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onlyseokmins · 1 month

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$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin.

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

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

You shiver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

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

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

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

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

"'Lo, Wonu."

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

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

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

"Oh, Lina…"

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

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

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

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

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

"I am strong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

"Go 'head 'n give 'er yer second key," he coaxes quietly with a shit-eating smirk.

"I swear!"

"C'mon… never like keepin' such a sweet gal waitin'!"

After a minute's hesitation, you begrudgingly agree and take it out.

"Thank ya. Now, got a lil mission for ya, Miss Hero-in-the-Makin'."

"Really?!"

Barely able to conceal her exuberance, she reverently takes the key like it's actual gold and not simply plated. Seungcheol ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

"Mhm, yeah! The one that looks like the night sky?"

"Yeah, give 'im it. Make sure to say it's from this pretty lady."

"Choi!"

"Talk to 'im too 'cause he'll love that. He's a real hero, y'know? Truest of 'em all."

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

Lina scurries off and you turn back to the counter with a sour glare directed at Seungcheol. "What was that all about?"

"Dunno, cute?"

"I'm really sorry about that all," Wonwoo apologetically interrupts with the offer of another refill which is readily accepted. "She… she's very excitable."

"No need for apologizin', man."

"Yeah, she's adorable. Is she yours?"

The bespectacled bartender stutters, almost dropping the glass he's handing to you. "That's, uh, that's my sister!"

"Ah, makes sense! Didn't mean to assume."

He flushes and turns away. But not without mumbling something about it being okay and your comrade groans.

"Reminder — ya get too drunk, 'm not dealin' with ya ass."

"Great, I don't want you near my ass."

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Seungcheol downs another shot and you're quick to follow his lead once Wonwoo hands over another refill per your shared request. However, this time, the stoic man surprisingly lingers and awkwardly fiddles with his wire-rimmed frames, doing his very best to not let his eyes wander your scantily clad figure as your head tilts back to swallow the burning alcohol.

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

"So, uh, who are you, really?"

"Curious, eh?" You lean comfortably onto the counter, braced by your forearms and an alluring smile on your face for the handsome saloon owner. His gaze drifts down to your scar-covered hands which also happen to be placed conveniently underneath your breasts.

You'd once said the best disguise and toughest armor was none at all. And why not flaunt your assets — literally — and put them to good use. The desert is hot anyways!

Seungcheol and Seungkwan both called bullshit. Mingyu applauded you and waved his "I respect women's rights, wrongs, and all the above no matter what!" flag. Seokmin — already used to your behavior and attire — had nothing else to say other than his normal quips of, "As long as you're comfortable".

"Well, a-a beautiful woman like yourself has to have everyone wondering."

And you laughed in the face of your haters every time it worked.

"Just a bounty hunter."

Wonwoo nods at the casual answer, recalling the holster strapped around the plush of your thigh beneath short denim shorts. "Where from?"

"Well… around. My hometown was destroyed so…"

"Oh? Same here."

"Ah, camaraderie." You jab a thumb menacingly in the direction of the purple-cloaked figure and the life of tonight's celebration, currently animatedly chattering to Lina. "That's why I'm turning him in."

"He's…?"

"Yup, Lee Seokmin. Yes," you confirm with a smirk at the way Wonwoo's eyes bug out behind his glasses, "that one — the infamous humanoid typhoon. Don't worry, he won't hurt anything or anyone here."

"He's… uh, he's not quite what I expected."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You must be pretty badass to reign him in. Heard he's giving what's left of the July regime officers a run for their double dollars."

"For sure. But it's thanks to the other two drunkards, really. Believe it or not, they're Bernardelli insurance agents. Raven-haired one's Seungkwan and the tall one is Mingyu. They're helping to monitor that whopping bounty of mine and prevent any more disasters from happening. Heard I might get a bump in value if I bring him in alive."

"Oh, well, it looks like it's working. And he seems… willing? To come with you?"

"The irony. Always been quite blasé about facing his doom."

"He's really a Plant engineer, too?"

"Of sorts," you huff at his visible confusion but wave your empty glass. "Can I get another?"

He's more than happy to accommodate and returns with two, sliding one over to Seungcheol with a cautious look at the person who seems the closest to you. "And this is…?"

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

"A surprising addition to the mix, yeah. But everyone needs to, like, pray sometimes." And under your breath, low enough so only a certain man can hear, "no matter how sketchy they are."

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

The one in question quirks a thick eyebrow. "Ya lookin' to get hitched, boy?"

"M-maybe."

And Seungcheol feels wholly compelled to bless him silently from the bottom of his blackened heart with full sincerity, seeing as how the bespectacled man timidly peeks your way before his gaze darts elsewhere. "Sorry lad, charge 'bout a thousand double dollars minimum."

While the solitary bartender crashes back into the sad reality of capitalism, you jab your elbow into the pastor's ribcage. "Fuckin' scammer."

"Only the best of the best! Ya know, sixty billion's still on the table — 'n it better be callin' my name."

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

"We have 'im." And he points back to where hoots and hollers erupt from the center table of the saloon.

Lina's returned to the woman she was with earlier — presumably her beloved Sherry — but that doesn't mean Seokmin's alone. There's so much disdain in your side-eye, spotting the busty violet-haired sweetheart his arm wraps around. After all, he's the worst kind of ladykiller.

And by that, you mean he absolutely sucks at flirting and can't get or keep a partner to save his life. Yet you're constantly stuck witnessing women, men, and attractive people of all kinds throw themselves at the good-looking man until he opens his mouth and they're put off by his clear lack of suaveness or strange little idiosyncrasies.

"Stop with the stupid bet, it's not happening. Nobody's going to be winning a thing."

"It's called usin' the damn 'magination, darlin'!"

"Which means you need to get better hobbies. You've corrupted my friends!"

"Hah! Them fools were already too invested in this 'fore I ever came along."

"Fill me up again?"

Intent on ignoring Seungcheol, you belatedly realize how aggressive your request comes across. You're also eager for something to help soothe ache in your chest. It comes and goes like a bad toothache — manageable enough to forget about the pain until it returns tenfold.

Thankfully, Wonwoo meekly complies with the back tips of his ears tinged red and Seungcheol barely manages to hide his extreme amount of mirth for the situation behind another glass. In the dim lighting, at certain angles, and with another shot of whiskey settling into your system, you conclude that the handsome saloon owner could certainly pass as Seokmin's brother and vice versa.

But you know the truth.

Familiar with the one who's all too identical to the infamous gunslinger, yet entirely different altogether. Irritation flares in your gut, prickling harsh enough that even the burn of alcohol fails to drown it out.

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

Tipsiness is a great excuse to bump purposely into him as you get off the stool. It's only thanks to his genetically enhanced metabolism that the pastor's able to stay upright. He grumbles something that's likely insulting, but standing upright causes you to realize you drank way too much. Everything spins or sways, including your body as you stumble up the stairs.

Somehow, you safely make it to the second level. Above the saloon is a hallway of small bedrooms that Wonwoo generously loans out to routine drunkards or stray travelers. It takes a few minutes of fumbling around but you finally find the lock that matches the first of its paired key and tumble face-first into (thankfully clean) bedsheets.

A hazy mix of drifting in and out of consciousness follows. It's not until the door clicks and there's an ominous creak of floorboards followed by a noticeable presence creeping up at your side that fully rouses you from the feverish dreams of gunfire, explosions, and loss that still plague your mind to this day.

You roll over, intending to assume both an offensive and defensive position against the nighttime visitor, but a hand lands on your shoulder before you can. Still sluggish, there's no way you could ever hope to outmatch the humanoid typhoon, even at your best.

"Hey, you."

It takes a bit for your eyes to adjust to the darkness after hearing his voice — and then there he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Seokmin greets you with a fond, megawatt grin. The thumb of his cybernetic prosthesis gently traces little circles over your bare skin. There's a faint hum and glow from its advanced tech mechanics, paired with moonbeams from the window, casting off an ethereal radiance.

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

"But of course, isn't that why you sent such a cute little cherub my way?"

Ah, Lina. You unwittingly smile, remembering how joyful she was to accomplish her mission.

Then your eyes close, nose wrinkling at the copious stench of mixed perfumes and alcohol he brought in and refusing to acknowledge what he says.

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

"… That preacher's a fuckin' tattler. And a liar. And a total scammer. Don't fall for him, Seok."

"Now, what makes you think Seungcheol told me, hm?" He leans down almost nose-to-nose, enough to make yours scrunch even more at the buzzing feeling of how near he is. Your eyes open to squint at him and he winks. "Silly boy tried to mess with god again and max out his intake. Spoiler alert, he failed. Mingyu dragged him back to his room."

"You're the only one I know who can call Choi a 'silly boy'."

"'Cause that's what he is."

"And you need to stop acting like my babysitter!"

You shift away from his gorgeous face and he leans back to give you space, sporting a smug grin. "Then who would take care of you, mayfly?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Be nice to me and maybe I won't keep count on how many glasses you down next time," he teases. "But since I'm so kind and forgiving, would you like a nice, warm, relaxing bath?"

Well, it did sound wonderful. TMI, but cleanliness was a luxury when traveling the desert. Even more so when the places you arrived at had Plant issues. Luckily, Seokmin was more than capable of fixing them but even then, circumstances varied. Especially around the one known across Gunsmoke as mankind's first localized human disaster.

"Only if you get one, too."

It slips from your mouth without a thought. But you might as well have told Seokmin you'd gotten him a box full of doughnuts with how delightedly he clasps his hands together.

"As you wish, m'lady!"

And he treats you like one, scooping you up into his arms in a princess-style carry. At least tonight you're more willing to let him do as he wishes, especially when he discards the perfume-infused outerwear. Whiskey, sleepiness, and the smooth material of his undershirt keep you pliant and cuddly well after he'd snatched you off the bed.

Seokmin's already ten times stronger than even a human like Mingyu and his prosthesis only helps take further advantage of that fact. He easily deposits you on the edge of the tub. Normal routine would require untying the tight laces on your combat boots but since you'd kicked them off prior to resting, he skips to the next step.

Deft fingers make quick work unbuttoning your shorts, the prosthetic digits of his left hand then moving to loosen the straps that keep your top on. His other hand holds them together in a pseudo-knot to keep the material in place.

Honoring a sense of modesty, you suppose — even though you've seen each other unclothed before. But you melt into the secure press of his palm paired with the support of his chest against your back as he leans over to turn on the water.

"Let me know if it's a good temperature."

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

"Okay, okay," he relents. Amicably even.

Seokmin never enjoys butting heads like Seungcheol constantly does. Although another "mayfly," gets tacked on to the end of his playful yield in a mischievous tone because if there is one thing, it's that he can never tease you enough.

Brown eyes quietly trace the ink and scars that mark your skin, some disappearing or completely hidden beneath the parts that are covered. Finally, they land on the silver chain around your neck, only a breadth away from the tip of his fingers that suddenly twitch at how soft you feel beneath the calloused roughness of his own skin.

You let out a little sigh and it shakes him from his reverie, noticing the tub's filled up past your calves. Guiding one of your hands to where the locket lies beneath your clothes covering your chest, he stands. "Call me if you need anything or just want help getting out, m'lady."

"'Kay."

You're already stripping bare but Seokmin breezes out the door before you can blink. You sigh again and slip into the hot water, enjoying a soak to ease the heaviness you feel.

It's hard to understand this emotional turmoil. Knowing that you don't enjoy feeling this way, you make a false promise to not drink ever again, staying submerged in the water until your fingers wrinkle.

Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you didn't. There's a bathrobe laid on the sink when you're ready to get out that you don't remember from before but who knows. Who cares? It's cozy and you haven't felt this clean in a while.

"All yours," you lazily declare, stepping into the bedroom.

Seokmin perks up from where he casually sits cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with Geranium. A dopey smile lights up his face, gaze moving from the hefty nickel revolver and zoning in on you.

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he repeats quieter, more to himself, "all mine…" But when you unconsciously shiver, his eyes flash and brows furrow. "C'mere, I warmed the bed up for you."

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

"Yep, so don't miss me too much, my dear mayfly!"

He accompanies it with a saucy wink and saunters into the bathroom, humming. You find yourself in a bit of a daze, head and cheeks holding onto the heat of the steam from your bath (and more). You change into a light tank and cotton shorts before sitting back down. As promised, where Seokmin rested was indeed warm and smells of faint gun smoke that always brings back memories.

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

"La de da de dai~," echoes from the bathroom. "Genocide…"

Splash.

"La de da de duh," splash, splash, splash, "an ocean… of blood."

"Let's begin… the killing time."

Seokmin possessed a lovely melodic voice no matter how nonsensical or gruesome the words he sang. Your eyes close with relaxation as he continues into a different tune. Though the lyrics are definitely more hopeful this time, there's a heavy sense of underlying desolation despite the rapid, upbeat tone.

"So…" splash, "on the first evening," splash, "a pebble from somewhere out of nowhere drops upon the dreaming world…"

You think back to how he silently cried when he thought no one was looking after a young stowaway on the sandsteamer broke into the same nostalgic song. Your heart aches in empathy for the woman whose heroic sacrifice saved humankind but left behind irreparable damage to twins she adored.

Rem Saverem.

She was to Seokmin as what Saint Meryl was to you. But your fondness for the nun who dared to favor one random orphan above the other equally ordinary ones with an unprecedented amount of kindness paled in comparison to the devotion Seokmin exhibited for Rem. Her kindness, hope, and love for and of life didn't simply become Seokmin's philosophies — they were a true part of every fiber, woven into his very being.

He was peculiar. Hardheaded — or in Seungkwan's affectionate term: a hardass — when it came to nonviolence. A true pacifist. Even when enemies held him at gunpoint, allies turned their backs on him, and his choice to always save was at the very cost of his well being… Seokmin would choose to tear himself apart limb by limb before ever causing damage or letting harm come to another.

And even if he always chose the world and those living in it first before anything else, that's what you loved the most about him.

"What's got you making that face?"

You're quick to school whatever expression it might be. Your tongue feels fuzzy. You purse your lips as he lumbers closer, freshly dressed in a comfy white long-sleeved shirt and black sweats.

"What face?"

"You know, the one where something's weighing on your mind."

The bed frame dips and squeaks when he flops down to snuggle against you. Still-damp, reddish-brown bangs lay across your shoulder and dampen your skin. The chilled press of the gold hoop in his left earlobe raises bumps wherever it touches as he endearingly nuzzles you.

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

Nevertheless, you take the unused towel around his neck and vigorously rub at his head. No complaints or protests defending his honor come from Seokmin. Just the usual little trills of contentment escape as he leans into your touch. Once you're satisfied the job's done well, he plucks the towel from your hands and you fix him with a stern look.

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

He curls in on his lanky frame, enough so to find room to plop his head pitifully onto your thighs and nuzzle the bare skin with his nose. "Not if you won't answer me first."

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

"Oh, really? Dreaming about how cool, dashing, handsome, and awesome I am?"

"… Yeah. I like you."

He chuckles, closing his eyes. More so at the feeling of your fingers idly playing with his strands of hair than seriously taking what you say. "I like you, too!"

"No, I mean," you jostle him harshly as you shift anxiously, tugging a little too hard at his roots. "Something's wrong with me."

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

"Goddamnit, Seok… that was like hours ago! But… what if… what if I'm in love with you?"

Your fingers retract like you've been caught red-handed stealing Mingyu's pudding and a millisecond later, Seokmin's head flies off your lap as he sits up to stare incredulously at you and can only gasp out one word, "What?"

It comes out more like a statement than a question. You've seen all kinds of emotions appear in those clear brown eyes of his. Emptiness. Excitement. Happiness. Fear. Loneliness. Mysteriousness. Pain. But now, you can hardly make sense of what turmoil is swimming in those murky depths.

"There's no way," he shakes his head — laughter high and brittle. "Fake", is what Seungcheol occasionally points out whenever he spies the gunslinger's smile. You've never believed him until now. "You're drunk."

Seokmin's been hurt before and you know that. It's why you wish for him to be nothing but happy, that there's some truth to the joy he constantly tries to radiate. Hoping some parts are really healing, that he's giving time to let the bloody wounds coagulate — if even just a little.

"It's me. I mean, I'm the one that's drunk," he reiterates, shaking his head.

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

"Like I'm making some sort of mistake. Like I'm wrong about this. About us."

And still under the influence of the too-damn-strong alcohol.

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

"You think I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Well, do you?" he fires back rather harshly, "'cause you're still wearing that thing and —"

You wince as his voice breaks off, palm instinctively flying to where the locket rests. "What the hell does that have to do with anything right now? I thought we were over this! Years ago!"

"Maybe you were since you continue to stubbornly follow me everywhere!"

"I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, 'cause no one ever listens to me!"

"I always listen to you, Seok. Even if the words that come out of your mouth don't match how you actually feel —"

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

Seokmin's chest heaves, wide eyes taking in how you immediately freeze. That look, oh, that look on your face could kill him and his body moves on auto-pilot to stand, directing his gaze to stare daggers into the floorboards. Begging them to rip off like a bandaid and shield him from your wrath.

The wood beneath his feet groans, shaking ever the slightest.

"You're right. How dare I?"

"Wait, mayfly… I —" he switches gears with a plea of your given name.

"And obviously, you have no fuckin' idea how I feel." Now it's your turn to let out a disingenuous chuckle, fake humor cracking under the pressure of sadness it's struggling to mask. "You think all I'm after is revenge more than the actual thought even crosses my mind. You put on this show that nothing bothers you, make assumptions that no one can keep up with you, that you can do it all on your own."

"No, that's not… that's not what I meant! You know how dangerous —"

You stumble ungracefully off the bed, flinching away when Seokmin's words break off as he automatically reaches out. For you. To support and for support.

Yet, it hurts all the more.

"But what do I even know? How can I, when you keep everyone at arm's length? It's like… it's like I don't even know who you are! Like you're someone else, someone I'll never get to understand…"

To others, it might not make sense, possibly the dumbest thing you could say — especially with the state you're in. But you know Seokmin, a fact he's subconsciously taken comfort in.

But you also know Seokmin. Which means you know the exact place to hit him where it hurts the most.

And suddenly, those words you say propel him back into a moment from the past, body free-falling in the sky.

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

Begging that exact phrase and being demanded of the same accusation. All from the one who's falling with him. Whose face mirrors his own, but couldn't be more different in that crucial and devastating moment.

His brother. His twin. His other half who was once his everything — now a total stranger from the person he thought he knew.

A fifty-year-old reunion that should've been a reconciliation, turned into a doomsday.

And for you, the once simple toothache pain is now overwhelming your full body and you refuse to let him see how it's dampened your cheeks. Especially when you hear the pained whisper of the name that escapes his mouth when you're the one that triggered those awful memories. Staggering to the door, you yank it open and he instinctually takes a step forward.

Don't leave me.

You hear the unspoken plea as clearly as if spoken aloud.

"Don't follow me," is what you hiss out instead, and just like when you first met, Seokmin obeys.

When Seungkwan makes room arrangements — if there is enough money to spare when needed and the options are available — he books everyone their own private space. More often than not though, he and Mingyu share a room and so do you and Seokmin.

Out of everyone in the group, you're the only one who is used to putting up with Seokmin's idiosyncrasies and the constant white noise of the cybernetic prosthetics's technology. You've rarely paid mind to having your own space unless Seokmin gets in one of those rare 150-year-old moods and wants some time by himself. Rare in nature, because he doesn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts that threaten to consume him.

But he'll have to make due tonight. For the first time, you're extremely grateful for Seungkwan's pro-activeness.

You lock the door, crawl into a fresh cold bed, and wet a new pillow — one that lacks the comforting scent of gun smoke — with unshed tears.

For all his short-tempered and sassy mannerisms, Seungkwan is quite the worrywart. When the suns have peeked past the horizon and you're not already downstairs bullying Seungcheol, he's immediately knocking at your door and inquiring about your well-being. You assure him you're just hungover and he reluctantly leaves you be, likely picking up on how terrible you really do sound.

By high noon, Mingyu raps on the door next. He even sweetly offers to share his prized pudding in the hopes that you'll peek your head out. Though you appreciate it, you send him away, too — after reassuring the sensitive man you'll feel better after some rest.

Seungcheol doesn't miss the chance to be annoying times ten. He doesn't indulge in the effort of knocking, opting to make the floorboards squeal by pacing back and forth in front of the door. All the while, muttering this and that about "yer boy's like a pathetic dog and blah, blah, blah" until getting very kindly told to "fuck off!" and dragged back downstairs by a certain raven-haired insurance agent.

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

Once and then twice after you'd left and he'd figured out which room was yours. Then two more visits throughout the following day. He doesn't exactly make his presence known — but you know he knows you know he's out there.

If not by the distinct gait you've picked up on listening for after all this time, then by the hesitant thuds of combat boots lingering outside your door. Lost technology whirring with the action it takes to make a fist with his left hand, raising it up to the door and then back down again in self-inflicted defeat.

You refuse to see anyone, choosing to pity yourself first. Wallowing in your feelings and then sleeping as much of the heartache — and more so the hangover — away.

When the moons are visible in accordance to their nightly orbit, you get up to fuss with the mini VERnon in the room's corner. Nothing but static greets you. At the very least, the white noise is better than complete silence. By the time it's morning, you slowly awaken to the virtually enhanced radio trying to catch onto a faint signal. Enough to report the latest news in snippets with its mechanical voice.

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

Your eyes fly open. Now is not the time to be wasting away. Donning a clean set of attire similar to what you wore into town — and with Sirocco strapped comfortingly to your thigh — you descend downstairs.

"Good morning!" Mingyu cheerfully greets with a delighted shout of your name and eagerly waves you over to sit next to him, waving around a promised cup of pudding. "Are you feeling better?"

"Mhm, thanks. Sorry about that, whiskey here sure is strong."

"'S one helluva killer," Seungcheol sulks across from you, still sporting a massive headache and looking worse than that one time Seungkwan hit him with the car.

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

"Since I can equally acknowledge both my strengths and weaknesses, that makes me infinitely stronger than you'll ever be."

Seungkwan wordlessly hands you a bowl and you graciously accept it. Next to the pastor sits Seokmin, unnaturally quiet. You don't even spare him a glance even though brown eyes burn into the side of your face until you glare his way.

The stack of doughnuts on the plate in front of him remain untouched — minus the smudged icing on one that was likely from Seungcheol trying to swipe it. Evidently, Seokmin was in low spirits if he didn't want to consume his favorite desserts. But, he is still prideful enough to prevent anyone else from snatching the prized delicacy.

How typical.

An awkwardness ensues, charged with an underlying current of tension. A vein forms in Seungkwan's forehead from his blood pressure rising.

Its pulse matches the twitch in the corner of his fake smile as he attempts to make conversation, to which Mingyu — oblivious and happy-go-lucky as ever, bless his heart — replies enthusiastically. Seungcheol stares listlessly into space, twirling a lollipop around and around with his tongue. Next to him is a soul acting like a thunderstorm's personally pouring over him. Seokmin starts pitifully poking at his grand doughnut pile while you ferociously tear into a piece of bread like it's the last supper before swallowing.

"Soonyoung's coming."

Your unexpected, but welcomed, interruption ironically pauses Seungkwan's second diatribe about Hansol's calamitous ingenuity. If possible, the apprehension in the room intensifies tenfold.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "How'd you hear?"

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

"Something about the Beast and Tonim came through. Not for sure but…"

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

"True, 'Gyu. 'N if Soonyoungie's gonna be there, ya know what that likely means…"

You nod in understanding at Seungcheol's implication. "The Crimsonnail."

Seokmin's jaw clenches at the name but it's the disgruntled pastor who continues speaking after a hearty and loud gulp of water. "'Course the Eye of Joshua's gonna send their best two. Soonyoungie's Hoon's eyes 'n ears for these kinda things."

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

Your noncommittal remark receives Seungcheol's scathing glower. "Bet."

"It wouldn't be the first time," you shrug.

"There haven't been any notable disturbances and the ground's been stable. So hopefully their only goal is to simply antagonize us further."

Antagonize.

A funny word for such a twisted coin game between a hunter and the hunted. You can't and don't blame the younger Bernardelli agent — only you were privy to most of the true horrors Seokmin dealt with behind the scenes, Seungcheol a close second. And because of that, you were usually the one at his side before an encounter with Jihoon and the ever lingering threat and terror of said man's monstrous power.

But today, you get up from the table without so much as a glance in his direction. Only a parting command of "Let's regroup near the entrance at high noon," while Seungkwan and Mingyu exchange looks of minor distress.

The black-haired man in his hangover blues obnoxiously blows a raspberry as you leave.

Later, there are two solid knocks on the door as you get ready. You know who it is before the door swings open after your agreeable hum to enter. Many may be intimidated at the sight of the silver weapon in your gloved hands. Seungkwan and Mingyu make up half of the quartet who aren't.

They take a seat on the bed as you purse your lips at the reflection in the dusty mirror. Then you fuss with the strap for your gun. Satisfyingly re-securing it around your thigh before throwing a carmine trench coat over tight kevlar that covers almost every inch of skin possible.

"Surprised you didn't dye everything else black during a fit of rage."

Your lips curl upwards. "How on Gunsmoke would I manage that?"

"With the way you're acting, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…' or so the saying goes."

"Really, 'Kwan?"

"I'm an avid supporter of women's rights and especially their wrongs."

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

"Thanks, Mingyu. Should've given my color scheme a little more consideration."

"But then you wouldn't have achieved such an infamous moniker. I mean, okay. Maybe the black plague killed tons of Earthlings eons ago but it doesn't have the same ring as 'Sirocco, the bloody rain that follows after the humanoid typhoon'…"

Seungkwan allegedly graduated at the top of his class, leave it to him to spew out all kinds of random facts that you know nothing about. You huff and adjust the brim of the large hat atop your head.

"All that does is make me cringe."

"Uh-huh, so what's making him act like that?"

"Who's acting like what?"

"Fine, keep playing dumb. Did you reject Seokmin or something?"

Mingyu gasps. Dramatically. Hands on cheeks and mouth open in a wide 'o' shape, puppy-dog eyes glistening with despair.

"There's no way!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, nothing happened so don't think you're gonna wheedle out of me whether you're going to win that stupid bet you two have going with Choi."

"Eh, don't worry. I've been out of the running for a while now, unfortunately."

"The hell did you even throw for?"

He shoots you a deadpan look. "Guess who's aged eighty years watching the two of you dance around each other like dumbasses? Could've sworn you'd be married with a toma farm or a dozen little children by now."

"It's your own damn fault for falling victim to that pastor's salacious schemes. And it's not even remotely like that, so…"

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

You stomp your foot, frustration boiling over. "Ugh, I'm never drinking again!"

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

"I mean Choi did bet you'd confess and you know… get intimate afterwards… if you were drunk so…"

"Oh, so that's why he was so damn pushy last night."

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

It's a well-known fact that Seungcheol would rather stoke the flames of hell than ever needlessly dabble with holy water as one might be expected to with his chosen career.

"But judging by both of your moods, evidently nothing happened." The raven-haired man really has the gall to look disappointed that no one won yet pleased Seungcheol didn't, and the gall to point out the obvious. "Anyways, what did you bet on, Mingyu?"

"Don't recall!"

"Figures." Seungkwan's face falls flat against his palm with a groan before dragging it wearily down his face. "Whatever, it's not like it's that serious. Seriously," he adds on, feeling the burn of your perpetual glower. "Don't let it weigh on your mind. We need you fully focused."

"And when have I ever been less than what's expected of me?" You hold up a hand. "Wait! Don't answer. But really, worry more about that idiot."

"Aw, see? You still care!"

"… About that sixty billion bounty, Mingyu? Yeah."

"Sure you do."

"And truthfully, I was talking about Choi, 'Kwan."

"Well, both of them always get into those zany headspaces!"

You shrug at the tall man's truthfulness. "They're both holding a lot of trauma and baggage."

"And you aren't?" Seungkwan snorts with sarcasm dripping from the dig.

"At least mine's manageable. And… hasn't threatened your lives yet."

"As far as we know."

"In fact, I think I've saved your 'so-very-untraumatized' lives more often than not. Stay with me and you'll both be okay."

They good-naturedly give you individual looks of disdain. Perfectly in sync when you accompany that last statement with a devilish smirk and a twirl that flares out your tail coat with a flourish. By no means are they incapable. Clumsy Mingyu can adeptly wield his massive concussion gun when it counts, of course, and Seungkwan stealthily hides several derringer 'throwaway' pistols under his white cloak that he can fire with deadly precision.

Nonetheless, they loyally flank to your side when Tonim's bell tower signifies the hour of high noon has struck. Seungcheol meets the three of you outside the door of the saloon, smoking a cigarette and one arm lazily draped over the Punisher — a terrifying machine gun mockingly designed in the burdening shape of a merciful cross.

You spot Seokmin up ahead. He's standing on the low border wall near the town's entrance, perched next to a pillar for back support with the heel of his boot propped up behind him. Decked out in the usual galaxy ensemble, purple fabric cut off at shoulder-length of the top left sleeve to allow free range of movement for his prosthesis. His hair's slightly gelled up for a more intimidating and dramatic flair and it almost makes you giggle.

But there's that stern gaze focused on the horizon, likely able to see far out into the distance through those amber lenses the human eye can't quite decipher. Despite such a hardened resolve, his head tilts slightly up toward the blue sky with a faint smile on his lips — an honoring appreciation for the beauty and wonder of life despite its inevitable horrors.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue to get your attention while Seungkwan and Mingyu keep walking ahead. "Spiky Hair thinks he's really gonna do it?"

"Won't stop until he's tried every last resort."

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

"This damned situation 'cause of ya know who."

"Dokyeom. DK."

"Nah, nah. There's the asinine version, eh?"

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

He slaps his knee. "Ah, aye… good one! But nah, 's really stupid one, Deathly, uh, er…?"

"… Deadly Knives?"

"Pfft, yeah, 's that one. So, we gotta try 'n stop one genocidal brother from sweepin' out the whole human race 'n tryna convince greedy humans not to keep exploitin' 'em with the other. Back 'n forth again 'n again. I swear…'s only ever gonna be impossible."

"What makes you think it can't happen?"

He looks at you like you're stupid. Maybe you are. But what does that make him? "Both sides — humans versus DK — think they're right 'n too proud to think otherwise."

"So you don't think they'll settle for a compromise. Or at least try to see the other's viewpoint?"

"Hell naw. Ain't no compromisin' when both think they're justified in what they're doin'."

"Well, regardless — you joined a good cause, Choi. World could use a little more peace and love, don't you think?"

He grunts. "Lookit who's corrupted yer ideologies. Don'tcha know what destroyed Earth?"

"And do you know what saved humans? Kindness. Hope. Empathy. Compassion. Change. Making and being the difference. The good kind."

A long time ago, maybe in a different twist of fate, you might've staunchly agreed with Seungcheol. But despite it all, you've been somewhat changed — or like the pastor said, call it a corruption of sorts — by Seokmin's unwavering sense of positivity and kindness no matter how bleak the future.

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

Seungcheol shakes his head as if he's not gearing up, ready and raring to go as he stomps forward to join a fellow 'brother-in-arms'. The thought inwardly makes you smile with affection until you remember you're actually, in fact, mad at Seokmin.

A dust cloud stirs up on the horizon, steadily growing closer to where you stand.

"You're so full of goddamn self-flagellation."

The individual where all your ire is centered on jolts, doing a double-take at your sudden but familiar presence by his side approaching. Or maybe it was the mere fact you were talking to him again. A warm expression overtakes his facial features at the sense of calm that automatically relaxes the tension in his muscles as he looks down at you.

"Well then, hello to you too. Feeling better, mayfly?"

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

"Yeah, yeah." You wave away his nagging and step up on the wall to stand next to him. "Don't worry, I won't be making a mistake like that again."

"… Mistake?"

There's an edge to his tone. Searching. Sometimes you hate how perceptive Seokmin can be. Though he actively acts oblivious and carefree, it's usually a ploy to lower other's guard.

You wonder how long he's known.

So, you sigh. "I'm talking about drinking, of course. And… I wish I could say I forgot even if… I haven't. But it's fine, I know where I stand."

The latter part of your sentence trails off. It's true though. You do know — thankful you can even be next to Seokmin. You might not be with him but at the very least, your place will always be somewhere by his side. Affectionate flings may be sought elsewhere. But they're always temporary. In your heart of hearts, you know you're irreplaceable to him.

And that's going to have to be good enough for you.

The man in question scratches the back of his head. "It's not… it's not like that. I know I fucked up."

"Stop." You grip at his prosthetic, knowing despite how sensitive the sensors are, they won't be able to pick up how you slightly tremble. "It's okay. Really."

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

"Mayfly," Seokmin murmurs. "Look at me."

With the slightest hesitation, your gaze finally rises from its focal point centered on his boots and the stones beneath to meet dark brown eyes. The ache in the gunslinger's chest eases just a little. It's been far too long — a day, in actuality — since he's got to lose himself among the vibrant hues of your irises and he squeezes your free hand in gratitude.

"It's not okay, I want to talk to you. Sober. But…"

"I get it. Now's not the time for a heart-to-heart, especially not in front of your brother's henchmen."

You laugh, for real this time. The sight is breathtaking; it makes Seokmin's eyes crinkle, a fond smile to accompany his affection as he leans in closer to you to whisper a sweet, "Thank you."

Three sets of eyes try to make it very not obvious that they're very obviously totally not watching the overdue interaction with bated breath.

"Oh golly good, they've made up!"

"'Course they would."

"It's about time, I couldn't take the tension anymore."

"Don'tcha think it'll get worse once they start canoodlin'?"

"Good lord," Seungkwan groans, "perish the thought."

"What's wrong with a little love? Yay for love!"

"Well, I don't think they've made it that far yet. But we're getting there. Baby steps."

It would be a good cause for celebration, a resumption of last night's festivities. Unfortunately, the merry moment is cut short with a screech of brakes, signaling the arrival of Jihoon, DK's most elite performer in his unmerry band of henchmen.

Next to the feared Crimsonnail's suitcase sits Soonyoung the Beast. Silver strands peek out behind the unsettling, bug-like circular mask hiding his face. He casually waves, acting like the unnerving discovery behind the innocent, abandoned child — who went by Hoshi — was simply a facade initially put on around your group and not such a grand revelation.

Having sorted that out in the stomach of a giant flying worm serving as a hive mind for Gunsmoke's legion of its original inhabitants and swearing not to let your guard down again, all five of you remain on high alert.

Jihoon's steel-colored eyes flicker to Seungcheol. "Hello there, Undertaker. Or… should I say Judas?"

"Howdy dandy to ya too, ya son of a bitch," the pastor snarls, spitting his cigarette in their direction. Cursing under his breath when the distance and uselessness of the fizzling stub doesn't blow up the engine like he wishes it would.

"Now, now. You don't want to make me mad, do you?"

"Kinda wanna piss ya off as much as ya piss me off, yeah."

"Surely you know what —"

"He means nothing by it." You'd quickly abandoned your post next to Seokmin to place a hand on Seungcheol's taut shoulder. Boldly facing the blonde man's haughty expression with one that's hopefully placating enough on behalf of your comrade. "He's just grumpy because he's still hungover."

"Well, well… if it isn't the humanoid typhoon's little blood shower."

Ugh, you inwardly grimace, why the fuck does everyone have such unflattering nicknames for me?

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

"… Seems it," Jihoon sniffs and cocks his head. "Similar to the dilemma I have with this persistent bug."

Soonyoung chortles, neck contorting at an unnatural angle to peer at the driver. "You love me."

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

Seokmin's question comes sharp and pointed like a dagger, a far cry from his usual demeanor. His tone remains detached. Aloof. Vaguely accusatory. Unlike your harried action to cover for Seungcheol, you don't dare divert attention away from the gunslinger who stalks forward after elegantly hopping down from his perch. Despite an outwardly calm demeanor, there's an underlying urgency in his gait that's threatening to snap.

"For amusement. A show, if you will."

"One that's not even orchestrated by Joshua's freakish cult powers!"

Out of all the males surrounding you, you're not sure exactly who growls at the Beast's mere mention of the devil-like figurehead — in fact, it could've been all of them — but there's one noise that rings out above the din of it all.

Click!

You don't need super-hearing to pick up that telltale sound. Not when every person over the age of eighteen in Tonim has a cocked gun trained on each member of your ragtag gang.

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

"One too fuckin' many," you answer Seungkwan with a petulant hiss and reluctantly mimic him by putting your hands up in the air.

Jihoon cackles. "And when will you fools ever learn?"

"'S my question, actually," the pastor nonchalantly calls over his shoulder, directed at the town's ringleader. "Didn't know ya had it in ya, boy."

You didn't think Wonwoo had it in him either, to be honest. But that's not something you were going to mention aloud with the shaky hold the bespectacled man has on the firearm waveringly aimed at his target — the one whose head is worth a 60 billion double dollars bounty, dead or alive.

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

There's a faint twitch in one of Seokmin's eyebrows. Seungcheol rolls his eyes, sarcastically muttering under his breath an addition of location names, "Voldoor, Inepril, December, Lewiston…" and Mingyu joins in on the fun with a cheerful, "New Miami!"

Seungkwan watches warily and your jaw clenches. You can feel your teeth grind together in annoyance as Wonwoo's smarmy sneer grows smugger.

"And now, Tonim Town. What?" he jeers, seizing the chance to use the man's silence as a way to ridicule him. "Don't recognize what you've laid waste to? Must I bring up the big ones to jog your memory a little, like the city of July and Augusta or the hole in the fifth moon?"

"Why you —"

Enragement propels you a step forward, but the barrel swinging your way halts your next move mid-step. The sullen look on Wonwoo's face surprisingly holds no malice. He looks saddened, if anything, but you can't bring yourself to feel too much sympathy with the rifle he's now pointed toward you.

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

Seokmin's voice is hardly more than a whisper yet it rings out loud and clear amid the tense silence and stillness. "I said, you forgot one. There's not a name of any place or person I'd ever forget. I'm well aware of the ones you're talking about… and more. However, there's somewhere I won't ever forget that no one will ever know existed."

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

Wonwoo seems so taken aback and the pause unwittingly allows your eyes to drift over to meet Seokmin's brown ones. There are so many emotions conveyed in the sidelong glance — a mixture of regret-filled feelings yet ever so soft — and it lasts a second too long to snap the befuddled aggressor out of his reverie.

"Oh… I see." He pushes up his glasses, the lenses glinting in the pale sunlight like a typical anime villain. The long gun lowers to the ground the same time as he throws back his head to let out a bitter laugh. "So that's how it is! All you do is take and take and take, Lee. Destroy, destroy, destroy; again and again and again!"

"Aye, ole chap's gone off his rocker."

"You've made an ally out of a would-be, should-be enemy and think other victims with their pain and grief don't exist?!"

"Wow," Seungkwan wrinkles his nose in disgust, "yeah… he's gone completely insane."

Mingyu hums in agreement. "A little unhinged! Off the rocks! Unstable even! When can I knock him out?"

You'd love to give the gentle giant the go-ahead. Really. But even so…

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

The townspeople's uncertainty and hesitance tells you all you need to know, especially when Wonwoo's hysteria leaves them even more perplexed. After years of handling a gun like a second arm, you can spot inexperience and fear of handling a dangerous weapon the second someone is near one. You lower your arms and step forward once more, confidence growing when he makes no move to threaten you further.

"You don't want this."

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a rueful smile. "You know, I thought we really did share some camaraderie."

"We do."

"Yet you gallivant around with a monster like that?"

"He's not a monster."

"I should've known better, really, when the VERnons said you're the sirocco that follows after the humanoid typhoon. Heroes, my ass! I don't get it, how could you do that to others after what happened to you?"

To us?

It remains unspoken yet you can hear the intent of the accusingly barbed question. Two survivors of a wrecked hometown. Shared camaraderie hadn't been a lie. Even now as you meet the flickering fire in Wonwoo's eyes with a blazing flame in your own, all you can see is a reflection of your past and what you could've turned into in a possible future.

A cold gleam returns to his gaze as he takes your silence as defiance. Or maybe even shamelessness. "How could you turn a blind eye to such a bloody warpath of destruction when you know too well of the tragedy that's left behind?!"

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"… Excuse me?"

"That's what all of you are doing right now," you declare loudly and some of Tonim's residents whose conscience stings have the decency to avert their eyes. Awareness of their actions seem to weigh down on them, guns lowering ever the slightest and the awkwardness encourages Seungkwan to speak up.

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

"But yer actions're gonna be the very cause of the destruction yer tryin' so damn hard to prevent."

"Because you took a bribe!"

There's a stilted, horrified, and collective gasp, so you try to remedy Mingyu's exclamation.

"It's because you let your malice sway you. Tell me, Jeon. What all did you lose?"

"My whole town. Then my parents. Almost my life and nearly Lina's too. My lover…"

"And your sense of self. Plus, the new life you've created here — and those things? Almost lost because of your own accord. Why would you destroy the few good things you're granted?"

Wonwoo's eyebrows scrunch as his face tenses. Your heart goes out to him despite everything, hoping to get your point across as you continue speaking.

"That doesn't negate the losses. The grief. The pain. It never goes away but… you can choose to clean out the wound, put some salve on it, and bandage it or let it fester and infect your body 'til it rots even your soul."

You can hear the shift in the sand as Seokmin approaches to stand next to you. He regards Wonwoo with a kind smile and the understanding, crescent-shaped squint of his eyes is like a punch to the other man's gut.

"…. I —"

" — It's your choice, Jeon. What did they offer you? Money? There are so many bets on July's militia lying about the payout. I mean, c'mon, there's no way a ruined city would have the funds."

"Yer Plant's no longer in red status, so ya won't need to barter no more."

"I'll throw in a better deal — let us go and I'll have Choi marry you and Sherry, free of charge."

His cheeks flush and you inwardly gloat, instincts right on the money. Seungcheol's jaw drops, absolutely flabbergasted, and the townsfolk exchange a few knowing snickers.

"If it's protection you need, we can figure that out too," Seokmin recovers and offers in a low voice. "And if Do — er, Knives — or his gang approached you with a deal, just know that they never hold up their end of the bargain."

"You're lucky you threatened us first. DK's side is a little too slash-happy and trigger-loving to resort to verbal methods. They're the ones you'd want to go after anyways, you see, this man and Knives are twins if you don't look close enough, they're eerily similar at the strangest moments. So the real story is that it's all just spiraled out of control."

"You mean…"

"I won't deny responsibility." Seokmin admits sternly. "It's true that I've wreaked devastation to many towns. Failed to save the people I swore to protect."

"But DK keeps forcing his hand to get Seok to join his genocidal cause. And every time he refuses to do so, his brother throws a tantrum and well, knives go flying everywhere. Literally."

"He's a little…" The gunslinger searches for the right word — and finding that there is none — cringes. "Dramatic."

You stare at him, aghast. "He cut your arm off!"

Wonwoo pales, swallows, and then grimaces, daring to ask, "So… I've had it wrong the whole time?"

"I guess not entirely." You shrug, also guilty as charged years ago. "And obviously not the first."

"And certainly not the last," Seungkwan pipes up.

The bespectacled man looks down at the ground. "I don't… I don't know… Do I even deserve this kind of treatment? This… mercy?"

"No."

With such a blunt answer, Seokmin's quick to protest with an admonishment of your name while Seungkwan and Mingyu suppress smiles at your straightforwardness. Seungcheol freely chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

And Wonwoo's face falls as remorse hits all over again.

"But," you smirk, "what have I told you?"

"Oh, ah… why destroy the few good things life grants me?"

"Good. You were listening. We might get along just fine, after all." You send him a teasing wink. "Camaraderie and all that be damned."

A sheepish look overtakes the man's previously hardened features. And suddenly he's laughing with his head thrown back like earlier, but this time it's with an unrestrained amount of joy. Relief. Hope.

"The ticket to the future is always blank, Wonwoo." Seokmin extends a hand and the other man takes it, the small grin on his face turning into a full-blown smile.

"Guns down, Tonim town. The rest of you, come on out! Let's celebrate!" He calls out to everyone, gesturing for your group to follow. "Drinks are on me to make up for this whole mess. I'm sorry for getting you all involved."

You turn around toward Seokmin, elation written all over your face that he readily mirrors. Just as you're about to grab his hand as he reaches out at the same time, there's a slow, loud handclap that sets off mental warning sirens blaring all over again.

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

The velvety voice is deceivingly sweet. But beneath the dulcet tones lies a raw and wicked strength. It rings out clearly, even more so when the jubilant mood abruptly dies down as a new figure approaches.

"Aw, c'mon Joshie! Just when it was gettin' good!" Soonyoung whines and you belatedly realize you forgot all about the real enemies at the entrance gate, thinking they had grown bored and left.

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

The Beast huffs at Jihoon's surly attitude, more than likely pouting beneath his mask. "Was really lookin' forward to those free drinks…"

"We don't need drinks and we don't need you, Josh."

If there's one commonality between the adversary and your group, it's the shared disdain for the elegant-looking man dressed in all black fabrics with shiny leather buckles, and slicked-back locks to match.

"Hm. But I think you do."

Chilling ochre-colored eyes couldn't be bothered to look at you, drifting past you and Seokmin like you were nothing more than the grains of sand littering every surface on Gunsmoke. And like a marionette, your head automatically swivels to follow his line of sight, blood draining from your face when you realize what he's looking at.

Lina.

She breaks away from holding onto Sheryl's hand after they emerge from the saloon, bounding toward her brother with excitement all over her face. The arm that isn't supporting his firearm extends gallantly outward, ready to welcome her with a hug as he strolls to meet her halfway.

They're smiling at one another with so much adoration after the intensity from earlier. If you weren't fucking terrified, you'd wish Dokyeom was also there to see how pure a sibling relationship and affection should be.

Instead, your stomach lurches, and Seokmin hisses beside you. With your back turned, you can't see Joshua but you're sure he's smirking when Wonwoo's frame stiffens, body jerking as it moves beyond his control.

Hastily, he's cocking the rifle with expert ease and assuming the perfect position to fire it, something he previously displayed no knowledge on before. Wide eyes have no choice but to peer down the scope and he chokes at how it's unforgivingly aimed directly at his little sister.

She skids to a halt, ten paces away. Hesitant. Wary. Puzzled.

"… Wonu?"

It all plays out in slow motion as you reach for Sirocco, simultaneously screaming out to your friends to alert them and provide cover. Frantic panic swirls in the air like a sandstorm at the turn of events, but even more fear generates when the townspeople can do nothing but helplessly succumb to their limbs moving on their own too.

Despite every single effort and all of his muscles straining not to do it, Wonwoo's pointer finger on the trigger pulls back. It doesn't matter how much he struggles to fight for control, his body refuses to listen. Tears flow from his eyes even though he can't speak, can't yell, can't beg for forgiveness — the vehement sense of horror is the only thing able to overpower Joshua's terrifying control, leaking out a salty excess.

Bang!

Three gunshots ring out at the same time. You fire right before Wonwoo does and Seokmin follows two seconds later. Not because his reaction time is slower. But because he could see and calculate where the bullet's headed after you changed its trajectory by shooting at Wonwoo's barrel.

It doesn't end there.

Seokmin is a half-step closer to Lina and can move at an inhumane speed, diving into a tuck-and-roll to reach her moments before the residents have no choice but to open fire too.

You know he's fast enough to dodge bullets at close range, but the staggered distance spread out among all of those present in the town's square works little for that insane advantage. Instead, the skilled combatant focuses all his attention on shielding Lina beneath the loose flaps of his impenetrable trench coat. She clings tightly to his leg, whimpering.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Continuing to mutter reassurances, he pats her fluffy brown hair with an unshaking cybernetic palm while the other rapidly points his revolver upwards to deflect a bullet that might've been lucky enough to shatter the bridge of his glasses. Then doing the same to one at five o'clock on his right. He angles his body this way and that as if a puppeteer is yanking the strings connected to his limbs to the perverse beat of an unheard tune. The few he misses land harmlessly against the thick kevlar material you're all wearing.

Meanwhile, your steady hand supports the familiar weight of Sirocco. Muscle memory aids you with cocking the gun as you run. Aiming at the closest group of people near them and then — bang!, bang!, bang! — snipe off the barrels on their guns in rapid succession, rendering them useless.

From behind, something flies past your face and nicks the top of your ear — one of the few places unprotected by bulletproof material — causing you to hiss. Scowling over your shoulder, you squint in the direction it came from.

While a complete bastard, Seungcheol is also the most resourceful ray of hope in a shootout like this. The Punisher's automatic artillery relentlessly fires shot after shot, destroying old and weather-beaten guns like they're empty, crushable soda cans. It's faster too. The trigger-happy pastor twirls it around maniacally, taking only the slightest care to not actually kill anyone.

You're a hundred percent sure it's because of Joshua's disturbing power that allows him to reanimate corpses rather than Seokmin's "Thou shalt not kill" lecture and pacifist philosophies that keeps the supposed 'god-fearing' man from snuffing out anyone's life this time around. Despite the bullets whizzing around, you know he'll fare alright with that healing serum of his — just as long as he doesn't overdose on it.

Mingyu rushes over to stand back-to-back with the pastor, x-shaped claws firing out of his 'stun-gun' and immobilizing many of his targets with ease. You can't help but grimace though, wondering if they'll sustain more brain damage from Joshua's nefarious telepathy or a well-meaning concussion that leaves them unconscious and no longer posing a threat. A solid steel object flies past the brown-haired man's head, knocking down the mind-controlled person who was trying to sneak up on him using a blind spot.

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

An empty derringer lays at said blockhead's feet and Mingyu kicks it away with a childlike glee. A brand-new loaded pistol is already in Seungkwan's right hand even as he throws away the one in his left toward someone approaching Seungcheol. The young man's never empty-handed for long because with another flashy twirl from out of his cloak and a new handgun is cocked, aimed, and fired.

Despite the distance and conditions, all three work together like clockwork. Different shaped and sized cogs all interconnected to succeed without causing too much harm. And you know you must play your part as well, turning your attention back to the few townsfolk that remain.

"Seokmin, switch!"

It's not like he needs the heads-up. The way you'd both been inching closer to each other every time your gun's fired already issued the forewarning. It's like a subtle tango performed by two fierce allies surrounded by deadly enemies. If you didn't know better, it's similar to an intricate sword dance.

But you knew how dangerous it was to play with knives.

The swift transfer of Lina's warm little body into your arms is a welcome comfort. Seokmin sends you a dazzling smile, one full of confidence at a successful swap.

"Hey there, pretty girl," you coo and your gloved thumb wipes away one of the tear trails cutting through the dirt smudges on her face. "You are so, so, so brave and I'm so, so, so proud of you."

"He," she sniffles, "my… my… br-brother. W-Wonu!"

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you turn her to face the other way. "Everything's going to fine. I promise. Now, run to Seungcheol. He'll keep you safe while the rest of us finish this."

Seungkwan and Mingyu had effectively disarmed everyone on their end and now worked on dragging the town's unconscious residents inside the saloon and attending to any wounds. The pastor stood guard near the entrance with his Punisher staked firmly into the sandy ground. Although empty of ammunition, the machine gun still served a purpose as a great defender with its imposing cross shape.

With the target assuredly safe — out of sight, out of mind — the control Joshua has over those remaining falters and starts to lose its effect. In the brief lull, Seokmin dashes ahead to deliver a flying kick that helpfully unsheathes the dagger hidden in the sole of his boots, demolishing one more firearm in someone's grip before it can be used again.

Bang!

And with Sirocco's precision, the last two are destroyed as well. You match your comrade's grin and turn triumphantly to where the instigators still stand at the entrance.

There would be no casualties today. You and your comrades would make sure of that.

Joshua, stoic as ever, surveys the aftermath with an air of unbothered gracefulness. Jihoon fumes next to him. Panic spikes when Soonyoung can't be spotted at first until you spy him curled up in the car's front seat — asleep.

You fist bump Seokmin in high spirits. Then fearlessly meet a pair of deep orange eyes devoid of any emotion or warmth, a shift occurs in your smile. Confidence and satisfaction hone the corners of your mouth into a daring smirk and something about the bold taunt causes a rare flicker of humor to cross Joshua's lips. Whether it's scornful pity or simple mockery, you don't have time to figure it out because Jihoon snaps.

Nails.

Several of them fly through the air and their wielder's formidable namesake comes from the daunting color that makes the multitude of piercers look like thin streaks of blood against the pale blue sky. The spikes as long as spears are all fired from Jihoon's large suitcase-turned-crossbow that aims just shy of your left side.

Those steel eyes of his are as sharp as their color. The malice within them feels suffocating, so strong and heavy that it sucks all the breath straight out of your lungs. Only the pain from a nail grazing your cheek is enough to pull your attention away from drowning in the unnerving emotion and you put a hand up to the laceration to soothe the sting.

Wetness oozes from your skin, an unsettling feeling of sliminess accompanying the touch. Puzzled, your fingers retract and you ponder the sheer amount of red viscoelastic fluid coating them. There's so much of it pooling that droplets fall to the sand below while others dribble down past your wrist and under your sleeve, the stain blending right in with the fabric of your coat.

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

"Do you regret being the only one left to live?"

Drip.

Faces you know and voices you cannot recall overlap and echo. Unfamiliar frowning expressions and intonations you remember as once gentle now ridicule, belittle, and find every crack in your well-made armor. Insidious whispers weave inside, entangling themselves within the fragile support structures of your mind and very soul. They point and cackle to one another at such a sorry sight, only for you to realize you're angrily jabbing a pointer finger at your worthless reflection with those cursory words coming straight out of your own mouth.

Drip.

Your head turns robotically, like an early prototype of the lost technology Earthlings created. This time it's Sheryl who's the victim, helplessly well within the trajectory line of Jihoon's rage. Every muscle aches, weighed down by exhaustion. Your shoulder burns. Yet you still somehow find the strength within you to rush toward her, especially hearing Lina's desperate wail as she's held back by a grimacing Seungcheol.

Drip.

Like a comet, Seokmin blazes past. He skids to a stop, effectively shielding the woman right before impact. You're too slow to move. In fact, it feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you're nothing but a hologram inside the floating ship — an artificial intelligence projection with no other choice but to witness the horrors and observe tangible objects scuttle towards their inevitable doom without interference. You're left with no choice but to simply watch as the nails are propelled through the air with the intent to strike.

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

The nails impale Seokmin without mercy. Strike after strike, they pierce straight through the material of his coat designed to repel only bullets and plunge deep within the muscles beneath his skin. One after the other. So many of them stick out of the man's backside like the skeletal bone formation for wings. He slumps to his knees, falling on top of a bewildered but unharmed Sheryl. When he only lays still with no further action, you're struck with the dreadful knowledge that he may never move again and it fills you with an unfathomable maelstrom of raw grief and anger.

Drip.

Suddenly, you're no longer drowning in invisible quicksand and can move freely again. There's zero hesitation in your now fluid movements — not even when the blond-haired man poises his crossbow directly at you this time. Pulling out the spare gun hidden near your hip, you blast the airborne spikes flying towards you without hesitation.

Bang!

More fall than you shoot. The anger, pain, and grief you wield is enough to tear them apart like they're nothing but worm larvae helplessly caught in a sandstorm. You stalk forward through the crimson ire that relentlessly strikes down, clearing a path that's littered with broken, twisted, and dented nails before resolutely aiming point-blank at Jihoon's forehead.

Click.

More people are screaming and the spiteful cacophony in your mind resumes. But your ears feel like they're filled with cotton and this time you're stuck underwater. Your chest rises and falls, trying and failing to collect yourself.

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

"Goddamn it! Get ahold o'yerself, woman!"

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

The dissonance reminds you of the wound from before. But this time it feels like a sting, as if someone slapped you — albeit rather gently. Numb, you halt in place and cautiously raise your hand back to your surprisingly unmarred face. But rather than skin, you grasp onto something solid. Something familiar. Something kind. Something loving. Something safe. Something warm. Something that's yours — always has been and always will be.

Someone.

And then… you open your eyes — and find yourself staring directly into Seokmin's sparkling brown ones.

"Y-you're dead," you manage to choke out in disbelief and his eyes incredulously crinkle into half-moons at the statement to hide the tears brimming in them.

The soothing hand caressing your cheek moves to wrap around the barrel of the gun you're pressing to his forehead and he smiles disarmingly. As if what you just said was the funniest thing ever.

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

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

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clockwayswrites · 10 months

Text

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 7

WC: 1011 Masterpost

After the concussion, Danny started seeing Flash more. It was nice; it was actually really nice. It made Danny realize how alone he had been— how long he had been keeping to himself. When he could manage to be painfully honest with himself, Danny could admit that he had been isolating. He had turned down offers from coworkers and even a few neighbors to be social. It had just been too hard to fathom getting close to anyone when he was still hurting from the loss of Sam, Tucker, and, worst of all, Jazz.

Flash (the younger mostly, but even sometimes the older) didn’t really give him the chance to turn them down. Danny was sure that if he pushed that the heroes would have backed off, but Danny found that he really didn’t want to push them away. It was nice to have people who stopped to check in with him just to see how he was doing.

Questions from Flash the younger started out as post battle check-ups turned to ‘how was your day’s to whatever inane thing was running through the hero’s mind. And there was a lot that ran through the hero’s mind. (Danny tried not to dwell on the fact that he thought of that personality trait as adorable.)

“Dude, no,” Flash bemoaned, leaning against the van as Danny double checked his list that everyone on his team had fully reported in.

“I said what I said,” Danny insisted, head ducked to try and hide his smile. It was just too much fun (and too easy) to rile Flash up.

“No, I refuse to believe that you actually think Ghoulie Girls Two is better than the original game!” Flash said, gesturing wildly. As he spoke his words sped up until they were hard to follow. “The second game lost all of its soul! It was just fan service! Which, yeah, okay so One was fan service too, but it had heart! It had an actual story! Two’s story made no sense!”

“But it set up Three where the other OG creator was back on the project and Three was amazing,” Danny pointed out, tucking his tablet back in his kit.

“Okay, look.” Flash spread his hands. “I won’t argue that Three was amazing. Redeemed the series— pushed it ahead. Introduced Helena who is both amazing trans rep and just plain amazing. Lilly’s arc made me cry. All amazing. But Danny, my dude, you cannot say that because it set up Three that Two is better than One!”

Danny looked up at Flash, blinking innocently. “Well… maybe a little of it is just that I played Two first so it got me into the series… and, well, how much it offended you.”

“I— you troll!”

Laughing, Danny walked away to finish packing up with his coworkers. Being one of the early teams on the site was always hard, but it was rewarding work and Danny found he preferred it over the clean up jobs. They were lucky that there was no need for search and rescue that day; Danny would have felt compelled to stick around. As it was, Danny put out a call on his radio for his team to load up so they could head back. They would have a quick debrief, fill out their reports, restock their kits, and finally be able to head home.

Flash caught Danny before he could pile into the front seat of the van with a gentle hand on his elbow. When Danny turned to him, Flash backed off almost nervously.

“So, um, right. I had an idea? And I was wondering if I could pick you up at your place later tonight for it?” Flash asked in a blur of words.

It took Danny a moment to parse it all. “I— sure? Yeah, okay. I’m going to be a few hours though.”

“Really?” Flash asked, grinning widely. “Yeah! No prob! I’ll grab you at eight— no, nine. Bring a jacket! Bye!”

Danny was left blinking at the spot that Flash used to be, bemused by whatever had just happened.

Flash knocked precisely at nine. It was, in fact, so precisely at nine that Danny had to wonder if Flash had just been standing awkwardly outside the apartment for a few minutes waiting to knock or if the accurate timing was just part of the speed force.

“Hi, Danny,” Flash chirped with a nervous little smile. He was back in the separate mask, though he seemed to be wearing something not that different from his tight super suit under the large Cyborg themed hoodie. He had his Flash themed backpack again and it looked almost over filled.

“Hey, Flash,” Danny said, hoping his smile would calm whatever nerves Flash was having. “Do I get to know the plan?”

“Nope! I mean, not if you trust me? But like, if it’s bothering you to not know the plan I can totally tell you the plan so that you don’t worry, I just thought that maybe it would be a nice surprise, but maybe you don’t like surprises—”

“Flash,” Danny said, cutting off the rambling. “I’m okay not knowing.”

“Okay, okay cool,” Flash said after he took an obvious breath. “Um. Arms or piggyback ride?”

Danny glanced up from putting his shoes on. “Hum?”

“To be carried. I need to run us somewhere.”

“Oh, uh, back I guess?” Maybe it would make him feel less unsteady than being picked up.

“Okay!” Flash said. He bounced eagerly on his toes as he waited for Danny to put on his jacket and lock up. When Danny finally turned to him, Flash handed over his backpack, spun around, and crouched down. “So make sure to hold on tight! Arms and legs both.”

“Sure,” Danny said. He had no intention to even risk being dropped.

He felt a little awkward climbing onto Flash’s back, but the hero seemed perfectly comfortable with it all. Flash gave a little bounce after he was standing, as if to make sure Danny was secure, and then they were off in a blur of light and color.

-----

AN: Aaaaah these two are just so fun to write! They're just so cute. I also always enjoy writing people just being nerds~

(I'm still not very well, so I've been using this fic as my warm-up then poking at LBFD as my brain allows.)

Stay delightful, darlings!

Due to the new post editor and a few other reasons, I no longer tag people. You can be notified in much the same manner by subscribing to the master post here.

#dp x dc #quick death #quick death ship #danny fenton/wally west #abson

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pennyblossom-meta · 1 month

Text

L Lawliet: a deep dive into the expanded universe pt.01

EDIT (07/04/2024): Added some imgs.

Apologies for being so late to give this a follow up to @maevearcher's meta which can be found here and here. As usual, she’s made excellent points and I'll try to answer the ones which caught my eye.

Since this post ended up gaining a life of its own and becoming a bit too long, I’m splitting it in 2 or 3 parts. The core of the content for part 01 starts after under the button to Read More.

Here we talk about L's humanity.

I'll start with a disclaimer of my own: while I consider the manga as the base for the story, I'm very much open to the expanded DN universe as a complementary study of the characters and their motivations — sometimes even filling in the blanks for some of the background mysteries, such as the dynamics of Wammy's House and how L's successors view him.

To further clarify: by canon I mean the manga and any works by Tsugumi Ohba as the base material. I think @maevearcher and I are more or less in agreement on that, from what she mentioned in her own posts. As she said, the written word is indeed the baseline truth.

The expansion of the DN universe also has its own very special set of problems; for example, in many ways, L:CtW (L: Change the WorLd) commits the sin of overindulgence by throwing in considerations that, arguably, go against canon. Besides the ending where L lives for a final 23 days and Watari dies, the portrayal of Near in the movie (though in the novel he's also walking a fine line between becoming partially and very much OOC) is also a point of contention. I confess that I really wasn't fond of the way they portrayed Misa as a potential crush of L given canon insights on his opinion about Light whether in the role of Kira or as a person (pg.64 of Vol 13: How to Read, henceforth referred to as V13:HTR), but aligning L to become more humane and forgiving was at least interesting.

The same happens with the live action movies, the 2015 series, and the musical. At least the game Spiraling Trap isn't clashing with canon elements — that I could tell. The main plot is separate from the events of DN and the dating sim is a little slice of heaven into L's thoughts and emotions which I dearly love.

However, while L:CtW does indeed overindulge, the novel AN:LABB (Another Note: LA BB Murder Cases) gives us a singular glimpse into L through the eyes of Mello while keeping the events mostly accurate to the main plot, even with its slight deviations. It's certainly an optional perspective to the core of DN, but one that I always found very insightful. In V13:HTR, Obha mentions how he would’ve liked that there were more novels about L and how he solved previous cases, in a similar fashion to how Nisio Isin approaches AN:LABB. Here’s what Ohba says in pg.61 of V13:HTR:

(...) I didn’t think up much for [L’s] past. For him to be in such an influential position, he must have solved an amazing amount of cases, but I have no idea what kind of cases they were or how he solved them. But I would love for NISIOISIN, who wrote the Death Note novel, to write more stories about that (...)

This means that, to some extent, even the original author, Ohba, accepts AN:LABB as close to canon — or rather, as canon as it can get given the creative liberties allowed to a third party writer. To that point, Nisio Isin took L’s capoeira demonstration during the Yotsuba arc and made it a whole thing in the novel, with L taking inspiration from Naomi Misora’s skills. However, given the importance of that event, in the main story, L takes a while to even remember Misora so we can infer that either the stress of the case is getting to him OR learning capoeira and subsequently Misora’s role in it didn’t leave that much of an imprint on him because true canon didn’t really put that much emphasis into it. Either way, it’s an extrapolation that works. The technicalities can be overlooked given how ambiguous the scene is, as there is more than room to deduce a different past.

At the same time, I am an apologist that there are shared characteristics to L throughout the different mediums. My own interpretation of L's character has the manga as a baseline, but the expanded universe has taught me that there are sides to him that might not be so easy to perceive in dialogue bubbles or illustrations alone. Little things like L's addictive personality or the way he represses feelings are visible in the manga but caught beautifully in the novels, for example.

Going from the written word into the screen also represents a loss of the purity achievable only within the narrative in-book, where you can extrapolate and reach your own conclusions without being subject to the bias of sound and movement — though manga aggregates the visual to words and with it an altogether different dimension of meaning. That's one of the many things I enjoy about elements of fiction introduced through books; the stillness of the images and the narrative are more complex. Every time the baseline gets adapted, it loses something or that something shifts to fit into the perception of others. It ceases being pure and its essence is fundamentally shattered. Like the concept of a musical score on paper that gets played by an orchestra, there will never be an adaptation as good as the source material because it breaks the illusion.

While I can certainly extrapolate and accept the loss, I find that the written word from the novels, the tone of a VA's voice and the body movements in a live action still complement the manga well, despite narrative clashes.

About L’s humanity

Recently I've been re-watching the anime and it's incredible how Alessandro Juliani's understanding of the character resulted in such a well-rounded voice for L. I actually prefer the EN version to the JP because of the voice acting. It's superbly brilliant, even if L becomes less listless. He's certainly still aloof, but his aggressiveness is portrayed more vividly; in contrast, L in the manga feels a bit more dangerous and scary to me due to the range of expressions that the anime didn't manage to add in due to time and budget constraints. If anything L tones down how dangerous he can be. He does this on purpose so that he can trick and trip his adversary, as can be seen during his earlier interactions with Light. At times, L makes a mockery of himself, apparently placing himself in the position of a more demure individual while sharply observing the world around him and forming conclusions.

As to @maevearcher ‘s first point:

(...) An image of this lonely autistic genius, locked inside the confines of his ways, waiting for the right person to come along and save him from the banes of his solitary existence…until he meets Light and realises there’s someone out there who he can relate to, for understanding and stuff. I personally don’t buy too much into that.

The depth to which L relates to Light can be overestimated, but not without reason. Theirs is mostly an adversarial relationship with varying deviations throughout the expanded universe, but if we solely consider the manga then we get this comment from Ohba regarding whether L has any friends on pg.64 of V13: HTR:

Nope. And when he says that Light is his first friend that’s a big lie. He never considers him a friend. He probably secretly thinks really negative things about him.

During the Yotsuba arc, L is at a disadvantage. Light has turned the tables, tricked him into what Beyond Birthday could not do and thus gained a solid position into rendering L almost powerless to charge him. To elaborate on the latter point: BB wanted to create the perfect, unsolvable crime to humiliate L, making him lose, and thus “spend the rest of his life trembling in fear of B’s shadow” (pg.163, AA:LABB); L would know who the guilty party was but wouldn’t be able to prove it or bring that person to justice. As such, L would not be able to solve the mystery. At the end of the novel BB fails due to Misora’s quick thinking and that’s that. However, Light has several advantages that BB lacked, starting with his own social position, charm and the impeccable reputation of a model student and the prized son of a police chief who helps solve cases every now and then.

We can argue that, what truly happens in manga canon, is L and Light showing how much they respect each other for their detective skills, forming a sort of strange kinship within the cat and mouse game, especially when Light loses his memories of the Death Note. The game thrills them and they enjoy pushing each other’s buttons. No one else has ever challenged them like this. That being said, the first time they meet up for coffee after the tennis match, L is observing Light like a hawk, keeps testing him for a reaction and seems somewhat irritated at how much Light talks. I would venture a guess that L doesn’t actually like Light that much, even when he loses his memories. He might even find Light a nuisance when he waves the flag of morality — though this is a common problem L is confronted with when dealing with the Task Force, in particular Chief Yagami and Aizawa. This also places him at another gruesome disadvantage, as he’s surrounded by people who openly dislike and criticise his methods. The Task Force is also extremely wary of the way L pursues Light and think he’s being stubborn without proof to substantiate his reasoning. Ironically, it’s Aizawa, one of L’s most critical subordinates, who initiates Light’s downfall years later once he starts to consider L’s suspicions in light of Near and Mello’s tactics.

Both L and Light respect the game, no matter where it takes them. I would further make an educated guess that Light even preyed on L’s vulnerabilities during the Yotsuba arc, predicting how L might fall into depression for failing at the game. Light was more than capable of understanding that L’s competitive and childish side would make him a sore loser, especially given that he had already “lost” the first round of battles just by showing his face. Even if there is a sliver of friendship between both during Light’s months of amnesia, it’s dead and buried the moment he becomes Kira again.

My conclusion here would be that, while what happened with Light was extreme, it was also somewhat similar to Beyond Birthday’s eternal enmity towards L: the challenge, the need to humiliate and take down the greatest detective, one of the most brilliant minds to ever walk the Earth. There are some notable quotes from AA:LABB that reference what it is to be L, surrounded by future challengers and individuals who both look up to L and want to prove they’re better than him:

Pg.69

By simple arithmetic, L's ability in 2002 was the equivalent of five ordinary investigative bureaus, and seven intelligence agencies (and by the time he faced off against Kira, those numbers had leapt upward several more notches). This is easy to think of as a reason to respect and admire someone, but let me say this as clearly as possible: that much ability in one human is extremely dangerous. Modern danger management techniques rely heavily on diffusing the risk, but his very existence was the exact opposite. In other words, if someone was planning to commit a crime, they could greatly increase their chances of getting away with it by simply killing L before they began. That was why L hid his identity Not because he was shy or because he never left the house. To ensure his own safety For a detective of L's ability, self-preservation and the preservation of world peace were one and the same, and it would not be correct to describe his actions as cowardly or self-centered.

Pg. 117

L was the goal of everyone in Wammy's House. Everyone of us wanted to surpass him. To step over him. To step on him. M did, N did, and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal.

Pg. 160:

B approached Naomi Misora, calling himself Rue Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki - L.L. For anyone from Wammy's House, there could be no higher goal than identifying yourself with that letter - and Beyond Birthday seized this case as his chance.

One of the biggest problems with these quotes is that they paint a very complicated — and, ultimately, suffocating — picture of what it is like to be L. Ohba himself mentions Watari’s predisposition towards collecting geniuses from all over the world and what Wammy’s House has turned into, under the snippet for Watari’s character (pg.60 V13:HTR):

He’s a guy who cultivates detectives for fun. That’s kind of terrible, isn’t it?

Everyone profits from L. Watari becomes richer than ever. Wammy's House becomes breeding ground for geniuses who end up dreaming of a life where they enjoy constant thrill and challenge. However, in order to do so, the dream cannot be complete until the successor crushes the original; until M, N, B and A defeat L. At least one of L’s successors couldn’t handle the pressure and committed suicide. B, known as Backup, runs away from the orphanage and goes on a murder rampage. Having never met L in person, he deduces several personality quirks that the “original” demonstrates, going as far as exacerbating them in order to be creepy and repulsive. Mello, who boasts of having met L in person and being privy to stories about how he defeated several other detectives (then taking their aliases as a trophy) both fervently admires L and wants to step on him.

Step on him. That’s quite the turn of phrase. It does sound scary, doesn’t it? To be surrounded by people who would take the opportunity to pull you down, no matter how much they admire you. They want to be you, to prove that they’re better than you. It’s game and ego. Life and death. Winner and loser.

And that’s perhaps the most blatant summary in approved canon of what it is like to be L that we’ll ever get. We can, of course, argue that Watari cares about L. He’s not only his handler, but also the one who brought him into Wammy’s House. It’s fairly clear that he nurtured (and even enabled) some of L’s most distressing character traits, though I wouldn’t necessarily say it was with a purely utilitarian agenda. It’s perfectly acceptable to extrapolate how Watari might’ve wanted to keep L, a child of great intellectual genius, happy by allowing him to be challenged and properly educated. In fact, AN:LABB (pg. 145-46) even gives us L’s perspective on the kindness that justice can achieve, which is confirmed within the expanded universe to be similar to Watari’s teachings as L confronts Kujo in L:CtW.

"I have nothing to do with him," L said. "To be completely accurate, I do not even know B. He is simply someone I am aware of. But none of this affects my judgment. Certainly I was interested in this case, and began to investigate it because I knew who the killer was. But that did not alter the way I investigated it, or the manner in which my investigation proceeded. Naomi Misora, I cannot overlook evil. I cannot forgive it. It does not matter if I know the person who commits evil or not. I am only interested in justice." "Only... in justice... " Misora gasped. "Then ... nothing else matters?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." “You won't forgive any evil, no matter what the evil is?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." "'But..." Like a thirteen-year-old victim. "There are people who justice cannot save." Like a thirteen-year-old criminal. “And there are people who evil can save." "There are. But even so," L said, his tone not changing at all. As if gently admonishing Naomi Misora. “Justice has more power than anything else." "Power? By power ... you mean strength?" "No. I mean kindness." He said it so easily. Misora almost dropped the phone. L The century's greatest detective, L. The detective of justice, L. Who solved every case, no matter how difficult... " ...I misunderstood you, L." "Did you? Well, I'm glad we cleared that up."

I would, once again, venture another educated guess that, while Watari’s primary reasons for starting a program of successors to L was noble, it ultimately backfired on an individual level. Society wise, the letters, as L calls them in L:CtW, are a force for good. They solve crimes, help law forces around the world to keep peace. Some of them even become scientists like Dr Kujo — though she becomes the main antagonist in the spin-off novel. However, the pressure this kind of lifestyle fostered creates a group of individuals who are highly competitive and manipulative. Some, like A, can’t handle it. Even L has his own troubles, being called a reclusive sociopath, possibly by the police forces who treat him as a utility rather than a person. He’s someone they admire and resent, who is tolerated given how effective he is at cracking down cases.

This passage from L:CtW paints a grim picture of the way L suppresses his own feelings as he breaks down for not being able to prevent Maki from being kidnapped (pg. 150-51):

"Light...it hurts. My heart--" It was a hurt that L Lawliet had suppressed, that he had to suppress in order to continue his existence as the peerless Detective L. How had the world's top detective been described in regard to facets of his personality rather than his ability as a detective? He had been called a kinky detective who relished bizarre murders, a human computer capable only of measuring mass murders in terms of cold numbers, a reclusive sociopath. What L thought of such estimations of his personality only L could know. But no one could truly understand L. How L did not and could not forget the faces of thousands of victims. Who could comprehend the man who had lived his life, and had to live confronting all the lives that ended prematurely, the tears of grief-stricken survivors, the devaluing of life as a daily reality. How was it possible to measure the pain of such a man? Was it a strain so heavy that L's back curved under all its weight? Was it an agony so terribly to leave the indelible dark circles around his eyes? Was it a feeling so bitter that every bite he took needed to be coated in sugar? The chronically rounded shoulders, the inevitable dark circles, the eccentric tastes--L suppressed the pain of being a champion of justice, but the evidence of the pain was moulded into his very body.”

Even within the clear disparity from the official canon, this passage slaps. It humanises L further, making the detective become a person and not just a machine who is content with his lifestyle. I know there’s a tendency for those who prefer the manga to see L as someone who is unabashedly himself and perfectly alright with the life he lives. I would argue that the Kira case was not only the most difficult challenge L ever faced, but also a series of moments where he had to be at his best — and at his worst. He had to do everything within his power to solve the case, not only because of his pride but because of what he considers to be his sense of justice. Saying with such confidence ‘I am justice’ is a rather cheesy and childish thing to say out loud, though I read it as both what started as a child’s stubbornness and what L became, as he positioned himself as a barrier to prevent crimes.

L suppresses himself, represses his emotions; he tries to control them, as Fu Takashi says in an interview, he is “dependent on games or battles of the mind”. Perhaps this is a consequence of the foundations of his personality. Despite L’s innate stubbornness, it could be argued that this is as much his fault as it is Watari’s, who didn’t nurture L’s social skills as he should have when he was a child. By not having an outlet outside of his hobby, L is trapped in a prison of his own making. Superficially, L is a “smart guy who hates losing”, but what about the rest? What about the things that make him human, the connections with others? In the same interview, it is mentioned how L feels lonely and needs affection. But what affection can you get when you isolate yourself from the world and keep everyone at arm’s length? He’s not a machine. Even machines become obsolete with time, and need outside help to keep functioning.

As for the latter point, if everyone around L is trying to step on him, humiliate him and surpass him, then it’s only natural that his emotional defences would be up. Aside from Watari, whose loyalty he can count on, he’s alone. L has no one else. And everyone around him will have a dangerous, significant probability to betray him.

Next in part 02: About romance, having someone close and intimate, the meaning of the Monster speech.

Tagging @rinneroraito, @flametrashira and @sharkiethrts who might be interested in this meta.

#death note #l lawliet #death note meta #light yagami #spiraling trap #l lawliet headcanons #l lawliet x reader #watari #mello #mello death note #nate river #mihael keehl #near death note #beyond birthday #another note #l change the world #l death note #l lawliet death note

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desceros · 14 days

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sometimes i think about the future symphony "i should have married you" post you made and it makes me so sad but the other night as i was falling asleep i was struck with absolute agony by the awful idea of "i should have married you" because marrying her would have made her hamato and maybe just maybe then she would have been able to become a hamato spirit. and the brothers most likely would have been able to make contact with the hamato sprits like they do in the series. and because if he married her at least he would have been able to contact her spirit. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh anyways thought i should share hope your day is going fabulously captain desceros

oh, this is awful. allow me to make it even worse :)

we’ve seen in the series that you dont actually have to have the hamato name to be ‘a hamato’ as april demonstrates. we’ve also seen varying levels of. hm. ninj-oscity? ninpo skills? from the boys. like raph and leo doing a ninja mind meld. just. just mikey.

and we’ve always seen that donnie struggles with ninpo the most.

his ninpo is mechanical. when he uses it at its most conscious level, we see it manifest as blueprints coming together. literal pieces, as if constructed with real material. when he panics or doesn’t go through this process, it’s a vague shape that isn’t as strong or as defined in purpose.

so let’s take this scenario you’ve brought to us.

viola-chan would have, unquestionably, been a hamato. and for that reason, i can definitely see her having a hamato spirit.

…..but i dont think donnie would ever be able to communicate with it.

mikey would be the most likely, since he has the strongest ninpo. but he’d be in high demand since he’s so strong, so i think it would tire him and i dont know how much time and energy he’d have to talk to anyone. not to mention the stress he’d feel when donnie would come to him like Hey Can I Talk To My Dead Girlfriend and mikey’s like…. dude i just got home from 24 hours of straight ass kicking i’m about to pass tf out.

and raph, i imagine, died not too long after viola-chan, so whether he could or not is moot.

leo. well. i dont think leo could communicate with viola-chan either. leo is rather avoidant when he feels guilty or ashamed, and (without going into too much of spoiler territory) he’d feel largely unworthy to talk to you, i think. and since we’ve seen that it takes an open heart to use the technique, it wouldn’t work.

and donnie. god. donnie would try. he would try so, so hard. he would try, hours upon hours, every free moment, banging his fists on his thighs as he’d meditate until he’d collapse. reaching out. seeking. already not as strong at this whole ninpo nonsense. unable to calm himself from the need to see you need to see you please just let me see you one last time please please please that would make it impossible to focus. he’d start thinking about tech that could bridge the gap. that’s how his ninpo works, after all. modeling his blueprint. so if he can design a machine that can talk to you. his ninpo can bring it to life.

but he doesnt exactly have a lot of time to dedicate to a personal project like that, let alone one so fucking insane in scale, so actually impossible to do. and as the time passes he grows more and more obsessed with thinking about it. yet simultaneously more and more sure it’ll never happen. i feel like his last moments, alone, bleeding, staring up at the rust-colored sky, he’d be smiling. because of course he he has some kind of death drone army set to go the moment his ninpo cuts off, and it’s one last middle finger to krang. …but also i think he’d be a little relieved. hoping his spirit will find yours and lavi’s.

(do they? who knows. no more hamato exist in that timeline to find out.)

#ask tag #symphony tag #symphony meta

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

Text

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Six

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, angst, strong language, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, smut. Word count: ~3k

Chapter summary: Daemon makes two life changing discoveries. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Author's note: No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Maester Orwyle drops heavily to his feet once Daemon’s grip on the front of his robes loosens. He scurries away fearfully, scarcely even sparing a glance behind him.

Daemon’s temper still burns hot within his veins. How dare she hide this from me?

The force with which he throws open the doors would be enough to wake Melessa up ordinarily; but under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t be under the influence of milk of the poppy. Thus, she remains asleep.

He softens upon taking in her appearance, his anger leaving him as he watches her laying there. She’d look peaceful were it not for the tear tracks upon her cheeks—tears he has caused her. His wife.

The mother of his child.

She does not deserve his anger any more than he deserves her forgiveness, as much as he yearns for it. He sits carefully on the bed next to her, longing to reach out and brush his fingers against the peachy softness of her face. He refrains. She has expressed a wish for him not to touch her. He owes it to her to respect that, even in sleep.

Whether she is prepared to allow him to make amends now or not, he knows he cannot permit her to return to Highgarden. Not now that she carries his child. She has given him a reason to do better, to be better.

He wants to watch her grow round and full with his offspring, to see the effects that he has had on her body as it adapts to the life nestled within. He feels his cock stir at the thought and swallows thickly, attempting to push the urge away. Perhaps her shape had begun to change already and he hadn’t noticed. He finds himself thinking back to the last few times they’d been intimate. He had been so rough, so hurried, so desperate for fulfillment that he had barely registered her beneath him. If he had the opportunity to go back he would take his time with her, run his hands over her curves and appreciate them, notice the subtle swell to her breasts and the added plushness to her hips.

There is an ache in his chest as he continues to look upon her. He has to make this right. A child of his own is something Daemon has never thought about; never wanted, until now. And now, he does not think he has ever desired anything more desperately.

He has no idea how long he continues to sit there for. Soon, the sky is breaking into vibrant hues of yellow, orange and red upon the horizon, indicating dawn’s approach. He hadn’t seen Melessa eat since Rhaenyra’s coronation feast the previous afternoon. She will awaken soon and surely feel ravenous with hunger. Daemon cannot abide that, not when their child relies upon her nourishment.

Reluctantly, he rises from the bed and makes his way to the kitchens. There is plentiful food left over from the day before; he orders the few staff that are awake and working already to put together a platter. Salted meats, pies, bread, hard cheese and tarts are piled high upon the tray, enough to feed both him and Melessa for today and the day after that. He knows it is too much, but this is as much to prove a point as it is to give his wife breakfast. Even in the wrong, Daemon cannot resist the urge to maintain the element of surprise.

Melessa is stirring, sleepily rubbing her eyes as he re-enters her bedchamber, setting the heaped tray upon the foot of the bed. She sits up, her brow furrowing as she looks upon the food that’s been placed before her.

“What’s all this?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Breakfast,” Daemon tells her with a smirk, leaning against the bedpost and folding his arms as he watches her.

“There is so much of it…” Her blue eyes glance up towards him before dropping back to the spread of food.

“Yes—I suppose there is,” he says. “It was tricky for me to know how much to have brought up to you… considering you are eating for two now.”

Her hand that had been reaching towards the food pulls suddenly back into her lap. She stares at him, brows raised in shock. “You know.”

It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. Daemon simply nods, attempting to mask the satisfied smile that spreads across his face. He may have caught her out, but ultimately he is still in the wrong.

“How?” she asks, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“I caught Maester Orwyle sneaking out of your chambers in the middle of the night,” he tells her matter-of-factly.

“Oh gods. Daemon—what did you do to him?”

His wife knows him too well. He is unable to help the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing he won’t recover from. Eat.”

Melessa sighs and reaches for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with her hands as Daemon resumes his earlier position beside her.

“How long have you known?” he asks after a few moments pass between them in silence.

“Since we arrived back in King’s Landing,” she replies between bites.

“And how long since you last bled?”

He can see her considering his question as she chews, trying to recall. “About three moons.”

Daemon can feel his mood darkening and draws in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. His voice is tight when he asks his next question. “And not once did it occur to you to tell me?”

“I was going to,” she begins softly. “There was so much going on already, with your brother passing away. I had planned to tell you after Rhaenyra’s coronation, but then…”

She trails off, her bottom lip trembling slightly and Daemon feels his heart squeeze at the sight.

“Then I fucked it all up,” he says sadly.

“Hm.” Melessa places her half eaten bread back on the tray, leaning back against the headboard. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you? Not now that you know.”

Daemon feels like he’d be serving another blow to her, to admit this aloud, true as it is. He wants nothing more than to comfort her, to pull her against his chest and breathe in the sweet scent of her golden hair.

“I need you to know that nothing happened…with that girl,” he tells her. “I won’t deny that I tried, and I cannot begin to explain why I did, but I couldn’t…because she wasn’t you, petal.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” she asks bitterly.

“No, but it is proof of the fact that I care for you.”

“And yet you have never told me you love me.”

“I’ve never told anyone that before, not even my own brother. Perhaps that is my mistake.”

“But do you love me?”

He is determined not to leave the pause that he did yesterday, to not make her doubt his feelings for her any further than he already has. He takes a breath, steeling himself against his impending vulnerability. “Our time on Dragonstone together was the happiest I ever remember being. I hated having to give that up to return here. Everything in this wretched place serves as a reminder that I am not good enough for you, not good enough to be Hand of the King.”

“And yet, you are my husband and Hand of the Queen,” Melessa reminds him.

“I stole you from my nephew. My niece made me Hand because my brother would not.”

“Perhaps you ought to spend more time appreciating what you have, rather than resenting the reason you have it.”

He huffs through his nose. She is right and he despises it, but it is one of the things he has grown to love about her. Yes. Love.

“I think about you all the time,” he tells her. “I find myself wishing for your presence when you are not by my side. Your scent is imprinted upon me in such a way that nothing else satisfies; I yearn for you more than I ever have for anyone. If that is love, then—yes. I love you… as much as I am able to love another person.”

She stares straight ahead as he speaks, her expression unreadable. The quiet hangs heavy between them when he finishes. Daemon’s heart races, worried she’ll reject him despite him having opened up to her.

Melessa shifts slightly in the bed. “Can you take the food away?” she asks. “The smell is making me feel unwell. I will not return to Highgarden, but I would appreciate some time to myself. I need to rest.”

Daemon nods, standing and removing the food from the end of the bed. He hovers by the door as Melessa settles back down to sleep, debating whether to try to kiss her or not. Deciding against it—he sees her eyes flutter closed—he pushes the tray into the hands of a chambermaid and makes his way out of the Red Keep.

He expects that Rhaenyra will summon him at some point today. It is her first official day as Queen; she will no doubt want a meeting of the Small Council. It is still early, however, and with yesterday’s festivities, he doesn’t anticipate her being ready to call everyone forth until the afternoon. He decides a ride on dragonback will help clear his mind. He has much to think about, though he is glad at having convinced Melessa to remain in King’s Landing without the need for force.

As Daemon approaches the Dragonpit, he notices excited commotion amongst the Keepers. The head of them gives him a beaming smile when he spots him and hurries over, staff in hand, to clap Daemon on the shoulder. He scowls at the overfamiliarity. Before he can enquire as to what the meaning of all of this is, he hears what the Keeper has to say.

“Syrax has laid a clutch! Her first in two decades!”

Daemon raises his eyebrows, the perceived slight immediately forgotten. “Dragon eggs?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We hadn’t known she was gravid. It appears the return of Caraxes has been fruitful for her.”

“Show me,” Daemon commands, excitement fluttering within him.

The head Dragon Keeper guides him through the gloom and humidity of the Pit until they reach a mucus-coated membrane upon the earthen floor.

Daemon crouches, breaking apart the protective layer that coats the top of them. Beneath lay four dragon eggs. His eye is immediately drawn to one that is iridescent shades of orange and red, fading into a vibrant green towards the bottom.

Carefully, he lifts it, turning it over in his hands, feeling the warmth of its hardened scales against his fingertips. “Perzys se rūkla,” he whispers.

Two Keepers approach, a steaming pot meant to incubate the eggs carried between them.

Daemon rights himself, keeping a hold of the egg he’s taken. “You may take those three.” He nods towards the ground. “And inform the Queen of Syrax’s clutch. I am taking this one.”

Melessa is still dozing when he returns. This time, he has no hesitation in waking her. He grins down at her as she grouses to herself, blinking her eyes slowly open.

“For the babe,” he tells her, holding the egg out.

She gasps, reaching out to place her hands over it, her fingers overlapping with his.

Daemon releases a steady exhale at the contact, the first physical touch they’ve shared in what feels like an age. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers as they hold the egg together, the aroma of almond oil and rosewater flooding his senses. Finally, it feels as though everything may work out exactly as he wants.

This time, he does not fear it.

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Daemon paces the room. Each of Melessa’s pained screams cause him to wince as they echo off of the vaulted ceilings. A gaggle of attendants rally around her, mopping away sweat and blood as she produces each fluid anew.

Should there be so much blood? Is she going to be alright?

His throat constricts at the possibility he might lose her. He has ignored the pleas for him to leave the room, does not trust that she will not meet the fate of his brother’s first wife, Aemma, should she fall into difficulties.

He will not have her carved open like some roasted hog, just for the sake of some squawking brat. He will end this child’s life long before he ever considers taking hers.

He longs to brush her dampened hair from her temples, to hold her hand and encourage her through her labours, but he has not been allowed beside the bed. The birthing bed is no place for a husband, he is told. Daemon thinks that is utter shit.

He stills when he hears the first wails, too high-pitched to possibly be his wife’s. He turns to see Melessa exhausted but still very much alive, panting against the pillows as a bloodied, squirming mass is lifted from between her legs.

“A boy,” announces a voice from somewhere. He barely registers it, everything seeming far away as the child is separated from his mother, swaddled, and placed into Daemon’s arms.

He has never held anything so fragile before in his life. His arms wrap instinctively around the tiny bundle, a lump forming in his throat as he gazes down at the scrunched up, reddened face that looks up at him with apparent displeasure.

“Ñuhus trēsȳs,” he whispers. “You have a face I’m sure your mother will love.” My son.

He walks around to the side of the bed, and places the child in Melessa’s waiting arms. “Well done, petal,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “You have given me a son.”

Daemon’s heart swells at the adoration with which she looks down at the babe with, her fingers tracing over his tiny cheek.

“What shall we name him?” she asks, voice hoarse from her labour pains.

“I was thinking Viserys, after my brother,” Daemon says, perching on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“A fine name, indeed.” She smiles. “Little Viserys.”

“Avy jorrāelagon,” he whispers, pressing his nose to her hair. It is a sentiment he ensures his wife and child will never go without hearing from him ever again. I love you.

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

Daemon’s hands wander over Melessa’s nightgown, pawing and squeezing at her flesh as she lays beside him. Under instruction from the Maesters, he and Melessa have not laid together for six weeks in order to allow her body to heal from having given birth. The wait has felt agonising to him; the last time he had been inside of her had been during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Towards the end, Viserys had sat too low in her womb for them to be intimate without it causing her discomfort.

The wait has been maddening for Daemon. His fist will never satisfy him the way that the warmth of her cunt can.

She squirms uneasily against his touch. “Daemon— please,” she whimpers. “My body has changed since I became a mother.”

“And what is your point, petal?” he murmurs, his hand cupping her breast through the flimsy cotton that covers it.

“I do not look as I was before. I worry that you will not want me anymore, that you will seek out the comfort of another again…”

Daemon takes a gentle grip of her chin, tilting her face towards him. “There is no one that I desire more than you, sweet wife.”

He grasps her hand, guiding it towards his hardened length. “See what you do to me? Even in that oversized sack you insist upon wearing to bed.”

She giggles, and he captures her lips in a searing kiss, pulling at the lacings that keep her shift fastened as he does.

When she is bared beneath him, his eyes travel over the fullness of her breasts, the tautness of their hardened peaks slightly ruddier than they used to be. Her stomach bears the markings of having carried life, her hips more rounded, plusher than they used to be.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his throat. She is irrevocably marked as his and has never looked more beautiful to him.

He inhales a sharp breath upon finding her wet and wanting when he snakes a hand between her thighs. He wants to spend more time preparing her, but the way his cock aches painfully does not allow for such endeavours this evening. He needs her too badly.

When the tight heat of her walls envelope him, he groans in relief. It is like returning home after a lengthy absence. She sobs with pleasure at his every thrust, his hands vice-like against her waist as she eventually shudders and comes apart around him. He follows her over the edge soon after, white hot pleasure licking at his lower spine as he spills himself deep inside of her.

She is almost asleep against his chest when the piercing wails of Viserys startle them both into wakefulness. Melessa sighs, moving to leave the bed when Daemon places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Allow me, petal,” he says, brushing his lips against her temple and rising from the bed.

Viserys cries in his cradle, little handles clenched into fists. The moonlight that streams through the gap in the curtains shines upon what has disturbed his slumber.

The dragon egg that lays beside him—vibrant hues of red and orange that fade into a brilliant shade of green towards the bottom—has begun to crack apart.

Daemon’s lips part as he watches it. A little dragon for his very own little dragon.

Perzys se rūkla.

FIN.

206 notes · View notes

ihavethedreamies · 2 months

Text

Hard to Swallow | Easy to Expert (3 v6)

Lee Yongbok (Felix) & Seo Changbin - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

Felix/AFAB!Reader/Changbin

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Fluff

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Lingerie, Multiple Partners, Oral (M! Receiving), Deepthroating/Face-Fucking, Threesome, Double Penetration, Anal Play, Sex Toys - Butt Plugs, Anal Sex, Changbin has a Big Cock (duh), Cockbulge (duh), Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex (Bad Idea, Don't Do It)

Disclaimer: I do have the whole cock-bulge thing in this. I understand this could be a bit offensive to some who are on the heavier side (I am in that group as well). I also have the reader being pretty short even though I am 5'7". The reason being is I have a size difference kink/fetish, mostly because I am not small, and so I put it into a lot of my stories. Sorry if this doesn't align with your body type, but I also imagine a character in my place for these, so I don't sometimes take into account what others do.

Author's Note: This series has seriously devolved into pure filth. I am writing these one after the other and the clear decline in purity is obvious, helps you know whose I wrote when. This one is second to last, and might actually be a little better than the one before it but…we'll see...

PS. I wrote the first A/N before I wrote Bang Chan's, and now that I have...this one is worse.

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Hyunjin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Bang Chan <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

"So, (Y/N) has an idea-"

"Okay, I'm in." Changbin didn't even let Felix finish the sentence.

"You have no idea what I was going to say."

"If it involved (Y/N), I'm in. What is it…?" Changbin put his phone away, leaning in as he rested his elbows on the table. No one else was in the classroom yet, but Felix still quieted his voice.

"She wants a threesome-"

"Yes."

"I know. But she requested you specifically."

"Me?" Changbin giggled like a child, "she wants me?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to send you an address. Go there and ask for the item code I will send too." The older guy pulled his phone back out and typed away on it. Felix furrowed his brow, a little concerned that Changbin already had something like this planned.

"Oh, don't worry. I've had this ready for the next girl I get but none of them would have fit. (Y/N) will though." He smirked and your boyfriend's phone buzzed. He opened the message and instead of saving it, he forwarded it to you. Felix had already given you his card so you could go buy a set of lingerie if Changbin agreed. He had planned on you getting a frilly pink set, but if Changbin had a request then so be it. He added after the forward that if whatever it was did not, please you, to go ahead with the initial set.

"Can’t fucking wait, tonight?" The man bounced in his seat, once again like a child. His mannerisms did not fit him, not with his build and bulk.

"I was thinking next week, but I can see if tonight works." Felix texted you the question as well.

The address was not too far from where you were meeting your friends for lunch so you would stop by on the way home. When you got there and requested the item, the clerk came around the counter to assist you. It was a lingerie store you had been to once before, but never got anything. It was a little higher than your price range and you made sure to remind Felix to get paid back from Changbin. The clerk measured you quickly just to get your rough numbers so she could pick a good size.

"Please wait here." She smiled, bowing slightly then went to get the item. The place was bigger than you thought from the store front, and you wondered how the hell Changbin found this place, let alone to knew what he wanted you to get. The worker came back and presented the set to you, already hanging in a bag, she would have to just zip it up. You balked at the set before you. You were expecting black leather or even latex. Maybe red or dark purple? Fishnets? No. The lingerie looked like it was supposed to be for a bride, but it was a pale blue instead of pure white. When the clerk rang the item up you almost choked on nothing, and reluctantly pulled Felix's card out of your bag. Why the hell was it half-a-million won? When you checked the register, the set was listed as Mulberry Silk Bridal Lingerie Set. Really Changbin? Trying not to seem so awkward after you paid, you bowed as you took the clothing bag from her and scampered out of the store. You still had it slung over your arm when you walked into the much more familiar adult store you and Felix frequented. The cashier didn't even acknowledge you as you headed straight to the section you needed. You were supposed to get a tail that looked like a unicorn's, braided fake hair of pink, blue, and purple. There was also a matching headband, but it didn't fit the elegance of the lingerie. Humming in thought, you ended up going with a tail plug that was made to look like a tiger's, white with black stripes. There were matching ears and you used Felix's card again, the grand total being about 30,000 won. A much more reasonable price.

"What the actual fuck Seo Changbin?" you muttered, going to stand in the full-length mirror. You had prepared yourself, accordingly, slipping the tail plug in before you put on the rest of the set. The panties weren't the same kind that Felix and you normally picked out. It was a thong, not crotchless, and you had to fenagle it to accommodate the plug. You literally got out your sewing kit, luckily having a spool of white thread at the bottom. Carefully you ripped the seams out and resewed the thong strap so you could slide the tail through. You hated ruining such an expensive piece of clothing but at least it was just the thong.

Looking in the mirror you huffed, but had to admit you looked good, like a snow tiger. The top was a corset that luckily laced in the front and had short ruffles of silk at the bottom. The corset didn't have an attached bra, it curved to rest under your breasts though, lifting them up. That was where the support was because the bra was barely that, only the edges were actually silk with some boning, but the rest of the material was sheer. The thong was made of silk as well and there was a garter belt included as well. You had clipped them to the sheer thigh-highs after you extremely carefully rolled them on. There were ruffled silk bracelets that you tied on each wrist. After seeing the ensemble, you knew your black choker would be a stark contrast, but it ended up working well with the white tiger set you had. Moving into different poses, you looked yourself over in the mirror. In the background you heard the keycode being pressed into your door and the two men shuffling in.

"Wait!" Felix called, sounding annoyed and the heavy footsteps immediately halted.

"Take your shoes off," your boyfriend scolded, and you giggled softly.

"What the hell did you make her get?" You heard your boyfriend coming down the hall and stepped back from the mirror to stand at the foot of your bed. Changbin didn't answer, but he got to see when he entered your room.

"Shit." Your boyfriend sighed. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. It was clearly a bridal set, at least it wasn't white though. You did look amazing however, and he loved that his black choker pulled out the stripes on your tail plug and your headband.

"Fuck me~" Changbin practically moaned coming in to the room as well. He desperately wanted to scoop you up, but he held back. He was getting the privilege of Felix letting him fuck his girlfriend, he would hold back.

"Rules?" You prompted Felix who came to stand beside you. He glanced at your back to see the rest of the set and made you spin slow so Changbin could see too.

"Yes~" The other man nearly hissed.

"Rule One!" You started.

"No kissing her on the lips." Felix's arm wrapped around your shoulders, his index fingers tracing your pout. You sucked the digit into your mouth playfully which made him smile.

"Two!" you said when your boyfriend took his finger back.

"You have to listen to me." Felix continued and Changbin nodded in acceptance.

"Three…"

"Only I get to take her ass." Your boyfriend finished the prompt and once again got a nod.

"Valid. Probably break her anyway." The older man acquiesced. You had a feeling about that, and you still had never seen his dick.

"Fourth! No cumming down her throat." Your boyfriend held his fingers up. He didn't get a nod from that one, his friend's face hardening a bit, but you continued.

"Finally! You don't need to use a condom, but you can't come inside." You finished.

"Why?" He looked at you, his gaze less playful than before, his tone sharper. Felix was worried about this.

"She likes it too much, so only I can. In her cunt and her throat." The man next to you hardened his tone as well and Changbin scoffed. He took his ball cap off, throwing it to the side, shaking his head and running his hand through his curly hair. You watched enthralled as he unzipped his sweatshirt and discarded it too. His black t-shirt was so tight it was like he had it painted on and you had to admit your mouth watered thinking of finally seeing him without it. He was proud of his physique but only really showed off his arms. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes playfully as you gaped at his friend and began to discard his own clothes.

"I will follow your rules…" Changbin started, undoing and removing his belt, he threw it too hard and it left a scratch on the wall. He smirked at your gaze, slowly pulling his shirt out of where he had it tucked in but didn't do anything more.

"But I want her to swallow my cum, and I want to breed her." He asserted, pulling the shirt off so roughly you heard some seams pop. Your whole body flinched when you finally got to see him, and you didn't hold in your whimper. He chuckled cockily and Felix licked his lips in thought. He knew you would LOVE it, and that is why he wanted to say no. On the other hand, just because Changbin would cum inside you, that didn't automatically mean he could make you fall over the edge too. You cast a glance at your boyfriend, trying not to plead with your gaze. But holy shit did you want that. Before Felix metaphorically broke your dam, you had never been one for anything kinky, but now…To be double sure you took the pill and was even considering getting a IUD just in case.

"She has a creampie kink, not breeding. You can cum inside, she's protected." Felix agreed to Changbin's terms but added a caveat.

"Rule one was no kissing her lips. I'll let you do what you want, but you cannot kiss her anywhere. You can't eat her out either." You looked between the two of them, waiting for the other man to answer. He didn't love those stipulations, but it would be worth it if he could fill you up.

"Fine." They shook hands and Felix gave you a positive hum and you scurried forward, hands running all over Changbin's now bare torso. He was delicious and you desperately wanted a taste. He just stood there, letting you do as you pleased, just watching as you fell to your knees. Your fingers hooked in the loops of his jeans, which were hugging his thighs perfectly, and he sighed as your hot little tongue licked up from under his belly button to as high as you could go kneeling.

"Shit (Y/N)~" He hummed, not even helping you as you undid his pants, having to tug to get the denim to unpeel from his legs. You whined, letting him get the pants off his ankles and they were shoved to where his shirts and belt lay. Felix watched amused as started to kiss Changbin's thighs, as thick as your head. He chuckled as you nibbled his inner thigh before kissing the impressive bulge held back by his boxers. He hardened further at the touch and licked over the fabric as well, your cunt already pulsing at the thought of him filling you. Giving him a coy look he smiled, "Go ahead, princess." So, you did. Slowly, like unwrapping an expensive gift, you pulled his tight briefs down and off, his cock bouncing in the air. You gaped and he smirked. He was only half hard but…You swallowed hard, wiggling your jaw back and forth, wondering if you could fit him or not. Not any longer than Felix, maybe even a bit shorter, he was THICK. Changbin just watched as your hand came shakily to encircle his cock, your fingers unable to touch. You mewled, then wrapped your other hand around him as well, pumping them as you licked around the head. His whole body seemed to quake with his groan. When he was fully hard you swallowed again. Glancing back at your boyfriend who was standing near the bed, mostly naked himself, he nodded. Changbin grinned at the round ears on your headband and the tail flowing out behind where you kneeled. However, seeing you in the pale blue silk he picked out was definitely the best.

"Go on, princess." He urged and you breathed hard through your nose, adjusting your pose, opening your mouth as wide as you could. It seemed he wasn't that thick, but your jaw did still protest some. You moaned when the taste of his precum hit your tongue and he groaned too. Leaving one hand at the base of him, the other went to lay on his hip, sliding up and over the v-line of his torso.

"So good~" He praised as you huffed through your nose, tongue swirling over just his tip still. He knew he could cum alone from that, but he knew you could do more. When the plug inside you buzzed on you whined, and Changbin saw Felix messing with his phone. You focused, trying to keep your lips over your teeth and took his fat cock deeper. When the head hit the back of your mouth, you did gag slightly, not accustomed to his girth. He tasted amazing and you were eagerly anticipating him painting your throat white. You swallowed a few times, trying to relax the muscles, but pull back some to take a deeper breath. After another measured breath, you swallowed him back in and descended further. He groaned dramatically as your throat fluttered around his dick, you were gagging slightly, tears springing to your eyes. Despite the struggle, you still wanted desperately for him to fit inside all the way at least once. Pulling back, sucking as you went, he sighed, watching intently as you took another deep breath before going back down. You whined as you managed to get him completely in, swallowing over and over trying not to gag too bad. You had no way to get air in, so you didn't even try, but your nostrils flared as the tip of your nose touched his pelvis.

"Fuck! (Y/N)~" How bad Changbin wanted to grab your head and pump his hips, but he didn't want to hurt you. When it was getting too hard to last without air, you pulled your head back just enough that you could suck in more oxygen through your nose. Felix watched, amazed that you fit his friend's huge cock in your mouth. Drops of drool and pre splattered on the floor in front of you as you bobbed your head, letting Changbin's cock bury completely every once and awhile when you tolerated. Felix knew his friend had the stamina of an ox, but he looked close to cumming already. Of course, his sweet (Y/N) sucked dick like no other.

"Ah, I'm close princess." Changbin huffed out and you braced yourself on the floor. Felix recognized your stance immediately.

"You can thrust but don't go too deep till you finish." Your boyfriend instructed the other man. He nodded, and his strong hands went to your head.

"Ready?" He asked and you hummed, teary eyes meeting his. He swore under his breath and did as he was allowed, starting to pummel your poor throat with his cock. More tears spilled from your eyes, the obscene sound caused by your drool and his precum echoed through your bedroom.

"Okay, one, two-" Changbin didn't get the next word out before he filled you full, cumming down your throat. Your eyes rolled back, cunt clenching and you lost count of how many times you had to swallow to get everything he gave you. You didn't cum, but Felix wasn't overly keen about how turned on you did get. Just when your vision started to swim, Changbin pulled out and you swallowed a few more times. Your throat hurt, sorer than when Felix did the same thing. Your boyfriend came to you with a bottle of water. You gulped some down, the cool liquid soothing your throat but also helping wash down the thick cum still in your mouth.

"Fuck." Changbin huffed simply.

"You okay, love?" Felix made sure you nodded, letting out a hoarse, "Yes." You glanced to the other man and your eyes widened. His cock hadn't softened at all and was still covered in a thick layer of fluids. He stroked over it with his hand, smiling at the slick.

"Hurry up, 'Lix. I need her cunt." Changbin stared at you, his gaze fiery. The playfulness and glee from before were gone, covered by molten lust and you shivered a bit. With what he just did to your mouth, you were worried about your pussy.

"Come here, love." Felix led you to stand and go over to the bed. Changbin followed and as he got on the bed, sitting at the top in the middle. He leaned back casually into the headboard, motioning you closer. You crawled on after him and straddled him, your legs spread much wider to accommodate his thick thighs than with Felix.

"Who do you want inside first?" your boyfriend asked and you pondered a second. You could handle the stretch of Felix's dick in your ass easier and get used to it faster than you probably could with Changbin in your cunt. Because of that you thought the latter should go first. The elder man's cock was still painted with your spit and his cum, your core dripping so much, you knew no lube would be needed. He positioned you so the tip of his cock rested at your entrance. He grunted at how hot and wet you were, losing patience.

"Go." Felix gave him the okay and Changbin's hands on your hips led you down. Your jaw fell open, your breath hitching as he stretched you open. Felix wasn't small by any means, but everything about Changbin was girthy. You shivered as he filled you, not even fully inside yet, a small bulge protruded from your lower stomach. Your body shivered, breathy moans leaving your lips as he bottomed out. Your cunt fluttered around him, more of your slick dripping down to smear over his groin.

"Shit, princess." He chuckled, holding you to him when you fell forward. He could feel the plug in your ass through the walls of your cunt, and he hadn't even noticed it was buzzing still. You whimpered softly when the vibrations ceased, Felix coming up behind you. He wrapped his hand through the tail of the plug and pulled softly, easing it out of you. You sighed, letting out a squeak as Felix dripped more of lube onto your ass, smearing more on his cock. He couldn't believe the sight of your tiny cunt stretched over Changbin, trying desperately to hold him in. He was a little miffed that you were so close already, but he knew he would throw you over the edge when he buried his own cock in your ass.

"Ready, love?" he asked, thumbs rubbing circles over your hips. You let out a small noise Changbin couldn't discern, but Felix heard you loud and clear.

"Breathe." He didn't even have to lead Changbin to rub your back, helping you relax. Your boyfriend started to ease into you, and you focused on the hand rubbing over your spine, breathing hard. The stretch set you on fire, your cunt fluttering. Felix bottomed out and you twitched aggressively, and when he grinded slightly into you, you fell apart. He smirked, grunting hard at the squeeze. Your ass was always tight anyways, let alone with his friend's cock splitting you in half. Your teeth had sunk into the muscle of Changbin's shoulder, and he hoped you left a mark.

"I'm not gonna move. Fuck her ass full of your cum then I'll blow her back out." The older man held you close, your orgasm dying but you still shivered. You had no more strength. Felix made sure you were okay with it and interpreted your little whimper as a positive. He nodded and started with short but deep thrusts and Changbin grinned at how your pussy clenched around him, even able to feel your boyfriend fucking into you.

"Fuck, you're milking me, love." Felix's deep voice rumbled through you, and you whined.

"'Lix~" You moaned, and he huffed with a grin. Two more thrusts and you squealed as he painted your ass white with his cum. You came again, Changbin recognizing the clenching of your core.

"Ah, fuck…" Felix groaned, pulling out of you.

"Off." Changbin motioned to him, holding you closer and he scrambled to the side, still out of breath. He barely got off the bed before Changbin rolled forward, you under him, immediately holding you in a mating press. You squeaked at the move, your knees at your ears as his hands gripped your thighs, so tight you knew it would leave bruises.

"Hold on, princess." He warned you and you scrambled your hands, digging your white painted nails into the sheets. The headboard banged against the wall as he took his first thrust and your head fell back, nearly falling over the edge of the bed. You back arched, silent screams wracking your lungs. The noises Changbin were making sounded more like a beast than a person's and your head lulled to find your boyfriend. He was watching with slightly wide eyes, his cock already starting to harden again.

"Okay, princess, I'm gonna breed you~" The man utterly destroying your poor pussy made two more hard thrusts, then he pumped more of his cum into your protected womb than he did down your throat. You shivered, but you didn't cum again, still looking at Felix. He smirked at your gaze, nodded and you let yourself fall over the edge as well. Changbin noticed and marveled at the level of control Felix had over your body. You lay there panting under him, nearly blacked out.

"Don't let her go, 'Lix. I'll snatch her up otherwise~”

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Hyunjin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Bang Chan <-

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

Masterlist

63 notes · View notes

rhoorl · 9 months

Text

Delta Landscaping

Chapter 1: Welcome to Torrey Hills

It's here.

Series Summary: In this Triple Frontier AU, the boys start a landscaping business post-Colombia.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+). Not this chapter necessarily, but a blanket statement to this whole concept.

Chapter Summary: As much as we want to get to the thirst, there is some setup we need to do.

A/N: I first have to thank the amazing @goodwithcheese because, without The Layover, this idea would not have come to life. This entire concept was born from a scene in one of her chapters.

This AU stays true to cannon in some aspects (Tom is dead y'all) and not in others (the boys kept some of the money and Frankie does not have a kid). There is a main storyline, but also opportunities for extras/drabbles/asks … maybe a guest post or spin-off? I've included some Easter eggs and jokes throughout, some more obvious than others. From its conception this has been a group project, so let’s keep that energy going!

Finally, a big thank you to @gemmahale (our Technical Supervisor for all things plants and protective wear) and @trulybetty (the creator of our logo) for listening to my ramblings and for their advice and encouragement along the way! @patti7dc also contributed a hilarious idea for a commercial that had me cracking up.

Ok enough of my rambling, on with the show…(I hope you like it!)

_____________________

There's something kind of magical about when an idea finally comes together in your mind. Different thoughts, images, and words swim around in your head, some of them unconsciously, until they finally coalesce in the depths of your brain and bubble up. Going from abstract to clear and defined.

Benny had been grappling with forming an idea for months. It was right there, he could feel it. But it frustrated him because it never came together the right way.

_____________________

Nine months earlier

In the immediate aftermath of Colombia, the Delta Force boys tried to process what happened, each in their own way. Santiago took off for a few months traveling on his own, finding solace in discovering new places. Frankie came back with a renewed focus to get his life together, talking to a therapist Will recommended to him and going to weekly meetings. The more quiet and reserved one of the group, Will continued to find ways to help other veterans. He volunteered at the local VA and shuttled veterans to and from medical appointments. He found driving to be soothing for him – having a set path, a direction to go in, and accomplishing something. Sometimes his passengers wanted to talk, sometimes they didn’t. He was comfortable either way.

And then there was Benny. He needed to keep his body in motion to try and silence the whirl that went on in his head. Fighting helped. He continued training, getting booked for local fights in Tampa, sometimes making it over to Orlando or as far as Jacksonville. At first, it helped him numb some of the pain. He felt like dealing with physical injuries was easier than his mental or emotional ones.

When he wasn't fighting or training, he found himself returning to a love he had as a kid – drawing. At first, he didn't really draw anything in particular, just doodles. But eventually, his doodles started to form beautiful landscapes and vistas…pulling inspiration from places he had seen during his time in the service. The activity brought him a sense of calm, using his hands to concentrate and make something. It didn't have to be perfect or beautiful, it just was.

Months passed and the guys just sort of existed in this newfound reality. None of them really talked about Colombia to each other, leaving the hurt and pain largely unspoken. Benny, Will, and Frankie would see each other often throughout the week. Santiago would FaceTime occasionally depending on where he was in the world. Although the guys kept some of the money from their mission, none of them had really spent it. Benny never did end up buying that Ferrari.

One day while driving back home to the apartment he shared with his brother, Will decided to take a detour to drive through a few different neighborhoods. He and Benny tossed around the idea of buying a house together, even going so far as visiting some open houses together to check things out.

This neighborhood, Torrey Hills, was particularly beautiful, with a palm tree-lined entrance and expansive water fountain greeting you on the drive in. Will aimlessly drove around taking in the Mediterranean-style architecture. Lots of two-story homes, stucco and white brick, raw iron and metalwork. There were some ranch-style homes sprinkled throughout as well. He noticed one in particular that had a for sale sign – 319 Mulefall Court.

Parked on the street, he grabs his phone to do some quick research. He checks on the price of the house first, a lot lower than he was expecting just based on the looks of the neighborhood, which he confirms once he looked up some recently sold homes nearby.

"What's wrong with you?" He mumbled toward the house, wondering why it was valued so much lower than everything around it.

The housing market in Tampa was pretty competitive, something Will and Benny had already realized. Oftentimes by the time they found a house they both liked it was already under contract or had multiple offers. They conveniently kept the fact that they could pay cash for literally any house they wanted from their realtor; they wanted the house they chose to be special.

Will continued looking over the specs of the house. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths. Two-car garage. Pool. Pretty spacious backyard from the photos and from what he could see from the street. A beautiful, old oak tree in the front yard. He noticed there weren't too many photos of the interior of the house or much of a description.

Normally, he would text a listing to Benny to get his thoughts, but this time he went straight to calling the realtor’s number on the sign. The realtor, Ethan, picked up and was a bit surprised someone wanted to talk to him about that property. It had been sitting for a couple of months without an offer, so Ethan was eager to set up a showing for the next day.

When he arrived home, Will saw Benny sitting at their kitchen table, head down over his notebook with a pencil in hand.

“Hey man, what’re you doing?”

“Nothing just got an idea for something,” Benny said, not looking up.

Will heads to the refrigerator to pull out a beer, grabbing one for his brother as he goes to sit down in the chair across from him.

“D’you have a good day?” Benny asks, putting down his pencil and grabbing the beer from Will.

“Yea, Mr. Jacobs seems to be doing better.” Will pauses to take a swig of his beer. “So…I saw a house today.”

“What?”

“Well, from the outside. I have a showing tomorrow morning if you want to go.”

“Yea, where is it?”

“You know that Torrey Hills neighborhood? It’s in there.”

“Wooo, that neighborhood is nice! Are you sure you want to go all fancy?”

“It is a nice neighborhood for sure, it seems quiet. This place looks like it needs … some work.”

“How much work?” Benny is a bit skeptical of what his brother may be getting them into, but trusts that Will wouldn’t do anything too rash.

“It’s going to be a project.”

“A project?

“Yea. The house has been sitting for a couple of months,” he said as he fished out his phone from his back pocket, pulled up the listing, and handed it over to Benny. “Look, I figure we go in and take a look to see how bad it is. You know how much shit we built with Dad back in the day. We can even call Joel to see if he thinks it's doable for us to fix it up ourselves.”

Benny looks up from the phone and gives a little smile as he hands the phone back, “Sure, man. Sounds good.”

Will and Benny could buy any house. But rather than buy something brand new, they wanted to buy a house they knew needed a lot of love and care. They wanted little projects they could work on, either together or by themselves.

______________________________

As the guys walked through the threshold of the house with Ethan in tow, they realized they may be biting off more than they can chew with this place.

“Shit, how long has this place been empty?” Benny asks as he looks around.

“Well, the house was built in the ’90s and had the same owner for about 20 years before it became an Airbnb,” Ethan said as leaned on the kitchen counter. “Then, some guy bought it, trying to do some real HGTV-type shit in here. Bought it before the pandemic, but didn’t realize how much work goes into a complete flip, you know? It’s not like the TV shows. Anyway, he ended up getting in over his head with it and then the foreclosure happened. He left the place an absolute goddamn mess,” he gestured around. “The neighbors have been on my ass to get this place sold. The curb appeal is kind of bringing down the block.”

Will quietly walks around the living room, his mind working through logistics. He comes into the kitchen where Benny was checking out the cabinets and appliances.

“Ethan, can you give us a minute?”

“Yea sure, I’ll be out in the backyard, y’all take your time,” Ethan said as he attempted to open the glass door leading out to the back porch. Struggling, he decided to head back out to the front door and unlock the fence to the backyard.

“So, what do you think?” Will asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Psh, I don’t know man, this is kind of a shit hole, right?”

“Yea, but like … we could do this. Maybe get Fish to come over and we can demo the inside. Start from scratch?”

“We should call Joel.”

Their cousin was a contractor in Texas, so he would be able to give them his honest opinion of whether or not they could do this. They ended up calling him on FaceTime so he could see what they were dealing with.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be easy or quick, but I think y’all could do it,” his low Southern drawl reverberating in the empty living room. “Plus, when you’re all done I can come out and inspect it for you. Sarah has been bugging me about taking her to Disney,” he laughed.

“Oh hell yea, that would be awesome!” Benny lit up starting to see how it could all come together based on Joel’s suggestions.

Will hadn’t seen his brother get this excited about something in a while.

“Ok, Joel. We’ll talk to you soon … tell Tommy and Sarah we say hi.”

“Later guys.”

Hanging up and looking back at Benny, who still had a smile on his face, Will clears his throat.

“So, what do you think? Should we do it?”

“You already know what I’m going to say!”

“Alright, let’s go talk to Ethan,” Will says motioning to the front door.

Coming out of the front door, they head out around the right side of the house, picking their feet up high to walk through the overgrown grass and weeds.

“This fence looks a little rough,” Benny observed, jiggling one of the loose boards.

“Hey, stop that! Don’t fucking pull it out.”

“....that’s what she said?” Benny laughs.

Will rolls his eyes, slapping his brother on the chest. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.”

As they head back, they notice the pool. Ethan was standing at the edge looking at his phone. He hears them traipsing through the overgrowth and turns around, “Hey guys, what do you think?”

“Well, it’s going to need a lot of work, that’s for sure, but, we want to make an offer.”

“Shit, really? I mean … cool. Yea ok, I’ll draw something up and send it over.”

Giving them both a handshake, the men start to walk back to the front. Benny pulls out his phone taking a few photos of the backyard and the front as they make their way back to Will’s Jeep.

Ethan gives them one final wave before pulling out of the driveway and heading out.

Will and Benny walk up to the driveway and give one final look at the house, Benny snapping a few more photos. They hear someone clear their throat behind them. Turning around they see a woman, around their age, walking a corgi.

“You guys going to buy that?” she nodded towards the house.

“Uh, yea we’re thinking about it,” Will said cautiously while Benny bounded past his brother to crouch down to pet the dog.

“Aw man, I love corgis!”

“Ha, thanks, he loves people so you’re making his day. My name is Megan, that's Bucky.” She extended her hand to shake Will’s first, looking down at Benny who got back up. Removing his backward baseball cap and putting it in his left hand to shake her hand.

“I live over there, the blue two-story with the basketball hoop,” she says pointing over to a house a few doors down and across the street.

“Do you play basketball?” Benny asks, reaching back down to give the dog some belly scratches.

“No, but my son does.” She reaches up to brush some hair out of her face and the boys both notice the huge diamond on her finger.

“What’s the neighborhood like?” Will could tell it was a nice neighborhood, but still wanted to do the proper reconnaissance.

“Oh, it’s pretty quiet. A few families, but some singles as well,” she eyes them both up and down. “You have some nice neighbors on both sides of you. We’ve been trying to have more events together, block parties, and stuff. Hopefully, you boys can fix up this piece of shit and we can all come over,” she smiles tilting her chin up at the house.

“Yea, well that’s the goal.” Benny looked up smiling, continuing to play with the dog.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you around hopefully.” She waves and continues her walk.

Later that night, Will was sitting in the living room playing some zombie video game when he noticed Benny head back over to his chair at the dining room table, notebook, and pencil in tow. Except this time Benny had some colored pencils with him too. Will saw his brother prop up his phone, using it as a reference for whatever he was drawing. A small smile on his face as he got to work.

______________________

The next month was busy getting everything together with the realtors. During that time, Santiago returned from his travels, wanting a bit more stability than the nomad life. He and Frankie had been helping the brothers pack.

Closing day comes and before they go in to sign the papers, Will pulls out his phone.

WILL: Headed in now to close on the house…should have the keys by 5. You guys want to come over and check it out?

FRANKIE: Yea, Pope and I can head over after I get out of work.

BENNY: Sweet, see you guys later. Bring beer!

“Goddamn, my fucking hand hurts,” Benny puts his pen down and massages his hand. “I didn’t realize we had to sign so much shit.”

“What did you think, we would sign one paper? We’re buying a house.” Will chuckles.

_________________________

The boys waited approximately one day before fully starting Operation Bachelor Pad, as Benny put it. Will continued to lean on Joel’s advice about what materials to buy and avoid and techniques to use. Joel even sent them a new set of power tools as a housewarming gift.

The sweltering weather made working outside on the yard a bit of a hassle, but one of Will’s first orders of business was to clean up the front so it wasn’t such an eyesore to the neighbors. Between the four of them, they were able to knock it out rather quickly. Will mowed the grass, while Frankie meticulously edged. Being the tallest of the group, Benny worked on pulling leaves out of the gutters with Santi’s help. They pulled weeds and removed a couple of dead shrubs. When they were all done, the boys sat in some folding chairs in the driveway drinking from their bottles of water.

“It’s so fucking hot out,” Frankie said as he took his hat off, wiped his forehead and combed his hair with his hand, before returning his hat to his head.

“How am I this sweaty?” Benny grunted as he peeled off his T-shirt, resting it on the back of his chair.

“What, you trying to give a show to all of the housewives?” Santiago teased him.

“Fuck off, it’s hot. If the pool wasn’t such a goddamn disaster I would jump in there,” Benny laughed.

Will looked up and saw Megan walking towards them holding a basket.

“Hey boys,” she smiled.

“Hey Megan,” Will got up, meeting her at the front of the driveway. “What’s this?”

“Where’s the corgi?” Benny yelled. Will turns around to glare at him. “Just kidding, hi Mrs. Megan!”

“Oh my god, Benjamin, please do not call me Mrs. It makes me feel old,” she chuckles. “Here, I wanted to bring something by, not sure how stocked your fridge is yet and I saw you had some friends over.” She nodded to the group behind Will.

Handing over the basket, Will sees she had arranged a few bottles of water and Gatorade, along with some homemade cookies and a gift card to a pizza place.

“Wow, thank you, this is so nice,” Will smiled. By this point, Benny had walked up to see what was in the basket too.

“Nice, this is awesome!” he said, pulling out one of the cookies and stuffing it in his mouth. He noticed Megan giving him a quick up and down, so he stood a little taller. “This is fucking amazing. Are you a cook or something?”

“Baker. And no, not professionally or anything. I just dabble.”

“Well, you can dabble with us anyti-” he chokes as Will hit him in the side of the stomach. “Shit. I, uh, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,” he looked down bashfully.

“I know what you meant, all good,” she laughs. “Well, I should be heading out.”

“See ya later!” Benny waved, grabbing one more cookie from the basket before bouncing back towards the chair.

“So, are all of your neighbors hot?” Santiago asked with an arched eyebrow. “May need to move in here myself.”

“Fuck off, Pope. She’s nice. She’s actually one of the first people that has come by to say anything.”

________________

It was so fucking hot outside. Florida summers were no joke. As a result, the boys used the next few months to completely renovate the inside of the house. They installed new countertops in the kitchen, laid down hardwood floors, upgraded nearly every appliance or fixture in the place, and fixed the glass sliding door to the back porch. As the months went on, the house became a source of their collective pride and joy; they reveled in their handiwork.

Megan would come by every so often to say hi. She introduced the guys to a few other neighbors and it felt like they were starting to develop a home base. Even though Frankie and Santiago didn’t officially live there, they may as well because they were over all the time, even when Will and Benny were gone.

As the weather got cooler, by Florida standards, the boys decided to focus on the outside of the house.

One day as they were sitting around watching a football game on a lazy Sunday, Benny got up and headed out of the living room with a purpose.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Santiago looked over the couch to where Benny ran off to.

“Who knows, the kid has been really focused on something and I don’t know what it is,” Will said.

“Ok! I got it!” Benny ran back into the room with his notebook and a pencil in tow.

The other three looked at him with confused looks.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with the yard, but I think I finally figured it out. This was the missing piece.” He quickly scribbled some things down and turned his notebook around.

“What are we supposed to be looking at Ben?” Will asked, confused and trying to read what Benny’s chicken scratch said.

“Ok, look,” Benny sat in the middle of the couch, Will and Frankie on either side and Santiago came over to sit on the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder.

“Let’s start in front. We need to replace the fence on both sides and put in a swing gate, that’s easy. I’m thinking we do some flower beds here in the front. I haven’t decided what kind of flowers yet. But leading from the front porch over to the fence we’ll put some flagstone pavers down. Yea, I think that’ll look nice. Oh, and a couple of planted pots here in the front,” he motioned to circles he drew on either side of the door.”

He keeps rambling as the other three look at each other, Benny oblivious to them.

“Oh and then on the left side of the house, I’m thinking some permeable pavers so that the water can drain, will help us not have standing water to avoid excess mosquitos and algae and shit. That side of the fence is bigger so we can easily get the lawn mower into the backyard that way and not fuck up the grass as much.”

Moving the paper closer, he points to the left side of the paper. “Ok, so once we get into the backyard, I think we line it with some raised flower beds. Near the pool, we’ll have some more perennials. We’ll add some more planted pots on the porch. Maybe some string lights or something.”

“And then this is what finally came together!” he smiled pointing to the back right of his drawing. “I think … wait for it … we build a gazebo thing.”

“Isn’t that called a pergola?” Santiago asked.

“Same shit. They’ll be a structure back there. With some shrubs up to the fence line. We can put a palm tree out there, some more flagstone pavers, and then we include a little water fountain in one of the perennial beds here.”

When he finished, he leaned back on the couch and exhaled, pleased with himself and excited that his idea finally came together.

“So that’s what you’ve been working on, huh?” Will smirked.

“Yea man, I … I don’t know. Ever since we came here for the first time I had this … vision. Like, I could see it, but I couldn’t. So I’ve been working on different designs.” Benny paged through his notebook showing numerous mockups of their backyard.

“Holy shit, Ben, that’s awesome,” Frankie looked over at Benny. “But what if you put a grass bed over here by the utilities.”

“Yea … yea, that could work Fish!”

_______________________

Over the next few weeks, Benny and Frankie continued to tinker with the design, sending Will and Santiago out on Home Depot runs to get things off their list.

As they did working on the interior of the house, they found themselves opening up to each other as they worked, finding that keeping their hands and bodies busy gave their minds time to process.

And they worked hard, completely rejuvenating the look of the house both from the inside and outside, so much so that the neighbors took notice.

Megan was the first to come over to ask if the guys could look at her lawn. Benny made a few easy suggestions, offering to fix it up on weekends. Then another neighbor and another neighbor. Before they knew it, the boys had worked on nearly every house on their block, which helped them get to know everyone.

One night as the boys were hanging out in the backyard, Benny came up with another idea.

"Ok, hear me out," as he opened the cooler to grab beers for everyone.

Frankie was by the grill and turned around to peer over at Benny. "What Benjamin? What job did you sign us up for now?" chuckling as he took a swig of the beer Benny handed him.

"Landscaping."

Cocking his head to the side, Santiago repeats back matter-of-factly, "Landscaping."

"Like what, do it professionally or something?" Frankie laughs.

Benny looks over at Will who was observing, taking it all in.

"Oh come on! Look at what we did with this place," gesturing around to the backyard.

They all had to admit they did a beautiful job with the backyard. It has been almost therapeutic for them, working on this house together.

“We’ve already been doing it! Megan’s lawn. Fish, you had a great idea for Melissa and Derek’s backyard, they fucking loved what you and Pope did with the place. We … we could do this for other people. Figure out how to make shit better.” He pulled his cap off, brushing his hair.

Although the other three had always seen Benny as the little brother, bouncing off the walls with energy, they had to admit he had a newfound focus when it came to the projects around the house. His brain was crawling with ideas. Plus, they were having fun working on projects for their neighbors. They had gotten very close to some of them.

"This could be a legit business for us. I even have a name I came up with. Wait for it…Delta Landscaping!" He beamed, clearly proud of himself and waiting for the guy's reaction.

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first installment of this series! Seriously thank you to everyone who has sent me a message or a comment in the lead-up to this. I’ve had so much fun interacting with all of you and it has been a bright spot in my days for sure.

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list moving forward!!

#delta landscaping #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier au

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emotionallychargedtowel · 2 months

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Hira's parents and his self-defeating tendencies

I was talking to @sorry-bonebag and @wen-kexing-apologist about what role Hira's parents might have played in creating the weirdness he displays throughout both seasons of Utsukushii Kare & Eternal. I started writing a response and it got too long and, well, now it's a post.

Before I talk about Hira's parents and the tendencies in him that they helped to create, I want to note that family of origin is just one of the influences that form us as people. Parents and caregivers have a huge influence, as do other family members. But so do peers. The bullying about his disability that Hira experiences nearly constantly is one of the biggest influences on his personality.

Hira's parents appear extremely briefly at the very beginning of the series. His mom fusses a bit about him being on his own and his dad is very "he has to take care of himself sometime" about it. We know they took him to specialists for his dysphemia, bought him his camera, etc.

Their departure is a show thing, by the way, and isn't present in the novel. In the novel they continue to live with him through high school and, if I remember correctly, part of college. But they don't play a big role in his life. The main things that happen involving them are either instances of Hira hiding things from them (or attempting to) or instances of his mother briefly, sporadically, having a big burst of worry about him. It would make sense if the show version of his parents were the same way aside from the leaving-him-to-live-alone part of things, though that’s not shown.

The rest of my thoughts are largely headcanon since I’m working backwards from his personality to guess about his formative years, but they match up with the little bit that’s shown in the series and how his parents are in the novel. I see Hira as having a self-defeating personality in a lot of ways. The typical etiology of this kind of personality (the set of conditions that lead up to it) is supposed to be a rather deprived childhood that is punctuated by occasional bursts of parental attention when the child is seen as in crisis somehow (or when they attract attention in other self-defeating ways, like intentionally getting in trouble).

This reminds me of something Nancy McWilliams writes about in Psychoanalytic Diagnosis, attributing the idea to someone named Emmanuel Hammer: “a masochistic person is a depressive who still has hope.” [I should note here that “masochistic personality” is an older term for self-defeating personality that is not meaningfully correlated with masochism in a sexual sense. I think that, despite how he might appear at first glance, Hira actually isn’t sexually masochistic or submissive. I have a whole mostly-written post about this that I hope will see the light of day eventually.] In other words, whereas the background that creates a depressive personality involves deprivation that's intense enough that the person gives up on the possibility of receiving the love they need, the self-defeating personality has had enough success with occasionally getting their needs met that they keep trying. If that’s what happened with Hira, it would be consistent with what we see of his parents in the series. We know they pulled out the stops at certain points when it comes to his dysphemia. Anyone who’s a parent can tell you how hard it is to get a good specialist to see your kid, even when they have some kind of glaring issue and you have decent healthcare access overall. The fact that they managed to get him in with a specialist is notable all on it own. (I actually have some stressful phone calls I need to make today in a similar vein, seeking specialist help for one of my kids.) They also spent a lot of money on a DSLR for a young kid. And yet they’re OK with letting him live alone and after that point remain very hands-off. It also seems like despite the attention they paid to his dysphemia during that one period, by the time of the series they’ve totally stopped trying to support him about it.

Basically, I think his parents are largely neglectful (emotionally rather than materially) but that every so often, they freak out and pay a bunch of attention to him because they perceive him to be in need of rescuing. When he was young, he probably appreciated the attention when it happened, but at the time of the series he gets those needs met in other ways and/or displaces that need for attention onto Kiyoi. The idea of seeking attention in this way maps especially well onto his relationship with Kiyoi, because he seeks Kiyoi’s attention and approval through exactly the sort of strategies typically used by people with self-defeating personalities. Here’s McWilliams again:

Reik (1941) explored several dimensions of masochistic acting out, including (1) provocation [she refers to a previous anecdote about a woman who feared angry outbursts by her partner because of experiences with her father; she would act out in ways that antagonized him in order to “get it over with”], (2) appeasement (“I’m already suffering, so please withhold any further punishment”), (3) exhibitionism (“Pay attention: I’m in pain”), and (4) deflection of guilt (“See what you made me do!”).

I can think of plenty of instances of provocation (the first type). Hira often does things he knows will make Kiyoi angry, and sometimes visibly relishes the negative attention.

One good example is the scene in Eternal where he creates a totally avoidable misunderstanding by vaguely talking about how “a divorce is going to happen” because of an affair, which Kiyoi takes to be referring to their relationship and specifically, to Hira cheating. When Kiyoi rears back to punch him, Hira protests for a moment but then says being killed by Kiyoi is actually a longstanding wish of his. It turns out it’s Naho-chan who is getting divorced because her husband cheated. Hira could easily have spoken more clearly when he brought this up by using subjects in his sentences. When he first brings up divorce, Kiyoi says, “Who are you to decide on your own without me agreeing? What dissatisfaction do you have with me?”, which makes it clear he thinks Hira is referring to something involving him. Yet Hira continues to speak without subjects when he elaborates and says the reason for the divorce is an affair. He only clears up the misunderstanding after Kiyoi has lost all patience and is (legitimately!) freaking out. There's no way this isn't, on some level, intentional.

One version of appeasement (the second type of self-defeating acting out) that McWilliams talks about is criticizing oneself before others can do so. It’s no exaggeration to say that Hira talking himself down to Kiyoi is a defining characteristic of their relationship. There are lots of examples of this but a particularly classic case is his constant refrain about being a “pebble.” His invitation for Kiyoi to “Please hit me as much as you want” after their fight in season 2 is another example of appeasement.

It’s hard to pin down specific examples of Hira employing the third type of acting out, exhibitionism. It makes sense that it wouldn’t be, though. This is a very covert type of exhibitionism that doesn’t announce itself. I think you can observe it in subtle ways, though. For example, when Shirota dumps tomato juice on Kiyoi, a bunch of it gets on Hira as well. Afterwards, Kiyoi cleans the juice off of himself as best he can, seemingly as quickly as possible, and changes his clothes. But when he talks to Hira afterward, dried drops of juice are clearly visible on Hira’s face. Acidic juice on one’s face would probably feel uncomfortable, but he intentionally doesn’t wash it off. It’s like he’s wearing these stains as a badge of honor and proof of his mistreatment.

I think deflection of guilt, the fourth type, is less characteristic of Hira than the others. He tends to absorb guilt rather than deflecting it, blaming himself in a way that often takes the form of the self-critical form of appeasement.

I think it's worth noting that he also employs appeasement as a strategy in the hostile environment of high school. His biggest rule in school is to avoid attention as much as possible, so exhibitionism and provocation aren't acceptable options. (He does disobey Shirota in a way that could be considered provocation when the rift between Kiyoi and Shirota first starts to form, but I think that's more a case of overt rebellion.) We don't see him employ deflection of guilt, though his teacher does seem a bit more forgiving of his attack on Shirota given what he knows about Hira's experiences with bullying. But appeasement? When he can't avoid attention entirely, that is his go-to strategy. It doesn't draw much, if any, additional attention this way. He can demonstrate to people who pose a danger to him that he's not a threat and is ready to comply with their orders if it will allow him to avoid mistreatment. It's only when he finds a kind of vicarious strength in Kiyoi (see my post here for more on that aspect of Hira) that he starts to deal with the bullying in other ways.

So, yeah. Hira's parents initially formed these patterns in Hira, peers deepened them, and they came out in his relationship with Kiyoi. A big part of the shift that needs to happen in order for their relationship to last is for Hira to stop using self-defeating strategies to sneakily get his needs met by Kiyoi and start seeking what he needs openly and assertively.

Maybe now would be a good time to brush off those other in-progress Utsukare posts and try to finish them off while I have a bit of momentum, huh?

By the way, if you’re interested in my previous Utsukare posts, I have a master post here with links to everything.

#utsukushii kare #utsukushii kare meta #utsukare #utsukushii kare analysis #psychology of bl #psychoanalytic theory #self-defeating personality #hira kazunari #kiyoi sou #hira x kiyoi

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thenixkat · 4 months

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i was going to refrain from it for awhile but since folks ruined my whole funky flow twice now I might as well.

Someone remind me around 5:30/6 pm whenever i actually get back home from work to elaborate on shit cause I do have shit to say on

Low facial diversity

Slavery

Fatphobia

Pasty bitch overload

In Dungeon Meshi

Cause like while I really do like Dungeon Meshi that doesn't mean I didn't notice shit

#Nix meows #Dungeon Meshi #dunmeshi criticism

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troius · 3 months

Note

I just want to say a few things before you get to the end. First up, it's been a pleasure to read your thoughts on the series; like any fan, you have your own unique interpretations and it's always good to read how fans see certain scenes. It's also been fantastic to see fellow fans respond to your posts adding on to what you've written, again bringing your thoughts out more and generating discussion.

Also, seeing your thoughts has made me appreciate scenes and characters I never thought I would -- Yamamoto for instance, who would've thought?! They've also reminded me of why I fell in love with the series as much as I did, from the artwork to the themes to the incredible bonds between the characters. You've reminded me that BLEACH has it's flaws that can sometimes take you out of the story, but when it hits, it 100% HITS! It's a manga that's about the bonds we form, how they can help us overcome challenges and be a source of light in our lives. It's about the ways we overcome grief and the fear of death, whether it's literally fighting your way through it or slowly coming to a state of acceptance as time goes on. It's about the 'hearts' of people, about what they look like and how they're shared between those you choose. I could go on and on, but then this would become an essay and we'd be here all day.

All of this is to say, thank you for choosing to create a Tumblr account and deciding to read the series and give your thoughts along the way. I can't believe you've finally reached the end, it almost feels like I'm saying goodbye to the manga again!! I don't think I'm the only one here who sees you as a big and valued part of the community on here, so I hope you'll be sticking around! :)

Thank you so much Rays! Response under the cut because it went long.

This won't surprise you, but I too have grown in my appreciation for the series over the course of the uh three years that I've run this blog. Bleach has character concepts I've never seen elsewhere. It has moments of storytelling brilliance. It has truly, phenomenally astonishing art.

But more than anything else, I, like you, am impressed by the heart. For a story that's largely about the afterlife, Bleach is shockingly humanistic, locating virtue not in any system of belief, in any group or faction in the various conflicts that provide the setting for the manga, but in people. All people, whether they're our extremely relatable teenage protagonist and his friends, the occasionally sketchy adults in his life, or the various adversaries ranging from evil monsters to supernatural samurai to a regular-ass gang to a foreign apocalypse cult. Bleach never, not once, lets the viewer fall into the comfortable childish space of believing that there's good people and bad people in the world.

There's just people. Sometimes these people want to do bad things, like execute their sisters, or kidnap your girlfriend, or isolate you from your family, or destroy the entire world. Bleach doesn't flinch away from that either. But it (again, very humanistically) locates those bad actions not in the individual human beings, but in our relationships with one another through the systems and structures we've created to organize ourselves.

And yet in the face of the idea that humans do their worst work through other people, that's also where Bleach locates its greatest virtue. Alone, we're nothing. It's the bonds that we have with others that are what make life worth living, that are the source of everything good in this world. And navigating that dynamic, between spiritual bonds and structural shackles...that's really what adult life is all about, isn't it?

Anyhow, my adult life has been greatly enriched by all of you on here. But I'll take the chance to thank you specifically Rays, for being such a source of joy. Your positivity and passion are the sort of thing that makes a humble blogger want to come back for more, and I've deeply enjoyed hearing all of your thoughts, not just on my liveblog, but through your own posts and writing. I'll be sticking around for sure.

#bleach #ask Troius

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claraswritings · 1 year

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Stay For Now, I Love You Forever

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (a tiny bit of Marc Spector x Reader- pining)

Summary: Steven meets a girl. Steven falls for her. Marc falls too.

Warning: Some angst. Set mostly pre-series. (Also for the sake of the fic, Marc is already divorced). First time writing Steven/Marc/Moon Knight system. This is not spell checked as I’m posting at nearly 2AM lol.

A/N: Meant to finish this sooner but I got Covid :( Tagged @marvelenthusiast10 )

***

“Okay Steven…what’s your symptoms.”

The man before you shifted in the chair, drumming his fingers on his jeans, eyes flickering over the walls. It looked like he was battling the urge to run away. It was obvious that he felt awkward, and you couldn’t blame him. It was pretty bizarre having to explain your sleep symptoms to a total stranger.

“Right…” Steve started then trailed off “Sorry Uhh…” he hesitated once more as he looked away from you and rested his gaze on the view from the window. where he could see I t had started to snow heavily.

“Huh…it’s snowing.” He commented “Didnt know it was going to snow? Did you?…Do you think the buses will be running?”

Sensing his rambling was a outburst of nerves, something to distract himself, you attempted to placate him “I didn’t…but I like the snow… I’m sure the buses will be fine but I’ll check the TfL website for you before you go. Do you need a drink?”

Steven brought his dark eyed gaze back to you. “Right sorry, sorry…” he muttered, scratching his jaw… “I’ll get to the point and stop rambling…”

“It’s okay…take your time…” you reassured him. “I have lots of time”

He hesitated, once more before he took a breath for composure

“Okay, so sometimes, yeah, I wake up… and…I‘ve lost… hours or even sometimes days at a time…like couple of weeks ago… I went to bed on Friday…” he gestured, with one hand, the sleeve of his over sized jacket sliding up as he did “but I woke up on Sunday…but I’m still tired…Fell asleep on the bus…” he trailed off for only long enough to rake a hand through his wavy dark hair “Feel like I’ve been hit by one too.”

He gave you a muted smile, as he pulled the long sleeves of his blue jacket back down.

Your lips lifted at corner as a response to his joke, and you nodded slowly, writing down what he was saying.

“That’s not normal is it? Losing days…” He frowned a little, his gaze on you, as you could feel him almost crying out for help “I feel like I’m losing my bloody mind.” He mumbled, his voice quiet.

“No Steven, you’re not, a lack of sleep can do all sorts of things to our bodies, that’s why I’m here. Sleep is a very difficult thing to get right… but we can help you…once we work out what might be causing whatever is happening…do you have any other symptoms? Do you ever sleep walk?”

“See… I thought maybe I did, cause I’d wake up and be like coming back through the door…” Steven leant forward, uncrossing his arms to draw a circle in the air “But like the sand circle would still be yknow in a circle, right? So I can’t be?” He spoke as if he was offering a suggesting, shoulders moving up and down in a shrug that did not look as nonchalant as he had clearly hoped

Now he’d lost you.

“Sand circle?”

“Oh god I’m gonna sound like a right weirdo…” he flopped back in the seat. “I put the sand circle around my bed…, yeah, cause if I was sleep walking I’d shuffle and ruin it.” Steven explained with a wave of his hand. “Wouldn’t I?”

You had to admit it, it was clever, if a little unconventional. “Yeah, that’s actually quite a good idea… never heard that one but I like it.” You nodded encouragingly. As the years you’d spent helping set up various sleep studies, you’d heard all the classics-no caffeine, no cheese, lavender oil, hot baths, white noise, black out curtains… but you’d never heard of using a sand circle to test if you were sleeping walking.

“That and the restraint on the bed.” Steven tacked on then instantly realised what he clicked your eyebrows shooting upwards “Not like that...I’m not like…” He muttered, a red creeping up over his face, as his hand crept up to itch the back of his neck. “Don’t really get the chance for anything like that with the…funny sleeping stuff and that…” he trailed off.

stoptalking stoptalking stoptalking stoptalking. He told himself internally and shook his head, trying not to visibly shudder at his own awkward comment. How he’d just told you, the prettiest woman he’d seen in…god knows how long, that he had a restraint on his bed. God Steven, way to show off your glaring red flag.

“You…you have a restraint?” you paused, trying not to smile at the flustered man before you, as he now was staring directly at the spot where your desk met carpet. “To prevent the sleepwalking of course.”

The comment about not having the chance stuck out to you. Must mean he’s single.

“Yeah, uh..I have tape too for the… for the door. So I can’t get out and bother anyone…Tried to keep myself up aswell, listened to a podcast and did the stuff it said… puzzles, reading books, all that…didn’t work though…”

His eyes shot back to you as hand ran through his thick wavy hair again Everything about him was a bundle of nerves from the fidgeting to the eyes looking from you to the window and back to the tangents, now on top of that, he was worried his sleep issue would bother anyone. You couldn’t help but feel for him.

“And how long have you been using these… techniques for?”

“Oh god…” he blew out a long exhale “I don’t actually know…to be quite honest…ages now…Doctor”

“It’s okay Steven, anything that can help you is worth trying…and I’m not a doctor… I’m a sleep…tech…” you held your hands up. “I just check you in and help with results.”

“Oh..sorry…” he faltered, a little embarrassed , trying to find the words “…Ms. Sleep… Tech…Technician?… Technologist?”

He cringed inwardly at his own sentence only seconds after the words had left his mouth and for the… he’d lost count… time since he’d entered the room.

“Just….[Name]”

Once again, you weren’t pulling back, recoiling or phased by his awkwardness. You were, much to his surprise, smiling at him. Not the weird passive smile Donna gave him when asking, or rather telling him, to stay late. Not the fake nicety smile exhausted tourists usually gave him, you were actually smiling at him like you thought he was funny. The smile you were giving him was so genuine and warm, he felt himself relax under your eyes.

“You must always be well rested. Must be nice.” Steven attempted to extend the conversation, hoping his attempt wasn’t too ungraceful.

“Ah. You’d be surprised,” There was a smile toying at the corner of your mouth “I’m better at giving advice than I am at following it.”

“Suppose It’s like chefs innit…they come home and probably just Deliveroo themselves a Nando’s or KFC or something?”

You laughed “Yeah, exactly what I mean…Now look…I know this is going to sound cliche but…problems with sleep, it’s more common than you think.” Pausing, you put your notebook down, and leant in, elbows planted on the desk. “But basically in your deepest stage of sleep… your brain switches off the muscles… so you won’t be acting out your dreams or anything crazy. If you are in that stage, you won’t go anywhere, Steven.”

You turned one of your folders over and pushed a case plan towards him, and pointing out the diagrams with the end of your pen.

“We’ll chart your brainwaves whilst you’re asleep… then we can use them to work out what’s going on.”

“And that’ll help me?” He sounded hopeful as his gaze ran over the notes, following your make shift pointer.

“Yeah I hope so, i mean it might not stop the processes but it’ll help us understand what’s going on.”

“You must think I’m a right weirdo…but it’s nice…to talk to someone that isn’t my fish…or the living statue bloke,” Steven turned back to you, giving you a thankful look. “Or my boss.” He pulled a face.

“I don’t think you’re weird, Steven… I want to help you. I’ll listen for as long as you need me to”

You hadn’t automatically assumed he was some weirdo which was a relief. He felt comfortable with you like you actually wanted to help him rather than judging him.

There was a moments silence, then your eyes flicked down to the notebook that lay between you and back to Steven.

“Do you drink tea…or coffee?”

“Oh… um, just tea with soy milk and one sugar. Sometimes a hot chocolate? Although that’s not caffeine is it? I wouldn’t mind one of those flavoured ones, Think they do them that cafe around the corner if you’d like?” He grinned somewhat awkwardly “they do refills…which you know in London, gotta get your moneys worth… it’s expensive.”

You felt a heat creep up your face “Erm…it’s for the questionnaire? I need to know how much caffeine you’re drinking?”

“Oh..oh god I’m sorry, I’ve just put my foot in it havent I?… I thought you were…and now I’m rambling, I do that…”

“But…yes Steven. I’d love to have any hot drink with you…”

“Wait. Really?” Steven faltered, surprised.

“Of course. I finish at half five. I’ll meet you there.”

And when you’d walked into the cafe, saw him already waiting there, drink gently steaming on the table and book in hand, reading glasses on, you’d slid in beside him and had never looked back.

When Steven offered to meet you at your flat to go for dinner two days later, you agreed. It was suggestion, that had it come from any of the fuck boys in your Tinder matches would have had you hitting the un match button…but with Steven…you knew he was being sweet.

You knew he wasn’t just asking to try get into your place and into your underwear, although you wouldn’t have minded. He was asking because he didn’t want you to walk to the Tube station alone in the dark.

Steven had wrapped up in a winter coat, and worn a dark blue scarf and matching gloves. He brought chocolate and a dozen pink roses, which as he’d handed over, he’d told you that he noticed your notebook had been pink and thought it was a safe bet for the colour. Before you could say thank you he’d already apologised for the chocolates incase you hated them or incase he’d got the colour wrong.

You’d kissed him on the cheek, told them they were perfect and that you’d share the chocolates with him, before linking your gloved hands together and starting your walk to your favourite Asian restaurant in Camden, where he’d had a tofu version of a curry and you’d had chicken teriyaki skewers. It was closing time before you’d left arm in arm, giggling as you walked together.

As you made your way back to the Tube station, Steven had excitedly wanted to try a bubble waffle, so you’d opted for a shared vegan friendly version and ate it with two forks. You’d hugged him outside the station then met him outside his work two days later…and before long you’d fallen into an easy pattern of dating.

The first time he hadn’t called when he said he would, was one month into dating and he was eight hours late. Steven had saw the voicemails left from you and panicked, fully expecting the “you’re an arsehole, never talk to me again” but no, you’d called him to check he was okay, came by his place and even posted a card through his letterbox telling him you were thinking of him and you hoped he was okay.

You were worried.

Steven kept that card in the top drawer of his beside table alongside a napkin from your first date, one of the gratuity sweets from your second, the first note you’d ever wrote to him, a puzzle you’d bought to do together and a model pyramid you’d saw online and thought of him. You’d said you just saw it on Amazon, but it wasn’t one you could just buy. Steven knew from the model that you’d have had to buy it from a specific retailer. You’d never tell him you googled it specifically but he loved that you did.

He knew he loved you then and there

“Hey babe.” You stuck your head around the entrance to the gift shop and grinned at him.

Steven, at the sight of you, dropped the plush back into a box and ran to you, squeezing you tight.

“Hiya love, I’m just finishing up here. Won’t be five minutes and I’ll be over to you” he kept his hands on your waist as you wrapped yours around his neck and kissed him before reaching up and straightening the collar of his patterned shirt

“Okay, babe. I’ll just wander around. We can go to that new bakery if you like. I’ve checked the menu, they do have vegan options.”

His lips curled into a smile and he squeezed your hand by way of thanking you before you headed off to wait for him.

“That sounds brilliant. Really good!”

“Stevie!” A call rang out from across the room and Steven rolled his eyes

“Oh fuck Donna.”

“Stevie! I told you the answers no. So just stop talking to guests…alright? Leave it to the real tour guides…”She turned to you, not giving him the chance to reply “Is he bothering you?”

“Actually…” you wrapped your arm around Steven. “He’s not. I’m…”

“Oh…Stevie’s girlfriend.” Donna pointed at you “Gunna be honest, thought he’d made you up. Kept saying you were dead pretty and let him talk. Didn’t actually think you were real.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Thought he was bothering the guests again!”

“Well Steven is a wealth of information, and I want my info from the best source” you gave her as friendly of a smile as you could muster.

“Best source is a tour guide” she smiled “but I’m glad he has someone to listen to his weird rambling.”

“I’d rather hear about it from someone with a passion for it”

“I’m sure our guides are plenty passionate.” She turned on her heel to face Steven. “Clock off please. I’m not paying you to chat to your girlfriend.”

“Sure, Donna. Pleasure as always.” He gave a curt wave, however she had already stalked off before she could return the acknowledgment. “Back in a sec, love.” He leant in and pecked your lips before disappearing off to clock out.

When he returned a few minutes later you linked you arm through his, and noticing he looked slightly dejected, attempted to offer him some comfort.

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on. I’ve done a few of these tours and I’ve learnt more from listening to you at home than I have from any of them”

“Really?” He perked up “Cause we have this new exhibit, it’s basically like the super group of Egyptian gods and it’s really interesting…the posters only show seven but there’s nine and…” Steven was suddenly conscious he was babbling but when he looked at you, he was still holding your attention.

“Tell me about it?” You asked him.

“About the super group?” Steven was quick to check, excited at the chance to discuss his passion before stopping. “I don’t want to bore you, love”

“You won’t.” You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze through

Steven could never bore you, everything about him was captivating. He was so excited and so passionate about Egyptian mythology that you couldn’t help but be drawn in by his wide eyed enthusiasm. You liked it when he went off on a tangent. It was cute.

“I love you, you know. And not just because you let me go on about Egyptology or that, I just really do love you, and I never thought I’d get that.”

“I love you too Steven.” You kissed him. “Now tell me about these super gods, I wanna know about the missing ones…”

***a few weeks later***

Marc froze. You were half asleep-half awake, the lights from the window, casting bright lights through the window of Stevens flat. You looked angelic, the slopes of your face, the curves of your body as you pulled the duvet tighter.

He’d watched from the background as you and Steven had fallen for each other over the past few months and Marc had, having seen how you were to Steven, had fallen for you too.

He’d realised it when he saw how gentle you were with Steven, after he’d woken one night when you’d been staying the night. He’d stumbled back to bed, a struggle to keep control of the body and barely collapsed into a half slumber before Steven had woke with a jolt around fifteen minutes later, pulling hard at the restraint and checking around him.

**flashback**

“Hey hey, it’s me babe, you’re okay…” you, on instinct, sat up next to Steven. He was checking the restraint, pulling at it hard to make sure it was in place. “…Steven, babe. You’re here, I’m with you, it’s okay.”

You reached for him slowly not making contact until Steven turned to meet your eyes. He was breathing heavy, chest heaving and shoulders tight, brow furrowed as you wrapped one arm around him and held his hand with the other.

“Steven. You haven’t had anything like this in a while.”

It was the first time you’d been there when it had happened. Usually, if Steven had a rough night, he’d call you and you’d talk and you’d stay with him listening.

“Im here babe.” You whispered

“Youre here.” His voice sounded so small and lost and such a far cry from how you’d ever heard him. A part of your heart broke seeing your usual bubbly, chatty Steven such a wreck. “I thought you’d left.”

“No. No.” You pulled him into you, lying back with his head on your shoulder as you carefully carded your hand through his curls. “I’m not leaving.…” You reached for his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please stay for now”

“Of course, for as long as you need me.”

Marc had felt so guilty that night that he’d resolved that he wouldn’t go far when you were staying the night. Steven deserved some happiness, a sense of peace, some chance to be normal so tonight he’d kept it short, a quick hour before returning back to you.

Marc wondered if he’d met you first…rather than Steven, would you have fallen in love with him? Would you be stroking circles on his back and whispering sweet nothings to him when he woke in the dead of the night, freaked out and panicking.

He doubted it. Everything you loved was so rooted in Steven. Sweet, endearingly quirky, good-natured, warm hearted, clever Steven, who was nothing like Marc.

You were always staring at Steven, looking in his big wide eyes, playing with the fluffy curls that Marc usually slicked back, sliding your hands under Steven’s oversized clothes that Marc hated, asking him questions about the book Steven was reading that Marc didn’t know anything about, offering suggestions for whatever puzzle Steven was looking at that Marc didn’t care for, you cooked Steven vegan versions of your own lunches where Marc would have preferred the meat, you left cute notes for Steven to find. You called him Babe all the time.

Steven deserved the world but, god how Marc was jealous. He wanted you to look at him the way you looked at Steven. He could feel it heavy on his shoulders as he breathed and like an open wound in his chest.

“Steven?” He froze in the spot where he was, you turned over in the bed, voice half asleep. “Come back to bed. It’s cold.” You muttered

“Shhh, back to sleep.” He had hoped you wouldn’t notice the change from London to American as he whispered approaching the bed.

“Babe you’re talking different.” you muttered.

The second of silence that passed felt like an age to Marc, the only sound was his hammering heart rate, before you filled the room with a sleepy laugh “You’re so funny…I love you Steven.”

And like that you were back to sleep, leaving Marc alone with his own racing heart.

**a few weeks later**

Steven had been gone for five days. You’d spent most of your mornings leaving early for work to drop in on him and see if he’d shown up, your lunch breaks scouring the local news to see if an anonymous man had shown up in any hospitals, you’d called almost every hospital and police station within a ten mile radius. The police had told you they’d “note his name and description” and let you know. By Wednesday you’d even went to his work twice only for Donna to tell you Steven doesn’t work here.

You’d began to wonder you should be going back to the police to tell them the missing person you’d reported still had not shown up when you heard a knocking at your door

“Gimme a minute,” You called out as pulled yourself off the sofa and headed to the door. Hauling it open you half expected to see your neighbour or the postman. What you were not expecting to see was your boyfriend, in a baggy navy jumper, hair sticking up at all angles and looking like he’d come off a 72 hour all nighter.

He wouldn’t have of course, Steven barely drank so you couldn’t process exactly how or what the fuck had happened until he spoke.

“Hi.” He managed to get out “I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

“Steven…You‘ve been gone for days…where the fuck where you?” Your mouth formed the words, quieter, more concerned than angry.

Instead of saying a word, you felt him slump into your arms, exhausted.

“Fucking hell Steven, what happened?” You repeated yourself with a mutter as you looped an arm around his waist and the other you used to support him and helped him to the couch, where he flopped down. Your heart ached just looking at him.

“Don’t go.” He murmured, “Stay here.”

“I’m just getting you a blanket and a cuppa, babe… okay?” You brushed some of his curls back as he nodded. “I’ll be back in two minutes… I promise.”

You kissed his head and exactly two minutes later, you returned a steaming mug of tea and your favourite sage green blanket. You’d bought it in the Dunlem sale and it never left your bed until it made its way to Stevens. You’d wrapped him in it once when he’d fallen asleep at his desk and he’d looked so adorable you’d insisted he kept it.

“Are you okay? Should I be calling an ambulance or the police or something?”

His hands knotted around the edges as you draped it over him and sat the mug in front of him. You sat in silence beside him until he’d had a few large gulps. Steven shook his head

“I’m okay…no ambulance. no police needed. It’s alright..”

“Steven. You have to tell me where you were.” You tried “Please. I thought you were missing or dead, I kept expecting to see your picture on the news as a fucking body found.”

“You wouldn’t believe me…” he let out a tiny impression of a laugh “I mean not just you… no one would and I don’t blame them.”

“I will…I promise.”

“It sounds made up”

“Babe, not that long ago Spider-Man had a fight on Tower Bridge, and before that half the world disappeared and came back and before that Thor had a fight with that…alien thing in Greenwich and before that if you’d asked me, I’d say that shit only happens in New York but I’m three out of three of mad things that have happened to me so nothing you say is going to freak me out… but saying nothing is…” You pressed your head to his. “Please…please tell me where you were.”

Steven sighed, you looked so desperate to help, so worried and he could hear Marc, telling him to be honest with you, not being honest with Layla had cost him his relationship, and although they were still friends, he didn’t want the same to happen to you.

“Yeah okay…” he started “but you got to let me tell you the whole thing, alright? No matter how mental it sounds.”

You smiled. “Of course.”

And for the whole time, you kept your attention on him, nodding, asking questions and squeezing his hand”

“Suppose that’s it all.” He said with a finish “I’ll understand if you don’t want to go out with me anymore…”

“Steven.” You pulled him into a hug, hands reaching up to rub his back. “I believe you and I love you and of course I still want to go out with you.”

“But all I do is cause problems for everyone…I don’t want to mess up your-.”

“You could never be a problem. Not for me.”

“I will eventually.”

“Steven, there is no problem you could cause that would be too big. You were never a problem to me.” Your head shook vehemently “and you never will be. Not now, not ever. You and me always.”

“I love you…” he muttered leaning in and pressing his head to yours so softly “forever”

“…I love you so much.”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me…us.” He paused, as you tilted your head with a smile “Marc won’t come forward now but he cares for you. A lot.”

“Steven, you will always be enough for me…but one day I’d like to meet him…Marc…if that’s okay with both of you…when he’s ready.”

Steven nodded. “I think he’d like that too.”

The relief lifted a weigh off his shoulders and he felt himself settle back into the sofa. You joined him, and slipped your arms around him, pulling the blanket around you both.

“I’ve missed you.” You muttered quietly.

“I missed you too.”

Steven kissed you softly and started to apologise before you planted another kiss on his lips, softly and gently.

“Shhh, you have nothing to apologise for. I’m just glad I have my boyfriend back.” You gave him an easy smile and he leant in.

.“I’m glad I’m back too…love. To the rest of our lives Eh?” He leant in to you as you repeated his sentiment.

“To the rest of our lives”

#steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #moon knight imagine

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simvanie · 5 months

Text

Luxor Amata for Scarlett's love is embarrassing BC

Guess who is back (in an alternate timeline)? I totally forgot about the existence of bachelor challenges when I was playing with Luxor for the lust generation of my legacy, until he was old and already fully committed to his wife. I think doing a bachelor challenge with Luxor would have been really fun, but doing one myself with him now, even in an alternate timeline, wouldn't make sense for me since Luxor has already established his story and lore in my sims universe. So, when I saw @theosconfessions post for Scarlett's Love is Embarrassing BC I got this idea where Luxor can still participate in a BC in some way and let others have fun with him. I thought, what if I make an updated version of Luxor set in an alternate timeline where he hasn't met the love of his life yet and so it's entirely possible that he ends up with Scarlett? So, I gave Luxor a makeover and pitched this idea to Stacey (theosconfessions) and luckily she liked it!

Info about Luxor under the cut:

"Blondes have more fun, right?" That is what Luxor heard some of his co-stars say on the set of the upcoming series where he plays a role in. When he asked what they were talking about, they showed him Scarlett's bachelorette challenge call. Luxor's heart skipped a beat and suddenly it felt like his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen anymore. For a while now, Luxor really wants to find someone to grow old with and thinks that Scarlett might be the one. Luxor has had his fair share of official (and unofficial) relationships in the past and it's safe to say that this heartthrob already has a lot of experience in the dating field. One might attribute his need for love and affection to his childhood, in which his single mother, who tried to keep her head above water as a criminal, was often angry at him and didn't give him much attention until he was a little older. But don't get me wrong, Luxor is 100% capable of being fully committed when he finds the right person. He is charismatic, has a good heart and doesn't actually want to cause anyone heartbreak. Although his noncommittal trait caused him sometimes to suddenly jump from one relationship into the other or have multiple at once (and this 'multiple at once' can also be applied to a couple of in the bedroom activities he has had), he feels that it is finally time to settle down and find someone to build a future with. Luxor is currently a B-lister celebrity with a love for stand-up comedy and playing the guitar. He is romantically more interested in women but open to explore romantically, and has had woohoo experience with both men and women. His PR agency told him that it would be better for his public celebrity image to keep that last one under wraps for now. The life in the spotlight can sometimes be a bit hectic, and Luxor hopes that he can find in Scarlett someone to come home to, cuddle on the couch with, tell his new jokes to, go on dates with, play guitar for, have romantic dinners with, go on advetures with, visit the petting zoo with (he absolutely loves the little goats), make memories with, and to show him if it's true when they say that blondes have more fun (whatever fun for them may mean *wink wink*). And what better place to meet Scarlett than one of Luxor's favorite vacation locations, Tartosa!

Pronouns: He/him

Age: He's already nearing the end of his young adult years, but Luxor never minded an age gap in relationships and hopes Scarlett feels the same about it

Sexuality: Bisexual (currently closeted for the public image, but close friends and family know)

Traits: Noncommittal, outgoing, music lover (Luxor originally had the romantic trait here, but it's changed to music lover to make it more fair regarding the other contestants)

Career: Actor

Hometown: Del Sol Valley

I hope you like him! Can't wait to see how the drama, ✨the spice✨, and everything else unfolds in Scarlett's bachelorette challenge.

#he now looks so much more like what I had always imagined him to look like #I just didn't have the cas skills that I have now to make him look this good when I was playing his generation #love is embarrassing bc #luxor amata #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims #simblr #ts4 bachelorette challenge #ts4 bc #sims 4 bc #7sl extras #vaniepost

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turtletaubwrites · 5 months

Text

Gone Too Far ~ Part 20

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader, Robin x Fem!Reader, Sanji X Robin

This is part 20 of the Series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

Word Count: 4411

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link (Ch. 10 of We've All Got Needs cont.)

Summary: The crew splits up to enjoy time on Water 7. Then everything goes wrong. Can your crew hold together when it's being torn apart?

Rating/Warnings: AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Swearing, ANGST, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory, Pet Names,

A/N: !!SPOILER WARNING!! Spoilers for the anime for the Water 7 arc. I'm sorry y'all, I had to write it, so please have my tears. This part is rough, but I swear there will be breaks ahead. Plus, I hope you enjoy the extra smut scenes from the missing month, an extra sweet and smutty one will be posted tomorrow! 💜

You grumbled as you got ready for the day, wanting to stay in bed with Robin for the next week.

“Come, botanist. Let’s explore together.”

That stopped your grumbling, and you followed her out on deck.

Usopp was hugging the mast, and you left Robin’s side for the first time to go pat him on the shoulder.

“You took great care of her, Usopp.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I know all the tinplate patches don’t look like much, but they bring back a lot of fond memories.”

“Why don’t you keep some of them? You can make something cool out of them, like a decoration for the Merry.”

Usopp broke out into a grin.

“That’s a great idea! But don’t tell Luffy, he still wants me to make him a statue.”

“Ha, you have my word.”

“Hey, Needy.”

You had started walking back to Robin, but Zoro’s voice carried over from the bow of the ship. Your body already itched to be close to her again, but you walked toward your swordsman as he leaned over the railing.

“Hey, babe.”

Zoro stared down at you for a moment, before reaching an arm toward you. Stepping toward his warmth, you let him pull you into a hug.

Outside of sparring, you hadn’t had much time with Zoro since you’d been so focused on Robin getting better. A twist of guilt hit your stomach, but you breathed through it.

It’s only been a few days, and she almost died.

Still, part of you had started to worry that he was upset. It’s been a couple months now since you first started seeing each other. Zoro hadn’t had any more blowups recently, and it seemed like things were going well.

The calm didn’t feel safe though. You wanted to believe that if he was harboring any resentments or pain that he’d come to you, talk to you about it. But he hadn’t brought anything up. It made you uneasy sometimes.

Knowing that a lot of that fear was your own trauma from past relationships, you fought not to project it onto Zoro.

I just wish he’d talk to me about his feelings.

You pulled him tight against you at that thought. At the three little words that you were too much of a coward to say out loud, even after all this time.

Afraid that you’d scare him away. Afraid that he didn’t feel it too. Afraid that he’d never examine his own feelings enough to know if he could feel it or not.

Those thoughts made you feel sick, and you knew most of it was your own shit. You didn’t want to think about him that way.

But no matter how clear you got your mind on those thoughts, you still felt too afraid to tell him.

“I’m glad she’s okay,” he whispered against your temple.

“Me too.”

You took a deep breath in, still trying to convince your body that it was true. That she was okay.

“Are you gonna… spend the night with her again?”

You pulled back, searching his eyes.

“Why?”

“I, uh…”

He frowned at you, and you tried not to roll your eyes.

He’s trying to tell me what he needs. He just doesn't have enough practice yet.

“Would you like some time with me tonight?”

Zoro looked away from you, but nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Now look who’s needy,” you teased, winning you a playful grin from him as he picked you up. Then he stopped, setting you back down as he looked out across the bow.

“Hey, I think we’re there.”

Most of the crew ran up, shouting as you all squinted to see the island.

“He’s right, I can see Water 7!”

Luffy’s excited words had you covering your eyes from the sun, until you could see the island coming into view. It was massive, built of gray stone, huge numbered gates surrounding all sides. Everyone was speechless for a moment as a giant fountain came into view, spiraling water into the air, towering in the center of the island. Canals flowed down, spilling back down into the ocean.

You squeezed Zoro’s arm before making your way to Robin, loving the way her face lit up at the sight.

Holding her hand, you laughed as you sailed through the town. Everything was floating. Instead of streets, people took small boats led by strange fish creatures across the water.

The crew found a place outside the city to dock, and you watched your swordsman furl the sails. His strong arms were mesmerizing as he pulled the rope, but your breath caught in your throat as the mast started to crack.

“Are you trying to break the ship,” Usopp yelled, as everyone panicked.

“No! All I did was pull the ropes like I always do. Holy shit, if the Merry’s falling apart this easy, we’re lucky we made it here at all.”

Ice sank into your stomach at Zoro’s words. You knew it was bad, but the mast seemed like it was barely holding on to the ship now, swaying dangerously overhead.

Nami took charge, declaring that Luffy and Usopp accompany her to turn in the reference letter to have the ship looked at, and to trade in the gold from their last big score.

“I guess I missed my chance to go with them,” Chopper pouted as he watched the group head toward the city.

“You can come with us later if you like.”

Hearing Robin’s voice still gave you shivers.

“Really? Can we go to a bookstore?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed, reaching for her hand again. “I wonder if they have a nursery here, I'd love to see what plants they have available in a floating city.”

You rushed to give Zoro a kiss, then ran after Robin and Chopper as they left the ship.

A small part of you felt bad for not searching the ship to kiss Sanji goodbye, but it was quickly drowned out by Robin’s laughter, and the feel of her arm around your waist while you followed Chopper.

The city was bustling, street vendors hawking wares, while citizens laughed and bartered. The people were almost strangely friendly here, even to pirates.

Sometimes a little too friendly.

That thought got stronger the more you and Robin were showered with compliments as you walked past.

“This town is full of Sanji’s,” Chopper noted, and it left you and Robin in a fit of laughter at the thought of your amorous lover.

A lot of the townsfolk were wearing painted wooden masks, and you stopped by a vendor to take a look as Robin reassured Chopper that they were just masks, not monsters.

“It seems the people here take the sea train to San Baldo Island where they hold a costume carnival every day.”

You tilted your head at Robin, while Chopper asked how she could know that.

“The people walking by are talking about it.”

“And you hear everything they say?”

You tried not to tense your hand in Robin’s, hoping she would answer his question.

“I can’t help it. Ever since I was young, I’ve made it a habit to keep a critical eye and ear on my environment.”

Her tone toward Chopper was sweet and light, but you felt yourself going still.

What has she been running from? Why is she so scared?

“Look at that, I think we found your bookstore,” Robin observed.

Chopper ran forward, talking excitedly. You knew public spaces were difficult for him alone, so you found yourself reaching out for him. He shifted into his massive human form, and you raced forward to join him, dropping your hand from Robin’s for a moment.

“Hold on, Chopper, we’re coming.”

You followed him through the doorway, seeing that he was already perusing the shelves, and that no one seemed to be bothering him.

I’m glad everyone here is so friendly.

Robin hadn’t joined you yet, so you stepped back outside.

The street looked the same. Vendors, customers, people in masks.

Ice cold fear shot through you.

Where’s Robin?

“Chopper! We have to go.”

“But, Y/N,” he said, a pile of books in his large arms.

“Robin’s missing!”

Panic raced through you, and you saw Chopper’s eyes fill with concern as he left the books on the counter.

Chopper shifted into his reindeer form, and you yelled her name as he followed her scent.

She’s okay, she probably just got distracted.

What if Aokiji came back? What if he took her?

What if she’s hurt?

Robin didn’t answer your calls, but you kept trying until your voice got hoarse.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, it’s like her scent just vanished.”

“What do you mean vanished?”

“I don’t know, it just stopped,” the note of panic in Chopper’s voice as he explained wasn’t helping your speeding pulse.

“Hold on…”

Chopper lifted his nose to the air, and hope gripped your chest.

“There’s something else over here. I know that smell.”

Racing to look around the corner, your hope dropped when she wasn’t there. Instead, you found Sanji.

He was sitting on the edge, looking out to sea with a pile of groceries beside him.

“Sanji! Have you seen Robin?”

Chopper's hooves clattered on the stone as he caught up to your frantic steps. Sanji frowned at him.

“I just saw her. It seemed like she ignored me, and she was walking with a large person in a masked outfit. I thought that was you in your human form, Chopper.”

“It wasn’t m-”

“She’s missing, Sanji!”

You gripped his arm, watching him take in your features, your panicked eyes. He gestured behind him, looking around the area.

“I followed her over here, and it seemed like she just disappeared.”

“So did her scent.”

Your ears were starting to ring as they spoke, and you pulled away, shouting her name.

“Angel, hold on!”

He clambered after you, grabbing the groceries as he and Chopper followed.

Your voice was cracking, and your breaths were ragged.

Sanji dropped the bags again, wrapping his arms around you.

“We’ll get her back, Y/N. We’ll always get her back.”

They convinced you to hop into a boat while you continued to call for her around the area, before heading back to meet with the rest of the crew.

You noticed Sanji and Chopper had started speaking in hushed tones, and you were able to pull yourself together enough to start listening.

“I hope she’s alright. I feel uneasy.”

“Do you need an examination?”

“No, Chopper, it’s not like that. It’s what the admiral said, all that terrible stuff he said about Robin’s past…”

Your voice was raspy and empty as you interrupted.

“Protecting this troublesome woman leads to nothing but regret.”

They turned to you, brows tensed in concern. You kept going.

“He said that every group she’s ever been a part of has been destroyed, everyone except for her.”

You glared defiantly at them, anger bubbling in you.

“But I don’t care about her past. I don’t care what he said.”

Sanji gripped your knee while Chopper nodded.

“None of us care, sweetheart. We’re going to get her back.”

“The Merry can’t sail again.”

You couldn’t understand Zoro’s words as Chopper and Sanji started to argue. Your fists clenched hard, nails digging into your skin as you tried to make sense of everything.

“It just seems so extreme, it's our same old Merry, we’ve traveled with her so long.”

Sanji’s emotional words brought you into the moment, only for Zoro’s calm, unaffected voice to make your mind go sickly still.

“You just answered your own question. Human beings get stronger after hardship, but ship’s wounds just pile up. The shipwright said her keel is broken, she won’t even make it to the next island.”

Chopper started to cry, and you almost sobbed as you watched Sanji touch the top of his hat to comfort him.

“We need to find Ro-”

“Hey, everyone!”

Nami’s frantic voice interrupted your plea, and you watched her climb onto the deck. She was carrying a large briefcase, and was dripping with sweat and tears. You ran to her, fresh panic flooding your veins.

“Are you o-”

“Usopp’s hurt! Some assholes called the Franky Family stole most of our money for the Merry, and they- they…”

Everyone surrounded her, all speaking at once while you moved her hair out of her face, taking the briefcase from her trembling arms.

“Where’s Usopp?”

Chopper’s serious voice broke through Nami’s staggered breaths. You felt like your world was spinning as the boys set out to find him, and to go after the pieces of shit that hurt your friend.

Zoro’s face was inches from yours, his hands gripping your arms.

“Stay here with Nami. Protect the Merry. Okay, Needy? You need to stay here. Protect that money so we can get a new ship.”

Nami gripped your hand while Sanji kissed your temple.

Zoro’s eyes burned into yours.

“Promise me, Needy.”

“I promise,” you managed to whisper, voice still shot from yelling Robin’s name.

Nami’s palm was clammy in yours as you watched your crewmates head back into danger.

Why is this happening?

It felt like years had passed when you finally saw the five Straw Hat boys walking home, Luffy back with his crew, and Chopper’s human form carrying Usopp’s bloody, limp body.

You sat on deck against the unstable mast, and tried not to scream at everyone.

We need to find Robin.

“Angel, are you okay?”

Sanji was crouching in front of you, soft eyes searching yours.

“No.”

His lips pursed as he nodded, and he looked like he was about to speak when Chopper yelled.

“He’s awake!”

Relief moved through you for your friend as you followed the crew inside. But you caught Sanji’s eyes, and knew that he was still thinking about your missing archaeologist too. Reaching for his hand as you went through the door, you caught the sound of Usopp crying out.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I was strong like you guys. It’s all my fault, I’m so ashamed of myself!”

Even covered in bruises and bandages, Usopp lurched forward, catching Zoro off guard as he wrapped his arms around one of his thighs. Zoro seemed to panic, flailing a bit, unsure of what to do as Usopp wept against him.

Tears streamed down your face. You knew all too well the fears of failing the crew because you weren’t strong enough.

“It’s not that big a deal, alright. Calm down.”

Zoro squirmed as Usopp still clung to him, and you rushed forward, rubbing Usopp on the shoulder until he let Zoro go. He clung to you now, and you didn’t know what to say. You just held your friend, letting your own tears fall quietly as he kept sobbing in your arms.

“I lost the money, what are we gonna do about the Merry?”

“You need to rest, Usopp, or you won’t get better,” Chopper pleaded, the threat of tears in his voice.

Luffy was finally able to calm Usopp a bit, declaring that they would find that asshole, Franky.

“Besides, even if we can’t get our money back, we still have a hundred million berry, so don’t worry about it!”

You thought the vein in Nami’s forehead would pop when she scolded him. The crew had lost two hundred million berry on Usopp’s watch.

Poor Usopp. This is awful.

The thought of what a shitty day it was brought you back to Robin, and you almost screamed to get everyone to focus on her. But Usopp’s hopeful voice made your stomach twist in knots.

“Is Merry gonna be okay? Can we get her fixed with the money we’ve got? There’s all these awesome shipwrights, you talked to them about it, right?”

Luffy glossed over the pain, smiling as he broke the news.

“Uh, yeah, we did. But we decided to get a new ship instead. The Going Merry has taken good care of us, but it looks like our journey has to end here. But look, there’s a bunch of great ships we can still afford,” Luffy said lightly as he showed Usopp a catalog from the shipyard.

Feeling the pain from the silent crew with the captain’s choice, the look in Usopp’s eyes made your heart break.

You watched him build himself up again, trying to convince himself that it was a joke.

Until he looked at all of your faces, the truth evident.

“Does it mean we don’t have enough for the repairs? Is it because I lost the money?”

“Usopp-”

You tried to move back to him, wanting to reassure him, but Zoro’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

Usopp was yelling at Luffy now, demanding the truth, and you’d never seen Luffy’s face like this. Not when looking at a friend.

His teeth were clenched as he held his words in, sweat beading on his brow. Until he started yelling back.

Zoro moved past you then, stepping in to stop the fight. You caught eyes with Nami, your pain echoed in hers.

“I don’t see what I’m doing wrong, he’s the one saying all this dumb shit.”

Nami broke in to stop Usopp, begging him to calm down and rest.

“Who cares about me? How can you all just sit here when he's making jokes about getting a new ship?”

Luffy was shaking now as he started to yell back.

“I’m not joking about anything, this was a hard decision for me too!”

“Oh yeah, I feel really sorry for you,” Usopp growled, before grabbing the ship catalog out of his hand. “Already window shopping for a new toy!”

You gasped as Usopp slammed the pages to the ground, wishing this nightmare would fucking end so your crew would be safe and happy again.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me, Usopp?”

He kept yelling at your captain, demanding to know that it was his fault for losing the money, his fault for failing the Merry.

Luffy finally said the words, the painful words that none of you wanted to hear. But you hoped it would stop the fight.

“The Merry can’t be fixed.”

But that awful truth didn’t stop the fight. Usopp denied, and accused, and bartered. Then he demanded.

“Don’t give up on the Merry!”

Hot tears stung your cheeks as you stood frozen.

More yells and accusations toward Luffy felt like whips snapping in your face, almost making you flinch with each swing.

Sweet Chopper moved toward Usopp, hoofs quivering as he reached out.

“I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”

“Not until we settle this, I won’t let you take the Merry away from me! You’re ignoring your crew, ignoring your friends. I can’t believe that’s the kinda captain you turned out to be.”

Usopp had stood and grabbed Luffy by the front of his shirt. He wasn’t listening to any of your voices as the crew pleaded with him to stop.

“I thought you were better than this!”

“You’re not being fair, Usopp-,” Nami tried again, before Luffy flung out his arm for her to stop.

“You stay out of this. It was my call. We’re getting a new ship whether you like it or not.”

Usopp was sweating through his bandages now, dark spots of blood showing through some of them. You didn’t know your friend could make a face like the one he had right now. You felt like you were going to throw up.

They kept screaming, and you couldn’t follow the words anymore as you watched in horror. Sanji tried to step between them, but Luffy pushed Usopp to the ground, yelling in his face. Nami cried out, and you tried to run forward, but Zoro stopped you again. You almost screamed at him.

Luffy’s next yell pierced through it all.

“Fine, if you don’t like the way your captain does things then why don’t you get-”

Sanji’s leg was so fast as it spun, launching Luffy straight through the kitchen table, shards of wood and dust flying. You gaped at your cook, rage and sweat dripping from him.

“This is going way too far. What the hell is wrong with you? If you don’t watch it you’re going to say something you can’t take back, so calm down.”

Sanji was shaking now, breath ragged, and you felt your lips quiver at the anger in his eyes.

Luffy crawled from the broken pieces of the table, and apologized. You felt a breath of relief, before Usopp tore it away.

“If you’re gonna throw away the Merry, might as well throw me away too.”

Sanji tried to step in again, but then Usopp laid out his own fears before the crew. You felt raw, aching. You wanted to reassure your friend, but how could you, when you felt the same way he did about being weak?

“It’s not like it was before. You’re all too strong for me now. You can’t even trust me to guard our money. You don’t want weak people on your crew do you?”

Nausea flooded you, your own guilt and shame at your weakness making you hate yourself in this moment.

“I’m leaving the crew. This is goodbye.”

It’s only a matter of time before something like this happens to me. Maybe I should follow Usopp. Maybe he's right.

Most of the crew lurched forward, calling for him until he shut the door. Part of you was screaming to join him, to leave the crew before you could fail them, before you could hate yourself for failing them.

“Luffy, what are you doing, go after him!”

Nami’s frantic voice kept pleading with him, but he stayed down, eyes dark.

“Fine, have it your way then.”

Nami ran out the door, Sanji and Chopper following. You heard the three of them calling his name, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. Luffy and Zoro stayed, their silence heavy. Finally, Luffy stood, moving outside. You ached for him, finally free to follow.

Usopp’s voice carried over from the shore, and you grabbed Nami’s hand.

Please, Usopp, please come back.

“I challenge you to a duel, Monkey D. Luffy! At ten tonight. If I win I'm taking the Merry, and I’m leaving.”

The silence on deck was deafening as you watched Usopp’s limping form move toward the city.

Robin’s still missing.

You hated yourself for it, but thinking about Robin was the only thing keeping you from falling into self pity. The only thing keeping you from leaving the ship in shame along with Usopp.

So you dug through her quarters. She was so private, and you felt sick as you searched for any kind of clue for where she might have gone.

You could hear Nami pleading with Luffy through the thin walls to apologize, and talk things through.

“It’s gone too far already.”

You shivered at Luffy’s tone, and kept on your hunt.

It wasn't long before you heard your boys screaming at each other, and you sank to the floor, too spent to try to stop them.

I’m worthless. I can’t protect anyone. I can’t do anything.

Nami tapped lightly on the door, calling your name softly.

“Y/N, it’s ten.”

Swallowing your self pity, you followed your friend to the deck again, watching Usopp’s silhouette against the city lights as he moved closer.

“Listen up, I don’t want any of you leaving the ship,” Luffy called over his shoulder.

You grabbed onto Chopper’s small arm as he started screaming, crying for them not to fight.

But nothing would stop them now.

Usopp started pelting Luffy with all different types of ammo, and you couldn’t hear what they were saying over the waves, and Chopper’s cries.

You thought Luffy was going easy on him at first, letting Usopp hit him, but soon you saw your captain jumping off the ground in pain shaking off what looked like caltrops.

Then the air around Luffy was filled with flames. Luffy made it through the smoke, and you almost screamed as you saw him pull his fists back. But before he could make contact, Usopp kept shooting star after star, and you watched your friend, the sniper, hold his own against your captain.

For a while, at least.

Luffy was looking wrecked, and you felt a twinge of disgust in yourself that you felt proud of Usopp for hurting him so badly.

This is horrible.

Then Luffy pulled back again, and this time, his fist hit. You sobbed as you clasped your hand over your mouth. Usopp swayed for a moment, and you could see more blood draining from him even from a distance.

You fell against the railing, barely holding yourself up as Usopp collapsed.

“At least it’s over now.”

Zoro’s steady voice made your head whip around, finding him looking as he usually does. Stoic, seemingly unmoved. Your mind was too filled with pain to think clearly, and then Sanji’s voice broke through.

Chopper was crying, trying to jump off the ship to help Usopp. Sanji was holding him trying to stop him and you wanted to scream.

“I’m a doctor-”

“He’s not a part of our crew anymore.”

Chopper shifted into his human form, but Sanji tackled him. You sank to the ground as you watched everyone fall apart.

“Chopper, it’s bad enough that he lost the fight. If you pity him now, you’ll end up hurting him even more. He knew this is how it might end when he challenged Luffy. We need to give him dignity in defeat.”

“That’s such bullshit,” you growled, voice cracking. You might have yelled if your voice wasn’t shot.

Sanji glanced back at you with pained eyes. Chopper used that moment to break away, running off the ship toward Usopp’s crumpled body.

Pulling yourself to your feet, you went to Nami, clasping your cold hands together.

Luffy made his way back, his head lowered under his hat, and you let out a sob at the pain in his cracking voice.

“It’s too much.”

Zoro didn’t even turn to face him as he took a breath.

“This is what it means to be captain. You can’t doubt yourself. If you lose your confidence, then who can we have faith in?”

Emptiness filled you as everyone stood silent. Then Zoro had to say the last words, the truth that twisted like a knife.

“Usopp can never return to the crew.”

Thank You for Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Part 21

A/N: I'm sorry 😭😭😭 We won't be sad forever! I hope you enjoy the sweet and smutty extra scene with Sanji tomorrow, I'll make sure we have a good mix to get us through all this angst 💜

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

#sanji x reader #nico robin x reader #zoro x reader #one piece fanfic #mine #Fem!Reader #Reader Insert #poly fanfic #nico robin x fem!reader #one piece x reader #nico robin fanfic #sanji fanfic #zoro fanfic #x reader #turtletaub fics

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