can i fucking be rapey i mean be rapey i mean be real with you for a second

To Call Forth Love (Modern!Ivar x OC) Chapter 2

Well I meant to only write a one-shot but oops, I just kept going. 

This is Chapter 1 but from Ivar’s POV. We also get to see some family dynamics there and why he was acting towards Kari like he did. 

A huge thanks again to @saritanotserena​ for help with the moodboard. 

Words:4200

Warnings: swearing, mild sexual content

If you need to catch up, Chapter 1. 

Series Masterlist

"Fuck." The word dropped from his mouth with all the impact of a grenade. Somehow even just uttering the word solidified what he had just been told. 

 Running his tongue along his teeth, he huffed then slipped his phone into his back pocket. His brothers were not going to be happy. He glanced up at the moon as if hoping it would give him answers, but she was a fickle bitch and just shone down on him, surrounding him in shadows. Somewhere he had spent most of his life anyway, where he felt most comfortable now. Not forever though. He promised himself that. He would not spend forever in the shadows. 

 Turning around, he yanked the 'employee only' door open and slipped back into the raucous club. His thoughts tore relentlessly through his mind as he walked down the darkened corridor. It was easy to dismiss the blasting music, the bright lights, the drunken cheers from inside the club. It was all superficial, all irrelevant. His mind focused on the important things. At least what he deemed important for his intellectual mind. Tomorrow, he was leaving for a business trip to the Mediterranean and with the way things were playing out….it would certainly not be boring. He could already taste the blood on his tongue. A venomous smile hinted at the corners of his lips at the thought. 

 Walking down the crowded hallway, leading to the main floor of the club, people instantly jumped out of his way. If it was due to the scowl on his face or the knowledge of who he was, he did not care. They were all beneath him. A couple of the women tried to make eye contact, to slither closer in hopes of gaining his attention. He ignored them. They had better luck gaining favors from one of his brothers. He wondered if that was part of their draw to him, for how few women he allowed to entertain him. It mattered not. 

 A twinge in his leg caused him to step to the side of the hallway for a second and pause. The pain was mild, something he constantly endured. Pain- his ever-constant companion. Closer to him than his own family. This twinge told him he had spent far too long on his feet today, especially without his cane. He snarled at himself, at his own disability, his inadequacy. Before self-loathing could sink in, he pushed the feeling away. No more. He would rise above this, as he always did. There was no other choice. The gods bestowed this curse upon him, he would make sure they regretted it. 

 For once though, he wished the gods would bless him. 

 Just as he started to move forward, a blonde woman crashed into another woman that had been walking in his direct path but seemed not to notice due to her facing the ground. The blonde ran into the smaller brunette then continued onward without notice or care after righting herself. Unconsciously, his hand darted out to grab the arm of the brunette woman before she fell ungraciously at his feet. Normally, he was not so selfless. His typical response would be to taunt and laugh at the woman at his feet. Make some comment about how he had no need for her to worship at his feet. But as soon as he grabbed her, kept her upright, he wondered why she was different. Why his usually barbed words were silenced.

 Her hands fisted the front of his Armani shirt as if clinging to a sinking ship and hoping for salvation. He would have laughed at any other time for he was the furthest from salvation; but her head tipped up and he felt himself freeze. Her eyes widened meeting his and for a fleeting moment he wondered what she saw when looking at him. He peered down at her, the top of her head just under his chin. Her chocolate hair hung loosely behind her, reaching a couple inches past her shoulders. Pale, pink lips glistened under the lights, distracting him for a moment with the way they glistened. Dark eyeliner and a smoky color highlighted her blue-green eyes that reminded him of the sea, swirling and enchanting.  What surprised him most was the seemingly innocent look in those ocean eyes. Even her features seemed so girl-next-door and innocent that he wondered what someone like her was doing in a place like this. 

 His hand still held onto her. He needed to let go but found himself reluctant to. She was a mystery that he found himself wanting to unravel. He placed the words on his tongue to make a quip, to return to his comfortable aloof manner but not fast enough…

 For she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. 

 A myriad of emotions flooded him at the sensation of her gentle kiss. So profound were the conflicting feelings, he stood as a statue, unmoved for concern of what his actions would tell. Though he had been kissed before, those were always alcohol or lust fueled, and even then only minimal for they represented a precursor to what he actually wanted. This felt like nothing he had ever experienced before, it was soft and gentle, like the touch of a butterfly's wing. Yet it also unleashed something in him desiring more. More of the softness she unwittingly offered, something his life was void of. Lastly though, it burned his soul because no one like her ever came to him willingly or because they wanted him. There was always a catch, always something they wanted. He was never good enough. He was never enough. 

 "Are you drunk?" He blurted out without caution or remorse. The lingering taint of tequila on her breath alerted him that she was not entirely sober. 

 "What?...no, I've had like two drinks but that's it...wait. Oh gods! Was my kiss that bad? Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll just...sorry." She began blabbering, cheeks turning a lovely pink even through her sun-kissed skin. 

 He stared at her a long time, unsure what to do next. He prided himself on his ability to make decisions, to plan and see corners when others only saw a straight line. It was also not unknown his ability to predict how others would think and react, and he used that to his own advantage often. But with her, he was unsure. He knew it would be wisest to push her away, to return to his brothers and tell them the news that had him in a foul mood. Yet he found himself leaning towards the alternative, curious to see what she would do next, what her sweet kiss meant, to stare into her beguiling eyes more and taste those pretty, pink lips again. 

 "Come." He commanded, releasing her arm and taking a step to the side. 

 "Wha…. what?"

 He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Come. I am not through with you." Here was the test. Here would decide how they both reacted. Mentally, he prepared himself for rejection and prepared a sharp barb on his tongue only for it to be silenced with her quiet, stuttered acceptance. 

 "Ohhh….um, ok."

 Glancing over her quickly, he turned on his heel and started towards the VIP section before she could see the surprise and shock on his face. He hated how her acceptance momentarily warmed his heart. He promised himself he would continue to test her, to make sure she was not feigning desire. For if she was, he had no problem giving her a taste of his anger and retribution for being played. His brothers had learned long ago to forgo what they thought was helpful by throwing women at him. Those same women usually returned to his brothers in tears and cursing his name due to the intimidation and demeaning he showered them in. 

 He led her to an unoccupied section, grateful that the space his brothers sat at was further away and they seemed preoccupied with their own revelry. Without a word, he dropped onto the couch, his legs thanking him for the reprieve. He turned to her and could not help but slide his heated gaze over her body. Standing there in her short, tight, black dress and wicked heels, he found his mouth suddenly dry. What she wore was pure temptation, flattering her delicious curves and elongating her legs to a point where he wondered what she would do if he dragged his tongue from her toes all the way up to her hip. It was the way that she lightly bit her lower lip, looking both excited and shy that caused his member to harden beneath him. 

 Silently, he held out his hand, beckoning her closer. A thrill raced down his spine as she took her hand and let him guide her to straddle his lap. 

 "Good girl." He murmured, pleased by her actions. 

 As her lips descended once more upon his, where last time he was unmoved, this time he took control. His hands gripped her ass, holding her against him as his mouth dominated. His tongue greedily worshiped her mouth, drawing her tongue into a sensual dance that earned a moan from her. Unable to stop, he found himself powerless to tear his mouth from hers. It was like the sweetest ambrosia he ever tasted. Her mouth was both sweet and filthy and he wanted to drown in the taste. 

 When her lips retreated, he almost snarled at losing their touch. Instead he dropped his mouth to her chest, lavishing the line of her cleavage with his mouth and tongue. 

 "Fuck, you taste amazing." He whispered. He could get drunk just off the taste of her. His tongue traced the tops of her breasts once more before moving up her chest and neck to suckle just below her earlobe, wanting to leave his mark. In more than one place. When a soft purr escaped her due to his touch, he could not help the possessive way he held her tighter, needing her closer, needing to hear that sound again. 

 Her hands grasped his face, forcing their lips to meet again and it was all he could do to suppress the pleased growl in his throat. Her hips began grinding fervently above him and he knew she was lost to the throes of pleasure. 

 "Fuck, kitten, keep going. Ride my cock." He growled into her mouth. He watched as she threw her head back, mouth open. Continuing to grind under her, he decorated her skin with hot, open-mouth kisses and sucking occasionally, wanting to leave evidence of his touch on her. So she could not forget him easily. To mark her as his. For after this, she would surely be his. He watched her unashamedly as her orgasm hit her. Her lips parted, eyes closed and head thrown back, she was the most beautiful creature in this moment he had ever laid eyes on. 

 "What…." He watched as she licked her lips, seeming to struggle with forming a coherent statement once the blinding pleasure dissipated. "What, um, was that?"

 "What are you talking about?" He asked smugly, as he continued to place open mouth kisses along her chest and neck, never stopping his ministrations. His member was rock-hard under him and demanding attention. Soon enough, he would have her on her knees before him. He wanted to see those pretty, pink lips he enjoyed so much wrapped around his cock. 

 "Um, that feeling… I just...wow…." She stuttered out, voice wavering. 

 He stopped his ministrations, a realization dawning upon him. He tilted his head slightly to hold her gaze. "Have you never had an orgasm before?"

 He could see the panic that filled her eyes before she even moved. As soon as she tried to dart away like a skittish animal, he pinned her to him, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and kept a firm grip on her hip with the other. 

 "You never have…." He murmured aloud. Truthfully, virgins were an elusive breed due to his social circle and work. Especially virgins coming to him. This information also drew forth a caveman feeling that inflamed his blood and made his member strain with even more painful pressure. He was the first to touch, the first to give her pleasure. It made him want to lay her down and have her right there on the couch, uncaring of anyone who walked by. He wanted to hear her purr under him, to drag her nails down his back. He wanted to claim her, to never let another man touch her. That only he would bring her pleasure. He wanted to corrupt and taint her, but also worship her as his goddess. 

 "Are you a virgin, my pretty kitten? Mmm?" He knew the answer but wanted to hear her say it. Needed her to confirm it. 

 "Please," she whined. He was unsure if her plea was to save her from speaking out loud her innocence or to continue lavishing her with pleasure. Either way, he could tell she was at his mercy and he loved it. 

 Deliberately slow, he leaned closer to her, hovering his mouth over hers. The way her breath hitched, her eyelashes fluttered, her hands tightening on his shoulders, he knew she wanted him. 

 "Kari!'

 His pretty kitten jerked at the call, drawing her gaze to two women standing at the entrance of the VIP section with the bouncer.  

 "It's time to go!" One of them yelled over the music. 

 He narrowed his eyes at them, angry that they were stealing her attention. The one who called out ignored him, keeping her eyes on the brunette in his lap while the other practically bounced on her toes, nervousness evident. Clearly, they knew who he was. He smirked, a dark and devious look that caused both to stiffen even from far away. He licked his bottom lip as if tasting their fear in the air. 

 "I have to leave." She quietly said when she turned back to him. Any other person he would have assumed she would be pleased to abandon him, that this whole thing was a set up and now her friends were coming to 'rescue' her. Staring up at her, he could see the guilt in her eyes, the lust still dancing there. 

 There was still his question he wanted answered before he even considered letting her go, which he was becoming more and more reluctant to. He dropped his head, nuzzling her neck after brushing her hair away before whispering into her ear. "Answer my question first." 

 "I... I need to go. I'm sorry. Please. I just…"

 He forced her gaze to meet his, lips ghosting over hers. "Answer. Me." He snapped, not pleased with her trying to get out of answering. 

 Finally, her answer came out in a barely heard whisper. "Yes."

 He paused, both surprised and elated by her confession. Immediately, he slammed his lips to her with abandon, forcing her into a needy kiss, coaxing her tongue to dance with his again. A lusty moan from her filled the nonexistent space between them and he answered with a growl. He desired her. More than just a lustful want. No, he found himself enthralled by her innocence but also the way she clung to him as he alone kept her tied to this world, instead of floating away on waves of pleasure. 

 "Stay." He whispered against her lips. 

 "I can't …."

 "I'll bring you home. We aren't finished yet." He stated, rolling his hips under her, his hard cock rubbing against her hot core. Gods, he wanted to keep touching her. Never before had a woman enthralled him as much as she did. He could not, would not, relinquish her. She was his. 

 "Please, I'm sorry. I want to stay, I promise. I've never…. I…. I just need to go. I'm sorry."

 The hint of panic in her voice dulled his lust. It was her words, confirming her want of him that placated him for now; but he would let her go on his terms, not on hers' and especially not on her meddlesome friends' that continued to stare at them. 

 Slowly, as if to prove he still controlled the situation, his grip loosened on her. His thumb caressed her pulse point, loving the erratic beat due to his presence and touch. His other hand trailed up her body as if to memorize it once more before taking her hand. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, he entwined their fingers. His blue eyes beheld her own, the blue-green color swirling and making him feel adrift at sea. Everything in him screamed to keep her in his lap, to not let her go. But there was something different about her, something that demanded care and tenderness, which confused him. She was the first woman besides his mother to show him such soft affection, to make him feel strangely safe. As he sat there staring at her, he felt that he was watching the sun set, beauty radiating enough to take his breath, but he feared the sun would never rise again on them. 

 "KARI!"

 She jolted at the frantic call of her name, tearing her eyes away. If he had no longer been tethered to her, her hand in his, he would have pulled out the knife hidden on his body and thrown it at her friend who kept interrupting them. It would bring him satisfaction to see the knife protruding from her thigh…. he had no intentions of killing her…. unless she interrupted him and his kitten once more. 

 He turned back to her, hoping to draw out a few more moments. "Can I see you again?" He quietly asked, running his thumb along the back of her hand.

 "I hope so." She smiled tenderly at him, then stepped away and walked towards her friends. 

 His gaze traced over her curves as she walked away, watching her hips sway and those tantalizing legs he wanted to caress. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. His gaze flickered back up to her friends. When he saw the one who kept calling her was watching him, a menacing smile grew and his gaze hardened. He was pleased to see her visibly stiffen and scurry away. 

 To his surprise, before fully descending the stairs, the pretty brunette looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze once more. In his mind, he begged her to come back, to return to him. Though the words would never cross his lips. He never begged. His pride and ego would never allow it. Nor would it allow him to chase after her to get her full name or phone number. 

 Then she disappeared amongst the crowd just as quickly as she appeared in his life. 

 His head and shoulders dropped as if an invisible weight had been placed on him. He sat there for a long moment, his mind reviewing everything that just occurred. He also needed his enraged cock to settle before he even attempted to get up. The sounds of her moans in his ear, the soft feel of her skin, how she fit perfectly in his lap as if made by the gods especially for him, that damn purring noise she made as he licked her almost made him blow his load. All of it he never wanted to forget. Though, remembering was not helping him to calm down. There was something different about her, a mysterious quality he wanted to discover and explore, just as much as her body. It was the way she held him unafraid that beguiled him the most. From the way her friends reacted, he knew they understood who he was. But her…. he had the impression she did not know him or what he was. Normally he would be offended, but not with her. She was special. His kitten. 

 With a grunt, he heaved himself off the couch to return to his brothers. At this point they probably figured he had abruptly left or been abducted. Depending on the brother, abduction might be preferable.  

 *****

 "Ivar! There you are!" Ubbe exclaimed, lifting his glass up as Ivar rounded the corner to enter their secluded area. "We were beginning to think you had somewhere more important to be."

 The youngest Ragnarson rolled his eyes as he dropped down onto the couch near Hvitserk. 

 "Who called?" Hvitserk asked, looking at Ivar over his glass. 

 Before answering or meeting the questioning looks of his three brothers, Ivar reached forward and grabbed his beer he had left behind and quickly drained it. Once done, he rolled the cup momentarily between his hands before speaking. "Mother."

 "And what could she possibly want now?" Sigurd drawled, an arm slung over his latest girlfriend. Ivar no longer even tried to remember their names, they were exchanged so often. 

 "Sigurd…." Ubbe reprimanded, giving him a side-glance before looking back at Ivar. His harlot girlfriend, Margrethe, leaned against his side, hand tracing patterns on his thigh. 

 The raven-haired brother sighed before straightening.  "She said she's coming to visit next week."

 Sigurd dropped his head back dramatically onto the back of the couch with a groan while Ubbe solemnly nodded and took a sip of his drink. Margrethe grimaced and muttered something under her breath that caused Ubbe to look sharply down at her. Only Hvitserk seemed unphased by the news, eyes meeting Ivar's for a brief moment before looking back over to watch those on the dance floor. 

 Ivar himself had mixed emotions when it came to his mother. He undoubtedly loved her the most out of anyone in the world. Her presence could also feel strangling at times.  

 "So," Hvitserk started with a smirk on his face, his gaze shifting to Ivar once again, "you going to tell us what took you so damn long to get back? I doubt the phone call took that long."

 Ivar narrowed his eyes at his brother. He knew his brother was playing a game with him and if the smirk said anything, Hvitserk knew why he had taken so long to return to their couches. "Fuck off, Hvitty."

 His brother chuckled while the others around the table looked on in confusion. 

 "Someone care to explain…." Ubbe said. 

 "No." For some reason Ivar found himself not wanting to talk about her. He had heard on more than one occasion how his brothers talked and compared their conquests. Ivar never joined those conversations, not because he was ashamed but he liked his privacy. 

 "Ah, come on, Ivar. She was beautiful, even if I could only really see the tight grip you had on her ass while she straddled you…. hell of an ass." Hvitserk teased. 

 Ivar slammed his glass down on the table, making the table and other glasses rattle precariously. "You say another damn word and I'll break your fucking jaw."

 His second eldest brother raised his hands in a show of surrender but the mischief in his eyes let Ivar know their conversation was not over yet. 

 "What? Ivy found himself a girl?" Sigurd scoffed. "Probably had to pay her to suck his cock."

 "Shut the fuck up." Ivar snarled. 

 "Enough, you two." Ubbe rubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. He glanced over at his youngest brother. "Care to explain?"

 Ivar was not stupid; he could see the intrigue in his eldest brother's face but it did nothing to move him. Instead he leaned back, and turned his gaze to look over the dance floor below. Soon a new conversation started up amongst his brothers but he paid no mind. His attention was on thoughts of her once again.

 "You get her number?" Hvitserk asked quietly after a while. Sigurd had disappeared with his girlfriend while Ubbe and Margarthe were talking and fondling one another. 

 "Does it matter?" Ivar retorted with a devious smirk. That answer made Hvitserk laugh out loud. The youngest Ragnarson had the uncanny ability to find someone when he put his mind to it. On more than one occasion their father had used that talent to find someone that had crossed him. 

 "Hey, ignore Siggy and Ubbe. She seemed into you. Try and get in touch with her, but for fuck's sake, don't stalk her." The two chuckled at that before Hvitserk turned serious again. "What was her name? Or were you too busy getting her off to ask?"

 He mock-glared before looking away. Out of all his brothers, he was definitely closest to Hvitserk. He was the most cool-headed out of all of the Lothbroks and quiet. He was slow to anger but did not shy away from unleashing his fury and bloodlust when the time called for it. Ever since they were children, somehow the two of them clicked compared to any of the other brothers. The second eldest also seemed able to pick up Ivar's moods with ease and knew when to leave the volatile Lothbrok alone. 

 After several silent seconds, Ivar finally whispered. "Kari." Even her name tasted sweet on his tongue. Surveying the club, he promised himself that he would find her. By the gods, he would see her once again and have her. For even if he did not want to admit it fully to himself, he was already addicted to her taste and touch and the mystery about her. And he had never been known to give up on something that fascinated him….and she was no exception.

May I ask for the how the ygo characters act around their crush but for gx?

Of course you can. These crushy asks are fun to write hehe I got a bit carried away

Yu-Gi-Oh! GX

Crush Headcanons

Yuki Judai (Jaden Yuki):

Wants to be around his crush as much as possible. Will introduce them to his friends and want to hang out with them all the time. He’d want to learn as much about them as he could, so he’d be asking them all about themselves.

His favourite way to get to know a person? Challenge them to a duel. He thinks you can tell a lot about a person by the deck they’ve built and how they play it. He’d be really excited to duel them, a huge grin on his face as he faced opposite them.

I think he wouldn’t even realise it’s a crush at first. He’d try to befriend them first and assume that’s all it is, but I don’t think it would take him too long to realise. Hopefully. I imagine he’d just be laying there one night thinking about his crush and getting all gooey, and then he’d just sit up, suddenly realising he feels more than friendship towards them and be like ���oh damn’.

He’d probably want to confess to them as soon as he’s realised his feelings. He’s not good at hiding his emotions anyway, so maybe his crush or people around him figured out he had a crush before even he did. His confession would be awkward but kinda excited too, he just can’t help it around them.

Marufuji Sho (Syrus Truesdale):

Shy boy. Doesn’t know what to do around people he finds attractive. He usually stares at the ground, face flushed red, stuttering on his words. He gets incredibly frustrated with himself for not being able to act naturally around his crush.

Will absolutely ask his friends for advice on how to act around them. Once the teasing settled down, I’m sure his friends would be happy to help him. How successful their advice would be is another story.

I think he might try sending them an anonymous love letter, just to get his feelings off his chest. He doesn’t know what to write, though, so it might end up never reaching his crush anyway.

One thing about Sho is that he will always face his fears in the end. He realises that he needs to get his feelings off his chest so that he can move on with his life, whether his crush rejects him or not. So after stewing on his feelings for who knows how long, he’ll definitely approach them with determination and awkwardly confess.

Tenjoin Asuka (Alexis Rhodes):

She’s usually so calm and collected; sure of herself and what she wants. But having a crush on someone really throws her off. At first, she’s a bit frustrated with this person, coming into her life and making her feel butterflies and turning her face red. I think she’d be a very mild tsundere towards them at first, only because she doesn’t know how to deal with her feelings. If anyone were to notice her acting strangely towards her crush and tease her about it, she’d be most indignant. No, she doesn’t have a crush. Hah. Nope. Not at all. She’d be blushing bright red while denying it vehemently.

I think after some time, she’d come around and decide to befriend her crush. She doesn’t leave a lot of time in her life for romance, but the ice would naturally melt as she spent time around her crush. 

She gets a bit awkward sometimes, because she’s still got no idea what to do with herself. But she tries to tone down her defensive reactions as much as possible. She wants to get along with her crush.

I think it would take a good while, but she’d pluck up the courage to confess to her crush eventually. I think her big brother might have something to do with it if he finds out she’s crushing on someone. His matchmaking schemes might fall completely flat most of the time (he would absolutely try to set Asuka up with her crush), but his encouragement is sincere, so Asuka would eventually give in and approach her crush.

Johan (Jesse) Anderson:

I think it would be difficult for anyone to realise Johan has a crush honestly. He’s usually so friendly, and I don’t think he’d treat his crush all that differently to his friends. He’s actually surprisingly good at hiding his feelings for them behind friendship. Unless you knew Johan well enough, you might never know he’s got a crush.

He’d want to duel his crush, or watch them duel, as often as he can. He’s like Judai in that he thinks it’s the best way to get to know a person. He’ll compliment their deck and card designs enthusiastically. It’s hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.

Though he’s usually chill around them, sometimes they might do something that would make him blush and/or stutter a bit. He’s generally quite extroverted, but he can be a tad awkward at times.

I don’t think he’d want to confess to his crush for a good while. He wants to be their friend and not ruin it, and honestly he’s not sure what he’d even say to them.

Edo (Aster) Phoenix

He’s Edo Phoenix, pro duelist. He hasn’t got time for crushes or romance or anything like that. He throws himself into his work, distracting himself from his crush. He won’t really want to do anything about his crush unless he’s too distracted by them to actually do his work or finds his dueling performance is dropping because he’s thinking about them.

He’s a big ol’ tsundere honestly, so he’s not going to make anything easy for himself. They make him feel vulnerable and he hates that. So he might end up actually pushing them away accidentally. This is even more frustrating to him. He’s already wasting his time enough as it is, and now his crush thinks he hates them.

Settles down after getting to know his crush a bit more. Once they become more relaxed around one another, Edo’s crush would only increase. But he’s trying hard not to get all worked up about it again, because he really doesn’t want to drive them away.

I think if he were to confess (and he might not because he still thinks he has no time for this), he’d set it up so he’s got them alone, maybe on his boat in the evening. He doesn’t want to make a big fuss of it, trying to play it off like it’s nothing. His awkward little tsundere self would probably have trouble making it seem like nothing though.

Tenjoin Fubuki (Atticus Rhodes):

Flirty boy is so used to being the one who gets chased. Having a crush that he wants to chase himself is a new one. He thinks he’s really smooth, and can sweep anyone off their feet but he’s not as cool as he wishes he was. Totally shows off around his crush, trying to get their attention. Wanna watch him duel? See him surf? He’ll make sure his crush is around to see him do something cool. Just hope he isn’t too distracted by his crush being there and doesn’t like, fall of his board or something.

He’s not used to feeling awkward around anyone, but I think he’d get that way around a genuine crush. He’d be all awkward chuckles and head rubs, and losing his train of thought around them would be common. He’s able to deal with finding people attractive, the flirt that he generally is, but a more emotional attraction would be a whole different story.

Tends to hang around his crush a bit. Not so much that he’s overbearing, but he’ll be around them quite a bit. Wants to make them laugh a lot because he loves the sound. If he can make them blush as well he’d be over the moon. He’d definitely low-key flirt with them quite a bit.

I think it would take a bit longer than you might expect for him to take the plunge and confess. He’s a bit more calculating than he generally lets on, and I think he’d like to test the waters first. He’d want to be sure he’s not going to drive his crush away if he confesses. Even if his crush doesn’t accept him, he wants to be their friend.

Convention Escapades [Leviathan x FemOC]

On AO3 here

Two dorks go to a Convention. There they encounter crowds, self doubt and con creeps and emerge victorious. Smut ensues.

Leviathan x Kore (my Obey Me! MC). NSFW (R18+)  Warnings for: Female OC, self-esteem issues, PIV sex, woman on top, con creeps/mild sexual harassment, sex in cosplay (if you spot anything else I need to add a warning for let me know)

Kore studied her costume carefully in the mirror, tugging at the hemline of the skirt and carefully adjusting the painstakingly styled wig. It wasn’t perfect, the colours a little off in places and several accessories missing. But it had been the best she could do a short notice and with unexpected delays in Akuzon shipping. She’d really wanted to go as Henry, she really had, especially knowing that Levi had a Lord Of Shadows cosplay ready to go and knowing just how happy it would make him. But then Lucifer had piled a mountain of extra homework on her, eating into 90% of her precious little free time and she just hadn’t had the energy to do it. She could have maybe thrown together something passable last minute, even Levi had said as much, but she told him she wanted to do Henry justice and that would require time. She didn’t tell him that she wanted to do Henry justice because the thought of letting him down with an imperfect and rushed version of one of his favourite characters in the whole world was the worst. ‘Next time’ she’d promised him. ‘Next time I’ll do the best Henry you’ve ever seen. We’ll be unstoppable’. He’d blushed, adorably so, and nodded determinedly. She was still fussing over the outfit when she heard someone knocking at the door. “Kore? We’re going to be late for prime queue spots!” Sighing and chewing on her lower lip Kore went to open the door, preemptively wincing ready for him to pick apart the flaws in her cosplay. When there was no noise she warily looked at him. Somewhere beneath all the hair she could see a blush staining his cheeks red. “Is it… okay? I know the colours are off but it was the best I could do last minute after Lucifer dumped all that work on me. Maybe I should have gone for something simpler… cat girls are cool down here too right?” She paused, tilting her head a little to study him. “Um, Levi? Leviachan? Are you okay?” He huffs, giving his head a slight shake. He mutters something under his breath that she can’t quite catch. “We need to go, if we’re not there in time we might not get the limited edition convention special figurine. I can’t miss out on that because some human normie made me late, you understand right? We need to hurry.”

He didn’t realise until they were halfway to the convention that he’d grabbed her hand. He dropped it as if she were made of fire, cheeks burning and eyes wide. “I… um.. I…” He stumbled over his words, refusing to look at her. “Sorry, you wouldn’t want to touch…” She laughed, reaching out for him again. “I don’t mind, how else would I keep up?” Levi was still frozen, staring at her outstretched hand as she wiggled her fingers at him. After a few seconds of staring she reached out and tangled her fingers in his, ignoring his stuttered protests and offering him a bright smile. “Come on, we can’t be late. Not when there are limited edition figurines on the line!”

They got there in plenty of time, early even, but something still felt wrong. Levi would barely look at her, despite his excitement to be there, and it was starting to form a roiling black pit in her stomach. She’d let him down, she knew she had, she should have gone with Henry, even if it wasn’t a good Henry. She was an idiot for thinking one of the main characters from "My Cute New Roommate is Actually a God of Chaos and I Think She’s in Love With Me" would be anywhere near good enough, no matter how much they’d both enjoyed watching the show. She frowned, squeezing his hand a little. “I’m sorry Levi, I can go?” Her voice came out much quieter than she expected and she was lucky he even heard over the chatter of the crowd. Leviathan tensed, grip tightening more than he meant it to as he tugged her to look at him. “W-What? Why… Why would you leave? I-I thought you wanted to be here? Did… did you just come because you felt sorry for me? O-of course you did, who would actually want to spend time with some yucky otaku like me?” The spiral of self loathing came on fast, and it would just get worse she knew, both from her own experiences and from spending time with him. At home she could sit in the calm of his room, gently tell him all the reasons he was wrong, and if things got too bad his brothers were there. For damage control if nothing else. But here, here she didn’t think she had that time, so she did the one thing she knew would shut him up, she flung her arms around him in a tight hug, pressing her smaller body into the warmth of his. It worked. Levi flailed for a moment, startled and embarrassed and not sure what to do, before he gently tried to push her away. Gently enough that she knew he didn’t really want her to let go. If anyone in the line around them had anything to say about the sudden outburst of emotion they wisely kept quiet. “Y-you have to warn me before you do stuff like that. It’s not fair!” “Hush, you adorable idiot.” She grumbled into his chest, before reluctantly letting him go and taking his hand again. “I do want to be here. I’ve been excited about this for weeks. And I really am sorry I didn’t come dressed as Henry, I know you’re upset at me about it and…” she chewed on her lip for a second, gaze fixed firmly on their hands “and it seems like you don’t want me here. I don’t want to ruin your fun.” Levi gawped for a moment, shaking his head so violently he nearly dislodged his headpiece before pulling her back against him. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you here, idiot.” It was disarmingly genuine, no otaku slang or stammering or yoda speak, and that alone was enough to calm all of her frazzled nerves and let her relax against him. She was happy to leave it at that, to not push him about his silence, but he answered for her anyway. “You just, you look…” “It’s not super accurate I know, I’m sorry. Oh, hey, the line is moving! Time to get our figurines!” Whatever Levi was planning to say was lost in the excitement of limited edition Ruri-chan merch as they headed inside.

Inside Kore was happy to find it was much like any convention she’d been to in the human realm, there were official booths as well as an artists alley type area full of fan merch, special guests and so much amazing cosplay she was honestly a little overwhelmed. Levi was grinning in the way that was usually reserved for new long awaited game releases or rare exclusive merch finds. It was refreshing to see him outside, around people, and still so happy. But, she figured, these were his people. They weren’t going to judge him in the way he was afraid of, they were all here for the same thing. “Where did you want to go first? You’re the expert here after all.” Levi paused for a moment, he looked like he was thinking but Kore would have put money on him having a whole itinerary planned in his head. He opened his mouth a few times, beginning to say something before closing it again, his face flushing bright red. “Um, well, I want to see the Doki Doki☆Angel Gakuen panel, and the Devilmation one, and um, there’s a few booths I want to visit… but, but what do you want to do?” Kore grinned, her heart growing in her chest at the sheer earnestness of his desire to make her happy. Levi was a lot of things, not all of them good, but he really did try to do his best by her and the mere thought of it gave her all kinds of warm feelings inside. “As long as I get a good look at the stalls, and maybe a few of the, uh, manga booths I’ll be happy.” She paused, momentarily distracted by someone walking past with a truly spectacular cosplay of one of the armoured knights from ‘I’ve Been Sucked Into This Game as a Plot to Assassinate Me, but They Forgot I’m Top of the Server Leaderboards so I’m Having a Great Time’ “Maybe a few photos?” Levi nodded, chewing on his lip and hiding behind his hair the way he always did when he was nervous. After a few moments he announced “Do that I can” grabbing her hand again and tugging her off towards the ‘official’ stalls in search of rare Ruri-Chan merch. She followed happily, smiling softly at the way the normally quiet demon lit up with delight when surrounded by things he was passionate about. He talked excitedly with the booth owners in a way she'd never seen before. As he finally handed over his grimm, clutching the box to his chest in delight, he turned back to her. "Are you okay? You're quiet…" She smiled, cutting him off before he could try to be self depreciating. "I'm fine. I just don't think I've ever seen you so happy around so many people before. It's nice." He hid his face behind the box, shaking his head. "Come on, you need to buy stuff too!"

He pulled her along behind him, stopping at several booths along the way. To her surprise he stopped at a couple just for her. Eventually they exhausted the official stalls, taking a break and grabbing some food while they watched the Devilmation panel. Once it wrapped up, not without some grumbling from Levi about their choice of voice actor for the official adaptation of one of the manga he was reading, he gently took her hand again leading her in the direction of the fan-run stalls. "Oh wow, this is all so awesome. Hey Levi, look!" She pointed towards a stall dedicated towards some of her favourite otome games only to find he had let go of her hand. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." "But Levi I… and he's gone." She sighed, turning back to the stall she'd stopped at. Where did he even dash off to? We got the Ruri-chan merch he wanted… I'm so getting lost in here without him. After a few minutes deliberation she picked out a few pieces of fan merch from her favourite new otome 'My Seven Hot Housemates are Constantly Fighting With Each Other, I Think I'm in Love With All of Them and I Have No Idea What to do About it', a full sticker set and keyrings of her favourites- the shy nerd and the brash adorable idiot. She had wanted the full set, but Mammon had borrowed a chunk of Grimm from her a couple of weeks ago and hadn't paid her back yet. There was still stuff she wanted to buy so she had to be strict with her budget. Levi still hadn't come back so now seemed as good a time as any to get him a thank you gift. Slowly she moved along the stalls, making her way towards one she was pretty sure had Sucre Frenzy prints, when she heard a loud voice behind her. "Oh wow, are you cosplaying Nyar-chan?!" She paused, turning to glance at the voice behind her in mild surprise. "Can we get a picture?" For a moment Kore froze, blinking at them. It had been a very long time since anyone asked her for a photo in cosplay. Maybe it was a trap? But the pair holding a camera looked so happy and earnest, and besides there were plenty of people here… she nodded once, smiling at them. "Sure." That one yes seemed to be the start of a landslide. Suddenly so many people wanted her picture, more than a few just for the novelty of getting close to the human everyone was talking about while the brothers weren't by her side. It was overwhelming, and she barely managed to get the prints she wanted for Levi, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd for him.

"Hey there gorgeous, got time for one more picture?" She blinked up at the man, who towered over her. There was something ominous in his eyes she didn't like, but Levi was nowhere to be seen and kicking up a fuss at this point felt like it would do more harm than good. "Um,  okay?" The demon grinned, his teeth looking far too sharp under the artificial lights. He gently rested an arm on her waist, ignoring her flinch as he did so. His friend took the picture and she went to move away but his grip tightened, claws digging into her hard enough to bruise. "I think I blinked, best take another right?" He looked to his friend, who nodded. Kore swallowed, holding still, eyes constantly flicking through the crowd for that familiar flash of purple. Then she felt his hand drop, no longer digging into her waist but instead dropping to cup her ass, fingers trying to dip beneath the hem of her skirt. She opened her mouth to protest when she sensed it, the dark oppressive pressure she remembered from the ill-fated TSL quiz. "Hands. Off. Her." The demon jumped away, hands in the air as he stared down a clearly irritated Avatar of Envy. "I wasn't doing nothing!" ' In which case you just admitted you were doing something ' she heard Satan's voice in her head at the double negative, chasing away the thought to quickly stride over to Levi, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Levi. Look at me. I'm okay." She soothed, squeezing gently. While his mood was warranted she knew this was a very bad place for him to lose control like that. "I promise, I'm okay. Come on, let's get some air." "But he…" "I know. We can be angry outside." She linked her hand with his, intertwining their fingers and giving him a gentle tug. "Come on." He followed with much less protest than she was expecting, letting her lead him through crowds of demons that swiftly parted, sensing the danger that still hung in the air around the third eldest of the brothers. It wasn’t long before they were outside, though she didn’t let go of his hand until she’d pulled him around to the side of the building away from any prying eyes or further interruptions. “Levi, breathe.” She cupped his face gently, pressing her forehead against his. “Thank you for rescuing me.” She couldn’t see anything but his eyes, though her skin picked up the flush of heat at her words. “I-I didn’t… it’s not like that…” He shook his head slightly. “I didn’t rescue you. Weird normie.” “Yeah, you did. I don’t think he’d have listened to me somehow.” She smiled. “My hero.” “I d-didn’t. I just didn’t want him touching you, not when you look so amazing. And I know I’m just a yucky otaku and he was all... handsome and stuff. But I wanted you to be mine today and I didn’t want him touching you and…” he huffed out a breath, the warmth of it tickling her nose “I’m not a hero. It’s not fair.” Kore just cradled his face in her hands, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Whaaa… you’re supposed to warn me if you’re going to do that! I need time to prepare! I wasn’t ready!” “Sorry not sorry. I couldn’t resist. Now hush for a minute.” Her hands remained on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not a yucky otaku, you are, in fact, a very handsome and amazing otaku. Who just so happens to be one of the most powerful demons in the whole of Devildom, and the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. Which makes you a badass. Not yucky. Not gross. Not any of the other bad stuff you say about yourself. Believe me, that dude was not handsome. He was gross. Not you. I think you’re pretty awesome.” “I’m…” “You’re awesome. Don’t argue with me. And… wait, did you say I look amazing.” “Y-yes?” “Okay. I’m going to kiss you again.” This time he didn’t protest, tentatively kissing her back as he pressed her up against the wall. She whimpered into the kiss, one hand tangling in the hair at the back of his head as he grew more confident, his free hand trailing down to gently stroke the exposed skin between her skirt and the long socks she wore. Panting she pulled back, resting her forehead against his as she tried to pull air into her lungs. “Was… was that okay?” There was a tremor of nervousness in his voice that made Kore want to kiss him again just to make him realise how great he was. “It was better than okay. Is this why you’ve been weird with me all day?” He wouldn’t look her in the eyes but she felt the slight movement of his head as he nodded, fingers still tracing the exposed patch of skin on her thigh. “Okay…” She paused, not sure where to go with this, there was still plenty they both wanted to do inside the convention, but the way he kissed her and his fingers trailing across her skin made her want to do all kinds of other things. “Okay. We’re going to finish up inside, and I’m going to stay by your side whether you like it or not. Then we’re going home to finish this.” A whine bubbled up in Levi’s throat and she leant up to press her lips against his, silencing him with a promise. “You know you’d be upset if you missed the panels, I’ll still be around when this is over.” “But my brothers… I know you like them more…” Kore huffed, pressing a hand against his mouth. “I don’t. Leviathan, listen to me. I like you. I like your brothers. Remember that talk we had about sharing? I know it’s harder for you, I know you get jealous, but you have to trust me.” She sighed. “Please?” Swallowing Levi nodded, letting her lead him back inside just in time for the Doki Doki☆Angel Gakuen panel.

The rest of the day went in a blur, the panel was funny and informative, they picked up a few more bits of merch, and thankfully no more pushy demons tried to feel her up. Probably thanks to Levi being near glued to her side, his hand hovering near her waist. He at least enjoyed his panel, and got photos with his favourite voice actress prompting Kore to grin at him and point out what a good idea staying at the convention was really. After all, they had plenty of time later. On the way home she bought him Bufo Egg Milk Tea and promised she'd make up for all the waiting.

Luckily the tea was long drunk by the time they walked through the doors of the House of Lamentation, Levi dragging her straight to his room with barely a hello to Lucifer who had been waiting in the entrance hall for them to return. Only when they got to his room did his newfound confidence falter, his hands hovering over her but not seeming to dare make contact. With a huff she grabbed his shirt, pressing her lips hard against his. "I can't make it up to you if you won't touch me Leviachan. And I want you to touch me." She purred, pressing herself up against him. “A-are… are you sure?” "I wouldn't be in this position if I wasn't." She paused, pulling back a little to look him in the eyes. “Do you want this? You can say no you know.” For a moment Levi looked panicked and she felt terrible, as much as she wanted him (and she really wanted him right now) she had never wanted to push him into anything. It was just with the way he behaved before she thought… But the panic fades from his face as his fingers come into contact with her sides, running gently up and down the soft fabric. He nods once, chewing nervously on his lower lip. “I… I want you.” Kore smiles, pressing up against him once more to capture his lips. This time his hands grip onto her hips, pulling her so he can grind against her. She moans at the contact, fingers clenched in his top, and it finally gives him the burst of confidence he needs to take control. One hand moves up to grope at her chest, a low growl rumbling through his throat as he finds the layers of fabric hinder his touch. He tugs until the fabric moves low enough to uncover her breasts, ignoring what he thinks was a tearing sound as his fingers ghost over the skin, finding where her nipples have hardened against his touch. He's not a virgin, like so many seem to think, but it has been a long time, and these aren't just any breasts. They're Kore's breasts. Small and soft and so perfect his breath catches in his throat and he could swear his heart skips a beat. She makes a low meaning noise in her throat as he rolls one of the stiff peaks between his fingers. He could come from those sounds alone, he thinks dipping his head to flick his tongue over the other, he needs to hear more. Her back arches, pressing her breasts towards him as she fumbles with a hand to try and palm him through his trousers. "Ah- fuck Levi! That… ah, it feels so good." His hips buck against her hand  and she takes it as a sign to try and slide her hand inside, fingers wrapping around his length and stroking gently. Levi lifts his head abruptly to stare at her, expression flickering between shock, embarrassment and pure need. "I-if you do t-that I won't be able to- to hold back." The corner of Kore's lips lifts in a hungry smirk. "That was the plan. Please Levi? I need you." "But you, you're not…" She pulls her hand away and he whines, watching with wide eyes as she pulls his hand from her breast and pushes it up her skirt, pressing his fingers into the damp fabric. He slips a finger past her underwear, sliding through the slick coating her folds before pulling his hand away and staring at it in amazement. "Please? I want you." He nods in response, not trusting his voice to work enough to form words. She moved to take off her skirt but he shakes his head, earning him a raised eyebrow and a look tinged with concern. "I- um, leave it on? Please?" "Kinky." She grins, but leaves the skirt and socks in place, hooking her thumbs through the waistband of her underwear and tugging them down.

Levi tugs them towards the bathtub that serves as his bed, kicking off his trousers as he goes. He falls back into the soft pillows, tugging her down on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. His confidence grows now he knows this is happening, that she wants him like this and it wasn't all just desperate fantasies. “Are you sure?” Her voice was slightly strained, but she hovered above him watching his face. Levi thrust his hips up against her, his cock sliding through the wetness between her legs. “I need you to say it.” “Yes.” It came out as more of a whimper than he intended, but when she lowered herself onto his cock he really couldn’t bring himself to care. His fingers gripped into her thighs, leaving dents in the plush skin that would surely bruise later as she started to move. His body reacted almost on instinct, thrusting up into her warm wet heat. She moaned, back arching as she rolled her hips in time with his thrusts. “Ah, yes Levi. You feel so good.” He growled, thrusting harder into her until she was reduced to a mess of whimpers and moans. “Ah, fuck.” He groaned, tilting his head back. “I- I won’t last much-” She moaned in response, sliding a hand between her legs, flipping her skirt up so he could watch as she rubbed slow circles over her swollen clit. Levi groaned, feeling her walls start to clench around him. “Th-that’s not helping.” Kore laughed, broken and thready. “I don’t know, fuck , I’d say it’s helping. Ah fu- it feels so good.” Levi’s head was tilted back, breath coming in gasps as she started to lose rhythm, her hips stuttering allowing him to set the pace. He could feel the ripple of muscle around him as she got close, her walls clenching and unclenching a few times before they started to tighten. “O-oh, I’m close. Fuck, Levi, ah... ” Her body started to tremble, words lost in a half-coherent moan as she unravelled on top of him. He fucked her through her orgasm, not sure if he would even be able to pull out with the way she’d clamped down around him. As the last waves passed and her body started to slump he lifted her, pulling out just in time to splatter her thighs with his release, her name a low moan in his mouth. She fell forwards, bracing her weight on her arms against the sides of the tub as the room descended into quiet save the sounds of their ragged panting. “I, uh, might need to borrow some clothes.” She chuckled, looking down at the sticky mess on her costume. Levi went bright red, covering his face with his arms, shyness rushing back. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” She grinned. “You did, and that’s fine. That was hot.” He peeked up at her between his fingers. “R-really?” “Mhm.” Shifting gingerly in the small space she pulled off her ruined skirt and socks, tossing them out of the tub onto the floor. “Later.” Slowly she lowered herself next to him, nuzzling her face into his chest and pulling his arm to wrap around her.

stay

Rocket Raccoon x Gender-Neutral Reader

Requested by: @b-oys-do-c-ry​

Summary: after the events of endgame, you’ve tried to settle back into life with the guardians, but feel the need to return home to your family and help them adjust to the new reality. rocket catches you packing.

Characters: rocket raccoon, reader, mentions of other guardians

Warnings: the relationship is understandably platonic. only warning is for mild adult language and angst

Word Count: 2,380

MARVEL MASTERLIST or CHECK OUT MY FANFIC DEDICATED BLOG

One of the side effects of living with five other ‘people’ on a ship with only three bunks – one of which was actually a converted storage space – was that you didn’t have a lot of space to call your own. Sharing a room with Drax, Mantis and Nebula meant that you really only kept the essentials, along with a few sentimental knick-knacks you’d picked up both back on Terra and in ports across the galaxy. On the bright side, that meant that the phrase ‘packing a bag’ could be taken quite literally. Almost everything you owned fit in a single duffel bag.

“What’re you doin’?”

You jumped slightly as a voice sounded behind you, a mix of confusion and amusement coloring his tone. Turning from the bag on your bunk, you offered an awkward shrug of one shoulder to Rocket. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and an eyebrow cocked.

It was amazing that after everything that happened with Thanos, you’d been brought back into existence and Rocket still seemed for the most part, the same gruff, smart-mouthed guy you’d bonded with when you’d first joined the crew.  There were a few greyer hairs around his muzzle now, and sometimes he seemed more tired than anything else, but otherwise, he just seemed happy to have you all back.

“Nothing. What’s up?”

“You’re missin’ dinner.”

“And you came all the way to the other end of the ship to tell me that?” you joked, mirroring his posture. You smirked jovially down at him. “I’m touched, man.”

“Shut ya mouth,” he groused back at you despite the beginnings of a smirk of his own on his face. You laughed despite your unease at being caught out, shaking your head. “Groot’s fussin’ about you not bein’ there.”

“Sure, he is,” you replied snidely, smile widening. It was unlikely that Groot had even raised his head from his game long enough to realize you weren’t there. “That’s why he’s here bugging me instead of you.”

“Watch it, humie. You can’t be butt ugly and friendless.”

“Ah, there’s the Rocket I know and love.” you teased. “And please, you know I’m gorgeous.”

He snickered, nodding almost absentmindedly. “Yeah, yeah. Ego like that and you’ll be putting Quill to shame in no time.”

“Oh, shudder the thought.” you said with a dismissive wave of your hand. You turned back to your bed, speaking over your shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself, Rock. I promise, you’ll never see me getting into a pissing contest with a Norse God.”

“Because you’re leavin’?”

You stopped, hands hovering over your bag. You closed your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long sigh through your nose. You had tried so hard to do this quietly.

The last thing you wanted was the crew fussing over your decision or trying to get you to change your mind. You didn’t get a lot of privacy or time alone between ports, but you’d figured that the notion of a hot meal would be enticing enough to the rest of the crew to grant you at least twenty minutes in which to pack your bag. You’d barely made it more than five.

You’d told Quill. Two weeks ago, you’d found him alone, pouring over the screens that held the scans he hoped would lead you to Gamora. The new Gamora… an old Gamora. The Gamora that didn’t know you yet. It had taken him a while to comprehend what you were saying, to pull himself out of his thoughts long enough to understand. He’d tried to convince you to stay, tried to tell you what he thought you needed to hear, but he’d finally agreed all the same. You were to get off in a couple of days when you were Terra-side again. He’d agreed not to tell the others – it was your business to share.

Honestly, part of you was sure it would have been anyone but the anti-social Rocket to come looking for you… but maybe another part of you wasn’t so surprised by it at all. He’d been more attentive since the second snap, more concerned. Of course, he’d shake you off with an insult and a scoff if you pointed that out.

“Damn it,” you breathed quietly, turning around and fixing him with your best attempt at incredulity. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re packin’ a bag, Y/N.” he said pointedly, nodding his head toward the bed behind you.

“Maybe I’m just… reorganizing.”

“Into a bag.”

“It’s a… system. Keeps everything in one, easy to access place.”

“So does your locker,” he pointed out, gesturing under your bed.

“Well, only if you want to get all… logical about it,” you admitted in a childish grumble. When his only response was to lean against the edge of the doorway and give you an exasperated look, you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You sat on the edge of your bunk, shoving your bag to the end of it. “How many of you did Quill tell?”

Rocket’s expression turned offense. “So, you are leavin’.”

“Ah, shit.”

“And you told Quill, but not—not the rest of us?”

“I, uh… well, yeah?” you tried for a humored smile. It curled the side of your lips awkwardly. This whole conversation was making you way too uncomfortable. You didn’t do emotional confrontation. A gunfight on some random planet all in the name of the adventures of the Guardians of the Galaxy, sure. But talking about your feelings? There was a reason you got along so well with every other emotionally constipated crew member on this damn ship. “I needed him to steer the ship in the right direction. Did you think we were going back to Terra because we’re already out of mac and cheese?”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he growled, clearly unamused by your attempt at humor. “You’re leavin’ and you weren’t even gonna tell us?”

“Of course, I was!” you protested. “Just… figured I’d wait.”

“’til when exactly?”

“…until it was time to get back on the ship?” you said, almost hopefully. Rocket rolled his eyes disparagingly, fixing you with a long look. The cold disappointment… the betrayal… in his eyes made your blood freeze, and he shook his head as he turned away. You called after him as he left. “Rocket. Rocket, c’mon, man—I just…”

You fell back onto your bed with a huff, staring at your ceiling. “Goddamn it.”

***

Two days. It had been a bit over forty-eight hours and Rocket still wasn’t talking to you. Sure, he wasn’t the most sociable guy on the ship to begin with, but this was different. This was cold.

The two of you usually exchanged good-natured, sarcastic barbs as easy as breathing, only to round on whoever told you to shut up first together. It was fun, easy, and something you never really thought about – your friendship with Rocket was always something you didn’t really have to think about – it was reactionary. So, to be thinking about it now… you’d been completely lost at what to do for the last two days.

He didn’t talk to you, and when he absolutely had to, it was curt. The sarcasm he still flung your way under his breath didn’t hold the same humor. More than once, Quill and Mantis had cast you questioning glance at the change in his attitude towards you, but all you could do was shrug. You weren’t even completely sure as to why he was acting this way; you were friends, sure, but it was Rocket. He wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type.

“Hey, Rock.”

He didn’t react to your entrance other than a small flick of his ear in your direction. He was on the late shift piloting the ship back to Terra, and you’d spent the last four hours staring at the ceiling of your bunk, sleep unwilling to take you. So, you dragged yourself out of bed, pulled on a jacket and your boots against the cold of the ship, and headed for the cockpit. You hadn’t had a chance to talk to him without interruption he left the room whenever someone else entered.

“Are you really giving me the silent treatment here, man?” you asked after a few moments, exasperated. You moved to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, pulling your jacket more tightly around yourself. “C’mon, Rocket. Seriously.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the sky. “I’m busy, Y/N.”

You followed his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I’d hate to distract you from this completely empty expanse of space we’re travelling through right now.”

He sighed at your sarcasm, giving you a sidelong, exasperated look of his own. “What’re you doin’ here, Y/N?”

“Right now?” you replied. “Right now, I’m just amazed you’ve managed to string more than two words together in my presence.”

“Just…” he paused, shaking his head as he searched for the words. You felt your stomach twist at the seeming uncertainty you could see in him; this was different. Rocket didn’t consider what he said; no, he’d just shoot back with whatever first came to mind, consequences be damned. For all his faults, he always seemed so certain of what he meant when he spoke, even if it was just a quick insult or a jibe. This wasn’t that. “Just… what do you want?”

“I want you to talk to me, Rocket.” you said. “Like before.”

“Why bother?” he shrugged, his voice gruff. He was back to refusing to look at you. “You ain’t gonna be around much longer, anyway.”

You sighed, fixing your eyes on the wide, black emptiness in front of you. That view used to excite you, a promise of adventure. Ever since the snap, it just felt… cold. “Look, I… I gotta go home, Rocket. They need me there. Everyone being back… it’s more complicated than we thought it would be. But… but me leaving, it’s not a big deal.”

“Sure, it’s not.”

“Dude,” you bristled at his tone despite yourself. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pissed at me!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in annoyance. You stuttered over your words for a moment, lost, before standing and shrugging dramatically. “Look, just forget about it, Rocket. I don’t know why I bothered coming up here in the first place; why the hell would I ever expect you to actually fucking talk to me instead of just being a complete dick about this.”

It wasn’t until you were stepping back onto the ladder to leave that he spoke again, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. He was still sitting in the pilot’s chair, his eyes still on the stars. “Don’t.”

You stopped short, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t…” he exhaled slowly, a steadying breath. “Don’t go.”

Your brow creased, and you moved slowly back towards his seat until you could see his face again. He looked embarrassed at speaking up, his ears drooping back. In fact, you were almost certain that under all that fur there could be a blush burning in his cheeks.

“Why not?”

“Be… because… ah, fuck…” he muttered to himself, a paw rubbing almost nervously at the fur on the side of his neck. “Because we… we need you here.”

“You… no, you don’t.”

Rocket finally turned to look at you, incredulity in his eyes. “We don’t? What about Groot?”

You paused, pressing your lips together as your stomach dropped. You loved the plant, you’d helped to raise him, and leaving him behind was one of the hardest things you were facing right now. Leaving any one member of the crew behind was going to be hard, but Groot… he was still a kid. “He’ll… he’ll be fine. He’s got all of you here, and he probably… he probably won’t even realize that I’m gone.”

Rocket raised an eyebrow at you. “Really? You think he’s an idiot?”

“No! I think he’d have to get his head out of that goddamn gaming device for more than thirty seconds to realize I wasn’t around?” you shot back in frustration. “Is that what this is about? You think you’ll have to look after him by yourself if I’m not around? Are you seriously pissed at me because you’re losing a babysitter?!”

“I’m pissed because you’re leaving me!” he shouted, the intensity in his voice surprising the both of you. He seemed to realize he’d admitted something he hadn’t intended a few moments too late, and he rolled his eyes at himself, tugging irritably at the fur at either side of his neck.

“…Rocket?”

He growled in frustration, rubbing his paws over his eyes. When he finally spoke again, he sounded tired… weary. “Just… you have no idea. You have no idea what is was like… all of you were gone. Gone, and I was…”

He broke off with a long exhalation and a slow shake of his head, his eyes closed. When you spoke for him, you could barely bring your voice above a whisper. “Alone.”

Rocket’s breathing shook slightly, the only sound in the ship’s quiet cockpit. You moved to kneel beside his chair, your gaze beseeching. You almost reached out to touch him but thought better of it. Honestly, you weren’t sure anymore if that was still a trigger for him.

“Rocket, you’re not alone anymore. We’re all back. Just because I’m gone doesn’t mean the others will be too. You’ll still have Groot and Quill and Nebula… everyone else will still be here. You’re not going to be alone; is that what this is all about?”

He sighed, opening his eyes. “It don’t matter. You go, that’s one more time, one more person I’ve got to mourn. And I don’t think I’ve got it in me to do it again.”

“Rock…” you murmured. You could feel tears welling in your eyes, and you could see them in his. You steadied yourself, wetting your lips. “I need to go home.”

He turned to face you, his jaw set. “Then don’t stay.”

“What?”

“Come back. Don’t stay on Terra.”

“I don’t…”

“Please.”

You stopped short; you didn’t think that in all the time you’d ever heard Rocket say ‘please’.

And that was, suddenly, all that it took.

“Okay.”

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen​ @dragon-chica​

So, I totally redid the scene in which Bofur and Bilbo have their first kiss so that it’s more emotional rather than humorous. However! As I usually do when I cut big chunks to rewrite them, I copy and pasted it into a separate document. Being that I still liked the original scene (just not enough to keep it), I’ve decided I’ll just post it over here~

Some background on the scene: Bilbo’s venting to Bofur about how he keeps catching subtle flirtations between Baylee (his daughter) and Thorin, but he’s not quite sure if he’s just being an overprotective papa.

~~~~

“Tell me why you think they’re fallin’ for one another.”

Bilbo rubbed the side of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. “For one, Thorin braided her hair. I know what that symbolizes amongst dwarves, so there’s the strongest one. Secondly, they’ve just…they’ve just seemed to have gotten a bit…well, flirty with one another. Not overtly so, mind you—just an occasional glance and exchange of smiles or some teasing banter.”

“At least, that’s what you think counts as bein’ flirty,” Bofur told him. “You’ve told me yourself, you never found someone you fancied enough t’ try flirting with. Though, that does leave one t’ wonder how you managed t’ woo a lass into your bed long enough t’ conceive Baylee.”

His cheeks darkened and he pouted somewhat. “It wasn’t flirting that did it—it was the Breeland beer that did it. Ambrosia and I were both so drunk that night, we were shocked that I had managed to find the right—” He abruptly stopped, his cheeks becoming bright red as he cleared his throat.

Bofur snickered. “Aye, Breeland beer has been at fault for a few dwarf babies bein’ conceived as well,” he told him. Shaking his head, he looked out over the garden. “I will say that Thorin braidin’ her hair is a fairly big sign; that’s the one all o’ us lads noticed, too,” he then said, getting back on topic. “Though, most o’ the lads are convinced he did it because she asked for help since there’s nothin’ overtly flirtatious about the braids he used. Just simple three and four strand ones.”

“What would an overtly flirtatious braid look like?” he asked, looking at the dwarf with some curiosity. “You know, so I can keep an eye out for them.”

“Hmm…” A contemplative look came to the dwarf’s face as he thought about how best to explain the braids to him. Then, with a bit of mischief in his eyes, he stood up straight. “Best way t’ tell you is to just show you,” he said. “An’ your hair’s gotten long enough over the last few months, I can show you without having to take out my own braids.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. His hair had grown a good three inches since the start of their journey, leaving him both feeling and looking a bit shaggy. “I-I have been meaning to trim off a few inches,” he replied, cheeks still a bit warm. He watched as Bofur drew closer; he wasn’t sure why, but his stomach started to twist about. Not in an unpleasant fashion, mind you—it was more along the lines of mild excitement.

Using his fingers to separate out a lock of hair, Bofur further split it into five sections. “Now, with flirtatious braids, they tend t’ be ones that have five strands. The person doin’ the flirting will usually leave three or four o’ those in their potential love’s hair, woven among what other braids are already there so they’re not as noticeable.” As he spoke, he made fast work of weaving the strands together.

“Five strand braids hidden amongst other braids. Got it.” He shifted slightly and lightly bit down on the side of his tongue; whenever Bofur was this close to him, he always found himself feeling almost…jittery? Giddy? Nervous? He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, but it was a good feeling. Something about being around the dwarf just left him feeling happy and content.

“There’s another type o’ braid you’ll want t’ watch out for, though it’s a bit trickier t’ spot, depending on how intricately the person’s hair has been styled before it’s added,” Bofur continued. He finished up the five-strand braid and moved on to the next lock of hair. “It’s called a love-knot an’ it’s usually used when a pair has gotten married. Some dwarves, however, use it as a way o’ claiming another dwarf as theirs.”

“What makes them tricky to spot?” Bilbo asked, his brow rising.

“There’s no one universal way t’ do a love-knot. Everyone has their own method, but they’re almost always near the top o’ the head an’, when you look closer, it doesn’t really fit with the rest o’ the style.” Finishing with the second braid, he grinned, feeling quite pleased with himself. “There. All done.”

Bilbo’s brow remained a bit raised as he looked up at Bofur. “You…do realize I can’t actually see the braids you did, don’t you?” He swallowed a bit harder than normal; it almost looked like the dwarf was leaning in closer to him.

“That’s the point—they’re not for you t’ see, but for others t’ see.”

“Yes, but how am I—” Realization hit him like a brick. “Oh.”

Bofur quietly chuckled, his brow raised as he watched Bilbo’s cheeks turn as red as beets. Before the hobbit could start stammering and stuttering, he leaned over and pressed his lips against his in a gentle kiss. Admittedly, he had been rather uncertain about how the hobbit felt about him; at times, it seemed like Bilbo only saw him as a friend, while others, it seemed like there was a chance that there could be more between them. So when Bilbo didn’t pull away and, instead, returned the kiss, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

After half a moment, he reluctantly ended the kiss and rested his forehead against Bilbo’s. “An’ here I was expectin’ you to shove me away in disgust,” he quietly joked.

Bilbo let out a quiet laugh; now he understood why Bofur left him feeling so odd. “Now why would I do a silly thing like that?” he questioned, a bit of a shy smile on his lips. “Though, I must admit, I didn’t even realize I fancied you until just now.”

“I sort o’ figured that was the case.” His hand rose up, letting his knuckles lightly brush against Bilbo’s cheek. “From all your talk about your life prior t’ the quest, I could tell that you hadn’t ever fancied someone before—least o’ all, another bloke.”

At that, Bilbo cleared his throat. “A-actually, I have found myself attracted to males in the past,” he confessed. “But, at the time, Baylee was my priority, so further feelings never really developed.” His eyes fell shut as Bofur kissed him a second time.

“She’s a grown lass now,” he murmured when they parted. “You can start thinkin’ about pursuing some romance o’ your own now.”

Warnings: blood, eye horror, medical themes, bandages, blindfold, mild cursing, mild nudity, innuendo and sexual references, references to murder.

Dr. Iplier changed out of his mildly bloody medical scrub shirt and formerly-white lab coat, discarding them onto the floor. His mind has been wandering lately. One of his regular patients seemed to occupy himself in his brain like a cancerous tumor or Taenia solium larvae might. He was frequently distracted and excitable, getting flustered uncharacteristically easily. That and the overall warmth he felt coursing through his body and the achey tightness in his chest concerned him to no end.

What's worse was that the doctor couldn't diagnose exactly what sickness he had. Dr. Iplier knew they could be signs of a heart attack or about a hundred other maladies that could possibly kill him, but he didn't dare imagine the possibility that he was the one who was dying, as painfully ironic that would be.

He wanted to get rid of it, and soon. It was impeding on his work and the credibility of his profession, to the dismay of his business partner, fellow doctor, and best friend, Schneep. Dr. Iplier accidentally dropped a scalpel into Peter during his surgery and caused a bloody mess (literally) because of it. Poor Peter didn't make it. But then again, that's what you got when you ran a medical practice with Henrik von Schneeplestein (the "Doctor" part was debatable): Peter never stood a chance.

But as time progressed, Dr. Iplier found that whatever he had made him feel euphoric. Maybe the disease or parasite released dopamine? He suspected that it had something to do with that patient of his. Maybe they were also the Patient Zero for his ailment? Or were they somehow causing these symptoms through mind control?

The doctor was familiar with the paranormal through his experiences with the infamous Darkiplier, so it wouldn't be too farfetched. He had his suspicions about his patient, but knew that it wasn't really professional of him to comment. Either way, they were forced to interact on a daily basis and Dr. Iplier didn't feel like losing his most loyal customer, so he said nothing of it and ignored the rapid beating of his heart (tachycardia?).

Soon the doctor found himself thinking about his "favorite" patient. Again. Of course. His thoughts always drifted to that quiet, contemplative man. The disease- Illness? Parasite? Whatever it was, the symptoms were getting worse.

Dr. Iplier sighed, picking up his bloody scrubs from the floor. He didn't want to further lower the reputation of his business by leaving his bedroom and private clinic messy.

-----------------------

The Host opened the door to Dr. Iplier's bedroom and makeshift clinic with a faint creek. He considered knocking first, but what he needed to ask the doctor was urgent. Well, maybe not urgent per se, but he had been thinking about it for a while now and had finally come to the conclusion that today was the day he would ask their resident doctor out.

What the Host didn't expect was to find was said doctor shirtless. The Host can't see, not in the physical sense anyway, but he has the ability to narrate his surroundings to get a vague sense of what's going on. So when his internal monologue started describing in excruciating detail exactly how lean Dr. Iplier's exposed upper body looked like and the faintest hint of his V-line peaking over the elastic of his thin blue scrub pants, the Host became overwhelmed. Of course, the Host doesn't say this aloud: for once, his narrations remained in his head in a loud, frantic monotone. The Host couldn't hear himself think, let alone focus from the mental barrage of stimuli. Shit.

-----------------------

Dr. Iplier tosses the bloody clothes into the hamper. He turns around to find the Host, propping himself up by the doorway looking like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Oh! Uh, you're here awfully early... Are you alright?"

"The Host, um, I- fuck."

The doctor's eyes widen in concern. Blood streaked down the Host's bandages like tears. It was rare to see him shocked into using first person and it was usually was damaging to his physical health. And this was the first time Dr. Iplier ever heard the Host stutter.

The Host makes an attempt to step into the room and falters. Dr. Iplier is quickly by the Host's side, holding the trenchcoated man up by the waist to guide him to the bed (which served as both a hospital cot and the doctor's actual bed). The Host sits on the edge while the doctor hangs his stethoscope around his neck, putting on his lab coat and head mirror out of habit: all without noticing that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

The Host can't help but compare the mental image to the intro of a low-budget porno. He covers his head in his hands and groans in exasperation. Why did Dr. Iplier have to be at the pinnacle of health?

The doctor feels the Host's forehead with gentle tenderness, his cool hand resting against warm skin. He tilts the Host's head up from under his chin, examining how much blood his patient lost. The Host can feel Dr. Iplier's intense stare on him as he attempts to figure out what's wrong. He hopes that the doctor won't notice his face heating up.

The physical contact felt intimate, even though it was practically ritual at this point with the amount of times the Host visits. The Host mentally compares it to heavy petting leading up to eventual smut. He internally screams.

The Host's narrations drift to Dr. Iplier's inner monologue as the doctor checks his vitals. It's something that the Host tries to avoid as it's an invasion of privacy, but it wasn't something he was able to control in his current state. Anything was better than whatever his brain was conjuring right now.

-----------------------

Usually he's calm under pressure, but the doctor can't explain is why he feels irrational, seething anger for whatever caused the Host's predicament. Dark maybe? Or Wilford? Probably someone with a great deal of power for the Host to essentially overload.

The doctor rarely gets angry: Annoyed? All the time. Cranky? Every morning before the caffeine hits. But Dr. Iplier felt, for the first time, homicidal. How dare they? The Host's health is delicate to say the least: the other egos know that. Yet Dr. Iplier is well aware that the blindfolded man can take care of himself. Then why does he feel so protective of him?

He knew, in great detail, at least 50 different ways to kill a person and had the means to do it. Injecting air into the bloodstream and facilitating an air embolism, constricting the windpipe and suffocating them while they sleep, utilizing any number of lethal drugs he had on hand: the list went on. If anyone ever hurt the Host again, he'd have to...

He takes a deep breath. The Host needs a doctor now, not an emotional wreck. The doctor checks off his mental checklist and goes through the familiar motions of proper medical procedure for his patient. It was his job to help people, and he'd be damned if he did just the opposite: at least on purpose (accidents happen).

-----------------------

For some reason, imagining Dr. Iplier attempting to murder the infamous Dark and Wilford duo calms the Host down. The Host had an especially violent streak during his Author days, so he understood the feeling well. But the fact that the doctor would feel so passionately about him was... endearing. Maybe this could still work...

The doctor grabs his glasses from his desk and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. They were rectangular ones reminiscent of Mark's old trademark, which the Host imagined made Dr. Iplier look more distinguished and erudite. He reads off his clipboard with concern.

"Elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, flushed but no fever, dilated pupils... Host, do you know what -or who- caused this?" The Host notices how Dr. Iplier clenches his jaw at "who". How cute.

You. "That doesn't matter, Doctor. I can assure you, I'm fine. I've been experiencing these 'symptoms' for a while now. I know they're not fatal." He casually fails to mention the overload he just had.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? We see each other every day!" Dr. Iplier gasps with a look of genuine horror on his face. "Have you... have you been seeing other doctors?!"

The Host stifles a laugh. "Of course not. Dr. Schneeplestein may be 'zhe good doctah', but you are the best one."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Iplier asserts, the flirtatious remark flying over his large ego. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe how many lawsuits we get every week. It's a wonder how our business stays afloat."

Something that the Host said triggers something in the doctor's mind. He checks his clipboard again. The Host had been experiencing this for a while now, minus the almost collapsing part. And so had he. It can't be... can it? The symptoms were the same as his own.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're both dying."

"...We?"

Dr. Iplier sets down his clipboard and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He never liked being the bearer of bad news, but the burden seemed to be part of his job.

"I'm afraid we both have the same illness- same symptoms and everything. Yours is probably later-staged, which would explain the fainting spell. We should warn Dark and the others to quarantine the area or something."

The Host starts laughing, loud and unabashedly. Dr. Iplier looks on in confusion and finds himself unable to speak. This was the first time he saw the Host laugh this much. Creepy sadistic grins? Sure. A wry smile after making a snide remark? Rare, but certainly rewarding. This crazed fit of giggling however? Unheard of until now. The doctor liked seeing the Host happy, even if it was due to the thought of their own deaths. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. He wonders how much time he had left to hear it again.

The Host slowly calms down, wiping the blood dripping down his face as if he was wiping away tears of laughter. It doesn't have the same effect: Dr. Iplier grimaces at the red smear on the back of his patient's hand.

"I assure you, those measures will not be necessary. Tell me Doctor, when do these 'symptoms', as you call them, tend to occur?"

"All the time since a few weeks ago, but it gets worse when you're around: no offense. Is it that Hanahaki disease Yandereiplier was telling me about?"

The Host resists the urge to facepalm. For someone who supposedly went to medical school, Dr. Iplier was surprisingly dumb. He completely went against the stereotype of glasses-wearers being the most intelligent.

"No. What you- we have is not an illness nor disease, at least not in the traditional sense."

"You know what it is then? Is there a cure?" Dr. Iplier replies in all seriousness.

The Host sighs. He still didn't get it. "Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of love?"

"Obviously", Dr. Iplier retorts, his ego kicking in again. The Host sincerely doubts it. "There are tons of books on the subject and Wil talks about it all the time. It's a combination of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"In scientific terms, yes. And the physical indications?"

Dr. Iplier thinks for a moment, going down the list. It clicks.

"Oh my god, I love you."

A pause. The doctor starts to realize what he blurted out loud. He covers his face in his hands, not daring to make eye contact (or whatever was closest to that) with the Host/newfound target of affection. He opens his mouth in an attempt to amend his spur of the moment confession until he hears the Host's muttered response:

"...The feeling is mutual".

The two of them are both blushing messes and the silence is impenetrable. Dr. Iplier doesn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? How does one typically proceed from here? How does this work?

He breaks the silence with a hastily stammered excuse to grab a damp hand towel and a fresh bandage for the Host's bleeding eye sockets. The doctor gently wipes the blood off the Host's face, dyeing the towel pink.

The Host knew better than to argue about being able to do it himself. "It's my job!" the doctor said every time the Host commented on it, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Whether it be the simple action of bandaging his face or wiping blood off it, Dr. Iplier was always gentle. The doctor was one of the only ones who knew what happened to the Host: what happened to his eyes, what he had done, who he'd hurt. And still, still Dr. Iplier treated him with curtesy and kindness. But why? It was one of the things about the doctor that the Host found intriguing- captivating even. And to think that Dr. Iplier liked him back...

"You are..." the Host pauses, searching for the right word to say next. Although he's a writer and self proclaimed linguist, he can't find another word that conveys the same emotion and feeling. "Beautiful. The Host wishes that he could see you".

"Host, you don't have to. I'm really not," the doctor asserts with a half-hearted chuckle. He tries to focus on helping his patient instead of the burning sensation on his cheeks. At least the Host was stable enough to phase out of talking in first person.

The Host's head tilts to the side, frowning slightly. "You are the kind of doctor and person that others like the Host need, but not necessarily the one they deserve. The Host understands if this is something you aren't comfortable pursuing yet, or ever."

Dr. Iplier scoffs, setting the now bloodstained towel down. "Hold on, you deserve all the care and support in the world, medical or otherwise. Sure you've done horrible things in the past, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness now."

The doctor gingerly unties the Host's bandage to expose closed eyelids caked with dried blood. "Because you're 'beautiful' too. And this-," Dr. Iplier pauses, taking the Host's hand in both his own. "This is something that I want too. If you'll have me".

"Of course," the Host says with a rare smile. It's sweet and small, but the doctor's heart palpitates anyways. "The Host would even like to ask if you were free for coffee or a beverage of your choice later, if you are interested."

"Are you... asking me out?" The Host was always taken aback at how dumb his doctor sometimes was.

"The Host says yes".

"Neat!" Dr. Iplier exclaims a little too enthusiastically, "Um, I'll be there."

He carefully ties the new bandage over the Host's face. The doctor knew the pristine cloth would only stay white for so long until it got stained red again and his patient would have to return. The Host slides off the bed to face Dr. Iplier.

"The Host would like to thank the doctor for his help and for accepting his proposal. The Host also implores Dr. Iplier to put a shirt on." The Host's gaze (if one could call it that) drifts to the floor to try and avoid having his thoughts veer into dangerous territory again.

That explains why the doctor felt so cold. He tries to ignore the sharp spikes of embarrassment stabbing his insides. You know it's bad when a legally blind man points out your dress code infringement (or lack thereof of said "dress").

"Well that's unprofessional of me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"The Host says it's more than fine, just distracting. The Host will leave to let the doctor finish changing."

"Oh."

Dr. Iplier is still unused to all the compliments and to seeing this slightly flirty Host. Not that he was complaining though. He had so many questions and cursed his lack of experience. The Host was halfway out the door when the doctor calls out after him.

"Hey Host, how do you know all this stuff?"

Dr. Iplier knew with 100% certainty that the Host never brought any partners back to the manor (his medical questionnaires tend to be extensive, if not a little insensitive), and he was sure that the Author's experiences didn't really count as the Host's own.

The Host grins mischievously. "You don't know half of the things I write. Maybe I'll show you one day, if you're up to it."

A spot of crimson spreads through the Host's bandages as he shifts into first person. On that note, the Host leaves and the doctor is left with more confusion and a piqued interest.

The doctor grabs a clean shirt, bunching it up and covers his face, groaning. What does the Host write? Where the hell did he get "neat" from? What happened to the less awkward (but not nearly as fulfilling) doctor-patient relationship they used to have?

The doctor finally puts the shirt on and his lab coat over it, falling facedown onto his bed. The headmirror presses uncomfortably against his skull. He didn't know when "later" was for his little date, nor where. Where they going to meet there or were they going together? And holy fuck, what was he going to wear?

-----------------------

Host smiles to himself, walking down the familiar path to his room. For the first time in a long time, he felt content: he finally asked the flustered doctor out, though he didn't expect getting "distracted" or the doctor actually accepting.

He turns a corner to sense some of the other egos crowding the hallway with conniving looks directed towards him. How did they find out so fast? The Host mentally prepares himself for annoyance.

"I hear that someone has been trying to make a move on our good doctor here," Dark announces with a smirk. "I congratulate you Host, I hope the two of find happiness."

Dark sighs wistfully. The others can't tell if he is joking or not when he mutters "they grow up so fast" like a proud parent.

"So~?" Wilford teases in a singsong voice, slinging his arm around the blindfolded man's shoulder and whispers conspiratorially: "didya fuck?"

The others respond with similar curiosity, loudly talking over one another. The Host can sense an imminent migraine at the multiple dialogues and camera panning he has to keep track of. But he appreciates their support nonetheless.

"Can I just establish the fact that I am still the gayest one here? Just saying," Bim affirms as an afterthought.

"The Host asks all of the egos to stop blocking the hallway."

Uh....Mom?

Mother’s Day is a tricky occasion for Sal Fisher.

Warnings for mention of parent death, crying, mourning, anxiety, and mention of mild injury. Sprinkles of fluff with a dash of angst and hurt/comfort. Happy ending(ish. As happy as you can be here, I guess.)

Sorry that formatting does whatever the hell it wants where paragraph spacing is concerned 🙄

-

It was a sunny Friday afternoon in Knockfell, but Sal Fisher’s hunched shoulders and slow trod could snuff out the brightest light that day. He shuffled toward the school doors, usually as hopped up as anyone else to be free for the weekend, but the anxious dread swirling in his gut flushed out the typical weekend excitement.

“Hey, Sal!”

Sally stopped and turned slightly as his best friend reached his side, a wide grin on his lips. “You ready for a weekend of fun, just the two of us, all weekend long?!”

“But, Larry-“

“No excuses this time, dude. We’re gonna beat all 7 levels of-“

“It’s Mother’s Day weekend.”

Larry swallowed his words and froze, staring at Sal in unfiltered horror. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit I can’t forget AGAIN. I forgot last year, and- Aw, MAN. I was so ready for a fun weekend....”

“We can still have fun tomorrow?”

“Nah. I promised Mom I would spend the whole Mother’s Day weekend with her this year since I forgot last year. Dammit. Ah well, we’ll have to settle for chick flicks, but if we fall asleep next to her instead of on top of her, she won’t get as annoyed.”

“We?”

Larry paled just a shade. “W-well since...you know...I thought you might be okay with hanging out with us this year. Henry usually just works anyway, right?”

“Right...”

“So you’re in? Please? You don’t have to help with chores or anything, of course, since she’s not really your mom, but you can keep me company. Pleeeease?”

Something about that stung more than Sal expected. Sal had mourned his birth mother a long time ago, and sometimes the old pains flared up, but...that wasn’t what made his heart stutter and a frown pull at his lips.

“Plus, we’re moving out for college next year, so who knows if we’ll be back!”

“We’re not moving far, Larry.”

“But who knows how busy we’ll be!”

“Fine. Okay. Not like I have anything better to do.”

“Sweeeet! Thanks, Sally Bro. First order of business is to stop by the store for some chocolate. Thankfully, Mom hates cut flowers, so we don’t have to worry about those.” Larry continued to chatter idly beside him, finally noticing Sal’s quiet amid his Mother’s Day planning when they were in the candy aisle of their local market. “Hey,” Larry’s voice suddenly softened, and Sal’s gaze jerked toward him. “If you’re not comfortable being around us this weekend, it’s okay. I understand.”

“N-no. It’s not that. I’d much rather be with you guys than home alone....”

“So....?”

“I, um. Have something....for Lisa.” Larry stopped scanning the shelves and glanced toward Sal with quirked brows.

“Go on.”

“I just....you know....my mom....and Lisa’s been so great since I met her. The keycard when I first came, indirectly introducing us, taking care of me when I was sick-“

“A joint effort, I might add.”

“Right.” Sal sobered from the emotional hysterics he was climbing toward. “I just....I know she’s your mom, Larry; she didn’t actually give birth to me or anything, but she’s just been so good to me-“

“Sally. Dude. Breathe.” Larry put a grounding hand on his shoulder. “You know she loves you, sometimes more than me.” They both chuckled, remembering the countless messes Sal had sweetly cleaned up in Larry’s place. “She wouldn’t think it’s weird at all. I mean, you’re in our family photos, for crying out loud!” Larry chuckled. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, dude, and the closest thing she’s had to a second child. Don’t freak.”

“...And...you’re okay with it?”

“Absolutely, dude.” Larry smiled one of his rare warm, sincere smiles before turning back to the sweets.

“So, what do you think: malt balls with chocolate or just plain chocolate?”

-

“Mom, we’re home!” Larry threw open his front door with a flourish and sauntered into the room toting the card and chocolate he and Sal had picked out.

“Welcome home, boys!” Lisa smiled from the couch as she reclined with an ice pack on each of her shins.

Sal’s heart leaped into his throat, and he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sweetheart; don’t worry.” She smiled at him and sighed, rolling her eyes. “One of those punky little new kids on the 3rd floor thought it would be funny to push my rolling mop bucket toward me as hard as he could. I wasn’t paying attention, and it did a number on my shins. Just a little bruising, though.” She patted his arm when she registered the gleam in his eye and the slight tremor in his hands. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll get those assholes later.” Larry interjected with a bite. “But first, gifts!” He thrust the bag toward his mom, and she clapped her hands together. “Mother’s Day weekend has begun!”

“Ah, so you remembered this year?” Lisa teased lightly, winking at Larry’s pout. “I’m kidding, Lar-Bear. Thank you.”

“No problemo!” Larry puffed up profoundly as he deposited the gift in his mom’s lap. She ooed and ahhed and gushed appropriately at the (grocery store) fancy chocolates and gardening magazines the boys had picked out. “Thank you, baby; you know me well.”

“Sal helped!”

“Thank you, too, Sally.”

Sal nodded, and Larry jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Not to make a happy celebration into an awkward moment, but...”

“Go!” Lisa commanded while patting for Sal to make himself comfortable beside her. “How was your day, bud?”

“It was okay. A Friday. You know. School.” Sal fidgeted, and Lisa pretended not to notice.

“The typical spiel, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Sal took a breath and plunged his hand into his backpack, whipping out a slightly bent envelope and shyly sliding it onto Lisa’s lap.

“What’s this?” She smiled warmly and tore open the paper, her eyes instantly catching the hand drawn design on the front. “Look at this! This is beautiful, Sally! You’re so talented!

“Ash and Larry are great teachers.” Sal muttered modestly; his fidgeting increased in intensity, and he glanced toward the bathroom door. Lisa took the hint easily. She flipped open the card and read silently, tears welling in her eyes as she went; she reached out an arm in silent invitation, and Sal readily collapsed into her side, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder. He felt his prosthetic hit her collar bone, so he took a deep breath and sat back up. He carefully unstrapped the piece and laid it on the coffee table, and then he shifted back against Lisa’s side, more comfortably resting against her shoulder now.

“Thank you, baby. I love you, too.” Lisa turned her head and placed a soft but lasting kiss to the top of his head; she set down the card and pulled him fully into her arms when she felt him trembling. She squeezed tighter when she felt the first sob wrack through his body. “Oh, honey.” She whispered and ran her left hand up and down his spine. “I know. I know. It’s hard for me, too.”

“Mmm?” Sal hiccuped against her shoulder and nestled his face there, guilt nipping at him as the tears slid down his cheeks. He didn’t deserve her comfort, but he couldn’t give it up.

“It’s been 19 years, and it’s still hard sometimes. It’s true what they say. It’s like a scar or an old ache. It’s not constant, and it usually fades over time, but losing a parent, especially too early, is always hard.”

“I....I feel like I never stopped mourning her, but I also don’t feel like I deserve to stop mourning her.” Sal choked out, pitiful whimpers bubbling out of him as Lisa rocked them gently. “Because....it was just so...horrible! And I just....I feel so guilty.” He admitted quietly. “I don’t....after what happened...it was so horrible, and I feel so guilty for moving on. For calling anyone else ‘mom,’ after how much she loved me and suffered at the end. I don’t feel like I deserve anything else!”

“That’s not true.”

Sal jumped a bit in Lisa’s embrace, not having noticed Larry’s return.

“Your mom loved you, and she’d want you to be happy, even if that means saying that you have two moms and not just one. She’s your birth mom and the one who raised you, but my mom is no less your mom because of biology or circumstance.” Larry crosses to the couch and sat on Lisa’s other side, looking Sal straight in the eye. “I’ll happily share her with you, no strings attached, so you shouldn’t feel guilty. I think your mom would be okay just knowing that her son is taken care of.”

“Well said, Lar-bear.” Lisa released one of her arms from around Sal and pulled her son against her side in a hug.

“I’m not super huggy, so you can have as many of those as you want.” Larry shot his mom an apologetic grin as he wiggled out from under her arm.

“Works for me.” Lisa joked, fully holding Sal again and leaning her cheek against the crown of his head, humming and still rocking him slightly as his sobs died down. “Sal’s more snuggly than you anyway.”

Larry scoffed. “I give great gifts, though.”

Larry and Lisa chuckled at the indignant grunt from Lisa’s chest. “I helped.”

“True, but I paid.”

Sally grunted again and tried to burrow into Lisa’s hold, suddenly shy now that the emotions had worn him out. “I....I know that you and my dad....are kind of seriously now. And it’s okay. If you guys...get together for real.” He quirked a sincere smile up toward her. “But... I probably won’t ever call you ‘mom,’” Sal whispered, and two hearts ached at the timidity in his tone. “I just...can’t.”

“Oh, baby, that’s perfectly fine! Lisa works just as well.” Lisa squeezed him against her and slid a hand under his chin to coax him to look up at her. “You call me whatever makes you comfortable, okay?”

“Thank you.” Sal shuddered as the last bits of pain moved through him, and he sighed, letting his exhausted body go limp in Lisa’s arms.

“This calls for a movie night distraction.” Larry cut in, hopping up to peruse their choices. “Comedy sound good?”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah, no more tears tonight, please.” Sally snorted lightly and shifted to face forward, leaning his head back against Lisa’s shoulder as Larry made a movie choice.

“Really. Thank you, Lisa.” Sal whispered toward her ear. “For everything.”

“Absolutely, Sally.” Lisa smiled and pressed a kiss to his discolored cheek. “It’s what moms do.”

Unorthodox

You can’t tell whether you’re fortunate or not to have a guardian demon who thinks it’s funny to go around looking like your idol crush BTS’ Park Jimin.

Writing Prompt; Everyone has a guardian angel except you. You have a guardian demon. He deals with things in a much more violent fashion, but much more effective.

guardiandemon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, a little light, a little anxiety inducing though given what will happen, minor mentions of death and blood but nothing too graphic

word count: 3.7k

Related works: Genuine | 3AM Demon | The Grinch Who Stole New Year | Distance and The Heart

A/N: I thought this prompt was so good for Halloween but....late to the party again.... LOLL Also this is a bit of a mental gymnastic but don’t think too hard on it. Also, BST!Jimin is forever the look™ and I’m still not over it.

“Oh my God Jess that’s so bad!” You laugh as your friend finishes her story. The rest of your group laughs along with you, sharing their own off handed comments on the whole situation she was put in. Eventually, you had to quiet down and reel them back as you had caught stares and looks from the other patrons in the cafe you were all in.

 It’s a Saturday afternoon and granted the place was busier than usual, you still managed to be the loudest bunch, getting a little too carried away with the volume of your voices. You shoot any lingering miffed gazes an apologetic smile as does some of your friends who noticed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve all got together to just hang out, everyone so caught up in their lives that time had become a luxury and any free schedules overlapping becoming as rare as a blue moon.

 So it’s times like these that you cherish, seeing everyone after so long of just the occasional instant messaging that your worries seem to fade. Eventually, your group has decided that perhaps your rambunctious energy needed to be taken elsewhere lest you wanted to disturb the people again. Seeing as how the weather outside is lovely, you all head out to do some city strolling.

 You all chatter amicably with each other, bouncing from one conversation to another. Your group makes it to a park, unanimously settling down under a tree.

 “Did you see BTS’ new song MV?” gasps one of your friends and you return her enthusiasm, eyes alight.

 “Yes! The song was so good! And how they look?!” You pause to inhale, heart palpitating at the memory of the video you watched earlier before meeting up. It was such a good way to start off your day that, as you left your house, you felt nothing could possibly ruin it.

 Or so you thought.

 Amongst the excited conversation, your gaze wanders, taking in your surroundings. It’s no surprise that you see many people walking about and relaxing or having fun in their own way and for a moment, nothing seems out of place until your eyes land on an all too familiar face. You pale, feeling your blood run cold despite the heat of the afternoon sun at the figure lounging just too casually for your taste on the bench with a vantage point straight at you.

 Even from the distance, you see his lips quirk up into a smirk, eyes crinkling in the slightest and you just know that he’s been watching you way before you had even spotted him. You hate this feeling, this sensation of breaking out into a cold sweat when such a face, under any other circumstance, would have brought you a whole slew of other emotions except absolute dread. And you hate him all the more for it.

 “Y/N? Hey, you don’t look so good. You okay?” You hear your friend call but to you, it sounded so far away from the blood rushing through your ears.

 “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I just— I-I think I’m gonna go use the washroom real quick.” You manage to stutter, shooting a shaky smile their way before shooting up to your feet and walking off, not giving them a chance to squeeze in another word.

 You walk the distance heading towards to the washroom but after making sure you’re far enough from your friends’ line of sight, you divert. You circle around to make your way back to the bench you saw him in, only to see that it’s devoid of the occupant you’re looking for. Your mouth gapes in confusion as you scan your immediate area but failing to find the dark cladded figure.

 “Looking for me?” His husky tone breathes so close to your ear that it has you jumping. You whip around to find unmistakable dark eyes gleaming back at you with amusement and mischief.

 “God!” You gasp, nerves still rattled by his sudden appearance. He grimaces a little at the name you called out but you could hardly care, the initial dread transforming into annoyance. “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

 “I don’t think you know how this works, darling.” He replies back coolly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his well-pressed trousers as he leans his weight on one hip.

 “I don’t think you know how this works.” You hiss back, brazenly pointing an accusatory finger at the taller male, your eyes darting about quickly to make sure as few people witness this exchange as possible. He goes to open his mouth but you grab a hold of his wrist to pull him behind a large oak tree. He peers at you in disdain, finding your actions over the top and no doubt unnecessary but he lets it slide; he never understood humans and you’re the weirdest one he’s encountered.

 “You can’t just go around so casually looking like…. that! “ You continue, wildly gesturing to his person.

 “I’m sorry if my taste in clothes are far superior for your small human mind to comprehend.”

 “Not what I mean.” You say through gritted teeth, refraining from outright knocking him over the head (he’d probably end up burning you to a crisp, contract be damned). “I meant looking like a Korean idol that the whole world knows! You’ll be spotted!”  

 “And here I thought you’d be rather pleased that I look like this.” He replies in mock exasperation, running a hand through lush silvery locks as if to further emphasize his point. You find yourself holding your breath, cursing at the butterflies unintentionally fluttering in your stomach. You forcefully remind yourself that no, this is not the person who you think it is despite looking exactly like him. 

 In fact, he wasn’t even a person to begin with.

 “If this isn’t what you wanted, would you rather I go for something…. more natural?” The ruby lustre taking over his eyes as well as his sudden drop in tone startles you into action. You nearly tackle him to prevent any sorts of supernatural events from happening in such an open, public space.

 “No! No, no stop! Not what I meant either!” Your hands grip at his arms, heart thrumming a little in panic at his small threat. He smirks triumphantly at you, causing you to narrow your eyes in a glare before releasing your hold on him in a huff. You never realized dealing with a demon could be such a headache. Rubbing at your temples, you exhale through your nose.

 “Just— Can you not follow me around? Or like, not be so out in the open about it? Again, you literally look like a Korean idol…. that actually exists.”

 “So?”

 So?! You think incredulously. You reel yourself in before you explode again. “So…” You reiterate with much effort, “You’re technically famous— a celebrity. Which means people will lose their minds if they see you and on top of that, if photos of you gets out on the internet, your cover is going to be blown because how can anyone explain why Park fricken Jimin of BTS is here, in North America, when he’s also half way across the world in South Korea?!”

 You’re practically whisper screeching from working yourself up, all the while the carbon copy of one Park Jimin (only that he’s not) watches you with mild interest, looking as impeccable as a marble statue. You stop your tirade to pin him with another seething glare and all he does is quirk his lips. To your astonishment, he throws his head back to let out a bark of laughter. If it was actually Park Jimin, you would’ve swooned and keened at the sight but it makes you glance around nervously to see if it has drawn any attention, thankfully no one seems to notice and was stilling milling about, minding their own business.

 He comes down from his spiel, having the gall to wipe at his eyes too.

 “Oh my sweet cherub,” He breathes and you frown at the pet name, “You actually thought I would waltz around to parade this beautiful face for all to see?”

 You give him a pointed look, one that clearly says, ‘Yes you would, knowing you’. He kisses his teeth; hands on either side of his hips and you’re ready for an incoming sassing.

 “What I’m saying is that you’re more stupid than you look and it offends me that you would think I would be stupid enough to do that. Of course I’m aware.” He huffs indignantly. “Which is why, for your information, demons have cloaking spells; which means you might be able to see me but anyone else won’t.” He then peers down at you like he was explaining something to a child. “Happy?”

 “Could’ve told me sooner.” You snap back in defense, like how were you supposed to know any of that beforehand? Not like he gave you a Demon 101 booklet when you first met.

 “Yeah, but I thought it would be funnier to make you look crazy for talking to thin air.” He sniggers back. At that, you whip your gaze around again, immediately landing on a couple and a family watching you warily from a distant. You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, thoughts running a mile a minute, wondering just how long he actually had this cloaking spell on and was just messing with you.

 Your gaze flits back around, ready to give him a piece of your own hell, only to find empty space. You swear you could physically feel your blood pressure rising and perhaps, to your twisted delight, you would die before having to experience the full extent of what it means to have a demon as your metaphorical guardian angel.

 —

 The day goes on with not seeing so much as a hair from the demon with an angel’s face. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that. You’d spent the rest of the day hanging out with your friends, eventually grabbing dinner together and by the time you’d all said your goodbyes, the sun has long gone down.

 You swiftly make your way down the streets to the nearest subway station, figuring it be much cheaper and faster considering Ubers were much harder to grab on the weekends and in a busy downtown area. Also, the ride wouldn’t be that long anyways.

 Besides, you’re only worry at hand is actually getting to a station; they were practically at least two blocks apart and the chill the night air brings does nothing to settle your growing nerves. Downtown was lovely during the day but at night it’s like all of the shadier things make themselves known. You’re on edge, eyes darting around every so often to be aware of your surroundings as you pick up your pace. 

 Vaguely you hear a man’s gruff voice call out to you but you determinedly ignore it, catching sight of the station’s sign just ahead of you. You make your way down the stairs, heart starting to beat a little erratically as you press your metro pass to the gate and slide through. Once you’ve descended the second flight of stairs leading to the tracks, your nerves starts to settle down.

 The train hadn’t arrived yet, a quick glance up at the monitor informed you that it would be in five minutes, leaving you with no choice but to wait. You heave a breath to yourself, taking out your phone to plug your headphones in. Taking a quick glance around, you find that you’re probably one of three people in the tunnel; a man sitting hunched over on one of the benches looking a little worse for wear and an older lady way down the other end from where you were.

 You think nothing much after, and before you know it the train is pulling up on the tracks. You shuffle in, easily finding a seat given the lack of passengers in your car. Another sigh; you’re halfway to getting home and so far, there’s no hiccups. You relax at the notion, settling into your seat as the train takes off and you wait again until your stop arrives.

 It was about two stops away that things start going south. It starts when the compartment door to your cart slides open, startling you to look up and see the man at the station before you boarded. You duck your head down, not wanting to draw any attention and hoping that he’s just passing through. Luck wasn’t on your side however, as he stumbles and then takes a seat right across from you, the scent wafting from him nearly makes you choke.

 You’re determined to fixate your gaze on your phone, pretending to be scrolling through the same apps you have open, but even then you could feel his heavy gaze on you.

 Please, please hurry up! 

 You steal a quick glance anxiously at the map above you, a small LED light indicating which stop you’ve just left and how far away yours is. It’s then that you hear a gruff voice call out through your headphones. Still, you pretend you didn’t hear and it worked until his voice grew to a volume that it startles you. Nervously, your eyes flit to meet the man and warily take out an earbud.

 “Fuckin’ kids goin’ deaf.” You hear him say under his breath before he roughly grunts, “Got any change on you?”

 You shake your head, quietly replying, “No, I don’t. Sorry.” And you silently prayed that would be the end of that but before you can put your earbud back in, the man speaks again.

 “Where’re you goin’ so late huh?”

 “Just— home. Excuse me.” You keep your answer clipped, shooting up from your seat with the decision to get off this cart at the upcoming station and try to get back on in one where there were other people on. The station the train pulls up is one short from your actual stop but you don’t think you can handle being in the same cart alone with this man, even if it’s just for one more station. You get off, trying to keep yourself from trembling to be as subtle as possible. You’re best bet was that you a) get on a cart that has people or b) he won’t follow you at all and you can possibly catch the next train.

 Unfortunately, neither one happens because out of your peripheral you see his looming figure exit the cart, walking down your way. You pick up your pace, heading more to towards the front of the train but the chimes signaling the doors are about to close catches your attention and you gasp. You bolt into the closest cart and hope that you were much quicker than the man.

 Heart racing, you glance around, finding an empty cart. You’re not sure whether that’s a good sign or not but you’ll take it.

 Just one more stop.

 You chant it like a mantra, too antsy to take a seat now as your mind had taken precautions that if you see any signs of the man again, you would head through the compartment leading to other carts.

 Your station name rings over the PA and you almost jump in joy. As soon as the doors slides open, you’re out of there. You make quick work of the steps, leading up from the tracks and then exiting the station. The orange tinge of the streetlights offer little comfort to you as the prospect of having to clear one more block before getting to your house looms at the forefront of your thoughts.

 You steel yourself and walk at a faster pace than usual, head down and clutching your bag in a vice grip. You round the corner of the convenient store, a checkpoint. You’re nearly there.

 “Hey, girlie.”

 You spoke too soon, so hyper focused on just getting home that you miss out on a group of guys hanging around off the side of the store (doing God knows what). Your strides, though fast, were not long enough to outpace the figure coming up beside you.

 “Where you going so late?”

 You shrink away from him, trembling as you try to maintain as much distance as you can without having to put yourself out on the road. You think, quite frustratingly, why do they not have anything better to do as you stubbornly ignore his advances, and very close to straight up running. 

 “Shouldn’t be out here on your own like this.” You catch the sentence too close for comfort and that was the final straw to push you into a run. You don’t get far however, as a large hand roughly grasps you by the elbow, jerking you off balance.

 “Hey! I’m talking to you. It’s rude to ignore someone who’s—“

 “Don’t touch me!” You shout, voice bordering hysteria. You rip yourself from the man’s hold with as much force as you can and it causes you to stumble a little. For the first time, you catch sight of three figures, the one speaking being closer to you compared to what you assume are his friends, trailing not too far behind but you don’t care to put a face to your harasser.

 “What the fuck! Why you gotta be such a bitch for?!” The hand makes a grab for you and snags your bag. The force this time gives you a whiplash, shoulder pulled painfully and you whimper, feeling tremors go through your body uncontrollably now with tears threatening to overtake your sight.

 Your mind flies into a panicked state, seconds away from abandoning your  bag altogether and just making a run for it when the street lamps overhead flickers. All at once, they go out along with any light source within the area because suddenly everything is so dark.

 It all happened so fast.

 The weight is lifted off of you, a chill settling over and then you hear an ear-piercing shriek. You can’t tell if it’s your own or something else as a cacophony of noises fill your ears.

 Indecipherable shouting.

 Scraping.

 Crunching.

 Gurgling.

 Disembody voices.

 And then silence.

 It felt like you had been trapped in a whirlwind, shaking violently from the aftermath of it and so disoriented you hadn’t realized you’ve curled in on yourself with eyes shut tight until a soft voice coaxes at you.

 “Y/N….” 

 It’s familiar, you’ve heard the lilt many times before and it so easily calms your hyperventilating. Despite the comfort it brings however, the strangeness of hearing such a voice so close to you creeps back in. A warm hand brushes against your own held to your ears and though the touch is gentle, you still flinch. The hand retracts momentarily before the voice speaks to you again.

 “Y/N…deep breaths and look at me, Y/N.” It’s a soft command and you do as you’re told, breathing in deeply and exhaling a couple of times before finally peeling your eyes open.

 Your vision is slightly blurred from unshed tears, but you make out his handsome, young face and silvery locks in the orange dim of streetlights. His deep ruby eyes bore into yours steadily, expression stoic if only for his gaze to betray the concern reflecting in them. He blinks and they’re back to being a deep brown.

 “That’s my girl.” He praises with a small smirk, voice no louder than a murmur as his hand engulfs yours in a warm hold. An overwhelming urge to be close to him takes over, as if your body and mind is crying with relief at the sight of a safe haven and before you can think straight, you rush forward, collapsing into him with hands feebly finding purchase on his black button down shirt. 

 “Jimin….” You croak out, care and logic thrown out the window because you so desperately need something to anchor you down right now and his was a face that your mind knew could do you no harm, like it was second nature. He doesn’t seem to mind; gathering you in his arms all the same and gently cradles you.

 “Easy now…shhh easy.” You hear him coo as you bury your face into his neck until your senses flood with his scent; a surprising combination of lavender, vanilla and spices. His hands rub soothing circles around your back until the shaky breaths you exhale return to normal. 

 He helps you to stand slowly, minding the small tremors that erupt every so often from you and the way he’s treating you like he’s handling delicate glass is so unlike how he normally is that it makes you want to double-take.

 “Are you hurt?” He pulls away from you slightly if only for that moment to ask, though he takes the liberty to look you over himself anyways without waiting for your reply. You shake your head no, voice still feeling as if it’s stuck in your throat. As he’s wiping away a stray tear, you bring your gaze to take a good look at him, eyes drawing up to take in his full height. His silvery coiffed hair is still immaculate as ever and his face is picture perfect, flawless except….

 You reach up in spite of your shaky hands to decipher what it is that marred his otherwise porcelain complexion when he stops you. He gently guides your hand away before reaching up with his own to swipe at his cheek. Your Jimin doppelganger tsked at the sight, indifferently wiping his soiled fingers onto his shirt.

 “Nothing for you to worry about, darling.” He says, smiling at you so angelically. You blink, perplexed until slowly, your mind starts to catch up with the events that transpired.

 “W-Where—?” You make to turn your head around, looking for your assailant but again, he stops you by taking a hold of your chin and directing it back to him.

 “Ah, ah, eyes on me sweetheart. Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about anymore. You’re safe.” 

 “But—“

 “Shh... Sleep.” His hand gently cups your cheek and with his whispered words, your mind is overcome with a sudden haze and your eyelids droop shut.

 He catches you mid-fall, scooping you up in his arms as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. He kisses his teeth again, annoyance rolling off of him in waves as his eyes narrow down on his also soiled shoes.

 Whatever.

 At least you didn’t notice that.

 Nor the streaks of blood leading to the dumpster.

A Fun Family - Part 2 (George Weasley x Reader)

Characters: George x Reader, featuring Gilly x Harry, Fred, Ron, and Molly.

Genre: Romance (slow pace), fluff

Part 1: http://needleandfred.tumblr.com/post/171745498850/a-fun-family-part-1-george-weasley-x-reader

Warnings: Mild swearing

Word Count: approx 2,500

Part 2 of this series. Y/N (your name) is there for Gilly when she faces an embarrassing situation with Harry Potter. Meanwhile, Y/N and George try to become closer in the Weasley chaos. The pace of this story is very slow as to make it more like a real story than just an imagine. Part 3 will be around very soon, I’m still not sure how many parts this series will have, most likely more than 3. Again, I genuinely hope you guys enjoy it, and I am open to requests.

For a more immersive experience, I recommend this Burrow ambience to listen to while reading: https://youtu.be/gLPRWJgQkFY

______________________________________________________________

You were panting and your breath wheezing as you ran so fast in the rain. The road to the Burrow was muddy, and the thought that you might slip and break your neck at any moment crossed your mind, but it didn’t stop you. You had to get there as soon as you possibly could, clenching a folded up note in your hands, with the rain turning your fingers blue. Finally, you could see the tall patched-up building through the mist. As you approached the door you knocked, a constant, quick knocking with your painful knuckles. The door swung open, sucking you inside as you leaned on it. Behind the door was a very shocked looking Ron, a brother of Ginny’s, smaller than the twins but with hair just as fiery.

“Ginny, what is it?” you yelled, searching the house for her. “Ginny?”

“What the bloody hell is this about?” asked Ron.

“She flew me a note.” You read it allowed, “Come to the Burrow quick, extremely urgent! Bring umbrella.”

“I don’t see an umbrella” he pointed out.

“Well, she said it was urgent.”

Ron rolled his eyes and pointed his finger upwards. “She’s upstairs. Been there all day, wouldn’t come out of her room for breakfast.”

You scrambled up the stairs and up to her door, quietly knocking and whispering “Ginny, it’s alright, it’s me.”

As the door creaked open you saw a girl with a face red and sore from her tears. And with giant blue bumps all around her neck. She jumped face first onto her bed and cried while you locked the door behind you.

“What the….” You hesitated, not wanting to come off as insensitive. “Ginny, what happened? Please tell me.”

“I made myself disgusting, that’s what happened” She mumbled her words into the blankets. “It was an accident, I’m so stupid.”

You rubbed her back. Seeing Ginny like this was not only new to you but made you feel like there was a darkness surrounding you. She was usually so strong, how could some hiccup like this upset her so much? “It’s alright Ginny, I’m sure it’s easily sorted. There must be a potion for it we could put together. What was it that you were trying to do anyway?”

She looked up at you with her watery eyes. “I was just trying a scent potion, it’s like a perfume but is meant to have some mild emotional effects on people, and it lasts all day. But I messed up, didn’t I? I’m so bloody stupid.” She buried her face back into the pillow. “And it doesn’t even matter if I can fix it or not because Harry is going to see me like this, he’s on his way today. He’s going to think I’m gross and stupid, and ugh.”

Harry Potter. The name she had mentioned quite a bit to you about. From the way she spoke about him, you realised why dreaded him seeing her like this so much. “But from what you’ve said about him, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to think those things about you. I’m sure he’d understand.”

You gave her a pep talk, which eventually ended with her laughing underneath her red, teary face. She was eventually convinced by you to get dressed, brush her hair, and wear the biggest scarf she had around her neck. Although it didn’t help with the bad odor the blue pustules were giving off.

She slowly came down the stairs, grabbing onto your arm, fear in her eyes. As she reached the bottom step, Ron came up to the two of you and tried to tug on her scarf.

“What’s this about? Since when are you so sensitive to the cold Ginny?” He teased. You whacked his hand away from her.

“Leave it Ron” Ginny snapped. “Can I for once just have some peace?”

You both sat at the large kitchen table as Molly placed lunch in front of you. Ginny feeling starved, dived right into it. You could hear the upstairs floors shaking above you as the twins ran down to the kitchen, they waltzed in followed by Ron and fell into the chairs around the table.

“What’s happening here, Ginny?” Molly asked, reaching for the scarf. “Hiding something?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She protected the garment with both her arms.

“Probably a bad attempt to cover some hickies.” Fred chimed in.

“Make-up not enough for the love bites, eh Sis?” George followed.

Ginny frowned at them, “Shut it!” she snapped “Mum it’s nothing like that okay?”

Molly flung the soup off of a large spoon towards the twins in disapproval. “It’s okay, just let me have look, I’m your mother, there’s nothing that could surprise me, dear.” She gently went up to the back of Ginny’s neck, pulled the fabric and peered inside. “What in the name of Merlin are those bloody things on your winter skin, Ginny?” She gasped so hard that she had to take a seat. Ginny sunk her head onto the table in embarrassment. The three boys all shot up from their chairs, attempting to take a look in excitement.

“Wow, you Dorcus.” Ron commented on the ghastly sight, “Ever thought of actually reading the directions properly before you attempt a potion or whatever dumb idea this was?”

Ginny scowled at him,“Oh, like you’ve never messed up a spell before. Slug mouth.” The twins laughed.

Molly pushed everyone out of the kitchen, except for Ginny. Attempting to sort out the mess. The four of you stared at each other, the boys bursting with laughter, and your mouth trying to hold in any giggling for the sake of your friend. You couldn’t help it though, their laughter was just too contagious.

“Poor Ginny, though,” said Ron, his laughter slowing down, “Harry’s coming over soon, him seeing her like this is really going to do her head in.” The others also looked concerned.

“Mum can probably sort it out.” Said George hopefully.

“And if she can’t, then at least she’s got the scarf.” Added Fred.

There was a silence between all of you until Ron broke it. “Did..did the rest of you smell what I could smell?” The group then giggled together again.

As you all sat down on the sofa together, George sitting closest to you, since you were finally away from Ginny for once. Ron started on an anecdote about Harry Potter and his friend Hermione, you didn’t know these people, except by reputation, so the story meant little to you. George somehow could sense this, and started to exclude himself from the conversation. He always had some empathy for you, even though he knew little about you (except all the answers to the questions he tried to asked Ginny, without coming off as obviously smitten), he sympathised that you were a stranger, surrounded by a large family that had their own way of living. He noticed that not many people took the time to ask you questions, but he didn’t want to ask you himself, in case he came across as nosy or creepy in any way. Fred and Ron continued chatting about their schoolmates, while George looked at you through the corner of his eye. You saw through yours what he was doing and turned to his face. You didn’t look straight into his face very often, you were quite self-conscious about staring at people. It was nice that you now had a moment to really take in his features. You saw laughter lines and dimples that you hadn’t taken in before, as well as some mild stubble along his cheeks. You darted your eyes away, that was enough. “He’s going to notice,” you thought.

“Does that mean anything?” He broke the silence, touching your wrists. He could see that you looked confused. “The charm on the bracelet. I just wondered if had a meaning or something.” He nudged the charm with his finger.

“Oh no, not exactly. I just picked it up, it’s second hand. I thought it looked pretty.” You thought for a moment that he was expecting you to say something really cool and classy. But that was the truth. He was really thinking how down to earth you were.

“It is pretty,” he said, “So pretty.” You looked to see his direct eye contact, and his eyes then darted away.

You felt lost for words like you always did around him. He was about to speak but was suddenly interrupted by Ron who was peeking out the window. “He’s here! Harry’s here!”

Harry was greeted by hugs from everybody except for you and Ginny, who although she wanted, due to her condition gave him an awkward fist bump which made the siblings smile at each other. You shook his hand, he seemed like a sweet polite boy. But you didn’t speak to him much, everyone seemed to have so much to tell him. After a while you considered walking home, everyone’s attention was on Harry and you didn’t want to intrude.

You walked over to the coat hooks, planning to say goodbye to Ginny before you went out into the rain. But as you reached up for your coat, a hand larger than yours leaned onto it. You looked to see George towering over you, smiling with his eyes. “You weren’t actually going to leave were you?”

“Well...uh...I just felt that it would be best if I let everyone get to it…” You stuttered.

“But you can’t just leave me here on my own” He moaned, “Besides there’s a storm out there, you could get struck by lightning or something”

You laughed, “It’s only a bit of rain, George!” You could see he wasn’t only joking, he genuinely hated the thought of you walking away alone in the pouring rain.

“It’s pissing it down!” He contradicted, “Come on, at least stay until it stops.” He looked at you pleadingly. You let you face tell him that you would. Delightedly he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the lounge where no one else was. You could hear the voices of the others in the kitchen, as well as the crackling of the fire and the rain violently smashing into the windows. A wind charm was outside, sounding like it was about to break. You pulled your knees up to your face as you sat on the couch. He sunk into the cushions beside you, looking relaxed with his head leaning back, letting out a deep breathe and resting his eyes.

George then cleared the comfortable silence. “Ron mentioned that you came running in the rain this morning, to come and see Ginny because she was upset.” You nodded humbly. “Well, I think you should know that it’s really quite sweet of you. She should have felt like she could have spoken to us, her brothers about it. But she didn’t think she could, she trusted you. I know that we are provoking her a lot, but, just, thanks for looking out for her is all I mean.”

You didn’t know how to reply without sounding smug, so you just smiled. You heard even louder laughter and shouting coming from the kitchen. “Wow, it must be weird living in such a busy house, like living in a pub or something.” You overthought what you said, “I mean I suppose it’s not really, your used to it, I don’t know.”

“It does get sort of...heavy, I guess.” I stared at you, watching your eyes flicker as you thought. “I mean, I like it, I love it even. But it can be exhausting after a while, I don’t think Fred really gets that. What about you? I see you standing with us, watching the bustle around you, it must be weird taking in so many people bickering, I take it your family isn’t like this?” You told him about your family, he could tell that you loved them, but it seemed like you were more suited to the Burrow. He could understand why you liked spending so much time with his nutty family now, not that he was complaining. He would encourage their craziness if it meant you would be there more.

You started to feel the chill, holding yourself to keep warm and wrapping your scarf around you. He looked at the goosebumps on your arms and then noticed the fire had died down. He slid off the sofa and crouched by the fireplace, poking it with the fireside tools, black soot gathered on his hands. You crouched next to him and blew on the fire and gently blew into it, a small flame rose up from the ashes, not wild, but enough to feel the touch of its heat. You turned toward him, and him to you. Your scarf slowly slipped from your shoulder down towards the fire and George caught it with his hand, holding it to your side, covering you with soot but you didn’t notice. You only noticed the light reflecting in his eyes and the warmth of his breath close to your face.

Then the door behind you banged as it hit something while being swung open, letting in a cold draught as well as Harry and Ginny. The two of you stayed quiet, watching to see what on earth they were doing in here. They appeared to be giggling at one another, the dread-filled girl you saw earlier that day had gone, she was now charmed by Harry talking sweetly to her. They started whispering rather quietly, you and George couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then you and he realised how weird you were both being, and decided to jump up.

“Hellooo!” You both said simultaneously. Ginny and Harry jumped, grabbing each other's arms.

“What were you guys doing…”Ginny started, but then decided it was not appropriate in front of Harry, especially since you and George could ask her them the same thing. “Y/N, I thought you left?”

“I was leaving, but I decided to leave when the rain had stopped.” All of you turned your heads towards the window. The rain had stopped. “Oh... Right.” You looked at George, he didn’t want you to go. “It was nice meeting you Harry, I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled and nodded, feeling awkward in the situation. You stepped forwards towards the door, George subtly grabbed hold of your arm, but you kept walking. His hand falling down to your fingers, marking you with the black soot, and letting go as you walked out of reach. “I’ll see you soon Ginny”.

As you got close to the front door George caught up with you, the family had slowly spread out of the kitchen and called their goodbyes to you. George reached above you to your coat, as he handed it to you his fingers nuzzled yours underneath the fabric. You both grinned at each other, looking forward to the next meeting.

“Damn you, Ginny.” you thought, as you walked away from the Burrow.

ADHD Sides

Most of the ADHD headcanons have been of Patton which is nice, but imagine an alternate universe where we’re considering all of them. Okay? Okay.

Patton

Hyperactive-impulsive type

He doesn’t actually have that many problems with attention, he’s just hyperactive and impulsive as heck

Feels a lot. Feels many things. Sometimes it’s hard for him to even understand how much he’s feeling.

Likely to bounce on the balls of his feet and grip his hands tight and curl his lips in and make noise to regulate the flow of energy

Is the type to just kind of accept the consequences of his impulsive decisions.

Well I wanted to touch the pretty hot wax and I did and now my finger hurts. Oh well, I know first aid.

Well I wanted Thomas to eat an entire pie and he did and now our stomach hurts really bad. Ah well. It tasted good.

Stutters when he’s excited

Gets super passionate about things he likes and can’t figure out how to properly express it.

Constantly moving, swaying even when he’s standing properly.

Roman

Combined type

Has approximately 1,245.7 unfinished projects.

Sometimes when you’re talking to him he’ll be writing in a book or humming to himself or practicing sword moves and you’ll think he’s not paying attention but then later will be able to recite word for word what you said.

Will change the subject at random times because he can’t hold in what he has to talk about and he’s been thinking about it forever. (Actually about 30 seconds but who can tell the difference)

Has 10,000 things he’s thinking about at any given time. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Hey, Thomas wants a talking owl so bad okay?

Fidgets and stims in subtle ways like how he moves his fingers or rubs his toes against the inside of his shoes or something. It’s been drilled into his head he should be proper so he fidgets in really subtle ways.

If he was unimpeded he would be jumping and flapping his arms all over the place. The closest we saw of him losing control would’ve been the I’m in a Disney show video.

First impulse: Attack! Oops I just almost took Morality’s entire face off.

Brain works at the speed of light, making connections others might take hours to see. Helps with creative projects.

If he’s not interested he just can’t pay attention. Would rather fight something or take a nap.

If it’s not interesting or leading to what he wants then literally what is the point of doing it he doesn’t understand

Hyper focuses when he’s cleaning because he’s kind of a neat freak. If you bother him when he’s cleaning his nails prepare to be decapitated because he’s completely absorbed in what he’s doing.

Same if he’s acting or giving a speech. Interrupting him while he’s doing this is basically suicide.

Will never stay still for more than ten minutes. He needs to be doing something. Watching tv. Cleaning. Working on a project. Coming up with a joke. Something. Anything. Needs to do something.

Logan

Innatentive type, but pretty mild

Gets hyperfixated on things. Mystery novels, astronomy, big words, chemistry. Lowkey constantly thinking about it 24/7.

Either feels everything at once or nothing at all. Hours or days of almost no emotion and being unimpressed and then a few seconds of really intense emotion.

He’s usually pretty surprised by his own outbursts but sometimes he catches them. Even so, it’s pretty obvious when he’s trying to repress them.

Certain subjects are really touchy and can set him off in a second. Sometimes they don’t make any sense, even to him. Like when someone insults his nonexistent mother.

Sometimes he’ll see something like a ball or eraser flying at his head and think “I should move out of the way now.” but he doesn’t and gets hit with it.

Sometimes does the thing where he’s concentrating so hard on one thing that he forgets to breathe for a few seconds.

Doesn’t or can’t always think about the emotional consequences of what he’s saying until after he says it. He has social skills, sometimes they just take a break for a few seconds.

“Obvious” things can fly over his head. A lot. He’s not mad when they’re pointed out to him usually though. He’s used to it by now.

Clicks pens and taps on things to no end. Probably has a fidget toy he can subtly play with in his pocket. Shakes his leg when at desks.

Sometimes when he’s thinking really hard about a problem he’ll stand or sit completely still for hours on end and it can look a little disturbing.

Sometimes it’s the complete opposite. When you hear constant footsteps coming from Logic’s room you know he’s thinking a lot and really fast.

Often thinks by talking. It’s common for the others to hear him talking to himself. It’s just how he processes information. Also why he talks so much and exposition dumps during debates.

Will work on something for hours and then suddenly come out of it and be like “Wait a moment. Did I forget to eat again?” And then realizes he’s really thirsty and hasn’t gone to the restroom all day.

Virgil

Inattentive type

Can’t sit in one position. Will sit on the arm of the couch, upside down on the couch with his feet on the wall, on the floor, hunched over, sitting up straight, lying down, and cross-legged all in the space of twenty minutes.

If he can’t keep changing positions he can’t think, and if he can’t think he becomes more anxious, and that is never good.

Multitasking addiction. Will watch tv, scroll through Tumblr, tidy his area, and make a list all at the same time while quietly planning what he wants for dinner in his head.

Like Logic, his emotions are often all or nothing. Just not quite as extreme in how fast this changes. (he doesn’t really have outbursts and his periods of feeling too much last a bit longer so it’s a bit easier to not show them)

Sometimes this leads to him not caring about the full consequences of what he says and sometimes caring too much about what he says. Switching between villain ‘do whatever it takes to get this done damn the emotional consequences’ mindset and self-conscious ‘oh dear god I destroy everything I touch’ mindset.

Often this switch happens subtly in the space of a few seconds, like in the originality video.

He has better impulse control then Patton or Creativity but it still can be a problem sometimes. Catch him drinking an entire pot of coffee at four in the afternoon and then crashing for twelve hours because he forgot that caffeine makes him tired.

Tends to focus on information he thinks helps him. Finds information that contradicts his point of view to be boring or frustrating. See: My Negative Thinking.

Will fidget by biting his fingers or nails when he’s scared or concentrating. He’s trying to stop biting his fingers and skin to fidget but sometimes he realizes he’s doing it without thinking.

Has mastered the art of carrying on a conversation while only knowing half the information.

Can hyperfocus on problems or distressing things and doesn’t find it fun but is so absorbed in it that he can’t stop.

Hyperfixations can include things like conspiracy theories, aesthetic related emo/goth stuff, and whatever problems he thinks the rest of the mind is creating.

Breaking routine is frustrating. If it’s broken he gets mad and might forget to do simple things like shower or eat.

Not the Same

Luffy takes a bath with Zoro for the first time since the two year separation, and finally has the chance to inspect his first mate's body for any changes, some more unpleasant and unwelcome than others.

zoroxluffy - one shot

"Zoro, you have so many new scars."

"Huh?" Zoro didn't bother opening his eyes, sinking lower into the warm, soapy water with a huff instead. "Yeah, well so do you."

To be honest, Zoro wasn't surprised at the serious direction the conversation seemed to be going. He knew something was up the minute Luffy asked - well, pestered - him to take a bath with him, though the fact it was about scars surprised Zoro a little more than he liked. He had always considered himself well attuned with Luffy's sporadic and usually unpredictable nature, though this time he had been caught off guard.

It was unsettling. Had he really lost that tight connection with his captain in those two years spent without him? It was almost too painful to think about.

"Yeah, but..." The sound of uncertainty laced between each word that fell clumsily out of his usually very certain captain had Zoro's one eye lazily inching open. What met him next had him widening the eye even farther.

Luffy, one hand out stretched towards Zoro, fingers centimetres away from Zoro's face, right above his scarred eye, his other hand clutched tightly on the painful-looking starburst scar on his own chest, and his face... Oh god his face. It was a look of anguish so incredibly pain filled that it had even Zoro breathless, and he'd seen his fair share of sad Luffy expressions. He'd thought Luffy's tearful expression when Usopp left the crew had been bad enough, if not the worst he thought he'd see his captain's face display, yet here he was, again surprised with the turn of events.

If not for the hand that splayed over his chest, Zoro would have wondered, no, worried, what it was that Luffy was thinking of that brought him so much agony. But he knew.

Ace. Luffy's irreplaceable big brother, the one who had died in his arms in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of judging eyes. And Zoro hadn't been there, damnit, he hadn't been there for the one, most probably only, time his precious captain had needed him most. That hurt. That hurt a lot, especially when Luffy had been there for all the times Zoro had messed up, had been there to push him on with a grin and that infuriatingly contagious shishishi laugh of his that lit up even the darkest of days.

Zoro wasn't an idiot. He knew the others probably felt the same, actually he knew they felt the same, since all eyes had fallen onto their captain's clearly displayed new addition to his numerous scars, and all eyes had been the same: regret. Guilt. Pain.

Once the hype of reuniting had died down and the excitement had bubbled down to a nearly tolerable state of rippling buzz, Zoro had watched as one by one the crew mates had given in to their emotions and finally let the smiles fall from their faces as they regarded the still smiling captain.

His smile hadn't faltered, hadn't lessened from its dazzling brightness, yet everyone still automatically knew. He wasn't the same. While they had been separated, unable to get to his side, Luffy had been put through an unbearable nightmare alone, with no comfort able to be given to him by his nakama.

Of course he would be affected, of course he would not be alright, but Zoro had never imagined him to be this badly not alright.

"L-Luffy?" He stuttered, when the expression got too much and it hadn't morphed into Luffy's usual cheerfulness.

Something close to recognition suddenly filled Luffy's darkened eyes, and he instantly brought a quick smile to his face, the pain gone in a second. "Shishishi, sorry 'bout that, Zoro. Was thinking too hard." He dropped his hands back into the water and started popping the soap bubbles, the cheeky glint back once more in his eyes, though Zoro could feel different.

It was the same smile, same laugh, same face and same voice, and yet it wasn't the same. Just as Zoro had acquired a new scar that was accompanied by its own emotional baggage, Luffy had also acquired his own share of a scar, though it came with an emotional baggage that far surpassed the amount that Zoro wanted his captain to have, surpassed what he even considered tolerable.

It was then that he understood what Luffy had been trying to say about the scars.

Swallowing down any doubts about how wrong what he was about to do was, he lifted a hand out to press lightly against Luffy's exposed chest, his fingers gently, more gentle than he had ever touched anything before in his life, pressing against the red star of a scar.

At the light touch, Luffy made a noise of shock, or perhaps even mild pain, which immediately had Zoro still, his one eye flashing to his captain's face to assess the damage. His wide, dark eyes and slightly open mouth, however, held nothing of displeasure, which encouraged Zoro to continue the exploration, albeit with a bit more confidence.

The scarred skin was tight and still unbelievably hot, seemingly humming through the glossy flesh, which slightly shocked Zoro. He had read the newspapers regarding the incident, had obsessed over it, so he knew the basic story of how Luffy had gotten the burn, had even begged Mihawk for any details.

Akainu, the brutally tough admiral marine that could turn any part of his body into magma and could burn anything in his path, including grieving, young pirates. His magma did not discriminate, and most definitely did not hold back on pirates whose mind had, by all reports, completely broken, if they were in its path. And Luffy had been unfortunate enough to be included in that bloody path.

Closing his eye, his whole hand now pressed tightly against the hot scar, Zoro felt anger roar through his body. He should have been there, should have tried harder to get there. If he had been there, maybe Luffy wouldn't have gotten that scar, maybe he wouldn't have hurt so badly. Goddamnit, he was the worst first mate in the history of first mates. He wasn't even able to be there to shield his captain when he was supposed to.

How embarrassingly shameful.

What was the point of chasing his dream and being by his captain's side forever if he couldn't even guarantee that?

"Zoro~!" Luffy sighed out, his own hand lifting to softly tap against Zoro's wrist. "Now you're the one thinking too hard."

With his eye open, Zoro saw the smile that graced his captain's face, noticed the tightness that pulled at the edges of his mouth, tight with something Zoro infuriatingly couldn't identify. He really had been away from his captain for too long.

"Hmm." But he let go anyway, pulling away to lean against the side of the bath, one cool, grey eye steadily regarding the grinning boy in front of him.

Luffy's expression, after a second, crumbled into a thoughtful frown. "Neh, Zoro?"

A tightness instantly formed in Zoro's chest. Neh, Zoro's never ended well.

Luffy, however, was completely oblivious of the uncomfortable feeling growing in his first mate in front of him. "Neh, Zoro, if I was... If I was the one that had been captured by the marines and was going to be executed instead of... Ace... Would you have done what I did?" If Zoro thought he had been shocked by Luffy for the last time that night, he was completely wrong.

The scenario ran through his head, the thought so painful and so entirely excruciating, that he was unable to say a word, body frozen and heart aching. If that had happened, Zoro would have been seething, completely and utterly so distressed, he would have laid down his life to reach his captain. He would have slain any marine and pirate alike that tried to get in his way.

He would have truly been the demon his reputation had deemed him to be.

Luffy, however, took the frozen and silent swordsman to be confused. "I mean, would you have saved me, Zoro?"

"Of course," Zoro replied, this time with no hesitation and a whole lot of conviction. "I would have done everything you did and more to get to your side, captain."

Luffy's answering grin was spectacular and so finally Luffy that Zoro felt the worry he hadn't realised he'd been accumulating over his brooding captain release from his body as he sank lower into the cooling water.

This was what he had waited for, so impatiently. The smile that was the same. Because he understood what Luffy had said about his scars, he understood the look of agony and the lapse of confidence Luffy had shown him. He understood it all.

Lifting a finger, Zoro pressed it softly into Luffy's scar, lifting his other hand to touch a finger to his scarred eye. Luffy, once more, opened his eyes in shock, a wordless look of confusion filling his young yet seemingly old features.

"I understand," Zoro stated, simply. "It's the same, isn't it? It's the same, but it's not the same."

This time, when Luffy smiled, it was small yet somehow right. This time, when Luffy touched Zoro's wrist, it was to unclench his hand to press into his own, his rubber fingers massaging the fingers apart until he could slide them in-between them, a warmth radiating from his skin that instantly sent a jolt of heat to Zoro's chest. This time, Zoro didn't pull away, and this time... This time he smiled back.

My Idol: Part Twenty

My Idol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Wednesday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in specific missions to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what three idols will move on to the second date.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22

Around every corner was a new and welcomed surprise. Well, at least Jaebum had been half right. As you turned down a new street corner, hand in hand, you heard the voice before you were able to see who it belonged to. Barreling along the pavement was a girl not much older than sixteen, school books in hand. You looked her up and down as she halted in front of you, stopping your forward progress toward your much anticipated date location. You looked over your shoulder slowly, making eye contact with Armpit and Sweaty to gauge if this was somehow a situation production had set up, but they looked just as surprised as you were. 

You turned your attention back to the girl and felt Jaebum’s hand tense under your touch. One of her adidas sported untied laces, caked in dirt. Socks uneven and plaid skirt hanging limply from her body, she pushed her hair back nervously as she attempted to regain her breath. She wheezed and adjusted thick glasses before looking at the two of you nervously. 

“Wait...Is this an actual date?”

Jaebum laughed bitterly beside you and retracted his hands from yours. He crossed his arms and allowed a stern smile to find his face. “We are currently filming, yes.”

You furrowed your brows, caught off guard by his sentiment. A simple yes would have been pertinent. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you!” the girl gasped, her cheeks growing more flush with the words she spoke. “But you don’t understand. I’m a My Idol super fan. I’ve never loved a show so much in my life. I’ve watched every episode at least twice and I run a blog all about it. You can follow me -”

“We appreciate that,” you nodded, trying to plaster on a smile as well. You looked over to Jaebum who’s smile more closely resembled a snarl and elbowed him lightly. He immediately straightened up and nodded as well. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Without fans, there would be no show,” he muttered quickly. 

“I was wondering...if um...if um you’d take a photo with me?” the girl asked carefully, pushing up her lenses again. “You don’t have to if you’re in a hurry, but you don’t know how much I’d appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Jaebum nodded, immediately relaxing into idol mode. He instinctively stood beside the girl who began to giggle nervously. 

“I was...actually wondering if I could get a photo with both of you?” the girl stuttered, pulling out her phone. 

You lifted your brows as you attempted to understand her request. “You want me in the picture?”

“You’re the lead!” the girl gasped. “I could only hope to grow up and be on a show like this sometime! You’re a role model!” 

You winced as she spoke the words. Yet another facet of the My Idol experience you had never considered, your effect on South Korea’s youth. You felt conflicted. You had never wanted them to aspire to be in your position. If they valued their mental health, surely they wouldn’t wish for it either, but that wasn’t something you could mention aloud. You nodded shortly, shaking yourself out of your daze and stepped toward Jaebum. 

“I appreciate that,” you said quietly, easing in to the already queued camera screen on the girls phone. 

“Alright, on three, My Idol!” the girl squeaked. She clicked repeatedly on the capture button, taken at least a dozen photos of your faces. 

“Thanks for stopping to say hello,” JB hummed with a short bow. 

“What is it like?” the girl continued, completely ignoring Jaebum’s words as she stared directly at you. Her eyes were wide as she analyzed you, looking as if she were at a museum. “Dating all of these idols? Were you happy with who the audience selected? What made you pick Jay Park over Top? Does production influence your decisions? I would’ve picked Top, even if production told me not to. Doesn’t it seem like Jay Park seems too concerned with winning the competition and not your hear-”

“Time to go,” Armpit grumbled, giving both you and JB a quick shove in the shoulder. You both stumbled past the girl, in mild amazement at the amount of questions she had gotten out in such a short amount of time. It felt as if you had whiplash from her words as you continued down the sidewalk, void of conversation. 

Jay Park seems too concerned with winning the competition and not your heart...The words echoed eerily in your mind as you struggled beside Jaebum. 

“Fans are weird,” JB sighed, shaking his head. He wrapped his arm tenderly around your waist and squeezed reassuringly at your hip. The motion brought you back down to an intense reality fairly quickly as you glanced down at his narrow fingers. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, unsure of what to say. 

“Well, looks like we’re here!” JB nodded, a smile finding it’s way back onto his face. “Cat’s Attic”

“I can feel the excitement radiating off of you,” you chuckled. “Should we go i-”

JB breezed past you and toward the front door of the cat cafe. He tugged open the heavy glass, barely holding it open for you as he sauntered inside. You were caught off guard by the action, but couldn’t help but laugh. You had never seen a grown man so excited by something so simple before. 

You entered the cafe behind Jaebum and shifted to survey the man before you. While the surroundings and happenings of the cafe seemed to thrive in color for Jaebum, they faded into the background for you. He was what was thriving before your eyes. The excitement on his face was reminiscent of a child as his attention darted back and forth, uncertain of where it should be dedicated to. His mouth was caught somewhere between a smile and a gasp. His fists opened and closed, ready to pick up a cat as soon as one strode by his peripherals. 

“I just love them all so much,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. 

“I get that,” you chuckled, crossing your arms. “Do you want a drink?”

“Look at that one,” he gasped, bringing his balled fists to his face. The emotions were too much for him to handle as he began to stumble toward the cat play area. 

“Well alright,” you giggled. You approached the counter of the cafe, ordering something for yourself and guessing at what JB would want. You threw in some cat treats as well, more as a surprise for Jaebum than the cats. 

You retrieved your drinks from the counter with impressive speed and tucked the cat treats beneath your arm. You adjusted your stance in your cat-friendly slippers and began to search for Jaebum. It didn’t take long to find the grown man, laying on his back, in the middle of the cat playroom, completely covered in around six or seven cats. 

“Jaebum,” you hissed, your eyes wide. You looked around slowly at all of the other patrons who had been staring at your date for who knows how long. 

“Ooo, heaven is a place on earth,” he sang quietly in accented English. You closed your eyes tightly and took a deep breath, only to open them again. There was a strange mix of adoration and secondhand embaressment coursing through you, but you finally sighed and plopped to the floor. If you can’t beat them, might as well join them. 

“I got you an Americano,” you nodded, placing the cup near Jaebum’s shoulder. He sat up slowly, allowing two cats to tumble off of him and onto the floor. Two more continued to share space in his lap as he picked up his drink. 

“I’m supposed to pay for the drinks, Y/N,” he smiled, sipping casually. With his free hand he pet at the cats around him. 

“You were preoccupied,” you grinned. “I got snacks for your friends.”

Jaebum stopped mid sip as he took the small bag of cat treats from you and cradled them in his hands. He looked up to your face again and smirked. “You get me.”

“We’ve gone on two dates,” you laughed. “I get nothing. I’m so out of my element, it’s comical.”

“Why do you say that?” JB asked, opening the bag of treats and laying them on his knee. He smiled as a Siamese cat wandered over and began to nibble from his jeans. 

“You live such a different life than mine,” you sighed. “I’m not sure how I could get it or relate.”

“Just because I chose such a publicized career, doesn’t mean I’m different than you,” JB continued calmly. He stroked the cat that had appeared while leaning over to pet another with his opposite hand. “We’re still the same species, right? We have similar thoughts and feel the same array of feelings. You have a better route to get to know me than most to be honest.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip as you continued to watch him. He was methodical in his movements, calm and careful. He was very conscious in making the small creatures around him comfortable, including yourself. He reached over slowly, taking your wrist between his fingers and flipping it so your hand faced palm side up. He dumped a few of the cat treats into your upturned palm. 

“Stay still, you can usually get them to eat from your hand,” he whispered, giving you an encouraging nod. 

After a few moments, a small. grey tabby cat wandered up to you, uncertainty apparent on it’s small and furry face. 

“It’s alright,” JB cooed, reaching out and petting it carefully behind the ears. “Y/N won’t hurt you.”

You felt as if you had stopped breathing as the tiny cat seemed to heed JB’s words and stick it’s tongue out cautiously to your hand. It bit at one of the crunchy treats and chewed slowly above your outstretched fingers. You smiled at the funny feeling of the cat’s sandpaper like tongue making contact with your skin. 

“JB?” you whispered, your eyes not able to leave the cat. “Why do you like cats so much?”

Out of your peripherals, you saw Jaebum tilt his head and lift his brows. He pursed his lips in thought before he began to speak. “A cat can let you know how it feels without saying a word. It communicates solely through body language. They are curious and self serving. The confidence in which they own a space that doesn’t necessary belong to them, but they believe it does. Like now for instance...that cat eating out of your hand. He thinks those are his treats, and your hand is his bowl. And this cafe is his cafe. And Seoul is his. He is the king of Seoul.”

“I guess it’s all about perspective...and in a cat’s perspective...they rule the world?” you questioned. 

“And how thrilling must a life like that be?” Jaebum smiled. 

“I suppose that’s as good of a reason as any,” you nodded. 

“I think so,” JB nodded as well. 

“And why do you like me so much?” you joked, shamelessly winking at your date. 

Jaebum’s jaw slowly slid open, his eyes wide with surprise. With his personality, you loved to catch him off guard. You knew you were completely joking, but he never quite knew how he should handle your words. 

“I...well...uh,” he trailed, looking at the cats surrounding him for any type of help. 

“Don’t feel compelled to answer that,” you laughed. “I was only teasing.”

“When your date asks a question, you answer it,” he confirmed, his eyes smiling. “I like you because you’re like a cat.”

“I’m...I’m like a cat?” you stuttered. “I think I’m the King of Seoul?”

Jaebum hiccuped out an unexpectedly loud laugh as he collapsed onto the floor again. After a few moments of giggles, he sat up and took your hand in his. “Y/N,” he hummed, lifting your knuckles to his lips. He kissed your hand gently and smiled. “You are the King of Seoul.” 

Your thoughts were heavy as JB tugged you along the sidewalk and back toward your apartment. You were hesitant to let the day end and had decided in the midst of your date that you could watch Jaebum play with cats forever. 

“What are you thinking about?” JB’s voice whispered, his breath hot in your ear. You jumped at the appearance of his words, tilting your head to hide your ear in your shoulder. 

“Why must I be thinking about something?” you countered, a sly grin on your face. 

“Because you haven’t spoken,” he sighed. 

“JB, neither of us really speak when -”

“But you also aren’t checking me out,” he chuckled with a wink. You froze and turned to him slowly. 

“What?”

“When we don’t talk, we at least exchange eyes with each other,” he hummed. “You act as if you don’t notice.”

“That’s hardly something I would deem as checking you out,” you grumbled, continuing your steps back toward your apartment. 

“Really? Because I thought what you were doing was the textbook definition of the word,” he chuckled. 

“Words,” you muttered. “’Checking you out’ is three words.”

“Glad to hear you acknowledge it at least,” he continued, a wry smile bright on his face. You groaned as you finally reached your building and shuffled down the hallway to your front door. 

You narrowed your eyes as you travelled down your dimly lit hallway. It was an open air corridor, but the shadows of the floors above caused little sunlight to filter through. As you grew closer to your door, you attempted to focus even more, noticing a small white rectangle placed over the number on your entryway. 

“What’s that?” JB asked, verbalizing the thought before you had the chance to. 

“No idea,” you muttered, reaching out toward what appeared to be an envelope. A deep feeling of nausea radiated through your stomach as you thought of the possibilities of what could be hidden within. You were under the impression that you had left missions during dates far behind in the last round, so you couldn’t imagine what this could be. Your fingers trembled as they found their way beneath the envelope’s edge and began to lift up. You slid out a thin piece of parchment paper, full of small and closely knit handwriting. Your eyes traced the page without giving any of the paragraph context, searching for a signature. 

You swallowed hard as your attention lingered on the bottom of the page, your heart nearly stopping from the small inscription left there. 

“What is it?” JB asked, attempting to peer over your shoulder. 

“Nothing,” you lied, closing the paper immediately and sliding it back into the envelope. “Just a letter from my landlord.”

“Oh, poor timing,” he chuckle. He smiled kindly as he stepped forward, allowing his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you in close. “I hope you had fun today.” 

“I did,” you confirmed, your mind and heart still racing from the small bit of paper tucked between your fingers. You tried to ignore your compulsion to run inside and pour over the letter, so instead you chose to snake your arms around JB’s neck and rested your forehead near his chin. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” he hummed, nestling his head in your hair and peppering your hairline with light kisses. “I’ll take the King of Seoul for cats and coffee any day.”

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - PART 9 - PART 10 - PART 11 - PART 12 - PART 13 - PART 14 - PART 15 - PART 16 - PART 17 - PART 18 - PART 19 - PART 20 - PART 21 - PART 22

The Fine Game of Nil

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

NC-17: Masturbation, consensual possession, masochism

Ever the caring and generous friend, Bill offers to give Ford a mental break while he's working on their dimension-bridging portal. Things get heated, pretty much literally.

Bill was beginning to suspect that he’d been duped. A flashlight clamped between his host’s teeth prevented the curses building in his throat from being released, though every now and then his lips would move around the metal cylinder, forming the phantom words. These words were not usually in any language humans could recreate, which only served to frustrate him more as the clumsy flesh humans deigned to call a mouth warped unsatisfactorily around the foreign phrases.

It had been a long time since the demon had been in full control of a borrowed body. Sure, he’d been in Sixer’s body before, but those were more-or-less supervised brainstorming sessions. Possession wasn’t something he had to do often, since Ford was always eager – more than eager, champing at the bit! – to do whatever it was Bill had decided needed doing. He engaged in it mostly to tease himself, give himself a taste of what was to come. All that sloshing fluid and squelching organ business was good fun! Bill had assumed that when he did get to take Ford’s body for a joyride it would actually be enjoyable.

This was not the case. Bill accepted that he had different standards for entertainment than most of the sentient lifeforms in this dimension, but he was pretty sure no one could have fun in his current position. Said position was deep in the mechanical guts of a quantum tunneling engine, on hands and knees in a tiny, cramped crawlspace using tiny, delicate tools on tiny, frustrating consoles in nearly impossible to reach places. As if reacting to his negative thoughts, one of his useless fingers twitched and he lost hold of a tool, an exasperated groan leaving his throat as the thing clanged around on its way to the floor.

There were reasons he made other people do his work for him – besides not having a corporeal form for himself – and this was definitely one of them. Sixer should be the one confined and irritated, all scrunched up in this miniscule area and reaching around blindly for some stupid wrench or whatever someone had made way too small. And he had been before, back when Bill was blissfully unaware what the term ‘aching joints’ entailed.

The demon wanted control, but he wasn’t one of those micromanagers; he would leave for days at a time, returning only when Ford had fallen asleep so they could play in the mindscape. The day to day minutiae of the physical world wasn’t something he was keen on following unless it was directly affecting him or his pet. Bill would keep an eye on everything – it was impossible not to – but didn’t find it worthwhile to intervene unless something was going seriously wrong. So up until this point, Ford and his buddy Fiddle-dick had done all the manual labor on the portal themselves.

Bill would have been perfectly content to keep things that way. While designing a dimension-bridging machine was exciting and fun, drawing up blueprints and slaving over equations, actually going about building the damn thing was decidedly not fun. As far as Bill was concerned, as soon as things switched into physical more than conceptual, he was out. Unfortunately, best-laid plans doing what they do, he’d been suckered into this bullshit.

He and Ford had a connection – a real one, not the emotional garbage the human tried to keep bottled up inside himself. Thanks to their deal, Bill was more acquainted with Sixer’s general mental and physical wellbeing than usual. Honestly, it could be annoying, like a fly wedged between two bricks. Mostly unnoticeable but constantly just there, and occasionally twitching and flailing around and causing them both discomfort. It was one of those squirming, writhing moments that had drug Bill’s attention away from the important things he’d been doing (he couldn’t remember them now, but everything he did was important) to Ford’s physical dimension.

Bill had found the man mentally and physically exhausted, his poor mammalian brain practically short circuiting. A brief stretch of awareness showed that the rest of the house was empty, Glasses having gone off to wherever he went when he wasn’t helping Ford. His little buddy was in the same space Bill was now occupying for him, diligently tinkering away, eyes bleary and barely focused. This was clearly a delicate situation.

“HIYA SIXER! Working HARD or HARDLY WORKING, am I RIGHT?” Ford had visibly flinched, flashlight dropping out of his mouth to clatter on the metal floor. Apparently, the human hadn’t noticed Bill’s arrival until the piercing voice echoed through his mind. Man, he must’ve been really out of it.

“B-Bill! How long have- what are you doing here?” the man stuttered out, sounding exhausted. His hand groped around for the flashlight.

“Just DROPPING BY to see how my FAVORITE GENIUS is doing!” Bill floated closer. “And if LOOKS are anything to go by, I’d say he’s about to DROP DEAD!” The demon laughed, but he did have a point. The circles under Ford’s eyes were so dark they resembled bruises, his untucked shirt was covered in wrinkles and smears of oil, and his hair was sticking up at strange angles. “I know they say don’t judge a BOOK by its COVER, but there’s a LIMIT, pal!”

It was clear that Ford wasn’t in the mood for the exuberant triangle’s mild ribbing, but he gave a half-hearted chuckled nonetheless. Leaving the flashlight where it lie, the human sat back and took his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes.

“It’s been a long day, Bill.”

“A long 34 hours, 42 minutes, and 25- no, 26 seconds, Sixer!” Sometimes it was amazing that Ford had survived as long as he had before he’d met Bill. “You’re only a COUPLE hours away from that STUNNING brain of yours going HAYWIRE! Which would be FUN to watch, but if you’re gonna start HALLUCINATING you shouldn’t do it in the middle of our work!” Ford looked embarrassed, and Bill had to fight to keep from rolling his eye. Sensitive, much? “I know you can’t HELP IT, Fordsy, it’s just biology! You know that too! So what the heck are you doing!”

“I…” Was that an attempt at conversation, or was Sixer just sighing? “We’re on a tight time frame right now.” Ford was sounding dangerously condescending. The man tempted a glance up, looking away again when he saw the glare aimed his way. “I know, I need to sleep, I’m exhausted, but I’m so close. I- we’re so close.”

If Bill possessed a heart to melt, it might have at least thawed a little at the man’s last statement, murmured more than spoken and heavy laden with unnamed emotion. As it was, he didn’t, but he felt slightly less agitated. After all, Ford was just doing what he thought he needed to do. And the man could be surprisingly stubborn when it came to building their portal – usually a trait Bill could appreciate, but there were times like this when it put everything in jeopardy.

“I’ll tell ya what, buddy,” Bill began, putting his arm around Ford’s shoulders. It was impossible to actually touch the man in this dimension – for now – but habits were hard to break. “Why don’t I take over from HERE? Lemme slip into that SKIN SUIT of yours and YOU can take a little breather!”

An unidentifiable emotion displayed itself on Ford’s face, maybe a mix between incredibility and relief and fondness and embarrassment. He replaced his glasses, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to do that, really! I’m nearly finished-”

This was taking too long; Bill technically already had Ford’s permission to enter his body whenever he wished. The demon shoved his way into Sixer’s body, knocking the human’s consciousness out of it in the process. He was nearly overwhelmed by the influx of physical sensations, most of which were unpleasant. Over the white noise background, he could hear Ford sputtering protests about his actions, though the words came through blurred at the edges. Bill waved a six-fingered hand dismissively.

“Sixer, I got this,” he said, voice sounding rougher. The inside of Ford’s mouth felt like he’d been swallowing cotton balls for the past year. “I know you INSIDE and OUT, LITERALLY! I KNOW when you need a break!” He could see that Ford still wanted to argue about it. “Hey, I’m just giving you a helping hand! It’s what partners – friends – do, right?”

That was the ticket. Ford’s transparent arms uncrossed, and a shy smile came out. “You’re right, Bill.”

“Of COURSE I am! Don’t you worry that cute little head of yours! I’ll just finish up here LICKETY SPLIT and then we can skedaddle off to the MINDSCAPE for some well-deserved R and R!” They had shared a grin before Bill got to work. Ford had hovered in the background for a while, peering over his own borrowed shoulder before Bill had gotten irritated and shooed him off. No one helicopter-parented Bill Cipher!

And now Bill was stuck regretting his decision. He could feel the bones of Ford’s knees jamming together, pinching the delicate ligaments and cartilage between them. Shifting his weight from side to side wasn’t helping, either. At various points along his spine, the muscles were tensing and bunching together into painfully hard knocks, imbalances between his chest and back drawing his shoulders into a hunch every time he stopped paying attention to the body’s posture. It was a nightmare.

He just had to grit his teeth, and finish this last piece, and then he could slam this body onto a flat surface and escape to the mindscape. Never again became the mantra running through his head. This was all charity got you, a stress and sleep induced migraine! Bill piloted his body around, pulling himself free of the delicate tangle of wires and metal and out into semi-fresh air. It felt like a vice was loosened around his chest, and he idly wondered if he was claustrophobic or something.

Saving the thought for another time – or never, whichever – Bill pulled himself up to a standing position, practically wincing at the cacophony of crackling noises coming from all parts of Sixer’s body. Jeez, how long had the guy been in that position before Bill had come along? He rolled his neck from side to side, thinking about how much the human owed him for this, and walked over the main power generator. Halfway out of the room he had to pause as his vision suddenly split into doubles, eyes flickering as if they were rapidly crossing. Ford was really pushing his body this way, not just in terms of sleep deprivation, but also the chemical cocktail he’d poured into himself to keep awake and working.

Still, as annoying as it was that Ford would risk making idiot mistakes by fogging up his brain, Bill knew that he had at least another nine days before the man was in any real danger. Hell, Stanford probably knew that too, comforted himself with the thought every time standing brought a dizzying wave crashing over him. There was a phrase Ford could benefit from hearing, something about the Nile not just being a river.

The lights in the basement workshop flickered as the generator hummed to life. The strobing effect this caused did little and less to ease the headache throbbing at the base of his skull. Even so, Bill felt himself perk up when a quiet whirring noise joined the electric drone, signaling that at least something was going right. He stalked back over to the machine piece he had been working on, sickly yellow eyes glowing and searching for any possible complications. A distant rattling alerted him to one.

Oh, right, the wrench thing. When he hadn’t been able to easily lay a hand on it, he’d just left it in there, telling himself he’d get it later. Later had obviously come and gone, unheeded. Bill leveled a glare at the hunk of metal, blaming it for all his problems. He huffed and rolled his eyes, but that didn’t seem to accomplish anything. Accepting the finality of the situation, Bill dropped back down to a kneeling position, picking up the flashlight from where he’d – thankfully – left it near the opening.

The flashlight turned on with a satisfying click, and he aimed it into the dark depths of the machine. Leaning forward, he braced Ford’s forearm against the metal exterior, craning his neck to see if he could spot the tool and- oh. Bill jerked his arm back in surprise, a searing sensation scattering up and down the nerve endings all along the expanse of skin that had touched the iron. There was a slight smell of burnt flesh in the air.

Anger welled up inside his chest, throbbing in time to the burning in his arm, the rapid beating of his heart. He shot to his feet, marching back to the generator and heatedly switching it off. Hot, stinging pain was radiating from the wound in pulses. Bill brought his arm up, bending and twisting it to peer at the angry red splotch. It covered nearly the length of his forearm, and Ford wasn’t going to be super ecstatic about finding it.

Well, this was his fault, wasn’t it! Ford was the one that sleep-addled his own brain and then forced Bill to climb inside it. And who rolls their sleeves up when they’re working on science stuff! That was one of the first rules of 8th grade lab. Sally didn’t wear long sleeves and now she doesn’t have to because her arms are melted puddles of human trash. His internal tirade continued as he climbed the stairs, torn between wanting to stomp and not-wanting to alert Ford – wherever that nerd was hovering – to his current embarrassing predicament.

Bill jerked the cold water tap on and thrust his injured arm under the freezing stream. The pain seemed to recede quickly, but every time he pulled it out of the water the heat inside the wound would inexorably begin to climb again, hotter and hotter, crawling across his abused flesh like the jittery legs of tap-dancing spiders. After a few games of back and forth, Bill let out a frustrated growl and wrenched the tap off again, tromping into the living room and dropping bodily into Sixer’s favorite lounge chair.

His arms hung over the sides of the armrests, and for a while Bill was content to seethe and stare into the dark room. Stupid Sixer. Stupid portal – no wait, brilliant portal, stupid human. Stanford Pines. Bill was beginning to calm down. He lifted his left arm, examining the burn once more. It didn’t even look bad; just a bright, shiny red patch of skin, vaguely rectangular in shape. As if in response, a dull throb of hot, searing, burning slipped out, and his body shivered.

Huh. Shivered.

The demon had been so distracted by his own emotional reaction that most of the minutiae of the actual physical response had been lost to him. He hovered his right hand above the raw flesh, feeling heat radiate off. He placed his fingers against the undamaged flesh bordering the burn, steadily adding pressure, and felt his heartrate quicken as the action pulled at the tight skin. Easing up, he ghosted his fingers gently across his skin, barely brushing along the surface, and ran them over the edges of the wound.

Bill sucked in a gasp of air at the sensation, shifting his hips, suddenly uncomfortable in the chair. He repeated the action again and again, fingers tantalizingly light against the sensitive flesh. The feeling was like electricity, sending shudders wracking through his body. On the next graze, he turned his fingers to let his nails rake along the enflamed skin, and he nearly had to stifle a moan. Panting, he paused in his ministrations, pulling his hand away and traveling southward to where Ford’s cock was hard, straining against his pants.

He licked his lips, running his fingers up and down the clothed length. Ford would disapprove. Ford wouldn’t stop him. He pressed the flushed head against his stomach, hissing at the delicious contact. And what Ford didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Bill popped the button of his pants open with a deft flick of his thumb and spread his thighs. There was already a damp spot on the boxer briefs where the tip of his cock was steadily leaking precum.

It was an awkward position but he made do, shuffling to pull Ford’s dick out. The demon let out a shaky breath as he fisted the hot flesh, dragging his hand up and down and back up, thumbing at his slit. His toes curled in his boots. He let go, brought his hand back to his injury and scratched down the center, startling himself when his hips jerked forward and a groan slipped out of his mouth.

Bill tossed his head back, hitting the back of the chair with a muffled thud. His eyes slid closed and he slipped two fingers into his mouth, sucking and laving at the digits with his tongue. He turned his injured arm down to face the armrest, pressing and rubbing his wound against it as he glided his fingers in and out, hips giving aborted thrusts in a bid for stimulation. Bill pulled his fingers out, ignoring the string of saliva stretching between them and his lips, and licked down the center of his palm before bringing his hand back down to his straining cock, wrapping the now slicked appendage around himself.

Hot, hot, everything was hot. His face was flushed and heat pooled low in his belly as he fucked his own hand. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he found himself letting out stuttering, breathy moans. His entire body felt taunt and blisteringly hot, and his injured arm felt like it was engulfed in flame itself, a bright cacophony of searing, scorching, stinging, biting pain.

His right hand still moving, frantically jerking up and down, Bill yanked his left arm off the armrest, pulled it up to face. He licked against his own flesh, moaning loudly, traced patterns against the raw and burning skin. Close, he was so close. His teeth grazed against the overly sensitive wound, igniting sparks behind his eyes. He bit down in the middle of it, where it burned deepest, teeth sinking into tight, hot flesh, and his brain short circuited. Bill came all over his hand with a cry muffled against his arm, wringing his orgasm out over and over until his body sagged, utterly spent.

For a few long moments, the effort it would take to move any of his now limp muscles felt insurmountable. Or at the very least, not worth surmounting. There was something pleasant about drifting, and Bill didn’t want to break the sensation by moving even one fraction of an inch. All the tight points of pressure along his spine seemed to have loosened, and Bill could only sporadically think Ford should probably do this more often. His breathing steadied, deepening. He could feel his heart gradually stop racing, slow to a dull, rhythmic thumping that echoed in his ears.

Eventually, discomfort began to set in as well. His right hand, which had fallen away from his crotch, was sticky, covered in the milky pearlescence of Ford’s release. Some streaks of it had also arced up to stain Sixer’s shirt. Whoops. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the six-fingered hand against the rough material of his jeans, twisting his fingers to clean off as much of the goop as he could. What he couldn’t brush off, he brought up to his mouth and licked clean. The exhaustion in Ford’s body seemed to have doubled or tripled, making his movement sluggish and sloppy.

Bill had half a mind to leave Ford’s body right where it lie, and let the man deal with it when he had to join the waking world again. It would serve him right, for putting Bill in this situation to begin with. But the demon had to admit, his actions had been self-indulgent, even for his standards, and as funny as the idea of Sixer waking up to this mess was, he’d prefer the human not know about this. If he didn’t already.

The demon stood, tucked himself back into his pants rather carelessly, and headed up the stairs to Sixer’s bedroom. There was still no sign of his pal’s incorporeal self anyway, and he if had more brain power to devote to the matter he would wonder what exactly the man was getting up to. As it was, being in this body felt like it was draining him, and he hardly had the mental capacity to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Every few steps his arm would throb in a decidedly distracting manner, begging him to run a finger or nail against it.

Trying to dissuade himself from indulging his urges, Bill attempted to picture the face Ford would make if he’d seen what Bill had done in his body. The scandalized expression his mind conjured up only made him want to give into the impulse more, to see what Sixer would do when he inevitably came looking for the demon and his body. Pathetic. The hormone soup he found himself mired in must be affecting him more than he’d wagered.

Upon reaching Ford’s bedroom – decorated in an eclectic mix of mathematics and science fiction – Bill immediately began peeling off the layers of his clothing, eyes narrowing in distaste. When had he sweat so much? Sixer’s dick was half hard again. Bill blamed this on him. He steadfastly ignored it, ignored everything in favor of flopping face first onto the bed. His limbs flailed briefly, covering about a third of Stanford’s body with a blanket before the demon practically fled from the physical world, his triangular form emerging from the now unconscious man.

Well! That was certainly something. Bill was already feeling more clearheaded. Using the mental equivalent of a butterfly net, the demon reached out and scooped up Ford’s consciousness – the man was disturbingly close-by – and dragged them both to the mindscape.