Calamus ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִELLIOT ~ elios, god of plakous, delivery, and messages.

— Obviously, since he's the God of delivery and messages, he's going to deliver stuff you stuff.

— You could turn your back for one second, but as soon as you turn back around, there's suddenly piles of gifts.

— When it comes to telling you things, he refuses letters. He doesn't have the time to write them, but he does find time to quickly visit you and tell you how much he loves and misses you.

— Does he talk fast? Yes, but you've been with him for long enough to understand everything he's saying.

— Elios also really loves physical affection.

— Whenever he's finally given a break, he'd drag you off to your shared room, and he'd plop down on top of you as soon as you lay down on the bed.

— He loves to rest his head on your chest, pressing kisses to your skin while his arms wrap around you.

— After delivery messages all day without break, he prefers to listen to you talk, and while you're talking, he just stares at you with lidded eyes and a small smile.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִCHANCE ~ kubos, god of luck, gambling, and risk.

— Kubos likes to worship you through flirting.

— Every conversation includes him flirting with you as much as possible, but their flirts aren't repetitive.

— They are a little stupid, though.

— It's the thought that counts.

— He also loves kissing you, and their favorite way to kiss you is by pecking everywhere on your face.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִBUILDERMAN ~ tekton, god of building, architect, and fire.

— Tekton loves to make statues of you.

— Whenever he's not working on stuff for Mount Eremos or helping mortals with their architect, he's most likely making statues of you.

— In his palace on the mountain, he has a room dedicated to making statues. Some of them are for the other Gods, but most of them are of you.

— These statues would have every little detail of you chiseled into marble. Even the parts of you that you've told him you believed are flawed are added, for he wants you to know that every bit of you deserves to be worshipped.

— All the statues in the temples dedicated to you were made by him.

— Whenever he's helping mortals and they try to make statues of you or drawings, he always points out what they get wrong.

— They ask how he knows that, and since he's in mortal form and can't really admit who he is, he just says that he has a feeling.

— If you were to point out something an insecurity of yours on a statue he made, he'd kiss whatever part it is and talk about how much he loves you.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִGUEST 1337 ~ andros, god of warfare, brutality, and blood.

— Even though he's known as a brutal God carved from war, this God falls softer than any mortal below for you.

— He tries to act firm like he has no weakness, but he does, and it's you.

— A simple smile from you would have him rushing away from whatever he's doing to you.

— He's very physically affectionate, so he shows his love by holding you and constantly having his hands on your sides.

— But with that, he's also very protective.

— He will not let anyone come too close unless you're okay with it. If he notices the slightest bit of discomfort from you, that person is being sent away.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ007N7 ~ alexo, god of forgiveness, regret, and mercy.

— He shows his love to you through actual worship.

— Since he has to stay with the mortals below and you live on Mount Eremos, this God can't always see you, and you can't always see him.

— So, he settles for visiting the temple dedicated to you. He'd go whenever the building was free from peering eyes and nosy ears, and he'd place something he believed you'd like on a marble table inside.

— And then he'd talk to you. He wouldn't ask for anything, for the only thing he had ever wanted was you.

— He would talk as if you both were having a conversation. Obviously, you weren't with him, but since he was in speaking your name, you were still able to hear him no matter where you were.

— He'd tell you about Charis, the child he chose to save over all of Mount Eremos, and he would tell you about the child's achievements.

— On the rare occasion you're able to visit him without getting caught, he remains in his mortal form while you approach him as a deity.

— Obviously, since you're a deity, you're bound to be a bit taller than his mortal form, so you'd have to lean down to kiss him.

— Sometimes he would take Charis with him. The child refers to you as Alexo's lover, so that means Charis will most likely refer to you as his parent.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִTELAMON ~ god of thunder, birds, and decisions.

— His worship for you is very...blunt, you could say.

— If he wants to love you or if he wants space, he'll let you know. He can go from "kiss me" to "go away" real quick.

— Since he doesn't want to be viewed as weak, he doesn't really show affection to you. He has no clue if anyone is watching or not, and he can't let the other Gods think he's weak.

— But behind closed doors, all it takes for his ego to crumble is a slight touch from you.

— He'd have his wings around you while his face would be buried in your neck, and he'd mumble against your skin about how no mortal deserved to even think your name.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ1X1X1X1 ~ sapizo, god of negativity, loneliness, and death.

— Sapizo is a silent lover, refusing for their love to be defined by the words she speaks.

— He's learned that words form lies, and while they don't believe that you'd lie, she fears you think she will—no matter how many times you assure him that you wouldn't ever think that.

— So, Sapizo dedicates their time to doing things for you.

— Since he doesn't really talk much, it gives her more time to listen. Everything you say is noted by them in their mind, and if you're talking about dreams or something you want, you best believe he really listens then.

— You once complained about how dull it was in the Underworld. Of course, you'd expect nothing less since the place did house the dead, but that didn't stop you from disliking the lack of color.

— Sapizo had colorful plants added the next sunrise, and when you woke up, there were bursts of color everywhere.

— You'd stare at the color in front of you with wide eyes, Sapizo would walk up behind you before placing her hands on your waist. They'd quietly asked if you liked it while pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

— She would try to write you love letters if you love verbal affection, but they would probably be small notes saying how he was in love with you and they would write down a compliment.

ELLIOT ~ cook.

— Elliot is probably the most cautious when it comes to keeping your relationship a secret.

— He not only fears for your reputation, but he fears for his job. He didn't know how your advisor would react to the fact that you both were in love, but Elliot was certain that it would just end in him losing his job at the castle.

— No matter how many times you reassure him that he wouldn't lose his place in your castle, the man just refuses to believe it. Maybe he would if he were a knight of some other role in your castle, but he was a mere cook—someone who could be tossed aside without second thought.

— Even though he's always concerned about you both getting caught one day, when he's actually with you, those fears fall silent.

— Whenever you both wish to see the other, you either meet in the gardens or the kitchen whenever it's free of the other workers.

— The gardens are almost always safe whenever night falls, for everyone is either finishing their work in the castle or they're sleeping.

— This gives you and Elliot the chance to sit on a stone bench that's hidden by trees and bushes. If anyone were to look out the windows of the castle, they'd just be met with the dull greenery in the night.

— When you and Elliot meet up, the first thing he does is intertwine your fingers with his.

— After a whole day of not being able to hold you, it's all he wants to do, so expect many hugs and for him to have an arm around you if you're alright with it.

— Every time you both secretly meet up, he brings you your favorite snack or meal wrapped in a picnic basket.

— He'll ask you about your day while pressing kisses to the back of your hand, and he'll tell you about whatever chaos happened in the kitchen that day if you were curious.

— There would be whispered wishes of running away and such, but those words were nothing but dreams. He knew that neither you or him could afford to run away, but it made his heart ache a little less hearing you reciprocate his thoughts.

— During the day, Elliot would refuse to show affection unless he was certain nobody was around. When areas are clear, he gives you quick kisses and compliments before having to go back to his job.

— He sometimes writes messages on your plate in sauce whenever the meal has it. It would be one word, like "love" or "miss".

— If asked about it, he claims that he was simply practicing his skills.

— That's as risky as he'll get—little messages on plates and quick kisses.

CHANCE ~ squire.

— Chance is the worst about keeping your relationship a secret.

— Not because he outright shows affection to you in the open—no—they just like to do risky stuff.

— There have been plenty of times where Chance would pull you into a hidden corner of the hallway, and he'd just kiss you right there.

— While he doesn't give you affection in front of others because they don't wish to ruin your reputation, if it were up to him, he'd be all up on you no matter who was present.

— They could care less about their reputation. If he couldn't become a squire because of his love for you, then so be it.

— They have a habit of sneaking into your room at night because they miss you, and his defense when you ask him what he's doing is that you left your door unlocked.

— Which you did specifically for him, but he didn't need to know that.

— They wink at you whenever you're on the balcony overseeing the training grounds.

— Your presence does lead to him getting distracted, which leads to them getting trampled or hit, but he says it's worth it.

BUILDERMAN ~ mason.

— He's not entirely worried about you both getting caught, for it's unlikely that anyone would catch you and him.

— Since he's a mason, he spends most of his time signing paperwork and making the designs for things. The only time he's not doing that is when he's at construction sites helping people and such.

— So, if you're able to sneak out of the castle and into his work without being spotted, you're able to spend much time with him.

— No one enters his office whenever he's inside without knocking, so he can easily send them away when you're hanging out with him.

— The easiest way to hang out with him is to ask for a statue to be made of you, and then specifically ask for him.

— He's the best mason in the village, and he happens to know his way around marble and stone.

— He's made many small and large statues of you simply because you wanted to see him, and he'll continue to make as many as you want until you both—hopefully—won't have to keep this relationship secret.

— His only thing is that whenever he makes a new statue, he always pauses on your face and asks for you to come closer so he can make sure he gets it just right.

— He then proceeds to press kisses all over your face before getting back to work.

007N7 ~ royal advisor.

— Out of everyone, 007n7 worries the most because of his role.

— As your royal advisor, it's his job to inform you on the best decisions you could make, but this secret relationship with you seemed like the worst decision possible.

— Not that he doesn't like his relationship with you—he loves it, and he certainly loves you—he just fears for your reputation. Everyone looks up to you, and he can't imagine how everyone would react if they found out you were in love with your advisor out of all people.

— You should be with another ruler, he believed. It would be best for the kingdom, after all, and it was his job to make sure everything done benefited the kingdom in some way.

— But was it so wrong for him to be selfish just this once? For you to finally focus on what you wanted and not the kingdom?

— Luckily for you both, people knew not to disturb you and him when alone because they were convinced you were discussing serious matters.

— In reality, you're in his work quarters where the only thing being discussed is whatever he whispers between your shared kisses.

— Does he attempt to talk about royal matters during this? Yes—it's 007n7, for crying out loud—but all you have to do is kiss him a bit harder, and then he'll fall quiet.

— Whenever you're both around people, he can't look at you because he gets flustered.

— He has stammered during meetings all because your eyes were on him, and he'd have to clear his throat before using the excuse that he just didn't sleep well.

GUEST 1337 ~ commander of knights.

— Guest is iffy when it comes to you properly keeping your relationship a secret.

— On one hand, he answers to you and only you. Whatever you wish, he obliges.

— And you know this well—far too well for his liking.

— You wouldn't make it evident that you both were secretly together, but everyone would be confused on why the commander of knights was constantly by your side, or why he kisses the back of your hand so much.

— Just to tease him, you'd call him "love" or anything similar whenever others were around, but instead of being met with his silence, he'd raise an eyebrow before questioning if you needed anything.

— The most affection he would give you in public is that he'd let you have your arm in his while you both walked around, and he'd lean down to whisper stuff to you that only you could hear.

— He will give you more affection during parties with other kingdoms, though.

— He does it out of jealousy, for he notices the way other rulers stare at you, or even knights. He understands that your relationship with him is secret for a reason, but he doesn't hesitate to place a hand on your hip while standing beside you with a cold stare.

— He doesn't say anything, but his look does intimidate whoever you're speaking to.

A while back, if Devesto were to be asked if he had a home, he probably would've said no.

Not because he didn't own a house—he technically did if you count him using an abandoned one—but he didn't enjoy the idea of being close to one specific place. A home was often depicted as a place of comfort and safety, and to Devesto, that definition was too intimate for someone like him.

He was a criminal that refused to even think of the idea that he was confined to one place, so to assure himself that he didn't have a home, he just left his place bare. The house he owned had overgrown grass, weeds, and the inside was worse. It was dusty in every room except the one he slept in, but even then, all there was in that room was a mattress with some blankets and a pillow.

He never planned on taking care of that house.

But then you came along with your eyes that gleamed whenever you looked at him, and a smile that had him captivated the first time he saw it.

For so long, he had fought the way his heart practically slammed against his chest whenever he even got a glance at you. He'd roll his eyes at you and mumble responses whenever you questioned him, but despite his attempts to get you to go away, you never did. You just nodded at his answers before you continued to talk.

After every interaction with you, he'd find himself running to his house—the place he never cared for because it was confining. He'd slam the door behind him before grasping at his tie, feeling the way his heart raced under his clenched fist.

He didn't understand why it had to be you—why it had to be you that made him feel like this. The only time he felt adrenaline was when he was committing crimes and terrorizing citizens.

But you didn't fear him despite that. Whenever you saw him, you greeted him as if were someone worth greeting.

As if he were normal.

Usually, the word made a sense of disgust wash over him, but the idea of it coming from you didn't give the effect it usually did.

As time went on, Devesto's responses grew less bored and murmured, and he answered your questions with more thought. He noticed his change, and by the look on your face whenever he spoke, you had noticed, too.

His responses weren't the only thing that had changed about him. Slowly, he had started asking you questions and made jokes whenever he could. He found himself walking away from buildings he planned to destroy and towards you whenever you were across the street, and his reasoning for doing so was because he could always go back to that building later.

Later never came, though—not without you, at least.

Whenever he wasn't doing crime, he was with you. You both would either walk the streets of the hellish city around you, or you'd even invite him to your place sometimes if you got tired but still wanted to hang out.

Hours would pass with you both talking or watching whatever was on the television. Most of the time, it was news about the criminals around the city, and Devesto would tell you the truth about any of the criminals you had questions about.

Occasionally, there would actually be a movie on, and those rare movies are what lead to him accepting how he felt about you.

He had always been aware that he liked you—even if he did deny it every time his heart reminded him of his feelings—but he didn't expect it to be anything more. He expected this little crush to eventually fade like everything else does.

But when your head would slump against his shoulder as you drifted off into sleep, he couldn't deny that he loved the thought of you.

He loved the thought of you being with him despite everything—despite the crimes, the shambled world, and everything else.

He loved the thought of you being the first thing he sees in the morning, and the last thing he sees at night.

And suddenly, that thought led him to spending his stolen money on things he previously would have deemed foolish.

He got his lawn taken care of, and he bought whatever furniture you recommended or whatever things made your eyes light up whenever he showed you his phone.

His house looked a bit more together after some time. The rooms were actually clean and filled with furniture, decorations, and more. It felt weird to walk into a place he once only entered just to sleep, but with everything he had added, he found himself going there more—most of the time with you by his side since he'd invite you over a lot.

But eventually, he didn't need to invite you. There would be times where you would just show up on his doorstep, and it got to the point where he ended up just giving you a key to make it easier for you and him.

As odd as it sounds, Devesto is pretty sure that key was the whole reason where he was now.

The rain pattered around him but not on him, for the umbrella he held kept him dry. His free hand was in the pocket of his jacket while he looked around.

The streets were empty, but that's how it was most nights. People who hadn't made it to the government bunker were hesitant to be out even during the day, so it wasn't shocking that nobody wanted to be out at night.

Devesto didn't mind. It just meant he was able to return to his house without the irritating sight of people rushing around or pointing out who he was.

The small puddles on the sidewalk rippled whenever his shoes grazed them, and he eventually stood right in one before stopping.

The water beneath his feet shifted while he looked down into his distorted reflection. When the puddle stilled, he was met with a clear image of himself with one side of him being illuminated by a warm light. He lifted his head to look to his side, and his gaze was filled with the sight of his house.

The porch light was on, unlike the rest of the neighborhood who had theirs off. The front door beamed in the light, and Devesto slowly started to make his way towards the porch.

As soon as he got there, he bent down to pick up the plant that was right beside the door—the plant you had suggested on buying because it made the porch seem a little more lively. At his action, his glasses slightly slipped from his nose, and his eyebrows furrowed as he stood up.

With the umbrella still in hand and the plant in the other, Devesto moved to set the pot the plant was in down onto the wet grass of the lawn. When he stepped back to be under the canopy above the porch, he watched as the rain fell on the deep green leaves of the plant, and he fixed his glasses before turning around to head towards the door.

He grabbed his key out of his pocket, and he inserted it into the keyhole before twisting. When he heard the lock click, he pulled the key out and slid it into his jacket pocket, and he reached out to open the door.

When it creaked open, Devesto remained outside as he attempted to close the umbrella. It closed halfway before deciding to stay like that, and Devesto frowned whlie he made his way into the house.

He kicked the door closed behind him while he continued to struggle with the umbrella—the object either opening once more or closing halfway.

"Fuckin' umbrella—" He grumbled as droplets from the umbrella fell onto the floor, and whenever it finally decided to shut, he leaned it against the wall before slipping off his shoes.

They were placed right next to yours near the door, and as he shrugged off his jacket, he called out.

"Sweetheart?" The name rolled off his tongue with ease as he hung his jacket up on a nearby wall hook, but the fabric remained in his grasp once he comprehended that he hadn't gotten a response from you.

"Hello?"

It was a possibility that you were asleep, for it was rather late, but the fact that there were still lights on in the house said otherwise.

Devesto let go of his jacket before locking the door, and he walked into the living room as his eyes skimmed the area.

The room thrived with furniture and decorations: paintings hung on the wall, framed photos of you and him were on a nearby bookshelf with other things, and the TV mounted on the wall was playing the news.

He frowned at the sight of his face—along with some other criminals—on the screen, and he glanced around for the remote until his eyes landed on the couch.

You were asleep with a blanket halfway covering you, and one of your arms was under the covers while the other was above your head.

He felt a grin threaten to sprawl on his lips at the sight of you, but he held it back once he noticed that the remote was on the coffee table. He walked over to grab it before turning the tv off, and he set the remote back down as he took a few steps to stand beside you.

He kneeled onto the ground before shifting to sit on his knees, and he leaned forward to press his lips against your forehead. They stayed there for a minute before he moved to lightly kiss your cheek, and when your eyes started to flutter, he moved back.

As your eyes opened and met his, the breath he had started to take hitched in his chest. It took you less than a second to recognize it was him, for he watched a familiar—way too familiar—light beam in your drowsy gaze.

"You're home..."

It was odd how just hearing your voice made his whole body relax: his shoulders slumped, his eyes fell lidded, and a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, I'm home, sweetheart. You were waitin' for me?"

You gave him a slight nod as you tiredly stared up at him, and he raised a hand to cup your cheek. His other hand rested on the couch, to which you slowly moved your hand out from under the blanket to skim your fingers with his. He gently grasped your hand, and he brought it up to his lips to press a light kiss against your skin before resting your joined hands against the couch.

"Where were you?"

He never liked that question.

Not because he didn't want to tell you, but because every time you ask, he's reminded of who he is.

He was a man who once took pride in his doings and held more arrogance than one should have, and while he still held satisfaction for his crimes, it was different now that you were in the picture. It was different now that he was reminded someone like you was with him, and that you question him so sweetly despite knowing his answer was bound to be anything but that.

He was a criminal.

You were not.

And out of the things he yearns to steal, the thing he wants most is to steal every little thought you've had of him so that he could finally understand why—

The feeling of his hand being squeezed made his thoughts falter, and his gaze focused on the tired smile you were giving him.

"You don't have to tell me." Your voice seemed even quieter than before. "I'm just glad you're home."

Home.

Devesto let out a small hum while his eyes shifted away from yours, and he eyed your form on the coach before looking back at you.

"You need to quit fallin' asleep on the couch..." He mumbled while his thumb traced your cheekbone. "Every time you do, I have to hear you gripe about your back hurtin' in the morning."

"I'll be fine..." You retorted with a bit of offense slipping into your tone at his accusation. Devesto picked up on your tone, and a light scoff left his throat as he felt his smile grow.

"You said that last time, and I woke up to you sayin' your back hurt."

You merely huffed at him, but you didn't deny what he said.

"Alright, lets get you to bed..." Devesto removed his hand from your cheek and let go of your hand, and he stood up from the ground as he rolled his shoulders back.

He grabbed the blanket that was on you and set it on top of the couch cushions, and you let out a sound of disapproval before he slid one of his arms under your knees, and the other under your shoulder.

As he lifted you from the couch, he felt his glasses lower more on his nose, but before he could frown, you raised a hand to push them back up.

He took in the look of you through his lenses—your head on his chest, your eyes fluttering in a way that told him they were threatening to close, and how one of your hands fidgeted with his tie.

Your shared room wasn't too far from the living room, and Devesto made sure to turn before going through the doorframe so he didn't hit your head.

He slightly leaned down so he could pull back the covers before gently setting you down on the bed, but before he could stand back up fully, you lightly tugged on his tie.

The fabric became loose at your action, and he raised an eyebrow at you in expectance for an answer. All you did was look up at him in silence, and it took him a moment before he realized what you were doing.

"You couldn't have just asked? I can't read your mind, sweetheart..." He spoke before bracing one of his hands beside your head. He leaned down to press his lips against yours, and he felt your hand cup his cheek before he pulled away.

"But you still knew what I wanted."

At your remark, he smiled before kissing you once more, and your hand trailed to the back of his head to mess with his hair.

"I'm gonna go turn off the lights..." He mumbled against your lips. "change..." He paused for a moment before he broke the kiss, and he pressed his forehead against yours. "Then I'll get in bed."

You let out a short hum, but despite his words, he didn't move. He just stayed there for a moment while you messed with his hair, but you eventually removed your hand before speaking. "You should probably go do that..."

With one final, teasing peck to your lips, Devesto stood up before he walked over to the door.

As soon as he was out of your sight, his steps became quickened as he quickly turned off whatever lights were still on in the house, but when he made his way back to the bedroom, he slowed down before entering.

He closed the door behind him before pausing, and he took note of the way your back was facing him while the cover on top of you rose and fell with every breath you took.

It was humorous to think about how this room had once just held a single mattress, but now it held much more than that. It had an actual bed with nightstands on either side of it, and there was a dresser with a TV on top of it.

But most importantly, there was you.

And as he quietly made his way into the bathroom to chance, he could only think about one thing.

The cabin is quiet today.

Groups of two or three are sprinkled around the main room, lounging on the furniture or huddling in circles against a wall. Some simply chatted, indulging in fond memories and sharing anecdotes about their past lives. Others jab and tease over a salvaged board game from the lake, arguing over a hardly legible rulebook and damaged player pieces.

It's a fleeting moment of peace — a delicacy in the midst of chaos. An offer this realm's prisoners will gladly take.

Including you.

Your jaw finally goes slack, your hands no longer the trembling messes you often found them in whenever you looked down. The concept of time felt mostly obsolete here, but you could tell it had been much too long since you've last allowed yourself to relax. Who would have guessed the throbbing pain in your legs due to running for your life hurt more when you stopped?

To be fair, you never accounted for being tossed into a looping murder game.

Flopping onto the couch with a creaky bounce, you sprawl out like a starfish. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, staring blankly at the wooden rafters as a deep exhale deflates your chest. You knew there were a handful of activities at your disposal, and more than enough company to distract you until the end of the intermission. All options you'd likely consider if you weren't too tired to move.

Every part of your body screamed at you. Your eyelids burned from staying open for too long, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you blinked. Not many of your teammates dwelled on trying to sleep, given how brutally short these grace periods were. But you can't help yourself. You'd be satisfied with five minutes of shut-eye, for God's sake.

Slumping one arm carelessly over the armrest, you supported your head with the other, legs shifting below to adjust for comfort.

It was only when you were about to drift off that you heard a familiar voice.

“Scoot over, sugar.”

Your head immediately shot up.

There stood Chance, suit in hand, needle and thread dangling between their lips. Having no one to inevitably win against on the slot machines must've finally bored him, not to mention catching the sight of his partner draped across the downstairs couch alone.

Limbs scrambling, you contort and flail, rushing to sit up properly.

“Don't get your hopes up. I gotta fix my suit first.” The suggestive joke barely flies over your head as they move to claim the recently freed seat. Still somewhat drowsy, your own voice stumbles out of you in a slurred mumble:

“Huuuuuh? ”

What the hell, sure. Whatever you tried to spit out totally counts as a response.

You hear a poorly stifled snicker from Chance while he reiterates, “Gotta sew my suit back together. Lady Luck's been a real bummer as of late.”

Ah. You’re able to connect the dots now. And you're awake.

Plucking the threaded needle from his mouth, the garment now lies across Chance's lap, spilling onto the adjacent cushion. Multiple slashes have ripped the sleek linen, a mixture of what looked to be either claw or sword marks, partnered with a barrage of bullet holes. Their new position reveals a neat pile of squared fabric patches, stacked from biggest to smallest. This thing has seen better days.

They roll back the sleeves of their white dress shirt, deft fingers beginning to sift through the pile. Grabbing a piece to measure next to the nearest tear, a sudden pause in their calculated movements alerts you out of your silent observing.

“Somethin’ the matter, babe?”

Your face burns in embarrassment. Damn those shades for hiding their eyes so well.

Although, come to think of it, you did have a question.

“You can sew?” It's a bit more blunt than you intended, but honest nonetheless. Chance didn't really strike you as the kind of person to sew, let alone know how to.

Chance flashes you a grin, now turning to fully face you as if they had expected your confusion. Giving a loose shrug of the shoulders, they hum. “Sure I can! Never had much use for it, though.”

“How often does your suit get wrecked?”

“Enough to make me sew. Wanna help out?”

Raising a brow, you shoot him a playfully accusatory glare. “You're only saying that because you don't want to do everything yourself, aren't you?”

Chance leans back, feigning an offended gasp. Their free hand raises to their forehead like a sickly damsel on the verge of collapse, pitching their voice to match the cheesy theatrics.

“You wound me! Why would I ever suggest such a cruel, heartless thing? Perhaps I should leave, so you may continue your couch beauty rest in peace…”

An elbow to the ribs thankfully puts an end to their teasing.

“Ow—! Hey!”

Eventually catching his breath after erupting into a short fit of wheezy coughing and choked laughter, you're given the needle and half of the pile of fabric. Seems like you'd be splitting the work to keep it fair.

Which would have been fine.

If you didn't fail to mention that you have absolutely zero idea how to sew.

You’re already fumbling with the tool the moment it's put in your hand, clumsily maneuvering it from finger to finger and poking your palm with the sharp tip. Hunching your back, your other hand enters the equation, face scrunching as the needle continues to prick you. Not enough to draw blood, but more than enough to drain you of your dignity.

A few aggravated grumbles is all Chance needs to hear.

“You dunno know how to sew, do you?”

His statement puts a momentary halt to your frustrated attempts. Taking advantage of the opportunity, his hands move to blanket yours, gently prying the needle from your white-knuckled grasp.

“Here,” he says, “lemme show ya.”

Your heart skips a beat as their arms slither around you, pulling you in close. They don't stop until your back is flush against their chest, head tucked snugly beneath their chin. Guiding you back to the needle, it's carefully slid back in your hand — now with Chance bending and positioning your fingers to hold it correctly. You felt like one of those poseable mannequin dolls in an art classroom.

Insistent on your comfort, they kept asking for your approval whenever they moved. You probably heard the same question at least a dozen times, the phrases “are you okay?” or, “is this uncomfortable?” tightroping on endearing and annoying a little too well.

The needle finally disappears into the clashing shades of gray once you both settle.

“Hey, there you go! Not so hard now, is it? Now we just…”

Trailing off as he gives the thread a small tug, he leads you to loop the needle back up. Another secure tug, and the first stitch is complete.

The process repeats.

In and out. In and out.

By the first few stitches, you're already growing accustomed to the loop. It's repetitive — consistent. Hypnotic, almost. Minus the needle still poking you every once in a while, of course.

Chance punctuated each jolt and sharp suck of air through your teeth with a soothing hand rub, and each successful stitch with a steady stream of mumbled praise.

Your partner was an odd case, you've noticed. Despite having been in a relationship for a bit now, you still couldn't quite describe his character. He was a charming gambler, yes, but very rarely did he seem to branch outside of that. There definitely was more to him, it was just a matter of how much of himself he allowed to show. Or when he was willing to open up.

Something told you his poker face was a little more genuine than he'd like to admit when he was with you, though.

Before you knew it, you found yourself asking for the needle again.

“Knock yourself out. Someone needs to be my sewing successor.”

“Damn right. And I'll be better at it, too.” You puff out your chest, straightening your back in triumph. Your hands rest on your hips in false heroism.

Chance quirks a brow, scoffing. “Prove it.”

Oh, it's on.

You practically stabbed their suit, deciding to make a show out of your newfound skill. Flicking your wrist in a mockingly graceful gesture, you swoop the needle like a tiny metallic bird taking flight, the thread following close behind. It breaches the other side of the garment with a flourish.

“See? I'm awesome at this. Maybe you should be the one learning instead.”

Just as you're about to do it again, a loud BEEP interrupts you.

An eerie quiet washes over the cabin, freezing in place as multiple pairs of eyes lock onto the door. It's shut and locked, yet does nothing to combat the abrasive alarm blaring from the intercom outside.

Another round is starting.

Looks like your sewing lessons would have to be cut short.

A flurry of goosebumps ripples your skin. An all too familiar knot begins to twist and flip your stomach, the hairs on your arm and the nape of your neck standing up on end. Nothing ever prepared you adequately enough to quell the sickening drop of your heart or the lump in your throat.

Regardless, you have a murder game to participate in. And so does Chance.

Their grip on you tightens reflexively, keeping you in place as a warm palm comes to rest on your cheek.

“Chance? What're you do—!”

Forcing your head to tilt behind your shoulder, an abrupt kiss muffles any complaints you planned to make, melting into a soft sigh.

As they pull away, a breathless chuckle ghosts your parted lips.

“Who's better now, sucker?”

You don't know how it happened.

You hardly even remember it happening. Everything played out so fast.

The deep gash in your midsection burns in overwhelming pain, your hand having gone numb from trying to press the open wound shut. Everything around you is a blur, vague silhouettes of gnarly trees and broken buildings melting into an unrecognizable haze. Drowned by your shaky sobs and the tightness of your throat, your voice only comes out as an anguished croak.

You can't scream for help, no matter how much you're trying.

Just a moment ago, you were huddled with a group of your teammates, following in your paranoid frenzy as they worked to repair a generator. When the snap of a nearby twig startled the small crowd, you had attempted to flee with them, scrambling onto your feet and breaking into a sprint.

Until you felt something sharp snagging your shirt, pulling you backwards and tearing your side open.

Shot with adrenaline, you ran until you were panting in exhaustion. Chest heaving with each breath, your legs eventually gave out, collapsing in a patch of dried grass. As the dull ache in your side intensified to a constant piercing sting, the realization finally sank in:

You're professionally lost. And losing blood. Fast.

By now, your teammates must've been dead or far away from wherever you had landed yourself in. Howling wind and indistinct rustling replace their hushed whispers and careful footsteps, although it's hardly audible through your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

At least, aside from the ones you're hearing right now —

Wait.

Footsteps?

Despite your consciousness hanging by a thread, you try to squint your eyes to gauge the incoming person. Black spots dance around your vision as a testament to your injury, a strained cough racking your weak body while you try to contort it.

Your heart drops to your stomach the moment you manage to view the well-dressed figure.

Of all the killers it could've been, why did it have to be Mafioso?

His reputation preceded him; a ruthless mobster who wouldn't hesitate to knock out teeth if he didn't get what he wanted. Accompanied by his loyal henchmen, every story you heard about him never ended well, brandishing a killcount rumored to be in the hundreds.

It'd be no shock if he was the one who incapacitated you, now returning to snuff out the pitiful bloodied heap he'd reduced you to.

You struggled to wriggle away as he paced closer, not caring if your fate had already been sealed at this point. Somehow, managing a final defiant wail, your eyes screwed shut, praying that you magically bled out on the spot before he drew his sword.

But, strangely enough, it never happened.

Instead, you're suddenly enveloped in warmth, the smell of lingering cigar smoke filling your nostrils.

“C'mere, sweetie. Ain't anyone seen how ya look right now?”

Lifted into his large arms, Mafioso grunts in disapproval at your sorry state.

… This wasn't how the stories went. You should've been a headless corpse by now.

Confused, you try to peel an eye open, only to get nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“Don't keep lookin’ at that nasty wound,” he murmurs, “jus’ stay awake for me.”

A part of you wanted to argue. To kick and scream with your nonexistent energy to let you go, to yell that you'd rather die alone than in the hands of the cruel mafia. Yet there was none of that in his demeanor. He was acting so soft, gently carrying your hurting form as if you were a piece of fragile porcelain. Nothing gave you the impression that he wanted to hurt you.

A point further proven by how gracefully you're being placed down on the nearest elevated flat surface.

You felt like you weighed a thousand pounds. Faintly catching the clip of a box being cracked open, two gloved fingers work on carefully lifting your torn shirt to expose your gash. You wince upon the bandage wrappings touching the tender flesh.

“I know it hurts, I know. But you're doin’ a real good job for me, bunny.”

Hand twitching involuntarily, Mafioso's free one intertwines with yours. The closer he gets to look at the injury he's patching up, the more his brows furrow.

“This ain't look like a cut one of my men woulda done. Didja get caught on a branch or somethin’?”

You hum. Truthfully, you didn't know, but it wouldn't have surprised you. Getting stupidly hurt sounded common, judging by how others tended to describe you.

“Well, ya gotta be more careful,” Mafioso chides, “next time you get hurt, ya go directly to me. Understand?”

At this point, you were too delirious to question why the man who was meant to be hunting you down was saying all of this. Maybe it was better if you didn't. Regardless, you confirm with another broken hum.

“Good bunny.”

To this day, no one believes your story.

You're shortly found in the same spot Mafioso had bandaged you by the last few survivors of his carnage. He was right about how you got injured, according to everyone who saw, having apparently ran off before anyone could catch you.

The general consensus was drawn to you hallucinating in your hysteria, but you know what you saw. And you know what he said.

HYPERLASER.

giving.

ACTS OF SERVICE: - Some part of him used to be ashamed that he doesn't love as extravagantly and grandiosely as others. Unlike other inphernals, who could so easily embrace or cherish their partners with ease, Hyperlaser almost acts as if you're a complete stranger to him despite your being your lover.

- Too many times, he's "messed" everything up. He tries to offer you sweet praise, but his words are choppy and mumbled. They're curt and blunt, almost as if he's referring to you like a colleague rather than a partner. Then, he tries to offer you his physical affection, and they're clumsy too. It's either he handles you stiffly, like he's never held anyone in his life, That, or he handles you roughly, like he would anyone in a phight. You reassure him that there's no need to apologize for his inexperience, but he feels the guilt in his gut every time.

- Hyperlaser tries to make up for his awkwardness by making your day-to-day life less stressful. It'll be simple things. Maybe he's just opening and holding the door for you as often as he can. Maybe he's accompanying you on your errands. Or maybe he's smoothing the creases in your outfit. It's simple stuff he hopes you'll think is sweet; It's simple stuff he thinks you'll like.

- Over time, they're less and less simple, but he still believes his involvement in otherwise "insignificant" chores is nothing. He'll insist on cooking for you, whether that be in the rising dawn or the latest nights; It's a tender notion. Sometimes, you'll come home to the procrastinated pile of laundry done and neatly folded on your bed, courtesy of Hyperlaser. And when he feels his safest with you, he'll occasionally join you in the shower to do something like wash your hair for you.

- It is everything to you. It is everything that Hyperlaser is so persistently by your side. If not because of what he does to help you, then it's because he listens to each word of yours. He hangs onto each fleeting thought, complaint and comment of yours. He carries them onto the day in the hopes to make everything easier for you. It takes Hyperlaser time to realize that he has always been tender, soft, and loving the way that he believed fit. And so, through all of this, he learns that he doesn't need to change anything about himself or how he loves; He already loves as extravagantly and as grandiosely as he's seen.

receiving.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: - It's foreign to him. He's to used to being met with the violence and cruelty of skin ship, returning it with the same sentiments. Hyperlaser has known cracked ribs, swelling bruises, stinging cuts, and debris lodged in his limbs that he almost is unsure of what to do when its anything but. He nearly retreats from each gentle and innocent touch you offer him.

- It was bad the first time. You had unexpectedly touched his shoulder from behind, and so, he reflexively had spun his heel and nearly swung at you. Forgive him. So much of his younger days were spent on learning drill commands, firing through a sniper rifle, and learning how to kill. Hyperlaser had felt so guilty when he realized what he could've done. Spent an entire week trying to make it up to you despite your reassurances that "It was fine!" and that "It was an accident!"

- It takes time; Everything takes time. Hyperlaser allows himself the vulnerability that is letting his rigid guard down, if just with you. Only then, does Hyperlasser realize that he wholly adores your touch. He loves you. He loves to feel you. He loves to have you feel him. It's safe and secure to him, something that is so fleeting to him sometimes with his life as Blackrock Mercenary.

- Nevertheless, he greedily accepts whatever affection you lavish him with even if he does not openly express such. So lean against him, rest your head on his shoulder or on his helmet and trust him as he does to you. So hold his hand, intertwine your fingers with his own calloused ones. And most importantly, take off his helmet and take his scarred visage in your hands. Whisper your honeyed nothings and handle him like he is not the hardened mercenary he has become. Tell him, through your touch, that he is everything to you as you are to him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! yes i am writing out the requests, don't worry. i'm mainly posting this so i can get a feel for how i want to format my writing posts and i wrote this a long time ago...so with some revisions, here we go!! but yes, i am churning out requests :]

You had to admit, the kid had guts.

Despite the evident truth that Snatcher merely tolerated—to put it lightly—Hat Kid, the girl had no shame in constantly poking and prodding at the ghost. She'd often visit him in the Subcon Forest, and no matter how many times Snatcher threatened her, she just kept skipping into his forest to greet him.

Maybe it was because she knew he wouldn't break the contract they had signed, or maybe it was because she was truly oblivious to the disdain that tugged on his face whenever he saw her.

Who were you kidding? She definitely knew he disliked her, but knowing the girl, she was probably amused by his obvious irritation, and if you were being sincere, you found some hilarity in it as well.

It was interesting to see the ghost have genuine fear in his eyes whenever he caught a glimpse of her hat, but it was even more amusing to hear his grumbles as she forced him into some activity. You couldn't count the times you heard him seethe his hatred for her while she was right in front of him, placing colorful clips into his fur and making him keep them in until she left.

While those actions alone were ones you considered brave, the fact that she soon demanded Snatcher for more difficult challenges sealed your idea about her.

Though you found her bold for asking for more challenges, Snatcher considered her stupid, but that didn't stop him from giving the kid what she wanted.

Why did he do that after deeming her wishes idiotic? In blunt terms, he wanted her death.

Her death would make his serenity alive, and that single reason was enough for him to assign her plenty of challenges that would—hopefully—lead to her demise.

While your apprehension informed you to tell the girl to not agree, it was already too late, for she had hastily signed her first contract.

That single contract turned into more, and each challenge was more difficult than the last. Your worry for the kid eased with every contract she completed, for it became obvious that the girl could clearly handle these things, and bonus, you and Snatcher got invited to hang out in her rocketship until she finished all the contracts.

The place was warm and comfortable—a vast difference from the forest—and while you seemed to appreciate the new area, Snatcher only grumbled complaints under his breath while he took place in the pillow fort room.

The pillow fort room was where you both typically resided while the kid did her obligations, and today was no different.

The cushions around you shifted as you stretched, and you rolled your shoulders back while you relaxed against the mountain of pillows. The room was dimly lit, and you eyed the fake stars that were scattered across the walls. Eventually, your gaze landed on Snatcher, who sat on the edge of the platform above.

A few candles were present behind him while he held a book, and as you squinted your eyes, you could make out the bold title that said How to Kill Kids V.3.

You mentally questioned why there were three versions of that book and if Snatcher owned all of them, but the thought eventually subsided from your mind, for your attention flickered to Snatcher when he spoke up.

"It's rude to stare, y'know."

"It's rude to ignore your company, too." At your remark, the book he was holding was lowered onto his lap as a slight smirk appeared on his face.

"It's not like you're exactly trying to make conversation either, princess." A smile tugged at your lips at the sound of the name, and you lifted a hand to pat the pillows beside you.

"Maybe it's because you're sitting all the way over there."

"Maybe I want to stay here. This book is pretty entertaining, and you're boring." Snatcher's words only resulted in you narrowing your eyes, and a chuckle echoed from the ghost at your reaction. "I'm kidding."

"Sure you are..." Your words trailed as you watched Snatcher put the book beside him, and he lifted himself from his sitting position. He made his way off the platform, and after a moment, he was standing beside you.

Snatcher slowly sat down before he leaned back, and he flopped down against the pillows. His body slightly sank into them, and he grumbled as his body squirmed. "Why are these pillows so—?"

A noise of discomfort echoed from him, and he frowned before eventually giving up his attempts to escape.

You let out a snort of amusement at his irritation, leading to Snatcher tilting his head so he could see you. His frown only deepened. "Does my suffering entertain you?"

"Yes." You admitted bluntly, and Snatcher merely scoffed without a retort. Though, you noticed how his eyes slightly widened in the silence that followed your answer, and a wide grin sprawled across his face.

Confusion coated your mind as you opened your mouth to speak, but you weren't able to get any questions out, for the sight of Snatcher forcing himself into the mountain of pillows made you fall quiet.

You sat up on the cushions as you looked around, and you could feel the pillows shift. The little actions didn't pinpoint Snatcher's exact location—unfortunately—but it was only when you looked over your shoulder that you figured out why he had vanished in the first place.

You were pushed back as Snatcher tackled you, and his arms wrapped around you as you both rolled down the small mountain of pillows. When you settled at the bottom, you were on top of him, and your hands pressed against his chest as you tried to lift yourself up.

His arms only wrapped tighter around you at the action, though, and you partially frowned at him until he started to poke your sides.

You only started to squirm in his grasp, and the low chuckles that had been echoing from him erupted into full laughter. "Who's suffering now?"

"Stop poking me—!"

"But it's entertaining!"

At the sight of you shooting him a light glare, the ghost let out a dramatic sigh before unraveling his arms from your torso. Even though he let you go, you still remained on top of him, and you just relaxed against him now that he wasn't poking your sides.

The room fell into a silence that lingered, only being broken by the sound of your breaths.

The weight of your eyes only grew as you struggled to keep them open, and you shifted a little bit before eventually falling still as one of Snatcher's claws traced down your spine.

"Falling asleep on me, princess?" The tease in his voice was something you wanted to remark on, but all that left your throat was a short hum of irritation as he chuckled. "You're the one who said it was rude to ignore company. I even put down my book—very interesting, by the way—and came down here to talk to you."

You lifted your head a bit to stare at Snatcher, and you tiredly blinked at him before raising an eyebrow. "You want to talk?"

"Maybe I do." He remarked as he peered up at you with a smirk—the one you had grown insanely used to. "Maybe I wanted to talk about the wonderful weather we're having today, or maybe the latest news! Haven't you heard? Apparently, hats are tacky, now! If my challenge didn't make the kid suffer, I sure hope that fact does—"

Your hands shot out to grasp the fluff around Snatcher's neck, and you crashed your mouth against his before he could say anything else.

Typically, you would hold the conversation with Snatcher, but the previous energy you had felt earlier vanished the longer you stayed in this room. It was practically a trap for sleep, and you lying on Snatcher certainly wasn't helping your case.

As soon as you pulled back, you were met with Snatcher's wide grin and a slight yellow hue coating his face. "You meant that kind of talk..."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

You pressed your head against his chest as you heard him chuckle, and you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

“Fine.” The word was simply spoken, which gave you the false belief that he would actually let you rest. Were you idiotic to believe such a thing? Yes, because you knew how Snatcher was. He wouldn’t easily agree to something unless it meant he got their soul in return.

Slowly, Snatcher started to roll over until he was on top of you. His face was hidden in the crook of your neck while he sprawled out, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as you sighed. You didn’t attempt to push him off, though. You just let him rest against you as he pushed his head more into your neck, and some of the fluff around his neck grazed your skin.

Once again, silence hit the room while you closed your eyes, but the sound of a deep rumble echoing from Snatcher made you open them in slits before you questioned him.

“Are you purring?”

be that as it may, but even mercenaries get the flu.

hyperlaser, a demon filled with so much grit and grime behind his name—so much so that it warrants fear—has caught the typical sickness.

he knows it’s only nature. it’s an expected thing to happen to anyone when they don’t take care of themselves, and hyperlaser knows he isn’t the best at personal wellness. the constant schedule of being a hitman, body guard, and other miscellaneous things for quick cash is part of his qualifications. nobody said he had to get eight hours of sleep or eat his vegetables to do his job. it just didn’t feel necessary, he mistakenly thought.

this mindset obviously backfires as his consequences reside in his body. he feels hot, unusually so in comparison to blackrock’s weather. the snow that falls ever so delicately onto his clothes, and the cool touch makes him twitch. it makes him feel sensitive. in a way, the snowflakes burn into the thick fabric of his sleeves, and reminds him that he is not so scary after all. 

it’s not as if he’s never gotten sick before. he can count on various missions where he’s suffered from a fever, and still worked at the end of the night. sure, a cold or two may have issued a migraine while firing his shots, but hyperlaser is part of blackrock’s finest. he’s like no other. he never misses. that is the difference between him and the mass. 

but it’s oh, so embarrassing to admit that his body does weigh him down eventually. if not for surviving prior injuries that coat his entire body, hyperlaser would’ve thought that this was it for him. he saw a future where he’d be confined to a hospital bed, or one where he’s gone and replaced by metal intimidations of life. a sorry future that would be.

an interruption hits him.

“i’ll be back, okay? you just stay there. it won’t take long—and don’t even think about coming with me.” 

he blinks slowly. those were the words you said right before running out the door, saying something about medicine and homemade soup. this is a future he didn’t foresee. hyperlaser sits up on the extravagant couch he paid way too much for, staring. thinking. 

the two of you have lived together for some time now. photos of you two and princess, many trinkets that he tried to argue against, and a subtle mix of his cologne and your perfume. all signs that this apartment is lived in.

it’s a domestic life you two have. he didn’t expect himself to be so fond of you, to cherish the way you prance around his life. so carefree, understanding of how he feels. how each touch of yours makes him react. not with hostility, but with ambition. is it sappy to admit that you motivate him? 

hyperlaser sneezes into his arm. he really does feel warm to the touch, and the heat radiates off his skin like a stovetop. he curses himself, wished he slept in a bit more. he didn’t have to be so early most of the time, and maybe he could’ve snuck in an hour or two. maybe even eat a carrot while he’s at it.

he amuses himself. what a silly thought.

hyperlaser knows that slacking off isn’t an option. it’s a dream that mercenaries like him can have, but never act on. he knows that one mistake, no matter how small, will cost him his life. he’s already cheated death once, and he’s a very unlucky guy. the chances aren’t enough to allow any more mistakes.

princess strolls along the bottom of the couch, whining about something. it’s a daily occurrence, as she may want food, attention, or both. hyperlaser finds that he doesn’t mind and spoils her rotten anyway. the world is her oyster afterall. he just lives in it.

“hello to you too.” his throat feels dry, but he can’t resist his feline daughter. hyperlaser is as strong as they say, but weak to the charms of a cat. pitiful. “shouldn’t come up here. sick. see?” he points to himself, gesturing in a way that makes princess tilt her head. 

'mreeow,' is all she says. before pouncing onto the arm of the couch, and resting alongside hyperlaser. he’d laugh, but it hurts to do so, and keeps himself quiet. he drags his glove against her head, scratching it. princess relishes in the affection, and purrs to her heart’s content.

then, hyperlaser hears the front door click. he knows who it is by the sound of your keys. overloaded with charms and other useless things. 

“haah. you’d think traffic would die down by nighttime. apparently everyone’s sick in blackrock nowadays.” you kick out your shoes and slip into your house slippers, and carry your bag onto the kitchen countertop. “i mean seriously. how hard is it to get cough syrup on a wednesday night?”

“mm.” he agrees. hyperlaser is already a demon of a few words, and the sickness doesn’t help. but you get that he’s listening to you as you take out the various items you bought.

hyperlaser can note many vegetables, broth, and medicine. as expected, you really did stick to your word. 

weakly, he turns his head to face you. “...is this necessary?” 

“uh, yeah. if it wasn’t, you think i’d wait fifteen minutes at self checkout for this? c’mon. i thought we had the greatest technology ever.” you open the cough syrup and read its lengthy instructions. something about taking a dose every few hours and the right measurements… yeah. couldn’t be hard. 

he groans. he thinks he can handle himself very well, and his sickness rarely caused failures in his job. hyperlaser can still work and move. realistically, no employer would care if he had a headache or nausea. he’s paid to provide a service. he doesn’t need to be babied.

you pour in the right amount of liquid after what felt like forever. it might’ve been a little off, and hyperlaser can immediately tell, but it won’t kill him. if anything, it’d hurt him more if he didn’t take the medicine entirely. that’s a case that neither you or him wants to face.

“don’t pout.” you make your way over to him, and sit next to him with the tiny cup in hand. “you practically did this to yourself, you know.”

he drinks up the disgusting liquid. you are right. for a faction as advanced as blackrock, they couldn’t have made medicine taste better? 

“feeling under the weather doesn’t affect my work. i used to always tough it out.” shameless, he is. 

your hand presses against his helmet. hot to the touch. 

“well. that was then, and this is now. what happens if you’re so sick, and your head’s pounding, and you miss a shot? huh?”

“wouldn’t happen. i don’t miss.”

“...can you humor me?”

he laughs, followed by a dry cough. the medicine isn’t immediate, but it works faster than other syrups found outside of blackrock. hyperlaser can’t believe nobody’s asked him to snag a medical formula from blackrock to a different faction yet. sure, it’d cost a lot to do such a task, but it can be done. 

“hypothetically then, i’d get fired for failing my mission.” hyperlaser muses. in reality, the real meaning behind being fired meant instant death. the two of you knew that very well. 

you cross your arms. through his sniffling and coughing, he can catch a glimpse of your expression. confident. never a good sign. “and?”

hyperlaser scoffs, or makes an attempt to do so. talking with you is probably not the best thing to do with his situation, but it’s so tempting. to respond at your every beck and call. answer to the sounds of your voice, even if it burned him. it felt so lovely, inviting. and you don’t even have to pay him to do any of that. 

“...and?” if he could, he’d raise a brow. 

you lean closer to him, as if he wasn’t sick. “and… what should you do to prevent that from ever happening?”

pride is sprinkled all over your face. urging him to admit his faults, and his carelessness on health. he’s so adamant on your well being, yet cannot afford to take care of himself from time to time. 

“oh.” he makes a gesture that suggests critical thinking, but he knows his answer. an answer that seems fit for what you’re looking for. “i…guess the tactical thing to do is to keep myself healthy.” 

“smart guy,” you grin. cheeky demon you are. the feared mercenary that could kill in the blink of an eye declares mercy in front of you. “can you make room for that in your schedule?”

hyperlaser lowers his head. if you had to guess, you would say that his eyes are avoiding you. the toughest sniper in blackrock, and he hides away from you as if you’re his biggest threat. cute. 

“i can try. it’s a very tedious thing, sweetheart.” 

“hmm. and look where not being tedious got you.” you nag. you don’t like to do it, but running the risk is all too great. he needed to get better, stay alive to his fullest potential.

although, it should be noted that hyperlaser really is a good sniper and an even better soldier. there’s a reason why many try to take him down, and want to rip him to the core of his body; shredding it apart. yet here he stands in front of you. in a loving home with well made food, mundane chores, and a warm bed. it’s important to preserve this life as much as possible. that’s why he has to be well. 

softly, you murmur. “...at the very least, could you take the medicine for the next few days? i can handle preparing meals for you.”

you don’t mean to be so pitiful. hyperlaser knows that he should be careful, and that idea has been drilled into his head since he spawned in blackrock. it’d be annoying to hear it out loud, you understand that much. but a compromise would satisfy you both. and there’s no harm in that. 

he nods. he can at least do that if it concerns you so much. hyperlaser couldn’t dream of you being a frantic mess because of his wellbeing. you already do such a great job when he’s away on continuous missions. he’d hate to worry you. 

“you have my word.” he holds your hand, and brings it closer to his chest. his heart is beating—and swords—he’s so, so warm. hyperlaser’s presence has always been a comfort, and if you squint, you could see his darling eyes staring right at you. only you. always you. 

flustered, you look away. he really is captivating like this. “...you know i’ll be upset if you’re just saying that to shut me up.” 

hyperlaser intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing you as if he’d ever let go. if the world was perfect, he’d never leave your side. always near, close by, to hear your laughter right in front of him. he never thought of himself as someone so sappy.

“that’s why i mean it.” he leans into you. tilting his head as if he could kiss you behind his helmet. taking it off would be ideal, but he’d probably get you sick. then nobody would get well. “really…” his eyes meet your lips nonetheless. “...i do.” 

you chuckle. seemingly, you don’t mind the gap closing between you two. he really was beautiful up close, even if he insists that he’s not. a mistaken demon, he is. “you don’t need to say it like that. so embarrassing.” 

his fingers squeeze against yours, but not enough to hurt. probably not even enough to hurt a fly. he’s so tender, softer with you around. 

“how else should i say it then, doll?”

all you can do is roll your eyes. “a simple i’m not lying would work. but it’s… nice to hear you say things like that too.”

he tilts his head. almost, you see the resemblance with princess. both of them have that same pleading look, even if one’s extremely moody and the others in a shielded mask most of the time. 

“you like it?” his voice is gentle, low. obviously with the twinge of sickness, but his question is sincere. 

your head dips in, and you press your lips against his visor where his mouth would be. oh, how you can tell that he wanted to kiss you back too. desperate, he is. 

“i love it. i relish in it, and could die in it. would wait a thousand years for it. should i go on?” 

“so dramatic.” he nudges you away, only to long for your touch the moment after. the way hyperlaser’s hands feel lost without yours is laughable, as if he didn’t know his way around military equipment.

“yeah, yeah, whateveerr!" you place a hand on his leg, patting him. “anyway, now that i think about it, we’ve been up for awhile. especially after i made that run to the store. we should get to bed… and i’m sure you’re getting tired too.” 

hyperlaser shakes his head, “i’m really not.” 

and it probably was true. knowing his area of work, he could stay up for months if he had to. that’s a fate worse than death in your opinion. hallucinations could ensue and all sorts of scary stuff. you couldn’t have that happen to hyperlaser outside of work. 

“okaaay, well… i’m getting tired! i don’t care what you do, but you’re gonna have to force yourself to sleep anyway. rest improves your health, you know.”

princess rubs her cheek against hyperlaser’s arm, almost like she’s agreeing with whatever you’re saying. you wish you could get your hands on pet mind-reading devices. who knows what else princess agrees with you on? 

“see. even she agrees. now come on, come to bed. the couch isn’t big enough for both of us to sleep comfortably.” 

“i could take the couch and you—”

“hyperlaser.”

he chuckles. “i’m kidding. i’ll be there in a bit, alright? save me a spot.” 

“you better be there in under an hour.” you cross your arms. 

“roger that.”

You didn't understand why you stayed in the Subcon Forest.

The place was dull and gloomy—illuminated by old lanterns and the moon that loomed over the forest. Though, all those light sources seemed futile, for the thick fog that coated the land made it impossible to see things. It wasn't exactly an appealing place to stay, but despite that, you still kept your presence around.

Your exact reasoning for staying was unknown, for there were too many ideas that flickered in your mind whenever you mentally questioned why you were still here. Maybe you stayed because the little minions that roamed around amused you, or maybe you stayed in case Hat Kid came back so you could prevent Snatcher from going against his word on their contract.

Or maybe he was why you stayed—Snatcher.

The spirit was a foolish one, to say the least. He often made people sign a contract to do the work he was too lazy to do, and once they became obsolete to him, he'd kill them off without remorse. Guilt was something he lacked, but he did feel sympathy, or he felt whatever his twisted definition of sympathy was.

The longer you stayed here meant the longer you've gotten to know Snatcher, and by know you meant figure out the little things about him most failed to note. Whoever came across Snatcher would be hasty to claim that he was a haunting ghost who had no care, and while that may be somewhat true, you've noticed the way he seemed to be careful around his minions.

You've noticed how he'd steal letters to give to his minions so, in his words, they "feel like it's almost like someone cares for them." While that didn't seem like much, it still proved that he somewhat cared, and to you, that was good enough.

And while he was a spirit, technically, he had little things he did that made him appear human. You saw the way his eyes seemed to soften whenever he read in his chair, or you'd note how he hummed to himself whenever he was awaiting someone to trip into one of his traps.

All of that often made you want to question Snatcher about himself, and sometimes, you did. He used to just narrow his eyes at you before ignoring your question completely, but the longer you stayed in the forest, the more he slowly started to give you replies.

It was possible he only gave you answers because he was bored, or because he was irritated with your consistent asking, but either way, you were getting answers out of him. You were finding out what his favorite colors were, and why he kept rereading the same book instead of finding another one.

You had even found out how much Hat Kid annoyed him, for your conversations were often filled with him grumbling about how the girl had managed to change his contract, and how he had to be BFFs with her.

While you found the fact that a young girl was able to outsmart him humorous, he scowled at you any time you snickered at his complaints. Despite his glares, they weren't filled with threat or genuine annoyance. Glaring just seemed to be his only response to your snicker before the look softened when your laughter only grew at his expression.

You noticed that, too.

The way his expression eased whenever you were around.

Maybe you'd ask him about that the next time you saw him.

The path underneath your shoes shifted with every step you took—the dead grass crunching as you walked. Clicks rang out through the forest, and you took in a deep breath before examining the area you were in.

You were near the village, for you could somewhat make out the silhouette of the tree trunks the residents made houses out of. The dull glow of the lanterns that were places in the village could be seen through the fog, and you stopped on the path as you eyed the glow.

Should you go visit the village? All you were doing was walking around the forest, and the only entertaining thing about doing that was avoiding Snatcher's traps, but even those got predictable the longer you walked around.

You stood frozen for a moment more as you contemplated what you wanted to do, but the sound of footsteps echoing behind you cut you out of thought.

You turned to face the direction where the sound was ringing out from, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as the footsteps grew closer. They were light but quick, so you knew it wasn't something completely dangerous. If you were remembering correctly, it sounded like one of Snatcher's minions running around.

But as you narrowed your eyes, you could make out a hat in the fog before someone appeared from it.

Your perplexity eased at the sight of Hat Kid dashing out of the fog, and a small smile tugged at your lips until your eyes landed on what she was holding.

A letter.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned as she approached you, and she slowed her pace once she was a few inches away from you. The letter was held out to you, and you stared at her for a moment. "Is Snatcher having you deliver letters again?"

She didn't even acknowledge your words, for all she did was gesture for you to take the letter with impatience. The envelope crinkled under her tight grip, and you shortly hummed before gently taking the paper from her hand as soon as her grasp loosened. "What's this...?"

Curiosity filled you as you examined the letter, and when you flipped it to the front, you noticed your name written in bold letters.

It almost looked like Snatcher's handwriting.

"Where'd you get this?" You asked as you turned your attention to Hat Kid, but the girl merely frowned at you before pointing at the letter. When you still awaited her response, she walked over so that she was at your side, and she tugged at your arm before gesturing to the letter once more.

You let out an amused laugh before looking at the letter, and you then glanced at Hat Kid. "You just want to know what it says."

She narrowed her eyes at you as if she were silently mocking you for pointing out the obvious, but you paid no mind to her expression as you slid a finger through the little hole in the envelope.

The paper ripped as you slid your finger down, and when you fully tore it open, you were met with the sight of a folded piece of paper.

Your wonder only grew as you slipped the paper out of the envelope, and you kept the envelope in your grasp as you unfolded the paper.

You held it in one hand while Hat Kid attempted to look at the paper as well, but you slightly tilted it out of her view until you could read it. You had no clue what it said, but at your action, the girl frowned at you while your eyes trailed over the paper.

Just like the front of the envelope, the letter started off with your name in the same handwriting that appeared like Snatchers—though the writing appeared shaky as if the person who wrote the letter was second-guessing every word they scribbled onto the paper.

As your eyes read over the words, you slowly found yourself reading quicker upon realizing what each sentence was referring to.

The letter was a confession.

Your lips pursed as you slowly reaches the end of the letter, and when your gaze flickered to the end of the paper, your chest tightened.

Sincerely, Snatcher.

This had to be a prank, right? You knew Snatcher wasn't entirely heartless, but you surely knew he wasn't one for love. He was often filled with disdain or irritation, so you doubted he had written this letter.

But then again, the handwriting was insanely similar to his.

Your attention shifted to Hat Kid as she tugged at your arm again, and you were hasty to fold the paper before shoving it back in the envelope. "It said nothing important."

Your attempt to lie to her was proven pointless, for she tried to reach out for the envelope. You lifted it up out of her reach, but she only got on the tips of her toes in an attempt to grab it.

"Why are you so stubborn?" You didn't understand why you kept asking her questions, for she never replied to you. She only left you with silence, and you partially frowned. "How did you even get this letter, anyway..."

Your voice trailed as you looked down at the ground, and you noticed how it slowly started to turn purple. Eventually, the land around you was consumed by darkness, and Hat Kid let go of your arm so she could stand in front of you. Thunder boomed in your ear, and you watched as a shadow rose from the ground before it hovered over you both.

A pair of eyes wielding a glare appeared on the shadow, and it didn't take you long to realize Snatcher had appeared.

"YOU!" He shrieked as he loomed over your both, but his scowl resided on Hat Kid. The deep frown on his face showed his clear irritation, and you gently pulled the kid back by her shoulders before stepping in front of her.

With the girl hidden, Snatcher had no choice but to look at you, and his glare slightly lightened as he stared at you.

"...And you."

His acknowledgement of you was a mere murmur before he cleared his throat, and without thinking, your grip tightened on the envelope. At the sound of the paper crinkling, you assumed Snatcher noticed the envelope in your grasp, for his eyes widened before he gestured to the envelope.

"I see the kid gave you what she stole from me." His emphasis included him leaning to the side to frown at Hat Kid, and the girl peeked out from behind you to stick her tongue out at him. His eye twitched at her attitude, but he—surprisingly—remained composed as he forced a smile. "You see, I'm going to need that back. You didn't open it, did you?"

So he had written the letter.

You remained silent for a moment as you comprehended the hope in his voice, and you eventually shook your head. "No, I didn't."

He seemed to believe your lie, for his smile twisted into a smirk. "Wonderful! Now, if you don't mind, I'd like that back..."

You raised an eyebrow before peering over your shoulder, and Hat Kid stared up at you as she shook her head.

"...And if I don't?"

The panic that flickered on Snatcher's face was priceless, but he was quick to reply. "There's no reason for you to not give it back. It's not like it has your name on it—"

You lifted the envelope up to his view so he could see the front of the envelope, and as clear as day, your name was on it.

"I forgot about that..." He muttered before letting out an irritated sigh, and he narrowed his eyes at you. "Look, I've already had my fair share of stubbornness for a while." It was obvious he was referring to the kid again.

"What's in there isn't important. So, how about we make a deal?"

You watched as a contract and pen appeared in front of you, and you glanced at the words as Snatcher kept speaking. "You give me the letter, and we act like this never happened. Enticing, isn't it?"

You knew that Snatcher would often make stupid contracts for things, but that was just ridiculous. Technically, it wouldn't matter if he got the letter since you had already read it, but a part of you didn't just want to forget. You couldn't just act like you didn't know what was written in the letter.

The contract remained in front of you, and hesitantly, you grabbed the pen with your free hand. Snatcher perked up at your action, but you felt Hat Kid harshly tug at your shirt. You gifted her a small glance before lifting the pen onto the contract, but instead of signing it, you scribbled out the part that stated you'd both act like this never happened.

And below it, you wrote "we'll go on a date together."

It was then that you signed the contract, and the paper and pen poofed into the air. You felt the envelope tug in your grasp, and when you opened your hand, the letter flew through the air before landing in Snatcher's hand.

He seemed smug as the contract appeared in front of him. "Was that so difficult—?"

His voice cut off as he stared at the contract, and he looked at the envelope before noting it was open. Once again, he eyed the contract, and he pursed his lips before the contract vanished.

The darkness around you vanished, and Snatcher no longer loomed over you and Hat Kid. He instead hovered a little bit off the ground as he stared at you.

He didn't say anything for a moment. He merely observed you before speaking. "I expect you to fullfill your contractual obligation..."

"I'll do it as soon as the kid leaves." You responded, and the girl moved to stand beside you as she raised an eyebrow. It was clear she was silently questioning what was going on, but you didn't have time to say anything, for Snatcher's voice rang out.

"In that case, why don't I escort you, kiddo!? Who wants to hang around this amazing forest, anyway, when you could be risking your life?"

Enthusiasm filled his tone as he was quick to appear behind Hat Kid, and he pushed her in front of him to get her to walk. The girl obliged, but as she was walking, she peered over her shoulder to stare at you.

You gifted her a wave, and as she waved back, you could hear Snatcher speaking as they vanished into the fog.