fanfic lover

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Jean Grey

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: Your name, spoken with such softness it reaches straight into your mind. She often calls you "Sweetheart" or "Light." When joking: "My little secret" (because she knows all of yours).

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: She whispers the gentlest things into your mind – things she can't say aloud. "You've got this," "Your strength is beautiful." She needs you to know you're not alone. She sees your fears and dark thoughts and always finds words to clear them. Sometimes she tells you what you need to hear – even if you're not ready: "You deserve love. I know that for sure."

• PHYSICAL TOUCH: She needs a physical anchor to keep from drifting into cosmic distances. She holds your hand, rubbing her thumb across your knuckles like she's checking you're real. She loves lying in your lap while you read, just feeling your warmth. When the Phoenix overwhelms her, one touch from you brings her back.

• QUALITY TIME: Jean wants to be with you in complete silence – when no one demands the world from her. She can sit with you in the library for hours without a word, but her thoughts brush against yours, weaving a cozy cocoon. She doesn't choose you for missions – she chooses you for rest.

THE LITTLE THING: When you're exhausted and need the world to pause, Jean wraps you both in a mental dome of silence. You hear only her breathing and her thought: "Rest. I'll hold everything else." She can make you forget pain for an hour, just by holding your hand.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Ororo Munroe

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: "My hawk" (if you're free-spirited), "Heart," or "Little flower" (with a warm smile). In moments of tenderness – "My peace," because you're the only one who can calm her winds.

• QUALITY TIME: She'll have tea with you in her tower while lightning fills the sky outside. She teaches you to see beauty in chaos. Ororo has no patience for rushing in relationships – she wants to be with you slowly, deeply, completely. She might take you to the greenhouse and tell you about every plant, because sharing her passions is her highest form of intimacy.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: She won't cook you breakfast (there's a kitchen staff for that) – but she'll change the weather in the garden so you can read in the sun exactly during your day off. She watches over your health – brings you tea when you're sick, covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep on the couch. She commands the elements, but she cares for you like the most fragile thing.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: Storm speaks in a voice like music. She calls you her "quiet harbor" and says you're the only person who lets her close her eyes without fear. She thanks you for every small thing – she was raised to be a queen, and a queen values loyalty.

THE LITTLE THING: During a thunderstorm, Storm comes to you, lies down beside you, and lets you run your fingers through her hair. The storm outside quiets – not because she's controlling it, but because she let herself be just Ororo, loved.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Anna Marie

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: Playfully, with a Southern drawl: "Sugar" or "Sweetheart." When serious and scared: "My lucky charm." In moments of despair, she whispers against your shoulder (through fabric): "My everything."

• SACRIFICE: She's always finding ways to touch you. Runs her fingers across your palm through her glove, nuzzles your neck when you sleep. She remembers your warmth through kisses to the back of your head (through your hair). She only removes her glove in the rarest moments – to run her bare palm across your cheek, risking everything because she needs to feel you for real, even just for a second.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: She constantly checks: "Did I hurt you? Does it hurt?" But when you say you love her, she always answers: "Are you crazy?" – with a wide, teary smile. She says every fear aloud because she trusts you. She says "I love you" a hundred times a day – like she's afraid she won't get to say it tomorrow.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: When you're sick, she double-gloves and makes you soup – standing at the stove with her back to you so you won't see her cry from helplessness that she can't just hold you under the blanket. She walks you to the door and waits until you're out of sight to make sure you're okay. She knits you scarves and mittens – so you'll be warm even when she's not there.

THE LITTLE THING: When you fall asleep, Rogue sits on the floor beside the bed, rests her head near your hand (through the blanket), and just listens to you breathe. She doesn't sleep – she guards your dreams.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Raven Darkholme

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: She uses code names or mocking nicknames to throw others off. But when it's just you two, in the dark, her voice drops: "Little one" – with a tenderness she'd kill anyone else for hearing. When she's angry or scared, she snarls "Mine" – possessive, feral, absolute.

• PROTECTION: She doesn't let people touch her. But she touches you constantly – a hand on your lower back, fingers brushing your jaw as she "adjusts" your collar, her body pressing you against a wall when she needs to feel you breathe. Every touch is calculated, but when she forgets to calculate, her hands tremble. She'll shift into someone you trust just to hold you when you can't hold yourself. It breaks her that you're the only one who sees her underneath.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: She will burn the world for you. Literally. She tracks down everyone who ever hurt you – and they disappear. She leaves evidence trails that lead away from you. She'll steal medicine, money, identities – whatever you need – and never tell you the cost. Her love is in the bodies she buries so you can sleep peacefully.

• QUALITY TIME: She doesn't do dates. She does stakeouts – you and her on a rooftop, sharing a cigarette, watching the city burn below. She talks about nothing while meaning everything. When she's quiet and lets you lean against her shoulder, that's her surrender. She'll fall asleep on you only if she trusts you with her life – which is the rarest gift she owns.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Scott Summers

WHAT HE CALLS YOU: Almost always by your name. But when he lets his guard down (or when you're alone), a quiet "Darlin'" slips out. Sometimes, looking away nervously: "Sunshine" (ironic, given his power, but that's his awkward charm).

• ACTS OF SERVICE: He'll silently plan your training schedule, check your suit's seals, bring you coffee while you sleep because "you look tired." For him, love is action. He'll fix your broken things without a word and leave them on your desk. If you're hungry, food appears – even if you didn't ask. He believes love means you don't have to worry about the small stuff because he's already handled it.

• QUALITY TIME: He needs to just sit beside you in silence in the Blue Area. He doesn't talk about feelings, but if he chooses to spend an hour with his plans and you – that's the highest form of devotion. He'll watch you read a book and not look away, because your peace is the only thing that quiets his endless anxiety. He hates loud crowds, but for you he'll go to a party – and keep your hand under the table the whole time.

• PHYSICAL TOUCH: He won't hug you in public, but when you pass each other in the hallway, his fingers always linger a second too long on your waist. He adjusts your collar before a mission, holding on longer than necessary. When he sleeps, his hand always reaches for you – even when he doesn't realize it.

The Little Thing: He always stands so as to shield you with his back from any potential threat, even when you're just doing the dishes.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Logan Howlet

WHAT HE CALLS YOU: "Darlin'" (the highest approval), or just a growl of your name. But when he's angry or worried, it slips out: "Mine." One word that sounds like a threat to everyone else.

• PROTECTION: He won't hug you in public. But he's always between you and danger. If someone looks at you wrong – Logan's claws are out. His love is his body in front of yours. When you walk down the street, he's on the traffic side. When someone raises their voice, he stands and stares until they stop. Protecting you is instinct – stronger than adamantium.

• QUALITY TIME: Sitting by a fire, drinking whiskey, silent, watching stars. He doesn't need words. If he asks you to come to the woods to "breathe" – that's a date. He values silence with you more than any conversation. He doesn't need restaurants or gifts – he needs you beside him when he wakes from nightmares and checks if you're still alive.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: He'll bring you breakfast in bed (grumbling that he "was just passing by"). He sews your torn jacket with surprisingly gentle fingers. He fixes your motorcycle so you won't crash. Everything he does translates to: "I don't want you to get hurt."

THE LITTLE THING: leaves one un-smoked cigar on your desk — just so you know he stopped by to check if you were sleeping.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Remy LeBeau

WHAT HE CALLS YOU: "Chère" — his classic, like "darling" but with an edge of "my woman." When he wants to tease or rile you up: "Petite" (Little one). When he's serious: "Mon cœur" (My heart). He says it with an accent that melts even the walls.

• RECEIVING GIFTS: He brings you jewelry he "found" (won fair and square in poker!), old books from closed libraries, or unusual flowers. He remembers that trinket you stared at in a shop window three months ago. For Remy, a gift isn't about money – it's about attention. He'll pluck a rare flower from a dangerous ledge just because it reminded him of your eyes. Every present is a little adventure, stolen from the world just for you.

• PHYSICAL TOUCH: Dancing is his element. His hands are always on you – your shoulder, your lower back. He loves tossing cards dangerously around you just to make you laugh. Remy can't be in the same room without touching you. It's how he checks you're real. He'll kiss your hand in public with such grace that everyone forgets to breathe, and your cheeks burn.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: Remy is a master of compliments. He'll tell you you're beautiful even when you've just woken up and you're grumpy. He loves teasing you, but behind every "Petite" is pure adoration. He tells everyone around how amazing you are – even when you're standing right there, blushing.

THE LITTLE THING: He never touches you with charged cards. Only regular ones. Because he doesn't want to risk you.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Kurt Wagner

WHAT HE CALLS YOU: In his native tongue. "Mein Schatz" (My treasure) is the baseline. When flirting: "Kleine Teufelin" (Little she-devil). When you're sad, he touches your forehead and says "Engel" (Angel).

• PHYSICAL TOUCH: For him, contact is sacred. He constantly takes your hand in his three-fingered palms, wraps his tail around your waist when passing by, and tucks your hair behind your ear. He needs to feel you with his skin – because his appearance repels others, but you let him close, and that heals him. He hugs you from behind while you cook, rests his chin on your shoulder, and breathes in sync with you. His tail is its own love language – curling around your leg or waist when Kurt is too shy to speak aloud.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: He loves telling you beautiful things. Not cheap – profound: "Your soul shines brighter than my teleport." He leaves you little notes in German tucked into your coat pockets. He always finds the right words to lift your mood, because he knows how heavy it is when the world looks at you with fear. He calls you "light" in every sermon, even if no one but you understands who he means.

• QUALITY TIME: Kurt loves sitting with you on the Institute's roof on clear nights, pointing out constellations and telling stories from his travels. He's never in a rush. He needs you to stay as long as you're willing. Every minute with you feels like a prayer he never wants to end.

Barnacles

When Barnacles sees you upset he immediately wants to comfort you!

Anything you need, he’ll do for you. Food? On it. Water? Don’t have to ask him twice.

I feel like one of his love languages (romantic or platonic) is physical touch, so expect a hug! Only if you want one of course.

Immediately he wants to cheer you up!

If you’re hurt, he’s immediately helping you. If it’s something small, he can easily grab a Band-Aid for you! If it’s major, he’ll help you as much as you can while bringing you to Peso.

Kwazii

When you’re sad, Kwazii doesn’t really know what to do at first, but he tries to help either way!

Immediately he’s asking what happened and what you need him to do to help.

He’ll try to distract you from the problem by telling you his pirate stories! 

If he sees you bleeding, you’re being taken to Peso! Even if it’s something small like a paper cut because he has bandages and Band-Aids of all sizes. If you merely skinned yourself on something, he’ll give you a quick “Are you okay matey?” and that’s about it. Unless you say you’re not, then he’ll be a bit worried. He sees you as a sibling after all!

A/N: I haven't gotten an Octonauts request in so long! This was so fun to write! Hope you enjoyed it! Link to first photo: Pin on Cartoons Link to second photo: it looks like an m&m

“Hi,” a gentle, yet unexpected voice greeted, breaking your concentration on the union of soft metals. You were startled at the sound, accidentally knocking the other tools surrounding the edge of your workspace while still holding the soldering iron, hot in hand. Luckily, the open wires and lungs of the batarang you were operating on remained beating on your table.

“Cass,” you sighed, alarmed by her shadow-like appearance in your lab as you gently put down the still warm iron. You felt your heart pounding rapidly against your chest, slowly returning to its calm state with each passing breath. Damn bat-trick. “God, don’t scare me like that, especially when I’m working!”

You moved to pick up any fallen screwdrivers and plates that collapsed in your fright. While it was a regular occurrence for the Bats—particularly Bruce Wayne—to pay you a visit during your days spent at Wayne Enterprises, you never quite gotten used to the haunting manner in which they all inevitably appear and disappear from your view. All you could really anticipate in such scenarios was that they will appear one way or another, and it will always catch you off-kelter, heart knocking along the enclosure of your ribs. One day for certain their sudden appearance will send your heart to an early grave.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you continued, having returned the fallen pieces to your desk. A smile inched across your face, though, the moment you turned to look at Cass standing above your seat in your chair, your smile widening the more you took in her presence in your laboratory.

Perhaps it was that harsh overhead lighting of your lab or the come-down of a near heart attack, but Cass looked like an angel; shed from her shadows and edge of darkness, she shone in front of you with a light that was divine in nature. It was always refreshing to see her donned in civilian wear, rather than the intensity of the night that cloaked her shoulders—in the light of day, in the warming greys of her t-shirt and dark denim jeans, you could clearly see the long scar that mapped trenches from her jaw onto her cheek and how her eyes carried forth a softness despite the histories of ache.

Kindness, as always, shaped her being even with the fresh bandages peeking through her leather jacket. You wanted to ask about the injury, about the wounds and aches—of this one and every other one that had chiseled her body into a new language—but the time, especially now as you sat at your desk in the company of tools where she stood over you as a divine shadow in daylight, never felt right. Your heart continued its beating, fluttering slightly in your continued attempt to quell its earlier flight.

In a poor attempt to avoid falling into the lull of your heart’s rhythm, you wanted to ask why Cass was here. Not that she wasn’t allowed to be here but given her more frequent visits within the past few months you wondered if she came today asking for one of your shared side projects. These side tasks were always of the mundane things, of random pieces of technology that needed fixing or of damaged equipment that needed slight repair. When she came bearing gifts in the form of broken cd-players or video game consoles (which you know she borrowed from Tim or Damian), something you weren’t particularly skilled at fixing but adored the challenge nonetheless, it served as a nice reminder that you were a trusted and valuable team member, or as you hoped friend—if at least that—to the Bats. If Cass was willing to trust you with her life-saving technology, why shouldn’t she also trust you with her pass-times?

While you never pried into the frequency of her visits, you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the conversations you both shared in the afternoons when you should’ve been working on batmobile upgrades with Mr. Fox. Even if these random side fixes that Cass brought to you were excuses—for what, you didn’t know—you took them as if they were scripture. Still, you couldn’t help but linger on the why: why did Cass come to you so often, and what pleasure could she derive from time spent in your deranged cave of resins burnt pine, sweet unveiling the sour?

Who were you to question it, though, as it was always nice to remember that even with your hands engineering what was broken, your heart still worked.

As if on somehow reading the thoughts racing in your mind, Cass asked, “Can you help fix these?” Lifting her shoulder bag, she pulled out a few household wares: a computer mouse, a television remote, and an old, portable radio.

“I didn’t know people still had these,” you remarked as you picked up the radio to inspect it, noting the flaws and dents that sat on the surface and the chipped, faded color from years of love and use.

“It’s Barbara’s,” Cass mentioned, the words spilling out of her with a speed that was unprecedented. You noticed that she was fidgeting slightly as well, as if she wanted to wring her own fingers, or to scratch at the back of her neck—she was itching to do something but maintained a level of restraint. You were no expert on body language, or on people in general; and while you couldn’t quite make something of this odd behavior from Cass of all people, you knew something was off.

“‘Course it’s hers,” you mused, not thinking too much of Cass’s movements as your eyes stayed trained on the radio’s frame. You jostled with the knobs and buttons in your hands, making sure each external fixture was as functional as it could be given its age and wear. You weren’t good at reading people the way Cass was, but you were good at reading technology.

“I think I could fix this right now,” you considered aloud, shuffling your chair back to your desk, hand grasping at your haphazard display of tools. Unscrewing the back panel, you began shimmying the internal parts, hoping to expose the board and the faults that lay there.

You kept your attention on the radio’s guts, studying it as your hands fidgeted around the loose and ancient wires, screws, and pads. It was miraculous how this thing still managed to be in as good of a condition as it was considering the wear present on the board, its history of love and use marked in the groves of its green resin. You poked and prodded your way through the radio’s lungs, redirected its wired blood flow, trying anything that could possibly revive this old friend of a friend that laid open and bare and parted on your table.

You were so mesmerized by the board and wires, the beating heart of an old fixture composed of sound and medium, that you hardly noticed Cass hovering over you, her peering presence over your shoulder incredibly close to contacting your skin. You could feel—or at least you imagined you felt—her controlled breathing along the curvature of your neck, her warmth nearly caressing the path towards your ear. Her watchful gaze stayed fixed on your hands, carefully attuned to the grip you held on to your pliers, to the swiftness you grabbed at new tools, to the delicate tracing your fingers curved into the parts. You studied the radio’s veins, and Cass studied yours. Being this close to her where your breath could caress her skin, and hers could dance freely along the shell of your ear, you felt almost petrified. What was she reading from your hands? What insanity was she deciphering as you fiddled with loosened wires and sore motherboards? And, now that your hands have been replaced with your beating heart—one that Cass can surely see if she hasn’t already heard its ravenous rhythm—what silly infatuation is she dissecting?

Yet was it selfish that, despite this wave of shock that had fried your veins into acute awareness over your movements, you were tempted to turn towards her, wanting your eyes to lock with hers in this delicate and intimate space carved and shared just above your shoulder? She was, after all, only three kisses away from your jaw, and there was a romanticism yet to be found in that distance.

You tried to remain focused on the task held in your hands, thinking of wires and resin burning pine instead of Cass’s breathing along the terrain of your neck, or the slow heat rising to the corner of your ears, or the shallow breathing entering and exiting your lungs betraying impact by her closeness, or the tingling itch of your hand yearning to hold hers somehow in this vignette world you both now exist in among tools and pliers and endless creations. Solder iron in hand, you hoped to burn through these feelings you’ve hidden—poorly, you might add; you could fix and mend anything, but for some reason the science of your affection towards Cass was a practice you failed to navigate with ease.

The familiar smell of sweetly soured pine lightly smoked the air as you soldered a few loosened wires back in place before reconnecting the radio’s pieces a few minutes later. Playing around with the internal mechanisms of this old radio was one thing but engineering it to life was another obstacle that still needed testing.

Luckily, as if by some fused miracle, the radio spurred to life, sputtering and stuttering its static as you gently rolled the knob until you landed on some decipherable wave. Muffled sounds scratched their way into the air, until a clear melody accompanied by an array of instruments and candor reached your ears.

“Oh!” You exclaimed; a smile now etched onto your face. You turn to Cass with a smile beaming, surprised and proud that your clueless fiddling proved successful. “I love this song.”

“Do you want to dance?” Cass asked, her smile wide and bright, matching yours, as the music adorned her like a halo. You felt your heart’s beat rise again at this ask, its sudden rhythm in our chest’s cavity blinding you into imagined realities where you swear hints of spring carnations bloomed on her cheeks.

The question caught you off guard, some unintelligible ask when faced with the overwhelming beauty of her light and smile. Her face was much closer to yours than you realized, the stray strands of her hair reaching out to caress your skin. You felt your brain short-circuiting as if some wire had been blown loose at the sight of her this close to you, at the sound of her question hanging like stars on your ears.

The music lulled you further into this daze as you tripped over answers in your mind; of course, you wanted to dance with her, but for some reason that answer never connected to the board of your brain. Your mouth laid slightly open, as if words yearned to exit; but before you ever could utter a word, Cass grabbed you from your chair, letting it roll away behind you, as she guided you by your hands to stand to the music. The hand not accompanying yours slotted against your waist easily, naturally, as if some homebound soldering wire reunited with their socketed joints—a union destined by radio waves and greened resin, entangled neatly in the arms of heart-beating wires.

The moment her hand found your waist, some burning warm iron that matched the heat biting at your ears, the two of you locked into messy steps of smiles and laughter and light, dancing without care to the beat decorating the air.

Huntr/x:

The girls and Bobby first worked with you on the American leg of their world tour, when you opened for them on several of their shows there. They enjoyed your music and hanging out with you so much that they invite you to South Korea to record and perform a collab with them.

Mira:

Mira can come off as overly sarcastic and judgemental sometimes, but you learn her personality pretty quickly and realize her deadpan comments are often affectionate.

She likes to tease you about your weird American ways that don't make sense to her. She finds a lot of your quirks and customs endearing.

Mira is so excited to have someone new to work on choreography with. Since you'll be a part of the music video and some performances, it'll be so fun to have an extra dancer.

She doesn't mind if you're experienced or not. Since you're a solo artist, you're not really used to dancing with a group very much. You have backup dancers for concerts occasionally, but it's not to the level of Huntr/x. Mira doesn't mind at all either way and she's very patient when teaching you different moves.

She falls for you slowly, but is afraid of getting hurt. She's the type who probably won't say anything until she's dropping you off at the airport for you to fly back to your home country, and even then she just blurts it out accidentally.

Zoey:

Zoey loves having another American around. It's been so long since she's been able to relate to someone about American things and how she grew up, like I'm sure there's English jokes and exclusively American things that the others can't really understand. Of course Zoey is also very immersed in Korean culture as well, but growing up in Burbank makes her feel like an outsider sometimes.

You help her write the song you're going to feature on, and she loves having another songwriter to bounce ideas off of. She lets you decide if you want to rap or just sing, and if you want to try singing any lyrics in Korean or just stick with English. she's very open to all your ideas.

Zoey is not good at hiding her feelings whatsoever, so it's pretty obvious to everyone that she's crushing on you hard. You think she's just being sweet and friendly at first, but Rumi and Mira assure you she's being extra sweet and friendly with you.

It's even so obvious during press interviews that some fans start shipping you guys. You both go red in the face when you both come across a TikTok edit or something like that, and you guy just spill everything shortly after that.

Rumi:

Rumi is nervous about you staying with them while you work on the song together, scared that you might ask questions. She's still super friendly and excited about it of course, but she worries you'll notice that even when relaxing she covers up every inch of skin, and she doesn't participate in spa days with the other girls. She's especially scared because she really likes you. She's afraid of you getting too close, but she wants you close.

You collaborate a lot with Rumi because you'll be the main vocalists in the new song, spending lots of time rehearsing together. You do all the silly sounding vocal warm ups and such and mess around with different harmonies. It doesn't matter if your range is as big as Rumi's or not, you'll find a way to sound great together.

You guys have matching outfits for the music video and performances. You try to blend both of your styles into something that suits you both.

The more Rumi falls for you, the harder it is for her to keep hiding her secret. She feels like she shouldn't lead you on without you knowing about her demon heritage. Inevitably you find out, though, about both her feelings and her demon side. She's pleasantly surprised that you return her feelings and don't care about her parentage whatsoever. If anything, you think it makes her hotter.

Bonus: Bobby!

Bobby is a huge fan of your work, and was so ecstatic to see you again. He makes sure everything is ready for you when you come to Korea, wanting everything to be perfect and comfortable for you. The girls tease him about it endlessly when he keeps asking questions about what you do and don't like and what kinds of snacks and drinks he should buy for you.

He hypes you up at every rehearsal and recording session, telling you everything he loves about the song and how great you look in your costumes. Of course he hypes up his girls too, but there's something a little different about how he looks at you.

The girls aren't shy about telling you what they think, letting you know that he's such a good guy and if you want to go for it, you should. They tell you about how he has been the perfect manager and is so kind to them, and they've always wanted to find him a partner that would make him happy. They're not subtle that they hope it's you.

After the song and music video is recorded and released, you stick around to do some live performances with the girls before heading back to America. Bobby is of course in the front row looking at you with dazzling eyes.

When it's time for you to go home, it's very hard for him to hide how sad he is about it. The girls encourage him to tell you how he feels, so he does one of those cheesey rom-com moves where he chases you through the airport to do his dramatic love confession and convince you to stay longer. It works, of course.

Saja Boys:

Gwi-Ma doesn't just want the souls from Korea, he wants them from all over the world. Jinu gets the idea to collab with an American artist to spread Gwi-Ma's reign there too, and you don't suspect anything of it at first. You're just excited to make a fun song with the hottest new K-Pop boy band.

Jinu:

When Jinu first had this idea, he thought it would be easy to manipulate you and use you to get what he wants and appease Gwi-Ma. But when he actually meets you to seriously talk about a collab, he realizes he's done for before it even starts.

You're so genuinely passionate about the music and excited to work with the Saja Boys, and even his demon conscience feels bad crushing those dreams for his benefit. He can't imagine letting Gwi-Ma take such a beautiful soul.

He falls in love with you while spending hours in the studio coming up with tunes and lyrics, and then again when you work on dances for the music video and performances. He loves when the fans and crowd go wild when you come on stage, and loves dancing around you and letting you shine when you get your solo lines.

He tried his best to hide his developing feelings from the other boys, in case they tell on him to Gwi-Ma. But let's face it, Jinu is a lovesick loser that wears his heart on his sleeve more often than you'd think.

You find out he's a demon when you catch him without his disguise. He thought he was alone, but you catch a glimpse and gasp. He thinks it was out of fear, so he thinks he ruined everything, but all you do is come up to him and whisper "wow."

He's shocked that you're not scared, that you're not trying to kill him or leaving. He ends up telling you everything, how he originally was just using you but ended up falling in love with you, and now he doesn't know what to do because Gwi-Ma still wants the American souls and won't take no for an answer. You listen, and even though it's a lot to comprehend, you stay by his side and help him figure out what to do.

Abby:

Abby knows he's fine shit, so he's not surprised at all that you can't stop staring at him during rehearsals. You try to hide it, but he purposely makes it difficult for you, sending you smirks and winks across the room, flexing his arms, stretching just enough for his abs to peek through...you know the drill.

He's very much on board with Jinu's plan, figuring he'll be able to seduce and manipulate you easily and get all the souls they need through your American influence. What he wasn't on board with, though, is how hard he starts falling for you.

It's frustrating how soft you make him, how he genuinely wants to please you and integrate all your input into the song and dance. It's not long before he can't stop staring at you back, eyes lingering too long on the skin peeking through your costumes and how your face moves when you sing.

I'd imagine you find out he's a demon when he confesses his feelings to you, or rather shows you his feelings. Maybe he can't take it any longer and just grabs you and kisses you hard, and his eyes flash yellow and his fangs come out. You're into it obviously, so it doesn't scare you away, but you'd definitely have quite a few questions afterward.

Romance:

Romance is a total lovebug, let's be real. He wants the song to be a beautiful and peppy love ballad with you at the center of everyone's attention, and honestly he's more focused on that than the actual plan.

He loves being sappy and classy, and gets a bit selfish when working on the choreography, always wanting you next to him and in his arms. Your voices sound amazing together, too, so he always wants to be the one harmonizing with you.

The other Saja Boys tease him for getting distracted from their promise to Gwi-Ma, but Romance defends you, hoping maybe you'll join their side of your own free will. He would love nothing more than to collect souls and rule the demon realm with you if he could.

You don't find out he's a demon for a while, thinking the signs aren't anything crazy. When some of his patterns show, you think they're just cool tattoos. When his hands look funny out of the corner of your eye, you think maybe he just has longer than average fingers and nails. It's not until you see his full form that you get it, and you tell him he's beautiful.

Mystery:

The fun thing about Mystery is he can easily hide how much he's staring at you, and he takes fully advantage of this. He fell for you very quickly, yet quietly. He's never the center of attention in the group, so it takes a while for you to truly get to know him, but you spend a lot of time chatting between recording sessions and practices.

I've seen some other headcanons that Mystery is insecure about his face and that's why he covers it with his hair, so I think that would be a huge point of trust between the two of you. If he's willing to show you his face, you know he's down bad. Maybe he thinks he's not handsome enough for you, or he has scars leftover from whatever he did to sell his soul originally. Whatever it is, it's a big deal when he gets close enough to you to look you in the eyes.

Following suit, it's not long after he reveals his face that he reveals that he's a demon. He's actually much more confident in his demon form, and of course you love it too. He's surprised you love it so much and that you took the news so well.

When you find out about the whole stealing souls thing, Mystery understands if you want to leave. He cares about you more than he cares about appeasing Gwi-Ma, so if you want to run far away from then he understands, and will even help you escape. But if you still want to stay with him, he will be by your side forever no question.

Baby:

Baby has a bit of a tough shell to break, acting very nonchalant and a bit mean to compensate from how much he gets babied for his looks. He doesn't mind the jokes and playing into the bit to a point, but after a while he gets annoyed with it. You'd definitely catch his attention if you don't treat him like he's younger than everyone else. (I like the headcanon that he's actually the oldest of the boys after Jinu, but because he has a baby face he gets mistaken as much younger)

If you also rap, he would love writing a rap duo with you. Even if you don't, he'd still have a great time writing a rap verse to compliment what you sing. His rapping is like poetry, and he would love writing poetry about you.

It seems to be the fandom consensus that Baby is a Certified Little Shit™, and that would certainly play into how he pursues you. There's no way this guy is talking about his feelings normally. He'd fall for you very chaotically and fuck with you as flirting.

He would show you his demon form voluntarily, and he's very aware of how hot he is in his true form. He gets the most irritatingly smug smirk on his face at your reaction to him, and easily convinces you to stay.

-

In fact, you and Ghost were not married... yet. But soap doesn't need to know that.

_

Ghost always picked you up after work. Rain, traffic, missions, exhaustion? None of it mattered. He’d be there, leaning against something like he wasn’t intimidating half the population just by existing

“You don’t need to commute,” he’d mutter. “Too dangerous.” You’d roll your eyes. “Simon, I’m a doctor.”

“Exactly.” …somehow, that made sense to him.

—

But today? Today, he was stuck in a meeting.

A long one. A painfully long one. He checked the time again, jaw tightening under his mask as another officer kept talking about something that definitely did not need this much discussion.

You were about to get off. He wasn’t there.

Unacceptable. So, being the amazing man that he is, he sent Gaz and Soap to pick you up instead. Somehow, they also managed to convince Price to come along.

Of course they said yes. They’d been dying to meet you, the person who managed to make their lieutenant’s cold, dead heart beat.

—

The hospital was busy, loud, and very much not their environment. Soap marched up to the front desk like he owned the place.

“Is Dr. Riley here?”

The nurse smiled politely. “Yes, third floor, room 106.” Easy.

Too easy.

—

They reached the door, Price knocked.

“Come in,” a deep voice called. The three froze.

Slowly… slowly… they turned to each other.

Gaz whispered, “Didn’t know LT swung that way. He into dudes?” Soap bit his fist to stop himself from laughing. Price, unfortunately, had already committed. He opened the door.

Inside sat a middle-aged man, glasses low on his nose, typing away like they didn’t just collectively lose their sanity. He looked up.

“…Can I help you?”

Silence. Absolute silence. Soap was vibrating. Gaz looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him. Price, somehow still functioning, spoke. “You’re… Dr. Riley?"

“Yes.”

Another pause. Then Gaz, with the bravery of a man who had nothing left to lose, “You’re… Simon’s boyfriend?”

The doctor blinked. “…I’m sorry, whose?” Soap made a choking noise. “This is a prank, right?” the doctor added, now suspicious.

Then he paused. Then he laughed.

“Oh! you’re looking for Dr. Salvatore. She’s the one dating a Simon.” That was it. Soap lost it. He doubled over, full-on laughing, tears and everything. Gaz covered his face.

Price started apologizing like his life depended on it. They left that office with what little dignity they had left.

—

When they finally found you, everything just… clicked. You smiled at them, warm and bright, like you weren’t the reason their lieutenant had apparently lost his entire personality

“Oh! you must be Simon’s team.”

Oh.

Soap leaned over to Gaz. “She’s real.”

“I can see that,” Gaz muttered.

The ride back? Pure chaos.

Soap retold the “Dr. Riley” incident three times, each version somehow more dramatic than the last. You laughed so hard you had to wipe your eyes. “They really thought?” you tried to speak between laughs.

“Oh, they were READY to accept it,” Gaz said, pointing at Soap. “I support LT no matter what!” Soap defended.

“That is not what you said five minutes ago.”

—

That’s when it slipped. “You know he just calls me ‘wife,’ right?” you said casually.

The car went silent.

“…He what?” Price asked slowly. “You’re not married?” Gaz added.

“No.”

Soap looked like he’d just been lied to his entire life.

—

The next day, Soap marched up to Ghost.

“You LIED to me.” Ghost didn’t even look bothered. “About?”

“THE WIFE THING.”

Ghost finally glanced at him. Then, calmly, he reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small red velvet box. Opened it.

A ring.

Soap froze. “Ain’t my wife yet, sergeant,” Ghost said. “But I’m plannin’ to.”

Soap stared. “…I better be best man.”

Ghost closed the box.

“You already are.”

—

A year later, you walked through the hospital halls, adjusting your coat as someone called out.

“Dr. Riley!”

You turned.

“…Which one?” another voice asked.

Ghost, standing nearby, just smirked under his mask.

Worth it.

At first, you had been absolutely sure this creature of the sea was your soul mate. With long black hair that mimics the waves of the sea, dark green eyes that show the empathy and kindness you've been searching for all your life, and beautiful sun kissed skin that reflects the late sunset.

You'd both first met on the beach while you were mourning the loss of your marriage - apparently your previous spouse believed you to be too bland for their passion and soon found your hands stuck in a divorce paper. So a walk along the beach seemed nice.

While enjoying the dawn with your puffy eyes, you couldn't help but notice a fur coat on the sand. Taking in the water with each pull from tide to land. Your hands quickly found it, brushing off the sand carefully before looking around for its owner.

“Who left this here..?" You wondered quietly before continuing your walk in the sand.

That's when you saw him entirely, your admiring eyes not noticing how convenient everything was. Your foggy mind not realizing this was the exact situation from all the folklore you'd read before your sleep.

Watching him walk towards you clumsily, you carefully stepped forward as well before finally seeing that the man was naked. Its not unusual but at this time? Its much too cold.

“You! Put down my coat!" The man’s brows furrowed angrily as he continued to walk towards you, making you quickly put your hands up in a show of peace.

“I mean no harm, I just found.."

“So you think that means you should touch what isn't yours?" He didn't waste a single second, grabbing the coat from your fingers. Grimacing when he finally glanced at you, the sneer of disgust making you cringe back.

“You'd better not have done anything with my coat, humans are so nasty." He only pulls the thing around him once he's comfortable with his inspection.

You didn't expect that a beautiful man like him could be so cruel upon first meeting. Although your mother did teach you to not judge a cover.

“Apologies." You quickly nodded before turning away with a flushed face, first a divorce - now you've been embarrassed by a beautiful man?

・・・

Unfortunately, that wasn't the first time you'd seen the man on the beach. First, there were accidental meetings at dawn. You somehow managed to ease him into at least giving you the opportunity to reintroduce yourself after that seemingly rude first impression you gave.

Then, it came to accidental meetings at midnight. You’d started walking along the rocks at night, something you've begun to do since you couldn't handle the lonely bed at night.

“Do you have nothing to do but to come here?" The mysterious man would always ask whenever you'd manage to spot him and offer a greeting. It was something that was purposefully rude, to drive you away, but you wanted something close to company.

“I've been plagued by nightmares.” You began, only to stop talking altogether when the man suddenly raised his hand as if to shush you.

“I don't have time to listen to a human’s sob story, hurry along. I'm trying to find my soulmate." He ignores your hurt expression, but you recover.

“Soul mate?” You tilt your head.

He sighs with his eyes rolling.

“So you're a romantic too?" You peeked at his face to offer a reassuring smile. “I'm sure you'll find the lucky person eventually."

But your charming attempts are ignored. Despite how terribly mean the man has been, you can't deny how much you want to know him. Maybe it's the fact he seems lonely too, or maybe it's the cloudy atmosphere that makes his harsh expressions less visible.

“You speak as if you understand what kind of fate I'm seeking." He finally acknowledges you, although it appears sour when he faces you. The moonlight reflecting on the outline of his face and hair makes him more beautiful than he already is.

You're unsure how you didn't notice it before, how he'd spoken to you and how he'd appear. Always near the ocean, always referred to you as ‘human’.

Perhaps the scent of the sea air and the warm sand under your feet made you a fool.

When three months passed of these daily but continuous meetings, you'd find yourself more and more curious whenever you'd learn more about the man.

So far, you've learned his name is Irving and he's searching for his true love. Meanwhile you're sure you've shared much more to him, but it's the fact that he's not listening to you most of the time, you have no reason to fear that he'd remember anything you say that might be sensitive.

After those three months, you managed to get the idea that he was a selkie. Making it easier to explain why he was searching for a lover, why he was always naked, and why he seemed so angry when you gave back his coat.

It must be because you're not his supposed soul mate - You can't really blame him. When he described his ideal type, it was all characteristics that you weren't. Confident, graceful, well-spoken, and gentle.

While you aren't exactly someone that lacks good qualities, you can say that you're more or less like the average dusty floormat.

So when you came to the conclusion that Irving was much too lonely and was searching for someone that would never come, you decided to do something that would've never crossed your mind before.

You stole his seal skin, effectively locking him into a relationship with you. Keeping him as an unofficial househusband of sorts after you expertly hid his seal skin under the boarding of your house.

・・・

You nervously glanced up at Irving while peeling potatoes, who seems to be glaring at you with a silence that could kill.

“.. Do you like the clothes I gave you?"

There's a few moments of silence between the both of you, the only sound coming from the outside noises near your house and the peeler going against the potato's skin.

‘Surely,’ you think to yourself. ‘He wants the peeler to slip from my hands so I can peel myself - just as I took his seal skin.’

“Release me back to the ocean." Is all he says before standing up and walking with heavy steps towards the room you've given him.

You bite your lip as you stop peeling the potato, now forced to focus on the reality you've chosen for yourself. Irving doesn't deserve a half baked idiot who doesn't even consider his consent.

But you couldn't stand to see his longing face watching his seal skin sitting on the shore, waiting for his destiny to take place. The nights where you sat besides him, wondering if he'd want any respite from his patient journey.

Once you finished peeling all the potatoes and carrots, you continued to make the beef stew until you could place a plate outside Irving’s door.

The next morning, it was empty. You felt glad to at least see him eating, even if this situation was less than convenient for him.

Moments like these continued on as you stopped visiting the beach, instead working more on your home to make it more comfortable to Irving’s tastes. Coming home from work, you'd always hear the sounds of thumping which was no doubt Irving in that tub you installed for him.

Every day felt more and more comfortable when you managed to convince yourself that you knew this was good for Irving. That you were good for Irving.

Taking care of him with each meal you'd make, making sure to get him any latest fashions he'd be interested in whenever you managed to get out, and even taking walks with him by the beach whenever he seemed to miss it.

Unfortunately after five months of these repeating days, you began to notice how dull Irving's became. His skin became paler and less soft, his eyes became nearly gray whenever you stood close enough to stare into them, and his hair seemed to suffer the most. The lengthy and beautiful hair became a mess even when you did manage to get him to sit while you brushed it.

Seeing how his mental state became more and more physical, you decided to hand him back his seal skin after a warm dinner and bath. Smiling as you make sure to not show your bitterness to the situation.

“I'm sorry, I have no excuses." You placed the seal skin on the edge of Irving’s bed after brushing his hair, watching him slowly look towards it before back towards you.

The expression on his face would be cute if not for the situation, it's like handing a prisoner a key after keeping them locked tight in a cell. You're no better than a corrupted jailer keeping an innocent man away.

And without missing a beat, he grabs the seal skin before running out of the house. You'd left every door unlocked for his ease, but once the front door opened, you couldn't help but to get up.

The stormy night outside made it impossible to see his figure running back into the moonlit waters, but you decided it was for the best.

Irving deserves to choose his own fate, and hopefully until you die, you will never be a face he ever sees again.

Closing the front door, you pressed your back against its flat surface before sitting on the floor. Oddly enough, this hurts more than your divorce, maybe it's because this was your conscious decision. Looking down, you rest your head against your knees as you hug them.

Tonight, and every other night that follows soon, will be your punishment and personal reminder as to how you should hold yourself.

・・・

It's been two, long months since that fateful night, but you've been doing well. You can only hope the same for Irving.

You haven't gone to the shore, docks, or even rocks since then and you believe that this decision is for the best. Lately, you've been doing more cleaning. You've sold back every item you got for Irving's affection, fixing the place back to how it originally looked. You felt more proud of the cleaned out guest room you used for Irving’s unwilling stay.

Not to mention that lately, you believe you've caught someone's attention. To add more to recent gossip about you, it's the mailman who always delivers your packages. He's only a few months younger than you and seems to share your interests, the cute mailman’s been leaving flowers at your doorstep whenever he can't say hi to you if you're at work extra early. Or even putting little trinkets in your windows whenever you tell him about the things you enjoy.

It's such a warm feeling whenever you see the man, but you're sure he's just being kind since you've been looking like death ever since that night of Irving’s escape.

Unbeknownst to you, the same eyes you saw go dull because of your presence, has begun to seek you out again.

・・・

Irving’s unsure when these confusing feelings began to come to him.

When you took his fate without him asking you to, his anger made him entirely mute except for when he'd demand to be let out. His eyes sharpened to the point that any stare he gave you made you flinch more than usual. His actions are much more blunt and aggressive whenever you'd come across him in the house.

But all these features of his mellowed out into the tired mess that was his dulling self, he hadn't even noticed how comfortable everything was when all he could focus on was his yearning for the sea. Despite gaining all the jewelry he'd favored, and having the warmth from well maintained meals and baths, all Irving felt was his life being drained day by day.

So why… Is he thinking about you?

Although you took him by force, you didn't take anything except his presence. In fact, most of the time it felt as though you were a prisoner whenever he was around. The constant flinching and nervous glances from you made you appear much more pitiful than the creature you tore from the sea.

When Irving went back to waiting for his soul mate, he would watch the seal skin he left in the sand half heartedly. At first it was because he suspected you'd be back to beg for his forgiveness, making him appear more high alert. Then his reasoning became confusion, knowing you for nearly seven months made him more aware of your tendencies. So seeing you avoid the ocean for so long made him subtly begin to seek out even a flash of your appearance around the corners of the docks or rocks to prove his assumptions of you correct.

But you didn't appear for quite a while. After three weeks of not seeing you despite his constant thoughts that anything walking the beach could be you, Irving felt curious enough to check on you. At least for a split second.

And what he saw made him feel uncomfortable, not with how you seemed to get worse from his disappearance but because there seems to be someone new who's trying to catch your attention.

An energetic and eager to please mailman constantly delivers your mail with a giant smile and gifts related to what you've hinted at liking.

It was uncomfortable, like an infection settingly into his skin. It didn't hurt but it felt like something was wrong. Wrong with his emotions, wrong with his reasoning.

Instead of staying by the beach where he would usually search for his long awaited soul mate, he found himself watching you from corners and windows. It felt stupid to think someone as terrible as you could make him feel anything except disgust.

It took him a while but Irving finally came to the conclusion when he saw you place a quick peck on the mailman’s cheek, this unsettling feeling.. Is jealousy?

He couldn't believe it himself either, but when he saw that small act of affection given to someone else entirely, his ideas of you finally fell to reveal what his dignity couldn't.

Despite you taking him captive, you truly took care of him just as an honorable mate should. You'd fed him well, kept his preferences for your home, and even got him treasures that he would've been able to appreciate if he hadn't been so focused on his anger.

A few days after watching that kiss happen, Irving did something he would've absolutely detested before everything.

He left his seal skin at your doorsteps.

・・・

You stared at the all too familiar seal skin coat on your doorsteps, there's absolutely no way that something like this is here. Especially since you haven't been to the beach in so long, that you'd forgotten how the beach smells.

Blinking at it, you wondered if the storm last night maybe blew the heavy thing towards your home. If that's the case then poor Irving must be hissing in protest at even stepping near your home.

You sigh and bend down, ignoring your gut feeling as you carefully lift the seal skin. Maybe leaving it at the beach is good enough? You can afford to be late to work today…

Heading to the beach, you stared at the seal skin with confusion and longing. You want to run your hands along the soft coat but you ignore the idea, making sure it's completely away from your person so that your scent doesn't upset the selkie.

Once you make it to the sandy place, you take a moment to enjoy the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea before quickly walking towards the shore and placing the seal skin down for Irving. Hopefully you haven't upset the natural balance of the world with this one action.

When you run away from the beach and back into the town to make it in time for your shift, you don't notice how Irving seems to pick up the seal skin as you leave. For once that gaze that used to stare at the sea now stares at your back the same way.

The next day, the same thing happens but this time with the seal skin presented with a few pearls and even a few flowers you remember mentioning to Irving in passing when you thought he wasn't listening. Pursing your lips, you feel conflicted before deciding to blame the wind. Yesterday was really windy from the recent storms that happened across the island, so you can understand why something like this could happen.

Surely the pearls were whatever Irving was using for his potential soul mate to be more attracted to his seal skin. Then the flowers you like just happen to be here too since they're so common, it's just a passing chance that they landed next to the seal skin.

Once again, you deliver the coat back, this time more securely in a plastic bag so it definitely wouldn't smell like you. The pearls clutched in the middle of the skin, you dump both of the parts onto the beach before rushing off. Not wanting any misunderstanding to come between you and Irving, truthfully you wish for his peaceful love life to finally come to him.

These occurrences continue to happen daily, and at some point you began to just believe it was all really just stupid coincidences. Your mind is much too focused on the recent interactions with your mailman, especially ever since that nervous peck you'd given him when he joked about his reward for delivering your mail with no issues for over a month.

Recently, the relationship between you both seems to at least make you think his actions are born from some sort of feelings.

While you continue your romantic situation with your mailman, Irving grows more and more impatient. At first, he reasoned that you were just clueless. But as more time continued, it just seems to be rejection. In his mind, you would never reject him after pining for him for so long. Yet you did so anyway.

When things finally made his irritation boil over into frustration, alongside how he saw you become closer to that stupid mailman, Irving decided to make his appearance himself at your doorstep.

“Why aren't you taking my seal skin?" He refuses to sound pitiful as he sees your fearful expression, you can barely stop him from coming inside your home. “Am I not attractive after you've had your fill?"

You could only stare with wide eyes before quickly shaking your head, only to stop whatever you plan on saying to ask what you consider a good question.

“But," you sputter, practically falling over yourself as you avoid his gaze. “Why would I do that?"

The silence feels heavy once you ask that, you flinch once you hear footsteps come closer to you. Instead of any of that previous accusatory voice that you'd grown used to, you feel soft hands grab your face. Tilting your head to make you gaze back at Irving’s - You expect a glaring expression and even a sarcastic huff.

But instead, he just stares at you quietly.

“Ir.. Irving?" You mutter, but he makes no move to respond. Instead, letting go of your face to begin removing his coat, just as you were about to back away, he suddenly began to wrap the coat around your shoulders.

You blink a few times, trying to form a proper thought about what just happened.

“Come back to me, be my soul mate." Is all he says before pressing the back of his knuckles against your cheek gently.

You blink again, unsure of whether or not you're dreaming. Maybe you've lost it. This doesn't feel real at all..?

“I'm sorry?"

“Be my soul mate." He repeats calmly, before adjusting the coat wrapped around you.

The same coat that once brought you Irving’s disgust and anger, now being the thing that shows his longing towards you?

“This is a joke right?" You ask nervously, backing away to slide the coat off your shoulders, only to suddenly feel his hands cupping your face tightly. Glancing up at him, you can finally see the longing you'd once wished for yourself. But now this type of romance feels empty, after seeing how you'd hurt and removed Irving’s life from him, this longing feels all too convenient for you.

“Please, be my soul mate. Take my seal skin, be selfish for me.” He leans in awfully close before you slip and fall backwards after taking his hands off your cheek.

“Irving, you.. I'm not your soul mate.” You ignore the sting that went up your back and pools at your bottom half, "what I did to you.. Shouldn't be anything your soul mate should do to you."

But looking back at him, he's clearly lost his patience as he leans down to settle himself between your legs, pulling you close to him by your hips.

You yelp at the feeling of his cold hands inching under your shirt. His touch is still gentle but it's clear that he's desperate to get you on the same page as him as he stares at your face for any small change to see if you have any of the same ideas as him.

“If I reciprocated earlier, would you even think that what you did was wrong? Just focus on the future - Ignore our rocky past, don't you still want me?" He speaks too fast for your liking, confusing you with both his touch and words until you eventually grab his wrists.

“I do still want you but…” Unfortunately, the rest of your sentence is cut off when he takes one of his hands off your hips to press a finger to your lips.

“That's all I need to hear. Now, no more seeing that stupid mailman. He could never amount to my image, could he?” The proud selkie preens at finally being able to get the slightest approval to becoming soul mates at last.

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

Bonus part for reading until the end!! + HCs

You stare at Irving happily cooking at the stove, you're unsure how a creature of the sea is about to handle a fire so well but you don't bother questioning it. Plus he looks really cute in that pink apron he asked you to buy after he went rummaging in the newspaper piles you get from the mail, something about seeing some housewife advertisements that caught his fancy.

Since it seemed you were the breadwinner, Irving was happy to fall into the stereotypical housewife example he'd been learning of ever since he began to integrate into human society.

Hell, he's even made some friends with the town's housewives since he seems to constantly know everyone's business and their names.

(Did you know, Sabrina’s husband has been caught cheating on her with her older, widowed sister?)

(No Irving… Wait, how did you even find that out???)

It's a real shock to the town that your new lover isn't a recluse like you, especially since your last divorce everyone thought you were a goner due to your hermit-like behavior. But, to everyone's expectations, not only do you get a lover, he's also a quick town favorite for his good looks and amazing charm. Making you a town favorite as well!

You'd been so lost in thought, you didn't even notice when Irving finished cooking dinner and plated your food.

“Is something wrong?" He pinched your nose lightly before chuckling at your surprised reaction.

“Ah.. Just thinking about how well you fit into society. You're doing really well pretending to be human, even more than me." You joke, ignoring your self deprecation.

“Oh that's it?” Irving rests his chin in his palm as he uses his free hand to eat. "Human society is shallow, it's easy to become so liked when you're as good looking at me. Plus the housewives are so easily entertained by someone like me entering their circle.”

You nod slowly at his words, unsure of what to say since everything he mentions is the simple truth. Despite how simple it is, it's still hard to think he's settled into this life so readily.

“Do you ever miss being with other sea folk?” You ask without any thought.

“I would say yes but after everything I did to weasel back into your home, I'm much happier here. Plus it's not like my seal skin is hard to find.” He gestures to the coat rack you got specifically for his seal skin. Just in case, you always reassure him.

After that, the dinner goes back into a comfortable silence with occasional gossip or comments about the town’s folk. When you finally finish up and watch Irving do the dishes, you wonder about one thing.

“I haven't seen you become a seal yet, have I?"

Irving pauses as he places the last plate into the drying rack, turning to face you with an amused expression.

“Is that something you've been wanting to see?” He smiles eagerly, always enjoying your attention on him.

“Well… “ You itch your cheek in thought before nodding. “I've always been curious of your selkie nature."

“Could've just asked." He pretends to scold you before grabbing his seal skin, wrapping it around his shoulders before a light surrounds him.

It blinds you and you when you open it after rubbing your eyes, there's a fat brown seal in front of you. Staring with expectant eyes and a.. Smile?

You almost fall to your knees immediately as you coo at your transformed sweetheart.

“You're so much more.. I mean, you're just as beautiful as ever. So soft.." You whisper as you wrap your arms around the silky seal, enjoying the sound of his blubbers and seal sounds. When you back away to stare at his face, Irving is quick to press his nose against your cheek.

Making you coo even louder, it's very clear you have a preferred animal now.

・・・

Since then, you have been eager to request that Irving become a seal whenever you want a pillow or just to cuddle him as a cute seal.

“You're the most perfect pillow, please?" You beg as Irving sighs and pushes your head away.

“Can't we just cuddle like normal, aren't I perfect enough?"

“You're perfect in every shape and form.. The seal one is just your most perfect one of all."

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

Irving General Hc’s

He's very particular about the time he spends with his loved ones, which is why he was so prissy when you first met

Really enjoys jewelry and fashionable items

Plans on carrying the kids for you even if you're fem presenting (if selkies can exist so can mpreg)

Really likes cuddling as a human since he can hold you tighter

Uses handmade skincare products such as seaweed face masks, coconut body oil, and even algae hair products (although after becoming human he found it much easier to request the items from merchants who make them)

Very easy to make jealous, any implication will drive him up a wall (“am I not perfect for you?" “Who else could be better than me?")

Found it very easy to learn how to cook since he used to stalk you around the house when you'd first taken him and often stayed in your own world

You're annoyed at first. "Dude. Why do you keep repeating everything I say?"

Dex doesn't answer, but a week later, you catch him calling another agent "dude" over the phone after they screw something up.

And just like that. Your words? Being stolen again.

After a while, the annoyance turns into fondness, and you start teaching him what to say and when to say it.

Honestly, it's kinda cute.

Dex has social media, but he hasn't been keeping up with trends. He's there only because you're there. So when he comes home one day and casually drops a slang you've never taught him, it makes you pause.

"Where did you learn that?"

"What?"

"What you just said. Who taught you that?"

You swear his head grows bigger when he straightens up next to you on the couch. "I can be hip, you know."

You burst out laughing, head falling back against the couch, hair brushing his arm. Dex narrows his eyes at you, heat creeping up his neck, but he doesn't move away. He likes being in your space. "What's so funny?"

"Hip," you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes. "Nobody says that anymore."

Turns out he's been secretly looking up "Slang terms and how to use them like a pro" because he thought you'd like it. You always say things he's never heard before.

The tips of his ears turn pink, and it only makes you laugh harder. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He automatically shifts so you can sit in his lap, your hands looped behind his neck.

"Hip," you repeat and peck a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth, where a smile is threatening to appear despite his fluster. "You're hip. The hippest person in the world."

A crooked smile finally tugs at his mouth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck to avoid your gaze. The embarrassment lingers, but your laugh and sweet kiss quickly melt it away.

Straightening up, you push off from the wood to block his view. The familiar scent of soap and rain clinging to his suit envelops you. “You’re home early. How’s-”

“Baby. Who was that?” Dex cuts you off mid-sentence, his voice low, bordering on threatening instead of affectionate. His gaze stays fixed on the creaking doors, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Did you invite someone over?”

“No,” you snort, though it sounds like you’re bluffing. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. C’mere. Let me help you get out of these.”

Your hands reach for his gear straps, but he pulls back. His head cocks to the side, eyes piercing into yours.

“Don’t change the subject.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Tell me, who are you hiding?”

The rustling sound doesn’t stop, which only complicates the situation. Before another excuse leaves your lips, Dex sidesteps around you and heads straight for the doors. His fingers brush the knife strapped across his chest as his eyes sweep the room for anything else he can use.

Then again, anything can become a weapon between those calloused fingers.

“Ooof!”

Time seems to freeze after he yanks the door open, realization slowly dawning over him.

The puppy swings his tail from left to right, tongue hanging out, floppy ears jiggling with the movements. He looks up at Dex with wide, bright eyes, like the man hung the moon.

You huff a small, awkward laugh. “Surprise!” The fluff ball chimes in with another joyful bark.

“This is who- what you’re hiding? Jesus- I thought-”

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t know how to tell you,” you explain, kneeling on the floor when the fluffy little thing waddles towards you, mud dragging along his path. “I found him on the street. It was raining hard, and there was no one around. He looked so sad, Dex. I couldn’t leave him there.”

As you scratch underneath his floppy ear, your voice shoots up three octaves. Baby talk activated. “Yeah, you like that, don’t cha? You like that, huh? Who’s my good boy? Yeah, you are. You’re my good boy.”

The sight of you beaming and the little dirt ball nuzzling into your hand drains all the fight out of Dex. He stares at the messy trail like a stubborn stain that refuses to fade after the third wash on his favorite shirt, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Then the whelp yaps again, pulling Dex back into reality. “No.”

“What do you mean no?” You scoop the cotton ball into your arms, muddy paws and all.

“It can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“It was living on the street. You don’t know where it’s been.”

“Okay. Not anymore.” The little guy licks your cheek, agreeing with you. “Aww. Look at him, Dex.”

“I am looking at it.”

“And?”

“It appears to be a dog.” You blink at him. “And?”

“Dogs are loud, sweetheart. They shed. They smell weird.”

You gasp softly, offended on the pup’s behalf, then tilt your head to whisper in his ear. “He didn’t mean it like that, cutie pie. Don’t listen to him. Dex’s just being silly. He’s so silly, don’t he?”

Oblivious to the insults, the fuzzy ball gives another yip and licks your cheek again.

Dex can only sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, contemplating how this ten-pound bundle of wet fur and oversized paws is somehow gonna fit into his your squeaky-clean apartment without him going insane.

And that’s how you end up in the bathroom at 11 pm, scrubbing brown smudges out of the sheets because someone let a stray baby roll around on the bed before Dex got home. According to your man, “that's your accomplice.”

He's around the corner, back on the wall, knife steady in his hand as he listens in. Then he hears a voice, "Shit,"

Keys fall to the ground and then shoes squeaking and something hitting the door with a thud, "Ow! My head!"

Dex unlocks the door without thinking, knife behind his back, "What're you doing?"

You're crouching on the floor, head in your hands, keys by your shoes. Dex immediately smells you. You smell like a mixture of perfume, sweat and alcohol. You'd think you'd be kinda smelly, you are, but Dex just inhales sharply, only registering how much you smell like life.

"Partied too hard?" He smiles easily, shoulders relaxing and he sneakily stabs the knife inside the potted plant by his door to hide it from view.

"Nahhhh, just a lil," You shrug, and Dex realises you're making no move to get up. Your jacket is lopsided, your bag is hanging off the crook of your arm and your shorts had the button popped open.

"Why are you still awake?" You ask, speech slow. You're frowning up at him, but it's probably just the light making it hard to look up at him without squinting.

"You woke me up," Dex says.

"Nuh-uh,"

"This is my door,"

"Oh," Your shoulders sag and you keep squinting at him until your eyes close completely. Dex watches you without moving, until he realises you've fallen asleep like that.

"I'll carry you, okay?" He mumbles, not really caring whether you've heard him or not. He needs to help you, tuck you in bed, get you home, safe and sound.

Dex lifts you and throws your body over his shoulder, you don't even react, completely limp.

Your bag slips off your arm and is about to hit the floor when Dex catches it with one hand. It's too easy to find your keys inside the mess in your bag, and he unlocks your front door. Dex doesn't bother with turning on any lights because he knows what your place looks like. He makes it straight to your bedroom and gently places you down on the bed.

Your mouth is open and your face relaxed, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every deep breath.

Dex watches you for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath and gets to work.

Your shoes come off first, then your socks. Your jacket follows, and then you're in a tiny top and matching shorts. Dex stares at you for a moment, at your soft belly and pink mouth. You're too open, too vulnerable. But luckily, Dex is one of the good guys.

He looks away when he slips off your top and your shorts, because he's a gentleman. And he goes straight to your wardrobe to fetch you something to wear for bed. He takes his time, looking through your folded clothes, at the colours and how soft the fabrics are. Then he picks out a t-shirt and cotton shorts combo. They're small but airy, made for comfort. They're stripped, the two pieces of clothing, pastel yellow and white. He dresses you like a doll carefully, heart jumping in his chest once in a while when you smack your lips or make a noise in your sleep. When you're all dressed for bed, Dex tucks you in, tucking the edges of your sheet under you, so you're all warm and comfy, and even goes as far as to tuck the end of it under your chin, over your shoulders.

Your party clothes are collected and are put in the hamper straight away. Then Dex heads to the kitchen, he fills one yellow mug with cool water and grabs a box of pain killers. He places everything carefully on your bedside table.

Dex is proud of his handiwork, he feels good. He's a good neighbour, a good friend.

He slowly puts a hand on your forehead. You're warm, but not too warm, so that's good. He pets your head and turns around.

Dex could leave now. He should leave.

But he just wanted to make sure you would be 100% okay in his absence. He checks the windows, makes sure all of them are closed, and draws every curtain he sees, obscuring your place in even more darkness now. His ears catch a small noise, and it's your bathroom. Dex grabs the handle of the tap, and twists it tighter, stopping the little drips.

You're standing in front of Dex's door, vibrating with anxiety, you're practically about to start crying because you're so nervous and you'd HATE to sleep another night with a broken AC unit.

Your neighbour, Tony, is standing there watching you with a little frown, then as soon as what you said registered in his head he smiles, easy as ever, "Sure, what's up?"

Shoulders sagging and a relieved sigh leaves your mouth, "Oh my gosh, thank you!" You wipe at your eyes, at the unshed tears, "My AC is broken and it's so hot and I'm on my periods and I can't regulate my body temperature like normal,"

Dex hums, and reaches behind the door to grab his keys, he steps out, in his slippers, t-shirt and sweats, and closes it behind himself.

"It's also making such a horrible noise! Don't know if you can hear it from here but it goes; RRATATAA MMRATATATA MMRRATATA—" You follow him to your flat and he steps inside - the door was left open - you follow him, nose almost hitting his broad back when he suddenly stops in his tracks. "What—"

Your neighbour looks tense for a second and he slowly turns around and makes eye contact with you, "Can I… come in?"

You're confused, because he's already inside but then he has an odd look in his eyes. Like he's nervous, maybe scared. You stand there, thinking, and the longer your silence drags on the more anxious he's getting. A vein pops out along his neck and he swallows, Adam's Apple bobbing.

"Of course," You smile, big and toothy for good measure.

That does the trick. Dex immediately relaxes and makes it straight to your AC unit. The layout of both of your places are practically identical. The only difference being Dex's minimalism and your maximalism in comparison. While he's got barren white walls, yours are plastered with posters and cut up magazine pages. A mess of prints, sticker sheets and postcards.

"So, can you fix it?" You hover over Dex as he's on one knee on the floor.

"Yeah,"

"Do you need me to help?" You ask.

Dex looks up, his eyes dragging from your toes to your head. You have on a bright orange t-shirt. It was oversized and it looked like you cropped it with scissors by yourself. Then for bottoms you had a plaid skirt that stopped at your knees and socks. Everything else was a mixture of different accessories, of varying colours, metals, rocks and beads, adorning your neck, wrists, ears and fingers. You looked too adorable to get on your knees and get dirty. It wouldn't be right. Plus, you did say you were on your periods, and that, to Dex, means pain and discomfort.

"No, thank you," Dex smiles a little, and you nod, "Okay, I'll make you something to drink,"

You turn on your heel, your skirt spinning with you and Dex makes eye contact with the tiger printed at the back of your t-shirt.

The whole thing takes half an hour to fix, and that is, without proper tools too. Dex Tony is smart as shit and fantastic with his hands, turns out.

While Dex was fixing your AC, you fussed over him, offering a pillow for his knees while he works. You prepare water, a tall glass of orange juice with ice cubes, a straw in it and an orange peel on the rim for good measure. Because you're a good host and he's doing this for you, for free. Then you make him a plate of biscuits too. You sit on the sofa by the side, basically on standby in case he wants a drink or snack because you can't leave the food anywhere near him, the inside of the AC was filthy and it's starting to stick to Dex's clothes and hands.

You're not even looking at what he's doing inside the thing, you're just watching him.

You could turn the TV on, have some noise in the background, but then you'd feel rude, especially since he's getting all dirty fixing your AC for free. It wouldn't be right, you'd look like an ungrateful person.

So you're both there, sitting in silence. Dex looks at you and you get up before he even opens his mouth.

You lower yourself to be eye level with him and stick the cold glass of orange juice in front of him and the plate of biscuits.

"Thanks," Dex smiles, and wraps your hand over the glass, and brings it to his mouth so he can take a long sip through the straw. His eyes flutter shut for a second, clearly enjoying the beverage. Then he slowly releases your hand and his eyes land on the biscuits, "What're those? The heart ones,"

"Jammie Dodgers, I made them myself! And the juice too! Squeezed it yesterday!"

Dex is smiling, "Really?"

"Yeah!"

Dex looks around for something to wipe his hands with and you realise you didn't even give him a rag to clean with. You don't want him getting up so you just grab it yourself, "My hands are clean, I promise,"

"I believe you," Dex chuckles and opens his mouth so you can feed it to him. The biscuits are small enough that Dex eats it all at once, he's chewing, and hums, "Good?" You grin.

He nods and you squeal, "I'm such a good baker!"

.

.

.

Once your AC is fixed, you're so relieved you basically collapse on your sofa, energy zapped out of you. You were still on your periods after all and you're slouched against a bunch of pillows, the plate of biscuits sitting on your belly.

Dex makes his way to the kitchen for cleaning supplies unprompted and starts cleaning and wiping the mess he made around the AC. You don't even say anything, you watch him do his thing as you eat the leftover biscuits on the plate, eyes following his every move. And he looks extremely focused, cleaning everything properly and putting everything away like it should be.

Then when you think he's done, he fetches your vacuum and starts it up. He's vacuuming your living room, your neighbour, your mysterious tall and strong and big neighbour.

You're sort of in a trance when Dex grabs the empty plate from your hands and takes it to the kitchen, putting it in the sink, and comes back to vacuum under your coffee table and then he bends, right in front of you, and grabs your sofa with one hand and lifts it, with you sitting on it.

A squeal tumbles out of your mouth in shock as Dex vacuums, one handed under your sofa, a focused frown on his face. You open and close your mouth like a fish, trying to say something. But you can't.

It doesn't even take another minute before your sofa is slowly lowered back on the floor. Dex moves to the other end of the living room, completely oblivious as you stare at him with wide eyes.

He's all done sooner rather than later when he puts your vacuum back in the kitchen where he found it, and then he's standing in front of your sink, hands on his hips.

You practically leap out of the sofa, almost tripping over your own feet to get to him before he starts washing your dishes.

"Wait! Thank you!—" You scramble to his side, and he looks over his shoulder at you, "Hm?"

"Thank you so much for your help! I appreciate it so much, and you basically saved my life! I owe you, seriously," You smile, linking your hands in front of you when he turns to fully face you.

"Oh, it's alright," He smiles, shrugging.

"Uhm, yeah," You don't know what else to say.

"Can I have a look at your sink? There's something wrong with it," You glance at the sink behind him, and you know he's right, because earlier when you twisted the handle to wash your hands, the water did come out stronger than usual, like much stronger.

"Uh, I don't know, you already fixed my AC…" You say, tucking your chin in. You feel like such a pest.

"I don't mind, really," Dex smiles easily, and you eventually nod, "Okay,"

He turns around to have a look at the sink and you step back to give him space to work, and you really should've kicked him out with another round of thanks and a promise of dinner or baked goods, but instead he grabs the handle and your kind, helpful neighbour is all but drenched in water.

He gets sprayed right on the face and when he reaches to twist it close, it sprays on his chest.

You're screaming because water has reached the ceiling and he's trying to stop the water with his hands. "Oh my God! What do I do?! What do I do?!" You panic.

Dex grabs a towel from the side and covers the faucet with it, "Stay back!"

"Okay," You nod, taking a couple of steps back with your hands over your mouth.

.

.

.

Fixing up the sink and cleaning the kitchen takes about two hours of team effort, or mostly Tony effort, because turns out he's the kind that doesn't really like it when someone else is in the kitchen with him at the same time, so you're mostly on the side watching him work, and fetching him whatever he needs.

He even makes you go change shoes in case water leaks, so when you come back with bright yellow wellies, he laughs and asks if you've got a torch.

You're squatting next to Dex as he works under your sink, and he makes you hold the light steady for him.

"Good?" You randomly ask to check if you're doing a good job.

"Yeah, it's good, we're almost done," He hums.

"Okay," You squeak, because you're so close to him you can feel his body heat, especially since he took his wet t-shirt off. He was shirtless, and he looks much more bigger now for some reason.

You try to stay respectful and not stare too much, but he's so strong. You can't keep your eyes away from the blonde hairs on his arms and chest, the small, tiny freckles, and especially the scars. Like, he has so many. You remember him telling you a while back that he works in security, so maybe that's how he got them? But then, he's got a lot of them, his job must be super dangerous, you only hope he gets paid handsomely. But you dread to think that might not be the reality, because he lives in this dump of an apartment building with you.

So maybe he's a spy. Or a contract killer. Or a super-hero!

Whatever and whoever he is doesn't really matter. He's your neighbour and he's kind.

Then you see the big scar down his back, from his neck to his tailbone and you feel bad for him. Sadness settles heavily in your belly, he must've almost died to get a scar that big. Physical therapy must've been hell.

You're pulled out of your thoughts and you're standing in front of Dex and he's looking at you with a clenched jaw. His eyes are laser focused on yours, as if he's trying to pull something out of you. He's still shirtless and the floor is still wet by that point.

You blink up at him, "What happened to your back?"

Dex's hands clench into fists by his sides, and he attempts a simple smile but fails, "Work Injury,"

"Did you get compensation?" You ask.

"No, but I will, soon," He answers and it makes sense in your head. These things take a long time to get sorted, with lawyers and stuff. So he's saving money by living in a place like this until he gets his settlement.

"Does it hurt?" Now you should probably shut up.

"Sometimes,"

"I'm sorry, that must be hard," You apologise and you're confused, and a little surprised to see a big, honest smile appear on his face, "Thank you,"

Your heart leaps in your chest, as if you've said something without knowing what it means. Like, you're somehow not in the loop anymore, "Do you—" You clear your throat, "Nevermind, I'll just get you a new t-shirt,"

Dex watches you disappear off to your bedroom, then come back with a folded t-shirt and a towel. He grabs the towel first, wiping his neck, shoulders, belly, anywhere water touched him really, because he's sort of semi-dry.

Dex grabs the black t-shirt handed to him without thinking and he shakes it loose, frowning at the size of it, "Who's t-shirt is this?"

"Mine??"

"This t-shirt…is three times your size," Dex says and the sudden coldness in his voice makes you nervous.

Dex glances down at the item in his hand, it's black, a colour he's never seen you wear, and it was clearly a men's t-shirt by the cut and of course, the size of it, it'd fit him, but it won't fit you.

"Uh, it's mine, I promise, I didn't steal it from anyone or anything!" You spill out clumsily. It was the truth but you're not sure you had to tell him you didn't steal it. "I buy them big like this to sleep in them comfortably!"

Dex flips the offending piece of clothing over and there's text on the back, white and bold, 'MY TUMMY HURTS'

"Oh," Dex says, shoulders sagging and smiling.

At his reaction, you smile too, anxiety leaving you all together, "It's mine, swear it,"

"I know," He chuckles, slipping it on, and when he smooths it over his chest, he tucks his chin in, smelling the collar, "Smells nice,"

"Yeah, it's just been washed,"

"We should have dinner together, you said you owed me," Dex smiles, leaning against the counter, completely relaxed like he wasn't seriously, for a split second, contemplating killing himself after he leaves to his apartment at the idea of you giving him some other man's clothes to wear after he's been looking out for you and taking care of you.

"Yeah, sure, what do you want?" You open your fridge, looking inside.

"Sandwiches and chips," He answers.

You're surprised, you'd imagine he'd want a more elaborate dinner considering the labour he's been doing for you for half of the day, "Okay, like TV dinner or dinner dinner?"

"TV dinner, at my place this time," He chuckles and you laugh, "Yeah, okay,"

"Wouldn't wanna give my TV ideas about breaking down too,"

"Yeah, or I'll have to stay here forever, fixing stuff for sandwiches and Jammie Dodgers," Dex jokes easily, and you ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach at his words.

"Oh, there's still orange juice left, could have it with the sandwiches!" You exclaim.

"Yeah, why not,"

"Oooh, I can make dip to go with the chips!"

"Sounds like a date," He smiles.

"My package!" she squeaked, reaching for it. "I’m so sorry, did the mailman drop it at your door again?"

He didn't hand it over immediately. He looked down at the plushie, his brow furrowing as the music reached a high-pitched, sparkly crescendo.

"It's been doing that for ten minutes" he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

"It’s a gift for myself" she explained, feeling her face heat up as she took the soft, singing mountain of pink from him. "It’s motion-activated. I hope it didn't... distract you from your work."

He looked at her then—a long, unreadable stare that made her want to hide behind the plushie's long pink ears. He stayed silent for a beat, the only sound being the toy chirping a final, upbeat melody.

"It's bright" he finally noted.

"I'll turn it off! I'm sorry."

He gave a single, stiff nod. He started to turn away toward his own door, but paused. He glanced back at the pink fluff in her arms, then at her.

"The music" he said, his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. "It’s catchy."

Before she could respond, he was already stepping into his apartment. The door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the hall with her singing plushie.

Dex can't sleep sometimes. He's grown used to it by now. So it's not really concerning to him. So instead of staring at his ceiling in silence in his bed, he gets up, slips on his hoodie and trainers and leaves his flat. He climbs up the stairs carefully, making sure not to make too much noise. He's not sure why he does it, but he really wants to be left alone. Especially since it's quite early in the morning that it's still dark out. Dex soon ends up on the rooftop of his apartment complex. He breathes in the cold air of NYC. The city is still half asleep and it makes something in his chest settle, until a wet sensation hits the back of his neck. Dex tenses up and he ever so slowly turns around, ready to beat the shit out of anyone who dared to bother him. When it happens again. Now right in his face. Dex huffs, whips his head to the side, glaring, until he realises it's fucking bubbles. Soap bubbles. There's a trail of them floating his way from around the corner of the rooftop door. Dex slowly makes his way around, following the bubbles until he comes face to face with the source of them. It's you, sitting criss-cross apple sauce with a long tube of soap liquid in your hand. You're facing the city and you're completely oblivious to Dex towering over you. He's confused to say the least. What the hell are you doing blowing bubbles at four in the fucking morning? He should probably leave you be. But he's speaking before he can help himself, "What are you doing?" You flinch, clearly startled. Whipping your head around, you sigh in relief when it's just your neighbour, the same one who opened that pickle jar ages ago for you. "Oh, it's you," "Yeah..." Dex squints at you, hands by his sides, he clenches his fists for one second before he relaxes. He fights the urge to shove them in his pockets. Even if it's quite cold outside. "I'm de-stressing. You wouldn't believe how satisfying it is to blow bubbles," You say. Dex stares at you. "Do you wanna try?" You ask, looking up at him. Dex slowly lowers himself to the ground, sitting exactly as you are, criss-cross apple sauce. Your knees almost touching. Almost. "No, thanks," He sighs, looking at the city spread out right in front of the two of you.

"You smell like blood," You comment flippantly. And he does. He smells like blood and antiseptic. Dex did get up to some murderous sprees a couple of days ago. Going up against the AVTF time after time. He really doesn't like them. And even more so the man they're working for. Anyway. He's healing up now after he patched himself up a couple of times. He can feel the tape stuck to his side where a bullet grazed him. It feels a little wet. He should probably change the plaster as soon as possible. "Did you get into a fight?" You ask, completely oblivious to who's actually sitting next to you. You have yet to ask for his name. Dex doesn't even know if you know his name. From the landlady telling you about how much of a good boy he is. But he knows yours. You haven't told him but it's not like it was hard to find out. Your mail is right there at the bottom of the stairs

"No, it's just a work incident," He doesn't see the point in lying to you completely.

"What the hell, man. What do you do for work?" You ask and blow a really big bubble right in front of him. It's so big it looks like it's about to sink down but the wind picks up and it floats away, higher and higher until it pops. "Security," "Ah, figures," You hum. Dex turns his head to look at you better, "What's that ?" "You're very strong, makes sense, you'd be good at it," You shrug, casual as ever. "Not really, I got hit," Dex sighs, and it bothers him a little bit, that he'd ended up bleeding while fighting those dimwits. He should get better. Faster. Even if realistically he knew the chances of him getting hit were exponentially higher when he goes against a whole team of them vs just him. What'd he expect? But Dex knows deep down he can do better. "Yeah, it sucks but it comes with the job, no?" You look at him. Dex blinks, "I guess you're right," He smiles and takes a deep breath, putting both palms flat on the floor behind him and leaning a little back. You two stay quiet for a couple of minutes until Dex speaks again, "Can I have a go?" Your grin is immediately, "Sure," Dex is glad you don't say anything else after that, you just hand him your little toy and he starts blowing bubbles as you watch him with a big smile. "Better than a cigarette, huh?" You comment and Dex snorts, "What're you talking about?" "You have to admit it, it's kinda better," You say again, teasing. "Hm, I don't know, I wouldn't inhale this soap liquid, probably tastes like shit," He chuckles and you laugh. "Yeah, but a cigarette can't do this!" You say, pointing at a very long bubble Dex was gently blowing into. Only that it doesn't really form into a bubble and bursts right in your face when you get too close. Droplets of liquid goes right in your mouth. "Ewwwwww! It got in my mouth!" Dex laughs and doesn't do anything as you scrunch your nose and try to wipe your tongue with the collar of your t-shirt. "Yuck!" "Better than a cigarette, huh?" Dex smirks. "Oh, shut up,"

Your neighbour was super strong!

"Oh my gosh, thank you so much!" You grin, squealing with joy. Your perfect sandwich waiting for you in your kitchen, your YouTube video essay sitting on standby on your laptop. You're so excited to just sit and eat.

Dex chuckles, and hands you the jar carefully, "Be careful, okay? Don't want you to spill pickle juice all over your t-shirt," He sounds so gentle and soft. You'd imagine he'd sound gruff or mean, but he doesn't, he's quite soft spoken, even if he looks like he could beat the shit out of you without breaking a sweat. Is he some professional athlete?

You gently grab the jar from dex's hands, your cold fingers cradling his warmer ones for a couple of seconds until he's sure the jar is steady in your hands.

"Okay, I'm gonna go now, I owe you one, thanks, dude!" You grin, grateful.

"Don't worry about it," He smiles and gives you a nod as you walk back to your flat, "Bye!" You yell over your shoulder and Dex watches you until you're gone.

A small private smile lingers on his face even when he closes and locks his door again. You seem quite nice. And harmless.