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oddinary4bts · 10 months

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Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

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And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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@btsborahaee

630 notes · View notes

lord-of-the-prompts · 2 years

Text

A-Z ALTERNATE UNIVERSE IDEAS:

afterlife

alien invasion

all female

all human

alpha/beta/omega dynamics

always a different gender/sex

amnesia

ancient era

angels & demons

animal shelter

another world

antique shop

apocalypse

army

arranged marriage

artists

art school

asgard

assassins & hitmen

atlantis

babysitters

bakery

ballet

blind date

boarding school

bodyswap

bookstore

bounty hunters

boxers

boy band

british

celebrity

character/actor swap

christmas

circus

civil war

coffee shops/cafes

college

cowboys & aliens

covid 19 pandemic

creatures & monsters

crime

criminals

cults

dance battle

dark fantasy

detective partners

different first meeting

different powers

dragon age

dungeons & dragons

dystopian

elfland

enemies to friends to lovers

everyone lives/nobody dies

faerie

fairytale

fake dating

fake relationship

fandom fusion

fans & fandom

fantasy

farm/ranch

firefighters

fix-it

flower shop

foster family

futuristic society

gangster

gang world

genderbending

genderswap

genie/djinn

ghost hunters

gladiators

gods & goddesses

gothic

guardian angel

harry potter and 1400s witch trials

heaven & hell

hollywood

horse racing

highschool

historical

hogwarts

homless

hospital

hunger games arena

ice skating/ice dancers

immortal

journalism

kings & queens

k-pop

laboratory

lawers

lifeguards

law enforcement

mafia

magic

magical creatures

medical

medieval fantasy

merepeople

military

mob

model/photographer

modern setting

monster hunters

mortal

muggle

mutants

multiverse

murder mystery

mythology

navy

neighbours

never met

ninjas

noir

noir detective

non-famous

non-magical

non-mutant

no powers

not related

no time travel

office

olympus

online dating

ordinary people

orphanage

paramedics

perspective change

pirate

podcast hosts

pompeii

powerswap

post-apocalyptic

prison ecsape

prom

psycics

quest

quidditch

radioshow hosts

reincarnation

renaissance

restaurant

road trip

roaring twenties

robot uprising

rock star

roller derby

role swap/reversal

roommates

royalty

scientists

shakespeare

shapeshifter

siblings

shipwreck

single parent

snowed in

soulmates

space

spies & secret agents

spirits

spy

spyfi

steampunk

summer camp

sun flairs

superhero

supernatural

supernatural elements

tattoo parlour

theatre

thieves

time loops

time travel

trojan war setting

twins

urban fantasy

university

valhalla

vampire slayer

vegas

victorian era

video game world

vigilante

vikings

wedding planners

werecreatures

werewolf

western

witchcraft

world war i/world war ii

wormhole

youtubers

zombie apocalypse

#writing prompt #writing ideas #writing tips #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writers block #writing things #writing #writing advice #writing inspiration #alternate universe #fanfic aus #fanfic #fanfiction

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written-in-flowers · 26 days

Text

The Drifter: The Weaved Web (1.01)

Pairing: Chan x Demon!fem!Reader (future)

Genre: adventure, fantasy, romance, fluff

AU: western!au, fantasy!au, bounty hunter!au,

Word Count: 20k

Overall Summary: A demonic bounty hunter drifts into the sleepy seaside town of Levanter Bay, and there is where she finally finds a real home.

Tags: western!au, demon!reader, fantasy!au, high fantasy, kidnapping, child kidnapping, demon summoning, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/PTSD, arachnophobia, descriptions of violence,

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids. The events within never took place.

Please do not repost/translate!

****

Episode 1: Sacrifices.

Episode Summary: A rash of child kidnappings has unsettled the quaint town of Levanter Bay, Sheriff Bahng and his deputies are at a loss until a strange demon comes riding into town.

***

‘Welcome to Levanter Bay, The Sunny Side.”

Levanter Bay appeared anything but sunny. An overcast sky blocked any sunlight that might’ve shone on the open bay. The water washing up on the docks appeared gray and dark, small waves lapping at the wooden stilts holding up the port. From the top of the hill, the small town resembled a semi-circle of small buildings leading out to the docks far off. It did not seem any different than any other country town, and after a week of riding and camping, a warm bed and a hot meal sounded good. Giving gentle kicks to Summer's sides, the black mare started to walk down from the hills.

“What do you think, girl?” You asked your mount with a soft pat. “How does a warm night in a stable of hay sound?” When Summer huffed, you said, “I know we're low on money. With a bit of luck, this place will have a bounty board and we can get some coin. It'll all work out, I promise.”

Summer gave another snort, and you furrowed your brow. “Don't be bitter. That thing with the snakes turned out okay in the end. We got the reptile guy's amulet and returned it to the villagers. Everything was fine like all the other times. Whatever job we find next will be just as easy, and we can end the day with a good pint of ale and some hay….” You then scratched her neck, “And maybe an apple? A sugarcube?”

You smiled when Summer whinnied softly. Reaching the bottom of the hill, you saw the quiet town up ahead of the dirt road. People riding their own horses and driving wagons passed you on their way into town, likely on their way to the ships at the end of the main road. You considered taking one of them when you finish up business in town. The destination itself never mattered to you. Each location offered up more chances at new experiences and new lessons. The Shadowlands provided nothing but melancholy and pain. The mortal world teemed with life, and you wanted to feel it all.

Once you entered town, you saw the scope of the townspeople. People of all races, human and magic, lived side by side in harmony. You spotted a werewolf in human form, his ears and nose a dead giveaway, talking to an elderly man through a post office window. Out of the local bank came a blond man, counting bills before sticking them in his bill fold. Two women, one a feline werecat and the other a reptilian walked together to a market stall run by a young human. Back home, the only people around were other demons like yourself. Those who passed through The Mar already departed the mortal realm, therefore could not be considered “alive”. They’d been shadows who could do nothing but wail in their misery. You made eye contact with a skinny elf walking out of a barbershop, and grinned.

“Morning, sir,” you nodded at him as you rode past.

Townspeople in such a tight knit community tended to eye strangers closely, but they appeared extra suspicious of you. A young mother walking past with her children spotted you, and held them closer to her sides, rushing away from you. It's your horn stumps, no doubt. No amount of hair or hats could hide the two stumps on the front of your head. The first tell-tale sign of a demon was their horns, their markings being the second. You covered yours with your jacket and gloves, but if anyone did see them, they'd see the ancient fire runes inked onto your shoulders and wrists in adolescence. It’d been your markings that drew Him to you in the first place.

‘Children of the flames are mighty and strong. I can make you stronger.’

Summer gruffed when a reptilian woman crossed her path, but you calmed her down immediately. Clearly, your dreadsteed hadn't gotten over her last encounter with reptiles. You apologized to the woman, then asked:

“Excuse me, can you tell me where your inn or hotel is around here?”

“In the market square,” she said a tad affronted, closing her coat over her chest with folded arms. “The White Pearl, is the name. Ask for Changbin, he'll get you a room, Miss.”

“Thank you, and sorry again about my horse,” you patted Summer's neck, “She's…skittish.”

The woman gave a contemptuous huff, then walked away. Riding into the large town square, you pass vendors selling their wares until you find an inn nestled into a corner. You guessed it by the hanging sign that read “The White Pearl” with an open clam shell underneath. Through saloon doors and large windows, you saw patrons already enjoying a drink and a meal inside. The thought of a hot breakfast crossed your mind, and your stomach growled. Dismounting Summer, you tied her up to a pole next to other horses, and walked inside.

Nobody noticed you walk in, since everyone appeared focused on their own conversations. Good. You didn't want anyone seeing you. Crowded places tended to have too many eyes, and too many eyes also meant too many mouths. You've run out of enough taverns to know to keep a low profile until you've taken a good look around.

‘Mortals are weak and simple. They are meant to be beneath our feet.’

“Howdy there,” a voice caught your attention.

He stood behind the bar cleaning pint glasses. Seeing his muscled arms and short stature, you guessed a dwarf but he appeared a bit too tall. A forest dwarf, then. He wore a flannel shirt rolled up his forearms and a white apron around his waist. You gave a small smile and head nod as you approached.

“Welcome to The White Pearl,” he glanced up at your horn stumps, but did not linger long, “What can I get you? We have our daily lunch special, a hot sandwich with a drink of choice.”

It sounded good, but your light purse felt heavier than ever. “I'll take a bit of water for now, thanks.”

The innkeep went to work pouring water into a glass. “Just passing through, ma'am?”

“For the moment,” you answered, taking a drink from the cold mug. “I was wondering if your sheriff’s office had a bounty board? My horse and I came from Newport a few miles west, and we've gotten cleaned out since then.”

“A bounty hunter, hm?” The man nodded, taking you in for a moment. “Yeah, Chan has a hero's board outside the station. You won't find anything that pays well there though.”

“Poor town? I thought with the port nearby you'd be off better than some other places.”

“You'd think that right?” He noted, “But since our docks were invaded by pirates a few months ago, our mayor has been working on rebuilding it. You'll be doing quite a few jobs I expe-Hey, you!” He snapped from his friendly tone to a harsh one. You looked to see a child walking secretly out of the tavern, guilt on his face. “What did I tell you about pickpocketing, Eunwoo? Come here, empty them out.”

The young moon elf, detected by his high pointed ears and soft lavender skin, came over to the bar. From his pockets he withdrew a leather bill fold, two gold coins, a single dice and a silver spoon.

“A spoon?” The innkeep questioned, lifting the utensil. “Eunwoo, who could you have sold the spoon to?”

“People always need spoons, Changbin,” the boy shrugged. “There can be somebody eating soup and not have a spoon.”

“I've told you before,” Changbin slid the contents into a wooden box behind the counter, “If you're hungry, I'll give you a free plate and a drink. You don't have to steal.”

“Sorry, Changbin,” he pouted apologetically.

“Now, go on into the kitchen and tell Wooyoung to give you a lunch plate. You can feed Honey too, if you want.”

The elf child smiled brightly, then rushed through a door behind the bar. He turned back to you, “Seo Changbin, I own this place. You are?”

“YN,” you answered, “Just YN.”

“You're a demon? I thought demons had strange names? I met one during the war named Tarhez.”

You giggled, taking a drink, “I changed it when I decided to live in the mortal world.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Multak,” you said, your true name sounding rough and deep. You laughed at his stunned expression, “Told you it's hard on mortal ears. In my language it means ‘shield of fire’.”

“Interesting,” he replied sincerely. “If you couldn't tell from the patrons eyeballing you right now, we don't get many demons around here.”

“Not many of us decided to stay when the war ended.”

You almost could not go home when the war against Nor'goth ended. The evil, primordial demon lord escaped from your realm into the mortal one, claiming that all humankind deserved punishment and enslavement. While most demons joined him, a fair few of you went against him. The Blind One, Sakmarth, led a force to defeat Nor'goth once and for all. You might have not known mortals at the time, but you knew nobody deserved enslavement. It simply went against your code. The image of the mighty, dark demon sent a sickly chill over your body. Glowing orange eyes that saw into your soul and tentacles that tore down several men at a time came to the forefront. He’d been monstrous. Even now, so many years later, you still heard his guttural voice in your head.

‘You are mighty, shield of fire. Join me, and together we can bring this world to its knees.’

You’d told him ‘no’ before sending him back into the abyss.

“What about you? If I'm correct, you're a dwarf, no?”

“Woodland Dwarf,” he smiled, “And proud of it. I came down from the Blue Mountains far west, with nothing but a dream, my axe, and my bear.”

“Bear?” Your eyes widened.

“Yeah, my bear Honey. She's right there,” he nodded over to an open window where you saw a massive grizzly bear walk past. “I've had her since she was a cub. She's dangerous and looks like it, but if you give her some food and a head scratch, she’ll love you until the day you die.”

“Like my Summer,” you pointed out your own horse outside, “She's a dreadsteed. That's like a demon horse to mortals.”

“A dreadsteed? I think I saw those on the battlefield. Some demons I knew had them.”

“They're faster than lightning, stronger than oxes, and make good war horses,” you added. “She's gotten me out of a few jams in the past. I bet your Honey did the same.”

“She did. I took her into battle myself…Seems we both have war stories to tell,” he drawled, gazing over you again. “Listen, if you want a good paying gig, Sheriff Bahng always has open bounties in the station documents. If he thinks you're up to snuff, he'll pass on something to you. He should be there now.”

You finished your water, then nodded appreciatively. “Thanks, I'll go check out the board, then I can come back for that special.”

He gave you a nod, and you left the inn. Summer shifted her feet when you untied her. “The place seems alright,” you told her. “They got a pet bear, but I'm sure it's not in the stables.”

Changbin said you’d find a listing outside the sheriff’s office. Feeling your light coin purse and hearing your rumbling stomach again, you knew you’d need to find a job soon. Walking through the busy market square towards the sheriff’s station, you spotted the wooden bulletin board covered in different colored papers. Reading some of them, you realized most involved hunting down excess wildlife in the forests beyond the town, finding lost items or relatives, or helping settle disputes. Nothing particular stuck out to you, but mindless work was better than no work at all.

“What do you think, Summer?” you turned to the black horse you’d guided by the reins to the board. “Want to go hunt down some feral boars with me?” The black stead huffed and shook her long black mane, almost as if declining the offer. You chuckled, “Alright, that’s a no.” You looked at the board again, “Well, we gotta pick something. I might be demonkin and you might be a dreadsteed, but we have to eat too.”

You continued looking for a proper posting when someone came out of the office. He wore a beige button down and denim jeans with black boots. The badge on his breast glinted in the morning light, the word ‘sheriff’ across the top with the town sigil on it. Black curls kept back from his face, even with his big nose he was handsome. At least, other women might think so. You turned to him right as he stretched and basked in the warm sun.

“Excuse me, Sheriff?”

“Oh, good morning,” he smiled, noticing you standing there, “I've never seen your face around here before. You're new in town?”

“Just stopping here,” you explained. “I was checking out your listings board.”

He sized you up for a moment. You caught him looking over your black jacket, plain shirt and boots, getting a sense of you before his eyes landed on the crown of your head. Your horns were the price you paid to live amongst humans. His eyes stayed on them a moment, then he looked back at your face.

“What’s a demonkin doing so far from home?” he asked curiously.

The usage of your peoples’ true name surprised you. “Living.”

“Clearly, you’re not keen on doing it for long if you’re looking at our board,” he said, almost amused. “Do you have a speciality?”

“Warlock,” you answered, “Sort of goes hand-in-hand with my kind.”

He nodded again, “How long have you been drifting?”

“Since the war ended.”

“You fought?”

“Yes, sir. I fought with the Mortal Armies.”

“Against your own people?”

“Not all of us see other races as beneath us. I like to think of myself as one of the good ones. Now,” you stepped closer, “Does your office have any private work or do I help Mrs. Young with her feral boars? The innkeep at the White Pearl said you might.”

The sheriff gave you another once over, then said, “Tie your horse up there and come in. I think I have something up your alley.”

You tied Summer to a post outside the door, and followed the sheriff inside. “I’m Chan, by the way,” he introduced himself in the main hall, offering his hand.

“YN,” you replied, shaking it firmly.

“A demonkin named YN,” he mused, “Never thought I'd see one of your type around here.”

You looked around the small office to see two other men already in the room. One of them was short with cheeks expanded by the donut he’d stuffed into his mouth. By the long fluffy tail sticking from behind the chair and his black nose, you saw the squirrel hybrid immediately. The man jotting down notes in a book had two slits in his shirt that revealed the dark purple wings close to his body. When he looked up at you, his eyes matched his wings. A shadow fairy. The squirrel hybrid only nodded, but the dark fae sat stock still. You registered the stunned expression and realized he recognized you. Not many mortals knew you by sight, mostly by name and your demon name at that.

“YN, these are my deputies: Han Jisung and Lee Minho,” he pointed to the hybrid first, then the fae, “Boys, this is YN. She’s come looking for work. I thought she could help us with the Hook Clan.”

Both men also sized you up like their sheriff. Han spoke up first, “Speciality?”

“Warlock,” you answered again. To prove it, you flicked your wrist to make the donut in his hand disappear and reappear. “That’s nothing compared to what I can really do.”

“Hm,” Han stuffed the other half into his mouth before you could do it again.

“As I live and breathe…” Minho said softly, “Multak.”

“You know her, Minho?” Jisung questioned in surprise.

“Have we met before, sir?” you asked him next.

“Not personally,” he answered, “But every shadow fairy who was at the Battle of Incheon knows the fire demon Multak.”

Incheon, home of the dark fae race. You recalled it fondly: tall dark trees with their canopies of leaves hiding the light-sensitive species, and wooden houses sitting on stilts or floating on boats throughout the wide rivers and lakes. Shadow fae came in all shapes and sizes, but they proved to be fierce and formidable allies. Nor’goth’s forces kidnapped and drained the fairies of their powers to weaken them, even breaking their bodies to do it. Your heart had gone out to the wisps, the smallest and most gentle of them all. All they do is tell fortunes and guide people to their fates.

“Wait…” Chan stood still, examining you once again, “You’re the fire demon?”

“I’m a fire demon,” you said, not wanting to go into the differences between the demon clans in The Mar.

“She stopped Nor’goth almost single handedly-”

“-Almost-” you emphasized, “It was a group effort.”

If the Orcs had not distracted his people with their fiery catapults and if the elves had not shielded you, you wouldn’t have been able to strike. Your sword, a runic blade of fire, struck Nor’goth right in his heart.

“I don’t know,” Minho said in a sing-song tone, “It was your flaming sword that vanquished him in the first place.”

“You have a flaming sword?” Jisung’s eyes widened with wonder.

“It’s a runic blade,” you turned to Chan, “So, who is this Hook Clan?”

Minho sensed the change in subject, but you knew he wasn’t done. Nor’goth and the war are the last things you wished to discuss in detail. You did not agree with the Shadow Lords about Nor’goth’s sentence; banishing him to the underworld prison, The Abyss, will not hold him forever. You didn't care how weak they'd made him.

“They’re outlaws at the edge of town,” Chan answered, going over to a desk where he kept a stack of folders. He brought it over to you, withdrawing reports and documents for you to see. “They started off with stealing cattle or crops from the farmers, but they’ve escalated in recent weeks.”

“Escalated how?”

You noticed the three men appeared apprehensive, a tension starting to stiffen between them.

“They started kidnapping children,” said Minho. “The last kidnapping was Wang's little girl, Hyeyoung. Before that was Seo Dobin, and before that was Lee Sanghee. The only connections we’ve been able to make,” he flipped through his notebook and found a page. He walked over to you and showed you the page, “All three were between eight and ten, taken from farmlands, and in broad daylight. We don’t know where they are, why the clan is taking them, or what they plan to do with them.”

“What makes you think it was them?”

“The clan always paints a red hook somewhere when they’ve struck. It’s been found at each scene.”

“That’d be foolish of them to do,” you noted, reading more of his notes. “That’s basically telling you that it was them.”

“They’re not the brightest bunch, if I’m being honest,” Minho replied.

“Which means they’re least likely to have done it,” Chan told him. “Kidnappings like this require a thought process and planning. The Hooks have always operated loosely: pick a target, slaughter anyone who gets in the way, and take what they want. If they are kidnapping these children, they would’ve slipped up at some point.”

“They could be hired by somebody else,” Han chimed in from his desk. “Red Hook will work for whoever pays him enough. If they’re taking kids, it’s likely someone is paying them to do it.”

“Then who?” Chan looked over to ask him.

One person came to mind, but you’d sound foolish. Nor’goth is currently imprisoned in the Abyss, an island floating in a dark void, powerless and useless to anyone. You read Chan’s reports and cross-checked them with Minho’s notes. You hated to think it, but some dark warlocks and shadow magic practitioners use children in their rituals. Just because a ritual lists ‘innocent blood’ or ‘innocent souls’ does not mean the caster needed a child. Even demonkin preferred using animals over defenseless children.

“-I think it’s just too easy to scapegoat a group because of their reputation,” Chan’s voice caught your ear. “I want to catch Red Hook and his band of outlaws, but I want to arrest them for crimes they actually committed.”

“His mark’s has been found at each scene-”

The outlaws must be hired to help. They reminded you of a band of thieves back in the capital city who were stealing resources from a nearby mine. It turned out they stole them for greedy goblins.

“Do you know anything about this clan aside from their crimes?” you interrupted them. “Their leader? Anything significant?”

“We don’t have a name, but he calls himself the Red Hook,” Chan told you. “According to people who’ve seen him, they say he’s a magic user.”

“Human?” you directed this at Minho.

“Can’t say for sure, since the clan is a mixed bag,” he replied, “But the people we interviewed said they didn’t see any magical distinctions.”

“Where do they hide out?”

“Around,” Chan shrugged. “Last location was an abandoned farmhouse northwest of here. We checked it out already, and they’re no longer there. They tend to drift around to keep us a step behind them all the time.”

“My friends in the forest tell me when they see them,” Jisung said, “But they’re pretty well hidden a lot of the time. It’s likely Red Hook is concealing them somehow.”

“Friends?”

“The animals,” he explained. “The rabbits, squirrels, gophers, moles, and the like. I can talk to birds sometimes, but not always. It helps to have eyes in the trees,” he grinned mischievously, picking up a bag of trail mix.

“I’d like to talk to the families,” you said, seeing the children’s names once more.

You didn’t see anything peculiar other than they’d taken two girls and a boy so far. Some rituals called for a certain number of souls, but never spoke about sexes. It can certainly be a coincidence. Although, you rarely came across those in your line of work.

“We already did,” Minho told you, “They don’t know anything.”

“I’d still like to talk to them myself. Their children might have something in common that you missed.”

“Does this mean you’ll take the job?” Chan asked, and you detected a glimmer of hope in his voice.

“For a fee.”

“Naturally,” he nodded.

“With a demon on our team,” Minho said, “We’ll have this case wrapped up by supper.”

“I don’t know about all that, but I’ll do my best,” you insisted.

Chan moved to his nearby office when the door opened. In walked a rotund, dark-skinned man in a blue suit, wearing a bowler hat and checking his pocket watch. He didn’t look at the men at first, but when he looked up, his eyes settled on you. Shock took over his broad, square face and brown eyes widened with realization.

“Good afternoon, Mayor,” Chan intervened before the man could speak, “What can I do for ya?”

“Chan, there is a demon in our station,” he said, voice quivering slightly.

“She’s a bounty hunter,” he assured him. “She’s come to help with the missing children.”

“Demons don’t like children.”

“We do, actually,” you retorted, arms crossed. “And no, not to eat them,” you added disdainfully.

“YN's a bounty hunter, Gerald,” Chan said. “She's just agreed to help us with the missing children. I think it'd be beneficial to have someone like her helping us. YN, this is our Mayor, Gerald Wallace.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you tried keeping the annoyance from your voice.

“I don't know, Chan,” the mayor said, “You know folks around here. They won't take kindly to a…demon being in town right now.”

“I only want to help,” you fixed your jacket, “But if you don't want me here and want your children to keep being snatched up, then I'll be on my way.”

“Wait, wait,” Minho came to your side and faced the mayor, “Mayor Wallace, this demon isn't a normal demon. She's the demon who ended the war.”

Did he really have to keep telling people that?

“Impossible,” the mayor scoffed, “There's no way that demon stuck around after the war.”

“I did,” you said. “Do you want my help or not?”

“We do,” Chan answered quickly. “We do.”

“Chan,” Mayor Wallace turned to him stiffly, “May I speak to you in private, please?”

“Of course,” he gestured to let him pass, “This way.”

He shot you an apologetic glance, then followed the mayor into an office.

“Sorry about that,” Minho said, “I promise our townspeople normally aren't this prejudiced. Things have been uneasy around here, so you can imagine a newcomer strolling into town concerning people.”

“Explains everyone's apprehension,” you replied, seeing Chan and Mayor Wallace through a window. You can see both men starting to heat up during the conversation. “It doesn't bother me as much as it used to,” you said, “I understand my people did heinous things when they came here. Not everyone is so quick to forgive.”

“But not everyone is like that here,” Han reassured you. “They'll warm up to you soon enough.”

You didn't particularly care if the little people liked you. You didn't plan on staying too long anyways.

“Where are you staying in town?” asked Minho, walking over to a small bookshelf behind his own desk. “The White Pearl?”

“I need money for a room and a stable first,” you told him, feeling that rumble in your stomach again. “I hoped I might get at least an advance. We've rode a long way.”

“We can talk about that when Chan finally finishes with Gerald,” he casted a glance over to the window. Chan appeared to have quieted the mayor down, but the man remained unconvinced. “You can go on ahead and tell Changbin I sent you. He'll give you a room, and some feed for your horse.”

“Appreciated,” you nodded, “Tell Chan he can find me there.”

“-Chan, I'm telling you this isn't a good idea!” Mayor Wallace said, coming out of Chan’s office. “We already got the docks to rebuild, the town council is on my behind about the merfolk situation and now we have our children going missing! Then, you got Han over there who'll tell anybody that'd listen that we got a demon and cause a damn hysteria!”

Chan appeared more amused than upset by now, and asked, “Han, you planning on causing a hysteria?”

“Not today, Chan.”

“See? Gerald, you put me in charge of the safety of this town,” he patted his shoulder, “Trust me.”

Wallace's shoulders sagged, and he gave you an uncertain glance, “Alright. I trust you. You never let us down before.”

“There you go,” Chan concluded, steering Mayor Wallace to the door. “You tell the council we have our best people on this…”

“He really knows how to de-escalate a situation, huh?” you asked, impressed.

“That's why he is the sheriff,” Han nodded. “Come on, I'll take you back to the inn. You can get settled before the work begins.”

Han led you out the door, and you untied Summer. “Looks like we got a job after all,” you grinned, petting her side. She huffed and you said, “No, no snakes this time…I think.”

“Wow,” Han marveled at Summer, taking in her fiery eyes and black mane. “A real dreadsteed.” He wiggled his nose at Summer, who nodded her head. When he gave a grin, cheeks puffing out, he said, “She's a tough cookie, huh? She says you guys just came from Newport.”

“You can talk to her?” You guided Summer back to the inn.

“Animal hybrid,” he pointed at his own chest. “I can talk to all kinds of animals, even demonic ones.” He glanced at her again, “Summer is an interesting name for a dreadsteed. Is that her real name or a new one?”

“It's her name,” you said. “I gave it to her when we came back to the mortal realm. I named her that because summer is my favorite season. We don't have seasons where I'm from.”

“How dreadful,“ Han frowned, “I can't imagine living anywhere that is so desolate. I used to live in the forest before Chan found me and brought me here.”

“Found you?”

He scrunched up his nose guiltily, “I might not have been the most law-abiding squirrel at the time. I'd been caught stealing food from different farms, and rather than send me up the road, he gave me a place to stay and a job.”

“During or after the war?”

“After,” you both reached the steps of the inn, “A group of demons attacked my village and destroyed everything. I didn't have anywhere to go, so I ended up outside town. Chan found me hiding in someone's boat and took me in.”

“That's awfully kind of him.”

“That's the kind of guy he is,” he shrugged. “He really cares about everyone.”

Han and Changbin helped you and Summer settle into The White Pearl. By the time Chan arrived, you'd devoured a hot sandwich and given Summer hay and an apple for her patience.

“Everything squared then?” You asked him. “Your mayor seems…”

“He's only being cautious,” Chan insisted, “But with a bit of convincing, he's willing to pay the 50 gold price.”

Fifty sounded more than fair to you. After that, he insisted on taking you to the childrens’ families himself. You both mounted your horses and headed towards the first farm.

“What can you tell me about their families?” you asked him, riding Summer alongside him on his own horse.

“Seo Dobin, the first kid taken, lives at the Seo vineyard not too far out of town,” he began. “His parents grow grapes and berries and are part of the Seo pack.”

“Pack? He's a werewolf?”

“Yes, but don't worry. Junhwan and Eunji are good people. Dobin's dad can be a bit of a hothead; I’ve had to put him in holding once or twice, but he’s usually a nice man. His mother, Eunji, does some work at the bakery here from time to time.” He noticed your pensive stare, and said, “They’re all good people. Each and every one of them.”

“Good people can have enemies too,” you replied. “Enemies that they don’t know about, even. What do the other families do for work? Minho said the children were taken around farms?”

“The farms are the least guarded parts of Levanter,” he said, “Since they’re owned by the families and not the town. The Seo family mainly deals in grapes and berries to make into wine; The Wang family grows wheat, and the Lee family grows corn.”

“All crops where the stalks can grow high,” you added to your mental list of notes.

“Where the children can be snatched without anyone seeing them,” Chan added, nodding to himself. “I thought the same thing. It’d be harder to take them from a pig, horse or cattle farm because there’s always people patrolling those types of places. A crop of plants? Easier to walk through them and wait for the kid to go right by them instead.”

“Are there any other farm-”

“-I already told them not to let their kids go running off into their fields or in the woods,” he answered ahead of your question. “I told the kids at the schoolhouse to go straight home after school, and don’t talk to any strangers they meet on the road.”

“Did you instill a curfew?”

“I’ve considered it, but I don’t think it’ll help much. These kids are taken during the day off their families’ own land. I’ve asked a few of our local hunters and mountain men to keep an eye and an ear out for anything suspicious too.” He hesitated, and you worried what question would follow it. “Minho’s convinced it’s the gang, but it’s not them.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And I think you already have an idea who it is.”

“The idea that magic casters use children in their rituals was a myth perpetuated by religious zealots who fear magic and everything it can do,” you said, keeping the bite out of your voice. “While innocent blood or souls are called for in a good chunk of blood magic rituals, anyone who truly knows magic and reads magic texts will know that it means an animal. Whoever this person is either is a magic user who doesn’t care about translations, or a magic user who doesn’t understand the magic they are trying to wield.”

“You say ‘magic user’. Do you mean, like, a human using magic?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Fae, demons, merfolk, some species of hybrids are all born with magic already inside of us. It’s in our bones, and in our blood. Our specialty, if we have one, is just a choice we make in using our magic. Humans…No offense, Sheriff, but humans were not meant to have magic.”

“Really?”

“That’s not a jab at humankind. I’ve met plenty of human mages and warlocks who use their gifts rightly,” you said quickly. “I mean, physically. Their bodies are not meant to hold it. Yes, they can perform little rituals and incantations and make potions, but real magic? No. It'd kill them, so they likely wear trinkets or charms that harness their power. I think whoever is taking these children plans to use them for something, otherwise you would’ve found their bodies by now.”

“Perhaps they're using them to gain more power?” He suggested.

You considered the idea. “It's a possibility.”

You both arrived at the Seo farm, where you saw a farmhouse, barn, and a chicken coop. Beyond the house, you saw rows upon rows of vineyard bushes. The barn door wide open, you saw two young men pouring fermented grapes into a barrel. Briefly you pictured a young wolf pup running around the front yard area, maybe with a toy plane or a kite while his mother watched over him from a window. The same woman who happened to be outside the house with a tub and washing board.

“Sheriff!” She gasped, dropping the board in the water and coming his way. “Sheriff, have you found him? Have you found Dobin?”

“I'm sorry, Eunji,” Chan frowned, getting off his horse and removing his hat. “But, I have someone here who'd like to speak with you about that day.”

“Who?” she looked at you. Even with the crinkles on the sides of her eyes, Mrs. Seo looked younger than you expected. Her wolf ears perked at the sight of you, and you saw her nose twitch slightly. Her claws long and black, led to furry arms underneath her linen dress. “A demon? What's a demon doing here?”

“I'm here to help, ma'am,” you answered, dismounting Summer and standing in front of her. “Sheriff Chan told me about the children in the area, and I want to help you.”

You expected her to question you like so many others, but instead she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! We need all the help we can get. Dobin has been missing for three weeks now, and nobody can find him.”

Worry filled her eyes and you spotted the shaking hands she wrung together. You pitied her and said, “Where was the last place you saw him?”

“Back here. Come with me.”

She led you both around the house to a backyard. You saw the typical horse and wagon tied up outside the barn in a stall, calmly eating hay. The vineyard started behind a wooden fence that bordered the entire crop, and seeing the uniform rows stretching for acres made it the perfect kidnapping spot. You imagined a small boy being snatched without anyone seeing him or his kidnapper.

“He was down there,” she brought you both behind the fence to point down a middle row, “Helping one of our pickers gather grapes. He always loves helping pick the grapes,” she smiled fondly, “We know he sneaks some, but we let him. Our picker, Taeyong, said he turned his back to put some buckets in a wagon, and when he looked back, Dobin was gone. At first,” she wrung her apron in her hands nervously, “At first, we thought the little rascal was hiding from us. You know, the way children play hide and seek? He does that from time to time and it worries me something awful,” you heard the panic in her voice even speaking about it, “But when it…it started to grow dark,” her eyes began watering and her lip trembled, “We…Oh, why did I let him go?! Something told me not to, but he was with Taeyong! He was safe! I should've been more careful! Why?! Why didn't I pay more attention?!”

Chan embraced her as she started to sob. She reminded you of the women in the villages during the war. Women who grieved for their fallen children, who begged you to find their lost sons and daughters. Their pain radiated onto yours, stinging your eyes and bringing a bout of helplessness. This warlock, whoever they were, needed to be stopped.

You nodded at Chan, then proceeded into the vineyard. Cautiously, you walked outside of the trodden path where you saw dozens of footprints having worn down the grass into the dirt. Wheel marks told you they'd just finished collecting ripe grapes for the day, and it's unlikely you will find any child size footprints here. Taking a whiff of the air, you only smelled freshly toiled earth and ripening grapes, not flesh. If you concentrated, you caught wisps of human sweat but nothing of a child. Time would’ve drowned out any proper scent. You envisioned a small boy, eight-years-old and greedily munching on grapes he'd picked off the vines. He'd have walked away from Taeyong. What could make him walk away from the safety of an adult? Standing in the middle of the row, you scanned over the vines to only see more grapes. He had plenty to pick from here, so why did he walk away?

“Taeyong,” you sensed Chan walking up behind him, “Did you ever interview him?”

“We did.”

“What's his story?”

“Exactly what Mrs. Seo just told you,” he said, “He was picking, turned around, and the boy was gone.”

That sounded too convenient. “Any idea why the boy would walk away?”

“More grapes? Berries, maybe?”

You started walking alongside the path again. Turning to face one of the hedges, you noticed breakages in the foliage.

“He went through here,” you said, seeing a break between two stalks. You then spotted small footprints still in the dirt. “Yes, yes, he went through here. Otherwise Taeyong would've seen him walking away.”

You pushed through the vines to the other side without another word. Dobin didn't stop here. He kept going. You inhaled deeply, trying to mesh through the various earthy scents for something human. Scanning the floor in the second to last row, you saw them. Embedded in the hard packed dirt were small paw prints. Four toes with a palm, they went one in front of the other through the dirt. You crouched to touch one, and realized they were cat prints.

“Do The Seos have any pets?” You asked Chan, who just broke through a brush behind you.

“A dog, some chickens and two horses.”

“No cats?”

“No cats.”

Slowly, you followed the cat prints until they went out past the fence. “He followed a cat,” you concluded, “Into the forest.”

“How did we miss these?” Chan wondered, following the prints with his eyes.

“Because they were hidden,” you answered simply. You took a few sniffs, then said, “A cat. Yeah, definitely a cat.”

“So, our kidnapper can turn into a cat,” Chan said, standing beside you at the threshold of the forest. “Clever. Most children like animals, especially children who live around them. Dobin likely saw the cat and followed it.”

The image of Dobin, innocent and cheerful, following a cat before being snatched gave you shivers. Stepping further, you let your sense of smell guide you, but sadly it wasn't as strong.

“Deputy Han,” you looked at Chan, “He's an animal hybrid.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“How good is his sense of smell?”

“Pretty damn good.”

“Have him come here. He can help me track down this cat.”

“I'll have Eunji call the station.”

You saw a rush of adrenaline pump through him. He finally had a lead. According to his notes, Dobin, a werewolf, went missing three weeks ago; Sanghee, a garden fairy, disappeared two weeks ago, and Hyeyong, a werecat, was a week ago. Two girls. One boy. All from farm families outside of town. All of them are magical. The connections seemed too close to be a coincidence. Thinking of the timeline again, you realized they'd taken a child each week. They'd need a fourth, if they follow their pattern. Problem? You had no idea which farm they'd strike next.

****

“Alright, children, remember what Sheriff Bahng said. You're all to go home straight after school, and don't talk to strangers.”

A rustle of books and papers sounded at dismissal. Slyvia followed the other children outside of the schoolhouse, her lunch box swinging from her clawed hand and books to her other side. She saw classmates rushing ahead of her to the general goods store for sweets, while others waited for their parents to retrieve them. Her own mother had taken to coming for her since the disappearances began, but not today. She had too much work. Slyvia immediately thought of all the chores waiting for her back at the ranch. Her mother will need help with the washing, and then she has to muck out the stables. She hated cleaning the stables, but with her brother and father away in the big city, there is nobody else to do it. Walking past The White Pearl, her sensitive nose already smelled the manure.

“Hey Slyvia! Wait up!”

The reptilian child turned around to see a boy running to catch up to her. Barney Pebbles was a lumpy elf halfling boy who lived on the farm next to her family's ranch. Sandy blond hair fell behind his pointy ears, and she saw the run bring pink into his cheeks. Slyvia smiled a toothy grin at him regardless.

“Want to…Want to walk home together?” He huffed, catching his breath as he came up beside her. “My Ma says it's safer if there's two…two of us.”

“Sure!” Slyvia beamed. “Sheriff Bahng says we need to look out for one another.”

The pair continued walking together. “Did you hear about the demon?” he asked, pushing blond hair from his forehead.

“Demon? What demon?” She wouldn't deny the pang of fear that struck her. “Where?”

“My Pa was leaving the bank when he saw a demon on a big horse riding past him,” he explained as they reached the end of town, “He says she had these stumps on her head, and her horse had flaming eyes!”

“But don't they have wings? My Uncle Sithlin says some have wings.”

“I didn't think to ask,” he grew quiet, then said, “Do you think they're behind the other kids?”

“But that started happening before they came.”

Slyvia thought about her missing classmates. Dobin, a boy slimmer than a tree branch, once offered to split blueberries they found near the school. Sanghee, a garden fairy, always radiated kindness and befriended her on her first day. Hyeyoung, a werecat kitten, helped her find her bonnet when it flew off her head. Their disappearances worried everyone. Slyvia hoped her friends were okay, and that Sheriff Bahng would find them in time. Her father told her Sheriff Bahng was really smart and made of tough stuff.

The other kids said he could talk to sea creatures.

Slyvia and Barney walked down the dirt road leading out of town. They passed by merchants going in and out of town, and greeted neighbors they saw along the way. They continued talking about the newcomer, and she couldn't stop the bundle of nerves in her stomach. She remembered the stories her Pa and uncles told her about demons. They're supposed to be evil made into flesh. Thinking about a winged monster gave her jitters.

“-Mr. Edwards says that the demons he saw were super tall! As tall as trees, and they could breathe fire.”

Slyvia listened to his story while she looked up the forest lined path ahead. She saw the crossroads where it split between the town, another village and the capital city. The tall directory signs were her first milestone back home.

“Maybe they're helping whoever is taking the other kids,” she suspected. “My Nana says they use babies in their rituals, and feast on newborns.”

“You think?”

‘Meow!’

The two children stopped in their tracks at the sound. When it sounded again, they realized it came from the forest bushes nearby. Slyvia's nerves stood on end. Barney stepped closer to the threshold, bending to peek into the bushes.

“Barney…”

“It's a cat,” he said, “I think it's hurt.”

“Barney, don't go in there.”

She could smell it the closer she came. Barney, ever the animal lover, ignored her warning and walked further into the forest.

“Slyvia, come quick,” he said worriedly. “It's hurt.”

Slyvia came up behind him, and sniffed the air. Most cats smelled according to their environment. Barn cats smelled like horses and pigs; house cats smelled like coffee and linens. A wild cat carried the scent of leaves and trees. This cat didn't have any of those. She walked behind Barney, her heart starting to race.

“Barney Pebbles, you come back here,” she said, panic building in her voice. “We're not supposed to wander off.”

“It might be really hurt, Slyvia,” he replied over his shoulder.

Feet crunching the forest floor, Slyvia tried peeking into the shrubs from behind him, but couldn't see anything.

“Come here, kitty,” Barney crouched in front of it, “It's okay. I won't hurt you. Hey! Wait!”

The sound of rustled leaves told her the cat scurried from the bushes. Barney went after it, and Slyvia followed. A downward wind brought a scent to her flat nostrils. Not a cat. Not a dog. Not a bird, rabbit or wolf. She gasped. It was human. She saw a flash of black and white dart behind one of the trees, Barney only a few paces behind.

“Barney Pebbles! Come back here now!”

“Calm down, Slyvia. It's only a-AH!”

“Gotcha!”

“Barney!”

Slyvia cried out his name as an arm grabbed him from behind a tree. She froze in place, her breath becoming haggard and drying her throat. She could hear Barney struggling, and a man’s voice drowning him out. The sound of snapping twigs came from her right, and she spotted them. Three men wearing red armbands stepped out from behind the trees, malice on their faces. Slyvia ran. Her heart pounded in her chest with each foot step. Panic put them right on her heels, and she beat the ground harder.

“Get her!” She heard the silvery voice say from the distance. “Don't let her get away!”

The young chameleon ran through dense shrubbery, the tiny branches snagging on her dress and scratching her colorful scales. She'd do what her Papa taught her. With a quick glance back, Slyvia dove into a nearby bush and closed her eyes. She envisioned herself turning from her usual pale green and yellow to a dark brown. She brought her knees to her chest and tucked her head and tail inwards. The footsteps charging after her came right beside her bush, and she stuffed her face into her dress to muffle her breathing.

“Where'd she go?” One of the men asked. “She can't have gone far!”

“If Maurice hears we lost her he'll burn us alive!”

“Ah shoot, Suho, does it really matter? That was a girl, and Maurice only needed a boy.”

“She can go blabbing to the sheriff and his deputies,” the other man retorted. “We're so close, Baekhyun. I can taste it now. If we help that old man with his ritual, he'll give us whatever we want. That means gold and women!”

“I…I don't know, Suho,” a higher voice said uncertainly. “They're kids. I thought we didn't harm youngins.”

“We're not harming them. Maurice says they'll be fine. It'll only hurt for a little bit.”

“You believe that?”

“Of course, I do. Now, you go that way; Chanyeol, you go that way and I'll check down here. She can't have gone too far.”

Slyvia heard the men split up. The last image of Barney being lifted off the ground came to her, and she shivered. The men, whoever they were, also kidnapped the other children. She needed to tell someone quickly. When the coast was clear, Slyvia gingerly climbed up the tree behind her. Her fingers sticking to the branches, the child moved from one tree to another with ease. The Seo family lived not too far from this spot; she can go to them to call the law. She needed to find Sheriff Bahng. He needed to know that Barney is in trouble.

****

Han and Minho appeared some time later, the pair having appeared through a portal.

“I thought it'd be faster than horses,” Minho explained, closing it with a wave of his hand. “What have you found?”

“There's paw prints,” you told Han as you both walked to the blocked off spot in the dirt, “But no animal scent.”

“You think it might be a hybrid?”

“It doesn't smell like an animal or hybrid,” you said. “It's…I don't know. Chan said you have the best nose, so I thought you could track what I can't.” You stopped right by the forest entrance, “They go about three or four yards into the woods, then it goes cold.”

Han nodded, “It shouldn't be that hard. If we can't track the cat,” he pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket, “We can track Dobin.”

“What's that?” You eyed the blue and white cloth in his hand, seeing grape vines stitched into the border.

“Dobin's head scarf,” he answered. “He wears it when he goes into the field. His mother thought it might help.”

You watched him take a deep inhale of the scarf, closing his eyes in concentration. Soft black nose wiggling, tail twitching at the new scent, Han immediately glanced up to the tree ahead. He started walking without saying anything to anyone, sniffing occasionally as he went.

“You think it's a human shifted into a cat then, huh?” Minho asked, coming up beside you.

“I can't pick up anything to the contrary,” you told him. “My sense of smell isn't very strong here. He might find out what I can't.”

Minho grew quiet while Han stuck himself into a bush. “I was looking through my library at the station. I keep it there for research purposes and all that, you know? I thought while you and Chan checked out the different locations, Han and I could try finding any magic rituals that require sacrifices.”

“Psh, that's a lot. What did you find?”

“That the shadow casters of yesteryear really enjoyed sacrificing things to ancient gods,” he snorted. “But I did come across a few rituals of interest. One in particular intrigued me.”

“What was it?”

“The Secrets of the Mystics by Arnold B. Miller described this group of ancient mystics who called upon gods to sustain their power,” he began. “They regularly sacrificed people to a god named Yuth’ik. I couldn’t find anything that gave any background on Yuth’ik other than that he was defeated by a warlock named Vivian Moon and several others centuries ago. They banished him into another realm, where he’s likely laid dormant for thousands of years. If the Hook clan are really working for someone, it’s someone who wants to release Yuth’ik.”

“For what purpose? More power?”

“Most likely.” He gave a slight scoff and shook his head, “If they’d gone to an actual magical being, we’d tell them what a stupid idea that is. I will say this: I pity whoever this person is.”

“Why?”

“The ancient gods weren’t known for their kindness,” he said. “A lot of the stories in the book mentioned the summoner having to give something in return.”

“Four souls isn’t enough?”

“That’s just to open the cage. If Yuth’ik really is a god, they'll expect gifts. The person behind this doesn’t understand that once you summon a god or a demon or any powerful being, you’re their servant for life,” he looked over at you, dark eyes serious and stern, “For life.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Shaking your head, you said, “Will they ever learn?”

A part of you expected Minho to take your words offensively; he does live amongst humans, and is close to them. Yet, you heard him snort and say, “Never.”

The three of you traveled further into the forest. Han sniffed every bush, tree and flower patch that carried a wisp of Dobin’s scent. You admitted his sense of smell must be incredible if he can follow a trace three weeks old. His bushy trail flicked and wiggled whenever he caught a particularly strong scent. Both you and Minho kept your eyes on the trees around you, searching for the slightest change or movement.

Underneath the canopy of leaves and sunlight, you took in the vibrancy of the world around you. Nothing grew in The Mar. No trees, flowers or grass thrived there; the only animals around were the vicious beasts lurking around the mountain ranges and rocky canyons. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, brushing your cheeks and hair, and you inhaled deeply. Why would anyone wish to destroy such a glorious place? Nor’goth’s armies tore down trees, burned wheat fields, and polluted rivers to keep the mortals from feeding themselves. He believed cutting off their supplies left them powerless, but the people you’d met proved the opposite.

“Did you guys hear that?” Han sprung up from the newest bush, whipping his head side to side in a panic.

“Hear what?” Minho asked, irritably. “Jisung, we’ve been walking for ages. Have you found anything yet-”

“-Shush!” he interrupted him, putting a hand up for silence.

The two of you watched the hybrid carefully walk sideways, his head pointed up into the trees. A feeling of apprehension came over you when he stopped underneath one of the thicker trees. The smooth motion of an arrow being notched caught your attention, and you turned to see Minho’s bow armed and ready to loosen. Han braced his hands up against the rough bark, and sniffed. The immediate image of an enemy dropping onto him had you withdrawing your sword from your back.

“Jisung…” Minho whispered harshly, but Han ignored him.

“Slyvia?” Han said, confused. “Honey, what are you doing up there?”

Both you and Minho shook when a figure jumped down from the tree onto their feet. Minho unleashed his arrow, but thankfully it stuck into the tree inches above the child’s head. Skin the color of the trees, the chameleon-hybrid’s scales gradually changed to light green and yellow in seconds. Bulbous, beady eyes were on either side of her nose, full of fear and worry.

“Deputy Han!” she cried, immediately wrapping herself around his middle, “Deputy Han, you have to help me!”

Han bent down to her level right as you and Minho reached her. Her heavy breaths making her chest rise and fall, you saw tears spilling from her black eyes and shoulders shuddering in every sob.

“It’s Barney!” she sobbed, voice cracking at the end. “They took him! The bad people took him! You have to help him! Sheriff Bahng has to get him!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Han said, hands rubbing her shaking shoulders, “Just take a deep breath, honey. You mean Barney Pebbles? Fred’s little boy?”

“Yes! We were walking home together, and he-and he saw this cat in the bushes and I told him, sir, I told him to not wander off but he did! Then, we chased it-it- in-into th-the woods and this bad man picked him up and these other men started chasing me! We have to save him! We have to!” she fell back into Han’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder as his eyes met Minho’s.

“Where did this happen, Slyvia?” Minho asked next, bending down to look into her face. “How far?”

“That way,” she pointed behind him. “I don-don’t know where!”

“Alright, alright, you go with Deputy Han and talk to the sheriff,” he said to her gently. “My friend and I will go look for Barney.”

Slyvia took one glance at you, then buried her face in Han’s neck. You expected that reaction. Crouching beside Minho, you said, “We’re going to find your friend, and bring him back, okay?” She flinched when you met her eyes again.

“You’re a demon…” she said, voice muffled by Han’s shirt collar.

“I am,” you nodded, standing with Han and Minho, “And you want to know what that means?”

“You’ll eat my friends!”

“No,” you giggled, “It means bad guys are scared of me. The bad people who took your friend will hand him right back to me if they know what’s good for them.”

This seemed to calm her slightly, though not enough for her to look at you. “I’ll take her to Chan,” Han said. “We can get in contact with her folks, and Barney’s parents.”

“I’ll give him a heads up.”

Minho reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew dark blue dust. Putting a pinch between his fingers, he blew it out into the air. Rather than disappear or fall to the ground, the glowing swirl of dust stayed in the air.

“Chan, we found Slyvia Eleon. She says Barney Pebbles was just grabbed. Han’s bringing her to you; YN and I are going to scout the area.” With another puff of air, the dust cloud quickly darted away from you and down back to the farm. “We should go to where he was taken,” he said to you, “We could check it out while their footprints and scent are fresh.”

“Good idea.”

“Slyvia,” he addressed the little girl again, “Sweetie, do you remember any details about where he’d been taken? A tree or flower or a specific place?”

Slyvia turned her head, sniffling, and thought for a moment. “It was near the direction sign. I remember because I live past it.”

“On which side?”

“The…left. The left side of the road.”

“Alright, thank you, Slyvia,” he petted her head, “Don’t worry. My friend and I are going to find Barney.”

“They’re going to kill him,” she broke back into a sob. “They’re going to kill him and eat him!”

“Nobody is killing and eating anyone,” Han assured her, rubbing her back as he began walking away. “Mrs. Seo just came back from the bakery too. She can give you a snack and you can tell Sheriff Bahng…”

Watching Han take the girl away, you looked to Minho, “Do you know the sign she’s talking about?”

“I do. It’s far though. Take my hand.”

You didn’t question it. Taking his hand, you watched the dark fae aim his outstretched palm to the ground. Glowing and sparkling a bright purple, you recognized the spiraling and crisp winds of a teleportation circle. In a flash of light, you and Minho left your spot in the forest. You could feel yourself being thrown into a tornado, spinning and spinning through gushes of wind, before landing on soft grass.

“Here we are,” Minho said, removing the circle with a closed fist.

You found yourself on the dirt road a mile from town. On the crossroad corner stood a tall post with different directions on it. ‘Levanter Bay 1 mile’ ‘Gold Rush 5 miles’ ‘Sunwind 10 miles’ went in various directions.

“Slyvia said they saw the men down towards town,” Minho started walking in that direction. “Their footprints will still be in the dirt; we can follow those.”

“This Barney kid,” you caught up with his quick strides, “What do you know about him?”

“A bit simple-minded, but a really nice kid,” he answered. “His family owns a pig farm. He loves animals, so it’s no surprise he followed a cat into the woods despite all sense.”

“They took him from off the road instead of a farm,” you noted. “They’re getting desperate. This ritual of theirs must be happening soon.”

“Yuth’ik’s ritual can happen at any time. They just need the four souls and the right words,” he said. “They need all four in order to open the portal to let him through.”

“That explains the rush. It’s risky to be snatching kids from the side of a somewhat busy road,” you nodded at a passing wagon, “Someone might’ve seen the two of them going off the path.”

“Perhaps, but if they went deep enough, nobody would’ve heard them.”

You both stopped when you reached two sets of clear footprints going off into the grass. Minho and you walked along them, and that’s where you picked up a scent. Barney Pebbles must sweat pretty heavily if you could pick it up so quickly. It started by one of the trees at the edge, then carried off through a large bush. When you looked inside, you saw tiny prints in the dirt and a breakage in the leaves.

“The cat hid in here,” you told Minho, “And he followed it.”

“There are more prints over here,” Minho called from nearby. You saw him standing between two large trees, looking at spots behind them. “The shapeshifter had accomplices. Two or three by the looks of the sets.”

“What were they planning to do? Ambush the kid?”

“To make sure he didn’t escape,” he examined one of the trunks with his hand.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small piece of blue chalk. Well, at least you thought it was chalk. Minho started rubbing the blue stick onto the thick brown bark as one might a piece of paper. You came up to him, and saw the blue chalk having outlined handprints along the edge of the trunk. You counted two large hands on one side, then two more on the other.

“Two over here,” Minho went and did the same to the other tree, “And one more over here. Three culprits.”

“What is this?” you asked him, wiping some of the chalk with your finger.

“It’s a little invention of mine,” he said, putting the chalk away. “I enchanted a few pieces of chalk so I can lift prints. It’s damn helpful when investigating scenes. I got a fingerprint off one of them,” he said, putting a thin piece of film into the pouch, “I can cross check it back at the station. If it’s one of the Hook Clan, we’ll know who.”

“Intriguing,” you nodded, “I never heard of an enchantment that can do that.”

“I like to experiment with magic,” he shrugged. You both walked back to the scene of the kidnapping, “Magic is so versatile and fluid. It can be used for anything, if one puts their mind to it.”

“That bit of powder you used to contact Chan,” you said, “You invented that too?”

“I wish,” he said, “It’s one of the ways fairies communicate away from home. Fairy dust,” he petted the leather pouch. “Can transport messages or people from one place to another.”

“Just think happy thoughts?” you joked, remembering the stories.

Minho laughed, “No, no happy thoughts required. Just a deep breath before you teleport.” He stopped at the spot where you smelled Barney and his kidnapper the strongest. “What can you smell?”

“Male,” you sniffed the air, and let the aroma linger in your nose, “At least 30-years-old. He’d been standing right here,” you pressed yourself against the tree. You put your nose to the trunk, catching a bit of his sweat on the skin. Something then threw you off, “Coal.”

“What?”

“Coal,” you sniffed the spot again, “Or something like it. He had some sort of dust on him.”

“The clan sometimes hang out in abandoned mines or lumber yards,” Minho said, putting his fingerprint dust on the bark next to you. “That might be where it comes from.”

“We should tell Chan and Han,” you advised, “Then we can see what they learned from the little girl.”

“Alright.”

He took your hand a second time, and opened up a transport circle once more. In another howling winds, you left the wilderness for the hustle and bustle of Levanter Bay. Stumbling forward a moment, you caught yourself in a deep breath. Hardly anyone appeared bothered by the demon and fairy who’d just popped up in the middle of the town square.

“Minho,” Changbin came down the steps of the inn, wiping his hands with his apron, “Is it true? Was Barney taken?”

“News travels fast, huh?” he quipped.

“His dad is in here,” he nodded to the inn behind him, “Hollering about someone taking his boy and that he was gonna hunt the bastard himself.”

“Oh god, no,” Minho groaned. “Don’t tell me he went into the woods?”

“No, no, I talked him down, but he’s more pissed off than Honey when she can’t catch any fish,” he said. “You didn’t find him, did you?”

“We didn’t, but we have leads,” he answered. “Just…make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

“People know the clan is involved,” Changbin said seriously. “Fred was talking about going to the Brandstone Mine south of here.”

“The mine?” Minho looked over at you, then back at Changbin, “Why there?”

“Rumor has it that Red Hook and his boys are up there,” he answered, looking between the both of you. “It’s only a matter of time before someone takes it upon themselves to take them out.”

“That’s a dumb idea,” you snapped. “It can cause them, or whoever they’re working for, to do something rash.”

Like kill their captives and dispose of their corpses. Minho was about to give Changbin instructions when a voice called out from behind him, “Lee! Hey, Lee!”

A big burly man with a thick blond beard and short blond hair came storming down the steps towards him. From his red face, you could tell he’d been ranting for a good while now. Minho sighed irritably, “You go to Chan. I’ll handle Fred.”

You nodded, and watched Minho reach Fred first. Fred, standing several inches above Minho, started shouting right away. You thought Minho might flinch at the sudden rush of anger, but the deputy remained cool. Deciding Minho and Changbin could handle the distressed parent, you walked ahead back to the station. Inside, you found a group of people sitting in the middle of the room. Slyvia sat on the lap of a woman who could only be her mother, and another chameleon hybrid who must be her father. A slender woman with blond hair was beside them, anxiously listening to everything they were saying. Barney’s mother, no doubt. Chan and Han sat in front of the girl, talking to her softly and gently.

“-Did you see what they looked like?” Chan asked her. “Anything particularly different or noticeable about them?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I was hiding.”

“Could you hear what they were talking about?”

“They said that they’d get burned alive for not getting me,” she said. “But the other man said they didn’t need me.”

Slowly, you approached and put the pieces of her story together. “Did they say any names?”

“Suho, Baekhyun and Maurice.”

“Kim Junmyeon,” Chan grunted, “How’d I know he’d be involved?”

“And Baekhyun too,” added Han.

“Who are they?” Slyvia’s mother asked.

“Part of the Red Hook clan,” Chan told her. “We think they’ve been taking the kids. But, Maurice…I don’t know any Maurice around here. Jisung?”

Han thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope, nobody comes to mind. Does that name mean anything to you?” he asked the parents, and they shook their heads.

The moment Slyvia’s parents spotted you, they gasped. Her mother clutched her tightly, while the male stood in front of them. You didn’t make any move towards them, instead deciding to keep your distance.

“That must be who they’re working for,” you finally spoke up. “Minho and I found four sets of prints on the trees near where he was taken.”

“That’s a demon!” the man said, “Sheriff, you got a demon in here!”

“She’s a friend, Salazar,” Chan insisted, standing up to put himself between you and the father. “A friend.”

“That’s a damn demon! There ain’t no demon that's friendly! I’ve seen what those things can do! I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the one taking all the children!”

“I’m only here to help, sir,” you said from your spot.

‘Their kind will never accept us! They know nothing of respect or obedience! They must be subdued!’

You shut out Nor’goth’s voice from your head. “Minho and I found some information that backs your daughter’s story,” you said.

“She’s his niece,” Barney’s mother said, stepping in front of him to address you. When she tucked hair behind her ear, you saw a point at the curve. A Sunwind Elf. “You’re here to…to help us?” you heard the disbelief in her voice. She looked at your horn stumps, then back to your face. “With Barney?”

“Yes, ma’am. I take it you’re his mother?”

“I am,” she nodded. You noticed her puffy eyes, and trembling lips. “Slyvia says he was taken by a shapeshifter.”

“We believe so,” Chan answered.

“Your husband is a human, isn’t he? I saw him outside,” you asked her, coming closer.

“He is,” she nodded. “I’m from Sunwind. What does that have to do with anything?”

“So, your son is a halfling,” you looked to Chan, “Dobin is a wolf pup. Sanghee is a garden fairy, and Hyeyoung is a werecat. They’re all children with magic inside of them.” You turned to Minho’s desk where you found a book left open. When you turned a page, you saw a chapter titled: ‘Yuth’ik: God of the Trees’. Rather than tell Chan that these magical children are likely being used for their magic, you said, “There has to be a connection, right?”

Chan glanced at the open book, then at you, “Yes, there might be.”

“It was those damn bandits in the woods,” Mrs. Pebbles snapped. “They did this. They must have. Who else is vile enough to kidnap innocent children? On a count of them being magical, no less!”

“Them, and someone they’re working for,” Chan told her, putting up a hand to calm her. “Wilma, go find Fred. Lord knows he’s bound to do something crazy.”

“Too late, Sheriff,” Han said with a deadpan voice as he looked out the window.

“What?”

Everyone converged by the window where a group of people on horses started kicking up dirt. Their calls and cries mixed together, and you knew what happened by their angry faces.

They started a damn mob.

“Damnit!” Chan cursed, grabbing a rifle from beside the door and rushing outside. With all of you behind him, he called out to the crowd, “Hey, hey, hey! What the hell's going on here?! Minho!”

Minho and Changbin tried closing off the horsemen, but there were too many. Fred Pebbles, sat upon a white palomino, glared down at Chan.

“They got my boy, Sheriff!” he said, voice hoarse and deep. “Those bastards have my boy!”

“We know, but there’s a way to go about this!” Chan shouted over the ruckus, “Hey now! Hey!”

“Pebbles, damnit man!” Mayor Wallace appeared from the mercantile with a few other customers, “What are you doing?!”

“I'm gonna make this all right!”

“Like hell you are!” the mayor blustered. “We are civilized people! Not animals!”

“So what are we supposed to do?! Let those filthy sons of bitches take our children?!”

“Of course not, but Fred, riling people up and going out there like this can make stuff worse!” Mayor Wallace wiped his brow and said, “Let's all go into the town hall and discuss this-”

“-I'm tired of listening to y'all. You ain't don't nothing-”

Chan cocked his rifle and fired it into the air. The loud gunblast caught everyone’s attention, some of the people ducking and others whipping around angrily. The crowd focused on him, Chan walked up the steps of The White Pearl, and he glared down at them.

“What the hell’s gotten into all of you? I thought we were people, not animals!”

“They keep taking our children, Chan!” one woman shouted from her horse. “Somebody’s gotta do something!”

“I understand that, but if we went around hanging every single person we thought was guilty, we’d be no better than them,” he remarked. “I know you’re all worried. I know you’re all hurting, but we need to be smart about how we handle this. Red Hook might have his morals-”

“-Horse shit!-

“-But the person he’s working for doesn’t,” he continued. “Now, thanks to Slyvia and our bounty hunter, we’ve discovered some new information.”

“Such as?” Mayor Wallace asked.

“They’re operating in a coal mine,” Minho said, getting up onto the porch beside Chan. “Anybody know any abandoned mines around here?”

“There’s the Willfire mine up north,” the woman on the horse called out. “My husband used to work there before the war.”

“The old Brandstone mine too,” said Mayor Wallace. “But, that was gold, not coal.”

“The coal could be dirt,” suggested Changbin, the woodland dwarf. “If they’re living in there, they likely got the dirt on their clothes and hands.”

“It’s a long shot,” an elderly man said from atop his horse, “But they could also be at my family’s mine. It’s gotten run over by spiders, but if they could’ve exterminated them before moving in.”

You shuddered thinking about the large arachnids.

“Alright,” Chan nodded at their answers, “I say we split into groups and search these mines while they’re off guard. Deputy Han will lead a group to the Brandstone mine; Deputy Lee will lead one to the Willfire mine, and I’ll take a group up to Mr. Choi’s mine. If you find them, do not engage,” he said these words firmly, “We need to catch them off guard. Whoever is helping them will not hesitate to kill anyone who opposes them. We need to be vigilant and patient.”

“And I will stay with the rest of the town here,” Mayor Wallace said to Chan. “Changbin and I will organize something for the children and the families. You know, keep everybody calm during this whole thing.”

“Sounds good…”

“They’re going after magical children,” you whispered to Minho and Han. “They plan to use their magic to open the gates.”

“Makes sense,” Minho nodded.

“Those poor babies,” Han frowned worriedly.

“We need to find them quickly,” you told them. “Now that they have four children, they can start their ritual.”

“Seungmin! Seungmin, where are you?” Chan’s words interrupted you, as he looked through the crowd.

“Right here, Sheriff.”

Dressed in a pin-striped shirt with an apron around his waist, Seungmin fixed his glasses on his nose and looked up at Chan. Just by the golden eyes, black wolf’s nose, and furry pointed ears, you realized Seungmin was a werewolf.

“Where’s your pack at?” Chan addressed him.

“Likely back home at the den,” he answered. “We’ve been looking ever since little Dobin was taken. He’s one of us, you know. I’ll get word to my father about your search parties.”

“I’ll call on the wisps!”

A young fairy came floating up to the steps. Black hair in front of his face, the garden fairy’s bright green wings batted as he landed on the floor. You noticed he held onto the medical bag across his body. “They can fly faster than light and move between the different parties if they find something. The trees may have information too.”

“The trees?” the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“They don’t say much,” he said, “But they will speak to me.”

“Jeongin,” Han said to you, “Garden fairy. He’s also our doctor, believe it or not.”

“And who the hell is she?!” another woman in the crowd asked.

“That’s a demon!” the elderly miner gasped, taking a few steps back. A couple others did the same, but you did not react to their shock. “Sheriff, Sheriff, did you know you got a demon next to you?”

“I do, and she’s been extremely helpful since she arrived this morning,” Chan said.

“I told you,” Mayor Wallace hissed at him. “I said they wouldn't take kindly to her.”

“How do you know she ain’t got anything to do with this?” asked Fred, taking a few steps back on his horse. “Their kind eat children!”

“We don’t eat human flesh,” you rolled your eyes, annoyed. “I don’t know what human started that rumor, but demons who still hold up to our code never harm the young.” You briefly recalled the children who’d get lost in the afterlife, and end up in the terrifying Mar. “I’m only here to help,” you said.

“For some gold, I expect!”

“And because whoever is doing this is harming children, and children are sacred to my kind,” you replied sharply. “Their souls are pure and precious.” Whenever a lost soul passed through your gates, a demon always took them back over to the heavenly cloud world of Divinity.

“Get your heads out of the sand,” Changbin said to the group, “She’s good people.”

“How would you know?” the old man asked.

“Because I've met dangerous people before, and she's dangerous in a different kind of way.”

“That's just her demon magic working on you!”

“Alright, if you don't believe me then let's get someone else's opinion.”

Changbin whistled through two fingers, and from behind the inn came an enormous grizzly bear. Far too big to be a normal bear, you suspected. Honey came right up to Changbin’s feet, sniffing for a scrap of food. It was when she smelled your scent that she moved over to you. Yes, it was silly of you to reach out to a bear, but you put the back of your hand to her wet nose. She gruffed once, nudging your hand with her nose, and then putting her head underneath it for a few scratches.

“Honey’s never been wrong about anyone before,” Changbin gave them a satisfied smile.

“Plus, she’s a war hero,” Minho said, “She killed Nor’goth.”

The name sent a ripple of uneasiness through the crowd. Even you, who defeated him, couldn't help shifting at the words. Skin hard as rocks and dark purple Nor'goth towered several feet above anyone else. Burning orange eyes stared at you with hate as you challenged him. If it weren't for your allies, you may have died trying to defend your people and the mortal world.

‘I will not suffer your insolence anymore, Multak! Prepare to meet your doom!”

“Is that true?” One man said with wide eyes.

“It is,” he answered for you. “I don't know about you all,” he said, going down the steps, “But I think it's pretty handy having a demon around.”

An agreement mumbled amongst the townspeople, but you didn't care. “Chan, we're running out of time,” you hissed at him. “The longer we wait, the closer they get to completing their ritual.”

“To do what?”

“What else? Summon a being they have no business summoning,” you said. “It is going to blow up in their faces, and a lot of people can get hurt if we don't get a move on.”

“Alright,” he nodded.

All the groups split evenly, everyone mounted their horses and began riding out of town. You looked around for Summer, realizing you'd left her at the Seo farm. No matter. You whistled a three note tune, and a burst of fire came from across the square. Summer dashed through the portal, charging past other people and horses to get right in front of you. She kicked the ground, head swishing as the commotion riled her up. Taking her reins, you held her still before mounting her.

“YN!” Chan rode up to you on a white horse, “You’re with me. We’re checking the Choi mine.”

You gulped thickly, “Isn’t that the, um, spider one?”

“It is…” he then smirked and your cheeks burned, “Is our strong fire demon afraid of itty bitty spiders?”

“They are not ‘itty bitty’ and they’re gross!”

His laugh made you grumble, and you charged ahead of him. Summer snorted, making you kick her sides lightly. “Hey, I didn’t pick on you about the snakes.”

Running behind the group headed to the last old mine, you already pictured the eight-legged creatures likely waiting at the end. The old man mentioned that they’ve likely been driven out by the gang, so you clung onto that. Your skin crawled at the idea of having to fight ginormous spiders when a flash of white caught your attention. Chan’s horse, snowy white, came up to you once again. You got a good look at the animal, seeing the shimmer in its white coat and strands of silver streaked through its mane. Rather than fully black, the beast’s eyes glimmered a dark green color.

How did Chan get his hands on a sea steed?

“Where’d you get it?” you asked over the clopping feet.

“What?”

“Your horse! It’s a sea steed! How’d you get it?”

He gave you a proud smile, “My Ma gave it to me!”

“Your Ma?!”

“She's a mermaid! You should meet her sometime!” He added.

“Your mother is a mermaid?!”

“Yeah, from the Southern Sea,” he said. “My Pa worked as a fisherman, and that's how they met.”

“You're a halfling then?”

“That's usually what people call me.” He then turned to you with a grin, “Not all of us halflings are so obvious.”

“What can you do then? Besides gathering search parties and solving crimes,” you smirked at him. For once, you're not the one under scrutiny.

“Nothing extraordinary really,” he shrugged. “I used to sing whenever I worked on my dad's boat, since the fish would always come to me. But then I felt bad about luring them to their deaths so I stopped. I can breathe underwater…I could live in Hydrus if I wanted.”

“Hydrus?”

“It's the merfolk capital of the world,” he said. “My Ma sits on the city council. She's a healer there and has her own apothecary. She told me I could always come live with her, but I prefer being on land.”

“How come?”

“My Pa mostly,” he answered honestly. “He needs me more than her. She has her family down there; he's only got me and our dog. My sister lives with her, but she and my cousin come to visit sometimes.”

“Your sister?”

“Hannah. She's got more mermaid than human, so she struggles living on land. Do you…Do demons have families?”

You gave it a thought. “In a way?” You decided, “We have our clan, which is a family. The Keepers are our parents, and everyone your age is a brother or sister; anyone older is an aunt or uncle.”

“Are you allowed to visit home or are you banished or something like that?”

You shook your head, “I can go if I wish. My horns…” you hesitated, “They're what I traded to live here, but I'm not exiled like some of my kin.”

“So, in a way, you fought against your family.”

“I did. I wasn't happy about it, but I did what I had to do.”

You pictured the demons you fought against during your ride. Brothers and sisters, standing on the other side of the field, severed their ties with the Shadowlands and became Nor’goth’s servants. It hurt you to fight them; you'd grown alongside most of them, and saw them as family. But, Sakmarth said those who break their vows are no longer part of the demon realm. You found that easy to understand but hard to carry out.

The Choi mines happened to be several miles outside of town. Dusk began to set by the time you reached the outskirts of the mine. The trees around gave almost no sunlight. Whatever light did come through broke through the dark leaves in the canopies. The same canopy where you saw the thin, silver strands of webs. Cobwebs hung from the dark branches and stuck to the tree roots at the bottom. Apprehension settled into your stomach seeing them so high. Already, you felt their pincers snapping close to you and their furry legs skittering when they rushed around. However, seeing Chan and the other townspeople getting off their horses, you knew showing fear would disappoint them. You are Multak, fire demon and vanquisher of Nor'goth. You can't be afraid of anything.

“Mr. Choi,” Chan looked at the wizened old man coming over to him, “What direction do we take from here?”

“Down this dirt path to the end,” he pointed at the path leading further inside. “My family sold the land when those damned tentaculars started nesting there. If the gang's anywhere, it is right here.”

Chan nodded and let him take the lead. He and several others kept their pistols and rifles ready as you carefully moved through the dead forest. One false step or loud twig might send a signal to any beasts in the area. You kept your hands firmly wrapped around the sword handle, doing your best to not tremble. You peered between thick patches of webbing; tricks of light and shadows created long legs and thick bodies creeping behind the silvery webs. There’d be no way for the gang to survive in arachnid infested woods; they’d be cocooned and devoured in minutes. Their warlock must have cleared them out; you might run into nothing along the way. At least, that’s how you comforted yourself.

“I thought demons weren't scared of anything,” Chan teased.

“I'm not scared.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“Am not.”

“Don't worry, YN. If a spider comes, I'll kill it for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the image left you feeling nauseous. Going deeper into the dense forest, you began hearing small cracks of twigs or rustling of leaves on the ground. The clicking and clacking of the tentacular species pinched your ears; you thought you might throw up right there. There used to be dozens back home, and you always avoided their nests. This forest is their ideal environment.

“Wait,” Mr. Choi whispered, putting up a hand, “I see lights. Yeah, they're right there.”

A glowing orange light broke the darkness of the forest on your left. Everyone turned to see it hiding behind dense bushes and trees. Anxiousness stiffened your bones when you saw thicker webs in the trees above you. They must have scared them off not long ago if the webbing appeared so fresh.

“Fred,” Chan called the burly man, “You take Ryu, Harold and Donny and flank them on the right. Mr. Choi, Samantha, and Jenny will take them from the left.”

“And you, Sheriff?” the woman, Samantha, asked.

“YN and I will draw their attention.”

You hardly heard Chan’s orders. You didn’t keep your eyes off the trees for a moment. Phantom hissing and clicking sent shivers up your spine, leaving you in a cold sweat that wet your palms. Back home, clearing out spider nests or infestations was left to the newest soldiers. Shadowland spiders looked nothing like mortal ones. Their venom burned through flesh and bone, and their pinchers stabbed like sharp knives. You hated them. You pushed them from your memory as Chan encouraged you forward. Steeling yourself, you tried keeping your fears deep in your gut instead of on your face. You’re supposed to be a big, scary demon. You are a demon of the fire clan, a warrior forged from rock and flame; not a baby afraid of a few pests.

Very large pests

Carefully, you both walked towards the firelight. Chan kept his rifle pointed ahead and you kept your sword at the ready. The sounds of chatter and laughter caught your ears first. When you and Chan reached a small bundle of bushes, you crouched down to peek through the foliage.

Around a campfire sat four men. One of them, broad and wide, turned sausages in a skillet over the fire while another, slender and narrow, poured more ale from a barrel nearby. One lounged back against large sacks, his hat over his face and a fourth sat on the floor arranging coins into small piles.

“I got twenty gold here, Suho,” the one with the gold said. “That’s five pieces each. I thought you said Maurice would make us rich! This ain’t rich!”

“The real money’s coming soon,” Suho, turning sausages, said. “After he’s done with those kids, he’ll hand over the rest.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Idiots…” you whispered to yourself. The realization came to you right away, and you shook your head. “They’re the gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“In order to appease Yuth’ik, the summoner has to offer gifts to the god. This warlock did not really need lackeys to kidnap children; they could have done it themselves. They hired these bandits to then hand them over to Yuth’ik.”

“A double-cross…Suho wouldn’t like that.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Follow my lead.”

Chan stepped out through the bushes first, casually walking into the light. You went right after him, eyes sticking to your surroundings. From the rocky face behind them, you guessed they must not be far from the mine entrance.

“Evening, y’all,” Chan said in a friendly tone, “How’re you doing tonight?”

The four men scrambled to their feet. They each reached for a nearby weapon to hold up, but you noticed the shock in their eyes. Only Suho appeared calm and easy.

“Evening, Sheriff,” he replied in a casual tone, “We were just enjoying a nice campfire, some ale and the night time breeze. Care for some?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m here on sheriff’s business tonight.”

“Is that so?” Suho glanced at his members, who sneered back at him. “That’s a shame,” he cocked his pistol, “Because I’m in the mood for bandit’s business tonight.”

“Do you happen to know anyone named ‘Maurice’, Suho?” Chan took a step forward, unafraid of the gun pointed at him.

“Nah, don't ring a bell, I’m afraid,” Suho shook his head.

“Hm, that’s strange. A little reptile hybrid said you might, and a few friends of mine have been looking high and low for him.” You heard his friendly, polite tone turn serious. “I thought The Hook clan didn’t harm children.”

“We don’t,” he said.

“But the person you’re working for does, and that’s okay by you?”

“I don’t work for anybody but myself,” Suho said.

“Stop with the games, Junmyeon,” Chan cut across him. “I know you and your gang have been kidnapping children from the town. You might be a thieving, no-good outlaw, but I never thought you’d be the type to hurt kids.”

“We don’t have anything to do with that.”

“We have your fingerprints on the trees where Barney Pebbles was taken,” he said. “Who’s Maurice and what is he doing with the kids?”

“I don’t know a ‘Maurice’.”

“Junmyeon…these children could be in serious danger. They’re innocent, and I know you wouldn’t let some psychotic warlock kill them.”

“Again, Sheriff, sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you even know the man you're working for, Junmyeon?”

“I only work for myself, so yeah, I do know the man I work for.”

“Whoever he's summoning tonight is going to expect human sacrifices…and it's not the kids.”

“What'd you mean?” Asked the shortest one, wide eyed and worried.

“He needs the kids to open the portal, but he has to have gifts to offer the tree god thing. I'm guessing that's you and your boys. Now,” he took another step, “You can tell us where he is and we stop him or you become an ancient being's dinner.”

You heard a small twig snap from somewhere behind you, and every nerve in your body stood on edge. It could either be a friend or a foe. A big, furry, hungry foe. Up in the sky, you saw the russet colors slowly fading to black. You’re running out of time.

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Suho declared, but not as strongly.

“-Junmyeon,” Chan came closer, “Don’t make this harder on yourself. Tell me where Maurice is, and you'll be free to move on.”

“Ha, I doubt that. You’ll have me cuffed before I even talk.”

“You're telling me you want to get eaten then?!”

You grunted and walked past Chan into the light. Eyes glaring at him, you let the fire light wash over you to give them a better view. All four men froze in place at the demon standing on the other side of their campfire. The cracking, burning wood crunched under your boots when you kicked their skillet aside and stood in the fire. The burning flames licked up your legs to your thighs, but you hardly felt them. You might as well have stepped into a warm bath.

“Listen, scumbag,” you growled, making sure he heard it, “Tell us what you know about the warlock and where he is before I pull you into this fire with me.”

Suho, clearly not one to back down easily, pointed his pistol right at you. “Stay away, demon,” he said stiffly, though you could smell the sweat coming through his pores. Fear. Your demonic roots savored the fragrance, “Or I’ll shoot!”

In a swift motion, you reached out and brought the heavy man right to the edge of the fire. High pitched screams followed his panic kicking as flames danced close to his ankles. Suho tried uncurling your fingers from his shirt collar, but to no avail. You bore your eyes into his as you spoke.

“Where is Maurice, human?”

Too afraid of being burned, Suho did not answer you right away. You quickly looked to the men around him, seeing how they’d backed up and away from you. “I asked you a question,” you grunted, lowering him closer to the fire, “Where is he? Where?!”

“Pl-please!”

“Innocent children will have their lives sucked out of their bodies, and you’re standing there refusing to help them?!” You dragged him into the fire at last, though kept him above the lowest of the flames. The sound of running feet told you his members left him behind to be tortured. “Do you know what we do to people who harm children in the Shadowlands? Hm?” You brought him in closer, “We burn them!”

You dropped him into the fire, and Suho screamed hysterically. Rolling away, he rustled around on the ground to put out the tiny flickers on his back. Panting and sweating, the gang leader stared up at you in horror. Most likely because the fires burning inside you had finally reached your eyes. Their mortal hue turned into burning coals, and your fingers itched to set him aflame.

“In the mines!” he screamed, cowering under your fiery gaze. “He’s in the mines! He has his little pets helping him! Please, don’t eat me! Please!”

“Where’s the entrance?”

Suho whimpered, not answering.

“Where’s the entrance?!” you demanded.

“Tha-th-that-t- wa-ay!”

He pointed to his left, and you nodded. Storming off into the nearby path, you already saw the sky gradually becoming darker and darker. The warlock could start their ritual at any moment.

“Hey!” you heard several pairs of feet coming up behind you, “Hey, what was that?”

Chan came up beside you, but you kept on moving. “Intimidation,” you said, “You weren’t getting answers, and we’re running out of time, so I stepped in.” You smirked over your shoulder, “Nothing makes a man talk more than under the threat of eternal flames.”

“You weren’t going to actually kill him though, right? That…That isn’t how we do things here.”

“Of course not,” you scoffed. “Yes, people like Suho deserve whatever fate they have coming, but when that happens is not up to me.”

“Oh…”

You knew why he asked that. “I’m not that kind of demon, Chan,” you told him, “I might be a demon, but I’m not a thrill killer. I only do it when-”

You stopped at the sight of metal tracks some yards away. The mine entrance was on the other side of them, dimly lit and foreboding. Empty cargo carts sat on the tracks, and you saw crates stacked on top of one another. Whoever worked this mine abandoned it long ago, and several residents had taken it up. All the fire from before extinguished when you saw the gargantuan spiders roaming the area. The stinging sensation of bile crept up your throat, and your skin started crawling again. Big and hairy, most of them varied in colors of white, gray and black. You almost turned back, but knew to do so now would be abandoning the children and also negating any perceived toughness.

“Kind of hard to intimidate a wild beast, huh?” Chan asked, humored by your weak attempts. “Especially big ones with several pairs of eyes-”

“-Nothing needs that many eyes or that many legs!” you harshly whispered. “How can we get past them?”

“Fire,” Mr. Choi croaked from behind, pulling out a large matchbox. “It’s how my grandfather used to do it back in the day.”

“Works for me,” Chan shrugged, turning back to you, “YN? Would our fire demon like to handle the big nasty spiders?”

You stuck out your tongue at his smug smile. “I’d love to,” you responded pointedly. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

“Please, be my guest.”

He then made a hissing sound that made you punch his shoulder. You knew he was only teasing. Any other time, you’d tease him back but the sight of a spider coming down from the mountain with a bundle between two legs caught your attention. Fire. Warmth and light always scared off nocturnal beasts.

Taking a step out of the treeline, a prickling sensation went up your legs, most likely the formation of goosebumps all over your body. You searched for a starting point for the flames, which happened to be the light shedding of webs along the tracks. In a single thrust of your hand, a bolt of red-hot fire shot from your palm and onto the metal tracks.

Like a spark to gunpowder, the fire quickly began spreading. The beasts sensed the fire right away, and scurried away from the light. When one of them spotted you, it screeched loudly and scuttled over to you. With a high scream, your entire body went into a panic and you shot both hands out. Shrieking screams pierced your ears as the flames engulfed the creature, whose cries died out along with a few others. Your comrades, not wanting to miss out, started shooting. Gun blasts added to the fires scaring off the spiders; some of them took several shots while the proper marksmen got them between the eyes.

“Come on,” Chan took one of your wrists, “Let’s get inside.”

“Inside?!”

You imagined more spiders awaited you in there, “This is no time to be a baby! Let’s go!”

Guiding you through the scorched earth, you kept your eyes peeled for any more spiders, but they’d appeared to have been killed or scared off. You’d gotten right into the entrance when your party came up behind you.

“There’s more where they came from,” said Mr. Choi, “But don’t you worry. I grew up in this mine. I know it in and out.”

“Yuth’ik is an earth god,” you deduced from research, “He’s likely far underground where there’s roots.”

“I know the right place,” he nodded.

Chan and Mr. Choi led the group, and you did your best to keep your shaking legs moving normally. Someone came up beside you.

“You really showed Suho.” It was Fred, carrying his rifle across his chest. “I ain’t ever seen a man scared out of his wits like that before.”

“Being the good cop wasn’t working,” you shrugged, “So I played the bad one.”

“We could have used someone like you when this all started.” Once he realized how that sounded, he recovered, “I mean, the sheriff and his deputies are great at their jobs. It's…Things weren't being done quick enough.”

“I understand,” you said. The amount of webs did not match the spiders outside. There are more of them. “He was doing the best he could with what he had. I'm glad to be of some use here.”

Fred moved to talk again, but the group then stopped. In the spacious coal mine, you saw them right when everyone else did. High above the floor, cocoons hung from the ceiling and stuck to the walls. Bundles long and short were covered in several lengths of sticky webbing. You gulped back the fear burning in your throat, and stepped over to a nearby cocoon. About the average size of an adult, you poked it with your sword. When it didn't move, you looked at Chan with a worried stare. Your suspicions proved true when you cut a hole in the head to see the corpse of a young elf maiden inside. Sickly pale and blue, her paper thin skin and hollowed cheeks suggested she'd died ages ago.

“How horrible…” Samantha frowned, opening another to find an old man.

“Donny,” Chan looked at Fred’s farmhand, “Stay here with Samantha and start cutting the bodies down.”

“Harold and I'll keep watch,” Fred said, pulling out a flint to light a nearby stick.

“Good idea,” he nodded his approval.

As the other four started removing bodies, the rest of you went further into the mine. It didn't take much longer to reach the heart of the mine, and it was there that you thought you might scream. Dozens of spiders small and large covered the walls, and stood on the ground around a platform of rocks. None of them caught your scent yet, but one false move will have you setting the place on fire in a panic. You flinched when a warm hand grabbed yours.

“Stay with me,” Chan whispered, his fingers gently taking your wrist this time. “We need to stick together.”

“The kids!” Mr. Choi gasped, pointing at the platform.

Wrapped from the neck down in white webs, four children wriggled around an archway carved into the stone wall. You heard their sobbing pleas through the unrest amongst the beasts, and you forced out your fears. They needed you. It was then that you finally saw the warlock named Maurice. The top half of his body was a human torso, aged but strong with white hair braided back from his face. The bottom half was a spider's form, eight legs keeping him standing high above the children. That explained why the creatures hadn't killed any of the clan members.

“My children!” He said, his voice a delicate hiss, “Tonight we bring forth the power of the old magic! We bring forth our salvation! We bring forth our victory!”

The beasts approved, clicking and clacking in their language.

“For centuries, mortals have feared our presence! They run from us! They hunt us down and kill us!” He continued, “But tonight, sweet children, the old god Yuth’ik will give us our redemption. We will have our revenge!”

“Ugh, disgusting creature,” Mr. Choi scoffed. “Let's get him-”

“-Not yet,” Chan stilled him with a hand. He scanned the area and shook his head, “There are too many of them. They'll overpower us. We have to be smart about this.”

“Or extremely dumb,” you said, a thought coming to you. “You stay hidden and wait for my signal.”

“YN!”

Your knees wobbled walking towards the entryway into the main area. A human would be of no concern to the spider hybrid, but a demon from The Mar might keep him distracted.

“-No more will you cower in your nests, feeding off scraps! You will have fresh meat!-”

“I wouldn't say my meat is fresh!” You shouted over the chatter of the room, “But demons are an acquired taste, I've been told.”

Maurice paused in surprise at the sight of you. Black eyes held you in their gaze. He had four of them. Nobody needed that many eyes.

“Ah,” he grinned, teeth sharp and white, “Here's the demon I've heard so much about. Was it you who harmed my children outside?”

“They were in my way.”

Confidently, you walked through the horde, which parted to make way for you. Glittering black eyes stayed on you as you moved. Having them all in one place suffocated any fresh winds coming through the tunnel passages. Your skin prickled having them so close to you. You kept a tight grip on your sword at your hip, gripping so tight the pummel dug into your palm. No fear. Show no fear.

“You know summoning an imprisoned god is against the celestial laws, Maurice,” you continued. “The Blind One doesn't take kindly to people who disobey him. I suggest you release those children and take your spider friends back where they came from.”

Maurice gave a mocking laugh, “As if you could do anything to stop me. Once my ritual is complete, no mortal alive could stop me.”

He turned away from you to face the archway. “You'll have to give him something in return,” you said, “And be in servitude to him for life. I don't think you want to be someone's puppet, do you?”

“I will do anything I must,” he said. “I shall be the ultimate supreme lord. Everyone will bow down to me or suffer the wrath. The weak mortals you so eagerly helped will be scum beneath my feet.”

“Please, help us!” A red-haired girl with leaves in her hair cried. Sanghee, no doubt. “Help us!”

“Please!” said the werecat Hyeyoung.

“He's going to kill us, please help!” pleaded a blond boy with concurved ears. “Help! I want to go home!”

“Silence!” Maurice shouted angrily over his shoulder.

He lifted his head towards the arch and began muttering the incantation. It brought forth a vortex of black and blue, and gradually a white light broke through. You gasped at the recognizable swirls of The Abyss. Unrest rippled throughout the horde, who'd begun moving away as the portal opened.

“Children,” the warlock called out to the spiders, “Dinner.”

You screamed as several spiders hurried towards you, some clawing over others to reach you. Fear and panic set inside you again, and erupted on its own. Bursts of fire cracked and burned the ground around your feet, keeping a protective circle as you started launching fireballs at any beast in sight.

‘Bulgakgan!’

Flames shot out continuously from your hands, and as you moved in a clockwise circle, spiders were incinerated. One minute there, the next a stumbling ball of fire. Sensing a greater foe, the rest of the spiders began crawling away. This boosted your confidence significantly, and you switched to your sword. With another command, the dragonfire runes on your sword burned red and heated up the steel blade. Swinging and slashing the air, the spiders burned from the flaming steel alone. You hardly noticed the grunting and struggling occuring on the platform above you.

Chan was locked in a struggle with Maurice. He blocked the hybrid's long legs with his arms, then gave a swift kick to the steady legs on one side. Maurice shot bolts of gray and black shadow magic at him. One barely grazed his bicep, and you heard his loud painful cry. Maurice, believing him finished, sent more shadow bolts at him just as Chan rolled away. Getting onto his feet, you watched through your own fight as Chan turned around. Mr. Choi, holding his own against his own foes, tossed him a rifle. Maurice chuckled right as Chan raised his weapon.

“For Levanter Bay!”

You heard the war cry from behind you. Fred, Samantha and Donny appeared, sweating and fueled with adrenaline as they covered the front entrance. A gunshot bounced off the walls, though the thick webs kept the sound suppressed. Chan's bullet missed, which amused Maurice, who curved his hands until more dark matter materialized between his palms. Chan quickly reloaded, but Maurice rushed at him. With another shadow bolt, he knocked Chan squared in the chest and launched him back several feet.

You hurled a fireball at his legs, causing him to fall against the wall. This split second diversion was all Chan needed to shoot a bullet into Maurice's forehead from the ground. Their leader defeated, propped up by his legs, the other spiders disappeared from battle up through ceiling tunnels leading further into the mountain. You took deep breaths, heart pounding in your chest as you rushed over to Chan's side.

“Chan, are you alright?” you asked, looking him over.

The shadow bolt singed his shirt, the black mark vibrant against his chest, but otherwise no blood. It hadn't gone through completely.

“Thick skin,” Chan winced through a laugh. “Merfolk side, they say.”

You both stood up on shaking legs, “Still, shadow magic is nothing to sniff at. You need to get that checked out.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he saluted halfheartedly.

The thought of Chan being mortally wounded by shadow magic came to you. You'd grown to like Chan. You felt glad for his merfolk blood. His eyes glimmered even in the dim torch light, and his soft smile warmed your cheeks. You turned from him to see Mr. Choi cut the children out of their cocoons. To avoid more butterflies, you started helping him.

“Papa!”

Barney Pebbles ran to his father the second you freed him, weeping and reaching out before the man embraced him tightly. The other children took comfort in the adults who'd saved them.

“Sheriff Bahng!” Dobin, furry with a black snout, ran over to him, “I knew you'd come! I told everyone you'd come for us!”

“Of course I did.” Chan hugged him and patted his back. “Your parents have been worried to all hell about you. Let's not keep them waiting.”

“Or stick around for more of those things!” You added, shuddering and sheathing your blade.

The rest agreed and walked with you out of the mine. You took in deep breaths of fresh air, feeling the breeze cool down your body. Heat never bothered you, but it still felt nice to fan your flames. You watched Barney and Fred riding back on his horse, the young boy protected by his arms. Being raised in The Mar by the warrior fire clan, people thought your clan were cruel. In fact, it'd been the opposite. You sat on your horse, remembering the time an air demon healer soothed your cries after a particularly nasty spar in the yard.

“Ma'am?” Hyeyoung sat on Samantha's horse, tearful and shivering. “Are you a real demon?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But demons are supposed to be mean.”

“I'm only mean to the bad guys.”

She grinned at this, but said nothing else as she leaned into Samantha's embrace. When you reached the main road, you caught up with Minho and Han towards town. Minho found nothing at his mine, and Han only ran into vagrants with nowhere to live. What you really anticipated was the missing children with their parents. Word spread about your mission while you'd been gone, and as you rode to the town square, all four children rushed to their parents. Cries of joy and smooching kisses reached your ears, and it brought warmth into your chest.

“Oh, thank god!” Mayor Wallace appeared from the school house building, which doubled as a meeting hall apparently. He hustled over to Chan, “Chan, Chan, thank goodness you came back safely! And you got the children back too!”

“It wasn't all my doing, Gerald,” Chan insisted, dismounting his horse. “I had help.”

Mayor Wallace looked at you once more. You expected words of suspicion or caution, but instead he held out his hand, “Thank you, YN. We wouldn't have our children back if you'd not stepped in on time.”

“I was only doing my job, sir.”

“And a fantastic one you did.”

Someone called him from afar, and he excused himself. The weight of the battle, using your own magic, and the adrenaline wore you down. The hazy feeling of exhaustion came over you within minutes. You looked on the townspeople being reunited with friends and loved ones fondly, similar to scenes you'd come across during the war. The fear of the past few weeks lifted at the return of the four children. Taking a seat outside The White Pearl, you continued observing them.

Nor’goth used to claim that humans were selfish beings that knew nothing of loyalty. They were animals that killed each other needlessly. The people of Levanter Bay proved him wrong. The mortal world proved him wrong. When the tides grew high and the odds stacked against them, mortals banded together under one flag. They created The Allies, and stood as one against a common enemy. The Shadowland cities did no such thing until the war, and Sakmarth liked to say mortals had much to teach them. You couldn't help being in awe of them at that moment.

“Hey there, Honey,” you said kindly as the bear waddled up the steps towards you. She sniffed your palm once more, then licked it. “You should've mentioned you liked spiders. I would've brought back some legs.”

“They're too boney and don't have enough meat for her.”

With the pet came its tamer. Changbin stood at the door a foot away, leaning on the frame.

“She usually eats salmon or roots and berries I pick up on my hunts,” he took a seat beside you to watch the community. “You really pulled it off, huh?”

“You doubted I would?”

“Not for a minute,” he shook his head, “But it's amazing. The kids are saying you had a flaming sword?”

“It's a rune blade.”

“Interesting,” he nodded thoughtfully. “You'll make big money off of this. Saving children from a spider hybrid must be-Haha, what's with the shudder?”

“I hate spiders,” you grumbled. “Why did it have to be spiders?”

He laughed and patted your back, “Come inside, hero. We cooked up a feast to celebrate. You look like you could use a drink or two too.”

“Good, I'm starving!”

You went inside with him to find tables of food laid out. You went in right away, sneaking apples to give to Summer later on. As you tore into a chicken leg, Han and Minho appeared in front of you with their own plates.

“Spider hybrid, huh?” Minho sniffed, “I suppose we were wrong about the human warlock theory.”

“Very,” you nodded, taking a huge bite of your chicken leg before turning it over. “He hardly got a chance to summon Yuth’ik.”

“Chan said you got there in the nick of time,” Han said, forking mashed potatoes into his mouth. “He said he might have gotten killed if you hadn't come along.”

“And that he inherited his mother's skin,” Minho sipped an ale cup before saying, “Well done, Multak. I told you we'd have this thing finished by supper.”

You both grinned at one another before digging into your supper.

****

The festivities carried on through the night into morning. You crashed into your bed upstairs and passed out instantly. When you left your room for the common area downstairs the next morning, you were met with applause. This reaction startled you, But not as much as the praise.

“Thank you, YN!” Fred Pebbles came over from the bar and lifted you into a bear hug. “From me and mine, thank you!”

“Woah, okay!” You laughed out your surprise.

“We mean it,” Wilma walked up from behind him, holding out something to you. “Here, take this as a thank you.”

Made of pure tiger's eye, someone engraved the blazing sun into the small charm. It hung from a thick string that glistened in the sunlight.

“It's a tiger's eye,” she explained. “My people wear certain stones for different things. This charm will protect you on future quests.”

“Appreciated, Matriarch.”

She smiled at the elvish title. “No, thank you. Barney is our only son. When we heard he'd been taken, we thought he'd be dead for sure. It was by the light's grace that you showed up when you did.” You saw her watery eyes and hugged her tightly.

It then occurred to you that The Pebbles' weren't the only ones with tokens of gratitude. When Wilma and Fred left, the other parents met you outside. Sanghee’s grandmother gifted you a valerian plant, meant to bring strength and knowledge to you. Dobin's father and mother gave you a wolf tooth, a special gift given to allies of specific werewolf packs; Hyeyoung's werecat parents did something similar with a cat claw. But, it was the children who warmed you the most.

“There's the demon lady!” Dobin said from across the square.

They'd all been standing in the middle of the market with Han, who smiled at you. “Well, go on,” he encouraged, “Jump her.”

You flinched at the gaggle of children coming your way. They didn't jump on you, but they surrounded you.

“Do you really have a flaming sword?”

“Can you make people turn into dust?”

“Hyeyoung said you set the spider man on fire!”

“Ms. Demon Lady, did you die?!”

You didn't know which one to answer first. However, their barrage of questions ended when Chan appeared.

“Come on now,” he said, shepherding them away, “Don't crowd YN. You got school.”

The children groaned in disappointment, but still walked away. You fixed your jacket on your shoulders, watching them going towards the schoolhouse. Most people you helped handed you the money, and then sent you on your way. The people in those towns usually didn't know you'd helped them at all; they only cared when their own people rushed into danger. Yet, the cold reception you received when you arrived turned warm and friendly.

“You've become pretty popular around here,” Chan told you. “You're all the kids have been talking about.”

“And clearly their opinion is the only one that matters,” you smiled in amusement. “How are the kids doing?”

“They're still shaken up, since, you know, a spider hybrid kidnapped them and planned on sacrificing them to a tree god,” he answered, “But they're happy to be back home. Thanks to you.”

“And you,” you added. “How's your chest? That bolt hit you pretty bad.”

“Minho took care of it for me,” he shrugged, though you noticed the slight wince when he did. “It just stings. Nothing to worry about.” He then fished in his pocket to withdraw a leather pouch, “The mayor wanted me to pass this onto you. Your payment.”

You opened the pouch to see dozens gold and silver coins in the bottom of the bag. With an approving nod, you already budgeted what amount went to what expense.

“So, um, where do you plan to go now?” Chan asked you, hands in his pockets as he walked with you to the stables behind the White Pearl. “You can always pick up other jobs around here. Someone always needs help. Mrs. Young still has a boar problem; she says they keep eating her cabbages. I didn't know they even ate cabbage,” he added with a soft laugh.

You chuckled, coming up to Summer's stable. Your horse kicked the ground gently, a greeting. “As tempting as Mrs. Young's boars sound, Summer and I were planning on heading to the capital.” You pet Summer's snout, smiling softly as she huffed. “Don't worry. We'll take a ferry there.”

Chan stayed silent, then said, “Um, that might be a problem.”

“How come?”

“The ferry isn't running right now,” he said, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Our local sea serpent has been seen close to the bay, and the King declared the ferry closed to keep people safe. You know these sea monsters. They like knocking boats over and eating people.”

“The King said this?” You faced him, arms crossed in disbelief. “I didn't hear anything about that.”

“It came in an hour ago,” he said. “Private government papers and other boring stuff. The damn thing nearly swallowed a whole navy ship, so imagine a little transport ferry. Psh, they'd stand no chance.”

Not once did you ever hear a royal decree not being posted or spoken about anywhere. Looking over Chan, you noticed the slight curls in his black hair, pushed back from his face and left to grow out. Brown eyes looked at you with a twinkle of hope inside them. You supposed you could stay a little bit longer. It isn't as if you had important business anywhere else. Levanter Bay did not seem to be a terrible place; the sunshine is something to be desired, but the people were actually nice. You touched the tiger's eye necklace you'd been given, as if rubbing it might produce an answer.

“I guess we can hang around here,” you said casually. “What do you think, Summer?” You asked your horse, “Want to hang around here for a bit?” You laughed when she grazed on the hay inside a feed bag. “I guess that's a ‘yes’.”

“Great,” Chan grinned. “That's really great.”

“Looks like you're in luck then,” you walked up to him, casually, “You'll have someone help your station get out from under the bounties up on that board.”

“I'm not proudful. We could use a demon in this town. Except, maybe one that doesn't burn down a whole cave because of a few spiders.”

“There were more than ‘a few’,” you punched his shoulder, but he only laughed. “There were hundreds, and I took out a good amount before everyone else joined in. I noticed you, Sheriff, didn't fight any spiders.”

“I was fighting the biggest one!”

The two of you talked about Maurice and his disgusting army on the way back to the inn. You had enough gold to buy you food and board at the inn, and you actually liked Changbin and Honey didn't scare Summer.

It's not such a bad place after all.

***

A/N: Wow, my first Stray Kids fic (well, a real one. The last one doesn't count too much to me). I hope you guys really enjoyed this one! I have one for each of the members coming up soon! Like, comment, and reblog! it keeps posts alive <3

Episode 2 >

#stray kids #bang chan #han jisung #seo changbin #yang jeongin #kim seungmin #lee felix #lee minho #hwang hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fantasy au #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #chan x female reader

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copperbadge · 4 months

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It's time for some Post Office Bounty! I am bad at checking my PO box but always delighted to find treats when I do. Up top, some delightful random flavored chips from @221squee, thank you! The takoyaki chips are very pungent -- they taste very nice but they do smell very strongly of fish -- and the "Chip Star" consomme flavor was delightful, I ate them all in like a day or two. I have to admit I haven't tried the foie gras flavor yet...I have had foie gras before but that's how I know it's, uh, a powerful flavor. I'll get up the courage eventually. :D And I love the card!

I always know when I get a package from @shirokou that it's going to be full of fun stuff -- there are some wonderful enamel pins (I'm going to have to redo my Ita bag for the new year!) and stickers, and I'm excited to learn about these diviniation dice that came with such a fun rolling mat. I'm going to be doing some tarot reading tonight so hopefully I'll do some dice throwing too!

And so many lovely cards! There's one in the middle that you can barely see because I wanted to make sure I covered up any faces, but I always love seeing the photo card every year! (And loved hearing about the new pup.)

The glittery gifts up top is a fun 3-D card from @scifigrl47 , and next to it the basket of boughs is from @delphia2000, thank you both for the holiday wishes! There's some pretty sheep from T in Berwyn (glad I offered some comfort and entertainment this year!) and a wonderful polar bear with some penguins from @kimmiesue13. I got a fun Christmukkah card from Josh & Kris (man the card also reminded me about the holiday I invented, Christisntspringhereyetmas, but there's always next year to celebrate that). Finally, a beautiful and indeed terrifying owl card from Wendy (it's so eerie, I love it) and some awesome glittery snowmen from Traylor.

Thanks everyone! I hope you all had a good holiday and that it's okay I posted the holiday cards a bit later than I'd hoped :)

#post office bounty #221squee #shirokou #scifigrl47 #delphia2000 #kimmiesue13

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wannab-urs · 11 months

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Hello and welcome to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2023!

My dear friends and I took on the challenge of pegging many of Pedro boys over the last couple weeks, and I'm here to put them all in a masterlist for you!

I'll be updating it as we get all of the boys who have been... uh... claimed... posted, but also there are a few boys we didn't take on. Feel free to message me about adding your fic to the list!

Thanks to @atinylittlepain, @serenaxpedro, @jksprincess10, @cutesyscreenname, and @beskarandblasters for helping me put this together <3

List below the cut!

Anything For You, Babe by @wannab-urs | Frankie

You and Frankie try something new because he's a simp and he loves you.

Nothing to Hide by @atinylittlepain | Pre-outbreak!Joel

she learns a couple new things about her man over the course of a night.

Non-Disclosure Agreement by @atinylittlepain | Dieter

Something unprofessional keeps them professional.

I’d suffer hell if you tell me what you'd do to me tonight by @serenaxpedro | Post-outbreak!Joel

You knew you could trust Joel with your life, knew he would never judge or betray you. But what if it came to a very particular want of yours? Would he be up for a night of new kind of fun?

New Experience by @jksprincess10 | Javier Peña

A new discovery leads to a new experience for Javier.

Vaya con Dio by @atinylittlepain | Sean "Dio" Morrissey

Dio thinks he's got her all figured out, but she's got a few tricks up her cashmere sleeve.

I Bite Back by @wannab-urs | Max Phillips

Max Phillips is seemingly always in command, always domineering, always on top… except when he’s with you.

Something Different by @beskarandblasters | Din Djarin

You work at a brothel on Coruscant. It was a night just like any other but you wanted to do something different for a change. And you get that when a Mandalorian walks in looking for intel on a bounty.

Office Hours by @cutesyscreenname | Mr. Ben (SNL)

Reader surprises Professor Ben during office hours. And not for lunch.

Appropriate Reactions by @wannab-urs | Ezra (Prospect)

Ezra is stranded without a ship and has nothing to offer you in return for a ride off The Green... So you make a deal.

Gold by @jksprincess10 | Oberyn

Oberyn has given you a beautiful but strange gift, and he wants you to use it on him.

Play by @atinylittlepain | Javi Gutierrez

it's not that kind of play, honey.

Coming Soon:

Marcus Pike - claimed by @atinylittlepain

Dave York claimed by @serenaxpedro

--------------------

Happy Pegging!

#peg that middle aged man campaign 2023 #peg that middle aged man 2023 campaign #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Joel Miller fics #frankie morales fics #dieter bravo fics #dio morrissey fics #max phillips fics #din djarin fics #Mr. Ben fics #Oberyn Martell fics #ezra (prospect) fics #javi gutierrez fics #javi p fics

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months

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Favorite Bounty Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Chapter W/C: 8.3k

Chapter tags/warnings: Nothing to warn about yet, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, canon-typical violence, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE

Chapter summary: Your day takes an unexpected---but surprisingly welcome---turn when you get caught in the crossfire of a Mandalorian fight.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You hear blaster fire going off outside.

Quickly, bang after bang ripples through the air and the sharp sounds travel through your window, making your ears ring.

A commotion like this is not an abnormal thing to wake up to on this planet, Jakku is known to house dangerous criminals looking to escape the New Republic. Some thugs get away with spending as many as a couple of months or so slipping around from town to town before getting caught. Even though you have grown used to the fact that there are gangsters sneaking around, you don’t feel comfortable going out without your blaster. You’re not the best shot, but you’re also not the worst by any means.

At least you don't have to worry about Jakku getting super overrun. It seems as though criminals are always being plucked from dark corners and alleyways to be brought in. Despite their best efforts, they always get caught eventually. If the New Republic can’t get to them, it’s likely they will get tracked down by a bounty hunter and hauled off the desert planet imprisoned in carbonite. In your opinion, the better option would be to let the Republic get to you first. You've seen firsthand the fates of crooks after being handled by a bounty hunter and decided it makes getting thrown into a cell by an officer look like a dream.

You don't see the need in panicking about the blaster fire just yet, it seems to be pretty far off. You just pray silently that it won't get any closer. It's still a bit dark outside. You glance at the clock and scowl when you realize it's only about 6:40. You have work today but you don't have to get up until 8:00. You contemplate trying to go back to sleep but decide it's not worth it, you're already awake anyway. And besides, it's probably not the best time to be letting your guard down, even if the commotion seems to be a good distance away.

You sit up straight, letting your bare feet dangle off the bed, and stretch your hands above your head with a groan. You feel your back strain and lock up. Stars, it hurts.

You’ve been picking up extra shifts at the junkyard and it's starting to show. Pulling heavy wagons full of scrap metal really takes a toll on you after a while. You roll your eyes when you remember the large load of parts that was dropped off yesterday. Today’s going to be a long one.

You sit in silence for a second, trying to fully convince yourself to get up. You contemplate getting someone to cover your shift, but you know how dirty that would be. You know you wouldn't be able to enjoy your day with a good conscience.

Suddenly, a loud crash pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump up looking for the source. You turn towards it just quick enough to see a glass shatter on your kitchen table. A blaster shot had torn through your window and by some stupid coincidence, pelted right through the cup as well.

Maker, just what I needed today, you think sarcastically. The disturbance must be happening much closer than you initially thought—either that or the fight has moved closer in the span of a couple of minutes. If that's the case, it must be moving fast, an indication that you probably need to move. You try to snap completely out of your sleepy state and scurry to pick up the glass so you don't step on the shards while you get ready.

You pick up the broom and dustpan nestled in the corner of your small house and walk back to the table. You stop in your tracks once another shot comes roaring through the now-shattered window. What the fuck?! These guys must only be a couple of yards away.

You shoot down to the floor, trying not to land on any glass, but too alarmed to care much at this point—you’ve abandoned the idea of being careful, you need to get out before you’re trapped in here. Eyes wide, you watch as yet another shot intrudes into your home. You follow the fast flash as it shoots through a closed cupboard, probably breaking more glasses as it settles.

Your head whips back around when you catch a flash of metal flying across the window in your peripheral vision. Whatever it is, it’s probably the target that's caused shots to stray into your home. Ok, the fight is right outside your house now. Great.

Your heart starts to pump with adrenaline, and you form a plan in your head in a matter of seconds and jump up. The collision seems to be inching closer and closer every second. You spot your boots sitting next to your bed and tug them on before grabbing your bag full of essentials. You always keep one under your bed just in case. It doesn't contain much, but it has enough water and rations to get you through a few days, as well as a dagger as a backup defense.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror of your open bathroom as you quickly strut towards the door three minutes later. You’re still in your sleep shirt—an old tee that has faded far too much to be worn in public. You had managed to remember to slip on a pair of pants in the midst of your panic as well. (Thank the maker for that). You also decided to slip into a light jacket last minute. Your hair is messy but you had frantically pulled it up just enough that it won't get in the way.

After taking in your disgruntled appearance for a split second, you turn towards the door, already dreading what you might come face to face with once it’s open. You put your hand on the knob and start to turn it until...

BANG!!!

The door slams open and you throw yourself to the side to avoid getting trapped underneath it. Everything seems to happen so fast. You see the same metallic flash you saw earlier, but this time it bursts into the tiny room as the door falls to the ground. Once the dust starts to settle, you can make out the shape of a body–the flash you saw is actually a… droid? No, the flash of metal you saw is a man. Just as you begin to register what's going on, you see a bundle of brown and green tumble from the stranger's grasp. You look back to the door and the heap of tin is suddenly boosted into the air and back on his feet, the jetpack strapped to his back turning off as soon as he’s stable on the ground.

As the warrior straightens, you realize two things. One; the man is a Mandalorian, no wonder he looks so shiny. You evaluate him again as he stands in place for a moment, tall and intimidating, the realization makes your stomach twist with uncertainty. You have heard a lot of stories about Mandalorian culture, some good, some… well, not so good. Recalling some of those not-so-good stories in question is enough to make you weary of his presence. You try not to judge too quickly though when you realize the second thing…

The brown and green bundle that rolled into your home upon the intrusion was a baby. He is still stumbling to a stop when you land eyes on him. Without thinking, your instincts kick in and you’re scrambling toward the child, praying he didn't hurt himself in the fall. You scoop him up and inspect him quickly but thoroughly, trying to keep in mind that he’s not the only thing you need to be worrying about right now.

You’re not sure of the ethnicity of the creature, but he is definitely young, and judging by the Mandalorian’s panicked reaction when he reaches for the child only to find an empty satchel, he seems dead set on making sure he has the baby within his grasp at all times.

Realizing the child is missing from his spot, the man looks around frantically while trying to simultaneously avoid the bullets ripping through the air. You look between him and the child in your hands a few times before you lock eyes, well, eyes and helmet at least. He looks you up and down and stops at the little green ball settling into your arms. Even though you can't see his face, you just know his eyes narrow as he snaps his head back up to look at your face. Oh shit.

If you thought he was intimidating before, it was nothing compared to the energy he is filling the air with now. You try not to seem scared but you feel your eyes betray you as they open wider and you have to swallow the lump stuck in your throat. You subconsciously bring the child closer to you even though you know you should probably be getting him back to his…father? Whatever the relation, you don't have time to figure it out right now. You just know you need to give this baby back before you get a bullet between the eyes.

You tear your vision away from the kid to look at his father as he starts to strut toward you. You feel your stomach clench into a nervous ball from the raw power the man seems to emit the closer he gets. You stagger back a bit, slamming one hand behind you on the ground, and you have to try your best not to fall on it. The man stops after the first couple of steps though, when a bullet hits him on his right shoulder, thankfully covered by what you recognize as beskar, the most robust metal in the galaxy, best known for armoring Mandalorians.

He barely falters at the impact of the blast bouncing off and instead reaches for his own blaster currently stationed in its respective holster. Within a split second, he whips around and shoots the offending crook, and then another standing beside him before turning back around before you can even blink. As quick as the gang members hit the ground, more start to file in, all seeming to have it out for the Mandalorian.

What in chaos could this guy have done to have this many people out for his throat?

Everything just seems to get more and more confusing every second. Who is this guy? Why is he carrying this baby with him? Who did he piss off this badly? Just in general: what the fuck is going on??

The gang is circling around him, trying to surround him completely. He turns every which way, landing hits every time he pulls the trigger, but they just keep coming. As tough as he seems to be, you can tell he is starting to get overwhelmed. It's got to be one to at least 20 right now. He slows for a second, probably trying to figure out the best course of action from here. He knows he only has a second to decide what he needs to do. You watch him from the ground you’re still stationed on as he appears to be weighing his choices. You peer down at the little green creature in your lap. You wonder why he hasn't come to rip the kid out of your arms yet.

“You…”

You look up, nearly snapping your neck out of shock when you hear the baritone voice coming through the Mandalorian's helmet. His head turns towards you slightly, probably to make sure you’re still there. He speaks loudly so you can hear him over the blaster fire he’s still dancing around. His tone is harsh and commanding and you listen for him to finish whatever he was going to say. For a second you think you might have imagined it.

“You need…need to run… take the kid and run… i'll find you”, he calls to you between shots as he continues dropping enemies.

You hear what the man is saying but you don't think it processes because you’re still sitting on your ass staring at him with wide eyes. Clearly, he decided to trust you enough to bring his child somewhere safe. He said he would find you, he trusts you—for now—you need to move before he changes his mind. Your brain is telling you what to do, but all adrenaline seems to have drained from your body because you find yourself unable to move.

He stumbles back a bit as another bullet hits his chestplate, probably knocking the wind out of him. The gang is getting closer. He scans his surroundings and turns to you for a split second. “GO!'' Even though it's breathier this time, the command is louder and more prominent. It's effective though because before you know it, you’re on your feet and pushing out the doorway, bag slung over one arm and the kid tucked in the other. The Mandalorian makes sure you’re going to follow his instruction before turning back to the pack of crooks surrounding him.

You dodge as a grimy hand reaches out to grab you, but the next second, he is lying lifeless at your feet. You turn your head just enough to see the kid's father spin back around, spraying more bullets as he does. You frankly have no idea what's going on right now, why you are agreeing with this man, or why you are still carrying this unknown child as you dash out of sight. Stars, you don't even know where you’re going. Seems like the best option right now, you try to reason with yourself.

You twist and wind down alleyways, praying silently that you’re not being followed. The sun is starting to rise, making it harder to blend in with the shadows as you sprint aimlessly away from the combat. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest as you start to come to your senses. You can’t hear blaster shots anymore, and you think you have been running for ten minutes or so. Your legs have started to burn, but your ears have stopped ringing, so at least there's that.

You decide that there is probably about a mile between you and the battle at this point. The thought convinces you to slow down a bit and you inhale a deep breath you didn't realize you needed. Holy shit… what the fuck. You stand in the middle of an alley, hidden by a dumpster as you crouch down to try to calm yourself. You try to regulate your breathing, you know you can't rest like this for long, so you take advantage of what time you can spare. In and out…in and out...

You look down at the child in your arms and can't help but relax a little more when you see his big black eyes staring back at you. At least he looks comfortable, You think. You feel yourself soften as you smile a bit when the child coos up at you, reaching his little three-fingered hand up to grasp a small handful of your messy hair.

You start to untangle his tiny fist from your hair when you hear something behind you. Your eyes go wide again and you are automatically back into flight mode. You have no idea what made the thump, but it sounds close enough for you to want to get out of that dark crevice as quickly as you can. The ache in your legs miraculously goes away as you stand up. You have the adrenaline to thank for that this time. Looks like it's finally working in your favor.

Clutching the kid up to your chest, you shush him as quietly as you can and start to move around the dumpster, a bit slow at first as to not alert whatever made the sound of your presence, but you pick up the pace as soon as you feel it's safe to do so. You jolt back into a full sprint, looking back over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure you don't see anything coming up on you.

You wind down a few more empty streets, trying to spot your next move before you reach it. Even if you panic a bit at first, you have always been good with slowing yourself down and keeping a relatively level head in stressful situations.

You’re smart, you know you can get out of here undetected if it's a member of the gang from back at your house. None of them seemed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. They seemed to be more set on landing a hit somehow than anything else—so probably not too focused on what's going on around them.

You hear another loud thump - whatever it is, it's getting closer. Your pulse strums in your ears and you could’ve sworn it stopped for a second. You gain a bit more speed, pushing yourself as fast as you can. You feel as if you are being hunted, it's an awful eerie feeling. Fear starts to crowd in your stomach again at the thought of it. “Come on…not today,” you mutter almost silently to yourself, the noise coming out slightly distorted from the tremble shooting throughout your body.

You turn your head around again and your blood runs cold when you see a shadow cast onto the building you just ran past. It looks like it's moving slowly, almost casually. It's a large figure… its fucking stalking you. You squeeze your eyes shut for a split second when the thought presents itself. Shit, shit, shit-

You try to collect your thoughts enough to figure out a plan in case it is a gang member on your trail. Some of those guys looked pretty big, and even if they are dumb as rocks, you’re honestly not sure if you would be able to take one on your own—especially while using one hand to hold the kid. You reach behind you for the extra knife you strapped to the side of your bag, but you feel nothing—you must not have grabbed it in your panic to get out of the house. A groan slips out between your closed lips, a mix of frustration and fear apparent in the sound.

You try not to hyperventilate when you begin to fully grasp the reality of your situation. You are in the middle of nowhere, being hunted by a large creature, defenseless, and with no plan in place to protect this baby.

You tell yourself to calm down, you know the creature is starting to gain on you, and you need to think clearly in order to figure out how to either hide or defend yourself. You whip your head around behind you one more time, trying to spot the shadow so you can gauge how much time you have to prepare yourself, but you don't see a shadow.

You don't know if you should be more alert or more scared. Sure, the shadow is gone, but that could mean one of two things; one: you lost him in the last few turns you took, or two: he was somewhere beyond your reach, waiting to pounce. You try to shake off the dread taking over your body as you continue to push forward.

Your frantic thoughts stop short when you run into a hard surface. Shit. Your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself unable to look up at whatever you had run into. But before you can convince yourself to, a large hand wraps around your wrist and you jolt at the sudden connection. Fuck.

Although you are still jumping out of your skin, you almost cry tears of joy when you see the familiar visor of the Mandalorian looking down at you. You may not know this man, but you do know that as long as you have his kid, you’re not going to be caught up in any kind of trouble. You sheepishly give him a half smile and he takes a step backward, releasing your arm.

As scary as he can be, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stare up at him. Running into him is definitely the better alternative than coming face-to-face with a gangmate. You look behind you one more time just to make sure nobody is following and your body relaxes a little once you see the coast is clear.

“Oh, thank the maker Mand-“, you start to tell him you thought you were a goner but you get cut off as he pushes his arm out towards you again.

You are a bit confused when he holds his hand out expectantly, palm towards the sky. “The kid.” the gruff voice tells you flatly. Oh, right, that. Your brain is clearly still mush from the terrifying chase. You feel your cheeks flush as you quickly reach your other arm down to pick the baby up properly, but before you can touch him, the Mandalorian's hand shoots out once again to grab your forearm.

He gives you a hard tug and turns around so your back is almost flush against him as he leans forward a bit, enclosing you into a tight space. What the fuck is he doing?? “Hey wha-”, you start to retort angrily before he cuts you off by cupping a sizable hand around the lower half of your face. Ok, now you’re pissed.

You try to squirm out of his grasp, anger bubbling up as you prepare to give him a piece of your mind. Feeling your struggle, he holds you tighter to him, and you feel a tinge of shame when you can't help the nervous flutter that appears in the bottom of your stomach when he presses you up against tight muscles. “Stop moving” he whispers harshly, somehow managing to make it sound intimidating even in such a quiet tone.

You listen to him, shocked again by hearing him say something. “Listen,” he says, helmet pressing gently against the side of your head as he hunches you down further. Wanting to struggle more but not seeing any other choice, you do as he says. You hear faint footsteps rushing in the distance, getting louder the longer you sit there. By his hurried whispers, you can tell the sound has to be more gang members, out on the search for the man above you.

“You need to listen to me”, he says suddenly. “I'm injured and there are too many of them for me to get rid of right now. You need to follow me closely so we can get out of here.” You shudder at his rushed whisper against your head. The rebellious part in you wants nothing more than to turn around and tell him to fuck off, but you know that escaping with the Mandalorian is your best chance to evade the group of criminals right now.

You know they have seen your face, and they know you took the child with you when you bolted. As dumb as they may be, they have probably put together that this man is not going anywhere without his kid. You need to get out of here, and as much as you hate it, listening to his infuriating commands is the smartest decision you can make in this scenario. You decide ultimately to comply to make your escape quick and easy.

You look up at him as much as you can and give a curt nod, letting him know you are going to follow his lead. As soon as he sees you give in, he takes his hand away from your mouth and stands up. You let him drag you back up to your feet by the wrist he still has within his grasp. You’re surprised at how effortlessly he lifts your weight, but then again, he is a Mandalorian, so it shouldn't stun you as much as it does. Maybe not stun, maybe it scares you, but you can't tell the difference right now.

Before you know it, you are being pulled in the direction the man seems to be set on. Judging by the confidence in each step he takes, he seems to know where he is going, which is a relief on your part because you are still in such a daze that you don't know if you would be able to tell right from left if you had to.

He steers you in between allies and around corners in complete silence, probably still listening for the crooks behind you. After a couple of minutes, he slows from his rushed pace and into a walk when he notices you struggling to keep up with the child growing heavier in your free arm.

You guess the gang is far away enough for it to be safe to slow up a bit. He lets out an annoyed sigh as he switches speeds, just quiet enough to where he probably didn't think you could hear it. You roll your eyes behind his back. He isn't the one holding this absolute boulder of a child, you thought, also getting annoyed.

You have no idea where he is taking you or how long it's going to take to get there. You want to ask him but he doesn't seem like the type to tolerate being bombarded by a million questions. He would probably leave you in the dust after the second one.

After another minute your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to just risk the one. You open your mouth to ask where you are going, but before you can say anything, you get jerked forward by the heavy man as he unexpectedly hits the ground on one knee. He lets out a strangled grunt as a cloud of dirt is lifted up from the force in which he lands. The gang had a sniper waiting, and he had shot an unprotected spot in between pieces of heavy armor lining the man's leg.

“Shit!”, he gasps as he removes his hand from your wrist to instinctually cover his fresh wound. You found your balance as he releases his grip. You look up to where the shot came from and his eyes follow yours, looking just in time for the perp to jump down from where he had been lying prone on a rooftop, probably going to tell his fellow cutthroats your location

Groaning, the Mandalorian rises to his feet and points in the direction he had been leading you, keeping his other hand on top of the gash on his thigh. You grimace as you see the crimson blood start to pool out from under his glove and trickle over his shiny armor. You have no idea how he is standing on that right now. The child in your arms turns to face your chest, apparently having seen the small flood as well.

He was clearly unsteady on his feet because of the amount of blood draining from his body at an alarmingly quick rate. He sways a bit before yanking his head to the side, trying to snap himself out of it. Your attention is pulled to look at his helmet as he instructs you on where to go. “You see that–fuck–you see that ship over there?”

You look to where he still had his hand raised and spot the hunk of metal. It isn't too far away, you could probably make a run for it and be there in less than three minutes. You turn your head back at him and nod as he drops his hand back to his side.

“You need to get to it… ill… ill meet you there,” he tells you between heavy and distorted pants.

You hesitate, wanting to help him get there as well, but you have to remind yourself that he knows what he's doing. He’s probably done this more times than you can count.

You take off into a full sprint, determined to get to the ship as fast as your feet will carry you. You try not to look back as you hear another storm of shots fired through the air. You don't need to know who has the advantage right now, you just need to get to your destination and pray the Mandalorian comes back in one piece.

You hold the kid tighter to your body, trying to conceal him as much as possible.

You can hear your heartbeat pounding like a drum in your chest, threatening to pop out at any moment. You are running on pure adrenaline at this point, and your brain has definitely checked out. The ship grows bigger as you approach, probably only a minute away now.

Almost there…

It's old and it looks like he could have pieced it together with scraps from the junkyard, but it will have to do. You just hope it can actually get into the air, it almost looks too damn heavy to fly. He had to have gotten here somehow though, so it obviously serves its purpose.

Seconds later, you step onto the open ramp of the ship. You feel like you want to cry with relief. You’re so close to getting off of this maker-forsaken planet. Even before all this, you have always dreamed about getting away from this awful place. Now that you have an opportunity to do that, you are going to use it.

Before you can turn back around, you hear a series of clambers and then a loud thud. You quickly realize that it was the sound of the Mandalorian jumping onto the ramp behind you and rolling until he hit a crate sitting in the hull.

He must have been rushed and still in the middle of a fight judging by the amount of force he used to push himself onto the transport. The beskar-clad warrior lets a deep and distorted gasp escape through his helmet after likely having the wind knocked out of him by the harsh landing. To top it all off, it looks like he came to a stop on top of his maimed leg.

After the initial shock of being dragged onto his ass—even if it was his own doing—he puts his palms out in front of him to hoist himself back up as easily as he can manage. Even though you can't see the man’s face, you know he has to be wincing under his shiny visor. He recovers fairly quickly, but you have a feeling that the Mandalorian is rarely this clumsy. The blood loss is probably throwing him way off kilter.

As soon as he was up he limps his way to the side of the ramp and slams down on a button to bring it back up before turning back around to climb the ladder you could only assume leads to the cockpit. He struggles with not being able to put much weight on his injured leg, but he makes it up nonetheless. You can still hear shots raining onto the ship, but the metal seems sturdy enough to deflect them relatively easily.

You stand uselessly in the belly of the ship as you listen to him stumble around above you, probably trying not to grunt too much as he pushes himself through the sharp pain in his thigh. You take an educated guess when you gamble that he is definitely not the kind of person to submit to showing anyone he is in pain, no matter how much it may be affecting him.

You have to regain your balance when the ship jolts suddenly and you are sent forward as it is lifted into the air. Between all the running you had just done and the shock of having to plant your feet to avoid falling on your ass, you render your legs useless and back up until you feel a crate behind you, taking a seat. The relief you feel as you lift yourself off of your sore feet is almost instantaneous.

You let out an exasperated breath and bring the child closer to you. You feel a faint smile crawl across your face when he balls his hands into tiny fists in the air and lets out a squeaky yawn. Poor thing is probably exhausted from the long morning he's had so far. There's also no telling what he may have endured in the hours before he rolled out of his father's arms and into your house.

Realizing you will finally be able to relax a bit and have time to think, all of the doubts and emotions you should have been feeling come rushing in like a flood. You have no idea what you are going to do now. Where will you go? Surely you won't go back to the planet you just left, even if you wanted to, you get the feeling it would be too dangerous anyways.

How are you going to get back on your feet once you do settle onto another world? You only have a handful of credits stuffed into your bag. Can you trust the Mandalorian to drop you off somewhere safe enough for you to even try? Will you be able to stay alive if you get landed on another planet like Jakku? Is he still alive up in the cockpit right now?

Some of your wordless questions are answered when you hear the bulky steps of the Mandalorian climbing back down the ladder. You realize suddenly that you had been staring into nothingness for maker knows how long. You shake your head and turn towards the Mandalorian as his feet hit the ground, opting instead to stare at him as he walks across the foundation of the ship, obviously trying not to limp.

Even though you can’t see beneath his heavy helmet, you imagine him wincing and feel a tinge of empathy. Just by the way he confidently carries himself even through pain, you can tell he wouldn't dare ask anyone for help with anything if he knows he is capable of doing it himself, least likely tending to an injury.

You know the location of the wound is not ideal for him to patch up himself, and you instinctively want to offer a helping hand, but something in the back of your mind tells you he would never let his guard down long enough for you—a stranger—to touch him in such a vulnerable position, even if it may be only to help. You can't blame him though, that is an iffy situation. You frankly don't know if you would trust a stranger to help you in that way either, especially with the many enemies he seems to have. You wonder why he has so many… what in the universe could one man have done to have that many people against him?

He walks past you and you watch with curious eyes as he pries open a crate near the back of the room, pulling out a bacta patch and a few other medical supplies. He curses quietly to himself as he closes the bin back up and takes a seat on top of it. With a small thump, he leans his head to rest on the wall behind him. You picture now that he is probably trying not to close his eyes, still carefully aware of your presence mere feet away from him. With all the blood loss he's sustained and fighting he's done in the last couple of hours, you can only imagine how much he wishes he were alone to be able to do just that.

Can’t he know by now that you’re not going to try anything? You've been sitting on a bin the entire time, with his kid sleeping in your lap for maker's sake! It's so frustrating to have to sit back when you know you are able to help.

After a moment, he lazily lifts his head back up and reaches for a cleaning solution—bacta spray you can only assume—and attempts to spray it through the burnt hole in the fabric of his flight suit. The hole seems to be positioned to where it's almost covered by the plate of beskar on his lower thigh.

In order to get a good visual and make sure he's actually dousing the blaster wound, he has to cock his head to the side a significant amount. He clearly can't see well enough the first time he tries so he leans a bit more. This time, he manages to get the solution in the right spot, but he also about falls off the bin he's sitting on. He must be dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost. He tries this tactic three times before he gives up with a frustrated groan and sets the spray back beside him.

You take your eyes off him and spot what looks like a hovering crib in the corner of the hull. Going against your instincts to stay still and quiet, you get up and walk the now sleeping child to the opened sphere. You can feel the Mandalorians' eyes following you with every step. You place the kid inside, making sure he’s comfortable, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk cautiously toward the already pissed-off Mandalorian. You scold yourself mentally, knowing how stupid of a decision you’ve just made.

He tenses and sits up as you approach, no doubt trying to make himself look bigger. You slow your steps and subtly raise your hands, trying to show him that you just want to help. Your heart is pumping a mile a minute and you silently pray that he can't hear it. You know he’s struggling—he knows he’s struggling—you both know that whether he gets it from you, or from a medic on the next planet you land on, he's going to need help dressing the wound.

You look up at his helmet, hoping you’re making eye contact, and nod toward him while darting your eyes toward the spray, trying to make your intentions clear. He loosens his posture a bit and you take that as an invitation to take another step forward. You keep your eyes on him as you reach for the spray. You cautiously look away from his visor and train your vision to look at his leg instead. You can tell from here, before you even try to clean it, that you won't be able to see under the fabric enough to tend to the wound.

You bite your lip and try to think of what to do. You have an idea, but you just know he’s going to hate it. You rack your brain trying to find another option, but you know there's no alternative to what you have to do. You can feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head as you place the bacta spray back down and reach for the pair of medical scissors sitting next to a roll of gauze.

You see him tense back up out of the corner of your eye. You try to take steady breaths as you pick up the scissors and turn toward the intimidating man in front of you. You reach out to grab the fabric of his pants, fingers almost touching when his hand bolts out from his side to catch your wrist. You gasp as the scissors fall to the floor, he seems to have snapped out of his temporary daze at the sight of your hands getting closer to his exposed skin. This man has something against wrists, you think, trying to humor yourself to calm down.

The hull is dead silent, the only sounds are your shaky breaths and his battered ones. Every breath he takes is faint and labored. You stare at each other, neither of you daring to be the first to move. You should be terrified, but something tells you he's not going to hurt you. You keep your composure and glare back at him, doing your best to show him he can’t intimidate you, which you at least know is a full-fledged lie.

You can tell he is barely conscious as it is, and if he tried to land somewhere to get a nurse to look after his injury, he probably wouldn't be able to stay awake long enough for it. This needs to happen here and now, you are his only shot.

You continue to stare, brows furrowed and your mouth screwed tightly shut as you try to ignore his grip. It’s tight and threatening, and it scares you half to death, even though you won’t let him see that. “I…you need to let me help” you manage to stutter from under his grasp. You swallow, trying to compose yourself. “I need to be able to see the area to clean it,” you say, trying again to maintain eye contact.

You’re proud of yourself for sounding more confident, you need him to think he doesn't frighten you. You wince as he slightly tightens his grip on your forearm. Ok, well maybe that didn't quite have the effect you hoped it would.

He stares at you for what seems like forever, obviously weighing his options. He grunts frustratedly but drops your wrist. It's a small victory, but you'll take it. You rub the forearm he had wrapped his hand around. He sees you do so and reaches out again, this time to make sure you're ok, but he retracts it almost before you even notice—which he probably didn't want you to do. He didn't realize how much of a grip he really had.

Taking a shaky but deep breath, you lean down, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your wrist, and pick up the fallen scissors. “I won't cut any more than I need to,” you say, looking up at him. “Promise.”

You wait for a response, not sure if you'll get one at all, but after a moment he gives you a slight nod. He seems to be more cooperative now, probably because he feels a tinge of guilt about accidentally hurting you, but you'll take what you can get. “Okay”, you say, trying to calm your breathing. No looking back now.

You kneel down facing his side and reach again for the fabric of his pants. When you look up to check for confirmation one more time, he is turned facing forward, staring at the wall in front of him.

You hate that you have to do this, you don't know a bunch about Mandalorian culture, but you do know that as long as they can help it, they never show any skin, especially to an outsider. Before you can convince yourself to stop, you carefully loop your pointer finger under the ripped material. You do your best to not touch any skin just yet.

Once you are sure the fabric is lifted away enough to make a cut without touching his thigh, you slowly glide the scissors underneath.

You make the cut as small as you can, not wanting to reveal any more than you absolutely have to.

Luckily for you, he seems to be getting drowsy and more off guard, so you shouldn't have to be too cautious. You spread the material apart and bring the bacta spray to the injury now that you have a clear view. It's still slightly hidden by the plate on his thigh, but it's definitely more accessible than it was a minute ago.

You wince at the gory sight of the blaster wound, it looks like it’s probably big enough for you to fit your thumb in. There is still a small amount of blood trickling out so you use a gauze pad to dab around the hole and then apply a bit of pressure to get it to stop as much as you can.

Now that it's at least a little clean, you spray the solution. It must sting a good deal because the Mandalorian pops back up with a hiss and you feel his fingers—you feel his fingers thread through your hair.

You want to slap yourself when you feel the warmth of arousal building in your abdomen and between your legs. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder what other circumstances might have him pulling your hair. You realize you wouldn't mind being in one of those situations at all.

Stop! What the fuck are you doing? This man is a maker-damned bounty hunter. A cold-blooded killer capable of snapping you in two where you stand.

You do your best to convince yourself the man in front of you is a monster—you should not be thinking of him in that way.

You gasp and look up at him, honestly not sure if it's from the interruption of your inappropriate thoughts or from the sting of the slight grip he has on your hair. “I-”, you sputter, not able to find the right words. You figure his action came as much of a shock to himself as it did you because he retracts his arm as quickly as he had grabbed you. “Shit I-”... “im sorry”, he apologizes quickly. You snap back to the present and frantically reassure him that it’s ok.

You could tell by the way he struggles to find the right words and that he doesn't offer an apology on a regular basis. Despite his hard and intimidating exterior, he had felt he needed to say something to you. You curse yourself again when your cheeks flush from the thought. Shit.

You shake the childish thoughts from your head and focus on the task at hand. You definitely weren't the best nurse in the galaxy, but you would have to do it. As you settle into the familiar routine of fixing up the injury, your thoughts drift to where you had first learned the technique. Your mother was a medic her whole life. It was her passion, and she wanted to pass her skills on to you. One of the first things she had taught you about was sterilizing a laceration.

You smile faintly as you recall one of your earliest memories. She had taken you to her clinic and sat you down on the counter while she sorted some meds. Afterward, as she had promised you that morning, she pulled out the supplies needed and showed you step-by-step how to disinfect an open injury. Your eyes water a bit as you recapture the moment. Stars, you miss her. You catch yourself drifting off and try to snap yourself out of it. This is not the time to think about this… you need to focus.

You work to finish cleaning and dressing the wound as fast and delicately as you can, desperate to get some space between you and the Mandalorian as soon as possible. The last thing you need right now is for this man to pick up on your flustered movements. You have been glancing up at him every minute or so, just to make sure he’s still comfortable and that he hasn't passed out. It would monumentally suck if you were stuck trying to figure out how to get this ancient hunk of metal of a ship to cooperate with you.

You put a final patch on the injury and get back on your feet. You glance hesitantly to the t-visor following your movements. You send a small smile in his direction as you begin picking up the supplies to put away. “It should be fine now as long as you don't run on it for a bit,” you tell him as you open the bin he had pulled the equipment from.

You have relaxed more since being on the ship and your voice is no longer quivering. You need to keep yourself occupied so you don't sound anxious again. You feel the need to make sure the Mandalorian knows you aren't unnerved being around him. You don't want him to think he can intimidate you so easily the way he can with others. The next time you dare yourself to look in his direction, he is still sitting in the same spot. Now that you have had the chance to calm down and take a few deep breaths, you have gained your composure and a slight bit of confidence.

“You should probably try to stand on that” you suggest. “You know, just to make sure it's not going to keep bleeding”.

You think for a moment that he's just choosing to ignore you, and then you think he might have actually passed out this time, but right before you are going to say something else, he starts to raise himself off the bin. You send your thanks to the maker for not making you have to argue with this man. He takes a step forward, testing the waters to make sure he isn’t going to collapse if he puts his full weight on it.

He takes one more cautious step before trusting it completely. Once he's sure it's stable, he walks to the crib you had set the baby in. The kid still appears to be sleeping. After he makes sure he's not injured in any way, he turns back around to climb the ladder to the cockpit. You find it kind of touching that the warrior can be so soft for a child, you can tell now how much he cares about him.

He strides past you and reaches for the first rung. He clasps his hand around it and stops, turning his head slightly in your direction. “Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now that he's sure everything is settled. You are taken aback by the gratitude and stand there looking like an idiot for a moment. He starts to turn his head back once you give him a small nod.

“You’re welcome.”

****

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sporadicthingcollection · 6 months

Text

Would You Rather...?: Part 1/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which you make an occupational switch and a clown grows covetous. In other words, a different sort of romance dawn. Prequel to "Kiss, Marry, Kill." Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: General. Word Count: ~4.5k Warnings: Reference to past abu$e, canon typical violence.

A/N: And now for something a little different! There's no smut in this one, but the seeds of pining are planted. 🌲🌲🌲 I originally posted this this morning, but was having some technical difficulties. Take two!

I knew right from the beginning

That you would end up winning

I knew right from the start

You'd put an arrow through my heart...

---

PART 1: TROOPER'S TRIBUNAL

You start the week getting thrown in the brig by your commanding officer. You end the week helping some goofy pirate kid and his not-friends beat said commander up and legging it on a stolen boat.

All in all, it could have been worse.

Right now, you’re sitting in the cabin of said little boat, hands bound, legs crossed, and your mouth politely shut as the redhead -- Nami? Nami. -- finishes giving the men a geography lesson.

“So, now that that’s out of the way...” She casts an icy glare in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

“Toss her overboard,” the bounty hunter says -- Zoro, you’re pretty sure his name is.

Luffy is the only person who’s been giving you any grace all day. All week, even. “She helped us out and that’s how you want to repay her?” He shakes his head like a parent scolding a child. “As your captain, I’m disappointed in both of you.”

Eyerolls all around, but only Zoro speaks. “You’re not my captain and she’s not my crewmate. Between kidnapping a Marine and stealing the map, we’ve got a huge target on our backs.”

Your voice croaks as you speak. You haven't said anything in a few hours. “I deserted,” you say. “They probably won't send a goon squad or anything after you--”

If Nami’s glare was cold steel, his is titanium in a blizzard. You click your mouth shut before he decides to use those swords on you.

Luffy frowns. It’s an unnerving look on him. “Well, whatever you were before, you’re with us now.” He pauses. “Eh, what’s your name, by the way?”

More annoyed groans from the other two. Nami pinches the bridge of her nose hard enough for you to worry she might bruise it. Zoro turns away, so nonplussed that he might as well be a subtraction sign.

You think to yourself. What is your name? Your parents gave you one name, then it got changed on you, and then you got rid of that one and picked out a new one.

You give him that one. You're fond of it and it rolls off the tongue well enough.

He repeats it back and his smile returns. “Great! So that’s four of us. Good starting number--”

The crack of cannonfire splits the air, followed by an explosion.

It’s a little gratifying to see something other than annoyed disinterest on Nami’s face. “Marines?” she asks.

“Told you she’d be trouble,” Zoro says.

They run on deck. Luffy helps you to your feet so you can follow. Streaks of red rain down upon you like the boughs of a willow. It's beautiful in a concerning way, like a poisonous frog.

You’d be more concerned if you had any idea what you were looking at. Naval smoke bombs are usually a searing neon orange to better stand out against the sea and sky. Not to mention that they’re next to useless at night. This is... well, you’re not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it’s bad news.

A whistle splits the air, followed by another plume of red smoke. A powdery scent hits your nose, accompanied by something familiar. But what? Smells like talc and the anesthetic they use on pack animals...

...uh-oh.

“Kids," you say, "find something soft to land on."

Too late. Nami drops to her knees, then hits the deck with a painful thunk. Zoro fares no better and you really hope he didn’t land on his swords.

Well, no use in fighting it. You barely manage to make it back into the cabin, slumping against the bench before your legs give out. Darkness edges at the corners of your vision, and your eyes droop shut.

Footsteps make you open them. Luffy scrambles for the map and, after a moment of contemplation, tips his head back. Perhaps it’s the gas hitting you, but you can’t help but be awed as it disappears, little by little, down the kid’s gullet.

He swallows, grimacing. He then notices you.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

“Cool,” you mumble.

Your eyelids come crashing down, and all you see are kaleidoscopes.

---

Well, that was a fucking disaster. Started out well, everyone hit their marks, and then that guy in the spot booth fucked his grand entrance up. Again. He's gonna strangle that fucker.

But that's a Tomorrow Buggy problem. Right Now Buggy has something more important to deal with: four upjumped little shitstains who stole his boat and his map.

“I've been scheming for weeks to get that map from old Axe-Hand--” Ooh, this one’s good. This'll knock 'em dead. “Moron!”

He pauses for a beat. Miss Ginger does not react, just stares at him in fear and disgust. He’s a little disappointed, but whatever. Can't land 'em all.

And then he hears it. A loud snnnnnrrrrrk, the tell-tale sign of a repressed laugh. He turns.

He'd gotten a look at all four people on the ship as they'd been hauled aboard, but you'd completely slipped his mind. A sliver of your smile flashes in the light before your eyes go wide and you slap your hand over your mouth. You look everywhere but at him, eyes darting around.

He gives you a quick appraisal. Tall, dark, in uniform. Interesting. He’ll grill you later.

Which comes sooner than expected. Miss Ginger pulls a fast one and tries to escape. He’s already got a bead on Rubber Boy and the bounty hunter, so now it’s your turn.

“Ya know, I've always found some small charm to a woman in uniform,” he chirps as he approaches you.

You stare dead ahead -- right at his nose -- and swallow stiffly. You rattle off a name, rank, and a string of numbers he doesn’t care about. He’s too busy studying your face.

And what a face it is. Roundish, but not plump. Tanned, but not burnt. The beginnings of lines crease the space between your brows. Eyes as dark as the sky opposite the dawn stare right through him and you’ve got thick, black hair to match. Damn shame you have to put it up in a cap.

Despite standing at parade rest, you spin one of the many rings on your fingers -- those don’t look regulation. You’re nervous about something, something that isn’t just the fact you're being stared down by Buggy the Clown.

You start to rattle off your identification number again. He waves his hand at you. “Just tell me where my map is, Miss Gyrene,” he says.

You bristle like an old toothbrush. It's cute. “You want that map, you’ll have to gut him--”

You clap your hand over your mouth again, eyes darting back and forth. Rubber Boy flinches slightly.

So you and Rubber Boy know where it is, and the bounty hunter and Miss Ginger don’t. Good to know.

Speaking of which, they haul her back inside soon enough. She gives him an earful and he continues to not care. He dismisses her and the bounty hunter, but stops his goons before they can haul away you and Rubber Boy.

“Not them.” He points at the two of you and crooks his fingers.

Rubber Boy wanders over with no prodding -- not an ounce of self-preservation in this one -- but you struggle as they drag you closer. He likes that little spark of fight. Makes it all the more fun to snuff it out.

"I'm gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal. And as for you..." He gives you his toothiest, showiest smile. “Well, there’s always a place in my show for a beautiful woman with a sense of humor.”

---

Now ya done it, ya dumb bitch.

Maybe if you'd stayed quiet, you wouldn’t have had Barry Buzzy Buggy getting up in your business. Maybe you wouldn't have missed Nami's cue to leg it -- not that she got far. Maybe you wouldn’t have been voluntold for the position of lovely assistant.

But no. You had to be so nervous and jittery that you couldn't help but laugh at the dumbest thing you ever wished you'd thought of yourself.

Axe-Hand Moron. Heh.

And so here you stand, cranking a wheel on demand, assisting in the torture of the only person who's been nice to you all day. All week, even.

Not that it's really torture. Luffy seems mostly fine. Ish. He screams a bit whenever the rack stretches him, but it quickly gives way to laughter. Good to know that at least one person isn't miserable in here.

Blinky Biggy Buggy is eerily calm. He conducts himself like a shrink, probing for reasons to slap his patient with a Section 8. Or a man of the cloth, urging a stray member of his flock to self-reflect. Or a prehistoric high priest, preparing the sacrifice for slaughter.

"Oh, Miss Gyrene, dear?" he calls in a sing-song voice. "Give us another... I dunno, ten feet?"

Definitely a high priest. Definitely a sacrifice. And here you are with no choice but to twist the ceremonial knife.

...but you do have a choice. Your medical satchel hangs heavy at your side. Do no harm. You wonder why they let you keep it.

Regardless, you give the wheel a crank. Sorry, kid.

"Thanks, sweetheart." The clown returns his attention to your little buddy. Tormenting him. Grilling him. Finally finding an exposed nerve and striking out at it.

You don't listen to what they're saying. Your sanity, heavy as a sledgehammer, hangs on by a rapidly fraying thread.

What have you done? You threw away your life on a lark. Again. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Because you were miserable, that's why. You were miserable before. You were miserable again. So instead of dealing with your problems, you left. Coward.

Didn’t you try, though? You talked to them. One threw you in the brig. The other popped you in the mouth. So you went above their heads. One wrote you up. The other slapped you down. Only then did you burn the bridges -- absent without leave on one count, a mysterious abduction on the other.

The clown is having a moment, yelling at Luffy's hat. You wish you had a hat to yell at. But no one in either of your lives was big on headgear.

You know what? There’s no gun to your head. No threat of being thrown in the brig. Death is certain, sure, but... If you go through with this, if your saving grace dies because of you, is your life really worth living?

The clown orders you to crank the wheel 'til Luffy snaps. It registers somewhere in your mind, but you’re too caught up in your internal spiral to acknowledge it. Take a ticket and get in line with all of the other demands.

"Hey!" the clown barks. "You deaf?!"

Tiny little strands of your common sense, snapping and spinning and fraying, one by one. Just leave. Simply walk away. Or give that fucker a piece of your mind. You’re free to backtalk for once.

The clown huffs. "So hard to find good help these days," he mutters. "Gotta do everything my own damn self..."

You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You're a pirate now. The worst that could happen is death and after the times you've had, that doesn't sound too bad today.

Bitumen Blitzen Buggy stands opposite from you. He grabs the handles and gives the wheel a turn.

The thread snaps. The hammer drops. Your sanity and your last shred of self-preservation shatter like a dropped vase.

Your grip on the wheel tightens, stopping his cranking. You look him dead in the eyes.

"No," you say.

The clown stares at you, gaze wide and bright as a searchlight. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." Grabbing the bottommost spokes, you heave the wheel upwards, slackening the lines.

The glare Buoy Bursary Buggy levels at you flickers a moment. To what, you can't tell, but it returns to normal soon enough. He grips the wheel and pushes against you.

“I offer you a place of honor in my show," he says, voice rising with every word, “and you repay me with a no?”

You push back. “I'm not gonna help torture a kid. Not today. Not ever.”

After a moment of a push-pull stalemate, he loosens his grip just enough for you to lurch forward. Taking advantage of your stumble, he tightens the line. "I could find a geriatric, if that's more your style. Mister Mayor is getting up there in years."

You regain your grip. You reach deep inside yourself to summon the strength you need. Summon all the rage you've kept buried. All the fire and fury.

"I--" You grab one spoke. "--said--" Then another. "--no!"

With a mighty heave that hurts your shoulders and makes your elbows pop, the clown loses his grip and the wheel spins out. The lines lose all of their tension and Luffy hits the ground with a smack and an "oof."

You glare at the clown. In his face, you see every person who ever made you do something you didn't want to do.

Morgan. His spawn. Your birth family. Your marital family. And now a literal clown.

You spin the wheel hard. The spokes whack Blasphemy Bathymetry Buggy in the chin a few times, knocking him back a step.

You throw your Marine hat down, freeing your mane from its prison. You pull the bobby pins out and shake it like a dog coming in from the rain. With a mighty toss, you let it fall down your back.

You feel freer already.

You don't expect him to be cowed, but you'd at least hoped he would look a little taken aback by the sight of an ex-Marine with eight fingers full of rings ready to throw a punch.

But no. He just straightens up, rubbing his jaw. You can't read his face in this light. Scorn? Pity? Interest? You have no idea as he peers at you with pale eyes.

He speaks. With the gentle tone he uses, he sounds almost genuine. "Gotta hand it to you, Miss Gyrene: you've got balls."

Genuine enough to knock you off-balance. "Say again?"

"Standing up to someone ready to kill you," he says. He takes a few steps towards you. "Awfully brave. You done this before?"

He's not wrong. That sudden burst of spit and vinegar came from a decade of pent-up misery. "Kinda," you admit.

He steps a little closer. From far away, all you could make out of his face was his makeup. But now you see features you weren't expecting. Strong jaw. Cleft chin. Eyes you can't tell the color of -- blue? Green? The dim light is no help.

"No stage fright on you, kid."

He reaches towards you. You flinch, but all he does is tuck a strand of hair behind your ears with a gentle touch. He lingers on your cheek.

He's not much taller than you, but when he's this close, you have to lean back to peer up at him. His gaze is soft, his lips curled into something close to a smile, head tilted just so.

Your heartbeat quickens. Why? You have absolutely no idea.

Now he smiles, albeit thinly. He's close enough for the peak of your breasts to touch his chest. He radiates warmth, even through all of his clothes.

"Who was it that hurt you?" he asks quietly. "Was it one person? Or a whole troupe of terrors?"

You swallow. Names and faces swirl around in your head. Aunty Yoko. Sakazuki. Uncle Arun. Morgan. Mama Shruti. Nezumi. Mr. Jaswinder Rajendra. Helmeppo. Dowager Chambeli.

Your voice trembles like a harp string about to snap. "Too many to count."

“Sorry to hear that.” His lips purse. "Don't suppose one of them was ol' Axe-Hand Moron?"

Your traitorous mind still finds that funny. You manage to keep your lips shut, but the snnnnrrrrk escapes through your nose all the same.

You try to look away, but he touches your chin and tips your head back towards him.

The clown is smiling. A real, up to his scrunched eyes smile without a hint of malice. A giggle bubbles through his lips, light and airy. It almost sounds cute.

Your heart flutters again. Like a hummingbird trapped in a birdcage, tickling your ribs and making you want to vomit all over your shoes. "Morgan's a jerk," you say.

He nods. He takes your hand in his own, clutching it as he raises it higher. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart: if you tell me where my map is..."

He leans in. His warm breath tickles your ear. He smells like a tube of fancy lipstick you can't afford and sea air that blows through a bar window.

"...we'll go blow that old geezer and his base to kingdom come," he whispers, a smile still in his voice. "You and me and all my freaks. I'll even call in some favors. We'll have a whole fleet. And your little friends can come too, if they play nice."

Now that's a thought you'd entertained more than once over the years. Blow up Morgan. Stab Morgan. Feed Morgan to sharks. Set Morgan on fire. But it only ever remained a thought.

You're not sure how to feel about that. "You'd start a war over me," you state.

"What can I say?" He pulls backwards, eyes twinkling beneath his lashes. He strokes your knuckles with his thumb. "A face like yours deserves to launch a thousand ships."

Raising your hand to his lips, looking into your eyes, he places a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

For the briefest of moments, the hummingbird breaks free and zips right into your throat, stuck there between your trachea and your heart, still flapping hard. Your chest burns with a fire you haven't felt in a long time, flames licking up to your cheeks to scorch them red.

And then you're catapulted back in time, back to when a handsome man kissed your hand and smiled and made promises and you fell head over heels down the stairs.

It all changed in time. The kisses stopped. The smiles vanished. The promises were forgotten and shoved into the back of the closet. You started falling a lot more often.

Never again.

You yank your hand back. "Nice try," you growl, "but I'm not stupid."

He has the gall to pretend to look hurt, his smile slipping from his face and the glimmer in his eyes winking out. But his gaze hardens, and his cruel smile returns.

"Shame," he says. "Guess I'll just throw you on the rack instead."

You try to jump away, but he strikes like a snake, wrenching your arms at awkward angles and gripping you so tight you worry you might bruise.

“Let her go, Boogie," Luffy growls.

Grip still firm, Boogie Bouffant Buggy whirls around with you. Luffy is on his feet, free of his shackles and glowering. It's still unnerving to see anything but a smile on his face.

"It's Buggy," the clown spits. His grip on you tightens, and you cry out. "And why should I? We were hitting it off so well! Weren't we, darling?"

He simpers the last word and grabs you by the waist, pulling your hips right against his. He places his head on your shoulder, his stubble scratching your cheek.

"We were about to start picking out flowers and sending out invites and everything."

This man has triple backflipped right off the deep end. You keep struggling. You manage to hook your leg behind his, but the angle is too poor for a takedown.

He kisses your cheek. A big, ridiculous mmmmmmwah, but a kiss nevertheless. You gasp. He laughs and throws his arm wide.

"Screw the RSVPs! Everyone is invited to the Fabulously Flashy Wedding of Buggy and--!"

Two things happen at once. Luffy reels back a punch, the stretch of his skin audible. You grab Buggy’s arm, finally in a position for a takedown.

And then two other things happen. Luffy's arm snaps back like an elastic cord and punches the clown’s head clean off. You crash to the ground holding a severed arm.

Someone screams. It was you. You drop the limb like a bad habit and scramble away.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

You both look at his fist, at your hands, then back to the headless clown, still standing.

---

Buggy didn't go into this intending to get up close and intimate with you. It just kinda happened.

Who can blame him? You flexed those big strong muscles and let down that long pretty hair and you looked so hurt and frustrated. Like an angry little kitten in need of some TLC.

So he threw you a bone. All the while, you gazed at him with those deep, dark eyes, hanging onto his every word.

He meant them as much as he could. He doesn't have the firepower to take on the whole Marine operation, but he could swing something. You seem like the kind of woman worth blowing up Marine bases for. Or a battleship, at the very least.

Shame you threw your lot in with the rubber punk.

Your skin is so warm beneath his gloves, your body so supple against his. And your hair smells very, very strongly of vanilla and... Is that cinnamon? It can't be. It's too citrusy. Regardless, it's hypnotic.

He just can't help himself. This might be the only chance he's got. He tips your head to the side and kisses your cheek.

And it's everything he hoped it would be. Your skin is so soft, so warm, so sweet beneath his lips and squished against his nose. He wishes he could linger there forever. But everything good must come to an end, and he pulls away before he overstays his welcome.

Next thing he knows, he's flying through the air. Well, just his head. He lands in an audience member's lap. She screams, of course. He plays it off with a wink and a quip.

He zooms back to his body and reattaches with a pop. Seems his arm is gone as well. He gives it a flex and clenches his fist, making you scramble away and to your feet. Terrified is a cute look on you.

"You ate a Devil Fruit?" Rubber Boy asks. He sticks his arm in front of you like it would actually help.

"Sure did!" Buggy chirps. He recalls his arm and shucks his coat, one sleeve at a time. "The Chop Chop Fruit. So you can slice me and you can dice me, but I'll always pull myself back together."

He separates his limbs from his torso and his head from his neck, just because he can. It's worth seeing the shock on your faces. Especially yours. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Good look on you.

It takes all of his self control to not grin as he folds his arms behind his back. "Wanna see what else I can do?"

He sends his hand skittering up your back and onto your shoulder. You scream as it jumps at Rubber Boy's face, and he yelps as well. His other hand positions itself to the side.

When you're both suitably distracted, he grabs both of your heads and slams yours against Rubber Boy's. With a sharp crack, out go the lights and you both crumple to the ground.

"Sorry, dear," he says. “Never would have worked between us.”

---

All this going unconscious is going to scramble your brains, you think as you stir. You shouldn't make a habit of it.

You open your eyes. A thin light shines right on you, burning your vision. Are you dead? Have you died?

No, your head is throbbing. Pain means you're alive. At least you've still got your medical satchel. Its presence against your side is a small comfort.

You sit up. Next to you lies Luffy, stirring slowly.

You nudge him. “You okay, kid?” you ask.

He gives his head a shake as he sits up. He smiles and it's like putting on a comfy sweater. “I'm bouncy. I can take a hit." He tips his head like a puppy. "What about you?”

"I'll have a migraine in a few hours, but I'll survive."

You go to touch the lump on your head -- only to take Luffy's wrist with you. You're cuffed together, two metal shackles connected by just enough rope to hang yourselves with. He pulls at his own shackle, but it’s stuck fast.

"I can't get it off," he says, eyes wide. "I can't stretch!"

“Of course you can't. It's lined with Seastone.”

A spotlight switches on. Buggy the Clown sits atop the edge of a large box draped in candy-striped fabric. He kicks his legs like a child sitting on a bench, twirling Luffy's hat in his hand.

“The essence of the ocean, compressed into a pretty little rock." Slowly, he pulls a yellow straw from the hat. "So not only do you have to worry about getting your feet wet, all those wonderful powers are completely useless when you least expect it.”

Besides you, Luffy bristles. You grab his hand to stop him from charging. He tenses, but squeezes back.

Buggy examines the straw, then flicks it away. “You gonna give me my map?”

Luffy scowls. “Never.”

"Not sure what I was expecting." He rolls his eyes, then turns them on you. “And what about you, sweetheart?”

You don't appreciate being patronized. "I'm gonna make you eat your hair," you spit.

“Aw, c’mon. Where do you have to go? You deserted. You’ll never be safe again.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Join the crew of the future King of the Pirates, and you'll have all the protection you need.” He gestures broadly. “Hell, if it really matters, your little buddy can come too. The more the merrier."

You enunciate every letter of the word. “No,” you say.

The calm interrogator evaporates, replaced by a petulant child. He slams his fists against the top of the box. “Well, why not--!?”

The box rocks and rattles violently. He yelps and hangs on for dear life, succeeding in staying atop it as the shaking stops. He huffs. “Fine. Have it your way."

He climbs to his feet and shoots his hands off to grab the corners of the tarp. Raising them reveals a black, rancid-smelling cavern.

“My kitty cat's been restless lately,” he says. “Lucky that I have a new pair of toys for him."

A low growl vibrates the very air around you.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

“That wasn’t your stomach, was it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. "Was it yours?"

Another growl. Out from the darkness emerges the biggest lion you’ve ever seen. Mangy. Mean. Saliva drips from his bloodstained mouth as his eyes fix right on you.

Luffy swallows. "I think we should run," he says quietly.

You nod. “I think you’re right.”

The lion roars.

---

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