#be vulnerable. he won’t open up but worse he isn’t comfortable going out of his way to seek her out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tokkias · 3 months

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damaged goods ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: Healing is not a linear process. Some days are worse than others, Natsu finds out. He wishes it wasn't like that, that one day he could just be okay, fine, good even. Unfortunately, things just don't seem to work out that way and some days he finds himself physically bedridden with grief and there is only one person who's words, smile, and touch that he feels can pull him out of his sorrow. ao3

The thing about grief is that it never truly goes away. Over time, it just becomes a part of you, something you learn to live with. Life doesn’t stop moving for grief; the world doesn’t stop turning and the sun doesn’t stop rising because of loss. Things continue on as they always do, and life moves on.

Healing is not a linear process. Some days are worse than others, Natsu finds out.

Some days are normal, hopeful even, like the grief was never there in the first place. Other days, it feels like the world is crashing down on his shoulders, and he feels the weight of all his grief weighting down on his chest. It’s almost enough that it physically hurts him, as though something is gripping at his heart, squeezing until he can only breathe in choked-out sobs.

Today is one of those days.

He doesn’t want to leave his bed, no matter how much Happy insists it will make him feel better. He knows he’s probably right, but he wants to wallow in his own misery, if only for a little while.

He shoos the poor cat off, tells him to leave him alone, which happens eventually but deeply reluctantly and only after hours of trying to cheer him up. Happy just doesn’t get it, and he doesn’t blame him for that. He doesn’t know the sorrow of losing someone so important to him, and Natsu hopes he never does. He never wants Happy to hurt the way he’s hurting right now.

His tears have long since stopped falling, not for lack of trying, but because he’s simply reached the point where there's nothing left to cry. His sorrow comes out in dry heaves and hics. He sounds like a wounded animal, and he feels like one too.

He’s never felt so... vulnerable before, never so alone. Not since the day Igneel disappeared. It’s his own fault. Happy had been there, and he’s done nothing but push him away, but he just can’t find it in himself to be vulnerable like this around him. He needs to be strong for him; he can’t let him see how weak he is in these moments.

There’s no one that he feels he can let himself be truly open with in these moments of true sorrow where he’s at his worst—his weakest.

Well, almost no one.

As he gazes up at the ceiling, he thinks about Lucy.

He finds himself doing that a lot lately.

He wants her to be here, to hold him, comfort him, tell him things are going to be okay. The fact that she isn’t here with him makes his heart ache and throb with an unfamiliar emotion. He thinks he can call it… yearning.

He wonders if he wills it hard enough that he can manifest her presence, that she’ll show up at his door and forcibly drag him out of bed, take him for a walk, remind him of all the good things that exist outside of his grief. He knows it won’t work—she doesn’t share his tendency for breaking and entering. If he wants to see her, it has to be of his own volition. For the first time today, the world that exists outside his bedroom seems tempting.

He doesn’t leave his bed right away—the warmth of his blanket trapping in his own body heat reminds him too much of snuggling with Igneel as a child for him to want to leave so soon.

He wishes Lucy were here. She always seems to run cold, so she would like just how warm it gets beneath the sheets with him. There’s a bitter chill in the air today, the kind that Lucy always whines about before attaching herself to his side in an attempt to leech off of his warmth. He pretends to hate it, but right now he can think of nothing he wants more than Lucy’s touch.

That’s the thought that tips him over the edge, quite literally. He practically rolls out of bed. It’s not graceful; it’s not elegant, but he’s never been either of those things, so it doesn’t matter.

He barely manages to dress himself when he’s up, and he doesn’t bother with his hair. The way his bangs fall in his eyes is mildly annoying, but not annoying enough that he wants to do anything about it. Today he’s sad, and he’s lazy, and he only has a single goal in mind.

Happy seems to perk up when he comes trudging out of his room, seeing his sudden willingness to get out of bed as a marked improvement of the Natsu, who seemed content to do nothing but rot away for the rest of the day.

“Natsu!” He greets. “Are you feeling better?”

He lets out a grunt in response. He is better, he supposes, even if only marginally so. He’s not good, but he’s up, and that’s probably more than anyone could ask of him. He’s dressed, but barely so. He’s wearing the same pants he had on yesterday—the ones he kicked to the floor before crawling into bed before grief overtook him, his soul, his spirit. He makes his way to the door, where he haphazardly tugs on his jacket, not because it’s cold (not that he ever gets cold), but because there’s a stain on his shirt, and though he has enough dignity to cover it up, he doesn’t have enough to change it.

“Where are you going?” Happy asks in curiosity.

Natsu doesn’t need a coat nor dignity to mope around the house, so Happy picks up rather quickly that he’s headed somewhere.

“I’m goin’ for a walk,” he tells him.

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either.

He is going for a walk, but it’s less about the walking and more about his destination.

“When will you be back?” he replies.

“Dunno,” Natsu shrugs.

Ideally, not tonight. In his ideal scenario, he falls asleep at Lucy’s house, in Lucy’s bed, in Lucy’s arms. He can’t guarantee that he will get all three, but he knows that she will cave and give him at least two.

He’s not sure if Happy’s had dinner yet—probably not, given that they eat together most nights and food (if they had it) would have been the first thing his buddy used to lure him out of his room. It’s probably why he’s asking. He wants to know if he should prepare something for him, if he should wait until he gets back to fry up one of his beloved fishies for his beloved friend. There’s no need for that tonight. He will surely find comfort in Lucy’s arms and her fridge, should he feel well enough to raid it when he arrives.

“Don’t wait for me, okay?”

Happy knows him well enough that he’s put two and two together. He knows where he’s going, and he knows he probably won’t be back any time soon. Perhaps more importantly, he knows that this is a good thing—that if he can’t cheer his best friend up, then Lucy is the only person who can.

It’s dark out by the time he leaves, indicating he’s wasted most of the day rotting away in bed. Winter in Magnolia brings early nightfall, which he’s not too keen on, but he knows Lucy loves for the ample time it brings for stargazing. He imagines her already prepared for bed, even though it’s barely dinner time, curled up with some book she’s nearly finished, even though she only got it a few days ago. The thought of being able to lay in her lap as she reads is what gets him through each step, heavy and ridden with grief.

He doesn’t burst right in as he would any other night; the thought doesn’t even occur to him. It’s like opening the door is too much for his poor, ailed body. His knocks on the door are soft and lack conviction, so much so that he wonders if she even heard them. He raises his hand to knock again in case she hasn't, but he’s interrupted by the door swinging open.

He was right—she’s already in her pyjamas, her reading time clearly having been interrupted by his unannounced appearance. There’s a look of surprise on her face that quickly turns to worry when she sees the state of him. His sorrow has taken a toll on him physically; his eyes are weepy and bloodshot, tear tracks stain his cheeks, and he lacks any of his usual ardour.

Any other time, he would shove it all down and pretend it’s fine, but as he sees her face, he has to use all of that strength to just hold it together and stop himself from bursting into tears at the sight of her. His day has been filled with such grief from his loss that seeing Lucy, still here, still okay, brings him so much relief that he could cry.

On days like this, he can’t help but wonder who will be the next to leave, to walk out of his life, to be ripped away from his grasp, just as Igneel was. He knows he and his family lead dangerous lives; their line of work always holds a lingering threat of injury or death over them with one wrong move. He had never considered much of their mortality until watching Igneel, strong, fearless Igneel, being taken away from him before his own eyes. Now some days, their mortality is all he can think about.

He always worries about Lucy, but the concern is exacerbated when the thoughts of death, tragedy, and loss insert themselves into the equation. None should be a concern right now. She’s standing right in front of him, looking fine, okay, good even. He needn’t worry for her safety; if anything, his biggest worry should be that she slams the door in his face at his unannounced appearance.

Not that she would. Not his Lucy.

His kind, caring, empathetic Lucy.

In true Lucy fashion, she wastes no time coaxing him inside, closing the door behind him, her hand gently resting on his back as she guides him to the couch. He easily sinks into the cushions and their familiar comfort, the scent of Lucy woven into the upholstery, and the crumbs of Natsu’s snacking habits wedged between them.

Her expression is one of utmost concern. It’s kind and gentle, but it’s full of so much worry that Natsu fears his heart might explode, knowing he’s the reason for it. She doesn’t speak right away, giving him a moment to initiate, should he choose to.

It’s quiet for a moment as he musters up the courage for it. He’s never had to do that before—he’s always been brave at heart, but this feels like a new type of bravery. There is no threat here. He is only threatened with an emotional vulnerability that he’s not sure he’s willing to face, but Lucy looks at him with such sincerity and openness that somehow he feels compelled to speak.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about... Igneel,” he manages to choke out.

It’s hard to admit out loud when he can barely admit it to himself.

Love has never felt like a weakness before, but suddenly it’s crippling, keeping him bedridden as he feels himself swallowed whole by his grief.

“I’m sorry,” is all she says.

From there, a gentle silence falls over them, and she moves her hand to rest on his, their fingers intertwining as she runs her thumb over his skin in soft, comforting ministrations.

“I know what it’s like,” she adds.

Loss is not foreign to anyone in the guild. It is one of the harsh inevitabilities of life. Everyone in the guild has experienced it in some form or another, but few he feels he can confide in about his own loss; even fewer he feels would understand.

It’s a very specific grief to lose a parent—someone who raised you, cared for you, someone who you loved so wholly and truly, and who loved you back with all the same fervour and more.

When Lucy says she gets it, he believes her.

“But I should be over it by now,” he confesses, brows knitted together in frustration.

It’s been what? Three? Four years now? Surely that’s adequate time to have moved on from this stage of absolute sorrow that he still feels. It shouldn’t still hurt like a fresh wound, like it just happened yesterday, but sometimes it does, and it feels like all the progress he’s ever made to move on just fizzles away into nothing. It begins to feel like he will never escape this hole that he’s in, that in losing Igneel, he has somehow lost a part of himself.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Lucy muses. “I think… that when we lose someone so close to us, they take a piece of you with them, but in return, they leave a part of them with us to fill that void in your heart.”

Her hand comes to rest on her own chest, where his ears can attune to the soft thump of her heartbeat. The words come out so naturally, as though this is something she has dwelled on and long since come to terms with. He wishes he were at the same stage of grieving that she has found herself in.

“And it’s not always going to be easy to move on, even if you wish it were, because that loss made you who you are today, for better and for worse. Today is just one of the for worse days,” she says. “Grieving doesn’t make you weak, and I know you don’t like to ask for help, but you don’t have to take all of this on by yourself.”

That’s his Lucy. Eloquent Lucy. Always good with words, Lucy.

She always knows exactly the right things to say, and he doesn’t really understand how it comes so easy to her when he struggles to even untangle his own thoughts himself, but he’s never appreciated it more than he does in this moment.

“Just know that I’m always going to be here for you, okay?”

She looks at him with a gleam in her eyes and all the sincerity in the world, and he wonders if she even knows how much she and her words mean to him.

It’s hard to believe in promises like forever and always when mortality is part of the equation, but he will convince himself because Lucy has never let him down before.

He doesn’t speak because he feels like nothing he can say will adequately convey whatever feelings are swirling around in his chest, but he nods and hopes that she understands.

She doesn’t let the sombre mood dwell for long. It’s never been like him to linger on sad feelings for too long, and given his subdued response, she seems to feel as though a diversion is warranted.

“Have you eaten?” She asks, which would be a strange question any other day, but her intuition has apparently not failed her today.

He hasn’t, which is how you know he’s falling apart.

He affirms her suspicions with a soft shake of his head.

“You want me to make you something?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He’s not that far gone. Still, he croaks out an affirmation, and she smiles, and not for the first time, he wonders how he got so lucky as to end up with a friend like Lucy.

She stands from her spot next to him, and he promptly stands to join her. For a brief moment, she regards him with a look of confusion before her expression softens in realisation. The last thing he wants now is to be alone, a fact that she both understands and comes to terms with quickly, even if it means she risks him raiding her pantry while he joins her. She offers no complaint as he follows her to the kitchen, always lingering close as she prepares him a late-night meal of scrambled eggs.

Once she’s finished cooking, she places the plate down in front of him, and he wastes no time in absolutely devouring the meal. He eats voraciously, as though he’s never eaten in his entire life—which isn’t too different from usual, but today is the closest it’s ever been to being true. Even as he physically licks the plate clean, he glances up at Lucy to find her gazing at him with soft expression. She doesn’t bother to reprimand him for his poor manners—she understands that now is not the time. Instead, she takes his plate without comment and places it in the sink, where she will deal with it when she doesn’t have a Natsu attached to her side, following her through the apartment like a lost puppy.

Though the sun has set, it isn’t too far into the night, and neither is Lucy too far into her book. Despite his interruption, she still intends to finish it tonight, whether Natsu is here or not. She invites him onto the couch with her, and he takes her up on the offer eagerly, quickly finding his spot of comfort with his head in her lap and his arms wrapped around her waist. If she’s uncomfortable in the position they’ve found themselves in, she makes no mention of it, so he lets himself rest there for as long as she will let him.

That hollow pit in his chest still hurts. It still aches and throbs, but the feeling is dampened from the way it lingered earlier in the day. It’s still tender, sure, but the wound no longer feels like it’s bleeding. For the first time today, he no longer feels entirely hopeless; he feels like tomorrow there is potential for it to be better.

Igneel is gone, and no one can replace what he was to him, but as he gazes up at Lucy, eyes trained on her book, he is reminded that there are people here to help him bear this load. It’s funny that he needs this reminder—he seems to always be the one reminding his friends that they’re a family but sometimes he struggles to take his own advice. He’s so used to being the strong one, being the protector, that he feels pathetic being anything but his best self. Even though he knows he would never fault anyone else for being in the same state he is in, he feels as though he cannot extend the same sympathy to himself because he knows he can be better. He hates being bogged down by this, but he is, and he should be better, but he’s not.

Before he can get too lost in those thoughts, Lucy’s hand comes down to rest on his head, nails grazing lightly over his scalp.

It’s as if she knows.

Her eyes flick down to meet his, and she smiles at him before her attention moves back to her book, and he feels the ice of his self-loathing melt away with just one look. It is not a cure in and of itself, but it just seems to dampen the pain enough that he feels comfortable letting his eyes fall shut as he repeats one phrase in his head, a reminder of good things to come.

Tomorrow will be better.

And it is.

Because he wakes up to the sunlight on Lucy’s couch, tied up in tangled limbs with the very person who gives him the hope for a new day.

#nalu #natsu x lucy #fairy tail #mya writes things

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fourmula1 · 9 months

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Maxiel, heat

summer of cum whatever i want day 27: anon's prompt from 6 months ago

max/daniel. anxious baby omega max 'verse. 866 words.

When Max arrives in the Paddock he beelines for Red Bull’s hospitality and to get to Daniel’s room with as little interference as possible.

He feels like everyone knows; like one look at him will give away the fact that he just went through his first heat and he’s a ripe omega ready for the taking.

He isn’t. He hates it. He wants to be anything else but this.

Daniel’s room is predictably a mess already but it’s comforting to know that that means he’s already here, somewhere. There’s a hoodie flung onto the little couch, and various snacks and half-drunk drinks on his table and it’s. Familiar and safe.

Max drops his backpack and settles himself on Daniel’s couch, pulls out his phone to scroll and not think about all the appearances and team duties he’ll have to face over the weekend. He’s already hyper-aware of the leers he gets from alphas, but now he fears everyone will know he’s been through his first heat and it will only get worse. He can go on suppressants now, his doctor said, but his appointment isn’t for another week.

When the door to the room opens Max looks up, expecting Daniel’s surprise and eye rolls at seeing him there like he’s come to expect when he hides away in Daniel’s room, but this time there’s no surprise and Daniel slips in and closes the door quietly.

“You’re not surprised to see me?” He asks, joking a little as Daniel raises his eyebrows at him.

“Mate, sorry, but anyone with a nose is gonna know where you’ve been,” Daniel says and Max’s enthusiasm to see Daniel faulters for a moment, heart sinking into his stomach. Everyone can smell it. Him. Available omega fresh off a heat. It’s insurmountably upsetting and Max curls in on himself a little, crosses his arm up over his chest to rub at his shoulder.

Daniel must smell the way his scent changes because he’s over to the couch in a moment to squeeze in next to Max, the way they always do when Max hides in here.

“Maxy, it’s not a bad thing,” Daniel says, shaking his head a bit. “Sorry, just. It’s not easy being an alpha either, you know?”

I don’t, Max thinks, bitterly. Alphas are strong and respected and don’t have to deal with the nerve-wracking idea that they’re vulnerable to the world.

“Better than this,” Max says and he knows he sounds petulant. Daniel laughs, a little bitter himself, and Max looks up at him with a frown.

“I can smell not only you and your heat, but that you’re pissed off, too,” Daniel explains, shaking his head a bit. “It’s not easy. Alphas have instincts too, you know. It’s hard when I can smell that you’re upset and there’s nothing I can do about it,” Daniel says and Max frowns deeper because he supposes he hadn’t thought about that. Alphas can smell the change in omegas’ scents and moods, and Max knows that… that the good ones tune in more. Daniel tried to explain it before – instincts driving him to fix and make things better.

“Well at least no one’s sniffing you out thinking about making you some bitch to conquer,” Max says as he nudges his elbow into Daniel’s side.

Daniel is quiet, next to him, and Max is torn between wanting to look, and being scared of what he’d see.

“I’m not doing that,” Daniel says and his voice is quiet, subdued. Disappointed.

Max looks.

Daniel’s eyebrows are knitted together, eyes downcast at his hands in his lap and Max can feel a wave of empathy wash over him. Omega sense, he supposes, for the way he can feel and smell Daniel’s hurt feelings.

“I would never do that to you,” Daniel continues and Max feels his chest clench, feels like he needs to come up for air with how thick and cloying the emotion in the room is all of a sudden. He believes Daniel. He knows it’s true. Daniel’s been the one Max goes to escapes it all.

“I know,” he agrees, watching the way Daniel’s gaze is downcast, how he won’t look at Max. Something prickles at Max and he frowns a little, trying to work through what exactly he’s feeling. “I’m sorry, I know. You’re the only one, though,” he says, and Daniel snorts a little but it’s not a laugh. It’s annoyed.

“I won’t let anyone else, either,” Daniel insists, nostrils flaring a little, no doubt scenting Max without even really meaning to. “Just. Come to me always, yeah?” Daniel asks as he finally looks up at Max and meets his eyes.

Max feels a shiver up his spine at how intently Daniel is looking at him. Something… something beyond his understanding is happening here and he doesn’t know what to make of the woosh in his belly when Daniel’s hand reaching out to squeeze Max’s thigh gently.

“I will,” Max nods, watching Daniel’s tension soften at the assurance.

Something peculiar that Max hadn’t felt before… before his heat brought him into being a fully developed omega. A weird sort of pull, a tug, to assure Daniel and calm him.

Peculiar.

#summerofcum2023 #maxiel #anxious baby omega max #my ficlet

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ottoblock · 5 months

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In the grand scheme of things, it could be worse. That’s what he’s telling himself. In his head, again and again, it could be worse.

He even gave himself a fake task! He’s set himself up for success!

It’s terrifying.

Etho isn’t sure why he chose Bdubs—well. That’s not quite true. But he’s regretting it. Bdubs, he has unfortunately learned, is quite committed to eye contact. Normally, this is fine. Sometimes it’s even a good thing.

Now, every time Bdubs looks at him, Etho has a split second of terror, a split second to stop what he is doing if it’s dangerous, before his limbs lock up and his muscles turn to cement and no matter how hard he wishes he could, he cannot move his body.

To be honest, he hasn’t tried that hard to. Look, he wants to win as much as the next person! It’s just—when the skeleton was shooting at him, he had a split second to put his shield up and then Bdubs was looking at him and he couldn’t even flinch.

All of this to say—Etho is avoiding people. It’s not—it’s not forever. He just. He needs a break. And he’s being helpful! Bdub’s bedroom could use some decorations! It didn’t have to be so drab! So he’s adding some moss bits, and just all around sprucing the place up. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He’s so fine that he doesn’t notice Grian has opened the door until he’s halfway to adjusting the blankets on Bdubs’ bed and his arms just. freeze.

For a second, he forgets. For a second, all he knows is that he was trying to be nice and helpful and suddenly he can’t move. For a second—

That’s not the point.

The door creaks as it shuts. Etho hears footsteps around the room, and then—

“Etho!”

Grian. It’s Grian—not a yellow name. Not a red name. He’s terrified of getting caught out by a red name. He’d be such an easy target, not even able to flinch, but no, it’s just Grian.

“Hey Grian!” Etho thinks that maybe the y in that word didn’t have to be so long. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“I was just checking in—I hadn’t heard from you in a while, no one’s seen you around recently. You alright man?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I’m just—fixing up Bdubs’ bed. Y’know, so that when he comes back it’ll be… clean.”

Grian comes into his field of view, nodding, and for a moment Etho is so relieved that the Secret Keeper didn’t take away his ability to talk before reality sets in.

His arms are still frozen incriminatingly over Bdubs’ bed. He hasn’t moved them. Etho knows he and Grian are on the same side, but Grian is. Grian is Grian.

It’ll be fine.

“Okay, I’m just going to. Look, Etho, this desk shelving unit thing you’ve got is really cool looking, I’m just going to”—Grian doesn’t finish his sentence, but Etho’s arms unfreeze, and he’s so relieved he doesn’t even bother to wonder why Grian is looking at the unimpressive desk setup.

He shakes out his arms, sore and painful from where they’d been held up for so long, and then throws himself onto Bdubs’ bed. It’s comfortable, at least.

“Look, Grian. I appriciate that you’re here, and checking in on me and all that, but I’m fine so if you could just”—

“I’m not looking.”

What? “What?”

“I mean—I’m not. I’m not going to look. You can leave if you want. I won’t stop you.”

“But you’re not”—

“I’m not looking.”

Etho flounders for a second. “You know my task!”

“I do,” Grian tilts his head to the side. If he were looking, Etho knows, he’d have a sheepish expression, “I’m not going to—to sell you out or anything.”

Etho stares at him.

“You can. You can go, if you want.”

“When you say you won’t stop me…”

“I mean—yeah. I won’t. I won’t look at you.”

Etho considers this. Grian is still standing at the desk, staring at the wall. He sits up straighter.

“You can look.”

“What?”

“You can look,” Etho repeats, “Just for a second.”

Grian turns around, and there’s something open and vulnerable on his face Etho’s not quite sure how to read. He’s not sure he wants to, so he closes his eyes tight. The all consuming lack of movement doesn’t get to him as much when he can’t see what he should be running away from.

“I’m not going to—to force you to sit there all day.”

“No! No. I mean, you could. But you could also just, I don’t know, get comfortable. Somewhere you can’t see me. Lie down on the bed and look at the ceiling or something.”

Grian considers this. Etho can almost hear the idea tick in his mind.

“…Why?”

“Well,” Etho starts, and then realizes he doesn’t actually know why, “It would be nice to not have to worry, I guess. I won’t make you.”

“No,” Grian agrees, “It would be nice.”

He moves around the room until he’s lying at the door of the bed staring at the ceiling. Etho feels the discomfort of concrete in his veins.

Finally, the sounds of movement stop. Etho cracks his eyes open, watches as Grian closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh.

“I’m not looking.”

#ethoslab #grian #secret life #trafficblr #trafficlife #secret life etho #look i am just. very normal abojt the idea of weeping angel etho #and also #okay #see #this happened RIGHT after i got super invested in dr who #i almost cried about it #IM NOT LOOKING????#YOU CANT JUST SAU THAT AND EXPECT ME TO BE KORMAL #ottowrites

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seireitonin · 5 months

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Toby has nightmares, so why does he go to Jane’s room every time this happens?

(Toby angst ft Jane)

It happened again. The memories breaking loose from Slendermans hold and invading Toby’s mind as he slept. The hold on his memories weakened after 12 years of them being kept from his mind. They’ve been coming back randomly for four years now, randomly filling Toby’s head with his past of suffering. Not only his but his mothers and sisters. He remembered everything. The bruising of Lyras skin. The begging of his mother. The fists of his father. Toby having to use his body as his sister and mother’s shield and the scars he still has from it all over his body till this day. He remembers. Everything.

He was begging in his sleep as if he was the scared 17 year old boy again. Making noises of fear and sadness. “Lyra, get behind me, please! I can’t feel it! You can! Let me protect you!” If Toby could wake up in a cold sweat he would. CIPA won’t allow him to do that. He put his head in his hands and breathed heavily. Usually Nina would be there to calm him down, but she wasn’t here tonight. Something about a rave. Toby assured her he’d be fine so she wouldn’t feel bad about being away from him all night. Part of it was pride. He didn’t want to depend on her. Didn’t want Nina to know he did need her. Didn’t want her to know the he wanted her here. He’d rather suffer alone than be so vulnerable. Part of it was his self centered and obnoxious confident nature. He’s strong he doesn’t need anyone to help him. But tonight that just wasn’t true.

He put on a shirt and made his way to Jane’s room. He knows she’s awake. She rarely sleeps. He can see her light on through the cracks of the door. He opens it and enters without knocking and closes it behind him softly, not wanting anyone else to know he’s here.

Jane had been reading, her all black eyes scanning the pages as she was under the covers of her bed. She looked up at the 29 year old man with dark brown hair, pale skin and scars all over his arms with a look of knowing. She could see the fear in his eyes and the neediness. Although Toby would never admit to it or show it, his face still blank as he looked at her. But Jane knew. She had that same look in her eyes as Mary had to comfort her through the nightmare filled sleepless nights as Jane saw Jeff taking her parents away in her head over and over. Jane knew.

“I need it Jane.” Toby said blankly and almost demanding as he stared at her.

“Need it? Toby you know this isn’t healthy. You sound like an addict. You know this makes your hallucinations worse.”

“Since when do I care about health? I need it.” He dismissed her, as he walked toward the bed she was sitting on.

Jane shut the book she was reading. “And why should I do this for you, hm? You’ve been rude since you got in here.”

Toby furrows his brows, balls his fists and squeezes his eyes shut. “Jane…..I need her. Need to see her.”

Jane looks at him, narrowing her eyes as if waiting for the magic word.

“Please.” Toby opens his eyes and un balls his fists his face going blank again.

Jane sighs. Her black hair turning blonde. Her black eyes turning bluish green. Her black lips turning a lively pink. Her pale skin turning to a peachy fair tone. Her voice changing to a higher pitched one that Toby recognized and missed all too well.

“Hello, Toby” said the pseudo Lyra in front of him. She holds out her hands for Toby to take. “I missed you.”

Toby walk over and falls to his knees in front of her, taking her hands. “Lyra. I missed you. I missed you so much.” He couldn’t help it. He will always have a soft spot for his sister. Even though in the back of his mind he knew this wasn’t real.

Lyra softly cups Toby’s face. Her hands are warm and soft like he remembered her. He looks up at her, as she looks down at him softly. Lyra was the one person Toby didn’t mind being beneath. When she looked at him like that, he’ll stay beneath her forever.

“You had a nightmare about dad huh?” the pseudo Lyra said to him softly, still cupping his face.

Toby nods. “Your skin was so bruised. I couldn’t handle seeing you that way.”

“I’m okay Toby. See? I’m okay because of you.”

“I’d do anything to protect you. You…know that right?”

“Of course I do, Toby. All you’ve ever done was protect me.”

Toby put his head in her lap.

“But I couldn’t save you from the accident.”

“No one could. It’s not your fault.”

The disguised Jane, runs her fingers through his hair.

She had replicated everything about Lyra perfectly. Down to her fingernails. Toby loved every second of it. He missed his sister so badly. This was as close as he was going to get to her ever again.

“Lyra. I love you. I love you. I love you so much” Toby just lets it all out. Everything he wishes he said more to the real one.

“…….I love you too, Toby.”

That’s the last thing Jane says as Lyra before turning back to her normal self.

Toby immediately takes his head out of her lap and stands up. His face having a look of shock and anger.

“No! Jane, damnit, bring her back!”

“Toby. That’s enough for one night.”

“Bring….her back….God! Someone bring her back….” Toby sounded like he was about to cry, but quickly stops and catches himself. He’s above that. Above the grief and pain. He’s stronger than that.

Jane hugs him.

Toby tries to resist at first, but melts into it, hugging her back.

“I know what it’s like to loose the ones you love Toby. I’m sorry.”

How Toby loves women. They’re so soft and sweet. They’ve been comforting him all his life. Nothings changed.

“Thank you….Jane.”

Toby pulls away and leaves her room. Not wanting to be any more vulnerable than he has to be. Getting back into his bed and waiting to Nina to come home and join him in it. Maybe he’ll tell her he loves her more often. Maybe not. He’ll see how he feels in a few hours.

(Once again this isn’t proof read, sorry! I think Jane canonically being able to shape shift is so cool. Also happy Monday :3)

#creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta characters #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #crp #ticcy toby #ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta nina the killer #ticci toby hcs #ticci toby creepypasta #toby rogers #janeeverlasting #janethekillerhcs #creepypasta angst #angst #ticci toby hc #ticcitoby #creepypasta ticci toby

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gritsgigabits · 1 year

Note

Hi! I been binge reading your writing lately and I am in love. Can you do if slasher x a reader with an eating disorder? Like how they would react and stuff? If not then just ignore if you’re not comfortable!!

Hey~ Thanks for the request! Since you didn’t specify the type of eating disorder, the references in this are mostly to a restrictive one.

Disclaimer: These do not reflect my personal views or opinions on how to deal with any disordered eating behaviours. If you’re struggling with such issues, please seek appropriate support.

Jason Voorhees

Jason knows very little about eating disorders. His mother once briefly talked to him about the subject, explaining that it’s ‘just a teenage girl thing that they grow out of’. It comes as a surprise for him to learn that that’s not always the case.

No matter what kind of eating disorder you have, Jason will be worried sick about you when he notices it or you tell him about it. He knows (live) people have to eat and hates to see you deprive yourself of food.

When you try to hide disordered behaviours from him, Jason always becomes sad and offended. He wishes you’d feel comfortable enough to be open about the subject – he isn’t going to shove fries down your throat if you appear to be struggling or vulnerable.

Jason thinks it’s best not to interfere too much unless you ask for his help. And if you do ask for help, you’ll need to be very specific about what he should and shouldn’t do to help you. He would hate himself if he inadvertently made your disorder worse.

He tries to tell you he loves you often, that he loves you just the way you are, and that from his perspective, there’s no reason for you to harm yourself in the way that you are. To him, you’re perfect, eating disorder or not.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba noticed your eating disorder long before you actually told him anything about it. He thought it strange and worrying that you would avoid meals together with him and his brothers and reacted defensively to food-related conversations. At first he thought it was his family that bothered you, but then Bubba came to the conclusion that you must not like the food that he is used to eating.

When you talk to Bubba about your eating disorder, the whole things starts to make more sense to him. He is perhaps more relieved to find out that you don’t have an issue with his brothers than he is about your worrisome eating habits.

Bubba won’t tell you this to your face, but he can’t understand your troubles. You don’t have to always enjoy food, but why would you deny yourself such a basic need unless absolutely necessary? It makes no sense to him.

Although Bubba grew up in an environment that was heavily focused on food and food industry, he never experienced any pressure around meals.

Because of Bubba’s lack of experience on the subject of eating disorders, he can be pushy and tactless about the subject. You’ll need to remind him more often than not that shoving food in front of your face or making a big deal of your disorder isn’t helpful. It’ll take him some time to learn which of his actions are helpful and which are not.

Overall, Bubba wants to support you and help you overcome whatever problems you might have in life. If you need anything from him, he’ll do his utmost to help you!

Brahms Heelshire

It is likely that unless you talk to Brahms about your disordered eating directly, he won’t notice anything unusual about your behaviour around food. It doesn’t matter to Brahms if you don’t eat as long as you keep him fed.

When you tell him about your disorder, Brahms is interested to find out more. He has stumbled upon mentions of eating disorders in his books at times but hasn’t been able to form a picture of what such disorders actually involve.

In a way, Brahms can relate to your struggle. Or to the physical side of it. In the past, he has many times either showed his petulance or stubbornness by refusing to come out of the walls, even to eat the meals that have been presented to him.

He knows how uncomfortable it is to go a couple of days without eating, so once you’ve told him about your disorder and he begins to pay attention to it, Brahms will try to make sure that you eat at least a little every day.

He doesn’t want you fainting while dusting the mansion, especially if it happened just before that day’s kiss goodnight. Brahms would be devastated.

Pyramid Head

Pyramid Head knows that in Silent Hill, you have to eat whatever you find whenever you find it or starve to death. If you choose the latter by regularly ignoring the opportunities for filling your stomach, he will treat is as your personal preference without interfering.

Refusing to eat makes absolutely no sense for Pyramid Head because if you’re going to continue to survive in a town that’s crawling with a multitude of dangerous creatures, you’ll need to keep your strength by any means necessary. Not eating in Silent Hill is a nothing but a full-blown death wish.

Even if you routinely display such unfathomable behaviour as turning down food, Pyramid Head will continue to bring food into his lair so you’ll have the chance to eat it if and when you can. Procuring food in the town is difficult as it is, and Pyramid Head isn’t going to let you die of starvation just because you’re rubbish at taking care of yourself.

He can’t relate to your struggle not can he bring himself to understand what you’re going through every day with your eating disorder, but pyramid Head will listen patiently if you want to talk to him about it. As long as you keep in mind that the only sympathy you’ll receive from him is a companionable silence.

Billy Loomis

Billy has the emotional maturity of a teenager (mostly because he is one), so his take on the situation is that you’ll grow out of it. He can’t understand that disordered eating is not a problem on its own but a symptom of some underlying issue.

Because he has a fairly shallow grasp of eating disorders, Billy tries to help in the most counterproductive ways: by telling you to just eat, which is an absolute favourite among people suffering from eating disorders(!), and by taking you out to eat as often as he can.

He mostly figures that if he provides you with food that tastes good, then you have no reason to be so damn picky about it. His go-to is a burger and fires at the local diner.

If and when you explain to Billy that his way of dealing with the issue is not helping, he will back off and try to sweep your eating problem under the rug. He is not equipped to deal with a topic as complex as an eating disorder, and leaves you to fend for yourself. Billy simply isn’t mature enough to talk about mental health that he has not encountered before.

He won’t try to avoid situations that involve eating with you but tries to ignore the fact that you don’t always eat when you two are out. You know, as long as he doesn’t acknowledge the problem, there really isn’t a problem. Right?

Billy will also think twice before inviting you to family dinner. More for his own sake than yours – to avoid either making you upset or the awkwardness of explaining to his family why you aren’t eating much.

Bo Sinclair

In truth, it won’t be the best decision you’ve made in your life to tell Bo about your eating disorder. He has very little compassion towards anyone, and it more often than not tests his patience to be sympathetic even towards you.

Bo doesn’t react well. His first instinct is to put you down for basically anything that could be wrong in your life, and your problems with eating make no exception. He’ll keep asking why you are bothering him about a thing you brought upon yourself, and he’ll keep raising his voice until you’re practically in tears.

If you’ve dated for longer than two weeks, you’ll likely have learnt that shouting and blowing things out of proportion is just Bo’s way of dealing with difficult or uncomfortable topics. When you tell him about your eating disorder, he actually becomes worried about you.

And then he ends up yelling at you.

If you give him some time to calm down and think things over alone, he’ll come back to you and you can have a calmer, more serious conversation. Bo just needs time to keep his flaring tempering in check.

It takes him some effort and plenty of patience, but he will try to be supportive. At least when you have bad days eating-wise.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is like a hawk who’ll notice immediately if there’s something unusual or worrying about aby of your behaviour. He watches you whenever he can, makes notes about how you act in situations and if something strikes him as odd or different that usual, he’ll confront you about it.

Talking to Vincent can be difficult because he has a tendency to withdraw if he feels uncomfortable, and nothing could make him feel more uncomfortable than if he thought that you were in any way in danger.

After you have a conversation with him about the subject, you might not see him for a day or two. You’re not sure where he disappears off to when he needs time for himself. You respect his need for privacy and try not to seek him out before he wants to be sought out.

When he’s ready to talk again, he’ll come back to you. He wants to let you know that if there’s anything he can do for you, you only need to ask.

Vincent usually treats you like a glass sculpture so as not to accidentally break or hurt you. Once he becomes aware that you’re going through a difficult time, he becomes ridiculously careful around you. You need to remind him that physically, you’re feeling alright. Tell him that you’d rather he hold you tight against him than keep his distance.

#jason voorhees x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #billy loomis x reader #pyramid head x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfiction

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the-cookie-of-doom · 6 months

Text

Time Travel AU

Kim stalks over to the windows, where he can see Porchay waiting on the grounds below. He isn’t brave enough to come to Kim’s door; that means he has time.

Still, the sight of him—nervously tugging at his sleeves, rolling them up his arms, tugging them back down again, over his hands—makes Kim’s heart clench painfully. He remembers what’s going to happen as clearly as the day it transpired.

“That boy out there,” he says to himself, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He is the only person that’s ever loved you for every fucked up, broken thing you are, and you’re about to destroy the only good thing in your life when you go out there and break his heart.”

“It’s for his protection.”

“No it’s not, you sanctimonious prick,” Kim snarls. He curses himself, both of them, for ever believing this would work. As if he could somehow get through to this past version of himself, who’s too confident that what he’s doing is right because he hasn’t had to live through the pain of losing Chay, yet. He thinks he’s invincible. He has no fucking idea just how vulnerable he is.

Kim meets Porchay outside, and his heart leaps into his throat when he sees that Chay is already fracturing. He doesn’t remember this—remembers the way he refused to look at Chay at all, as if his cold dismissal was ever enough to run Chay off. Chay was too stubborn for that. He never let Kim run away. Maybe he should have.

But Kim isn’t running now.

“Porchay,” he says on an exhale, a prayer.

“Kimhan Theerapanyakul,” Porchay responds. He’s already red-faced and shaking—never did learn how to hide his emotions—and he’s the most beautiful thing Kim has ever seen, and Kim won’t let him break. Not this time. He cuts in before Chay can make his accusations.

“I love you,” he says first, because that’s the most important. If nothing else, he needs Chay to know this. He never got to say it before, and it’s hard to say it now, but it also comes as easy as breathing.“We need to talk. I’m going to tell you things that will be hard to hear, but I need you to know I love you. You are the most important thing in my life. Okay? I love you, Porchay. I love you.”

Tears spill down Chay’s cheeks even as confusion twists his face, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, but nothing comes out. Kim cups his face, thumbs away the hot tears, and pulls Chay into a desperate hug when he crumbles.

“What’s going on?” Chay whispers, his face tucked into Kim’s shoulder, his eyes wide and wet. The confession isn’t the comfort Kim wished it could be. Not now. It’s only a sign of worse things yet to come.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Kim promises. “But not here.” It isn’t safe. It won’t be long before his younger self regains consciousness and frees himself—they need to get out of here before he does. Kim doesn’t know where to go, though, can’t think of a single place that’s safe. He’ll figure something out; the first priority is getting Chay as far away from his self-destructive younger self as quickly as he can.

Kim takes Chay’s hand and leads him into the garage beneath his apartment. He clings to the fact that Chay lets him, doesn’t fight it, even when he can feel Chay’s eyes boring into him with something akin to mistrust. He knows he’s earned it. He prays it’s not too late to fix this.

Kim bundles Chay into his Maserati and peels into the street. The sooner they’re away from this place, from the horrible memories overlaid everywhere he looks, the sooner Kim will be able to formulate a plan.

He risks a glance at Porchay. Finds him coiled tight in the passenger seat. He shifts gears, then lays his hand over Chay’s where it’s clutching the center console in a white-knuckled grip.

“Can you trust me?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Chay answers. But he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together, and it feels like Chay is giving him a second chance. It’s more than Kim had last time. Maybe Chay is only giving him enough rope to hang himself, but whatever happens now—at least Kim’s lips will have known the shape of love.

In the end, Kim takes them to the studio where it all began. He clears the space, then flips every lock between them and the world outside. He steers Chay onto a leather couch against one of the walls, and sits tentatively beside him.

“Remember I love you, okay?” he says. Chay is still clutching his hand, and Kim clings to him just as desperately.

“You’re scaring me, Kim.”

“I know, angel. I’m sorry.” Kim has to say this, too. He owes Chay at least one real apology. Kim has had a year to think about all the things he wishes he had said today. That makes it easier, now, the truth spilling out of him, overflowing, overwhelming, and he doesn’t stop, even when Chay begins to drown. Kim holds him while he cries, and cries, and cries. Whispers I love you, and I’m sorry, and his own eyes are wet when he realizes he’s changed nothing. He was always going to break Chay’s heart.

#cookie writes #kimchay #look just bc i wrote a lot doesn't mean i wrote WELL today #this is like #super barebones #i need to rewatch the ep so i can get the actual dialogue #but this is the rough shape of it

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midnightlee25 · 1 year

Text

Yandere ABC: Deadpool (Wade Wilson)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He is very affectionate with his darling. Feeling no shame of it using any chance he gets.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He isn’t worried about a little (a lot) of blood so it’s going to get messy.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling?

He isn’t cruel to his darling at all. In fact, he is quite smothering.

Delusional: How aware are they?

He is heavily delusional. There are some points when he is aware.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It does take him a while to open up to his darling but he will once they start showing that they feel the same way as he does.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He does understand why they are fighting him. It still breaks his heart to see them do so.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience?

The whole situation can be a nightmare in and of itself but how worse it gets depends on his darling.

Ideals: What is their plan for the future?

He isn’t too worried about the future however sometimes he gets thoughts of having a more “normal” end.

Jealousy: How jealous are they when it comes to their darling?

He does get jealous fairly easily although depending on who it is and what the situation he may or may not be able to hide it.

Knowledgeable: How much would they try to learn about their darling?

He does get to know quite a bit and then learns more along the way.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

When it comes to courting his darling, he does take a cheesier route. But a mixture of romantic and silly cheesy.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He does act more or less the same but those who have known him for a long time can see the subtle differences but it’s still enough for them to brush it off. (Which in the long run wasn’t the best idea.)

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He doesn’t punish his darling at all.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Except for alone time he really doesn't take away anything from his darling.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He is very patient with his darling not really or at all getting frustrated at them.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If they were to escape, he won’t ever stop looking for them. If they were to die however, he would find a way to bring them back.

Regret: Would they feel guilty? Would they let go?

As long as his darling didn’t break or become super scared of him, he won’t regret anything.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them?

All it really took was having the right person. As scary as that seems he really does love his darling and doesn't want to lose them.

Tears: How do they feel about their darling crying, screaming, and/or throwing a tantrum?

He does try to comfort them as best as he can, which he does a good job at.

Unique: Does anything make them different from the classic yandere?

There are a few things that make him different. They are also the reason why he is quite a deadly yandere.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Technically they could use really good acting to get him to believe that they do love him. But that is pretty hard to do and once he finds out that they were only pretending he won’t be too happy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

He would never intentionally hurt his darling.

Xoanon: How much would they worship their darling?

He does treat his darling with great care. It can at times border on worship.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It varies but there is a good chance that he will snap earlier than expected.

Zeal: How passionate would they be? Would they be passionate enough to break their darling?

There is actually little chance of him breaking his darling.

#yandere #yandere abc #yandere marvel #marvel #yandere deadpool #deadpool

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polyklok · 1 year

Note

I'm FERAL for your Toki HCs! Can we get Toki fluff M, N, O, P and T, please?

Ugh, I’m feral for toki in general.

M- Morning

Please don’t wake him up. He becomes such a grump if he’s woken up before he wants to; he has a personal hatred for alarm clocks. This usually isn’t an issue since he wakes up semi-early, at least before noon unlike his band members. If you do wake up before him, he’s gonna be wrapped completely around you, so you’re stuck for a bit.

When he does wake up, by his own means, he’ll be pretty energetic and excited to start the day! But sometimes “starting the day” means laying in bed for a few more hours with you and just enjoying some pillow talk, playing video games, or even fooling around a bit. Other times, he’ll pop right up out of bed! He’s kinda scatterbrained as he gets ready and he’s gonna need you to remind him to do some basic things like brush his hair or wear socks. This used to be a Klokateer’s job, but now it’s yours, congrats.

N- Night

He follows you to bed. If you tend to stay up late writing this at 2 am lol, he’ll be right there behind you, fighting his exhaustion just to be in your lively company. He might eventually give in and lean on you to “rest his eyes” but it’s so cute when he does this so it’s ok. He’s very happy when you finally decide to head to bed, but he’s also pretty satisfied to just sleep right there on the couch. If you go to bed absurdly early, that means he does too, and he’ll just preoccupy himself in the room before he joins you in sleep, probably finishing up some models.

Once in bed, he dives under the covers and starts scatter feather-light kisses all over your body. He loves if you wear pajamas that leave a lot of skin showing; more surface area to work with! He has a loving grin on his face as he makes you giggle and sigh. He’ll ask about your day, feel up and down your body. Not necessarily trying to be frisky, but because he’s trying to feel as much of you as he possibly can. He’s also a clinger in his sleep, so you’re gonna have to deal with that.

O- Open

On one hand, it seems that Toki is incredibly open immediately! He’s just so…genuine and enthusiastic. And while he never lies to you, he does withhold some information. He assumes you don’t wanna hear about sad, lonely past and so he doesn’t talk about it! Easy as that.

But when you finally catch him in a vulnerable spot, when he’s crying and shaking and his eyes are wide with memory, he can’t stop himself from spilling everything. His love for you is so strong, he feels so secure in your hold, he just pours out all his worse moments and horrible emotions. He thinks you’re gonna hate him for it, that his problems are worth your time. So when you meet him with sympathy, he breaks down all over again and allows himself to be comforted. It’s a moment that really transforms your relationship. From then on, you’re no longer like a toy he has an attachment to; you’re now his other half, his stability, and he’s not gonna let you go.

P- Patience

With you? Buckets! He can’t bring himself to be mad at you. It’s a little frustrating, actually, because he won’t take your disagreements seriously. If you have a fight, it’s best to take a short break from each other and discuss it later, because he’s gonna be holding back giggles at your angry face. But he pretty much never yells at you or says something irrational.

Other people…woof. It depends on what they’re doing. He’s not gonna snap immediately, but we all remember that one scene. Once Toki gets annoyed, his patience begins to diffuse quickly, and he often resorts to violence immediately. You might need to pull him away before something dangerous starts. He’ll squeeze your body tightly, seething into your shoulder, staring straight ahead with a venomous glare. If you do let him fight and get all his anger out, he’s gonna just be…normal. He’ll be splattered with blood, the person on the floor might be dead, and he’ll ask if you want to go get icecream with his same friendly demeanor. It’s a little terrifying.

T- Try

110% Every single time! He pours his heart out as he plans the picture-perfect date, the best gift, and the most grand celebrations! He puts together sappy gift baskets, writes cheesy poetry, has dates in some exotic country. It’s all very sweet but sometimes it’s...a bit too much to handle. He tries to put all his love for you into one gesture, but he simply has too much love to fit. With time, they become less major and more personalized to what you like from him. No matter what, your smile is always enough to prove that he did a good job.

Anyone else with a request can refer back to here

#dethklok #metalocalypse #polyklok is real #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #toki wartooth #metalocalypse x reader #request filled #metalocalypse toki

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hockeynoses · 1 year

Text

Calling In

Another Ste/ddie snz fic! 😅

Summary: Steve is sick and hopes that he won’t have to call off of work tomorrow. Eddie thinks he’s delusional. 1k.

Warnings: Some coughing. Not too much mess (nothing like what I sometimes write, anyway).

Notes: I wrote a rough draft of this for myself a month or two ago. I came across it today and decided to clean it up and post it. At this point, I’m a one-trick pony, but the “heart” wants what it wants. 💖

~*~

Steve had been forced to stay home today, having been taken down by a terrible head cold. Eddie came home from work to find him bundled up on the couch, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap. It pulled at something in his chest, seeing Steve so vulnerable like this.

After having dinner and catching each other up on their day (not that Steve has much to report), they’re snuggled back on the couch, watching TV.

“Baybe I’ll be well enough to go to work toborrow…” Steve muses hopefully.

Eddie shoots him an incredulous look. “You think you’re going to be better enough to work tomorrow?” His eyes flick to the pile of tissues currently surrounding Steve. The man can barely make it through a sentence without sniffling, sneezing, or coughing. He’s constantly holding a bundle of tissues up to his face because his nose is totally out of control and lord knows what might come out.

“Idt could happedn!” Steve says indignantly, into the aforementioned wad of kleenex. He gives a productive blow while glaring at Eddie, eyes tired and red-rimmed.

“Okay, we’ll see how you feel tomorrow morning,” Eddie relents. It isn’t worth it, and he doesn’t want to start an argument that would stress Steve out when he should be taking it easy. Steve nods like the matter is settled. Then he tilts his head back, eyes closing, inhaling a shaky breath before – “haaah…hah’ESSSHH’oo!” With the soaked mass of tissues still pressed to his face, he sheepishly looks at Eddie and asks, “Cand you bmake be some tea?”

Eddie chuckles, giving him a soft look. “Sure, sweetheart.” He pushes back the hair that had fallen into Steve’s face before heading into the kitchen.

[…]

The next morning, Steve wakes up feeling just as bad as yesterday – if not worse. Blearily, he comes to, his nose somehow both crusted over and still running. It’s even on his pillow and he feels disgusting. He draws in a breath, throat dry from a night of mouth-breathing and no water, and immediately breaks into a crackling, chesty cough that makes him curl into himself. He tries his best to cover with his hand, which is now a mess, having just used it to wipe his nose.

As he’s catching his breath, the fit mostly over with, Eddie steps into the room, still in his pajamas and holding two cups of coffee.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Concern shines in his big eyes. “You sound awful.” He sits on the edge of the bed next to Steve, setting both mugs on the nightstand and grabbing several tissues from the box there, handing them over. “Here.”

Steve takes them gratefully and presses them to his poor nose. “Tha-ahhh- hih’KISSSHHH’uu! Ugh. Thaggs.” He blows his nose, which tickles his throat and causes him to cough up more gunk from his lungs. When it’s over, he turns to lay on his back again, groaning. “Oh god…”

Eddie pats his hip through the covers. “Still feel like going to work today?” he asks, trying and failing to keep a hint of smugness from his voice.

Steve groans again, this time in frustration, as he rolls over and buries his face into the pillow, hiding from Eddie. “You’re so bmean.” His words are muffled into the plush fabric.

Eddie laughs. “Hey, I’m not mean! I brought you coffee.”

Steve peeks an eye open, reminded of the mug on the nightstand next to him. He can barely smell, but what he can, smells good.

“And I have the day off, so I can stay with you all day.” Eddie gives him a little poke through the thick comforter.

“Are you gonna be nice?”

“Baby, I’ll be so nice it’ll blow your socks off. I’ll get you anything you want.” Eddie pauses, carding a hand through Steve’s messy hair. “Should I get the phone so you can call in?”

“Ha-knxxgt! SNF. Yeah.” Steve pouts a little in defeat. Eddie’s vindication over being right is dulled a bit by how pathetic Steve looks.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

Steve sits up and tries to clear the grittiness from his voice so he’ll sound somewhat human. It only makes him cough more. Grabbing his coffee off the nightstand, he takes a few sips, the warm liquid helping to soothe his throat.

Eddie comes back and hands him the cordless phone, picking up his own mug and settling into the other side of the bed. Steve dials the number.

“SNF. Hey, Robidn.” His voice is a rough croak. “I thigk I’b godda have to stay hombe agaidn. I’b still-hah…. still- ihhh-hih’ERSSSH’IUE! Ugh. Really sick.” He moans and rubs his nose. Eddie presses a tissue into his hand, which he gratefully accepts. “Yeah. I’b – hih….heh’AESSSHOO! I’b sorry.” He buries his face into the tissue and gives a couple of soft blows. Robin’s voice filters through the line, tinny.

“I dod’t wand to get adyone else sigk,” Steve responds. “And besides, Eddie would probably kill me if I tried to combe idn today.” He glances at Eddie with a tired smile. Eddie nods his head in silent agreement and sips his coffee.

“Okay. Hih’ISSHHH’ah! I will. Thaggs.” He ends the call and sets the phone down on the side table. “Well, that’s done.” He has just enough time to snap the ruined bundle of tissues back up to his face before – “ih’KISSH! Hah’TISSHSH!” He gives an exhausted blow before clearing his throat. “I thigk I bmight go back to sleeb.”

“Can you stay awake long enough for some breakfast? You should probably eat.”

“Just – hih’AEESSH’UE! Just wake be up agaidn whedn it’s ready.” He lays down again, curling onto his side.

“Alright, baby, I can do that.” Eddie rubs his back. “You have any requests?”

“Hmm… pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Eddie says dramatically. “It’s a high ask, but your wish is my command.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder before getting up to make breakfast.

#snzblr #snzfic #snz fic #can't get enough of my fav characters describing how miserable they are it's always 💯💯💯🥵#snz fics #snzfics

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sophiasharp · 9 months

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I apparently won’t be able to sleep till I put this idea out there so here’s a new fic idea idk if I’ll ever get around to. A warning, this whole thing is dealing with sex, dom/sub dynamics, and is supposed to be a look into how Dew tends to be portrayed in popular fanon. This is also not proofread in the slightest cause it’s 4 am as of writing and I need to be up in roughly 4 hours:

After a scene with Swiss involving forced fem and some quintosis, something goes wrong and Dew becomes seemingly stuck in Princess mode. At first the change isn’t noticed, even praised by those who do, but it soon becomes clear that this sudden shift in demeanor isn’t all fun and games and that something is truly, deeply wrong with Dew. And it’s all hands on deck to fix it.

They sit “Princess” down and each take turns trying to talk to her about why she’s still here and where Dewdrop is, THEIR Dewdrop. Princess doesn’t seem to like her more lucid counterpart all that much for some reason, calls him a “grumpy meanie who only cares about himself and is good for nothing.” The rest of the group is horrified by this outlook but have no idea where it’s come from. Sure, Dew hasn’t always had the best self image, but would he really go that far? Does his subconscious really hate himself that badly?

With every person that comes up to talk to her, Princess mentions a past scene they and Dew were in together, and how he “wasn’t very good then, but I can be very good now, I promise!” They think they’ve found a pattern at first: it’s all scenes where Dew was a brat and was punished for it. However, as more people talk to Princess, more discrepancies show up, with the only thing tying the events together being her insistence that she’ll be good for them, that’s she’ll be better for them than Dew was.

She explains that all she wants, more than anything else in the world, is to be good for them- to please her packmates the way she thinks Dew can’t- but the more the band ask for Dew, the more despondent Princess becomes. Eventually, she breaks down crying, sobbing even over her inability to make her pack happy, much to the horror and confusion of the rest of the group; Dew has never shown his emotions so openly to his pack before. At least, not since his elemental change.

It’s at this point that the group put together a few things: 1.) the reason Mountain and Aether weren’t immediately clued in that something was wrong was because Princess acts a lot like how Dew used to before the elemental transition; 2.) nowadays, the only times Dew ever gets this vulnerable is if he’s scared or if he’s in subspace; 3.) the reason Swiss and Aether can’t undo the quintosis is because some part of Dew is holding onto it, refusing to let it go.

The band is able to put together that this Princess they’re talking to isn’t some other entity made up by the quintosis- it’s still Dew, just deep in character and deep in subspace. The fem bend to it is just a side effect of the initial scene that got Dew stuck.

So, after everyone else has had a go, initially too scared to make it worse but needing to try since no one is left, Swiss comforts Princess and gets them to open up about their worries, revealing what caused the problem and what the root of it is.

The scenes Princess mentioned were each scenes from the past week or two where Dew was left feeling like he hadn’t satisfied his partner. It didn’t matter whether that was true or not, it was a growing concern due to the way the scenes played out: the degradation landing a bit too close to home, the feigned boredom to his efforts to please, his small size compared to the rest of the ghouls, the physical denial of a satisfying end because he hadn’t been “a good boy.” The shame that normally turned him on even more instead sat heavy in his head and built up more and more. He didn’t tell anyone about his mounting insecurities, however, because it’s what he’s used to, what was supposed to be comfortable. He asked for it, so why can’t he deal with it? He’s never had to make a fuss about it before, so he wouldn’t then, even as the gnawing anxieties began to spread outside the bedroom and into every-day tasks, like messing up a run during practice or getting overwhelmed enough to snap at his bandmates.

The scene with Swiss finally made him feel like he was worth something again, only with the added quintosis, the satisfaction didn’t sink all the way through to Dew. Instead, it gave him to idea that he was ONLY worth anything to his pack when he was being the good girl he thought they wanted.

But if now Princess’s pack is saying that they don’t want her anymore, then she’s failed; she wasn’t good enough for them. She tried so hard to be what they wanted but still she fell short. It must be something wrong with both her AND Dew, then, something utterly unfixable that made them undeserving of their pack’s affection. After all, bad girls don’t deserve love. They don’t deserve anything. They’re just a waste of space.

Naturally, this train of thought WILL not stand with the rest of the pack any longer, the bulk of which are mortified that they let this go on for so long and that they had any hand in the downward spiral their favorite fire ghoul took. They all assure Dew/Princess that he doesn’t need to do anything to earn their love; he always had it to start with, and that that love extended to all parts of him, even the parts that he’s self conscious of. Sex isn’t a trial to prove worthiness, not to the partner or even to yourself. Sex us just one of many ways people can connect with one another, and it has no baring on their every-day life any more than they granted it.

Crying again, this time from love more than fear, Dew finally finds it in him to let go of the quintessence and come back to those he love.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #the ghost band #band ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #ghostbc #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost ficlet #Sharp’s writing #this is kinda partially a vent piece #you ever read a fic and go ‘damn. I feel like I could use some aftercare on the character’s behalf’#no shade at all to the fic that prompted this- it was really good -but for some reason my brain broke for a bit and I let Dew bare my sins

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amistytown · 3 years

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The Brothers Comfort MC During a Panic Attack

This is my first attempt at writing down my headcanons for the brothers, so I apologize if anything is out of character. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it grew out of my control after a while. I’m a perfectionist and wanted to rewrite everything. I made minor edits and am posting it anyway or it’ll sit in my drafts forever; I admit I put the most effort into Lucifer’s, forgive me. Also sorry for the repetitiveness and any typos you may find. I decided to write how the brothers would comfort MC during a panic attack, especially as someone who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks themselves. Honestly, I wrote this as a way to comfort myself since I’ve been dealing with terrible anxiety lately. Of course, everyone experiences anxiety differently, so I can only speak from my own experiences. I didn’t go into detail when it comes to the symptoms themselves because it’s from the point of view of the brothers and only so many are visible to the eye. Trigger warning for depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Thank you for reading!

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worst. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your wellbeing of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice low, soothing, he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, providing you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf.

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist in this moment, his gaze not leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers’ faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders. One he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the façade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. Furthermore, you lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stung. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best effort to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay, knowing he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core, blood running cold. Yeah, he should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him? He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffer through Hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side then know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin unnaturally warm, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you, okay—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How in the Devildom did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy lmao.

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely winded, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out a sorry. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to.

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced with worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means to stay by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together.

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end, when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan thankful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dares to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go without punishment either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has levelled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself. He loves his brothers. But loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices travelling up the stairs, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest.

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries down the hall and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed sorry, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him.

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what. Even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me reader #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #my writing

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blu-joons · 3 years

Text

Overworking ~ Choi Yeonjun

His eyes widened in horror as soon as he walked into your office to see you slumped over your desk in frustration. Your body was in the room, but it was apparent to Yeonjun straight away that your mind was absent, lost in a spiral as you tried to find something to focus on to get things done.

You were completely oblivious to Yeonjun entering the room until you head a chair pull up beside you. With a loud groan, you sat yourself up properly so that you could meet Yeonjun’s eyes, noticing a fear in them as he studied the exhaustion closely on your face.

It took a moment for your state to sink in for Yeonjun, never had he seen you so tired in his life. He could tell that you were struggling, although your eyes looked at him, it was almost as if you were lifeless behind them, lost within yourself and the cycle that was your endless workload.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a whisper.

As your teeth came out to bite against your bottom lip, Yeonjun could tell that you were holding on. The quiver in your lip was the last straw for him, as he dragged your chair towards him, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame and bundling you firmly into his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he comforted, but as soon as he did, light sobs came from you, dampening the material of his shirt. Yeonjun’s eyes shut in anguish as he held you into him, giving you all the time that you needed to let your tears fall.

They were tears that you’d been holding onto for longer than you could remember, determined to always try and keep the smile on your face. It was easier said than done, as the pressure continued to mount, you were a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“Work, again?” Yeonjun asked as soon as you quietened down, assuming the cause.

Your head could only nod back at him, having offloaded on him several times before, Yeonjun knew just how hard your boss was working you. He was far from impressed, but there was little you could do, as much as Yeonjun hated hearing you say it, you needed this job more than anything else.

“They should be supporting you in that place, not helping you fall,” Yeonjun sighed as you moved away from his chest. His hand reached across your desk to pull out a tissue from the box, cupping the side of your face as he dabbed against your cheek.

“They’ve all got it hard too,” you tried to reason, but Yeonjun was having none of it. There was no way that he could believe everyone in your office went home in the same way that you did, shaking, scared, and under an extreme amount of pressure.

His eyes watched you closely as you took the tissue from Yeonjun, drying the corners of your eyes, before dabbing at his shirt, apologising for the mess you’d made.

“I don’t care about this old thing,” he chuckled as you tried to tidy it up, “I care about you. Just say the word, and I’ll go to that place and tell them what you’re doing to you, there’s got to be something that we can do to get them to stop treating you this way.”

“I’ve just got to get on with it,” you reminded Yeonjun, raising your voice a little, “having you march into that place isn’t going to do me any favours, what if it would just make things worse?”

“Then quit,” he suggested, laughing softly as your eyes rolled. “I’m being serious, it’s not a joke.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” You asked him in frustration, “I’ve not got it as easy as you, I can’t just open my bank account and watch the pennies flow in.”

The stubbornness in your voice was something that Yeonjun was used to, refusing his help as ever. You’d always been independent, always wanted to stand up on your own two feet, every time that Yeonjun offered to help out, you’d politely decline. He couldn’t understand why you were putting yourself through it all when he was offering to help, but your pride always got in your own way.

He hated seeing you so alone and so vulnerable, it wasn’t a side of you that he was used to, it was a side of you that he hated to see too. Even as your tears dried, he could still see the worry in your eyes, knowing that time had passed when you weren’t getting things done.

“If I don’t have your back, who will? I can’t leave you all alone in that place Y/N,” he frowned, taking a hold of your hand, “they shouldn’t be allowed to do this to you.”

“Maybe this is just something that I need to figure out for myself,” you reasoned.

“No way,” Yeonjun instantly argued with a shake of his head, “you’re never alone, you’ve always got me. You never go through anything all by yourself, not whilst I’m with you.”

The sincerity in his voice took you slightly by surprise as you nodded back at him, feeling your heart swell at the care Yeonjun had towards you. “I wish that all of this could just go away, why do I always have to be the pressure point in that place?”

“Maybe because you’re just so good.”

“Perhaps I should just be rubbish from now on,” you joked, “make plenty of mistakes.”

“I know that that job is far too important for you to ever do that,” Yeonjun sympathised, pleased to see a hint of a smile appear on your face, “and reluctantly, I trust that hopefully things will get easier for you over there too.”

“Somehow, I feel like I won’t get out of this mess for a while, I’m just going to have to get on with things like I usually do. I feel a bit better after crying at least, even if it’s far from the answer to all of my problems.”

“It will get better,” Yeonjun continued to try and assure you, “I’ve been there as well, when you feel like you’ll never find a way out. But I promise that you will, and I’ll be right here by your side supporting you through everything until you feel better again.”

“I don’t think I could get through this without you.”

Yeonjun’s head shook as he moved you even closer towards him, making sure that he had your full attention on him. “You have no idea how incredible you are, you’re getting through this every day, without me. Showing up and getting it done, proving to your boss how amazing you are, that’s how you’re doing so well every day.”

There were plenty of times when you thought about not showing up, deleting an email or pulling a sickie, but you didn’t. For all the stress, you knew these goals were things that were never going to go away, not until they were fulfilled by you.

“Why don’t you call it a night and give yourself a break?” Yeonjun suggested, “I’ll even let you pick out a movie that we can watch together.”

“You must be feeling generous to give me control.”

His head nodded in agreement as he recalled the last movie that you made him watch, and how much he despised it too. “It’s a one-time offer to let you pick out the movie, I’ve got to watch something that will at least make you smile.”

You reached across and jabbed into his arm, “you’ve already made me smile, just by being you, that’s all that I need.”

“Does that mean that I can pick the film in that case then?”

“No,” you chuckled, “you don’t just get to retract your offer like that.”

“It looks like I’m in for a long night then.”

---

Masterlist

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Found

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the outcome of a hunt is less than ideal, Dean’s there to make it better.

Requested by Anonymous: “Would you be able to write a Dean x reader fic in which they get separated during a hunt and he finds her stabbed and bleeding in the basement?? Maybe she's passed out??”

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff

You were quiet as you walked along the dirt path, dampened from the earlier drizzle. Dean’s hand was heavy in yours as he held it tightly, tugging you closer to his side the moment he’d felt you’d strayed too far away or walked too far behind. His mood was evident, clear in the way his jaw stayed locked in its tension and clearer in the way his cheeks were flushed a pale tinge of pink. He was angry, he was worried, he was scared.

He may have felt better now that you were with him again, that you were standing on your own two feet, but that fear still lingered there in waves each time he thought about what could have happened.

He knows he shouldn’t think like that, he knows it’s not good for him to dwell on things that could have happened instead of keeping his attention on what really did. Because you were here and you were alive and that was all he needed but still, that thought stuck stubbornly in his head and plastered itself in the forefront of his mind, having his stomach a mess of knots that wouldn’t let him forget it.

Your shoulder ached, numbing and throbbing partially from the torn fabric Dean had tied tightly around it to stop it from bleeding anymore than it already had. At least until he could handle it properly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, quiet and soft as he casts his gaze down at you.

You simply nod as you set your eyes on the ground, on your boots and his as you walk along towards the car. You can hear the underlying anger in his voice no matter how soft, anger that isn’t entirely directed at you but it was very much there and you heard it, heard the vulnerability mixed in there too.

He just hums, tugging you a bit closer to his side once more when the path narrows some, hand warm and calloused around yours. You feel the press of his lips on the top of your head as you walk, something that would never go unnoticed and something he’d always do no matter how upset he may have been with you.

He was upset and rightfully so.

In your life as a hunter, there were a lot of uncertainties in everything, and there was never a hunt you’d been on where everything went as expected. Never a hunt where something hadn’t gone wrong no matter how big or small it’d been. There was always something in every hunt that reminded you to keep your guard up, that reminded you to expect a change in plans and to prepare yourself for the very worst.

But even with that being said, you can’t be perfect every time, no matter how prepared you are.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to get separated, even on the easiest of hunts. But it was always something that bothered Dean, always something that had him nearly pushed over the edge each and every time it did happen. Because every time you get split up it makes him less happy with the idea of you hunting in the first place. It only adds to his incessant worry simmering in his stomach over the fact that he knows you won’t ever quit, not for a long while.

The mere thought of what could happen to you every time the three of you get in that Impala for a new case is something that makes his stomach twist into knots and churn. It doesn’t matter if it happened every time or just once in a blue moon, regardless of that it happens way more often than he’d like it too.

And it happened again.

You’d gotten separated back there, and the cause wasn’t lost on you. You were hunting a rogue pack of werewolves, there were just two of them left after the other had been snagged by another hunter. You’d heard one of them in the near vicinity, something Sam or Dean didn’t take notice to. Maybe it was a trap, surely it was—it wouldn’t be the first time you’d been outsmarted by a monster but you always came out on top in the end.

Regardless, you found yourself taking off in the direction of the noise, never having been one to do anything but throw caution to the wind. When you thought back on it now that you were in your current predicament, it wasn’t your smartest decision, not even close because it turns out it very much was a trap, one put together by a more than frightened werewolf.

They must not have been turned for very long, he couldn’t have been. You could tell by the way he acted, on edge as something akin to fear danced across his expression. You could see the way his nerves had wrapped around every move he made, and you could see his hesitancy before fleeing and giving in to the temptations one would have as a werewolf.

But you’d been alone, alone in a basement with a werewolf plenty stronger than you and your blade. You didn’t even try and compare your strength, knew it was comical to even think you had a fair chance. You gave it your all and put up a good fight, but you found yourself stuck in a vulnerable position when he’d knocked the knife right out of your hand.

He could see the fear flicker in your eyes just as much as you could see the very same in his, but you didn’t let that stop you in that moment. Not as you gave it another shot. In your own stupidity you took another shot.

He may have been riddled with nerves but his adrenaline seemed to outshine that by a million miles, taking the knife gripped tightly in his hand and taking a swing at you in his own self defense. Your yelp was unmistakable when the blade pierced your skin, sharp and unforgiving as it jammed into your shoulder without pause. Your agony was unmistakable as he looked in your eyes, panic sinking in the golden yellow of his own as he yanked it back out.

His panic was clear as day as he’d looked between you and the bloodied knife in his hand, chest heaving as that adrenaline continued to pulse through him. You could see that fear, the fear of the two angry hunters who’d surely come to look for you without an ounce of doubt. One especially furious hunter who’d take him out without a beat of hesitation.

He looked at you, at your widened eyes and startled expression before he dropped that blade with a seemingly deafening clatter, watching your face scrunch and contort in pain for a moment longer before he ran off in a hurried escape, leaving you alone.

You were left to fend for yourself in that basement should he choose to come back, left to double over in pain and sink to sit on the concrete floor. The injury wasn’t severe, it could have been far worse and you knew that. But the pain was still much more unbearable than you’d hoped for and that was what had stolen your attention. That and the sight of the blood on your palm when you pulled it away from your shoulder was enough to have nausea simmering and bubbling in your stomach.

You knew it wasn’t good when you felt yourself breakout into a sweat, your ears ringing. It was all there, all telling that you were about to pass out until you’d gone and done it.

That’s how Dean found you, slumped against the wall by yourself as a more than noticeable stain sat against your shoulder.

Now here you were, back with a less than thrilled Dean Winchester and Sam who’d kept quiet despite how relieved he was that you were okay.

The only sound was the occasional clear of a throat and the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under tired and stomping footfalls. You noticed the way Dean glanced down at you every so often with all the concern in the world in his eyes, and you noticed the dimples by the corners of his mouth as he pursed his lips.

Despite that, you still felt the brush of his thumb across your knuckles as your fingers curled around the back of his hand. It was a tender action, one that comforted you more than you’d admit.

He opened the door for you as you got to the car, wanting you to sit up front with him this time. After that, he found that even having you in the backseat was farther than he’d like you to be even if there was no longer a threat for you to be separated any more.

It was quiet the whole way back to the motel—no classic rock on the radio, no nothing. The tension wasn’t quite as bad as you’d expected, not really. But it was quiet save for the rumble of the engine and the tapping of Dean’s thumbs on the wheel. The occasional clear of Sam’s throat and the grumble falling from Dean’s lips when someone cut him off.

He snagged your bag from you before you could carry it yourself, slinging it over his shoulder as he helped you out. The two of you went off into your room as Sam disappeared into his with a mumble of a good night, locking the doors behind you.

The first thing you did was kick off your boots as Dean shrugged off his jacket, lips pursed once more for a brief moment.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, a sigh leaving your lips and a look tossed his way as you wander to the motel bathroom.

The lighting was less than flattering as you turned on the light, Dean coming in behind you after having snagged his first aid kit from his duffel. He set it down in favor of bringing his hands up to the dirtied fabric tied around your shoulder, loosening the knot he’d tied before unraveling it completely.

That pressure had fallen away now that it was gone, that pressure that relieved some of the pain and now it started to seep back in as you scrunch your nose. The look on his face was less than pleased as he looked at your exposed shoulder, blood smeared on your skin and half dried.

You saw his frown and you saw the crease between his brows deepen, saw the anger simmering as he bit the inside of his lip.

“He’s lucky Sam found him first,” he mumbled, angry as he flipped open the lid to the kit.

He was careful as he wiped away the dirt and blood, pausing whenever you winced and lightening his touch every time.

“I’ve had worse,” you say softly, an attempt to make him feel better though it only made it worse.

“You were stabbed, Y/n,” he says, irritation in his words as he puffs a huff through his nose, nostrils flared. “You’re bleeding and it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

“Well, it’s not,” you say, and your nonchalance has him less than pleased as he grabs a half used roll of gauze to wrap around your shoulder.

“Y/n, you passed out from the freakin’ thing and you still look like you might do it again. So stop acting like it wasn’t a big deal ‘cause it damn sure is to me,” he says, voice raising a fraction as his cheeks tinge pink once more his movements with your shoulder still ever so gentle despite it.

“I passed out because I saw the blood, Dean,” you try to reason, tone on the cusp of annoyance as you feed off of his anger.

He shakes his head as he looks away, his hand dragging down his face and over his mouth, lingering there for just a few moments. He clears his throat as his tongue swipes over his lips, jaw tensing when you brush past him out of the small bathroom and into the main area.

His gaze followed after you as you rifled through your bag in favor of more comfortable clothes, changing out of your jeans. You winced uncomfortably at the raise of your arm, immediately regretting it as a yelp leaves your lips.

He’s quick to stand at your side as he helps you take your dirtied shirt off, digging around in his bag and snagging a t-shirt of his. He always brings extra, he knows you like them far more than your own pajamas, knows they bring you a little more comfort.

“Could have asked for help, you know,” he says, brows still furrowed as he helps you put it on in a way that is far less painful than your stubborn actions.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, two words he knows is a lie and it has him huffing as you disappear into the bathroom.

You see the scrape across your cheek when you look in the mirror, can see just how tired you looked and you could see just how much it took out of you. You still felt faint, still looked like you could go for a round two with passing out. There was no hiding that, no way around it no matter how many times you told him you were fine. They were just words to him in moments like this, words he took with a grain of salt and rarely ever believed to be true when you spoke them.

Not when this kind of thing happens.

You sigh as you grab a washcloth, turning on the faucet and dampening it under the tap. You brush it along your cheek, wiping it clean of the dirt and debris before dragging the cold fabric across the rest of your face. It made your cheek look a little better, a little less scraped but it was still there, no matter how faint it’d been.

You draped it over the counter and switched off the light with a sigh, stepping back into the room. Dean had been in a change of clothes, sat against the headboard with the blankets splayed over his lap. His look was brooding and displeased as he flipped through the channels on the motel tv, and you saw the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

You’re quiet as you look at him for a moment, as you wait a beat before climbing into bed, tucking yourself into his side. He doesn’t react for a second, brief before he relaxes with a heavy sigh and tugs you all the more closer. He doesn’t care that he’s angry and doesn’t care that he’s frustrated, he’ll never push you away in moments like this.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that isn’t uncomfortable like it had been earlier as your head rests on his shoulders. You merely hear the sound of the tv, the sound of his breathing as his heartbeat presses against your palm from where your hand rests over his chest.

It’s after a few moments that you lift your head once more and look at him, your gaze softer than before as it bounces across his face. Soon after, he’s turning his head, meeting your gaze and it has you biting your cheek for a moment. Just a moment before you lean up and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

When you pull back you see the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly, you see that crease between his brows smooth out just a little more. You see him settle down. You give him one more for good measure, lips lingering over his cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper, forehead pressing to his temple. You can see his confusion when he pulls back, pulls back in favor of pressing his forehead to yours. “You always come ‘n find me. You’re always there.”

You hear the softness of his chuckle, you feel it brush over your mouth as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, moving upwards and pressing to your forehead before he looks at you once more.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he brings his hand up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along that scrape you’ve got there. You can see he’s unhappy about it, can see the unease dancing across his face as he swallows thickly at the mere thought of it. But he looks at you, looks in your eyes with a certain fondness, a certain softness in his gaze for a moment more before he drops his hand and tucks you under his chin.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he says, words quiet as he kisses the top of your head.

He’d do it in a heartbeat, he always will.

Your smile is soft as you brush your thumb over his knuckles, nodding lightly against his chest. “Just try not to go runnin’ off like that.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him once more. You lean up and kiss him, tender as his freckled nose bumps yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, soft against his lips before you lay back against his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment as he lets out a breath, smiling to himself.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispers.

He knows you’re too stubborn for your own good, too independent. He knows you’ll wind up doing the same thing because that’s what you always do. It scares the life out of him but he’ll always be there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lanea-1

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Angel Sent From Up Above

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: Hyunjin, a new guardian angel, has fallen in love with a human. His human’s girlfriend, to be precise. Angel AU, background college AU and skater AU.

Warning: violence

Word Count: 8.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x guardian angel!Hyunjin; fem!reader x human!Jeongin

“Is she healed now?” Hyunjin asks the moment Jisung flies in. He knows Jisung is probably exhausted from keeping maladies away from you, but he needs the answer now. “Is her flu gone?”

“Yeah.” Jisung’s wings are tinged gray with ruin, but he keeps them on display for all the other guardian angels to see as he walks past them. They are proof that he has been doing his duty. They’ll return to white soon enough anyway. “Your human’s her boyfriend. Why didn’t you try to check through him? He visited a few times even though she told him not to.” Jisung sighs and shakes his head. “What an idiot. He’s going to get sick himself.”

“He hasn't visited recently, so I haven’t been able to check through him. The Archangel’s forbade me going to Earth unless it was something serious. I think he’s worried I'm spending too much time with humans.”

Jisung shakes his head. “I think he’s worried that he’s going to have to Seungmin you.”

“I'm not going to get expelled.”

Jisung shrugs, and ruin falls from his wings like ash. “You better watch out. You checked up on her too much last time she got sick, so he's probably trying to make sure you won't abandon your human. He's banished people for less. Case in point: Seungmin.”

“She's important to Jeongin, so she's important to me."

Jisung sighs. “Sometimes I think you’re more protective of her than I am.”

He says it as a joke, but Hyunjin knows it’s the truth. He cares deeply about you, maybe even more than his own human, but he will never say that last part aloud.

Hyunjin used to believe that becoming a guardian angel was the best thing that ever happened to him. All of his afterlife, he had wanted to be promoted, to be granted the pure white wings and the crown of sun rays. Regular angels had wings and halos but never white wings and golden halos; silver and silver was the “regular” combination.

Watching over a human was considered the highest honor an angel could receive, and everyone clamored to gain the attention of the Archangel. Hyunjin was not immune. He worked as a messenger for years, delivering even the most inane notes between the higher ups. He endured the attacks, verbal and sometimes physical, and kept his mouth shut. Eventually, the Archangel recognized his efforts, and before dawn broke on Earth, Hyunjin was named the new guardian angel of a baby boy, Yang Jeongin.

“You will protect him. You will guide him,” the Archangel said. “He is your responsibility now and yours alone. Do you understand?”

From Heaven, Hyunjin could only look at the wet, wrinkled face of his human. His human. “I understand.”

Then the Archangel flew off, and Hyunjin flew to Earth for the first time to meet the baby. No one noticed him as he phased through the hospital walls nor as his giant wings folded back. Only Jeongin would be able to see his guardian angel.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispered to the swaddled baby. The boy was fast asleep, and Hyunjin gently stroked his face. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Hyunjin, your official guardian angel. I’ll always be nearby now, and I’ll always make sure you’re safe. Sometimes you won’t be able to see me, but I’ll always be watching over you. I promise.”

Jeongin stirred awake and stared back at Hyunjin. Two sets of eyes blinked at each other, one full of curiosity and one full of tenderness.

“Go back to sleep,” Hyunjin said. He drew his hand over the baby’s face, and Jeongin’s eyes fluttered shut. “Sweet dreams, little one.”

Guardian angels talked about their humans like parents, bragging about how gifted they were and sharing complaints about what unbelievable thing they did the other day. Hyunjin mostly did the latter. Jeongin was an adventurous child, which was just a nice way of saying that he liked to play with danger. Hyunjin often had to fly in to save him or to redirect the threat somewhere else. The other angels joked that Hyunjin stayed on Earth more than Heaven sometimes. He didn’t mind though. Even with his human’s shortcomings, Hyunjin adored him. He watched from above as Jeongin said his first words, attended his first day of kindergarten, and got into his first fight.

“He’s a troublemaker,” Minho observed.

Minho was a guardian angel as well, but he tended to lurk on the outer edges of the realm as the other angels avoided him for a reason Hyunjin hadn’t figured out yet. Hyunjin liked him well enough and treated him like a mentor, sometimes a friend.

“Hey, you’re not one to talk. Your human started a black market of candy at school.”

Minho shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Jeongin didn’t end up growing up into a troublemaker, to Hyunjin’s relief. The impulsive streak was still there, but he utilized his judgement more now. There were no car crashes or cases of alcohol poisoning, and when Jeongin asked out girls, it was with daisy bouquets and a suggestion to get lunch. Hyunjin slowly stopped making routine trips to Earth and chose to view Jeongin from the comfort of Heaven. It was there that Hyunjin noticed you.

“I think she’s upset with him,” Jisung abruptly says. “She cried after a video call with him, so if your human starts acting strangely, that’s why.”

The news makes Hyunjin stop mid-step, and he turns to his friend. “She cried? What? What did she cry about?”

“I don’t know. I was too busy trying to lower her temperature. Can you believe that she almost hit—”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I just got back! There is no ‘earlier!’ Besides, we aren't allowed to interfere in anything that isn't dangerous. Heartbreak, if this is even what this is, is temporary."

“Humans do drastic things for love.” The movies has seen while watching Jeongin have told him that much.

“Which we will attend to when it happens. You’re a new guardian; you’ll understand them better over time. Not everything is life-threatening, fragile as they are.”

Hyunjin turns away from Jisung and glances down at Earth. The clouds part, and all of the brick buildings of the university rush towards his eyes as he focuses on Jeongin. He’s asleep at his desk, his lamp still burning bright above him. How long has it been since the video call? Or perhaps he’s just tired from the events of his day. But he looks so small and vulnerable in his chair. Jeongin isn’t fragile — the amount of situations he has gotten out of covered in bruises and blood is astronomical — but he is mortal.

“But she loves him,” Hyunjin softly says, “and he loves her.”

“Exactly. Humans fight over small things all the time, and this is one of those times.” Jisung places a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder to placate him. “Trust me.”

“... I trust you.”

“Good. I need to rest, but we can catch up and see what stupid things they do after.”

The moment Jisung flies off to the rest area, Hyunjin goes against the Archangel’s orders and flies to your apartment. When he peers inside your bedroom window, he spots you sitting in bed in the dark, your phone screen illuminating your face. He phases inside and sits at your desk chair, resting his forearms at the top rail. You can’t see him, but he wishes that you could.

You mindlessly scroll through messages, sniffling every few seconds. Whether it’s from your crying or your illness, he doesn’t know. He can’t hand you a tissue or tell you comforting things or hug you like Jeongin can. When you wrap your blanket tighter around your shoulders, he wraps his wings around himself as well.

Suddenly you throw your phone beside you and let out a heavy sigh. “It can’t get any worse than this,” you say to yourself.

Hyunjin waits for you to say more, but you only stare at the ceiling with blank eyes. He can’t compel you to talk; only Jisung can, but he’s not here. So instead, Hyunjin knocks over the glass of water on your bed when you shift into a more comfortable position.

“Of course it can,” you sigh again and blot as much water as you can with your tissues. You pull another one out of the box with more force than necessary and furiously dab your sheets. “First I get sick, then I miss a homework deadline that I can’t make up because my professor lost his heart thirty years ago along with his hair, then my boyfriend breaks up with me for like no reason, apparently I have an exam tomorrow, and now I’ve spilled water all over my bed, so I can’t even sleep. Thank you, universe. I really needed this.”

He immediately regrets his decision.

“Worst freaking week of my life,” you mumble as you throw away the wet tissues. Hyunjin almost reaches out for your arm when you pass by, but he retracts it just in time.

When you climb back into bed, you draw your blanket up to your chin and begin murmuring numbers. They come out calm and even at first, but they become more tense as time passes. Hyunjin half-listens as he scans the contents of your desk. A laptop, a shopping bag, an open notebook with doodles on the margins, an uncapped black pen, and a pack of gum. He presses his forefinger to the point of the pen, drawing a tiny heart by touch. Then he stamps the heart among all your misshapen stars and imaginary flowers. You might just think it’s an ink smear, but he hopes you look at it and smile.

You hit three hundred and forty-seven before you begin to sound drowsy. Hyunjin stands at the foot of your bed, watching as you finally drift off in the middle of three hundred and ninety-three. Serenity settles across your features.

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier. Good night and sweet dreams,” he whispers. He pats the corner of your bed before flying off into the night.

He needs to see Jeongin.

It was hard not to notice you when you were on a collision course with Jeongin. You were going too fast, and Hyunjin’s wings couldn’t carry him to Earth in milliseconds. With horror, he watched as you sharply turned the building corner on your skateboard and just barely jumped off in time when you saw Jeongin about to make the same turn.

“You okay?” Jeongin asked as he hurried to stop your runaway board.

“I should be asking you that!” you exclaimed as you followed him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have veered that close to the wall. You’re not hurt or anything, right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Good. I can’t risk getting sued again.” Unsure of how to respond, Jeongin nudged back your board to you. You neatly stopped it mid-roll with your foot. “Thanks, by the way. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

You kicked off, but before you left the area, you turned around and gave him a wave. Jeongin waved back, albeit more shyly than you. After a moment’s hesitation, he yelled out, “Be careful!”

“I’ll try!”

Jeongin laughed and turned the corner, looking at the brick wall with more wistfulness than most people usually did. Before he entered the building, he peeked around the next corner, as if he expected you to come speeding by again. You didn’t.

After that, he noticed you more often, usually swerving around strangers as you cut through campus. Whenever he had the opportunity to say hello, he did so with a smile, and you returned it with a waggle of your fingers before disappearing into the crowd. Once, you nearly crashed into a railing. You laughed it off and gave him another wave along with a funny face. Hyunjin felt something inside him melt. Jeongin must have too since he headed to his next class with the most lovestruck expression Hyunjin had ever seen on him.

It was then that Jeongin began forming a plan.

Two weeks after the first meeting, Jeongin waited in the quad for you to show up. Just as he hoped, you came walking down the steps fifteen minutes later, skateboard tucked underneath your arm. It was supposed to seem like a coincidence, but Hyunjin had followed Jeongin as he scoured nearby skate spots, asking around about you. Yesterday, he had learned where you liked to practice tricks. He got up from his bench, hands hidden behind his back, and approached you with the same moves and confidence he had rehearsed in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey! How have you been?” he called up from the very bottom.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin groaned. Jisung, who Hyunjin had tracked down two days prior to this, also did so.

“You said he was a charmer,” Jisung complained. “Look at him. He can’t even charm dogs with a treat.”

“For your sake, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Just wait though. It’s going to get better.”

Jisung huffed. “It better. She deserves the best.”

Fortunately, you took it all in stride and waved hello at Jeongin. When you were finally beside him, you answered, “I’ve been good, thanks. You’re not here to sue me, right?”

“No! I was actually wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. If you have time, that is.”

“Really? But I almost killed you that one time. I mean, I’d be happy to, but it’s kind of weird after what happened.”

“I’d rather skateboard than walk, and you seem pretty good at it.”

You shifted your weight to one foot, and Hyunjin chuckled when he saw Jeongin’s eyes wander to your jutted-out hip. Jisung made a noise of disapproval.

“Okay, what is this really about?”

“Skateboarding,” Jeongin said. Then he took a step closer and held out a bundle of daisies towards you. “And lunch, if you want.”

You broke out into a grin. “I am a little hungry right now. L/N Y/N, skateboarding extraordinaire and ramen enthusiast, at your service.”

“Yang Jeongin, also a ramen enthusiast. Nice to officially meet you.”

Jeongin is still sleeping at his desk when Hyunjin arrives. He shifts and exhales when the wind from Hyunjin’s wings create a small breeze but does not wake.

“How could you break up with her?” Hyunjin says. “She’s amazing and wonderful, and you decide that you don't want to be with her? Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Silence.

“If I were human, I would have never done that, but…”

Jeongin shifts again, burying himself deeper into the crumpled hoodie he’s using as a pillow. The table squeaks, and a mechanical pencil rolls off the desk. Hyunjin quietly places the pencil back to its initial place and shuts off the lamp.

“Take care of yourself, and make good choices, okay? I can’t do that for you.”

Instead of flying back to Heaven, he perches on the roof of the building across from Jeongin’s. Jeongin finally wakes up and notices that his light is off. He glances at it confusedly for a few seconds, wondering if he misremembered leaving it on. In the end, he decides it’s not worth the effort and falls into his bed. He didn’t even spare you a thought, a crime in Hyunjin’s eyes.

Then he realizes he may have a bigger problem on his hands.

Jisung.

Jisung is going to be very upset when he finds out about this.

Over the weekend, you brought Jeongin to the quad to learn the basics.

“Put both feet on the board now,” you said as you walked alongside a skateboarding Jeongin. He was borrowing yours to practice, so he treated it with more reverence than a well-used board would need. Even though he was pushing with his back foot, he was going at a snail’s pace.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to lose my balance and fall.”

Perhaps it wasn’t reverence after all.

You shook your head. “No, you won’t. You’re not going that fast anyway. You can just step off if you really feel like you are. Give it a shot.”

To his credit, Jeongin lifted his foot a few centimeters off the ground before planting it back. “I’m going to lose control.”

While you did your best to persuade Jeongin to give it another try, Jisung gave Hyunjin a dissatisfied look. “I remember you telling me he was a daredevil. What is happening?”

He didn’t exactly know either. “He’s in front of his crush; give him a break.”

“These two better not end up dating. She deserves so much better than him.”

Hyunjin gave him a dirty look, Jisung gave him a “What? It’s true” type of a shrug.

You step in front of the board. “How about this?” you said. “You stand on the board with both feet, and I’ll pull you along so you can get used to the feeling and be less of a scaredy cat.”

“Okay.”

You took both of his hands and slowly guided him backwards. At the same time, you instructed him to put more weight on one side to change directions. Jeongin was surprisingly stable, and Hyunjin watched proudly as his human suggested that you increase your speed a little.

“See? It’s not bad?” you said. “Keeping balance isn’t that hard, right?”

“Yeah. Also,” he grinned, his meek demeanor completely gone, “we’re holding hands now.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced down at your joined hands, and you let out a delighted gasp. “You sneaky little—” Much to Jeongin’s alarm, you let go and smirked. “If you go past the bench without constantly pushing, I’ll let you hold my hand when you walk me home.”

“Kind of presumptuous of you to assume that I would offer to walk you home,” he teased, resting one foot on the floor. “Or is that what you want me to do?”

“You asked me to lunch with flowers. You were going to.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Then he kicked off, skating past the bench with ease. Still going, he looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Do you want to grab doughnuts before you head home?”

“Watch the lamp!” you yelled as you ran towards him. “Jeongin, stop looking at me and turn around!”

The collision with the lamppost was unavoidable, so Hyunjin simply watched as Jeongin took a flying leap off your board and took a tumble on the concrete. While you fumbled for band aids — Jeongin’s knee was scraped and bloody — Jeongin patted his pockets to check that his phone had not fallen out.

“So doughnuts?” he sheepishly asked.

“Sure. I’ll buy.” You finally found one hidden in the bottom of your backpack along with an alcohol wipe. “Guess you get to hold my hand after all.”

“How are you so prepared?” he asked, nodding to the contents you had unceremoniously dumped out whilst rummaging. “You have tweezers and gauze?”

“My mom made me carry a first-aid kit with me when she found out that I skate to class. It comes in handy.” You ripped open the package. “This might hurt.”

“You can kiss it to feel better.”

You laughed and pressed the alcohol wipe to his knee. “You’re such a flirt, I love it. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, hurts a lot.”

You opted to kiss the band aid instead, causing Jeongin to pout and Jisung to sigh in relief. When you stuck it onto his skin, Jeongin made a big production of being relieved from pain, which made you laugh and shove him.

“No! She’s in love with him,” Jisung groaned. His wings drooped, and Hyunjin swore his halo actually dimmed when you kept your hands in Jeongin’s after you pulled him up. “Well, Hyunjin, looks like you and I are going to be best friends.”

Hyunjin personally saw no issue with that. Like Jeongin, he had been charmed by your antics and your easygoing nature. Protecting his human’s friends, family, or lovers wasn’t part of Hyunjin’s duty, but he felt compelled to watch over you too.

Because if he were human, he would have fallen in love with you too.

In the midst of his lamenting, Jisung flies down and sits beside him on the roof. His wings are still slightly gray, and Hyunjin strangely begins to feel self-conscious of his pure white ones.

“Didn’t the Archangel forbid you from doing frivolous things?” Jisung says in lieu of a greeting. “I saw you at her apartment earlier.”

“I just wanted to check up on her. Not that I thought you lied,” he hastily adds. “I wanted to see for myself. She’s a little… distraught.”

“She got into a fight with her boyfriend. It’s normal.” When Hyunjin doesn’t reply or even make a sound, he grows concerned. “Is it something else? She’s getting sued, isn’t she? I knew it was going to happen someday. When I find that smug richie-rich, I’m going to—”

“Jeongin broke up with her.”

“What.”

Hyunjin repeats his sentence, trying to block the view of Jeongin’s bedroom with his body. Jisung looks like he’s ready to rain judgement onto him, and while Hyunjin is rather good at his job, he’s not sure if he can hold back an enraged guardian angel. Jisung takes several deep breaths before regaining the little composure he can muster.

“I knew I hated him for a reason. I knew he didn’t deserve her,” he spits out, though the venom in his voice wavers. “Why would he even break up with her? She loved him so much.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“When you find out, let me know. I’m going to see her now.”

Hyunjin stays on the roof until sunrise. Jeongin sleeps without any trouble, and when he wakes up, he looks fresh-faced, no guilt hanging over his head. Hyunjin feels something inside him cracking apart.

You truly don’t deserve this.

“Do you think they’re going to crash and burn?” Jisung asked as he studied you and Jeongin walking through the park, practically glued to each other’s sides. “I think they’re moving too fast. It’s only been a month.”

Hyunjin really didn’t care about that. As long as you and Jeongin were happy, he was happy. “A month is a pretty long time for them. Mortal lives are short.”

“Exactly. They should be more selective about their life choices.”

Hyunjin only rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to you. You were pointing at the tiny carousel in the middle and tugging at Jeongin’s sleeve. You dragged him over and pushed a coin into the slot for the ride. The lights lit up and a carnival theme played while you struggled to wedge yourself between the saddle of an elephant and the roof of the carousel. Jeongin sat on the edge, beside the tiger, and chuckled at your flailing limbs.

Hyunjin suppressed his own laugh. You were something special. Just last week, the two of you had made it official and started dating. You had done it in the sweetest possible way.

You had taken him to a local skateboarding shop to help him pick out his first board. Once he had chosen one — the ‘one’ being a light blue deck patterned with multicolored doughnuts — the staff at the shop sent him to the back to try it out. Meanwhile, you made the age-old excuse of needing to use the restroom when you were actually getting the flowers you had hidden in the back.

Hyunjin had turned into a pile of fluff when you gave Jeongin the daisy bouquet and asked if he wanted to officially be your boyfriend. You were so earnest. Jeongin playfully pretended to think it over, a feat Hyunjin knew he wouldn’t have been able to do if he were in his position. There were no fireworks or confetti when Jeongin finally said yes, but the staff did clap and cheer. Jisung looked on with contempt. Hyunjin looked on with envy.

“You know,” Jisung abruptly said, snapping Hyunjin back to the present, “when her last boyfriend broke up with her, she had ice cream for dinner for a week.”

“Oh.”

“You see why I’m being wary of him now?”

Hyunjin did, but Jeongin was different. His previous relationships always ended well, and on one occasion, he remained friends with his ex. He sighed and decided that a change of topic was necessary so he wouldn’t have to potentially endure a tirade. “Did you hear about Minho’s human? The bank he worked at got robbed, and he got held at gunpoint.”

That caught the overprotective Jisung’s ear. “What? Is he okay?”

During Hyunjin’s recountment of Minho’s recountment, the carousel ride ended. You squeezed out of your spot, hitting your head on the roof, and Jeongin pulled you in for a forehead kiss. The world grew brighter when you smiled, he realized.

Hyunjin shadows Jeongin around all day, hoping to learn the reason for the breakup. Unfortunately, Jeongin doesn’t say anything. He does show some regret though, as he scrolls through past messages and old pictures. When he heads to classes, he opts to walk instead of skateboarding like usual and avoids the quad whenever possible.

In the evening, while Jeongin is chewing on his salad like a cow to cud, Hyunjin pays you a visit. He finds in the freezer section of the grocery store with three pints of ice cream in your basket. From the looks of it, you’re about to add another three to your haul. Peanut butter pretzel sounds equal parts delicious and confusing.

Hyunjin studies your expression, frowning at the same time you do. Your eyes are ringed with red, your jaw tight, and your eyebrows seem permanently furrowed. When he follows you back home, he half expects you to start crying on the way, but you hold fast and manage to open a pint of the salted caramel flavor before the tears finally come. There’s no wailing, just sniffling and the sound of you furiously wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. In the midst of it all, you find the strength to reorganize the freezer to make space for the other pints. Something about that makes Hyunjin’s heart drop.

By the time your roommate discovers you in the kitchen, the entire refrigerator has been reorganized and the ice cream finished. You sit in a dark room, your finger hovering above the ‘SEND’ button of a message to Jeongin. Hyunjin can see it if he flies above you: “Can you please just tell me why? You keep saying you did something wrong, but I don’t even know what it is. Please let me decide if it’s worth breaking up over.”

“Rough day?” she gently asks as she flips on the switch.

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I just wanna process it right now,” you hollowly say. You grab your skateboard — the same black, paint-splattered one you had last year — and unlock the front door. “I’m going out for a ride, but I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Stay safe.”

After you leave, Jisung phases through the kitchen walls and hisses at Hyunjin, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Jeongin?”

He nearly forgot about him. Eating dinner isn’t a dangerous task anyway though. Besides, if Jeongin does get physically harmed somehow, Hyunjin will feel an echo of the pain. Hyunjin glances at the door, and Jisung shakes his head.

“I’ll take care of her. Go back to Jeongin, and make sure he’s okay. You can’t keep leaving him all the time.”

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good.”

Hyunjin reluctantly goes back to Jeongin, who is still eating his salad. His resolve from last night is clearly gone as evidenced by his melancholy expression as he scrolls through even more photos. The one of you in mid-air makes him clutch his phone.

“Let me get one of you when you’re really high up,” Jeongin suggested. He was comfortable gliding around on a skateboard now, but nowhere comfortable enough to try any tricks. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from trying to get him to learn. The “pop shove it” was your favorite, solely for the amount of height you could get.

“Okay.”

As you did over and over again for your enthusiastic boyfriend who was unfortunately not that great of a photographer, Hyunjin observed from a rooftop behind Jeongin. Sometimes you looked like you were flying. He could imagine wings protruding from your back, and if the sun hit you just right, there appeared to be a halo as well.

“I got one!” Jeongin exclaimed as he held up his device to you. “Look.”

Hyunjin couldn’t see for himself, but your mouth dropped into an ‘o’ once you took a first glance. A flustered smile made its way onto your face, and everything about you turned soft.

“This looks amazing,” you said. You sidled up to him and rested your cheek against his shoulder, turning your head towards him. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds as both Hyunjin and Jeongin tried to process them. This was the first time you had ever said them, and it came seemingly out of nowhere. Hyunjin recovered first.

“Say ‘I love you’ back, you moron,” Hyunjin whispered, like Jeongin would be able to hear him from this distance. “‘I love you too.’”

“I wanted to say it first,” Jeongin finally said. “Ugh, I had it all planned out too. We were supposed to get doughnuts after this, and I was going to buy you one of those heart-shaped ones.”

You kissed him on the cheek and intertwined your fingers with his. “We can still do that.”

At the doughnut shop, he said the words second, and you kissed him again, leaving a crystal of glaze on the corner of his mouth. Hyunjin licked his lips as if you had left it on him instead.

“Did you find out?” Jisung asks when Hyunjin leaves Jeongin to check up on you. You’re skating around the city, making sharp swerves and weaving in-between lampposts. Jisung is trailing behind you in the sky, but he slows when he sees Hyunjin approaching.

“No, but—”

“Then go back to him. Hyunjin,” Jisung sighs, “I know you care about her, but she’s not your human. Jeongin’s your responsibility.”

“I know but—”

“Go back. And I’m telling you this not as your friend but as your senior. You’re a guardian angel, and you need to take your responsibilities seriously. I’ll get the Archangel involved if I have to. Do you want to get Seungminned?”

The threat of the Archangel strangely doesn’t scare him anymore, however. In fact, the Archangel being involved may solve many of his current issues.

“I’ll find you again when I find out,” Hyunjin slowly says.

Jisung nods in approval before racing after you again. Hyunjin heads to Heaven, not to keep an eye over his human but to become human.

Ten months into Jeongin’s relationship with you, Hyunjin asked Minho, “Is it possible to give up your divinity?”

Minho gave Hyunjin a curious look. “Is being a guardian angel that taxing for you? You haven’t even experienced a full lifespan yet. I know, twenty year-olds are annoying, but it’s not nearly as bad as forty year-olds and their mid-life crisis.”

“I’m just curious. Or, as a last resort,” he added, hoping that Minho would stop being suspicious if he joked about it. “My human’s been making some dumb choices.”

A lie, but Minho fell for it.

“I told you he was going to be a troublemaker!” he cackled. He sympathetically patted Hyunjin’s back. “If I’m being honest, I thought about it a few times. I always get assigned to the troublemakers. Probably because the higher-ups hate me for not tolerating their BS. They’re always playing favorites. Anyway, the easiest way is to get expelled by the Archangel. It’s happened a few times before.”

“Can’t you just ask him?”

Minho smirked. “You don’t think other angels have tried that? He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. It’s supposed to be a punishment.”

“What’s the hard way then?”

“Same thing minus the Archangel getting involved: your wings getting cut off,” he matter-of-factly answered. “The halo will break once your wings are detached. It’s only been done once, by the way.”

Hyunjin absentmindedly rubbed the area where the bones of his wings met with his shoulder blades. All he needed were two clean cuts across his practically impenetrable back.

“How do you do that?”

“With the Archangel’s sword. Another angel has to cut it though; you can’t do it yourself.”

The Archangel would likely banish him to Hell for even asking about his weapon. If Hyunjin ever did manage to steal the sword away, Jisung would never agree to it. He couldn’t just ask any angel to help him.

“How do you know about all this?” Hyunjin asked.

Minho hesitated, something he rarely did. He quickly recovered, hiding his sudden apprehension with his usual devil-may-care nonchalance. “I can’t give away all of my secrets.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends. The word hung in the air like the sun, and Hyunjin knew that Minho would tell him because underneath all of his bluster was loneliness. Because no one liked Minho, or if they did, they still avoided him anyway.

“Yeah, we are,” Minho answered, smiling for a second before a strange expression crossed over his face, pride mixed with a touch of sadness. “Do you really think the Archangel would have expelled one of his favorite guardian angels that easily?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Seungmin. He asked me to cut his wings for him.”

“I need you to cut my wings,” are Hyunjin’s first words to Minho after not speaking to him for days.

To his credit, Minho is only speechless for a few seconds. The dove in his hand pecks at him for more headpats before he recovers. “Well, do you have the sword?”

“No, but I think I can get it. When I do though, would you do it? You’re the only one I trust.”

Minho sighs and tosses the bird out of Heaven, grimacing a bit when he hears it squawk. When he faces Hyunjin, he smiles the same smile he did when he talked about Seungmin. “It’s always me, huh? I’ll do you one better. I’ll steal the sword for you. The Archangel’s been pissing me off anyway.”

For once, Hyunjin’s thoughts are not on you but his friend. He imagined that Minho would be willing, but perhaps he’s too willing. “Are you trying to get expelled as well? We can go together.”

“No, I like being immortal. I hate all of the BS I get put through sometimes, but the Archangel can’t kick me out. He swore an oath to me a long time ago before he got promoted, and it’s pretty much unbreakable. Besides, even Heaven needs a scapegoat.”

That explains why virtually no angels interact with Minho, Hyunjin being the exception. He has never heard of the Archangel being oathsworn, though it seems likely that the Archangel wants to keep that a secret.

“How are you going to get it?” Hyunjin asks. “How did Seungmin even get it? The Archangel always has it with him.”

“Seungmin was one of his favorites,” Minho reminds him. “He had easy access to him, and the Archangel trusted him enough to let him borrow it for ‘a study.’ Don’t worry about me though. Just wait for me on Earth. Somewhere where no one goes. I’ll find you, slice off your wings, and the Archangel won’t even know what happened to you.”

“That’s not possible. He always keeps it on him.”

Minho shrugs, a gleam in his eyes. “I’ve done it before. Why do you think I’m the scapegoat?”

Seungmin. For Minho and now Hyunjin, being Seungminned didn’t mean being expelled for being frivolous anymore; it meant leaving of your own accord.

“What happened to him?” Hyunjin asked. “Why didn’t the Archangel grant his divinity back? Someone should have spotted him on Earth.”

Minho’s wry grin was back. “You think the Archangel wanted everyone to find out the golden boy of Heaven no longer wanted to be an angel? Plenty of angels already saw him roaming Earth. It was easier to let everyone think that Seungmin was banished. So when they saw him on Earth, he was just a fallen angel, nothing important.” He nudged Hyunjin’s arm, and the solemn atmosphere vanished. “A troublemaking human isn’t all that bad. Like I said, the twenties are annoying, but they’re manageable. Is he one of those partying types?”

“He goes out sometimes,” Hyunjin carefully replied. Jeongin liked hanging out with his friends and you — mostly you, now that Hyunjin thought about it — but he wasn’t getting blackout drunk every night. At least, Hyunjin hoped he wasn’t. He usually watched over you if you were ever in the vicinity. “Speaking of which, I should check up on him.”

Minho said his goodbyes, and Hyunjin flew back to Earth once he saw that you weren’t with Jeongin. You were studying at your desk, rolling a pen between your fingers, reading through a document on your laptop. The desk light casted a warm glow on your face. You frowned, and your lower lip swelled outwards.

He wished he were human.

Just as Minho said, Hyunjin waits for him to arrive in a secluded part of the university campus. The building rooftop is devoid of anyone, and the area surrounding it is empty as well. The evening turns into night, then night into the early morning when the sky begins lightening. Still, Minho has not come.

He distantly wonders how Jeongin is faring and his promise to Jisung. When he’s human, he’ll ask Jeongin directly, maybe in disguise of a survey: “Why did you break up with your last partner?” Even to him, it sounds stupid. However, that’s not the real reason why he’s giving up his divinity, so it hardly matters to him. Jisung is resourceful; he’ll find out eventually.

Finally, when the sun peeks over the horizon, Minho descends from Heaven, a familiar silver sword in his hand. He lands beside Hyunjin, a triumphant smile on his face. But his usual humor has been replaced with solemnity.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks as he rests the blade on the top of Hyunjin’s wings.

He has never felt so sure of anything in his life. “Yes.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Then make it quick.”

Searing pain shoots through his body as the sword pierces through the thin skin and into the bone. The process is not as nearly as seamless as Hyunjin hoped it would be, and Minho breathes heavily as he pushes the blade down. Bones snap, feathers drift to the floor, and blood trickles down his back. The pain only grows greater near the end, but Hyunjin grits his teeth and keeps quiet. Dawn breaks when his wings finally fall to the floor, no longer white but splattered with red. Soon they fade into dust, and the remnants scatter into the wind. His golden halo shatters into sunlight. The world dulls as the last of his powers disappear, but everything feels much better than when he was an angel.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Minho, who he cannot even look at anymore. His eyes would be burned.

“You’re fallen, not quite mortal and not quite divine. You won’t be affected by all of an angel’s power.”

When Hyunjin cautiously glances at him, Minho waves the bloody sword at him. “See?”

“Yeah.” He wanted humanity, but this is good enough for him. He just needs you to be able to see him, hear him, touch him.

“I need to go back before Heaven becomes Hell, but find Seungmin if you can. He can help you figure things out. Last I heard, he’s living somewhere in the mountains.”

“Thank you,” he repeats. “Minho, I can’t even put it into words about how much this means to me. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Minho pats his shoulder before stripping off his clean shirt. “Clean yourself before you leave. No one wants to witness a walking crime scene this early in the morning.”

When he flies back to Heaven, the last thing Hyunjin sees are his wings, still pure white.

“Hey,” you said as you laced your fingers with Jeongin’s. He had just finished class, and you had waited for him outside the building. Hyunjin had sat on the other end of the bench, savoring the proximity. That was the closest he would ever get to you. “Are you busy tonight? The skate shop just announced — literally an hour ago, those jerks — that they were doing a midnight drop, and I kind of want a new deck.”

“Ugh, I’ve been meaning to buy new trucks, but I have to meet up with my group tonight. Send me pictures though.”

Disappointment only momentarily flooded through Hyunjin. If it was anything like the last two meetups, it would be at the library, and the library was a safe place. Jeongin would be fine there. Hyunjin would be free to shadow you as you went to the skate shop.

“I can get it for you,” you offered.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll just wait for a sale.”

“Don’t be surprised if I do get you new trucks,” you warned. You let go of his hand and held his arm. “I still owe you for last month’s dinner.”

Jeongin shook his head again, a smile making its way onto his face. “You don’t owe me anything but a kiss.”

“Flirt,” you laughed as you pressed your lips to his cheek. “Never change, Yang Jeongin.”

That night at the skate shop, Hyunjin hovered above you as you stood in line, chatting with others. There were no unscrupulous characters around, but he stayed with you, only going back to Jeongin when Jisung insisted. However, by then, Hyunjin had already seen you eyeing the shiny teal trucks through the window. Hyunjin knew nothing about skateboards even after all those months, but you seemed pleased by them.

“You’re only getting trucks for sure?” your brand new acquaintance asked. “This is, like, the biggest drop they’ve ever done.”

You shrugged. “I’m kind of on the fence about the decks I saw on the email. I don’t know. Maybe wheels too?”

Meanwhile, Jisung hissed, “Hyunjin, go before something happens. What if a fight breaks out?”

Hyunjin sincerely doubted that one would happen at the library. He lingered around, taking his time unfolding his wings and stretching them.

“Your boyfriend’s lucky,” your acquaintance sighed.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

Daisies, that’s what he needs right now. Choosing the rooftop of a building was not a smart decision, but the access door is thankfully unlocked, and Hyunjin races down all of the emergency stairs. However, with no form of currency on him, Hyunjin heads to the quad, hoping that he can pull up some dandelions for you. You need to be supported, and bright yellow flowers are just the thing.

What he doesn’t expect though, is to find you doing pop shove its at your usual spot. It’s so early in the day; did you even go back to your apartment to sleep?

“Good morning,” he calls as he walks closer. He waves at you, and you can see him! You tentatively wave back and give him a halfhearted smile. “How are you today? You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, and I’m fine,” you politely reply as you take a step back away from him. “What about you?”

Hyunjin curses in his head and takes another step towards you. “I’m good. Really good, actually. I was wondering if you could teach me how to skateboard. I’m new here, and skateboarding seems like an efficient way to get around.”

You flinch at his words, and he desperately wants to take them back. How did Jeongin do it? Why do his statements come out so stiff? “You seem pretty good at it.”

“Are you not cold?” you blurt out. Hyunjin curses again as he realizes that he’s shirtless. His old one was stained, and Minho’s was as well as the result of his cleanup. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “You know, I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you.”

“Hyunjin. My name’s Hyunjin.”

“Nice meeting you, Hyunjin.”

You grab your board and immediately head off to the direction of your apartment. Hyunjin is tempted to follow, but he stays where he is. A bad first impression isn’t the end of the world. The only thing holding him back is his lack of a shirt.

He wanders through the quad, scanning the grass for some flowers. Most of them are the white, fluffy dandelions, but he needs the bright yellow version. However, he takes the white ones anyway in case he can’t find any. The wind scatters the seeds, and he—

“Hyunjin, I told you not to come back.”

Jisung.

Hyunjin turns around, dropping his bouquet onto the ground. To his horror, not only is Jisung present but also the Archangel. His sword is strapped to his side like usual, not a blood splatter tainting it. Minho did an excellent job of cleaning up the crime scene.

“Jisung, Archangel,” Hyunjin nervously greets. The Archangel frightens him now. “How can I help you?”

“Jisung, why did you bring me here?” the Archangel asks. “I have other things to attend to.”

“He’s abandoned his human too many times, and I don’t think he’s fit to be a guardian angel anymore.”

The Archangel grasps the hilt of his sword and studies Hyunjin, up and down, back and forth. He circles him, and Hyunjin can almost feel his mortality-divinity shining through his body. Jisung hasn’t noticed yet, but there is no doubt the Archangel hasn’t.

“Normally,” the Archangel begins, “the punishment for not fulfilling your duties as a guardian angel is being expelled from Heaven. But you have already fallen.”

“What?” comes Jisung’s shocked voice.

“It was a mistake,” Hyunjin tries. Minho’s words ring in his ear: He only expels the ones who don’t want to be. “I thought I wanted humanity, but I’ve realized that being a guardian angel is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please. Grant me my divinity back. I will never abandon my human again. I will swear an oath if I have to.”

The Archangel smiles with no teeth, and a chill runs down Hyunjin’s spine. “I’m in a forgiving mood today, so I will do just as you ask. Your divinity will be granted back, but you will no longer be a guardian angel. I’m stripping you of those powers and those duties. You will be replaced immediately. It was my mistake for tasking you with such a large responsibility when you weren’t ready yet.”

With just a snap of the Archangel’s fingers, Hyunjin’s senses sharpen, and the world comes hurtling at him. Nothing is dull anymore, but everything feels so dark and wrong. You will never be able to see him, hear him, or talk to him again. And he will never be able to either. Power surges inside of him, and new wings burst through his shoulder blades, fanning out once they reappear. A silver halo hangs over his head. There is no physical pain into becoming immortal again, yet he wishes there was something. Everything he and Minho did was erased with ease.

Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he chokes out.

“You’re very welcome. Come along now. Only guardian angels are allowed to be on Earth.”

Hyunjin follows the Archangel back to Heaven while Jisung goes after you. The Archangel loudly deliberates on who he should be replaced with, and Hyunjin knows that his request was not granted with kindness. The Archangel informs that he will be a messenger again. Hyunjin barely hears him as he takes one last look at Earth. Jeongin is there. Jisung is there. You are there.

Hyunjin avoids Minho’s eyes as he flies inside the realm behind the Archangel and hides among the rest of the regular angels until he is called to send a message. The higher-ups recognize him, make snide remarks about his demotion, and make pitiful faces at him. He barely registers them. There is a hollowness in him, and no matter how many memories he recalls, it isn’t enough to fill the void.

A few weeks later, Jisung approaches him, but even he stays a healthy distance away. “Hyunjin.” The disdain is clear.

“Jisung.”

“You knew about the reason all along, didn’t you? You were there when it happened.”

“When what happened?”

Realization dawns upon Jisung, and he shakes his head in disgust. “I should have known. You weren’t with him that night because you left him like you always did! You could have done something. Make him fall off his chair or something. Make the girl lose her balance. Instead, both of our humans suffered because you weren’t there.”

“What happened?”

“A girl from his group project randomly kissed him, and he thought he had been leading her on and cheating on his own girlfriend, so he broke up with her because he thought that would be the right thing to do instead of just telling her what actually happened. They’re back together now because he finally got the nerve to give her closure. It took nearly a month. They were miserable for a month. All because of you.”

It stings. “They’re okay now, right?”

“They’re fine, no thanks to you.” Just when Hyunjin thinks he’s going to leave, he takes a step forward, lips curled into sneer. “You know, angels and humans aren’t allowed to be with each other. It’s been forbidden for millenia.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I loved her, and I had to try.”

“She would have never chosen you anyway.”

He never had a chance, did he?

~ ad.gray

Yes, you did! I remembered it and wondered if you were going to come back! Hope you enjoyed this! <3

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