposed to update but this time change fucked up my schedule and im sleeping so earlyyyy

TAGLIST: @an-ever-angry-bi @parapiop7 @renoirgoh @ldysmfrst @futuristicenemychaos @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @han-nah-banana @somehowukook ... (open)

[luveline]

Oh please do a blurb with hotch and shy!reader😭

ty for ur request! fem!reader

The sky has turned a brilliant shade of honeysuckle purple when you leave work that night. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it, the winter air crisp and cold where it nips at your nose. 

"We haven't seen the sunset in a while," Hotch says, stopping at your side. 

You glance between him and the breathtaking sky sheepishly. "Not one like this," you say. 

He looks up with you. You haven't felt this brand of wonder in so long, it's better than a hit of any drug. The purple transcends into a cherry pink that sinks further to a buttery orange. The horizon is cut apart by dark buildings, the sun hidden, huge shadows stretching from their monolith figures.

You snap out of it, pulling your coat tighter. Hotch spends a frankly unhealthy amount of time behind a desk. You doubt he wants to stand watching the sky change colours with you when he could be home, unwinding for the night. 

Stepping toward the parking lot, you're quickly stopped, a big hand enclosing your own. "Wait a second, honey," Hotch says. 

Your pulse explodes at the pet name. You're more used to his touch, but even that makes you nervous. He slides his fingers between yours and squeezes them together. 

"Uh," you say, hating yourself for how awkward you are. 

You don't suppose Hotch has done much hand-holding lately. Do older men hold hands? But he does it expertly, thumb drawing a steady back and forth, his grip not strangling nor limp. You take a hesitant step toward him and let your arms press together. 

Following his lead, you look back up. A white trail arcs across an otherwise unblemished sky. Your pulse is so loud you worry Hotch can hear it. 

"Are you happy?" he asks. 

You follow the white trail to the start, where an plane bisects the sky. "Yeah." 

"With me?" he asks. 

He deserves to be looked at and reassured, but it's all you can do to stay standing in one space. Intimacy makes you nervous —you want it badly, but getting it is almost painful sometimes, unused to the intensity of being cared for as Hotch cares for you. 

"I've never been this happy in my life," you confess. You wonder how you both look, two silhouettes in the darkening landscape outside of your office, faces turned up to the purple-pink sky, hand in hand. 

Hotch kisses you on the cheek. His smile is palpable. "I'm happy, too. Now let's go home. Your face is like ice." 

You look down and let him lead you to the parking lot. Your cheeks soon heat with the pleasure of his affection, though he doesn't need to know that. The colder he believes you to be, the freer his doting comes as you reach the car. "Are you still cold, honey? I'll turn the heaters on."

You combust in the passenger seat of his car as he pulls out of his suit jacket and spreads it over your legs, giving your thigh a quick squeeze through fabric. It stays there as long as it can, rubbing up and down, trying to create some friction. It's pointless (you're piping hot by this point), but you won't tell him. You're enjoying the feeling, and honestly, you probably couldn't form intelligible conversation if you wanted to. 

Hotch pretends not to notice. He'll tease you with it at another time, you're sure. 

[atzfilm]

the leaders. (m)

pairing/wc; woosan/f.reader, 14.7k summary; you wake up in a rusty cell, an oddly familiar helping you out. once you step out into the world, it hits you – this is in fact the wildwest, and somehow, the singers you adore are cowboys? content; wild-west au, violence, guns, murder, smut. overuse of cowboy terms/slang, obsessive behavior note; again, may seem familiar since i have written this before on a different blog with different characters ♡

You gasp, eyes flicking around. Bars surround you, dust underneath your fingertips. You move forward, tugging on the iron that prevents you from leaving. A groan leaves your lips.

“How the hell did I get in here?” You grumble.

“Pretty ladies like ya aren’t supposed to be cursing,” You hear a voice say behind you. You roll your eyes at the words and turn, eyes widening. He wears a long brown trench coat, leaning against the bricks behind him as he looks up, before his gaze meets yours. You could remember those bright eyes which are now partly covered by the shadow from his hat.

Choi San. And here he is, odd sounding and covered in dirt and grim, probably from trying to get out like you were just doing. But there’s something different about him. He doesn’t resemble the man you remember from the shows. More country is the only way you can describe it.

“I think you would curse too if you wake up in a cell,” you murmur. “Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at a show or something?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I ain’t no puppet, darling. And my boys will be here soon.” He stops talking, listening to the shouts outside. “Speaking of which…” He moves away from the wall, leaping forward to bring you into his arms. You shove against his chest, ready to cause a scene before the loud sound of a bomb exploding breaks your eardrums.

The walls blow down, San covering you with his body as debris flies. After a few more seconds, he kicks open the jail door with remarkable strength, running out. Before he jumps through the hole, he looks at you. You can see the gears running through his head as he thinks, before dusting off his black hat.

"We don't have all damn day, S!" A voice rings out, bringing you both back to reality. San rolls his eyes.

"Well, my chucklehead pal W over there could use some explaining to do, but he's not the ripest apple in the bunch," San points over to a man too far away for you to spot, his hand holding out for yours. "But I always have room to help a lady. Take my hand here, and I'll be off your back in a jiffy."

You stare at it for a moment before he takes in a big gulp of air, pulling you from the ground. You yelp, tumbling into his arms.

His smile widens as he sees how close you're pressed to his chest, a wicked grin plastered on his cheeks. "Ah, I don't seem to remember the last time a fine lady like yourself fell into my arms." He holds you back, tipping his hat once.

"S, I swear on my mom’s grave—!"

"Ah, I'm coming ya deadbeat!" He looks back at you sympathetically.

"Unfortunately, I don't have time to be more gentlemanly, my partners get a bit under the weather whenever I delay. I gotta hop on outta here before the sheriff comes and see what’s the hustle and bustle, but I do think I'll be seeing the likes of you soon enough." He nods his head once at you, before hopping onto his horse.

"See you in a hog killin' time, pretty lady!"

He coaxes the horse forward, yelling out a loud yip before galloping off. If you squint hard enough, you can see a few more horses running off into the sunset. Your mind runs miles per minute, glancing around. Old stables and buildings surround you, too real and old to be just an amusement park or a movie set. You walk slowly into town, glancing over at a poster that’s nailed into the side of a tree.

Wanted:

$10,000 REWARD!

Mischief group of bandits called “The Leaders”

Bribery, Murder, Thief

Please contact Sheriff Kim Hongjoong if spotted.

Portraits are displayed below, but one sticks out to you. One smile that you’ve seen just moments ago, busting you out of your prison cell that you have no idea how you got into. You blink slowly. Shit. Shit. You pinch your skin, wincing at the pain. So this isn’t just a dream. They are actually in the Wild West, and you’re… well, what are you?

"Hey there!"

Your head whips over to a man that's slowly walking over to you, his hands on his waist as he takes you in. Your eyes widen as you trail over his fingers. Spokes on the back of his boots, slacks dirty from wear and tear, pronounced belt head that still barely manages to keep his pants up. Best tucked into that, a silver sheriff's badge hanging on his shirt pocket. Your eyes flick up to his face, eyes popping out of your head as you realize who's standing in front of you. Hongjoong stands there, eyes narrowed as he takes you in.

"You don't look like you're from 'round here, young lady."

Young lady? There's barely a difference in your ages, not enough for him to speak like that to you. But you clear your throat, trying your best to sound at least a little like them.

"Howdy." Shit. For effort, you'd give yourself an A+, even though the grinding teeth and wink probably drops that down to a failure. His hand slowly wavers over his gun, and you could imagine this now. Being killed by Kim Hongjoong? Not sure if that's your life goal, but it's not a bad reputation to have. "What if I told you that I'm from the future?"

"I'd think you're trying to play games with me, miss," he says simply, slowly taking his hand away from his waist. "Where you from?"

Taking your chances and saying you don't remember is the best bet. If you even explained that he was from a popular band and you have no clue why you're suddenly transported into a wild west, starring them as if this is a horrible, yet fascinating dream. Amnesia path it is.

"I don't remember. I just woke up in a cell, and then this guy kicked me out of jail with dynamite? And he said something about having to leave and—"

"Wait one second!" Hongjoong holds up his hand. "You were involved in that escape that yahoo just did? Do you know each other?"

Yahoo. This man, with his full chest, really said yahoo. Trying to stifle back a laugh, you shake his head.

"I've never seen him in my life, and if I did I don't remember it. But," you gesture to the wanted poster next to you. "I'm assuming he's a notorious criminal."

Hongjoong paused, eyes flicking between you, your outfit, and the poster. He moves his hand away from his belt, crossing his arms as he sighs. "We've been trying to catch him and his group of bandits for months and we've just caught up with him. But yet again, he slips through our fingers." He runs his fingers through his hair, eyes moving to yours. "You couldn't be part of them anyway, too soft and they wouldn't be leaving any strays behind."

Wow. You don't know whether to be offended or pleased that he believes you. At least that gun of his isn't being pointed at you.

His gaze is focused on the destroyed wall behind you. "Why did he help you out, do you know? Because I don't even remember you being kept in there, but it's strange that he'd take the time to rescue a lady. Those men don't have any morals, at least any that I can see. Do you mind coming with me, miss...?"

He waits for your name expectantly.

"y/n. It's y/n. And I wouldn't be able to tell you why he helped me either, usually I'd say it's from the kindness of his heart but since he's a criminal..." you trail off.

He clicks his tongue, nodding once. "Ah, yes. Don't remember hearing your name round these parts neither. But your talk is a little fancier than mine, maybe you're from some town far away. I can bring you to the town doctor, but I'd rather we go on foot. Just in case you got something wrong with your organs or whatnot."

Hongjoong gestures in front of him, and you walk alongside him. "Do you know anything about our little town? Ah, wait," he rubs the back of his neck, a soft blush creeping on his cheeks. "You wouldn't know even if you did, since that memory loss of yours. We here are in a little town of mine called Mist."

...Mist.

"Not many folks pass by and stay, so most of these people you see walking down these streets are their mama and pop's third or fourth generation of family. We are a crop growing town, not a mining one. We aren't the richest or the poorest, just right in the middle. My pap and his pap before him were corn crackers, but I ended up being the sheriff, much to their dismay." He smiles down at you, his teeth shining in the burning sun. You'd never thought you'd be standing this close to him, but you'd rather not dwell on it.

It looks like Mist is ripped straight out of the history books. Streets lined with a saloon, a library, small homes and other knick knack shops. Rust covers most surfaces, horses neighing as you walk by. Your hand itches to pet the glossy fur, feel their hair between your fingers. But you know you'll just scare them off, and being kicked by that brunt force isn't on your agenda.

Hongjoong talks on and on about the history of his home, explaining that San used to be a citizen of it as well. "Strayed. Found that being here wasn't his cup of tea, wanted to make a name for himself. We were good pals back in the day, some would say brothers. But I wanted to walk the straight and narrow, and that was too good for him. Wonder what could've happened if I arrested him that day he robbed the general, what would've become of him." Hongjoong sighs.

"I still wanted to fix our friendship, you see. Even now, I still see the good in him, between his robbing and stealing. I see the Choi San who wanted to be a farmer when he was younger, before he banded the Leaders."

"Do you know the other people who are a part of it?" You ask, and Hongjoong shrugs.

"All we know is that there's many of them. W, a few others, and San. Our people haven't been able to identify anyone but San and a few others, since they are the face of the group. Know him enough that he'll keep the people he cares about hidden. Kept away from the public eye. Which makes me think why you aren't someone special to him," he smiles at you. "Not sure if you'd want to be, miss. Being with him only leads down a treacherous path. Full of murder and blood on your hands."

"I'll keep that in mind," you nod softly. Is this what San would be like in an alternate world? In this alternate reality? Dangerous, full of anger and greed? You just can't imagine the kind man being that cruel. There has to be more behind it, more than Hongjoong even knows.

He clears his throat, standing in front of a door. He knocks once, glancing down at you. "Doc should be in."

The door flings open, showing the town doctor. You should be used to it, seeing the members hanging around. But seeing Choi Jongho in all of his glory, standing in front of you only makes you smile, your mouth struggles to hold back your squeal of delight. He smiles at Hongjoong, before looking at you.

"Ah, what do we have here? Another one of your one nights, Hongjoong? Have you slipped up again?"

Hongjoong hits his arm, his ears burning red. "You know I'm a gentleman, doc. Don't make miss y/n assume things about me!"

Jongho grins, leaning against the door. "Ah, but you’re known as the town heart breaker. So many of our ladies throw themselves at you and you don't budge. Some even thought you swing the other way," he winks. "Not that I would mind. Patient room's always open for you. And for you, miss y/n. What seems to be the problem?"

Whiplash. The only way you can describe it as pure whiplash. This man is a mystery in itself.

"I'm at a loss," Hongjoong mumbles, scratching his head. "She ended up in a cell, next to San and he let her go? Can't recall anything before that."

"Ah, amnesia." Jongho opens his door wider. "Mind taking a seat? Just want to make sure your head is screwed on okay and you don't have any injuries," his eyes flick to your arms. "Although I already see some bruising on those pretty arms a' yours."

You walk into his office, Hongjoong following as they shut the door behind the three of you. So much for doctor-patient confidentiality? Did they not practice it here?

“Usually the sheriff wouldn’t be with a female patient,” Jongho explains, walking over to his tool table. The list of items there are very limited; bandages, an assortment of drugs, syringes, and a few knives here and there. He grabbed what you can only assume is a stethoscope, turning to you. “But this is an extenuating circumstance, is it not?”

He glances over at Hongjoong for a moment, before asking you to breathe in and out as he listens to your heartbeat, looking for any oddities. Hongjoong looks away, his ears burning red. The only thing this sheriff could do is blush, but you don’t mind it. It’s endearing, how he hunts down criminals but turns red when he’s watching you being examined.

“Are you nervous, doll?” Jongho asks, raising a brow at you. “Your heartbeat is rapid, like you just chased a herd of rabbits!”

Hell yes, you’re nervous. Jongho is literally inches away from your face, measuring your heart rate. Who wouldn’t be jumping out of their socks? Oh no. Your thoughts, they’ve turned cowboy and it’s only been a little over an hour.

“A bit,” you confess. “Not really sure where I am or how I got here. Just want to go home, wherever that is.” A small white lie. If you’re really dreaming, hanging out with the men in the wild west isn’t such a bad experience.

“Ah,” he mumbles, resting the scope on his neck. “Does your head hurt? Any throbbing feeling in your limbs?” You shake your head. “Hm, well this is a bit odd, if I think about it.”

“What’s odd?” Hongjoong asks, finally turning back.

“Don’t see any signs of injuries besides her physical cuts and bruises,” He grabs the homemade bandages off the counter. “But this could be something we can’t quite see from our eyes, Joong. Might be some brain disturbance. Can tell she aint lying about the amnesia,” he crouches in front of you, wiping your arm with the antibiotic, lightly wrapping the gauze around your arm. “Has those honest eyes. Bright,” Jongho smiles at you. “Reminds me a bit of Hwa-”

“Ya know not to mention him,” Hongjoong utters, Jongho sighing softly.

“Times are different, you know. Maybe he’ll come back to Mist, see the brighter sides of things…”

“He won’t. San manipulated him. His parents are still in a rut over it.” Hongjoong rubs his neck.

Seonghwa. So he’s part of San’s rebel squad as well. You’d like to ask more about it, but prying into their lives would only make you look suspicious, and you’d rather stay under the radar. Even though Jongho believes you, not everyone will. You’d end up in one of their hospitals rather than home. Somewhere you’d at least want to see one last time.

“But we should bring y/n to the motel. Yeosang owes me a favor, anyway. At least until she recalls her home.” Hongjoong glances at you. “A ways away, it would be better to take Angel.”

“Angel?” You ask, and Hongjoong’s eyes light up.

“My lady. You’d like her, she’s the sweetest gal in this town.”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “Stubborn. Can’t get her to listen to a word, gets all ruffled up. But she might like you, she prefers women.” Jongho clears his throat, stretching his back. “Time for a nap, don’t you say? Keep mind of your head condition, and I’ll give you some bandages. Nothing really happens ‘round here, so we have a large supply.” He passes you a roll. “Fixing to see you ‘round here more often, yea? Maybe Joong will have a more special lady.”

Hongjoong scoffs, his hair growing as red as a tomato. You’d definitely not get used to it. “Ah, shut your mouth, Jongho. Let’s go, ‘fore he makes up some more nonsense.” Hongjoong opens the door, gesturing for you to go ahead.

You hop off the stool, “Thank you, Jongho. Hopefully, I see you without bandaids.”

His eyes sparkle. “Please do. It gets lonely ‘round here without some company. Leave Joong behind, I’ll show ya a good time.” He winks, watching as you go.

-

Hongjoong stands in front of a horse, patting her coat softly, feeding her a carrot. “Hey there, Angel. How’s it goin’, beautiful lady?” He whispers, his smile the widest you’ve seen it. “This here’s y/n, a visitor that’ll ride me with you, so don’t be too mean. Can’t have her runnin’ to the Leaders.”

Hongjoong looks at you, a teasing glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes. Tentatively, you run your fingers along her coat. She whines, moving closer to your touch. Hongjoong nods appreciatively. “She likes you, so that means you're a good one.”

“You’re beautiful, Angel,” You said, and she neighs, pressing her face into your cheek. “How did a lady like you end up with a scruffy sheriff like him?”

A groan falls from Hongjoong lips. “Hey, I grew up with her, mind you! Took care of each other, feeding each other. This’ my best friend, right here.” Hongjoong presses his lips to her coat, before tugging on her saddle, leaping up onto her back with ease. He holds out his hand for you, and you stare at the height.

No fucking way.

“Never hopped on a horse before?” he teases, but you nod. Shock crosses his face. “Wait, you ain’t kidding?”

“I’ve never been this close to a horse.”

He blinks quickly. “Ah, you must be from the city, then. Everyone for miles has been on a horse since a babe. Give me your hand, miss. Won’t be too hard to help you hop on her. You’ll be sitting in front of me, so make sure you don’t fall off the saddle.”

“… Can’t we just walk?”

Hongjoong’s eyes almost boggle out of his head. “What? Did I hear that correctly? It’s a long walk, miss. Too far. And you just been in a traumatic accident, can’t have you falling to the dirt from lack of breathing. Easy once you get the hang of it. Trust me, you'll be clean and clear.”

You grab his hand as he instructs you to put your foot into the stirrup, pulling you up with his full strength. You’re surprised at how strong he is, the lack of effort shown on his face as you sit in the saddle with him. You're partly sitting on his lap, and you’re thankful this time that you don’t have the chance to see his face.

“Keep your self pressed against me, alright? And hold on to that horn- yes, that. We’ll be going slower for you but once you get used to Angel, we’ll gallup the rest a’ ways.”

Hongjoong flicks the straps, and Angel walks forward. You yelp, your hands clawing into his thighs. His breathy laughs tickle your ears. “Ah, you’re definitely gotta be from one of those fancy places. It’s cute.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Sheriff,” You grumble, only causing him to laugh louder.

“And the fancy words too. You'll be fine, I’m here for you, and we won’t be burning the breeze so you needn’t worry ‘bout that.”

You hold on tightly the rest of the way there, Angel slowly going into a steady gallop. Hongjoong chats your ear off about everything and anything, and you’re grateful for his presence. The stardom away, he’s just like anyone else. At least, in the cowboy sense. He’s funny and charming, and you’re a bit curious as to why he hasn’t snagged himself a partner in life yet. From what Jongho says, he’s popular. Popular enough to reject everyone that’s ever appeared.

“Are your standards high?” You ask after a joke of his.

You can’t see his face, but you can only imagine his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pardon, miss?”

“Doctor Jongho was talking about how you reject everyone that’s interested in you, and I was just wondering why, as all. I mean, you seem like a good guy from what I can see, I just don’t understand why you haven’t picked someone special for you. Even Jongho was interested.”

Hongjoong quiet as Angel walks on the grassy path. You quickly think you’ve overstepped, opening your mouth to apologize.

“I didn’t mean to- pry.

“No need to say any sorries, miss.” You hear Hongjoong rub the slight scruff on his face, thinking. “All of their advances felt disingenuous,” he confesses. “They wanted to be involved with me because of my position, not my personality. As you can see, I don’t lack in that department.”

You laugh, not seeing the smile that graces his lips.

“Haven’t gotten along with any people except for long time pals a’ mine. Kinda hard to meet new folks when you're in a town like ours, you see. Same folks and same faces day to day. Gets a bit dry.”

“So I assume that you’re happy that I’m here,” You joke.

You don’t see the panic crossing his face, the gulp as he looks away from your head for a moment. “I am, miss y/n. You bring bit a’ spring to my step… Ah, we’re here!” He reigns in Angel, resting her at the stall slightly away from the building. It’s only two floors high, but it’s long, probably home to a dozen or so rooms. Hongjoong hops off of Angel, holding out his arms as he helps you down.

You trip a bit falling off, landing in his arms. He steadies you easily, the usual pink on his face. “Should be more careful, miss. Some men aren’t as kind as myself.”

“Oh, you kind?” You hear a laugh, and turn to the new voice. Blond hair tucked into a hat, he leans against a pole that holds up the building, looking between the both of you. “Not used to seeing the Sheriff entertaining traveling folks. Assuming that you’re y/n?” His eyes flick to you, and you nod. “Ah, the woman spotted with one of those Leader men. Surprised you didn’t arrest her immediately, Sherriff. Loose ends don’t end up tied ‘round here as of late.”

“Ah, Yeosang, be nice for once, will you? She’s not involved with ‘em. Can’t even think back to before today. One of those fancy folk, you know? Probably came from the city.”

Yeosang’s eyes trail over your figure, narrowing his eyes as he takes in your clothing. You’re wearing a t-shirt and jeans, completely different from the corsets that you’ve seen the women wear around there. You wished that Hongjoong offered something so you didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, but to no avail. And you’re a guest to this town, so asking for something when you’re already unwelcomed would be pushing the little luck that you have.

“Didn’t think to give her a new pair of those? She’s practically in the nude in that wear.” He leans up from his spot, walking over to the both of you. His walk is lazy, stare matching. He holds up a bit of hay to Angel, her eating it out of his hands as he eyes Hongjoong. “No wonder you wanted to ride Angel over here. Haven’t felt another in a bit, hm?”

“You and Doctor Jongho seem to like to tease,” You say, earning a raised brow from him.

“Joong here grew up with us. Feed the same bread and wore the same trousers. Families closer than two peas in a pod. Joking is in our blood. Would ya like a new pair of clothes? Get you in something that won’t make the men ‘round here ogle you , their minds aren’t that pure as you can see.” He gestures to Hongjoong standing just feet away from you. “Didn’t even bother offering, his dirty mind.”

“Hey-!”

“I would like that, thank you. But, could I wear some trousers instead? Those skirts are too tight fitting and I can’t move in them.”

Yeosang’s grin slowly spreads across his face as he looks at you. “Thinking that I’ll like you more than the other misses he brings ‘round. Anything you need, miss y/n. Speaking of needs, Hongjoong. Why’d you bring her in these parts? It’s not the calmest area in our town. Could get hurt.”

Hongjoong glances around, seeing obvious sketchy people walking around. Some spot him and turn in the opposite direction. “Need a favor. She needs some place to stay-”

“So you thought it would’ve been an excellent idea to waltz over here and give her to me. Have enough of those skum walking through my doors, don’t need more eyes to cover an innocent virgin.”

You scoff at him, and he looks at you sympathetically. “In their eyes, you are.”

“Please, having her at my home won’t be proper, you know how the townspeople talk. City slicker in my home will only lead to chit-chatting.”

Yeosang places his hat back on top of his head, thinking. “How long?”

“I can’t quite tell ya that. Don’t know when her memory is going to come waltzing back in and saying howdy. Give her a few weeks, give or take.”

Yeosang grumbles, but nods. “Favors gone now, sheriff,” his eyes move over to you. “Let’s get you set up in some proper cow-poke slacks. Wouldn’t mind seeing you in some fancy clothing, though,” His grin widens as he looks at you.

That was flirting. That was definitely flirting. Your face warms as he tips his hat to Hongjoong, gesturing for you to walk ahead. You turn back to Hongjoong, and he nods once, lifting his hat up slightly.

“I’ll be in contact with you, keep your ears clean and your eyes open. Those bandits could be anywhere, and Yeosang’s place is prime time for their kind. Won’t be surprised if they slip ‘round here, causing a ruckus.”

“Not in my place,” Yeosang grumbles.

“Thanks, Sheriff Hongjoong. For bringing me here, and trying to keep me safe.”

Hongjoong flushes, “Ah, no need to thank me, miss. It’s only my job, even if you’re a city slicker.” He teases. He gets back on Angel, whistling at you once before disappearing down the dirt path.

Yeosang clears his throat next to you. “I’ll show you to the back. Can't quite find your size, but pick off these racks here and sure enough find something."

Yeosang holds the door open for you, gesturing to the racks in front of you. "Don't quite trust you by the way, miss y/n. Popping up 'round here out of the blue and yip yapping about some amnesia. Jongho a doc, but he ain't the brightest tool in the shed."

He eyes you. “You don’t even talk like a city-slicker or country folk. Can’t quite pin you down yet. Just don’t bring no trouble ‘round here, and we’d be peachy. Got that?”

“I do,” You say, Yeosang completely reading you. He’s even analytical in the wild west, but you shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re surprised Hongjoong or Jongho didn’t peep a word about your accent. Maybe they think you’re from some far off town, a place where no one speaks in their slang. “I won’t cause a ruckus, either. Thank you for your hospitality.” You try speaking like him, a grin on your face.

He only rolls his eyes in response. “Nice try. I’m leaving your key hanging on your door, just outside. Grab it whenever you’re ready and your room will be prepared. Some gal will be bringing you more clothing for your stay.”

He gives you a wave as you thank him, closing the door behind him. You stare at the racks in front of you, grabbing whatever looks close enough to your size to wear. You tuck your feet into the boots and stare at the hats. It tempts you, your mouth watering, thinking about living out your cowboy dreams. But you sigh, giving them one last, longing gaze before leaving.

You’re already an eyesore, everyone looking at you wherever you go. Wearing a hat would only cause more people to ask questions, many you can’t answer. Where did you come from? Why do you speak like that? Wait, you don’t know what “insert term” is? You shower everyday? Endless questions that’ll only leave you in a stuttering mess, palms sweaty. You should probably grab a dress and corset and shove yourself in one, but who do they think you are? Walking around uncomfortable from day to day?

You grab the key that’s hanging outside your door, walking slowly down the hallway. Thankfully your room isn’t too far. You insert the key and unlock it, glancing inside. How the lady or man came into your room quick enough and dropped off clothing is beyond you, but you thank them silently, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The room couldn’t be more than ten by ten, a small window with the thinnest panel you’ve ever seen. You run your fingers along the quilt, humming softly.

What do you do now?

You remember seeing a bar just off the hotel, and nod. Sure, this couldn’t be scary. Just a normal bar in the Wild West. Probably some gunfights and glasses thrown everywhere, but that’s normal enough, you suppose. Maybe you’ll come out with an honorary bloody nose. You walk out of your room, locking the door behind you.

You turn, bumping into a body just outside your door. The impact is rather hard, making you stumble on the rug that’s on the floor. Before you can fall back, a hand grabs you, holding you steady. Your eyes look up, ready to thank the mysterious stranger. Dark eyes stare down at you, thick brows just above them, His hair is long, brushing against the nape of his neck. You never thought during this time there were piercings, but you can see them tracing up his ear, small gold studs. He pulls you up, eyes never leaving yours. You can recognize that man from anywhere, his face so distinct.

“Are you alright, sweet pea?” Wooyoung asks, his deep voice resonating in the quiet hallway. You nod, as he lets you go. He wears black from head to toe, boots shining with a line of silver around the heels. His hat rests on a string, hanging on his neck. He tilts his head, wavy hairs falling to his forehead. “Don’t remember seeing a gal as beautiful as you ‘round.”

You don’t know how to respond, and you can tell by his face that he knows the effect he has on you. He chuckles slowly, ring covered fingers running through his hair. “Fine night, isn’t it? Too dangerous out there for a sweet pea like you to be alone. Where you going?”

You purse your lips. “It’s dangerous out there, like you said. I can’t tell strangers where I’m going.”

He laughs. “Ah, you’re a slick one. I like that.” His eyebrows flick up slightly.

Fuck. The charisma from this man is dripping from his every word, every flick of his eyes. But you keep yourself grounded enough to roll your eyes, giving him your back. You’re not here to flirt.

…

Well, you aren’t sure why you’re here.

“Never had a lady give me her backside,” Wooyoung walks next to you, arms resting on his back. “Haven’t told you my government yet, and you’re already running. Let me at least say a bit more before you make me into a bad egg. Didn’t see a ring, so assumed you were an Angelica.”

“Angelica?”

His eyebrows furrow for a moment. “Ah, must be small-town lingo. Not tied down, I presume. No lover.”

“Why does that even matter?” You know. You can feel the heavy flirting between his words, the smirk on his lips. And you’re tempted, but something is different about him. There’s an aura around Wooyoung, more than the flirting. Mysterious, intimidating. Something you can’t quite point out. You reach to open the door, but he opens it for you, gesturing for you to exit. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you. You make any cowboy balmy.”

He walks along with you to the bar, no longer trying to start a conversation with you. You embrace the silence, but his mere presence is intimidating in itself, his looming finger just behind you. As you make it to the outside of it, he opens the door for you once more, his smile hidden on his face.

“Came here to bend an elbow as well. A bit glad I didn’t go to the bed-house, found better sights here. See you ‘round, miss…” He waits for you to say your name, but you don’t give him the pleasure. “Hard to get, I see. Admire that.”

You walk in, him just slightly behind you. The bell rings, eyes of the patrons looking over to see who entered. Their loud talks slowly dissipate, an audible hush falling amongst the crowd. You notice that they’re looking behind you, so you step to the side, letting Wooyoung walk in front. He looks back at you, an evil glint in his eyes.

“Name’s Wooyoung. But you’d’ve learned soon enough,” he takes your hand, lightly pressing his lips against the back, intense gaze on yours as he flicks his eyes to your lips, letting go. He seems to ignore the stares as he walks to the corner of the bar, a familiar silhouette there as well. But you can only see their back from where you’re standing.

You walk to the bar, sitting on an empty stool. Some of the men next to you eye you but don’t utter a word, probably assuming that you’re with Wooyoung. You don’t mind it at all, trying to figure out how to get back to your time is what you’d rather do. Although, hanging out with them isn’t half bad.

“Joong’s gal?”

Your eyes look up into softer ones, his contagious smile and plush cheeks easily recognizable. He holds a glass in his hand, cleaning it slowly. He leans against the counter. “Could tell by your trousers. No lady ‘round here would dare.”

You snort. “And what does that mean? I’m not a lady?”

Yunho looks at you in shock, his lips in the shape of an o. “Absolutely positively not, sweetheart. You’re different, bettermost from the others, makes you more fascinating, you see. Make any get one hellofa brick in his hat. Makes you a target as well, but you’re safe enough.”

“How so?”

He grins. “You’re with me. Talk more after I get these men outta da way.” He tips his head, walking over and sliding people their beer.

The saloon is bigger than you expected, probably about fifty or so people hanging out and about. There’s few women around but Yunho’s right; all of them are dressed to impress, makeup perfect on their faces. You spot Wooyoung, and finally, get the chance to see who he’s with.

San slides laid back in his chair, legs manspread as his eyes lazily trail along the crowd. You can't move, knowing that if you even tried his eyes would immediately land on you. So you try your best to keep attention away from yourself, sitting on the edge of the barstool as Yunho makes a drink for you.

The hairs on the back of your neck raise, knowing the heavy gaze that now rests on you. You thank him for the drink, using it as an excuse to down it quickly, eyes flicking over to where San is. His gaze is focused on you, a sly smirk slowly forming on his lips. He drags his tongue along them, eyebrow raised slightly, as if he's challenging you.

"Involved with a fella like him?" Yunho interrupts, forcing your eyes away. "Could only lead to bad endings, sweetheart. Only keep you on your toes long enough to say hello. Throw you right into the dust."

"Do you know him?" You ask, and Yunho laughs.

"Know him? We part of the Leaders together." He watches as the shock slowly crosses your face, his smirk rising. "Too bad he don't like to share."

"Share what?"

Yunho only winks.

The Leaders. San, Wooyoung, and Yunho. All of them are part of the bandit group. You’re a bit shocked that Yunho is, why would he be a bartender? But now you’ve figured out why Wooyoung feels so off. He’s a criminal, his dark gaze filled with more than just lust. He’s seen things you can’t imagine, things you’d rather not think about. San probably has blood on his hands as well as Yunho, his eyes taking you in as you think deeply.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, darling.” His voice is next to you now, one you’ve just heard earlier today. “Can’t say I’m disappointed. W was just chatting about you, telling me about this daisy damsel, a city-slicker. Got me curious, I reckon, but when I saw you eyeing me, dead giveaway.”

“Was it a coincidence,” you mumble, not daring to meet his gaze. He doesn’t smell like alcohol at all, not even slightly. You’re a bit surprised, but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t expect to see you again either.”

“Ah, it’s not a bad thing,” San nudges the man next to you. The man grunts, ready to start something. But once his eyes scan San, a frightened look crosses his eyes as he stumbles from his stool, moving far away from the two of you. Hongjoong talked about how notorious and dangerous they are, but it didn’t sink until you entered the bar. They’ve made a name for themselves here, and not in a good way.

He rests on the stool, half sitting. “Never told me why you were in the calaboose. Don’t really look like the doozies that creep in there. Much calmer, strange.” He sees the look on your face, and chuckles. “In a positive way, darling.”

His eyes grace over your figure, a teasing glint in his eyes. He slowly brings the glass to his lips, eyes unblinking as he watches you through the blurry glass. His lips wrap around the lining of the glass cup, before placing it down to the counter. "You’re quite a mysterious one, miss y/n."

Your blood runs cold. You haven't uttered your name around him, or Wooyoung. How did he even know it? He sees the puzzlement in your eyes, gaze moving away from you to Yunho, a few feet away serving someone else.

"Town's small and townspeople chat. Hard not to figure out who you were. Cant get the details on your background, no matter how much pig digging. Not even your sheriff knows, and seems like you don't know either. Don't believe that in the slightest." He waves over another bartender, their quick pouring of the drink showing you in the simplest ways San's power in this town.

The shaking hands of the man as he pours, the laser sharp gaze of San as he watches, as if he'll jump over the counter if the man makes the slightest mistake. Wooyoung and he command attention and obedience with their presence. Completely different from the soft energy around Yunho, flirting smiles as he continues to intoxicate the saloon customers.

"We own this here saloon, love. The Leaders. Imagine my shock in seeing you stumble through those doors, W just behind ya. I saw the looks he was givin' you, that poor bastard..."

"Ah, talking about me while I'm not here to defend, sir? No wonder my ear was itching."

You're so absorbed in San's every word, ignoring the slow walk of Wooyoung behind you. He doesn't even bother asking the man in the opposite seat to move, the person leaving on their own accord. Unlike San, he molds his body into the stool, letting out a soft sigh before moving his eyes to you. A small grin teases on his lips, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"Care to share?"

"Not interested. In either of you." You clench your ice tea, alcohol free. You don't see the looks they exchange over your head, wordless communication.

"Heard you talking to the sheriff," Wooyoung says.

"Wondering if you told any tidbits about our encounter. Isn't wise if you did," San adds. "Could be life risking, if you ask me."

You can feel the intense stares they give you without even glancing their way. Your eyes move to Yunho, who watches you from the other side of the bar. It's too loud for him to hear what you're saying to them, but you can tell that he knows. The blank expression he gives you is enough to know. Are they going to kill you? There isn't even any information to give Hongjoong, even if you wanted to.

"What could I say to him? He knows who you are, what you look like. And you barely exchanged three sentences with me before riding off into the sunset," you sip slowly on your drink. "Is that why you came over here? To bother me?"

San chuckles dryly. "You’re a smart one, hm? Think we can put you in your place?" He moves closer to your ear, a breath away from his lips touching your skin. "Can tell you’re flustered, your fingers are all shaky. Scared?"

Wooyoung leans on the counter, head resting on his hand. You notice his arm covered with tattoos and bracelets. His gaze is heavy, eyelids hushed as he licks his lips, flicking between yours and your eyes. "Pretty gal like you may be thinking 'bout something different though. Could tell right when we met, the look in those beautiful eyes of yours. Full a' wonder, and... ah." He reaches out, inches away from your hand, before pulling back.

"The things I want to do."

From the thumping in your ears to the breath of San tickling them, to the seductive look Wooyoung is giving you, it's overwhelming. You leap from your stool, ignoring the chuckles falling from their lips.

"Leaving so soon? Haven't even heard our proposal to you," San pouts. "It's worth a wild."

You hesitate in your steps, glancing back at the two of them. "And what is the proposition?"

Wooyoung leans back on the counter, legs outstretched in front of him. "Distract that sheriff. Tell him falsehoods, get his nose away from us. In exchange..." His heavy gaze moves up your body, before flicking to your eyes. "Join us."

.

..

...

....

"...join you? Why in the living hell would I ever join you?"

A dark look passes through both of them. San jaw clenches, fingers straining against the glass in his hands before he takes a breath, closing his eyes and opening again. He looks at you calmly once more.

"We need a lady in our ranks. Some things a man just can't do. You’re already a criminal, can't judge us."

You blink rapidly. "How am I...?"

Your mind trails off to your first meeting with him, in prison. He's assuming that you're as bad as them, that you'd break the law. But the worst thing you've ever done is kick a ball into someone's face, and you cried after doing that. Breaking the law? You could barely break a pencil, let alone the law.

"No." You say briskly. "I've changed, I think. Started anew. My past is behind me."

Wooyoung snorts at that. "Oh, is it now? Every soul in here sees you talking to us. Probably got to the sheriff already. He must be suspecting by now that you’re in cahoots with the Leaders."

They're trying to bait you. You've watched enough movies to know the moves. The evil glint behind the friendliness. The way Wooyoung's fingers rest on his hip, inches away from his pistol. It's subtle, but you know if you deny, they'd probably retaliate somehow. But Hell, you’ve dealt with men like this before.

"You're underestimating him. See y'all around." You tip your invisible hat, earning a chuckle from Yunho who watches. You turn your back to them, push the double doors open and leave.

Wooyoung goes to stand, but San grabs his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. He looks at him in confusion. "We won't stop her?"

"No. Sooner or later, she'll come crawling to us."

"Not too sure 'bout that," Yunho says, walking to them. "Gal seems independent. Can't see her listenin to you."

San quirks his brow. "She'll learn who I am soon 'nough."

-

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths just outside the bar. Your eyes flick to the sound of heavy panting, seeing a black stallion in the darkness. Its eyes glow faintly, focusing on you for a moment before huffing again. You try to calm your heart rate as you take in its calming presence, a soft neigh echoing in the night.

Your head is filled with several emotions; fear, confusion, lust. You can barely keep up with the heavy waves. The beating slowly drops into a more steady thumping, your eyes flutter as you take another breath, walking through the grass to meet it. It stomps its feet, warning you with gestures. You hold your hands up in surrender, showing it that it shouldn’t be afraid. It slowly stops moving, letting you stand next to it silently.

You don’t dare run your fingers on its coat, too afraid that it startles easily. You stare off into the night, eyes on the sky. The stars are the brightest you’ve ever seen; they glow their own lights in the small town. You glance around, seeing the flickers of torches and stakes, loud voices of people entertaining themselves. The horse neighs softly as you pout, running your fingers through your hair.

“I don’t belong here,” You say softly, glancing at the horse. “I have no idea what to do, how to get back to my home. But I have to admit, it’s nice being around here. The fresh air is completely different. Feels more natural out here.” You hear a crash behind you, but don’t even give the sound the light of day, continuing to hum softly.

“It’s a bit chilly out here too, and all I have is this shirt,” You pull at the material, frowning. “It’s barely thick enough to cover my boobs from showing through.”

“Boobs?”

You jump at the sound, turning to see a man, hair wild as the wind blows through it. He wears a dark blue outfit, cowboy boots shining in the darkness, probably from the flickering of the candle in his hand. He cocks his head, eyes watching you curiously.

“Is that the fancy way of saying bosoms?” You can hear the innocence in his voice, although the scars across his face tell a different story. “Strange city slickers.” He grins, walking to you. You’re not sure how he is compared to the rest of the bandits you’ve encountered, but you don’t take any chances.

“What do you want?”

Confusion is drawn in his expression, before he mumbles something to himself softly. “Ah… you’re with my horse. Seems a bit suspicious, don’t you think?” He points to the horse next to you, patting it softly. “Surprised he didn’t try to kick you. A feisty one, he is. Probably thinking about doing something to you.” He grins again, winking at you.

You move away from the horse and Seonghwa takes a step to it, pressing his lips against it. It nudges against him softly, and he giggles. You blink rapidly. Him. He is in a bandit group, an infamous group. You don’t even feel the dangerous aura around him, not like the other three. He’s much softer, calmer. He looks at you, still petting his horse lightly.

“Heard ‘bout you from the others. Potentially joining’ our ranks,” he looks you up and down in thought. “Don’t know why they’v’d even consider, don’t look impressive to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah, pardon my behavior. It's true, though. You’re light on the eyes, but that’s all I see. Don’t look like you’ve even held a pistol, and from the looks of it, probably run your bazoo and snitch,” he wrinkles his nose. “I ain’t as trusting as the others. For good reason, too.”

He lets go of the stallion, leaning next to him as he watches you. “San trusts you, though. We aren’t what you think, what the chit chatting be saying about us. Hiding among the willows, filled with bug juice. It’s nothing of the sort.”

“Then why don’t you defend yourselves? Everyone is convinced you’re the worst criminals there are, that you’d shoot before anything else.”

There, you see it. The flicker of fury in his irises, the locking of his jaw, the dark glow to his eyes. But as quick as you see it, it fades away. He smiles again, and this time it doesn’t seem as genuine.

“Some of those rumors are true. Don’t be so beef-headed, miss y/n,” he tilts his head as he watches you. “Standing in front of this bucket of blood. Right where you stand, Yunho murdered a man.” Seonghwa flicks his gaze to the grass, pursing his lips. “Speaking of that, being alone is risky. This town ain’t as safe as the sheriff makes you think. Better to get to your home, something’s going down in a few clicks or so.”

Another shout comes from the bar, and Seonghwa sighs. “Go ta Yeosang’s place. Lock your doors, and don’t go by those windows.”

He kisses his horse’s face once more before walking around you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. He glances at the spot, eyes focused on yours. His expression is unreadable, and he nods once before, pulling his gun from the holster, kicking open the bar doors. You take that as your cue, half running, half jogging to the hotel. You ignore the whistles and shouts from the people standing not too far away from the front, running to your door and shutting it behind you.

The gun shots ring around you as you cover your ears, shaking as each one shoots through the air. A deadly reminder that you don’t belong here, that you should be home in modern society. That no matter how cool it is to be in the wild west, it isn’t cool to think about one of those gunshots ending up inside of you.

You need to get home.

-

“Won’t be that bad of an idea,” he says, brushing off her coat slowly. You lean against the tall pole next to his stall. He eyes you for a moment, scanning your skeptical expression before sighing. “We need to arrest them, y/n. Take them in for their crimes.”

“And why do you need me? I was in that jail for a reason, one that I don’t know. You’re being so harsh on them, and easy on me.” You flick off a leaf that falls, waiting for his response. You might be digging yourself into a hole, but it’s the only thing that you could think would stop him from this crazy idea of his. There’s no way you’d try to infiltrate their ranks, the risk is too high. These men aren’t like the ones back home.

“You’re not a threat. Don’t sense the bad mojo on you, can tell by looking into your eyes. You'll be safe; no harm will come to you. Bet a cat’s foot on it.” He snaps his fingers, winking at you.

You narrow your eyes. “Bet your life.”

Hongjoong widens his eyes as he looks at you. “I… no, miss y/n, that’s-”

“Yea yea, superstition and all.”

“You don’t believe in that?” He asks, watching as you shake your head. “Gotta be careful, miss. You’re a good one, that I know.

“Do you?”

“Mama ain’t raise no fool,” He says simply, patting Angel. “Be careful, you hear? Those men aren’t as kind as they may show you. Killed too many to consider them friendlies. Those men ain’t nothing but trouble. Don’t want to see you hurt. But if you don’t accept their invitation under the eyes of me, they might insist in ways I cannot help you with.”

You purse your lips. They’re walking freely through the town, through the darker sides that you don’t see right here. It’s a bit strange; shouldn’t they be put in jail? You’re sure that Hongjoong knows that’s their bar, and yet he hasn’t stormed it and arrested them. Angels neighs softly, stomping her feet. Hongjoong mumbles something against her fur, brushing hairs away from her eyes.

“Why don’t you just arrest them? You know where they’re at, right? Or is there some law that doesn’t allow you to?”

“Ah,” Hongjoong nods slowly. “Forgot about that place. Can’t arrest them if that town doesn’t want me to. You see, they’re infamous bandits in Mist, but not there. I dropped you off just outside of Mist, a smaller town called Halazi. Because the laws are different there, those slickers didn’t cause any ruckus there, so they ain’t going to be arrested. Deputy doesn’t allow me to’ even arrest any bodies there, especially those men. Brings in money to their town. Ain’t going to give that up anytime soon.” Hongjoong’s eyes flick to you.

“Assume you've seen them? Have they spotted ya?” You don’t respond, and he sighs. “Ah, you have then. Just… don’t get too close then. Please. And if you do, at least let me know before something happens. So I can keep an eye on you.”

You nod. “Of course, I won’t.”

-

“Joong’s paranoid. You’ll be fine. These boys don’t mess with no innocents, only the likes of them,” Jongho says, cleaning off a tray with mysterious blood on it. “Can’t believe he didn’t chain you to a fence, in all honesty. That Sheriff is a good one, but scared of a fly.” He clicks his tongue, washing his hands before looking at your wound again. “Ah, it’s healing well, ain’t it? Your skin is going to be pretty again, miss y/n, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” You say, smiling. “But I think he has reasons to worry. I didn’t exactly tell him the complete truth.”

Jongho raises his eyebrows. “Hm?”

You rub your arm, looking at the healing cut as you speak. “I met the guys. All of them; San, Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa. They wanted me to join their ranks, something about me being alluring. I refused, but then they responded that I won’t be refusing for much longer? I have no idea what that means, but in my honest opinion-”

“Sounds like a threat,” Jongho whispers slowly, and you nod. “Joong ain’t tell you ‘bout their crimes, did he? Nothing except the little flyers he has hanging round town?” You shake your head.

“San can tell his own story; it’s a big one, one that’ll take too long,” he grins. “The others joined after he decided to leave. Joong and them, friends for a long time. Since they were little ones, until he left. Yunho used to be my assistant, until he went away. Wooyoung is a mystery; lived here his whole life but decided to leave when Yunho did. Seonghwa was Joong’s partner, unofficially. Glued to his side like a worm in the gravel on a hot day. When they had a falling out, he was distraught, choosing between his two friends. Joong ain’t never going to forget when Seonghwa left him.”

“Their crimes are not as serious as it seems. Yes, they burglarized and murdered, but thestories behind each of them are cause for protest. They ain’t ever raised their pistols to an innocent, that’s why Joong ain’t that worried about you in that regard. Only murderers and people who gone against them but for good reasons, in my humble opinion,” Jongho begins cleaning off your cut.

“Then why does Hongjoong want them arrested? If they didn’t actually do anything horrible?”

Jongho thinks for a moment. “In a way, it’s ‘cause he’s heartbroken. But also, just because a person is bad don’t mean you go ‘round killing. There’s due process; jail, and from there punishment.”

He grins as he looks at you. “Like Wooyoung, for a teeny example. He killed many, but all of their crimes were dark, too explicit to even tell ya. Seonghwa hasn’t killed, that I know of but most of the others have. Yunho usually sits in the bars at night, though. More of an informant if anything.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t tell Hongjoong then,” you mumble to yourself, Jongho listening along. “He has a grudge and rightfully so, but some things should just be kept to myself. I think he’d take me out of Yeosang’s hotel immediately if he found out,” You tease, causing Jongho to chuckle.

“He would've, My lips are sealed, swallowing the key. But I’m still keeping an eye on you, don’t you forget that. Keep your ears cleared and your eyes open, miss y/n. Them guys ain’t that bad, but there’s trouble always surrounding them. Don’t join them, not even under fallacies. Those boys can sniff a rat amongst the willows.”

He taps your arm as he finishes. “Come back again, no one ever comes to see little ‘ol me.” He leans against the counter, looking at you. It looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t do anything but give you that signature grin. “Tell them, especially Yunho, I said howdy if you ever come ‘cross again. Big part of me thinks you will.”

He winks.

-

You’re not sure how you ended up here. In the middle of a field, flowers and other plants are seen for miles. Taking a small hike, you only expected more dirt and pesky bugs. You’re not sure if any diseases from the mosquitoes are actually cured by now, but it frightens you whenever one of them lands on you. You hum to yourself softly, letting the soft breeze swirl around you. It’s been a few weeks in between Mist and Halazi. You’ve seen San, Wooyoung, and the others more often than you’d like, their words enticing you more and more. But you’ve resisted for the most part, avoiding them whenever you turn the corner.

San and Wooyoung have been particularly insistent. You already moved out of Yeosang’s hotel, and into a room and board, farther away from the bar. But it seems like every time you step out of the doors, those two aren’t as far away.

Despite your very thinning resistance, you’ve ignored their requests for the most part. Even though Jongho told you that their crimes aren’t as bad as you may think, you don’t want to involve yourself with them. Hongjoong is happy as well, hearing from you that you didn’t dare join them. In a weird sort of way, it feels like a mouse and cat game, the duo dropping their cheese in front of your nose, and you running away from it.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here,” A voice behind you hums lightly. You yelp, turning to the voice. Wooyoung stands there, hands tucked into his slacks as he looks at the peonies around you. He tilts his head, eyes flicking to yours. “Thought you left, S was a bit ruffled.” He hums softly, leaning against a rock.

“Did you follow me out here?” You ask sternly. “I told you two I’m not joining your little crew of bandits-”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Ah, watch your words, miss. Just ‘cause we been nice, don’t mean we can’t stop.” He motions his hands in a scissor motion, winking at you. “And I ain’t follow you. Here’s my resting place, ways away from commotion of Halazi. And it’s my mama’s land, so you’re intruding, not I.” He grins at you. “Could get yourself shot, miss y/n.”

Your heart drops to your stomach as you scramble to your feet, panic in your eyes. “Shit- I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

Wooyoung wiggles his fingers, shaking his head. He reaches back, putting the hat on his head as he watches you. “Mama ain’t so easy to forgive, lucky she ain’t see you out here. But, since I did catch you,” He taps his finger against his pouty lips, pretending to think deeply. “You owe me now, don’t you?”

His eyebrows raise as his lips slowly curl into an evil grin. You mentally slap yourself. What were you thinking? All land must have been owned around here, it is a small town after all. And look at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Wooyoung watches as you go through the hoops in your mind, your nose scrunched up as your eyes flick back and forth. He rests on the rock easily, humming again.

“What do you want me to do?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Can’t think of any at this very moment. Get back to you?” He says, “But we gotta shake on it. Can’t be having some white lies told, you know?” He holds out his hand. If you looked closely enough you could have seen the slightly wicked look in his eyes, the pure lust as your fingers curled around his for a shake. He lifts up your entwined hands, pressing his lips against it lightly.

“Best get a move on, Mama be home soon enough. Can’t be having any daisies ‘round, she carries the big guns.” Wooyoung flicks his head, “Unless you’d like to stay. I have enough room for a visitor.”

You’re at least fifty percent sure he’s asking for you to twist the sheets with him, as they say. Or in your language, fuck. Your face warms furiously as you pull your hand out of his, shaking your head.

“As you said, I need to get moving.”

He watches as you walk past him, eyes struggling to keep them on only your head, nothing lower. It’s not common to see a lady dressed in tight-fitting clothing, and little did you know, they were luring away the men who dared to creep on you. Stares are fine, but the words that Yunho heard in the bars... Speaking of that, his eyes move to look in the distance, at the cowboy that’s been watching you as of late. Wooyoung moves away from his rock, fingers lingering to his holster as he begins his approach.

-

“They’ve killed again,” A voice says softly between the crowd. You don’t pay any mind, knowing who they’re talking about. You can’t quite keep up with the drama that happens with the Leaders, their names constantly at the edge of people’s tongues. Instead, you push your way through and stay in the library, also owned by Yeosang.

He sits in the corner as you read through books, trying desperately to find a way back to your time. You think you’ve had enough of the sand in places you’d rather not mention, and the lack of water to take showers in. You’re sure someone saw you trying to clean yourself in a pond. Oddly, though, the guys didn’t smell bad. But you’d rather not dwell on that thought.

“You've been here for three days, miss,” Yeosang says, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. “Can just ask what you're looking for, youknow.”

You shake your head. “What if I told you I’m trying to figure out a way to go to the future, where you’re part of a boyband?”

Yeosang stays quiet for a moment, before he chortles to himself, shaking his head. “Spent too long with Jongho, sounding just like him. Boy band? Is that some sort of Sheriff department?”

You hold back your laughter, “Maybe I have been around Jongho too long.” These books in front of you could barely help you, most just telling you about folk tales, things you don’t need to know about right now. You put the books back on the shelves, thanking Yeosang before walking out. You hear a loud crowd in the distance, and squint, seeing men wearing black, surrounding someone on the ground. Your stomach drops once you recognize the figures from this distance.

Stay away, you say to yourself, keep under the radar. They already want you a part of them, and involving yourself in things like this would only entice them more. Make you tied up in drama you have no business being in. You look away, despite the growing yelling. This isn’t Hongjoong’s town; he’d never show up. But some part of you tells you to look, and you see someone running up to them. A shotgun is in their fingers, the Leaders’ backs to him.

Your eyes widen. He’s going to shoot them. He’s going to kill them with their backs to him. Your body immediately starts running, barely keeping yourself on your two feet as you breathe through your nose, pushing through randoms walking around. The man is so close, so very close. You might be too late, you might see one of them being killed -

San stands just over the man on the ground, an angry sneer on his lips as he aims his gun at him. Wooyoung stands next to him, Seonghwa on the opposite side with Yunho staring down at him. They don’t see the man aiming his gun, eyes narrowed as he adjusts his shot.

“San, move!” You scream, feet away. The shotgun man turns around as you yell, but turns back, finger slowly pressing on the trigger. You leap, shoving your body against San as the shot rings through the air. You’re not too sure where the others are, too focused on getting him out of danger.

You both fall to the ground in a loud thump, his body somehow rolling on top of yours. You hear commotion behind the two of you as you take heavy breaths, eyes on one another. He looks between yours, flicking around your face. A hand reaches out, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Shit, you got a cut. What the fuck were you thinking, funning in front of a shot like that?” He curses, anger in his voice. But you can only see the worry reflected in his eyes as he looks over you. “Don’t be stupid,” he hisses.

“If you paid more attention to who’s around you maybe I wouldn’t have to be stupid, stupid.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Stubborn gal.”

“Quit kissing faces and get up,” You hear a voice above the both of you, anger dripping from his words. You look back, seeing Wooyoung staring down at the both of you. “No time for flirting. Gotta show them no mercy.”

San looks down at you, a silly grin on his lips. “W sounds a bit cheeky, don’t he?” He lifts himself away from your body, holding out his hand to help you up. Reminds you of the first time you’ve met him, saved from the prison. But this time, Wooyoung helps you up from behind, San slowly dropping his arm.

Wooyoung glares at the blood dripping from your forehead, ignoring the scowls his partner gives him. “S is right, you know. Keep yourself outta trouble, you here? Ain’t want you to join us this way.” He grabs something from his back pocket. It’s a roll of cloth, he wraps it around the small wound, whistling.

He secures it with a metal clip, smiling lightly at his handy work before straightening his back, looking at the others. Yunho and Seonghwa stay silent, exchanging looks, while San’s fuming, his glare having the potential to melt any man who receives it. You can tell that Wooyoung knows he’s furious but chooses to ignore it, eyes moving to the man on the ground that attempted to kill them.

Some people that you don’t recognize hold him down. San crouches over, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Lucky this darling here is watching,” San stands. “Hwa. Take care of him, have other matters to tend to.” His eyes look at you. “Follow me.”

-

San paces around the room, Wooyoung sitting in the furthest corner. He watches you silently, darker eyes blinking rarely. His trenchcoat that drapes to the floor is oddly terrifying, making your eyes look over to him every so often. A part of you itches to speak up and ask exactly why he isn't blinking, but now seems like the wrong time. Yunho and Seonghwa are dealing with the man who tried to assassinate San, somewhere in the Halazi station. You bite your lip nervously, wondering why they insisted on you coming with them. They gave you room to refuse, of course, their gentlemanly cowboy ways superseding their need to speak with you.

San finally stops pacing, stopping a few feet away from you. "You’re strange." He says softly, eyes looking through his hair. "Can't seem to' wrap my noggin 'round you. Cold Cool as a winter's morn' but warm as Mama's sweet apple pie."

...

"Um—"

"You tell us to stay away, and we do for most parts." San nods at that. "Keep them sleazy men away from you since you insist on wearing revealing wear." He eyes your pants, before looking away. If you squint, you can see a slight color change to his cheeks.

If they call your pants and very thick shirt revealing, you could only imagine them in your time. Seeing short sleeve shirts and ankles. They'd go mad.

"But you saved me," he mumbles softly, rubbing his bottom lip. "Woo," his eyes flick to his partner. "Don't you think it's awfully strange of miss y/n to help us? Aught to make one wonder.“ He strokes his chin, humming to himself.

Wooyoung’s brows raised slowly, clicking his tongue. “You’re right. Why she helping us? Could’ve just left us for dead. Let the vultures pick off the bones. Seems like this lady cares ‘bout us.”

You can’t help but scoff at them, eyes-rolling. You don’t catch the clenching of Wooyoung’s jaw, San’s eyes narrowing at your action. “Talk about being full of yourselves. If you were anyone else I’d still do the same thing. Don’t try to stroke your ego.”

Wooyoung’s rings glisten as he moves away from the wall, taking slow steps closer to you. “Can’t help but talk like that, hm? It’s been a few now, you should’ve learned.”

“Learned what?” You say, keeping your voice steady. You hear a slight crack in your tone, hoping that they don’t notice. But from the slow curving of their lips, they know.

“Learned that the Leaders are called that for a reason, sweet pea. Learned that we only tolerate so little, and you crossed the line more than once,” he raises his fingers, flicking each one up as he counts. “Too many to even add up, you see.” He slowly tucks his hands in his pocket, chain glistening against his neckline.

San nods along. “That pretty face a’ yours only seems to get you in trouble. You know how many men we’ve fought off? Your feet are golden, darling. And you still walk around here like you own the town. Makes us look weak, and we can’t have that, hm?” He tilts his head, earring brushing against his skin as he eyes you. “Heard you owe Woo a favor.”

You don’t know whether to be frightened, scared, or a third thing. You watch as Wooyoung places his hat to the side, loosening his jacket. Your eyes glue to his exposed skin like you’re a deprived man from the 1700s seeing ankles for the first time. He reaches for his rings, but stops himself, smirking.

“You like the rings on me, don’t you?”

You swallow slowly, and San raises his eyebrows at you. “Answer the question, darling.”

“I do.” You say, seeing Wooyoung glance back at you. He slowly takes off his vest, leaving the loose-fitting shirt the only thing covering his chest from the both of you. San’s eyes drift over Wooyoung’s figure, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. But you can see the piercing gaze that Wooyoung gives him, the need dripping from his pupils as he looks back. Your heart pumps in your chest, quickly realizing what’s happening.

“I have the favor ready,” Wooyoung says softly, loosening the first few buttons. You see the golden shine of his chest as he moves closer, now inches away. “Ready to hear?” His voice rumbles in his chest, surly. His eyes lazily slide to your lips, before moving back to your eyes. San slowly approaches, taking off layers of his skin as Woo stares you down.

“Yes.”

He sneers, finger slowly trailing over the curve of your chin, stopping at the corner of your lips. He presses lightly on the skin, “Here’s my favor. Try not to scream, sweet pea.”

“Doubt that, don’t you think? Lady looks like a faucet,” San’s tongue trails over his lips as he watches Wooyoung’s fingers slowly go down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your eyes flutter through trembling breaths as the rough pads of his thumbs dig lightly into your hips, slowly sliding you closer to him.

“There’s always room to say no, sweet pea,” Wooyoung says, barely above a whisper. “We love our ladies rough, but we always respect them. Like true gentlemen,” he snickers lightly. “Well, the gentle part isn’t as true.”

“Remember seeing you for the first time in the calaboose,” San says, watching as Wooyoung’s hands slowly slide underneath your shirt, rubbing lightly against your skin. He keeps his eyes steady on yours, biting his lip each time you twitch under his hold. “Thought you were an owl hoot, there to serve your time, but I suppose not?” He throws his hat to the side, fingers gracing over his pistol, before he lays it on the counter of the saloon.

Wooyoung distracts you, pressing his hips into yours. He slowly brings your body forward, light moans each time you rub against his hard bulge. You try to concentrate on San’s words, but Woo is taking up most of your attention, head leaning down and peppering kisses against your skin.

“Too pretty to be in that place, covered in dirt. Didn’t think I’d see you again, but look at what we've been through! Pistol whips, visits, bumping into one another. Don’t believe in soul’s meeting, but,” San walks to the door of the bar, locking it behind him, putting the closed sign on the outside.

It was open this whole time? Anyone could have walked in, seeing Wooyoung pressing himself against you as San watched. You tremble at the thought, Wooyoung biting your skin lightly.

“You smell too good, sweet pea,” he whispers against your skin. “Wonder if you smell good in other places.”

“Ah, you're spoiling her, don’t you think?” San nudges Woo’s arm. He presses one light peck to your neck before moving back. San stares at you, tilting his head in thought. “Wanted to see you like this for a while now. Didn’t expect to have ‘nother in the room, but that only makes things interesting.”

“Take our time?” Wooyoung asks, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Bar opens in less than a nick’s time. Can’t have any ol’ seeing her like this.”

San sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Choices?”

Wooyoung rubs his chin, glancing at you. “Wait ‘til tonight, might be-a few hours, passed drunk fighting. Or, have sweet pea here and now, tonight can be round two.”

San nods slowly, eyes moving to you. “Your choice, darling.”

“Now.” You say simply.

San’s lip twitches in the corner. “Now? Can’t wait for us, can you?”

Wooyoung snickers, “Look at our sweet pea. She’s trembling just thinking ‘bout what we’d do to her.”

“Or that you’re taking too long to even start,” You say softly, eyebrow flicking in challenge. “Two boys in front of me but neither are even trying.”

You hear a low rumble from Wooyoung’s chest, taking a step forward. San stops him, quirking his brows. “Can’t stop that mouth of yours, hm? Still haven’t learned.”

You reach for your vest, slowly unbuttoning each one. Their eyes trail to your fingers, watching each one come loose. Once you reach the bottom, you toss it to the side, your smirk mirroring there’s from earlier. San moves first, pressing his lips against yours. It’s in no way gentle, feverish as you let him pull off your shirt. Your teeth clash against one another as he loosens his belt, throwing it to the side. You hear a crash, your head slightly turning to the sound. But San’s wandering hands feel your breasts, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“You’re a pretty thang, aren’t ya?” He whispers. You’ve forgotten about the other for a moment, at least until you feel his ring covered hands slowly moving underneath your trousers, tugging them down. San leans back slightly away from you, lifting you up against the counter as Wooyoung takes them completely off, leaving your bottom bare against the counter.

You shiver at the cold of the counters. San slowly spreads your thighs, flicking below. “Ah, you’re soaked, darlin’. Gonna make my bar all dirty.”

You feel the metal of Woo’s fingers press against your core, a low growl falling from his lips as San flicks your nipple, squeezing your breasts. He slowly presses kisses into your skin, covering your nipple with his lips, lightly sucking. You wrap your fingers in his locks as Wooyoung slowly inserts two fingers into you.

“Sucking me right in,” He mumbles, a featherlike kiss pressed just above your clit. You moan as he chuckles, tongue slowly trailing over the nub. Your hips lift forward at the touch, his fingers moving in and out of you quickly. “Feel you squeezing around me, sweet pea. How can I even fit if you’re already this tight?”

He sucks on your slit, enjoying you trembling at his ministrations. San takes your other breast in his mouth as Wooyoung increases the pace, another finger added. You feel him pressing his thumb into the other hole, slightly spreading your ass. You widen your eyes as he uses your slick to press two fingers into it.

“Shit,” You gasp. The buildup to your high is quick, Wooyoung’s eager growls into your cunt, skilled fingers sucking him in with little resistance; San’s soft lips, teeth biting lightly. Plump lips wrap around your slick as your cunt sucks in his fingers with little resistance.‌ Your eyes roll back as you spasm against his fingers. You push him away as you slowly reach the point of overstimulation, his head moving away. You can see your slick covering his cheeks, fingers covered in you.

“As sweet as a pumpkin pie, sweet pea,” he says softly. “Would give Mama a run for her money.”

San rolls his eyes, “Talking bout ya momma right now?” He strips off his pants, your eyes immediately flicking between his thighs. His cock springs out onto his belly, dripping with precum. You groan at the size, until you hear the ruffling of another pair of pants. Their eyes scan your body, too clouded with lust to think of anything else. San’s eyes scan yours, waiting for your consent.

“Both of us, at the same time. Think you can handle that?” He rubs his length slowly, enticing you.

“Think you can handle me?” You say, smiling up at him.

His eyes go dark, your face reflects his eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips lightly against yours. “Lift up for me, darling. W is gon’ take your behind, I’ll take you right here…” he cups your cunt.

You get off of the counter when he lets go, Wooyoung replacing you. He looks at the clock, worry in his eyes. “Less than cooking time now.” He looks at you. “Your words say a lot, let's see if we can prove it true.”

You slowly move forward, San slapping your ass as you press your lips against Wooyoung’s. His fingers curl in your hair, kiss much more gently than San’s. His tongue plays with yours slowly, before he pulls back. Through the lust, you can see the tender look he gives you. Something you haven’t seen from him.

“You’re doing so well. Can’t wait to see you sitting on me.”

You roll your eyes, turning around as he laughs. He helps you sit on his lap backward, his cock twitching against your ass as he groans, licking the curve of your neck. “Ready for me, sweet pea?”

“Yes.”

You slowly sink on his cock, fingers digging into his thighs at the stretch. His descent into you is slow, his lips pressing against your neck as you groan, trying his best to distract you from the burning feeling. You sit there for a moment, the overwhelming feeling of your ass being filled distracting you from San for a moment. Wooyoung continues to press kisses into your skin, until San clicks his tongue.

His cock looks as if it's almost vibrating, waiting. “Ready for me, darling?”

San watches as you nod for him, moving towards you. He wastes no time; rocking his cock a couple of times before sinking into your cunt with vigor. You didn’t realize how long he is; the head of his cock nudging at your cervix. You moan, his balls resting at the entrance. You feel more full than you’ve ever did before, your mind consumed with only them.

Wooyoung moves tentatively, fingers digging into your hips as he moves.

“Relax up, y/n,” San mumbles, rubbing your arm softly. You wrap your arms around his neck, forehead pressing against one another. “Can feel you movin’, W.”

“Move, fuck… move, or else I’ll cum right into her,” Wooyoung says through clenched teeth, moaning every time he feels your rim squeeze against his cock. San lets out a breath as he slowly drags his cock out of you. His gaze moves between your legs, watching as Wooyoung’s cock moves, his disappear in and out of you.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” he mumbles.

You open your mouth to reply, but he takes that chance to sink into you quickly, pressing lips against yours. Your combined moans echo in the room as they move in sink; San in, Wooyoung out. Wooyoung pushing in, San moving away. The rolling of San’s hips hitting yours with ease, skin pressing against your clit each time he pushes in. Wooyoung’s hips move with the force of San; not stuttering once.

“Faster,” You encourage, causing Wooyoung to laugh behind you.

“You’re real different, y/n,” he says, but his body agrees with your request, picking up the pace. The feeling of being moved between both of their bodies, Wooyoung’s shirt covered chest pressing into your back, San’s sweat dripping onto you makes you weak, your breaths stuttering.

You hear a knock on the door. San’s pace quickens, hips becoming bolder as he collides with you, the squelching sounds echoing in the small bar. Wooyoung’s grip is so tight, you’re sure he’s going to leave a mark. They don’t seem to care about how loud their being, the knocks disappearing quickly.

San groans as he slowly reaches his high. “Gon’ empty in you, y/n. Tell me no, if you don’t want it.”

“San,” You struggle through your gasps, and he grins at you, your eyes moist and head thrown back. “Please.”

“You’re doing so well for me, y/n. Look so pretty underneath me. But I n-need to know-”

“Cum in me,” You say through gasps. “Both of you.”

His groan makes your body tremble. Your fingers are probably putting cuts into Wooyoung’s thighs as you scream, cunt squeezing against their cocks as you finally cum.

Wooyoung’s muscles strain as he holds you up, veins popping out on his arm as he revels in the feeling of your cunt around him. His hips seem to only go faster and faster, trying to hit his high. But once the squeeze of your rim tightens against his cock, he groans, pressing in once more. His hips sputtering as his cock-squeezing out his cum.

San isn’t too far away, desperate gasps as he slams his balls against your cunt. He pushes in once, twice, before his hips sputter, his balls slapping against you. You feel the hot of his cum hit your walls, his warm body pulling you into his chest, pressing kisses into your forehead. Wooyoung wraps his arm around you from behind, your pants echoing around the room.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. We got five,” San mumbles, his cock popping out of you. The smell of sex surrounds you all as he quickly grabs a piece of cloth from the side, slowly cleaning you off. He grins at the mess they made between your legs, Wooyoung taking his cock out. San presses the fabric into your holes as you whine, pushing him away.

“Wait.”

“Can’t have the children on the floor, darling,” San winks. “W, bring her to the back. Can’t have her ‘round when the doors open.”

Wooyoung wastes no time in picking you up with a yelp, holding you gently as he carries you to the doors behind the bar. He looks at you, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Haven’t seen you more beautiful than now, sweet pea.”

He lightly places you on the bed, looking around for a water bucket. Once he finds it, he slowly cleans you up, humming softly. You don’t know what to say. What’s your relationship now? Are they going to throw you away right after this, a one time thing? You’re not even sure if you want to continue it, but the thought of never seeing them again makes your stomach twist.

Wooyoung seems to see the conflicting emotions on your face, because he stops bringing the pants up your legs, lightly cupping your cheek with his hand. “We ain’t gon’ give you up that easily, sweet pea. If you want us, that is.”

You widen your eyes, holding back your smile as you look at him. “So, this isn’t a one time thing? You’re not gonna toss me away?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “When you hit gold, do you just throw it away? No, you cherish it, keep it as your own. We want you as ours, sweet pea.” he looks into the distance. “All of us do.”

“…All of you?”

Wooyoung gives you a lopsided smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You thought we two were the only ones?”

[indigosunsetao3]

This one took a good amount of thinking...but I am happy with the result.

"Johnny!" You call as you stroll down the beach, a net bag in your hand jangling full of the things you had found on the shore. The ocean was far too cold for swimming this time of year but it never kept you from strolling down it at sunrise and sunset to see what you could find.

Soap jolts from his spot, disoriented as his hands scramble against the woven blanket. When had he fallen asleep? He glances around the area to figure out where he is before he remembers.

You had dragged him from the flat with a declaration that you needed fresh air. And maybe you could stop at the cafe on the way home for a pastry. Or the bookstore. Maybe even the antique shop. He had laughed at your growing list but joined you anyway, even if he felt a little off kilter.

Coming home after a long deployment always put him in a bit of a fog. His body coming out of the constant fight mode and learning to just relax again. It was always the same the first few days, exhaustion weighing heavy on him so he catnapped whenever the opportunity arose. Though passing out on the beach was a new one for him.

"Johnny," you call again, still down by the shore staring at him.

The sun is to your back, too bright to see your features as Soap pushes up. He can tell you're smiling though, tell by the tone in your voice and the way you have your head cocked to the side.

"Coming bonnie," Soap replies as he stands, his legs shaking a bit. He almost felt feverish, the cold of the ocean air going right down to his bones yet he was hot to the touch as he rubbed his eyes. Fuck if he was sick after being away so long he was going to be mad, he only had a few days home. Right? How long until his next job? How long had he even been home for?

--we need to get him to the evac.

Soap whipped around at the words. He recognized the voice but it sounded far away, as if it were coming to him from underwater. Maybe he really was sick. It would explain why he had passed out on the beach and now he was hearing Price in his head. His flashbacks only ever came to him in his sleep and he certainly felt like he was going to topple over.

"Love," you say suddenly right next to him. When did he get down to the shoreline? The water was seeping into his shoes, his pants, wet all the way up his calves.

Your smile is sweet, soft, as you reach up to gently grab his face to get him to focus on you. You can see the confusion in his eyes as they dart around as if looking for something to ground him. His hands come up to grab your wrists as he finally focuses on you, his breathing rapid and shallow. As if in a panic, or that he can't catch his breath at all.

"You always said you'd come home to me. No matter what, nothing could keep you away," you state as your thumbs run along his cheekbones. "And I need you to come home to me again. We have too many things to do, too many plans for you to give up now." You lean in and give him a gentle kiss, which he returns with fervor, though his body is trembling with exertion against the ocean waves which have reached large swells knocking you both as you attempt to stand.

"Wake up love, and come home to me." Your final words are a command, the tone no longer soft but an order for your soldier.

This is going to hurt Johnny.

Ghost? Soap attempts to turn his head to look but your grip is tight on his face before a searing pain explodes in his thigh. What the fuck is going on? He groans as you hold him and the look of concern on your face is almost enough to crack his pounding heart. He tries to lock in on you, to watch you, but the image flashes.

He's not on the beach at home in Scotland.

He's in the back of a truck with Ghost barking orders at him as he digs around in his leg. It floods back to him, what happened, where he really was. He was on a mission, half a world away from you where you were safely tucked away in your shared flat. Asleep at this hour he's sure.

Soap tries to shift on the truck bed but hands hold him tight as they press against his chest to keep the bleeding under control.

"Almost there," Gaz states as he shoves more gauze against Soap's chest wound. "Tell us more about your bird, been mumbling about her the whole ride," he grins though Soap can see it's forced. A tactic to keep him awake as Ghost snarls and wipes bloodstained fingers against his thighs.

"I've got to get home to her," Johnny manages to ground out before yelping with pain as Ghost twists a tourniquet tighter on his leg. "She gave me a direct order and she's worse than Price when I don't listen."

Hundreds of miles away, you're startled awake by your phone ringing. At this time of night, a phone call from Price was never one you wanted to get. Middle-of-the-night calls were always bad news, worse news when someone you cared about had a dangerous job. Your hands shake as you accept the call, but the first words you hear are:

"He's alive, thanks to you."

[guillotinesandroses]

Washed Ashore; Chapter 1 - Villain Blues

Platonic Sonic Boom x Ex-Villain!Reader.

Washed Ashore Masterlist

Yet another boring day of lying down on the warm sand of a beach begins with a gorgeous sunset, like they always do. One would think living on a what is practically a paradise island would be, well, paradise, but after the first two weeks the repeating patterns have already grown rather dull. In the end, all there is to do was watch the swooshing waves wash away small rocks and sticks from the shore. 

Maybe the waves are washing away your life as well. 

With a sigh you sit up in the sand, restlessly drawing patterns into the ground with your foot. Various different schemes emerge from the depths of your brilliant, strategical mind, yet a nagging voice from another corner reminds you of the consequences putting the plans into motion would have. Your eyes narrow and the leg drawing patterns into the sand comes to a halt as your resolve shakes. As much as you would like to remain civilized to keep your friends, there is simply nothing you can do, and if you have to sit here for a second longer, you will probably explode. 

However, the moment you shoot up to stand and to scramble to your evil lair, (which the uncultured would refer to as a basement) you nearly run straight into a combination of shades of pink. You skid against the sand and deflate. "Hi, Amy..."  

"Hello, (Name)!" She greets with a cheerful smile before crossing her arms, a smug expression overtaking her face. "That sudden burst of energy you got over there was just a bit strange... you weren't planning on doing anything mischievous or evil, were you?" 

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, so? You caught me in the act. But how is it my fault when there's absolutely nothing to do here?" 

"There's plenty to do here!" Amy counts the things that come to mind on her fingers. "Playing beach ball, taking care of flowers, knitting, baking, eating at Meh Burger- okay, maybe it's not responsible of me to recommend that- swimming, surfing-" 

"Okay, okay, okay!" You wave your hands in front of your face to get her to stop. "I get your point. But the problem is, I've already done all of those things!" 

"Well, then you know what stuff you like the best and can choose from those!" 

"Yeah, but none of them bring me the same amount of entertainment as coming up with evil plots!" You cannot fight off the smallest, most childish pout from rising to your face. 

"Are you sure? Knitting be very engaging in the right company-" 

"You mean company that doesn't laugh at me when I fail at cross-stitching?" You deadpan. 

"Okay, maybe that was a bit rude of me, but you looked so adorably frustrated then!" Amy interlaces her fingers, fawning at the memory.

"And you gotta remember, that was right after you'd decided to redeem yourself, so you looking cute instead of threatening was totally new to us!" 

Your lips twist into a frown. "Just rub it in, why don't you... no one will respect me anymore..." 

"That's not true!" 

"Yes, it is! Instead of cowering and running away in fear, people just boo nowadays! I should just become a villain again to make them REGRET-" 

"(Name)! Remember your anger management exercises!" 

You glare at her at first for interrupting you, but eventually just sigh at her pleading face and breathe like she instructed you to do. Like practiced, you take deep breath in through the mouth, which you hold at the top before letting it out through the nose. 

"Alright, there we go! That's perfect," she praises, "you were the best student my meditation class!" 

"And the only one..." 

"Don't sweat the details!" She slams a hand on your back and unintentionally knocks the wind out of your lungs. "Anyway! Even if you don't think there are any non-evil or -destructive things that are fun, I'll help you find something that sets your heart on fire!" 

"My heart only burns for arson and destruction of private property." You examine your fingernails like a diva, throughly unconvinced. Then you yelp at a sudden tug forward. 

Amy grabbed your hand to pull you with her as she runs. "You'll see! By the end of the day, we'll definitely have found something even you find entertaining!" 

You hold back a groan and roll your eyes, this is going to be yet another long day. 

And you are right, the day is shaping out to be unreasonably long. Hours upon hours have passed since Amy dragged you into trying new things, and all you gain from it is aching ears from playing the trumpet and a sore body from running among other physical activities. Yet even after all of that effort, not one activity sparks any sense of achievement or joy within you like villainy did. 

"Okay, so competitive dog grooming was a bust too, but we still haven't tried cheese rolling or trampoline wall dancing! We could also try soap carving! Maybe even extreme ironing..." Amy's rambling fades out in your ears as you sigh. 

With hands shoved into your pockets, you drag your feet behind her. Her desire to help may warm your chest, but that does not shake away the empty feeling of being a lost cause. Each failed attempt at finding enjoyment within hobbies considered acceptable convinces you further that the villain life is the only kind you are suited for living. You were a natural since the very beginning of your career with the schemes, the menacing laughs, the taunts and the revenge plots, mostly made against- 

"Oh, hey! Look at this!" Amy's squeal snaps you out of your thoughts. "Sonic is taking sidekick applications! How amazing is that!" 

"Uh, didn't he already have a sidekick or something..?" 

"Oh, I'm sure Tails is fine with this! They're best friends, of course Sonic wouldn't do anything that would upset him!" She snatches the poster off from the tree. "And hey, maybe you should apply too!" 

"Why?" 

"Well, it could help you and Sonic get closer together as friends! You'd also get more accustomed to hero work, since it is pretty different from villain stuff. But!" Amy turns to face you dramatically. "It also has a lot of action, just like villainy!" 

"I don't know, Amy. I'm not really feeling up to it," you mutter, "you can go, but I'm taking a break from all this stuff. My neck is still sore from falling off that trapeze." 

"That's okay! Just come talk to me if you get any ideas or feel like doing anything!" Amy smiles with determination. "In the meantime, I'm gonna go and ace that job interview!" 

She runs off to her house to get prepared, leaving you standing alone in the sand. With a breath you sit down in the sand again, back to square one, exactly where you started the day. You try to draw patterns but cannot come up with any ideas. After that you dabble in the forbidden hobby of evil schemes again, but even that leaves you with a sour taste in your mouth. All you really can do is sigh and wonder if it is an attitude problem on your part. 

Maybe if you put more energy in, you could have actually found something enjoyable. The entire day you let yourself get dragged with the mindset that you possibly could not like any of those hobbies as much as you enjoyed being a villain. Even if you found something good, that probably would have prevented you from enjoying it anyway. And even though you did not find anything, you could have at least tried to have fun for Amy's sake. She tried so hard to create a fun experience for you, only for you to actively disregard all of her efforts. 

You let go of your arms, which you had gripped in your frustration, and stand up. I should go apologise for being such a buzzkill. 

The rational assumption to make is that she is getting interviewed. However, what you walk into is an otherwise empty shack, with the exception of three people staring at you expectantly. 

"Congratulations!" Sonic rushes to shake your hand. "You're in!" 

"I- what? I didn't apply-" 

"Yeah, consider yourself lucky. We're employing a new policy that whoever walks in through the door next gets the spot!" 

"Uhm, actually..." a beaver walks in through the door. "...it's whomever, and since I walked in through this door now, doesn't that mean I also get the job?" 

"Uh, sorry buddy, but it was whomever first walks in through the door. There's only three spots available, so yeah..." Sonic trails off, feigning an apologetic tone. 

"Aw..." the beaver deflates. "Well, actually, I still need to ask you if you validate parking-" 

"Okay, the rules are simple!" Sonic is quick to cut him off. "To the canyon!" 

Sonic proceeds to not explain the rules until all four of you have arrived at the ledge he decided to stand on top of. You made a point of dragging your feet because you do not even want to be there. 

"Really, (Name)?" Sonic deadpans. "Making all of us wait like this? You really are a villain!" 

Your eye twitches and a strained grin rises to your lips. "Oh, we're doing this now? For a hero, you're rather rude. What if I was having a bad day? What if that was my last straw and I went back to villainy, undoing the months, years of progress you worked so hard for to make me redeem-" 

"Okay, point taken." Sonic waves his hands in surrender. "But seriously, you could've walked faster!" 

"I didn't even want to be here, my dude. I'm gonna walk as slow as I feel like walking." 

"Ugh. I should've accepted that beaver guy instead..." 

"You called?" The beaver with a red bow tie pops out of a nearby bush. 

"Wait, where did you even come from?! Why are you here?" Sonic questions. 

"I still needed to ask about parking-" 

"Ugh, nevermind. Let's just get started already." Sonic facepalms and waves off the beaver who slumps again, dejected. 

"Alright, being my sidekick is no easy task. This competition will test your strength, stamina and endurance. The winner will be whoever-" 

"Actually, it's-" 

"Yeah, yeah, whomever makes it through all of the unimaginable hardships and brings me the red flag I planted atop the incredibly dangerous but inaccurately named Mount Safety," Sonic finishes. 

"Now go." He points at the obstacle course with a deep frown, clearly just as done with this as you are with him. But regardless, the competition begins. 

All three of candidates, Tails, Eggman and you, kick off your boards to slide down the hill. Yours is an older model you stole years ago (not that the gang needs to know that) but it still works like a charm as you zoom through the course. The fastest route was easy to spot based on the way the course was laid out in the familiar jungle. Even though you do not feel any need to take this seriously, it is because of that your chances of victory are high regardless. But perhaps you should paid more attention. 

If you were not busy thinking about the events from earlier, you would have noticed the ball of swirling blades headed towards you sooner. As the slicing sound draws near, you jump off of the board and land neatly on your feet. Your trusted board, however, crashes straight into a tree. The blades on the other hand fly somewhere deeper into the forest. 

You approach the broken pieces with a frown and pick one up solemnly. It was outdated, sure, but you preferred the shape to the newer models and the way it curved around obstacles. 

Sonic appears next to you in a blur. "You doing alright?" 

"Yeah, my board just broke." You hold up a shattered piece of it. 

"Something fishy's going on. Tails is already going to check it out." Sonic taps his foot on the ground in an unusually nervous manner. 

Given how urgent it seems to him, you make a decision. "You should go without me. You know I can't keep up with you on foot." 

A proud smirk rises to his lips as he gets ready to speed off. 

"And wipe that smug grin off your face, that didn't mean anything." You glare at him. 

"Oh, sure, it didn't, snookums!" Sonic dashes off, leaving you burning with agitation at stupid reoccurring nickname. You take a deep breath to cool down and march back home with your broken board. 

It took less time than you wished for you to arrive at the beach. You toss the broken pieces into your bag and drift to the shore. There is a part of you that wants to scream from how annoying and stupid everything is. You are only seconds away from sitting down on the sand to sulk for the third time in that day, a moment away from screaming when someone cuts you off. 

"Hey! (Name)! I figured something out!" Amy rushes to you and pulls you up by your bicep. "Come with me!" 

"How'd the... sidekick thing work out for you?" You ask, even though you know she did not get the part. 

"Oh, it was a breeze! I was just a better fit for a different employer!" She giggles. "At least Knuckles can appreciate a singing and juggling pizza man!" She sings in an overly upbeat tone and juggles three balls. 

"Okay, that's nice, Amy." You hold down a cringe at the display, but she seems happy at least. "But what did you figure out?" 

"A cure for your boredom, of course!" She grabs your hands and pulls you with her again as she ran. 

Moments later, you arrive at her hut. She swings the door open with confidence and steps in, looking proud of herself. "So! While you were away doing something, I multitasked both getting hired as a sidekick, and figuring out what would make your life less miserable! And then in a stroke of genius, I remembered what you are really known for!" 

"And what would that be?" The smallest of smiles graces your features. 

"For being a strategist! Making good plans, elaborate heists, ambushes and all that!" She throws her hands up to enunciate her point, only to drop them down with a deadpan glare. "Seriously, those ambushes were extremely annoying to deal with." 

"Why, thank you! Only the best for my arch enemies." You bow with a grin. 

Amy sighs but continues. "So, I figured, that what game a strategist could like better than..." 

She turns around dramatically before revealing a pink game board. "A TURN-BASED STRATEGY GAME!" 

"Amy, I'm standing right next to you, you don't need to scream." You rub your aching ears. Amy grins sheepishly and mutters an apology.

"But, a strategy game?" You tilt your head. 

"Yes! A strategy game!" Amy lights up upon noticing the small spark of intrigue in your eyes. "It's a very sophisticated battle game that requires strategy, cunning and merciless aggression!" 

"Intriguing..." you mutter in thought, "...what's it called?" 

"It's called... Fuzzy Puppies!" She exclaims cheerfully in spite of the nervous quiver in her tone.

"Would you like to give it a try?" She asks while holding the board out, a hopeful glimmer in her eye. 

"...Sure." you shrug, but intently eye the rules written on the back of the box. 

And in moments, the pink board is laid out on the table. Both you and Amy have three puppies in front of you, ready to be played with. 

"The goal is to eliminate all of your opponent's puppies from the board," Amy explains, "each puppy has its own unique abilities!" 

"Like Charlene Sharpey, for example, has a bark that can scare a smaller dog off the table!" She holds up the mentioned piece. 

You nod before pointing back to the box. "What's up those hats?" 

"Oh, they're accessories that can give the puppies new abilities! Those are for more experienced players though. We should start off simple so you learn the rules." 

"Okay, then." 

"So! This one is called Warrior Beagle." She picks up the dog. "Usually it works well as counter for Pugnacious Pug, with a couple of rare exceptions."

Amy sets the piece down and picks up a grey dog. "Those exceptions can be dealt with by having Slobbering Sheep Dog also in your party! His ability is to mark his territory, which easily eliminates almost all, even the fiercest opponents!" 

It takes a while for her to explain the rules, but you sit by patiently and absorb the information like a sponge. The moment the game starts, you have a plan prepared and ask for the combination of dogs best suited for it. However, it is your lack of experience that leads to your downfall. 

"Huh? What do you mean I can't attack Goldie the Retriever?" 

"Goldie is currently digging a hole. He's underground and Warrior Beagle can't reach him," Amy explains.

"Also, it's my turn now." She moves a piece and knocks down one of your dogs. 

"Hey-" 

"Charlene Sharpey lets out an ear piercing bark. Pugnacious Pug has sensitive hearing and rushes away from the battlefield." 

"My whole plan depended on that..." you grumble and move your last piece. 

"Goldie the Retriever emerges from underground. The earth collapses underneath Warrior Beagle. You have no puppies left, I win!" Amy smiles proudly. 

Your eyes narrow and you whip out a notebook from your bag. Scribbles and hastily written thoughts are quick to fill the latest available page. 

Amy watches from the side, a bit confused. "Uh, (Name)? What are you exactly-" 

"I demand a rematch!" You point your pencil at her as aggressively as possible. "But I'm writing something down first!" 

"A new plan?" 

"Yes! I'm perfecting my strategy until I'm incapable of losing!" 

"That's gonna take a while." She crosses her arms smugly. "Not to brag but I have been playing for a rather long time!" 

"There wouldn't be a point in playing against someone who sucks." You chuck your notebook away. "Now,  back to business! This time, the game's mine!" 

The day fades into night as several rounds of the game pass by. After each round you passionately scribble away new observations, using trial and error to form new ideas. Even though Amy is just as enthusiastic about the game as you are, she is by now yawning consistently because of how late it is getting. 

"(Name), I'm glad you're having fun, but..." she yawns again in the middle of the sentence, "...maybe now would be a reasonable time to go to bed. It's almost midnight." 

"But I don't feel like sleeping. There's plans to hatch." You never even lift your face away from the paper. 

"Is this how you operated back when you were a villain, too?" 

"Yes. Evil doesn't sleep. Neither do I as its servant." 

"You mean former servant, right?" 

"Er, yeah. Sorry, old habits." 

"It's fine! But you really should get some more sleep. Not getting enough has some pretty bad consequences." 

"Sure, sure." 

Amy sighs but then smiles tiredly. "Well, at least it looks like you liked the game." 

"Obviously," you chuckle, "you said it yourself, strategy stuff is my thing." 

"I really don't get why didn't you suggest this game to me as the first idea." You say while still writing down notes with no pause. "Instead of making me crack my neck on a trapeze and all that." 

"Uh, well, you know..." she hesitates for a moment, scratching the back of her neck. "I was a bit worried you'd make fun of me..."

"I know the others would." Amy crosses her arms with a frown. 

"People always do that." You sketch out Goldie the Retriever before pulling the pencil away. "Whether or not you let them ruin the things you love is up to you." 

"Hm, I guess you're right," Amy hums, "but still, I'd prefer to avoid the unnecessary teasing if possible. I love all of my friends but if they're given something to poke fun at, they can get unbearably annoying." 

"That makes sense, too." 

"Yep. But we can keep playing together!" She claps her hands together in excitement. "Gosh, I'm so happy I finally have someone to play with! I've been a fan of this game for so long but it's tough to find others who like it!" 

"Well, aren't you lucky! I've already come up with thirty-six different strategies I'm planning on throwing your way." 

"Bring it on, (Surname)!" 

[kykyonthemoon]

7 Days the mini-series

About this series: ✈️

Day 07: A Lifetime

The warm sunlight painted the attic a pale yellow, covering the shelves adorned with old framed photographs and trinkets that held endless memories. I stepped inside. I walked in. My legs were no longer nimble, but I could still climb up to the attic by myself like every day.

That place was still his favorite corner.

The attic, the garden, the whole house were the presents he gave me when we got married. It was built on the foundation of our former house, which had exploded years ago. Although the rooms and arrangement had changed slightly, only this attic remained unchanged.

I dropped myself onto the sofa where he was sitting, flipping through memories in every timeless thing; paper planes, letters, the apple hair clip he gave me, and so on. I leaned down to pick up his old dress cap as it rolled to the ground, brushed it off a few times, and placed it on my head.

As if it was just yesterday when I was standing with him at the graduation ceremony of the aerospace academy.

"You know the tradition," he grinned, and I softly kissed the wrinkles on his face. At that moment, I felt like we traveled back in the midst of applause, in the rain of dress caps and confetti. The young me and him appeared, as if time had frozen at the exact moment I brought him closer to kiss him on the cheek. 

There were countless moments like that in this attic, in this place. They became less vivid with time, and I had forgotten some of the details. But the images of me and him still existed here. Sometimes, when I thought of the past, they would flash before my eyes like slow-motion movies that I always cherished.

It was the little version of me holding his hand for the first time. It was how we took care of each other when we were sick. It was the naps and meals with him. It was the laughter and the tears. It was when I thought I had lost him forever just to reunite with him once more. The first time we went on a date. Our first kiss. The fights and then the reconciliation. The trips we took. The day he got down on one knee. The first cries of each child that was formed from our love. Every moment in our children's lives, when they took off to build their own new nests... All the memories were kept somewhere in the corner of this place, intact, even when I could not remember them clearly anymore.

He and I started our journey together here, and in the end, we came back to the very place.

“Have the kids gone home?” He asked. He wasn’t feeling well these days, but he still kept the habit of going up to the attic every day.

“Yes, they've left.”

Occasionally, our children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren would come to see us in our modest abode. After a long day, it was only him and me, sitting peacefully next to each other.

“Now it’s just the two of us.” He smiled, then held my hand.

It was the same in the past. I enjoyed sitting with him here and watching the sunset through the window. The golden tint colored my entire universe, dyed his youthful figure, his purple eyes too… The scenes were weaved into every nook of this area. When I called, they would come back to me.

I lost track of time for how long we sat there reminiscing. Our lifetime was wrapped up within this tiny attic. He and I had been together for a lifetime. I felt his weight when Caleb leaned his head on my shoulder. When I was little, I would rest my head on his shoulder and fall asleep without realizing it, in every caress he  gave. Now it was my turn to kiss his forehead.

“Rest now, the love of my life.”

The sun was setting on the other side of the window. The day was ending, as our journey in this life had come to an end.

My hand was securely locked with his. Even our wrinkles matched perfectly, as if we were meant to spend this lifetime together.

He never awoke again. The person I loved the most in this world had passed away on such a serene afternoon, much like the day he stepped into my life. Yet, far away on the horizon, I caught a glimpse of two little figures walking side by side.

“Caleb! Wait for me!”

My tiny feet failed to catch up with him on the long road. Yet he would stop and extend his hand to me, saying:

“Pip-squeak, come to me!”

I always ran towards him, with a bright smile on my lips. Our hands would constantly be safely embracing each other, as we moved towards the warm sunlight. Towards home.

“Wait for me. I will find you in our next life.”

-The End-

Only for Caleb - Xia Yizhou.

Thank you for coming home.