#LIKE???? PEOPLE DON’T FEEL A WAVE OF ADRENALINE OR SOMETHING WHENEVER THEY HOLD SOMETHING DANGEROUS????

[mr-urple]

I just learned that feeling a thrill whenever you hold a knife isn’t normal

[omgreally]

I’ve been reading mandos intergalactic taxi service and UGH✨💕 the pining and fluff with the intimacy smut is just chefs kiss your writing style is amazing🤌🏽✨ I’ve been in such a Din mood lately, could your write like a confession drabble where the reader and din are pining for each other and din is dropping hints but the reader is like really not a hint taker lol pretty please with a cherry on top 😭💕 smut or fluff your choice I know you’d write it so well!!

BLESS YOUR HEART @liltangerineart and thank you! Next chapter of Taxi Service should be up tomorrow I hope!

In the meantime I hope you like this? Not a confession as such and more, uh, top!Mando than I intended, but he is bad at dropping hints. I like to think he would be very...straightforward 😎

Din Djarin/F!Reader - E - 1624 words - Oblivious!Reader, Infatuated!Din, frustrated yearning, angst and, of course, smut.

It's getting ridiculous.

He is a Mandalorian, one of the most fabled, the most feared warriors in the galaxy. Rumour and danger follow him as he charts a path through the galaxy that blazes bright, leaving behind myth and legend - people whispering things like 'I heard he killed a whole troop with his hands tied' and 'I heard he was eight feet tall, made of steel'.

He is a Mandalorian, who has never had to rely on anybody but himself - and yet here he is, sweating beneath his cowl whenever you brush too close, trying too hard to inhale the scent of you through his helmet's filters, memorizing the sound of your laugh.

It's like he's a foundling again - uncertain, insecure, nervous. And they’re not butterflies in the pit of his stomach - they’re bullets from an ancient slugthrower weapon, and he can taste metal at the back of his tongue whenever he tries to talk to you.

“Do you have someone, back home?” A clumsy overture, as obvious as it is stupid; Din winces beneath the helm but you don’t seem to notice - you just shake your head and shrug.

“No. Just me. I wouldn’t have left otherwise.” Loyal, he thinks, and the bullets in his stomach sting just that little bit harder.

He tries asking you more about yourself. How you became a bounty hunter. How many weapons you’ve handled. The different kinds of ships you’ve flown. Places you’ve been. But you never give up anything truly personal about yourself - you’re a cypher.

Maybe that’s why the Mandalorian finds himself strangely drawn to you.

He doesn’t know how to navigate this - not really. He has no experience with this kind of thing. It’s always been about the next quarry, the next job, and then it was about the kid, and now…

And now he’s stuck.

He wants to hit something, break something, feel the impact of his fists against flesh and bone. He settles for balling them up whenever you’re around, biting his tongue, and waiting til later to jerk himself off in pathetic, clench-jawed silence in the refresher.

“You slept late,” you point out the next morning as he emerges, stiff in more than one way, from his bunk.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” he says, and he’s so tired, so frustrated that he adds, gruffly: “Bed was too empty.”

“Probably need more pillows,” you muse as you wander off to the kitchenette. “Cup of caf?”

“Extra strong,” he grunts as he leans a shoulder to the wall, and you’re oblivious to his glower.

“Coming right up.” A minute later, you press a mug into his hand. “I’ll leave you to it. No need to go hide, I’ll go find a bulkhead to look at while you take your helmet off.”

You grin at him, and he stares at you. You’re just about to turn away when he reaches up, and you go still, your smile slackening in shock as he thumbs the release latch under his chin.

The helm’s pneumatic seal hisses as it lifts, just enough so he can get the rim of his mug up and to his lips. He takes a long, slow pull, and while his vision is eclipsed by the rim of the helmet at the moment, he knows you haven’t left.

As he expects, you’re still there - staring at him as he lowers his helm back into place. Your mouth is even slightly open - lips parted - and he watches the dart of your tongue as you wet them before swallowing hard.

“I’m just...I’m just gonna,” you say, abortingly, and start to back away. You jump as your shoulder hits the hatchway. Din watches as you turn, hesitate, then hurry away, your shoulders squared defensively as if you can feel the force of his gaze on your back.

Alone, the taste of caf hot and bitter on his tongue, Din Djarin grins.

After that, he starts to notice. He starts to notice how tense you are when he’s close.

At first he’s not sure - but then, once, he deliberately brushes your waist as he moves past you in the cockpit to take the pilot’s seat, and you’re still standing there, frozen, when he glances back at you. You brush it off, but it happens again when you bump into him coming out of the fresher. When he reaches over your head in the kitchenette to fetch a ration bar from a compartment. When you lean over his shoulder to point out the coordinates to a refueling station. When he catches you yawning, falling asleep in the passenger’s seat.

“I’m going to hit my bunk,” you say, rising to your feet, your arms stretched above your head. Din turns slowly, and he catches the glimpse of a sliver of flesh as your shirt rides up. The words escape him before he’s even conscious of their existence.

“Want some company?”

Dank farrik, he’s been dropping hints and touches for ages - and he knows you’re affected by his presence, he’s sure of it now. They might be closer to butterflies for you, but his bullets are bouncing around in his gut right now.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing - as if it’s all some grand joke. “You gotta stop with the innuendo, Mando. I might get the wrong idea.”

“And if it’s not innuendo?” He’s flicked the ship to auto-pilot - on his feet - looming towards you. You’re caught in the hatchway, unable to step backwards to fall down the ladder, unwilling to turn your back. "If you've got the right idea?"

“What?” you repeat - licking your lips again. Your eyes are flicking back and forth from his visor to his hands. It’s almost like you're expecting a fight.

“I want to fuck you.”

The words are matter-of-fact but delivered in a low baritone, a gravelly rasp that lifts the hairs on the back of your neck. You stop breathing for a second - he can see it - and your leg twitches, just half a step backward - but then you swing it forward again, swaying towards him. Like he has you in his gravitational pull.

It’s all Din needs. He closes the distance between you, his gloved hands closing around your biceps, the leather worn and warm through your shirt.

He says your name, once, in a digital growl that curls your toes in your boots. And then it’s like an explosion - it all happens so quickly; there are hands and clothes everywhere and then on the deck, and in the aftermath you are in the Mandalorian’s arms, naked, your legs around his waist as he presses you up against the bulkhead.

His chestplate hits the deck - his flak jacket lifted above his head when you let him stop touching you long enough. You barely have time to appreciate the feel of his naked hands on your skin, cupping your breasts in his broad, smooth palms, thumbing your nipples all-too-briefly before he’s sliding down the zipper of his flight suit and baring a V of muscled flesh all the way to his groin.

“Mando,” you gasp as he frees his cock, as he maneuvers the throbbing, purpled head to drag through your slit. He finds you open and wet, lips parted for him, and he groans as he nudges against your fluttering hole. He doesn't hesitate.

He pushes in slow, for he’s a lot to take, thick and hard and the stretch is almost too much. You whine, your voice high and tight in your throat, and he soothes you with soft little noises and praise that makes you feel light-headed.

“Shhh, that’s it,” “You’re so fucking tight-” “Made to take my cock, mesh’la" and other words you don’t recognize. Eventually, he’s all the way inside you, his pelvis flush to yours, the scratch of hair at his pubic bone pressing into your mound.

You pant in his arms, eyes squeezed shut, a thin resin of sweat risen on your brow. “Move,” you order through clenched teeth, and finally you open your eyes to meet his visor and demand, “Fuck me, Mando.”

And he does - withdrawing his hips from the welcoming cradle of yours, his cock dragging back through you, and you can feel every ridge and vein before he’s spearing back in, jarring your back against the bulkhead. It’s a shock right through your system, and you can feel adrenaline flooding your veins, your blood pumping faster like you’re fighting for your life. You might as well be, for he does it again, and again, and soon he’s setting a punishing pace that hits against something soft and devastating deep inside you.

Your orgasm hits you like a blow you fail to dodge - winding you, knocking the air from your lungs - and for a moment all that matters is the blinding flash of pleasure through your nerves, the rolling wave that makes your cunt flutter in rippling spasms around the pulsing rod of his cock. He pins your hips with another vicious rut of his hips and then he’s coming, too, releasing into the impossible grip of your body, groaning with every spurt of spend he fills you with.

“Fuck,” Din summarizes, once you both can catch your breath - once your legs start to loosen, jelly-weak as he pulls out gently, lowering your feet back to the ground. He’s suddenly nervous - worried he’s fucked this up, done the wrong thing, lost patience and paid for it with your scorn.

But your smile is brilliant as you beam up at him - your face radiant - flushed and sweaty. You are beautiful.

“Next time, don't waste time dropping hints,” you tell him, and then you reassure him with a laugh, and the wonderful feeling of your arms around his neck.

For a while, he just holds you close. And for a while, the bullets in his stomach are gone.

[vidalinav]

Stu(died)

Summary: Nesta starts tutoring Cassian in o-chem, while Cassian mostly stares at Nesta the entire time. He has a school-boy crush. 

Nessian Modern AU-university setting. 

~

Cassian has never met anyone more perfect than Nesta Archeron. He swears she's come straight out of a book. Fitting, he thinks, since every time he meets her, they’re at the library. 

In fact, that’s the only place she’ll meet him at. 

He knows of two other places she frequents, two other places that are closer to their respective classes and many other places he suggests for... his own motivations. Nesta only wants to see him in a library. Something about the absorption of knowledge in that tiny brain of his, which frankly sounds offensive when she says it the first time. And the second time. And the third. 

I’m your tutor, she painstakingly reminds him. We’re not friends. 

Cassian wants to beg to differ. Tries on more than one occasion. He’s known her since freshman year, they have to be friends by now. 

But... she’s not wrong about being his tutor. 

His problem, Cassian admits, is that he doesn’t like to read. He doesn’t really like to study either, but with Nesta Archeron he finds himself jotting down notes. Not on any subject pertaining to his classes...  but in memorizing ever expression she makes, every roll of her eyes as she tells him to pay attention. 

Pay attention, he shall!

More often than not she’s donning a grey fitted shirt that says University Printing in orange tiny print. It’s from her second job. Tutoring him is her third. Her least favorite, she says. 

Liar, he always wants to say. I’m much better to look at than toner.  

But Cassian’s not so sure about that. So far, she only looks at him with disdain and he can rarely get a conversation out of her that doesn’t have to do with covalent bonds or... something or other. He forgets. Cassian only remembers her voice, her hair, her eyes... which defeats the purpose of tutoring and is probably not good for his grades. But alas, Cassian doesn’t find it in himself to care too much. 

He remembers just fine. 

Sometimes, if they meet on the weekends, she’s too busy to take off her black apron. She works at a coffee shop on the outskirts of campus, and she comes to the library smelling like coffee and Cassian’s sure he’ll focus this time. All adrenaline and caffeine, but then she talks and he’s... listening, but really he only listens to her tone. Such haughty words she huffs, her eyes rolling as if she can’t believe he isn’t understanding after all this precious time.  

Are you even listening, Cassian?  

He likes when she says his name. It rolls off her tongue and she sneers and he likes that too.  

But most days, like today, Nesta Archeron wraps herself in sweaters. All manners of cardigans. And the best thing about her is the way her nose is stuck in a book. Cassian longs to trace her cheeks, pulling the few wisps of hair that falls, tucking it behind her ear. He imagines her blushing as he does it, staring at those well-used pages.  

All he ever gets from her is a glare.  

Like he’s just stolen her from a world filled with muscles and nervous systems, or whatever people study in human physiology. Her stare often makes him wonder if she’s imagining how his body moves, how he breathes, if she can pull him part and hold his intestines in her hands. He feels like a wriggling rat when she looks at him. A little frog he can’t cut in high school biology without running to the bathroom nauseated.  

Cassian loves that look the best, though, so he waves at the girl who glares in her seat. The exact seat she always sits in for these sessions. If he grins more goofily than he cares to admit, well... he’s no less happy to see her.  

“What are we learning today, Teach?”  

Nesta rolls her eyes as he lays his bag across the table and he shuffles in search of his notebook.  

That much noise in a library? He can imagine her saying. Preposterous.

“That’s not my name,” she grumbles out, instead.  

“What are you going to teach me then, Obi-wan?”  

“Is that why you’re failing o-chem?” She remarks, her nose scrunching in that very sweet, judgmental way of hers, “Watching too much Star Wars instead of opening up a textbook?”

Indeed, she looks at the book he pulls from his bag. It is new, and he hasn’t opened it.  Every time he tries, he finds better things to do. Another video on Youtube, or one of his friends suggesting a trip to lunch or dinner... or breakfast. He tries to find numerous excuses on why he can’t open that book. He’s going to study from the slides, Cassian says, from his notes. But whenever he opens his notebook, all he finds is scribbles.  

Cassian sighs. He hates this class.  

But he swallows down his disdain, “I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me what your favorite movie is?”  

Nesta shakes her head, her lips pursing as if she might tell him off in a minute or two. Cassian looks at his watch as if he might time it exactly. A ticking bomb. First the pursed lips, then the stern gaze, then the red face and she’ll blow. 

“No,” she announces, “I’m here to tutor you, not entertain.”

“Such a shame since I brought the clown suit today, thought you’d look good in the red nose.”  

Nesta blinks up at the words and Cassian holds back his grin.  

“You’re weird,” she huffs, taking his book out of his hands and opening it up to the first chapter.  

“I brought you something today. To sweeten our time together.”  

Her brows scrunch at that, but he pulls the container out of his bag, crinkling and noise be damned. Cassian lays out the cake and places the fork next to the textbook.  

“You’re bribing me with cake?”

“Chocolate cake,” he explains, “and not just any cake. This is from the dining hall near South Campus. Best cake in the world.”  

“I know the dining hall,” Nesta scoffs.  

“Then you’ll know how good the cake tastes.” Cassian pulls the container back towards him, pulling apart the packing for the fork. “But if you don’t want it, I guess I’ll just eat it myself.”  

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” she says and he can already see her resolve wavering. 

It’s always like this. Cassian bribing Nesta with sweets until she’s gliding her fingers down the text book, one sentence at a time. Quizzing him with flashcards until he can only see double lines and circles in his mind... and that tiny smile she makes when she takes just one bite. 

Nesta taps her pencil on the page, distracting him from his thoughts. “This doesn’t mean I’ll take it easy on you this semester. You barely passed biology last semester.” 

Cassian scoffs, raising his chin. “That was sophomore me. I’m serious now.” 

But then Nesta’s reading off the page, drawing diagrams in his notebook, and he’s only staring at her lips. 

Cassian sighs. 

This is going to be a long semester. 

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @angelic-voice-1997, @bo0kmaster69, @drielecarla, @generalnesta, @cozycomfyliving08 @arinbelle

~

Poor boy, he’s going to fail his classes. 

Anyway, this is another fic Im sure I’m not going to finish but had an idea for so I ran with it for one scene and probably one scene only.

Bye!

[loveazumane]

— 𝙗𝙖𝙙.

summary: you were always getting on dabi’s nerves because you love it when he punishes you

warnings: nsfw. masochism/sadism. dark content. degradation. spitting. choking. temperature play. quirk usage.

word count: 1.2k

dabi’s flaming blue eyes dig into yours menacingly as he grips tightly on your chin. his glare is deadly, and everyone who would face the stern gaze would cower immediately, but not you.

you enjoyed his venomous eyes. you enjoyed the danger that sparks in his cerulean orbs whenever you acted out. you enjoyed the adrenaline that boils in your stomach as he holds you roughly in the pad of his fingers.

“fucking slut,” he hisses. “you think it’s funny, don’t you? you love prancing around in your ugly skirt made for whores and flashing your ass to every man who walks in the bar. i should teach you a lesson.”

“‘m sorry, dabi,” you say, although your voice doesn’t give a hint of sincerity.

“shut the fuck up.” dabi pulls his hand back and brings it down to deliver a harsh slap against your cheek. it leaves a red indent that stings and throb. “i didn’t tell you to speak.”

tears sting your eyes, but it wasn’t the only thing that was leaking. your pussy was sobbing and crying for attention. the throbbing sensation of the slap dabi had given you gave a result of your dreadful horniness.

“you know i’m bad and you still want to get on my fucking nerves.” dabi wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes. “it makes me want to kill you.”

“please forgive me,” you whisper, glancing up to him with pure lust.

dabi squeezes your throat harshly, restricting any air from going in. “i don’t want to hear your voice unless it’s you crying and screaming, bitch.”

you nod frantically until dabi releases. in an instant, he spins you around and pushes you against the wall. you can hear the other league members out in the bar, chattering and drinking. they were beyond oblivious as to what was happening in the other room.

“since you want to be such a bad cock sleeve, i’m going to treat you like one.” dabi burns away at your panties and the heat scorches your skin, causing you to yelp out in pain. dabi chuckles. “screaming already, hm? i bet you just want the others outside to hear you pathetically begging for my cock.”

you don’t get to speak because dabi’s hand goes to wrap around your throat once again. he pulls you back against his chest and his hips flush against yours to press his aching cock against your wet pussy.

“this what you want, slut? you want me to fuck you with my cock?” dabi knows you can’t answer and it only makes him chuckle. “whore.”

within a split second, dabi thrusts his fat cock into your tight, hot hole and your mouth falls open. he stretches you so well, it feels like your pussy is being torn and shredded. but the pain feels incredible. you loved how merciless he was when he fucked you. you loved how he always treated you like dirt under his feet.

“mm, fuck. so fucking tight, it’s almost like you’re a virgin. no wonder why people want to get in your pants so bad. it’s because you’re a whore who feels like a virgin.” dabi thrusts harshly, his cock digging deep into your cunt. his balls are slapping against your skin harshly with every buck of his hips and the sounds of it fuels his desire. “i should cum into this tiny pussy and leave you dripping so you can walk outside and show everyone who you belong to.”

you would love that, no doubt about it. as he thrusts in and out into your drenched cunt, your mouth hangs open and drool slips from the side of your mouth. your breath is short and your throat burns. you realize that it’s because dabi’s heating up the palm of his hands.

“ha… i might as well just mark you right over here to tell everyone i’d kill them if they lay a hand on you. yeah… i should do that,” dabi pants.

you croak out a moan when his grip loosens and it releases a stinging sensation over your neck. tears stream down your face as dabi pulls you back against his chest once more, but this time by pulling your hair. your neck is dangling down his shoulder, your back is arched at a ‘c’ angle, and your legs are shaking with weakness. you can barely even stand up anymore, but dabi continues to fuck you relentlessly.

“you should see yourself. you look so fucking pathetic.” dabi laughs lowly. “taking my cock so good… you don’t even notice that i gave you a first degree burn. what a stupid slut.”

“ngh… please… make me cum,” you beg, trying to get a grip of the wall.

“you wanna cum?” dabi travels his free hand down to your clit and applies pressure onto it which causes you to tense up. “my poor little cocksleeve wants to cum?”

“y-yes—fuck, yes, i wanna cum. please!” you’re sobbing and begging and moaning for him to let you cum.

dabi tugs harshly on your hair again and your head throbs. “you wanna cum then say you’re going to stop being such a bad girl.”

“i’ll stop being a bad girl. i’ll stop! i promise. p-please let me cum,” you plead.

both of you know it’s a lie. you could never stop getting on dabi’s nerves. you just love getting manhandled so much that it’s become something you worshipped him for. being bad was your hobby, and correcting your behavior and slapping you around was dabi’s.

“then cum over my cock.”

and you do. your orgasm washes over his length like a tidal wave and you quiver and tremble and slowly become limp. however, before you could fold over, dabi holds you cum and continues ramming his cock into your abused pussy.

“ah! too much! fuck… fuck—”

you’re choking on your own saliva as you try to formulate words, but dabi doesn’t care. his hands dig into your hips, creating red marks that’ll last for a long time, and fucks you without a care. just because you came doesn’t mean he was going to stop. he was selfish and greedy after all. he didn’t care if you were crying and begging for him to stop. he always took what he wanted.

when he feels your walls clench around his pulsing cock, he finally cums, milking the inside of your cunt with his seeds until it drips out and makes a stain on the wooden floors.

he exhales and smiles at it and spreads your ass when he pulls his dick out. he watches the flutter of your pussy as he does and it makes his cock twitch to life.

“turn around, slut,” he orders you.

you weakly turn around and gaze up at him with heavy lidded eyes. you know what’s coming and you part your lips open and stick your tongue out.

dabi gathers his saliva in his mouth and spits it into yours. you still leave it open and you get on your knees.

“at least you’re listening now. not such a bad girl anymore, aren’t you?” dabi strokes your cheek. “you know what to do. if you don’t make me cum within five minutes, i’m going to fuck your throat until you can’t run your mouth anymore.”

𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚: my classmate grew an xx

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (3/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of smut, mentions of underage drinking 

Part Summary: Sam and Y/N are on The Late Late Show to promote The Seasons of Life. 

Masterlist

Before the interview, Nicole practices questions with me so I don’t get blindsided. Meanwhile, Sam and his manager, Steven, practice talking about our upcoming photo shoot for Vanity Fair. Steven is much more laid back than Nicole. Sam is free to do whatever he pleases. The country sees him as an average twenty-something. If he ever messed up he would be forgiven. Nicole emphasizes to me whenever she can that I have no room for error. I must be a saint as “America’s Sweetheart.”

There’s a knock at the door to our dressing room and Steven opens it. A man with a check board and a headset instructs, “Ms. Voss, Mr. Merka you’ll be on in five. If you could follow me.”

“We’ll be right off camera if you need us!” Nicole informs me and Steven agrees with a hum.

“Have fun guys!” he adds.

Sam holds the door for me and the two of us follow the man down the hall into backstage. Sam takes my hand as a precaution, just in case the chaos might separate us. Through double doors, we enter backstage and we’re stopped behind where we’re meant to enter. Loud music begins to echo from the stage and I recognize the song as one of Machine Gun Kelly’s. He’s all the rage now, one of those rockstars that girls fifteen and up obsess over. I don’t have much space left in my mind to obsess with everything going on. As we wait, I bop and sway my head back and forth to the beat absentmindedly.

The man says over his shoulder, “he’s great huh!”

I frowned confused, “wait, is he performing live?”

The man raises an eyebrow as if the answer is obvious. “Yeah, his interview was a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t cross paths when you got here.” He’s then pulled away by a lady dressed in all black. “I’ll right back! Stay right here!”

I scoff under my breath, the dude treated me like a dingus.

“Well, he was friendly” Sam mutters sarcastically under his breath.

“Right! Geez, he’s what? Only around four years older than you? At least he looked it. My bad for not knowing I’m apparently in the same building as a god!”

Sam snickers but covers his mouth since we’re not allowed to be loud. The song ends and the crowd goes wild on the other side.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Machine Gun Kelly!” The applause goes on and on with James attempting to speak over it into the camera. “After the break, we’ll have the breakout stars from the hottest show of the decade The Seasons of Life, Y/N Voss, and Sam Merka! So don’t go anywhere!”

The audience gets loud at the sound of our names and a shot of adrenaline rushes through me. People rush around backstage to get the music equipment off the set. Sam and I move up against the wall so people can get through. The crew is yelling to make the switch quick. Propping myself up against the wall, I watch the chaos happening. Sam leans against the wall and faces me. I don’t mind the tight quarters though. He acts like a wall, blocking me from the craziness.

“It never gets like this on set,” Sam says, scanning the stage.

“That’s because we don’t film live,” I remind him with a chuckle.

My arms cross over my chest and Sam props his elbow on my shoulder. If this was a photoshoot, this would be a great shot of us. We’re being ourselves, depending on each other as per usual. We’re comfortable with one another. To kill time, I glance around as people move about backstage. My eyes meet a lengthy, bleach blonde, tattoo-covered musician walking off stage. He instantly goes for the guitar case against the far wall in the corner. As if he could feel me looking, his attention snaps away from his guitar and toward me. His focused features gently fall as he stares at me from across the busyness of the show. A chill shoots up my spine and spreads across my face. Instantly, I'm drawn in and can't find the means to look away.

Sam steals my attention when he straightens up in my side view. “We’re on,” he informs me.

I immediately bring to focus and adjust my floral pencil skirt to appear put together.

The man from before leads us up to where he left us last. “Okay, here’s the deal. James will announce your names. There will be cheers, you will walk out together and sit on the couch. The order in which you sit doesn’t matter.” He pauses to press on his headset, “sure, alright, one minute.”

I shift my head to the side and yet again I see them, the same pair of eyes that made me freeze. I quickly snap my attention forward as though I’ve been caught red-handed. He’s not what I had expected. I’ve heard of Machine Gun Kelly, who hasn’t? I’ve seen pictures here and there. I’ve heard a song or two. Never in a million did I ever imagine we would meet eyes and he would make me stop breathing for a second. It was nothing short of groundbreaking. It’s dangerous and immaculate at the same time.

Soon, the noise of the audience dies down to signal the end of the commercial break. Sam and I are told to walk out so we cross through the corridor. Sam leads and reaches his hand back for me to take. I do so mindlessly since it’s what we always do. We wave to the audience and James stands up to greet us. He hugs Sam and they exchange a few words. I keep on waving to the audience and point towards a girl who has a shirt with the show’s title on it. Sam moves over so James and I can say hello.

“Hi, James! How are you?” I greet as we embrace.

“Excellent, how are you, Sweetheart?” He charms.

“Great! Excited to be here!” I gush as I shuffle to the side to settle on the couch beside Sam.

“Thirty seconds!” A man, whom I assume is the producer, announced loudly.

I sit down next to Sam on the light blue velvet couch. He sits back and crosses his arm over the back of the couch behind me then slides it down to rest over my shoulders. I lean into his side, crossing my legs toward him. 

“Five seconds!” James sits down in his black desk chair next to Sam and looks into the camera. He’s given the signal and he lights up. “I’m joined here by the two biggest young stars of the decade, Y/N Voss and Sam Merka!” The audience applauds loudly and I wave to all of them. James turns to us with a bright grin. “First off, how are you two?”

“We’re great, couldn’t be better!” Sam answers with a charming smile. He takes my hand and I rest them on my lap instinctively.

At the start of the series, our management and the show’s team encouraged us to be mildly affectionate in public situations to promote interest in our tv counterparts. Since then, it’s come so naturally to us because as friends we genuinely feel better when we have physical contact when on display. We’re security blankets for one another.

James continues, “you two play the power couple, Hollyn and Elliot, on the hit show The Seasons of Life, better known simply as Seasons. It’s all anyone is talking about lately! Has all the publicity changed your lives at all?”

Nervously, I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear before I speak. “I can’t speak for Sam, but at least for me, I answer with a confident “yes!” The Seasons of Life has changed every aspect of my life. When we first started filming the first season, I was still living in South Carolina. I went to a normal high school and had to travel back and forth between here and there. Back then, no one really knew of me. I was your average teenage girl trying to have the best of both worlds.”

James nods, seemingly fascinated by my response.

Sam smiles in agreement, switching his sight between James and myself. “My story is basically the same except I was in college studying law.”

“That’s right!” James perks up, “There’s a decent age gap between the two of you!”

We glance at each other and nod, both of us grinning.

“Does that make the more romantic scenes between Hollyn and Elliot harder?” James inquires.

“No, not at all” I answer, squeezing Sam’s hand.

“Y/N has always acted with such maturity and grace that she makes it unbelievable easy onset. The eight years feel nearly nonexistent.”

“We haven’t had too many extremely romantic scenes,” I add jokingly, looking fondly at Sam.

He meets my gaze and hums in agreement. “Have to build up that suspense!”

James laughs at Sam’s remark and goes on with his questions. “Last year, during the season finale, Twitter blew up because your characters finally got together! And had that bow-chicka-wow-wow scene,” James wiggles his eyebrows. The audience cheers in excitement. Everyone was over the moon about the scene. “Y/N, what was going through your mind during that scene?”

“Sam, Jonathan, and the rest of the Seasons family never fail to make me feel so secure onset. For that scene, in particular, Jonathan made sure it was just the three of us on set so that space felt relaxed. It was my first time ever filming a sex scene of that magnitude and I was so lucky to have this fella right here to help me,” I gush as I place my hand on Sam’s knee with a pat.

“That’s lovely,” James feeds into the sappiness that the audience eats up. “Was there ever talk of getting a double for you?”

“I told our director, the producers, everyone that only I can do the scene. It didn’t feel right to me to have someone else play Hollyn. Especially for a scene that would have such an impact on the characters involved. The fans had been begging for Elliot and Hollyn to finally get together and I couldn’t pass up being a part of the moment when they finally did. It wouldn’t have been fair to the fans if it wasn’t me playing the role.”

The audience approves of my response with their loud reaction which eases my nerves immensely.

“Absolutely incredible,” James compliments. “I can’t imagine the scene being done without you two. I mean, you two have such chemistry! What were your reactions to watching the infamous final scene? Did you watch it together?!”

Sam and I side-eye one another then burst out laughing because I can recall my exact words. I’m sure he can too.

“This is a question for Y/N,” he points out between laughter.

I hit the back of my hand on his stomach, “why me?!”

“You said!” He chuckles, so he does remember my words.

I get the giggles as James pushes me to answer. I settle down and catch my breath. “Well, I had a watch party at my house with the cast, and right after the scene happened and the show cuts to the dramatic final credits, I yelled “yay! Hollyn finally got laid!”

James hides his face with his cards as he laughs. Laughs of all kinds spread throughout the audience and I can feel my face getting warm. James’s laugh is contagious and I can’t stop.

“You all know how uptight Hollyn could be! Maybe she’ll be a little more laid back!” I add with a shrug and James bursts out laughing.

“You two are absolutely hilarious,” he wipes his watery eyes. “And adorable! Please tell me you’re dating in real life!”

Sam hiss between his teeth and glances at me. “I’m sorry, we’re not…” he answers hesitantly.

“What!” James’s jaw drops, “but you two are so cute together! I mean, you’ve been holding hands the entire time!”

We shake our heads and Sam explains for us both. “Y/N and I are super close. We can see how people would assume we’re dating but in all honesty, we’re just really good friends. Considering, for example, to have done the final scene from last season we kinda have to be. We met when she was just a teenager and I was in graduate school. We’ve seen each other grow. We’ve been around the world together and since our characters are paired together, so are we. Meaning, we’re constantly together and I’m thankful we are because I’m so lucky to have such an amazing partner in all of this.”

“Aw, isn’t he the sweetest!” I pout playfully and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Ugh, can we change the whole “only friends” thing?” James begs. “I ship it!”

The audience agrees and then he moves on to talk about the next season. We say all that can be shared at the time being and we share some pictures from filming yesterday as a teaser for the season.

“Y/N, is that you crying here?” James questions.

The photo on the scene behind us shows the part where I cry because Elliot just told Hollyn she’ll only ever be a rich girl from Los Angeles.

“Yeah, the first episode is filled with drama! Elliot and Hollyn already have a rocky time.”

“No! You’re joking!” He whines, disappointed.

We flip through more photos and answer a few more questions. James says into the camera that when we get back we’ll be playing a game. The game is Who is Most Likely To? Between me and Sam who is more likely to…

After the commercial break, James looks toward the camera with the utmost enthusiasm. “And we are back with Y/N and Sam! I have given each of them a paddle! One side says Y/N and the other reads Sam! Now, the game is Who is Most Likely To? So, between the two of you, who is more likely to “fill in the blank?” We all set?”

“We’re good!” Sam and I say at the same time as if we practiced.

“Alrighty, question number one...” James reads his cards. “Who is most likely to sleep until noon?”

I instantly flip my paddle to myself without a second thought. Sam is such an early bird. The type to get a five-mile jog in by ten. I lean forward and Sam said me as well.

“I’m not gonna deny it. If I could I would stay in bed all day,” I giggle without shame.

“You have stayed in bed all day,” Sam teases and I playfully nudge him in the arm. The whole set finds it humorous.

“Who is most likely to get a tattoo?” James reads with a raised brow.

The audience “ooh’s” in anticipation. I flip my paddle to Sam’s side, never in a million years would I get a tattoo.

“Y/N, you flipped your paddle super fast. Why is that?” James inquires.

“Mhm, nope! There will be no ink on this skin!” I wave my head frantically. “Sam can do whatever he wants with his body but it’s a no for me.”

“We’ve actually talked about tattoos before and I plan on getting one here soon,” Sam describes.

James asks him about what he plans on getting and that conversation goes on a minute or two. Sam explains where he plans on placing the tattoo and when he’ll get it done.

James reads over the card and smirks, “who is most likely to date another celebrity?”

Sam, no doubt. I feel no urge to date, thank you very much.

“Oh! Looks like we got ourselves a mix-up! Sam said Y/N and Y/N said, Sam!” James laughs toward the audience.

“Me?!” I gasp, earning amusement from the audience.

Sam turns his body to face me, “why not?”

“You know, if you two dated this could work itself out,” James points out to get a reaction from the crowd.

“I’m not really looking to date at the moment,” I explain, and James is surprised. I explain further, “the show is important to me and this summer I just want to fun. Plus, my schedule is quite hectic and I would feel bad for dragging someone else into it all.”

He completely understands and asks the final question. “Who is most likely to get married first?”

I flip my board to Sam again. James starts to laugh and I comprehend that it’s the same case as last time. I check Sam’s and I’m right, he said to me.

“Why do you keep putting me?” I fuss playfully.

“Because it’s true! You’re such a little liar to say me!” Sam teases.

“You’re older!” I reason.

“Oh please,” Sam rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch.

“I’ll have to agree with Sam on this one,” James adds and I look to him betrayed.

“Y/N, you’re America’s Sweetheart! Every young guy’s dream girl!”

I hide my face in my hands and shake my head with a giggle.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be the first to get married! I have no interest in anyone right now!” James and Sam beam as I finish.

“Ah, ah see! You said “right now,” James points at me.

These two are teaming up on me now.

“Thank you so much you two for coming in! It’s been a lot of fun!” James thanks.

“Of course, it was a blast!” I charm.

He stands and so do we. He hugs Sam then me, “you two make me laugh like no others.”

James looks into the camera and wraps up the end of the show. “Thank you, Julia Roberts, Adam Levine, Sam Merka, Y/N Voss, and Machine Gun Kelly for joining me today! Have an excellent night everyone! Until next time!”

The band starts their music. Sam and I dance to the beat and James join in. The produces yells that the show has cut to a commercial.

To hear my name and Machine Gun Kelly’s name mere seconds apart is something I never thought I’d hear.

“Thanks again for coming!” James repeats once the show is over.

“We had fun! Thanks for having us!” Sam compliments.

The duo shares a brief “bro hug” and James embraces me one last time.

Then, Sam and I head backstage to our dressing room. Nicole and Steven should already be back there since I didn’t see them on the set.

“That went well!” Sam mentions while we walk down the hall.

I hum, “totally not getting married first though.”

“Whatever, you’re lying to yourself,” he laughs as he opens the door to the dressing for me.

Nicole and Steven are waiting for us and instantly begin talking about the Vanity Fair shoot tomorrow. It’s never-ending.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast  @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa56 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxrl @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresixx

[buckyshairstylist]

Elphaba let out a shaky breath as she covered Fiyero with a thick blanket, her eyes filled with tears. The spell had worked — Fiyero was human again.

The downside? Neither one of them had anticipated the pain that it caused him. Fiyero had screamed and writhed for an hour, Elphaba murmuring the same words over and over again, until finally he changed back to a human and immediately passed out. Maybe it was his exhaustion overtaking him, she didn’t know.

What she did know was that he hadn’t slept well since he became a scarecrow. And now that he was human again, she kept watch over him, just to ensure it wasn’t something temporary and they’d have to start all over again in their search for a spell to remedy what she’d caused in her desperation to save him.

“It’s fine, Fae,” he’d told her shortly after they had moved to the Vinkus. They had been promised solitude and Fiyero’s parents — who were two of the sweetest people Elphaba had ever met — had promised that no one would know their whereabouts.

“I don’t mind being a scarecrow. And I wouldn’t have minded if it had ended the other way.”

She always noticed how he avoided saying that he very well could have died. Fiyero was smart; he knew how to word things and get his point across without actually saying what he meant. And so, when an uncomfortable subject arose, Fiyero tried to take control of the situation and always managed to change the subject within five minutes.

Elphaba gazed down at him, a single tear falling onto her emerald skin as she pulled her fingers through his light brown hair. She had missed this. She had missed the sweet moments — playing with his hair, having him play with her hair, teasing him over his rosy cheeks when he’d been out in the cold too long, or having him grasp her hand and hold her close when she needed him to.

And while Elphaba was grateful the spell had worked and kept him alive, she had missed Fiyero being human. After all, they had reunited after being apart for two years, had ran off into the woods together, only to be separated again merely hours later. Elphaba had never been so grateful for her magic as she was in the moment she discovered that her spell had worked and Fiyero had been saved.

Fiyero had been a lot calmer than she’d expected about the entire ordeal, had even laughed when she told him that she would eventually find a way to turn him back. He’d waved it off, promising that it didn’t bother him much.

“Fae?” Fiyero croaked, turning his head toward her, his eyes barely opened, showing slivers of his blue irises.

“Yero,” she smiled softly, caressing his cheek. “How do you feel?”

“I think I’ve been hit by a cart. No, maybe it was a train. Train car. I was hit by a train car.”

Elphaba couldn’t help herself — she laughed. Fiyero, who was slightly more conscious than he had been a second ago, stared at her in bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” she chuckled. “You haven’t been hit by a cart, or a train, or a train car. It worked, Yero. It worked!”

Fiyero slowly lifted his left hand, his eyes widening when he realized that it was indeed a human hand. He sat up, throwing the blanket off and scrambling toward the mirror. He hesitantly brought a hand up, touching his face, letting out a breath as he gazed at his reflection — his human reflection — for the first time in months.

“Sweet Oz.”

Fiyero spun on his heel to face Elphaba, his eyes filled with disbelief and joy as he crossed the room, bending down and kissing her sweetly.

“I missed that,” he whispered as he pulled away, earning a breathless chuckle from her.

“So did I.”

“So… this is going to sound strange—“

“Everything you say sounds strange, Yero. What makes this any different?” she teased, earning an unamused look.

“I don’t remember what happened. Would you like to fill me in on that or are you going to keep it to yourself?”

“Well… we started it and it caused you a lot of pain. I’m pretty sure you screamed until you became human again — which took about an hour, by the way — and you’ve been sleeping ever since then.”

“Oh,” Fiyero blinked. “I… don’t remember any of that.”

“Maybe it’s best that you don’t.”

“Maybe…” he agreed softly, wiping the stray tear from her face. “How long was I out?”

“Just a couple of hours. I think you need to get back in bed. The adrenaline won’t last forever, and Oz knows what will happen when you have an adrenaline crash. You haven’t been human for months, Fiyero, please—“

“What are you so scared of?”

Elphaba stared at him for a moment, her dark eyes gazing into his blue ones. Eyes that sparkled with joy and concern, the two emotions somehow mixing and making Fiyero’s eyes shine brightly.

“I’m not entirely sure if it’s worked yet,” she admitted, hanging her head. “For all I know, it could be temporary and we have to start over again.”

“Is that all?” Fiyero sat down beside her, letting her lean her head against his shoulder. “Oz, Fae, you had me worried it was something serious. I don’t give a twig if we didn’t find the right one — I’m human now and that’s what matters. If it’s not right, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now, let’s enjoy this, hm?”

A comfortable silence befell them, Fiyero combing his fingers through Elphaba’s raven curls and allowing his fingertips to brush against the back of her neck. The silence lasted for all of forty-five seconds before Fiyero began to giggle with glee, putting Elphaba in mind of a small child.

“I can feel again, Fae!” He smiled brightly at her, shifting slightly. Elphaba lifted her head, allowing him to caress her face, then grasp both of her hands. “I… it feels amazing to be able to feel things again.”

“I’m glad,” Elphaba mumbled, observing him. She was certain that she’d never seen him look so overjoyed. “And I’m sorry. For everything.”

“What? For the scarecrow thing? I’ve told you before, Elphaba, I don’t mind that I ended up being a living scarecrow. You saved my life.”

“Not just that,” she shook her head. “I never meant to bewitch you. Or whatever I did. And I never intended for you to come with me when you and the other guards came in. I didn’t intend for you to think about the day in the clearing with the lion cub before I left for the Emerald City. There were a lot of things that happened that I didn’t want to happen, things that I didn’t intend to happen.”

“You didn’t bewitch me,” Fiyero rolled his eyes. “And I am fully aware that you never meant for any of the other things to happen. Those are on me, not you. Of course, if you’d been mad at me when you got mad at the rest of the class, we probably wouldn’t have had the day in the clearing, and we — well, I wouldn’t have realized that I love you.”

“You didn’t realize that until after I didn’t come back,” Elphaba reminded him.

“That’s beside the point.”

“It’s literally the only point, Fiyero.”

“Whatever,” Fiyero waved it off. “Come lie down with me. I want to hold you.”

Elphaba sighed and nodded, unable to deny him his request. How could she when he was glowing with the elation he felt? Fiyero was happy that he could feel again, so of course, one of his first thoughts is to hold her like he did every night.

Lying beside him, Elphaba turned onto her side, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. Fiyero wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his nose in her hair.

“I missed this.”

“You still held me,” Elphaba countered, waiting to see what his response would be.

“But I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything when I was a scarecrow. I like being able to play with your hair or rub your back. And I like being able to kiss you whenever I want to.”

Elphaba tilted her head upward, gazing up at him. Oz, she loved him. She loved Fiyero more than anything. And Fiyero loved her.

“For what it’s worth, I never believed you were wicked,” Fiyero spoke up, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Is that so?” She quirked a brow in amusement.

“Yes. I knew better than to believe the lies that the Wizard and Morrible told about you. Everyone else, on the other hand…” Fiyero shook his head. “I — I wanted to go looking for you after you disappeared. Glinda had come back and told me what happened, and I wanted to go find you. But somehow, she convinced me not to, and I stayed at Shiz.”

“You didn’t need to come searching for me. That would have put you in danger, just like this has put you in danger. You almost died because of me, Fiyero.”

“I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

Elphaba exhaled shakily, wrapping her arms around him. She had known that Fiyero was willing to risk his own life for her, and the thought terrified her. What if they ended up in a situation like that again and she couldn’t save him with a spell?

“Sweet Oz, Fae, I can hear you thinking,” he groaned, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. “Stop thinking and try to rest. We both need sleep.”

“Oh, alright.”

The next morning, after he bathed, Fiyero had stumbled outside, making a startled noise as he tripped over his own feet and crashed onto the ground. He blinked, staring up at the sky for a moment before he burst into laughter.

Hearing the hysterical laughter, Elphaba made her way to the door of their home, smiling fondly when she saw her boyfriend sprawled on the ground, clutching his sides as he laughed. She leaned against the doorway, folding her arms over her chest while she watched him laugh, knowing that he was perfectly fine.

“What are you doing, Yero?” Elphaba queried, the smile still present. He turned his head toward her and started to laugh again.

“I fell,” he informed her.

“I can see that.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to feel when I hit the ground?”

“A while.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, turning his head back. “I love being able to feel again. And I like being human. It’s a little easier to walk this way.”

“Well, you’re not going to go anywhere by staying on the ground, Yero.”

Fiyero snorted, glancing at her before he sat up.

“Oh, leave me alone.”

“Never.”

She approached him, stretching out her hand. Fiyero took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

“Thanks, Fae.” Fiyero pressed their foreheads together, sighing happily. “Oz, I missed all of this.”

“Yero, we were together one day before—“

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “What matters is that we’re together. And that I love you. I love you, Elphaba Thropp. I love everything about you.”

“And I you.”

Fiyero captured her lips in a tender kiss, one hand cupping her cheek while the other wrapped around her waist. Elphaba placed her hands on his biceps, slowly bringing them up to his face.

When they broke apart, Fiyero wore a boyish grin. Elphaba couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her upon seeing his face, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Fiyero gazed at her, brushing a single strand of her raven hair out of her face.

“You know,” he murmured, his fingers twisting the strand of hair, “I think I could get used to living like this.”

“Like what? Being a fugitive?” Elphaba asked dryly.

“We’re not fugitives,” Fiyero rolled his eyes. “We’re just… wanted by the Wizard for doing what’s right.”

“We’re still fugitives, Yero.”

“Whatever. Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” She tilted her head slightly.

“I mean, I could get used to this. Us being together and being able to… I don’t know, make a life together or something. Stop looking at me like that, you know I’m not good with words.”

“You are excellent with words,” she laughed. “You just didn’t think that through very well.”

Fiyero laughed quietly, pulling her into an embrace.

“And besides, Fiyero, we’re living in the forest near your parents’ castle for a reason. It’s called necessity.”

“Oh my Oz, you’re impossible,” he huffed petulantly, burying his face in her hair. And of course, Elphaba began to laugh. It had been a while since she’d managed to make him pout, but when she did manage it, she loved it.

“You’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting!”

Elphaba hummed. She pulled out of the embrace and started to walk back toward the cottage, glancing back at him.

“What? Someone has to do the cooking, and it’s not going to be you.”

[missinghan]

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language 

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales. 

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage. 

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is. 

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess. 

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time. 

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back. 

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school. 

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.  

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence. 

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield. 

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene. 

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers. 

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where? 

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck. 

“What’s your name?” 

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed. 

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform. 

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief. 

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care. 

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease. 

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.” 

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.” 

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly. 

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night. 

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom. 

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle. 

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you. 

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next. 

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world. 

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path. 

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat. 

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind. 

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail. 

“What the fuck?” 

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely. 

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less. 

Because that’s the least of his problem right now. 

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization. 

four. 

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that. 

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand. 

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground. 

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home. 

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager. 

Minho feels awful. 

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him. 

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice. 

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out. 

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up. 

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions. 

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?” 

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand. 

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously. 

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?” 

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.” 

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life. 

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld. 

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?” 

“It’s Lee Minho.” 

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five. 

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility. 

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here. 

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life. 

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much? 

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for. 

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too. 

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great. 

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one. 

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike. 

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes. 

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away. 

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor. 

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now. 

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave. 

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child. 

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his. 

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place. 

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then. 

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are. 

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself. 

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process. 

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words. 

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares. 

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in. 

You can only nod. “Yeah.” 

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest. 

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony. 

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists. 

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years. 

Nothing makes sense. 

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself. 

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break. 

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin. 

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms. 

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within. 

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear. 

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react. 

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about? 

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.” 

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done. 

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart. 

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?” 

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess. 

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection. 

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause. 

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

Hi Anna! How are you? Can I request a Poe x reader please? Poe went on a mission and surprisingly got himself in trouble. The reader is at the base, besides Leia when the info comes and she's losing her mind because he's trying to get out that situation being reckless again. Once the X-Wing touches down at the base, she's running to him, and then she slaps his face for doing stupid shit and then kisses him because she's tired of pretending there's nothing between them and she almost lost him a thousand times and she's done holding herself back. Very fluffy ending. But only if you're up for it. Thank you anyways, I love your blog 💜

Hi! I’m doing okay! Of course you may! You’re so sweet <3 I’m glad you love my blog, and I hope you love this story <3

It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous mission. Poe had reassured you several times before he left that it was going to be one of those in and out jobs. It was supposed to be so quick that he had even made dinner plans with you, promising to catch you up on everything as soon as he got back. 

He knew how anxious it made you when he went on missions, so he always tried to make them seem less dangerous than they were when telling you about them. Of course that never worked, because as soon as he was gone, you were glued to the comms. At first you had tried to find excuses, anything you could think of, to hover in the background, listening and anxious for the sound of Poe’s voice, but soon enough, everyone caught onto what you were doing, and General Organa had started saving a seat for you by her side. 

Your fingers tapped on the tabletop in front of you in an erratic rhythm, your eyes flashing back and forth between the clock and the light that should be blinking. He should have made contact by now. You had heard as much from the other Rebels in the background who were trying not to show how nervous they were in the presence of you and the General. The anxiety in your chest was making it hard to breath, and you were hoping that no one noticed how heavy your breaths were when you forced yourself to take them. 

A hand closed over your own tapping one, and made you jump. You turned to see the General smiling at you with a look that said she knew all too well what you were going through. “You know as well as I do that Poe doesn’t have a perfect sense of punctuality.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze and then pulling away.

That did manage to bring a smile, however brief. “Never on a mission anyway.” You added. In fact, the only time that Poe ever seemed to be on time was when he was meeting up with you. 

Almost as if she knew what you were thinking, she spoke again. “What plans do you two have when he comes back?” 

“Dinner. Then our usual catch up.” You answered, but then you realized something, and your brows furrowed. “How did you know that we had plans? Did Poe tell you?” You asked, unsure how she would know that because you hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. 

The General shook her head. “You two always do something after he gets back from a mission. I guess we all like to be around the people we love after we’ve come so close to losing them.” 

Love? Did you love Poe? Of course you did. He was your best friend in the galaxy. From the way she had said the word though, it had a different connotation. A connotation that you had always been too afraid to even consider during this time of War. 

“You know it’s a sad thing.” General Organa spoke up again, bringing your attention away from your thoughts and back to her. “People are so frightened of losing their loved ones that sometimes they’re too scared to tell them how they feel about them. After all, would it hurt worse if they lost them?” 

Your heart was hammering against your chest, because she was describing your feelings for Poe to perfection. You had already almost lost him so many times. In the back of your mind, you had been too scared about how crushed you would be if you did lose him for good to tell him how you felt. That you liked him way more than a friend ever should. “Wouldn’t it?” You whispered, looking back at the comm that still wasn’t blinking. 

Her warm hand settled on top of yours, giving it a little squeeze. “I’m afraid you’re the only one that can answer that.” Leia told you, with a small reassuring smile. 

You knew that she was right, after all, she always was, and you had to ask yourself, was holding back your emotions by using the War as an excuse the right thing to do? For either of you? Did Poe deserve to know how you felt about him? How whenever your mind wandered, he was the first thing that you thought about? How when you were having a bad day, he was the first person you wanted to see? How his hugs were your favorite thing in the world, and you never wanted to leave them? How his smiles always made your heart beat out of control? 

“You guys miss me?” 

Almost as if he had been summoned by your thoughts, Poe’s voice came through the now blinking comm, a little breathless, but other than that, sounding like his normal self. 

Relief crashed through your body like a wave, releasing all the tension you hadn’t realized you had been carrying. Before you even realized what you were doing, you had pressed the button, leaning over Leia to speak into the device. “Poe Dameron you better get your ass back to base right now.” 

When he said your name, even through the comm you could hear the surprise. “What are you doing there?” 

“Are you almost here?” You asked, ignoring his question. 

“Yeah, about that . . . I’ve got some company.” 

Any relief that you had felt when he answered, vanished at once, replaced with anxiety again. You backed away from the comm as Leia took over, assessing the situation and sending out Poe’s squadron to help him. Apparently he was being chased by the dreadnought he had infiltrated along with a whole squadron of Ties. 

It wasn’t good odds, and all you could think about was the conversation you had just had with Leia. Were you about to lose your chance to tell Poe how you felt before you even had it? What if a tie got him? Blew his whole ship up and took him from your life? How would you make it? How would you survive without him in your life? Poe had such a large chunk of your heart, and if he was no longer in it . . . 

Would you be left with anything? 

The thought left you clutching your chest, struggling to get air into your lungs. You felt Leia’s hand on your shoulder this time, trying to pull you back. “He wants to talk to you.” She said. 

You nodded, and leaned closer to the device. “Poe?” You said, biting your lip as you waited for his response. 

“Hey, you know I’m going to be okay right?” He said, even though you could hear the rush in his voice, the adrenaline as he dodged ties and attempted to blow up canons on the dreadnought. 

“You better be.” You said, your fingers digging into the table in front of you. “I’ve got something to tell you when you get back.” 

“Something to tell me?” Poe repeated, and you could almost see the confusion on his face. 

Leia’s hand that rested on your shoulder, gave you a squeeze. “Something I should have told you a long time ago.” You admitted, but before he could ask anything else, you bit your lip, your voice taking on an edge. “So if you don’t get back here, I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself Poe Dameron, do you understand?” 

Poe’s laughter filled the room, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “Yes ma’am.” 

What seemed like hours was probably mere minutes as Poe and his squadron fought off the First Order. Part of you didn’t want to listen, too nervous to hear the outcome, or the moment that Poe might get himself killed pulling some stupid stunt, but you couldn’t stop, knowing that in a dog fight, every second counted. Any moment could change the tide. You were so focused you didn’t think you even remembered to breathe until . . . 

“Canon’s out!” A voice called out. 

“Preparing to jump!” Another one said. 

“See you in a second, sweetheart.” Poe told you. 

Leaning back in the chair once more, you let out a sigh, equal parts relieved and nervous that he was on his way back. Leia did the same at your side, and then gave you a look. “Give him hell for me, would you?” She asked, a grin on her lips. 

You nodded, then took off as fast as you could to the hangar. 

It seemed as if you had perfect timing, because as soon as you stepped foot onto the place, Poe’s X-Wing landed a few feet ahead of you. You took a moment to let out a breath, watching as he climbed out of his ship, throwing his helmet off and revealing those wild, dark curls that you loved so much. He was glancing around in every direction, and your heart sped up when you realized that he was looking for you. 

Because as soon as he caught sight of you, a big grin formed on his face. 

You ran to him, not wanting to waste another second being apart, and he held his arms open for you, expecting a hug. 

Instead you slapped him. 

He looked stunned, holding his face with his hand as he stared at you. “OW. What the hell was that -”

You didn’t let him say anything else. Instead you wrapped your arms around his waist and tilted your head to meet his lips in a kiss that it felt like you had been waiting your whole life for. Poe froze for a moment, and you were scared that you had embarrassed yourself, but then his hands cupped your cheeks, and happiness filled your chest as he kissed you back with a passion you couldn’t ever have imagined. You clung to him as your lips moved together in perfect harmony, as if they had been made to kiss each other, and the world faded away, leaving nothing but him and this moment. 

A single, perfect moment. 

When you pulled away, Poe didn’t move, and a soft smile fell on your face as you took in the wide eyes and dazed look as he stared at you. “The slap was for you being stupid. The kiss was because I’m tired of being too scared of losing you to do it. ” You said, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. 

It took a couple of moments for him to speak, and when he did, he still looked a bit stunned. “Did that really just happen?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “The slap or the kiss?” 

“Both.” 

A laugh left your lips as Poe’s fingers tangled in your hair, massaging into your scalp. “Would you like me to do both again? So you can decide if they’re real?” You teased. 

“You know, I think I’m good on the slapping, but the kissing . . . I may need a repeat. I think I might have blacked out from how good it was.” Poe’s forehead rested against yours as heat flooded your cheeks. “So I’ll need several more to be sure.” He murmured, his nose brushing against your own. 

“Of course,” You replied, a little breathlessly as you felt the feather-like touch of his lips against your own. “We have to be sure.” 

Poe grinned as he met your lips in another kiss. The first of many.

[local-spoon-does-a-thing]

Found ( Part 1/2)

[(Bayverse) Optimus Prime x Reader)

A/N: Okay so this takes place during Transformers: Age of Extinction. When I was younger I loved the movie (mostly because it had dinosaurs) but once I re-watched it...yeah, it was meh for me. In my opinion, first film was better than the sequels. Anyways, I thought “hey, what would happen if reader was separated from Optimus then reunited after all these years?” And so, I did it. I’m dividing this into two parts since I don’t want to make this too long. The second part is mostly going to be the interaction between reader and Optimus. Also, the reader is like in early or mid-twenties.

You can find the second part here!

Summary: 5 years have passed since you last saw Optimus Prime, your guardian. Since then, you’ve traveled with the Autobots and went in hiding with them. Just as you were about to give up hope, Optimus summons the Autobots.

Warning: Angst, angst, angst, angst, spoilers for T:AOE

It’s been 5 years since you last saw Optimus Prime. Leader of the Autobots, your guardian and best friend. In the aftermath of the events in Chicago, you thought that everything would somewhat go back to normal. Hunting down more Decepticons with your teammates, going on missions together, having Optimus scold you for not doing your homework. Though of course, nothing would be the same without Ironhide. His death absolutely destroyed you. But greater matters were forced to be looked upon, such as the public starting to see the Autobots as a threat, which was very stupid considering that they saved the whole damn world, NEST disbanding, the ‘Bots having to be on the run, and finally, Optimus disappearing from the team. With your long time contribution to the team, you were hunted down as well. Cemetery Wind demanded information about the Cybertronians, every single piece of detail, but you didn’t let them. Now with you being wanted and labeled as a fugitive, you could never truly return to your normal life. Your future dream university? Say goodbye to that. Your friends and family? You left with Bumblebee, not wanting to put any of them in danger. If they were, then you knew that their blood would be on your hands and you just could not accept that.

You supported Bumblebee when he was suddenly assigned as the commanding leader of the Autobot refugees. Despite them belittling and discouraging him, you stayed by his side. You always wondered what Ironhide would’ve done. He would’ve probably done things his own way. What would Ratchet do? You missed the grumpy medic and him meddling about your health. And Optimus...you missed him. A lot. You missed the times where he would be off-guard by some of your witty jokes, you missed how he would let you sleep in his alternate form whenever you dreamt of Decepticons, you missed his rare laughs and chuckles. You really, really missed him. As time went on by, you noticed that even Bumblebee was changing. He grew a bit more mature, but you knew that the responsibility of being a leader was too much for him. He missed Sam, and you did too. Though you two were only neighbors at first, you grew close and became siblings with one another. After his run-in with Cemetery Wind, you knew that he wasn’t coming back. At that point, you were growing hopeless. You tried getting along with Hound, Drift, and Crosshairs throughout the years, but you were too tired to hold up a conversation with them. Luckily, they reluctantly accepted you as a comrade.

As everyone was changing, you noticed that so were you. You were no longer joking around as much as you used to. You became quiet and serious. Yes, you would still give out encouragement and words of optimism to not let the flame of hope die out, but lately, it started to feel and sound fake. Were you trying to convince the others to not give up or were you trying to convince yourself? For the majority of the last 5 years, you tried believing that Optimus and Ratchet were still alive, just in hiding. Your poor heart simply couldn’t handle the weight of indescribable sorrow if news broke out that the two were gone. You’ve already witnessed Optimus die once and you couldn’t do that whole thing again. Hope was something that you needed but it started to become something that you could no longer grasp. When your dying flame of hope was at its last breath, that’s when he came in. The voice you haven’t heard in a very long time.

“Calling all Autobots. Calling all Autobots.”

It was Optimus Prime, calling from the radio. Bumblebee abruptly stopped the drive, causing you to almost hit your head against the steering wheel. After you hissed out his name, you turned to the radio in disbelief. Were you hearing things or was this reality? Bee then started to mess the radio until Optimus’s message was playing on repeat. No. Way. This was actually happening. You didn’t even have time to gather your thoughts before Bee started redirecting his coordinate and driving to where his leader was located, at full speed. Your heart was pounding and you were starting to feel the adrenaline rushing in. Reality still had yet to sink in. Everything was starting to get overwhelming, even if only a couple of moments had passed by. This was real. This had to be real.

You clutched your stomach and nibbled the bottom of your lip. This was supposed to be a great thing and it was! Then why did you feel sick to your stomach? You’ve heard of people throwing up from nervousness. Was this what you were feeling? Why were you nervous? You wanted to see him, absolutely! But after all this time, after all these years, were you even prepared? What if it was just a false alarm and you would get trapped by Decepticons or any other enemies? What if Cemetery Wind had already got him and tried to use him as bait? That last thought had almost made you puke right then and there. Whether you were ready or not, it was time. 

You watched as the rest of the team had already met up with Optimus. The color of his alternate form made you stare at him with wide eyes as all the memories of you two together flashed for a second. Your jaw slightly dropped open and so many things ran around your mind. You were so out of reality that you hadn’t even noticed Bumblebee already transforming out of his alternate form and perching you on top of his shoulder. As he walked towards him, you watched Optimus’s transformation one last time and as always, it never ceases to amaze you and put you in a trance.

“Humans have asked us to play by their rules. Well, the rules have just changed.”

His deep voice filled your ears and for the first time, you relaxed. You could never forget what he sounded like, even during your darkest moments when you had tried to forget in an attempt to get rid of the pain that tore your heart to shreds. Words could not do justice to how you were feeling at this exact moment. The moment when you were finally reunited with your long lost guardian. Bumblebee gently let you down from his shoulder and as the team argued and bickered, all you could do was stare and not move. If this was a dream, then you never wanted to wake up. After an eternity of staring, Optimus’s optics met with your [e/c] orbs and you swore that you saw his breath hitch. 

You weren’t the only one that was worried. During Optimus’s time away from the team and trying to stay hidden, there was not a single thought where he would not worry about you. He always wondered if you were okay and...still alive. It broke his spark every time he imagined that you were dead, six feet underground. Or worse yet, if no one had even known where your body was. He thought that once he would get out of hiding, and he knew that he would one day, the first thing he did not want to hear was that you were either found dead or missing. He hoped that you were out there, having a good life and spending your time in university. Until he went to slumber, until the day that he would be found by Cade Yeager, he yearned for the day where he would get to hear your jokes one last time.

Here you were. Alive and still moving with Bumblebee and the others. His expression softened ever so slightly and he felt a big weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He took a long moment just looking at you. You’ve certainly grown and he knew that you were no longer the bratty teenager he grew to love. Sadness washed over him when he realized that he didn’t get to see you grow up as he was absent for the past 5 years. Questions went in and out, but they were going to have to be asked later. He gave you an ever so slightly ghost of a smile and a small nod.

We can talk later.

You snapped out of your trance once Crosshairs and Hound pointed their guns towards the strangers that you had failed to notice earlier. A young lady, a man who seems to be her father, and another boy.

“Stop, Hound- both of you! They’ve risked their lives for mine.”

For a long time, you stood in the same spot Bumblebee had put you. It was like you had forgotten to move. But once you started to walk towards Optimus and the three strangers, each step made your knees feel weak. Nothing was fully sinking in, yet you continued on. You held out your hand towards them and went on to introduce yourself.

“Uh, hey there. The name’s Cade Yeager and this is my daughter, Tessa. I assume you’re with the other…’Bots?” The young girl next to him gave you a shy smile and a small wave before the boy came in.

“Oh and I’m Shane, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You shook the three people’s hands and gave a small but welcoming smile. At long last, you finally got to meet some humans that weren’t hunting you down and trying to kill you. It felt so refreshing to interact with someone that wasn't an alien, car transforming robot.

“[Y/N], and yeah, I’ve been traveling with the Autobots for umm...a few years now or so. Also, I just want to thank you for helping Optimus. Seriously, you have no idea how grateful I am, along with the others as well.”

The way you spoke of Optimus’s name gave you a foreign feeling. Later during the straggling years, especially recently, you rarely spoke of his name since whenever you did, it always gave you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. But now, you were able to say it with ease after knowing that he was okay. Cade gave you a smile and scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem at all, really. I saw the way you looked at him and I’m glad that I could help.”

Optimus stared and observed you during your whole interaction with them. There were so many things to say and so many things to discuss with you. Though as he promised, he would have to do that later. Your hair was a bit of a mess, your clothes were a bit dirty and there were some torn bits here and there from all the battles and run-ins you had with the enemy. If he were to look closer, he would be able to notice scars that have been implanted onto your skin. Gashes, cuts, bullet wounds; they were there. He tore his gaze away from you and looked towards the rest of the team.

“Autobots, we will remain here and recharge for the rest of the day. Once everything is settled, we will discuss further plans with Cade Yeager.”

And so, the whole team went to settle down for the day. To your despair, you had little time with Optimus to discuss pretty much everything that had been going on. He had wanted to talk to you as much as you wanted to talk to him, but he was already occupied with what Bumblebee, Crosshairs, Hound, and Drift wanted to tell him. All the reports and notable news about Cemetery Wind and some bickering between the team. Meanwhile, you tried to distract yourself by helping the Yeagers and Shane set up a camp. Drift had been more than helpful by chopping wood from nearby dead trees with his blades. Before you knew it, night had fallen. Hound was able to set a campfire by using measures that were too extreme for your taste. You sat down beside Bumblebee, staring into the crackling fire. You quietly listened to the conversation that was going on beside you. The Autobots spoke of any possible refugees that had come within the years while Cade was being the typical overprotective dad. That almost made you chuckle. It reminded you of your father whenever he saw you hanging out with a potential love interest. God, when was the last time you had even thought about your parents? You wondered how they were doing and if they were still kicking. You wondered that if you were ever to come back to them, would they ever forgive you for running away and scaring them to death? Your heart ached as you thought more about them. If you could just give them one message that told them that you were okay, that would be enough.

Suddenly, you looked up when you heard Drift talking shit about Bumblebee once again. Almost simultaneously, both you and the giant yellow robot rolled your eyes before he stood up from his seat and approached the giant blue robot.

“He’s like a child.”

“This child is about to kick your ass.”

“He brings us shame.”

It didn’t take long for the two to start brawling. You crossed your arms and legs and sighed as you watched the two of them getting it on. Normally, you would’ve tried to stop them and diffuse the situation, but you were just too tired. Too much has happened in one day and you deserved some rest. Plus, Optimus was here now. He could handle them. Then, you noticed the three other friendlies move towards your side, taking a couple of steps back behind you. You heard the girl Tessa comment on what was wrong with them. Ironically, that was your first thought that came into mind when you first met the refugees. Glad that you weren’t the only one.

“Lockdown is hunting us and humans are helping. We need to know why.” Optimus spoke.

“Listen, I don’t know why, but I have an idea about who.” Cade replied.

That led to you watching a couple of clips that he managed to snatch from a drone. Just as you thought that things couldn’t get worse, it did. You watched as Ratchet and Leadfoot had met their demise by the humans attacking them. Ratchet...the grumpy medic you became very fond of, one of the very first Transformers you’ve met. All the missions you went with him, all the meddling you had to put up with from him, and all the scolding he gave you because he cared about you. Though you weren’t as close to Leadfoot as you were with Ratchet, you knew that he was a good ‘Bot. Two of your closest friends, down and out. Ratchet and Ironhide, both who never got to peacefully pass away. You hung your head low as you rested your elbows on top of your knees. Your hair fell in front of your face as silent, bitter tears fell to the ground below you. “Savages” as Hound had called him. And he was right, that was the exact word that  had described how the humans were in the footage. Ratchet had even begged that he was a medic and an Autobot. Your blood continued to boil even once the footage was finished playing. 

Quickly, you wiped away the tears by harshly jabbing your knuckles into your eyes and looked towards the others as they continued to discuss what was happening. Cade mentioned that the headquarters were located in Chicago and had offered to help them with the mission. He told how if he didn’t help them, then they wouldn’t be able to get their normal lives back. Funny thing was that once you’ve associated yourself with the Autobots, there was no way your life was going to fully revert back to its normal self. You and Sam knew that all too well.

“Autobots, I have sworn to never kill humans,” Optimus said, “but when I find out who’s behind this, he’s going to die.”

This old robot always manages to catch you off-guard. In all the years you’ve known him, you have never heard him say anything with a threatening voice. A scary one, in fact. To you, he was the calmest person you knew. Calculated and dangerous, but he was calm. He defined a true leader. But he was going to kill humans? Just before he declared that statement, he admitted that he swore to not kill humans. You knew that he was enraged with what Cemetery Wind and KSI had done to his close friends and you didn’t blame him for wanting to kill someone responsible. It just seemed so off; so out of character. It was jarring.

[some-dr-writings]

Fuyuhiko x Reader who won’t confess

·       Of all people you could have fallen for, why did it have t be the YAKUZA BOSS!? He has a bad temper on top of that! What if you tried asking him out and he was insulted by it so he had you killed!? Nope! No! You couldn’t do it! You were way too scared! It would be best you ignore the feelings…

·       …

·       But how could you!? Sure, he was a hot head, but he was a good guy, kind and loyal to his friends. It didn’t help either that you saw each other every day because you were in the same class. It also REALLY didn’t help that your best friend there was Peko, her and Fuyuhiko never spent much time together but the few times they did they seems to be good friends, and Peko seemed to know a lot about Fuyuhiko, so the pair of you would end up talking about him and your crush on him often.

·       “I understand your apprehension, but you can try talking to him more, nothing has happened to our other classmates who have gotten close to him.” “Peko. Gurl. I am the Super High School Level Crime Boss. I may be bold and cunning, but I’m not going to approach the heir of the biggest and greatest crime syndicate in Japan with something like this. I could go with the excuse we are both great powers and should be on amicable terms so we don’t slaughter one another, but that would be a lie, and we don’t lie in my family.” “… Would it be a lie to say you wanted to get to know him because you like him, and he is your classmate?” “… Hmm… perhaps. Even so, I don’t need others on looking, possibly seeing us getting chummy and taking that as a threat.”

·       You didn’t avoid the man per se, but you did try to spend as little time with him as possible, fearful of him asking something in just the right way where you couldn’t dance around it and would have to confess. The few times you did get to spend time together was rather nice.

·       The wind rolled past carrying bright green leaves along with it, a much-needed break from the heat that came pouring down from the cloudless sky. You sighed, taking a sip of your cold drink. With the condensation on the glass, it slipped in your hands for a moment, almost spilling into your lap. You and Peko chatted away at the balcony of the café, loving the summer day. You sighed noticing Fuyuhiko from the corner of your eye. You had figured out long ago that Peko was Fuyuhiko’s secret bodyguard, the man always was near by whenever the pair of you spent time together outside of school. He was even generous and kind to his subordinates letting them live life outside of his syndicate. It truly kind man.

·       “Hmm, oh, Kuzuruyu, hello.” “Huh?” “What?” Clearly both you and the man were caught off guard, it evident on your faces. “What are you doing here?” “Uh… Well, this place just opened but I’ve heard nothing but good things, so I decided to check it out.” “Same with us. Say why don’t you join us?” You spat out your drink, choking on it mid-sip hearing the suggestion, thankfully for the heir who only would have gotten flustered if you had noticed the bright scarlet that had erupted on his cheeks when he approached you and Peko. “Y/N!?” “I’ll get some more napkins.” Peko immediately dashed off, leaving Fuyuhiko with you. You were still coughing, covering your face with napkins, embarrassed by the whole situation and not wanting your crush to see you like this. Nervously Fuyuhiko pat your back, feeling too awkward to do much else. When you settled down you were completely embarrassed but tried to remain calm and let the staff clean the table. “You okay?” “Physically, yes. Emotionally, no, I am a wreak right now.” “Ah.” …

·       …

·       Thankfully for the awkwardness neither of you tried to make idle chit-chat allowing you to notice… something. “Since the staff are taking care of things let’s look for Peko.” “Yeah.” Instead, you both immediately left the premises. Your suspicion was confirmed, you were being followed. At the first opportunity you raced to anything you could use for a quick getaway, a motorcycle this time. Mentally you apologized to the couple and made sure make a note to repay them with a new motorbike later as you slammed a helmet on Fuyuhiko’s head, dashing away on the bike.

·       “Sorry for getting you caught up in this. I recognize the bastard, some assassin who’s like a cockroach, won’t just die no matter how much lead I pump into em’!” A bang sounded, a gun having been fired, the bullet landing right beside the tire sending a few sparks flying. “A cockroach. I’ve dealt with the likes before. Focus on driving, I’ll take care of them.” “Alright. Let’s see how good of a shot you are!” A chuckle seeped out of you, the thrill of the chase always something you couldn’t help but enjoy no matter the danger. With a rev of the engine you took a sharp turn, turning around, leaving skid marks on the pavement as you did so before charging head on for the car behind you. Fuyuhiko blew out a tire as you raced past. “Only two in the car, usually has at least ten assistants. Don’t let your guard down!” “Wasn’t going too. This isn’t my first assassination plot.” “Except you’re a bystander who got dragged in this time, so at least you aren’t the primary target.”

·       Fuyuhiko kept up carefully aimed fire, only having so-many bullets, but you though trying to escape and dodge fire you also specifically made opportunities for Fuyuhiko to get good shots in on any attackers.

·       “Fuck! Gun’s jammed!” “OF COURSE!” Fuyuhiko kept muttering swears under his breath desperately trying to get the damn thing to work again. You looked over your shoulder for a moment, finding Fuyuhiko opted the hurl the junk at the car, cracking the windshield right on the driver’s side. “Hah! Nice one.” “Don’t celebrate just yet. We’re out of fire now.” “Hell no! We could die at any moment, so we’ve gotta celebrate when we can!” You laughed, speeding away as the car behind you wavered, almost crashing. Still though it made chase. Now it was completely up to you to keep you both alive. Taking a sharp turn off the street you instead raced down an alleyway in between buildings. You smiled seeing where you were. “Take in that ocean air Kuzuryu! We’re almost home free!” “Home free you say? Alright, show me what you’ve got!”

·       “There’s more assassins!” “Got it.” Unfortunately the streets by the sea side were much narrower than deeper in the city so dodging was near impossible, all you could do was weave between cars and hope for the best.

·       “Kuzu, Hold on tight!” You dashed through traffic, turning into the opposite lane and cutting across it, slipping between spaces in the railing. Unfortunately, the hill beyond the railing was a bit steeper than you remembered, the pair of you being in the air for a while before crashing down, wavering too much you could only keep balance for a few moments before flipping over.

·       “Hey. Hey, Y/N!” You groaned, slowly getting up, your head ringing and the world swirling and spinning. “Y-you alright?” “For now, but we need to go!” Taking your arm he pulled you up and ran along. The motorcycle left deep marks in the ground, signaling where it crashed, pointing out where you were. “Just gotta get to the docks. We’ll be safe there.” “Got it!”

·       Quickly the pair of you ran along, hiding behind anything you could, from shrubbery to beach umbrellas, the gun fire raining down around you. However for a short time it did suddenly come to a stop. “Peko!” Indeed it was the swords woman, putting a stop to the attacks as long as she could.

·       “Young Master!” Finally you had reunited on the docks. Not stopping for even a moment you raced for a building, kicking the door down upon entering. “Get in the seaplane, now!” The moment your companions were in, you started the engine, immediately going not even giving them the opportunity to strap in.

·       You were surrounded by nothing but blue. Blue skys, blue water, not another plane or boat in sight. You let out a shaky breath, shuttering. “Holy hell, I have not had a chase like that in a while! You two okay? If not there’s a first aid kit under my seat. If you have any serious injuries we’ll have to land and do work on the wing of the plane. But if it can wait for an hour or so we can take care of it on the island.” It was a rather small plane, just for personal use so there was little room, only enough for four seats to be squished against to one another. “I’m fine. Peko-” “I am unharmed. However, you have several cuts.” “Y/N, you’ve been shot!” You gritted your teeth, instead focusing on piloting. “Maybe… but it can wait.” “No! You’re landing this thing right now!” “Kuzuryu! The island has much better supplies for this, and though I know there are no other sea planes in the docks they could have them hidden elsewhere and I want minimal risk of them finding us and my private hideaway. So we have to out run them” “… Fine, but we’re using the first aid kit on you.”

·       You winced as Peko and Fuyuhiko tried patching the wound as best they could. The bullet didn’t get in too deeply but the longer your flight went on the more that fiery pain seeped into you, it no longer being ignorable as your adrenaline lowered and slowed. You could feel our heart pounding against your rib cage, your breathing getting heavier. “Y/N, you’re pale.” “I-I’m fine.” “Like Hell you are! Don’t pull that bull shit with me!” “I can fly this thing, if I can keep doing that I’m fine. It… it’s not too much farther now.”

·       …

·       You were in the cabin. “A-aunty, Uncle.” You smiled, knowing you had arrived at the island safely seeing the elderly pair. “Wh-where’s my guests? How are they?” The woman simply gestured to the wide open doors leading to your tropical paradise, the sand and ocean waves so close, Fuyuhiko and Peko standing in the frame. Fuyuhiko had a few bandages but seemed fine. Both of them looked relived. “Boss shall we leave you with your guests?” “Yeah, but before you go, how long till I’m healed?” “You may get up now.” You looked questioningly to the older gentleman. “We sedated you with sleeping drugs this time so you would not have to just lie in bed and constantly sneak out instead of resting for your health.” “H-hey! I’m not that reckless!” “Boss, you had three bullet wounds.” You simply shriveled in your bed. “I-I needed to check on everyone else myself. Too many got injured that time. Those basters needed to pay.” “And you can not risk your health when doing so, Boss.” “… Thank you, Uncle. You and Aunty prepare some food for us.” In unison the elderly folk said ‘Yes, boss’ heeding your command and making their leave. “I shall assist.” And Peko left with them. Slowly you sat up, getting out of bed. “Well… care for a walk? I feel rather sluggish from having slept for several days at least apparently.” “Sure.”

·       Even if you would regret it later, you could safely spend time with the man now, knowing none other than Peko where here to protect him and heed his command. Just this once you could get a little closer without fear, and more importantly, learn exactly how bad his injuries were.

·       You took the chance to explain to Fuyuhiko just who exactly your assailants were, how they were actually an organization made by rogue government officials who wanted you dead no matter the consequences. How this island was your personal place you only allowed the most trusted of family members in your organization to go to, or those injured should this place be the most convenient, how you ‘Aunty’ and ‘Uncle’ were individuals who had worked in your organization since you first created it and were like family though not actually being blood related to you or even married to one another. And… you just kept talking like how you found this island and made it your home away from home, about school and your classmates. You both just talked about whatever through the day.

·       And soon there you were sitting on the sandy shore, looking up to the starlit sky. “Really? I don’t believe it.” “No, I really did crash the car there.” “You call the assassins cockroaches, but that more so describes you.” “What!?” Fuyuhiko couldn’t help but chuckle a little seeing your reaction. “Yeah, surviving car crashes, being shot through the chest, poisoning, now a motorcycle crash. Seems you’re unkillable.” “Excuse me, but all of those were calculated risks!” “Exactly. Even in crazy situations you can keep calm and take the less disastrous outcome…” His smile faded, a more serious expression taking on his features. “Y’know… When I step up as the leader of the Kuzuryu clan, I’ll need someone strong, and capable by my side… maybe… someone like you.” “……… Are you… confessing, or am I horribly misreading this.” Fuyuhiko froze, a blush flaring up on his cheeks. “Well, I think we worked rather well together today so… W-wanna go out?” “Yes! Absolutely yes!” “O-oh… alright then.” Clearing his throat he stood up. “Well… it’s getting late, I’m shoving off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow… maybe you could give me a run of the grounds here?” “Yeah, definitely!” “Good… I’m looking forward to it.”

·       “Oh my god, Peko, I finally asked them out! And they said ‘Yes’!” “Good for you, Young Master.” “I didn’t even hesitate! I know you said they it would be safe since nothing had happened to our other classmates, but… they’re still the Boss of the greatest crime syndicate over seas! This could have gone horribly and I just did it! I didn’t even use the excuse we should be on good terms or allies, so we don’t kill each other. I just asked them out!”

·       Even if Peko’s plan didn’t go quite as she thought it would it still worked out. Her duty is to protect her young master, so it would not do for him to kill himself due to stressing over asking his crush out. She already knew things were going to turn out great for the pair of you. You were so alike and so drastically different you just complimented one another perfectly.

[cheonjeolmi]

Walmart Date (Modern AU)

Pairing: Hange x F! Reader

Warnings: None ( except for some tooth-rotting fluff ) 

Request?: Not requested, though my requests are open so feel free to send!

A/N: just some desperately needed Hange fluff !! Sorry for any grammar or formatting errors as its been a while since I used tumblr. In any case please enjoy the story, and follow me on twitter for writing related updates @_thexaus !

“Y/N!! Come on, come on! Let’s goo” Hange exclaimed as they couldn’t help but pace back and forth around their shared room. 

“Babe, it’s still way too early for you to be this hyper.” you groaned.

“Oh, sorry! I’m just so excited!” They giggled and brought their arms around you, wrapping you in a hug.

“We’re going to Walmart to buy some groceries and other things, why exactly are you excited?” You asked as you returned their hug.

“Yeah, but we’re still spending time together! We’re going on a Walmart date!” she continued, “plus, I’ve missed you. We’ve both been busy with work. But now that it’s our day-off, we can have our date!” Hange smiled and pressed a light kiss to your forehead, face heating up in embarrassment from the sudden kiss. 

“Aww, you’re so cute when you blush! It makes me want to kiss you even more” they swooned, peppering you with kisses, before kissing your nose then touching it afterward. “Boop!” They chuckled at your reaction. “I love you, Y/N”

“I love you too, Hange” The two of you wrapped around each other, with you listening to their heartbeat. The brown-haired scientist pulled away, retracting their arms from you

“Okay, the last one to the car is a rotten egg!” Hange laughed as they bolted towards the door, leaving you in their trail very confused

“What..?”

“Haha, rotten egg!” they said as they kept boasting about their victory. (Y/N) glared at them

“It’s not fair! I wasn’t ready and you tried to trip me at some point. Also, if I had known we were doing that, you would definitely be saying otherwise right now.” you accused your brown-haired partner

“Whatever, you’re just mad that I won” Hange turned to you with a smug smirk before sticking her tongue out, you scoffed and walked a bit further from them, deciding to playfully ignore them.

“Babe, I did what I have to do and I won so that’s all that matters,” they boasted once more, noticing you walk further from them, they let out a laugh “Are you seriously gonna ignore me?” 

You didn’t respond. Instead, you walked even further from them, creating a bigger distance than before. “Okay fine, be that way then. I’m gonna ignore you too! A taste of your own medicine, if you will.” They sighed, crossing their arms, stomping toward the Walmart in front of you both.

Although that didn’t last long since once you both entered the store, they turned to you with tears starting to form in the corner of their eyes. “Y/N!! Please don’t be mad at me anymore, I’m sorry! There, are you happy!? You’re not the rotten egg, I am!” they whined, begging for your attention in the process.

When they saw you turn toward them, their smile grew but immediately dropped when you gave them a smug look, loving the way they were acting now.

“Torture! This is torture, Y/N! Why are you torturing your cute and precious partner named Hange aka the love of your life?! I thought you loved meee..” they whined, as other people began to give you both weird looks.

“Oh my god, Hange! I forgive you. Now, be quiet before we get kicked out!” you said as they immediately brought you into a hug kissing your cheek,

“Yay, Y/N loves me!” Hange sang in delight as they dragged you along the store “So what are we going to buy?” they hummed, walking beside you. “Oh no, I forgot to make a list,” a small frown came across your face. 

“Well anyway, snacks, drinks, and ingredients for dinner. Did you wanna look around to buy something?” Y/N said turning to Hange smiling as they nodded “Okay great! We’ll meet up later, yeah?” After which they both went their separate ways.

Hange skipped around the store holding a basket filled with sweets, and a worrying amount of Red Bull. Once they finished going around getting everything they wanted, the brown-haired scientist stopped and froze in fear 

“Oh no…” Hange had gotten lost in the big store and was completely without their girlfriend and now, proceeded to exaggerate their situation, thinking of all the things that were unlikely to happen. Were they overreacting? Yes, but they believed you could never be too sure.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no no no. I have to find Y/N! Oh, I can call her-!” fishing for their phone, only to see that it was dead. “Oh come on! The day I forget to charge is the day I get lost. What are the odds.” they sighed in defeat but soon perked up, thinking of the perfect idea to get them out of this predicament.

“Calling Ms. Y/N L/N, please head down to register 5. Again, can Ms. Y/N L/N, please head down to register 5. Thank you.” The store speaker rang out  as you head over there to see what was wrong, there you saw Hange sitting down on the bench, pouting while swinging their legs back and forth.

You compared the sight to that of a child who lost their mother, which to be fair was sort of your situation right now. Hange then looked up and saw you come closer, making their pout turn to a wide grin, soon enough they ran up to you and hugged you tightly.

“Y/N!! You’re here! And you’re alive!!” Hange practically screamed as they were now reassured and weren’t alone by themselves anymore.

"Hange, what-? Of course, I'm alive...Now, start talking.” your gaze hardened against their brown eyes, they gulped from the tension and simply nodded.

“First, why’d you ask them to call me here? Second of all, why didn’t you just text or call me?” They rubbed a hand on their nape, clearly nervous as you seemed like a mother scolding their child, which was also very much true.

“Well, I um..got lost...second, my phone was dead. Also, while waiting for you, I talked with the lady at the register! Her name was Flora! What a nice fellow she was..” Hange smiled, recalling the small conversation they had, whilst waiting for Y/N to arrive at the register.

“Hi, I’m Hange!”

“Nice to meet you, Hange. I’m Flora,” “So, this Y/N person is your..girlfriend?” Hange nodded

“Ah, yes she is! Very lovely, kind, helpful, friendly, and she’s just so great!”

“Aw, that’s sweet. You must love her a lot” the kind woman said and Hange could only nod, thinking about all the things she loved about you.

“I’m gonna marry her one day. I don’t know when or where, but if I’m with her that’s all that matters'' the brown-haired scientist sighed dreamily, as they began to imagine what married life would be like with you.

“I was exactly like you once with my wife, when we’d still been dating. Her name’s Evie and now we’re married! 10 years and counting!” “Let me tell you, waking up to her every day is a dream and even after 10 years it never gets old. I’m sure it’ll be the same for you both” Hange smiled and thanked the kind woman at the register.

“Hange? Helloo? Earth to Hange?” you waved your hand against her face, which seemed to break them out of their daze and smile at you. “Oh, sorry Y/N! Were you done paying for everything?” they asked and you nodded “Oh shoot, I forgot something!”

“Oh? What did you forget? We’re not in a rush so we could go look for it” your eyes lit up in mischief “No no, it’s not that. It’s just that,” moving forward to get your head start “the last one to the car is a rotten egg!” you exclaimed, giggling as you bolted out the door, leaving Hange in the same state you had been in before. 

“Huh..? HUH!!? HEY WAIT!! THAT’S NOT FAIR Y/N!” they shouted as they ran after you, which didn’t take long. Hange caught you in their arms around your waist trapping you within the confines of their body, their chest pressing against your back. 

You moved around their hold, both of you admiring each other's features as the two of you smiled like idiots. “Hey you” they smiled, “Hey yourself” Y/N replied, snuggling closer towards the scientist.

Suddenly the air between you changed, a visible sense of longing present, “Y/N..” Hange began to slowly lean towards you, you began to do the same as your lips brush against each other, their hands move to cup your face, the kiss feeling like all the good things you could name.

Fireworks. Butterflies. Electricity.

Everything in that moment felt right and you both knew that. “Hange” you moaned into her lips as the two of you broke apart for air, which didn't last long as your lips were back on theirs. The taste and feel of their lips on yours, their scent of warm vanilla with a slight hint of earthiness to it filled through your nostrils. 

Everything about them was addicting, and it was frightening how you were willing to sacrifice a lot to be with them-- or to feel the rush of excitement, danger, adrenaline, and warmth which coursed through your veins whenever you were with Hange.

For a few seconds, everything around you was still. You feel every little detail and it's simply beautiful. It’s only but the two of you and it's unlike anything you’ve ever experienced and oh how you wished this moment could last forever.

As the two of you parted, yours and Hange's foreheads pressed against each other gently with the two of you smiling like idiots in love.

“Y/N, stay with me forever please” “Hange..I'd only ever want to stay with you anyway” they smiled once again and placed soft kisses along your face, from your forehead to your nose, and from your cheeks to your jawline bringing their lips to the shell of your ear with Hange softly nibbling on it,

“Hange-” you moaned at the action and they smirked at the way your voice slightly broke. “And another thing, I win, rotten egg.” Hange pulled back to look at your shocked expression and smiled. Admittedly, you had forgotten about the silly race as memories of the kiss you shared not too long ago, filled every space in your mind.

The coffee-haired scientist raced over to where you parked the car and you couldn't help but smile seeing their tall energetic figure make a beeline to the car, with you walking a few steps behind them accepting your defeat. God, you loved Hange so much and you knew that they loved you too, if not more.

But no matter how many times Hange had told you they loved you, you always felt comfort in knowing that, smiling once again for what seemed to be the millionth time that night.

'You're going to be the death of me, Hange Zoe.'

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Into My Body, You Just Fold

Floyd Talbert x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, optional!smut (poorly written dirty talk, lite name calling/degradation), OOC Tabbykins, mutual pining, drunken love confessions, Reader has an unfaithful husband (but OMC isn’t the worst), period-typical restrictions of women’s rights, not vv good writing tbh, and no-no words (per usual)

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~

As terrible a person it made you to admit as much- you didn’t think you could imagine life without Floyd Talbert.

 You’d promised yourself at a young age that you’d never be one of those women who needed a man to complete them, far too disenchanted by the sight of your friends losing their fire and spark upon marrying their husbands. Your father had raised you with the same permissive encouragement as he had your brothers, something that horrified your mother so much that she eventually stopped inviting you to her happy home with her new husband altogether.

Now that you were older you realized that marrying Frederick had been your desperate attempt to win back your mother’s love and approval, much more than your marriage had been for any sort of actual love towards your husband. 

 You’d tried, though. 

Frederick was funny and charming and could get along with anyone. He was driven and supportive, and he always made sure that you knew how much you meant to him. You should’ve been able to love him easily and completely.

But you didn’t- You couldn’t when, more often than not, he came home smelling of liquor and another woman. 

Sometimes several other women.

It became abundantly clear to you that, as much as you meant to him, you clearly weren’t enough to keep him from straying.

 Which is why you found your love for someone like Floyd so….unexpected.

 Upon first meeting him you’d hated him, obviously. He was just like Fred, no- he was worse than Fred because at least Frederick made some effort to hide his infidelities from the world. 

If anything, Tab flaunted his conquests like a badge of honor. It made your skin crawl.

Not that your dislike for him did anything to deter him, of course. 

 On the contrary, he seemed to take it as a challenge.

 It also didn’t seem to matter much that you were married. The ring you wore on the same chain as your dog tags seemed to deter any other potential suitors- and if for some reason that didn’t dissuade any overly-confident troopers, your marksmanship and reputation nipped any nonsense in the bud. 

Not Floyd Talbert, though. 

It didn’t matter where you two were- Tab made it his personal mission to win you over. He flirted with you on the boat ride to England, in the plane as it soared towards Normandy, in the middle of a gunfight on the way to Eindhoven. Hell, he’d even tried to charm you while recovering from a stab to his gut.

 The boy was shameless.

 If you had to narrow it down on a timeline, things had become more sincere and less childish in Eindhoven- when you’d gotten mobbed by a group of drunk and curious men who’d wanted to see more of the lone woman sniper of the 506th.

Floyd had appeared from nowhere and helped you wrestle your gun away from one of the idiots who’d attempted to divest you of it. He’d wasted no time in taking his own helmet from his head and placing it onto your own upon realizing that yours had been taken, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and guiding you from the throngs of people while you shook from leftover adrenaline.

 He’d kissed you that day after he had been unable to get you to refocus on him and stop you from hyperventilating. 

You’d stood stock still for a few seconds, mind scrambling to process the gentle feeling of his lips on yours as well as the fact that you were no longer tossing in the sea of people you’d been lost in moments ago.

When he’d pulled back, you could only gape at him like an idiot.

 “W-why did you—?”

Floyd’s rough hands had come up to hold your face, taking a deep breath of his own before replying.

“I, uh…” he had stammered for a moment before shaking his head quickly and clearing his throat. “I was trying to get you to snap out of...just trying to get you back.”

 After that, things had progressed pretty quickly.

 He’d stopped seeking out any female company other than yours- not that you’d noticed at the time- spending the few nights of freedom he was afforded with you while you would ritually take apart and clean your rifle, talking with you about anything and everything. He had a knack for making you laugh harder than anyone ever had before.

Sometimes you’d talk about serious things, like your families or past loves or the foolish hopes you both had had before the war.

 Every so often, he’d ask you about Frederick.

 Thinking about Fred made you uncomfortable. Unhappy. 

 But because Floyd had been so honest with you, you tried to be honest with him as well.

No matter how innocently the questions began, they always ended with Floyd furrowing his brows and saying your name softly enough that you couldn’t help but hesitantly meet his imploring gaze. He’d always ask some variation of the same question:

“Why did you marry him?”

 Most nights you didn’t answer. Some nights you were able to deflect the question well enough that eventually you both fell into a different conversation altogether. One night you’d been in a bad mood and snappily asked him an uncomfortable question of your own.

“Why do you have such a hard time keeping it in your pants whenever a pretty girl is around?” 

That always shut him up. And, despite the fact that you could feel the upset rolling from Tab in waves, he never left. 

 That night, you had taken his fist between your hands and uncurled his fingers. You had felt his eyes on you as you purposefully dug your thumbs into his palm to ease the tension you found, eventually turning his hand over so you could carefully trace your fingertips over his war-calloused knuckles.

“That was unkind,” you had whispered, guilt churning your stomach when at the hurt you knew you had caused. His grey-blue eyes were curious as you hesitantly looked up at him, and once you had met his gaze you’d almost lost your train of thought.  “I’m sorry, Tab.”

 You hadn’t been expecting him to kiss you again, but even as he had you didn’t immediately stop him. 

It was only when he had started to pull you closer that you quickly pulled away. Your breathing had become heavy, and while you didn’t let go of his hand you still said his name admonishingly under your breath. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” you’d whispered, unable to look at him and electing to look at your feet as you brought your hand up to press your fingertips against your still-tingling lips. “You- you know I’m….you know why I can’t—”

“I know,” Floyd’s voice was low, and despite the fact that you weren’t looking at him you’d been able to see the grimace on his face. “I just….I know. I’m sorry, Y/N”

You’d cleared your throat, pulling your hand away from his and giving him a tight smile. 

“No need to apologize. Let’s just forget about it, yeah?”

Without waiting for his response, you’d gone back to the table where you had been working on your gun, desperate for a distraction.

“So, uh, what was it that you were saying about your brother? He’s graduating high school soon?”

 Despite Floyd’s willingness to play along, you had been unable to stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on yours. You wondered if this was what happened to Frederick- if this rush of adrenaline after doing something you shouldn’t was what he was chasing each time he went home with someone else.

You’d never known guilt could be so heady. In that moment, you’d started to realize just how dangerous this friendship with Tab could be.

But even then, you’d also had a sinking feeling that you weren’t going to be able to give him up, That you were no better than Frederick.

Taking your oiled rag back into your hands, you’d scrubbed the metal o-ring of your piston and tried not to think too hard about what this revelation said about you.

~

It had been during a 48-hour pass that he’d asked the question about Fred for the very last time, after you’d each finished a bottle of sweet French wine while sitting on the floor between two beds of the hotel room.

That night, you’d given him a sad smile and gestured half-heartedly with your canteen as you brought it to your lips.

 “Because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Because…. I didn't think I was allowed to say no.”

He’d stared at you sadly, clenching his jaw a few times before clearing his throat and letting his head loll back to rest against the side of the bed. 

 “Ask me again.”

 You’d frowned at him, confused as to what he was asking you to say. Your silence must’ve given away your lack of understanding, because he laughed humorlessly before closing his eyes.

“

Ask me why I can’t keep it in my pants….'round pretty girls….”

“Oh-kay…?” you’d said slowly, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Why can’t you keep it in your pants?”

 With a bit more effort than it probably should’ve taken, Tab twisted his body so the back of his head was resting in your lap, the strands of his hair ticking the skin of your thighs where your sleep shorts had bunched up.

 “Same fuckin’ reasons.”

 In the dim light of the hotel room, you’d been the one to kiss him, your lips trembling with heartbreak on his behalf and complex (if not unbidden) emotion. Floyd sat up so you weren’t having to hunch your body over to reach him, carefully wrapping an arm around your waist as he shifted your bodies so neither of you had to strain to reach the other. Despite Floyd being Floyd- he didn’t kiss you greedily, the plush of his mouth soft as it followed your gentle rhythm without any sign of wanting more than you were willing to give. 

 Once he’d realized that you had begun to cry, Tab broke the kiss carefully, and he had reached a gentle hand up to brush your tears away, a sad smile crossing his face.

“Now, isn’t that a sight?” he’d whispered. “Never had a girl cry for me before. Don’t think I like it much…’specially when that girl’s you.”

 He’d allowed you to cry for him, allowed you to cry for yourself and all of the hurt and pain you’d been holding inside of your chest for what felt like decades. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you had woken up the next morning you felt his fingers combing through your clean hair as you both lay sprawled out together on the floor. At some point, one or both of you had pulled the bedding from the bed’s mattresses and tangled yourselves in the soft fabric.

 “Is it bad that I wish I’d met you first?” Floyd had asked, his voice a warm rumble as you rested your head on his chest.

“Yeah,” you’d admitted, scratching your nails lightly across his shirt-covered stomach. “But I’m much worse for agreeing with you.”

 As he turned his body so he was leaning over you, his hand came up to rest on your collarbone while his eyes danced across your face.

 “You’re beautiful….too beautiful to be ruined by someone like me, I think.”

You’d frowned, bringing one of your hands up to trace his mouth with your fingertips.

“Oh, Floyd- you can’t ruin what was already spoiled.”

 Tab then lowered himself so his nose brushed against yours, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

“Can’t I?”

~

Even thinking about it now broke your heart.

Now, nearly two years after the war had ended.

Now, living in the house you’d once shared with Frederick.

Now, as you lay in bed and watched Floyd brush his teeth in the bathroom of the home you shared.

 Fred had last written to you five months ago, telling you that he was probably going to be in Japan for at least another six months before he could even apply to come back to the states. 

Despite the fact that he claimed his senior ranking in the Navy and his responsibilities to oversee prisoner exchanges were the ‘sole reason for his prolonged absence, you knew that it was probably more a case of him not wanting to return to a life of expected monogamy that kept him away.

Not that you minded one bit.

Not when you had Floyd.

 You hadn’t expected him to want to stay with you, in the literal sense or in the more metaphorical sense of commitment, yet he’d barely let you finish your offer before he agreed emphatically.

If you were truly being honest with yourself, you hadn’t imagined that he’d even want to stay after you’d slept with him the first time, shortly after returning to the states. 

 But he had. He had stayed.

 You’re ripped from your thoughts when you realize that the sound of Floyd brushing his teeth has stopped, and when you shook yourself from your trance you realized that he had caught you staring at him. Judging by the smug look on his face, he’d finished getting ready for bed a while ago, and when you begin to blush he crosses his arms across his chest and leans against the doorframe.

 “You know, ma’am,” he smirks as you clear your throat and pick at your nails embarrassedly. “It’s not wise to stare at a man like that unless you’re willing to face the consequences….”

You snort a laugh despite yourself, furrowing your brows and looking back to him with a dumb grin on your face. “Oh yeah? And what consequences would those be, Sir?” 

His eyes darken with a flash, having made it very clear long ago how much he liked it when you called him that. You cannot help but smirk at his clear shift in arousal.

 He pinches his bottom lip as he considers you- something that you couldn’t deny made your heart race with dark promise. Wetting your own lips, you lean back onto your elbows and watch him watch you.

Quirking his brow, he tilts his head and pushes himself from the doorframe to stalk to the foot of the bed and brace his arms against the mattress so he’s nearly leering at you.

 “Oh Lovely, I think I’m gonna have to show rather than tell.”

~Smut interlude, doodiLEEdedoo~

You shook your head in amusement, a smile breaking across your lips as he crawled his way up your body- his softening hands smoothing your silky nightgown up your thighs and stomach as he did so. A low, pleased curse rumbled low in his throat at your lack of underwear, smiling against your skin as he ducked down to kiss your hips and soft stomach while completing his journey.

 “I knew it was only a matter of time before I convinced you to stop wearing underwear to bed,” he says warmly, encouraging your thighs over his own while he kneels between your legs.

You can’t help but scoff at the wording of his observation.

“Yeah, if that’s what you’re calling ruining all of my expensive undergarments with your impatience, then yes Floyd, you’ve thoroughly convinced me to forgo underwear.”

 With an easy familiarity, Tab slips his hands under your nightdress and ghosts his blunt fingernails over the swell of your breasts, smirking at the goosebumps his touch elicits across your bare skin.

You lift your shoulders off of the bed enough to bring the bunched-up nightdress up and over your head before tossing it somewhere on the floor beside you, allowing your eyes to drift shut as he bows his head to kiss at your nipples in near-reverence. His hands map the rest of your body in a cycle that only he can predict, the sound of his skin brushing against yours paired with the warmth of his palms and mouth relaxing you in a way that no hot bath or soft bed ever could.

Floyd groans as you rake your fingers through his hair, allowing you to guide his face up to yours for a slow, imploring kiss before one of his hands slips in between your legs and massages at the lips of your sex.

 “Was I taking too long, Sweetheart?” he asks against your lips, his voice growing rough with need. “How long have you been this wet?”

 You don’t answer, choosing rather to roll your hips into his touch. Your breath catches in your throat at the first swirl of his middle finger over your clit, something that he does again with a smug hum against your lips.

 “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he reassures you as he wets his cock with your arousal. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll make it all better.”

 Whoever said that slow sex couldn’t also be filthy had clearly never met Floyd Talbert.

 By the time he’s flipping you onto your stomach, you’ve been brought to the teetering precipice of release three times- his mouth and fingers and cock working you up while he kissed the sweetest admonishments into your skin. Tab called you needy, cockhungry, and wicked- all while kissing across your skin with such a sweet contrast to his words that it made your head spin.

When he finally, finally pulls your hips up and begins to piston into you, you’re already so delirious for him that you are pleading for him to let you cum- something that only serves to make him grip your hips harder and groan in anticipation. 

 “Dirty girl,” he grits out as he bends enough that his forehead can rest between your bunched shoulder blades, the line between admonishment and praise blurring headily as you feel that familiar flutter building in your lower belly. “Are you going to come for me? Can feel you shaking for me like a good little whore….”

You barely have to ask for more before he grips your sex possessively with one of his hands, your orgasm tearing through you and stealing your breath as well as your capabilities for speech.

 Floyd, whose curse is drowned out by the rush of blood to your ears, follows you quickly over the edge- grinding out as much of his own release as he can in between your legs before collapsing atop you. 

Almost as an afterthought, Tab slips himself from your body, rolling to lay beside you as you both come down from your highs.

 “So good,” you’re barely aware of him panting out. “You’re so fucking good, Y/N….”

You blindly reach out to drape your arm across his waist, incapable of returning the praise just yet.

He knows, though. You know he does by the way he sighs happily beside you.

~End of smut interlude, doodiLEEdedoo~

~

“Y/N?”

You look down your body to where Floyd's head rests in the valley between your ribs, your fingers having been lazily combing through his overgrown hair for the past twenty minutes. 

“Hm?” you reply, your other hand snapping out to grab one of the pillows near the top of the bed and folding it beneath your head so you can watch him.

Turning his head to press a kiss on your skin, he looks up at you lazily. When you smile down at him, he returns with a content grin of his own.

 “Can I ask you something?”

Raising an eyebrow, you narrow your eyes teasingly. “I don’t know, Floyd….can you?”

You nearly shriek when his fingers dig into your sides, rolling your lips together in an attempt to quiet your laughter as Floyd bestows biting kisses up your sternum while you wriggle beneath him. 

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he grumbles as he takes your face in his hands, unable to keep the smirk from his lips. “Lucky for you that you’re a good lay….”

Rolling your eyes, you nod your chin at him.

 “Just ask me already, you jerk.”

 His wicked expression softens, eyes scanning your face as you look up at him. The beginnings of a knot start to twist in your stomach, feeling the first drops of anxiety begin to stain your blood.

 “Floyd…..what’s wrong?” you ask, not liking the way he suddenly electing to look at your mouth rather than into your eyes. “Is everything—?”

“Would you ever marry me?”

 Your eyes widen at that. That had certainly not been what you were expecting him to ask you.

 Taking in a deep breath, you consider his words for a bit before answering immediately.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him, because you did. No, what gave you pause was all that marrying him would entail- the greatest obstacle being that you were already married, and unless more things had changed in post-war America than you realized, polyandry was still illegal. Not to mention the fact that, upon marrying Fred, anything you had once been able to call your own was now- at least legally speaking- his.

 You didn’t even have any right to the house you and Floyd had been living in. It, along with everything inside of it including you, was Frederick’s in both name and law.

And that was what scared you the most- the idea that, should you divorce Fred, you’d be penniless. Homeless. Destitute. You would have nothing.

But, as you looked into the blue eyes of the man you loved more than anything in this world, you realized that you wouldn’t mind any of that at all.

 Because you’d have Floyd Talbert.

 With a heavy sigh, you sit up so he doesn’t have to lean over you any more- taking his face in your hands and giving him a smile.

“I’d have nothing to offer you, you know.” You grin a little wider at the confusion on his face, brushing your fingertips over his bottom lip as you continued. “No savings or car or house for you to come home to at the end of a long day?”

 As the wrinkle in his brow smooths, you know that he knows what you’re really asking him. Bringing his own hand up to mess with the ends of your loose hair, he pouts for a moment.

 “Hmm, that’s a tough call, Y/N,” he says with a faux seriousness, tilting his head consideringly and narrowing his eyes at you. “I really like this bed frame—”

You nod, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from laughing. “It’s a nice bed frame-”

“And the mattress? Best thing I’ve ever slept on.”

“I’m sure. All that built-in lumbar support cost a pretty penny, too.”

 Smirking openly now, Tab brushes his nose against yours. “Still not the best thing in the house, though. I’ve gotta say, the pretty girl who lives in it takes the cake in that regard.”

Cupping your hands around the back of his neck, you pull him in for a deep kiss, the both of you almost clicking your teeth together several times because of the stupid smiles on your faces. When you pull back, you peck a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before sitting back enough to look him full in the face.

“If I could, I’d have married you already.”

 The smile he gives you is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Yeah?” he presses, biting his bottom lip like an excited kid.

“Yeah, Floyd. I really would.”

“Good,” he says simply, carefully slipping from your grip enough to shift back down so he’s resting his head on your stomach. “Maybe I’ll ask you one of these days.”

 Looking down at him fondly, you let yourself lay back so you can grin up at the ceiling.

 “Who knows, Floyd Talbert,” you say quietly, heart feeling so full it could burst. “Maybe I’ll even say yes.”

 “Good.” he grumbles.

“Good.” you agree.

~ ~ ~

(HELLO YIKES AND SORRY MY DUDES I’M PMSING AND DEEP IN MY FEELS BUT THANKS FOR SOLDIERING THROUGH THIS PILE OF YUCK!)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[whatissleepeven]

Good day, Sleep! I sincerely hope you're alright. Might I trouble you for some hcs for the Obey Me! Brothers with an MC wandering the HoL late at night because they can't sleep? Take care and enjoy your day! 💫

Good day anon!! I’m going to have to cut this shorter than I would’ve liked, but I really wanted to get this out there! (I hope you take care as well, and thank you for your kind words!)

Edit: I lied, I think this is longer than the last ask, forgive me -

Demon Brothers’ Reactions to an MC Wandering the HoL Late at Night

Lucifer

He heard your footsteps before actually seeing you.

He was working late into the night again when your feet padded by his door, sounding listless. He checked the time: 1:07am.

What were you doing up at this hour?

You were about to turn the corner when his door opened, his head poking out. 

His eyes zeroed in on you. “What are you doing?”

You look to the side, shifting on your feet. Ultimately, you shrug. “Just walking, I guess.”

“Just walking.” He repeated blandly, and had to mentally count to ten so he didn’t explode. “You’re walking instead of sleeping? Tomorrow...well, later today I suppose, we have RAD to attend to. You should be in your room.”

Uneasiness flickered across your face despite you doing your best to hide it, and he noticed it. “Maybe I just want to clear my head for a bit? The halls are nice and quiet at night. It’s...calming.”

...Oh. So that’s what was going on.

Lucifer stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him and walking to catch up with you. “Then I suppose you won’t mind if I join you on this little excursion of yours.”

You looked like you were going to protest, but in the end you sighed. “Alright, let’s go.”

It was quiet as you two walked. Lucifer didn’t say a word, which surprised you; you thought he was going to scold you for wandering the halls so late.

“Oh, I will; however, that won’t exactly help you in this instance, now will it?”

- Wait, you said that out loud? ...Well then.

You grimaced. “Some things...are better left unsaid. “Let sleeping dogs lie” and all that.”

He wanted to press for more information, but the bags under your (interestingly enough) alert eyes stayed his hand.

He nodded. “I understand.”

Your late-night/early morning walk with him made you feel more at ease. For the first time that night, you felt tired enough to fall asleep.

You two pause outside your door. You had subconsciously found your way back here, as if you knew that this walk would tire you out. “Hey, Lucifer?”

“Hm?” He hummed, turning to you.

“...Thanks. For this, I mean.”

His eyes widened a fraction before a smirk spread across his lips. “Of course. If you have trouble falling asleep in the future, then feel free to knock on my door. I will always answer.”

It was a promise. You nodded, waving him off before flopping onto your bed.

You take him up on his offer every once in a while, especially when it seems like he’s overworking himself. (...Which is all the time.)

Mammon

You wandered the halls because you had a nightmare.

You woke up with adrenaline coursing through your veins, heart racing and breaths coming out in short gasps. A cry for help died on your lips as you became more aware of your surroundings, and you blinked to get the tears out of your eyes. You wished you could say that you didn’t remember it, but you did.

Lucifer. Levi. Satan. Asmo. Beel. Belphie. Solomon. Simeon. Luke. Barbatos. Diavolo.

One by one, they all left you. 

You couldn’t even reach your family in the Human Realm; they had left you too, long before the others did.

Mammon was the last to go, grinning as he told you that he played you like a fiddle. “Ya should know better than to trust a demon, y’know. Humans are so stupid! I already took all of your money; have fun livin’ now...if ya can.”

You...had no one.

You pressed the heel of your palm into your eye, letting out a shaky chuckle. You knew what it meant; monophobia. It was the same dream you’ve been having for the past month, and to be honest...you were starting to believe it. It wasn’t like you could confide in anybody, either; you lived in a house full of demons, after all.

I’m just an ordinary human with life experiences unique to me that make up my person. I’m...I’m alone.

Is that why I was hell-bent on befriending people down here? You asked yourself, but asking yourself made you feel worse and hyper-aware of your big, dark room.

It’s empty in here.

You felt like you were suffocating, so once you wrapped a blanket around yourself (because it felt like a hug, like someone cared enough to wrap their arms around you, but it was only a blanket and you had no one) you left your room.

You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you had to go. You started out at a slow walk, speeding up into a fast pace, then a run, and then you were sprinting -

“OW!!”

You accidentally hit someone in your panic, the other almost falling over.

You took a step forward, berating yourself for not watching your surroundings better. “I’m sor- ”

You stopped once you saw who it was. Mammon dusted himself off, grumbling about “running into trouble no matter what he did” when he noticed you.

“What the hell are ya doin’ out here, so late at night? Don’t humans need their sleep or somethin’?” He looked you over, fussing about how “his human was a magnet for danger” and that he couldn’t even keep his eyes off for a second lest you walk into a life-threatening situation.

He patted your shoulders. “Not a hair out of place. If you’re goin’ somewhere, why didn’t ya tell me? I’m your first man, after all; I gotta protect ya!”

You blinked. Then, without warning, something wet trailed down your cheeks as you stared at him in silence.

Needless to say, Mammon freaked out. “Wh-What?! Hey, y-you don’t gotta cry over that! I’m fine! You didn’t even hit me that hard, see? N-Now stop cryin’, damnit!”

You let out a watery laugh. “It’s not that...you know what? Nevermind.”

Mammon trailed after you as you walked down the hallway. “Oi, don’t leave me hangin’! Why did ya start bawlin’? HEY!!”

You didn’t have to worry about a thing. Even if your family left you...

Even if the whole world turned against you...

Deep in your heart, you knew that Mammon would never betray you.

Leviathan

“Dun, dun, dundun dun, dun, dundun dun, dun, dundun- NUNUNUUU!!”

You whisper-sang the Mission: Impossible theme song as you crept down the halls, peeking the corners as if you were going to be shot at without warning.

You narrowed your eyes at a particular entryway, a grin spreading across your lips. 

“Target acquired.”

You stepped into the kitchen, slowly opening the fridge and wincing whenever it made a sound. Beel knew the noises the fridge made by heart, so he would no doubt run in if he heard that something was amiss.

You pulled out a slice of angel cake Luke had gifted to you earlier, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. You had waited oh so long for this moment, and now nothing was going to stop you from -

“...Uh.”

Levi stood in the doorway, headphones slipping off his ears as he pushed them down. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost, and oh diavolo this was awkward.

He gasped, pointing at you. “You!!”

You gasped, pointing at him. “You!!”

(You know the spider-man meme? Yeah that’s the one)

Levi’s next gasp was dramatic. It seemed that he saw your angel cake, his finger shifting to point at that instead. “STOP!! You have violated the law! You must pay the court a fine, or you shall pay the price!”

Your eyes narrowed. “Hoh?” You picked up your fork, holding it out in front of you like a sword. “I wonder if you’re all bark and no bite.”

Levi reached into a nearby drawer, taking out a fork of his own and pointing the prongs at you. His eyes flashed; a challenge.

“Maybe you should ask yourself that, outlaw!”

You both carefully hit each other’s utensils, mimicking light saber sounds with the occasional snicker.

After a couple of minutes, Levi leapt back. You gasped; was he readying his special attack?!

He held his head up high, his fork- no, his sword - raised above his head. 

“ALL WOMEN ARE QUEENS!!”

You scowled, your own fork sword raised to copy his. 

“IF SHE BREATHES...SHE’S A THOT!!!”

You both screamed as you clashed, crashing into each other as your forks went flying. You were both laughing on the floor, imitating death cries.

You loved messing around with Levi.

“...So, why are you eating that now?” He asked, shifting to face you.

You grinned. “I was hungry.”

He laughed. “You’re a weird normie, you know that?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

Lucifer’s voice grew louder as his footsteps approached the kitchen, sounding irritated. It looks like you were too loud while battling...whoops.

You and Levi looked at each other, then at the forks, then back at each other, then at the cake, then at each other once more.

“RUN!!” He screamed, snatching his fork. You grabbed your plate and your fork before taking off after him, Lucifer’s yells fading as you escaped into the safety of Levi’s room.

You two ended up sharing the angel cake. It was delicious.

(You got yelled at by Lucifer the next day, but hey; that’s tomorrow’s self’s problems. Now, it was time to eat cake.)

Satan

He caught you just as he exited the library, a book tucked away underneath his arm.

“Ah- ” He said, letting out a soft whoosh of air as you bumped into each other.

Instead of greeting him or apologizing, you clutched his shirt. “Satan. Just the demon I wanted to see.”

He raised a brow. “...What are you doing up so late at night?”

You shook your head. “Not today, Satan! Can we go back to your room?”

He frowned. You looked frantic, to say the least, and if he could help, then... “Follow me.”

Once there, you took a seat on the floor. Satan placed his book (No Longer Human) on the shortest stack of books he could find, sitting on his bed.

He patted the spot next to him. “You can sit up here, you know.”

You quickly took him up on his offer, sitting cross-legged as you turned to face him. Your face was so comically serious that he would be laughing if he wasn’t so worried.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Satan’s concern only grew once you started shaking, wondering which of his brothers he had to “have a chat with”.

“Did you know...that whales don’t live long enough to die of old age because they just don’t have the energy to make it back up to the surface anymore?”

Satan’s face went carefully blank. “...Could you repeat that?”

“They all drown!” You wail. “They suffocate in the ocean, which is their home! And that’s if fishermen don’t kill them or other animals do!”

Why did he ever think that it was anything serious when it came to you

He sighed. It was late, he was tired, you were tired, but...

He smiled. You got hung up on the strangest of facts, didn’t you? It was endearing.

“I see.” He said, holding out his arms. “All I can offer is some comfort, small as that may be.”

You launched yourself at him, and he fell back on the bed with a small oomph as you rapidly talked about how whales deserved better from this cruel, cruel world of ours.

He patted your shoulder. It seemed like he wasn’t getting any sleep soon, but...

As long as it was with you, this wasn’t so bad.

Asmodeus

Needless to say, he scolded you.

...Unless you were up because you had a sleepover with him. Then, you were fine.

But that didn’t apply to this instance.

“What in the world are you doing out here?!” He asked, grabbing your arm and practically dragging you to his room. “You do realize that you need your beauty sleep, right? Come; I’ll make sure you get the best sleep you’ve ever had!”

You were a little scared, but that was only because he had appeared out of nowhere. You matched his pace with a raised brow, trying to calm your racing heart. “Asmo, why did you jump out at me? I could’ve had a heart attack!”

He laughed. “The only heart attack I want you to suffer from is if it’s due to my stunning beauty.”

You smiled as the two of you entered his room. “So, what’s on the menu for tonight?”

He sat you down on one of his chairs, pulling out multiple bottles of...who-knows-what. The long brand names coupled with the loopy writing was enough to give you a stroke.

He stood behind you, a brush in one hand and a comb in the other. There was an excited grin on his face, which you could see from the HUGE impressively-sized mirror in front of you.

“Why, self care, of course!”

An hour or two later, and you both were relaxing on his bed with a content sigh. Asmo was a professional at self care, and you swear that you haven’t felt this good in...well, it’s been a while.

He shifted to face you. “Enjoying yourself?”

You nodded. “Of course, Asmo. You have the heavenly skills of a god.”

You both laughed at the irony of that statement, nestling underneath the covers.

Asmo threw his arm over you. “Well, as heavenly as my hands may be...it’s time to sleep. Beauty waits for no one, after all.”

You hummed in agreement, slipping your eyes closed. You could feel yourself drifting off...

“Thanks for this.”

Your breathing evened out, signalling that you were asleep. Asmo smiled, placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Anytime. Come to me when you feel restless again, okay?”

Beelzebub

Beel was the one to have a nightmare.

He didn’t remember what it was, but when he came to his hand was outstretched towards the ceiling, tears dotting his pillowcase. He rolled out of bed, quietly padding out of the room so that he didn’t accidentally wake his twin up.

He rubbed his eyes. Even though he didn’t remember it, he could guess what it was about.

I’ve been having nightmares more often lately...

He saw the light of the fireplace as he passed by the entrance to the living room, and he wondered who else was up. Was it Lucifer? Levi?

Once he gaze fell on you fiddling with your D.D.D. on the couch, he stepped in.

“Aren’t you tired?”

His voice startled you, almost making you drop your device.

“Oh, Beel! What are you doing up?”

He shook his head, loosely grasping his left wrist as he frowned. “I just woke up and saw that the light was on,” He said as he sat down. “I was curious.”

You shifted to let him sit next to you, throwing a smile his way. “Funny coincidence, huh? I couldn’t fall back asleep either.”

A small smile formed at your words. “At least it’s the weekend.”

You stretched. “I know! Lucifer can’t yell at us for this!”

Beel looked off to the side in thought, giving a decisive nod. “He would still find something that we messed up on to yell about, though.”

Your snort of laughter made him feel lighter, erasing any traces of the mind-numbing fear and grief sadness his nightmare left behind.

You tapped his arm. “Something up?”

He shook his head, a smile blooming on his face as he looked at you. “...No, not anymore. Do you want to go grab something to eat with me?”

You leapt to your feet with a grin. “Beel, when will I ever say no to that?”

And so, you two raided the fridge of its contents and snacked on whatever you could find. You talked about anything and everything that came to mind, throwing out the garbage before huddling against each other in front of the dying embers.

You wrapped a blanket around you both, a yawn escaping you. “Thanks for being my hangout buddy, Beel.”

He beamed, its radiance slightly dulled by his tiredness. “We’re family. It’s the least I could do.”

You fell asleep against each other, and the other brothers couldn’t help but take pictures of the heartwarming scene once they found you two.

For the first time in weeks, Beel slept peacefully.

Belphegor

Belphie was en route to the planetarium when he ran into you.

“Going somewhere?” He asked with amusement in his voice, watching you compose yourself.

You jabbed a finger at him. “I am, actually. I was going...uh...”

He raised an eyebrow as you flailed to find an answer despite having recollected yourself moments prior, dragging it out before he decided to throw you a mercy line. “I’m going to the planetarium, if you want to come.”

You nodded, relief flashing across your features. “Thanks, Belphie.”

You two made a pile of blankets on the floor, pointing out constellations and making up stories for them. ...Well, you were, at least; Belphie was content to let you ramble, quietly chuckling at your elaborate depictions of each celestial body you pointed out.

“What are you doing up, anyways?” He asked, interrupting your recent tale.

You huffed. “Way to kill the vibe, Edgelord.”

He raised a brow. “...And the vibe happened to be you describing how Orion brutally skewed the Ursa Minor for his lover?”

You nodded sagely. “It’s a tale of love and betrayal, of sacrifice and ambition.”

He snorted. “Are you going to answer the question?”

You rolled over to face him. “I just...couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

“You can’t sleep?” He repeated, looking over at you in surprise. He shook off his initial reaction with a small, exasperated smile. “It looks like you came to the right demon, then.”

You flopped back dramatically onto the piles. “Please impart your wisdom on me, O wise one.”

Instead of scoffing at you, like he usually did, he placed a hand onto your head. “You won’t have to worry about any nightmares tonight.”

- And then you were out.

He sighed. “Just what am I going to do with you...?”

He now makes sure to check up on you from time-to-time, pulling you in for a dreamless sleep whenever he sees your fatigue. Despite himself napping the most in either the attic or the room he shared with Beel, he would lead you to the planetarium to sleep.

It was a sacred place for him, and who better to share it with than with you?

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

------------

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[reyesstrand]

#2 for Tarlos please.

thank you for the prompt!! i hope you enjoy 💗

all prompts are from this list. also available on ao3!

In theory, TK knew that this could always be a possibility. 

It’s a given in their line of work—both of them run toward the danger, not away, and it’s something they have to grapple with. But the worry before every shift, the simmering nerves that something could go wrong...it’s something they face down as a team. And while the team’s always there to offer support, it’s the two of them against the world in so many ways. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier when the ladder-truck pulls up to an intersection, on some unassuming, regular old Thursday, and TK’s eyes instantly lock on a familiar blue Camaro.

“Hey, kid—” Judd starts, but TK pushes all thoughts but his boyfriend out of his mind. He grabs his med-kit, the ambulance still a couple minutes away, and beelines for the driver’s side of Carlos’ car. 

Only, his boyfriend isn’t there. 

“Carlos?” TK hears the strain in his own voice as he searches, acknowledging the considerable damage to the front of the car. His boyfriend couldn’t have gone far, and TK spares a glance to the backseat and the ground nearby, looking for any sort of sign. 

But there’s nothing. 

He runs a hand through his hair, looking around once more for fear of missing something. His dad catches his eye from across the street, where he’s chatting with Mateo and pointing to various onlookers, and TK just shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. He’s completely bewildered, wondering if this is just the universe playing some cruel trick on him, as he shoulders his bag. 

“Hey TK!” Marjan calls, and he turns to follow her voice. 

She’d been assigned to the other vehicles to assess the victims, alongside Paul and Judd, and she waves him over to where a pickup truck has its front end bent around a traffic pole. There’s a small crowd of people curled around the perimeter of the accident—a usual occurrence, especially something like this in the middle of the day—and so TK has to announce his arrival loudly in order to get through to his team. 

When he does, TK staggers for a moment. 

Because Carlos is there. 

He’s kneeling, attention focused on a woman who’s sitting on the curb. She has a few small cuts along her head and a larger one along her arm, which Carlos has his hands pressed over to staunch the bleeding. He looks up briefly, and catches TK’s eyes, offering him the tiniest reassuring smiles before turning back to the woman. 

“Passenger of the truck,” Paul explains, as Marjan digs through her own med-kit and pulls out sterile bandages. She moves into Carlos and the woman’s space, replacing Carlos’ hands with her own. “He says he saw her struggling and ran over to help.” 

TK swallows hard, watching as Marjan works. There’s the telling wail of the ambulance’s siren as it arrives, and Tim and Nancy are quick to come over with the stretcher. They take off with the driver, who’d been grabbing at his neck, and Michelle leads the woman—carefully wrapped up with the bandages Marjan supplied—along with her husband. 

“How are you feeling?” TK asks, coming in close to Carlos’ space when his boyfriend stands. It’s his first opportunity to get a good look at him, and his breath catches in his throat when he spots the gash over his boyfriend’s brow. “Let me look at that.” 

“Ty, I’m fine...” Carlos tries, though TK shoots him a look and Marjan and Paul manage to simultaneously whistle under their breath. 

“Come here,” TK says, leading him toward the ladder-truck for the smallest bit of privacy. He’s thankful that the cut on his boyfriend’s head looks superficial, but there’s always a subtle worry about neck or brain injuries whenever they encounter a car accident. He rests his hands on Carlos’ shoulders and pushes gently, guiding him to sit on the step on the back of the rig. 

After a moment of digging through his bag, he clutches the stethoscope and goes about checking Carlos’ ABCs, just to make himself feel better. Content enough with what he finds, he moves on to find some gauze, glancing up to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “So, what happened?”

“I was just doing some errands,” Carlos starts, wincing a little when TK gently wipes at some of the blood on his forehead. “Someone ran the light, and it all went downhill from there. But I—I feel fine, TK.” 

“That’d be the adrenaline,” TK murmurs, moving so he’s standing between his boyfriend’s legs. He feels Carlos drop a hand to his hip, and he lets the touch anchor both of them as he examines the wound. “But it doesn’t look too bad. I’ll patch it up, and they can run some tests at the hospital.” 

Carlos looks at him incredulously. “Baby, I don’t need to go to the hospital.” 

“It’d make me feel better if you went,” TK says, pouting a little at him to sell it as he smooths the gauze over the gash. “Actually, it’d make me feel better if you promise to never get hurt again.” 

He says it with the tiniest huff of a laugh, trying to lighten the mood as Carlos stares deep into his soul. 

“Well,” Carlos sighs, leaning back a bit. He looks a little more tired, now, the reality of the day probably settling in. “I could say the same about you.” 

“I promise not to ever do it on purpose,” TK says, gently cupping Carlos’ face, dragging his thumb in small strokes over his cheek. 

“Me too,” Carlos offers him a warm smile, before giving him a little smirk. “Pinkie promise?” 

TK grins, shaking his head fondly at his boyfriend. He still holds out his free hand, though, pinkie sticking out. 

“Pinkie promise,” TK confirms, lifting a brow at Carlos. The other man smiles at him and mirrors his actions, removing his hand from TK’s hip so they can interlock pinkies. Their hands linger in a soft touch even afterwards, and Carlos maneuvers them so their fingers intertwine. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Carlos murmurs, slowly standing up. TK steadies him with a hand to his waist. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay,” TK says, curling his fingers into his boyfriend’s shirt. Carlos settles an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close for a makeshift hug. 

I love you, Carlos whispers into his hair, before pressing a kiss there. TK feels warmth spread throughout his body, as he reaches up for a quick kiss pressed to his boyfriend’s mouth, repeating those three fateful words, knowing in that instant that they’ll be okay. They’ll always be okay, together. 

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Ten | Dating Fight! (Part 2 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

With yesterday's uniform already washed and dried along with you wearing your spare set to avoid wearing the same one today, you're ready to go off to work the second you're out of Toriel's home. No detour to yours is needed, though you stop to say your thanks and farewells, and instruct Frisk on how they should behave while you're gone. "Wait for me, alright?" you say, smiling at them. "I have to work overtime today, but I'll be right back before nine." You place a hand on their head and play with their hair before pressing a quick kiss to their cheek.

"Does this mean Toriel's going to be my new babysitter from now on?" they sign, a hopeful light in their eyes.

"...Yes." You relent, not wanting to be late. "For the time being, at least."

Even with that addition by the end, their joy doesn't fade away, something they show through a grin and a wave. "Take care, (mom/dad)!"

You wave back at them, left with a lingering warmth in your chest at the sound of their voice again, so loud and free despite who they're with and how many people they're around. The only chances you'd gotten to hear their voice be so confident and strong were when Jerry used to visit, whenever they wanted to say they loved you, and -- most recently -- whenever they were left under Toriel's care, though you soon dismiss those thoughts to focus more on making it to work. You check the time on your phone to see there's still around three hours left: one for running errands, half to grab a quick bite to eat, one to make it on-time to work, and the other half left to meet up with your boss and excuse yourself over yesterday's missed meeting. 

When you see Undyne's legs emerging from under your minivan, you subtract the hour for running errands, only expecting the worst scenario from how much rain had fallen yesterday. 

"Is something wrong?" you ask, clutching your ring and toying with it for support.

The fish woman slides out from under it, arms and hands smudged with oil and dirt. She doesn't seem to mind though, and grins up at you instead. "The battery and some other stuff got damaged in the rain, but it's nothing my girlfriend and I can't fix!" You offer a hand out to the woman, though she declines and stands up on her own, commenting about not dirtying your outfit now that you were going off to work. "We've got a motorcycle in the garage, so if you know how to ride one, then feel free to use it." She looks over to the minivan as a hint of smugness slips on her face. "If you don't, Sans can give you a ride." She jabs your waist with her cleanest elbow, what you assume is a wink directed at you, albeit difficult to tell with only one eye. "How about it, (L/N)?"

Don't look at a gift horse in the mouth. 

That's the only thought you can come up with as she offers you a solution. The jab she'd given you confirms your suspicions as to what she believed was going on between you and Sans; regardless, you don't say anything about that and nod. Best to go with the flow of things for now, tardiness unwanted. "Well… Thank you, miss," you speak up, words almost forced out. The thought of being at such a close level with the skeleton again makes your temples ache, and while you could use the excuse of taking the next bus as an easy escape, you're not sure whether to risk it and give into the woman's offer as a result. "Is he… around?"

"He's at the garage," she replies, sliding back under the vehicle. Her voice sounds muffled when she continues, the melody of tools and metal clanking heard as she keeps on with her work. "Think you could tell him Papyrus doesn't need a lift anymore? I got a call from him earlier saying the car's back in shape."

You bite your lip, frowning after. "Did he say how much the repairs cost?"

"His insurance covered up for him this time. A lot of cars have been getting damaged under this weather, so it really isn't a surprise for companies to receive those calls anymore."

"Still," you persist, sighing. "If there's any way I can help, then please let me know." You rummage through your belongings, retrieving a twenty, a ten, and three fives from your wallet. "I, um... don't really have enough cash on me right now, but I can pay you more formally when I'm back."

Undyne slides back to you, forehead creased, eye narrowed, and lips frowning. "I'm not asking you to pay," she says. "I like getting my hands on stuff like this, so it's no big deal."

You crouch down next to her and slide the money into her jeans' front pocket. "It still feels bad not to." Standing up, you dust your uniform off and check the time marked on your phone again, reminding yourself not to make any further delays.

"Hey!" She calls out for you when you leave without any other words or wait. To counter, you rush off to the garage, both as an escape and a necessity. "I'll get you next time. You're lucky I'm laying down right now!"

Her words fade as you approach your next destination, being greeted with a helmet the second you're in. A motorcycle stands in front of you, engine rumbling as the driver holds it back, his face kept hidden under another helmet. "C'mon," the monster says, his expression unknown to you, and voice similar by how quick those words are muttered. "I already know you're late, so I ain't gonna push any buttons." You see his head lower, and a comment follows after that, "Suggest ya hold on tight with what you're wearin'."

You face down at yourself, seeing both dress pants and shoes -- typical of your work uniform. While it's nothing out of the ordinary, it makes sense as to how it can be hazardous wearing both pieces while riding a motorcycle, their material far less practical for something like this. Taking the monster's words into account, you nod and sit behind him, hands awkwardly slipping around his waist. "...May I?"

"Not may," he says, a chuckle leaving him. "You should." 

Words acknowledged, you press yourself closer against the skeleton, arms locking tight around his waist and chest brushing with his back. Your hands can be felt growing sweaty, reminding you to be cautious despite the well-intentioned meaning of the ride being offered to you. "I'm… I'm ready." You can hear your voice shake, though you hope that he hasn't; the engine helps drown out part of it, fortunately.

When Sans steps on the gas, your words fall short and you grab him tighter than before, the loud and sudden roar of the vehicle sending out fear inside you. 

"You're not," he remarks, holding back a laugh. "Just grab on tighter if you're scared. I won't bite."

You do as suggested, ignoring the humour in his tone as you close your eyes shut and squeeze him tight enough to cut his laughter. 

"Ready now?"

"Y- Yes."

He charges right off, wind stinging your arms with how fast it blows. While fear clings onto one side of you, adrenaline takes hold of the other, allowing you to open an eye and peak at the scenery before you. The monster zooms past all sorts of sights and sounds, from birds foraging through trees to other engines rumbling. It's an exhilarating feeling at its least, and an overwhelming one at its most.

He stops at a red light and spares a glance at you through the mirror only to chuckle again, more amused than the last. "The more I know you, the more (mom/dad)-like you act," he says, prepping the motorcycle again.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You drive a minivan, wore those long pajamas Tori gave you to sleep without any problem, and now you're scared of speed n' danger." The light changes back to green, muffling out part of his voice as he drives off again. "What's next? Do ya work as a teacher, in an office, or under the medical field? Those're usually the top three, though I'm guessin' it's somewhere along the first two -- based on your uniform."

You don't want to give him an answer, reluctant to let him know he'd been right. "...I'm a secretary," you reply, facing down at his waist.

He laughs, hard and deep. The sound alone makes you ease in, how earnest it is making you break into a smile yourself.

"Called it."

• • •

You're a mess by the time you make it to your first stop, pants wrinkled, shoes dusty, foundation smudged, and body still shaken up by the ride. Sans waits until you're done fixing yourself out, though as expected, he makes a comment along the lines of how you didn't need to bother, since you still looked good -- all according to him, at least. You ignore those comments and face him only when you're done freshening up, mind locked on what you're meant to do now that you've made it to a shopping center.

"Do you… really have the time?" you ask before getting off, noticing how early it still is and the fact he'd chosen to take you here rather than drive you off straight to work without any other stops. "You don't have to stay, if it's going to delay you in any way."

"It's fine," he replies, double-checking the vehicle's parked. "Wouldn't drive you here, otherwise. You also didn't wanna stay for breakfast, so I know you haven't eaten anything yet."

The hustle and bustle of everyone around you stops whenever they walk too close to where you're at.

Knowing your face has been thrown around all over social media these past few weeks, it's no surprise nor doubt that you've already got a reputation, be it more bad than good. The sight of you being right next to the monster involved with you in your bus incident is apparently a surreal one based on the looks people display, these varying mostly between shock, amusement, and caution -- sometimes all three at once. You step out of the motorcycle when the skeleton offers a hand out to you, further making those around you demonstrate their feelings over the scene unfolding before their eyes.

You don't bother giving them a minute of your time and rather keep your hold firm on Sans's hand, nodding your head subtly when he casts a look at you. 

"Play along," you mouth, smiling at him. "Don't bother with this stuff," you whisper, close to his ear cavity. "The best we can do right now's prevent something like that bus incident from ever happening again." To avoid letting the situation receive another meaning from him, you hold his hand stronger, getting him to walk closer to your side again. "And thanks again for back then, by the way." You say those words only loud enough for only him to hear. Then, you move your gaze away from him to direct a sterner, unamused look at a passerby, this one having stayed looking at you for just a little too long.

You continue walking and ignoring stares until you arrive at the school supply closest by. 

With Frisk being gone for almost two months during their time spent at the Underground, it's of no surprise plenty of things have changed at their school. One of these were the new materials required for the start of their second semester, mostly for physical education and the newest addition of a gardening class. Although you hadn't thought the skeleton would offer himself to help you get through your to-do list, you adapt and thank him. Truthfully, you expected him to simply drop you off at work and leave.

"Do you want to eat something first? You haven't had breakfast yet either, have you?" you ask, spotting a diner barely a block away. "There's still time, if you're really up for this. And Undyne already said Papyrus got his car fixed, so you don't need to go pick him up anymore."

"Askin' me out? Thought I was the one who owed ya dinner for last time."

Not wanting to satisfy his teasing any longer, you ignore his comment with a hum and search through your belongings. From there, you retrieve some brand-new ear plugs, these still in their packet. "Here," you say, handing them over to him. The monster's lucky you aren't too much of a morning person, and that he'd caught you in a good mood with the rush and the wind of the ride. Any different situation, and you would've come up with a quick retort to his comment. "I'm not sure if it'll work on your kind, but... Frisk uses them when they need to study or sleep when they're not sleepy. They get distracted easily, so I usually carry these with me, just in case."

It takes Sans a solid minute to react, though a grin shows when he takes the ear plugs from you. He looks them over once before saving them in his back pocket, and the outright cheeky look he gives you makes your senses grow alert again. For certain, there was no letting your guard down whenever he was near you from now on. "Thanks, pal," he says, winking. "You're a real dear underneath all that exterior -- All bark and no bite."

"Don't test me," you warn, scowling. "And don't call me dear."

"What about babe, then? Or do ya wanna be called (Mr./Mrs.) Serif already?"

You huff and hurry to the school supply, leaving him behind. "I'm fine with neither. Thank you." Your steps are haste, these only stopping when you open the door, keeping it that way for him to enter next. "But if anyone's last names are getting replaced here though, it's you who'd be named Comic Sans (L/N). I don't do replacing names, unless I get to keep mine."

"Assertive," he comments, whistling. "Nice."

Already feeling a headache coming through, you sigh and pay more attention to the list at hand, then head over to the store's arts and crafts section first.

"Do you need anything for you or your brother?" you ask him, keeping your eyes focused on the materials displayed. There's a bunch of items you figure could catch Papyrus's interest given by how much he liked spending time with Frisk, be it by playing with them or helping them with their homework. That thought makes you throw in a few items regardless of having not received an answer yet, endeared by the image of Frisk being happy over the surprise, and the taller skeleton as a follow-up. Not only did Toriel ensure to be a great babysitter, but Papyrus was attentive over Frisk's happiness and enjoyment just as much as he was over his elder brother's. "My treat."

You've almost forgotten who you're shopping with, thoughts having drifted away more than you were aware of, though it doesn't take long to be reminded of your company, his comment one that drags you right back to the present, too quickly for you to manage.

"You're already a treat all on your own, pal."

Pissed, you take the nearest, lightweight (and non-breakable) item to you and throw it at him. He catches it though, barely flinching or budging with how quick he reacts. Then, he looks at the item now held in his hand, diablerie flickering in his gaze. He shows you what you've thrown at him, further making you subtract another point off your comeback list and add it over to his wooing list.

"Being indirect now, huh?" he comments, holding a Valentine's Day scrapbooking kit, marked off as a discount item for how old the product is. "I like it."

Determined to fight back, you retort with, "Yeah. It's worn out and fifty-percent off, just like your poor excuses of what you call 'flirting' around with me."

Unfortunately, that only seems to make him smile more. 

"Nice."

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