#i made it home safe somehow eventually but fuck man

[sweetnans]

Stuck in the moment || Bakugo, K. (pt.5)

Pairing: fuckboy Bakugo/hopelessly romantic fem. reader

summary: You made a mistake, a huge mistake. You fucked the most cocky, annoying, bastard, fuckboy you knew. Bakugo Katsuki. And that fact was against all your beliefs. Now, after the rumor (truth) spread like a pandemic virus in college you'll have to live with the stormy consequences of your acts and whatever trash was brought with it.

a/c: Hey, it's me again. Here we are in a new series I plan to continue. I really hope you enjoy it. I put my favorite man in action (bakugo) being a selfish bastard that you would love eventually and I couldn't help to put another "trope" I'm a sucker for (guardian/father figure Aizawa) I'm so sorry if that bothers you. Once again, I'm sorry if I misspelled something, English is not my first language. (Not proofread yet)

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 -> Pt.6

m.list

You woke up with a headache. You barely even drink last night, but somehow, the interaction with a certain one got you all pented up that now you were struggling with a giant migraine.

Sundays were always slow. You used them to complete your homework, and then in the afternoon, you had a mandatory dinner with Aizawa and Eri in his apartment. You talked about eachothers lives and then sometimes watched a movie together. It was really nice, especially when the idea came right from Aizawa's mind in a form to create a safe and familiar space to Eri, which you were happy to comply with.

On Monday, your headache was light. It was a pulsating little tingle in your head, completely bearable.

The first class was slow. You caught yourself falling asleep multiple times, but hopefully, no one saw you.

After the party, you made your routine on speaking your head off to Jirou about what happened. You two got into the conclusion that it was a delusional event that helped out Bakugo keep his mind in peace.

It was easier to pretend that that was his intention than twirling your brain into finding out the real purpose of your interaction with him.

The sound of your stomach growling startled you out of your head. You were sitting in the sun enjoying the rays in your face when you checked the clock for the obvious. Lunch break.

You hated making the line to get lunch, so Aizawa packed you a bento with some things he found at home. He was a man in charge of a little girl, but it didn't mean that he was actually good at cooking. He had some dishes where he showed all his talent, but others, you could see little Eri gagging because of the burnt rice and steamed vegetables that looked like a pulp.

You entered the lunch zone full of big white tables and uncomfortable chairs. It's was more crowded than usual, so you had to put yourself on the tip of your toes to find Jirou and Denki.

Scanning the room, above all the heads and trying to difuse the laughs and peoples screaming from one table to another, you didn't find a trace of your friends.

"You look like a deer struck by light." Bakugo's hand was wrapped firmly in your shoulder lowering your body to the ground. "Sit with us"

That was him in real life. A silence sneaky bastard you didn't see coming.

You didn't have a choice, so you followed him through the crowd until you two made it to the table where his friends waved you happily of seeing you with them.

They didn't mind your presence at all. With years of friendship with Bakugo, they have learned no to question his outbursts or his decisions. Having you around was weird in a way that he never ever had been interested in someone, and now they have started to get used to you because he always made the effort to find you and bring you with him. You thought that no one saw him going to the kitchen where you entered a minute before? His friends had eyes on their backs. They, of course, saw this coming.

"I don't know if I'm going to stick around. My friends must be somewhere here..." You said, glancing away, trying to find the yellow spiky hair of your friend. You had to thank him because his extravagant hair was going to be your salvation.

"Let them be, stop third-wheeling them. It's annoying, " he rolled his eyes and took your bento from your hands to settle it on the table.

You were almost embarrassed for his comment, but everyone were minding their own business, leaving you like a stray castaway with Bakugo.

Sighing, you took your seat beside Sero and in front of Bakugo, who was inspecting you carefully. You tried not to sink in your seat and opened your bento. Burnt rice with poorly steamed vegetables. You hated veggies.

The feeling must've shown in your face because Bakugo was fast enough to exchange his food with yours. No questions asked. He didn't have a clue of what pushed him to do that, but just for the sake of it, he needed to look nonchalant to you to keep going the game he had in mind.

"What? No, give that back. " You started to throw your arm to grab your lunch, but he effortlessly dodged it.

"Shut up, that's what friends do." he pinched one of the languid carrots and ate it without even flinching. You tried with all your heart to not gag at the sight of that.

Friends. That's right.

The fact of him addressing what happened the other night caught you by surprise. You convinced yourself that it was with the main purpose of keeping his mind at ease. It seemed like you were wrong. It seemed like he actually meant it.

The table was in silence. Bakugo's bento was unopened in front of you, and he looked at you like you were dumb or something. You glanced at his friend casually chatting about some class, Mina watching tiktoks and moving his hands with the rhythm of some trend while you felt so out of place. You missed sassy Jirou and even the nonsense spurting out of Denki's mouth.

"Are you going to eat or what?" He was losing his patience. Don't you dare make the king mad.

You opened the bento, and the scent of his food invaded your nose. It was spicy ramen, one of your favorite. The smell of the soup prickled your nose and watered your eyes. You couldn't wait to have a spoon of that in your mouth.

Bakugo observed the change in your face and felt something flourishing inside of him. Pride.

The way your cheeks regained color after sipping the soup and how you almost moaned because of the taste made his chest puff.

You looked at him with your mouth full and smiled at him with your lips sealed shining with the oil remaining in the spoon.

His heart took a leap.

"How's that?" he quirked a brow, and you rolled your eyes still smiling.

Cocky bastard, he knew he could cook. He didn't need another one praising one of his multiple abilities.

"It's good," you said, shrugging downplaying the fact that he could actually cook.

The different combination of spices melting in your mouth with the ramen left a tingling feeling in your tongue. It was a funny feeling that complemented Bakugo, crossing his arms on top of his chest and looking at you with sufficiency.

"Are you going to judge my food now? I know it's not good enough for your expectations"

Mentally, you thought that if he said something about it, you would pull the Aizawa card from your sleeve to make him look like an idiot. Who were you fooling? The man in front of you didn't know anything about shame nor sucking superior's dick. If he needed to say something, he would say it without caring about the who.

He was about to open his mouth to give you his constructive opinion about your bad excuse of lunch when the haze of mismatched eyes caught all your attention in the corner of your eyes. Todoroki.

The memory of him apologizing for Bakugo's behavior was a current thought in your brain since that night. It wasn't because of his mysterious aura or the trouble in his family that attracted you to him. It was what you could see behind those eyes, loneliness, and hell you knew about that.

His body language, always stiff and clueless, motivated you to know more about him. He needed a wire to the ground, someone to show him the things that he had lost because of his childhood. You missed a lot of things in life, too, but you were determined to pivot the destiny. You wanted the best for him, too.

"Close your mouth. You are drooling on the table," he mumbled, clearly pissed.

Bakugo snapped out of your trance. You were watching Todoroki walking in the room until he left. You needed to catch him.

"I'm sorry I'll be right back"

You left him. The man who shared, not, gave you his lunch. You left him hanging to sprint to another guy.

Your conscience didn't put any thought of if in your mind until it was too late.

"Todoroki," you grabbed him by his wrist, gaining his attention.

Even though it was out of character for you to chase a man, and before the party, you two haven't talked, there was some sort of connection you couldn't decipher. He smiled at the sight of you.

"Hey, are you okay? Your cheeks are red. " he pointed at your face with a puzzled look.

"Yeah, I was eating something steamy, and then I ran here so..." you said out of breath.

Catching him was a short sprint, but it left your lungs burning for the sudden movement.

"I-" you cleared your throat. "I'm here to apologize for the other night. He was so rude with you, apparently with no reason"

The last thing you need in your life. Apologizing to people on Bakugo's behalf.

"He told you to apologize?" He asked, knitting his brows together. You shook your head. "Then there's nothing to apologize for, at least you don't have to"

"I was really hoping to have a good night and the Cosmopolitan? It was delicious, I didn't get the chance to thank you, it was so sudden"

He scratched his neck and suddenly smirked.

"Yeah, I was hoping on catching up with you too"

If the red in your face was a statement made before, now it was permanent. You never said that, but it was like he read your mind. You were careful with your words, and even though you wanted to tell him that, you didn't have the guts.

"Maybe we should hang out, I mean...eventually?" You were a nervous wreck being so forward with your intentions.

You didn't have any romantic expectations with him, but you couldn't blame the silly romantic girl who believed in love and enjoyed corny movies inside of you for picturing a date with him.

"Yeah, are you free this friday?" He said bluntly without any pinch of shame.

You weren't expecting it to be so soon, but your mind didn't connect with your body before your head was nodding with excitement.

You exchanged your numbers to set the time of your whatever that was going to be.

You would be completely lying if you said you didn't feel nothing about it. It was a weird feeling, like excitement combined with anxiety. You came just to apologize and left with a date under your arm.

Five days were more than enough to find an outfit, a possible place, and, of course, something to do. Drinking? Bowling? Movies? The options were endless.

You were high on your cloud when you remembered where you were before that. You couldn't help but feel like floating back to the table. You wouldn't be capable to hide your smile or the redness in your cheeks. You wanted to giggle like a little girl just by the memory of what happened.

The sudden wave of euphoria disappeared in the moment you got to the table, and only Kirishima was there looking at his phone mindlessly.

The remorse was bigger than the feeling you had just a mere second ago.

"Where did he go?" You asked his friend, and he gave you a sad smile.

"He left a while ago. He murmured something under his breath and left you this," Kirishima said, grabbing his things and leaving Bakugo's bento on the table with yours on top of it. "He said something that you didn't end your meal I don't know"

Kirishima scratched the back of his neck and the waved you goodbye.

You standed there feeling like the worse person of all world while eveyone kept eating their lunch.

You needed to revert the situation.

In your afternoon classes, you didn't see him or his friends. It was weird because they were always around laughing and throwing jokes when Denki joined them.

In your last period, Jirou found you biting your nails at the end of the classroom.

"What's going on in that little head of yours?" she threw his books on top of the desk next to yours and collapsed on her seat. "Where did you go at lunchtime? Aizawa hauled you again?"

You denied with a sad face. You weren't even trying to hide your feelings that were completely mixed. You were enthusiastic because of the date, but for one reason or another, the remorse of leaving Bakugo after what he did, it was like a kick in the guts. You felt completely rachet.

"I was with Bakugo," the little you blurted was enough for Jirou to have her jaw to the floor.

"Did you two...again?" She didn't have to say the word that she was implying.

"God no." You shook your head and played with your pen. "We just sat together with his friends and then Todoroki appeared out of nothing and I ran after him, he asked me on a date and then when I came back to the table Bakugo was nowhere to be seen"

The transitions between Jirou faces were something you would tease her about it if you weren't so confused about your emotions.

"Why are you sad then? Todoroki asked you out! That's a good thing. There's no way Bakugo walking out is worth the downfall of your euphoric state"

You bended over your seat to grab his bento and yours from your backpack, and then you piled them it in front of Jirou

"What's that?" She quirked a brow separating the tupperwares. You sighed. "I can't read minds babe"

"That's mine, and that's his," you pointed them with sorrow.

"Girl, you need to be more specific," she asked, looking serious.

"He switched his lunch with mine because I didn't like mine, and then, after I chase Todoroki, he left me his because I hadn't finished yet" you grunted putting your head between your hands. "Now I have two empty containers with the remains of me being a shitty person"

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself." Jirou placed her hand on your back and rubbed it for a while. "It's just a lunch, don't let the drama overwhelme you"

"It was Aizawa burnt rice and steamed veggies," you took a peak at her between your hands.

"And he finished it???" She grabbed the bento and examined it. "Ick, gross." She gagged. That didn't make any better to your state.

"What am I going to do" you asked.

Something about Bakugo eating your lunch, knowing what it was changed Jirou's mind about him being completely worthless. It took guts to eat that, even Denki, who could eat from a dumpster, threw up after tasting the vegetables.

"I think you need to...I don't know if apologize is the right word? But maybe make it up to him, " she said, patting your head.

She was right, and even though you tried to escape that, it wasn't a lie that you thought of it before Jirou statement. You just needed the reassurance, and maybe, just maybe, a way out that's wasn't going to come soon.

The last period ended. You focused on mainting your attention to everything present mic yelled in his english class. He always left you with a headache, but this time, where your mind was divided by the class and Bakugo, you didn't end up with any head related pain.

After leaving your things in your dorm and going to the bathroom for a quick refresh, you made your way to the boys' building. The boys' building was separated from the girls' building just by a street, which was very convenient. It was like we want you to be safe and make good decisions, but also, you're old enough to have sex and get freaky.

You would think that the concept of having a roommate made it hard to have intercourse but it didn't. Well, if you were lucky enough to have a decent roommate. When Jirou wanted time alone with Denki, you were more than happy to go downtown for a quick shopping spree or to the supermarket just to give them some time. Jirou did the same for you when you solicited privacy.

Denki was kind enough to give you Bakugo's floor and room by text. He kept messaging you for the gossip, but you put your phone in silence just to ignore him. Jirou would give him the details.

The looks on the boys that were there were nothing but oblivious. They didn't mind having your or any girl around. In fact, they looked at you, no, sided eyed you, like you were just one of the numerous girls that dropped by the building.

The building was exactly the same model as yours. The stairs were located on the same spot, and the number of floors was the same as yours. You could practically suit yourself pretty well if there weren't for the smell and the tall guys that looked at you weirdly but not minding you at all.

Once you stopped by his door, you had to take a long breath before knocking. Here you were, demolishing every plan you had about him. The main plan was ignoring him, but there you were knocking at his door, with his clean bento and some homemade cookies you found at the cafeteria. Was it enough to show that you were actually sorry?

That question pawned your soul. Were you actually sorry, or did you just wanted to forget the event and come clean with him to fully enjoy your date with Todoroki? Didn't that make you a bad person after all?

Saying sorry just to wash away your guilt and move on to the next while keeping in the tab the main plan of ignoring him?

Why did he have to be so stubborn with you? Why was it so hard to forget the fact that you had sex with him and move on with his life like he actually did with the other girls?

You were paying off some karma's debt or something. Why you? Jirou and Denki said once that it was fun to rile you up, but that was after solid three years of friendship, not two weeks after you knew each other.

The soft sound of your knuckles against the door echoed in the empty hallway. You were crossing your fingers for him not to be inside of his room, but once again, the world was against you.

He opened the door, sweating like a pig. Tiny drops of sweat gathered in the line of his hair just above his forehead. He didn't hide the anger when he saw you in front of him. The muscles in his body plastered against his black tank top made you feel like you were shrinking more and more under his stare.

"What are you doing here?" He was quick to ask with a disgusted facade.

You knew that he was rough, like in every sense of the word. He was rough when he talked. He was rough when he walked. He was rough when he trained, and he was rough in bed. You tried to forget the last part, but your intrusive thought never let that down.

Anyway, he was rough, but that day, in lunch break, you could swear that you saw a little bit of softness when he watched you eat his food, just a peak of it. Now, that was gone, and it was your fault.

"I'm here to give you your bento back." You extended the tupperware, and he accepted it with caution that his fingers didn't touch yours.

"That's it?" He looked at the container in his hands, purposely avoiding your eyes.

"No"

It was one word, but that caught his attention instantly.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry I left you today. It was so rude doing that after you were nice to me. " Hardly ever, you had to apologize for something, so you sucked at it.

You only had a grunt in return.

"And I also have some 'I'm so sorry' cookies for you." You grabbed a transparent bag and waved it in front of his face.

The way he rolled his eyes at the sight of it made you smile. He was crumbling in front of your eyes.

"Come in loser," he turned around and left the door open, expecting you to get in with him. It wasn't part of your plan, but it was the least you could do. After all, you were friends, right?

You closed the door behind you and observed your surroundings. You've been there before but it was dark and you were seeing double so it didn't count.

It was a pretty Bakugo room. A couple of band posters, a ton of books, gym equipment, and a pc gamer. Super boyish.

"You don't have a roommate?" You pointed towards one of the room's corners where should be a second bed.

He wanted to make a joke about how good you were faking dementia but he just shook his head instead.

"A dropout"

You were pacing in his room, looking at everything and touching it if it caught your attention. Bakugo was tucking his gym equipment away while you snooped every inch of his dorm.

The man was there, looking smoking hot after steamy training, but the smell in his room didn't show it.

"Do you have those electric pots where you can prepare meals here? It smells like burnt caramel, " you asked, scrunching your nose.

If someone paid Bakugo for every person who asked that before, he would be a millionaire. At first, the mere question embarrassed him a little, but now he was used to it.

"It's my sweat because of my quirk," he said with raspy voice.

The realization hit you hard. That smell was the one you remember from that night impregned in your clothes. It made sense, actually.

Bakugo found it hard to believe that you hadn't realized before. You were smart, smarter than half of the school, but he couldn't blame you. After all, you never have ever shared a class.

"So...are we going to play 10 questions or what?" You asked, suiting yourself in his gamer chair. It was really comfy with little pillows on the head that you couldn't reach and in your lower back.

"Tch, no, why?" You rolled your eyes at his answer. He was sitting in his bed doing absolutely nothing. What a lame fucker.

"How are we supposed to be friends if we know nothing about each other?" you stated, marking the obvious. "Ok, who's first"

"Like hell, I'm going to play a stupid game with you." he crossed his arms on top of his broad chest, and that little movement lifted his tank top, giving you a subtle look of his abs. You needed to remain composed for the sake of you.

"How boring! I'll start then. " You were thinking a good question and something to get on his nerves. "What's your favorite color?"

"Basic ass question, red," he snorted but followed along.

"Your turn," you urged him to keep going.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up?" He scolded you sighing and grabbing his head in his hands just to lay flat on his bed waiting for you to magically disappear.

"Because I learned how to talk, my turn"

It wasn't funny doing this without looking at his face. You found that the way his brows knitted together or the way his forehead wrinkled in exasperation was the main entertainment for you.

"How did you learn how to cook?"

You really wanted to know this, but putting a real question in between a dumb one was a power move. Well, that's what you thought.

"My dad taught me, and I continued improving my skills watching videos and practicing dishes"

You standed from your seat and walked straight to his bed. Folding a leg under your butt you sat beside him. He had his eyes closed, but the sudden sinking of his bed made him snap his eyes wide open.

The sight of you against the light of the window had him staring a little too much. You were analyzing him as well, but with another reason, you wanted to see if he was messing with you or if he actually excelled in something else than grades and training.

"My turn," he diverted your attention. "Where did you learn to ruin the fucking rice and the vegetables?"

"That's a trap. You can't copy my question!" You smacked his arm and he smirked.

"I didn't copy you" he mumbled closing his eyes again.

"You just changed a few words to make it look like it wasn't the same" you huffed and leaned against his bed pillow. "Fine, I let it slip only because I'm actually a good cooker"

"Yeah sure" he added sarcastically.

"I am" you whined. "That excuse of lunch was made by Aizawa, he's a great cooker too but that specific plate is not his strong point"

The day you told him that Aizawa was your guardian, he was impressed. He had never seen you with him before, but the fact that he packed you a lunch was a strong sign that you were close.

"Text me if Aizawa plans to give you that again," he said, opening his eyes again just to look at your reaction.

"Why?" Again, you were smart, but sometimes the kindness in humanity caught you unprepared. Mostly if the kind act was made by Bakugo himself.

"Rat poison is better than that. I'll bring you something to eat so you don't die"

The way he insinuated the most caring thing in the world, making you all flustered in your seat and then instantly went back to his obnoxious state, made you squeak internally. What was happening? Everybody knew the tales of Bakugo being a pain in the ass as a person with everyone except for his friends. It seemed you were one of them now because you were more than surprised to witnessed this change of demeanor in him.

"Your turn dumbass"

From princess to dumbass? You were making progress.

End note:

big bulky handsome Bakugo has a soft spot for reader? Of course he has. That's what the story is about. It seems that they reached a concensus for now, but how is Bakugo going to react when he finds out that reader has a date with Todoroki?? We will see...

A penny for your thoughts about this (not really but express yourself)

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[justananxiousweirdo]

CAN YOU DO JOOST X AGGU X READER FLUFF HC / IMAGES?? PLEASE IM OBSESSED

YESSS OFC I CAN (hopefully)

Side note: I appreciate everyone who’s been interacting with my channel. I love you guys :)

Joost x Aggu x Reader HC

Joost absolutely loves cuddle time. Anytime you or Aggu are laying or sitting back Joost always jumps at the chance to lay with you. Your and Aggu’s camera rolls are filled with pictures of Joost snuggled into either of your sides. He loves to lay his head on your or Aggu’s chests. Whenever he lays on Aggu Aggu will play with his hair soothing Joost to sleep.

Aggu’s the type to play a claw machine or carnival game a thousand times if you or Joost see a prize you like. That man will be concentrated as fuck trying his hardest to get you or Joost some stuffed animal that probably costs five bucks but Aggu spent thirty just playing the damn game over and over again.

After begging the boys to bake with you over and over they eventually gave in. You cheered as the three of you headed out to grab a few missing ingredients. As soon as you got back home you raced to preheat the oven and get started. Within five minutes all hell broke loose. The kitchen was an absolute mess, they’re was flour everywhere, Joost had dumped a bowl of dry ingredients over top of Aggu’s head because he thought it would be funny. In retaliation Aggu poured the rest of the bag of flour on Joost, but the second you tried to scold them they both declined to team up against you. Both boys decided to grab the closet dry ingredient to them and completely covered you. For the rest of the night the three of you had a food fight and got no baking done.

They both have a million pet names they use. They have nicknames both in English and their native languages. Aggu usually calls you shantz, liebe, Prinzessin, Shöne, or mein leben. He usually calls Joost babe, prinz, Süße, Kuschelwanze, or liebling. Joost usually calls you perziken, liefde, or Schatje. He usually calls Aggu Aggie, honing, or knap. If you don’t speak German or Dutch it took a lot of begging from you for them to tell you what the nicknames meant, obviously you had an idea but you were never certain until they finally told you.

They’ve both made songs for you and each other that they’ll never release because they like to keep some things private and they think it’s more meaningful that way. And if you make music as well you do the same for them.

They’re both the type to ask for five more minutes. You’ll wake up and not want to just lie in bed all day so you’ll try to stand up just for both men to hold you down muttering something along the lines of “five more minutes” or “its too early”.

You three have a lot of movie and game nights. Either you three cuddle up on the couch watching a movie (that took twenty minutes for the three of you to agree on) with blankets and snacks. Or you all let out your competitive sides and get out some cards and poker chips, kisses are also accepted as a form of currency in your guys’ game nights. After all it isn’t about the money it’s about totally destroying your boyfriends in every game you play. They always accuse you of cheating, but that’s never the case, esp when Joost runs out of Monopoly money fifteen minutes in and pays rent with small kisses. Who are you and Aggu to disqualify the blonde from playing?

You three always have the most fun on dates, you go to a fancy dinner, a walk in the park, get some ice cream, that sort of thing. It’s almost always a simple date but you three somehow always manage to make it the funnest night ever. Every date tops the one before it.

Haters definitely get to Joost, he doesn’t like seeing comments talking about how much people don’t like him so sometimes after Joost has been scrolling through those kinds of comments he goes to you and Aggu for comfort, after all you two are the only two who make him feel truly loved and safe.

After Joost got disqualified from Eurovision he made it your three’s hotel room as fast as possible and just collapsed on the floor crying. When you and Aggu made it home to see a puffy eyed and red faced Joost you both knelt on the floor next to him doing your best to soothe him until he could speak. As soon as he said what happened Aggu threatens to march down there and beat the shit out of the people who hurt his boyfriend.

The last two are a little sad but I hope I did good. I don’t get to write a lot of fluff because I don’t think I can do it very well but I’m such a sappy person, a true hopeless romantic.

[tange-my-rine]

borrow some sugar || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: You were living in the city, on your own. It was your dream though, you'd known it was far from home but you needed the space. Well, wanted the space. Didn't mean it wasn't lonely. The one time you actually met your neighbor, of course, you put your literal whole life in danger.

TW: blood, guns, murder, threats, cursing (it's Tangerine), protective!Tangerine (eventually), kidnapping, threats, and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: love a good normal person × Tangerine, and this is the epitome of that. Except you get way too wrapped up in it.]]

"Yeah, I know," you echoed out, fetching your keys out of your pocket -mindlessly walking through the hallway, "-I'm always safe, you know that."

Pressing your phone onto your shoulder, you heard a sort of bang -a heavy thud really, on the wall.

You furrowed your brows, the neighbor on that side was usually quiet. Like unusually quiet. You'd seen him, maybe once or twice in the hallway -he'd never said a word to you. Always wearing a suit and a super serious face, you'd assumed he was some sort of corporate worker with insane hours.

"Look," you spoke, unlocking your handle, "-I have to go, but I'll call you back tomorrow. I'm home already."

Slipping into your apartment, you sighed, pushing your phone into your pocket, dropping your keys, and taking off your shoes by the door. With the familiar thrum of your fridge, you mindlessly wander up to your couch and drop your bag.

It had been a terrible day at work, your boss was... well, your boss. And your work was exhausting, your feet hurt and your brain was working on the migraine of the century-

You just wanted to eat and watch your comfort TV show and turn your brain off -for an hour, at least. If not for the last few hours before you went to sleep, that was dream case scenario. Finally, when your brain was succumbing to the buzz of the voices, your eyes drifting shut, and the couch seemed so fluffy, there was a noise.

At first, you ignored it -figured it was your brain or something out in the hallway.

But then, it came back -a clear, harsh knock.

'2:30 am,' flashed across your screen as you looked at it, and then again, seriously, you thought you imagined it. Because who would that be?

You were fully awake now, leaning up on your couch, staring at your door -waiting, testing if it was real.

Knock.

Huh, you stood up -wiping at your eyes, and slowly slinking to the door.

"Hello?"

You don't know what you expected, but it certainly wasn't what you saw.

It was your neighbor, sweaty with ripped clothes (a suit, you think) -was he ever in anything else? His eyes were lidded, nose bleeding, it stained his mustache, and you were pretty sure there was a knife in his shoulder-

"You 'ave any first aid?" He had an accent, a crazy accent that somehow suited him but you didn't expect at all.

"Are you-" you were in disbelief, "-Are you okay?"

He paused, before retorting -frankly, "Did you hear a fuckin' word I said, love?"

"Sorry, sorry," you swallowed, beckoning him inside, "-I think I have one in my bathroom. Just- Just sit at the counter."

"Right, thanks."

You weren't even sure your feet were touching the ground at this point, but still, you were quick -sifting through your cabinets.

A man is bleeding out in my kitchen, your brain panged, -a man is bleeding out in my kitchen.

Blinking, you mindlessly -in an entirely different way now- but directly made your way to the kitchen. A kit in your hand, you pinched yourself for a moment -this would be one weird fucking dream.

As you said, the man sat on a stool -blood dripping down onto your tile. You briskly wondered how to get that out, before sliding all the supplies across the countertop -the clatter filling the quiet air.

Pulling yourself onto the stool opposite him, you licked across your lips -fidgeting with some packaging.

"You couldn't just borrow some sugar?" you mumbled, taking out an alcohol wipe.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frown still present on his lips -it seemed like it stayed there.

"This-" you motioned to him, "-is the first time we've met. You couldn't do a normal neighbor thing? Like borrow sugar-"

"Sorry, love," he rolled his eyes, "-I'll think of it fuckin' next time, yeah?"

"You should," you scoffed, "-I don't think every neighbor would appreciate bloodstains."

"And you do?"

"No," you stressed out, dabbing at a cut along his cheek -not the worst one but the first one you could handle right now, "-I am barely awake right now, and I'm half convinced you aren't even real-"

"Very real," he tsked, less biting this time.

You digested that information, swallowing dryly. A man, in some business, was on your stool, bleeding.

"Honest question," You pursed your lips, before focusing on another cut above his eyebrow. You were blatantly ignoring the knife, you literally had no idea-

"Go ahead," he huffed out, breaths puffing out of his chest.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?"

The man paused, thinking over his answer (why did he have to think?), "Break-in?"

You raised an eyebrow, tossing out the wipe, "You sure about that answer?"

"Better if ya didn't know, love," he mended -blue eyes slinking over your kitchen.

You hummed, picking through the material -thank god you took that sewing class, "Kind of expected that, mysterious suited neighbor."

"Tangerine."

You flicked up your eyes, confused, "Is that... Is that your safeword, or...?"

"Fuckin' hell," he sighed, using a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "-'s my name."

"Your name?" you questioned, tone raising.

"My brother-" he began before shaking his head -solidly, "-Doesn't fuckin matter, are ya gonna get to the knife wound or?"

"Listen," you spoke -a little pressed, "-I'm not one to stitch up wounds, Tangerine. I have to remember my sewing class-"

"You gonna stitch up my fuckin' shirt then, love?"

"Oh my god," you exhaled through your nose, "-no wonder you had to come to a stranger."

He opened his mouth -eager to bite back, but you promptly interrupted him.

"I have no experience," you said, taking the knife handle into your hand, "-but I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like hell."

"Lucky for you, love," he spoke through labored breaths -wrapping his fingers around yours, "-I'm very fuckin' experienced."

And then without hesitation, he tugged it out.

The next few moments were bloody and unreal to you -your hands working quickly but your brain significantly falling behind. You could cross 'stitching up a wound on a handsome man' off your bucket list if it was ever even on there.

Now, you sat on the stool -hands sticky red, and your shirt (one of your better pjs, sadly) stained just the same. With a roll of bandages, you wrapped his shoulder with tedious little movements -eyes focused only on the skin. Only looking up when you'd tied it off, mind finally settling.

"Is that everything?" You asked, careful to not put your hands anywhere except your shirt.

"Yeah," he spoke, softer, "-just some bruisin', I think."

"Let me get you some peas," you echoed, sliding down from your stool -steps slow, you were just tired.

He didn't speak a word, as you dug through your freezer -finding one at the very bottom, of course.

You extended your hand, the cold sensation keeping you up -aware. Right now, your brain was in overdrive, probably ever since he'd shown up at your door, and your body merely just followed behind.

He shifted, grabbing it from you -you saw a kiss of a tattoo that you were curious about but not enough to ask. Your eyes sunk along his shirt, which was not a shirt anymore, all bloodstained and ripped up.

Before you could stop it, you were asking, "Do you need new clothes?"

Tangerine paused, looking at you like you grew a third head. You were past that point, you had his literal blood on your hands -there was no need to be shy now.

"'Had a boyfriend about your build," you clarified, "-I never gave him back like 10 shirts, so-"

"10?" He interrupted and you thought you might've seen a smile quirk onto his lips.

"He smelled good," you offered, before spinning to the kitchen and proceeding to scrub your hands with no hesitation, "-You want one or not?"

"Yeah," he sighed out, a little awkwardly, "-Yeah, thanks."

"While I'm at it," you spoke over your shoulder, "-do you need a place to stay?"

He pursed his lips, hand pushed into the peas against his ribs -you imagined it would be a big bruise in the morning.

"I'm pretty sure whatever happened," you emphasized, "-left a mess. I have a couch if you need it."

"Bein' awfully fuckin' nice to a stranger," he hummed, eyes tired.

"I figured you would've killed me way earlier," you remarked, finally drying them on a nearby towel, "'Had some good opportunities."

He smiled then, you actually saw it with your own two eyes -you almost thought you were hallucinating. His head tilting back, as his shoulder pressed against your counter -he looked kind of like a painting, all twisted angles and sharp jaw.

"What's yours?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "My what?"

"Your name, love," he answered, soft and attentive -much different than before (you kind of thought he might've lost too much blood).

"You wanna know that now?" You laughed, but even still you told him -there was something about him that made you feel at ease. He really shouldn't have.

He stayed that night, cozied up in your ex-boyfriend's shirt (which he looked surprisingly good in) and freshly showered. You didn't see him when you woke up that morning, and you didn't know why you had expected it.

A few weeks go by, and you were pretty sure that he moved out. Which, in retrospect, made sense, even still something in you felt kinda disappointed. He was the first person you'd actually talked to in months.

Coworkers didn't count.

You shook your head, he was literally covered in blood. In a business he couldn't talk about, and you missed him? You were officially losing your mind.

"Stupid," you muttered, eyes dipping across the TV -some sort of cheesy romcom that you'd never seen before in your life but still felt nostalgic to watch. It wasn't the worst thing you'd ever seen.

Good enough to sit and eat your favorite meal to, it was interesting enough to keep you awake.

When you finally slinked off to bed, and tossed into your fluffy comforter and soft pillows, you were exhausted. Far too exhausted to stay awake any longer. So, you didn't.

The sun was creeping through your window when you woke up, but not a morning sun -a too early sun. You groaned, looking to your phone and seeing without a doubt, it was 4:15 am. At first, you didn't know why you'd woken up so early but then you heard it.

A knock.

Initially, you were not going to move because it was warm here and you were tired.

But then you thought about if it was him, and if in the morning you'd see him dead on your doorstep. That would be suspicious, and you'd probably end up in jail-

You sighed, pulling yourself out of the bed and pattering to the door. And when you swung it open, you were met with familiar blue eyes.

Before you could stop it, you asked, "Don't you have any friends?"

He barked out a laugh -chuckle really, but something in him seemed nervous (like he wasn't sure if he should have come), "Lovely to see you too, love."

"Right," you agreed, before shuffling to the side and letting him in. He relaxed ever-so-slightly.

The first thing you noticed was a split on his forehead, just a cut -it wouldn't need any stitches (thank god, these pajamas were your favorite), and then you dipped to his clothes which were actually in tack. It was a blue suit, really complimented his eyes, and you wondered distantly if he did that on purpose. He seemed the type.

His pants though were dirty, and you could see him limping -only slightly. He was definitely not in as bad as shape as before though; you really wondered why he was here.

"Sit," you motioned to the stool and disappeared into your bathroom.

You got much of the same things and climbed onto the stool beside him, eyes sweeping across his face. Now that you were closer, you could see little cuts along his skin -teeny tiny.

"Glass bottle," he offered before you could say anything.

You hummed, nonchalantly, "Coulda guessed."

Your brain was numb at the moment, still sleepy and you once again thought this might've been a hallucination. He was handsome after all, and you did daydream about handsome men so it definitely could be. And you guessed you could have a saviour thing-

You stopped your train of thought, interrupting the silence as you dabbed at his forehead, "You know I'm not a doctor, right?"

He spoke, frankly, "You talked about a sewing class when you needed to stitch up my bloody fuckin' knife wound, love."

You nodded, fair point, before continuing, "Then why are you here?"

Tangerine paused, and you thought distantly he didn't have an answer, until he answered, "'Hard to do myself."

You thought for a moment, before replying, "What about your brother?"

"Not in the fuckin' country," he answered simply -something frustrated in his tone. But then again, when wasn't there?

"Hmm," you hummed, before rubbing the rest of the tiny cuts -he hissed slightly, "-different job?"

"No," he exhaled, "-just a different... mission."

"'Make it sound like you're a super spy," you laughed, "-but Tangerine isn't a very cool codename."

"Fuck you."

"You are such a joy," you remarked, debating bandaging the top cut, "-Are bandaids too baby for you?"

"Plasters?" He asked.

British, right, you nodded -waving one in your fingers, "Yeah, I think it's all I've got for your wounds. Well, unless you want it wrapped around your head-"

"'s fine," he muttered -low but you still caught it.

"Good," you assured, sticking one to his skin -fingers fluttering along his skin (when was the last time you touched someone?).

"Alright," you leaned back, gathering up your supplies -promptly ignoring the thought, "-all done here. Your leg-"

"Bruised ankle," he clarified -explaining the limp.

"Oh," you spoke, "-I'll get the peas again."

Your eyes dipped to his pants, covered in... something (maybe a mix of blood and dirt?), "And a pair of pants."

He didn't say a word, merely staying seated, as you grabbed the peas -sliding them across your counter. Before stalling slightly, asking-

"Do you even still live here?"

He pressed his lips together, apparently debating telling you -which you were slightly offended by, "No."

"So you're staying?" You asked, neutrally.

"Don't 'ave to," he spoke -not combative, and you really thought you were hallucinating then.

You tilted your head, confused, "You can stay, didn't I say that before?"

He nodded, still so wordless, and you were honestly the most confused you ever could be. Tangerine was quieter, softer, and it was nothing like the time before; he even seemed grateful.

"Honest question," you started.

"Yeah, love?"

"Are you okay?" You decided, careful wording with eye contact strong. You two were kind of close, he left his life in your hands -it was strangely intimate. Your relationship was very confusing, but it felt right to ask.

"Yeah," he answered -furrowing his brows, "-these wounds are fuckin' nothing, love. I have been far, far closer to death."

"No, I mean-" you clarified, "-like mentally. You're being too nice."

He raised his eyebrows, "Too nice?"

"Yeah," you stressed like it was obvious, "-you are like grateful and shit. You've barely cussed at me."

"You saved my fuckin' life, love," he questioned, "-shouldn't I be kind for 'at?"

"You should," you agreed, before contradicting, "-but you don't."

He was quiet then, eyes not meeting yours as his fingers tapped against your counter -seemingly running things over in his mind. It was awhile that he was doing that, but you patiently waited. You suspected opening up at all wasn't his forte.

Finally, still looking around your living room, he mumbled, "'Needed to see someone."

You took him at his word -not dwelling because it really felt like he didn't want to, and the rest of the night was the same. He took the pants, slept on the couch, and was gone in the morning -even though he couldn't have slept more than a few hours.

It started happening pretty regularly after that. You'd fix him up, he'd talk, you'd talk, he'd stay over. You started loosening up, talking about your job, and your life -nothing super specific. He stayed clammed up about his job, but his personal life he did talk about -there wasn't much, but he did talk about his brother.

You felt like that was a big thing.

And then, after quite a few months between visits, you heard a knock at your door. Super late as always, you made your way to it -expectant and in routine. This time though, there were two of them: a familiar Tangerine, and a man with bleached tips and a surprisingly big smile.

"Hello," he smiled and it was very odd -Tangerine hardly smiled, "-lovely to meet ya, I'm Lemon."

You could assume from the name, even still, you felt a little out of place, "Nice to meet you."

"Brother," Tangerine motioned to him -frustration nearly radiating off of him, as he made his way inside.

"Rude," Lemon spoke, "-can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," you exhaled, letting him in.

Tangerine was relatively well -bruised knuckles, a busted lip, and a mild slice on his collarbone. Lemon was even better with just a black eye, atleast on the surface.

Instead of on the stool, Tangerine beelined straight to the bathroom -slamming the door.

You pursed your lips, turning to Lemon for answers, "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Annoyed 'im into takin' me 'ere," he answered simply, "-'Wanted to meet who my brother was talkin' about."

He talks about me, you thought for a moment -you fully believed that you were a little miniature part of his life, not something he'd talk about. Especially to his brother.

He must've seen your confusion, because he continued.

"Oh, he never shuts up, love," he laughed, "-'Feel like I already fuckin' know ya."

"Huh," you responded, puzzled.

You thought about it for a second, running over the idea in your mind. What did he have to talk about? Your life? Your boring job, your lack of love life, your favorite cheesy movies? He told that to his brother? His brother with the same unbelievable life?

Why the hell would he do that?

"Please, sit on my couch," you finally spoke, wandering towards the kitchen with intent, "-I'll get you something cold for your eye. And then, I'll deal with the tantrum."

"Thanks," Lemon smiled, tottering off to your TV and without hesitation, popping it on.

He really was very comfortable for not knowing you. How much had Tangerine said?

You stepped into the living room, offering the same peas to Lemon (did you even like peas?) that you often gave Tangerine. He smiled gratefully.

"Do you need any like Tylenol?" You asked, further -eyes swiftly drifting over his eye, it was a nasty sort of yellow, "-that one is a shiner."

"So nice," Lemon hummed, "-no wonder my brother was hoggin' ya. But, I'll be alright, 'ave had worse."

You nodded, before slowly making your way toward the bathroom. Raising your hand, you gently knocked -nothing compared to his on your door in ungodly hours of the morning.

"Tangerine?" You offered.

The door slid open, and your eyes swam over him -taking in his wounds that you had before like in confirmation. He really wasn't hurt bad, not like other times.

Turns out, you didn't care and still wanted to help.

He was leaning against the counter fidgeting with his hands -you think there was blood on his rings. You spoke before you could think about it.

"You want me to wash those?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "What?"

“Your rings,” you clarified, mentally cursing yourself, “-or… do you need help with your wounds?”

He seems to think about it for a moment, eyes dashing across his knuckles -his rings, really. You only watched him for a few moments, half convinced you had dreamt this all up, that maybe he didn’t even exist. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, he was certainly handsome enough. And his name was Tangerine. This could definitely all be a dream.

“Think I can do the rings myself, love,” he laughed a little -you still weren’t used to that sound, “-and the wounds aren’t ‘at bad.”

You looked at him for a moment, peering along the busted lip and the slice on his collarbone, “You sure? It’s kind of all I do, is it not?”

He smiled, mustache quirking up, “If it makes you feel better, you can clean the cut. But really, love, I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking in his breaths that swirled with yours -the bathroom was small, “I’ll just get you some ice for your knuckles. But if you die from infection, it’s not on me.”

He really laughed at the one, as you spun on your feet back to the kitchen -digging out some other frozen food you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. With a solid motion, you extended it forward (it was maybe tater tots?), offering it to Tangerine.

“Sorry it’s not the peas,” you spoke, pointing to Lemon -who at the time seemed to be half asleep on the couch, “-your brother stole those.”

“The fuckin’ twat,” he hissed out, a little too personally -you thought it was probably about something far bigger than your frozen peas. He could definitely be that petty though. So, it was possible.

"Woah, somebody's pissy today. Bad day?"

Tangerine seemed to pause, eyes swimming over you -like he was committing you to memory, you briefly wondered why.

"Yeah," he said, solidly -not elaborating. You knew better than to expect him to.

"Well," you spoke, a little awkwardly -not sure where to go, "-I've got... icecream?"

He looked at you like you were insane, but then again, when wasn't he? You said a lot of things without a filter in front of him. Handsome men, what could you say?

"Like..." you clarified, clearing your throat, "-to eat."

"Yeah, love, I fuckin' got 'at part. Why the hell would I want icecream?"

There it was. Tangerine in his true form.

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone else cut you to the chase.

"Sorry," Lemon perked up, "-did you say icecream? Because 'at would be really lovely with this movie, a great pair-"

"Yeah," you turned to him -his presence was a lot warmer (why was his name Lemon?), "-I've only got one flavor, but..."

"Fine with me," Lemon responded, with a big smile, "-brother, are you gettin' any?"

Tangerine huffed out of his nose, genuinely frustrated apparently -much different than a moment ago. What was he even angry about? There was nothing-

"No," he spoke through a snarl.

"Ouch," Lemon put his hands on his heart, replying flatly, "-really hurts, mate. Not used to your shitty behavior at all."

You decidedly left the room (not really it was all open concept), waltzing toward your kitchen with a focus in mind. As you were digging around, trying to find the pint you'd hidden from yourself, you were interrupted.

"Do you..." you turned at his voice, Tangerine, he didn't look very certain of his words, "-Do you need any help, love?"

"Help?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow, "-With icecream?"

"Well," he was suddenly very grumpy -probably embarrassed, "-you help me all the fuckin' time, so I just thought- Excuse me for fuckin' offering."

"You..." you started, standing and now facing him, "-You were going to repay me for saving your life, by helping me with icecream?"

"'S hardly saving my life," he grumbled, under his breath -you still heard it.

"You had a knife-" you motioned harshly to stress the word, "-in your shoulder the first time we met."

"Not deadly," he retorted, a bit pompous.

You rolled your eyes, "Look, give me the benefit of the doubt-"

Tangerine quickly said -almost on instinct, "I certainly will fuckin' not."

"-let's call it even," you continued, ignoring his remark, "-I save your life, you save mine."

"That's..." he started, "-That's makin' it even?"

"Well, yeah," you tilted your head, "-a life for a life."

He furrowed his eyebrows, you took it as him not understanding.

"Let's say that I'm getting chased down an alley," you clarified, before interjecting, "-Ooh wait, or maybe I'm getting robbed-"

"Are you fuckin' excited at the idea of gettin' robbed, love?"

"No," you quickly mended, "-it's just a better story. Plus, that's not relevant-"

His lips quirked up into a little smile.

"-What I'm saying is," you started, "-If I'm in trouble, you have to save me. To make it even."

"And how am I supposed to know when you're in trouble, then?"

You paused, pursing your lips -good point, "Uh, I don't know. Do you guys have like a bat signal? Like I hold up a fruit stand sign to the light-"

"Very funny," Tangerine interrupted -flatly, "-Look, just take my phone number, yeah? If you're ever in trouble, you can ring me like a fuckin' normal person."

"You're one to talk," you responded, before furrowing your eyebrows, "-Wait, you guys have phones?"

"Yeah," Tangerine stressed, "-who do you think we are?"

"Well, I don't know," you explained, "-don't phones have trackers? Won't that out you guys? When you're on... jobs?"

"Burners," Lemon quickly clarified, "-well, kind of. 'S on a secret network, basically."

"So," you started, processing, "-you want to give me your secret phone number?"

Tangerine hummed, realizing but seeming to settle, "Well, it's not like you've given me a reason to not trust you, love. Should I not?"

"True," you responded, "-I have not snitched on you. Even with... all the blood, and the knife, and the job you won't talk about-"

"We get it, love," he groaned out, "-just give me your fuckin' phone, yeah?"

You without hesitation gave it to him, he seemed to quickly put your phone number in his, and then his in yours -handing it back to you open on the contact. With a smile, you made his name the tangerine emoji.

"You put me as the damn emoji, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed out, pocketing your phone in one fellow swoop.

You ended up seeing them both a few more times after that with varying injuries. (Once Lemon had a broken nose, and Tangerine had a broken finger. No more knives, thankfully.)

They were starting to be familiar to you -friends even. Despite not telling you about their job, you had gotten to know them well; you hate to brag but you were pretty good at settling their arguments. It made you integral to their dynamic.

You probably should've known one day you helping them stay alive would come back and bite you in the ass.

See, if you were asked, you'd probably assume they had many enemies. They were, at least, fighting people on a daily basis -you don't do that if your job is a positive one. And fighting people, almost regularly, is a surefire way of saying 'somebody hates me'. They probably had an enemy in every other city, if you were realistic.

You don't know why you hadn't thought of that.

That day, it was just a normal one. You worked until the sun went down, and then went home. Or you were supposed to.

Your shift at work was long and exhausting and you kind of wished your bed was right in front of you -so, to be honest, you weren't in your most aware state. It was always dangerous walking the streets tired, you knew this, so you usually had someone walk home with you. This night, in particular, was a lone shift (hell on earth) with a manager you didn't like, so you didn't ask.

And maybe that was stupid of you, but you doubted they would say yes.

Your feet pattered along the sidewalk, street lamps fading in and out of your view. Every few steps it'd get dark and then light again; to be honest, you were too tired to feel scared when it was dark.

And then, right as you stepped into the light, you heard the screech of car breaks (which you were kind of used to) and then suddenly there were hands all over you. Gloved hands, black-gloved hands.

Before you could say a word, you were thrown into the back of a van -no seats by the way, and enveloped in darkness.

It took you a minute to adjust, head spinning and hands shaking against the cold metal underneath you. It kind of felt like when you met Tangerine for the first time, like you weren't really there. Like you were experiencing something so bizarre, it couldn't be real-

Shit, you thought to yourself, Tangerine.

You patted yourself, ruffling over your pockets -trying to find your phone. It was dark and you couldn't even see. You guessed that was why, your phone went clattering onto the metal, away from your hand -loud.

There was something in you that hoped that these guys were stupid. That they'd look over the noise and ignore you until they took you wherever the hell they were taking you.

You weren't that lucky.

The van was distinctly pulled over, tires even scraping along the bumpy texture. And within minutes, the door to the van was flung open.

They were just a shadowy figure, light framing them so you couldn't see any of his features at all. He was just a shadow. You didn't know if that made him any scarier.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" His voice was low and gruff -like a smoker.

"I didn't-" you started, trying to avoid your phone -it was shadowed in the dark. You doubted he could see it-

And then his eyes flicked directly to it.

You literally could not have had a worse day.

Instead of reaching for it, he eyed for you to instead. And for a second, you thought he might've been trying to help you. That was wrong.

With your phone in your hand, the man promptly put a gun to your head. From a distance, yeah, but still trained directly into the center of your forehead. Was he going to kill you? Just like that?

This was suddenly very real, you swallowed back tears and nearly dropped your phone -trying to raise your hands up.

"Please," you begged, slowly and shaky but clear enough for them to hear.

"Shut up," he hissed out, "-listen. Take your phone, and call 'em."

"C-Call who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," the man echoed out, and you heard the click of the trigger pulling back -dear god, "-we know you're close to the twins, we've been watchin' your place for months."

"Okay, okay-" you breathed out, it felt like your lungs were full like you were suffocating-

Tears burned at the backs of your eyes, as your fingers, shaking, scrolled around the contacts app -he hadn't texted you or anything so all you had was his contact. Only for emergencies, he'd said.

You almost wanted to scare him once, but the idea felt so very stupid now.

Clicking call, the man nudged your hand, speaking lowly, "Put it on fucking speaker, now."

You dutifully did so, even if it took a few tries to hit the button -your hands were shaking enough to blur the screen. Your head was spinning, and the only thing your could feel was the cold metal beneath your legs.

Why did you ever think this was a good idea? To get caught up with... with bloody men who had a mysterious job?

You were moving back home if you made it out alive -the city wasn't worth this.

"'Ello?" His voice was spent, and you could hear the raggedy breaths puffing out of his chest -somehow hearing his voice calmed you just a second.

The man nudged you again, so you spoke, "Tangerine?"

He must have not been paying attention, because your shaky whisper -wet from your tears, you were crying, went relatively unnoticed.

"Little busy at the mo-" you heard a solid hit and what sounded like a crack, "-ment, you sure this is important, love?"

The man kept his eyes laser-focused on you, you took it as a sign to keep talking.

"T-Tangerine," you repeated, more inflection -the shake in your voice unavoidable.

The noise on the phone, suddenly got very quiet -you heard him mumble something to Lemon 'you got 'im?' before seeming to pull his full attention to you, "Everything okay, love? You sound... Is somethin' wrong?"

The man looked at you, expectantly. You took it as to tell him what was happening, clenching your nails into your skin -it might bleed. The pain was distracting, even just for a moment.

"I-I'm," you tried, but your voice cracked, and your breath turned into a sob, "T-There's a man, he has a gun to my head, I don't- I don't know why-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Tangerine spit out, something fierce in his voice, "Lemon-"

The man snatched the phone from your hand, voice low and in a growl, "Seems I got something you want, Tangerine. It's only fair."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the man deflected, "-all that matters is that I have your little nurse, and you have no idea where we are."

The van, suddenly without warning, started up again -swinging back onto the road. You braced yourself against the wall, mindlessly blinking -this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

You could hear the pounding of his footsteps -rushed, like he was trying to get somewhere, "If you lay a hand on 'em, I will fuckin' rip you apart, piece by excruciating piece. Slow and fuckin' steady, for hours-"

"You say that as if you know where we are," the man responded, "-as if you have a chance of finding them in time."

In time? your brain chimed, and everything felt so far away now.

"I swear to fuckin' god-" he spit out, venomous, "-if you hurt 'em-"

"Yeah, yeah," the man retorted -confidence in his tone, "-I got that part, fruit."

You breathed out, swallowing back tears, and wiping your eyes so hard that you were seeing spots; maybe this was all a dream, maybe you had just fallen asleep at work-

"Hate to do this to you," the man echoed out, "-but we have to go. Let's hope we see each other later, for your sake."

Tangerine nearly yelled through the phone, but that didn't stop him from hanging up.

At the next stop, the man moved back to the front -taking your phone with him. You sat alone, in the back of a van, in complete darkness.

Would this be the last thing you ever see? Really?

It was just like you were in the city, so incredibly alone. At least you had a chance then, to remedy it. Now... Now you weren't even sure you'd be breathing in a few hours.

"Oh god," you breathed out a big exhale, a sob bubbling up your throat -you had so much left to do, "-oh god."

The van didn't stop for what felt like forever, bumpy roads and quick turns -they were speeding the whole time, and you had no idea how they weren't pulled over. But maybe it was because of the hour, it was fairly late.

The door swung open before you could think about anything else, two men rushing in and grabbing you by the shoulders -dragging you out.

"If you scream," you felt cold metal to your neck, "-you're dead."

"Aren't you going to kill me anyways?"

"Only if your friends," the other man retorted, "-don't behave."

They tied something around your eyes, leaving you completely in the dark -gloved hands squeezing your shoulders so tight, they were definitely going to bruise. Three sets of feet pattered along what sounded like concrete, as your mind went numb -the cold, bitter air filtering over your skin.

It was echoing now, after you heard the swing of some heavy doors opening -must have been a big place. Your mind was reeling, you felt like you weren't even really there.

Then, without a word, they threw you forward directly into a brick wall -seemingly latching a door behind you. Your head spun for a moment as you tried to reorient yourself -blindfold still on, as you pulled it off you felt a stickiness on your forehead.

Pulling your hand in front of your face, you realized it was blood. How hard did you hit your head?

Your fingers flitted across it again, and you hissed. Apparently very hard.

You tried to look at your hands, see how much blood, but it was all shadowed -the darkness didn't change much from what you saw in the blindfold.

Hands shaking, you leaned yourself against the wall -tears steadily making their way down your cheeks. You could cry now, freely, as you finally were brought back down to your body.

This was really happening. You were in some dingy old room, and there were men outside who wanted to kill you to get at someone else. You were expendable, a pawn.

Any moment, any feeling, and they could just kill you. You'd die here, and nobody would know what happened to you.

You'd be one of those news stories you couldn't believe.

The brick scratched against your head, but it was kind of numbed by your headache -pounding where you knew the split of skin to be. Or where you could've guessed it was anyway.

That couldn't mean anything good.

Your breaths were starting to hollow out, low and slow, your body coming back to the cold concrete floors. You were grappling with your helplessness, what the hell would you do? What could you do?

You were... you couldn't do anything. You were done. This was it, all that work for... for you to die in some dingy old room alone.

And then, you thought of something you hadn't thought to. Something you'd never let your mind dig into, not really, because at the time it seemed stupid.

Tangerine.

You'd always known there was something there, something bubbling under your skin. Even with everything, you still... there was something.

Something warm in your chest at the idea that he came to see you. That it wasn't just for the help anymore. And he was handsome, and he promised to save you and his eyes and his arms and his hands-

Before you could think about it for too long, something interrupted you.

Boom.

It made your ears sting, the noise bouncing along the walls -you flinched where you sat. Breath sudden in a gasp, you stilled. Almost like as if someone could see you, like you were hiding.

There was some shuffling outside, someone messing with the latch on the door -they were struggling. Maybe because their hands were shaking? They were trying to get in-

And then, right outside the door was an even louder-

Boom.

It makes your head sting, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see spots. You swallowed, trying to calm the pounding in your head, rubbing at your temples.

Gunshots, you recognized, suddenly, they were gunshots.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, they were right outside the door. With a gun. With a gun-

Before you could think of anything to say, the rattling at the door started again -the scratch of metal against metal. It sounded more frantic now, somehow, and your whole body froze. Maybe if you didn't move they wouldn't hear you?

The door swung open, light pouring in that made your eyes sting. The door pounding against the wall -loud and opposing.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, staying completely still -hoping the shadow hid you against the walls. One hand covering your face, waiting until a figure steps into the room.

And when one did, cast in shadow, you sat very still. Watching their head twist around the room, back and forth -looking, searching.

You bit back a sob, let me live, let me live.

Then, they spoke.

"Love? Are you in 'ere?" He echoed out, "-Or was that fuckin' twat lyin'-"

"Tangerine," spilled out of your mouth as you rushed forward -wrapping your arms around him in a huff, "-holy shit, Tangerine-"

He stood frozen for a second, unfamiliar with the affection, you assumed. You inhaled a shaky breath in, the whiff of his cologne keeping you stable, there. You were safe-

His arms slowly met around you, unsure, but settling comfortably. Holding you for a second, just a second.

"Are you alright, love?" He pushed back a little bit -blue eyes scanning over you, "-Did he fuckin' lay a hand on you?"

"No, just-" you breathed out, pushing through the pain, "-he slammed me against the wall, I hit my head pretty hard, but that's-"

"Your head?" He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the light, "-Come out 'ere, love, so I can see."

"It's not really-"

Tangerine let out a big sigh, turning back to you, "Let me help you, yeah?"

You pursed your lips, eyeing him for a moment -he was relatively unscathed, just a blood stain on his shirt and maybe some busted-up knuckles. His hair was still in place and his suit jacket uncreased, he felt composed -sturdy. Stable, really.

"Okay," you whispered out, letting him guide you out the door -you hissed at the little light you did see, almost instinctively squeezing your eyes shut.

"Sorry, love," he spoke, soft and gentle, "-can't control the sun for you."

"You could block it," you remarked, "-god made your shoulders insanely broad for a reason."

He laughed, moving in his place so less light shone on you -hands moving to hold your face (tilting the wound into the light), "You think my shoulders are broad, then?"

"Duh," you responded, something in your head woozy -you stumbled a little in place.

"Shit," he reacted, hands smoothing to your shoulders, holding you up, "-Can you 'ear me? Stay fuckin' awake, yeah?"

"Okay," you blinked heavily, trying to see him clearly.

When you did, he stood there eyes desperately searching yours -looking at you, concerned. They scattered all over you, settling on the split on your head for a bit too long -it was still pounding in your head, made you flinch a little.

"Do you think-" you started, "-Do you think I need a hospital?"

"No," Tangerine breathed out, fingers dusting along your wound, "-just need someone to watch ya overnight. And to clean you up a bit."

"Wouldn't..." you echoed, "-Wouldn't a hospital do that?"

Tangerine met your eyes, his lips quirking into a smile (just barely), "You think you're fuckin' funny, yeah?"

"I'm just making a point," you deflected.

"Just-" he sighed out, before connecting your eyes again, "-let me help you. I want to, yeah? I really fuckin' want to."

"Okay," you echoed out, relaxing into his touch -relaxing finally, "-fine."

"Good," he tsked, and without hesitation wrapped his fingers around your wrist, "-now, let's get out of 'ere, shall we?"

You did so, eyes squeezed shut tight because all the light did was hurt. But Tangerine soothed you, hand still on your wrist, ("Close your eyes if it hurts, love, I've got you.") and guided you along, even sitting you down in the car and pulling the seat belt along your body.

"You know I could do that myself, right?" You spoke, eyes squinted open -the car was much darker.

He didn't dignify you with a response, sliding into your side and shutting the door behind himself. He silently settled into the seat beside you, like the passenger seat was taken. Which it decidedly was not.

His blue eyes kept darting to you, and you could feel his leg pressed against yours.

"You know that I'm fine, Tangerine," you exhaled, looking to him, "-don't you?"

He didn't respond, so you continued.

"You looked at my wound, I'm alright-" you laughed a little, "-I can sit in the backseat by myself."

Tangerine seemed to think for a second, before speaking decidedly, "If you go to fuckin' sleep, love, you won't wake up. I'm 'ere to keep you awake."

You could feel his breath fan over your face, and you swallowed. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, as your eyes stayed on his (blue, blue-). With another intake of breath, you snapped them away -eagerly looking out the window.

Well, you thought to yourself, you're doing a really good job, Tangerine.

The city blurred by, as it made way to more familiar silhouettes but not... not yours. Not ones near your home.

"Um," you spoke, particularly to Lemon (who was driving) "-are we not going... home?"

"You serious, love?" Tangerine offered, blue eyes decidedly matching yours.

"Are we not-"

Lemon interrupted -catching your eye in the mirror, "You were kidnapped, mate. Do you not remember 'at?"

"No, I do," you huffed out, eyes dashing between the two of them, "-they didn't get me at home though, they got me off the street."

"Doesn't mean anythin'," Tangerine countered, jaw twitching ever so slightly -he really didn't like talking about them, "-'Ey 'ave eyes on your home, 's how they made the connection to us."

"Tangerine-"

"He's got a point," Lemon responded, fingers tapping along the wheel, "-takes too much effort to prove 'im wrong, trust me."

"Lemon-"

"Why do you even want to go home, love?" Tangerine interrupted, eyebrows furrowed -genuine curiosity.

"Because it's my home," you reiterated, "-it's familiar. I know you guys may have forgotten the feeling, but it... it would make me feel a lot better to be home."

Tangerine sighed, a deep heavy sigh, "How about a compromise?"

You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across his face (god, was he pretty), "I'm listening."

"We stay at the hotel a few nights until they cool off," he offered, "-and then, you can go home."

You sighed out in relief.

"But," Tangerine clarified, "-me and Lemon need to stay with you for a while. There's not a fuckin' chance you're goin' alone after this. Especially so soon."

"What so-" you started, "-you guys are going to constantly be around me? I have work, and I... I need to get groceries-"

"We 'ave to be, love," Tangerine spoke in almost a whisper, soft, "-these people, they're not goin' to be as fuckin' nice next time. Lemon and I know 'at."

Right, you thought to yourself, mysterious jobs. They've probably done something like this before.

You involuntary shuddered, thinking about the darkness and the gun and your life-

Tangerine looked at you, eyes darting around your face -a slosh of concern sliding over his features, flickering in his eyes. It was no wonder those thoughts had come to the forefront of your mind, he was so protective of you. There's only so much you can resist feelings for someone who so very much values your life.

A handsome someone, your mind tsked.

Before he could open his mouth though, you turned your head back to the window. A familiar swirl bubbled into your stomach, you couldn't chance looking at him. Afterall, getting flustered with him was surely a dead giveaway and there was no way in hell Tangerine felt anything remotely the same.

And that was plain embarrassing.

You felt suddenly like you were in school again, and were crushing on a jock -that never even looked your way. It felt pretty hopeless, and even though it did, it didn't stop you from going to every game -just to pretend for a little while.

Was that what patching him up was? Your own sort of way to be close to him, to pretend for a moment that everything was different.

Shit, you thought, that is embarrassing.

Luckily, you severely doubted Tangerine would ever know. You were pretty good at keeping secrets. Hence, well, the whole reason you were even here in the first place -you regularly housed assassins.

It took only a few minutes after that (feeling blue eyes boring into your side the whole time) when Lemon pulled into a parking spot and you arrived at the hotel. Lucky for you, it was far from a dingy old place on the side of the road.

This place was way above your paygrade. You had never even dreamed of living such a luxury; all golden accents and marble floors. You hardly even knew this place existed in your city.

"I take it back," you whispered to Tangerine, as Lemon strode up to the front desk to request a room change, "-we can stay here forever."

You saw the woman point to you, clearly in concern and you suddenly remembered the wound on your head. Your fingers smoothed along it, and you grimaced, Lemon seemed to come up with some sort of explanation, though. And she promptly looked away.

Tangerine laughed at your words, a quiet little chuckle, and fell rather silent. You peered over at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything back; and when you did, he seemed to be stealing little looks at you -silently fidgeting with his rings.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment, debating asking him about it.

Before you could, he opened his mouth to say something -eyes lingering on your face, like he was trying to memorize it (something in your chest fluttered), "Love, I-"

"Sorry, mates," Lemon interrupted, eyes dashing between the two of you for a moment, "-rooms are booked tonight. Lady says we can try again tomorrow but she doubts it'll 'ave changed."

"So," you swallowed, "-just two bedrooms?"

"Yep," Lemon popped the p, "-and hate to say it, but I'm gettin' one by myself. You lot can figure the rest of 'at out yourselves."

Something was gleaming there in his eye -something mischievous; you frowned -heartbeat stuttering in your chest.

Maybe there's a couch, your mind chimed -a little patheticly.

As fate would have it, there was. And an entire kitchen and living space -an expensive kitchen and living space. You were truly floored by this place.

"This is a hotel, right?" you questioned, eyes lingering on the high ceilings (you decidedly did not have those).

"For rich blokes," Lemon clarified, "-the kinds 'at hate to 'ave anythin' besides luxury."

You spun around, eyes darting between the two of them, "Like you two?"

Tangerine frowned, and Lemon snorted -disappearing off into the kitchen; leaving just you and Tangerine alone in the living space. That being said, each room was actually divided, with no open concept -just archways.

You slung yourself onto the couch, inelegantly (but when were you ever elegant) and were pleased to find it felt like clouds, "Why, if you could pay for this, did you ever come to my apartment? They probably have an on-staff nurse you could page, good god-"

"Eh," Tangerine mended, voice calm and confident, "-like the company better 'ere."

You smiled to yourself, small and quiet, heart fluttering in your chest. You are not making this easy, fruit man.

You cleared your throat, about to shift the subject because you frankly could not address the fondness in his eyes. Instead, Lemon came to your rescue with a smile.

"Well," he spoke, "-I'm fuckin' exhausted, I'm off to bed. If you need anythin', ask Tangerine."

And then, with that, he left -disappearing behind one of the doors down into the hallway.

"You can't sleep," Tangerine said suddenly, "-your head... We've got to get you to a doctor in the mornin', so they can look at it."

"Why not tonight?"

"I truly fuckin' doubt anyone of credit would be open this late," he explained, sauntering up to your side and sitting down (when he had the whole couch).

"Tangerine," you spoke, "-the emergency room doesn't just... close."

"I just," he sighed out, leaning back into the couch "-I want you safe for tonight, yeah?"

"I doubt they'd show up to a hospital," you reasoned, weighing your words.

Tangerine frowned.

"Look, I just-" you paused, "-you don't have to be on watch duty. You need sleep. Just take me to the ER, and I'll-"

He scoffed, repeating, "There's no fuckin' way you're going alone, love."

Swiping the keys off one of the tables near the door and shooting Lemon a text, he grabbed your hand and guided you outside.

The night was a surprisingly quick one, as you were taken into the ER and looked at. They quickly bandaged and stitched your wound, even sending you in to get your brain looked at. Tangerine was dutifully by your side, all night, even when they told you they'd rather keep an eye on you tonight. Something along the lines of what Tangerine said, keeping you awake.

He did, however, end up getting some sleep -slouched over in a hospital chair. One of those plastic ones that really could not be comfortable, and you knew his back would ache in the morning. But when you asked him to, he straight refused to leave ("No fuckin' way, love"); so, you were sort of glad he had gotten some sleep after all.

Then, the next morning, they set you on your way. Quickly reminding your husband (it was the only way Tangerine could stay overnight) of all the bandage changes and consistent eye he should keep on you; he seemed rather serious when listening -eyes intent, and almost as if he could, he would take out a notepad and write each thing down extensively.

You were touched, something in your chest swirling widely.

Was this how he felt when you took care of him?

Well, you sort of doubted so, because they were different circumstances. Despite the closeness and the fingertips on the skin, it was less protective and more domestic. Something very different in the closeness there, and the presence of him now.

Even now, as you leaned onto the couch, scrolling through channels -you felt his eyes solidly on you.

"Tangerine," you tsked, bandage smoothed across your head, "-I'm fine."

He blinked, as your eyes swam over his face and a pink dusted along his cheeks, "That's not what I- I was just... just lookin', love."

You furrowed your eyebrows, curious, tilting your head, "Why?"

Tangerine paused, blue eyes bubbling along your skin -like he was considering his answer, or maybe deciding on one. You thought for a second that he wasn't going to say anything -wordless, as always.

"Need to change your bandage," he deflected, getting up, grabbing some supplies, and roaming over to you on the couch.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the cushions -so soft and cloudlike that you almost couldn't stay frustrated, "We just did that."

"'At was yesterday, love," Tangerine hummed, smiling ever-so-slightly, "-the doctors said-"

"The doctors said," you mocked his accent, shaking your head with the words, "-spare me the speech this time, Tan."

He smirked, face so close to yours now (peeling the old one off, rough fingertips dusting along your forehead), "Fuckin' argumentative today, yeah?"

You swallowed, eyes darting between his -back and forth, responding shortly, "Maybe."

Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at the quickness of your response, dabbing at the wound quickly -cleaning it. He was gentle, with tiny little movements; it was hard to imagine these were the same hands that hurt others. He was so soft with your wound, why-

"You alright, love?"

He was a breath away, blue eyes (upon finishing the bandaging) matching yours, intensely. Tangerine just had an intense stare, like you simply held the world in your hands. It was like he didn't blink, even though you knew he did.

You swallowed, for a moment, eyes dashing along his face -it really was totally unfair. Your cheeks grew a little hot at the closeness, you saw his eyes dart to it -eyebrows furrowing together.

Good god, it really was like high-school again.

"What, yeah-" you laughed, awkwardly -eyes darting away from him, "-why would I not be?"

Tangerine hummed in thought for a second, and you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning, "Love... you're actin' really fuckin' odd right now."

You fidgeted with your fingers, watching them in your lap -you couldn't think straight right now. This was all new in your brain, and when was the last time you had feelings for someone-

"I'm not," you answered, finally -a bit like a toddler who was getting in trouble but the meaning all the same.

He sighed out a breath, seeming to settle on something and you could almost feel his eyeroll.

And without another second, you felt his fingers on your chin. Rough fingertips brushed against it, as he tilted you back to face him.

You blinked.

His blue eyes flickered along your face, slow and tedious, "You know you're safe with me, yeah?"

"Tangerine," you exhaled.

"I'd-" he started, eyes dipping away before coming back to yours -so genuine, "-I'd save you without the deal, you know 'at? Anytime, anywhere-"

"Tangerine, that's not-" you faltered, he was so broken open, vulnerable, to you right now. Something in your chest heavy, and your heart ready to spill on your tongue.

"I'd shoot 'im over and over again if it made ya feel safe, love," he continued, fingertip brushing along your skin like he was cradling your face, "-I'm sorry I ever let 'im put a fuckin' hand on you, you 'ave to know 'at."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, soft, "-That's not your fault."

"It is."

"Tangerine-"

"You're afraid now, aren't you?" He echoed out, a soft sort of whisper but filled with intent, "-How does 'at not mean I'm responsible? I never should've-"

"Tangerine!" You exclaimed, resorting to using your hands to cup his face -bringing him back down to earth, "-I'm not... afraid."

He paused.

"Well, yeah, I am, but it's not-" you tsked, before sighing, "-I know you'll keep me safe. I don't know how I know, I just... do."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Then why-"

And then, as normal, your brain stopped functioning, words coming out before you could think them over, "You're very pretty."

He opened his mouth, a smirk smoothing onto his lips. You didn't let him continue.

"And I'm not immune to a pretty man caring about my well-being," you clarified, swallowing -somehow maintaining eye contact, "-I'm not... good at handling it."

"You're..." he started, a quirk of a smile on his lips (not that you were looking), "You're fuckin' flustered, love?"

"Mortifyingly embarrassed," you corrected, your voice squeaked out.

Tangerine laughed a little, "Ya sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"Ha ha, laugh it up, mustache," you responded, rolling your eyes -much more comfortable. The banter was easy.

"Well," he tsked, and you were suddenly very aware of how close his face is to yours, "-you apparently fuckin' like it, love. What's 'at say about you?"

You swallowed, "Didn't say it doesn't suit you."

"Hmm," he hummed, and there was a flicker of something in his eye -mischievous, "-guess not."

"Nope," you popped the p -awkwardly. Your eyes darting between his frantically, you felt something building in the air a moment -heavy as your eyes sat on his, and his on yours.

It was almost as if, a look, one glance held your entire being in the balance.

"I think you're quite pretty too, ya know," he echoed out, low and gravelly -you could feel his breaths scattered across your face. He was suddenly very close to you again, the fuzziness that banter provided snatched away.

Something twisted in the bottom of your stomach, as you opened your mouth -letting out a very quiet, "Thank you."

He seemed to take those words, just absorb them in the heavy silence that had bestowed upon the room. There was a part of you that wished Lemon was still here, that he could pull you apart but he left early that morning. And now, here you were, and all you could think about was his lips and that stupid fucking mustache-

You blinked, clearing the fog, and clearing your throat -backing up and standing to your feet.

Tangerine slowly came to the realization, the haze drifting out of his eyes, as they came to default onto yours -still intense but not as close. You could handle this.

"Anyway," you bit your lip, "-I'm kind of starved, do you... want anything?"

"Do I fuckin' want anythin'," he mumbled to himself for a moment -hands carefully putting the old bandage on the table and arranging all of the supplies so they wouldn't fall off.

And with a slow measured breath, he rose to his feet -steps teetering closer to you. His hands found solace in his hair as he rifled it up a bit, and on the cuff of his shirt -you saw a little blood. Was that from you? From your bandage-

"I've got somethin' in mind," he finally said, a little distant from you, but nothing like before (maybe just a few steps away from the closeness of the couch).

"Yeah, um," you cleared your throat, but it still felt dry, "-what do you... want? I think we've got like some... fancy tortilla chips and salsa, which... is a good one, or-"

He laughed a deep sort of low chuckle, erasing those steps you talked about before. You swallowed, words trailing off; there was a little spark in his eye when he noticed that you had -pride.

"You are really un-fuckin'-believable, you know 'at, love?"

"I think you've told me before."

He laughed at that, shaking his head, and you felt the breaths of each one scattered along your face -brushing onto your lips. You snapped your mouth closed at the thought.

Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, deep, deep breaths. You can do this.

Tangerine grew rather silent, before words seemed to bubble out of him without thinking, "You."

"What?"

"I want you, love," he clarified, "-in particular, I'd really love to fuckin' kiss ya right now, is 'at alright?"

"I didn't think you were the type to ask," you quipped, before you could really think about it, again.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a bit in defense.

"No, I mean-" you scrambled for a minute, "-you feel like the kinda guy that does it-"

"It?"

"-in like an emotional rush. You know? Like no words, just... just..."

Tangerine sighed, but you could see the quirk of a smile on his lips -you hadn't scared him off yet apparently.

"Sorry," you squeaked out, and you definitely saw a smile smooth across his lips.

"I'm fuckin' askin' ya, love. Say yes or no, yeah?"

"Yes," it came out in a rush of breath, a little like it clawed up your throat with desperation, "-yes."

Tangerine didn't hesitate a second longer, pushing forward with a force unmatched -big hands coming to cup your face at the hinge of your jaw. It was desperate, almost like he'd been waiting to do this awhile and the idea of that, made your breath catch.

You briefly wondered when it started, before he pushed into you further -hands righting themselves just below your ears on the back of your neck. He made you bump into the wall behind you. Tangerine promptly swallowed your squeak at the sensation, as easy as breathing.

Of course he was good at kissing too, your mind chimed, so unfair.

And then a more coy voice spoke up, but hey, he does want to kiss you though, I'd count that as a win.

Yeah, you decided as his mustache scratched ever so slightly at your upper lip and his hands dropped to your waist, definitely a win.

He pulled back a moment, breaths ragged and slow -eyes darting over yours, "Was good, yeah?"

You decidedly didn't answer him, pushing forward to kiss him again -this time a little slower, less rushed. He was just as slow, fingers holding your waist just slightly tighter like he didn't want you to leave.

Why the hell would I leave?

Tangerine was the one to part that time too, eyes slow to open like the kiss had affected him just as much. Your heart beat a little faster at that.

"Take that as a yes, yeah?"

"Oh, definitely," you laughed, hands coming to rest between his chest and shoulders.

He's strong too, your mind unwillingly retorted.

He didn't move, like he was simply absorbing your breaths and to be fair, you were pretty sure you were doing the same. He was nearly panting after all.

Words slipped out before you could stop them, "When I told you to borrow sugar, this was not what I was expecting."

Tangerine paused for a moment, gears working. Before his face flickered into something of annoyance, frown so prominent.

"Good god, fuckin' shut up, love."

"Make me," you offered, laughing.

And he certainly did.

[scaraandshitposts]

okay wait I was onto smth!! maybe!!!

Halloween/Fall Hcs with genshin men!🕸

written w fem reader in mind, established relationships, modern au, light sex joke, ft scara, ajax, lyney

scara

if you're going to want to be out and about on halloween, this is not the guy for you. 100% wants to stay in the whole time

will watch scary movies/play horror games with you, he will any day honestly but- he gets such an ego boost if you hide yourself in his shirt during gorey or freaky parts of movies. he gets so happy that he feels like he can protect you

he will not, under any circumstances, hand out candy to trick or treaters. he will slam the door in a 6 year olds face lmao he thinks it's stupid and will be honest about it. if you have a young sibling, he'll come with you to take them trick or treating (and complain a lot)

he doesn't care for anything sweet, probably opting for sour candies like sweettarts or those weird hard ball things. but maybe if he's feeling generous, he'll buy you some of your favorite treats. even if he hates the sticky sweet gummies and pixie stix you adore, you can bet everything he'll stand in line for hours the day before halloween.

he thinks dressing up is stupid, but you could talk him into a basic couples costume. maybe ghostface and casey (tbh ive never watched scream movies so im going off google) he would probably do that pumpkin head trend with you, he'll feel stupid the whole time but it's worth it to make you happy.

he'd want to carve pumpkins, and he will, but carving them gets difficult for him. it takes a lot of strength to do that, but he will do his best and attempt to help you. maybe it's best to skip this and just paint pumpkins...

you can take him to starbucks for a pumpkin spice latte all you want, but he'll insist on paying and get the worst tasting black coffee every time!! it's even worse because he genuinely likes bitter coffee

overall 10/10 fall boyfie, he doesn't like all the chaos and celebrations, but does enjoy quality time with you<3

ajax

he was literally made for this. he adores autumn and winter. considering he's from shneznaya, he could wear a t-shirt any time in fall and be fine, no matter where you live.

he'll take you to all his friends parties, if your up for it. and you have to have matching costumes, any couple you can think of is a valid costume option. he will be ken. he will wear the fucking roller skating costume. a little off topic but he saw the barbie movie and loved it.

spends halloween hitting up parties and showing off your costumes and takes teucer out to trick or treat at the end of the night. it's literally so cute to see him walking with teucer, eventually carrying him home when it gets too late.

he's so sweet to kids while giving out candy. i think he's the type to have candy bars and other allergy safe options, lollipops and goldfish maybe. the neighborhood kids love his house because of how rich he is, king sized chocolate bars for all. he's such a family man and adores kids so he's made for this.

he goes mad when decorating for halloween, pushing the line between too scary for kids and too cute. somehow it always works out. I feel like he'd be good at decorations because he takes side jobs at haunted houses. he'd be really good at playing a slasher i think.

you'll go to the haunted house he's working at with a group of friends, and he'll end up sneaking up on you from behind, pressing his fake knife to your throat and whispering "boo" it nearly gives you a heart attack but it's mad funny. he definitely gets in trouble for kissing one of the customers, but it's worth it.

if you prefer a calmer way to celebrate, he'll skip most of the parties and have a nice night with you after teucer gets tired out from a sugar rush. you'll snuggle up on the couch together watch whatever scary movies you'd like, he definitely puts up a bunch of candles for the fun atmosphere.

he'll buy you literally anything halloween or fall related. you want a cute new reath for autumn? only the best one on the market for you. want some overpriced seasonal drink? you're having a large and he'll get one too! it's honestly just an excuse to spoil you at this point

he's a 9/10 in this department. would be a 10 if he didn't make jokes about skeletons and boners...

lyney

the halloween boyfriend of the century. he has so much fun with holiday stuff and dressing up makes it even better

he's a performer, he's extra, so he has to win any costume contests! lynette is sick of this nonsense by now but it warms her heart to see you having so much fun helping lyney with his autumnal nonsense.

he's not necessarily one for big halloween celebrations, opting to spend his time hanging out with you and his siblings, possibly telling scary stories. lynette is rather unphased but poor freminet is always freaked out afterwards. there's definitely more than enough marshmallows for all the smores you intend to eat while this goes on.

he'll let you snuggle up next to him around the fire pit if you get a little freaked out. he gets to entertain and be with his lover, two of his favorite things. he'll even roast a few marshmallows for you! but it's expected that you return the gesture.

he'll definitely buy all kinds of dumb halloween decorations from the closest dollar store. don't be suprised when you find plastic spiders placed around the house. he loves to decorate outside of the house, it's slightly obnoxious but you're used to it at this point.

he'll happily take you out for whatever over the top seasonal drink you want, he does this for lynette every year as well. unsurprisingly, she typically becomes the third wheel to these drink based outings. but it's worth it to see lyney fawning over you like a puppy.

as previously mentioned, he dresses up and goes hard on halloween costumes. he'll be the one begging you to match for halloween. he seriously goes hard, the time and dedication of a seasoned cosplayer goes into his costumes.

he's the type to take you to fall festivals and engage in the classic fair games, throwing darts, bobbing for apples, even silly haunted houses. you might end up dragging him into a haunted house, lyney won't get too scared... or at least that's what he says, but he holds your hand the whole time.

a solid 9/10 fall boyfriend, definitely gets into all aspects of october and fall as a whole. he gets a little too carried away and might forget about your scary movie date... but it's okay because now you, him, and both of his siblings all have matching costumes!!

shit i sorta lost motivation with lyneys uhhh it's fineee i just wanted this out for halloween lol

[sleepyboywrites]

@biascatry

I genuinely hope you see this, it says your blog doesn't exist in the search thing so here's hoping for the best that you get notified. But not only may you ask I am happy to deliver. :)

Denial is not a river in Egypt it's spelled differently

Masky is convinced that he hates you, ever since you joined the proxies he's been in nothing but constant annoyance and misery. The more he dwells on it the more he realizes it's all your fault.

You with your stupid hair that looks so soft, and eyes and laugh and smile. You and your infuriating pout and frown and tears. It's making his own job incredibly difficult, not to mention as the one who recruited you, you came to him for everything, he regrets it, he should've killed you. But somehow, some way, the thought of you dead was worse.

What was even worse than all of that was you were avoiding him, he used to have to beg you to leave him to his work, beg you to stop following him. But now it's been two weeks and he hasn't even seen you once and now you're hanging out with Toby? Toby, of all people, that's who you preferred over him. Hoodie he gets, Hoodie, if you warm him up to you enough is surprisingly sweet, but Toby? You were his recruit not Rodgers and that mood swinging maniac should be literally anywhere else than with you. You were annoying enough without Rodgers grubby hands on you and his annoying traits rubbing off on you.

He had given you a glare so intense and menacing hoping to deter you from Toby and back to him. Unfortunately for him the opposite occurred and soon you were sent on your first solo mission meaning he couldn't even keep an eye on you anymore. The entire house felt his rage. As he made sure it was filled with the screams of several unlucky contestants of torture playthings and anyone who brought him any form of paperwork would be horribly berated.

Eventually Toby approached him. "What's your fucking deal dick?"

Anger boils in his gut until he simply swung at Toby hitting him square in and breaking his nose.

"Feel better now? Why the fuck are you tormenting the entire house? We didn't even do anything to you." Toby didn't flinch, he figured his inability to feel pain is why he was sent to deal with him.

Masky shoved Toby aggressively away from him. "Why can't you keep your grubby little hands off of things that aren't yours. He's mine, was mine, is mine, and he isn't ready for a solo mission!" Masky hissed out through his gritted teeth. "Get to the fucking paramedic station."

"All this because you're worried about y/n? Dude c'mon. He's a big boy he can handle himself and doesn't need us looking over his shoulder all the time. Plus I taught him half of what he knows and you taught him the rest, he's fine." Toby rolled his eyes at Masky's tantrum over something so small.

"You shouldn't have taught him anything, you are reckless and careless and the reason he's going to come home hurt or not at all. I can't lose him okay I--" Masky cut himself off. "Go to the paramedic center now, before I take you there myself and throw you through their door."

Toby wiped more blood from his nose and shoved Masky away from towering over him. "Fine I'll go but maybe if you got over yourself and realized how you felt instead of making him feel inadequate and a burden he wouldn't have asked me for help to begin with." Toby said firmly staring at the masked man in front of him.

"Ex-fucking-cuse me, but what exactly are you implying?" Masky exclaimed infuriated as he picks Toby up by his collar.

"Jesus H Christ... Denial is more than a river in Egypt." Toby freed himself from Masky's grasp shooing his hands away as he left Masky's office. "Work yourself out man, stop taking it out on us cause your lover boy's out of town."

You returned a week later and were immediately requested to Masky's office, where surprisingly he hugged you, clinged to you practically. "You're safe, good." He'd then usher you behind closed doors and make you sit down offering you a meal. "We need to talk." Masky slid you a big stack of papers the second you sat down. "Sign these."

"What... Are these?" You'd ask thumbing through the pages absentmindedly. A look of disdain as you look at them.

"Consent forms, nothing too important. Sign." Masky said this the same way someone would talk about spam mail or permission slips.

"Oh, Consent forms." You almost signed absentmindedly before the words registered. "Consent forms for fucking what???"

"To be my assistant, permanently, meaning we do missions together and you are an extension of my authority as right hand to slender blah blah blah promotion, sign." Masky taps the stack of papers with his index. "...please."

"But you hate me? I don't want to bother you and I--" You began rambling and attempting to hand back the papers to Masky in refusal and you saw the other man's eyebrows furrow exasperatedly under his mask.

Masky took off his mask, his head in his hands, fingers entangled in his own hair as he looks up at you pleadingly. "Shut up, I don't hate you, quite the opposite sign. Please."

"THAT'S CODE FOR HE LOVES YOU AND WAS A MAJOR DICK WHEN YOU WENT SOLO CAUSE HE WAS WORRIED SO SIGN THE PAPERS" Toby's words were muffled from right outside the door but that didn't stop you from hearing and flushing red in a weird combination of confusion and awe.

"Shut it and scram Rodgers! These are private matters!" Masky hollers, sighing as he heard several scrambling footsteps before muttering lowly, "He wasn't wrong. I love you, I worry about you, so please. Please sign the paperwork."

[xoxiu]

my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter two table of contents masterlist

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline, age gap

Kiwo woke up to the warm sun on her face. Her eyes shone like golden honey in the sun as she sleepily blinked. Turning around in her bed, she noticed her phone was dead beside her. She let out a quiet and breathy 'shit' before rushing to get ready for the day. 

So far, today was not looking great. Kiwo had no idea what time it was and frantically waited for her phone to charge to know just how late she was for her Ethics class. She quickly got changed and brushed her teeth. In what were only a few minutes felt like hours as her phone refused to light up. She tapped her foot out of impatience, using her mind to somehow make the phone turn on. Eventually, the Apple logo shined on the screen, and Kiwo quickly snatched it into her hands.

11:03 am.

"Fuck!" Kiwo screeched as she quickly grabbed her bag and ran out of the dorm room, leaving her phone on the floor charging. She was a half-hour late to class, and it was the day of a big test. It was nearing midterms and her grade in Ethics was already low, and missing this quiz would make it impossible for her to pass the class. Sprinting across campus at record speeds, Kiwo reached for the door handle only to find it locked. She pulled hard, only to be met with an unbreakable force. At this point, crying felt like the sweet release she needed. With her head in her hands, she couldn't help but let the tears flow openly as she dropped to her knees. 

"Hey, you alright?" A voice chimed in alongside rushed footsteps. Kiwo wiped away her tears and looked up at the young man. The first thing she noticed was just how well dressed he was, with a black dress shirt and a black blazer. He looked like he was going to a funeral rather than a college class. The next thing she noted was his height- he was easily nearly a foot taller than her. 

Kiwo's voice stuttered as she attempted to say she was fine, but her voice contradicted her words. The stress finally got to her, and she was not okay.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" He sounded so sweet and knelt to be face-to-face with Kiwo. 

"I-it's nothing. I just woke up late and missed a test." 

"That's completely okay to cry about," he reassured her with a smile, "Classes are very stressful, that's why I barely try anyway."

Kiwo gave a small laugh and smiled back at the man. He felt comforting and safe, something Kiwo hadn't felt in a while. He stood up and reached a hand out to Kiwo.

"Maybe tea or coffee will help you feel better? I know of this lovely little cafe just a little ways away."

Kiwo gently took his hand with a smile, finally back on her feet. She wiped away what was left of her tears, and followed the older student outside of the building. The sun still shined brightly, making the air feel warm and comforting. Kiwo had her eyes squinted as the sun blinded her, and she realized she had forgotten her glasses. 

"Oh, I completely forgot," the man said, facepalming himself in frustration, "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"I'm Kiwo." She gave him a small smile that went away as Jungkook laughed.

"Kiwo? That's an odd name," Jungkook stopped his chuckling, "Where are you from, anyway?" 

"I'm from the States. My name is derived from an African word, though. My parents lived in Nigeria when they were younger, helping build homes and schools and wells."

Jungkook was honestly surprised at her response. "They sound like admirable people."

Kiwo disagreed. "Not really, or at least not anymore. They got deep into drugs when I was a child, and... you know." Bringing up her parents always made Kiwo feel some sort of negative or indifferent feeling. They never really parented her, just expected she'd grow up and know everything. Taking care of themselves was too hard for them, so they couldn't possibly take care of a young child. 

Changing the topic of the conversation to another form of small talk, Jungkook and Kiwo politely chatted until they arrived at the cafe Jungkook praised so highly. It had a very relaxing and mellow feel to it, with brown and creme color tones and comfortable-looking furniture. They approached the counter, looking at the menu. Kiwo quickly realized she was in fairly deep, as she didn't recognize some of the words on the board. Thankfully, she knew the Korean words for coffee and such, mainly because they were just the English pronunciations. Nevertheless, the menu looked very intimidating. 

"You can get whatever you want, it's on me," Jungkook said with a smile. 

"I'll, uh, just get a small caramel macchiato, thanks." Jungkook indicated for Kiwo to take a seat, and ordered the drink for her. 

"Ah, hyung!" Jungkook looked up at Yoongi, who had just entered the cafe. He quickly ordered himself a black coffee before sitting down with Jungkook and Kiwo.

He couldn't believe how beautiful she was in person. Her hair looked much lighter in person, a beautiful mix of dark and light brown as well as some near-blonde strands. It was parted down the middle, with shorter strands shaping her face. Big, beautiful, and dark doe eyes met him, and she gave him a shy smile before looking down.

So shy, so sweet. 

"Yoongi-hyung, this is Kiwo," Jungkook gestured towards the smaller girl, who waved at Yoongi slightly. Her skin was pale, almost sickly, and her face held a beautiful pattern of freckles around her nose. She blushed under his gaze, still not looking Yoongi in the eyes.

"Kiwo? Where exactly are you from?" Yoongi asked, intrigued by her name.

"It's an African name, but she's from America," Jungkook responded for her. Yoongi looked even more intrigued and slightly confused.

"African? But you're as white as a ghost?"

"It's a long story, hyung."

The three chatted for a while, though Kiwo felt most of the questions were just about her. That was expected, as the two men knew each other, but it still felt like a small invasion of privacy.

"What made you choose to come to study in Korea?" Yoongi asked. South Korea wasn't exactly known for its philosophy programs, so choosing to go to school so far away made little sense to the elder.

"I like Eastern philosophy, and I figured I would become better educated on it here than in the States," Kiwo answered. 

She seems passionate, Yoongi thought. Passionate and dedicated enough to move to a completely different country with a completely different culture than what she was used to. That's good, he thought. He could feel himself just getting lost in her eyes as she and Jungkook talked about classes and such.

"Oh, Kiwo-ah, is this your first year here?" Jungkook asked, looking over at Yoongi to see if he was paying attention. Jungkook wanted to be right about his guess of what her age was and wanted to see Yoongi's reaction.

"I'm a first-year. I just turned 18 in August." Kiwo smiled, feeling a little proud of the fact she had just turned 18. Mainly for the fact that she could legally drink while in Korea. 

"Aigoo, so young," Jungkook teased, "I'm 23 and Yoongi-hung here is an old man."

"I'm only 27, dumbass," Yoongi smirked at the younger, lightly punching his leg. While he did feel insecure about the rather large age gap and just how old he was, he found comfort in not being the absolute oldest in their group. That honor went to Seokjin, who was one year Yoongi's senior. 

Their friend group was an interesting one. They technically all work for Seokjin, who inherited his father's mob business after his retirement. Seokjin didn't do much and delegated tasks to his friends and boyfriend, Namjoon. Namjoon made sure everything was in order and managed the finances and payments. Yoongi was a computer hacker and didn't have to do much besides hack into security systems and attend pointless meetings. There was the occasional excitement of hacking computer databases or doxxing someone, but that was very rare.

Hoseok acted as public relations to an extent. He mainly checked on the clubs the mob-owned and made sure everything was running swell. Jimin tended to just tag along and act as a secretary, always sticking to Taehyung's side. Taehyung had a fun job. He and Jungkook got to go on drug deals and handle unruly clients. Plus, he had the cuteness that was Jimin on his hip. 

Kiwo placed her empty cup of coffee on the table and cleared her throat. "I think it's time I head out. I have some studying to do and whatnot."

"Let me drive you home," Yoongi eagerly suggested, and hoped the girl would take him up on his offer. She smiled and nodded her head, and the three walked to Yoongi's car.

"She's probably freaked out about how I knew where she lived despite her not telling me the address." Yoongi stared blankly out of the car windshield as he and Jungkook watched Kiwo enter the dormitory. "She's probably onto us."

"No she's not, hyung," Jungkook tried his best to reassure him, "If anything, she's a bit ditzy. She was probably so caught up in having male attention that she didn't even notice." 

Yoongi thought hard about what Jungkook had just said. Kiwo seemed to be almost flirting with them, with her cute little smiles and doe eyes. She had even taken up their offer of a ride home despite knowing them for only an hour at most. As much as Yoongi liked the sweet submissiveness, he wanted her to be harder to get at the start. He wanted to earn her submission, break her down until that's all she can do. Just sit, look pretty, and make Yoongi feel good. 

[icespur]

There are not enough Mpreg Parent Akeshu fics

I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed.

it's not like there's zero. There are some, but not nearly enough or I'm not looking in the right tags.

There's especially HUGE missed potential that not enough people utilize.

I've seen wholesome Akiren as a parent. Seems everyone is in agreement he'd be the chillest, awesomest, father.

But what about Akechi?

Goro "I had a bad childhood, no father figure, Mom passed away when I was young leaving me to grow up in either Foster Homes or the closest living relatives the Social Worker could track down. Who took me in but didn't want me. so I grew up to mask my true nature by being polite on the outside and a celebrity to get some form of positive attention, and I tracked down my deadbeat father who I'm going to ruin the life and career of out of spite and vengeance, for me and my late Mother." Akechi.

The man has childhood baggage, who knows how many young children he's interacted with as an adult. So his experience would range from "limited" to "none existent"

If one of these boys wouldn't take to being a parent well immediately, it would be Akechi. Like, the man is having an external crisis, he's not okay.

"I am the LAST person that should be a father. Do I look like fatherly material to you? I can't even recall the last time I interacted or made eye contact with an infant. Maybe I never did! I can do research and read books, I'm good at researching, I'm going to read the books no matter what but that can only help so much. I know what not to do, from my childhood. I'm going to try my best to do the exact opposite of what Shido did, but no parent is perfect, I could still screw the kid up! Not to mention I'm still processing the fact that MY RIVAL HAS A FUCKING FULLY FUNCTIONING UTERUS.

I knocked up my Rival

I knocked up the man I once shot in the head

I knocked---holy hell what have I done?

I've never been interested in Women, so I never thought I'd have to worry about accidentally planting a little me inside someone. Do you realize how many women I have turned down?

So here I was, thinking I'd be safe. That obviously nothing would come from indulging in a night of passion with my frustrating, Idiotic sexy, alluring, Rival.

But once again, you are just full of surprises apparently in the internal organs sense too because you can carry children and now both of us are unironically FUCKED."

"I'm not going to force this on you, I just thought you deserved to know. If you don't want to we can--"

"Pfft, HAHAHAHA. You say that like it's an actual option. Do I need to remind you what my upbringing was like? I'm not repeating the same mistakes, I'm not leaving. Granted you are obviously in a better financial situation and have a proper support group unlike my Mother. But if I decide to leave now, or stay but run later down the line, what's stopping our child from living in a constant internal state of guilt and loneliness, which will eventually evolve into anger and spite and once they're of age to move out, make it their mission to hunt me down and enter a false work alliance so they can gain my trust enough to eventually betray and torture me. Or just flat out kill me. And You know what? I wouldn't blame them! I'd kill me too if I could. I can't let that happen, I refuse to put a child with my D.N.A. through what I went through. So we are moving in and getting married (oh my god, I have to move in and marry my Rival) Because that's what Japanese family laws all encourage. And I'm going to internally pray and wish that I don't somehow manage to fuck up an innocent being that belongs to us, even though I have no idea what I am doing. Did I mention I have zero experience with babies and children?"

Point is, parentGoro! Has so much potential and it should be a crime that there are so little fics exploring that.

[onecantsimply]

hello broski 🗣️🙏💥 can you make Yandere!Jack headcanons, scenarios, or just anything and the reader is a close friend of Jack

Hey hey- And thank you for the request lmao-

—

• He doesn’t know how you suddenly came into his life. But he views you as the very light he could count on.

• Being the very best friend of Jack has its benefits and its consequences.

• On the first hand, you get free tea and treats. Jack may try to cook new things for you. You got a favorite food? He’s serving it in the first time you come over to his house. You also get protected whenever you go out at night, whether you know of it or not. Jack is also just a gentleman, so he wouldn’t dare to leave you in hands he doesn’t trust. Which means that he stays with you pretty much every damn time, and the fact that you don’t seem to mind only influences it more-

• On the other hand… Jack has a… very bad stalking problem- He’s figured out everything about you. Height? He’s got it. Your darkest secret? He somehow fucking knows- Anything in your past? He knows it. Jack views his stalking problem as protecting you from the filth that lurk the alleys and streets in London at night. And if he does know that someone’s targeting you, he will not go “forgive and forget”, he will go, “stab and stab”. He got that problem, and he don’t care-

• Due to you being his best friend and pretty much hanging out with him every hour or every day, it didn’t get very hard for him to notice that he had certain feelings for you, and that he bonded with you much more than originally thought. He actually wanted to know more about you. He wanted to see those purified colors of yours once more.

• The bliss once you see him… That friendly color… Something so kind… Something so warm… Jack didn’t know what it was at first.

• He even wanted to get away from you because of how it made him felt. Yet, he couldn’t help but gravitate towards you once you saw him somewhere else near the usual meeting spot. And from then, Jack knew fully well he couldn’t avoid you, whether he wanted to or not.

• So, he accepted it. And once he did, it wasn’t so bad. He followed you around when you dragged him to certain stores to try things. Hearing your cheerful voice made something in his chest churn with need for something. But, he kept the feeling down, making sure to help you with anything you needed.

• And somewhat… Jack felt as if he should be the one to help you with everything. He wanted to be the man that accompanied you to stores or bars. He wanted to be the man that helped you with anything you needed. He wanted to be the man that’s beside you, protecting you and simply being there to make sure you’re safe.

• Eventually, Jack was noticing how clingy he was being. How close he wanted to be with you. And he knew it was starting to become smothering at that point. Yet, he just didn’t care. He wanted you safe. He wanted you away from all those creeps in alleyways and streets at night. And the only way to do that… is to stalk you and protect you at night.

• Oh, if only you knew, dear…

• Jack may consider sneaking into your home, watching you to make sure you were “safe”. Totally not to watch you and your colors while you were sleeping-

• Yeah… He knew fully well he had feelings for you by that time.

• It’s even fully visible to people that are outside, watching as Jack interacts with you. The way he kisses the knuckles of your hand, even if you may be a man. The way he looks at you. The way he follows you around like a lost puppy. The way Jack’s aura completely changes when the attention shifts from his conversation to someone else. How that aura shifts from content and happiness to disturbance and irritation at who dared to interrupt his time with you.

• And that person could feel the very stare he gives them. That simple stare that simply orders for them to leave unless they need something important.

• I swear. If someone flirts with you. They are not seeing the light of day again.

• He is going to brutalize that fucker at night and make sure you’re safe after by making sure you’re home. Simply watching through your window or watching from beside you on your bed is perfect enough. However, he prefers the latter. How would he be able to adjust your hair or brush a finger by your cheek if he was behind a simple window?

• Jack feels nothing but warmth and shivers every time he gets to grab your hand. Or rather, any touch from you gives him bliss. Holding his hand to drag him somewhere? He can feel those butterflies in his stomach. A literal hug? Jack can feel himself starting to deteriorate in mental terms. You would actually bother to hug him… a Killer, and an obsessed man… Of course, you don’t know it, but Jack feels nothing but bliss when he hugs you back.

• And when he gets home or somewhere private. Maybe he could be waiting for you somewhere? Well, in that time, he’s thinking of that hug. Those times you let him hold your hand. He’s thinking about how warm it felt to do so. To feel the gentle clenches of your hand every time you found something interesting, and to see the flaring color in your body once you locked your eyes onto the thing you wanted.

• Sometimes… your color is too much for him… and yet, he can’t help but smile and keep up with you. Even if you can’t see his colors… The very murky colors that lay deep within him, he knows that love is in there. That orange or yellow color, whether it’s sullied with the darkness of his own heart. Jack knows it’s there. And he will not let go of it, under any circumstances.

• Somewhat, Jack thinks about what could be done if he and you were something more than best friends. He questioned you about it once, only to get the ask of “Mega best friends”. He could only chuckle in reply, but had the slight disappointment of knowing you didn’t get what he meant. However, perhaps that may be the best thing…

• He could joke around with you about killing someone close to you, and you wouldn’t know what he means by it, so you shrug it off.

• With anyone else, that could have been a stupid move. Though, with Jack, he regarded it as part of your charm.

• Even if he did really mean that he would kill someone close to you-

• Sometimes when he accompanies you, Jack sees that you sometimes see one or two of your friends. While he doesn’t particularly mind them, a certain one has been scratching at the surface of his jealousy.

• The man doesn’t deserve a name, and Jack couldn’t fully care to know of it. So, he simply watched the colors with the man, seeing how they had swam with infatuation and need.

• … Ah. Looks like Jack may have another job for tonight.

• But for now, he tolerated the behavior. Even with how much it fired off his alarms that you were being flirted with, Jack had to wait until midnight. He had to.

• He knows that if the flirting got too far for you, then he would step in. And somewhat got to that point, leading to Jack giving that man a side eye with his color seeing eye behind his own hair.

• And from that man’s experience, feeling the very aura Jack emitted off whilst he sent that glare did not feel nice- So, to his relief, the man had backed out on flirting more, saying that he had something to do before stepping away.

• And now that the disturbance was off… Jack could finally have his time with you. He continued to follow you to where you wanted to go, holding your bags and accompanying you like a true gentleman. Yet, even with how blissful he wanted it to be, Jack couldn’t get that man out of his head. He wanted that man out. He wanted that man away from your life, and to do that, he would have to remove that man himself.

• So, once you were done with your business and went home, he had immediately gotten to work.

• That man had never stood a real chance. It didn’t seem worth the effort either. If by any chance that Jack gets a small cut on a noticeable spot, he could always bandage it and maybe have you pay some attention to it, but, nah-

• Anyhow, it didn’t take long to get the incoming problem over with. Jack had made sure to put the man in the best of fear before making him understand precisely that he wouldn’t play around. Jack made him promise to never interact with you again, even if it included putting a few wounds on him. Even if it included stabbing his dick.

• Normally, Jack doesn’t care about the pain of others. He only cared about the fear. But with those he gets rid of because they had a death wish by flirting with you way too much for comfort, he has a specific need or love for torturing or injuring them where it hurts the most.

• Hell, he may even leave the people close to death and burn them as well as the location down whilst he goes back home, content with one less rival.

• God, imagine if Noah was one of his rivals. That would be perfect HH-

• But, Jack now has himself beside you, simply watching as you sleep. He feels nothing but relief and infatuation whenever he sees you.

• He never knew that love could take him so far… Yet, he wonders how high it can take him. How high it can take him before he snaps and eventually claims you for himself.

• But for now… he’ll remain with you in silence of his own feelings. He’ll keep being the gentleman that’s in love with you for now. That is, until he decides that enough is enough.

[sarahs-secrets2]

Ruined Me (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

This is a request from @underatreedrinkingtea ! I wasn't too familiar with the song so I hope I lived up to the request, I might have gone a different path oops. Also, I feel like I've used all the pictures of Graves I could find on Pinterest so if you see me reusing one... close your eyes you didn't see anything.

Based on Ruins by Aaryan Shah

f! reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, angst, Graves is a dick, pet names, cursing, not a happy ending oops

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Waiting at home for Phillip felt like a losing battle, dating a military man was never easy, but somehow you felt like you got the short end of the stick with Graves. The two of you had been dating for a year, not counting the 3 or 4 breakups which always ended up with you two getting back together (breakup and makeup sex included).

Finally deciding to give up waiting for him, you stood up, flicked off the tv, and walked to the bedroom you and Graves shared whenever he was home, which evidently was not tonight. The obnoxiously bright alarm clock read 3:34 a.m., you pushed it away from you so the light didn't taunt you as you tried to sleep. 

Staring at the ceiling you were hoping you would hear keys at the door or something to let you know he was home, and safe. Eventually, sleep overtook you and you drifted off hoping your military man would be home soon. 

A creak at the door caused you to slightly wake up, flipping the alarm clock towards you to check the time, 5:12 a.m., what the hell. You felt the bed dip as your “long lost” boyfriend had finally found his way back home. 

“Phillip,” you were half awake, “Where were you,” 

“Hey baby, Shepherd had some shit for me, the usual, don't worry about it,” he was pulling you closer to him in bed, he sounded so casual about the whole matter, which just made you more upset. 

“You could’ve texted, you do have a phone”, you adjusted in his arms to face him now.

“Ahh yeah, shit, that's on me, my bad it slipped my mind”, how could texting your girlfriend slip your mind you thought to yourself. Probably another one of his bullshit excuses for something you'd rather not know. 

“Missed you doll”, his hands were all over you as he placed kisses on your neck and forehead. 

“Phillip, I missed you too but it's 5 a.m. can we at least try to go to bed before the sun’s up”, 

“How about we just fuck instead, I don't want to sleep”, Graves was now on top of you continuing his work on your neck, knowing your weakness. “Cmon baby”, 

You felt yourself getting weak under his grasp, he always knew how to make you come apart. You reached a hand up to his face, snaking it around the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss, Graves moaning into your lips as your other hand snuck down to his boxers as you felt for his hard-on.

Phillip’s hands pulled down your shorts and underwear in one motion as he immediately connected his fingers to your heat, wasting no time to dive into your folds. “Let me hear you baby c'mon”, he encouraged your small moans as he continued his work with you. 

“Just fuck me already Phillip”, and he obliged the request as he grabbed both of your legs tossing them over his shoulders, pushing deep inside you. 

Morning eventually rolled around and neither you nor Graves got any amount of sleep. Glancing at the alarm clock that now read 10:23 a.m., you forced yourself to the shower, Phillip still sleeping. 

Mid shower you heard someone on the phone, Graves speaking in a low whisper to the other voice. Cutting the shower short, you wrapped up in a towel to eavesdrop on your boyfriend. 

“I can ship out tonight, whatever you need Captain, hell I’d leave right now”, you felt shell-shocked. He didn't even want to see you when he came home, too busy planning the next mission. “Sounds great, see y’all tonight, bye”. 

“What the hell was that Phillip, another mission? You just got home”,

“It’s business, you wouldn't get it”, he shot back, walking past you into the bathroom, “You done with the shower?”

“Fuck you, it's not business, you're just using me, Phillip, come home for a fuck and then quickly pack up and leave”, seeing red was putting it lightly with how you felt right now. 

“Watch what you’re saying there doll, might say something you regret”, his hand was rubbing his jaw, obviously irritated with you. 

“I’m not gonna regret anything, you come home late, and leave early. It's very obvious I’m just here to fuck, we don't talk about anything, you don't ask me about my day, you're cold to me Phillip”,

“If it's so obvious why’d you let me use you then huh? What makes you think you deserved to be anything more?”, his words stung like venom, you felt frozen standing in a towel as he berated you in the shared bathroom. 

“I hate you so much, Phillip Graves”,

“You don't seem to be understanding this doll, so I’m gonna take that with a grain of salt, I don’t have time to be your ideal boyfriend, I got Shadow Company to run, don't hate me because you let me use you, deep down you knew it”, twisting the knife deeper with his words, he didn’t care how deep the wound he was creating was. Maybe you were mad he was right, mad at yourself for letting it happen, especially for so long.

Graves walked up to you, taking your jaw in his hand and forcing you to look at him, “My loneliness isn't love darling, you just couldn't figure it out fast enough”,

“You ruined me, you wasted a year of my life, what am I supposed to do?”

“Ruined? Don’t be dramatic now,” he was leaning up against the counter now, “Hey you know what, you ever want to fuck again you just give me a call, I would always love to have you in my bed again darling”,

“Get the fuck out of my house Graves, it’s done, we’re done, leave”, your now ex-boyfriend’s hands went up in a defensive matter as he slid past you to leave the bathroom, he grabbed his untouched duffle and headed towards the door. 

“I’ll be seeing you, yeah? Don’t be a stranger gorgeous”, Phillip winked at you as he left, letting the door slam behind him. You stood arms crossed still in shock at what had happened. 

“Karma will get you one day Phillip Graves”, mumbling under your breath as you went back to finish the shower that was interrupted. 

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Another angsty one for yall, sometimes evil Graves just takes over

[separatist-apologist]

Is There A Word For Bad Miracle?

Summary: What if I told you none of it was accidental, and the first night that you saw me, nothing was going to stop me?

OR

That time Rhys stumbled on Feyre committing a murder and decided he had to have her

Read On AO3

In retrospect, Feyre would never know why this time was different. When her boyfriend lifted his hand and struck her, sending her crashing to the floor, she didn’t know why it filled her with rage instead of fear. Or why she picked up that vase filled with half-dead roses and slammed it over his head.

Feyre had just reacted. It was pure anger—Tamlin bruised her face so she couldn’t attend her art show the next night and was forced to stay in, all because he wanted her with him and no one else. He’d done it so many times, had ignored her pleas for him to see a therapist about his anger and the trauma he’d endured by a former lover instead of venting his rage on her. 

She suspected the control made him feel safe.

She didn’t feel safe. Didn’t that matter? He never heard her, and followed her when she left until she broke down and took him back, Over and over, until Feyre was a joke to her friends, her family. No one believed her when she said this was the last time.

They didn’t care when she left him. 

The vase smashed against that sunlit blonde hair, catching him off guard. Tamlin was a big man—it took a lot to surprise him. He stumbled, pitching forward. He smashed his face against the fireplace mantle with a sickening crunch before crumpling to the ground. Feyre didn’t move, panting for air.

Blood pooled around his face, and still Tamlin didn’t get up. They were silent for a multitude of heartbeats.

“Tam?” she whispered as cold slithered down her spine. He didn’t respond. Feyre crept closer and closer, pushing aside strands of his hair to look at him. With shaking hands, she pressed her fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh—fuck.”

Feyre stepped away from him, scrambling for her phone before she remembered it was in his pocket. She wasn’t allowed unrestricted access to it, given how he felt she abused her privilege and talked badly about him. He was determined to control everything about her—even her thoughts. 

Feyre fished it out of his back pocket before laughing. Who was she going to text? Lucien? Nesta? And say what?

Hey–I murdered my boyfriend, can you help me clean up my fireplace? 

No, Feyre couldn’t involve them in this. She should call the police and tell them what happened. They’d see the bruises and they’d…put her in jail because she’d still killed someone. And what was wrong with her that her first thought was cleaning up the evidence instead of guilt—remorse? 

But Feyre knew, as she looked down at him, that eventually one of them was going to die. She’d known it every time he’d struck her, every time his fingers had curled around her throat in anger that one day he wouldn’t stop in time. This felt inevitable and in some ways, she’d made her peace with it long ago.

To be fair, she’d always assumed their roles reversed. 

Feyre didn’t know what her plan was. She was moving on autopilot. Leaving her phone on the coffee table, Feyre fished out anything identifying from his jeans before reaching for his ankle. She’d just…drag him, she thought. 

She hadn’t realized just how heavy Tamlin was. By the time Feyre got to the front door she was drenched in sweat and she’d left a bloody trail in her wake. She wanted to scream. What was she supposed to do? Burn down her house? Which was worse? She could say she came home and the house was on fire from a lit candle and Tamlin panicked, smashed his head on the fireplace and died.

And she’d go to jail. 

Either way, Feyre was going to jail. The thought ought to have sobered her. Tamlin would get the last laugh from hell, containing her in a little cell just like he’d always wanted. So Feyre kept dragging him until she somehow managed to get Tamlin into the trunk of her car. She could practically hear the podcast that would be written about her and her many, many mistakes. 

Those who couldn’t do, started podcasts, or however the saying went. She drove in silence, winding her way through the city towards the one place she could be rid of a body. Velaris wasn’t devoid of crime, though it certainly liked to pretend it was. She’d seen all the articles about bodies washing up on the Sidra’s riverbank, of the suspicion people were being dumped from the docks. 

Let people think Tamlin had run afoul of the gangs. He certainly loved to gamble—maybe he’d racked up debt. Maybe he’d insulted someone. Feyre could play stupid, could rip up all the floors in her house and pull the carpet out of her trunk, too. Or she’d burn the house down, fake her own death, and start over in Toronto. 

A reasonable thing, she told herself as she pulled down the shadiest street she’d ever seen. With the glitter of downtown Velaris fully behind her, the warehouse district seemed…well, the exact sort of place you’d dump a body. Half the streetlights seemed to be broken and not one building had a full set of unbroken windows. 

It was here, inhaling the fishy scent of the docks, that reality began to creep in on Feyre. Was she really going to do this? Feyre forced herself out of her car, heart pounding. She was shrouded in darkness now, which made everything feel more ominous somehow.

Like she was being watched by a million surveillance cameras, broadcast live into everyone's homes. Feyre opened the trunk with shaking hands before backing up with a screech.

“You stupid bitch,” Tamlin slurred, stumbling from the trunk. He wasn’t dead and she’d fucked this whole things up. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I—” Throwing you into the river seemed like the wrong response. How had her life come to this, she wondered? When had she become a monumental joke? Tamlin lurched, faster than she’d anticipated. Feyre didn’t move until they were both tumbling to the ground, his hands wrapped around her throat.

“Did you think you could kill me?” he asked, his face so close she could see his hatred burning in the dark. Feyre’s hand slid over the pavement, slicing over something sharp as she searched for anything to get him off her. Feyre was forced to reach for his fingers, trying desperately to pry them off her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and not being able to breathe always made her panic. 

“Hey!” a masculine voice yelled from somewhere in the dark. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Tamlin released her with surprise, turning to look at whoever had caught them. Feyre scrambled from beneath him and without considering that she now had an audience, grabbed a chunk of a broken cinder block and slammed it against Tamlin’s jaw. She might have screamed when she hit him—or maybe that was just the sound of her heart. 

Tamlin crumpled again, and this time Feyre didn’t stop. Straddling his chest, she hit him again, and again.

And again.

If he was alive, it was hardly a mercy. Feyre looked down at his bloodied, broken face just in time for the overhead street light to finally flicker on. Orange flooded through her vision, causing Feyre to blink. She turned, remembering she had an audience.

Standing over her, his face slack with what she assumed must be shock, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. 

She took a breath and wiped her bloodied face on the back of her hand. Waiting for his horror, for his panic as he dialed 911. 

“Did you…?” he asked, blinking eyes so blue they might have been violet. 

She didn’t respond, rising shakily to her feet. The thought of straddling Tamlin’s dead body suddenly made her sick. She didn’t want to look at him—she needed to be far, far away from all of this. 

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through hair so dark it blended in with the night around him. Licking full lips, he took a breath. “We need to get rid of this.”

Feyre hadn’t expected him to say that. “What?” she asked breathlessly.

“The body,” he said in that rich, sensual tone. “Weigh him down.”

“Are you—”

“You’ve made me your accomplice,” he said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “And no offense, but I’m not going to jail over a man who strangles women.”

Feyre’s fingers curled around her neck, thinking of how bruised she’d be in the morning. The man—tall, she thought, and casual in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a plain black t-shirt that showed off the tattooed curve of his collarbone and powerful biceps, walked around her to peer down at Tamlin. 

“How did you get him out here? Drugs?”

Feyre barely remembered. That seemed like hours ago. “I dragged him.”

He raised well-groomed brows. “He looks heavy.”

Feyre wrapped her arms around her body as this stranger dragged out several unbroken cinder blocks from the darkness surrounding them. A lock of his head flopped against his sweaty forehead, half-hiding his eyes. He worked easily, like he had experience, and more importantly, didn’t ask her to help. 

Feyre, in return, didn’t ask where he’d found that chain. She merely stood there and watched him attach cinder blocks to Tamlin’s body before he looked up at her. 

“Help me?”

He still did most of the work. Grunting through his teeth, they dragged Tamlin to the edge of the docks and with a heave, plopped him into the inky, cold water. There was something so final about the sight of Tamlin’s face vanishing into the depths where, ideally, he would never be found. 

The stranger picked at a piece of dirt on his shirt. “Want to get Taco Bell?” Feyre blinked, huffing out a hysterical breath. “Who are you?”

He offered a dazzling smile, so at odds with the crime they’d just committed. “My name is Rhysand, but you, darling, can call me Rhys.”

Rhys. 

Her accomplice. 

“My name is Feyre.”

He nodded. “C’mon. Let’s get some soft tacos. We’ll need an alibi, right? On me.”

Feyre could only nod. “Right.”

Rhys opened her passenger door with a flourish, hand outstretched for her keys. Feyre handed them wordlessly while Rhys jogged around the back of her little coup, slamming the trunk shut. This was where he’d threaten her, she thought with dread. Blackmail—she’d be trapped with another psycho instead of being free.

“So,” he said, circling away from the docks easily. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. “Are you thinking soft tacos, or—”

“What do you want?” she asked, hoping it was something easy. Money? Sex? A favor he could call in at some later date, ideally when she’d already packed up the area and was untraceable. 

“I like a chalupa, usually,” he mused. “But it might be better to get like, twenty soft tacos and bring them back to my place—”

“Your place? What? No, I meant, why are you helping me?”

“It’s hard to kill your…what was he, anyway?”

Feyre drummed her fingers against her knee, her jeans bloodstained and dirty. “Boyfriend.”

“Ah. Well, it’s hard to kill your boyfriend when you broke up with him months ago and have been dating me, right? We were out together, getting tacos, which is a casual, established relationship kind of food, before we went back to my place and had passionate sex for the rest of the night.”

It should have scared her, how casually he said that. There was humor in his voice—like he knew he was being absurd. It wasn’t a proposition, or at least, she didn’t think it was. 

“We ah, should probably get our stories straight though,” he added, glancing sideways at her. “Just in case.”

“My house is covered in Tamlin’s blood. The minute the cops show up with a black light, they’ll see it.”

“I know some guys who can help with that,” he offered. “Clean it up, but if you want them to come rip out your flooring, they are quick and discreet.”

“What do you do for a living?” she asked.

“Ah, good question. My girlfriend would know that. I work in finance.”

“Finance,” she repeated suspiciously. “But you know discreet contractors?”

“You should see the parties we hold,” he said with a grin. When she didn’t smile, he softened his expression. “I’m joking. My buddy Cassian runs a business. He’d do it as a favor—no questions asked. Just mop up the blood when you get home, okay? He can have it done in a day or two and you can crash with me. I’ve got a spare bedroom.”

“Why would you help me? I just killed a man, remember?”

“And I helped,” he reminded her, stopping at a light. “We’re in this together now. I’m not going down over a piece of shit strangling his girlfriend on the docks and neither are you. So we’re gonna spend tonight eating tacos and getting our story straight and in the morning, I’m gonna drive you home, help you clean up your place, and bring you back while Cassian gets rid of your floors.”

“And how long will we…?” Feyre didn’t know how to even ask. 

Rhys shrugged. “I figure we can keep up appearances for a few months until people stop looking for him.”

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, her hysteria rising again. Rhys’s hand slid to her thigh, squeezing until she took a breath.

“Breathe, Feyre, darling. Everything is going to be okay. That’s a good girl, breathing through your nose. Release it through your mouth. Good…very good. You’re going to be okay.”

She leaned her head back against the seat. “Maybe I should just turn myself in.”

“No,” he said, looking over with those star bright eyes. “You deserve to live, Feyre.”

She didn’t know how to make sense of that. 

You deserve to live. 

While he pulled into a drive thru and ordered enough food for ten people, Feyre turned his words over and over in her head. She hadn’t been living these last three years. Merely surviving. Constantly walking on eggshells to try and keep Tamlin from getting angry. Doing what he asked, even though it made her miserable. Giving him access to her life, control over the food she ate and the clothes she wore. 

And maybe killing him was the wrong response—but it was the first choice Feyre had made without any consideration for his comfort in years. A bad choice—but a choice nonetheless.

Rhys set a hot bag of food on her lap and began driving deep into downtown.

“My place tonight,” he said firmly, with no room for negotiation. “You can shower and sleep, and we can get to know each other.” She nodded. 

Rhys wasn’t lying that he had a place downtown, though he’d certainly undersold it. He had on of the brownstones she’d always admired and knew she’d never be able to afford. Made of gorgeous brick she assumed, though his was covered in lush, green ivy that her sister Elain would have adored. Little flowers wove their way through the curling vines, making it seem as if his home was protected by some kind of magic. 

 Any other day, Feyre might have marveled at the sheer scale and size of his place—tonight, all she wanted was to crawl beneath hot water. His home was decorated beautifully and she wondered if that was his style, or he’d paid someone to do it. 

“Use my bathroom,” he offered generously, leading her through his bedroom. She tried not to think of the man in front of her, one hand clutching a greasy bag of tacos and the other on her shoulder, laying on those dark satin sheets. “It’s nicer than the guest one and has the added benefit of having shampoo in it.”

Rhys flashed her an apologetic smile. “I don’t have company often.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” she said, aware of how flirty she sounded. He arched his brow. 

“Believe it, darling,” he all but purred in response. 

He left her there with nothing but a smirk and a soft, “What’s mine is yours.” His shower was obscene, big enough for the two of them. Water poured from all direction, and for a minute, Feyre could pretend she was here because she’d met him and she genuinely liked him.

But when she closed her eyes, she saw Tamlin hovering over her, his hands wrapped around her throat. 

She saw his face disappearing into the water. 

Feyre stole Rhys’s fluffy white robe when she was done, padding out into the bedroom where he’d helpfully laid out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of dark boxer shorts—all clean. All things his girlfriend might wear. Feyre put them on before rifling through his drawers for a pair of sweatpants or athletic shorts. She wasn’t going out there like this. 

She found gray sweatpants and without wondering what they looked like on him, she cinched them around her small waist and knotted the ties. Good enough. She was comfortable at least. 

She padded into his large living room where he’d spread tacos over a glass coffee table. Bottles of water sat on coasters, alongside several different types of beer. It was strangely endearing how he was trying to make this experience palatable. 

What would the murder podcasters say about this? 

Feyre bet Rhys would have groupies in jail. 

He stared when she came in, eyes wide. Feyre was still combing through her hair, wishing she’d nabbed some of his socks, too. “I borrowed your pants. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I ah…” he cleared his throat, looking back at his spread. “Take whatever you like.”

“So,” she began, sitting carefully beside him on his expensive looking couch. “Fake dating?”

He smiled. “That’s right. Let's get our story straight, hm?”

And they did. Feyre slid to the floor to better eat without making a mess while she and Rhys talked. He was easy to talk to, too. He told her about his sister at college and his parents divorce. About college and his friends and how he spent his time. She learned what kind of music he liked, the shows he watched, his favorite movies.

She shared, too. She told him about her sisters and her father’s death. About how she painted and her hopes of making it big one day—big enough to support herself, anyway. How her house had belonged to her father and neither of her sisters wanted it, which was how Feyre had ended up living somewhere without a mortgage or rent.

And, inevitably, to Tamlin. How they’d met, when he’d become mean—how she’d tried and tried to leave and how he’d keep coming over with gifts and threats depending on his mood. How she kept taking him back because it felt inevitable. She couldn’t escape him so why even try? 

Rhys just listened, even when she rested her shoulder against his knee. 

“I don’t think love is supposed to be so hard,” he finally offered, looking down at her with sympathy that didn’t feel pitying. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I hope you know you didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying and failing to take her eyes off of him.

“We should get some sleep,” he finally said. And despite his jokes about a night of passionate sex, he merely showed her to his guest room across the house and told her if she needed anything, to just yell. She fell asleep quickly, sinking into nightmares where Tamlin somehow rose from the dead and found her, dragged her from bed, and forced her to take his place.

Feyre woke to darkness and the sound of someone's voice.

“Feyre?”

Rhys was in the doorway, shirtless in just a pair of athletic shorts. “You were screaming.”

Was she? But she must have been, given how hoarse her voice was. Rhys held the doorway, unmoving though his chest rose and fell rapidly. She could see his tattoos in the warm light from the hall—black whorls of ink decorated the golden brown musculature of his upper torso. Mountains graced his powerful knees. 

Could Tamlin get through this man, she wondered? Rhys looked as if every inch of him had been lovingly carved and something about him exuded strength. 

“I…” she whispered, scooting from the center of the bed to the side closest to the shaded window. She pulled the blanket back wordlessly, inviting him to join her. He was a stranger—he was her protector. He’d intervened long enough to keep Tamlin from killing her, had brought her home, and asked nothing but that she help him from being implicated in her crime.

He wanted to help her, too. No questions asked. 

Here, too, Rhys did not object. He merely joined her, one arm outstretched to gather her against the warmth of his body. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen.”

Feyre believed him. 

She’d woken in a strange man’s arms. Somehow, it wasn’t weird. Rhys seemed determined it wouldn’t be, and all of Feyre’s anxiety from the night before had begun to melt away. He seemed wholly unbothered as he ushered her cheerfully out the door, and Rhys got coffee while Feyre waited in his car—not hers. 

She asked him only one question when they began to drive to her house. “Do you think I’m a bad person for not feeling guilty?”

He glanced over at her, hand squeezing the thigh he was casually touching. “Why should you feel guilty when the alternative was you?”

And when she didn’t respond, he added. “Do you think he ever felt guilty?”

Feyre bit at chapped lips. “No.”

“Then why should you?”

She thought about that even when they reached the house. Feyre stepped inside, expecting to see trails of blood and broken glass everywhere. In her memory, it all seemed worse. Her phone was still on the coffee table in the living room, and there was some dried blood, but not nearly as bad as she remembered. 

Tamlin’s phone was gone.

“Go pack your things,” Rhys said, making his way to her little kitchen. “I’ll deal with this.”

“See if you can find his phone,” she called after him, making her way to the bedroom. They would need that. Stupid, to leave it at her house—though, she had planned to say they’d been together all night and she didn’t know what happened when he left. And Feyre certainly hadn’t considered a stranger would offer to be her pretend boyfriend for an alibi.

Now she needed it, though she didn’t know how she’d explain her phone and his at the same place. One problem at a time, she rationalized. 

Feyre zoned out in her bedroom, lost in a flurry of memories and moments in that room. Everything was tainted by Tamlin—good and bad, though mostly bad. Feyre wondered how they’d even gotten there. Things had been so good in the beginning that by the time things weren’t good, she found herself willing to excuse some of it. 

A lot of it.

He had a bad childhood. His last girlfriend had been horrible to him. He just needed someone to be kind to him. To show him softness, that he could trust. He was emotionally unavailable, unconcerned with the words coming out of her mouth. He didn’t listen or worse, he dismissed her feelings if he disagreed or disliked them.

And if she pushed too far, he’d lash out. Sometimes he’d just yell, but more and more, it became the back of his hand or the knuckles on his fist that ended the argument. When he was truly enraged, his fingers would curl around her throat, removing her ability to speak at all. Feyre could never figure out what he wanted.

Even then, sitting on the edge of a green and gold bedspread, she wondered what he’d really wanted. Compliance? A doll he could dress up and fuck—that looked at him only with adoration?

Or did he just want someone he could vent his own pain into? He was suffering, so she would have to suffer, too. He wanted her to. 

By the time Feyre began pulling clothes from her closet and dressers, she could hear the sound of masculine voices at the door. Curious, she crept down the hall, peering into the living room toward the door.

Rhys had dressed the same today as yesterday, though the midnight purple shirt he’d thrown on clung to his muscular chest and made his biceps all the more prominent. He was holding open her front door to keep whoever was on the porch from seeing in. 

“...with you?”

“That’s right,” Rhy purred, his posture utterly relaxed. “Do you need something?”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Green wasn’t at work today and his co-workers called to do a wellness check.”

“He doesn’t live here,” Rhys replied, still casual. How was he so relaxed? Feyre was sweating, was so terrified she thought her heart might come out of her chest. 

“His phone last pinged here.”

She saw a smile spread over Rhys’s handsome face. “Feyre was with me all evening—if Tamlin was here, well. I guess he’s back to stalking her, isn’t he?”

More silence. “Stalking?”

“That’s right. Stalking her, hitting her when he gets too close, breaking in…things that, now that I think about it, are crimes. Right, officer?”

Why was he grinning like that? “Is that so, Mr. Moreno?”

He only shrugged. “What do I know about the laws of this fine country? What I do know is that if he was here looking for my lovely Feyre, she was very occupied. As for Tamlin—have you tried the casinos?”

Another voice entered the conversation. Cheerful, like Rhys’s, he called, “Excuse me officers, I’m trying to scoot past you.”

And in stepped the largest man Feyre had ever seen. Handsome, with shoulder length hair that fell in dark waves, hazel eyes set in soft, golden brown skin, and a smile that wouldn’t have been out of place on a billboard ad—with the body of someone who worked out every day of his life, she figured this had to be Cassian.

“Any other questions?” Rhys asked, his eyes bouncing toward his friend. 

There was a mumbling of no before Rhys snapped the door shut and Cassian burst out laughing. “You should have told them to call your lawyer.”

“I’m sure Eris would have loved that,”

Cassian turned to the living room, scrubbed mostly clean while Feyre tried to figure out how to announce herself. Cassian whistled softly. “I can have this done in a day.” “

Good,” said Rhys as Feyre loudly took a step. He turned and she appeared, eyebrows raised. Cassian’s smile faded when he saw her, and too late, Feyre remembered she was covered in bruises. She needed to reschedule her show. 

“Hey,” Cassian said, his voice devoid of pity, which made her feel better. “I’m Cassian. I ah…heard you wanted some new flooring?”

She nodded. “How much–”

“I got it,” Rhys said just as Cassian added, “No charge.”

Cassian and Rhys looked at the other before Cassian said, “I owe Rhys a favor…or three. Don’t worry about cost. Let’s pick you out some new floors.”

The whole thing was strange and yet Feyre almost didn’t care. She packed and then let Cassian show her different wood samples while another man—Azriel, she learned—came with news he’d put leather interiors in her car before strolling right back out of the house. When she’d asked what he did, Rhys had said IT, and Cassian said mechanic. 

Feyre picked dark wood because Cassian said it would make her house easier to sell—and Feyre wanted to be rid of it. He promised her two days tops, and when she asked what would happen with the current wood, he only grinned.

Like he knew exactly why she was asking and wanted her to know she didn’t need to worry. Feyre was tempted, when she got back in Rhys’s car, to just ask him what was going on. To stare him down and demand to know how he was so calm, so unbothered. As they drove back to his place, Rhys told her amusing stories about he, Cassian, and Azriel growing up and Feyre, in turn, talked about her sisters. 

She wondered what they’d make of all this. What would they say when they learned that Tamlin was dead and the police were already asking questions? Nesta was a lawyer, but maybe she wouldn’t want to help—maybe it would ruin her reputation.

And Elain was a florist. Surely florists didn’t want to be associated with murderers? 

Lucien was the only other friend she had. He, too, was a lawyer and she only knew him because Tamlin had introduced them. She very much doubted she could text him hey I killed your friend, can we talk? Without angering him.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Feyre asked Rhys once they were safely tucked back in his apartment. He was walking to the kitchen, fingers reaching for a pot.

“What?” he asked her, half lost in whatever thoughts slid through his brain.

“That you watched me kill someone.”

His eyes snapped to her face. “Truthfully?”

Her heart raced. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat coated in sandpaper. 

Rhys braced his body against the counter, backlit by the golden light of the afternoon filtering through an open kitchen window. “It should have been me—not you, who finished him. I was coming to help, but you…”

There was no revulsion on his face. Only open admiration, and some other emotion she didn’t recognize. Rhys cleared his throat. “You’re dealing with a lot, but I wasn’t totally lying about wanting to eat tacos and do…other…things with you.”

Passionate sex. That was what he’d said. Feyre suppressed a shiver at the thought, remembering how it had felt to wake up with her cheek pressed against his chest. 

Rhys turned to fill the pot with water while Feyre wrestled internally with the idea that she was a bad person for wanting to have that with him, too. She hadn’t known him even twenty-four hours. For all she knew, he was just as bad as Tamlin.

Worse, even. 

“Have you ever…” Rhys stilled, his back tense at her question. He turned ever so slightly, looking over his shoulder with unreadable eyes.

“Have I ever what, darling?”

Feyre shook her head. “Nothing. I shouldn’t—”

“Killed someone?” he guessed. It was an absurd proposition. Still, Rhys smiled like he’d done when he had been talking to the police, and Feyre knew, without him saying a word, what the answer was.

Yes. 

That night, after spending the evening laughing with someone who very well might have been a serial killer, Feyre took the empty guest bedroom again, tempted to ask him to join her. Rhys hadn’t made any overtures and Feyre hadn’t invited him.

Moreno. 

She’d heard the cops call him that. With her phone back in her possession, it was easy to google him. Nothing about Rhysand Moreno came up that was unusual. An instagram page that somehow already had pictures of the two of them backdated by four months. 

On page two, she found one article about a man named Antonio Moreno who’d gone to jail for tax fraud, and when she clicked it, Feyre was treated to an image of a man that had to be Rhys’s father. They shared those blue-violet eyes and that midnight colored hair. Antonio, she learned, was rumored to be more than just a blue collar criminal—but the head of a powerful crime family. 

A murderer, among other things. 

That had been ten years ago—Rhys would have been in his early twenties when his father was put behind bars. The article only speculated, as the feds had never been able to prove his father did anything more than not pay his taxes correctly and lied to the IRS. 

She set her phone down and replayed every interaction she’d had with him. Rhys, dressed casually for the docks which didn’t seem the sort of place a man with his kind of money and face liked to hang out. He’d know exactly where to find that chain and those blocks, and hadn’t flinched when it came time to dump Tamlin.

He knew a guy in construction and was good friends with a mechanic. And when she’d asked if he’d ever killed someone, Rhys had only been amused by the question. Feyre stood, her heart pounding. 

She crossed the dark house for his bedroom. She’d assumed he’d be in it—and she was right about that. When she flung open the door, Rhys was certainly laying on those dark, silken sheets.

Naked.

His cock gripped in one hand, muscular thighs spread apart. He didn’t release himself when he saw her, head turned to look.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice huskier than usual. 

“I—” Yes, something was very wrong. A man with his face ought to have an average sized penis at best. Feyre couldn’t drag her eyes from the long, thick erection currently straining beneath one of his already large hands. 

Neither of them moved for a moment, waiting for the other to do or say something. She should have knocked and he should have tried to cover himself. Should have at least pretended he was a gentleman. Rhys stroked himself languidly, an invitation if she’d ever seen it. 

“Would you like to know what I’m thinking about?” he asked when she remained still and silent. Feyre did—and she needed to know the truth. 

“A thought for a thought?” she replied, determined she would have both. He smiled when she closed the door softly behind her.

Rhys stroked himself again.

“Alright. You first, darling.”

“When your father was arrested, did you take over the family business?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Googled me, huh?”

“Did you?”

Rhys slid his free hand behind his head, flexing his bicep ever so slightly. “Yes.”

“And the night on the docks?”

“That’s two questions, Feyre,” he teased, stroking himself again. “But I’ll answer because I think you’re going to crawl into my bed regardless of what I say.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, back still pressed to the door. Rhys finally released himself, but only to sit himself up and swing his powerful legs off the bed.

“Don’t I?”he whispered. “Because I think the only thing keeping you from my bed is your fears that you should be more upset by what you did last night.”

Feyre didn’t move as he approached. “I was at the docks cleaning up a mess when I stumbled upon an angel. I would have done it for you—I would have killed him for putting his hands on you, and I regret I couldn’t do that for you. You can’t figure out why it doesn’t bother me—why would it? When you were the most magnificent thing I had ever seen with that chunk of concrete in your hands? I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think about was your name. I had to know it. And I would have done anything to hear you tell me.” He was towering over her, one hand pressed against the very same door she was. 

“Was this all a ploy? To get me here?”

“You can leave,” Rhys told her, lowering his face ever so slightly. “I’m not going to hunt you down. You’re not an animal. And I think you know I’m not going to betray you. If you want to leave and never see me again, consider this our little secret.”

“And what will you consider it?” she asked him breathlessly, her hands twitching at her side. She wanted to touch him so badly she ached from it.

“What will I consider you?” he asked, his voice sultry—so at odds with the contemplation on his face. “The one who got away, my darling Feyre. I’ll console myself with the knowledge that you escaped that man. That your life is one you chose, and not one forced on you.”

“And if I wanted to stay?” she asked, unsure if that was smart. She didn’t know him, though she liked him.

And she wanted to know more about him.

“Then I’m going to put you in my bed and fuck you so throughly you’ll never consider leaving me.”

“Am I safe?” she asked him, raising her hand to press it to his chest. “Swear you won’t hurt me.”

Feyre could feel his pounding heart beneath her palm. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. She intended to feel the rough stubble of his jaw. Rhys smelled like salt and citrus—like a dark night over a cold sea. Rhys turned his face at the very last second, letting her lips collide with his own. And oh. That was much, much better. 

His mouth was soft, his hands instantly on her face, tilting her so he might have better access to her. Feyre pressed herself against him, forgetting he’d already been hard when she came in. She could feel him pressed against her hip, all but bruising the bone. 

“This was what I was thinking about,” Rhys gasped before those hands slid from her face down her body to cup her ass. She was in the air, legs hooked around his waist in an instant as she dragged her fingers through his dark, thick hair. Rhys devoured her in another kiss, tongue sliding between parted lips for a taste. 

“What?” she gasped. Was he talking? Rhys dropped her to the bed and yanked at the pants she was wearing—his sweatpants, which might have been embarrassing had he not been peeling them off her body. Feyre helped, lifting her hips before she tossed her sleep shirt to the floor so she was just as naked as he was. 

“This is what I was thinking about,” he repeated, hovering over her until he was between her legs, sitting on his haunches. Rhys ran his hands up and down her thighs, spreading her out inch by inch. “I was wondering what you’d sound like when you came, and how you might taste…how your body would feel gripped around my own.”

“Rhys,” she whispered as he lowered himself to the bed. 

“I wondered that too. No one can hear us, darling.”

Rhys was in no hurry, giving some credence to the whole passionate sex all night statement he’d made. His mouth trailed kisses up one of her inner thighs, reaching just where she wanted him before he traded legs, moving down, and then right back up. Feyre squirmed, trying to get him to move up.

Rhys chuckled. “What’s your hurry?”

“Please,” she begged, lifting her hips in invitation. 

He groaned softly. “Don’t beg—Just tell me what you want.”

“Put your mouth on me,” she whispered.

 Rhys didn’t have to be asked twice. He licked up the center of her and Feyre gasped. Despite having asked for exactly this, she didn’t feel prepared. She wasn’t prepared for how Rhys moaned against, the vibrations settling low in her gut. The hands holding her open currently slid beneath her, pulling her lower half off the bed entirely while spreading her apart.

Rhys went after her like a wild animal—ravenous and desperate, his tongue sliding over her clit before delving into her body, teasing her with what it would be like when he actually fucked her. 

She was burning, falling. Feyre’s fingers curled in his sheets, the same she’d admired the night before when she’d walked into his bedroom filthy and soaked in blood. Wholly unaware Rhys was hardly a guardian angel but more like the devil, dragging her down, down, down with him.

If this was damnation, she welcomed it. 

Wanted it. 

Feyre tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling the strands while pushing his face closer. Rhys let her, his whole world reduced to her pussy, a fact he seemed immensely delighted by. His tongue moved faster, chasing each moan that slipped from her lips until Feyre couldn’t stand it anymore. Maybe it was the stress of the last twenty four hours or maybe it was him and how he seemed to have an expert understanding of her body, but Feyre bowed off the bed and Rhys redoubled his efforts.

It wasn’t necessary. Feyre’s pleasure, once tightly spooled in her body, unraveled quickly. She didn’t mean to scream his name as glittering stars burst through the darkness behind her eyelids. And she certainly didn’t mean to grind her body against his face, hips rolling and making a mess of him. Rhys didn’t stop, his fingers kneading into the supple flesh of her ass cheeks until Feyre was wrung out and too sensitive.

“Rhys, stop, it’s too much—”

He swallowed her protests with his mouth, still wet from her orgasm. His body settled against her own, cock rubbing against her still convulsing flesh. 

“You are my salvation, Feyre,” he whispered, forehead pressed to her own. Locks of his dark hair flopped into his eyes, making it seem as if he were half shrouded in shadow. Rhys was a dark prince—what did that make her?

“You’re mine,” he added softly, pushing himself into her body gently. Feyre inhaled sharply, pulling him down by the neck for a kiss. Rhys didn’t stop his invasion though he went slow, as if he knew she needed a second to adjust to the stretch, to the utter fullness of accommodating him. Feyre was adrift in a sea of Rhys, drunk on the scent of him, on the feel of being skin to skin as they shared the same body. 

“Feyre,” he panted, swallowing hard. “God Feyre, you…”

Seeing him so at a loss sparked new arousal. Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed beneath his jaw before licking down the side of his neck. It was enough to convince him to move, to withdraw himself to the tip before thrusting himself back into her. He moaned when she involuntarily tightened around him, forming like a second skin against his bare cock. 

“Your body, Feyre,” he groaned again, finding a rhythm that was brutal without being painful. Feyre rose to meet him thrust for thrust, losing herself in the way his hands skimmed over her, the way his mouth kissed her. 

Feyre raked her nails down her back, sharp enough she was sure she must have drawn blood. Rhys all but whimpered, his pace quickening. She wanted to see him undone, wanted to make him fall apart.

An arduous task, giving her own pleasure currently rising through her. “I need to feel you come,” he panted, like she hadn’t already done so on his tongue. “Come on my cock, Feyre, darling,” he moaned, the words half pulled from his throat with what seemed like great effort. 

One of his hands slid between their bodies, finding her clit and rubbing with inelegant, yet effective strokes. 

“Rhys—”

“Be my good girl,” he whispered, teeth nipping at her earlobe. “Come for me, Feyre, please—”And she did, like a puppet controlled by strings. Rhys did, too, and she wondered if he would have even if she hadn’t, or he would have held himself back. Rhys had gone tight, almost rigid as his precise rhythm gave way to mindless thrusting, desperate to get closer, to fuck her deeper. 

Feyre pulled him close, letting them both ride through their combined release as one. Rhys buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing and whispering her name like it was a prayer to his personal god. 

“Give me a minute,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“For what?”

“To have you again. I need to catch my breath,” he said with a grin. “I seem to recall I promised you all night.”

“I might need more than five minutes,” she said weakly.

Rhys kissed her again. “Take all the time you need.”

One year later:

Rhys flopped on the bed he shared with his girlfriend—wife—head spinning from champagne. She came with him, in part because his hand was wrapped around her waist, and partly because she, too, had a little too much to drink at their wedding reception.

“Wife,” Rhys said with a breathless laugh. 

“You keep saying that,” Feyre teased, poking him in the ribs. “Did you just realize that’s what happens when you get married?”

“I keep waiting for you to change your mind,” he admitted, rolling to his side to look at her. She was a vision in white, her dress tight through her abdomen before flaring out around her legs. Her hair was pinned around her face, but a night of dancing and laughing had softened the pearl pins, allowing tendrils of that golden brown hair to escape and frame her pretty, freckled face. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” she said, opening silvery blue eyes to look up at him. “And it’s too late for cold feet.”

Rhys laughed, then. Lowering himself for a kiss of gloss stained lips, he said, “I’d have married you the night I met you if you weren’t so freaked out.”

Feyre only smiled, pushing herself up to kick off her heels. “So you like to remind me.”

Rhys followed behind her as she sashayed through the room, fingers itching to touch her. 

“You were very patient,” she added, her praise warming him.

“I was, wasn’t I?” Rhys laughed again, because he’d been anything but patient. He’d gone to his mother for the family ring a month after meeting Feyre and had spent five months walking around with it in his pocket, waiting for the right moment while simultaneously talking himself both in and out of asking. She’d think he was crazy. She’d leave him any minute just as soon as she realized what a wreck he was. 

She’d married him only five hours earlier, binding herself to him with two simple words.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you were really doing that night?” Feyre asked, pulling one of his shirts from a wooden hanger in the closet. In the morning they’d be off to the airport to spend two weeks alone on a private beach where Rhys intended to fuck her every which way. Tonight, too, just as soon as his head stopped spinning.

“I was looking for you,” he recited, just as he always did. Feyre offered him an exasperated look.

Fiddling with his cuffs, Rhys said, “I was looking for you—and I knew the minute I saw you. That night one of the alarms at one of our warehouses went off. I was nearby so I went to turn it off before the cops decided to poke around. I was parked a couple blocks down since the feds still like to follow me around—as you well know. I was heading back when I found you, bashing in the face of someone already on my list.”

Feyre’s fingers slipped from the zipper on her dress. “Your list?” 

She was well acquainted with his list. Though Feyre wasn’t involved in his business, a practical consideration given Rhys wanted children and a family and it was hard to raise children if both parents ended up in jail. His father had taught him that. Not that Rhys would ever find himself in jail given how close he and new mayor Eris Vanserra were. 

And he paid his taxes, as illegitimate as they were. He wasn’t going to waste time behind bars when he could be with his wife. 

“Yes, darling,” he agreed, tugging the zipper the rest of the way down. He wanted to see her in his shirt. “If I had known he had you, I would have moved a little faster.”

Feyre knew better to ask if anyone had come looking for Tamlin. He had no friends, no family. The police had done a half-hearted investigation given he paid far better than the city did so he could conduct business without their interference. They concluded he’d likely skipped town to avoid his debts, and if they ever found him, well…Tamlin owed more than Rhys money. 

“You would have lost your chance to buy me tacos—and make a dramatic entrance,” she reminded him, allowing his hands to skim over her bare shoulders.

“I have no regrets,” Rhys informed her. “Other than he hurt you.”

“I don’t want to talk about him on our wedding night,” Feyre chided. “A thought for a thought?”

Rhys nodded as her dress pooled at her feet. Fuck fuck fuck he was so wrecked at the sight of her in those black lacy scraps she’d clearly chosen in the hopes of driving him to his knees. Feyre turned, letting him see the way her thong slid between her perfect ass cheeks, bending for the shirt she’d dropped. 

“What?”

“A thought for a thought,” she repeated, obviously amused. Rhys nodded, watching as she shrugged into his oversized shirt with a pounding heart. 

“I’m thinking I want to rip you out of that shirt,” Rhys told her, letting himself sink to his knees while Feyre smiled. She was so delighted by his antics, and Rhys liked bathing in the light of her pleasure. Feyre’s fingers were quick on the buttons before she came to him, letting him gather her in his arms and press his face against her stomach. 

“I’m thinking I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m thinking I’m glad you found me that night—and I’m thinking that I’m so in love with you I feel like I might come out of my skin.” Rhys looked up at her, sighing softly when her fingers slid through his hair, scratching against his scalp.

“You are my salvation, Feyre,” he whispered, certain she didn’t believe him. Rhys was content to spend the rest of his life proving it to her. “And if I had to wait five hundred years for you, I would have done it-gladly. I love you."

And he did. 

[peninkwrites]

Before: Tubbo's First Friend

Tubbo heard there was a child in his basement, how exciting!

[CW: hostage situations, child endangerment, implied neglect]

The Mafia AU

crossposted to ao3

~

This wasn’t the first time his father had brought home a hostage, but it was the first time it was someone around Tubbo’s age.  Tubbo had snuck down the hall, looking over the railing curiously as a small figure––bigger than him, but still small––was all but carried inside and back through the house to the cellar, head covered by a hood, and arms pinned back.  It wasn’t just any kid, as Tubbo had heard through his occasional eavesdropping, it was the Police Captain’s kid.  Tubbo, not out of any personal experience, rather word of mouth, had heard that the Police Captain was an “annoying bitch” who “didn’t know how to stay out of the way.”  Somehow, taking her kid was meant to fix that.  Tubbo was nine years old, and he thought he grasped the family business relatively well, but he thought taking away her kid would probably be an annoyance at best.  He knows if he disappeared, when his father eventually noticed, he’d probably be pissed off, but that wouldn’t stop him from acting as he did, but his father was good at his business, apparently, so maybe it did something.

Tubbo lurked for the first few days of their new guest in the basement.  This one was a hostage, so, thus far no gunshots or screaming, just a rather eerie quiet from downstairs.  Tubbo only asked about the kid once and had gotten very lucky, all things considered.  Not a question directly towards his father––god forbid––but he happened to be in the kitchen when one of the lackeys came in to go downstairs and feed their captive.  Tubbo had, when it came down to it, despite having lurked in the kitchen deliberately, panicked and instead of asking anything that might have made sense, he’d asked the man, “do they seem nice?”

The man seemed startled by Tubbo being there at all, let alone speaking, so instead of a more expected scolding, the guy just went, “what?”

“The Captain’s kid.  Are they nice?  How old are they?  Are they my age?  I’m nine, by the way.”

Silence, Tubbo shifting nervously, and the man staring at him like he was a particularly yippy dog.  “Uh.  Quiet.  The kid is fuckin’ quiet.  Obviously,” the man says dryly.  He glances back to the cellar door, which he had been about to unlock behind him, before he reconsiders.  “D’you wanna..?” He nods from the kitchen to the cellar.

“Can I?” Tubbo asks eagerly.

The man still looks quite uncomfortable.  He doesn’t seem to know that the Boss’s kid doesn’t get any respect, and if he wanted he could just tell him to fuck off, and isn’t sure if he’s supposed to treat Tubbo like a dangerous little mob prince or not.  “I dunno, I don’t see why not…”  He says sheepishly.  “Just, get some shit together, whatever kids eat, I dunno, guess you’d know, huh?  And I’ll be up here to lock up after.  Don’t– Don’t stay down there too long, though, okay?” He said warningly.

Tubbo was already flitting around the kitchen like an excitable, jittery moth.  He pauses only once, looking briefly worried.  “Are they allergic to peanut butter?”

“Do you think I fuckin’ asked?”

Tubbo considers this gravely.  He thinks he read somewhere that peanut allergies were alarmingly common and quite fatal.  “I’ll assume yes just to be safe,” he nods astutely, like this man is at all invested.

“Yeah… yeah, you do that…” the man sighs, leaning against the cabinets.

Tubbo has a wooden tray, because he might as well do his best on the presentation, he has a feeling he’ll only be able to do this once, and he places a glass of water beside a juice box––one for hydration, one for leisure––and he’s arranged a pile of goldfish and chicken nuggets on the plate with the utmost care.  He is careful with his last additions, debating between condiments, before deciding to bring along ketchup, as that’s what he tended to use, before, with an unusual joy in actually being able to share with someone, he added a coveted pudding cup to the tray.  The man had watched this display in wry amusement.

“What, you’re not gonna put a flower on it for your girlfriend?” He said dryly.

Rather than embarrassed, Tubbo took this critique thoughtfully.  “Should I?”

The man sighed, his wit apparently unappreciated, and unlocked the cellar.  “Again, it’s not a fucking playdate, so don’t take too long.”

“You got it, sir!” Tubbo said brightly, descending into the darkened cellar with only mild apprehension.

A single bare bulb lit the room, it was otherwise sparsely furnished.  A mattress on the floor with a blanket on top of it, but otherwise, Tubbo noted, there wasn’t much to do down here.  He wishes he’d thought to bring down a puzzle or something, but it’s too late for that now.

“Hey, you’re not the usual guy!” The Captain’s kid is quite chipper for a hostage, sitting on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on their palm.

“N-No!  No, I’m not,” Tubbo hoped his excitement wasn’t too obvious.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen another kid, let alone spoken with them.  “Hello!  It’s– it is nice to meet you, I am Tubbo Underscore, but you can just call me Tubbo, obviously, and I– I’ve brought you food!” He holds out the tray.  “And– And water.  Um.  Obviously…”

“Cool, concierge, could you, like, bring it here?  I think you’re just outta my range,” the kid waved, and Tubbo recognized the chain around their wrist, it at least padded with some cloth between the metal and their skin.

Tubbo nodded sharply, quick to come closer.  The kid was much tanner than he was, which made sense, considering their entombment had only been a matter of days now, and Tubbo did not go outside much, and they were also clearly older than Tubbo.  “What’s– What’s a concierge?” Tubbo asked with something like awe.

The Captain’s kid considered this thoughtfully.  “Um.  I don’t actually know!  Like, a waiter or something?  I dunno.”  A shrug.  “Dude!  You got me chicken nuggets?!  This is way better than the crap they’ve been feeding me so far!”

“Yeah!  I’m nine years old––ten in December!––how old are you?” Tubbo wanted to sit next to them, but he held back, sitting on the ground across from them instead, all warning of not taking too long having left his mind.

“Whoa!  What is this, 20 questions?  I can’t be giving info to the enemy,” they said, cracking open the juice box.  “I am… older than you, though,” they seemed to think that was important to clarify.  “By a few years, alright?”

“Right, right, and what’s your name?” Tubbo asked eagerly.

“Now that is an interesting question, Tubbo Underscore,” they say his name a tad mockingly, but Tubbo doesn’t notice.  “Because, see, I’ve been down here forever now, and it’s given me a lot of time to think.”

“It has?”

“Yeah!  It has!  About, y’know, life and stuff, and you know what, Tubbo Underscore?  I’ve figured some stuff out.  I think I might be a dude.”

“Ye–Yeah?” Tubbo asks, puzzled.

“Yep!  A total dude.  Big ol’ mano-a-mano, manly man, right here!” The kid flexes, arms not all that impressive.  “Well, okay, not yet, but I’ll get there, anyway, I think I’m all dude-ified now.”

“Cool.  I– I didn’t know you could do that, to be honest,” Tubbo says, intrigued.

“So, the ‘nouns I got all sorted out, the basic kit will do, the he’s and the him’s, and the his’s, all that good stuff,” he pauses for a mouthful of goldfish, “still a bit caught up on the– the nomenclature–”

“What’s gnome-men-clay-sure?”

The Captain’s kid considers this thoughtfully.  “I am not sure, actually.  Something to do with names, that’s the point, basically, dunno what name to go with––Actually!” He cuts himself off, distracted, it makes Tubbo jump.  “Other issue, side-issue to the name thing, my one issue, my one hangup on gettin’ dude-ified, is,” he shakes out his hair, long and dark.  “Long hair!  Long hair is rad!  So, there’s a debate goin’ on up here,” he knocks on the side of his skull.  “About how I’m gonna be dude-ified if I like my longer hair,” he rubs his hands together, leaning forward conspiratorially, Tubbo leaning in to listen.  “I’m pretty sure… I’m pretty sure guys can have long hair,” he nods, as if revealing some great wisdom.

“Yeah, yeah probably, I mean, if you don’t cut it, it gets long,” Tubbo tries to contribute, thinking only of literal biological matters and not the social matters the Captain’s kid seems caught up with.

“Exactly!” The kid laughs again.  “And like, that’s cool now, isn’t it?  That’s what all the hippies are doing, right?”

Finally, a topic Tubbo has something to say on, he adds excitedly: “My dad says hippies are useless bums with no self respect!  So, yeah!  They’re probably cool.”

“Sweet,” the kid nods.  “Very cool.”  He eats another mouthful of crackers.  “‘fish?” He offers the plate to Tubbo.

“No, thank you, all yours, man,” Tubbo declines, more intrigued by the conversation.  “I didn’t realize you could change it.  You know, I’ve never put much thought into being a girl.  I haven’t really been around many girls, though, or, any girls, so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” the kid shrugs, crushing the juice box and tossing it across the room as one would a beer can, before eyeing the pudding cup next.

“I dunno.  As of, I’m quite happy being a boy, so.”

“My thoughts exactly!  Being a guy rules.  Like, I’m sure being a chick rules too, but I just don’t feel it, y’know?” He ignores the spoon Tubbo had brought so nicely and takes a swig of the pudding as if drinking a thick beverage.

“Yeah, I guess me neither.”

“So, dunno what I’m gonna do with names––thanks for your help, though, Tubbo, that hair conundrum was bugging me a bit, glad we settled on something––but I dunno about names.  I kinda want it to be something silly, something fun, y’know?”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

“Yeah, so, when I’m a big strong dude, people will still underestimate me, so I can still take ‘em by surprise when I, I dunno, stab ‘em or whatever.”

“Oh.”  Not what Tubbo was expecting.

The hostage squints across the room, contemplating something, clearly enjoying having an audience after days of isolation, “what’s the opposite of bright?”

“Um, dim?”

“Hm, close, but no cigar.  What’s, like, sorta like dim, but not the opposite of bright?”

Tubbo has quite the repertoire of such language.  “Oh!  I know!  Stupid, slow, dumb, idiotic, r–”

“Nah, close!  We’re really close, but no cigar!” He nods thoughtfully, pausing for a goldfish.

“Yeah, what’s that mean, too?  No cigar?  I mean, my dad smokes cigars sometimes, but it doesn’t make sense in what you’re saying.”

The hostage exhales air from his cheeks.  “No idea!”

Tubbo laughs.  “I don’t think I’ve met anybody that talks like you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tubbo shrugs.  “I dunno.  I think you’re… you’re pretty cool.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m cool!”  He takes it all in stride, pointing at Tubbo approvingly, the chain around his wrist rattling as he does so.  He takes another swig of the pudding, it creating a chocolate mustache on his lip.

“Why do you have a chain on your wrist?  Most hostages don’t need that,” Tubbo asked.  “Not the littler ones, anyway.”

“Uh, ‘cause I bit ‘im,” he says around a mouthful of pudding.

“You– You bit who?” Tubbo’s eyes widened, because there’s no way in hell he meant Schlatt.

“Dunno, some guy.”  Another halfhearted shrug.  “I’m a– I’m a fuckin’ shark, Tubbo!  Smell blood in the water, and I just gotta–” the kid bites down on nothing, as if to demonstrate, before delving back into the pudding cup.

“Cool,” Tubbo says breathlessly.

The kid nods, basking in the praise.  “My mom gives me shit for it.  Oh, you’re gonna get in trouble if you get in fights all the time, oh, your teachers called again, what do you mean you held that boy’s head underwater?” A high laugh that was honestly far funnier to Tubbo than what the kid had actually said.  “And, well, I mean, she was kinda right, I did end up in trouble for it.  Word of advice to you, kid, kicking a dude in the balls is not a catch all answer to your problems, especially if it’s a grown-ass man.  And, also, this shoulda been obvious, but forgive me, I’m young, definitely do not tell them your mom is the Police Captain and she’ll arrest them all if they mess with you.  That gets you thrown in a trunk, and that is no bueno,” he nods sagely.

“Right, no bueno,” Tubbo pretends to understand what that means.

“It’ll be kinda cool now, though, instead they’ll call her and be like Captain, your son has gotten into trouble again, and she’ll be all like of course, my son is a real rascal!  I should’ve been a better father!”

“Father?” Tubbo giggles.

“Yeah!  Yeah, ‘cause it’s all switched around!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, bossman–”

“Kid, what the fuck?” An exasperated voice calls down the stairs.  “I said it wasn’t a playdate, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!  Sorry, I’m coming now!”  Tubbo still wavers, staring almost longingly at the boy across from him.  “It was– It was really nice to meet you Mr– Whatever your name is gonna end up being?  Yeah!  So, um, bye!”

Tubbo was halfway up the stairs, an ache in his chest, when he hears one last word from downstairs.

“Foolish!” Followed by a high cackle of delight.

“Foolish…” Tubbo murmurs the name.  He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he feels happy and sad at the exact same time.  “I think I made a friend,” he tells the man brightly at the top of the stairs.

“That’s… that’s great kid,” the man says dryly.  “Hope your little buddy doesn’t get shot, I guess.”

[dxsole]

🏍️ SIDE MUSE | Jerome "Rome" Dunn

Character Relation: Didi's ex-boyfriend and wanted criminal.

Didi first met Jerome (He was sometimes nicknamed Rome and suffered through many Roman Empire jokes) in Arizona during her annual travels throughout the States. In truth, she was on her way out, having quickly learned that she didn't quite care for Arizona; it was too dry and dusty and while the scenery in some parts of the state was lovely, the trade-off was her hair getting a little split from the dry heat. Terrible.

Unfortunately for her and her hair, before she could make her exit she met Rome. He was greasy and foul-mouthed, mumbling through some accent she had no ear for as he sat on his motorcycle, nursing a few black and blues he had recently sustained. And he was a redhead and if you've talked to Didi longer than a day you'll know she's a sucker for a redhead.

Rome ran with a motorcycle gang and initially, it didn't seem like anything too dangerous. They were all rather cordial to her whenever Rome brought her around, and some had partners as well and they'd all ride off together— It all felt very cinematic; just some beautiful, heated summer romance that wouldn't last long but be very, very fun in the meantime. And you know how Didi is— she wants people to love her more than she loves them, and whenever she's bored of the domesticity or the location, she'll just try to leave.

But she couldn't seem to leave Rome.

Surprisingly, Didi had met her match when it came to being convincing. To this day she isn't sure what Rome had that made her so pliable, but it was dangerous. Even too dangerous for Didi.

She could complain and he'd somehow persuade her to be satisfied with what he could give her, the promise of more always lingering in the back of his words. Even when at the start of their relationship it was established that Rome often went off for a few days to do something for the crew. Didi would pester him for information and he'd always manage to curve her questions.

She eventually stopped asking, especially when he'd come back with more cash in hand and a spring in his step, showering her with all that lost affection.

It was later revealed he was dealing drugs and making arms deals, the gang he was riding with was not as innocent as she initially thought— not that Didi cared about any of that, honestly. Rome could have convinced her to stay if he promised to keep her safe and sated. Rome could have convinced her of anything, actually.

And he almost did. Late-night talks about getting hitched were almost appealing. She'd be his little wife, always there when he needed her, wanted her, and she could— well, that's eventually what forced her to leave.

Those little trips turned into weeks. The higher the risk, the greater the reward, or so he always told her— whatever else he was doing meant more money but also more time away from her. The lack of attention was slowly fueling the fire, making rage bubble up inside her; it was finally that one day in his trailer home when she looked around and realized; this wasn't what I wanted at all.

Rome...Rome she wanted and everything the Roman Empire he was building had to offer. But not the rest of it. Not this stupid, flaming state. Not the weeks apart. Not the...sitting alone in a damn trailer park when she could be by the pool of a five-star resort, not feeling sorry for herself. Not feeling so discarded.

Didi bought a ticket out of town and ranted to anyone who would listen about how some fucking man had convinced her to stay in this Godforsaken desert and she actually fucking LISTENED to him.

Funnily enough, she and Rome are on okay terms today. She swears she would never willingly step into the state of Arizona again, but she still has his number. Sometimes he texts her to see how his girl's doing. Sometimes she calls him when she's in a bind in the States, and Rome always seems to come to her rescue, despite Didi usually yelling at him in the end. He always took her rage rather well.

Rome has even funded a few of her trips back to France when Jasper cut her off— even met her at the airport, reminding her she could come home anytime she wanted with that smug, shit-eating grin of his.

Didi told him he should be a politician with how much bullshit he spewed. Or a cult leader.

[colossal-red]

Frozen in place

Ayup, this is my gift for the Mcyt g/t Secret Santa event of 2022! :D After a bit of writing, I have finally finished my first prompt for this Event for @rasaywhat :D

Oh almost forgot to @mcyt-gt-events as well don't want to forget those guys- XD

Tw: Fear, soft vore, safe vore, H/C. WC: 1,456

Philza was flying over the snowy forest. There had to be something out here… he needed to feed his kids with something, anything at this point. “C’mon… show yourselves mates…” He muttered, before descending to a small lake nearby. God, he was tired… he reached a talon down, and tentatively scratched at the ice, before making a decently-sized hole to drink out of. He used his hands to scoop up some of the freezing cold water and drank it slowly, feeling it slide down his gullet. He eagerly drank some more, before leaning down with a cantina and getting some for his kids at the nest. He was quick to fill it up, the water already starting to freeze up, he even accidentally dipped part of his right-wing as he hurried… and that was his most fatal error. As he tried to pull up, his wing didn’t move. His eyes widened. “Fuck, no no no!” He kept pulling, but it was too late, the water was already too frozen over… somehow even more so as it hungrily froze over his wing. Fuck that was so cold! He pulled, and pulled, making a few panicked chirps, until he fell over, and couldn’t get up. “Shit! Help! Is there anyone out here?” He called, what would Wil and Tom do when he didn’t return?

He made another shout, before flopping over some more. His mind thought through all the possibilities… what to do, what to do…? Then, he heard something… something that gave him shivers, not of cold, but of fear. Footsteps… massive ones. They came from just behind him, where he couldn’t see. “A- Who’s there!?” He asked, hoping that it wasn’t a giant. “Heh-?” Sounded a deep and monotone voice from far above… That wasn’t a good sign. “Oh no…” He kept still, and quiet, though he knew it probably wouldn’t help. He heard a noise of something, presumably the giant shifting down on a knee. “Oh… you’re stuck aren’t you-? Wings frozen.” He said, emotion difficult to detect. “Um… Fuck just eat me already.” Phil said, resigned as he stayed still, just waiting for what was to come. But the Giant didn’t speak. “I’m not gonna do that.” He said simply, the voice getting closer, as a strange rubbing motion was heard. Phil let out a brief laugh, before replying: “Bullshit…” “I’m really not Old Man.” Phil sighed, he was NOT old, despite what Wil and Tom had said several times, then, a VERY warm thing came right next to his wing.

He turned his head toward it and saw a massive, kinda pinkish but dark, hand touch the ice on and around his wing. Oh Shit. Must be… a giant piglin maybe? He thought as he turned his head away, not wanting to see it. But then… he felt something, different. His wing, it became loose! The ice was melting at the warm hand, and eventually, he was able to pull the appendage completely free, and backed away, turning around to face the giant before being picked up, warm fingers wrapping around his small frame. “Ah! L-Let me go please!” He struggled against it, before being brought to a warm chest. “Gah…” Admittedly, the warmth was really nice after being cold for so long… he hadn’t slept a good night's sleep for a while now… “I’m… not the best with comfort man, just, try to sleep or something-” Phil mumbled something in agreement as the giant piglin’s footsteps rocked him to sleep…

Perspective swap…

Techno watched the bird… holding him in his hands probably wasn’t the best idea, especially with that injured wing, one wrong move could make it even worse. He thought for a moment, mulling over his options as he trekked back home. If he tied it up in a sort of sling, to keep it in place in case it was broken-(He didn’t dare inspect it too closely, lest he causes more damage.)-He could safely swallow the bird down to his storage stomach. After a bit more contemplation, he carefully tied the wings close to the bird, trying not to cause too much pain, he was very relieved when the wing was in fact, not broken but instead just very cold and injured from its dip in the water. Afterward, he gently set the bird into his mouth, and swallowed them down to his storage with relative ease… that should provide both more warmth, and make the trip faster as he moved at a quickened pace… to 'The Blood God’s' humble abode.

One hour later…

Technoblade entered his cabin that he’d made himself, holding the Bird Man as carefully as possible,(He’d regurgitated them as soon as the house was visible.) before setting him on a counter. “Ok, now what…? “ He questioned, before grabbing a few breadcrumbs and leaving them on a plate next to the Avian. “Guess I just… wait for you to wake up huh-?” He’d eventually sit down in a chair in the nearby ‘living room’ and read a book, flipping through the pages…patiently waiting for his ward to awaken… he did a few things around the home, making sure that everything would be nice and safe for the human-sized creature to live in, his house may not be the most well-put-together thing in the world… but at least it was something that worked. Honestly the fact that he could fit a functional fireplace and ‘kitchen’ inside was astounding. After about two more hours of vibing in the house, absentmindedly reading old tales transcribed from human books to giant form ages and ages ago, the bird made a little groan. Techno’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Okay, this shouldn’t be that hard. “Er, hey-” He said, causing the Avian male to snap his head over to the voice and back away slightly. “It’s okay little guy, I’m uh, not gonna hurt you-” He said awkwardly, keeping a comfortable distance from him. The small bird stopped backing up but was still very clearly nervous. 

“S-So… you’re not going to e-eat or kill me mate-?” He asked the impossibly massive giant, still trying to keep a distance as he tested his injured wing. “No, of course not… that’s an old myth man-” The Piglin Giant responded in a deep voice, though it was kept quiet enough to not hurt the poor bird’s ears. The two stood in brief awkward silence before the Piglin broke it. “Sooooo… what’s your name-?” “Phil… Philza’s my name.” He replies, seeming slightly less nervous with the rather ordinary conversation. “So um… how about you mate-? What’s your name?” Phil asked, working up the courage to walk forward a little bit, getting a tiny bit closer to the giant as more and more trust was built. “My name is Techno, Technoblade for full.” He spoke monotony, but with a smile. They talked for a little bit more, discussing typical topics such as literature and their lives. “...and that’s why my favorite book is the Princess Bride.” Techno finished, he’d been monologuing about the books in his little ‘library’ like The Art of War and The Princess Bride. “Yeah, seems like a cool book mate.” He said with a smile, before remembering… “Um, how long do you think my wing will take to heal-? I um, have some Children at my nest and I need to make sure they’re safe-” Phil asked the piglin giant, looking out a nearby window, hoping that they were alright without him.

“Hmm… it shouldn’t take too long for it to heal, I’d say three days tops? You’re lucky you didn’t break it-” He said dryly, though maybe it was also slightly jokingly-? “I could go check on them if you liked.” He said suddenly. “Um, not sure if that’d be the best idea Techno Mate-” Phil replied nervously, fidgeting with his coat as he said this. “Why not?” Techno asked rather bluntly. “Well… you know, scared of Giants-” He said with a nervous smile. “Ah… I get it, see me and it just causes fear-” A dry laugh comes from him as he says this. “Eheh yeah-” “I should still probably check on them though…” The Piglin Giant said after a moment, looking to the door. “Err… yeah you’re probably right mate.” Techno nodded and asked for an approximate location which Phil provided reluctantly. “Ok, think I’ve got it… you’re sure you’ll be okay alone?” He already had a hand on the doorknob. “Y-Yeah mate… I’ll be oki.” He lay on a small pillow that the Piglin had made himself a little while ago, and waved goodbye as he left. Phil sighed, hoping that Wil and Tommy would be alright for just a bit longer as he let his wing heal…

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

And there we go, my Mcyt g/t Secret Santa of 2022 prompt has been finished :D I do apologize for ending it on a tad bit of a cliffhanger, but hopefully with luck I'll get to a part two, probably, maybe, probably not- cough cough I know it's been a while since I last released a fic but, at least it's something @w@ Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed the fic :)

[beth--b]

It was over.

At least, for now.

Steve had been trapped in a secret elevator, held hostage by Russians, beaten, drugged, crashed a car and helped fight a giant monster made of melted people parts. 

But it was over now, so it was fine.

After being checked out by the paramedic’s and downplaying his symptoms just a touch, he was eventually told to go home and rest. 

Also on ao3 here

Based on this post

Apparently he had a concussion, but hey it wasn’t his first time dealing with that on his own, a lot of soft tissue damage and some potentially cracked ribs. He had been told that by not going to the hospital he needed to at least get checked out by his regular doctor in the morning and to rest until then. 

His plans were laid to rest when they wouldn’t let him go until he called someone to pick him up.

He hadn’t wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for at least the next 48 hours and then, well after that he wasn’t too sure. 

He especially didn’t want to worry Eddie.

Despite what he wanted, when Eddie showed up in the middle of the night, to a mall that was still on fire and a parking lot full of ambulances and other emergency vehicles, well it was kind of unavoidable.

To Steve’s relief Eddie somehow managed to play it cool until Steve approached his battered old van, the metal head only acting on impulses it was surely killing him to ignore, when Steve stumbled. At that point Eddie stepped in and wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and helped him to the van. 

With Steve seated safely inside Eddie shut the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side, getting in and pulling out of the mall parking lot and out onto the streets of Hawkins.

Eddie managed to stay silent for all of three minutes.

“What the fuck Steve? Where…what…I just I don’t even know what question to ask first because I just have so fucking many!"

Steve winced at the volume of Eddie's outburst and the metal head immediately lowered his voice. 

"Sorry sweetheart, I just hadn't heard from you in a few days so I figured, maybe your folks were in town and you couldn't talk so I convinced myself that there was no need to worry, but apparently I was way off the mark. How the fuck did you ever get those injuries in a fire?" Finally done, Eddie turned his full attention back to the dark street ahead of him before he reached out to grasp Steve's hand tightly within his own.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Steve replied, letting himself relax back in his seat. Eddie's hand was warm in his. Grounding.

"It's ok. I should have at least waited til tomorrow to play twenty questions. Clearly you've had a rough time. Your poor face Stevie. Does it hurt much?"

"Kinda. Paramedics gave me something that helped with pain. I'll let you know tomorrow though… or later today I guess. We going your place or mine?" Steve could feel the last of the adrenaline wearing off and he felt sore and cold despite the Summer heat that lingered even in the darkest parts of the night. He just wanted to go to bed.

"Mine's closer and you looked wrecked. Close your eyes, we'll be there soon. Just rest until then."

Too exhausted to argue, Steve closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window.

Soon enough Eddie was gently shaking his shoulder to wake him. Blearily Steve got out of the van only to find himself wavering on his feet. Before he could do more than weave a little unsteadily Eddie was there just like he had been earlier. Eddie didn't let go until they made it inside.

"Eddie, you got Steve there?" Wayne asked as soon as Eddie opened the trailer door. 

"Yep, I got him," Eddie answered as he tugged Steve through the door, still helping to support the younger man.

"Well shit son, you sure you shouldn't be at the hospital?" Wayne was on his feet and moving to the pair as soon as he got sight of Steve, "Get him on the couch Eddie."

Steve was soon situated on the worn couch, Eddie beside him and Wayne getting him a glass of water.

It wasn't until Steve was sipping at his water that the events of the past days really hit him. He hadn't realised he was crying until Eddie carefully wiped away his tears and began to whisper soothingly to him. Wayne discreetly picked up his packet of cigarettes and went outside.

Steve couldn't seem to stop the tears now they'd started. It was like the floodgates had opened and he had no idea how to close them. Tears that had started silently soon became great heaving sobs and Steve was quickly wrapped in his boyfriend's arms.

Time lost all meaning and Steve truly couldn't have said how long he sat there letting Eddie hold him while he cried. He was crying for Robin and the fact she was now involved with this Upside Down bullshit. He cried for Eleven who had lost her father. He cried for Max, having to watch her step brother die. For all the people in the town who had died becoming part of the mind flayer. He even cried a little for himself. When the torrent of tears finally began to slow Steve pulled away from Eddie's embrace just enough to look him in the eye.

"Sorry about the water works. I'm just being dramatic," Steve sniffled a little, rubbing his hands down his now red and blotchy, face.

When Steve looked at Eddie once more, the metalhead was staring at Steve as though he'd just grown another head.

"Excuse me, did you just fucking apologise for crying after what appears to have been a night from hell? Stevie it's not dramatic to cry after a traumatic event. It's human." 

Shaking his head Eddie just pulled Steve close again in another hug, letting out a few sniffles of his own.

"I guess," Steve murmured against Eddie's neck. "I'm tired. Can we go to bed?"

"Of course," Eddie replied. He pressed a kiss to Steve's head before pulling away. "But not before you take a shower."

"As long as you join me, you have a deal," Steve said with a trace of his usual smile.

"Deal."

[our-death-means-flag]

{ Just A Bunch of Ideas }

You might have noticed the section I left in my master list for longer fics. I have a few ideas, here they are, let me know if any of them really catch your interest!

I’m probably gonna write all of them at some point. But you can help me pick the order! :D

BlackBonnet x Reader (possibly becomes Steadyhands x Reader), post-season 1, exploring the unhealthy sides of their relationship

Ed and reader we’re sort of together pre canon (they are very in love but they’re not really official) they end up pulling Stede into their relationship and making it official but then the end of the season still happens

Both Ed and Reader are struggling with Stede leaving them behind. Reader is handling it better than Ed (outwardly).

Of course the whole canon Kraken thing happens with Reader going along with it. They do their level best to keep everyone safe while that happens (including rescuing Lucius) but Reader is still doing just as bad as Ed.

Focuses on Reader and Ed, Ed and Izzy, Reader and Izzy and exploring how they are all kinda fucked up (Reader is kind of a mediator so the Ed and Izzy stuff is mildly better than canon but not by much). I find the unhealthy relationships in this show really compelling and I want to focus on them.

Eventually Stede comes back (possibly Izzy realizes that he Fucked Up™ and gets him) and they have to try and put everything back together.

Steadyhands x Reader, modern AU (kinda), time travel, shenanigans, Established Steadyhands, Based on a dream

Ed, Izzy and Stede are not having the greatest day. After being separated from their ship during a very strange storm, they find themselves completely lost. Luckily they stumble on a ship with a friendly stranger willing to help them out! :D Though it’s undoubtedly the weirdest ship they’ve ever seen. It’s made of some kind of strange material with no visible sails or oars and the stranger manning it is all alone. Said stranger is just as bizarre, dressed in strange clothes and not making any sense. Why would they want a “phone” to “call someone”? What’s a “phone”? What’s a “GPS”?

Meanwhile, Modern!Reader is incredibly confused when a trio of strangely dressed men in a tiny dinghy show up in the middle of the ocean. You have no idea how they got out here or what to do. Especially since they seem so baffled by regular topics. Did they get hurt somehow? A concussion? What year is it? Wait what?!?

Basically just modern!reader showing our boys some cool things in the present while you try to find a way to get them back home.

Steadyhands & adopted child!reader; this fandom needs more platonic/parental fics. Established Steadyhands

Reader, desperate to escape a terrible situation, stows away on the Revenge. You manage to stay hidden for a few days but then Stede finds you. You’re more than ready to fight to defend yourself or offer to work non-stop to be allowed to stay. Instead you’re invited into the captains’ cabin for a nice meal.

You’re stunned by the kindness of the crew and (despite your best efforts) end up getting very attached to them all, especially the strange captains and the protective first mate who all but adopt you.

Unfortunately, running from the past is a tricky thing, both for you and your new parents…

Izzy x Reader to Steadyhands x Reader; you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, jealousy 

Stede and Ed are happily in love and Izzy is having a bad time. The Revenge gets damaged during a raid and they have to stop for repairs. Stede declares an impromptu vacation and Izzy is basically forced to come along.

Then he runs into Reader, an old friend who he hasn’t seen in ages (and who Ed doesn’t know). You two immediately reconnect and spend the entire time together first as friends then as lovers.

Initially Ed is glad that Izzy isn’t just sulking, but the longer he watches the two of you spend time together, laugh together (when was the last time he saw Izzy laugh?), dance, spar, and sing (you somehow managed to convince izzy to sing with you), the more jealous he becomes.

Eventually they have to leave and Ed is kind of glad to leave you behind. But you offer to tag along with them. Stede accepts, glad that Izzy’s been less trouble with you around. 

Ed tries to figure out how to deal with his jealousy (and his weird feelings for you on top of that). Stede tries to ignore how much he likes this side of Izzy and also you. Izzy tries to let himself have nice things and wrestles with feeling like he’s betraying Ed for being around you and how much less annoying bonnet is when he's not laser focused on Ed. And reader tries to figure out what the fuck is going on with these three charming handsome idiots.

[klondiketales]

1. Rocky dates a really nice man and they really have a good time, but Rocky has only Freckle on his mind, he thinks about what Freckle said or did during the date, and Rocky reluctantly compares Freckle to his new boyfriend, and Rocky understands that his boyfriend ... does not understand him, as Freckle did, there is no such understanding, and a feeling of kinship, besides blood, and despite the fact that Freckle did not mind that Rocky had sex on dates, but Rocky couldn’t do it, he had some kind of block in his head that prevented him from having sex with other people except Freckle, so it was just a date without sex, at the end of the date, the boyfriend kissed Rocky, the kiss was pleasant, but it wasn’t the same Freckle did everything differently, he would have made it much more pleasant, Freckle knew how to kiss Rocky correctly ... in general, the date was nice, but as you guessed, a failure, after which Rocky returns home to Freckle, who asks how the date went, but Rocky doesn’t let him finish, and kisses him passionately, thereby erasing the stranger’s kiss from his lips, to which Freckle groans, but immediately answers him, and yes, that’s what Rocky needed, sweet kisses from his cousin, Nina wasn’t there today at home, so they made love on the bed, something like that, and here is the second version

2. This is like the first version, but with the difference that at the end of the date Rocky has sex with his boyfriend, although it feels somehow wrong, but in the end, they have sex, and ... everything is wrong again, Freckle is the only one who has time behind Rocky's pace, and he even matches it, but the boyfriend doesn't keep up with Rocky's pace, the boyfriend fucks Rocky wrong, Freckle pushes in another way, slides this way, or kisses in another place, in the end, the boyfriend cums early, and he can't go for the 2 round, thereby leaving Rocky unsatisfied, after the date, everything goes as in the first option, but there is much wilder sex, because Rocky really remained unsatisfied, but Freckle knows how to soothe the itch of her cousin ... with he big dick, they go for a few rounds before they collapse, luckily Nina decided to stay late talking to her friend from church so our boys were able to get themselves organized before Nina returned

In general, even if Rocky had found a partner who could keep up with his pace, it would still not be the same, they were not Freckle, something about Freckle made him irreplaceable among other people, perhaps it was due to their similar experience of violence that made their connection even deeper, and more unique, something like this, I decided that it would be right to provide options for Rocky, so that he chooses who to meet, with his cousin, or with another person, well, I think the choice is obvious, and also, the first option is canonical option than, something like this

I disagree, here, too, although I respect your ideas. I think Rocky would have fun with a strange man. He would probably be fine not thinking about Freckle for a night. It would allow him to forget the guilt and shame of being in an incestuous relationship; he could pretend, just for a little while, that he’s a normal person, just like everyone else. He would be able to feel accepted and ordinary. The man he’s with won’t know anything about his tragic past or the abuse he went through, so he could pretend it never happened to him. He could make up an entirely different past to the one he actually has. He can lie and say he has a family who loves him and a nice, safe home, and the man would never suspect the sad truth. And I do think that a partner would be able to satisfy Rocky sexually. If they can’t, he would just pick someone else. But he’s good at picking the right ones. He can just sense them. He knows how to find the guy who will show him a good time.

Freckle might feel lonely when Rocky isn’t home, but he’ll be happy as long as Rocky is happy, and as long as Rocky does come back to him eventually. Freckle probably won’t feel as though he deserves to ask for more, since he still has feelings of guilt and shame too. I agree that Rocky is irreplaceable to Freckle, and vice versa, but I think Rocky would be able to have fun with other poeple now and then.