#trying to be more sketchy n quick

[the-barefoot-hatter]

this is exactly how their first meeting played out, right Dipper?

[cybrasigilism]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a dae ho x reader x thanos, where they both are trying to do outlandish stuff to get the readers attention on them and not the other. they're both so goofy at times

This Means War (Kang Dae-ho/Thanos X F! Reader)

warning: no smut! | not proofread | lowercase intended | OOC (bc daeho and thanos don’t really interact in the series) | love triangle(?) | this is my interpretation of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions on the characters differ from your own

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

A/N: this may be the most entertaining fic i’ve written yet! thank you so much for the brilliant request, i’ve tried my best to make it an enjoyable read for you all! this is a mixed POV story so apologies for the confusion as it reads, i wanted to try something different but if this was too much of a confusing read i likely won’t do this style of fic very often. AND ik its short, i’m so sorry, but this is only the beginning of this story (if you guys like it)

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

dae-ho was sure he’d never seen someone quite so captivating in all his life. the moment you grabbed his attention from across the room at the very beginning of the games, he knew he had to get to know you. whether it was the way your face managed to light up the dark atmosphere of the common area, or the way you carried yourself in a calm, collected, self assured manner amongst all the uncertainty; he fell head over heels effective immediately.

unfortunately for dae-ho, he wasn’t the only one who seemed to have noticed you. thanos had clocked you the minute people started filing out from their bunks, and he felt things right then that he hadn’t felt for anyone before. he was totally drawn to you, it was almost as if he knew he had to stake his claim on you sooner rather than later, lest someone make their move first. he would be damned if he lost his chance with the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid his eyes on to some random.

as for you, you were spending more of your time focusing on your current situation rather than scouring the location for potential suitors. you didn’t notice any familiar faces, to be honest you were kind of relieved at that. you would have been embarrassed to see a colleague or a friend there, knowing full well the predicament that you must have been in to even consider joining these sketchy games. you maintained a level head up to the point where you were all led to this photo center like cattle, taking photos for whatever reason before entering the first game. just as you were joining a line to take your photo, you heard someone call out your number out of nowhere.

“sẽnorita!” the same voice called out once again this time followed quickly by a whistle, causing you to turn your head and see this purple-haired guy with a crowd of people surrounding him. “i’ve got room for one more here, c’mon!” he beckoned for you to join the cramped circle. you felt your face contort into a concerned expression before simply turning away and joining a line far away from whatever that was. you could still feel that guy look at you for a quick moment, but when you glanced in his direction, he was long gone.

—

this first game, Red Light Green Light, was not anything like what you or anybody else were expecting. when the rules stated that players who moved would be eliminated, you didn’t conclude that that meant they would be assassinated. poker face be damned, you could feel your body vibrate every time that creepy doll turned her head back round to face the players, eyes scanning for even the slightest bit of movement. the next time you were all allowed to move forward, this tall, dark haired guy moved in front of you almost deliberately. when you all froze again you noticed he had his hand extended out to you behind his back, with his mouth covered you could hear him whisper “just stay close to me, okay?” you waited before that damned dolls head was turned around again before you grabbed his hand and the two of you took off.

once you both crossed the finish line, you looked up at your mystery saviour. “thank you for doing that..” you said, voice noticeably shaken from all the death you witnessed, and were still witnessing. he looked down at you and smiled. “of course, anything for you.” that last part warmed your heart, it was nice to know you had already found someone you could rely on in these trying new circumstances of yours. you let your gaze shift off subconsciously and noticed that purple headed guy from earlier, staring daggers at the man who had just essentially saved your life.

—

after the surviving players returned to the common area, cast their vote, and split off back to their beds, thanos made a b-line for dae-ho, looming over his bed to which dae-ho quickly took notice.

“that was some lame shit you pulled.” dae-ho had never been so perplexed at another person in his life. “what’re you talking about?” he asked, earning a laugh from the quirky stranger. thanos kneeled down, making eye contact with dae-ho now. “you know damn well, 388,” he started, spitting out dae-ho’s number as though it were a dirty word. “swooping in, acting like the hero for that chick.” dae-ho looked unamused, trying to be unassuming about the whole ordeal. “i don’t know what you think this is, i was just trying to keep somebody alive-“

“i didn’t ask what you were trying to do, did i?” thanos interrupted, getting closer to dae-ho now. “just know this. she’s mine. so i wouldn’t waste my time if i were you.” dae-ho held back a laugh, before looking his newfound opponent up and down. “that’s funny, the feeling didn’t seem mutual when she gave you the cold shoulder during photos.” thanos scoffed, turning away in an attempt to keep his cool. “whatever man, she’s just playing hard to get.” his voice trailed off at the end, when he clocked you sitting in your own bunk, knees to your chest.

“yeah, i don’t think that’s true.” dae-ho stated, getting up out of his bed, and patting thanos on the back. “i get that you’re probably used to having girls fall over themselves for you, so it’s definitely shocking when someone like that doesn’t give you a second look.” dae-ho’s slight smugness about the whole ordeal left thanos speechless, watching with seething rage as dae-ho made his was over to where you were sat. he knew that the games weren’t the only thing he wanted to win over now. he knew he was certainly not going to let dae-ho captivate your heart so easily, and he knew that he was definitely not going down without a fight.

dae-ho knew something too: he now knew he had to keep you safe from thanos because something inside told him that if that maniac was capable of inadvertently killing random people in order to advance in the first game, there was no telling the lengths he would go to gain your attention. he made a vow to himself to never let you out of his sight while you were in your current situation. over his dead body would he let someone like thanos prevail.

the two of them both made a nemesis that day, each one swearing that they could get to you before the other did. they now knew it was about more than just the games.

they now knew that this meant war.

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

apologies again for the length, or lack there of, of the fic! if anything i want to make this multiple parts but i understand if the format of this particular fanfiction is too confusing, and again i am sorry for that! just wanted to experiment :)

as always, advice and constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing are appreciated and requested!

have a splendid day/night lovelies 😙

tags: @gongyoosgf @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[chimcess]

Pitch Black || jjk (1)

⮞ Chapter One: The Crash Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon, Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 27.7k+ Summary: Stranded on a barren planet lit by three suns, a group of survivors struggle to survive after their transporter crash-lands. Their situation grows dire when pilot Y/N discovers that every 22 years, an eclipse plunges the planet into darkness, unleashing swarms of flesh-eating creatures. Facing both external threats and internal tensions, the group forms a fragile alliance. As mistrust and secrets surface, Y/N's complicated dynamic with convict and murderer Jungkook intensifies, making the fight for survival against the darkness and the creatures even more perilous. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Alcohol Consumption A/N: First chapter means it's time for the fun to begin. Or in this case, the catastrophe. Thanks for reading!

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The steady hum of the Hunter-Gratzner was like a heartbeat—a constant, low thrum that seeped through Y/N’s boots and kept her anchored in the here and now. It was so familiar she hardly noticed it anymore—until it suddenly stopped. And that silence wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating, the kind that squeezes the air out of your lungs and makes your skin crawl. Not something you ever want to hear in deep space.

Today, though, the hum was going strong, a comforting reminder that the Hunter-Gratzner was doing exactly what it was built to do. Y/N’s fingers moved across the console with quick, confident precision, like they’d been doing this forever. In a way, they had. After so many hours in the pilot’s seat, it felt less like she was guiding the ship and more like she was part of it—a living extension of its circuits and steel.

A burst of static from the Kordis 12 radio broke her concentration. Flight control’s clipped voice cut through the hiss. “Hunter-Gratzner here,” she answered. “Cleared the last planetary marker.” “Copy that, Hunter-Gratzner,” came the calm reply. “You’re in the primary shipping lanes and cleared for main engine burn. Have a good sleep, H-G. Silas, out.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. Her hand tightened on the lever, then she eased it forward. The reactor’s purr deepened into a low, resonant rumble that pulsed through the ship like some ancient predator settling in for a nap. The ride was smooth—remarkably so, given the sketchy charts of the Tangiers System. No stray debris, no glitches, no pirates lurking in the dark.

Her gaze flicked to the console, scanning the numbers until they leveled off. She did a quick mental calculation of her cut: half a percent. Not much, but enough. Every run, every ton of cargo, chipped away at her debts and nudged her further from the past she was trying to outrun. Out here, in the cold black of space, it was all about survival.

Twenty-eight weeks to New Mecca. That was a long, lonely stretch—but Y/N liked it that way. The emptiness suited her. When the rest of the crew went into stasis, it left her with time to think... or not think. To forget. Forget the faces, the regrets, the ghosts.

She leaned back, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic of her synth coffee mug. The bitter taste brought her back down to earth—figuratively speaking. Moments like this, with the ship’s hum in her bones and the console lights glowing softly, made the universe feel almost small and manageable. But even then, those nagging questions crept in.

Is this enough? Enough to change her life? To change her?

She pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the faint pinpricks of light scattered across the viewport. This was why she chose this path. Not many women signed up for these long-haul routes—months of isolation, heavy responsibility, and even heavier risks. Most took safer roles: cooking, medical, logistics. But not her. She wanted the pilot’s seat, the chance to earn her crew’s trust while hurtling them through the void.

And she’d done it. Earned it the hard way. Respect wasn’t handed out; you had to wrestle it into submission with grit and skill. She remembered the sneers at the academy, the snide comments. They only fueled her determination. By the time she graduated from Helion Prime’s technical college, she wasn’t just “that dock rat.” She was Y/N Y/L/N, Docking Pilot.

Her uncle had been the first to call her that, pride shining in his eyes even as he teased her. “Docking Pilot,” he’d say, guiding her hands over the controls of his beat-up transport. “You’ll go places, kid. Farther than I ever did.”

Back then, Helion Prime had felt like the whole world—shimmering dunes, scorching heat, and so much promise. She’d started in botany, thinking maybe helping things grow would heal something inside her. But the cockpit’s call was louder. Flight school swept her up, derailing her neat little plan.

That’s when she met Jimin Park. His grin could slice through any tension, but it was his quiet steadiness that really grounded her. Like her, he understood loss. They clicked right away—two orphans forging a bond without needing words. He was practically family, so much so that her uncle took to calling him “nephew” without hesitation.

When NOSA balked at hiring a “Helion Five girl,” Jimin used his connections. His voice carried weight on Aguerra, a place where religion was considered outdated and logic reigned. Helion Prime’s faith clashed with that worldview, but Jimin made them see beyond prejudices. He landed her an interview with Director Min, and Yoongi—sharp-eyed and no-nonsense—saw her raw talent for what it was: resourceful, adaptable, unbreakable under pressure.

Joining the Starfire crew felt like coming home. She still missed them all—Jimin’s steady humor, Armin’s wild Earth stories, Hoseok and Val’s constant flirting. They were a real team, which was a rare thing in the vacuum of space. But then came the promotion offer.

Co-pilot. Better pay. Easier hours. The catch? Leaving the Starfire.

It had seemed like the practical move. But practicality doesn’t fill the aching void left by Jimin’s laugh or Armin’s tall tales. It doesn’t replace that sense of belonging you’ve finally found and then walked away from.

Now the reactor’s low rumble hummed in her bones as she stared into the endless night. Choices. They always caught up with her in the dark, when everything was still except the glow of the console and the distant stars. Had she chosen right? Or had she traded too much for the hum of this ship and the lonely stretches of black it carried?

She thought of Koah, how he could turn even the most routine haul into a story worth hearing—always full of humor and heart. He made every shared meal feel like an adventure. They’d built something special, too—trust forged in danger and laughter, in moments where they looked out for each other no matter what.

And now? Now she was stuck with Greg fucking Shields.

Shields wasn’t just a bad fit—he was the kind of guy who turned the atmosphere sour the second he walked in. Even the simplest tasks became ordeals under his watch, every word dripping with smugness and spite. Koah had been the glue that held them all together, but Shields felt more like a dead weight dragging them down.

“Passengers are tucked in,” he announced, swaggering onto the bridge with that grating, self-satisfied tone. “All set for the long night.”

Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers gliding over the console with practiced ease. “Coordinates locked?” she asked, voice clipped and all business.

“Getting to it,” he drawled, dragging out the words just enough to poke at her nerves.

She refused to take the bait, though her patience was already thinning. Shields finally tapped in the last sequence, and the console beeped its confirmation.

“Don’t rush me, Fry,” he sneered, throwing out the nickname like an insult, smirking as if daring her to react. “You want me to fly us into a black hole?”

Her jaw tightened, her hands pausing on the controls. Fry. Once upon a time, that name brought warm memories—Uncle Sean calling her from the docks with pride in his voice. But Shields had a knack for twisting it into something ugly.

Then he muttered, “bitch,” just loud enough for her to hear. It was the last straw.

“You’ve got your coordinates,” she said, her voice low and controlled, like the calm before a storm. “Lock them in and get off my bridge.”

Shields opened his mouth, ready to spew more venom, but a gravelly voice cut him off.

“Greg.”

Captain Marshall’s tone carried an authority that left no room for argument. It was deep, steady, and edged with enough menace to make Shields recoil.

“Take a walk. Now.”

Shields hesitated, clearly tempted to protest. But one look at Marshall’s face made him think better of it. With stiff shoulders, he muttered something under his breath and stomped off, the hatch hissing shut behind him.

Marshall turned to Y/N, the corners of his beard twitching in a half-smile. “You good, Frenchie?” he asked, using the nickname she actually liked.

She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “I’m fine, Cap. Thanks.”

He nodded, studying her for a moment before leaning against the console. “Shields is a pain in the ass,” he said, his voice dropping to a more casual tone. “Don’t let him get under your skin. If he keeps this up, he’ll be shown the airlock soon enough.”

She let out a dry laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Believe it,” Marshall said with a growing grin. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, Frenchie. I need you sharp. And because I’m feeling generous, I’ll spare you the disco tonight.”

She groaned theatrically, rolling her eyes. “Finally! Your music tastes are borderline criminal, Cap.”

“It’s a cultural treasure,” he protested, feigning offense.

Their shared laughter cut through the tension, if only for a moment. It reminded Y/N of easier days—back on the Starfire, before hard decisions and new regrets made everything more complicated.

22 Weeks Later

The ship’s hum had always felt like part of her—it was in her bones. Most of the time, she forgot it was there. You only noticed it when it vanished, and that’s usually when panic kicked in and you started praying. But for Y/N, there wasn’t any warning. She didn’t even get a chance to register the silence before the chaos hit.

Her cryo-locker hissed open and spat her onto the deck as if the ship itself was rejecting her. The air felt like a slap—icy, metallic, and stinking of burnt circuits. Alarms shrieked, overlapping and piercing, and her muscles, still useless from cryo-sleep, gave out beneath her. She landed hard, arms barely stopping her face from hitting the cold metal floor.

The Hunter-Gratzner groaned, a deep, agonized sound like the big beast it was had finally given up. Gravity shouldn’t have been working, but it yanked her sideways anyway. Flickering lights threw erratic shadows across the twisted wreckage of the corridor—jagged metal, ruptured walls, and beyond the cracked viewport, a faint orange glow flickered like a distant fire.

Y/N forced herself up, hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the frost-encrusted console. She was cold, nauseous, and terrified, but a single thought pounded in her head:

Get up. Get up.

She wobbled onto unsteady feet, nearly gagging on the hot, chemical stink clinging to the air. Fighting the urge to panic, she staggered toward the nearest cryo-locker. Inside, the plexiglass was smashed, shards clinging to the frame. Blood streaked the interior in frozen arcs, and the body inside—someone she might’ve known—was crumpled and horribly bent. She tore her eyes away, throat burning with bile.

There had to be survivors. There had to be.

Movement flickered in the next locker. Heart hammering, she rushed over and wiped the frost from the glass. Inside, the Captain was stirring, breathing shallowly but alive. Relief hit her like a jolt of adrenaline.

She slammed her hand against the intercom. “Cap’n, can you hear me? The hull’s compromised—it’s holding, but barely. Thank God you’re alive. Hold on, I’m gonna pop your E-release. Red handle—pull it once I clear it, got it?” Her voice came out fast, shaky. “I’ll try to get the warm-ups running—”

Then she heard it: a sharp, staccato crack. Phat-phat-phat. Thin contrails streaked through the air. A heartbeat later, the Captain’s chest exploded, spraying blood across the cryo-glass. Shards of plexiglass and metal blew outward, embedding in the walls. He jerked once, twice, then slumped, his eyes going dark as sparks shot from the ruined console.

Y/N reeled back, hand over her mouth. She’d been staring right at him—and now he was—

A sudden hiss behind her made her spin around, heart hammering. Another cryo-locker flew open, and a man tumbled out, crashing into her. They both hit the deck in a heap, limbs flailing.

“Why the hell did I just fall on you?” he wheezed, scrambling to get off her. He was clearly still half out of it from cryo-sleep.

“The Captain’s dead,” she blurted, voice rasping. “I was looking right at him when—” She stopped, fighting off the horrific images. “The hull’s shot. Shields are gone. We’re—”

“Wait!” His voice jumped an octave, eyes darting around. “Not Shields! No, no, that can’t—” He stared at her, then pointed to himself in confusion. “I’m Shields, right?”

For a moment, she just stared. Then a short, bitter laugh escaped her. “Cryo-sleep,” she muttered. “Fries your brain. Every damn time.”

Shields nodded, looking shell-shocked. “Sure does.” Then his eyes slid over her shoulder, and he went pale.

Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know something was there. The air felt different—colder, heavier, and alive with a presence that made her skin crawl. Fear twisted in her gut, relentless.

“Get dressed,” she snapped, snatching a warm-up suit from a storage compartment and thrusting it at him. Her voice shook, but her hands were already flying over the console, checking readings.

“Fifteen-fifty millibars,” she muttered. “Dropping twenty a minute. Dammit, we’re bleeding air. Something nailed us, and it wasn’t gentle.”

Shields clutched the suit like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands trembling. “Tell me we’re still in the shipping lane,” he begged. “Tell me it’s just stars out there—endless stars.”

Static crackled on the display as Y/N keyed in commands, her heart pounding. When the screen finally cleared, her stomach twisted. Not stars. Not the vast, empty black she’d hoped for. Instead, a planet loomed—huge, angry, its atmosphere swirling with bruised shades of purple and gray, like a living storm ready to devour them.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, the words dropping from her lips like lead.

Then the ship lurched, starting its fall. It began with a savage, grinding howl as the Hunter-Gratzner tried and failed to fight gravity. Metal tore, supports snapped, and the deck tilted under her feet. She lurched forward, scraping her hands on the jagged edge of a console. Smoke stung her eyes, the acrid stench of burning wires filling her lungs.

Through the viewport, the planet’s churning atmosphere rushed up to meet them, a hungry predator closing in. Too close. Too fast. She forced herself to move despite the slanting corridors and the crushing pull of gravity.

Her headset crackled: Shields’ panicked voice cut through the screech of alarms. “They taught you this in training, right? Frenchie? Please tell me you remember the drills!”

She couldn’t answer. She could hardly think. Her surroundings blurred—frost-coated walls, blood smears, cables sparking overhead as she staggered through. By the time she reached the flight deck, she half-collapsed into the pilot’s seat, vision spinning.

Sweat slicked her fingers as she fumbled with the harness. She muttered curses under her breath until, finally, the clasps locked. Slamming her fist against the console, she prayed the failing systems would cooperate one last time. Damaged panels flickered, crash shutters groaning open to reveal the storm outside.

It was like staring into a swirling cauldron—red and gray clouds boiling in pure rage. They weren’t just falling; they were plunging, yanked down by forces well beyond her control. Her hands moved on instinct, flipping switches and twisting knobs in a frantic attempt to steer them out of this dive.

“Crisis program…” Shields’ voice came again, high-pitched and unsteady. “We’ve still got oxygen—fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… oh, God.” He paused, his words faltering. “Maybe the ship’s in a good mood? For once?”

She pictured him cowering at his station, knuckles white, fear bleeding through every syllable. It spiked her own terror.

“Shields,” she croaked, her throat raw. “Focus.”

The stick suddenly jerked in her hands, fighting her attempts to level out. A faint hiss sounded, followed by a dull, bone-rattling thunk that echoed through the cabin like doom itself.

“Frenchie?” Shields’ voice cracked. “What the hell are you doing?”

The jettison doors were sliding shut. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, toggling latches with icy precision. Her thumb hovered over the switch that would shift the ship’s center of gravity—along with its passengers. She trembled, staring at the storm outside. She could practically feel Shields’ stare burning into her.

“Too much weight,” she said, voice taut as a wire about to snap. “I can’t keep the nose up. If I don’t—”

“You mean the passengers,” Shields interrupted, his breath hitching. “Forty people, Frenchie.”

Her jaw locked. “So we both go down? Out of some noble gesture?”

The silence that followed was worse than any alarm. It pressed in on her, suffocating, while outside, the storm raged. Her thumb quivered on the switch, a cold piece of metal that felt like an executioner’s blade.

She could practically feel the planet’s pull, like a weight on her chest. She imagined the look on Shields’ face—disbelief, maybe betrayal. She couldn’t bring herself to look back.

The ship’s hum, once so comforting, was gone—replaced by the wail of stressed metal and piercing sirens.

“Don’t,” Shields whispered, his tone stripped bare. It wasn’t a command or a plea. It was the broken voice of someone who already knew how this could end.

Her head dropped, a ragged sob or curse catching in her throat—she couldn’t tell which. The planet was swallowing them whole, the shaking and roaring all around an echo of the turmoil inside her. Forty lives weighed on her, crushing her soul.

With a sudden cry, she pounded her fist on the console, rattling loose screws and broken panels. The switch remained untouched.

The cryo-lockers hissed open in unison, a sound too serpentine, too alive. Frost curled over the plexiglass, twisting into vaporous tendrils that slithered toward the dim lights overhead. The ship shuddered. The deck groaned beneath the weight of its own failing systems.

Lee stirred inside his locker, fingers sluggish as they wiped at the frost. His thoughts felt submerged, murky, as if he were rising from a deep-sea dive. The overhead fluorescents flickered erratically, throwing jagged shadows across the metal walls. Something was wrong.

Across the aisle, Jungkook moved—slow, deliberate. The black goggles strapped over his eyes made him unreadable, but the sharp glint of metal between his teeth turned his grin into something feral. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The tension in his frame said everything.

Lee’s gaze snapped to the digital display blinking outside his locker. LOCK-OUT PROTOCOL IN EFFECT. ABSOLUTELY NO EARLY RELEASE. His stomach clenched.

Farther up the cabin, Y/N’s hands gripped the controls so tightly her knuckles blanched. The fractured monitors cast sickly light over her face, her breath coming fast and sharp. Behind her, Shields paced in tight, frantic circles, like a caged animal sensing a coming storm.

“Frenchie,” he barked, voice ragged with barely leashed panic. “NOSA—”

Y/N spun, eyes flashing. “NOSA isn’t here.” Her words cut like a scalpel, slicing clean through the rising chaos.

Shields froze, his lips pressing into a hard line. “The captain’s dead,” he said. No ceremony, no buffer. Just the truth. “That makes you in charge.”

Her laugh was bitter, jagged. “In charge?” Her fist slammed against the console, the impact like a gunshot. “You think a few hundred hours in a simulator prepped me for this?”

Shields unbuckled his harness, rising slow. Deliberate. “Don’t touch that switch,” he warned. His voice was even. Dangerous.

Y/N’s thumb hovered over it, sweat slicking her skin. The ship lurched. A shriek of metal tore through the cabin. Sparks rained down like dying stars. Her pulse hammered. And then—she slammed the switch.

“I’m not dying for them,” she muttered.

The Hunter-Gratzner bucked hard, carving a fiery scar across the sky as it plummeted. The hull shrieked. The jettison system hissed—then fell silent.

Nothing happened. The cryo-lockers remained sealed. Y/N’s breath caught. The switch was flipped, the call made. But the ship had refused her. Forty lives still frozen in limbo.

Shields cursed, hands a frantic blur over the interface. “Seventy seconds! You’ve got seventy seconds to level this beast out, Frenchie!”

She didn’t answer. Her focus tunneled in, every move muscle memory now. Switches flipped. Levers yanked. The ship groaned in protest, but she forced it to obey, wrenching it into some semblance of control.

Through the fractured windshield, the planet’s surface loomed—a maze of jagged rock, waiting to devour them whole. A metallic screech—louder than anything before—split the air as an airbrake tore loose, slamming into the windshield. The impact spiderwebbed the glass, splintering light into chaotic shards. The ship spasmed.

“What the hell was that?!” Shields’ voice was barely a breath through the comm.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her eyes flicked to the ground-mapping display—fractured, glitching, but still her only hope.

Sixty meters.

The cockpit rattled. The frame howled. Her hands were cramping, locked in a death grip on the controls.

Thirty.

The cryo-lockers exhaled in unison, a chorus of ghosts awakening. Lee blinked against the mist, lungs burning.

Ten.

The ship screamed. And then—impact.

The world didn’t just break. It detonated. The windscreen imploded, glass bursting inward like a thousand tiny daggers. The shockwave slammed Y/N back against her seat, her harness biting into her ribs. The cockpit filled with dust and debris, a choking maelstrom that turned every breath into a struggle.

In the passenger bay, Lee’s cryo-locker ejected with a violent hiss, spitting him onto the wreckage-strewn floor. His lungs seized as he gasped for air, mind reeling. Sparks flickered, casting eerie, broken light over the twisted remains of the ship.

His gaze caught on a massive crack splitting the hull—a wound too deep, too final.

Then—the groan. Deep, reverberating. A death knell. And the tearing.

A whole section of the ship peeled away, sliding free like dead skin. Rows of cryo-lockers went with it, vanishing into the swirling dust outside. Forty lockers. Forty people. Gone.

Shields’ voice crackled in Lee’s ear, raw, shaking. “We’re still breathing,” he rasped. “Oxygen’s holding at fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… survivable.”

The word sounded like a joke. Lee pushed himself upright, legs shaking, ears ringing. The air was thick with the stench of scorched metal, blood, death. Around him, cries of pain cut through the chaos—some sharp and frantic, others weak, fading.

Jungkook’s cryo-locker was open. Empty. A slow, insidious chill climbed up Lee’s spine. His fingers darted to his hip, searching for his holster—gone. The unease slithered deeper, turning his gut into a leaden knot. He raised his flashlight, the beam cutting jagged arcs through the dust-choked air.

Then—a sound. Metal on metal. Rhythmic. Deliberate. Chains. The hairs on Lee’s neck stood on end. His breath shallowed. Slowly, unwillingly, he turned toward the noise. Two feet lowered into view from the shadows above—bare, bound in chains that whispered with each measured step.

His descent was too smooth, too unnatural. The black goggles strapped over his eyes caught the flickering light, cold and alien. The bit clamped between his teeth forced his mouth into something almost feral—not quite human.

Lee barely had time to react. The chain lashed toward him, a whip of coiled steel snapping tight around his throat. He staggered, hands clawing at the cold metal cutting off his air. Jungkook moved with silent precision, tightening the chain with a slow, measured pull. The darkness swayed. Lee’s vision blurred at the edges.

No. Not like this.

His fingers fumbled for the baton at his side. A flick—snap—and it extended, steel glinting in the fractured light.

Swing.

The first strike glanced off Jungkook’s ribs. No reaction. The second hit harder, enough to make the chain slacken just a fraction—enough to breathe. Lee’s instincts took over. He drove the baton up, hard, straight into Jungkook’s throat.

The force sent them both crashing to the floor. The impact rattled the remnants of the ship around them, a chorus of groaning metal and falling debris. Lee pinned Jungkook down, pressing his forearm hard against his throat. His breath was ragged, raw.

“One chance,” he growled, voice rough with fury. “You blew it.”

The dust began to settle. The ship around them was barely holding together—a skeletal ruin of scorched steel and shattered glass. Then, Lee’s flashlight caught a flicker of movement—a woman. He recognized her from when they boarded. The co-pilot. Her name was lost on him. Blood streaked her face, hair matted to her forehead, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. But she was breathing.

“Over here,” she rasped. Steady. Unbreakable.

Lee stumbled toward her, boots crunching over shattered wreckage. He crouched, hands moving instinctively, shoving aside the debris pinning her down. The ship groaned with each piece he wrenched free, as if it resented his efforts.

And then—her legs were free. He hauled her up, her weight solid against him, but she barely found her footing before the reality of their situation slammed into her. Not just broken. Annihilated.

Her knees buckled. She sank, hands clawing at the scattered wreckage as if she could piece it all back together. Her lips parted. “Shields.” A whisper.

Then, frantic movement. She shoved aside jagged fragments of steel, shattered screens, the torn remains of the captain’s chair—anything, everything standing between her and what she already knew she’d find.

And then—she did. Strapped to his chair. A metal rod—long, jagged—pierced straight through his chest, impaling him like some grotesque marionette. Blood seeped in slow, dark rivers, pooling beneath him.

His eyes flew open. Wide. Wild. Panic-stricken. “OUT!” His scream ripped through the air. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Y/N jerked back, breath hitching. Around her, the others stumbled into the nav-bay, voices colliding in chaotic bursts.

“Pull it out!”

“No, leave it! You’ll kill him!”

“We don’t have a choice—just do it!”

The noise. The suffocating stench of blood and scorched wiring. It all pressed in, a heavy, cloying thing clawing at her senses. Her eyes flicked to the wall—where the med-locker should have been. Gone. Nothing left. Her pulse spiked. No anestaphine. No painkillers. Nothing. But she knew that already. She knew.

Her mind snapped into triage mode, training she hadn’t used since she’d first boarded the Starfire. The H-G had small med kits—scattered across compartments, emergency supplies meant for minor injuries, burns, fractures. Enough for patchwork. Not for this.

A quick scan of the room told her where they were—one in the overhead hatch, another tucked beneath the paneling by the nav station. She didn’t move. Didn’t go for them. Because she knew. Shields was going to die.

It didn’t matter if she used the last of their coagulants, their sterile dressings, their dwindling supply of stim injectors. The rod had pierced deep—a lung, maybe his aorta. If they pulled it, he’d bleed out in seconds. If they left it, he’d drown in his own blood.

There was no saving him. Silence crashed over them. Shields’ breathing was slowing, each rasping gasp a grim countdown. Y/N straightened. Her voice dropped—low, steady. Cold.

“Everyone. Back.”

The others froze, hesitated—then stepped away, shuffling like ghosts. Only Lee lingered. His gaze flicked to Jungkook’s bound form in the corner. Even shackled, Jungkook radiated menace, his stillness more unnerving than motion ever could be.

Y/N barely registered him. Her focus was on Shields. His body trembled beneath her hands, breath thin, ragged. She pressed her palm just above the wound, steadying him. He was shaking. Not from pain. From fear.

His eyes locked onto hers, searching—desperate. “I can’t die like this.”

The words were barely a whisper. Her throat tightened. “You won’t,” she lied. Because that’s what you did for the dying. You gave them something to hold onto. Even if it wasn’t real. She tightened her grip on his hand, let her voice drop to something softer. “This is going to hurt,” she murmured.

The suns hit like a clenched fist, brutal and unrelenting. Twin orbs, one molten red, the other a vicious yellow, scorched the sky and stretched jagged, overlapping shadows across the cracked, barren earth. The heat wasn’t just heat—it was something alive, something with teeth, pressing in, coiling tight around their throats, stealing breath with every shallow inhale. The air was dry, acrid, thick with dust that swirled at their boots, carried by a wind that keened through the desolation like a dying thing whispering its last confession.

The survivors stood in uneasy clusters, their movements wary, shapes distorted against the shimmering horizon. No one strode forward with confidence. Every step was measured, hesitant—like the planet itself might open its mouth and swallow them whole if they made the wrong move.

Daku and Bindi stood apart from the rest, a fortress of two. Daku was stillness carved from stone, his sharp gaze sweeping the alien expanse with the quiet calculation of a man who had survived worse. Bindi, by contrast, was all coiled energy, lean muscle stretched taut over bone, every movement precise. Not panicked. Just prepared.

Peter lingered at the edge of the group, dabbing at his sunburned face with a monogrammed handkerchief that belonged in a boardroom, not here. He let out a brittle, humorless laugh. “Welcome to paradise.” His voice was thin, dry as the air, and it barely made it past his chapped lips. No one laughed. There was no room for humor here.

In the distance, the wreckage of their ship lay sprawled against the cracked earth like the carcass of some great, wounded beast. Twisted metal jutted at odd angles, blackened from the crash, half-buried in the dust like the bones of something the sky had spit out and abandoned. It was silent now, but it didn’t feel still. It felt like it was waiting.

Inside, Y/N moved through the ruins, hands working mechanically, searching through the wreckage for anything salvageable. The silence pressed against her like a second atmosphere—thick, oppressive, wrong. The ship had once been their salvation. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard.

Near the wreckage, the Chrislams had gathered in a tight circle, white robes stark against the dust-streaked ground. Their heads were bowed, their lips moving in silent prayers—or grief. It was hard to tell which. Namjoon stood at their center, broad shoulders squared, his presence anchoring them even as doubt flickered across the younger pilgrims’ faces. Their hands fidgeted at the wooden crosses and crescent pendants hanging from their necks, symbols of faith that suddenly felt like relics of a world too far away to matter anymore.

A boy, no older than fifteen, broke the silence, his voice raw with desperation. “Which way is New Mecca?” His hands were pressed together, pleading. “We need to know where to pray.”

The words hung in the air, weightless, useless. There was no north here. No compass points. No stars to guide them. Just endless wasteland stretching toward an indifferent horizon. Jagged hills clawed at the sky like broken teeth, dark silhouettes against the searing light.

Namjoon lifted his face, squinting against the blinding suns, searching for something—an answer, a direction, a sign. But the sky gave him nothing.

Lee fumbled with a battered compass, flicked it open, watched the needle spin uselessly before snapping it shut with a frustrated hiss. “Even this thing’s lost.” He shoved it back into his pocket.

The ship groaned behind them, a deep, wounded sound, like something exhaling its last breath.

Inside, Y/N sat on the scorched floor, her back pressed against cold metal. Shields’ body was cradled in her lap, his head resting against her chest. The rod that had impaled him was still there—a grotesque, final punctuation mark. His blood was thick and dark against her hands, its metallic tang heavy in the air.

She had tried. God, she had tried. She had shouted orders, whispered reassurances, prayed to gods she never believed in. But none of it had been enough.

The others had moved on, their voices distant through the ruined hull. But Y/N stayed.

Because this wasn’t just a wreckage. It was a grave. And she was the only mourner.

The twin suns poured their merciless light through the jagged tear in the hull, turning dust into molten gold. It shimmered, beautiful in the way cruel things often were—dazzling, deceptive. The light exposed everything. Every failure, every flaw. There was nowhere to hide.

Y/N shifted, her muscles trembling, stiff with exhaustion as she eased Shields’ body to the floor. Her fingers lingered at his shoulder, unwilling to sever that last, fragile tether to the man he had been. The warmth was already leeching from his skin.

Then, slowly, she rose.

Outside was worse.

The heat struck like a hammer, thick, oppressive, pushing against her lungs with every breath. Dust swirled in restless eddies at her feet, the wind sharp as glass, carving at her skin, splitting her lips. A few yards away, the Chrislams knelt in the dirt, heads bowed, lips moving in murmured prayers. Their voices were barely a ripple against the keening wind, but it was the only human sound left in this place. For a moment, she let it fill the cracks inside her, a balm against the unraveling edges of her sanity.

Lee stood apart, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare. His jaw was tight, his shoulders locked, a silent fortress against whatever storm raged inside him. When Y/N stepped down from the wreckage, his gaze flicked to her, brief but cutting. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Some things didn’t need to be said.

The land stretched before them, vast, indifferent. Jagged hills rose like broken ribs, their peaks tearing into the sky. Shadows pooled in the valleys, deep and impenetrable, as though the planet itself was swallowing the light. There was no refuge. No soft place to land. Only the brutal reality of survival.

Y/N swallowed against the rawness in her throat. “We’re on our own now.”

The words weren’t a revelation. They were a sentence.

No rescue was coming. No help would break through this alien sky.

She squared her shoulders beneath the weight of it, forcing one foot in front of the other, because the only way out was forward. Even when everything inside her begged to turn back.

The suns glared down, merciless and unblinking, turning the wreckage into a molten skeleton of what it had once been. Heat shimmered off the twisted metal, a feverish mirage making the debris seem like it was still shifting, still alive. But it wasn’t. It was dead—just like the people who hadn’t made it out.

Y/N climbed the jagged remains of the hull, her boots slipping against scorched metal, her fingers gripping the torn edges of a fractured panel. Her muscles ached, her breath came too short, too shallow. The air was too thin. Too dry. It scraped against her throat like sandpaper, and every inhale felt like a battle she was losing.

Below, the Chrislams knelt in the dust, their white robes dirtied and torn but still stark against the wasteland. Their soft prayers were barely audible over the dry, keening wind—a thread of humanity in a place that had none. Y/N let it wash over her for just a moment, a faint tether to something beyond survival.

Further up the wreckage, the others waited—Lee, Peter, Daku, Bindi, Leo. Their faces were carved with exhaustion, their silence heavier than the heat pressing down on them. Smoke curled from the wreckage behind them, black tendrils rising into the hazy sky. The crash had scarred the earth itself, leaving a deep trench of twisted metal and scorched rock, a wound with no hope of healing.

Y/N reached the top of the wreckage and let her gaze sweep the horizon. The planet stretched out before them in a wasteland of jagged rock and dust, the ground cracked and splintered like old bone. Sharp-edged hills rose in the distance, their peaks like broken teeth against the sky. There was no movement. No color. No life.

Only death, waiting for its turn.

“No one else made it,” she said, her voice low, steady. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an observation. It was a fact, as solid as the wreckage beneath her feet.

Silence stretched between them until Lee finally spoke, his voice dry and edged with bitterness. “They said there’d be a scouting party here.” He gestured toward the empty valley below, his words laced with grim sarcasm. “Guess they forgot the welcome committee.”

Peter coughed, dabbing at his sunburned face with that ridiculous monogrammed handkerchief. “Lovely spot,” he muttered. “Really. I mean, who doesn’t love the sensation of their lungs turning to parchment? Very exotic. Five stars.”

Y/N barely acknowledged him. Her focus was on the facts. The data. “The air’s too thin,” she said, voice clipped, clinical. “Not enough oxygen. Our bodies aren’t used to it. We’ll adjust, but it won’t be comfortable.”

Leo wiped sweat from his forehead, his face pale despite the heat. “Feels like breathing through a straw,” he muttered.

Peter waved his handkerchief dramatically. “Asthmatic here. Literal hell. Can I file a complaint, or is that not an option?”

“Enough,” Daku said, his voice cutting through the noise. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto Y/N. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled, rolling her shoulders against the weight of the question. “Debris. A rogue comet. A navigational error. I don’t know.” The admission felt like acid on her tongue. “What matters is that we’re here.”

“And alive,” Bindi added. Her tone was even, but there was something behind it—reluctant gratitude. “You got us down. That’s more than most pilots could have done.”

The words stung. Not because they were meant to, but because they weren’t true. Y/N knew that. They thought she’d saved them. But she knew better.

It wasn’t skill that had brought them down in one piece. It was luck. And luck never lasted.

She led them into what remained of the equipment bay, stepping over shattered panels, ducking beneath dangling wires. The air was thick with the scent of burned circuits and something else—something metallic and bitter. Blood.

Failure.

She knelt by a pile of debris and yanked free a suit, its fabric stiff with scorch marks. It would have to do. Holding it up, she said, “Liquid oxygen canisters. We rip them out. Short bursts, make them last. We don’t know how long we’ll need them.”

The group moved into action, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of survival. Leo lingered near her, watching her with an unsettling calm.

“Is someone coming for us?” he asked, voice steady in a way that made her stomach turn. “Or are we just gonna die here?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through the group. Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the suit, knuckles whitening.

The others had paused, their movements stilled by the weight of the words.

Leo tilted his head. “I can handle it,” he said, softer now. “If we’re not making it out, you can just say so.”

Bindi stepped in, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’re not giving up,” she said, her voice calm but absolute. “Not today.”

Leo hesitated, his bravado slipping just enough to reveal the scared kid underneath. Then he nodded.

The cabin reeked of sweat, scorched metal, and desperation. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, pooling in the corners, turning everything into a graveyard of broken machinery and shattered hope.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the far side of the bulkhead, where Jungkook sat shackled and still, his presence more a quiet threat than anything else. The dark goggles covering his eyes reflected the dim light, a black void revealing nothing—no fear, no anger, no desperation. Just absence.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t test his restraints. Didn’t move at all. That was what made him dangerous.

Yet, despite the cold knot of unease tightening in her stomach, Y/N couldn’t help but notice—he was beautiful.

Not in the clean-cut, manufactured way of men who knew they were being watched. No, there was something raw about him, something untamed. He was tall, all lean muscle wrapped in pale skin, the sinew of a predator coiled beneath the surface. His inky black hair was too long, falling into his face in uneven layers, the kind of overgrowth that should’ve looked unkempt but only made him more striking.

And then there were the tattoos.

They climbed up his arms in a chaotic symphony of ink, patterns and symbols weaving together into something intricate, something deliberate. Black ink against pale skin. A story written in the language of the damned.

Y/N’s throat went dry. Did they stop at his arms? Or did they go further, trailing over his ribs, down his back, curling against his hips? The thought hit like a static charge, sharp and unbidden. She swallowed, dragging her gaze away before she could entertain it any further.

“What about him?” she asked, her voice low, unsure despite herself.

Lee snorted, smirking. “Big Evil? Leave him locked up.”

Y/N forced herself to focus. “We don’t have forever,” she snapped, frustration bubbling up before she could reel it in. She exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “He broke out of a max-slam facility. Do you really think a pair of cuffs is enough?”

Lee shrugged, careless. “Only dangerous around humans,” he muttered, his voice thick with implication.

Before Y/N could fire back, movement caught her eye—a thin, silver thread trickling down the hull, glinting against the harsh twin suns.

Her stomach clenched.

Water.

Everything else vanished.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, scrambling over the wreckage, boots slipping against warped metal. The sting of sharp edges against her palms didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching the cistern before it was too late.

She wrenched open the hatch, metal scorching beneath her fingers. Sunlight flooded in, illuminating the nightmare inside.

A thin, glistening stream dribbled from a deep fracture in the steel, seeping into the cracked earth below. The ground drank greedily, dark stains blooming where the precious liquid had been only moments before.

Y/N’s breath hitched. A curse slipped past her lips, low and raw. This wasn’t just a leak. This was death.

Footsteps crunched behind her, the others approaching in hesitant silence. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The truth lay bare before them, glinting in the relentless light.

Y/N leaned heavily against the hatch, her fingers pressing against the scalding metal as if to steady herself. Her gaze stayed locked on the dirt, watching helplessly as the last of the water disappeared, vanishing like hope itself.

The planet wasn’t just going to kill them. It was going to make them watch while it did.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. Her nails bit into her palms until pain cut through the spiraling thoughts. No. There wasn’t time for this—not for despair, not for grief. The planet would take everything if they let it, and she refused to give it that satisfaction.

She turned away from the empty cistern, shoulders squared against the weight pressing down on her. The others were watching, sweat streaking their dirt-smeared faces, fear barely concealed behind exhaustion. They were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

“We keep moving,” she said, her voice steady despite the scream clawing at her insides. “We’ll find more. There’s always something out there.”

The words tasted like lies. But lies could keep people alive. And right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

The cargo hold reeked of scorched wiring and failure—the kind of failure that clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made itself at home. The air was thick with it, stifling, oppressive. Y/N wiped a grimy hand across her forehead and pressed on, stepping over shattered panels and the twisted wreckage of what had once been their future.

Somewhere in this mess, there were MRAs. Mobile Resource Augmenters. Compact, efficient, life-saving. They were designed to extract moisture from the air, convert it into drinkable water, and they sure as hell weren’t cheap. NOSA wouldn’t have sent them on a long-haul mission without at least a few onboard.

She knew they were here, but no one else seemed to care.

Y/N was used to working with the best—astronauts trained to push beyond the limits of human endurance. On Aguerra Prime, her name meant something. She was a government official, a veteran of deep-space missions, one of the top-ranked astronauts in NOSA’s fleet. She had survived hostile environments before.

This, though? This was worse. Because she was surrounded by people who should have been fighting to survive—but weren’t.

Peter moved through the wreckage with a magician’s flourish, fingers dancing over the lock of a sealed crate like he was about to unveil something miraculous. The lid groaned open, dust puffing into the stale air, and inside lay…

Furniture. Tiffany chairs. Polished bronze lecterns. An entire crate filled with useless, gaudy antiques.

Lee let out a sharp whistle, nudging the crate with his boot. “King Tut’s tomb,” he muttered. “Just what we needed.”

Peter’s face lit up, eyes gleaming as he ran a reverent hand over an antique desk. “This,” he murmured, “is Wooten. A very rare piece, mind you.”

Y/N stared at him, patience fraying like old wiring. “A desk?” she asked, her voice sharper than the heat outside. “Not food. Not water. A desk?”

Peter waved her off, as if she were the one being unreasonable. “Not just a desk,” he corrected, prying open a hidden compartment.

Nestled inside, gleaming like a sick joke, sat a row of liquor bottles. Sherry. Scotch. Vintage port.

Y/N felt something snap. “We’re dying of thirst, and you brought booze?”

Peter stiffened, his hand hovering protectively over the bottles. “Two-hundred-year-old single-malt scotch,” he said, tone dripping with wounded pride. “To call it ‘booze’ is like calling foie gras ‘duck guts.’”

Lee barked a laugh, already reaching for a bottle. The seal cracked with a soft pop, and the sharp scent of aged alcohol filled the air, thick and cloying. He raised it mockingly. “Here’s to survival—or whatever the hell he just said.”

Y/N clenched her jaw so tightly it ached.

She had spent the last hour shifting wreckage, trying to move beams twice her weight, searching for anything that could actually keep them alive.

And these idiots were getting drunk.

Her gaze flicked to the scattered debris. There were still places she hadn’t checked, still a chance the MRAs were buried under the twisted metal, waiting for someone to dig them out.

But as she looked around, at Peter cradling his precious scotch, at Lee tipping his bottle back like this was some kind of vacation, at the rest of them barely pretending to care—she felt the fight drain out of her.

No one was going to help her, and she was done trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved.

She exhaled sharply, the decision settling like a stone in her stomach. Without a word, she turned on her heel, stepping away from the wreckage, away from the lost cause unfolding in front of her.

She had been trained to adapt, to survive no matter what. But NOSA had never prepared her for this. The footsteps came before the words.

Namjoon and his followers stepped into the wreckage, their white robes streaked with dust but still somehow immaculate, like they existed just outside the filth and chaos consuming the rest of them. The Chrislams moved with that same unsettling calm, like they hadn’t yet realized the depth of their predicament.

Y/N barely spared them a glance. She was past caring.

But Lee—still riding the high of finding nothing useful—wasn’t about to let them pass without commentary.

He slammed his bottle onto a metal crate with a hollow clink, his frustration breaking through the haze of heat and exhaustion. “For what?” he demanded, voice sharp. “There’s no water. No food. Just rocks, dust, and death as far as the eye can see.”

Namjoon met his glare without flinching. “All deserts have water,” he said softly. “Somewhere.”

Lee let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Great. You talk to God, then? He got directions?”

Namjoon didn’t blink.

“God will lead us there.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and immovable, like the wreckage around them. Y/N bit down on the retort bubbling up in her throat, but the pragmatist in her screamed louder than any prayer. Water didn’t come from faith. It came from work, from tearing apart this wreck until her hands bled.

“While God’s drawing up a map,” she muttered, turning back to the containers, “we’ll keep looking.”

Namjoon inclined his head respectfully and led his followers away, their murmured prayers fading into the distance. For a moment, Y/N envied their calm. Then Peter’s humming broke the quiet, his fingers trailing lovingly over the polished wood of the desk as if cataloging a museum piece. Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed the urge to snap. Wasting energy on him wasn’t worth it.

Lee pried open another container with a sharp kick, sending a plume of dust into the air. Inside was a heap of torn fabric and broken machinery, tangled and useless. He swore under his breath and shoved it aside, his frustration vibrating in every movement. “This is a goddamn joke,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to survive with this?”

“Keep looking,” Y/N snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip, harsh and desperate. The panic simmering just beneath her surface slipped through. “We don’t find water soon, no one’s making it out of here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the scrape of metal and the mournful whistle of wind through the wreckage. Outside, the suns continued their relentless assault, the wind carrying dust and the heavy weight of despair. Y/N pressed her hand against the ship’s hull, the heat seeping into her palm. Every moment without progress felt like another step closer to death.

She moved toward the equipment bay, her focus narrowing. Somewhere in the wreckage were the pieces of the ship’s water generator. If she could just find them—just piece it together—they wouldn’t have to rely on the barren, unforgiving land outside. But her concentration splintered, fraying with every glance at the others.

Peter’s oblivious grin. Lee’s sharp frustration. Namjoon’s calm certainty. All of it clung to her like the heat, pressing in, pulling her mind away from the task at hand.

Her fingers brushed against a bent panel, her breath hitching as she caught sight of something familiar—part of the generator’s casing. Relief surged, but it was fleeting. The casing was twisted, its edges sharp and useless without the core components. Her chest tightened as she knelt, wrenching it free, her hands shaking as she turned it over in search of something—anything—that could still work.

Behind her, Leo’s small voice cut through the haze. “So,” he said, too calm for a kid his age. “What happens if we don’t find it? The water?”

The question hit her like a blow, her grip tightening on the casing. Around her, the others stilled, their movements halting under the weight of Leo’s words.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he added, his tone flat, unflinching. “I can take it.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath shaky. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle, scraping against the silence. “We’ll find it.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was a promise. And God help her, she didn’t know if she could keep it.

The ship groaned like a dying animal, its ruptured hull straining against the inevitable. Twisted metal rasped against itself, the sound a constant needle under the skin, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Dust hung thick in the air, turned to gold by the merciless twin suns that stabbed through the fractured ceiling. Every breath tasted of scorched circuitry and hydraulic fluid, the scent of ruin and slow decay.

Jungkook sat in the shadows, chained to the bulkhead, utterly still. Not the stillness of resignation—but of patience. Of calculation. His wrists, raw from steel cuffs, rested against his thighs, fingers loose, body deceptively relaxed. The dark goggles strapped over his eyes reflected slivers of fractured light, a predator’s gaze hidden behind black glass. The mouth-bit locked over his teeth was meant to make him less dangerous.

It only made him look like a caged beast waiting for the lock to fail.

The ship shifted again, the wreckage settling into itself. He ignored it. The ship was already dead. That wasn’t his problem.

But Y/N’s absence was. Not that he cared. Not really.

But she was the only one in this mess who wasn’t an idiot. The only one who thought ahead. Moved with purpose. Her voice carried weight, her commands cutting through chaos like a blade. That kind of control was rare. Most people shattered when things got bad. She didn’t.

Still, he’d expected more when he first got a good look at her. Too lean. Too sharp. Built for function, not decoration. No softness, nothing extra. Not the kind of woman who caught his eye.

But then she’d spoken. And the way the room shifted around her—the way even the air seemed to move when she did—had made him reconsider.

Not beautiful, but something. And that something was more interesting than pretty.

Jungkook rolled his shoulders, cataloging the weight of his restraints, the tension in his muscles already fading. The nickname he’d overheard while half-conscious surfaced in his mind.

Frenchie. Too small. Too soft. Didn’t suit her at all.

The cutting torch lay just out of reach, its dull gleam a whisper in the wreckage. His head tilted slightly, lips curling behind the bit—not a smile, something colder. The ship was quiet now, save for the occasional creak, but Jungkook had already mapped every fracture, every weakness, every way out. The crack in the hull above him was subtle, barely there.

To anyone else. To Jungkook, it was an invitation. A flaw. A way through.

He shifted, testing the give of his chains. Metal rasped against metal, a whisper swallowed by the ship’s dying groans. He didn’t flinch. He just moved slower, smoother—a shadow moving through shadows.

Then, without hesitation, a sickening pop shattered the silence.

His left shoulder dislocated, tendons twisting, bones shifting in a grotesque ballet of control. Pain flickered at the edge of his consciousness, a distant thing, irrelevant. His breath remained steady.

Another pop. The right shoulder went next.

He exhaled slowly, muscles flexing, and with a sharp, brutal motion, his arms twisted through the narrow gap between his head and the bulkhead. His hands, now free, hung limp at his sides. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, with a precise, measured force, he rolled his shoulders back into place. The snap of bone meeting socket reverberated through the cabin, a sound that made most men sick.

Jungkook barely noticed.

The cuffs slipped from his wrists, hitting the floor with a final, hollow clatter.

He rose in one smooth motion, unfolding to his full height, presence suddenly too much for the cramped space. The air felt different. Thicker. 

He stepped forward, moving toward the torch, his bare feet silent against the floor. The chains lay abandoned behind him, the weight of them meaningless now. The torch was warm against his fingers as he picked it up, rolling it once in his palm, adjusting to its feel.

Then he turned.

The goggles hid his eyes, but the smirk behind the bit was unmistakable.

The cutting torch hummed to life in his grip, a low, vibrating growl that filled the silence.

He was free.

The world beyond the wreckage was a graveyard—heat and silence stretched endlessly in every direction, oppressive, unyielding. Twin suns hung in the sky like merciless sentinels, their light leeching color from the landscape until only stark, blinding desolation remained. The ground was a cracked, scorched wound, dust spiraling in restless eddies, threading through jagged rock formations and yawning craters. In the distance, hills wavered like mirages, ghostly illusions rippling in the heat, always there, never reachable.

Lee stood at the edge of the ruin, half in shadow, half in the unrelenting blaze of the suns. The tang of sweat and burnt metal clung thick in the air, catching at the back of his throat. His pistol rested loosely in his grip, a lifeline more than a weapon. A thing to hold onto. A reminder that he wasn’t defenseless, even if the planet seemed indifferent to the concept of survival.

The silence pressed in, heavy. Wrong.

Silence should’ve been relief. Silence should’ve meant safety. But this wasn’t that kind of quiet. This was the kind that watched. The kind that waited.

His gaze swept the horizon, scanning the brittle, broken ground for something—anything—out of place. But the emptiness was deceptive, shifting, playing tricks on his eyes. The wreckage groaned behind him, metal expanding under the punishing heat. The ship was dying, settling into its grave. He ignored it. There were more immediate concerns.

Then—movement.

Not much. Just a glint, half-buried in the dust. A sliver of something reflecting the twin suns. Lee exhaled slowly, crouched, and reached for it, brushing aside the grit with careful, practiced efficiency.

The object came into view. A curved piece of metal. Scuffed. Worn. Unmistakable. His stomach dropped. The mouth-bit. Jungkook’s.

Lee straightened too fast, the bit still clutched in his hand, his fingers tightening around it like it might bite him. His other hand curled reflexively around the pistol’s grip, knuckles bloodless. The planet, empty and endless just moments ago, now felt like a set of teeth closing in.

Jungkook was loose. The realization landed like a hammer blow, cold despite the heat.

Lee had seen what the man could do—shackled. What he could be, even when restrained by steel and sedation. Now, the shackles were gone. The bit that had kept him contained was nothing more than a useless scrap of metal in Lee’s hand.

And Jungkook was out there. Somewhere. Lee scanned the landscape again, but the terrain mocked him. Too much space. Too many places to disappear. Too many places to hunt from.

The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him. The others were still inside—Bindi, Namjoon, Peter. Oblivious. They had no idea what had just been set loose into their already precarious existence.

Lee’s jaw clenched. Like we needed another way to die.

He turned the bit over in his palm, its edges smooth from use, from time, from teeth. He should’ve known. They all should’ve known. But it had been easier to ignore the truth than to face it.

Now, that denial had come at a cost.

The wind kicked up, whispering through the wreckage, sending dust scuttling across the cracked earth. The sound of it sent a chill down his spine, because it wasn’t the wind he was afraid of.

Lee shoved the bit into his pocket, a grim token of what lurked beyond the ship’s broken hull. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was intentional. A force of nature with purpose. Whatever he wanted, whatever he was planning, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He turned back toward the ship, every muscle wired tight, every step measured. The pistol was steady in his grip now, but the weight of it felt inadequate.

This wasn’t over. Not even close. The silence had changed. It wasn’t just emptiness anymore. It was a warning. Jungkook wasn’t watching from a distance.

The cargo hold was a machine of chaos—loud, desperate, and running on the thin fuel of fear. People moved like scavengers, tearing through storage lockers, prying open crates with bloodied hands, dragging whatever they could find into the nav-bay. Metal clattered, plastic scraped, breathless grunts and muttered curses filled the stale air. Dust spiraled in the fractured sunlight slanting through the ship’s wounds, turning the space into a golden, suffocating haze.

Y/N stood on the outskirts, arms crossed, watching. It wasn’t much of a stockpile, but it was all they had.

The room—once a hub of order and precision—now looked like a battlefield before the war even began. Broken panels, exposed wiring, the remains of shattered instruments littered the floor. In the middle of it all, their growing pile of salvaged weapons stood like an altar to survival.

Lee stepped up first. No hesitation, no wasted motion. He crouched beside the pile and inspected his finds: a pistol, a shotgun, a baton. Well-used, well-loved. The shotgun bore the scars of a hard life—scratched barrel, faded stock—but the way Lee handled it left no doubt. The weapon was an extension of him. He loaded it with quiet efficiency, each metallic clink settling into the uneasy silence.

Behind him, Daku and Bindi added their contributions. A battered pickaxe, a handful of digging tools, and an old hunting boomerang—its edges worn, its surface scarred. Daku flicked his wrist, testing its balance. He nodded once, satisfied. Bindi, hovering close, scanned the room with sharp eyes, daring anyone to question their worth.

Then Namjoon stepped forward.

A ceremonial blade. Ancient. Ornate. The kind meant for rituals, not combat. The hilt gleamed under the dim light, its intricate carvings whispering of old traditions. But the edge—thin, honed—was made to cut. He set it down carefully, with a reverence that stood in stark contrast to the chaos around him.

And then there was Peter.

He stumbled into the room, arms overfilled with weapons that didn’t belong on a battlefield. His face was red, breath heavy, but he carried his haul like it meant something. He nearly tripped over a loose wire before dumping his findings onto the pile.

Silence followed.

Polished war-picks. A blow-dart hunting stick. A collection of relics that belonged in a museum, not a fight for survival.

Lee stared. “The hell are these?”

Peter straightened, his expression hovering somewhere between pride and offense. “Maratha crow-bill war-picks,” he declared, lifting one like a trophy. “Northern India. Extremely rare.”

Daku snorted. He picked up the hunting stick, turning it over in his hands, unimpressed. “And this?”

“Blow-dart hunting stick,” Peter shot back defensively. “Papua New Guinea. One of a kind.”

Daku let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, tossing the stick back onto the pile. “Looks like they went extinct for a reason.”

Peter’s face darkened. His fingers curled around the remaining items like they might be snatched away. “Why are we even bothering with this?” he snapped. “If Jungkook’s gone, he’s gone. Why should we care?”

The air changed. The tension turned solid.

Lee was the first to break the silence. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his voice razor-edged. “First,” he said, his tone like the cocking of a gun, “because he can only survive out there for so long. Sooner or later, he’s coming back—for supplies. For water. For us.”

He let that settle, let them feel the weight of it.

“Second,” he continued, lowering his voice even further, “because killing is the only thing he’s ever been good at. And he likes it.”

No one spoke. No one moved.

Y/N felt the weight of those words settle into her chest, heavy as a loaded weapon. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t a rogue element in their calculations.

He was a predator. And they were his prey. As if on cue, the group reached for their weapons.

Lee holstered the shotgun, his grip firm. Daku tested the boomerang again, tracing its edges with quiet precision. Even Peter, reluctant as he was, finally set one of his prized war-picks on the pile, his fingers lingering before he let go.

Y/N reached for the ceremonial blade.

It wasn’t made for this, but it would do. The weight of it felt strange in her hand, but solid. Steady. A promise.

The wind howled through the ruined hull, carrying the dry, metallic scent of the wasteland beyond. The horizon remained still, jagged peaks unmoving, but inside the ship, something had shifted.

The air felt electric. Like the moment before a storm. Y/N glanced at the others, their faces cast in flickering shadows. They were ready—or as ready as they could be.

Jungkook wasn’t gone. He was out there. Watching. Waiting. And now, so were they.

The ship jutted from the earth like a rusted blade, its jagged metal edges catching the dying light of twin suns. One burned a deep red, sinking low on the horizon, while the other clung stubbornly to the sky, casting long, broken shadows across the wasteland. Wind whispered through the wreckage, carrying the dry scent of scorched metal and sand, a faint, restless sound in the vast stillness.

Lee perched high on the hull, rifle balanced against his shoulder. His silhouette was razor-sharp against the sky’s bleeding colors. He moved only when necessary, scanning the horizon with a hunter’s patience, the kind of stillness that meant survival.

Then—movement.

A flicker. A distortion at the edge of his vision. His grip tightened. His breath held. What the hell was that?

The words barely escaped his lips, lost to the wind before anyone below could hear them.

On the ground, the others worked against time, piecing together survival from the ship’s remains. Daku and Bindi crouched over a makeshift workbench—little more than a pile of salvaged crates and twisted panels. They moved with careful efficiency, assembling breather units from scavenged tubing and half-broken filters. Each strap tightened, each valve checked, because failure wasn’t an option.

“Try it now,” Daku muttered, handing one to Leo.

The boy lifted it to his face, inhaling tentatively. A soft hiss, the measured release of oxygen. Relief flickered across his face, there and gone in an instant.

A few yards away, the Chrislams worked in silence, layering cloth over their heads, tying knots with practiced hands. Their transformation was seamless—fluid—turning them into nomads, figures that belonged to this land in a way the rest of them never would. Namjoon moved among them, his presence steady, guiding younger pilgrims as they secured their wrappings.

Y/N stood apart.

Her focus was on Shields. Or rather, what was left of him. His body was wrapped in salvaged cloth, the material rough, inadequate. But it was all she had. She tied the final knot, her fingers lingering for a moment, grounding herself in the task. When she straightened, her shadow stretched long and thin in the fading light.

“Namjoon.” Her voice was steady, though exhaustion clung to its edges. “We need to move before nightfall. While it’s still cool.”

Daku wiped a streak of sweat from his brow, glancing up. “What, you’re heading off too?”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight. “Lee’s leaving you a gun. Just one favor—bury my crew. They didn’t deserve to die here.”

Bindi met her gaze, expression soft but resolute. “We’ll take care of them.”

Then the sound came. Faint at first. A whisper. A reverence.

"Namjoon… Namjoon…"

The wind carried it toward them, weightless yet insistent. The group stilled. One by one, they turned toward the voice, rounding the wreckage to see where it came from.

And then, they saw it.

A blue star.

It flared against the horizon—impossibly bright, too large, too deliberate. It rose slowly, cutting through the burnt reds and oranges of the sunset like a blade. The light spread, stretching long shadows across the cracked land, shifting as if the planet itself had taken a breath.

Bindi exhaled sharply. “My bloody oath.”

“Three suns?” Leo whispered, his voice thin with disbelief.

Daku shook his head, his expression dark. “So much for nightfall.”

“And so much for cocktail hour,” Peter muttered, but the joke died the second it hit the air.

Namjoon stepped forward, bathed in the blue glow. The light painted his face in something almost holy. His voice was calm, steady, carrying the weight of quiet conviction.

“We take this as a sign. A path. A direction from God.”

Before anyone could respond, Lee moved.

He slid down the wreckage, boots kicking up dust as he landed. He straightened, brushing himself off, his rifle still slung across his shoulder. His face was unreadable, his eyes sharp.

“A very good sign,” he said, nodding toward the blue star. “That’s Jungkook’s direction.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, unreadable. “Thought you said you found his restraints over there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the opposite horizon, where the red sun was slipping beneath the cracked earth.

Lee didn’t flinch. “I did.” His voice was even, final. “Which means he’s moving toward sunrise.”

The words settled like a stone in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. Jungkook wasn’t wandering. He wasn’t lost. He had a direction. A purpose. And it was moving closer.

She looked back at the star, its eerie light shifting the landscape into something foreign, something watching. A slow exhale left her lips, her mind sharpening.

“Then we move,” she said, her voice unyielding. “Before he decides to double back.”

No one argued. No one hesitated. Because the truth was simple. They weren’t just running from Jungkook anymore. They were following him.

The horizon shimmered, a mirage of heat and shifting color, an alien dream unraveling in the distance. The landscape stretched out before them like an open wound, raw and unrelenting, bruised in shades of violet and ochre under the double glare of the twin suns. To stare too long was to feel the world slip sideways, the very fabric of reality twisting under the weight of its own unnatural stillness.

They moved in a thin, fragile procession, their figures small against the vastness, nothing more than a line of ghosts fading into the endless heat.

The Chrislams led the way, their voices rising and falling in quiet, hypnotic rhythm. Their steps were deliberate, measured, faith woven into every movement. Incense pots swung gently from their hands, sending tendrils of spiced smoke curling into the air—an offering, a prayer, a plea for something greater than themselves. The scent tangled uneasily with the metallic tang of dust, the dry crackle of a world long since abandoned to silence.

Lee followed at a short distance, shotgun resting easy in his arms, though his grip spoke of exhaustion more than readiness. Sweat streaked through the dust on his face, his makeshift visor—a jagged scrap of plexiglass tied down with wire—biting into his skin. He ignored it. The pain was secondary. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the horizon with the wary focus of a man who understood that stillness could kill just as surely as motion.

Beside him, Y/N shifted the weight of Peter’s ridiculous war-pick across her back. The ornate handle dug into her shoulder with every step, a mockery of their situation. A relic in a place that demanded survival, not sentiment. She had given up rolling her eyes after the first hour—exhaustion had a way of dulling even irritation.

Peter trailed behind, his face pink from the sun, his every step labored. And yet, he cradled his remaining artifact like a sacred object, a lifeline to something that only made sense to him.

The sky loomed, too vast, too fluid, its colors seeping into one another like ink bleeding through paper. The heat distorted the air, turning the horizon into something unreal, something that moved even when it shouldn’t. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t mean peace.

It meant something was waiting.

Y/N fumbled with the cloth she had tried—and failed—to wrap around her head. Her fingers, slick with sweat, kept losing their grip, the fabric slipping no matter how many times she adjusted it. The suns beat down, relentless, burning through her scalp, through her bones.

Namjoon noticed.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped closer, his movements calm, measured. Before she could protest, his hands brushed against hers, taking the cloth with quiet certainty. He wrapped it with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times, securing each fold, each knot, with practiced ease.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to small kindnesses.

“It’s too quiet,” she muttered, her voice too loud in the stillness. “You get used to the hum of the ship, the engines… then suddenly, it’s just… nothing.”

Namjoon tied the last knot, adjusting the fabric slightly. “Do you know who Muhammad was?” he asked, his voice low, conversational—like they were discussing something as ordinary as the weather.

She blinked at him. “Some prophet guy?”

His lips twitched. “Some prophet guy.” He stepped back, eyes scanning his work before meeting hers again. “He was a city man, but he had to go to the desert—to the silence—to hear the words of God.”

Y/N squinted against the glare. “So, you were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?”

He nodded. “Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime, there should be a great hajj—a journey. To know God better, yes. But also to know yourself.”

A dry laugh slipped from her lips, brittle as the ground beneath their boots. “Sounds terrifying.”

Namjoon just watched her, waiting.

She exhaled. “I grew up on Helion Five,” she admitted, tugging the cloth slightly, testing its weight. “Not as nice as Prime.”

Something flickered in Namjoon’s expression—recognition, maybe respect. “Least religious of all the Helion planets,” he said. “And the poorest.”

Y/N nodded. “I studied botany on Prime. Spent eight years at the technical institute.”

Namjoon’s face shifted, surprised but pleased. “Then you’ve been to New Mecca.”

“I have.” Her voice softened slightly. “Studied under Dr. Abbas.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in wonder. “Dr. Abbas was a mentor to my uncle. I met him once, when I was young. Brilliant man.”

Y/N nodded. The memories flickered behind her eyes—the towering spires of New Mecca, the hydro-gardens sprawling across the academy, faith and science woven together in delicate balance. It had been an oasis of learning, a place of possibility.

A place that should have led her somewhere better than this.

But then Helion Five ran out of money, and so did she. Her funding dried up, and she ended up back in the dirt, scraping by, until a flight school opportunity on Aguerra Prime sent her halfway across the galaxy.

She didn’t say that part.

At least NOSA paid well. At least the benefits were better than anything in the Helion System.

Namjoon studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Before Y/N could respond, Lee stopped. His entire body locked, every muscle wound tight. His breath sharpened. Then—his voice, low, razor-sharp. “Hold up.”

The words carved through the air, snapping every nerve in Y/N’s body to attention.

Lee lifted his rifle, scanning the horizon. His stance had changed—tight, predatory, every line of his body braced for whatever came next.

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Y/N stepped forward, pulse quickening. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer immediately. He just handed her the scope, his expression grim.

She pressed it to her eye, adjusting to the warped, heat-rippled view. At first, she saw only what she expected—the same endless wasteland, stretching as far as the horizon. The cracked ground, desiccated and lifeless. The swirling dust, shifting restlessly in the dry, scorching wind. The emptiness, vast and absolute.

Then—something.

A cluster of thin, vertical shapes disrupted the monotony of the landscape.

She frowned. Her first instinct labeled them as trees, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it formed. That was impossible.

She adjusted the focus, scanning for details, but the air above the superheated ground distorted everything. Waves of refracted light bent and twisted the landscape, making the objects shift in and out of coherence. She knew how easily the mind could be deceived under conditions like this—optical illusions born from extreme temperature gradients.

Still, she studied them.

They stood upright, dark against the glare of the horizon, irregular in height and spacing. They weren’t moving. Not even a fraction. No branches trembling in the wind. No leaves fluttering. Just still, rigid silhouettes.

Her jaw tightened.

If they were plant life, they shouldn’t be here. The conditions were too extreme. The heat alone would desiccate any surface vegetation in hours—if not outright kill it. Water, if it existed at all, would be buried deep underground, far from the sun’s reach. Any life here would have adapted to that reality. It would stay hidden, evolving in subterranean networks, safe from radiation and exposure.

But these things stood exposed, unyielding beneath a sky that could boil blood.

She exhaled slowly. If they weren’t trees, then what? Rock formations? But they were too slender, too irregular, lacking the weathered smoothness she’d expect from geological structures shaped by the elements.

Her mind cycled through possibilities.

Dead stalks of something that once lived? Artificial structures? Or just a mirage—some trick of light warping the landscape into false patterns?

She lowered the scope, blinking hard, then looked again with her naked eye. The shapes were still there, but less distinct, as if they faded into the background when not magnified.

That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Her fingers tightened around the scope.

"Those aren't trees," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N lowered the scope, pressing her lips into a thin line. The shapes still lingered on the edge of the horizon, indistinct and unreal, but her mind refused to place them in any known category. That alone made her uneasy.

“They aren’t trees,” she repeated, calmer this time. More certain.

Lee scoffed. “And you know that how?”

She turned to him, pulse steady despite the irritation curling in her chest. “Because trees don’t grow in places like this. Not on a planet this hot, this dry. Any plant life would be subterranean—assuming there’s life at all. Whatever those are, they’re not—”

“We’ll check it out.”

Y/N stiffened. “That’s not what I—”

Lee was already moving, waving for the others to prepare. “Not gonna stand here debating with a pilot who thinks she’s a scientist,” he muttered, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “I have a PhD in botany, actually,” she said flatly. “Which is why I’m telling you��”

“And I have a gun,” Lee cut in, not even looking at her. “So we’re gonna make sure.”

Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose. Of course. Of course, he was like this. She’d had his type figured out in the first ten minutes—loud, condescending, the kind of man who couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else knowing more than he did.

“You could just listen to her,” Namjoon interjected, stepping up beside her. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was an edge to his tone, subtle but firm. “She’s probably right. We don’t know what’s out there, and heading straight toward something unknown isn’t exactly smart.”

Lee exhaled sharply, turning back just enough to give Namjoon an unimpressed look. “Yeah? And what’s your plan, genius? Stand around and argue?”

“I think his plan,” Y/N said coolly, “is to use common sense.”

Lee barked a laugh. “Right. Common sense is what gets people killed. We don’t assume, we confirm.” His gaze flicked back to her, sharp with challenge. “Unless you’re scared?”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something clenched. Not in fear—just exhaustion. She’d dealt with men like this her entire career. She knew exactly how this argument would play out. She could cite a hundred scientific reasons why approaching those things was unnecessary at best, dangerous at worst, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

Lee wanted to stomp over there just to prove he could.

Fine. Let him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, shoving the scope back into his hands. “Let’s go, then.”

She didn’t miss Namjoon’s concerned glance, but she ignored it. If following Lee into a potential death trap was what it took to get him to shut up, so be it.

At least when this inevitably turned out to be a waste of time, she’d get to say I told you so.

The wrecked ship knifed through the barren skyline, its twisted metal ribs jutting like bones against the backdrop of twin burning suns. The land stretched endlessly in every direction—cracked, lifeless, shimmering under the weight of an unrelenting heat. The ship’s remains had become a monument to survival, a jagged scar on an already brutal world.

Perched atop the wreck, Peter reclined as if he were sunbathing at a luxury resort instead of stranded on a hellscape. His misting umbrella—a ridiculous contraption of indulgence and pure audacity—hissed softly, releasing a cooling vapor laced with alcohol. The mist shimmered in the dry air, enveloping him in a cocoon of decadence, as if the wasteland were merely an inconvenience rather than a death sentence.

Below, Daku appeared, dragging a makeshift sled across the scorched earth. The thing groaned under the weight of scavenged supplies—tarps, cables, tools lashed together with salvaged wiring. Sweat slicked his skin, dust clinging to every exposed inch, the heat pressing down on him like a living thing. He barely spared Peter a glance before barking out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Comfy up there?”

Peter angled his umbrella, peering down with a lazy grin. “Incredible, really,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. He lifted his polished flask in a casual toast. “Turns out food and water are highly overrated when you have the finer things in life.”

Daku’s scowl deepened, his fingers tightening around the sled’s rope. “Just keep your bloody-fuckin’ eyes peeled,” he muttered, his accent sharpening with irritation. “Don’t need that ratbag sneakin’ up and takin’ a bite out of my bloody-fuckin’ arse.”

He turned and trudged toward the distant hills, the sled dragging behind him with a slow, agonized scrape. Peter smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his flask before pouring a precise splash into a delicate glass—somehow unbroken despite the crash. He lifted it to his lips, savoring the moment like he wasn’t marooned on a planet actively trying to kill him.

Then—the blade. Cold steel against his throat.

Peter’s breath hitched. His body went still, every instinct screaming don’t move. The pressure was light but undeniable, the knife’s edge sharp enough that even the slightest shift could draw blood. The air around him changed, tightened.

Then a voice, soft, almost amused. “He’d probably get you right here.” The blade tilted, just enough to let Peter feel the danger. “Right under the bone,” Leo murmured. “Quick. Clean. You’d never hear him coming.”

Peter’s fingers twitched toward the war-pick resting across his lap, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed. Because Leo wasn’t bluffing.

Peter’s eyes flicked sideways, catching the boy’s gaze. Those too-bright green eyes—steady, unblinking, holding something that didn’t belong in a face so young. The knife didn’t waver in his hand. His grip was sure, practiced, casual in a way that turned Peter’s stomach.

Peter swallowed carefully, feeling the blade shift with the motion. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing assassin?” he asked, voice light, strained. “What’s the story, then? Did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?”

A flicker of something dark passed over Leo’s expression—anger? Amusement? It was gone before Peter could name it. The blade stayed where it was.

Then, after a heartbeat too long, Leo stepped back. The knife withdrew with a flick of his wrist, a smooth, deliberate motion. The tension didn’t break—it just stretched, coiled between them, an unspoken thing that settled heavy in the heat. Leo turned and walked away.

Peter let out a slow, measured breath. His hand brushed over the war-pick in his lap—too late, too useless now—but the weight of it felt like reassurance. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the umbrella, tilting it just enough to cast his face back into shade. He exhaled, steadied himself.

Then, forcing his voice back into something closer to normal, he called after him.

“What exactly are you trying to prove, kid?”

Leo didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. The knife in his hand caught the light as he walked, glinting with every step. A warning. A promise.

Peter watched him disappear into the waves of heat, unease settling like a stone in his chest. He lifted the flask, poured another sip of sherry, and swallowed it down. It tasted bitter now.

The edge of the wreckage was quieter than anywhere else, a pocket of solitude carved into the heat and ruin. Leo sat cross-legged in the dust, her back to the others, their voices distant, muffled by the wind that swept across the barren expanse. The shadow of the hull stretched thin, barely offering relief from the twin suns, but she didn’t care.

She just needed to be alone.

The knife rested across her knee, a sliver of light catching on the steel, glinting as if it had something to say. Her hands hovered above it, fingers twitching, uncertain.

Her curls clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, itching at the back of her neck. They’d been a nuisance all day, an unwanted reminder of something she wasn’t anymore. Something she couldn’t be.

The first time she cut her hair, she’d done it with a shard of broken glass in a back alley on Taurus I, shivering, starving, her hands sticky with someone else’s blood. She’d shed her name that night too, left it behind like the curls that littered the filthy street.

Audrey had died there. Leo had crawled out of the wreckage. Now, here she was again.

Her fingers curled around the knife, steadying it despite the faint tremor in her hands. The first cut was clumsy, the blade snagging against a tangle before slicing through. A curl tumbled down, landing against the dust, dark against the pale ground. She exhaled sharply. Then she cut again.

Each slice was an act of erasure. A deliberate, necessary violence.

The curls fell in thick, heavy strands, coiling like dead things at her feet. She didn’t stop, even when sweat stung her eyes, even when her breath came short and fast. She worked until there was nothing left but uneven stubble, rough against her fingertips.

A breeze ghosted across her scalp, cool and startling, and for a moment, she felt untethered. Unmoored.

She stared down at the pile of curls, scattered like broken promises. Pieces of a girl who no longer existed. Pieces of soft hands and warm voices, of braids woven by someone long dead, of a life stolen before she ever had a chance to claim it.

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed hard, shoving the feeling down. Then, with one sharp motion, she ground her boot into the curls, sweeping them away with a harsh kick. The wind took them, lifting them into the air, scattering them across the wasteland.

She watched until they disappeared.

The knife was dull now, the edge dulled by the thick, stubborn strands it had cut through. She ran her thumb along the blade, then slipped it back into its sheath.

Leo stood slowly, brushing dust from her knees, rolling her shoulders back. She could already feel the questions rising in her mind. Did she cut enough? Would it pass? Would they see through her?

No. They wouldn’t. They saw what they expected to see—a wiry, sharp-edged boy, too young to be dangerous, too hard to be soft.

And that’s all they needed to know. She wasn’t going to tell them. Not Daku. Not Peter. Not even Namjoon. It wasn’t about trust. It was about survival.

She knew what happened to girls out here. She’d seen it. Felt it. She knew how softness got twisted, exploited, broken apart piece by piece. Leo wasn’t going to let that happen to her. Not again. Out here, softness wasn’t just a weakness. It was a death sentence.

Her green eyes flicked toward the horizon. The jagged hills stood like teeth in the distance, waiting for them. They would bring more pain. More danger. That was inevitable.

But Leo would meet them head-on. She had no other choice. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the ship. The others would see her return. But they wouldn’t see her. Not really.

To them, she was just another boy. Just another survivor. Another body moving through this relentless, unforgiving world. And that was exactly how she needed it to be. Audrey was gone, scattered like dust on the wind. Leo was all that was left. And there was no space for softness now.

The rise gave way to something wrong.

Y/N had never expected to find trees—hadn’t even humored the idea. This planet was too hot, too dry, too merciless. Nothing should be growing here, least of all something as delicate as surface-dwelling vegetation. If life existed, it would be underground, hidden away from the blistering heat, surviving on whatever moisture remained trapped beneath the surface.

But what lay ahead wasn’t life at all.

It was bones.

They weren’t scattered remains or the weathered fossils of something long forgotten. No, these were enormous, structured, standing like a grotesque forest of the dead. Ribs the size of starships arched toward the sky, their jagged edges worn by time, bleached to a sickly green by lichen clinging stubbornly to their surfaces. They loomed over the wasteland, casting long, skeletal shadows that twisted and bent under the relentless double suns.

The ground beneath them was no better. Littered with shattered fragments, hollowed-out vertebrae, and the occasional half-buried skull, it was as if something had torn through this place—something big, something merciless.

The young pilgrims, Namjoon’s people, had begun to murmur prayers, their voices hushed and wavering.

“Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…”

Their reverence was tinged with unease, their steps hesitant now, their awe tempered by something much colder.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the rise, adjusting the strap of her pack with a quiet exhale. She had no desire to move forward. Whatever happened here, however long ago it had been, it wasn’t natural. This wasn’t a graveyard. A graveyard implied burial, rest, peace. This?

This was a battlefield.

Lee, of course, had no such caution. He stepped up beside her, his shotgun slung low but ready, his face streaked with sweat and dust. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, assessing. Always acting like he was in charge. Always acting like he knew best.

"This doesn’t feel right," he muttered.

Y/N barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No kidding," she murmured, voice dry.

They reached the others just as Namjoon translated a question from one of the younger pilgrims.

“He asks what could have killed so many great things.”

No one answered.

Y/N didn’t think they wanted to know.

They moved deeper, their earlier eagerness replaced by a silent, collective caution. She reached out, running her fingers over one of the towering ribs. The grooves carved into the surface were too precise, too intentional. Not the work of time, nor of nature.

“Killing field,” she murmured, stomach twisting. “Not a graveyard.”

Lee crouched near a pile of smaller bones, picking up a fragment. He turned it over in his hands, brushing away the dust. The surface was smooth, polished by age, but the ends—the ends had been broken.

“Whatever it was,” he said grimly, “it was a long time ago.”

A little ways off, Kai drifted toward one of the massive skulls, its hollow sockets wide and empty, a monument to something long dead. The structure was vast enough to shelter them all, its surface ridged with comb-like formations. Curious, Kai pressed his palm against one of the ridges. The wind shifted, catching within the grooves.

Namjoon, unlike the others, wasn’t entirely lost in the spectacle. His gaze flicked back to Y/N, watching the way her expression remained tight, the way her fingers twitched with irritation.

“You don’t like this,” he observed quietly.

Y/N huffed out a breath. “I don’t like being here at all. This is pointless.” She cast a glance at Lee, who was still inspecting the bones like he was the first person in the universe to ever see a skeleton. “And I don’t like being dragged around by someone who acts like he’s in charge just because he’s loud and armed.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “That’s just Lee. Cop acting like a cop.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up to be bossed around by some overzealous authority figure with a superiority complex.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” Then, after a beat, “But mostly harmless.”

She side-eyed him. “Mostly.”

He shrugged, the ghost of amusement lingering.

A pause settled between them, quieter, more thoughtful. Y/N glanced at him, debating, then sighed. “Call me Frenchie.”

Namjoon blinked. “What?”

“It’s my call sign,” she explained, shifting her weight. “Got it when I was working on the docks with my uncle, and it stuck around. All my friends and family call me. You might as well, since I actually like you.”

Namjoon’s expression softened, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Frenchie,” he repeated, testing the name with obvious care. A slow smile curved his lips. “I like it.”

Y/N nodded, satisfied.

Then Namjoon hesitated. “My mom used to call me Joon.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Y/N looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

“She passed away a few years ago,” he admitted.

Y/N’s chest ached, just a little. She understood that feeling too well. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Namjoon nodded once, accepting, before offering her a small, sad smile. “It’s okay.”

Y/N hesitated, then said, “My parents died when I was little. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

Namjoon’s gaze met hers, understanding passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

For a moment, they stood there, two people from different worlds, bound by quiet losses and shared irritation for the man currently barking orders at Kai like he had any authority.

Namjoon sighed. “We should probably go stop Lee from doing something stupid.”

Y/N smirked. “Or we could let him and watch what happens.”

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Tempting.”

But they both knew they’d step in. Because Lee might be a pain in the ass, but he was still on their side.

A little ways off, Kai drifted toward one of the massive skulls, its hollow sockets wide and empty, a monument to something long dead. The structure was vast enough to shelter them all, its surface ridged with comb-like formations. Curious, Kai pressed his palm against one of the ridges. The wind shifted, catching within the grooves.

A low, hollow hum resonated through the bones. The sound rippled outward, vibrating through the air, sinking into their chests like a pulse of memory. It was deep, mournful—a ghost’s sigh.

Kai’s face lit up, wonder momentarily eclipsing fear. “I’ve never heard anything like this,” he said, turning toward the others, his voice tinged with awe.

His smile froze. Something moved in the skull’s shadow. A face—pale and grinning—emerged from the dark. Kai stumbled back with a strangled yelp, his hands flying up instinctively. It wasn’t a monster. It was Soobin.

He stepped from the depths of the skull, laughter bright and sharp. “Got you good,” he said, grinning.

The tension cracked—momentarily.

Lee was already moving, instincts pulling him into the cavernous space of the skull. The shadows stretched long inside, pooling in uneven recesses. Bones littered the ground, but not the smooth, time-worn ones outside.

These were fresh. Chipped. Splintered. His shotgun swept low, the muzzle nudging against a shattered fragment. The air inside the skull carried an edge, something faintly electric—like the charge before a storm.

Lee exhaled through his nose, slow. "Nothing," he muttered, but his gut said otherwise.

Outside, the group gathered near the towering ribs, unease thickening as the wind hummed through the combed ridges of the skulls, filling the air with a sound too unnatural to be ignored. The massive remains stood like silent guardians over a forgotten tragedy.

High above, Jungkook watched. He was a shadow within the bone, his body pressed into the dense curves of the cavernous skull. The faint light filtering through the ridges illuminated only fragments of him—a glint of movement, a slow, steady breath. He didn’t stir. Didn’t make a sound.

His gaze flicked over the group below. He had been tracking them for hours. From where he crouched, Y/N was the closest. She leaned against the skull’s base, fingers twisting off the spent oxygen canister at her belt. The hiss of escaping air broke the silence.

Jungkook’s grip tightened around the bone-shiv in his hand. Its jagged edge gleamed faintly, a relic carved from the remains of this place. His muscles coiled. His breath was measured. He waited. The hunt hadn’t begun yet. But soon.

Y/N shifted her weight, pressing her back against the massive skull. The warmth of the bone seeped through her clothes, and for a moment, she let herself close her eyes. Just a second—just long enough to exhale, to let the exhaustion settle beneath her ribs before she pushed forward again.

Above her, in the hollowed-out depths of the skull, Jungkook did not blink. He moved with the silence of something bred for patience, for hunting. The bone-shiv in his hand hovered steady, his fingers curling around the carved handle as he leaned forward, the comb-like ridges of the skull framing his motion.

Her hair, damp with sweat, swayed just within reach. A flick of his wrist. A whisper of steel. The blade caught a single lock, slicing it away with surgical precision. Dark strands drifted into his palm, weightless, a piece of her claimed without her ever knowing. He studied them for a moment—expression unreadable—before tucking them into the folds of his makeshift belt. A keepsake. A marker.

Below him, Y/N shifted, oblivious to how close she had come to the edge of her life. She pushed off from the skull, stretching out her sore muscles before turning. “We’d better keep moving,” she said, her voice even, but tired.

Lee’s arrival had been perfectly timed—though she had no idea how perfectly. He stood a few feet away, flask in hand, smirking beneath the sunburned grime on his face. “Care for a sip?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t alcohol supposed to dehydrate you faster?”

Lee shrugged, tipping the flask toward her. “Probably. But it makes you care a whole lot less.”

She hesitated, then took the flask anyway. The liquid burned a path down her throat, hot and punishing, but she swallowed it without complaint. She handed it back, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. The boneyard stretched behind them, vast and silent, too silent.

“We don’t want to be out here when it gets dark,” she said briskly.

Lee nodded, tucking the flask back into his jacket as they fell into step. The group ahead was just visible now, their silhouettes shrinking against the dying light.

The crunch of bone fragments beneath their boots was the only sound between them. They climbed the rise overlooking the wasteland, and then—Lee froze. He moved fast, stepping onto a rock, rifle raised, the scope pressed tight against his eye. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Y/N felt the shift instantly. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her knife. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer at first. He adjusted the scope, lips pressing into a tight line.

“I thought maybe he’d double back,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “Could be trailing us.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled tight. “And?”

Lee exhaled, lowering the scope. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Left the flask as bait. No bites.” He climbed down, his boots hitting the earth with a crunch. “Guess he’s smarter than that.”

But Lee was wrong. So, so wrong. Back in the shadows of the skull, the truth was different. The flask, once brimming with scotch, now sat empty. Its contents had been poured out—replaced with a handful of coarse, reddish sand. Carefully. Deliberately.

Jungkook crouched deep in the graveyard of bones, his body a seamless part of the ruin, woven into the wreckage of something ancient. The strands of Y/N’s hair were still tucked securely into his belt, their faint scent rising with the heat.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled movements, his fingers adjusting the bone shards strapped across his body like armor. He was a ghost. A specter inside the carcass of a long-dead god. Watching. Waiting. And as the group moved farther away, he smiled.

The spired hills rose like shattered teeth against the sky, jagged and sharp, their edges blurred by the feverish shimmer of heat. The ground cracked beneath the weight of the twin suns, a vast, unrelenting plain stretching between the wreckage and the emptiness beyond.

Beneath the meager shade of a tarp strung between two rusted poles, Daku worked in silence.

Each swing of the pickaxe landed with a dull, defiant thud, the ground resisting him at every turn. This planet didn’t want to give up its dead.

A few yards away, the bodies lay wrapped in scavenged cloth. The makeshift shrouds clung awkwardly, shifting slightly in the breeze, as if reluctant to settle. A corner of one cloth lifted—just enough to reveal the curve of a hand, frozen in stillness—before the wind set it back down, as if even the air knew better than to disturb the dead.

Daku didn’t look at them. He didn’t have to. Their presence pressed against his skin, heavy as the heat, heavy as guilt. He drove the pickaxe into the ground again, his muscles burning, his breath ragged. The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him, twisted metal stark against the sky. It felt farther away than it was, separated by more than just distance.

Movement at the edge of his vision made him pause. Bindi stood in the shadow of the ship, watching. She lifted a hand in a slow, deliberate wave. Daku raised his own in return. A small gesture. Too heavy for what it was. But enough. Then he turned back to the earth.

The ground cracked beneath his next swing, reluctant but yielding. The rhythm of digging gave him something to focus on—something other than the weight pressing at the edges of his mind.

“Daku.”

Bindi’s voice carried across the dead landscape, firm but quiet.

He didn’t stop. “You need something?”

She stepped closer, hands on her hips, her presence solid, steady. “You good out here?”

Daku leaned against the shovel, wiping sweat from his brow. His voice came out rough. Flat. “Depends. How good does digging graves in an oven sound to you?”

Bindi snorted. “You could take a break, you know.”

“They deserve better than that,” Daku muttered. No room for argument.

Bindi didn’t try.

She stood there for a moment, gaze lingering, unreadable. Then she turned and disappeared back into the wreckage, leaving him alone with the dust, the heat, and the dead.

Daku worked until his muscles ached, until his hands blistered, until the trench was deep enough to matter.

Then, finally, he turned to the first body. The cloth fluttered slightly as he crouched beside it. Too light. That was the first thing he noticed. The weight was all wrong, the shape beneath the fabric too empty. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t let it settle. Didn’t let himself think.

He lifted the body carefully, arms straining as he carried it to the grave. Lowered it into the earth like it meant something.

A breath. A pause. The world around him held still, as if watching. He swallowed hard, then reached for the shovel.

The first shovelful of dirt hit with a dull thud. Then another. Then another. The sound of finality. The sound of something being buried that would never be dug up again.

When it was done, he stepped back, brushing dust from his palms. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. The sound of footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Bindi.

“You need help?” she asked.

Daku shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

She didn’t argue. She just stood there with him, both of them framed against the endless, indifferent horizon. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was everything they couldn’t say. Everything they’d lost. Everything they still had left to lose. Daku exhaled, his gaze fixed on the hills in the distance. The sun was sinking, but the heat never left.

“They’ll rest easier now,” Bindi murmured.

Daku tightened his grip on the shovel. “Let’s hope we can say the same for us.”

The canyon yawned ahead, its ribbed spires stretching toward the twin suns like the remains of some ancient beast, clawing at the sky in its final death throes. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth, turning the horizon into something warped and restless. The silence was thick, not the absence of sound, but the kind that pressed in on all sides, heavy with the unshakable feeling that something was watching.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her pack, fingers brushing absently over the worn hilt of her knife as she scanned the terrain. Every step felt heavier, dragged down not just by exhaustion, but by the weight of the stillness.

Ahead, Yeonjun suddenly crouched, his voice low but urgent.

"Captain… Captain!"

Y/N was at his side in seconds, her brow furrowing as she followed his gaze. Half-buried in the dirt was something small and round, coated in dust and split slightly down the middle. At first, it looked like some alien fruit—leathery, weathered, its exposed core stringy and fibrous.

The Chrislams gathered close, murmuring in soft Saramic, their voices tinged with something fragile—hope.

"Could it be food?" one of them asked. "Something edible?"

Y/N brushed the dirt away, fingers tracing the rough, familiar stitching. The realization sank in like a stone dropping into deep water. She lifted it slowly, turning it over in her palm.

Her voice was flat when she spoke. "It’s a baseball."

The murmurs stopped. The small circle of bodies tensed, shoulders tightening, breath catching. The dirt-smudged ball sat in her palm like an artifact from another world. In a way, it was.

Namjoon stepped closer, the usual calm in his eyes sharpening into something watchful. He scanned the canyon’s winding path, his voice measured but weighted.

“We are not alone here, yes?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but her grip on the ball tightened.

Behind her, Lee shifted, his rifle held easy but ready, the sharp cut of his jaw betraying his unease. His fingers brushed the scope, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Never thought we were,” he muttered, the resignation in his tone carrying something else beneath it. Something like readiness.

The canyon widened, opening into a plateau that led toward the spired hills. And there—standing against the base of the jagged rock formations—was a settlement. Or what was left of one.

Rust-streaked shipping containers, stacked into makeshift buildings, leaned into each other like forgotten bones. Tattered sunshades, barely clinging to their rusted poles, flapped weakly in the heated wind, their edges frayed and curling.

The group stopped.

Namjoon moved first, stepping forward with a reverence that didn’t match the decay before them.

"Assalamu alaikum!" Yeonjun called, his voice carrying across the empty space, bouncing off the metal walls.

Nothing. No answer.

Lee peeled off toward a rusted-out moisture-recovery unit, crouching near the battered jugs scattered at its base. He picked one up, shook it. Nothing. Just a hollow rattle of grit inside brittle plastic.

“They ran out,” he said grimly, setting the jug down with finality.

Namjoon’s gaze lingered on the machine, his voice quiet. “Water,” he murmured. “Once, there was water here.”

The pilgrims sank to their knees, hands raised, their voices rising in unison. Allahu Akbar. The sound filled the empty settlement, a prayer swallowed by the bones of a place long past saving.

Y/N watched from the outskirts, the weight of the baseball still heavy in her grip. The prayers filled the space, but they didn’t fill her. Her gaze drifted to the shipping containers. Too still. Too empty. She moved toward one, her steps careful, deliberate. The doors hung crooked, their rusted hinges straining against time. She pushed one open.

Inside, the remains of lives left behind: A tipped-over chair. A rusted lantern. A faint, smeared handprint on the wall.

Y/N dragged her fingers along the broken edge of a table. Her voice was quiet, more to herself than anyone else.

“What happened here?” Lee’s voice, closer than she expected.

“Doesn’t look like they had much of a choice,” he said, gesturing to the scattered jugs, the rusted-out machinery. “This place dried up.”

Namjoon’s voice broke through the weight of the silence. "We search. See what remains."

The group spread out, their movements slow, careful. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken. Y/N turned the baseball over in her hands, a cold certainty settling deep in her chest.

The air inside the structure was stale—not just old, but abandoned. A vacuum where life had once existed and then receded, leaving only the sediment of its passing. The particulate composition of the dust—fine, unbothered—told Y/N that no one had been in here for years.

She stepped forward, careful with her weight distribution, feeling the floor shift just slightly under her boots. Disuse. Wood degradation. Subsurface rot. The building wouldn’t collapse under her, but it was tired.

She cataloged details as she moved—mental notes stacking like research entries in her mind. The table in the center of the room: wooden, refectory-style, approximately two meters in length. Surface dull with oxidized grime. Deep scratches. Cup rings. The wood had absorbed more than just liquid over time—it had absorbed history.

The walls bore framed images—early settlers, hands dirt-streaked and competent, smiling children, a boy gripping a baseball bat. Domesticity in an unrelenting world. A psychological anchor. And yet, they were gone. The structures stood, the ghosts remained, but the people who built them—who bent this world to their will—had vanished.

Where?

Y/N moved deeper inside, her fingertips trailing along the tabletop’s edge. Oil deposits in the grain. Sweat, grease—human residue. She withdrew her hand quickly, as if touching the past too much might make it real again.

She reached for the wall, searching by muscle memory for a switch. “Lights,” she muttered, though she already knew—futility.

Her hand skimmed rough plaster—no switches, no panels. Not even the residual tackiness of adhesive where something had been ripped away. No artificial power grid at all.

Her mind started turning. She moved toward a window, the fabric blackout blinds stiff under her fingers. Why blackouts? She yanked them back, expecting the room to flood with sunlight—

A face stared back. Y/N jerked backward, pulse spiking. Her breath hitched before recognition caught up. Lee. Standing just beyond the glass, his features cut sharp by the exterior glare. He grinned, bemused, almost lazy.

"Try not to get lost in there," he said through the window, voice muffled.

She exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from her muscles. A short, nervous laugh escaped her as she nodded. "Not planning to," she called back.

Lee gave a small wave and stepped away, disappearing into the light. She was alone again. But the silence inside the building had shifted. A creak from behind her.

Y/N pivoted, knife half-drawn, instincts running ahead of her thoughts. Something in the corner caught the light. An orrery.

It sat on a low table, its frame dulled with oxidation but intact. She took a slow, deliberate step forward. The gears inside clicked, stuttered, then began to turn.

The device came to life. Tiny planets, caught in orbits dictated by age-old mechanics, began to move. Uneven. Jerky. The largest celestial body, positioned where a primary sun should be, pulsed faintly—bathed in a perpetual glow.

Y/N stilled. No darkness. Her fingers brushed the frame. "No darkness," she murmured. "No lights, because… no darkness." Her scientific mind caught the pattern before her gut did. Something prickled at the base of her skull. A realization forming too slow to stop the chill crawling up her spine. She turned sharply, stepped back into the sunlight.

The porch creaked beneath her boots, the glare of the twin suns almost too much after the dim interior. She squinted, eyes scanning the barren land for movement.

Then—a flicker. Far out, something glinted. Not naturally. A deliberate reflection. Her breath caught. She moved fast, pushing past a line of laundry still clinging to rusted wire, the faded fabric brushing her arms as she pushed forward.

The glint again. She broke into a jog.The ground crunched beneath her boots, fractured stone and sand shifting as she reached the source— A skiff. Partially buried in the desert’s hungry mouth.

Y/N’s pulse pounded. The fabric wings, tattered and skeletal, flapped weakly in the wind. The hull, sleek despite its damage, bore faded markings—symbols etched by a language older than the ruins around it.

A vessel. A departure. Or an arrival. Her fingers traced the surface—metal, pitted and worn, but solid. Heat radiated from it, even in the already blistering environment. Residual energy storage? Possible thermovoltaic components? Her heart stuttered.

"Allahu Akbar," she whispered, voice trembling between awe and calculation.

She didn’t believe in miracles. But she believed in science. And the science told her one thing: Someone else had been here.

The others caught up within minutes, their footsteps crunching against the fractured ground, but Y/N barely registered them. Her mind was already dissecting, calculating, breaking down the skiff in front of her.

Namjoon reached her first, his approach slow, deliberate—a reverence she couldn’t afford. He placed a hand on the hull, fingers splayed over the scarred metal, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. A prayer. A plea. The Chrislams behind him murmured their own, their voices threading through the air like a quiet current of faith. Y/N wasn’t praying. She was analyzing.

Her fingers traced the hull, mapping out the pitting from sand erosion, the carbon scoring along the intake vents, the microfractures spiderwebbing across the surface. Heat residue. That meant energy retention. That meant—

"Think it’ll fly?" Lee’s voice broke through her thoughts. He stood just behind her, rifle slung loose, his gaze sweeping over the vessel with a mix of hope and skepticism.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head, already formulating possibilities, probabilities, limitations. "I don’t know," she admitted, but the words thrilled her. Not in uncertainty, but in possibility.

Her hands moved instinctively, pushing against the skiff’s frame, testing its stability, density, material integrity. The hull composition felt wrong—light but strong, too smooth to be traditional alloys. Not purely terrestrial. Some kind of composite—low-weight, high-tensile resilience.

The intake vents told her more—angled for atmospheric entry, but the heat scoring was shallow. This thing hadn’t been through a rough descent. It hadn’t crashed. It had landed. Her pulse ticked up, the rush of discovery washing over her, every neuron firing at once.

"This isn’t just wreckage," she muttered under her breath. "It was left here."

Lee frowned. "What are you saying?"

She stepped back, surveying the machine as a whole, not just its parts. "Scorch patterns are too controlled for a crash. The way the sand's drifted against it—it's been here a while, but not long enough for total burial. And the material—" she pressed her palm flat against the hull "—it’s still holding latent heat. That means an energy core. That means—"

Lee caught on before she even finished. His breath left him in a short, sharp laugh. "—it might have power," he finished.

Y/N nodded, her mind already racing ahead. If there was power, there was a chance. The skiff wasn’t just a symbol of escape. It was a machine—a problem to solve, a system to understand, a puzzle begging for hands smart enough to unlock it.

For the first time in too long, she felt the familiar pull—not just survival, not just endurance, but science.

"If we can get inside, if the controls are intact, if we can access the core—" she turned to Namjoon, who was still watching her, still measuring her words against his faith.

"We might not be stuck here after all."

The group fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for the verdict. Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, not in doubt but in determination. For the first time in days, she wasn’t just reacting to survival. She was chasing it.

She looked up, toward the endless stretch of sky. For once, it didn’t feel like a ceiling. It felt like a destination.

Perched atop the ruined ship, Peter reclined in the only way Peter could—utterly unbothered, delicately indulgent, as if this wasteland was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to his standard of living. A toast point rested between two fingers, smeared with glistening caviar, because apparently, nothing—not even being marooned on a hostile planet—could persuade him to lower his standards.

The heat wavered in thick, rippling waves, and yet Peter sat immaculate, his linen trousers untouched by dust, grime, or the creeping dread curling at the edges of reality.

He lifted the toast toward his lips, prepared for the luxury of a bite, when— Scrabbling.

Soft. Imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t listening. A faint, almost instinctual sound. Dirt shifting. Small rocks tumbling. The suggestion of movement.

Peter froze. The toast hovered, suspended between indulgence and survival, as he tilted his head toward the edge of the ship. His sharp gaze narrowed. His hand lowered the toast with slow, deliberate precision onto a neatly folded napkin. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, brushed nonexistent dust from his trousers, and peered over the side.

Nothing. Just the dirt ramp, the heat waves, the small rocks still rolling a little too lazily, as if something—or someone—had climbed up. A muscle ticked in Peter’s jaw.

"This," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with his usual dry sarcasm, "now qualifies as the worst fun I’ve ever had. Stop it."

The wasteland offered no reply. The silence was thick, viscous, wrapping around him, pressing against his skin. The heat crackled off the ship’s hull, and suddenly, the toast and caviar felt obscenely misplaced.

Peter grabbed his war-pick—the ornate, polished relic, absurd in his hands, its weight foreign despite its promise of violence. He descended cautiously, every footstep deliberate, scanning the fractured shadows of the hull.

Still—nothing. His pulse was too fast. He did not like this.

“Leo?” Peter’s voice was low, edged with tension. "Oh, Leo… if this is one of your charming pranks—"

A voice rang out.

“What?”

Peter nearly dropped the war-pick. Leo’s voice was too casual, too far away. That meant—whatever had been up there with him, hadn’t been Leo. Cold certainty locked around Peter’s spine.

His tension sharpened into movement, feet carrying him faster now, deeper into the ship’s fractured belly, where he found Leo and Bindi, elbow-deep in a stubborn storage container, dirt streaking their faces. Both looked up, annoyed.

"Tell me that was you," Peter snapped, his grip tightening on the war-pick.

Leo’s brows furrowed. “Okay, sure, it was me. What’d I do now?”

"You’re assailing my fragile sense of security, that’s what,” Peter shot back. His voice cracked—just slightly—betraying his nerves.

Bindi straightened, her sharp gaze zeroing in. “He’s been right here, mate," she said, unimpressed. "What are you going on about?"

Peter opened his mouth, but— A shadow moved. A flicker across the fractured beams of sunlight slicing through the hull. The three of them froze. The air thickened, pressing in on all sides.

“Daku?” Bindi called, voice tight.

No response.

Leo darted to a narrow crack in the hull, pressing his face to the dusty glass. His breath fogged the surface as his gaze locked onto something.

Daku. Outside, hunched over the graves. Moving slow. Deliberate. Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper. His lips barely moved when he spoke the name they had all been avoiding.

"Jungkook."

Peter went rigid. The war-pick slipped in his sweaty grip. Bindi didn’t hesitate—she ripped the weapon from his hands in one clean motion, her body already moving, her muscles tensed like a spring waiting to snap. Leo followed, boomerang gripped like a lifeline.

The shadows deepened. The air grew heavier. And then—he appeared. Bindi swung first. Her aim was perfect—too perfect. The war-pick sliced through the air— and missed.

“No—!" Leo’s voice cracked. Panic ripped through him.

The man staggered back, arms raised defensively. Not Jungkook. Sunburned skin, blistered raw. A gaunt frame, weak, trembling. He clutched the lever of an emergency cryo-locker, his breath ragged, desperate.

"I thought—" he rasped, voice hoarse. Relief bloomed across his face. His eyes darted over them, hopeful, human, just a survivor—

The gunshot tore through the moment. Louder than the wind, louder than the sky. The bullet hit center mass. Blood sprayed across Bindi’s arm. The man’s body jerked, crumpled. His eyes went wide, confusion etched into his sunburned features before the light in them went out. A single breath. Then silence.

The group turned. Daku stood yards away, pistol still raised. His hands trembled. His chest rose and fell too fast.

"I thought it was him," Daku stammered. His voice cracked, unraveling. "The murdering ratbag. I thought—"

Leo’s face was ashen. His throat bobbed as he whispered, "He was just somebody else."

Daku’s gaze dropped. His hands fell limp at his sides. The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering against the dirt. His knees buckled. His voice—wrecked, broken, crumbling.

“I thought it was him.”

And in the shadows behind the graves Jungkook watched. Still. Calculating. Amused. The goggles over his eyes caught the light, glinting. For a breath, he lingered, his gaze flicking to the breather strapped to Daku’s chest. Assessing. Weighing. Measuring. Then—like smoke he was gone. Leaving behind nothing. Just the echo of his presence and the weight of a mistake they could never take back.

The skiff crouched on the cracked earth like a carcass picked clean by time. Its fabric wings, once sleek and functional, hung in limp surrender, their edges frayed by wind and heat. The sand had already started reclaiming it, creeping up the landing gear, seeping into every exposed seam. Whatever this ship had been, whatever mission had left it here, was long over.

But it still had answers.

Y/N dropped from the cockpit, her boots crunching against the gritty surface below. She straightened, brushing sand off her hands, her mind already unraveling the mystery beneath the wreckage.

“No juice,” she called over her shoulder. Dead cells, fried circuits, a nest of corroded wiring—this thing hadn’t powered on in years.

Lee stood a few yards away, rifle slung over one shoulder in that lazy-but-ready way of his. He was watching her work, but also watching everything else.

“Controls are fried,” she continued, fingers running over the sun-bleached hull, searching. “Wiring’s a mess, but maybe we could adapt—”

“Shut up.”

Lee’s voice was sharp, cutting through her sentence like a blade. His hand came up, commanding silence. Y/N froze. Not because he had spoken—Lee was an ass, and abrupt orders weren’t new—but because of how he had said it.

His entire posture had shifted. The lazy stance was gone. His body was tight, coiled, head tilted slightly—like a wolf catching the scent of something just out of sight. Predator mode. Y/N’s stomach knotted.

“What?” she asked, voice low.

Lee didn’t answer immediately. His eyes swept the horizon, scanning the jagged rock formations, the dunes shifting lazily under the heat. The air around them felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. Like the world itself had paused, waiting for something to happen. Y/N’s fingers drifted toward her knife, her pulse accelerating.

“Like my pistola,” Lee muttered.

Y/N frowned. He was hearing gunfire?

No—not gunfire. Something else. Before she could ask, the silence fractured. A sound—soft, metallic, deliberate. Like a latch being tested. Like steel on steel. Like someone was inside the skiff. Y/N’s grip tightened. She glanced at Lee. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He heard it too.

“From the ship?” she whispered.

“Maybe.” His voice was clipped, low. “Or it could be him.”

Jungkook. The name didn’t need to be spoken aloud—his presence was a constant shadow, thick and inescapable. Even when he wasn’t there, he was. A shiver traced down Y/N’s spine, but she swallowed it. Fear wouldn’t help. Answers would. Her focus snapped back to the skiff.

If she could find a serial number, a registry plate, even a manufacturer’s mark, she could start piecing this together. Where had it come from? Who left it here? And more importantly—what planet were they even on? She ran her hands over the hull, searching.

The paint was stripped, the weathering extreme, but beneath the peeling surface, she spotted a faint etching—small, almost invisible, tucked just beneath the intake vent.

Her pulse spiked. Identification markings. Y/N dropped to her knees, yanking out her multi-tool. The tip of the blade scraped carefully over the surface, clearing away grit and oxidation. There. Her brain moved fast.

“PT-221…” she whispered, deciphering the numbers as they appeared. A familiar format.

“This is a personnel transport skiff.”

Lee glanced toward her, but his focus was still half-outward, scanning the horizon. “That mean anything?”

Y/N exhaled hard, her mind racing.

“PT-series ships were manufactured in the Helion System. Specifically” —she brushed away more dirt—“On Prime. However, this one looks weird. An older model from Aguerra Prime or Earth. I'd sixty years, but there's a lot of copycat rebuilds out there. Depending on where we are, it's unlikely that anyone would leave a ship for sixty years with no plan of retrieving it.”

That meant something huge. If this skiff had been manufactured in the Helion System or any of the others that she mentioned, then it had originated from human-inhabited space. That meant they were somewhere mapped. Somewhere reachable. Which meant—they weren’t lost. Not completely.

“This is good, Lee,” she said, voice breathless with revelation. “If I can get into the onboard system—if the black box is still intact—we might be able to pull location logs. Nav data. Even a distress signal history.”

Lee wasn’t looking at her. His grip had shifted on his rifle, tighter. His jaw clenched. Y/N’s excitement fractured.

“Lee,” She barely whispered it.

He didn’t blink. His face was off. For a second, Y/N thought it was just the heat. The pale sheen on his forehead, the way his fingers flexed against the grip of his rifle—subtle signs of dehydration, maybe, or just the endless tension grinding them all down to bone. But then she really looked.

His breathing was wrong. Not labored, exactly, but uneven, like his body was reacting to something before his brain could catch up. His pupils looked a little blown, his skin too clammy for the dry heat pressing down on them. He was sweating, but not the normal kind. A slow, cold kind. Like someone had just ripped a secret out of his chest.

"Lee." Y/N’s voice dropped an octave, sharp with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name. "What’s wrong?"

No answer. His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched, just once, against the trigger guard. Y/N’s stomach twisted. She barely had time to register it—to react, to decide if she should be worried or just pissed off—before Lee suddenly exhaled hard, shook himself like a man breaking out of a fog.

Then, just like that, his entire expression changed. The tension? Gone. The weird, distant look? Gone. He rolled his shoulders, blinked twice like shaking off a bad dream, then turned toward her with forced nonchalance.

“Sorry—what?” His voice was too normal, too casual, like he hadn’t just short-circuited mid-thought. “Say that again?”

Y/N stared at him. His breath was steadier now. His hand had relaxed on the rifle, no longer clenching like he was waiting for something to spring out of the dark.

But his skin still looked a little too pale under the sunburn. His lips pressed together too tightly. Like he knew she had clocked it. Like he was daring her to push the issue. Y/N narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the skiff. "Nothing important, Lee. Just, you know, information that might actually save our lives."

She dropped to her knees again, blade scraping against the etchings on the hull, scanning for anything else. Serial numbers, flight logs—hell, even a maintenance sticker would help. Something to tell her where the hell this thing had come from. Because if she could figure that out, then maybe she could figure out where the hell they were.

The grave site shimmered under the twin suns, the heat so thick it seemed to press against Daku’s chest with every breath. The ground cracked beneath his boots as he dragged the dead man’s body across the dirt, the sled groaning under the weight.

The sound was grating, a harsh scrape against the silence, but the world swallowed it whole. Daku was alone.

The shipwreck loomed behind him, just out of sight, the sun-tarp sagging under the oppressive weight of dead air. The shade did nothing. It just made the place feel more hollow.

He braced himself, hands on his knees, and tried to ignore the way his lungs felt like sandpaper. Sweat burned down his back, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t stop.

The grave wasn’t deep. Couldn’t be. The ground was fighting him, resisting every strike of the shovel like it didn’t want to give up its dead.

Then he saw it. Something in the dirt. Daku froze. Half-buried at the bottom of the shallow grave, nestled beneath the loose soil, was an opening. Not just a crack in the earth. Not a burrow. Something else. Too smooth. Too deliberate.

He knelt, breath hitching, his fingers brushing over the edges of the hole. The walls were lined with something fibrous, a texture that wasn’t quite plant, wasn’t quite animal. Dried husks, webbed together in intricate layers. Organic, but wrong.

His stomach twisted. He reached for the handlight clipped to his belt, flicking it on. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the tunnel’s slope.

The walls reflected faintly. Not like rock, not like dirt—something else. Something that almost looked wet. Then the smell hit him. Acrid. Chemical. Like something had been burned too clean, stripped too sterile.

Daku tilted the light. The tunnel curved downward, disappearing into a place the light couldn’t reach. And then—it moved. Not the tunnel. Something inside it. A ripple. Small at first. Then again. Daku’s heart slammed against his ribs. At first, it looked like shadow, just the way the light played against the uneven walls.

But then he realized it wasn’t the light moving It was something in the dark. Something that was watching him. Then it lunged.

The edges of the burrow split apart with a wet, tearing sound. Like flesh peeling open. A tendril shot out, fast—too fast. It wrapped around Daku’s wrist, cold, slick, unnervingly strong. Panic detonated through him.

He yanked back instinctively, but the thing was stronger. Its grip tightened, pulling him toward the tunnel. Daku screamed. His free hand fumbled for his pistol, but his fingers couldn’t get a grip. The thing’s skin—if you could call it that—was slick, shifting, like oil trying to hold a shape.

Finally, his hand closed around the gun. He fired. The shot shattered the silence. The muzzle flash lit up the hole for a split second, and in that moment, Daku saw it.

Not just a tendril. Not just something reaching. A mass. It was writhing, growing, expanding from the darkness. Daku fired again, his pulse a drumbeat in his skull. The tendril spasmed, rippling like disturbed water. The grip loosened.

Back at the ship, Peter flinched so hard the toast point in his hand toppled, caviar-first, onto the dusty hull. He stared at it. Then at the horizon. Then back at the toast. Then back at the horizon. His mind scrambled for an answer that didn’t exist.

Leo’s head snapped up, boomerang held tight, his knuckles bloodless against the grip.

“That was a gunshot,” he whispered. Like they needed the reminder.

Bindi didn’t hesitate. She dropped into a crouch, war-pick in hand, her eyes locked onto the grave site. Something had happened. Something bad.

Peter scrambled down the side of the ship, his usual swagger gone.

“Tell me that wasn’t just me,” he said, voice pitched too high. “You heard it, right? I’m not going mad?”

Bindi didn’t even look at him. Her focus was all horizon, all muscle, her expression unreadable.

“Course I bloody heard it.” Her voice was clipped, sharp. “The question is, what are we gonna do about it?”

Leo swallowed hard. “That was Daku, wasn’t it?” His voice cracked. “It has to be him.”

Bindi’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t assume.” Her voice was hard, commanding, no room for argument. She rose from her crouch, grip shifting on the war-pick. “Could be anything,” she said. “Or anyone.” A beat. “We stay sharp.”

Leo’s green eyes flickered with something raw. His grip tightened.

“If it wasn’t him…” His voice was barely audible now. “…Then what?”

Peter opened his mouth, ready to quip, ready to deflect—but the look in Bindi’s eyes stopped him cold. She wasn’t joking. This was real.

He shifted uncomfortably, licking his lips, eyes darting toward the ship. “I’m just saying… maybe we think before running headlong into—” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever that was.”

Bindi cut him off.

“Stay here.” Leo flinched, but Bindi didn’t soften. “If anything moves that isn’t me or Daku,” she said, “you scream like the world’s ending.”

Peter opened his mouth again, but she was already moving, slipping toward the gravesite, war-pick held ready. Leo and Peter watched her go. The heat rippled around her, warping the horizon into something unreal.

Leo exhaled sharply, crouching beside Peter, boomerang in a death grip. “…Do you think it’s him?”

Peter didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His gaze was locked on the grave site. Because something was wrong. He could feel it. Finally, he swallowed, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He glanced toward the horizon, his brow furrowing. “But whatever it is…” His voice dropped. “…It’s close. Too close.”

The second gunshot shattered the graveyard’s silence, the sharp crack tearing through the thick, suffocating heat. The bullet found its mark.

A tendril snapped apart in midair, black ichor spraying outward in a violent arc, sizzling where it struck the dry earth. The air reeked instantly—something acidic, chemical, a stench that clung to the back of Daku’s throat, making his eyes water.

But the thing didn’t stop. The next tendril lashed out, wrapping around his calf before he could react. Then it pulled.

Daku hit the ground hard, his back slamming against the dirt with a dull thud. His breath ripped from his lungs, the wind knocked out of him as he slid toward the gaping burrow.

The thing wasn’t just strong. It was fast. He aimed blind—fired blind, his pistol flashing bright in the gloom. The muzzle flare lit up the nightmare for half a second.

A tangle of limbs. Writhing. Folding in on itself. Not solid. Not liquid. Something in between. The bullets tore through it, but it didn’t bleed right. It shuddered—jerked, rippled like disturbed water—but the tendrils kept coming.

One sliced across his chest, razor-thin but unforgiving, carving deep into his skin. Daku gritted his teeth against the pain, his vision blurring at the edges. His free hand scrambled for purchase, fingers clawing at the dirt, but the earth beneath him was giving way.

The grave was getting deeper. Or maybe he was just getting pulled in. His boots dug into the edge, small rocks tumbling down into the void below. Daku kept shooting, kept fighting, even as his grip weakened.

Another shot. Then—something different. One bullet hit deep. Not just flesh. Something inside it. The thing jerked back for a split second, a violent convulsion rolling through its mass.

Daku felt a spark of hope. But hope never lasted long on this planet. The creature lurched forward with renewed fury, its remaining tendrils snapping around his arms, his waist, his throat.

Everything constricted at once. His lungs spasmed. His vision narrowed. The last scream he tried to release died before it even left his throat.

His gun slipped from his fingers, tumbling into the abyss. Daku was going under. The ground crumbled beneath him. His boots skidded, slipped- Then he was gone. Yanked down. Swallowed whole.

The grave collapsed inward. The dirt settled. The sled sat untouched, its cargo neatly stacked, as if nothing had happened at all.

Overhead, the twin suns burned on. Their heat didn’t care. Their light reached everywhere. Except down there.

Deep in the burrow’s black throat, something shifted. The sound was wet, sickly, like flesh being pulled apart and put back together again. The darkness pressed down, thick and suffocating, as something dragged itself deeper. The creature retreated, its tendrils folding inward, pulling Daku’s motionless body into the abyss.

Deeper. Deeper. The light from the surface faded to nothing. The planet consumed him whole. And the silence that followed was final.

The ground burned through Bindi’s boots, the heat relentless, but she didn’t feel it. She sprinted across the packed, unforgiving earth, her breath tearing from her throat in ragged gasps. The twin suns bore down, their light merciless, the air thick and smothering, clinging to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer.

The makeshift sun-tarp came into view, its edges flapping against the crooked poles, the sound barely a whisper over the thunder in her chest.

She felt it before she saw it. Something was wrong. Bindi skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The world tilted slightly, her stomach dropping as she yanked the fabric aside—

And froze. Jungkook was standing there. Still. Silent. Waiting.

He was on the far side of the grave, body eerily relaxed, one hand hanging loosely at his side. In it, a bone-shiv. The blade gleamed faintly, catching the light in a way that shouldn’t have felt threatening—but did.

He didn’t flinch at her arrival. Didn’t step back. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, the slight tilt of his head the only indication that he even acknowledged her presence.

His goggles hid his eyes, but Bindi felt them—felt the weight of his stare like a blade against her ribs. Her gaze dropped and her lungs locked. The grave was empty.

The sled overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt like the remnants of a struggle. Blood smeared the earth, thick, dark, soaking into the fractured ground.

And at the bottom of the pit, something worse. A hole. No—a burrow.

Its edges weren’t normal, weren’t clean or mechanical or natural. The fibrous lining trembled, quivering like raw nerve endings, as if the planet itself had breathed a wound open.

Bindi’s body went cold, even as sweat stung her eyes.

She saw it then- Daku’s boot. Just the boot. Lying a few inches from the grave’s edge. Torn. Scuffed. One lace half-untied, like he’d been dragged right out of it.

Her scream tore through the air. "Daku!" Her voice broke, raw, desperate. "DAKU!" The grave swallowed the sound.

Jungkook still hadn’t moved. The silence around him was louder than her cries, pressing down like a living thing.

Bindi’s hand tightened around the war-pick, both hands now clutching it as though it could anchor her, keep her from falling into the same void. Her chest heaved, her throat aching from the scream, but her rage cut through the fear like a blade through flesh.

Her voice shook, but her fury didn’t. "What did you do?"

Jungkook tilted his head, lips barely twitching. A smirk. Or maybe not. Maybe just a reflex, something almost human, but Bindi knew better. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge the accusation.

Her gaze snapped back to the grave—the blood, the torn earth, the quivering maw of the burrow. Something else had been here. Something alive. Something that wasn’t Jungkook.

Her breath hitched, the pieces snapping together in her mind with the speed of pure, visceral instinct. "What is down there?"

It wasn’t a question for him—it was a question for herself. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low, measured, almost curious.

"Not me."

The words crawled under her skin. Her legs weakened. The hole at the bottom of the grave pulsed faintly. Bindi felt it. Like it was waiting.

Jungkook flicked his head toward the burrow—a gesture so small, so deliberate, it made her stomach lurch. He wasn’t explaining himself. He was telling her to look. Telling her to understand.

Her fingers tightened around the war-pick’s handle. And then—she broke. Her scream ripped from her throat, raw and violent.

"Liar!"

The word shook the air. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. He just turned. His body moved fluidly, like an animal slipping back into the shadows, a creature untouched by morality, by fear, by regret. And he walked away.

Bindi stood there, breathing hard, hands shaking, staring at the grave like it might come alive beneath her feet. It already had. And whatever had taken Daku was still there.

Waiting. Watching. Hungry. Her chest heaved, her grip white-knuckled on the war-pick. The silence returned, heavier now, an oppressive weight of knowing. And she thought, for the first time, that maybe the real question wasn’t what happened to Daku. Maybe the real question was— How much time did they have left before it came back for them too?

Jungkook ran.

His body moved like liquid through rock, weaving through the towering spires that clawed at the sky like the fossilized ribs of some ancient, long-dead colossus. The terrain twisted violently, sharp-edged canyons and jagged drops designed to kill the unskilled, but Jungkook flowed through them without hesitation. Every step was measured, every movement deliberate, his muscles adjusting instinctively to the unpredictable ground beneath him.

The planet breathed heat and silence, thick and watchful, as if the land itself was waiting for the inevitable collision between predator and prey.

The boots behind him never stopped. Lee was close. His footsteps were methodical, unhurried despite the speed, a hunter keeping his quarry exactly where he wanted it. Then—

CRACK.

A gunshot split the air, shattering the fragile quiet. Jungkook felt it before he registered the pain—a sharp, white-hot kiss slicing across his shoulder. The impact sent him off balance, his body crashing into the ground in a violent sprawl.

Dust exploded around him, thick and blinding. He tumbled, skidding hard, his skin tearing against the brutal terrain. His lungs seized, inhaling grit as his momentum carried him forward—too fast, too out of control—until his body came to a bone-rattling stop.

Jungkook braced, muscles tensed to spring back up, keep moving, keep running— He never got the chance.

A boot slammed onto the back of his neck. Hard. Hard enough to rattle his teeth. The force drove him down, his face pressing into the burning dirt, the rough grit scraping against his cheek. His fingers twitched, instinct clawing at his spine, screaming at him to fight, fight, fight, but the weight was unrelenting.

Lee. Jungkook didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to see the satisfied smirk he knew was on the bastard’s face. Didn’t need to hear his smug, infuriating drawl to know exactly what was coming next.

“Same crap, different planet, huh?”

Jungkook’s breath came shallow and steady, his muscles coiled like a trap waiting to spring. The heat of the twin suns pressed against his exposed skin, but it wasn’t what burned.

Lee leaned in, his boot grinding just a little harder against Jungkook’s spine. “You’re fast. I’ll give you that.” A casual chuckle, like they were discussing the weather and not locked in a decades-long, vicious game of hunt-or-be-hunted. “But you should’ve figured it out by now—” He bent closer, his breath warm against the back of Jungkook’s neck. “You can’t outrun me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his breath still even, controlled. Lee wasn’t invincible. No one was.

Lee shifted slightly, his shotgun gleaming in the sunlight, still pointed directly at Jungkook’s skull. “I’ll admit,” he continued, his voice dropping to something almost amused, “for a second there, you almost had me. Thought you might actually make it.” A pause. A beat of silence, stretching taut. “But here we are.” Lee sighed dramatically, pressing just a little more weight into his hold. “Same story, different setting.”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched against the dirt. His mind moved faster than his body, calculating every shift in weight, every possible angle to escape. Lee was underestimating him. Not enough to be careless—not yet—but enough to assume this was over.

Jungkook tested the pressure against his neck, shifting just slightly. Lee noticed. The boot pressed down. Hard.

“Don’t,” Lee warned, voice dropping into a growl.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, forcing his body to still, to wait, to let Lee think he’d won. His lips twitched. A fraction of a smile. Lee’s grip on the gun tightened, the movement subtle—a hunter sensing the shift in the air, the moment before a predator strikes.

He leaned down, close enough that Jungkook could feel the smirk in his voice. “Go on,” he whispered. His breath was warm. His tone was taunting. “Try something. I dare you.”

Jungkook’s body went still. Too still. The silence stretched unnatural and tight, buzzing with something unspoken, unreadable. Lee frowned slightly. Jungkook smiled.

By the time Y/N and the Chrislams stumbled back into the settlement, the twin suns hung low and merciless, stretching shadows across the cracked earth like skeletal fingers reaching for something they could never quite grasp.

And then she saw him. Jungkook. Sprawled in the dirt. His wrists shackled, his body wrecked.

One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing the swollen ruin of his right eye, a bruise blooming deep and dark beneath the glass. Blood caked his face, dried in jagged streaks along his jaw, pooling at the corner of his split lip. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths—the kind that meant he was keeping himself from making a sound, from showing weakness.

The dirt beneath him was stained with sweat and blood, mixing into the dust like he was being absorbed into the planet itself. And standing over him, fists still trembling, was Lee.

His knuckles were raw, his breathing sharp, his entire body locked tight like a spring stretched too far, too long. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t even speaking. Just watching. Waiting. Y/N felt the violence in the air before she heard it.

Lee’s voice came low and razor-sharp. "I don’t play that." His fists clenched again, his jaw tightening like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will. "I don’t play that, so just try again." His breath was heavy, sharp, every word weighted with rage barely kept in check. “C’mon, Jungkook. Tell me a better lie.”

Y/N moved without thinking. She grabbed Lee’s arm, yanking him back hard. "Ease up!" she snapped, her voice slicing through the oppressive silence. The moment her hand connected, she felt how hot he was—burning with anger, with exertion. His pulse hammered beneath his skin, barely contained.

Lee didn’t turn to her. Didn’t move. And then—Bindi screamed. It was raw, guttural, the kind of sound that didn’t just come from the throat—it came from the bones, from the marrow, from something breaking inside.

She lunged.

Her fist hit Jungkook’s jaw so hard his head snapped sideways, blood spattering from his already-battered lip. His body didn’t even flinch, like he had already been beaten past the point of feeling it. Y/N reacted instantly, throwing herself between them, shoving Bindi back with both hands.

“Bindi! Stop!” she shouted, struggling to hold her back.

Bindi fought against her grip, her whole body shaking, tears streaking clean paths through the dirt on her face.

"You bloody sick animal!" she screamed, her voice splintering. "What’dja do with my Daku?"

Jungkook didn’t answer. Didn’t even lift his head. His expression was eerily blank, his face tilted just enough that one shattered lens reflected the fading light like a dying star. Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She turned to Lee, eyes blazing. “Where’s Daku?” she demanded. “What the hell happened out here?”

Lee finally looked at her. His expression was unreadable—too tight, too locked down. His fists unclenched slowly, like it was taking all his effort not to hit something else. With a sharp nod, he gestured toward Jungkook.

“Ask him.”

Y/N dropped to a crouch beside Jungkook, her voice shifting—softer, but no less urgent.

“Jungkook,” she said, staring at the wreck of his face, at the mess of blood and sweat and silence. “What happened to Daku?”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell, slow and even, like he was holding on to the only thing he could still control. Then, finally—he lifted his head. His cracked lips parted. But all that came out was a rasping sound. Low. Broken. Like the faint whisper of someone who had screamed themselves hoarse.

His eyes flicked to the horizon. To the jagged spires looming in the distance. Then back to her. His lips moved again. A single word, barely audible.

"Gone."

The world tilted. Bindi let out a choked sob, her legs buckling as she sank to the dirt. Lee’s jaw locked, his knuckles going white as his fingers tightened on the stock of his rifle. Y/N’s stomach plummeted. The weight of Jungkook’s answer pressed down on all of them, thick as smoke, suffocating.

She swallowed hard. Forced the words out. "Gone where? What do you mean gone?"

But Jungkook didn’t answer. His head tipped forward, his chin resting against his chest, his entire body folding in on itself like the fight had finally bled out. Like there was nothing left. Like he had already decided—whatever happened next wasn’t up to him anymore.

Y/N and Lee stood at the edge of the grave, their shadows stretching long over the ruined earth. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, the kind that only came after something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

The scene was a crime scene without a body, a massacre without a corpse. Blood streaked the dirt in wild, erratic patterns, like the desperate brushstrokes of a painter losing control. The grave itself was a wreck, its edges collapsed inward, as if the ground had been alive when it happened, twisting, convulsing, devouring.

Nearby, Daku’s sled lay overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt—a mess of supplies, tangled cables, a crushed water jug. A single boot, scuffed and worn, sat half-buried in the dust, the laces flapping lazily in the wind. But Daku was gone.

Not a body. Not a single trace of him. Just this. This wreckage of struggle and silence. At the bottom of the grave, the hole yawned open, its edges lined with something fibrous and strange, something that looked almost… organic. It pulsed faintly in the breeze, like the twitch of a dying thing.

Y/N swallowed hard. It didn’t look natural. Nothing about this looked natural.

Beside her, Lee crouched, his sharp eyes scanning the ground like he was reading a language only he understood. In his hands, the bone-shiv gleamed, its smooth, curved edge catching the last slivers of dying sunlight. He turned it slowly, letting the light skim its surface, watching how it reflected in sharp, fleeting flashes.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “He used that?” she asked, her voice low but tight. She didn’t know what answer she wanted.

Lee didn’t look up. Just kept turning the shiv over, like it was some kind of sacred artifact. “Sir Shiv-a-Lot,” he muttered, dry and detached. “He likes to cut.”

The words settled like poison in her gut.

“So why isn’t it bloody?” she pressed, her voice sharper now, her eyes flicking between the blade and Lee’s unreadable face. “If Jungkook did this—if he killed Daku—then where’s the blood?”

Finally, Lee looked at her. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, but there was no humor in it—just something cold and bitter, something dark sitting behind his eyes.

“Maybe he licked it clean.”

The joke hit like a slap. Unwanted. Cruel. Y/N recoiled slightly, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. She turned away from the grave, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, her breath uneven. The wind picked up, whipping dust around them, as if the planet itself was shifting, restless.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. “None of this does.”

Lee stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, slipping the shiv into his belt. He glanced down at the grave one last time, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark.

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” he said, his tone flat, emotionless. He turned to her, his silhouette washed out against the light. “It’s just supposed to scare the hell out of you.”

The cabin felt too small. Too damn small. The walls creaked, thick with heat and the weight of unspoken things. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and the faint, metallic tang of rusted iron—or maybe that was just him.

Jungkook was slumped against the wall, his shackled hands resting lazily in his lap. His dark hair was damp with sweat, half-hiding the wreck of his face. One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing a swollen eye already blooming in shades of deep purple and red. Blood stained the cut of his jaw, a slow, sluggish trickle from his split lip. He looked like hell.

But he looked at her. And that was what made Y/N hesitate for half a breath too long. She stormed in, boots hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the metal beneath them. She was pissed. But more than that—she wanted answers.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the thick, suffocating air.

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his stillness was a lie. The tension was there, coiled beneath the surface like a blade waiting to strike.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, stepping closer, her fists clenching. “You told them you heard something right before it happened. What was it?” Her jaw tightened. “Talk, or I’ll let Lee finish what he started.”

Something dark flickered across Jungkook’s face—a twitch of amusement, a shadow of something cruel. And then, in a voice roughened by exhaustion and something else, something deeper, he rasped,

“You mean the whispers?”

Y/N frowned. “What whispers?”

Jungkook’s busted lip curled into something feral. Dangerous. Amused.

“The ones that tell you where to cut,” he murmured. His voice was so casual it made her skin crawl. “Left of the spine. Fourth lumbar down. That’s the sweet spot.” He smiled, slow and lazy, like a man reciting a bedtime story. “Gusher. Every time.”

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t let him see that he’d rattled her. Because that’s what he wanted.

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Just stop.”

Jungkook didn’t. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded like this was all one big joke. “Metallic taste, you know.” His voice was silk stretched thin over barbed wire. “Human blood. Coppery. But add a little peppermint schnapps…” He dragged his tongue over his split lip, smirking when her expression didn’t change. “Almost palatable.”

Y/N clenched her teeth. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the sweat and iron on his skin. He was playing with her. She wasn’t in the mood.

“Why don’t we skip the theatrics and try the truth?” she said coldly.

For a moment, Jungkook just watched her. His smirk softened—not gone, but different now. Something quieter. Something that almost looked like… regret.

“You’re all so scared of me,” he said softly. “Most days, I’d call that a compliment.” His voice was low, nearly lost to the hum of the ship. “But today…” His jaw ticked, his fingers flexing against the cuffs around his wrists. “Today, I’m not the monster you need to be worried about.”

Something in her chest pulled tight.

She took a step closer. “Take off the goggles.”

Jungkook went still. “No.”

Y/N didn’t wait for permission. She reached out and yanked them from his face, snapping the broken strap with a sharp crack. The goggles hit the floor.

Jungkook flinched, like she’d stripped away something vital. Then his eyes opened. Y/N froze.

His pupils were wide, swallowing the dim light. But it was the color that stopped her breath. A ring of shifting hues, flickering between deep emerald and burning amethyst, like oil-slicked glass catching fire. It was mesmerizing. Unnatural. Beautiful.

Her voice came out lower than she expected. “You did this to yourself?”

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. “Slam doctor.” He tilted his head. “That’s what we called him.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ve heard about it. Never seen it.”

“Lucky you.”

His lips curled, but the smirk didn’t reach those strange, hypnotic eyes. “You’re locked in max-slam. Barely any light. Your eyes feel like they’re burning out of your skull.” He flicked a glance toward the slats of light bleeding through the metal walls. “Some back-alley butcher says, ‘Hey, I can fix that.’” His voice dropped, mocking. “And then you end up here. Three suns frying you alive. Makes you wish for the dark.”

Y/N folded her arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jungkook’s smirk sharpened. “You gotta laugh, sweetheart. Otherwise, you cry. And crying makes you thirsty.” He tapped his temple with one shackled finger. “Pro tip for desert living.”

Y/N let out a slow breath. “You killed before. You don’t deny that. But this one? Daku? You expect me to believe you didn’t?”

Jungkook went still. For a fraction of a second, something cracked in his expression. Then, it was gone—buried beneath that infuriating smirk.

“No, ma’am,” he said smoothly. “Not this time.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Then where is he?”

Jungkook leaned forward, just enough for the heat between them to become noticeable. The chains at his wrists rattled softly, but his focus was all on her. “Look deeper,” he murmured.

The way he said it—low, deliberate, dripping with something she didn’t like—sent a cold, involuntary shiver down her spine.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, studying her like he was measuring how much she could take before she broke. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—a voice that sent her stomach twisting with something she didn’t want to name—he said, “Wrong questions.”

She swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook sat back, his expression unreadable. Deadly.

“Daku ain’t the only one who’s not where he’s supposed to be,” he said softly. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

A chill slid down her spine. His words settled in her chest like a loaded gun.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook tilted his head, his bruised lips curling slightly. “You’ll see.” His voice was calm, certain, almost amused. And then—softer, darker, almost like a promise: “And when you do? You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

© chimcess, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin

[itsonlyjoseph]

Make Me Bleed || Eddie Munson x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N wants to find a way to thank Eddie

Warnings: some angst

Word count: 4.3k

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Part 1

You had been trying to wrap your head around the interaction with Eddie all day, the next day. You hadn’t yet listened to the Walkman Eddie gave you or the tape he left with it.

You wanted to, but you were nervous. Nervous for what exactly, you weren’t sure. But nervous nonetheless. At school, you had planned to leave a note in Eddie’s locker, asking to speak privately with him. You were going to say thank you for replacing your Walkman but that you needed to know why he hated you so much. But he wasn’t at school. Again.

You wanted to ask Eddie’s friends but they were even scarier than he was so that was out of the question.

You decided to cut your losses and just forget out it until you saw him.

Later that day, after school, you were laying on her bed, curled up like a fetus with your headphones over your ears and Eddie’s Walkman sitting next to you.

You were listening to the tape he gave you as well.

It definitely wasn’t your kind of music, but in a weird you kind of liked it. Kind of like Eddie. He was the same. You just couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

By the time Saturday came around, you hadn’t seen Eddie in a few days.

You knew that he played guitar in a heavy metal band because gossip flew around the school like crazy, plus you’d seen him carrying a guitar case out of the Hideout once.

You were probably way out of line but you decided to best course of action was to go watch him play tonight and then hope to speak to him afterwards. It was probably a bad idea for many reasons. You had no idea if Eddie would even give you the time of day and the bar was pretty sketchy on a good day.

It almost 9 pm when you decided to get ready and cycle over. You didn’t really dress up. This was just meant to be a conversation and a quick thank you for the Walkman. Nothing else.

You’d arrived at bar almost 40 minutes later. The street was dark and dungy and there were some questionable people around. Most older, tatted biker dudes and a plenty of old groupies that would have been beautiful 25 years ago.

Walking in, the air was stale and smokey, making it hard to see and navigate around. The bar was decently packed as well. After all, the Hideout was the only bar in town that allowed all kinds of people in. It definitely didn’t discriminate the way some of the nicer cocktail bars in town did.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. It was obvious you didn’t belong here and it was obvious that your anxiety levels were through the roof.

You saw the stage. It was small and covered in carpet and had a lonely drum set and amps and guitar stands but no band members. You had no idea if Eddie even played on Saturdays but you figured you’d take your chances since the last time you saw him outside the bar, was a Saturday.

You excused yourself to no one in particular and tried to find the bathroom to freshen up and try to loosen your mind.

It was covered in graffiti and stickers and the mirrors were cracked but it offered some muffled silence. Looking in the mirror, your anxiety’s were sky rocketing. You didn’t dress like the people here or do your hair and makeup like them. You looked like a sheep amongst wolves, and it felt like they were waiting to tear you apart.

Walking back out into the main bar area, you decided to just go home. You’d never felt more out of place and suddenly your plan was sounding more and more stupid.

As you walked out towards the front door, you noticed that the band was making their way onto the stage. Eddie’s curly hair caught your eye and you stopped in your tracks. He wasn’t smiling or anything but he seemed for relaxed that usual. He seemed at peace.

The band started playing and Eddie lost himself in the music. And he was good. Very good. He was so good that he probably could’ve been a professional or famous.

They played several more songs as the night wore on and granted, it wasn’t your kind of music but you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. His bangs stuck to his forehead and his arms glistened with sweat.

It was making you question why you came here.

It almost 2 am when they finish up their set. You didn’t realise just how much time had passed until you looked at your wristwatch. The crowd cheered as the band members made their way off the stage.

Now that the prospect of talking to Eddie was getting closer, you decided to test your luck at bar and order a shot just to calm yourself. You hadn’t really ever had alcohol besides a few sips of your dad’s beer and half a wine at Christmas.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked. He could probably tell you were underage just from your body language but something told you this wasn’t the establishment that cared too much.

“Uh, just a shot of… uh..” you tried to squint your eyes at the shelf behind him. “Uh, that one.” You said pointing to a miscellaneous bottle of clear liquid.

The bartender chuckled humourlessly before grabbing the bottle and pouring a shot to place in front of you.

“Here, first one’s on the house.”

“Oh, well then I want another.” You said, quickly downing the shot. It burned more than you thought it would and tasted terrible.

You slapped a five dollar bill on the bar and downed the second shot. That one burned even more than the first one.

Considering you’d never really had alcohol before, definitely not like that, you felt a little dizzy. And hot. This wasn’t a nice feeling and why people actually did this for fun, you didn’t understand.

You saw Eddie’s mop of hair walked over to him. He was turned to you, chatting to someone with a beer in his hand when you tapped his shoulder. Eddie turned, ready to tell whoever to fuck off. He didn’t expect to turn around and see you standing before him.

“Y/N?” Eddie muttered, confused to see you.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, Eddie’s large hand gripped around your elbow and yanked you into the hallway that lead to the bathroom. It was significantly quieter with far less people.

“What the hell are you doing here? This isn’t the kind of place you should be.” He said, clearly frustrated.

“Uh, I wanted to see you.” You mumbled, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Eddie paused for a moment.

“Why?” He questioned.

“I wanted to speak to you. I-I didn’t really get a chance to say thank you for apologising and for-for the Walkman.”

“Yeah, well you just did so leave.” He huffed.

“Why did you? You didn’t have to give that to me. I was gonna save up for a new one.”

It almost seemed like Eddie didn’t know what to say. Like he didn’t know the answer himself.

“Thank you, though.” You said. You figured Eddie wouldn’t say anything else.

“That’s the only reason you came here?” He asked and you nodded.

“Uh, I guess I’ll go now. You played really great. I recognised some songs from that tape you gave me.”

As you turned to leave, Eddie called out to you one more time.

“You don’t have a car.” He said to which you simply shook your head. “So you rode that bike here?”

You said nothing.

“You can’t ride your bike home at this hour. Especially not in this part of town.”

You hadn’t thought about that but he was right. Biking home after work was scary enough, let alone at almost 3 am.

“Oh, uh, I’ll be okay. I can’t really call my dad. He’d kill me if he knew I was here.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“It’s okay Eddie, you should stay with your friends.”

“No, I’ll drive you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

What Eddie had said made your tummy drop. You didn’t really know if he meant here or just in general but you chose not to question it.

You followed Eddie out to the parking lot. It was still warm enough and there was a light breeze in the air.

Eddie drove a van, you knew that much.

“Wait, I thought your uncle said you lost your license again?”

“Like that’s ever stopped me.” Eddie mumbled, opening the passenger door for you.

Once you were sat in the van, Eddie stopped and looked at you. “Listen, just stay here for a sec. I need to get my guitar and then I’ll take you home. Okay?”

“Okay.” You smiled softly. He didn’t return it.

Eddie walked off, back inside the bar and you sat back, taking a breath.

The alcohol was wearing off and the fatigue was setting in. You never stay up this late and felt your eyelids getting heavier and heavier until you drifted off into a relaxing slumber.

Eddie returned moments later and loaded his guitar into the back of the van, making his way into the drivers seat.

“Okay, so where do you li-“ Eddie began to say but stopped himself when he saw your eyes closed and your lashes gently resting against your cheeks. Gentle snores were coming from your mouth and Eddie couldn’t bring himself to wake you up.

He didn’t have enough gas to just drive around until you woke up and he didn’t want to sleep in the van so he did the only thing he could think of.

He took you to his place.

He wasn’t sure how you’d react when you woke up in the morning but he’d try his best to not scare you off.

It wasn’t long until he pulled up to the trailer park, parking next to Wayne’s truck.

Eddie opened the passenger door and took a deep breath, hoping you could chew him out later. He unclipped your seatbelt and picked you up bridal style, carrying you up the steps and into the unlocked trailer.

Wayne was inside, snoozing on the couch. He didn’t work weekends and took that as an opportunity to actually sleep at nighttime.

Eddie carried you down the hallway and into his bedroom, careful not to hit your head on the door frame, and gently placed you down on his unmade bed.

You unconsciously curled up into the pillow as your mouth fell open, those gentle snores coming back. Eddie looked down at you and sighed. He really was sorry for all the things he’s said to over the years. He probably didn’t mean them. Or maybe he did and he’s just a terrible person. It wouldn’t surprise him. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.

Eddie knew that it wouldn’t be right to sleep in the bed next to you, especially without your knowledge, so he wondered over to his desk and sat down. He probably would’ve slept on the couch if Wayne wasn’t out there. Eddie felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier until he laid his head down on the desk and drifted off to sleep. Luckily for him, it wasn’t the comfiest sleeping position so he was tossing and turning all night, meaning he woke up before you when the sun was out.

He lifted his head with a groan, his neck feeling much tighter than the night before.

Eddie turned and looked over at you, laying in his bed sound asleep. You looked so peaceful and calm to him. His mind once again went to all the nasty things he’s ever said and done to you over the years.

He got from his desk and left the bedroom. Wayne was up when Eddie got into the kitchen. Making a cup of coffee, ready to head out to the porch for his morning cigarette.

“What’s wrong with you?” Wayne mused when he saw the tired, stiff look on Eddie’s face.

“Didn’t sleep good.” He mumbled.

“Why not?”

“Because my bed is occupied.” He deadpanned, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Wayne stopped what he was doing and turned slightly to look at the back of Eddie’s head.

“By who?”

“Just a girl from school.”

Wayne’s eyebrows raised as he turned fully to face Eddie. Eddie has never mentioned a girl before and has never even mentioned being interested in one.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Eddie huffed, angrily.

Wayne put his hands up in mock surrender at Eddie’s abrasiveness. “Okay, okay, just make sure you’re being safe.”

“It’s not like that!” Eddie raised his voice. Wayne knew Eddie had a bit of an anger problem. He inherited that from his father. He also knew that Eddie had trouble expressing his emotions.

“Then… what’s it like?” Wayne pressed, curious.

“It’s like… I don’t know! It’s not like anything!”

“Okay, Eddie.” Wayne said, walking to the front door as Eddie went back to his bedroom.

Sometime during the night, Eddie managed to remove his shirt. The trailer was always so hot at night that it was almost impossible to sleep in clothes unless it was winter time.

He didn’t have the heart to wake you up just yet, enjoying this foreign feeling of peace for the moment. He opened up his window and sat under it, at the end of the bed. Leaning against the wall, he lit a cigarette and felt the breeze from outside float through his hair.

Eddie was half way through his cigarette when you began to stir in your sleep. He looked over and saw your eyes opening gently. And he got nervous. Would you yell at him for bringing you here?

“What time is it?” Your gentle sleep filled voice the room, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Uh, around 7.”

“I guess I fell asleep before you could take me home.” You mumbled sheepishly.

“Yeah, I, uh, didn’t wanna’ wake you.” Eddie stubbed out his cigarette.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I bombarded you at your hang out spot and then took up the rest of your night.” You muttered.

“It’s okay.”

“You seemed… mad that I was there.”

“I just didn’t expect to see you in a place like that.”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie huffed, as if the laugh humourlessly. “Full of bad people, though.” Eddie looked up at you and suddenly liked the way you looked sitting in his bed with messy hair and sleep in your eyes. “Why do you think I’m there?” He tried to joke. Key word being tried.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Eddie.” You said softly.

“You’d be the first.” He mumbled so quietly you barely even heard it.

You moved out of the bed to sit on top of the covers, only a few feet of space between you and Eddie.

“Actually, there was another reason I came to see you last night.”

Eddie looked up from his hands when you moved closer.

“I wanted to ask you… why don’t you like me? What did I do?” You asked and Eddie saw the saddest in your eyes.

Eddie let out a shallow breath and looked down at his hands again.

“I don’t know.” He said softly.

You gulped and felt a pit in your stomach at that.

“Oh, um… did I do anything?”

“You’re happy… have a good dad.” Eddie was ashamed but he didn’t want to lie.

“Ya know Eddie, despite what Principle Higgins said to you, that doesn’t have to be your life. You could do anything.”

“Yeah like what?” Eddie spoke at a normal volume this time, his voice holding a frustrated edge. “Go off and be a doctor or a lawyer and marry some girl from the right side of town, have a bunch kids with a white picket fence? Huh?” Eddie was getting angrier now. He’d rose off the bed and was standing now. “You think there’s anything in the cards for me that’s not prison or something very similar?”

As Eddie paced around his bedroom, spitting out horrible things about himself, you suddenly realised why Eddie was the way he was. He was scared. He was scared because he knew what his life would be. He knew that his fathers influenced affected him. He needed someone to tell him that he wasn’t his father. He didn’t someone to care about.

“Ugh!” Eddie huffed and growled, frustrated. He drug his palms into his eyes and gripped the hair at his hairline.

You got up from the bed and walked over the Eddie, gripping his wrists gently and pulling them from his eyes. He flinched slightly at the contact.

“It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t know how your life is gonna turn out. It doesn’t have to be like that.” You said softly as you looked up at him.

Eddie stared down at you with his eyebrows furrowed. His expression was once again unreadable but he didn’t try to remove his wrists from your hands. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, not knowing what to say so he just kept staring at you.

Suddenly, a gentle knock came, breaking you both out of each others gaze.

“Eddie, I’m g- oh Y/N, hi.” Wayne said, opening the Eddie’s bedroom door. Look on his face showed that he was confused by the situation.

“Hi Wayne.” You smiled sweetly at him.

“Uh, I’m heading into town so I’ll be back later. Do you two need anything?” Wayne asked. He couldn’t help the smile on his face. He figured his nephew was probably gonna start dating or hooking up with people soon if not already. He was a teenager after all. With Eddie’s personality and attitude, Wayne was nervous that the first girl he picked up would be some easy bimbo that would wind up pregnant and he’d be a teen dad, so when Wayne saw that it was you standing in Eddie bedroom with him, he was elated.

“Okay.” Eddie answered him, his face hard.

“Nice to see you, sweetheart.” Wayne nodded at you, closing the door.

“Listen, Y/N, you don’t have to waste your breath on me. I know what’s gonna happen to me and so do you. Just drop it.” Eddie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, finally breaking away from your grip. “Besides, girls like you shouldn’t hang around with guys like me.”

“I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t believe it, Eddie. I really believe you can do anything.” You said, sitting beside him on the bed. You were closer than you’d ever been.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes you do.” You reaffirmed as you took his hand. Eddie had never really felt his close to someone before. It made his spine tingle. The physical contact, plus the words of affirmation made him feel things he didn’t like. “You deserve everything.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Eddie mumbled, looking right at you.

Tingles ran down your spine at his words. You were confused. You thought he didn’t like you.

“Do you-do you want me?” You were scared of the answer but wanted to know so badly.

Eddie huffed. “Doesn’t matter.”

Before you could respond or even process what he has said, Eddie stood up and walked to the door.

“I’ll get your bike out of my van.”

Once you were alone, you breathed deeper than you has all morning. You wanted to know what Eddie meant but you didn’t want to push him or annoy him.

You walked out of Eddie’s trailer to see your bike leaning against the steps and Eddie’s van gone, him nowhere in sight.

You cycled home and felt conflicted. What did Eddie mean? Did he hate you or not? Did he want you like that? Did you want him like that?

When you got home, your dad was out in the garage, working on his car. You ditched your bike near the garage door and walked up to him.

“Hey dad, what are you doing?” You asked.

“Oh, hi pet. Where were you last night?” You dad said as he looked up.

“With a friend.” You offered.

“Oh, okay. I’m just trying to fix this damn timing belt.” He chuckled.

You gulped. “Dad, can I ask you something.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asked without looking away from the cars engine.

“It’s about a boy.” You mumbled. That made your dad look up.

“What about it?”

“Well, this guy at school. Everyone seems to think he’s a bad person and honestly, I kind of did to for a while but lately I’ve seen a different side to him. I know he’s a good person, he’s just trouble and didn’t have a great upbringing. How am I supposed to make him see that he’s not the loser he thinks he is?”

“Hm. That’s a lot to take in. Why is this boy so important? Maybe he really is a loser.”

“He’s not. He’s actually really talented and I can tell that there’s more to him than he shows people. I think he just needs someone to depend on.”

“Who is this boy, anyway?” Your dad asked.

“Uh, It’s Eddie Munson.”

Your father looked at you with a worried look on his face.

“Petal, I don’t think I like the idea of you hanging around that Munson boy. I knew his father-“

“But that’s the thing, dad” you cut him off. “I know that Eddie’s nothing like his dad. People have told him that he’d be nothing, just like his dad his whole life and I know that it’s not true.”

Your dad took in your words and thought for a moment. It’s true that he knew Eddie’s dad back in high school and saw what a trouble maker he was and the petty criminal he turned out to be. But he also knew that you didn’t chose where you came from and that you were a smart girl.

“Okay, sweetie. If you think so. I know you’ll make the right choice

“I hope so”

“All you can do is be there for him. Show him you won’t leave and show him that he matters.”

“Thanks dad.”

“You’re a kid, Y/N. I’m lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have you as my dad.” You smiled up at him.

“Get outta’ here.” He chucked.

You smiled and ran upstairs to your room. You wanted to go and find Eddie and tell him that you’d be there for him and that he deserved happiness as much as anyone else but you had no idea where he went and you didn’t have his number.

Tomorrow was Monday and Monday meant school. You hoped that Eddie would be there so you talk to him again.

That night you went to sleep with a heavy heart and your tummy in knots and in the morning you spent a little extra time in front of the mirror. You brushed out your hair and applied your makeup and picked your outfit just a little bit more careful than usual.

At school, the hallway was crowded as you hung around Eddie’s locker. You didn’t actually know if he went to it often or not but this was your only option right now. When the hallways emptied after the final bell, you made your way over.

Last night, you had written a note to slip into Eddie’s locker.

‘Eddie, meet me at the picnic table in the woods after school - Y/N’

6 and half hours later, you were sat in the woods, alone, hoping that Eddie would show up.

Your palms were sweating and your knee was bouncing. You kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You hadn’t really thought about what you would say if Eddie showed up.

“Hey.” You heard a low grumbled behind you.

You turned quietly to be met with Eddie’s hard face.

He slowly walked over to the other side of the table and sat down, dumping his jacket on the old wood.

“Why’d you call me out here?” He asked.

“I wanted to talk. Talk about what you said yesterday in your room.”

“Y/N, just forget about it-“

“I like it when you say my name.” You cut him off, looking down.

Eddie didn’t really know how to respond to that. All of yesterday afternoon, his thoughts were plagued with you. The way you were so kind to after he’d been awful to you. You way your hand felt over his. The way his spine tingled when he remembered Wayne called you his girlfriend. He’d never felt like this before.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really did mean it when I said you can do anything.” You smiled.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He asked.

“Because I can see that you’re a good person under that hard shell. And I want you to know that I… I guess I care.”

“You care about me?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You took a deep breath and rose from the bench, walking around and sitting down besides Eddie.

“When you said you didn’t deserve me, what did you mean?” You whispered.

“Y/N..”

“Please tell me.”

“I don’t want to drag you down with me. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. No matter how much I want to be near you, I can’t.” He whispered back.

“You won’t drag me down, Eddie.”

“I drag everyone down, Y/N.”

“I’m not everyone.”

Eddie’s eyes glazed over like he was lost in thought as he stared into your eyes. He’d seen plenty of attractive women in his time. At school, at The Hideout, on the street. None of them looked back at him the way you were right now.

“Eddie…” you whispered, scooting closer. “Kiss me.”

[loggiepj]

illicit affairs

part 2 | part 3

YOU'D be a fool trying to convince yourself that Wanda was just some old hag sleeping on your bed that night. But god, she had never looked so peaceful and gorgeous than that very moment, as she was ten years ago. You didn't even know it was possible for someone to look so beautiful, it looked like a crime. As if the gods above blessed only those who were cruel. And cursed those who worshipped them.

Her creamy white legs were exposed from the blanket wrapped around her body. Her tiny soft snores filled the room as she buried herself deep into the pillows. It would take days before her scent would be gone from your sanctuary.

It tore you apart to look at her and feel these forbidden emotions, mad at yourself for feeling this way towards the old woman. You should hate her. You should have kicked her out for what she did.

You decided to go to the kitchen and make something for breakfast instead, preoccupying yourself from worrying too much, that the one nightmare you had always have had come true.

Even your hands were shaking as you beat down the eggs into a bowl, it was a miracle you had managed to cook food. The bacon almost ended up burnt when you jumped from her sudden presence in the kitchen.

"You're awake," you said, ignoring Wanda's gaze on you, her eyes glistening with a recognizable look. You knew that look. She used to look at you that way when you were wearing nothing but her white button down shirt as you made her a quick midnight snack whenever the twins weren't around. But that was ten years ago.

You don't feel anything for the woman anymore, right?

"I made us breakfast," you said before she opened her mouth to speak, stopping her. "You should eat first before you leave."

Wanda took small steps towards the dining table, looking at the food you made her. You wondered if she was touched, remembering how Wanda preferred scrambled eggs more than sunny side ups. But you convinced yourself you didn't do it for her. Because that would make you a martyr.

"This is good," Wanda softly said as you two began to eat in silence. You forced a small smile her way and went back eating.

"I haven't had breakfast like this for ages," she admitted, chuckling. "The boys mostly want cereals for breakfast, I ended up liking them, especially those colorful sweet ones, the . . . I forgot what they were called."

"Froot Loops?"

The skin around her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "Yes, Froot Loops. I swear I'd end up having diabetes one day."

You nodded, chugging down what remained of your coffee as you avoided the woman's gaze.

"What are your plans today? It's a Saturday," the brunette added. "The twins are planning to shop around Chinatown before the classes start. You might even have ideas where to-"

"I can't," you answered, "sorry, I am meeting someone today."

"Oh," she went on, a teasing smirk on her face, "a girlfriend?"

Your fork made a noise as you let it fall down your plate. "What do you want, Miss Maximoff?"

Wanda's smile immediately vanished as she stopped eating. "I . . . I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I didn't mean to pry if you have someone special-"

"No, I mean, what do you want? Why are you here? What were you thinking looking for me, for you to end up inside a sketchy bar?"

Wanda bit back a sob as she looked at you, her hand slipping to hold yours across the table. You tensed and abruptly took it away, ended up with her curling hers into a fist.

"I am so sorry, Y/n," she began, "I'm so sorry for what I did all those years ago, for what I said to you, for being so cruel. I . . . I have to live everyday regretting everything I have said to you. You didn't deserve those things. You were nothing but good to me, and I took you for granted. I . . . I just . . . miss you. I miss you, Y/n. There isn't a day in my life since you left that I haven't thought of you."

You scoffed, standing up as you began cleaning the dishes.

You heard the scraping of her chair against the floor as she stood. "I looked for you. After your graduation, I looked for you. I wanted to take back everything I said. I didn't mean those things. If I could only turn back time, I'd go back to that very day and I should've kissed you and chose you-"

"But you can't," you butted in as you turned to glance at the hysteric woman before you, "turn back the time, I mean."

Wanda was panting softly as her teary eyes stared right at you. She shook her head as she said, "No, I can't."

"That's unfortunate, then," you said back coldly.

Wanda swallowed, still frozen on her spot, and before she'd burst into more tears in your apartment, you went towards the doorway, grabbed your coat and keys. "I'm just gonna grab some coffee. Your clothes are freshly laundered in the bathroom if you want to freshen up before leaving. Please don't forget to lock the door when you leave."

"Y/n—" But you haven't heard the end of it as you closed the door.

Luckily, Wanda wasn't there when you went back home two hours after. But once you had ensured the whole apartment was empty, you broke down and cried.

TIME and absence would surely heal a wound. A couple of months had passed since that dreary encounter and you swore there were a few days when you had completely forgotten about Wanda. That was until you received a call late Friday night when you had only just arrived in your apartment.

It was a nurse from a nearby private hospital, saying that Tommy got into an accident. Before you argued why you were in his contacts in the first place, you drove to the hospital to visit.

Apparently, Tommy got into a fight in one of the fraternity parties he and his friends attended. With broken nose, cut lip and fractured arm, Tommy almost looked unrecognizable.

"Sorry, Y/n," Tommy said when he saw you enter the emergency room, "I didn't know who else to call. And I don't want to worry Mom-"

"It's okay, Tommy. Are you okay? What happened?"

And as you listened to Tommy and the nurse who attended to him, your breathing quickened, your hand hovering over the phone in your jean's pocket. Hesitant to call his mother, even if you knew you had to. Seeing the brunette was the last thing you wanted to do. But this was her son. Your feelings should come last.

Instead of calling the woman, you ended up sending her a short text message, to which she replied instantly, saying that she was already on her way.

You were getting a cup of coffee from a vending machine outside the hospital when Wanda arrived, hearing her voice inside the emergency room.

You decided to sit on the bench by the waiting area, thinking whether you should leave them or stay. You must have fallen asleep on your seat for a few minutes when you felt someone sit beside you.

"Thank you for being there for him," Wanda said.

"How's Tommy?"

"He's under some meds right now for the pain, but the doctor says he's going to be fine."

"That's good," you said.

"There's no available private room at the moment, so he has no choice but to stay in a ward with other patients," she went on, massaging her head. "Doctor said he'll likely be discharged tomorrow or the day after that."

"If you want, you can sleep in my apartment, take a bath or such, while waiting for him to get discharged," you offered. And you had no idea where such sympathy came from.

There was even a short moment where her eyes were at your mouth before she looked back at you.

"I don't want to impose—"

"Wanda, it's fine," you insisted. "For Tommy."

She nodded. "Thank you."

YOU VISITED Tommy in the ward first before leaving, while waiting for Wanda to finish filling up the papers in the hospital's admission room.

"You going to be fine alone?"

"I can manage," he replied, chuckling, showing off his cast.

"Will your father visit?"

The smile on his face disappeared, his fingers playing on the tape around his wrist. "Dad does not visit us often anymore. And I hardly believe he cared for us anyway, now that he has another family of his own."

That was news to you.

"I always tell Mom to find someone so she wouldn't end up alone," he went on, his eyes at the window where you two could see Wanda busy writing. "But she never remarried after Dad, maybe it was because she never trusts men like Dad anymore. But it's been years, you know. I know she's too scared to admit it, but I know she's lonely at home now that me and Billy are in college."

Your eyes were on Wanda as she talked to the Doctor. "I'm sure she'll find someone in the right time."

He laughed softly, making you look at him. "Come to think of it, they got divorced years ago, months after we didn't see you at the house anymore. There was one time Billy thought you were the other woman Dad has been cheating with. But I know you're not that bad of a person."

You stiffened. "You mean, they'd been divorced that long?"

Tommy hummed. "Yes, ten years ago, I guess. We eventually found out who the other woman was. Good thing we didn't curse you by mistake."

You forced to laugh at his joke, but your mind was running in deep circles wondering if the divorce really had something to do with you.

"COME on, don't be shy," your friend Steve invited Wanda, who looked as shocked as you were. "Any friend of Y/n is a friend of ours."

Somehow, when Wanda was returning the clothes you lent to her that time Tommy was hospitalized, there you were in your apartment with your friends, who held a surprised farewell party for Bucky, who was leaving for London the next day. As if Wanda knew perfect timing.

Kate hadn't left your side, even sitting between you just to eradicate any weirdness. The group's conversation went from talking about everyone's jobs, making Wanda let out her plans she was starting a flower shop business in New York and that she had just bought a spot particularly two blocks from the university. You tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, and convinced yourself she was only doing that to be closer to her boys. But you knew better.

Even Kate faked a laugh as she held another toast for the woman. "What about a special someone, Miss Maximoff? I heard you were divorced. Anyone you're meeting at the moment?"

Wanda's eyes met yours for a second before you looked away and drank whatever was left from your bottle of beer.

"No," she answered, chuckling. "I think I'm too old for that stuff anyway."

Bucky chortled. "No way you're old, Miss. If you want, I can set you up with people I know from work. I might even be successful on setting you up than Y/n here, whom I've failed a number of times."

"Why?" Wanda asked curiously.

Kate tried to stop Bucky. "Bucky, just give it a rest—"

"Oh, Y/n here has unknown high standards," Bucky enthusiastically added. "Believe me when dozens had gone down on their knees and Y/n has respectfully refused any advances."

"Shut up," you said, laughing, although you could tell Wanda's eyes never left yours all night long.

WHEN the party ended, all of the attendees slowly started to leave the apartment until there was only you and Wanda. Wanda helped you clean up the place, starting with throwing the empty boxes of pizza and bottles of beers into the trash bag.

"Y/n." Wanda broke the silence. Chappell Roan's casual was playing through the speakers.

"Mm?"

"Is it true?"

You stopped putting the dishes into the dishwasher to look at her. "Is what true?"

There was a small pause before she went on. "Have I ruined you for anyone else?"

You straighten your posture, frustrated as you glared back at her. "How dare you?"

"Then tell me," she challenged, approaching you with a sly smile on her face. "It's an easy question answerable by yes or no. Tell me."

"You infuriate me!"

"That's not a no—"

"You're nothing but a pathetic old slut who craves attention from someone who doesn't want her anymore!"

"Admit it then!" She leaned forward, closer to your face, her nostrils flaring. "Say it to my face that you don't feel anything for me anymore and I'll leave you alone for good! Tell me—"

You pushed your mouth against hers, effectively stopping Wanda from talking. She gasped upon the impact, with her back hitting the wall behind her from the force. And she welcomed you with as much aggression, her hands cupping your face to hold you.

With your arms on each side of her head, you pressed your bodies together, molding against each other. Her tongue played with yours, tasting what had been missed, wondering if each one of you were still as desperate as you were ten years ago.

"Y/N!" she moaned loudly a couple of minutes later as you pulled her hair, while roughly pistoning your strap into her from behind.

You had never thought you'd be able to do it. But there you were in your own bedroom with the woman you both loathed and loved so much on all fours before you. And it was driving you insane.

Mind filled with rage and lust, you tried to forget that this woman before you was the cause of your downfall. You tried to forget she hurt you, broke your heart to pieces as if you were nothing. Basking in the moment, you harshly grabbed the skin of her hips, nails digging, as you repeatedly and relentlessly pushed into her warm dripping entrance.

The tip of your strap hit your clit at the right angle, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. And when you heard Wanda's whimpers before you, your hand slipped through her back then held her shoulder as you fastened the pace.

The brunette screamed as her body convulsed in waves, shuddering as she came. If it weren't for you holding her upright, she would've fallen straight face down on the sheets.

But her cumming didn't stop you from chasing your relief. The sweet nectar from her release dripping down both your thighs only made the action slippery and noisy.

"Y/n. . . ," Wanda moaned, her hand attempting to hold you back but you slapped her hand away before leaning forward as you held both of her hands behind her back. This rendered Wanda's face flat against the pillow before her, muffling her moans.

"Is this what you want, huh?" you demanded, eyes almost in tears seeing Wanda and pretending you weren't just loving every moment that was happening right now. "Is this what you want from me?"

"Yes!" she screamed, gasping when you spanked one of her butt cheeks. "Yes! Y/n! You're all I want! You're all I've ever wanted!"

And that snapped something inside you. The coil in your stomach exploded, making you press your front into her back as you lay on top of her.

"Wanda," you moaned into her neck, your hips stuttering as you came. She held your face behind her as your body shook.

"I got you, Y/n," she cooed softly as you panted, still trembling above her. "I got you."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link. Thank you so much ❤🥰

[la2yn0va]

Sadako x Male Reader Story(?)

Fandom: DBD/The Ringu

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Death, take your pick

Type: Dark Romance

——

Before Tragedy

Sadako stared at you, her eyes unblinkingly admiring you. The way you moved your body to act out your scenes was like stars shining.

Completely star-struck, she didn’t even notice how long it’s been. A whole 10 minutes of Star-struck stares.

Sadako was only snapped out of it by a harsh yell, demanding her to focus and reminding her she’s late for practice. Embarrassed, she left with a blush, not noticing that her star had turned to face her.

Later, M/n decided to casually confront her. Walking up to her and asking her to assist him in a scene requiring a girlfriend. Although she was now blood red, she nodded, making a small grunt noise.

Sadako felt euphoric, her heart pumped every second she was around him. Everytime he needed to get close for the scene, she nearly leaned in closer for a taste of his lips.

Unfortunately, she would not be granted such pleasure. And after her dreamy event, she’d hear whispers of jealousy from the other female actors. Even seeing some people try to sow discord between her and him, but he never seemed to take them seriously. In fact, it pushed him to hang out with her more, making her even more lovesick.

Unfortunately, tragedy would strike, as it always does with sadako. A male co-star would die randomly. Without warning. And quickly, everyone was quick to blame sadako… but not you.

He had a heart attack, how could Sadako possibly have anything to do with it? Sadako planted her head on your back, trying to shield herself from the visual scrutiny of the others who tried to convince you she was a curse. Only to fail. Sadako, couldn’t help but smile, the death of someone brought HER closer to YOU.

Unfortunately, the acting troupe broke apart. And sadako was forced to go back home, away from you. She didn’t like it, and neither did you. So you offered to met up every now and again. An offer she took without a sextillion microsecond thought.

Days would pass, and with your acting talents, you managed to get another job in the industry. Recommending sadako to come join, which she agreed to, a smile that could light a dark room showed… but unfortunately. That’s the last you’d hear or see of her.

Coming to her house after about 5 days, you were greeted by her stepfather. Dr. Ikuma. He was.. suspicious to say the least. Apparently he hadn’t seen sadako, as she left to see a ‘m/n’. Yet, you never got a letter in advance. Not to mention his sketchy behavior.

So you took matters into your own hands, and decided to simply stroll around. Going into a forest behind the house and calling out her name. After 5 minutes, you reached an open field with a well in the middle. Calling out her name once more, you got nothing back.

You felt your nerves tickle you, your spine chilled.. something was.. off about this area. Why was the well covered? You felt yourself drawn to it, something was there, right? Calling out her name once more time in hopes of getting an answer. But nothing.

You shook your head, this was stupid, you should go to the damn police. So, you turned and left, not hearing the cries of a woman who loved you too much. Not hearing her begging you to save her, stay with her, COME to her. Nothing. Leaving sadako to die, unknowingly.

Years later. You still haven’t forgotten about you friend. Rich and famous actor m/n, was obsessed with his lost childhood friend.

DBD

One day, you found yourself in possession of a tape that appeared on your doorstep. Your eyes rolled. Probably another fan cam of sorts. And out of boredom, you watched it, only to see some nonsense.

You couldn’t make sense of any of it. Black, White, and Res grainy pictures, a man’s upper body covered in a white tarp and lifting an arm. It was pure randomness that engrossed you, so much that you didn’t notice a black fog surrounding you.

Once the tape stopped you finally noticed your surroundings. You were in a forest area, with a well at the middle… the some well in that forest… no.. you WERE back at the forest.

And from that well, crawled out a woman, her face draped in her hair and her body covered by a white dress. Fear gripped you, making you fall onto your ass and crawl back into a tree.

Why’re you cowering?! You took fighting classes for some movies and shows! You learned how to fight back! But this.. thing strips your courage away!

It fully stood up, glitchingly walking towards you, and all you could do was breathe rapidly and look away, just waiting for something to happen. But.. you only felt a hand caress your cheek.

You opened you eyes and turned to see.. IT just gently touching your face, confusion gripped you as the fist of fear that gripped you loosened. On closer inspection… this looked like.. “Sadako?”

You could feel the joy practically explode out of her, this was.. sadako? What happened to her?! Where the fuck has she been?! In that well!? So many questions raced in your mind, yet Sadako didn’t seem to care. Him simply being near her was enough… but she wanted more.. YOUVE been gone from her for TOO LONG.

“S-Sadako.. w-what happened to you? Where are we?” You asked, excepting to hear her beautiful voice. Only to be meant with silence. All sadako did was crawl onto you and grip you TIGHTLY, her hair covered face caressing your face, her arms bear hugging your back, her legs wrapped around your waist in a vice grip.

Sadako wanted more physical touch, more physical connection. She didn’t care for his feelings as much as she once did, she simply wanted HIM. And WILL take him, in every sense of the word.

As his mouth opened to speak again, her long tongue flopped out and was shoved into his mouth as she engaged in a heated kiss. Her tongue wrapping around his own and stroking it as her lips tried to smash into his very dna.

You tried to fight back. Things were going to fast, but Sadako didn’t seem to enjoy your struggle. Using her psychic powers to hold you down and continue her now addiction to your body. Her hands moving down to your pants. Until suddenly a black fog took her, leaving you alone. Heated, confused, and frightened.

Was this a nightmare? It had to be right? Sadako alive..? And coming onto you like that?! That tape?! What the fuck is happening?!

You hurriedly ran into the woods, confusion puppeteering your actions. The woods seemed endless, now matter how much you ran, it all looked the same. And after 10 minutes, you were back where you started. At the opened field and the well.

And Sadako was back. Annoyed and angered that the entity took her from you, AND that you were gone. She turned after hearing your haggard breathing, her body covered in blood and guts after brutally killing the survivors in a hurried and messy manner to get back to you.

She once again, walked towards you. Holding you down with her power. You were not escaping her again. You were not going to accidentally leave her again. YOU WERE STUCK WITH HER NOW, just as it should’ve been.

——

Was this good?

I stream! YT and Twitch: la2yn0va.

[ddodol]

wand — s.es

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, bf!eunseok, fem!reader, pet names, eunseok is possessive, use of a sex toy, tinge of edging, begging, overstimulation, unprotected sex. word count⭑.ᐟ 2k+

eunseok was away from you for a week, returning to your place just three days ago and you’ve been acting sketchy.

he found it weird that you were avoiding him at night, avoiding his touch— what if you were cheating on him? eunseok knew you were bad at hiding secrets, so it was even more apparent that you were hiding something whenever he brought it up.

”y/n, can we talk?”

you flinched at the sound of his voice, turning around slowly with red ears. he was supposed to be leaving for work, but here he was, catching you red-handed.

eunseok squinted his eyes at you, approaching you with slow steps. the room was dimly lit so he couldn’t quite make out what you were doing but he could hear faint vibrations.

”u-um, this is…��� you stammered, panicking as you waved around the phallic toy in your hand. eunseok focused on the object, finally recognizing that it was a sex toy, a rabbit wand to be exact. he let out a scoff, staring at you as you slowly became redder by the second.

”is this it?” eunseok climbed your bed, deep voice echoing in the room as he stared at you. he looked extra intimidating with the light from your windows beaming on his face, as if you’ve done something really bad. you couldn’t help but swallow a small whimper. “you ignored me for this, baby?”

you shook your head, “i wasn’t ignoring you,” you mewled. eunseok pinned you down the bed, making you swallow thickly at the building tension.

he took your little toy, “is this thing more important than me, sweetie?” his voice was teasing but he looked like he could eat you right up; and he could, eunseok was a starved man at this point.

in all honesty, if the toy arrived three days earlier— yes, it would be more important than eunseok. it was just an impulsive decision you made, feeling way too needy for a quick relief. “i always give you what you need, don’t i? are you trying to replace me, hm? with this?” eunseok held the toy in his hand, staring at it as if to compare.

he was definitely better than the toy, way thicker and he could fill you right up without a problem. the ability to vibrate was something he lacked for sure but he makes up for it in other ways. “am i not enough, baby? you like your little toy more than me?”

you shook your head as you looked at eunseok, “you’re all i need, seok.” eunseok bit his lip, the tension was starting to get to him as well. your slow and soft breathing was driving him insane and he knew you were waiting for him to do something.

he was late for work at this point but fuck it— he has something more important to attend to.

eunseok traced kisses from your cheek down to your jaw and neck. the lingering warmth it left all over your skin made your head spin, definitely something you can’t get from a toy. he slowly took your clothes off, hands being especially grabby. “fuck, i missed this so much,” eunseok groaned against your neck, tracing his hands all over your curves.

”eunseok,” you sighed out softly, playing with his hair as he slowly traced kisses down to your stomach. you shivered, moaning when you felt eunseok bite on your inner thigh, gently pushing your legs open for him.

he sighed at the warmth radiating from your core, peppering kisses all over your inner thigh. eunseok frowned when his bulge would rub against the sweatpants he had on, knowing that he wouldn’t last long. eunseok ripped your panties off for easier access, sighing at the wet, sopping mess you were making and he just had to get a taste.

”is this for me or for your toy, baby?” he teased, staring up at you as he held your thighs open. eunseok placed small kisses on your folds, smiling when you moaned out his name. eunseok kept his eyes on you as he latched his mouth onto your sensitive, throbbing clit, laughing inwardly when you moaned loudly. he prodded at your entrance, teasing you with only one finger.

”so fucking needy,” he groaned, feeling your walls desperately clench down on his finger, watching as you’d pull him in with every thrust. eunseok didn’t like how you seemed to be enjoying this, orgasm already approaching. he was waiting for your breathing to get quicker just to pull his fingers away.

you let out a frustrated cry, trying to press your thighs together for stimulation but eunseok held them tightly. “seok, please,” you whined, hands reaching down to hold his head.

“do you need me, baby?”

”i need you so fucking bad, seok. please,” your whining did things to him, feeling dizzy with all the teasing he was doing. eunseok knew he couldn’t deny you that much when he needed you just as bad— but you did leave him hanging for three days, a little more teasing shouldn’t hurt.

eunseok saw the pink wand from earlier at the corner of his eyes, smiling widely when his brain formed a mischievous thought. he reached out for the toy, pressing the switch near the base to hear its soft whirring. eunseok playfully pressed the toy against your folds, earning a soft gasp from you. he licked his lips, satisfied by your adorable reactions.

he ran the toy up and down your slit, coating it with your slick. eunseok saw the way you’d twitch at the slow vibrations, slowly feeling impatient and wanting to see more of your reactions. he needed you to be a mess under his touch, and only under his touch.

eunseok played with the buttons on the toy, eyes twinkling when it got louder and faster, biting on his lip as he pressed the toy against your clit. “fuck! seok!” you cried out, body shaking at the sudden intensity.

he chuckled at your reaction, humming as he continued to play with the intensity of the vibrations. eunseok went slow, lapping it around your slit, and then intense, focusing on your clit. you loved it, the control eunseok had on you.

”seok, seokie! i’m close, i’m so fucking close,” you whimpered, grabbing onto eunseok’s hair as he laughed. eunseok watched how you would thrust against the toy, still desperate for more stimulation.

“wish you could see yourself right now, baby,” he licked his lips, finding the sight of you shaking your hips against the toy so adorable— maybe filming would be next on his agenda.

he kissed your thigh, focusing the toy on your clit at its highest intensity. “let it all go, baby,” he whispered, biting down on your skin as you reached your orgasm. eunseok turned the toy down, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your inner thigh. the sound of soft whirring and your soft breathing filled the room, and eunseok could feel his pants getting tighter by the minute.

without warning, eunseok turned the toy on once again, inserting it inside this time. he chuckles at the cute cry you made, letting you tug at his hair as he watched you swallow the toy. god, he wished that was him so bad. eunseok knew he could fill you up way better than this stupid toy, reaching places this little thing couldn’t. he was pouting out of jealousy, turning it up way more. you cried out, body jerking up at the intensity, “oh my god— seok! i’m still— fuck!”

eunseok hummed, focused on the way your clit would throb as he thrusted the toy inside. he licked his lips, “you can take it all for me, right?” he angled it upwards, earning another loud moan from you. as a cherry on top, eunseok wrapped his mouth over your clit, unable to ignore the poor thing when it kept calling out to him. eunseok sucked and licked on the sensitive nub, not forgetting to keep thrusting the toy into you.

”seok! eunseok! fuck!” you choked out a moan, arching your back against the bed in desperation. you placed your hands on his shoulders, weakly trying to push him away. eunseok smiled as you come undone for a second time, squirting a bit at the intensity.

he tried pulling the toy out once he heard your pained moans, knowing that you were far too stimulated to take more than this. “what the fuck? this isn’t fair, baby,” he groaned, frowning when you refused to let go of the toy. it took him a while to fully get it out, sulking at the adorable moan that left your lips when he pulled it out of you with a small pop.

you were breathing softly, finally calming down after as you felt eunseok’s lips all over your skin. you pulled him closer to you, “seok, you know i didn’t mean to ignore you.” he just hummed, pouting against your skin as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

you wanted to laugh, finding his pitiful expression after everything he just did a bit hilarious to say the least. “that was three days, baby. that’s no accident,” eunseok huffed, getting up to position himself between your legs, resting your thighs on top of his as he pulled his pants down.

admittedly, you missed the sight of his cock, gasping softly at how veiny and red it was— eunseok was literally about to burst. “seok, you know you can’t stay mad at me when you need me this badly,” you purred teasingly, giggling at the frown on eunseok’s face.

”i don’t appreciate the teasing, y/n,” eunseok grunted, sinking his cock into your warmth. he missed the feeling of your walls around him, moaning softly as he sunk down even further. “fuck, still so tight,” eunseok rasped out, placing his hands on your stomach, watching intently as his cock went in and out your hole.

”seokie,” you whined, walls twitching at how good this position was making you feel. eunseok’s cock was hitting your spot so perfectly, drawn out moans flowing out of your mouth with every movement.

eunseok sucked on his teeth, knowing that he wouldn’t last too long if he began thrusting into you. he saw the abandoned pink wand at the corner of his eye, hand automatically reaching out to grab it.

you were still reeling in the sensation of having eunseok inside you again when you jerked up at the sudden vibrations against your clit, crying out when eunseok paired it with his deep and desperate thrusts. “fuck, eunseok! that’s too much!” you moaned loudly, body trembling at the overwhelming pleasure.

”baby, please,” you whined, “i’m already— fuck!” eunseok chuckled breathlessly as you made a huge mess. he increased the vibrations, licking his lip when you kept squirting everywhere.

“and here i thought i wasn’t gonna last longer than you,” he stilled his hips, leaning in to give you a small kiss, smirking against your lips when you kept moaning. “my bad, it's been so long that i forgot how you love cumming on my cock.”

you cried out, still overwhelmed with the vibrations on your clit. eunseok began to move again, continuing his pace from earlier. his hand holding on the vibrator slipped a bit, causing it to vibrate against his cock as well. “fuck,” eunseok groaned, finding the vibrations pleasurable. his hips moved faster, breathing heavily as he unapologetically chased after his orgasm.

”eunseok! please, it’s too much!” you sobbed, digging your nails against eunseok’s forearm as you felt the dizzying and warm feeling on your lower abdomen. eunseok pulled out, pumping his cock as he shot his load over your stomach. he kept his eyes on you as you shivered from overstimulation with the toy still on your clit.

you tapped on eunseok’s hand, grabbing on his fingers as you squirted huge amounts of liquid everywhere. eunseok finally took the toy off of you, throwing it to the side so that he could watch you properly. you kept shaking, still squirting as you felt your consciousness fading away.

”good girl, y/n,” eunseok whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss on your cheek. you could only let out a pathetic cry, holding on his shoulder as you kept trembling. eunseok cooed at you, gently massaging your sides as you finally settled down.

eunseok smiled widely, staring at your fucked out expression, “hope you’re still down for more, baby.”

[temiizpalace]

Hiii! I'm new here but I really love ur works so far! Anyways, I wanted to request Idia with Ortho supporting him and Azul for the 1. MOVIE DATE prompt from the event. Feel free to turn down my request, have a nice day/night!💫

☆┊MOVIE DATE! FOR ALL 3 OF US..(💀+ 🤖 vs. 🐙)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH ASKED YOU OUT ON A MOVIE DATE AT THE SAME TIME! HOW WILL THEY WIN YOU OVER IF HE IS HERE TOO?

CHARACTERS: idia shroud vs. azul ashengrotto (ft. ortho)

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, platonic ortho (rooting for idia)

NOTES: azul has NOT been winning the prefects heart lately. thank you for your request and welcome!!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

you were ortho’s best friend.

that’s what idia thought for the most part. not that it bothers him much, please continue to be. he has never seen his little brother happier, the excitement in his voice melting his heart. two of his favorite people getting along well, this must be what heaven felt like. wish he could get there too.

“we have tons of CDs and old movies back at our dorm too!” ortho smiles, chatting away with you at a desk. “really? what kind of movies?” you ask, smiling and listening intently as he lists the movies one by one. you could barely keep track of them all! idia felt a small smile tug at his lips, admiring the view before inventively snapping back out of it.

“idia, i still believe it is your turn.” azul clears his throat, pointing to the board game on the table. “o-oh yeah, right.” he stammers, drawing a card and performing the said action. it could just be him, but idia could swear azul looks much more smiley than usual today. creepy.. he’s not even winning.

“fufu.. perfect.” he mutters, moving his piece on the board. oh yeah, definitely creepy. “uhm, azul.. you’re literally losing right now.. not something to be proud of, yknow.” idia states bluntly, taking his turn. “i am well aware, but thank you for your kind words, idia.” azul responds sarcastically.

it was a little back and forth, but eventually idia won the game. board game club ended a little earlier than they both had anticipated. “done already?” you ask, hopping off of the desk. “i don’t think azul was really trying, but a win is a win.” idia shrugs, a smug smile on his face. “yes, yes, congratulations idia. i must say i am impressed.” azul cuts in, standing between the both of you.

“prefect! just the person i was looking for,” he smiles charmingly, much to idia’s small annoyance. “mostro lounge is planning a movie night before winter break, and i was wondering if you’d like to test watch our projector?” azul proposes, leaving you confused. “huh? can you repeat that?” you ask, tilting your head.

“would you like to watch a movie in the mostro lounge this evening? we need to test our projector, and you are perfectly suited for this job!” he beams, making you skeptical. “what’s the price?” anyone and everyone knows better than to take an octavinelle students words at face value. there’s always a string attached, but you need to find out what. “the price is you get to watch a movie in the mostro lounge nor free of charge, and in return i receive the feedback you provide.”

“really?!” you and idia shout in unison, startling azul for a moment as you raised your voices. “of course, i’ll be there alongside you! it’ll be just the two of us.” he grins, holding his hand out for a handshake. “damn.. free movies is hard to pass up.” you mumble, thinking about it for a moment. this seems sketchy.. but after a stressful day.. maybe.

in the nearby corner, ortho could see the look in his brothers eyes. jealousy. taking a quick scan of the room, his brothers heart rate was at an all time high! it doesn’t even beat that much during PE! even scanning azul’s heart rate, it was just like idia’s. so that’s how it is.. if idia liked you.. then..

you’d be his older sibling-in law? that sounds AMAZING! but wait. if azul is asking you out to a movie right now, that could monopolize the chances of you being his cool in law! we can’t have that! time for cupid to intervene. ortho. ortho is cupid.

“sounds pretty fun..” you mumbled as you assessed your options. “i got movies too yknow.” idia pouts, muttering phrases under his breath. “im sorry, what was that, idia?” azul asks, raising his brow. “he said we should tag along, too!” ortho interjects, startling azul. “i beg your pardon?”

“that’s actually a great idea!” you smile at the now energetic ortho, not noticing a grumbling octopus next to you. “i apologize, but this deal is for the prefect only..” azul sighs, trying to keep the act. “that’s fine. we can pay to get in. plus, ignihyde dorm is known for its tech expertise!” ortho chimes, seeming innocent when underneath this all he’s just trying to score his brother a date. sorta.

“those are excellent points.. and there’s money involved..?” azul grumbles, gritting his teeth. “ortho, what are you doing?!” idia panics, feeling anxiousness bubble up in his stomach. “didn’t you wanna watch movies with [MC]? im helping! and besides, i wanna spend time with them too.” ortho giggles, giving you a hug.

“aww.. ortho! azul, please let them come along!” you plead, patting ortho’s head while looking at azul sadly. how he hates the way you look at him. putting him in a position where he must accept how could you. “hmmph.. if they’re willing to pay the toll, then perhaps..” he gives in, crossing his arms with a pout. “yay! you hear that idia! we’re watching movies together!” you point, putting him on the spot.

“c-cool, i guess.. hopefully it’s not some trash movie..” idia throws you a thumbs up, standing near the desk awkwardly as you and ortho celebrated. azul felt disappointed. another plan of his foiled, job well done. he can’t resist you! it’s killing him! he even selected a scary movie for this occasion! you have to be joking!

it was all perfect too.. with you visiting the board game club and all. he should’ve waited for idia and ortho to leave but he got excited. curses! they even offered money just to go! “i’ll see you later this evening, prefect! idia, ortho, you too. please hand the necessary payment at the door.” he smiles, walking out the door swiftly.

“hey azul, why are ya looking so pissed today?” floyd asks, watching as the housewarden laid on the couch extremely still. “his date plans have been foiled. truly tragic.” jade answered, not sounding empathetic in the least. “shrimpy is hot on the market, yknow. nice try but ya gotta do better than that, chief.” floyd states bluntly, poking azul’s sides. “enough! both of you out, now!” he suddenly rises, pointing to the door of the VIP lounge.

“we’ll get the lounge set up for you then. floyd, let’s leave azul to his tantrum for now.” jade chuckles, walking by towards the exit. “i am NOT having a tantrum.” he groans, seeing as the twins cackled before they left. such lovely right hand men. how supportive of them. this is bad. diving deeper into it, what if you liked idia back? dated him? married him? start a family?!

the panic is overwhelming! he has to win your heart by tonight or he can kiss his happy ending goodbye. you’re already close to ortho, which is already a lose on his part. he is playing matchmaker, which means his current enemy isn’t idia.. it’s ortho. that damn robot! very well, two can play at that game. with this horror movie, you’ll be crawling up to him and screaming with fear. he’ll watch ortho and idia stare with a bitter glare as you cozy up to him. (delusional)

he’s going to win your heart, no matter what. whether you’re a machine, human, beastmen, whatever, nothing is going to stand in his way.

he actually cried during the movie and nestled up to you but shhhhh. (idia and ortho were smugly glaring, but also lowkey annoyed).

A/N: im going through writers block NOOOO

date published: 9/9/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[cobraaah]

Pairing• [Nauseaxe_404 ♡ Reader]

A/N• This took way longer than I wanted. Hopefully, it's not too long for you guys. It's not the best since I haven't written anything, let alone smut in a long time. Also not proofread. . Way too long. Also I dunno how to do warnings so be prepared I guess.

Warnings• Smut 18+, intentional injury, manipulation, slight blood?, axe usage ( not hurting reader), P in V, cunnilingus

Word count• 8k

Superstar

Desperate. Desperate for money of course! Recently you've been low on money, having bad impulsive buying habits on randome junk you didn't need. "A way to gain fast money!" Popped up on your laptop screen. Scrolling on suspicious and unsecured websites had its downsides. A grumbled sigh left you as you tried to click the ad off your screen. It didn't leave, it was like some sort of weird virus. . or something like that, you wernt the smartest tool in the shed when it came to computers. Your curiosity came over you, you did need some quick cash. Your morals went out the window, discarding the fact that you could get so many viruses, maybe even kidnapped! Your finger hovered hesitantly over the pad on your laptop. Deciding to get it over with quick, you click, closing your eyes for some reason, expecting a million more pop ups to show up, maybe a random guy breaking into your home to take you away. . but no. Your E-Mail opened up instead. Your eyes squint at the screen reading the new E-Mail that was sent to you. To you, it was all non important, besides a few key details, they read; "simple and does not require any particular skills or talents." , "50,000 dollars cash in total. Half will be sent to you in a few days, the other half will be at the job site." You paused for a second, re-reading the last part. Your eyes widen as your mouth gaped with a surprised grin. "Fifty K?!" You scanned the email over again, trying to convince yourself this isn't real, fortunately, it was. Deciding to actually read the email now the description talked about having to be a mediator, having to remove some tendents from a hotel of sorts. Seeing as they said it's simple and you don't need any special skills, this seemed as a easy way for you to earn some money. Red flags should've been popping up in your head but your lust and desperation for money took over. Quickly, you typed a E-Mail back accepting the offer, clicking send you sat back with a sigh. Now all you had to do was wait for half the money to be sent to you and-. "Wait a second.." You mumbled to yourself. With another quick re reading of the E-Mail they did say they were going to send half the money. . but how? "I never gave them my address or like. . anything?" With a sigh, you closed your laptop assuming that these ominous people from this sketchy ad had all your information already from your relentless visits to sketchy websites doing god knows what on them.

A few days have gone by since you've sent that e-mail accepting the suspicious job offer that you didn't even know was real to be honest. Currently looking up at the ceiling contemplating everything you've done at this point, we're you really that gullible? Thinking that someone would actually give you a-. . A loud crashing noise can be heard outside your room, heavy footsteps can be heard getting more faint until nothing. Frozen through the whole ordeal, you sit up after just laying there for who knows how long. Your eyes dart over to your door completely unsure about this whole thing, did someone really just break into your house? What if they were still inside?! A shiver runs through your body, goosebumps form on your arms at the thought. Getting up, you shuffle your way to your door cautiously incase the intruder was still there. With a creak of the door, your eyes dart everywhere not noticing anything out of place. Walking out of the hallway you notice a suitcase placed infront of your front door. "What the fuck.." Eyes squinting suspiciously at the case infront of you. Looking behind your shoulder before you crouch down and open the suitcase up.

Stacked upon stacks of hundred dollar bills are loaded in the case. Your mouth open slighty in disbelief at the sight, was this the twenty-five thousand?? Who ever your client is, they know where you live. Too overwhelmed by the amount of cash infront of you and the thought of some random from the internet knowing where you live, AND them actively breaking into your house, you shut the case. Staring surprised at it, you pick it up and walk back into your room carefully setting the briefcase next to your dresser. You get settled back into your bed opening your laptop having it rest on your lap. Just before opening up the web browser a pop up flashes on your screen, it has some address with the text underneath it reading "Arrive by 6 AM this monday, no backing out now." Oh. . oh. A small frown forms on your face at how threatening that last part was. Weighing the option of dipping with the twenty-five thousand dollars or suffer the consequences your client would serve to you if you didn't listen. . . you took the ladder. You take a screenshot of the address, saving it to your laptop for later. The pop up disappears a few moments later leaving you to the browser.

Scrolling on Dumblr, looking through random blogs, reading fanfics, the usual. Just as your finishing reading a blog the notification inbox pings. . . and pings repeatedly. "Jesus christ.." You mumbled under your breath. 'Swear to god, if this is the same guy-' Tapping on the inbox button you're welcomed by spammed comments by this guy named Nauseaxe_808. Now you would've been fine by this if it wasn't the same guy you've blocked hundreds of times for, number one being a creep, leaving obsessive comments. . and that's it. This guy just creeps you the hell out, everytime you block him he comes back with a new account with the same name but just different numbers added at the end, it started as Nauseaxe_404 to Nauseaxe_808.

At this point you've thought of just deleting your account since no one interacts with your blogs besides this weirdo. BUT thinking that if you did delete your account this sicko would win in his sick game. Of course at some point you started to feel bad for the guy, he seemed like a good person at some points when he wasn't leaving comments like, "I know where you live Superstar!", "Please notice me, I'm your BIGGEST fan!" Just super obsessive stuff. Did it make you feel wanted. . . yes. Should it? no. Are you delusional? maybe. Finger grazing over the mouse pad on the laptop, with a click on this guys profile and another click on the block button a sense of relief washes over you, but so does some regret creep up on you. All this guy wants is your attention and you keep on blocking him, maybe you should respond to him once. . . just once so you don't feel guilty about ignoring this guy, you'll just wait until the next time he makes a new account to respond with a simple 'Thanks.' and maybe he'll leave you alone, maybe just one response will make him stop. Is that a smart move to make against this online stalker? Not really, but common sense wasn't really that common to you anyways. You close the laptop with a sigh deciding today was eventful enough for you, too overwhelming in fact. Setting the laptop on the floor you get settled in your bed, deciding to get some sleep. Sleep quickly takes over, not realizing how exhausted you were. . .

Monday comes quicker than expected, unfortunately. Having to wake up way earlier than expected to go to this random ass location in the middle or the woods. Great! Sarcasticly you think to yourself as you follow the GPS on your phone, a small scowl appears on your face, rethinking your decisions. You dressed somewhat formal for this job, after all they are paying you fifty thousand dollars to be a mediator so you better belive it you're not gonna look homeless today. But having to wake up at five in the morning so you could make it on time didn't motive you that much to put that much effort in yourself. You did the basic for yourself and hoped that was good enough for this client of yours. The soft growl of your stomach interrupts your thoughts. You completely forgot to eat something before leaving due to being so nervous for this ominous, potentially dangerous job. Butterflies twisted your stomach like parasites as the destination neared closer, you felt like you were gonna throw up. You power through it though and turn on some music to calm your nerves and get your mind soothed. The sky still shone with the bright moon still out, the sun still sleeping. . . just like what you should be doing right now. You shake your head dismissing any negative thoughts about this job, you were gonna do fine. . right..? A soft groan leaves you as your mind keeps wondering and complaining about how stupid and unsafe this was for you to be doing.

Pushing away those thoughts, the cars headlights shine on a old looking hotel of sorts. Parking the car nearby you step out, the cold very early morning air hiting your skin almost like a warning, making the nerves on your body be on high alert once more. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk twords the hotel. Stepping on the wooden front steps, you're greeted with a briefcase and a walkie talkie placed near the front door. Bending down you open up the briefcase, marveling at how much money there's in it. . just like last time. Abruptly the walkie next to it chimes in, "Thank you for accepting this job offer! Now that you've accepted the full amount of cash, you can now begin the job." the walkie buzzes off as the guy stops talking. You're exciment was short lived as you realized you did have a job to do afterall, debts to pay, things to buy, and of course bills. You stand up with a stretch grabbing the radio and the briefcase. You put the case in the back of your car and walk back to the hotel, you feel unease, your body telling you this isn't a good idea, red flags should've be popping up in your head. But you're clouded with your need for money you trudge on and open up the front door, a loud creak resonates through the deathly quiet, empty lobby. As soon as you step inside the door quickly slams behind you leaving you in the dark for a quick second before the dim lights turn on. Two doors on either side of you and one big door in the middle presumably leading to the rest of the hotel. Each door has a different colour red, blue, yellow and finally purple.

The walkie talkie comes back to life, "Congratulations for making it this far, in all honestly youve made it farther than three quarters of our business partners from before. You seem reliable and more. . .entertaining. .," the voice goes quiet before buzzing back to life, "Anyways! Welcome to my hotel, just a small caution for your job today as a mediator, you'll be working with. .with monsters? Not really that important, anyways start with the red door!" The walkie quickly shuts off without anymore information about the 'monsters'. "W. . Wait?!" Your finger pressed the button on the side of the walkie, "What do you mean 'monsters'?" You question wide eyed into the walkie. . . you recive no response after a minute. You silently curse to yourself as you slowly approch the red labeled door that reads '001' in gold letters. You side eye the barricaded door and windows, realization finally sets in. You can't leave until you're finished with this job. With your attention back on the door you grip the handle and open it, quickly stepping inside.

The door slams behind you making you jump forward a bit, startled again by another door slamming behind you. You squint at the door suspiciously as you turn back around looking around. You step forward into the middle of the room, "Uhhmm. . . Hello?" You say hopefully loud enough for the resident to hear. Before you're able to take in the surroundings something hard hits the back of your head making your vision go black and fall unconscious, the last thing you're able to feel or even hear is "I've got you my. . Superstar," as you feel a pair of hands grab you a little too tight, keeping you from falling face first onto the floor.

A soft buzzing fills your mind as you slowly gain consciousness again. A soft groan escapes your throat as you sit up from the floor, your head hurts like hell. It appears you're in the same spot before you blacked out, it suprises you that youre still alive. As your vision gets unfuzzy there's a tall figure looming over you just. . . staring. "Uhm. . Hello..?" Your voice came out mumbled and quiet as you started back at the supposed monster infront of you, you can't make out what his face looks like due to his hood casting a dark shadow over his face and the red bandana covering the lower part of his face only making one of his eyes visible. In all honestly he doesn't really look like a monster besides his much taller height, but nothing else is distinguishable about him to classify him as a monster.

"I can't belive we can finally meet. . .-" Heavy breathing can be heard coming from him, almost could be distinguished as panting. "-Face to face..," His eyes squint, under that bandana he most likely has a sinister unsettling grin on his face. Just at the thought makes you cringe, internally of course, scared to make any negative reaction could have percussions. You finally register what he said after a moment, your mind trying to catch up with everything, adrenaline spiked a little out of fear, "Do I know. . you?" Your eyes squint suspiciously at the man infront of you, legs moving on their own, you stand up, leaning against the door behind you. The height difference didn't change at all, he was still much. . . much taller than you. Standing at roughly about two meters tall, your eyes widen in shock at the size difference between you both. 'What the hell was this guy?', 'Is he actually a monster?' , 'ARE MONSTERS EVEN REAL?'. Multiple thoughts swarmed your head like bees, are you going crazy? Shaking your head you averted your attention back to the guy infront of you. . He's still staring with his ecstatic squinted eyes, great.

"Of course you know me Superstar, I'm your biggest fan," You froze, goosebumps automatically formed on your skin as you heard that nickname. 'Superstar', could this really be the guy from Dumblr. . .? The air in the room seemed to get thick, making it hard for you to breath. Your hands get sweaty, a shudder runs through your spine. This 'thing' was your stalker. With heightened sense you realize that he's holding an axe. 'Holy fuck he's gonna kill me, I'm dead... im dead... im dead'. Those two words repeat in your head, frozen in fear. With your eyes fixated on the axe he begins to speak again. "Sorry for knocking you out, I thought you were one of those 'pests' who try to break into my room! It's become a habit for me to automatically attack anyone who enters. Good thing i realized it was 'you', my Superstar! Or else you woulve gotten. . . seriously injured." He cocks his head to the side, confused on your spaced out, deer caught in headlights facial expression, not realizing youre staring at the axe.

Responding in a meekly way, "I... It's okay.," Being super freaked out by the fact he could've killed you if he didn't recognized you sent a shock through you. A sudden laugh breaks you out of your trance as your eyes dart back to his face, you realize he's laughing. "PHAHAHAHA!" Being the awkward person you are, nervous and emotionally broken already, in fear he might attack you again, you awkwardly laugh along. "Hah... hahaha.." Your laughs come out more quietly than you wanted them, but he doesn't seem to care. But seriously, you have questions, you need to figure out how to cooperate with this monster and convince him to leave the hotel, afterall you do have a job to do.

Bringing up the courage to yourself to speak as he finally stops laughing, his squinted eyes turning back to their normal predatory gaze. "Are you by chance Nauseaxe_404...?" Raising an eyebrow already knowing the answer, but wanting confirm your suspicions. You see his eyes squint happily with admiration. "Yes! You don't know how long I've waited to finally talk to you, I've tried messaging you on Dumblr but you kept on blocking me.." His voice trailed off slightly, making you feel unease. Both his hands grip on the axe tightend as his breath became labored again. "You. . . You didn't block me on purpose. . hah . . Right?" His red eye glared at you with a subtle twitch, was he really that naive? Did he not realize he was a total creep when leaving those comments on your blogs? "Uh. . Of course not! It's probally some weird Dumblr glitch.." You don't sound sure at all, or even confident, but it was good enough for Nause. His grip on the axe loosened until only he eas holding onto it with one hand, and his shoulders slacked. He blinked and his eye went back to normal as he stood up semi straight again, still a bit hunched over.

"Heheh yeah. I guess it was, haha..," He paused, rubbing his neck. "Well then, what brings you here my Superstar?" He questioned, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, you weren't quite sure how to read him, he was unpredictable. "You need to like. . . leave?" You tried putting it in simple terms in hopes he won't lash out on you. You start feeling unnerved and decide to glance around, all this direct eye contact with him is making you more nervous. Taking in the view around you, you see presumably stapled or tacked printed out pages of writings of some blog? Not just a normal blog, fanfics. . . Holy crap. This guy has been printing off every single one of your posts and sticking them to his walls. He really IS your biggest fan. . . in more appropriate terms 'He really IS a stalker, creep, weirdo, a loser with no life!', gulping at the thought, thankfully your attention is directed back to Nause as he starts speaking again.

"Why 'would' I want to leave?! I have no idea how I got here in the first place. . . but I still have no intentions on leaving." His voice trails off with the hint of festering agitation. Small huffing can be heard from him again, he grips his axe infront of him. You accidently worked him up again, seemed like that was somehow a touchy question, flip. Mentally cursing to yourself you connect the few braincells in your head that haven't fried yet and come up with a excellent plan on how to deal with this freak.

"H. . How about I write a uhm..-" You paused, are you really gonna make the proposition of writing a fanfic for him in exchange for his leave. Yeah. "-If I write you a 'fanfic'. . or something since you seem to enjoy them. . . a lot..," Mumbled as your eyes glance back to the walls full of printed out pictures of your blogs. "If I do that will you please leave this hotel?" Silently pleading, praying, hoping to the man in the sky that he'll accept this offer so you can hurry up and finish this job. His body begins to shake with. . you don't even know at the moment. His eye curves with excitement you presume. "Really? Just for me right? No one else?!" Before you're able to respond he continues, "Could you maybe write them here? Or at least one? I have a old typewriter just incase for this one specific moment I fantasized about fivehundredseventytwothousandeighhundrednintyhundrendedquadrillion times!" You should be surprised but at this point you just want to be done.

"Sure... Sure yeah.." You mumbled with squinted eyes, hoping he wasn't going to make you stay here forever writing endless stories for him. You follow him into a room that has a desk with a laptop and a wooden chair. . . That must be uncomfortable for him, sitting at this desk for how many hours a day, stalking your blog with the shitty hotel wifi, life must suck for this dude no wonder why he's like this. Shaking your head at that absurd intruding thought you eye the chair, is that really what you're gonna have to sit on? Walking over, you sit down. Nause grabs the type writer from a box in the corner of the room, he pushes the laptop to the side and replaces it with the typewriter. He looms behind you, waiting for you to start typing. "Anything. . specific you want me to write?" Quickly you begin to regret the decision of giving him the option to choose what you write. "What about one about me and. . ." You can quite literally feel his breath huffing down on you, his grip on the old chair makes a soft cracking noise at how tight he's holding onto it. "Y. . yeah! Of course!" You quickly say not wanting to hear what else he has to say..., also scared he's gonna hurt you on accident from how worked up he got. Your attention goes back on the type writer, fingers tap against the keys writing whatever comes to your mind.

"Can you make it long....? Like at the minimum one hundred pages maybe?" Your fingers freeze on the keys. "one. . ONE HUNDRED?!" Your eyes widen as you tilt your head up to look at him, his gaze is still unrelenting as ever. "Yes! Since I'm getting a 'real', authentic work of art from you personally. . . I need it to be long.. It needs to take me more than one sitting to read it! PAHAHAHAHA." Who the hell does the guy think he is. "Sure. ." You're cooked, you've only manged to write stories with at the maximum two thousand words, and now you have to achieve like what. . fifty thousand words? Hopefully- "Can you start writing? Sorry to press but you've been looking up at me for a minute now. .NOT that I don't mind. . . pahahahahahaha," Your head slowly tilts back down defeated, no way in hell you can write this much in one sitting, and having to do it sitting on this uncomfortable ass chair and someone watching every word you type. Deciding to lock in with that grindset mindset you begin typing, fingers grazing over the keys as you tap away. With Nause not injecting in every second you're able to actually write.

You've managed to successfully write a solid ten pages. You slump forward dejected. How the actual fuck are you going to finish this. Already ran out of ideas and your ass starting to hurt from the wooden chair. You shift with a soft groan, having completely forgotten about the monster looming right behind you. You jump forward, startled at the sudden voice behind you, tilting your head to see him. "How's it going Superstar? Is the chair treating you well enough PHAHAHAHA." The nerve on this guy. You give him a deadpanned stare before turning your head to face the type writer again. "It's great. Thank you very much..," Sarcasm laced your voice, a small laugh can be heard behind you then in a swift movement Nause picks you up and places you on his lap as he sits down on the chair that 'might' be a little too small for him. Your body tenses up in his grasp as his hands lay comfortably around your waist, keeping you in place. Small huffing can be heard behind you. "You can relax Superstar, I won't be hurting you...yet. phahahahahahahah. . . hah.."

How ominous! You slowly begin typing again, trying to calm your breathing or just yourself in general. But it seems like Nause isn't letting you get anywhere near finishing that damn story. He keeps on poking and prodding you with injections on what you should put in the story. "How about you make me a love interest? Make it where me and you.." His labored breathing starts up again, his grip on you tightening but he doesn't seem to care at your attempts for him to stop. "Y. . Yeah! Okay!" You quickly verbally agree to this idea instead of nodding to his other ones since this one seems to twist something inside him. Gross. His grip slowly loosens as you quickly begin writing again about him and you doing more intimate things like couples would do, but nothing too drastic.

Nause gets more comfortable as your fingers press against the keys, it seems like the noise lulls him to some extent. Was this part of one of his fantasies he's had with you? You start to feel kinda bad for the dude, he's way too obsessed with you. . a nobody. How could someone like this find you alluring? You cautiously lean back into him, oddly finding comfort in this situation. You hear his heavy breathing audibly hitch at the sudden adjustment. His arms snake around your waist completely, entraping you for good now. Not that you were complaining, it felt nice.. and comforting, in a more underlying sickening way. You shouldn't be comfortable around this guy, he's your stalker after all, in all reality did you even know anything about him besides his crippling obsession over you? No, no you didnt, you should be pushing him away but the fear, the fear of him hurting you made you stay in his lap. In the back of your mind you knew how wrong this was, how wrong it was for you to find a small twing of comfort with this sadistic monster. Maybe your desperation, the feeling of finally feeling wanted in your life, finding someone who actually wanted to be by you?

These thoughts made you feel revolted. You were actually feeling disgusted with yourself right now. A sickening feeling wrapped into your stomach, why were you trying to find some light in this situation? Was it to try and manipulate yourself into thinking that you're fine with all of. . this? You've never met anyone like this before. Never seen a person so obsessed. . devoted with you, you didn't want this, not at all. This guy is dangerous, he's unstable, and extremely unpredictable. You 'shouldnt' want this, but knowing that it's wrong only makes you crave it more. When you’re not used to attention, anything feels romantic. The way his arms are wrapped around your body as you try to focus on writing the story infront of you make you feel completed in a way. Nauses chipper voice broke you out of your thoughts, "Can you start to write the more heated stuff now? Just like in your old posts? Can you write about how you and I. ." He begins to list off in very detailed scenarios between you both. You sit there and listen to him talking non stop, you don't even think he took a break to breath. As he continues to rant about multiple of his fantasies that you should write about his grip on you gets tighter. . . and tighter to the point where it feels like he's going to break your ribs.

You yelp. Pathetically, you try to pry his hands off of you but it doesn't work. Realization sets in that he doesn't realize his death grip he has on you. You tilt your head to see him and his gaze is glossed over as he continues to ramble on about his weird fantasies. You look around the room and see that his axe is near the door, too far away to grab.You slowly lose hope, is this how you die, by the hands of your obessor? A cracking noise is what makes him stop. Your breathing chokes as you feel a sudden shot of pain near your chest. 'Did. . did he just break my rib..?' "S..SUPERSTAR? Superstar are you okay?" His voice is laced with faux worry, but you're too out of it to realize, your eyes are glued to where you felt the pain. Multiple thoughts rush through head about the pain, what were you even going to do? Nause picking you up is what breaks you out of the trance. "I think I broke your rib! PHAHAHA." Your eyebrows furrow at his laughing. He didn't seem to feel any remorse or guilt for hurting you. . . you should've known. You're a fool to have thought you felt secure next to him.

The sudden shift in surroundings jolts you out of the haze of pain and fear, as Nause carries you into a different room. The air feels heavier here, suffused with a sense of foreboding that sends shivers down your spine. The mattress beneath you feels cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth you once sought in his twisted embrace.As your gaze wanders around the room, you are met with a display of walls adorned with an array of photographs capturing moments of your life, each one a piece of your personal history frozen in time. Surrounding you are intimate details about your existence, laid bare for Nause to see, creating a tapestry of memories and revelations that paint a vivid portrait of your identity, your life. You can't help but feel like a trapped bird, ensnared in a web woven by a predator whose intentions grow darker with each passing moment.

Nause reappeared after a brief moment, holding a small, sleek black container in his hands. As he places it beside you, his tall figure looms over, casting a shadow that seems to engulf the room. "Superstar, may I have a look at where it hurts?" he asks, his one visible eye gazing at you with an innocent curiosity. Feeling a mix of apprehension, you nod hesitantly mumbling unsure "S. . Sure," propping yourself up with your elbows. Slowly, you lift your shirt, revealing the area where your ribs are already bruising. Nause opens the container, revealing its contents - soft gauze and a cold ice pack, promising relief from the pain that gnaws at you. He begins to slowly wrap the ice pack with gauze around the side where your rib was broken, the coldness makes your body shudder and goosebumps form on your skin. His movements are carefully slow, as if he's doing it on purpose. As you finally begin to come down from your shock of how much pain you were in, soft labored breathing can be heard next to you. You wonder how long he's been like that, was him bandaging you up really making him act up. . again?

With a nervous gaze, you watch as his hands slowly guide the gauze just under chest, his eyes were trained on your exposed flesh. You cringe slighty as you notice, is that what was really bothering him? Seeing half your torso exposed? "Did you know this was one of my scenarios I've thought of before?!" Nauses somehow chipper voice rings through the quiet room. Holy fuck, he broke your rib on purpose. This revolution makes your body shudder with disgust? Anger? You couldn't really tell at the moment. "Oh. . Oh really. ." You mumbled out under your breat, distaste laced your . Nause finishes up bandaging you up and sets the container on the floor next to the bed. You quickly pull your shirt down with the energy you have left. You lay back down on the dingy bed now just feeling how tired. . exhausted you were. A sigh leaves you as your hands rub against your face, leaving them there for a second before letting then fall to your sides.

Frustration boiled inside you. This job was suppost to be quick and easy, you wernt prepared for this, for 'any' of this. This was most likely some sort of trap from your client. He set you up for failure. "Superstar, you should really get some rest. You still need to finish writing my one hundred pages story!" Your tired eyes glanced over to him, his towering frame made you feel small, pathetic. "Yeah. . goodnight.." You managed to muster out, turning around so your back faced him. Pulling the blanket up to your face, nuzzling into it. Sleep quickly came over to you. Should it worry you that he's watching you sleep? Yeah, and should you be on guard? Probally, but you've lost hope. You never really had a chance in the first place, did you?

A soft groan left your throat as you woke up, the pain from your broken rib quickly reminding you where you were. Rolling over on your back with a yawn you almost choke on your breath as you see Nause still standing over the bed. . watching you. "Were you there. . . all night?" You question him with a raised brow, you were seriously concernedfor this guy. "Of course! I had to make sure my Superstar was safe!" Of course, what more did you expect from him. You hiss out in pain as you sit up. "Can I get like an advil or something?" Your hand holds the spot where the now semi cold ice pack sits, you don't bother telling him about the temperature of it, you don't want to risk him overwhelming himself again and hurting you. . again. He seems to pause for a second, letting out an unsure noise. "I don't really have anything like that here. .The only reason I got that ice pack and stuff for you was from one of my neighbors. ." Sheepishly he rubbed the back of his neck his eye twitched with agitation, you wondered about why he couldn't just go over next door and ask for some pain meds but you didn't wanna pester him about it, he didn't seem to have the best relationship with the other residents here.

"BUT! To take your mind off of the pain you can continue writing!" Oh right, you still had to write about fifty more pages for his psychotic fanfic about you both. With the typewriter on standby he carefully sets it in your lap, to your suprise it wasn't as heavy as you thought it would be. Leaning back on the adjusted pillows behind you, you began writing. Deciding to cheap your way out, you typed every word with doubled letters to make the pages fill out quicker. After awhile, you were able to make the pages filled out faster than normal, but you quickly ran out of ideas. "Do you 'really' need a hundred pages? Im running out of ideas. Can't these perfectly crafted fifty pages be go-," Nause quickly cuts you off. "NO! I NEED those one hundred pages. I need. . . hah. ." His voice trails off as his breathing starts to get harder. In a swift motion he yanks his axe out, his grip tight on the handle, his eyes clouded with god knows what as he glares at you.

"Y. . Yeah! Of courseee..." You quickly agree scared of the axe welding monster infront of you. His grip slowly falters as his breathing goes back to normal after a couple of moments. "PAHAHAHA. . HAH.. I know how to help you!" Your expression quickly dropped, what could he mean by that? He could do litteraly anything to 'help' you, what he thinks could be 'help' could be the complete opposite to you. Multiple ideas infected your head, multiple terrible ideas, you were terrified on what he was about to do. "Since you need inspiration how about I help get your little mind in gear again!" His hand pulled down his bandana showing his sinister grin that laced his face, his sharp teeth gleamed in the dimly lit bedroom. "PHAHAHA!" He began to hysterically laugh again as he crawled onto the bed with you, on top of you. "W. . wha . ." The words you want to get out in protest, to question what he's about to do, they get stuck in your throat from fear. All you can do is stare up at him petrified with wide eyes, mouth agap.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this. .!" His eye gleamed down at you happily, in his sick twisted mind this way his way of helping you. After a moment of him just looking at you and you not giving a response, his head tilted to the side in confusion. His expression turned to one of a kicked puppy, his once toothy grin frowned. "What's the matter? Why arnt you excited? Isn't this what you've wanted?" He questioned looking confused, and a little heart broken. "I've read all your stories and one of them sounds just like this! A tall, handsome, good looking monster with an axe gets with you. I already know that the story was about me, the description matches. So. . . isn't this what you want?" You freeze, did you actually write something like that? You don't remember at all, you begin to doubt his truthfulness and think he made that up on the spot just to try and manipulate you. But, another thought did cloud your mind. When in your whole life are you going to get another chance to fuck a monster? You start to see the appeal of him, his grey skin, sinister gaze, size difference, and the fact he could kill you? A whole package deal to be honest.

"I. . I guess." Reluctantly you agree, if there's a chance you're going to die, you'll die happy. You wince under his gaze, his eyes squint happily once more as his toothy grin appears again. "Great! Even if you said no I was going to anyways!" He admits nonchalantly, what did you expect, of course he would. "Now let's get those creative gears in your head flowing with endless ideas!" His voiced changed into a slutry tone as his gaze clouded with undying lust. With his head lowered and his face just inches from yours, you can see a long, black tongue slithering out of his mouth. A soft gasp leaves your mouth at the sight, at the opportunity Nause connects his mouth with yours. His tongue snaked into your mouth, causing you to let out a choked gasp. He then left you with a sated moan as his tongue roamed around in your mouth. His hands creeped under your shirt, his rough fingers pawed at the exposed flesh of your sides, seemingly trying to ground himself.

As his knee forcefully inserted itself between your thighs rubbing against you, it felt divine. A choked whimper left your lips at the feeling, you don't even remember the last time someone was this intimate with you, it was making you feel light headed. . . No it wasn't because of that, it was the fact that Nause wasn't budging when you needed air, now. Your eyes shot open as your hands relentlessly pushed and pathetically punched against his chest, he was unmoving. With your vision starting to blur you resorted to your last idea, your hand moved down to his crotch and roughly squzzed. A low moan left his mouth as he pulled back from you panting heavily. "PHAHAHAHA. Superstar. . hah.," He stares down at your hand, licking his lips before reaching down and grabbing it. His large hand wrapped around your wrist pushing your hand harder onto him.

A low satisfied groan leaves him as he ruts against your hand. "N. .Nause..," You spoke barley above a whisper, your eyes were glued to the scene infront of you, his large clothed cock rubbing against your hand. Fuck, there's no way that was fitting inside you in anyway. "Superstar. ." His eyes never left your face. "I. . wait a second, how did it go again.." He mumbled more to himself as he took his hand off of yours and searched his pockets. After a moment he took a piece of carefully folded paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, his eyes scanned the page. "Nause. . . what is that." You could already assume it was one of your fictive stories. "It's one of my favorite pieces by you! I just forgot how it went. . bear with me for a moment Superstar. . .!" His voice trailed off twords the end as he concentrates on re freshing his memory up on supposedly what he wants to do. "Aha! Now get ready for a once in a life time experience. . . PAHAHAHAHA." He shoves the paper back into his pocket, his predatory gaze looks down at your lower abdomen. His fingers quickly did work of your pants tugging them off and discarding them on the floor.

His breathing begins to get labored again and if pupils could have heart eyes that's what he would have right now. "Finally. .!" He gets situated inbetween your thighs, now laying on his stomach, his head resting on the inner of your thigh and his callused fingers lazily tracing along the already damp clothed slit of your entrance. In a swift sudden motion he pulls his axe out from his back, holding onto the butt of the axe he slowly cuts off your underwear. Your body freezes as you stare down at him with wide, scared, yet desperate eyes. Maybe him using the axe turned you on, just a little bit. His axe hovered over the bare skin of your thighs, he seemed lost in a trance as he traced light lines above your skin.

"N. .Nause?!" Catiously you warned him with a slight waver in your tone, scared he was actually going to cut you. "PAHAHAHAHA. . . HAH.. Sorry." He haphazardly tosses the axe off the side of the bed, a thud resonates in the room from the heavy axe. "Now where were we!?" He stares at you briefly before redirecting it down to your exposed cunt. His fingers traced along your folds, letting his fingers get drenched in your slick. With his mouth hovering over your clit, he experimentally takes a long lick on it. You squirm at the feeling, thighs instinctively wanting to close, his free hand holds onto one of your thighs making sure you're spread open for him. His two fingers quickly pump in and out of you as his tongue circles and softly sucks on your clit. The obscene squeltch of your pussy sends a blush across your face, with his relentless bullying of his fingers in you, curling up into every time he pushed them in. Your hips jerked as you felt the familiar feeling of your high building up in your stomach.

Soft pants filled the room as you neared your peak, your hands gripped onto Nauses head pushing him more into you, the feeling of his tongue swirling around on you became too much. A soft moan left your mouth as you clenched around his fingers, coating them with your cum. The low groan that left Nause vibrated against you, causing your hips to jerk slighty due to the stimulation. "PAHAHA. Did I do good Superstar?" He asked teasingly while sucking hard on your clit. "Mmphh.." Is all you manage to reply from the overstimulation. Nause leans back after a moment, allowing you to catch your breath. "Now let's get to the real show! HAH. ." His unerving grin never leaving his face as he undoes the clasp of his grayish belt, quickly yanking his pants down discarding them on the floor.

You're now able to see his clothed member strained against the confines of his briefs, there's a wet spot near his tip from how much pre cum he's leaking. Your eyes widen at just how big he is again realizing that there's no way he's gonna be able to fit all of that in you. "Feeling nervous? PAHAHAHA. You look so cute when you're scared. . hehe..!" His hands grab at your shirt ripping it off of you, then unclasping your bra leaving you completely nude underneath him. His hands find there way to your chest and paw at your breast's, taking in the nip inbetween his fingers and tweening it. The noises filling in the room are your soft whines and whimpers and Nauses concerning hard breathing. "Nause. ." You mewl out impatiently. "Sorry! They're just so soft..HAH..heh.." He pinches them once more before pulling off his briefs. With him now exposed he grabbed the back of your thighs hastily, pushing them up to your chest.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this!" With his neurotic gaze set on yours he roughly pushes himself inside, pained whimpers filled the room as tears filled the corners of your eyes. The sudden intrusion with no warning did not prepare you at all. He's only able to stuff about half of himself inside you due to his size. You guess due to him being freakishly tall with a huge build he was bound to have a big cock. "So small.." He mutters with a groan into your neck. "All mine. ." He pulls out and slowly ruts back in clumsy, your gummy walls desperately try to adjust to his size. With each thrust, his movements get harsher, more needy, all consuming. With his face nuzzled into your neck, you feel something slick slither around your neck before a quick shot of pain envelopes on your shoulder.

Nause bites rather harshly, letting his teeth sink in just enough to draw blood. His tongue laps up the blood eagerly, you can feel his dick throb inside you as he gets closer to his release. His hand moves down and his rough thumb sloppily rubs circles on your clit, a choked moan leaves you at the overwhelming sensations. You thought he would be talking this whole time but he seems too caught up in the feeling to care. With his thrusts getting more sloppy and the pleasure building up in your stomach becoming too much, you clench around Nauses cock, closing your eyes at the feeling letting out a moan as you ride out your climax. Shortly after Nause rocks his hips into a few more times before shoving himself back in roughly. You shudder at the feeling of him filling you up, harsh breaths fill your ears as he's gripping onto you like you'll leave.

He stays on top of you, holding onto you as his cock slowly softens inside of you. He pulls out, laying beside you, his arms hugging you from behind, face comfortably nuzzled in your hair, taking in the scent. The feeling is comforting, as you hear his breathing soften behind you sleep begins to lull you. You sleep comfortably in Nauses arms, the dread of having to write those pages and the task of removing Nause from this room leaves your mind as sleep over takes you. The pain of your rib being forgotten, that was going to be a pain when you woke up.

[portgasdwrld]

☆ Special candy

Summary; Ace ate a candy and turned into the opposite sex lol, I feel like it would be a dumb situation he would put himself into 💀🏃🏻‍♀️

Warning: f!reader, fluff/comedy

Authors note: I finally came to the rescue of the Ace’s fic shortage

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Earlier in the day at an island ⁑

You two passed by a boutique who looked quite old and there was bunch of unique objects outside of the store, which automatically caught y’all eyes.

-They have cool bracelets! We should get matching ones babe!

Ace enthusiastically exclaimed grabbing two bracelet and heading inside the old store. You chuckled and followed your boyfriend inside, with a smile.

A woman who seemed to be a bit older than you two welcomed y’all into the store. She pushed her dark long hair behind her shoulder as she fixed her glasses and continued knitting, which seemed to be scarf.

-Mmm, look there is more options..

Ace pointed at with a serious expression. He got closer to the wall where multiple bracelets were hanging. You approached him and started observing them with him.

-If you buy two, you get a discount in the rings.

The woman spoke without looking at us. Ace looked at you brushing off his shoulders. He wasn’t really into rings but he pointed them, insisting you look to see if you like anything. As you looked through them, he walked around the store, a smile floating on his lips to the view of all the weird objects.

-Y’all are a couple?

The seller asked as she leaned over her counter, putting away her knitting project.

-Yeah, why?

Ace asked, his back faced to her. You glanced over at your boyfriend as you walked back to him with nothing, no ring really interested you.

-Y’all wanna try some candies ?

-Candies?

You asked with a cocked eyebrow. You directly thought it was probably some sex thing candy with aphrodisiac propriety. The 2nd commander finally looked back at her.

-I won’t say what exactly what it does, but it might be fun…

-Um n-

-Yeah why not?

Ace beat you to it and accepted as you were about to refuse.

Clearly who were you to just take some random candies from a sketchy boutique.

-You don’t even know whats in the candy

You stated as you rolled your eyes, following him to the cash where he put the two bracelets down, ready to pay.

-Don’t worry it’s not a drug, but I assume as you two seem to be pirates, a little movement in your daily life might be fun and interesting.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her word. You seemed to be the only one skeptic while your lover was done paying. She grabbed a green box with two blue candies. She put each one in a separate bag and slid a note in yours.

-I slid a note for you as you don’t seem to trust me too much. You can read it, but I think it will spoil the fun

She continued with a smile. She didn’t seem like any harm, but you still weren’t very excited about trying something weird from a stranger. Your man grabbed his bag and handed yours with one of the bracelets.

-Alright, thanks !

Ace smiled as he waved at the lady. She smiled back and as we left her store, she went back into knitting with a mischievous smirk.

Later that day ⁑

You threw the shopping bags in a corner in Ace’s room as you jumped into the bed, totally exhausted from walking everywhere. Discovering a new island with him is visiting at least 5 restaurants a day, looking through most boutiques, visiting unpopular spots and making out somewhere and then ending the day at some bar with the rest of the crew. You were exhausted to say the least.

Ace laughed as he watched you laid down on the bed.

-already tired ?

-shut up

You mumbled in a tired tone that stirred another chuckle out of the pirate. You rolled on your back, but something got out of your pocket: the blue candy. You totally forgot about it with everything.

-Oh the weird drug

You said without much enthusiasm as you watched the pink bag on the floor. With a quick move, you grabbed it. Your boyfriend took it out of his pocket with a smirk.

-Should we try it ?

-You do it without me

-Awww come onnn, babeeee

-Nooooo

You pushed yourself further into the sheets, letting your fatigue get the best of you. There was no way you were eating this. You threw the bag in the small bin close to his bed.

-You’re boring

Ace said with a pout and he quickly ate the candy. You honestly didn’t have the energy to scold him or care so you just watched him with a deadpan expression.

-How do you feel?

-Normal?

-Nice, now come lay down with me.

You changed into your pyjama as he slid under the sheets with a simple pair of boxer. You wrapped an arm over his torso and he left a kiss over your forehead as his arm wrapped your shoulders.

-I’m a bit disappointed

-huh?

- the candy

-…I told you it was sketchy

-yeah..

He yawned before pulling you more into him. You chuckled softly to yourself as you shook your head.

-Goodnight, baby~

-Mm..goodnight..

He mumbled as he quickly fell asleep.

***

You didn’t remember that you were so comfortable. Your head was lying down a plushy surface, but as much as you were terribly comfortable, Ace’s hair kept brushing into your face, tickling your nose. You did a mental note to yourself to cut his hair that might have gotten longer than you noticed. You grumbled as you stirred awake. You rolled on your back where you started at the ceiling for a moment to get your eyes used to being open. You rubbed them before turning to your side to stare at Aces sleepy figure.

What you didn’t expect was to literally see a naked woman in the bed just next to you. You screamed in total shock and pushed her & the sheets down the bed. You quickly grabbed Aces dagger on the night stand and shakily sat on the bed, ready to attack.

-Who tf are you??!

You asked completely shaken by the situation. Were you kidnapped in your sleep ?? Did someone broke into Ace room and locked him out or something?

The mysterious woman finally started to raise from the floor and rubbed her head from the shock.

-Waw..what a way to wake up babe..

You paused for a second.

Babe…

Don’t…

You lowered a little the dagger and looked down at the stranger. She was truly not wearing anything than maybe some black shorts. She had brown wavy hair up to her shoulders and had freckles on her cheeks. She looked at you, big brown sleepy eyes.

-Don’t tell me…

-What’s wrong ?

-What’s your name ?

-Huh?

-Just…just answer please…

-Babe, did you lose your memory while sleeping? I’m Ace, your hot boyfrie-WHAAAATTT?? WHY DO I HAVE BOOBS!!?

You finally dropped the dagger on the bed totally defeated. You pushed back your hair, totally stressed out.

This fkg dumbass.

-I guess you’re a woman now..

-HUUHH?? No..no I need to see Marco!

Ace, out of panic, quickly stood up and was about to head outside when you rushed to him and closed the door shut. You leaned against the door and pushed a pillow against his bare chest.

-You can’t go out with your boobs out, dummy! You only have your boxer on!

-Oh..yeah you’re right..

He admitted after looking down at himself.

-let me lend you a shirt or something..

You grumbled to yourself. It was so his type of behaviour to accidentally eat a candy like that. It still felt weird to talk to your boyfriend when he literally was a woman right now, he still was as stunning though.

-Ew, not a shirt, too hot for that

-Ugh you’re so annoying, wanna walk in a bra then?

You said sarcastically as you looked into your basket of clothes.

-That seems about a good idea-OOOooooOh I’m so hot!

You turned around to see him admire himself in the mirror, looking at his face attentively.

-Ugh, I knew I would be a baddie even as a girl.

You scoffed and threw him a red bikini top.

-Here, it matches your aesthetic pretty girl~

You teased him, but it fell on deaf ears. Ace was too focused on his new pair of boobs.

-STOP PLAYING WITH THEM!

You yelled frustrated and flustered as you grabbed the bikini top that fell on the floor. Ace stared at you with his hands still on them.

-Remove your hands, ima fix the top for you so you look somewhat decent outside.

-Thank you baby, you know I love you so much~

He said as he leaned to kiss you, but still unfamiliar with the visual, you stepped back. Your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows and you gave him a sorry smile, before pecking his lips.

-Sorry baby, I’m still getting used to it

He gave you a warm smile, stealing a kiss from your lips this time.

-I know, let’s fix this thing so I’m back to normal. I wonder how long it last?

You were now fixing the top at the back, tying it up and making sure he was comfy and had some support.

-Now, that I think of it. Didn’t the lady gave me a paper with all the explanation?

-You’re right! It must still be in the bin!

You walked to the bin and started to search for the bag as Ace put his usual accessories and shorts on.

-Babe…

-Yes?

-I don’t have a dick anymore…

You stayed silent for few seconds contemplating on how to answer this obvious realization. His hand was now on his crotch. He pushed his hair behind his ears as he looked at you with big eyes, totally shocked.

-I found the bag

You ignored his statement and opened the little bag with the candy and the note. You started to read the few lines and sighed relieved.

-Okay it says, it should last a couple of hours, so nothing to worry.

-Nice! Now I’m starving so let’s go eat something!

-The crew is definitely going to be startled !

You laughed as you stared at Ace, still not believing the situation. Your brain couldn’t understand that the person sitting next to you was the man you loved so much, but in your heart nothing truly changed. He chuckled and pecked your cheek as he took your hand in his.

-Yeah, it’s definitely gonna be a lesson

-Will it really be tho?

-Mmm, I don’t know I’m too hungry to think

-Ugh, i gotta admit you are a cute girl~

-Then you know we have few hours to explore this body?

He said wiggling his eyebrows.

-Ace..

-What? I’m curious to know how it fe-

-Let’s go eat!

You heard your boyfriend laugh behind you as you ran to the door. You were starting to be very hungry too and all that mess deserved a well balanced breakfast.

*****

EXTRA

-Hopefully that will be a lesson to this idiot to not eat anything and islander give him-oi

Marco commented with a smirk as he bit into an apple.

-You really think it’s gonna solve his reckless behaviour?

You commented as you shook your head. The commanders have been making fun of Ace since he showed up at the dining hall. It started by total confusion until you explained what happened, which sparked everyone to laugh and tease the second division commander.

-Y’all..are talking…too much sh-

Ace started between huge bites of food and eventually fell asleep.

[writerslittlelibrary]

I'll protect you, princess au

masterlist

summary: you're the princess of the most important kingdom in the world. every illegal organisation in existence has it out for you, and after a particularly dangerous situation, that almost ended in your death, your parents have decided to give you a personal guard to protect you. what happens when this knight messes with every rule you've ever known?

pairing: knight Abby Anderson x princess reader

warnings: at one point it’s mentioned that being gay is forbidden (does that need a warning lol???) 

genre: fluff, forbidden love

words: 1634

a/n: I'm not even gonna pretend that I don't fantasise at night about me being a princess, and sneaking around with knight!Abby. could you even imagine?! Abby is literally a perfect knight. she's sweet and protective and strong and god I'm experiencing gay panic

I'm imagining this to be set in a more mediaeval world, like once upon a time :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Your father had always been a cautious man. Being the most powerful Royal family in the world came with its risks, and after you almost got killed last year, he had assigned you with a personal guard. 

You were a bit sceptical at first, yet your father assured you she was the best trained person in the entire country. With her protecting you, nothing could happen. She was strong, and she was well trained to be able to tell whether people were sketchy or not from a mile away. 

You still weren't sure, but you were quick to change your mind when you finally met her.

She was insanely attractive. She looked super strong, but when she went to introduce herself to you, she had the sweetest smile you had ever seen. She was polite, and yet she looked like she could lift you up and throw you down a cliff. To say she didn't make you feel things would be a lie.

She had been by your side for a few months now, and you couldn't deny how nice it was to be able to go out into the world without having to worry about people harassing you.

Abby was always there, no matter what you did. 

Whether you went horse riding, or decided to have a little picnic by the lake, Abby would join you, and she would either keep you company, or stand at a safe distance. Whichever you preferred at the moment. 

Today was one of the days that you felt like going out for a ride. The weather was great, and after the heavy rainfall you had been experiencing for the past couple days, you were craving some nice spring sunshine. 

“Are you almost ready, milady?” Abby asked after knocking and opening your door.

“I'm nearly finished,” you replied, pulling your boots on and making your way towards the door. “Will Arthur be joining us today?” you asked Abby. You were oblivious to the face she made. You figured she simply did not like Arthur, but to Abby it was so much more than that. 

Arthur had been the guy your parents had been pushing you towards.

You were growing up, and it was time for you to try and find a husband. Arthur was a prince who came from your neighbouring kingdom. His family was rich, and his people were pleased. His family was well respected, and because of this fact, your parents were greatly interested in a union. You, however, made no effort to show interest in Arthur, and so, your parents had decided to invite him over to your kingdom, to hopefully create a spark between you two.

It was safe to say that Arthur was head over heels for you, but you could not say the same.

He was kind, sure, but he was too sure of himself. He was convinced that every girl in the kingdom was obsessed with him, and that he was the greatest prince that the kingdom had ever seen.

Every time he made a comment about his greatness, you tried to kindly explain to him that what he was saying was probably not true. However, Abby was less kind, and every time Arthur made a comment that insulted either you, or any other girl, she was quick to shut him up.

Arthur didn't like Abby, and Abby didn't like Arthur.

“I believe I heard him say he's not very fond of horseback riding, ma'am,” Abby explained, knowing full well that she never made an effort to ask him.

You let out a sigh of relief. “That's a shame,” you said, trying, and failing, to hide your satisfaction.

“Shall we go then?” you asked Abby, who nodded and stepped aside, allowing you to exit your room and walk ahead as you made your way to the stables. 

Abby walked behind you, exactly three steps, like she always did. She wasn't too close, neither was she too far. You liked it that way, unaware of the fact that Abby liked it just as much. She felt at ease, knowing she was the one protecting you.

When you arrived at the stables, your horses were already prepared. You thanked the stable boy and took the reins of your horse, waiting for Abby to copy your actions.

She did, and together you walked outside.

“Where should we go today, princess?” Abby asked, getting onto her own horse after you had gotten onto yours. You simply shrugged in reply, looking out into the forest.

“I'm not too certain. We could, perhaps, just ride around, and see where we end up?” you suggested, looking at Abby for approval. She smiled.

“Of course, princess. That is a wonderful idea.” 

After riding around for a few hours, you ended up at a beautiful lake. The sun reflected off the water beautifully, and the grass field around the lake was breathtaking. You stopped there, getting off of your horse and tying it to a tree. 

Abby copied your actions, tying her own horse to the tree before following you towards the water. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Abby asked while she gave your side a slight nudge. 

You sighed, looking over the water to take a moment to collect your thoughts. 

“What do you think about Arthur?” you then asked Abby, who sighed and looked away from you, thinking about how to say what she wanted to say, without sounding too rude. 

“I think his family is rich, and that he is the textbook definition of the perfect prince,” Abby said, turning back to look at you again. “Why do you ask?”

You sighed, turning to face Abby as well. 

“I don’t think I want to marry him, but I don’t want to disappoint my parents. They appear to really like Arthur, and he seems kind enough, but he’s so full of himself. Besides that, I just don’t…” you stopped yourself, nearly spilling your deepest secret. 

Abby quirked her eyebrow, looking at you with much interest now.

“You don’t… what?” she asked.

You sighed again, turning your head away from Abby. 

“I am not attracted to him,” you said, hoping to satisfy Abby with your answer. Of course, she knew that that wasn’t what you were going to say. 

“Not attracted to him, or to guys in general?” Abby subtly questioned, patiently waiting for your answer.

You gasped, turning to Abby like she had just spoken of the devil.

“Abby! How dare you suggest such a thing. You know that is forbidden,” you corrected her, to which Abby just smiled kindly at you.

“It is just us two here. I promise you that whatever you tell me, I shall not tell another soul,” Abby promised, reaching for your hand and rubbing circles at the back of it. 

You sighed softly, gathering your courage before speaking again.

“Do you think it is wrong? To be attracted to the same gender, I mean,” you asked Abby, looking at her with questioning eyes. Abby simply shook her head.

“I don’t. Do you?”

You sighed once more, before nodding slightly. 

“I am not certain. I cannot deny these feelings I have. But I cannot let it hinder me from becoming the queen my people need. One day, I will have to make an heir. I will become queen, and I will need to have children. That’s just the way it is,” you explained. 

Abby smiled at you. 

“You know, when you are the queen, you get to decide that. You could make new laws, that would state that the next heir, wouldn’t have to be your bloodline. You could give someone else a rightful claim to the throne,” Abby suggested, and after thinking about it for a little while, you turned to her, nodding.

“In that case, I do prefer girls. I wish I could tell the one that I like…” you confessed, and Abby smiled. 

“You’re secret is safe with me, princess. And if we’re being honest here, I do prefer girls as well,” Abby confessed, chuckling at the way you head whipped around. 

“You do?!” you asked in surprise, and Abby nodded. 

“In fact, there happens to be a girl I like as well,” Abby told you, smiling at the hint of disappointment that flashed over your face. 

“You know, I think she likes me too,” Abby then continued, waiting to see your reaction.

“Will you tell her? Will she accept it?” you asked Abby.

“That depends. May I kiss you, princess?” Abby then asked, placing her fingers under your chin to get you to face her. 

You’re cheeks flushed to a bright red, but yet you still nodded, biting you lip while staring into Abby’s eyes, waiting for her next move. 

Slowly, Abby leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. After she pulled away, she smiled sweetly at you.

“And? Do you think she’ll accept it?” Abby asked you, smiling when you nodded excitedly. 

“I think she’ll be delighted to know you like her,” you responded, giggling when Abby gave you a small kiss on your cheek.

“We should go back to the castle. Your parents will start wondering where you are,” Abby then said. You looked around, noticing that the sun had already started setting. Your dinner would be prepared soon, and you knew how much your parents disliked you being late for dinner. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to share a moment like this again…?” you asked Abby carefully after you walked towards your horse, mounting it.

“Don’t worry, princess. There will be plenty of moments like this,” Abby assured you, climbing onto her own horse and following the way home. 

Maybe you feelings weren’t that scandalous at all. Maybe Abby was right. Perhaps you could bend the rules, should you become queen soon…

(Wouldn’t it be cute to make a part 2, with queen reader and Abby who find Lev, and assign him as the next heir 🫣)

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Join us, please?

X-Men fanfic

wc: 5.3 K summary: Charles tries to get you into his school warnings: platonic story! telekinesis!reader, reader has anxiety, stalking but it's not actual stalking, one swear word, use of weed a/n: it started out as a drabble idea, now I'm unsure if I'll ever continue writing for this. (this came out more as a crackfic) Have fun reading, I'd be happy for some feedback!!

Sitting at a bar on a saturday wasn‘t really something you do regurarly, but this is a special occasion. Or rather more of a pathetic attempt to run away from your problems and forget about everything that happened in the last two days. The bitter taste of your pint makes you scrunch up your face a little, but you soon get used to it, and are now trying to drain everything out. Maybe, if you wouldn‘t work at a shitty fast food restaurant and had a normal boss, you wouldn‘t be here. Maybe then, you wouldn‘t think your life is a mess and you wouldn‘t be sulking here by your own pitiful, depressed ass.

The pain in your palms isn‘t doing you any favours, especially since you feel weaker than usual today. You knew using your powers more frequently would lead up to you hurting, but it‘s not like you could neglect your teleknesis. You don‘t want to forget how it works, so you decided to try it out yesterday again. If only you would‘ve kept track of the time, you wouldn‘t be cooling your hands against the glass of beer at the moment.

Right as you are taking another sip, a young man sits beside you, wearing a warm smile on his face. Before you could say something or think more about this, he speaks up.

»Good evening, my name‘s Charles. All alone today?«

God, he speaks like a rich man. Is he a rich man? Maybe you can get rich tonight and finally quit your job.

»Uh, yeah. All alone.«

He keeps smiling lightly at you, a rather awkward silence falling over you both. Finally, your intoxicated brain catches up, realising you haven‘t introduced yourself yet. With a quick apology, you tell him your name and grow sheepish.

»It‘s alright, don‘t worry. I actually have some questions for you. Nothing sketchy, I promise.«

Whoever this man is, he‘s got some charm. But it works, and you‘re already listenening to him anyway. Come to notice, you have never seen this man before. Especially not in such a rowdy bar like this. He seems to be way too organised and polite for this.

After a small moment, he speaks up again, getting to his questions.

»Promise me not to freak out, but I know about your mutation. Your ability to move things around without actually touching them? Yes, so, we have that university in New York, people like you are trained there.«

Panic rises in your gut and you feel like this man is a danger for you. Of course, he expected that reaction, it‘s not the first time he confronted mutants to get them into his university. Before you could actually scream or get physical, he puts his hand up and continues to talk.

»I don‘t mean to harm you. Just help and get you a safe place. We will help you with your telekinesis.« Charles still seems calm and polite like before, seeing a hint of tension behind his expression. Whatever this is about, you are getting a hard time processing it. Now, come to think of it, he actually seems less patient. The way he worded it was polite and calm, but it‘s noticeable that he did this more often probably.

»No.«

Charles face drops at your blunt answer. But he has more ways to convince you.

»Darling, we offer excellent food and rooms to live in. It won‘t even cost you anything, we just want to make sure you‘re safe and learn to control your ability.«

»Yeah, that‘s what they all say. Charming me up at first and then offering me something unrealistic. Who even is ‚we‘?«

You scoff, downing the last few sips of your beer before setting it down and getting up to leave. Charles follows you quickly, making sure he doesn‘t look like a creep. He finds himself feeling stupid, of course someone would think that way when a strange man starts talking like that.

»By ‚we‘ I mean-«

»I don‘t want to hear it.«

You interrupt him, knowing better from studying ciminoligy for half a year by now. Second semester and all you can think about are the various ways of unknowingly getting into the hands of death. Or maybe your paranoia just got worse once you started uni, but that‘s beside the point.

Stomping out of the bar, the cold air hits you like a truck, immediately wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck and shoving your hands into your soft jacket. As if this isn‘t giving you an anxiety attack already, the man is following beside you, not letting up.

»Listen, we can talk about this.«

He tries again, putting his own coat as he falls in step with you. You, however, shake your head and keep your eyes forward.

»No. I don‘t want to.«

Charles tries really hard not to let his frustration show, trying out another way of figuring out what to do. He keeps his eyes on you, finally reading your thoughts to find out why you are so reluctant. As he does so, he finds himself more concerned than surprised. The fact that you are afraid of getting killed this way is something he didn‘t expect to hear. At the same time, your mind is so chaotic, it was hard at first to hear what you were thinking. Probably an effect of the alcohol, but something tells him this is most likely normal.

Seeing that he won‘t leave your side, you consider using your ability. Charles is faster, since he is still in your mind, stepping up in front of you.

»If you think using your mutation will solve your every problem, then you are wrong. Well, mostly. But this won‘t solve it, if not make it worse for you.«

He exhales once he is done talking, his expression growing more serious and authoritive.

»How did you even know I was about to use some powers on you?«

You try to pretend you don‘t have any abilities or mutation, not sure where this will lead you to anyway and being on edge from the moment he mentioned your telekinesis.

The man before you just smiles, seeing through the attempt of playing innocent.

»I read minds, dear. No way of hiding.«

His sentence throws a brutal shiver down your spine, feeling the strong urge to run away. Good thing you went the opposite direction of your dorms, so he wouldn‘t know where you live for now.

Charles sees how you are struggling, trying a more gentle approach this time.

»Look, I won‘t force you to come to my school, but I would recommend it to you. Here is my card with my number, tell me if you change your mind.«

He hands you over a small business card, the ink-writing neat and classy, it almost makes you forget how anxious you are. With a last look at him, you make your way back to your dorms with an uneasy and uncomfortable feeling towards this all. Just your lucky saturday.

◐

Next day was hard waking up, the slight hangover from the few beers last night were giving you a headache making you even more tired than usual. The business card from Charles is a constant reminder of how the night ended. In an unpleasant way. You were up for about three more hours, researching about the school and this man who talked to you. It‘s all so strange but familiar at the same time. You don‘t know why, but it doesn‘t sound so bad after constantly thinking about it in your lectures. Even now, as you are taking orders in the drive way, the idea of going to that school is more appealing than getting your dream job as a crime scene detective.

Another car drives up, hearing the motor through your headset and see it on the CCTV in front of you. You can‘t see the person inside yet, speaking the sentence you have to say at least a hundred times since this afternoon already.

The deeper, smooth voice tells you his order, a simple coke and fries. Writing the order onto your pad, you hand it over to your coworker and tell the person to drive up to the front window. Once he does, you help your coworker with the coke, the day being less busy now that it‘s nearing the closing hours.

You step up to the front desk, holding both the cup of soft drink and bag of fires, handing it over the open window. Once you look at the person, you pause. But you decide to pretend you don‘t know him, continuing with your job.

»That‘d be three-nintynine, sir.«

Of course, Charles smiles ever so politely at you and hands you more money than needed in return. You get the change behind the window, but he speaks up.

»Oh, no need for change. That‘s you tip, I know you work hard. However, I do need to speak to you. Your shift ends in fifteen minutes, no?«

Of course he knows that. Of course he knows where you work, probably even knows when you have to wake up for university.

You nod without argument, keeping your head down and sort the money in the cash register, really hoping he will just drive off silently and not cause a scene.

»I‘ll meet you at the back, then.«

Once he is away, you feel relieved and become more anxious in return. You sigh out heavily in attempt to get the uncomfortable feelings away, it not helping your situation.

»That guy bothering you?«

Your coworker at the food questions, looking ready to step in and follow the person you took the order from. But you shake your head in return, reassuring him you just had a long day and you get overwhelmed easily. At least he didn‘t hear exactly what Charles said, or else he‘d be running after that car in a second.

Your coworker is nice for that, also being strong and muscular, but you could handle this on your own.

Cleaning and sorting the rest of the stuff in the last fifteen minutes, and finally getting back into your normal clothes, you make your way outside to meet Charles.

You walk out of the back as usual and see the sillhoute of the man you just saw yesterday at the bar. He walks up to you, hands in pockets and still with that polite expression.

»Good evening. How was your shift?«

Fucking wonderful. You don‘t say that though and get straight to the point.

»Why are you here?« Charles seems either surprised or impressed for a moment, it‘s hard to tell.

»Just here to remind you of my offer. Not sure if you forgot about it since you had a few beers last night,« he answers back, putting his hands behind his back, »did you think more about it yet?«

Of course you have. You have researched about their school as much as you could, sacrificed your sleep for it.

»I haven‘t. I‘m not going, I have other things to do.«

You reply back with more intent behind it, leaving no room for arguments. As you are about to walk past him, he grabs your arm, making sure he doesn‘t hold on too tight and spooks you even further.

»You are making me look like a stalker if you keep doing this. Please, just hear me out on this.«

Charles sighs out, seeming to be done with any kind of options to get you into his school.

You stay firm and clear about your opinion, glad his grip isn‘t tight enough, so you pull your arm back to yourself.

»I‘m too busy for this. Don‘t show up here again, or I will get Robert out.«

The threat may seem empty for Charles, but he isn‘t some kind of creepy stalker who will argue with you on that. Indeed, he respects your words and makes his way back to his car, finally giving you some peace.

◐

It‘s been five days since you‘ve last seen Charles at your work place. Right after that night, he never set a foot into the restaurant you work at again. You have started to feel lighter and relieved that he didn‘t show up afterwards anywhere. Maybe life is worth living if there isn‘t a constant, annoying voice nagging you to join some mutant school. You don‘t even feel like a mutant, what is a mutant anyway?

Everything was peaceful, until you hear a knock at your dorm room door. You didn‘t think too much of it, it could be some of the other students asking for salt or some eggs, even though it‘s about ten PM. It‘s night‘s rest, why would someone actually knock at your door now?

Pushing your slight anxiety away, you answer your door. And you immediately want to close it again.

»Good evening, miss-«

»What in the actual fuck...«

You sigh out a curse, already closing the door but Charles puts his foot in between.

He huffs out, taking a step into your room. It‘s mostly decorated with posters and some personal belongings laying around on the nightstand and your bed, it not being as messy as most dorm rooms.

»Have you thought about it? Actually, forget that. We need you.«

Now he has managed to stun you. There‘s no way a mutant school or actual important people need you.

»What do you mean?«

You ask back, just letting him inside your room at this point, this being your last worry. He enters fully and feels relieved you aren‘t making a scene, starting to explain.

»We need more people in our school, and I‘m sure you have great potential. And we also need more people on our missions… if you are in for it.«

Charles keeps his expectant gaze on you, visibly tense as he waits for your answer. There‘s no way you would take such big responsebility to help mutants, already working on your actual dream job.

Finally, you shake your head in return, denying once more.

»No,« you take a step back, crossing your arms, »I‘m not joining, as I said before. I am not built for this and I‘m definitely not a mutant.«

Charles pauses at your answer, tilting his head a bit.

»Do you even know what a mutant is, dear?«

It feels like he has been living in your head for the last few days, now that you think of it. How did he even find out where your dorm room is?

»How did you get into my room in the first place?«

You ask back, raising your voice lightly at him as the realisation hits, making him a bit annoyed by your question.

»Again with these questions? Look, if you won‘t join us, lives will be at stake-« You inerrupt him, having no energy for this talk.

»I‘m not joining that damn school! I have my own studies and job, I can‘t just drop it.«

Charles understands your concern and eventually nods, speaking up again more softly.

»I get it, we can make sure you can live by our school and also get to your criminoligy classes and job. I promise you, we can get this figured out, if you just let me.«

He sighs out in the end, seeming more exhausted than you at this point. Is he always going after people this way?

»Maybe… I will think about it.«

He nods shortly at your response, seeing that you seem to think straight at least. Charles is really trying not to read into your mind at the moment, eventually speaking up again. More calmly, but still loud enough to alert the guards that walks down the hallway at the moment.

A sharp knock sounds at your door, followed up with a deeper voice.

»Miss? Is there another person in your room? You know very well that it‘s strictly forbidden, especially if boys involved.«

The voice, louder and deeper, tells you it‘s one of the more chill guards from outside. Still, you can‘t help but feel embarrassed and flushed.

»I‘m just talking to my friend on the phone!«

You reply back loud enough for him to hear through the door, glad he isn‘t walking into your room to be sure of your answer. Charles holds back on smiling at the situation, keeping his eyes on something else for now.

»If you say so… have a good night.«

With these words, the guards seems to walk away, leaving you be. You sigh out relieved, looking back to Charles, who seems to be more than amused all of a sudden.

»The term ‚boy‘ would be too young for me, but whatever. Just glad we didn‘t get caught, hm?«

He winks cheekily at you, approaching your window as he keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer.

You really want to punch him right now.

»Just… is it okay if I call you once I think about it?«

He nods in agreement to your question, glad you seem to be more willing to it now than before. The man opens your window and slips out silently, saluting to you shortly before he disappears into the night.

◐

Two days have passed, and you‘ve been a little more on edge these days. It‘s not like you haven‘t before, but this is just getting worse. The strange school and that Charles stays in your mind, being still unsure if he is sometimes flirting with you or not.

You shake your head, focusing back on the assingment in front you, writing another two sentences before growing frustrated again. This is distracting you a lot.

»What about now?«

That familiar, distracting voice sounds behind your ear again, jumping in your seat. You turn around quickly, huffing out annoyed.

»How long have you been standing behind me for?«

You frown, still holding your hand to your chest as you‘re slowly calming down from the jumpscare he just gave you.

He shrugs with a small smirk, keeping his eyes on your essay at your desk.

»A few moments. Your essay‘s good, could use some more words though.« He answers back, giving you some unwanted feedback.

»Well, what‘s your final decision?«

He gets back on track, trailing his eyes back to you as he stays leaned slightly over you shoulder.

»Uh...«

Your brain stops thinking, being still stressed from university work and that tough decision. In the end, you decide to just give in. To stop that endless game of his.

»Sure. I‘m going.«

He actually seems surprised at your response, having expected some reluctance once more. But you seem almost eager to join. Almost. He tilts his head, leaning back and puts his hands into his pockets,

»Huh. I expected more reluctance from you. In fact, I was ready to tell you about your deepest fears and secrets, but it seems like I don‘t need to do that.«

He smiles politely, getting sick of seeing it all the time. You won‘t mention it though, just feeling a bit tense again.

»Yeah, cool… when‘s that school starting again?«

Charles get back on the topic at your question, telling you briefly about the times and how many times a week you need to go to your trainings. It doesn‘t seem too bad, having training three times a week, and you don‘t need to attend to their classes since you are old enough and have your own studies to attend to.

»You can start right tomorrow. I‘m sure I‘ll find you there either way.« You nod back in response, sighing out softly to soothe your nerves about the whole thing. It shouldn‘t be too bad anyway, there‘s no need to be anxious or worried again. Finally, he seems to leave your room through your window again, taking a last look at you.

»Please don‘t worry yourself sick, it‘s not healthy.«

With that, he disappears out of your window, still wondering how he can be so quiet doing that. He doesn‘t even look stupid while doing so, how is that possible?

Getting back to reality, it‘s your time to pack your stuff to live in that Xavier University starting tomorrow afternoon, after your classes.

◐

Now that you‘ve got all your stuff for the university, getting out of your bus with your bag slung over your shoulder. Walking a fair bit, you finally start to see a big, rather gothic-looking building that should hopefully be the school you‘ll be going to for the next few weeks. It looks more like an old castle, but it doesn‘t matter anyway as you feel a strong breeze hit you in full force.

You finally drag yourself up to the big doors, getting in and relax at the warm air inside. There‘s chatter and younger people walking around, them probably being teenagers, which makes you feel out of place. Sure, you are a young adult, basically, but it‘s strange to be in the same space as so many teens. Shaking these strange thoughts away, you get to find the office of Charles.

On the way there, you accidentally bump into some of those younger people, finding them actually quite interesting. Especially the one‘s with obvious, physical differences. For example, a boy with horns, some girl with wings. It doesn‘t seem to end.

»I see you kept your promise.« You turn around to face Charles, again with his charming smile. But before you could answer him with an unmotivated comment, he speaks up and open the door to his office, walking in with you.

»I won‘t waste any more time, so I‘ll get straight to the point.« he goes around his desk, facing you again and leans his hands onto the surface, »We need another person like you on our next mission. Telekinesis is a strong thing, and I‘m sure you can develope your strengths even further. That‘s why I‘m glad you‘re here. You are ready to train, right?«

His serious expression softens, a small grin spreading across his face as he waits for your reaction. It‘s not like you have another choice anyway, being here already.

»Sure, why not?«

Hitting the mat with a loud thud, clothes getting heavy from your sweat and panting like a dog is the most exhausting thing you‘ve ever had to go through. His hand-to-hand combat skills aren‘t making this easier. It‘s almost as if he is trying to give you karma for being so reluctant on joining the school before.

»Fuck – can we stop for a second? I think I hit my head.« You pant tiredly, not having any more strength in your arms and legs left. But Charles doesn‘t show any mercy, chuckling as chalant as he is at you.

»Oh, c‘mon. We‘re only at round two and you‘re already tired out? Is your stamina really that bad?«

The light taunt is not making this any better. Your limbs are slowly recovering from the few sparring rounds and his teasing is starting to get to you.

You manage to stand up again, still catching you breath while he looks totally fine. This man is probably fifteen years older than you and seems to be fitter than you.

With that mentality and new motivation, you become more determined to beat him and become stronger than him. He tilts his head at you, seeming expectant.

With a deep breath, you focus on getting your telekinesis back into control. In this moment, you are glad that you practised your powers a few days ago. Without warning, he falls back, seemingly having been swiped off his feet by the air. Charles grunts and rolls to his side with a low groan and rubs his back lightly.

»Just now realising you can use your powers?« Despite him being in light pain from the fall, he still teases and pokes fun at you.

The older man stands up again and faces you once more, rolling his shoulder to release some tension.

»You didn‘t hesitate on the first time we met, though.«

That stupid smirk. You wish you could wipe it off of him right now, but now that he is your mentor, you can‘t do that.

With a brief shake of your head, he decides to drop it and be more serious for now.

»Okay, but seriously. I was actually surprised when you got me off my feet. I couldn‘t look into your mind at that moment.«

That was new. You didn‘t know you were this cool.

As he explains some more stuff of hand-to-hand combat and how to subtly use your powers. Meaning, you have to use them every day now and get used to it, as well as control it properly. But there‘s one thing you didn‘t tell him before, and now it‘s the perfect opportunity to do so.

»I actually… well, I made a rude costumer faint once. I guess I made his blood pressure drop abruptly with my powers and I don‘t know how I did that, to be honest.«

Charles eye‘s widen and he seems genuinely shocked for a moment. That is until he smiles, of course. He seems strangely excited about that. Able to control something such as blood in a living human being? That‘s the best and most horrifying new he has ever heard in a long time.

»Great! So, we know how far your powers can go and I‘m sure we can work with that. How about we train tomorrow again?« with a quick nod from your side, he speaks up again, »And please don‘t do anything else like that again. At least not until tomorrow.«

◐

Controlling your powers became easier as the days passed and you made it your new habit to unnecessarily use your powers when you were alone or at the Xavier university. Charles was proud of the progress, but your combat skills still needed some improvement. Of course, it‘s not easy to just teach you some tactical stuff when you never threw a bunch before in your life. But it‘s getting better. Slowly but surely.

Sure, he still gets cocky from time to time, but he is actually getting really helpful and seems to enjoy the training sessions too. But these things aside, the most important part is that your progress is quick and effective. Your powers are getting better under control and you‘ve managed to become even stronger.

Overall, your life has become more entertaining and less stressful. You moved to their dorms at Xavier school and managed to fire yourself from that awful fast food restaurant, so you don‘t have to deal with any rude costumers or your lazy manager again.

In all honesty, it feels really cool to be there in that school. You got to know more people and befriended some students and mentors in your age group. Finding out that there‘s more people like you, with various mutations, has been a refreshing and relieving experience. All these years having spent hiding your true self from everyone else, for your own safety, took a toll on you.

Having Charles as your trainer and mentor has its benefits. He actually is a caring person and you have seen him only have good or heartwarming interactions with the kid students around the school. He helps you get along with your powers and seems like the most understanding person on the planet.

Now, after three weeks, a lot of things have changed to the better. But some things also stayed the same. Your anxiety and paranoia, for example. You still feel the need to chek everything thrice and prepare yourself mentally for stuff a few hours before the actual event. It‘s safe to say it is taking energy from you as well.

Charles has mentioned before that his team needs you to help them out in a specific mission. That‘s why you‘ve been training for so long after all. In the briefing, you were sat at the table with the rest of the mutants, trying to pay attention to what Charles is talking about at the front. It seems important, but you can‘t wrap your head around anything he is saying.

Maybe that one joint was a mistake before walking into this.

With you eyes slightly red and watery, your body less stiff and your mind in a constant haze, it wasn‘t that hard to tell that you took something before this meeting. But could anyone blame you? Weed is known for making people relaxed and you were tired of being on edge all the time. Especially with these cool and more experienced mutants around.

However, you seem to have yourself pretty easily under control and no one even bats an eye into your direction, all eyes focused on Charles or the few documents laid in front of them. However, one person notices and he is actually concerned for a moment.

Charles steals a few glances at you, figuring it out a moment later. As he is explaining the plans and states some more information, he tries to read your mind at the same time.

When you have toothache is… is the pain in your mouth or brain?

Charles hears form your mind, glancing to you again before he ignores it and keeps going with the plan.

Wait, I need to focus. Is a hotdog a sandwich?

Eventually, Charles pauses for a brief moment during his speech before he keeps going as if nothing happened and stops reading into your mind for now. Wolverine scrunching his nose lightly and also steals a glance in your direction but won‘t say anything and just looks back at Charles with a light smirk.

Once the meeting is over, he sends everyone out but keeps you there for longer. No one seems to suspect anything, assuming he just needs to prepare you more since you are still a newbie. It‘s a wonder no one actually noticed or said something.

»Did you get how the plan works?«

You nod your head at Charles question, doing your best to focus on him and not on how funny his face looks at the moment.

»Did you also get weed before the meeting?«

Now his face looks less funny. How did he find out, you were doing fine.

»Uh… no?« You are really trying to pretend that you‘re sober and have no idea what he‘s talking about. But you can‘t fool him either way.

»Sure, you didn‘t. I‘ll brief you when you aren‘t high, but first I need to make sure you get back into your room.«

You look down, ashamed. He doesn‘t seem mad, but this is still a humbling experience. Eventually, he escorts you back into your own room and sits down with you to talk. Even when it‘s not easy to hold a serious conversation with you in such a state.

»Do you often smoke weed?«

You shake your head no, sitting upright next to him on the edge of your bed. Definitely not trying to come off sober in front of him.

»Then why did you do it today?« Charles is trying his hardest not to worry too much about it, feeling like it‘s his fault for you to think that drugs could help you in some way. But you only shrug in response and glance around your room as if it‘s the most interesting thing in the world. The man at your side sighs out and keeps his eyes on your, watching the slow movements of you eyes dilated pupils focusing on specific parts of your room.

This is frustrating him. Giving up on the serious conversation, he decides to end it here and try to give you some peace.

»Alright, I‘ll— « You already give up once you hear his first word and slump onto your bed, clumsy laying on it as he stands in front of it. Charles watches your limb body, making sure you‘re still breathing. Once assured, he lets out a breath.

»Just my luck… that‘s what I get for picking up a random person for this.«

He mutters under his breath while getting out of your room, having had enough for today.

◐

←MASTERLIST

[poisonappleeater]

Regina x Trans Male Reader !!

regina mills x trans male reader (reminder that this is just in relation to my personal transmasc experience, everyone’s can be vastly different!!)

prompt: regina helping you out w/ dysphoria after rumplestiltskin says some crazy transphobic shit (takes place in storybrooke)

i also tried to not actually trigger anyones gender dysph lmaooooo so i do not get specific about it

Rumplestiltskin looked you up and down with a cold stare.

“I believe that you’re to use the women’s bathroom, dearie.” You felt your face go hot with frustration (and maybe even some embarrassment). God dammit. You just wanted to wash your hands in peace. To be quick and quiet was the best option, so you took a deep breath and scrubbed the soap off your hands with much more vigor and velocity than you had just a few seconds before. The water scalded your hands and turned them a little pinker. Mr. Gold scoffed through his nose.

“Even your low pain tolerance agrees that you are not a man, and it’s likely that you never will be.” Silence no longer felt like your best option. You’d come to Storybrooke as soon as your best friend, Aurora had told you that it would be easier to live as yourself, as a man, in a more modern realm. You didn’t consider that Rumplestiltskin would be trying to get under, well, your skin.

You spoke, as lowly as possible, “What would you know about being a man? You sacrifice your relationships for power. What does that make you?” His gaze faltered, and you felt like you had gotten to him. You also felt just a bit concerned for your safety. Gold took a steady breath and a thourough pause.

“I think that makes me a powerful man. At least more powerful than you. Correct? I recall you coming to me for guidance.” You scoffed, but your lip auivered. Seeking help from Rumplestiltskin back in the Enchanted Forest didn’t make you any less of a man. Everyone had at least once looked for help from the Dark One. Before a salty tear could escape your eye, you fled the men’s restroom and stepped foot back into the welcoming, red-and-blue ambience of Granny’s Diner. You released a shaky sigh and looked for your girlfriend.

Regina. There she was. Even the thought of her made your cheeks warm, despite your prior encounter with Gold. She was chatting comfortably with the Charming’s. Your need for your girlfriend’s warmth made you nearly start running towards your table. She spotted you instantly and smiled genuinely. It was clear you were equally enamored with one another.

“Hey, Y/N,” Regina greeted warmly. She noticed how fast you were walking.

“Hey, hey, slow down, it’s okay.” The well-dressed woman placed a hand on your back and guided you to sit beside her in the booth’s cushiony seat, with your leg touching hers. Regina laughed a little at the sight of you adorably speed-walking to the table. Taking a second glance at you, though, she could tell something bothered you. Your girlfriend’s face darkened with concern.

“Did something happen in the bathroom sweetheart?” Her arm wrapped further around you. Her line of sight travelled behind you when Rumplestiltskin came out of the bathroom.

“That son of a bitch.” Gina was livid. She tried to fathom how Rumplestiltskin could have possibly threatened her boyfriend. He could be up to literally anything. The vein above her right brow bulged so severely you thought it’d burst. You had to admit, her anger was hot. You felt her starting to stand up.

“No, no, Gina. It’s really okay,” you reassured. “No magical threats or sketchy deals were made. Promise.” The woman with burgendy lips looked into your eyes to ensure that you told the truth.

“Okay.” She sighed and crossed her arms, then sat down to kiss your cheek. You leaned in happily. The rest of dinner with the Charmings allowed the two of you to forget about Rumplestiltskin.

…

You locked the front door behind you and Regina and were suddenly too aware of your own body. Friendly chatter from Emma, Killian, David, Snow, and Henry filled your ears just minutes ago. And now, the quiet of Regina’s home flooded your mind with the words of Runplestiltskin.

“Hey, Y/N, baby?” Regina had both hands around your cheeks. You were sitting on the couch. You don’t remember moving at all since getting home. “I was asking you about a movie you wanted to watch, but-“

“Yes! Yeah, I’m sorry. We wanted to watch that movie. I’d love to,” you blurted. You gave your lover a half-smile.

“No. Gold said something to you. He’s plaguing your pretty little head,” she cooed. She sat down beside you and provided you with space to talk with her properly. You smiled at the gesture.

“It was nothing new. He said that I’m not a man. I can’t do anything about that. I feel like a man, but I don’t have the parts.” Regina intook your words with great conscience. Her glossy eyes looked into yours. She spoke after contemplating for a moment.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from this realm, it’s that rules that we used to abide by back home were not laws of nature. They were laws made by people. And people can be so stupid, my love. That means that we, as smarter people, are allowed to live by rules that fit our logic. And according to my logic, you’re a man, sweetheart, regardless of what body you have. I know that because that’s what you’ve told me, that’s how you truly feel, and that’s how I think of you. You are whatever you think yourself to be. I love you for it, my sweet boy.”

“I love you, Gina. Thank you.” She took her time to memorize your handsome face for the thousandth time.

“Can I come close to you?” your lover asked, gently. You nodded and placed your head in her neck. she took you into her arms and stroked your hair.

“I still want to kill him,” Regina confessed. Her sharp words contradicted the gentle pets that she gave you.

You laughed. “Sure, Gina, just not today.” She couldn’t be upset when you were so calm and cute. Regina kissed your head and chuckled into your ear. You loved the sound of her laugh and the smell of her shampoo. Apple. So fitting.

“Okay, not today,” she sighed lightheartedly. “How about that movie?”

…

Soon, you had both showered and gotten ready for bed. There was no better feeling to you than being clean, on the couch, with your girlfriend about to watch a movie. You laid atop her chest while her legs entrapped your middle. Rumplestiltskin’s comments remained forgotten, and you and Regina remained content.

—

Hope this was okay!! Feel free to comment on anything, if anyone sees this. I’m kinda new to actually writing ff

[asteroidzzzn]

stargirl | part 2

pairing: rockstar!ellie x bartender!reader

warnings: cursing, smoking, eventual sexual themes, ellies kinda an asshole, reader is delulu (are u sensing a pattern here)

songs in this chapter: r u mine? - arctic monkeys

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i love dina in this

summary: the fireflies is a new band consisting of three people. after being cheated out by their former bassist, they needed to find a replacement, and quick. who better than you, the cute bartender that hasn't touched an instrument in years?

you stepped off the train, glancing down at your phone and back up at the sketchy looking building in front of you. the address dina sent you checked out, meaning you were in the right place. graffiti covered every surface you saw as you walked around searching for the entrance.

you were startled when a cardboard box fell and something scurried out. you sighed. it was just a stray cat.

you tried a metal door underneath a wobbly staircase, but it wouldn't budge. jesse told you they would leave the door unlocked, so this wasn't the one. you went around the back and heard a faint noise coming from a propped-open door.

you entered the hallway and quickly found the group. it was a small room with a single green couch, soundproofed walls, and a coffee table nearly spilling over with bottles, books, and food.

dina and jesse greeted you while you navigated around the wires scattered around the floor. ellie was on the couch, taking up the whole thing, of course, scribbling in the journal she held.

"sorry i didn't bring anything... i had to sell all my old instruments a while ago," you spoke softly, embarrassed about your financial situation. jesse had already picked up a beautiful white guitar with brown accents and held it out to you.

"don't stress it, you can use ellie's."

you gaped at the guitar, holding it with extreme care.

"thanks, ellie," you shifted to face her and gave a small smile. she glanced up at you, and something about her expression said this was the first time she noticed you were here.

"what did i do...?" she noticed her guitar in your arms. "oh, yeah."

you pursed your lips and nodded. you leaned towards dina to whisper.

"so, does she write all the songs? seems pretty focused."

she guided you to sit down on the floor and gestured jesse to join you. she settled in, and you noticed disappointment flash on her face. "we all pitch into the writing, but she's been more intent about doing it herself recently," dina lowered her voice. "she's also not as much of a dick usually, but she just went through a messy breakup. we're trying to love her through it, but she got so closed off."

you felt a twinge of guilt at the new information. you mumbled, "yeah, i get that."

dina continued, "i guess she thinks writing about her ex is good songs material, so she insists she writes alone because she's the only one that," she uses air quotes, "really understands."

jesse nodded in agreement, shoving some cheetos in his mouth. "i've been saying, dude, she's jealous we've never broken up," he mumbled through a full mouth, tilting his head to dina.

your eyebrows lifted. dina and jesse seemed like an unlikely couple, but they also complimented each other very well. it was sweet that they shared a passion for music, and were able to be in the same band together.

dina groaned, "it's like she's back in her angsty teen era."

"yeah, she was insufferable enough during high school," jesse added on. "see, watch this," he turned his body to face ellie.

"how's it going? you got a title yet, or do you need a little help there?" mockery dripped off jesse's voice as he teased her.

"fuck off," ellie replied before jesse could finish his sentence, causing the three of you to share quiet giggles.

"so, when will we practice playing a song?" you inquired.

jesse snickered. "once broody over there is done writing her seventh sob st—"

"ow! fuck, that hurt!"

you and dina couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped your mouths when a pencil flung at jesse's head.

"i heard that. stop being a dick."

"you could've killed me! that almost hit my eye!"

"whatever," she threw the journal onto the coffee table and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "i'm done for now, you wanna try out a song, new girl?" ellie spoke.

"oh," you began, when you realized she was speaking directly at you for the first time. you didn't even bother correcting her with your name, "yeah, which one?"

the band exchanged looks, and dina pulled out her phone. she clicked on a recording titled R U mine?

"this one's kinda a work in progress," she explained, "we were in the middle of touching it up before anderson left."

ellie frowned. "that's too hard for her, pick a different one."

"i can handle a challenge, at least let me listen to it first," you bit back at ellie, clicking play on dina's phone. the song started up immediately with an intense bass riff, followed by symbols as ellie began singing.

you loved it right away. the desperation in ellie's voice, paired with the reckless drums, sudden sharp riffs, and undertones of the keys, had you hooked. it was an incredible song.

just before the bridge, there was a short duet between the bassist and guitar, which you assumed at the time was anderson and ellie. it made you nervous to play a duet with ellie, especially while knowing the last person that did was much more experienced than you.

regardless, you told the band you wanted to play this one. while everyone was preparing their instruments, ellie approached you.

"you don't need to do the intro, i will," she stated simply, beginning to turn around before you caught her arm. her head snapped to look at you, pulling her arm back sharply.

"give me a chance, i won't know what i can or can't do without giving it a shot. if it sucks, you can do it instead next time we run it," as intimidating as it was, you didn't allow your gaze to falter.

her eyebrows were furrowed, with an otherwise unreadable expression. "fine."

you weren't sure why you were pressing so hard to have a chance to show yourself. you wanted to impress, obviously. but for some unknown reason, you felt as if ellie's validation would feel much more rewarding than the others.

you glanced at ellie. with her bangs perfectly falling in front of her face, tank top that had her toned arms and a beautiful forearm tattoo on display, and dark hazel eyes, she was mesmerizing. she was even more attractive up close, and yet, you wished she could be the version she was in your head.

it was selfish, and you knew it, but you couldn't help but picture her as the charming, enticing, brilliant girl you witnessed on stage a few days prior.

she suddenly gestured to you. "whenever you're ready."

dina shot you a thumbs up, and you grinned back.

you hesitantly grazed the strings with your pick as you took a deep breath.

you tapped your foot in a quick rhythm. 5,6,7,8

your eyes flew between the sheet and the guitar as you started up the song with the complicated riff. jesse added on with the drums, and ellie with her guitar.

you let out a sigh of relief as you settled into a pattern and the song continued. you had skimmed over the sheet before beginning, so you knew the first hardest part was over.

it was going much smoother than you expected. you settled into a comfortable space where you followed ellie's lead, and your instruments harmonized perfectly. ellie's eyes closed, and she muttered the lyrics to herself.

you restrained from staring, deciding to focus on giving your best performance, and not fangirl over the rockstar to your left.

the duet was approaching, and you had to hit the first riff. you felt a heavy sense of not wanting to disappoint. this needed to be perfect.

you chewed on your lip as thoughts rushed through your mind, but no time to carefully think each one over.

you had always hated using picks when you played, but were too polite to turn it down when ellie threw you one. you forgot how much you loved having the feeling of the strings on your fingers, and the stinging reminder of it in the morning.

in a quick moment you would later explain as an instinct to follow your gut, you dropped the pick and began the duet, instantly feeling much more confident.

ellie glanced at your hands once her part began. you prayed she wouldn't be upset at your decision. you had already come to realize she had quite a short fuse, and wasn't afraid to let loose on even her seemingly closest friends.

you strummed your guitar again as she paused, and your section eventually lead into the song resuming. there was an intense build up before it calmed down, coming to a gentle ending.

your heart raced with excitement. you thought it was amazing, and you were extremely proud of yourself. you glanced around the room, hoping to hear feedback from any of the band members.

dina's smile grew slowly.

"she told you she could handle a challenge."

jesse let out a short laugh while beaming. "that was great!"

all ellie did was shrug. "not a fan of picks?"

"no, i've always preferred to play without."

she crossed her arms. "sounds better with it. you should get used to it."

you scoffed. "it makes the song sound too scratchy if guitar and bass use a pick. especially if you play this one live, it'll make their ears bleed."

she took a sharp inhale through her nose, turning to dina and jesse. "you guys think it's better when both are on pick, don't you?"

dina and jesse remained silent, but it was clear whose side they were taking.

ellie let out a bitter laugh. "might as well let new girl rename the fucking band while we're at it. next we'll make her the lead singer! how does that sound?" she spat out as she removed the guitar, threw it to the couch, and stormed out the door before you could run it again with vocals.

"i-i'm so sorry, i just... wanted to help," you stuttered, in shock.

"it's not your fault, hun," dina softly spoke, standing up from her stool and walking towards you. "she's too stubborn for her own good, but you'll be good for us, i know it."

you tilted your head in confusion, silently asking for her to elaborate.

dina sighed. "we kind of got used to her pushing us around, since we know how angry and destructive she can get. she needs someone, like you, to not be afraid to challenge her when she's stuck in her ways. and for the record, we thought you were right with the whole scratchy thing."

your heart soared, smiling brightly at dina. "thank you, really."

"yeah, babe, that was wise, i second that," jesse chimed in, creating applause by tapping his drumsticks together, which made you and dina chuckle.

your mind wandered to ellie, and you felt horrible for making her angry. you weren't sure what was going to happen with her. she remained a mystery to you.

you needed to figure her out.

a/n: cute band bonding time and ellie has a temper tantrum. i promise u she will let her guard down eventually 😭 she just needs to be an asshole now so the character development really hits 🙏 hope u all enjoyed this chapter!!!! this series is sm fun to write (*^▽^*) i love learning new stuff about music!

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 10

A Homelander X F! Reader/Dadlander fanfic.

A/N: sorry for the delay, I wrote another fic and that ate my time, hope y'all like the chapter, there's only 3 chapters left and the epilogue and now that kinktober its done I should be able to post the remaining chapters on time, if ya like to be on the taglist plz leave a comment with a request. prev. chapter here:

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance, some spicy and murder.

Chapter Ten

Reconsidering

A lavish prison.

More rooms than ideas to fill them with– mere latrines for kisch. 

Floors that screamed ugly opulence, the kind that made you yearn for the simplicity of owning nothing, of forced minimalism... or tasteful decor.

When you cracked your neck to witness the enormity of the seven story mansion (not counting the cellar basement and the terrace) the price tag had frightened you to the core more than the height, making you feel more than inadequate in visitation, as you had come in jeans and an ironic t-shirt to accompany him (not that you had a choice)--  as Homelander pulled you around from floor to floor, forcing you to walk alongside him from beige rooms to white rooms, past rich dark wood doors. So heavy they hurt your wrist, you worried for your future.

These were the things you could only witness in pictures.

“I hate the carpet.” He said coyly, trying to stand close to you without frightening you.

Looking down at the rug you’ve taken your shoes off for-- it was luxurious, it was nice for the somewhat dark library, the smell of curated cedar and walnut genuinely intoxicating. From a second glance it matched his taste in your mind, but you guess he was a lot more finicky than he already was– perhaps it wasn’t soft enough for him, you thought.

“I'd rather we just have the floors bare– it’ll be easier to clean.”

“Concerned about the maids already?”

“Maids?”

“Honey, you don’t think I expect you to clean this thing by yourself?” He gave you a playful pat in the back– even with superspeed you’ll wear yourself out…”

The real estate agent who kept rubbernecking at your direction, raised his eyebrow as he saw how stiff you were next to your fiance.

Pressing yourself against the aged stone of the terrace fence, the city seemed so far away as you looked down from so high up, wondering if you could fall quick enough, if he would catch you right on time or make it easy for himself and play the tragic broken hearted hero. The cold breeze kissed your temples as you processed the jarring passage of time.

Kaleem, his wife Alessia and your co-worker Chrissie dropped what they were doing when you broke the news that you’ve gotten engaged, they’ve already gotten it from the breaking news report and online but actually hearing it out of your mouth cemented it, it wasn’t a lookalike sharing your name marrying Homelander! But you! Their hardworking and worn out cook. 

Who never once mentioned him before, who never described your baby daddy, who gave no hints… yet to them who thought were your friends–if not confidants, felt betrayed.

They were friends of yours but the fear of Homelander’s and Vought had been so great you never wanted to disclose who’s Helena’s father was to anybody, they had formed very strong opinions over the time they’ve known you but at the sight of half a dozen black suits entering their pizza shop– you probably would have never been able to tell them on your terms, anyways.

 You had no choice now but to divulge.

After having been made to lose a day’s work and being informed they would have to agree to some sketchy stuff regarding selling your situation to the public, you owed them an explanation– at least the financial compensation for their cooperation was generous.

Right now you were a stranger.

You told a version of your story, adding to what they already knew, like everybody else their image of Homelander was firmly cemented after 20 years of exposure to the bastard, it was hard to view ‘The Nation’s Favorite Dad’ was the one who threw you on the streets, nobody spoke much while you melted into the booth, your sight so far away, as the light’s buzz drilled into your brain.

“Is the dick at least good?” Chrissie slurped loudly on her coke– I mean go get your bag bitch, just don’t let him make you sign a prenup and when you get divorce take half his shit.”

“Slightly above mid… his mouth tho…” You did smile there.

“Is it little?” 

“I wish… shit hurts. Can’t sit straight afterwards... he's just so quick! Thank god his mouth isn't just good at speeches” You chuckle dryly.

Chrissie began spacing her fingers until you rolled your eyes in embarrassment, poor Kaleem sat in his corner pretending to be blind.

You both shared an ugly snorting laugh, cackling from the absurdity of the situation.

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to marry for benefits– trust me I seen a lot of ‘90 day fiance’ and my aunt Lucia’s been married to my uncle for 32 years– she met him a month before the wedding and only for the green card.”

“32 years?” That was dreadful.

Alessia was quite relaxed about the whole ordeal, if anything it was the most stimulating thing that had happened in recent years and seeing a six-year- old tutor her teenage son was exhilarating.

“She said he has a big dick and uncle works the night shift… works great for her– pretty sure 2 of their 7 kids are his” 

“Is this the aunt Lucia that came and did our light fixtures? I feel sorry for your uncle.” Chrissie said.

“Yes– she's happy, and don’t be… Uncle Frank may have a whole other family in Mexico, but that’s a whole other business.” She said loudly– look you had it rought, and fuck him. I thought killing the dude at that rally was a bit much, but dumping you in the streets– way worse than murder! Look, we got three kids and if this dumbass died on me– I don’t know how I would cope and if some hot rich asshole asked me to marry him… I might ‘cuz college ain't cheap.” You could laugh, watching Kaleem agreeing he would do the same if she died– Homelander is cute and has money. You said it yourself– you don’t have to love him. He’ll meet somebody else and end it, but Helena it’s your main priority here not him, and I mean after everything you’ve been thru you deserve to cruise thru life.``

“I don’t think John is going to let me fuck around…” You groaned, resting your head on your forearm as you sunk deeper– I don’t have to be happy, right?”

“It’s overrated.” Chrissie said– Helena would probably finish college by 12, and that if she takes her time.”

“Thank you guys for encouraging me in my new ‘Sugar Baby’ journey– I always knew I had it in me to be an amazing hoe.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear… to them who just like you had to break their backs to keep the roof over their heads, it was an enviable golden opportunity and in this economy one couldn’t really afford to miss out on such opportunities… 

“Just pretend you like him if he’s ever around, I guess.” you mention.

“It’s gonna be hard ‘cuz I like Noir more.” Chrissie says leaning across the table to pat your shoulders.

So here you were admiring the Upper East Side, in the nicest street, in a coveted building that he had every desire in the world to make you ‘Lady of the House’, it was beyond extravagant it even had an elevator… so there was some appeal.

Ashley followed him like a lap dog as he listed a billion much needed remodeling decisions to bring back the home into the office spaces by force, in case he decided to purchase the edifice.

“So you like it? This is the fifth house we’ve seen… you said you wanted a yard and space.”

“Needs more plants… is a great location…” you said softly, still looking down, pretending to not notice Ashley was writing that down too.

“But do you love it?” he pressed rubbing your shoulders– we can still get the penthouse… even if it's only four bedrooms but great open concept! Or the condo right in front of Central park– but that one is only 3 bedrooms which might tamper with our plans… although the one in 63 street, classy and it has a cinema.” 

He kissed your forehead, after speaking quickly.

“Do you love it?” You asked, fixing his hair once he got too close to you– this will be your home too.”

“Is pre-war” He whines playfully– is so pretty… the brownstone… the history…” He gives you the most pathetic attempt of ‘puppy eyes’ you’ve ever seen, a smile creeps onto your face without permission which he takes graciously– I can see us here.”

“You’re not hanging a giant american flag anywhere in this house!”

“A small one?” He pouts.

“In your office… and it better be small, John.” You rested your head on his chest– The kitchen… is awful.”

He was touchy, your skin numb to his touch at this point, he wanted to kiss you and hold you until you cherished him, but he wouldn’t force it. 

You just had to keep smiling and thwart most of his approaches, but you know if you gave him just enough affection he would be unable to notice the wicked game you were playing– forcing him to move at your dictated pace, to keep him on his toes yearning that you would turn and pamper him, never knowing if his affections were welcomed or not, but knowing you gave yours to him and he welcomed it.

You could see Ryan and Helena growing up happy, and safe. 

You and those two children sitting by the fireplace, enjoying hot chocolate and opening Christmas presents.

You would in fact not choose this house just to spite the man, who had fallen in love with his grand vision– not that the chosen house was worse, just one floor shorter, just as massive as the other and still in a great location… so Homelander didn’t complain too much… just a little.

The boxes increased but there was still so much to fill up, even with his stuff it wasn’t enough to fill the gaps… he would not spare you from the American flags, tragically as it sounds. 

At least it was framed and matched the decor of the gallery and dining room. As you unpacked and watched the movers bring the beds while the kids argued about who kept which floor– Helena demanded the fourth floor already making executive decision to turn the empty rooms into labs and  offices for her future endeavors, while Ryan wanted to be normal child and stay in the same floor as his sibling, ultimately pushed to the fifth floor after multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors, and a paternal mediator who said they had to settled it with another round of games which sadly Ryan lost.

After a laborious day, you two just sheepishly laughed as you stared at your bedroom, both leaning against each other as you laughed, staring at the wooden cross dividing the two beds and matching nightstands– all so very circa 50’s catholic chic. 

You two just laughed about how absurd this was in execution, a part of you wished to just put the beds together instead of making your great-grandmother proud.

“Y’know we could’ve fit two kings in here…” He said while staring at the space.

“I thought you wanted me close-by.”

“Double’s were the perfect choice.” He replied quickly.

It took weeks before you reached a boiling point with your live-in situation, to see him walk around your home in that stupid suit, his mind longing for the familiarity of his abandoned penthouse was frustrating, he himself didn't expect to miss it either– He felt like a guest that refused to leave instead of your fake fiancee, this wasn’t him staying overnight at your previous domicile levels of awkward, that had been a challenge on its own, even if now you skipped the pillow walls and sleeping on the floor… God knows how many times he picked your unconscious self up from the ground and laid you to bed, while he sat next to you reading a book in the dark– this was an alien living in your house calling himself the owner. 

Before you knew it your heart stung as you dragged the two kids to the nearest Target to bulk buy the man some loungewear, both from exasperation and as request from his son who mentioned he didn’t really own much clothes, and what little he did own he didn't feel like washing every 2 days just to chill around the house... and as his future wife you gave yourself automatic permission to buy him clothes… just anything that would get him out of that suit.

Ryan had never been to many stores before, much less a Target, it hurt a tad to see him fascinated by the colorful aisles and the abundance of people…knowing he had grown in a compound, the mother in you just wanted to squeeze him and apologies for it all, but you instead just squeezed the handle bars and let him pick snacks that caught his fancy.

It was hilarious that you would find yourself doing this again– back then buying for him had been difficult, he wore very little but he liked your input, he simply wore what you told him, but after so long you had no idea what he liked anymore– this wasn’t food… this wasn’t easy… so the plainest sets were your best bet.

There was something fresh about this, as you perused the aisles with the kids in tow, thinking of buying him some jeans and clean button ups, Ryan picking up colorful socks while Helena opted to pick him a shirt just to fit in.

You had fun, you looked forward to sprousing his wardrobe, watching this scene play out made you feel as if you were normal, until somebody took your photo at the checkout in your least flattering angle.

It took another week before he opened up to being undressed and exposed in cheap pajama pants and white t-shirts, it would take three weeks for him to do so without being told to– plus enough complaints about people trying to photograph them after seeing the Homelander lounge in the terrace, served as added motivation.

You told yourself it wasn’t too bad to cohabitate, as you saw him slowly get more and more comfortable in his new environment, as you watched him become softer with your kids, as you found yourself having pleasant breakfasts, found yourself being welcomed home and conversed over coffee about your day or his day– not even bringing up his concerns about you still choosing to work in Lucci when you could do so much better too often, giving up on teasing you with buying you a restaurant, or upcoming publicity stunts when you weren’t in the mood to listen to the drivel.

Staring down from the roof garden looking at the brownstone buildings around and the pale light, pleased by the subtle fragrance of flowers behind you, he seemed so normal as you watched him from across the coffee table.

He kept sipping on his latte looking miffed before turning around and asked about why Elmo had been staying over for the last 3 days, to which you reminded him he sent his dads to sort some business in Singapore.

“Does he have no other family?” He thought of Singapore– it was quite urgent… they decided to fuck us up.”

“You and them booked them for acting classes plus they have their first suit fittings tomorrow… easier for them to leave Elmo here and have us take care of that– they’re a team-up. They should be close.”

“I know! But why does he have to sleep here? He’s a boy.” He seemed concerned.

“‘Cuz we got the space…?”

“It doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“Oh you freak.”

 He was still stiff around the edges but you could bear with it, as you saw him and Helena bond you knew your daughter was handling him well– your target was Ryan now. 

You asked him to help you around the kitchen more, taking your time to teach him without pressure, scolding his father when he acted like it was undignified of him to help around the kitchen and forced him to eat whatever he'd made, making him feel proud when he took charge of dinner even if it was slightly too salty at times and his impenetrable skin resulted in chipped knives… 

 You helped him make those cute films and took him out to the cinema, buying him books on the subject, encouraging him to join art clubs, to try as many extracurriculars he was interested in and to ignore his father as he pushed Ryan to join sport related clubs, when all he wanted was to make dioramas with his new found friends, instead. 

Homelander didn’t have any issues with Helena for her selections were sparse, just the chess club, and some science club she was quickly losing interest in… if anything he was being pushy about piano– and god knows how he managed to bring that piano to the fifth floor without breaking anything.

Is not as if she was already taking too much in-between physics, science and math classes… and working casually at Vought, but he didn’t seem to care. Helena assured you she could handle it, telling you to focus on your tasks without worry and you listened.

Ryan liked your support, it helped you get closer as you allowed his friends to enter the house for his little projects, he liked when you twisted his father’s ear to let him be just in case he began to disapprove, he began to trust you.

Helena wasted her afternoons in the office between daycare, superhero training and shadowing her father or Ashley, reading his meeting notes, writing them for him, or as he called it assisting him, learning about the company and the labs from her privileged position– the whispers of curious passerby wondered why Homerlander would keep his daughter so close, it had taken the building by surprise to learn that this little girl had been his child all along even if rumors had spread prior… but the once cute anomaly began to gain a insidious reputation in the underbelly of this company, something that made them more uneasy than just her strange demeanor from before.

“What’s that on your dress?” You noticed a brown stain on the hem of her dress.

“Iodine.” She said while taking her clothes off, Homelander said nothing as he picked after her.

Homelander gave you a stiff smile as he scrunched the clothes into a ball before your kid ran up towards the bathroom, mentioning she’s a tad clumsy with the equipment as he walked past you.

You didn’t need to know that the duet had some quality father-daughter time to the misfortune of some lab rat.

He stared at the chunky bloodstain sliding down the wall.

“I can explain.” She panted, staring at her work as her eyes spun around the room.

“It’s pretty obvious what happened, no?” He said stepping on top of the unidentified– "I'll have somebody come clean it up, darling.”

“You’re not mad?” She asked, genuinely nervous, fidgeting with her fingers as her head throbbed.

“Why did you kill him?” He stared at the smashed patty with curiosity.

“He resisted termination… forcing me to defend myself… he took my assistant.”

Homelander looked at the other corpse and its mangled remains, spilling around her boots.

“Why?” He spoke with a boor.

“Self-defense.”

“You took your time doing it… you could have cut his oxygen supply and killed him in a few minutes, instead you” He kicked a shattered bone– made it agonizing.”

“Tch… if he attacked me I would’ve lost control of the bubble…” She gasped lightly trying to kill the headache inside her– the math… the math makes sense. My formulas make sense. But it's them… these samples aren’t fit, they aren’t meant to be like us. They are worthless!”

She leans towards the wall, smacking her forehead against the wall full force, Homelander jumps on his heel but doesn’t reach her as she mutters incoherent curses under her breath, his hand stop just inches from her.

 “This one wasn’t too bad… I thought I cracked it but then I noticed…” Helena was pensive looking at images he wasn’t privy to, as she spoke with a light airy voice as her lungs emptied for her to speak once more— I cull it.”

She squatted picking up a loose tooth from the ground, examining the perfectly structured canine, for the first time Homelander felt uneasy about her.

“Is not often that I feel…”

Homelander raised a curious eyebrow, taking a step closer towards her, Helena tilted her neck to look at him, her sight so detached it didn’t seem possible for a child to make such an expression.

“Excited. The simulations always succeed but the human variant poses an interesting angle I hadn’t previously considered… truly successful adult specimens… V24 almost recreated the perfected serum but with nasty side-effects… programming the serum is obtainable but adult humans continue to reject it or somehow create variants as if the host alters the code live”  She flicks the tooth– Is like Frederick left me a puzzle.”

“So are these just pieces” He waved his fingers nonchalantly at the messy remains.

She scoffed standing up and patting her knees clean.

“You know why I play piano?”

He shook his head.

“Because in order to be good at it… you have to foster talent… but no amount of practice can’t beat those blessed with a gift… supposedly. So I have to solve his puzzle because I cannot believe that that coward was blessed more than me.”

“You think Vought has beef with you? So what will you do with all your failures? Murder them?”

“Is it murder to cull a deformed goldfish? No… that’s just mercy.” She stands up fixing her hair– It’s not beef. Is a challenge he left us with.”

His smile is so wide his skin creaks as it stretches. 

He picked her up to plant a kiss on her chubby cheek.

“You’re such a messy child.” He kissed her again– you got your pretty dress dirty.”

“Sorry.” She moped– sorry about all of it… you must think I'm a hack.”

“Is okay princess… daddy will just buy you a new one… and a new dress.”

You didn’t question the stains on her dress, god knew what sort of chemicals and stuff she had to play with, and how much of it wasn’t built for the size of her hands.

The more you saw him return to that man you once loved, you felt down the spiral of considering giving him a second chance– Helena was happy, she was smiling, she was playful, your quiet daughter had blossomed under your mutual care, seeing him domesticated, seeing him interact with genuine joy with her had began to melt your heart. It didn’t help that he look so delectable in compression shirts, as he came back with the kids without a sweat on his brow, Ryan just as dry with nothing more than messy hair and then your daughter dropping to the ground half-dead from the walk… what you had stared at mostly had been his ass in those black tights.

“Honey it was only 20 miles.” He sounded a bit frustrated– gotta get her fit otherwise she will get outperformed.” He turned to you sounding a tad aggressive– she’s my daughter she should be able to handle it just like me and Ryan.”

“Mommy!” she cried.

“Most humans can’t even do twenty!”

You picked her up, not caring she was covered in sticky sweat but as you draped your child over your shoulder kissing her head as she whined, you caught an improper glimpse at him, no doubt he caught a couple looks from passersby on his way here– even by this city standards he was wearing too little.

“Go change…” You said with a light blush on your neck– don’t be a dick to her, she wasn’t born a copy of you.”

He pestered Helena for the rest of the evening, giving up once she barricaded herself in her bedroom.

“Spending all her time inside books is not gonna do her any good… she needs exercise.”

“I think you got the kids mixed up, dear.”

He moped in the living room pursing his lips, one sentence away from crossing his arms and whining like a child.

“Look I think it’s great that you want to train her but… she’s not like you. I would love for her to have inherited some of your physical skills– it's just not gonna happen.”

“I know. I don’t know why she’s so different from me… yet she has to get better…” His sight lingered on the roof– You think she’ll move her dresser out the way.”

“She’ll move it when she wants to– and don’t think about getting in there thru her window!” He almost complains but chooses to stay quiet scooting closer to you on the couch– What?”

“You seem mad…”

“You harassed our kid all day and made her upset… but I was mad before it...I made the mistake of googling myself after somebody at work made mention–  have you seen the shit that people are saying ‘bout me online ‘cuz of you.”

Homelander shook his head lightly.

“I only google myself.”

“People are saying nasty shit. Hurtful shit… saw my mom getting interviewed… that was nice… she certainly made me feel like shit.”

“Want me to kill her?” Homelander spoke in such a bored tone, his head finding his way on your lap with the smoothness of a cat, unconsciously your hand took to his hair– Or something else?”

You stared at him and considered it, your mom sort of had it coming if she was going to paint herself a saint for her 15 minutes of fame.

“Don’t kill my mom, John. I just don’t want people saying I’m a bad mother because my kid went to a “shit public school” in the projects.” you said annoyed.

“I’ll see if Vought can write you a fluff piece.”

You believed him, choosing to put your anxieties away as he nuzzled into your stomach and let you watch TV without care as long as your hands kept pampering him making little commentary as you watched true crime videos.

Rolling in your bed you turned to see his back on the bed beside you, you signed readying to play dirty, your body awoken to something sickening.

“I know you ain’t asleep, John.”

His ears perked, he turned to see your silhouette in the dark.

“I can’t sleep.” You whispered– mmm…so” you signed lightly– can you get your dick up?”

His ears perked up, lifting himself by his elbows as he adjusted to face your darkened silhouette, your cheeks reddened, mildly embarrassed, your mind wandered back to the sight of his clothes, to the tussling of his hair and the glint in his eyes as of late… and of that last sudden night of intimacy.

“Oh. O-okay… might need some stimulation is not like I got a crank down there.” he faked being annoyed by your request.

“I stopped taking the pill…” His piercing eyes illuminated the room for a brief second just to catch a sly smile ‘bout to fade away off your face– so you wanna put the mommy in MILF or not?”

He tripped out of the bed to jump into yours, clawing his way back towards you, as the little voice in his head blared sirens.

Latching on your neck, ripping your clothes open as you tried not to chuckle at his messy desperation to fuck you, you closed your eyes and thought of nothing but the hundred different pleasurable sensations prickling you– it had been so long… your body sensitive, writhing over his hungry touch, wherever his hands and his lips got to taste you felt it twice as strong.

Whatever he was imagining in his head was happening none of it was relevant– this was simply a mutually beneficial exchange. Nothing but lust, it had to be lust because you didn’t see Homelander underneath you, as you rode him, as he let you fucked him just as hard as he wanted to fuck you– you saw the John that he had killed so many years ago... but somehow you didn't hate the sight.

He wanted to devour you, he was needy and pent-up and you took it all graciously, for one night you two used each other equally.

Finding himself delighted and more aroused at the squeals and mewls coming from your delicious lips just as much as you enjoyed the moans and guttural grunts that came from him as he cried against your chest, crying for your kisses and directions, liking the way he craved your scent once again.

You were better than his molasses drenched memories.

Homelander teeth gilded over your neck, the thought of him ripping and gnawing on your flesh lingered as he brought you to an orgasm. 

To be so close to death as you touched heaven… you heaved, melting into the mattress letting him lumber atop of you, too delighted with the end result to complain… looking down to find him kissing your chest, whispering sweet grunts as your hand pampered his hair, you tried not to smile at that satiated goofy expression on his face, at the flickering light illuminating your skin as he purred around your touch.

He was so easy to win over… it scared you.

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[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~ Chapter 17 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, smut (not until the later chapters), language, gore.

Word Count: 804

A/N: This chapter is a little short. Even though the witch they’ve been hunting wasn’t a problem really, this isn’t the end of Dean and Natalie so don’t worry ;) she’ll be running into more dangers before you know it tehe.

The witch was finally dead. After weeks of hunting, false leads, and countless close calls, Sam and Dean had finally tracked her down and ended the threat. The Dark Scroll, now safely locked away in the bunker's vault, was no longer a looming danger. And with the witch gone, it meant Natalie could finally go back to her old life.

Dean stood by the Impala, watching as Natalie loaded the last of her things into her car. She was getting ready to leave the bunker for good. A part of him expected her to stick around, but at the same time, he knew she wasn't meant for this life. Not the way he and Sam were. It was time for her to move on.

But something gnawed at him as he thought about her going back to that sketchy neighborhood she had talked about when they first met.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked, trying to keep his tone casual but not doing a great job of hiding his concern. "Your neighborhood's not exactly a safe haven."

Natalie turned to him with a bright smile, clearly excited about what she was about to share. "Actually, I'm moving," she said, a bit of a spark in her voice. "While we were out on one of the hunts, I found this cute little house up for rent. It's only about an hour from here, in a nice neighborhood. I checked this morning—it's still available, so I'm moving in this week."

Dean raised an eyebrow, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. "An hour from here?"

She nodded, grinning. "Yep. Close enough to visit, far enough to get a little peace and quiet. And I've got a job closer to the new house too—same cybersecurity stuff, but less commuting and less... calling in for mysterious absences." She chuckled, clearly relieved to be moving on from her old job. "My old work was getting a little tired of all my last-minute call-ins."

Dean couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, hunting doesn't exactly work on a nine-to-five schedule."

Natalie laughed, closing the trunk of her car and dusting off her hands. "No, it definitely doesn't."

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, the weight of her departure hanging in the air. Dean shifted slightly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he avoided looking directly at her. He wasn't sure why he felt... off about this. Maybe because, despite everything, Natalie had become part of the team. Not family, not yet, but close. She was someone they could rely on, and after everything they had been through, Dean realized he was going to miss having her around.

Natalie smiled softly as she walked over to him, standing close as she gave him a thoughtful look. "Take care of yourself, Dean," she said, her voice softer than usual. "And feel free to call if you guys ever need more of my hacking skills."

Before Dean could respond, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick, tight hug. He stiffened at first, caught off guard by the gesture—hugging wasn't exactly his thing—but this time, instead of pulling away awkwardly like he usually did, he found himself hugging her back. It was still a little awkward, sure, but it was also sincere.

When she pulled back, she smiled up at him, and for once, he didn't feel the need to cover up whatever emotion had crept into his expression. He was going to miss her—a little, at least.

"You too," Dean muttered, his voice low. "Take care of yourself. And, uh... good luck with the new place."

Natalie grinned, nodding as she opened the driver's side door and slid into her car. "Thanks, Dean. I'll see you guys around."

With one last wave, she started the engine and drove off, leaving the bunker and the hunting life behind.

Dean watched her car disappear down the road, his hands still in his pockets, feeling a strange mix of emotions. He wouldn't admit it to anyone—especially not himself—but Natalie had grown on him. More than that, she had found a way to crack through the walls he kept so firmly in place. And now that she was gone, he felt the absence more than he expected.

As he walked back toward the bunker, he found himself already thinking about the next time they might need her help—maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but soon enough. And when that day came, he knew she'd be there.

For now, though, he'd let her live her normal life. She deserved that much.

And as much as he wouldn't say it out loud, Dean was going to miss her.