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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 3 days

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Cozened Indigo - Part Three

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes, smut, dubious consent, allusions to no consent. Dead dove; do not eat. Dear god, please mind the tags. Word count: ~9.6k

Summary: The article goes live and a verdict is delivered. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Rhaenyra has gotten wind of the fact that Aemond has spoken to the press, so now she’s doing an interview too – with White Knight Magazine.”

Larys’ words play on a loop in her mind as she sits heavily in her office chair, dread forming a pit in her stomach as anxiety flutters unbridled within her chest. Her interviews with Aegon and Helaena are set for tomorrow, she still has to do her background research on them both, alongside transcribing all of her interviews with Aemond. With just two weeks to do it all, and with Rhaenyra’s pending interview looming over it, it feels too huge an obstacle to overcome. She is being set up for failure, made all the more humiliating by the fact that the feature from the opposing side is to be featured in the publication that effectively put an end to her career. It has to be deliberate, there is no way it's a coincidence.

It’s not until she sees the droplet of moisture splatter upon her desk that she realises she’s crying. Burying her face in her hands, she draws in a shuddering breath, attempting to pull herself together.

Not here. Not in the office,

“Everything okay?”

Startled, her head snaps up to look at Royce, his features pinching into a look of concern as she sniffles and hurriedly wipes at her eyes.

“Doesn’t everyone cry at their desk occasionally?” She jokes, attempting to play it off with a watery laugh.

“Let’s step into my office,” he responds softly, not giving her a chance to reply as he turns and walks away.

She sighs, tipping her head back and uttering a quiet “fuck” before following him.

“Want to tell me what’s really going on?” Royce says, perching on the edge of his desk and folding his arms, as she closes the door behind her.

The weariness that has weighed upon her since her discovery of the upcoming Targaryen trial settles over her with a heavy finality, as she meets his gaze with exhausted resignation.

“I can’t do this, Royce. Put me back on the Flea Bottom curfew piece.”

“What? Why?!” He narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly.

“Rhaenyra - Aemond’s half sister - is doing an interview of her own.”

“So?”

“With White Knight Magazine.”

“Ah.”

“The deadline is too tight, I’ll never be finished in time.” She sags against the office door, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What’s the hold up?”

Exasperatedly, she drags a hand through her hair. “I have all of my interviews with Aemond to transcribe still, and that’s before I even begin writing the piece. On top of that, I now have to interview Aegon and Helaena, and I–”

“Woah”, Royce interrupts, “the brother and sister have agreed to be interviewed by you?”

“Yes, tomorrow, and I haven’t even started my background research on them yet. What am I going to do?!”

Royce reaches behind him, lifting the box of Kleenex from his desk. He gently tosses it towards her and she catches it, smiling gratefully as she plucks one out to dab at her eyes and nose.

“You’re going to go home, and do your background research, and prepare for your interviews tomorrow. You can leave your transcription with me. I’ll do it for you.”

“You?” She looks at him wide eyed with incredulity, balling the tissue up in her fist. “You didn’t even want me working on this story in the first place, why would you want to help me?”

“It’s not entirely selfless”, he says with a shrug, “this feature will be huge for The Gazette, it’s in my best interests to make sure you get it done.”

“Makes sense,” she admits with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Send me your audio files,” he instructs, pushing himself back into a standing position, “and then go home and get to work. Your runny mascara is bad for office morale.”

Face given a thorough clean with a wet wipe, a few hours later she sits curled up on her sofa, her gaze fixed intently on her laptop. Royce offering to do her transcription for her has shifted some of the burden from her, and she feels lighter as she clicks through each of the articles she finds regarding Helaena and Aegon Targaryen.

Helaena seems like an anomaly within the family, a blinding white beacon of joy within an ocean of misery. She is heavily involved in environmental conservation, an activist for animal rights and has received several awards for her charitable work. If she has anything at all positive to say about her younger brother, then it would be a huge help to the article.

Aegon, on the other hand, is not quite so impressive. There is little to no evidence that she can find which alludes to his morality or personality, though if the photographs splashed across trashy tabloids of him drunkenly falling out of nightclubs, and parading down the street with an ever changing array of women on his arm are anything to go by, then it’s not good. There’s a small article regarding his brief stint in a rehab facility, which offers a glimmer of hope, but only the interview itself will tell for certain.

As her taxi drives slowly up the expansive and seemingly never ending driveway of the Targaryen-Hightower mansion the following morning, she is momentarily stunned by the grandiosity of it all. She had known the family was rich, but this seems obscene. The property is located on a hill in the centre of King’s Landing, which overlooks the city, serving as an unnecessary physical reminder of how far above everyone else the family is, or at least considers themselves to be.

Her driver had been buzzed through the main gate via an intercom on the drive up to the house, so she is surprised to find no one is waiting for her once she steps out of the car. Standing in front of the large, forest green front door she lifts the ring pull of the bronze dragon head knocker and raps it against the wood three times.

She shuffles from foot to foot, anxiously waiting. A full minute passes and she is about to knock again, when the door swings open. A mop of disheveled, wavy, silver blonde hair and tired blue eyes greet her as she looks into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

As her gaze travels downwards she sees he is dressed in only a pair of low riding grey jogging bottoms and a dark green robe, which isn’t tied. She falters, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat, as she looks back at his face. The lazy smirk painted across his features is unnerving.

“Mr. Targaryen?”

“Aegon,” he corrects her. “You the reporter?”

She nods, shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder. “Right…Aegon. Am I too early? Larys said 11am.”

He gives a slight shrug. “I must have gotten carried away with my beauty sleep. Guess you’d better come in.”

Aegon leaves the door open, padding on bare feet through the foyer. She follows him, eyes wide as she takes in the opulence of the high ceilings and expensive art that adorns the walls.

He leads her through to the kitchen, opening the double doors of a large silver refrigerator.

“Get you a beer?” He asks, pulling a bottle out before biting the cap off with his teeth.

She winces. “Not for me, thanks, bit early.”

He takes a drink, nodding as he mulls over her response. “I’d offer you a bloody mary, but we’re out of tomato juice.”

She is about to laugh, until she sees that he’s sincere, so bites back the urge. “Honestly, I’m fine. Got a water bottle in my bag.”

“Fair enough,” he utters, leaning forward on his elbows on the kitchen island as he sets the bottle down. “So, how does this work?”

“I just want to ask a few questions about your brother, Aemond. Have you got a place you’d like to go to do that?”

“Why not right here?”

She raises her eyebrows slightly, taken aback by the informality, before nodding. He watches her intently as she rummages in her bag, taking out her dictaphone and placing it on the granite surface that separates them. “Will we not be interrupted?”

“Nah, mum’s gone with grandad to visit Aemond. That’s why Larys set up the interview for today. They’re pissed off that he’s spoken to the press, so better for you to be here when they aren’t.”

She purses her lips, pushing down her unease, before nodding towards the dictaphone. “I need to record this. That okay?”

His gaze rests upon the recording device for a moment, before he takes another long swig of his beer. “Yeah,” he finally says.

She pulls out a wooden bar stool, sitting upon it before she presses record. “We’ll start with your childhood. What was Aemond like growing up?”

“A twat,” Aegon shoots back quickly, causing the corners of her mouth to turn up into the faintest of smiles.

“Can you elaborate?”

Aegon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He just…took everything really seriously. He never had a sense of humour about anything.”

“So, you didn’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s my brother, I love him, we’re just very different.”

“Different how?”

“Aemond is ambitious, he’s hard working. I’m not, I just want…”

She raises an eyebrow as he trails off. “You just want..?”

“To be happy,” he mutters.

“And are you?”

He scoffs. “I thought this interview was about my brother?”

“Do you think your brother was ever happy growing up?”

“He had his eye carved out of his skull when he was ten, of course he wasn’t!”

“By your nephew, Lucerys?”

Aegon’s brow furrows with anger, his tone dark and clipped. “Little shit got what was coming to him.”

Her breath catches in her throat, her blood turning icy in her veins as she stares at him, wide eyed. Slowly, with a shaky hand she reaches forward to press the stop button on the dictaphone.

Aegon drains the remnants of his beer, heavily setting the bottle back down and lowering his gaze as he grips the edge of the kitchen island.

When she eventually finds her voice, it comes out as a strained whisper. “Do you think Aemond killed him on purpose?”

His mouth quirks, eyes obscured slightly by the hair that has fallen into his face as he looks slowly back up at her. The air feels thick, and she realises she’s holding her breath as she waits for him to respond.

“Is this the lady that’s here to interview us?” A quiet voice comes from behind her.

She jumps, turning on her stool to look at the woman that hovers in the kitchen entryway, dressed in a white vest top and powder blue harem pants. Her hair falls in soft, loose, silver blonde waves almost to her waist, her eyes hold a faraway, dreamy quality. This must be Helaena.

Aegon nods. “Yeah, she was just interviewing me.”

“Oh…” Helaena deflates slightly, clasping her hands in front of. “I’ve interrupted.”

Her brother shakes his head, pushing away from the counter and walking from the kitchen. “No. No, you didn’t. We’d just finished, all yours.”

She watches him retreat, before turning her focus to his sister.

Well, that’s the end of that then.

“Hi,” Helaena says with a soft smile, extending her hand as she steps forward. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She takes her hand, feeling the Targaryan woman noticeably flinch at the contact, giving it the briefest of shakes before letting go. “You must be Helaena.”

“I am,” she says nodding, clutching her hands in front of her once more. “Sorry about Aegon, he just has a hangover…he always has a hangover.”

Her gaze turns sad and she looks away. For a few seconds it seems as if she’s not even there anymore, and she wonders where she’s gone, before Helaena returns to the present and smiles once more.

“Shall we go up to my room?”

She trails after her up the stairs, looking at the antiquities that decorate the vast amount of space that makes up the house, until they reach Helaena’s bedroom. Stepping inside she is taken aback by the brightness of it, it feels like she has entered another universe separate from the darkened surrounds of the rest of the mansion.

Floral wallpaper adorns the walls, with a variation of frames containing pin mounted insects and butterflies. She turns to a shelving unit, picking up an expensive looking crystal beetle to examine it as it sparkles in the sunlight.

“This is beautiful,” she muses more to herself than Helaena.

“You like it?” She asks, causing her to look up, suddenly embarrassed at having handled a stranger’s belongings without asking.

“Sorry,” she replies, flustered, placing the beetle back on its shelf. “Never seen anything like it.”

“You can have it if you want,” Helaena quips with an easy shrug.

She blinks rapidly, unsure if she has heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

“If you like it, you should have it,” she tells her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

It’s a sweet gesture that comes from a place of childlike innocence, but is also indicative of how shockingly out of touch wealth makes people. Of course she doesn’t mind if she gives away something so expensive, not when the resource is there to easily replace it.

“That’s very kind, but I couldn’t,” she says, taking out her recorder. “I don’t want to intrude upon too much of your day. Shall we get started?”

Helaena is easier to interview than Aegon had been. She speaks kindly of Aemond, and as she listens she finds herself feeling more and more sad, not just for Aemond but for the entire family. Helaena had always wanted a sisterly relationship with Rhaenyra, but with a seventeen year age gap and Rhaenyra’s apparent resentment at no longer being an only child, it never happened. Where Aegon had often made fun of her, Aemond had been good to Helaena when they were growing up, patient and understanding of her tendency to daydream and fascination with insects.

“I don’t want my brother to go to prison,” she says sadly, “I just want us to be a family.”

“Do you think that that’s what Aemond wants too?”

“I don’t know what my brother wants anymore. I don’t think he knows himself.”

As her taxi drives her back towards home, dread settles in her stomach like a heavy stone. She can’t help but wonder what Aegon would have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted them. There is no denying that the Targaryens are a family that are steeped in tragedy, but amidst it all something unseen and sinister lurks, looming with the sense that by the time she stumbles upon it, she’ll be too far in to back out.

“For you,” Royce says the following morning, depositing a USB drive onto her desk.

“Are those the transcriptions?” She asks, looking up at him with wide eyed wonder. “That was quick work.”

“It’s a tight deadline”, he replies with a smirk. “How did your interviews go yesterday?”

Little shit got what was coming to him.

She draws in a breath, unsure of what guides her actions. “I only interviewed Helaena in the end. Aegon was too hungover.”

“A shame, but one interview is better than nothing. Send me the audio and I’ll transcribe that for you too, so you can crack on with the writing.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

“I know,” Royce says with a wink, before walking away.

She picks up her dictaphone, hovering over the audio file for Aegon’s interview.

Little shit got what was coming to him.

There is no way she can allow Royce to hear that, though she cannot put her finger on why. Before she has a chance to dwell on it further, she erases the recording and gets to work uploading Helaena’s to her computer, then emails it to Royce.

Over the following week, she works hard on the feature, painting a picture of the enigma that is Aemond Targaryen in his own words, as well as his sister’s. It’s a heart wrenching piece, a tale of a misfit little boy, maimed at the age of ten and left to live with the consequences of it. However, instead of collapsing into despair or falling back on a comfortable lifestyle, funded by his family’s fortune, he had studied hard and was an accomplished solicitor within his grandfather’s law firm. He had overcome his disability to train in athletic pursuits such as mixed martial arts and long distance running, and is knowledgeable in the fields of both history and philosophy. There is no denying that Aemond Targaryen is impressive, even without having to navigate the difficulties of losing an eye.

Once the article has been thoroughly vetted by Royce, it goes to print, landing on newsstands the exact same day as Rhaenyra’s interview in White Knight Magazine. Aemond cuts an imposing figure in the photograph used in the double page spread, a sinister presence in direct opposition with the content of the article. And still there is something that niggles at the back of her mind, a stone she has left unturned. Was she right to omit Aegon’s interview? She supposes it is of little consequence, it’s too late now.

White Knight is a larger publication, so occupies a more prominent shelf space than the Duskendale Gazette. However, upon news spreading that a feature with the elusive Targaryen second son is contained within its pages, it sells out quickly, with an urgent extra print run needing to be made to supply the demand for more copies, despite additional copies having been printed in the first place, in anticipation of the article’s popularity. But they hadn’t anticipated just how popular the feature would be.

As she stands in the newsagents, looking at both publications on the shelf, she is struck by the thought that this presents itself as forcing the public to choose a side, despite neither article making mention of the murder or impending trial.

She reads Rhaenyra’s feature, and cannot help but feel sympathy for her. A young woman whose world was rocked when her best friend had married her father after her mother had died, and then made to feel displaced by the children that that relationship had produced. Already having to deal with the animosity that divides the family in the wake of her father’s death, she now must cope with the grief of losing her son.

Whose side should she choose? She wishes more than anything that Aegon had answered her question, it would doubtless make for an easier decision.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket pulls her out of her reverie and she huffs an irritated sigh as she sees Larys’ name flashing on her screen. She had assumed her dealings with him would be over once the article went to print. It appears she was wrong.

“Nice work,” he drawls into the receiver once she’s answered. “You’ve painted quite the picture.”

“Has he seen it?”

“Aemond? Yes, I ensured he received a copy this morning. He’s pleased with how it’s turned out. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

“The article’s published, what more is there to say?”

Larys clicks his tongue, his tone dripping with condescension. “Now, now, we did you a favour in letting you run this feature. You’ll have every publication in Westeros beating down your door to commission you after today. Don’t you think a little gratitude is in order?”

“Gratitude?!” She snipes back. “Isn't it enough that I’ve painted a rosy picture of a…”

Murderer.

She can’t bring herself to say the word, there is still a seed of doubt in her mind, yet Larys knows what she means regardless.

“Alleged,” he corrects her. “All Aemond wants to do is say thank you, surely a phone call couldn’t hurt?”

“Do not give him my phone number,” she seethes.

“Very well. But you’ll be at the trial?”

“It’s a closed courtroom.”

“It is. Selected press only, to avoid it becoming a media circus, but I can get you on the list.”

“I’m not supposed to be covering the trial.”

“And you won’t be, don’t worry, I can still get you in.”

“You’ve come this far. May as well see it through to the end.”

Aemond’s words echo in her mind, and she relents with a sigh. It’s not as if she isn’t curious. “Alright, fine.”

“Excellent. See you then.”

The line goes dead.

The trial is to last three days. A day for the prosecution to deliver their testimonies, a day for the defense to present their case, and a day for the jury to deliberate and then pass their verdict, with subsequent sentencing from the judge. Rhaenyra is pushing for a murder sentence, while the other side of the family argue it was an accident.

The tightly wound knots of dread that have made their home inside of her over the last month are prominent as ever as she arrives at the courthouse on the first day. She is ushered in after giving her name, though not towards the sparsely populated press seats as she had assumed she would be.

Bile rises acridly in her throat, her eyes widening in horror as she realises she is being led towards the public gallery to sit with Aemond’s side of the family. Despite wanting to remain neutral, she is being given a side, without the option to choose, though deep down she knows she had subconsciously made her choice the moment she decided to interview Aemond. The idea makes her feel nauseated.

The entire family is tense as she takes a seat next to them. Aegon side eyes her uncomfortably, while Helaena, though she forces a smile, is fidgety and withdrawn. It’s clear she would rather be anywhere but here. Otto bristles at the sight of her, rising slightly from his seat, before Alicent places a hand on his forearm, urging him back down again.

“Aemond wants her here,” she whispers, patting her father’s hand as he sighs and turns his gaze ahead.

Despite defending her presence, the Hightower matriarch doesn’t acknowledge her, keeping her eyes fixed upon her nails, which look red raw around the edges.

An eerie silence falls over the courtroom as Aemond is led out towards the dock, accompanied by a prison officer. He is stony raised as he is seated, keeping his attention fixed on a far point towards the back of the room, though she is certain that for just a second she sees his eye flicker to her, the briefest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her stomach somersaults and she forces herself to look away. When she looks back, he’s staring towards the back of the courtroom once more.

“All rise for the honourable Judge Wylde,” a member of staff calls out, and she stands with everyone else, watching as the judge sweeps into the courtroom, taking a seat at the bench, before they are all instructed to sit once more.

Rhaenyra’s solicitor, Erryk Cargyll, delivers the opening statement for the prosecution’s case, claiming that his client has grounds to believe that the death of her son was deliberate and premeditated.

The hours feel as though they drag by as statements are delivered by Rhaenyra, her sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey, and her husband, Laenor. Though all are clearly emotional, and still reeling from the death of Lucerys, none of them actually saw what happened. The evidence is all purely circumstantial, with nothing concrete. Rhaenyra appears visibly distressed, and her heart aches for her knowing that Larys is likely to tear her apart during his questioning.

She isn’t wrong. Larys’ questions hinge upon the fact that her dislike for her half siblings is what guides her judgements and he repeatedly asks if she saw what happened. She appears flustered, stumbling over her words, growing more emotional as the questioning grows more pointed.

Looking over at Alicent, she sees a harrowed look in her eyes, her expression solemn as she stares wide eyed at her former friend from the public gallery, gripping her father’s hand tightly. It is awful to watch, and she is desperate to leave.

Unsurprisingly, Aemond is calm and collected as he is questioned by both Larys and Erryk, keeping his answers clipped and simple. Saying that he had been eager to get away from the family gathering, and had not seen Lucerys as he’d struck him in his haste to drive off. He never falters, even under the heated cross examination from Erryk, asking if he’d been motivated by the injury sustained as a child in his killing of Lucerys. Aemond replies with a simple “no, it was an accident”,

By the time the court is adjourned for the day, she is exhausted both mentally and emotionally. She feels for Rhaenyra, it is clear to see how much she loves her son, and she just wants justice for him. Yet her case is flimsy, and she knows that Aemond’s defense will deal the killing blow tomorrow. On the other hand, Aemond could be telling the truth, in which case, horrible as it is, is it fair that he should be hauled over the coals for an accident? He’ll serve a prison sentence either way.

Despite her tiredness, sleep does not come easy for her that night, knowing she will have to do this all again tomorrow.

The following day, as she’d expected, the defence tears apart Rhaenyra’s case, especially when they call Dr. Orwyle to the witness stand. He is apparently the doctor that had treated Aemond when he initially lost his eye, and had helped him with pain management and rehabilitation in the years that followed.

The doctor’s statement deduces that Aemond’s lack of depth perception means it is not advisable for him to drive at night, due to reduced visibility, so it is entirely plausible he would not have seen Lucerys at all as he’d driven away.

Larys’ closing statement underscores it all; “so, you see your honour, my client was in such emotional distress that evening that he felt he had no choice but to leave. It was an honest accident. Is Aemond Targaryen careless? Yes. But a killer? No.”

“Fucking liar!” Rhaenyra cries out, jumping to her feet, her voice fraught with emotion.

“Order!” Judge Wylde shouts across the courtroom.

She bows her head, drawing in a withering sigh. The trial is over, it’s just the verdict and sentencing to go now.

When she looks back up, a shiver runs the length of her spine; Aemond is staring directly at her. He’s smiling.

She allows her curiosity to get the better of her, once the court is adjourned for the day, catching up to Aegon as he walks from the courtroom. He whips around as she gently grabs his arm, his brows knitting together in confusion as he looks at her.

“I’ll never hear the end of it from Mum, if she sees me talking to you,” he mutters, attempting to pull away.

“I know,” she says, stepping in front of him to block his path, “but I’ll be quick. I just need to know, when I asked you the other day if you thought Aemond had killed Luceys on purpose, what would you have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted us?”

Aegon sighs, rolling his eyes as he steps around her. “I think you already knew the answer to that when you omitted my interview. It doesn’t matter really though, does it?” He says to her, as he begins walking away. “He’s going to prison either way.”

His words bring her little comfort, and she stands, watching with unease, as he descends the steps at the front of the building. In a sense, he is right, it doesn’t matter now, and her article is already published. She hates herself for it.

She feels sick with nerves the following day, as the final closing statements are read out, and she’s unsure why. Aemond is nothing to her, and yet she feels that she has played a part in this all the same, will somehow be responsible for whatever verdict is reached, whether it’s the right one or not.

The faces of Rhaenyra, Laenor and Jacaerys are sullen and angry on one side of the courtroom, while Alicent and Helaena look fraught with worry. Otto and Aegon sit stony faced and impassive.

It takes the jury just one hour to reach their verdict.

The clerk of the court calls out, “Will the foreman of the jury please stand? Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?”

When the foreman answers in the affirmative, the clerk continues. “On the first count in the indictment, murder in the first degree, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

Rhaenyra collapses into Laenor’s arms with a sob, as Jacaerys jumps to his feet, shouting obscenities. It’s not until Judge Wylde threatens to have him removed that order is restored in the court, and the verdict can continue.

She looks to Aemond, sitting in the dock, his gaze lowered, the silver strands of his hair obscuring his face, so she’s unable to see his reaction, but she can tell from the movement of his wrists that he’s fiddling with his fingers. Is he nervous? He has been so stoic throughout this entire process, to see him falter is unnerving. She finds herself unable to look away as the final verdict is read out.

“On the second count in the indictment, manslaughter, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

Aemond looks to his mother as the verdict is read out, her brown eyes doleful and filled with tears as she gazes back at him. Rhaenyra storms from the courtroom, the heavy wooden double doors flinging wide open as she departs, quickly followed by Laenor and Jacaerys.

“He’s going to prison,” Helaena whispers sadly.

“That was always going to happen,” Aegon retorts with a heavy sigh.

When the judge passes a sentence of ten years, Alicent buries her face in her hands and sobs.

“He’ll be out in five, if he behaves himself”, Otto says quietly, in an attempt to reassure her.

“But our family is torn apart forever,” she whispers tearfully.

She has seen all she needs to see, and cannot stomach watching or hearing anymore. Rising from her seat, she hurries from the courtroom and outside to the top of the steps, sucking in steadying breaths to help calm the rising panic within her.

Her obligation to Aemond is complete, so she doesn’t understand why this has affected her the way it has. Likely the result of being trapped in such a toxic setting for the last three days, which makes her all the more determined to get away.

Pulling out her phone, she is about to open the taxi app, when Larys calls to her from the entryway of the courthouse. “He’d like to see you.”

“What?!” She asks incredulously, turning to look at him with a scowl. “What for?!”

“To say thank you, and goodbye. You rejected the offer of a phone call, perhaps you can give Aemond a few moments of your time to say his piece in person?”

“I’ve just given three days of my life watching a grieving mother be made a mockery of for his benefit, don’t you think he’s had enough from me already?”

“I can get you into the holding room for a few minutes, before his family go to see him, ahead of him being transferred back to Dragonstone. Just a few minutes, and then all of this is behind you. He has asked to see you specifically.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”

Aemond would look handsome in the all black, expensively tailored suit he’d worn for court, were it not for the handcuffs that bind his wrists together, reminding her that he’s a convicted criminal.

“Speak then,” she says, as she sits down opposite him.

“I just wanted to say thank you, truly, for the article you wrote. You really are a talented writer, and I’m sure great things are in store for you.”

She purses her lips, humming in acknowledgement, uncomfortable with the compliment. “That’s quite alright.”

“I really enjoyed our chats together. I’m going to miss them.”

She frowns, not at the words themselves, but the fact that they are sincere. He means what he’s saying. “It was for a professional purpose,” she insists.

He shakes his head, leaning forward against the table. “I know you enjoyed them too.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, they’re over now.”

“They don’t have to be,” he says with a shrug, “ten years is a long time, plenty of time for us to chat.”

She leans back, away from him, the familiar weight of dread settling over her once more. “Aemond, I don’t think that’s a–”

He lurches forward across the table, grabbing her forearm, almost painfully so, his tone desperate and pleading. “Say you’ll come to visit me!”

She is unsure of whether it’s because there’s a part of her that secretly wants to, because she can’t bear to see the look of anguish in his eye any longer, or if she just wants him to let go of her so she can leave, but she finds herself whispering back in a trembling voice “okay, I will”.

It is not a promise she keeps.

Larys had been right, her article about Aemond is the spark that reignites her career. In the weeks following the publication of the feature, her email inbox had been inundated with offers of work from editors across a variety of different media outlets.

She had spent a long time chained to a desk at “The Wall” of the Duskendale Gazette, she did not much fancy swapping one static position for another. Eager to spread her wings, she had handed in her notice, despite Royce’s offer of a promotion. She craved freedom, and with her pick of what publications to write for, she made a successful career of freelancing. Over the next few years she had articles published in broadsheet newspapers and glossy, high end magazines alike, covering current events and interviewing high profile public figures. She made a comfortable living, until eventually she accepted the job of commissioning editor at Gold Cloak, a fashion and lifestyle magazine with a huge circulation and an even larger salary. She is almost able to put to the back of her mind the person who put her there in the first place. Almost.

In the months following Aemond’s sentencing, she had received several calls from an unknown number. On the one occasion she had picked up, it had begun with the automated message “an inmate from Dragonstone Prison is trying to reach you…” She had hung up immediately, her heart lurching, remembering she had said she would visit him, but knowing full well she couldn't. Not because of the morality of the situation, but because of how strong her desire to go actually was. That was a part of her she was eager to suppress. As the calls had continued, she had eventually opted to change her number, and after that they had stopped.

Aemond Targaryen is no more than a meager itch at the back of her mind now. It has been five years since she last spoke to him.

The sunshine warms her skin through the glass of the café window as she sits at the rounded wooden table, leaning back in her chair as her eyes scan over the article she has just had emailed to her. Deadline day is approaching for Gold Cloak, as they gear up to go to print with their next issue, and the last few stragglers are finally submitting their copy. It’s an odd sensation to be appraising the words of others, instead of writing her own, but she’s worked hard to get to this point, and it’s satisfying to be in a position where she is considered senior enough to dictate the contents of a major publication, not just contribute towards it.

Making the most of a work from home day, she has elected to visit her local coffee shop, watching the world pass by on a busy side street of King’s Landing, while the spicy aroma of her chai latte comforts her as she works.

She frowns when the sunlight she had been enjoying morphs into muted darkness. Her breath hitches, and she lets out a frightened gasp as she looks up to see Aemond standing over her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly, “I saw you as I was passing and I wanted to say hello.”

His words do little to comfort her, and her eyes desperately scan the coffee shop. It’s relatively busy, with lots of people, witnesses. Good.

He smirks. “I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry.”

She swallows thickly, shifting to sit fully upright in her seat. “What are you–”

“I only served half my sentence, I was let out on good behaviour. I’m not an escapee, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Right, right…” she mutters, attempting to get her thoughts in order as her heart feels like it’s set upon hammering its way out of her chest.

“Mind if I sit?” Aemond says, gesturing to the empty seat opposite hers. “Might make you feel better if I’m not looming over you.”

What can she say? She looks around the café again, deciding she doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulls out the chair, sitting opposite her. Aemond is not quite as intimidating as she remembers him, though she supposes the only time she’d ever seen him before was in prison sweats or dressed for court. Today, as the sun dapples across his pale skin, he looks softer somehow, not nearly as scary as she’d once thought. His long silver blonde hair is pulled up into a low bun, and he’s dressed casually in a black leather jacket, a dark green henley and black slacks tucked into black Doc Martens.

She closes her laptop, perching her elbows on the edge of the table and resting her chin on her hands as she looks at him.

“I’m sorry I never–”

“So what are you–”

They both pause, smiling awkwardly as they begin to talk over each other, before Aemond gestures towards her. “You first.”

She nods, leaning back again, drumming her fingers softly on the table. “I never did come to visit you. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs out of his jacket, letting it drape across the back of the chair. “It was wrong of me to ask you, to be honest,” he admits, “I’d just never opened up to anyone like that before, and though I knew the consequences of the accident, none of it really felt like it was happening until it did. I panicked.”

The accident.

She finds it odd that he refers to in such a way, but he seems so different now, less tense, and she feels herself beginning to relax. Perhaps it really was an accident?

Wrapping her hands around her cup in a bid to ground herself, she nods. “So how long have you been out?”

“A few weeks,” he tells her, his hands coming to rest upon the table as he turns a stray sugar packet around in his fingers. “It’s been a bit of an adjustment.”

“You’re looking well through,” she blurts, before she has time to stop herself.

He smirks and she feels her skin grow hot as he retorts “I could say the same about you.”

She clears her throat, eager to switch gears in the conversation. “So, are you gonna grab a coffee, or are you just passing through?”

“Well, actually, since I’ve run into you, I wondered if perhaps you’d like to join me for something stronger?”

She raises her eyebrows. She knows it’s a bad idea, the trouble is the voice telling her that is not as loud as the one screaming at her to say yes.

“What are you having?” Aemond asks as they stand at the bar of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“Glass of Rioja, please.”

Aemond nods, turning to the bartender. “Bottle of Rioja and two glasses, please.”

“A whole bottle?!” She hisses, as the bartender moves away to fetch their order.

Aemond gives an easy shrug. “We’re both having the same thing, it makes more sense to share a bottle, than two separate glasses.”

“So, what are you doing with yourself these days?” Aemond asks, as they sit in a cosy corner of the pub, sipping their wine.

“Working, mostly,” she tells him, “I’m commissioning editor for Gold Cloak Magazine.”

“Impressive,” he says, raising his glass to her. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Thanks to you,” she replies quietly, a heated feeling of shame feeling as though it envelopes her. She’s keen to change the subject. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t return to Red Keep Legal, I’m no longer allowed to practice law. I figured I’d study in another field, maybe history or philosophy, see where that takes me. I’m living back with my mother until I get back on my feet.”

“How’s the family?”

“Mother is okay. Fussing over me far too much now that I’m back. Grandfather has retired, he’s gone back to Oldtown, got himself a nice little cottage. It’s fairly quiet at the house, feels empty.”

“Are Helaena and Aegon not there anymore?”

Aemond shakes his head, taking a long sip of wine before speaking again. “Helaena’s currently overseas in Qarth, doing a conservation study on some sort of beetle. Aegon’s gone to Braavos, he’s decided a life by the sea suits him better now that he’s sober.”

“Aegon’s sober?!”

“Yeah, it surprised me too. Apparently his drinking got quite a lot worse after I was put away. Mother finally had enough and forced him back to rehab. It stuck this time.”

“Good for him. I’m pleased.”

“Hmm. Enough about my family, I want to know all about your new job. Tell me everything.”

Over the next few hours, they fall into effortless conversation, and as one bottle of wine turns into two, it’s easy to forget the nature of their unusual relationship, it feels as though she’s chatting with an old friend.

She tells him all about the freelance work she’s undertaken over the last few years, as well as how she found herself with a job offer from Gold Cloak. They chat about music, films, share jokes and anecdotes, though always careful to avoid mention of Aemond’s incarceration or anything related to it. Aemond is witty, oddly charming and fiercely intelligent, if she hadn't interviewed him in the wake of his nephew’s murder then she could definitely see him as someone she’d be attracted to.

As she drains her final glass of wine, the second empty bottle calling out like a beacon that it’s time to go home, she feels fuzzy headed, her eyes and limbs heavy.

Oh shit, I’m drunk.

She stumbles as she rises from her seat, and Aemond places a steadying hand on her arm, the warmth she sees in his smile as he looks down at her taking her breath away. He looks nothing like a killer, just an ordinary man.

“Come on,” he says, offering her his arm, “I’ll walk you home.”

It doesn’t occur to her to ask how he knows where she lives as he walks her back to her block of flats. Her mind feeling thick from the effects of the wine, she doesn’t resist when he leans down, his lips pressing against hers as he steps her backwards over the threshold of her front door.

He dominates the kiss, the taste of red wine upon his lips potent and sweet. He holds her tight against him, his mouth devouring hers. Their movements are needy and desperate as her hands help to push his jacket from his shoulders and it drops to the floor, along with her laptop bag, with a soft thump. It’s enough to temporarily break her out of her passionate haze and she pulls back reluctantly, her voice a shaky whisper.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Hmmm, and yet it’s happening anyway,” he replies huskily, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck as he kisses her hungrily once more, his tongue licking greedily at hers.

Every part of her mind that is screaming at her to stop is silenced by his lips, all sense and inhibitions dulled by alcohol. Having been career focused for so long, her love life has taken a backseat, she can’t remember the last time anyone touched her like this. It’s exhilarating to feel wanted, desired, and so she loses herself in the sensation, her mouth moving against his with equal enthusiasm as they stumble back towards the sofa.

He presses her into the plushness of the cushions, the pair of them hastily kicking off their shoes, before he settles on top of her. He trails hot, open mouthed kisses over her jaw and neck, before bringing a hand to the front of her blouse, a quick flick of his wrist tears it open, sending buttons clattering onto the glass top surface of the nearby coffee table.

Before she is able to protest, she is silenced once more by the feel of his mouth upon her, lavishing attention to the swell of her breasts, visible over the tops of the cups of her bra. How is he able to do that, to obliterate all of her thoughts through mere touch alone? It’s dizzying, and her breaths quicken, turning to soft pants as his path continues downwards, leaving a blazing trail in its wake as he shifts his lips to her stomach. His hands roughly tug down her leggings, as he pulls away, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder once they’re all the way off.

As he rests on his haunches over her, she is painfully aware of the imbalance; he kneels before her, fully dressed, while she is beneath him in just her underwear. She squirms slightly in embarrassment, feeling her skin grow heated.

It’s as if he’s able to read her mind, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk as his seeing eye stares her down, darkened with arousal. Grabbing the hem of his shirt he tugs it up over his head, allowing it to follow the same path her leggings had.

She feels her core throb with want as her gaze travels down his bare torso. Lean, lithe hardened muscle defines his chest and abdomen in a way that she has only ever seen before in Grecian statues. He descends upon her again, not giving her the opportunity to admire him for long, covering her body with his own as he captures her lips again, his teeth nipping delicately at her bottom lip.

His knee nudges its way between her legs, pushing against her through the lace of her knickers, and she whines into the kiss, her mind immediately racing back to all the times his knee had bumped hers during their interviews. Is this what he’d wanted all along? The idea makes her pulse thrum and her blood run hot. It’s sick and twisted, but she can’t find herself to care, not when the friction of his actions feels so agonisingly addictive.

His lips pull away from hers, and his hand snakes between their bodies, taking up the space his knee had occupied until just a moment ago. He cups her mound through the fabric of her underwear, humming in satisfaction as she bucks her hips against his palm, chasing the pressure his knee had given her.

“Eager little thing,” he whispers darkly, hooking a finger into the elastic of her gusset and tugging it to one side.

It isn’t until the coolness of the air hits her bare flesh that she realises just how wet she is, and she’d feel ashamed were it not for the fact she can see Aemond’s pupil dilate at the sight of it.

He teases the pads of his fingers through her folds, spreading the stickiness of her arousal from her sensitive bud to her opening and back again. Her breath hitches at the sensation, every nerve ending in her body feeling as though it’s aflame.

“You’re soaking,” he murmurs, eye flickering up to meet hers.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get the words out, he’s bringing his fingers away from her core and pushing them past her lips and into her mouth. She mewls around his digits at the tart taste of herself upon her tongue, and as he takes her hand, bringing it forward to cup the hardness of him through his trousers, she finds herself sucking on them, palming at him eagerly simultaneously.

He groans quietly, pressing himself against her touch. “Good girl.”

Withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and swatting her hand away gently, he unbuckles his belt, leaning back over her as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers just enough to free his erection.

She cannot see it, but the feel of it, heavy and leaking, pressing against her entrance is enough to have her walls clenching, eager to take him inside. The initial stretch to accommodate him as he presses forward causes them both to sigh softly in unison, his brows furrowing with exertion as he pushes all the way in to the hilt. The fullness of it makes her ache, and she rolls her hips impatiently, desperate for him to move.

“So needy,” he chastises quietly.

“Please,” is all she’s able to whimper in response.

His hand moves to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and gripping it tightly. He holds her in place, so she has no choice but to look at him as he drags his hips back before snapping them forward again.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

She should stop this, they’ve gone too far already, but the buzz of the wine is still coursing its way through her, and with every brush of the head of his cock against the sensitive spot deep inside of her, the urge to put an end to what’s happening rapidly fades.

Her legs tangle with his, as she meets him thrust for thrust. He is slow to withdraw, but quick to slam forward again, driving him impossibly deep into her. His grip on her hair and the forced eye contact make it almost too much to bear. The intensity with which he looks at her, studies the contortions of pleasure her features morph into, is torturous, yet she never wants it to end.

Clinging to him tightly, her fingernails dig crescent moons into the flesh of his shoulder blades, his jaw beginning to slacken as with every push forward she feels him pulsate. He’s getting close, and she is too, the tell tale tensing of her thighs and quivering inside of her letting her know she’s edging closer to her peak.

She is desperate to turn her face away, not wanting to be staring directly into his eye as she falls apart, but Aemond’s grip on her hair is iron clad, she cannot move her head. With one last push forward, she tightens and spasms around him, a broken cry escaping her as she stares at him, eyes wide and brows knitted together as warm waves of pleasure ripple through her.

Something akin to a growl rumbles in Aemond’s throat, and she feels him still, knowing he’s about to reach his own end. Not wanting her own ecstasy to be short lived by him pulling out, she is quick to reassure him in a breathy whisper.

“I’m on the pill.”

“I know,” he groans, before letting go, spilling himself inside of her with a grunt. He lets go of her hair, burying his face into the crook of her neck as his body shudders, his length twitching and pulsing within her sensitive heat.

They remain tangled together for a few moments, both breathing heavily as they attempt to recover and slowly come back down to earth. As the blissful fog begins to lift, she is struck by a realisation.

I know.

“How do you know I’m on the pill?” She asks, her voice quiet and hoarse.

Aemond lays quiet for a moment, his breaths warm and moist against the flesh of her neck as they calm. When he eventually pulls back and looks at her, there’s something different in the way he looks at her. His stare is cold, almost crazed, similar to what she had seen the day they’d first met in the visitors room of Dragonstone Prison.

“I know everything about you,” he says with a soft smile, that doesn’t play upon the rest of his features.

Her heart lurches in her chest, fear turning her blood icy, the effects of the wine disappearing entirely as she’s left starkly sobered.

“What do you mean?” She asks quietly.

He hums thoughtfully, brushing her hair away from her face in a gesture that could be considered affectionate, were it not for the sudden change in atmosphere.

“I suppose there’s no point in keeping secrets, not now we know each other so…intimately,” he muses. “I enjoyed our talks together, I wanted them to continue, but when it became clear to me that that wasn’t reciprocated, I needed a way to continue to keep in touch. So I had you watched, followed, everything you did was reported back to me. It’s made the last five years more bearable still having a connection to you. It’s been better still being able to keep tabs myself over the last few weeks.”

Tears prickle her eyes, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. “You’re sick!”

“Am I?” He asks, cocking his head as he strokes her hair absentmindedly. “Or is that you? Because for me, our little tryst seems perfectly normal, an inevitability, considering my interest in you. However, for you, you barely know me. I’m someone you interviewed half a decade ago, and you opened your legs for me the very same day I happened to make you aware I was back in your life. I’d say that makes you a whore.”

“Get off!” She cries, squirming beneath him, attempting to push him off. The thought that his softening member is still nestled within her has her reeling with disgust. He is stronger than she is though, and refuses to budge, keeping her right where she is, as he grips her jaw tightly, forcing her to look at him.

“Behave,” he hisses, “you’ve seen what happens to people who anger me. You sat through an entire trial for it.”

“That was manslaughter,” she says in a trembling voice, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“That’s what I was sentenced for, yes, but I’ll tell you a secret…I saw Lucerys, and I drove my car towards him anyway.”

He laughs softly, as he gazes down at her, her eyes widened in horror, as her chest heaves. “His expression was rather similar to yours, actually, when he realised what was about to happen.”

“You’re a murderer,” she sobs, frantically trying to push him off of her.

“Oh, darling,” he soothes mockingly, “but you did such a wonderful job of portraying me as otherwise.”

“What are you going to do to me?!” She asks, panic fluttering acridly up from her chest and into her throat.

“Nothing at all, if you don’t overreact. Don’t get any funny ideas about going to the police either.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think your career could withstand such an enormous blunder, not a second time anyway. Imagine how that would look, the second time you’ve painted a criminal as a saint, and not only that but this time you’ve slept with him. That would be quite the fall from grace.”

He pins her wrists above her head, though all the fight has left her, she sags beneath him, hot tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I can’t believe this…”

“Believe it,” he hisses. “You’ve built your career on the back of me, and I think it’s about time you repay the favour. For five years you’ve enjoyed success, all thanks to me, while I rotted in prison. You owe me.”

“What do you want from me?” She asks weakly.

“Nothing I haven’t had already,” he tells her, leaning down to run the tip of her nose against her cheek. “Be sweet to me, and I’ll be sweet to you, because if you try to take me down over this, I can guarantee you have much more to lose than I do.”

Her stomach turns, her eyes closing in defeat. There is no escape from this, she simply has to accept her fate or endure mutually assured destruction.

Aemond’s expression has softened when she opens her eyes again. His hands move from her wrists to her hands, entwining their fingers. “There she is,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more tears now, you’ll spoil all the fun we’re going to have together.”

This is a nightmare, This is a nightmare. Wake up.

As she feels him harden inside of her once more, the heartbreaking realisation that she’s not dreaming settles over her. This is a waking nightmare, and it’s only just beginning.

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whatswrongwithblue · 24 hours

Text

Girl Talk

Part Two of my Imagines with Angel Dust.

“So Alastor, he’s like all . . .” Angel Dust made strange gestures with his hands above his head, his thumbs pressed to his hair and fingers splayed out, and you were fairly certain he was trying to mimic antlers growing. “. . . murder-y and shit right? Even if he’s at the hotel, you can’t expect us to believe he’s stopped doing all that.”

It was late at night and you and Angel were at the bar, keeping Husk company, and nursing a couple of cocktails.

Alastor had disappeared hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but it was getting late. You weren’t letting yourself be worried just yet, he was the Radio Demon after all, and could certainly take care of himself. But you couldn’t help being a little on edge. Alastor always came home but still. He could give you an idea of where he had gone off to and what he was doing when he took off like this.

“Why, are you going to tattle to Charlie if I say he is?” you said, a little too defensively.

“Hey, I ain’t no rat,” Angel said, also defensive. “I’m just trying to figure the guy out.”

“He’s still the Radio Demon,” you respond vaguely.

“Oh well that tells me everything.” Angel rolled his eyes.

Husk chuckled, wiping a glass dry.

“He’s a serial killer and a cannibal. The day that guy stops doing all that is the day I’ll stop drinking and gambling.”

You scowl over the rim of your cocktail.

“You make him sound like a monster when you say it like that.”

Husk raised an eyebrow at you.

“Excuse me if I ain’t your boytoy’s number one fan. ‘Sides, not like anything I said wasn’t true.”

“Hey, he’s not out their killing all willy nilly, right?” Angel offered. “I mean, I pissed him off the other day and he let me go. Val woulda done way worse. So that means he’s got a type, I’m assuming? Like a uh . . . a demographic . . . of people he kills. If you ain’t that, he’ll still be creepy and fucking weird, but you’re probably safe.”

“Probably,” you smirk.

“Whatever,” Husk said with a grumble, and threw his towel over his shoulder, turning his back on the two of you.

“So, about those tentacles-“

“No,” you snapped, cutting off Angel’s sentence before it could be finished.

“Oh come on! You can’t leave me hanging like that!”

You just rolled your eyes and sighed, taking another sip of your drink.

“Oh . . . hanging, now there’s a thought,” Angel pressed on. “So suspensory play, huh? I bet those are really fun for that. Just how talented is the guy with those things? Because I bet with some practice, you could even use them for some interesting kind of Shibari. Or is he unimaginative and just shoves them right up your-“

“Angel, seriously, did you not learn your lesson last time?”

“Oh I learned my lesson all right. I learned how hot it is. So c’mon, admit it,” he teased, leaning closer to you, “you guys are into bondage.”

You laughed, unable to hide the sly smile on your face, but said nothing.

“I guess it makes sense,” Angel continued, “the guy does own souls. He’s probably gotta have that type of control in the bedroom.”

“You just go ahead and let your imagination run wild, my friend,” you said with a giggle.

“Baby, my imagination can run marathons,” Angel bragged. Then suddenly, he turned serious and looked over at you. “Wait, does he own your soul?”

Husk turned around and both men were now looking at you. Knowing both of their predicaments, you almost felt bad for your answer.

“No,” you said quietly.

“NO?!” Angel yelled, slapping his hand down on the bar counter.

‘No,” you repeated.

“But . . . but, that’s what he does. I mean, he even owns Niffty’s soul. So why are you with him-“

“Angel,” you interrupted, putting your hand on his arm. “I’m with him because I love him. Because I choose to be.” You said your words firmly, making sure your point was crystal clear. “And anyway, Alastor’s not the type to sleep with a soul he owns. It’s hard to explain his twisted moral code but he would think that was rude . . . or abusive . . . or just trashy. No offense.”

You knew about Angel’s forced and strained deal with Valentino and felt awkward, exposing the stark differences between your relationship and theirs.

“If I was making him sound like a monster, you’re making him sound like a fucking angel,” Husk said.

“Fair,” you agreed. “So, he’s complicated. But so am I.”

“So you really are into monster fucking. Got it,” Angel said, sounding deadly serious but when you looked at him, you saw the hint of a smile beginning to spread across his face.

“Wellllll,” you said, drawing out the word and giving Angel a side eye, “sometimes he has to blow off some steam. And those antlers are great for holding onto for balance.”

Angel choked on the drink he was taking a sip from.

“Now we’re talking,” Angel replied, eagerly leaning towards you again.

You held up a finger, stopping Angel from invading your space anymore. “That’s more than enough information for now.”

“Let me get this straight. He’s got the tentacles, he’s got the antlers,” Angel listed, holding up a finger for each item on his list. He held up a third finger, looking at you and tilting his head expectantly. “Say, you ever have a threesome with his shadow?”

You felt your face heating up, desperately trying to keep your composure and think of a witty response that wouldn’t give anything more away than your expression was, when thankfully you were saved by the front doors of the hotel slamming open.

Alastor walked in, his usual confident walk more of an exhausted shuffle, and he was covered head to toe in blood and the occasional clump or string of viscera.

“Holy shit buddy,” Angel exclaimed, “looks like you bit off more than you can chew.”

“I’m fine,” Alastor huffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Splendid, really. Just need some cleaning up.”

“Do you need any help?” you asked, sounding more flirty than concerned.

“Down girl,” Alastor replied and tapped you on the head with his microphone as he strode past you. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

He evaporated into shadow as he reached the staircase.

“If he could just do that, then why’d he have to make a show of walking through the front doors?” Angel complained, “He left bloody footprints all over the lobby!”

“That’s Al’ for you,” Husk said, “Always gotta be dramatic.”

You sat in silence, ignoring the two men’s banter and you gripped the glass of your cocktail, staring at it as if it had your entire focus.

A few moments went by where no one said anything and the lull in conversation became awkward.

“You don’t have to stay down here, you know,” Angel offered. “I can tell you want to go sexually attack him.”

You nodded. “I need to go lick every inch of that man clean,” you said and headed upstairs.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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corvidae-00 · 3 days

Note

if your comfortable writing this, can i request joost with a reader who sh? he accidentally finds out by their sleeve accidentally sliding down or something (im on the brink of relapsing and i need angst with comfort 😭😭 not forcing tho lol, if ur uncomfortable writing this don't force yourself!!!)

A/n: I’m totally okay doing this! As someone who has fought this battle I totally get it and I hope you are okay Anon!! You have people who love you and you are so special in your own ways! Beautiful inside and out 🫶 I hope this helps and know you are never alone!! My DMs are always open honey

CW: SH, angst, sensitive topics, Joost being a sweetheart,

YOU ARE LOVED!! be safe everyone!

988 (suicide prevention)

It had been a pretty hot day in the Netherlands and your boyfriend Joost was set on taking you on a hike! Which would have been totally okay if you hadn’t just gone through a relapse… you don’t even know why it happened or what set you off, you cleaned them pretty well but they were still tender and you knew you couldn’t convince Joost to cancel the hike that he was so dead set on.

“Long sleeves, eh?” He blinks at you in suprise his owlish expression kinda funny “yeah! It’s a cute shirt!” You blow him off waving your hand dismissively and your boyfriend nods with a shrug “it is cute you got me there” he pinches your cheek before leaning down and giving you a big ol kiss on the cheek before peppering your face with them. The sunshine that your boyfriend is always makes you feel so free and warm. “Let’s go!! I want to get there before it gets packed!” He chirps taking your hand and pulling you out to the car after making sure you had enough water and packed the sun screen

After hiking for a few hours you and Joost found the most beautiful ledge looking over a beautiful river covered with pine trees and mountains as far as the eyes can see. “Wow” you mutter wiping your brow and fanning the neck of your shirt “that’s breathtaking” you mutter and Joost chuckles looking over at you “it is isn’t it? But the view infront of me is even better” he purrs and you look over at him blushing madly “don’t even with me” you laugh covering your face with your hands leading to Joost wrapping his arms around you in a big hug “let’s take a selfie!” He says tugging his phone out of his pocket “say cheese schat!” He puts the phone out in front of you two

As the sun gets closer and closer to setting the more you forget about your arms to busy listening to Joost tell you about random things he knows about the wilderness or just random facts he finds interesting. Without thinking you tug your sleeves up to your elbows to help the air circulate through your clothes and cool you off. Joost looks back at you mid laugh at a dumb thing he had brought to your attention about ducks “and then I learned that buffalo!-“ he stops taking a quick glance down at your revealed arms and pauses- and then you watch his face go through a few different emotions- landing on devastation “schat…” he mutters stepping towards you like you might run. Realizing your fatal mistake you can sense the color draining from your features

“Joost I-“ you try to come up with excuses or reasons but you come up empty “I’m-“ you stop feeling your boyfriend slowly pull you into his chest and wrap his arms delicately around you “why would you feel the need to hurt…” he questions searching for the words through his broken English “I don’t know…” you respond honestly not trying to move your arms or run away- just leaning into Joost like a life line “I’m so sorry-“ you start but joost shushes you softly shaking his head “don’t be sorry, you aren’t in trouble and you have nothing to be sorry for” joost says pulling away and gently bringing your arms up to his face kissing around the sounds careful not to irritate them or cause you pain “come to me next time my love” Joost mutters gently looking up at you “please allow me to help you” he pleads and you nod starting to tear up “okay..” you whisper and Joost straightens up and kisses you passionately “I love you with everything I am. I love you for any amount of time your head can come up with and more.” He confesses “and even more than that” he runs his fingers through your hair “I love you” he wipes away your tears and holds you close

When you two got home Joost had pulled you into bed and kissed you more times than you could count praising you and rubbing your back “you are beautiful. So beautiful” joost says softly between the two of you “beautiful”

A/N I hope you all know how loved you ALL are!!! I may not know everyone but I love everyone and no matter how hard your battle is never give up! You are all so strong!

Sorry if this seemed rushed or wasn’t that good…I’m on my phone and at work 😂 but I saw this request and knew I needed to get it out!!

I love you all!!!!!!

#joost klein #x reader #joost klein x reader #joost klein fanfic #joost klein x you #joostice #joost klein fluff #joost klein x f! reader

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cherrylovelycherry · 2 days

Text

𓂅new order. "pain aux raisins, pain au chocolat and uh... a soufflé."

"Surprise, muddle fudger!"

pairing. Boothill x gn!reader cw/genre. action, some nsfw(desperate kisses with tongue), violence, implied deaths, weapons (guns and knives), no gore, anyway mdni full menu

You and Boothill were… Rivals at best. With both of you being mercenaries, it was easy to get competitive. Ironically, you knew each other the best. So, of course, after you pissed off a bunch of higher-ups and gained a large bounty on your head, Boothill was the first one on the case. He was confident he'd be the one to bring you in, dead or alive. It was only normal to chase after your rival, right?

Boothill had your face memorized for this job. But then again, he's had your face memorized for a while. He was confident he would catch you, and you were confident you wouldn't get caught. Though, you had a strong feeling that Boothill was on your trail. This feeling was proven correct when the familiar click of a gun echoed into the room. Here you were hoping to finish this mission without a hassle.

"There's a huge bounty on your head, sweetheart. How 'bout you make this easy f'me and come along without a fight?"

Boothill smirked as he stood in the doorway to the dimly lit room. He had his weapon leveled and aimed at your head. Of course, you knew he wouldn't kill you, but he might mess up your appearance a bit. His expression seemed to be a mix of excitement and annoyance. Maybe he was eager to turn in his former rival and gain the bounty for himself. On the other hand, his annoyance might have something to do with the fact that he'd prefer not to fight you. This job had already made him frustrated, but knowing you, you'd make it harder for him.

"I really am hopin' it doesn't have to come to shooting you darlin'." he said, his voice low.

"But if it comes down to it, so be it." There was an air of teasing around Boothill's tone, as if he was enjoying the situation. He had always relished challenging you. But now, there was something else in his eyes as he stood in front of you. Was that a flicker of affection?

You rolled your eyes at the slight thought of that.

"Ya know I'm not just gonna turn myself in, pretty boy." You responded, turning to him with a smirk. Your hand slowly hovered over your own weapon, ready for a fight if you needed to.

The both of you were quite skilled, which made the rivalry all the more exciting. You knew you'd be in for one hell of a fight.

"Now, I don't know what you did to get every mercenary on your trail, but I'd say your best bet is coming with me."

Boothill slowly lowered his weapon as he approached with caution. This was the first time he'd seen you in a bit, and he clearly hadn't expected for you to look so exhausted. Your condition didn't look too good, and he could see how you'd probably have difficulty fighting right now. He also seemed to notice the injuries you had from previous fights with the other mercenaries. He could see a few bullet wounds and a couple scratches.

Despite that, you seemed very willing to face it. Everything to fight for your freedom and life, nothing new.

He took a few more steps forward, his weapon still in his hand. His eyes were studying your features, taking in your tired expression. He hadn't expected to see you this way – beaten and weak. He was a bit concerned, but it also made him more confident, knowing you weren't at your full strength at the moment. He knew you'd still put up a fight despite your condition, though. You'd never give up without a struggle.

"I can see ya ain't looking too good."

Boothill raised his eyebrow as he got closer. He kept his weapon lowered, a signal that he wasn't going to shoot you for now.

He spoke slowly, as if trying his best to not upset you.

"Listen, you're a very skilled merc. I know you're strong as hell, but you're in no condition to fight right now."

He took another step closer before pausing, his eyes scanning the room. From what he could tell, the whole building was silent. No other mercenaries or enemies around to interfere. Just the two of you - alone.

"So…turn yourself in and it's over."

Silence.

"Haha, you're so funny!" You spoke, unsheathing your gun, aiming it straight at his head.

Your finger was on the trigger of the gun in your hand.

"Don't you dare take another fucking step because I'll blow your little brain away."

You held your ground, aiming your own weapon at him in warning. Boothill froze in place, clearly knowing the risks of making a wrong move. He had seen this stubborn side of you many times before, and he wasn't surprised by you threatening him.

Seeing you like this wasn't unfamiliar to him. In fact, he'd seen you at your worse moments before. He'd seen the rage and the pain, and he'd witnessed the moments when you'd been too exhausted to fight.

But now, it really didn't look like you were slightly injured.

He didn't seem shocked you weren't giving up. No - he seemed excited. This was exactly how he'd expected you to respond. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression one of cocky overconfidence.

"I ain't gonna lie, you're lookin' pretty damn sexy right now"

He responded, his voice low and teasing. You heard a chuckle escape his lips as his eyes flickered over you. He clearly enjoyed the danger this situation posed – the thrill that only you ever got him.

"You're insufferable"

You rolled your eyes once more, though there was a smirk on your lips. It was no secret that you and Boothil had a bit of a history together. After all, your relationship was mostly based around competition and flirting.

Despite your injuries, you stood there defiantly, unbothered by his flirtatious remark. Of course, he would take the time to give you compliments, even when you could shoot him right here, right now. However, the compliment didn't seem like an empty one either.

He was staring at you with the same cocky expression on his face, but there was more in his eyes than the teasing. There was a clear admiration and affection there.

"It's not good for you to make assumptions too soon, precious." You said.

Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't. You were a little hurt from the recent fights against other nosy guys, but the adrenaline in your body put you back together in one way or another.

Boothill let out a soft chuckle at your response, his eyes gleaming with amusement. It was difficult to not get caught up in this sort of flirting exchange. His gaze remained locked on you, taking in the sight of your injuries despite your determination.

As he studied you, his gaze slowly travelled down your body, admiring your injured but still impressive form. His smirk widened, clearly impressed by how you were holding yourself together despite everything.

"Oh, I wasn't assuming, sweetcheeks." He replied, taking a step closer. "I was stating a damn fact— "

His words were somewhat cut off by the gunshot next to his face. The thing you loved most about yourself was your very good aim.

"My eyes are up here." You spoke mockingly.

"And I said don't come any closer." You were ready to shoot him, you weren't kidding.

"Damn, you're not afraid to play dirty, huh?" He grinned.

A chuckle escaped his lips again as he stopped himself from moving any closer. His cocky demeanor was still present, but he had to admit that he found it amusing when you shot near his face. He really liked your feisty attitude.

"Fine, fine. I won't come any closer." He said with a smirk, raising his hands slightly as if surrendering to your demand.

He stepped back, putting some distance between the two of you. He still kept his eyes on you, but he tried to contain his previous overconfidence.

You kept your eyes locked on him, a sense of pride swelling within you. Despite the danger you were still in, you smirked back at him, relishing the moment of victory.

"Wise call, pretty boy." You taunted.

He had no choice but to keep his distance, and you enjoyed knowing that you had a bit of an advantage here. Though Boothill had no intentions of actually killing you, he was confident that he would win this fight. He just had to outsmart you somehow.

Your steps stopped abruptly when a bullet passed in front of your eyes.

"Shit." They shot out of the window. They almost blew your brain.

You quickly moved to cover yourself so that this time they would have the opportunity to shoot you. However, you still had to be careful with Boothill.

Your expression hardened as you slowly took a look behind you to see who was shooting you. You saw several men in military uniforms, carrying various types of guns. There were at least two snipers on the roof. They must have been the ones who shot through the window.

Although you felt flattered that so many people came after you, it seemed somewhat unfair to you. You were in a matchup more on par with Boothill, while the others were too far down for you.

You returned your attention to Boothill. He seemed a little surprised by the sudden interruption.

"Seems someone else is trying to claim that bounty on your head." He said, leaning against the wall.

He was still keeping his distance, knowing that they could shoot you both at any moment. You could tell from his body language that he didn't really want to fight them. Although well, he wanted you just for himself. He claimed you first.

The effects of the adrenaline that were diminishing and the injuries were affecting you, so you were not really at your 100%, an advantage for the other people who were also chasing you.

Boothill, seeing one of these uniformed men at the door of the room, did not hesitate to shoot.

"You're welcome, doll."

Boothill's bullet hit the man's shoulder, causing him to fall and yell aloud. His cry immediately attracted the attention of his accomplices, who were now rushing towards the building.

You had to be quick.

"Damn it, Boothill."

You didn't want to keep fighting; you were tired and wanted this whole thing to end. However, you really didn't have a choice. You were outnumbered, and they were determined to take you in one way or another.

"I was going to shoot them myself, you know." You replied sarcastically, taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

As you spoke, another bullet flew past you, barely missing your head. You had to take cover again, though you still managed to look at Boothill with a slight smirk. He just rolled his eyes in response.

"Yeah, sure you were." He said, a tinge of teasing in his voice.

The situation was still dangerous, but you couldn't help but enjoy the banter between the two of you.

"We can't stay here like sitting ducks." You replied, keeping your eyes focused on the door.

You were determined to fight back, and you knew that you had the skills to do it. However, you couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed that Boothill was doing your job, which was killing the other hunters.

"You think I can't handle myself?" You asked, a touch of irritation in your voice.

"Your eyes, darlin'. They look really tired." Boothill noted. He had never seen you look so exhausted before. He couldn't imagine how annoying and tiring it must have been to have a bunch of mercenary idiots after him.

You let out a small scoff at Boothill's remark. You really weren't in the mood to fight anymore, and he knew it. Even so, his teasing made you feel better about this whole situation—or so you thought.

"You know what? Just shut up."

You stayed hidden behind the table with Boothill by your side when another bullet hit the door. You cursed under your breath as you felt your clothes rubbing against the cuts. Your injuries were affecting you, and you were barely holding on.

You held back a small cry as a bullet grazed your hip.

Boothill turned to look at you. However, he kept his worries to himself.

"You're hit." He said, his tone firm but gentle. He reached out to check the wound, but you swatted his hand away.

"I'm fine." You grumbled, not wanting to admit how much pain you were in. You really weren't in the mood to fight anymore. However, no matter how tired you were, you were certain that you could win this fight, especially with Boothill by your side.

"Damn sons of bitches." You muttered, pulling a shot of adrenaline out of your jacket. At least that would help you compose yourself a little.

You could hear footsteps coming closer to where they were, so you quickly inserted the injection into your left leg.

A feeling of sudden power and energy ran through your veins as the drug took effect. You took a moment to take a deep breath, then stood up, ready to fight again.

Following that, you shot the two men inside directly in the head.

Boothill glanced at you with a mixture of surprise.

He wasn't exactly happy about you doing something dangerous like that, but he knew it was probably your only way to keep pushing through this fight. His gaze shifted back to the door, his hand still gripped tightly on his gun.

Since he wasn't going to kill you after all, he was going only to hurt you so he could hand you over and get the reward.

"You sure you won't pass out after that?" He asked, his tone serious.

You rolled your eyes, knowing that he was right. Just maybe. He really was annoying sometimes.

"Shut it and give me some cover." You demanded.

You were grateful that he understood that they were only on the same side for now, since the men were looking for both of you. And besides, the fight between you two was only about you two.

Without any other unwanted guests.

Boothill chuckled at your sharp tone. He really loved the way you spoke.

"Yes, love."

He was sure that you would be okay, even after the adrenaline shot.

"Just give me a sign if you're gonna pass out." He said, his voice low and serious, before firing his weapon again, hitting another man in the head. You both made a pretty good team.

You smirked, knowing that he was trying to help you in his own way. It had been a long time since you had fought together like this.

Bullets and bullets continued to fly through the room. However, Boothill managed to keep his aim on the enemies.

As usual, It was almost admirable how he managed to keep his focus, despite the chaotic situation.

You could feel Boothill's gaze on you, watching your every move, but you didn't mention anything. You wanted to keep going, especially when the only thing in your mind was to get rid of these intruders. You took out a long dagger from your belt and quickly stabbed a guy in the stomach, then knocked him down with your weapon. You really were a skilled fighter when you want to and need to.

By your side, Boothill was doing a great job too, taking down man after man.

It was a constant back and forth, the sound of gunfire and loud cursing echoing in the room.

As more people entered the building, it became increasingly clear that you had to get out of there. Or also go up to the upper floors, since it was emptier there and there was more freedom to move.

Boothill's gaze was still fixated on your back, his eyes never leaving you. He wasn't going to let anything happen to you, even if that meant putting himself in the line of fire.

Of course, it was only because I wanted you alive to turn you in and get the reward, nothing more.

You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your body. Your movements were swift and precise, your years of training kicking in.

You had to admit that you had missed this. The adrenaline, the excitement, the teamwork.

You kept going, cutting and shooting anyone who got in your way. You were both moving almost as if your actions were perfectly synchronized. You both knew where the other would be, and you were always there to back each other up, even if the fighting was chaotic and brutal.

Despite the exhaustion you were facing, both mentally and physically, you found yourself enjoying the adrenaline. The thrill was almost addictive, and you loved it.

Boothill kept fighting back to back with you. Despite his cockiness, the two of you worked impressively well together. He was always right on your tail, shooting down anyone who dared get too close. Your fighting style was completely different from his, yet it complemented his perfectly.

As the adrenaline continued to race through the room, Boothill couldn't help but notice how skilled you were. Even with the injuries you had, you were still a force to be reckoned with. He grinned, relishing the thrill of the fight and the way you worked together.

"Not bad, sweetheart."

You were grateful that Boothill's ego wasn't affecting his performance. For a moment, you stopped fighting to reload your gun. However, that little break was enough for you to pay attention to Boothill.

His smirk was a sign that not only was he enjoying this fight, but he was enjoying fighting with you. At least you two made a great team.

"What? You're saying that to everyone or is it an exception?" You replied, a small smug smile crossing your lips. You knew that he could sense your own excitement, even amidst this chaos.

Boothill chuckled at your words, a smirk spreading on his lips.

"You're the exception, doll."

His response was casual, but his eyes betrayed his words. You could see the admiration in them, the appreciation for your skills and the way you fought. He had see and fought beside many people before, but there was something about battling with you that felt different.

As more enemies started pouring in, Boothill stepped closer to you, his metalic arm brushing against your shoulder. His body language was casual, as if he were simply standing next to you at a party rather than in the middle of a life-threatening fight.

"You enjoying yourself so far?" He asked, his voice low and taunting.

"As much as you, pretty boy." You said, smiling as you wiped your sweat with the blood of the dead men with the back of your hand.

Boothill grinned, feeling a familiar flare of attraction burning in his chest. Fighting with you like this—side by side, watching each other's backs—was something he thoroughly enjoyed. And he couldn't deny that it made him feel good, not just because you two worked well together, but because it gave him a glimpse of what could have been if things had been different between the two of you.

However, he shrugged off the thought, reminding himself that you weren’t going to be with him. It was just wishful thinking.

"You're right, I'm enjoying myself."

Soon, the room was full of the bodies of the other hunters.

You and Boothill had ascended from the 5th floor to the 9th floor of the building while fighting.

You felt a sense of relief flood over you as the adrenaline high wore off. Your whole body seemed to relax, but your heart was still racing from the fight. You had never been more exhausted in your life.

However, in the midst of your slight distraction, one of the intruders had moved closer, and he grabbed you by the side. You gritted your teeth in pain and slammed your elbow backwards, hearing him groan as you struck him in the nose.

As you quickly pushed him to the ground, Boothill took the opportunity to land a shot on his chest.

Once the room fell silent, you let out a deep breath, realizing that the danger was finally coming to an end. Just for a few seconds.

All those fools were on the ground, all dead.

As you took cover behind the table again, you held back a small moan. The effects of those injections were beginning to wear off, causing a sudden pain in your hip.

Boothill couldn't help but glance over at you, noticing your discomfort. He approached you slowly, his gaze fixed on your wound.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly as Boothill approached you.

"Now, about our little problem?" You said, your eyes narrowing towards him.

Boothill leaned down to inspect the wound, trying to assess the severity. However, he saw that the shot had only grazed her hip. It was a small wound, but it still had to be painful for you.

He looked up at you with a small smirk, which only angered you.

"It's nothing I cannot handle." You huffed, your face twisted in annoyance. You didn't like it when Boothill looked at you like that, as if you were incapable of handling pain.

"I'm fine." You muttered, pushing his hand away from you.

You tried to ignore the throbbing pain, but you knew it needed attention. You nodded reluctantly, allowing him to look at your injury.

"You're wounded," he stated, his tone neutral. "Again."

From his pocket he took out a lighter, with which he heated his metal fingers for a while until they reached a high temperature so that the wound would heal.

Since he did not consider it fair that they continued the fight if you were not at your 100% or at least 70%.

"Hold still, darlin'. This might sting a bit."

Boothill held his heated finger over the wound, the heat causing you to gasp from the pain. You inhaled deeply through your clenched teeth, clenching your fists to avoid crying out in pain.

Despite the pain, you could feel the heat slowly knitting together your skin, closing the wound.

You closed your eyes as you felt Boothill's grip to steady you so that he could do his work.

The pain was intense, but somehow you found yourself calming down.

After the heat had done its job, Boothill let go of your wounded hip. You exhaled deeply, relieved that the pain was finally gone. Not completely, but most of it.

He looked down at you, his gaze taking in the expression on your face. You were still slightly irritated from the look he had given you earlier.

"You’re a terrible patient," Boothill commented, his tone laced with a hint of teasing.

"Hah. Shut up."

After a few seconds in which you calmed down, you got up slowly, still with caution.

Their previous "truce" had already ended.

You knew it was dangerous to be around him now. So you put your hand on your gun, ready to pull it out at any moment.

You walked away slowly, not cornering yourself.

"Now…stay away."

Boothill chuckled as your words faded into the silence. It was almost amusing how you still couldn't see eye to eye. Yet, there was an undercurrent of respect in his eyes.

"As you wish," he muttered, his tone neutral. He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, though there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

You took a deep breath and moved closer to the exit, your hand wrapped tightly around the handle of your gun.

"We'd save the fight if you give up and let me take you with me." He grinned, his voice low and menacing as he leaned closer to you.

You were about to leave when Boothill's words stopped you in your tracks. You looked at him with a frown, refusing to take the bait.

"We both know I won't do that," you said firmly and in a amusing way, keeping your distance.

There was no way you were going to give up and let him turn you in just like that. You were both trained mercenaries, after all, and there was something in you that didn't want to lose to him, even if it meant risking your life.

Despite your attempts to hide it, you couldn't help but feel excited.

You knew that Boothill was a smart man, a cunning mercenary who never underestimated his prey. And he knew you were just as determined as he was.

His lips curved into a smirk, displaying his sharp teeth. He was clearly enjoying this game of cat and mouse, the thrill of the chase and the anticipation of the fight.

He was slowly approaching, you pulled out your gun, pointing it at him.

“I said not to—” You felt dizzy, unable to finish your sentence.

You fell directly to the ground, with no strength to move. It was the result of tiredness and the lack of adrenaline in your body.

'Shit,' you thought as you looked at your gun now on the ground, as well as listening to Boothill's footsteps.

It didn't take long for you to end up closing your eyes, passing out.

He crouched down next to you to check that you weren't dead.

But thankfully, he could see the slight rise of your chest, your breathing was slow and somewhat light. For a moment, he was terrified that you didn’t have one.

He felt a mixture of concern and victory, as he realized this was his chance to turn you in. He bent down, picking up your gun and then picking you up too.

He couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment, knowing that the fight had ended too soon.

He started to go down the stairs, with you in his arms, although he had you carrying you more like a sack of potatoes. A nice gesture from him.

Despite your body being limp and unresponsive, you could sense the movement and the sound of Boothill's footsteps. You couldn't open your eyes, so all you could do was think.

Your thoughts were a mess of anger and frustration. You hadn't anticipated that you would lose the fight this time. It was humiliating, and you couldn't believe that you had allowed yourself to get into this position.

You also cursed Boothill for being so quick and taking this chance. You were furious at yourself for not seeing it coming.

You wished that you could wake up right then and there. And that's what you did, you were forcing yourself to wake up.

You should have stayed in that building as long as you could.

Approximately 10 minutes passed, Boothill calmly descended the stairs.

In one of your attempts to wake up, you finally succeeded, although not completely since you were somewhat sleepy.

You remained still, as if you were still passed out.

Until, in one of those, with a metal bar that you managed to pick up days ago, you pushed it directly into the back of Boothill's metal legs.

In a way that he stumbles and in that way, letting go.

You fell to the ground again, your vision was still somewhat blurry but your instincts to escape were a little stronger.

You got up and started running down the stairs, going up again. Taking advantage of Boothill to remove the metal bar from his leg.

Boothill groaned as he felt the metal bar hit his legs and make him stumble. He wasn't expecting that sneaky move from you, even in your dazed state.

As he tried to regain his balance, he couldn't help but curse under his breath. Being immediately censored by his internal system.

How had he underestimated you that much? He had been careless and careless enough to let you slip away. He should have known better than to assume you were still unconscious.

His anger mixed with a sense of respect and admiration for your determination. He was both annoyed and impressed, both at you for escaping and at himself for letting you go.

You could hear him cursing behind you, which made the situation quite amusing. It was a bit of revenge for Boothill's actions.

With your blurred vision and half your body still not functioning properly, it was a challenge to run. Not to mention that your legs and arms felt like jelly.

You felt like you could faint at any moment, but anger kept you going. You pushed yourself to keep moving, though your movements were still somewhat slow.

You found solace in a room that led to a broken balcony.

You took a breath and took out your gun, which you picked up from one of the dead men on the ground, leaning against the wall and waiting for Boothill to arrive.

You were determined to end this once and for all, no more playing with each other.

You were going to kill him right then and there, but deep down, you hoped it wouldn't be necessary to do that.

Boothill gritted his teeth as he made his way up the stairs, his senses heightened as he anticipated your next move. He knew he had underestimated you and that you were clever enough to not make the same mistake twice. However, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of engaging in another fight.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he surveyed the room, his eyes quickly settling on you in the corner. He took a few moments to observe your stance, noticing the determination in your features and the gun pointed directly at him.

“Now this is an interesting change of pace,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He knew he had to be careful with his movements, as any sudden action could result in a bullet in his brain. He took a slow step towards you.

"Are you sure you wanna do this, darlin'?" he asked, a hint of humor in his tone, "You seem a little out of it."

You responded, but not speaking, you shot trying to hit his forehead. However, he narrowly dodged the bullets.

By the time I wanted to shoot again, no bullet came out.

"Damn." You muttered, throwing the gun to the ground.

As he dodged your shots, Boothill chuckled, finding your determination admirable despite the fact that you ran out of bullets.

"Now, now, darlin'," he said, taking a step closer to you. "Just because you're out of bullets doesn't mean this is over."

His voice was laced with a mix of taunting and admiration as he continued to approach you, fully aware that you had no other means of defense.

"C'mere." He said, taking out his gun and pointing it at you, just in case you did something.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, annoyed at how he seemed to be enjoying this situation.

You took a deep breath, mentally steeling yourself for whatever might happen.

You weren't sure what you'd do next, but you knew you couldn't let him get away with this.

You took a step closer to him, your fists clenching and unclenching as you prepared yourself.

You raised your hands in surrender, as you approached him.

You knew you wouldn't last long in a physical fight against Boothill. He had experience, training, and an inhuman advantage given his abilities.

As you raised your hands in surrender, Boothill's eyes flickered with a hint of surprise, not expecting you to give in so easily.

He approached you with calculated steps, his gun still pointed at you. His gaze studied your movements and your expression, searching for any signs of deception.

"Smart choice," he said.

However, as he got closer, he noticed the fatigue and exhaustion in your eyes. He could see that despite your determination, you were not in the best shape to continue the fight.

He knew he had the upper hand, but he also saw a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes.

For your part, you were sure that you would regret this some time later. If everything went well, of course.

Being in front of him, just two steps away, you relaxed your face. Your pretty face and the old bond that both of you had before would have to be of some use.

Boothill noticed as you relaxed your face and softened your expression. He recognized the tactic immediately, as the tension in his jaw softened slightly.

He lowered his gun slightly, taking in the sight of you. The light that entered the room through the window illuminated your face, and for a moment, Boothill forgot about the current situation.

Bad decision he made.

"Can I…have a little time before you take me?" You asked, your face was one of resignation and some pity.

Boothill lowered his guard a little as he heard your request.

He could see the exhaustion in your eyes and the pleading look on your face.

He knew that he would easily fall into those sweet puppy eyes and that angelic voice.

He remained silent for a few seconds, still holding his gun, but more relaxed as he nodded.

"Just this time, but no funny business," he replied, a mix of caution and understanding in his voice.

You smiled internally, if that was possible.

Quickly and without him being able to react, you placed your hands on his face.

The only human part of his body he had left. You lightly caressed his cheeks, analyzing his eyes.

"It's been a long time since I looked into those pretty eyes again…" You spoke calmly.

Boothill froze when he felt your hands on his cheeks.

The feeling of your touch sent a series of electrical impulses and sensations through his artificial nerves, causing an involuntary shiver to run down his spine.

He was surprised at your bold move and the sudden display of affection. He couldn't hide the mix of confusion and a touch of discomfort in his expression, but he couldn't turn away from the warmth of your touch.

The sudden intimacy caught him off guard, and before he could react, he saw the vulnerability in your eyes and the hint of longing in your gaze.

"What are you…" he sputtered, taken aback by the unexpected gesture. He still kept his guard down, unsure of your intentions, but he didn't pull back.

Instead, he remained there, allowing you to touch his face.

You smiled softly, feeling like you had taken control of the situation.

"Oh, don't be like that…" You whispered, your thumb gently tracing the contours of his human skin.

"I just…" You paused, trying to find the right words. "I just missed seeing your pretty face."

You continued to explore his face with an almost careful touch, tracing the contours of his features with your fingertips. He noticed how your touch was gentle, almost reverential.

As if you were handling a work of art that could easily break.

"Tell me, Boothill," you spoke with an even tone. Your fingers moved slowly along his jaw and chin. He could feel the warmth of your touch and the way your touch tingled his skin. He noticed how your thumb brushed over his lips, tracing his lower lip.

He couldn't deny the fact that he had missed the feeling of your hands on his skin, even though he would never admit it out loud.

He could sense the nostalgia in your touch, and it was as if your touch awakened old memories buried deep within his circuits.

A feeling he had long forgotten.

"What are you planning, darlin'?" he managed to mutter, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and fascination.

You sighed lightly, before getting closer to his face.

"Can i…?" Your face was very close to his, a few centimeters away from touching his lips with yours.

He wanted to turn away, but he found himself powerless against the pull between you.

"Sweetheart…" he began, but his voice trailed off. He couldn't find the strength to push you away.

Or didn't want to, really.

But before he could say more, you had already pressed your lips against his.

Not exactly with much force, they barely brushed against each other.

And that was enough for you to quickly take away the weapon he had in his hand with a light blow.

You walked away from him quickly as a smile appeared on your lips, you must have been quick since he had a gun integrated into his hand.

As the realization dawned on him, Boothill's expression shifted from surprise to annoyance. He couldn't believe he had fallen for your little trick.

"Sneaky, aren't ya?" he said, his tone a mix of irritation.

Despite the temporary triumph, Boothill couldn't suppress a flicker of respect for your cunning and resourcefulness. He couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration at your ability to catch him off guard.

He knew you would try something, he thought you were just going to try to convince him not to hand you over, making those pretty eyes of yours. He really hadn't expected there to be that kind of intimacy involved.

You couldn't help but laugh when you saw his annoyed expression, you knew he wouldn't take it well.

You couldn't believe it had worked, you assumed he would have pushed you away, but not this time.

"You should be flattered, you're the only 'guy' I can do that to without being disgusted." You said in a sarcastic tone, your smile widening.

Boothill scoffed, his irritation growing even more. He felt a mixture of amusement and indignation at your words and your teasing smile.

"Flattered? Oh, how lucky I am," he retorted sarcastically. "I'm honored to be your exception. I feel privileged."

He tried to maintain a calm facade, but the hint of a grin betrayed his true feelings.

You were just as annoying as always.

And after the small conversation. You tried to be quick and back away enough to go to the floors below, through the balcony.

Because if you stayed there any longer, one of his bullets was going to hit you.

As you made your escape, Boothill cursed under his breath, realizing how effortlessly you had outsmarted him again.

"Smart little thing." he muttered, a begrudging respect in his tone. He couldn't help but acknowledge your quick thinking and resourcefulness.

Despite a hint of admiration, he couldn't shake the feeling that your actions only fueled the fire between you both.

From there, you couldn't estimate how long you were dodging and hiding from Boothill, occasionally shooting.

You knew it was night, because of the windows and balconies you passed, you still had to stay in the building.

The smell of gunpowder was strong. You were taking care of the few bullets you had, using the gun as limited as you could, just to protect yourself.

You didn't risk fighting him physically since you knew you would lose easily.

The tension was palpable in the air as your chase continued. You constantly managed to evade his shots, thanks to your resourcefulness and quick thinking.

You made full use of the environment, ducking and hiding behind cover whenever possible, and your marksmanship kept Boothill at bay. Despite your limited ammunition, you remained cautious and calculated with each shot, making every bullet count.

However, despite his physical advantage, he couldn't shake the lingering memory of your touch and the bittersweet taste lingering on his lips.

As he sprinted behind you, he muttered under his breath.

"You're playing a dangerous game, darlin'…"

As the night deepened, a sense of urgency fueled your every move, and Boothill's determination never wavered.

Every step you took, every corner you turned, brought you closer to exhaustion.

Boothill followed your path, his mind focused on his target. He navigated the building with purpose and determination.

With each step, he grew increasingly frustrated by your continued evasion. You were making him work harder than he anticipated.

"You can't run forever, sweetheart," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and annoyance.

He was determined to catch you before sunrise, not knowing what would happen afterwards.

You took out your phone for a moment. You were behind a closet, so for a moment Boothill wouldn't be able to find you easily, or at least you hoped.

"Why the hell don't they respond?" You mumbled in annoyance, while looking at your phone.

No calls or messages were reaching your phone. The connection seemed unreliable, perhaps due to the location of the building or other interference. Whatever the reason, it added to your growing frustration.

As you stood there behind the closet, hidden from sight you took the moment of calmness to gather your thoughts.

You couldn't help but feel disgusted and a little humiliated at having to hide. It wasn't like you.

But you had no choice if you wanted to live or remain 'free'.

If it weren't for the fact that you had to stay in this building, you would already be far from this place. Maybe having a few drinks.

At that very moment, Boothill closed in on your location. His keen senses and intimate knowledge of your tactics allowed him to narrow down your position.

He approached the closet cautiously, his footsteps deliberately soft to avoid tipping you off. He stood on the other side of the door, mentally preparing for the moment of confrontation.

You made the big mistake of distracting yourself, getting internally upset by the situation and the lack of response on your phone.

As you stood behind the closet, your mind racing with frustration, you failed to notice the faint creak of a floorboard behind you.

Before you could react, Boothill appeared behind you, his presence like a shadow materializing out of thin air.

He pulled your leg back, thus preventing you from grabbing the weapon you had taken from him.

"Fuck!" You whirled around, your heart skipping a beat, only to find yourself facing him, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Hey darlin'," he teased, his voice laced with a hint of triumph, "I won."

He had you pinned to the ground. You were on your back and he had his hands on your wrists, along with his knees on your legs.

A mix of shock and anger filled you as you found yourself pinned to the ground by Boothill.

You struggled to break free from his grip, but his strength and body weight pinned you down, leaving you feeling helpless and exposed.

"Let go of me, prick!" You growled through clenched teeth, squirming and trying to wriggle out of his grip.

But your efforts were met with a chuckle from Boothill as he tightened his hold on your wrists,

"Now, now, easy there, sweetheart. You lost. That means you're in my hands now."

You glared up at him, your body tensed with defiance. Despite your best efforts to break free, his grip remained firm and unyielding. The power imbalance was evident, leaving you in a vulnerable position.

"You won, big deal," you muttered through gritted teeth, trying to hide the mix of frustration and fear that threatened to surface. Boothill smirked, enjoying the sight of your helplessness.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a softer yet slightly mocking tone, "Ah, but you do look rather cute like this, darlin'."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words.

"You're playing dirty." You spoke, your brow furrowing a little. You had already stopped trying to get away because you knew it was useless at that moment.

"Oh, me? Playing dirty?" He shifted his weight slightly, pressing his knee more firmly against your thigh.

He continued, his tone laced with a hint of teasing, "if I recall, there was a rather intimate moment not long ago that involved your pretty face and my lips.”

"That was different," you muttered defiantly. "You were stunned. I merely took advantage."

Boothill laughed softly, clearly amused by your attempt to justify your actions.

"Ah, so you admit to playing dirty, eh?" His grip relaxed slightly.

"Mhm, maybe." You said as you let out a sigh.

Boothill leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper.

"Let's say I am feeling a bit generous tonight." He paused, taking a moment to admire your features. "And the sight of you under me isn't half bad too."

He shifted his position slightly, his body pressing against yours with a bit more weight. The intensity of the moment seemed to thicken the air around you.

"Woah, relax." You spoke, raising an eyebrow with some amusement.

"Oh and, could you let me go?" You made reference to your wrists. "It's not like I could run away or anything." You continued, laughing somewhat bitterly.

Boothill maintained his grip on your wrists for a few seconds before finally releasing his hold, allowing you some freedom of movement. However, he kept you pinned to the ground with the weight of his body.

He remained silent for a moment, his mind working quickly as a slightly cocky, playful smile crept across his face, just like the cat who caught the mouse.

"There you go, darlin'," he said, his tone holding a subtle edge of mocking.

You moved a little on the ground, rubbing your wrists where his grip had left marks.

You internally lamented your immersive defeat.

Things didn't go as well as you planned.

"Okay, you can hand me over." You spoke, rolling your eyes. You weren't even going to try to escape, there was no chance of that.

A flicker of something you couldn't quite identify flashed across Boothill's eyes.

He stayed put, still holding you in place, his mind processing your words. He shifted his weight slightly, his gaze studying your facial expressions and demeanor, reading the subtle body language.

He thought, pondering your words and trying to gauge your sincerity.

"Just like that?" he asked, skepticism creeping into his voice. "No more fight, darlin'?

Boothill raised an eyebrow, amused by your surrender.

"Now, that's the first time I've heard you agree to surrender." He chuckled, taking a moment to appreciate the spectacle of you being the one to submit.

He leaned in closer.

"You're quite the sight to behold when you're not fighting back, you know that?"

With a swift motion, he gently grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze once again.

"Take a picture, those last longer." You spoke, smirking at the way he was looking at you and talking.

Boothill paused momentarily, his smile growing wider at your challenging comment.

"Oh, don't tempt me, darlin'," he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. "But now that you mention it…"

He pulled out his phone, swiftly unlocking it. He hovered over the camera mode, teasing you with the possibility of capturing the moment.

"Maybe I should take a picture of you, just like this." He teased, the camera open and pointed at you.

His thumb lightly caressed your lower lip, a tender touch that contrasted with his cocky attitude.

As he stood there, phone in hand, Boothill's expression turned from playful to focused. He carefully analyzed your demeanour.

His gaze then softened slightly as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't help but feel a hint of vulnerability as he looked at you.

You rolled your eyes, trying to disguise the shiver that ran down your spine as his thumb gently traced your lower lip, though you failed miserably.

You tried not to react, but his touch was strangely and unusually arousing, given the current situation.

As the moment lingered, his thumb still gently brushed over your lower lip, you felt a strange mix of sensations - a combination of a warm feeling and annoyance.

"Go ahead and take it," you replied finally, your tone slightly sarcastic. "It's not like I can stop you."

You leaned in slightly. The atmosphere grew thick with unspoken desires.

Boothill paused for a moment, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes.

With your sarcastic reply granting permission to take the picture, Boothill wasted no time in capturing the moment with his phone.

He snapped a shot of your defiant yet slightly flustered expression, the phone's camera preserving the unexpected and somewhat amusing moment.

He glanced down at the screen to view the picture, a cocky smile stretching across his lips.

"Oh my, aren't ya a sight for sore eyes," he teased, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

As he spoke, his thumb continued to gently trace over your lip, almost affectionately.

Boothill's eyes met your gaze, their gazes locked while he slowly leaned closer.

He hovered for a few seconds.

"You look beautiful, darlin' you really do."

His other hand moved to cup your cheek, he wished he could have felt the warmth of your skin on his fingers.

He closed his eyes and brought his head closer to yours. The tension in the room thickened as the distance between your lips grew shorter.

Without a second thought, Boothill leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss that expressed all the passion and tension that had been building between you.

You felt a rush of warmth and desire flood your senses. The last time they were this intimate was how long ago… maybe 8 years ago? You don't keep track of that much.

The kiss intensified. His tongue gently licked the edge of your lower lip, seeking permission to deepen it further.

Your body responded instinctively, parting your lips and granting him access. The taste of him was like nectar to your senses.

The world around you seemed to disappear as the kiss deepened, filled with a rush of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Your focus entirely on the sensation of his tongue exploring your mouth. Your body responded shamelessly, your hands moving up to caress his head, fingers gently tangling in his hair.

Boothill's hand shifted from your cheek to cup the back of your head, his grip firm yet gentle.

He pulled you closer, the heat between you growing more intensely.

You knew in the back of your mind that it was wrong.

And yet, it felt so right. You couldn't help but submit yourself to the overwhelming desire that consumed you both.

The world beyond the walls of this room faded into insignificance. Your whole world condensed into the warmth and sensation of his body pressed against yours.

Finally, the need for air forced you to pull away, breaking the kiss as you gasped for breath.

You both remained in that position for a few lingering moments, your foreheads resting against each other. The cold air hit your wet lips, causing a small shiver of sensation. The kiss had left your mind and senses in a hazy, pleasant fog.

The sound of your heartbeats echoed loudly in your ears, as if they were trying to convey the depth of your feelings in that moment.

The realisation of what had just happened sank into your brain. The complexity of emotions flooding your mind was overwhelming. Mixed feelings of contentment, excitement, and… love overwhelmed your body.

It took all your self-control to not immediately kiss him again.

The silence in the room was deafening. Boothill spoke first in a low voice, trying to lighten the mood with a teasing tone.

"You taste sweeter than I remember."

His voice brought you back to reality, his usual teasing and cocky demeanour returning. You tried to respond to his teasing comment, but your mind was still reeling from the intensity and the overwhelming mix of emotions.

Without thinking, you replied, "Shut your mouth, Boothill."

A small smirk formed on your lips as you realised how natural the banter between the two of you was.

You pulled away from his grip, rolling your body away from his. You were still on the ground, but you kept a bit of distance between each other. You brought a hand to your lips, tracing over them softly as you looked away.

You were stuck in your thoughts, you were scolding yourself for letting your emotions control your body.

Until, a click echoed in your brain. Despite the sweet and intimate moment you knew Boothill wouldn't change his mind. Yes or yes he would turn you in and claim the reward. At least without killing you, but he would still turn you in.

Instantly, you looked over, just in time to see Boothill looking at you. But what took your breath away was the sight of something you hadn't noticed before. His hand hovered over the shiny metal of his holstered gun, his fingers casually toying with the smooth surface.

You didn't really notice when he picked up the gun you took from him.

"You forgot something, darlin', didn't ya?"

He slowly placed his hand over the grip, drawing the gun from his holster with a casual grace that masked a sense of danger. His gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of cockiness and a hint of something more complex you would never admit to yourself.

You knew I wouldn't kill you, I was just going to knock you out. You wouldn't allow that anyway.

But you couldn't escape at that moment.

He managed to mumble something you barely managed to hear. ‘Sorry, sweetcheeks.’

A rush of adrenaline shot through your veins as you realised his intent. Your heartbeat intensified, pounding in your ears as you braced yourself for what was about to happen.

Your body acted of its own accord, quickly pulling out a small knife you had stored in your leg.

You couldn't even make a plan. You panicked at the thought of killing him, but there was nothing you could do. It was your life or his.

You instinctively raised your hand to defend yourself as the fear took over. You were going straight for his throat. His gaze met yours, and his expression shifted.

He narrowly managed to move aside, only cutting a little of the skin on his neck, superficially.

What you did manage to cut, however, was his nice long hair.

He also acted on instinct, as he saw you moving in the direction of cutting his neck, he ended up using the gun he had attached to his arm, as he had the other gun in his other arm. Shooting you directly in the right leg. It went through it instantly.

Your eyes widened, and a sharp scream escaped your lips as the pain coursed through your body. The shock of the injury made the room spin, and you felt a sense of dread as you realised the severity of the wound.

The adrenaline and the pain temporarily numbed your ability to think clearly.

Instinctively, you dropped your knife and reached down to your wounded leg, clutching at the wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow. The fear and pain overwhelmed your senses, your breath quickening and your heart pounded loudly.

You gritted your teeth against the pain, struggling to gather your senses.

Meanwhile, Boothill stood there, his eyes widened in shock as he heard the sound of the ringing gunshot. The teasing smirk replaced by a mix of surprise and a touch of guilt. He glanced at the gun in his hand, as if it had betrayed him.

The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks, and the expression on his face reflected his inner turmoil as he watched your pain.

The silence in the room was deafening, both of you frozen in disbelief. The atmosphere was heavy with the lingering smoke and the weight of the situation.

"I'm sorry, darlin' I was just reacting" he mumbled in a low voice, his tone tinged with disbelief and self-reproach.

He stood up, as he ran his metal hand over his face.

He tried to pull himself together, thinking about what he was initially supposed to do, to hand you over to those who were looking for you.

He turned his gaze back to you, you were with your head fixed on the ground, or rather on the wound you were holding with both hands.

You definitely wouldn't die for that, but it felt strange to see you like that. In passing he also saw much of his hair on the ground, which was cut by you.

He frowned a little at that sight as he turned away for a while, taking out his phone for a while.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse. "It was just-"

As he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of guilt, and something else you couldn't quite identify, changed completely.

He could not believe his eyes.

You were no longer clutching your wound. Now you were standing near the broken balcony. Leaning on your left leg.

While your right leg that was wounded, now showed, thanks to you cutting off that part of your trousers, that your leg was no longer flesh and blood. It was also made of metal.

And the blood that was supposedly coming out of the wound, was from your hands, which in an oversight of his, you managed to cut off a little bit to make it look totally real.

Boothill's eyes widened in disbelief and a mix of shock and confusion, the phone in his hand almost slipping out.

His mind struggled to process the sudden turn of events, the revelation leaving him frozen in place.

He stood there, his eyes fixed on your leg, the same one that had wounded moments ago, now revealed to be metallic.

You're not going to lie, it really hurt when he shot your leg. The nerves you had connected there hurt like never before, that's why your pain looked so real.

It was funny to see his face, full of surprise and confusion.

"Surprise, muddle fudger!" You said, while smiling.

Without giving him a chance to answer you, you stepped backwards over the balcony, falling to catch hold of some kind of rope. You mentally thanked a certain blonde boy and a certain white-haired girl for arriving at the best time.

As you flew away in a sort of helicopter, you couldn't help but notice Boothill, who was more than a little shocked and static in his place.

With your free hand, you blew a kiss into the air in his direction.

Oh, you really loved that man, along with his cute and funny reactions.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#honkai star rail #boothill #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #hsr #honkai x reader #honkai sr #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail boothill #boothill hsr

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adriennebarnes · 15 hours

Note

Heyy can you write a onsehot of charles being really really really clingy to the reader ,like wanting cuddels kisses

YES!!!!! I don’t think I ever wrote Charles in a clingy way so it’ll be fun to try!

Attached at The Hip

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina reader

Summary: Charles has a break between races and decides to spend it with his girlfriend. However, his girlfriend is not paying attention to him.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: sorry it’s been a while since I have posted anything, I went to California as my graduation gift. Thank you for your request! I am so happy you like my writing enough to request a oneshot! If I haven’t gotten to your request yet, I AM WORKING ON IT, te lo juro por las haditas.

Charles had a 3 week break between races and what better way to spend this break than with his lovely girlfriend? When Charles came back Tuesday afternoon, he cuddled with his girlfriend, they watched a movie together, he gave her many kisses because he missed her so much. However, Wednesday morning Charles woke up without Y/N by his side and with the smell of baked goods. Charles walked into the kitchen and saw Y/N with her cupcake apron, frosting one batch of cupcakes, pulling another batch out of the oven, and putting another batch in the oven.

“Mon ange, it’s 7 am, what are you doing baking?” Charles asked.

“I received an order for cupcakes, muñeco. It’s a birthday party so I’m making cupcakes for the children and for the adults. I made margarita cupcakes for the adults and s’mores cupcakes for the children. I obviously wanted the cupcakes to be fresh, the party starts at 1, that also gives me time to deliver these.” Y/N said, showing Charles the tray of macarons that were made yesterday before he came over. “I spent the entire morning frosting them. If you can take the cupcakes out of the oven when the timer rings, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I thought we were going to spend the day together.” Charles pouted, getting closer to hug Y/N but she walked away from his hug.

“Muñeco, i would love to cuddle you, but I have to deliver these to the café before they open.” Y/N packed the macarons in boxes very carefully and left the apartment, leaving a very sad Charles. When the timer dinged, he took out the cupcakes using Y/N’s oven mitts and placed them on top of the stove, turning off the oven. Y/N got back with bags of groceries for her apartment and her business.

“Ma Belle, are you still going to bake?” Charles asked.

“Charles, i supply macarons everyday for a café plus personal orders. I’m a busy girl, muñeco.” Y/N responded, Charles hugged her from behind.

“Can’t you take a break, please.” Charles whispered in her ear, kissing her neck as well.

“Muñeco…” Y/N whines

“I haven’t gotten any attention today.” Charles whined

“Let me frost the cupcakes and I’ll give you all the attention you want. Until 12 that is, then I’ll have to deliver these cupcakes.” Y/N said.

“I’ll take it.” Charles pulled away from Y/N, kissing her and letting her do a baker’s job. As soon as she finished frosting the cupcakes, she laid down with Charles and he was very happy with her in his arms. They watched the Spanish TV show “Ni Una Más” with English subtitles for Charles when Y/N’s phone rings, it was the mom who was throwing the birthday party.

“Hello, yes the cupcakes are ready, I’ll be over there in a few. S’mores cupcakes for the kids and margarita cupcakes for you guys, alright, bye.” Y/N hung up the phone. “Muñeco, I gotta go.” Y/N tried to get up but Charles held her tighter.

“No, please stay.” Charles begged against her neck.

“Muñeco, this is how I make my rent, I have to drop off the cupcakes.” Y/N said, getting up successfully and putting the cupcakes in their respective containers. Charles got up as well.

“At least let me drive you.” Charles said.

“Nope, you’re staying here like a good boy, okay.” Y/N said, opening the apartment door with cupcake boxes in hand. “Stay…good boy.” Y/N left the apartment, leaving Charles again.

After Y/N was paid 200 euros for the cupcakes since they are flavors that not everyone else makes, she went back to her apartment and found Charles on the couch.

“Finally, you’re home! Let’s spend some time together, yes? We should go out on the yacht.” Charles said, “or we could stay in bed,” Charles hugged Y/N from behind.

“You’re so clingy. But you’re adorable, let’s go.” Y/N said. Charles silently cheers and grabs Y/N’s hand to lead her into her bedroom so they could watch TV and rot in bed together.

The End

I hope you like it, I don’t know how to write “clingy” because I have a fearful avoidant attachment style so I don’t know what “clingy” typically looks like but I hope it’s acceptable

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic

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miley1442111 · 19 hours

Text

clingy- a.hotchner

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summary: aaron acts quite differently with his wife around, which causes eyebrowns to raise and feelings to start getting hurt.

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife! reader

warnings: mildly suggestive, negative self-talk

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You rushed around the corner, only to be met with your brick wall of a husband, Aaron Hotchner.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he smiled, his hands circling your waist and holding you to him.

“Aaron I need to-” you huffed but he cut you off with a quick kiss.

“You don’t need to do anything,” his hands ventured lower, until he was fully squeezing your ass.

“Your team will be here any minute,” you sighed. The team had never met you, one of Aaron’s non-negotiables when you two got married, but nothing a year of married bliss and a lot of bribing him with sex couldn’t fix.

“And everything is ready,” he smiled. “Stop worrying so much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, well that’s helpful, thank you so much Sherlock Holmes,” you responded sarcastically and Aaron’s smile turned into a full-on smirk.

“I love you too.”

You wriggled out of his arms with great effort, and a lot of elbowing him, then it was back to your frantic cooking and cleaning.

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The team was in shock. They knew that newly-wed SSA Aaron Hotchner was a lot more laid back then before, but when he was with you? All bets were off. His hands stayed firmly on you at all times, much like his attention. You were clearly used to it, but to the team, your frequent flirty banter was bizarre. How could Aaron Hotchner be this… relaxed?

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

You noticed the weird look halfway through the dinner, and kicked Aaron under the table as a way to ask him if he would tune it down. He obliged, albeit confused, and kept his hands to himself for the rest of the night, much to his own dismay.

Throughout the night, everytime someone made a look or whispered to each other, a sense of dread grew in your stomach. By the end of the night, it got so bad that you just left the room altogether and did the dishes instead. You had a dishwasher, there was no point in hand washing the dishes, but you had to get away from their prying eyes.

They think you’re weird. They hate that you and Aaron are together. They think he can do so much better.

Your thoughts were cut off by a hand on the small of your back.

“Are you alright?” Aaron asked, pressing a kiss to your temple. Usually, his touch would ground you, but tonight it felt like a fire on your skin, one you wanted to put out. You quickly stepped out of his grasp and nodded.

“Yeah, fine, just tired.”

“Well, people are heading out now, they wanted to thank you.”

“Sounds good,” you mustered up a half-assed smile and followed behind him as the team slowly filtered out of your house in a flurry of ‘thank yous’, ‘see you soons’ and ‘it was delicious’.

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

You spent the rest of the night slightly avoiding Aaron’s touch. When you both sat down to watch a film, you decided it would be the best time to paint your nails, meaning Aaron should obviously sit on the opposite side of the couch, right? He did so without question, but not without a quizzical look. Next it was the bathroom, you sat on the closed toilet, brushing your teeth as Aaron stood in front of the mirror, his eye trained on you.

Now Aaron was getting worried. Had he done something to annoy you? But then you’d surely talk to him, right? You’d never been one to not communicate, so he was left feeling completely bewildered by the predicament.

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

In bed, he tried to wrap his arms around you, but you brushed him off, saying you were too warm.

“Did I do something?” He asked, turning back on his bedside lamp.

“No,” you answered, your back still to him.

“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” he asked, rather blatantly.

You rolled around to look at him, and immediately regretted it. This was so silly. You were getting upset about what a bunch of strangers (to you at least) thought about you and Aaron’s relationship. Fuck them. You started to laugh, embarrassment kicking in as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. He held you there, chuckling softly as he enjoyed the closeness of you after not being close for the past few hours. One thing you hadn’t expected from Aaron is that he was clingy.

“It’s so dumb,” you giggled. “So you can’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” he smiled and you mustered up your best stern look. “I promise!”

“I was overthinking about what your team thinks of how much we touch each other,” you admitted. Aaron burst out laughing. You playfully hit him on the arm, but started laughing with him.

“That is dumb,” he chuckled.

“Hey!” You scolded, hitting him on the arm again. “That’s-”

“Do you want to know what they said when you were out of the room?” He offered and your interest was piqued. He pulled your hips and sat you on his lap, straddling him as he began to speak again.

“They said that you were the nicest,” KISS. “Most lovely,”KISS. “Most beautiful,”KISS. “Woman on the planet,” KISS. “And they could see how happy you make me.”

Your heart swelled. “So… they liked me then?”

Aaron laughed again. “They liked you a lot. Just like I do.”

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff

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artdcnaldson · 2 days

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Longing for more Art angst in the changeover AU like in Valentine’s Day. Could you possibly do a follow up? Or maybe another angsty, sad, want to rip my hair out and sob, standford!Art x reader?

Rating: T

Word Count: 910

Warnings: Angst, Language, situationship being a situationship

Summary: The week of formal, Art finally lets you know that he’s not going to make it.

A/N: I jumped to write this so fast. Nothing makes me happier than Art and angst in the same sentence :) hope u enjoy this! Set the week of Part 1 of Changeover :)

Art was noticeably quiet as you modeled your formal dress for him. There was something to his expression that made you nervous— his smile seemed a little too sweet, his eyes a little too cold.

It had taken weeks for you to find one you’d liked, but you’d fallen in love at first sight with the one you were wearing. A pretty, Stanford red, just like he liked.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so much that you liked it than you knew he’d like it. And it just made it even more noticeable that he was being quiet.

“What?” You asked softly, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” he said with a half-smile. He reached a hand out to grab yours and tugged you closer so you were slotted between his thighs. “You look really, really beautiful. You know that?”

His hand was warm on your lower back, which was exposed due to the revealing cut of the dress. His thumb rubbed soothing circles there.

It felt like there was another shoe, just out of sight, waiting to drop. Your pulse fluttered with anxiety as you looked at him.

“So you like it?” You asked, toying with the fabric. “I found a matching tie for you— it’s in my closet.”

There it was again. The flicker of guilt, or shame, or something. You pulled away. “Just unzip me.”

He sighed, but did as you said. The second the zipper was down, you walked away, putting as much space between the two of you as the small dorm could allow.

You pulled the dress down and tossed it over the chair of your desk. Kicked off your heels a little too aggressively. They slid beneath the risers of your bed. Didn’t matter, you wouldn’t need them.

“Baby—“

“Don’t.” You said firmly, jaw set with frustration. “When were you going to tell me?”

He didn’t respond. You pulled a tee shirt over your head and crossed your arms. He looked small sitting there, like a bug pinned under a magnifying glass.

“Art. When were you going to tell me that you weren’t going to fucking come? It’s five days until formal. Were you planning on letting me show up alone and look like a total idiot?”

He sighed, standing and crossing the room so he could wrap you in his arms. You stiffened, hoping he would let you go, but he wouldn’t.

“I was going to tell you today,” he said softly. “I swear, but then you brought out the dress, and you looked so excited that I just—“

Hurt squeezed your chest, making it feel hard to breathe or think.

“Patrick’s coming in, and Tashi thought the three of us should go to dinner. After the Pepperdine match, there are going to be team parties, so the only time that works for us would be Saturday night.”

You pulled back, a frown tugging at your lips. “So it’s about Tashi?”

He swallowed, annoyance visible on his features. “It’s not about Tashi.”

You scoffed and shoved him away. You didn’t want to be touching him, or near him, or even close enough to hear him breathing. You were torn between laughing and crying and biting his head off.

“Do you realize just how much you’ve wasted my time?” You asked finally, staring at the blank white board above your roommates bed. You could see Art’s reflection, the way his arms crossed and his brows furrowed. It made you even angrier.

“Genuinely, Art,” you snapped, turning to face him. “You’ve spent this entire fucking semester goading me with the idea that you might grow up and stop pining after your friend’s girlfriend. It’s been a waste of my fucking time.”

Art rolled his eyes. “You’re always making this about Tashi.”

“That’s because for you everything is about Tashi,” you yelled. “You want to be her boyfriend, you want to be the one she talks to about her day, you want everything I’ve given you, but from her. But she doesn’t want you, Art. She wants Patrick, and she’s always going to want Patrick.”

He rolled his eyes, jaw set tight. When he looked at you again, his expression was icy. You felt like you understood the nickname, finally. “You might feel better blaming me for all of the time you think you’ve wasted, but you knew I never wanted a girlfriend. You knew exactly what you were to me.”

“Right.” You laughed, despite everything, despite the pain in your chest, the pit in your stomach. It was all so fucking ridiculous. “I may be an idiot, Art, but at least I’m not fucking cruel.”

Art slammed the door on his way out, making the frames on the wall rattle. Your dress was red like fresh blood, a blight on your vision. You shoved it into your closet, crumpled and messy. It was a good thing you’d left the tags on.

There was a tiny part of you that thought Art might crawl back. A part of you that wanted to laugh in his face if he did, and a part of you that would accept his affection eagerly, desperately.

On Friday, Tashi fell on the court. Art was there then, and at the hospital. That night you fuck his best friend, or ex-best friend, or Tashi’s ex-boyfriend. All of the above.

On Saturday, you take your dress back to the mall for a full-refund. Patrick splits a Mrs. Fields cookie with you. It almost makes you feel better.

Two angst fics in a row? More likely than you think! Pls keep sending more changeover AU thoughts or prompts or questions! i love it :)🩵

#changeover au #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson fanfic #challengers 2024 #my writing

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shaunashipman · 2 days

Note

what gets me is that date scene was a literally under a minute long which isn’t a whole loft of time exactly of dissect the inner workings of their daddy issues. the minute they had, they used it to its full potential because we had:

- buck and tommy being casually domestic together on their date night in, which while nice, wasn’t like a super fancy thing and shows that this is probably a common occurrence for them. (especially when you see episode 9 and Bobby’s mention of buck going to visit tommy after the shift)

- buck telling tommy about his day, tommy making a joke about the dedicated hospital wing but recognizes that buck is not okay so he ASKS him pointedly how HE is

- buck shares the close relationship he has with bobby and this seems to be the first time they’re delving into that and so of course tommy wants to understand better, hence why he says “your dads alive”, buck replies exactly and tommy gets an understanding buck doesn’t have a great relationship with his father (also I have to add buck sharing how he sees bobby as a father with tommy is a big deal esp considering the buck bobby scene last episode where bobby tells buck tommys good for him soooo)

- tommy then shares his OWN experience after that, bounces off of what buck says to add to the conversation and open up to his boyfriend about his own past so he can get to know him better too. it was a moment where they were both vulnerable (the Gerard mention in particular i 100% believe is to set up an arc with tommy in season 8)

Now at this point there isn’t a whole lot of time left in the scene like maybe 20-25 seconds? they can exactly like I said sit there and examine and analyze their childhoods and their fathers so the tone switches to a more light hearted vibe because it would be weird to end it on a heavy note AND simultaneously it gives us more insight into their relationship

- buck suggestively says the daddy issues line which again, how anyone interpreted that as him wanting to continue a serious discussion is beyond me when again, the scene has hardly any time remaining

- tommy picks up the vibe he’s putting down and tells him he doesn’t have them (he clearly does have daddy issues so again, we know this isn’t about the actual trauma but about sex and what they both like/dislike )

- buck once again responds suggestively with the “you think I do”

- and then tommy with his infamous “God I hope so” - leaving buck giddy and smiling because he got exactly what he wanted

tdlr; We got domestic bucktommy, tommy backstory, both of them being vulnerable with each other, Tommy recognising he was not a good person in the past under Gerard, a set up for a tommy storyline with Gerard in some way for seaosn 8, bucktommy flirting, bucktommy matching each others freak and both very much enjoying it, bucktommy showing they can read each others moods like??? all for his in a scene that was under a minute

that scene was such a masterclass of Show Don't Tell. they had 55 seconds to get across how they're doing and where they are in the relationship and they did it. we can see that they're comfortable with each other; that they're okay with opening up about vulnerable topics but haven't had in-depth conversations on some, like buck and his parents; we can even see some of how they communicate, with tommy relating to buck's admission with similar thoughts of his own father and father-figure (something we've seen tommy do before, and is a lovely subtle showing of his personality); and then we get confirmation that yes, these two have fucked already, and are clearly compatible in that department too.

plus another sprinkle of foreshadowing with gerrard.

in 55 seconds.

that is called economy of time/space/whatever the rule is i can't remember rn. the show doesn't always get it, but when they do it is golden

#cleo gets mail #anonymous #911 #bucktommy #''we barely got anything about their relationship''#we got plenty if you bothered to look #instead of expecting the information spoon fed to you

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bansurii · 1 day

Text

Pen Pals

pair: sukuna x afab!reader

content: smut, stalking, threats, slight violence, dubious consent i think ?, profanity, choking, an impossible angle, sukuna is a serial killer but we never touch fully on that, reader is scared a lot, and idk what more is needed but just be careful proceeding MDNI thank you!

line dividers @cafekitsune

“So, what if your charming pen pal turns out to look like Quasimodo?”

“I have his picture! Besides, it’s not like we’ll ever actually meet. He’s serving life.”

Your friend gaped at you, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The conversation had begun with your usual letter-writing ritual. What had once been a simple hobby had evolved into an infatuation with a man labeled as one of the world's most dangerous criminals. Despite his reputation, his letters had been nothing but kind, making your heart flutter with each new page. His picture revealed a ruggedly handsome man, his body adorned with tattoos that hinted at a dangerous past.

You had told your friend about him almost a year ago. Predictably, she responded with trepidation, urging you to choose a less notorious correspondent.

“He’s still a person,” you’d argue. “Even the most hated need love too. And what harm could he do if he never knows where I live, let alone what I look like?”

However, his latest request had unsettled you both. He wanted a picture of you, something to remember you by during lonely times. Your friend was livid when you mentioned it.

“You cannot send him a picture! What if he has friends on the outside? I refuse to become a target because of your bad decisions!”

You laughed it off, continuing to write a diplomatic yet affectionate refusal. Your friend, exasperated, finally sighed in defeat.

“Well, enjoy writing to the serial killer. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s place for a while. If he gets out and comes after you, call the police first, then me.”

You reassured her with a laugh, promising to be cautious. She hugged you tightly before leaving. Neither of you noticed the grey car parked across the street, its presence having become so familiar it was easily ignored.

The following evening, a knock at your door startled you. Expecting your friend, you were puzzled to find no one there. Just a box.

With a mix of excitement and dread, you approached the door. The box bore a note in handwriting you recognized instantly:

*Such a beautiful home. I thought you would enjoy a little gift from the other side…*

Your anxiety surged. You scanned the empty, unnaturally quiet street before retreating inside. The flickering streetlight across from your home seemed dimmer than usual, casting eerie shadows. A rustle in the bushes sent you scurrying back inside, locking the doors and setting the alarm with trembling hands.

The box sat ominously on your coffee table. Despite your curiosity, fear kept you from opening it. Instead, you holed up in your room, hoping sleep would come despite the dread gnawing at you.

In the dead of night, you jolted awake to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Someone was inside your home.

Determined not to fall into the typical horror trope of investigating, you stayed put. But then you heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, ascending the carpeted stairs.

Panic gripped you. Clutching the bat you kept in your closet, you listened as the intruder approached. The door across the hall creaked open, and you steeled yourself for the worst. But then you recognized the sounds—muffled giggles and a familiar voice.

Relief washed over you. Your friend had returned, and apparently brought her boyfriend. You set the bat down, heart still racing, and fell back into bed, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion.

In the morning, you would face the box and the mysteries it held. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of your bed, hoping that sleep would bring a respite from the turmoil of the past few days.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your bedroom. Despite the terror of the previous night, you felt a strange sense of calm as you padded downstairs. The box still sat on the coffee table, its presence a reminder of the eerie note and the mystery it held.

Taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch and gingerly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of luxurious velvet, was an object that took your breath away. It was a stunningly crafted necklace, the centerpiece a large, gleaming sapphire surrounded by intricate filigree work in white gold. The piece was elegant, expensive, and utterly out of place for something sent from a prison.

You lifted it gently, the gem catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the room. For a moment, the sheer beauty of the necklace overshadowed your fear. How could something so exquisite come from a man behind bars?

Elated but wary, you turned the necklace over in your hands, inspecting every detail. It was flawless, and the craftsmanship was impeccable. This was no ordinary gift.

Your mind raced. How did he manage to send something so extravagant? More importantly, how did he know your address? You felt a shiver run down your spine as you recalled your friend's words: *“What if he has friends on the outside?”*

The realization hit you hard. He must have outside help. Someone capable of acquiring such a piece and delivering it to your doorstep. Your elation was quickly replaced by a deep sense of unease.

How long had he known where you lived? You thought back to the grey car that had been parked across the street. Was it connected? Had you been watched?

You set the necklace back in the box, hands trembling. The beauty of the gift now seemed tainted by the sinister implications. Your friend's warnings echoed in your mind: *“I am not going to die because of your bad decisions!”* You couldn’t ignore the danger any longer.

Reaching for your phone, you dialed your friend’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Hey, it’s me. You were right. We need to talk.”

Later that day, your friend arrived, her face a mix of concern and frustration. You showed her the necklace, and she gasped.

“This is... gorgeous. But it’s also terrifying. How did he send this?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “And I don’t know how he found my address.”

She paced the room, glancing nervously out the window. “We need to call the police. This is beyond creepy.”

You nodded, knowing she was right. The thrill of your pen pal had turned into something dangerous, something that required more than just caution. As you picked up the phone to dial the authorities, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, the sense of being watched. The beautiful necklace now felt like a heavy weight, a symbol of the peril you had unwittingly invited into your life.

As you waited for the police to arrive, you couldn’t help but wonder about the man who had written such kind letters. Was he truly as dangerous as they said, or was there more to the story? Either way, you knew you couldn’t continue the correspondence. The price of your curiosity had become too high, and your safety was worth far more than any thrill or beautiful gift.

A few weeks had passed, and your friend continued to stay with her boyfriend, feeling guilty for leaving you alone but too scared to return. She called you every day, ensuring you were unharmed and feeling as well as could be expected. The police had stationed an officer outside your house during those weeks, but with no further incidents, they eventually recalled the officer. They advised you to call if anything came up, assuring you they would do their best to keep you safe. You had downplayed the threat, omitting any mention of your pen pal. Had they known the full extent, they might have placed you under witness protection.

Unfortunately, the eerie calm was shattered today.

The grey car had returned, and this time, you could make out the driver. He bore a stark resemblance to the picture you had seen of your pen pal, the world’s most dangerous criminal, now sitting outside your home, watching and waiting. But for what? What did he plan to do once you were alone?

You couldn't call out from work again, needing to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Steeling yourself, you put on your best intimidating face and walked to your car, though you felt more like a deer caught in headlights. Ignoring the piercing, watchful eyes of the man was harder than you imagined, but you managed to get into your car and drive away.

You knew it was foolish to drive to work, thinking he might follow you, but if he knew your address, he likely knew where you worked. At least at work, you'd be surrounded by people and security personnel. If he tried anything—which you doubted he would in such a public setting—there would be help nearby.

The day dragged on, dread gnawing at you. Your focus was shattered, and your supervisor almost reprimanded you until they realized how shaken you were. They backed off, giving you space to regain your composure. HR knew something was seriously wrong but couldn’t disclose details to anyone else, offering you a temporary reprieve.

But this day was particularly harrowing, and you barely made it through. As the workday ended, you practically sprinted to your car, seeking the relative safety it offered while there were still people around.

Home was a different story.

You entered, not realizing the door had been unlocked until you were already in the living room. Shock, dread, and fear flooded you as you saw him there, seated on your sofa.

He was casually examining a picture of you with your friend, family, and your old pet. He looked content, as if he belonged there, as if he were truly at home.

Panic surged. You wondered what he could do to you in such close quarters. Thick walls muted sounds from neighboring homes; no one would hear you in time. You felt paralyzed, unsure of what to do if he made a move.

He shifted his position, dropping one leg and crossing the other, all the while holding your gaze. He took in your presence, the real you, not just the image he had studied. You were no longer a picture, but flesh and blood, standing before him.

“Nice to meet you, [Your Name].”

You had never told him your real name, only an alias. Somehow, he had discovered your true identity, just as he had found your address.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I couldn’t resist, especially after a month of silence from you. I noticed you called the police. I'm quite impressed that you managed to keep my presence in your life a secret.”

You trembled, tears starting to well in your eyes and trickle down your face.

“Ah, don’t cry. I’m not here to harm you. What I have in mind will be much more pleasurable. For both of us.”

His words chilled you to the core. The beauty of the necklace, the allure of his letters, all seemed like a distant dream compared to the present reality. You stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as he smiled at you, his intentions shrouded in menace and mystery.

“I-I…”

The tears began to slow, your breath evening out as a semblance of calm started to return. He watched you closely, giving you a moment to dry your face and find the words that had eluded you.

But silence persisted. Your thoughts were in disarray, still grappling with the reality of his sudden presence. He seemed to sense your inner turmoil, knowing you needed time to process the situation. As he approached, his imposing figure loomed over you, each step bringing him closer.

Realizing his intent, you instinctively retreated, but his long strides easily closed the distance. Your back met the cold, unyielding wall, trapping you. You wished you could tear it down, burrow into an indestructible sanctuary, and escape the nightmare your life had become.

His proximity was overwhelming, a blend of menace and fascination, as you stood frozen, unable to tear your gaze from his. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, a storm of emotions threatening to consume you both.

He continued to close the distance, his presence suffocating yet electrifying. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he drew nearer, until he was mere inches away. He raised his arms, placing his hands on the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. The scent of him, a mix of cologne and something distinctly male, enveloped you.

"Is this what you like?" he asked, his voice a low, tantalizing murmur. His eyes bored into yours, searching for a reaction.

Your breath hitched, the proximity overwhelming your senses. The thrill of fear and an unexpected surge of excitement coursed through you, leaving you dizzy and unable to respond.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his breath, and the sheer force of his presence made it hard to think, let alone speak. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, your mind a chaotic mix of fear, confusion, and a strange, unwelcome attraction. His dominance was intoxicating, leaving you both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.

His hands remained on the wall, trapping you, as his eyes continued to hold yours captive. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unspoken tension. In that moment, you realized you were at his mercy, and the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

The intensity in his gaze didn't waver as he spoke again, his voice a silken whisper. "Why don't you show me around? I'd like to see more of your home."

Your heart pounded as you nodded, feeling compelled to comply. Slowly, he dropped his hands from the wall, giving you a semblance of freedom, though his presence still dominated the space. He gestured for you to lead the way.

With trembling steps, you walked towards the staircase, feeling his eyes on you, a constant reminder of the danger and allure he embodied. The transition from the living room to the upper floor was surreal, the normalcy of your home tainted by his dark presence. Each step up the stairs felt like a journey deeper into an inescapable labyrinth.

You reached the top of the stairs and paused, glancing back at him. His expression was unreadable, but a faint, almost predatory smile played at his lips. You hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to your bedroom.

"This is my room," you said softly, stepping inside.

He followed, his tall frame filling the doorway before he moved to the center of the room. He looked around, taking in every detail. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt exposed and vulnerable.

"Show me more," he instructed, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.

You led him to the adjoining bathroom, your hands trembling as you opened the door. The bathroom was small but neat, the shower glistening under the overhead light. He inspected it briefly, then turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"This will do nicely," he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more.

Your mind raced, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. "What do you want from me?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "For now, just your cooperation. Tonight is just the beginning. After the night's activities, I might need a place to clean up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. The ambiguity of "activities" left your mind reeling with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You found yourself nodding, unable to do anything else.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek. "Now, let's make the most of our evening together."

His touch was both reassuring and sinister, a stark reminder of the control he wielded over you. “Take this off…”

You were shocked, appalled even, at such a request from a man you barely knew, despite the intimacy of his letters, the truths he shared, his truth.

You hesitated, glancing up at him with a mix of trepidation and a spark of rebellion.

He smirked slightly, as if he had anticipated your resistance. His hand reached out, but you scurried backward, clutching onto what felt like the last vestiges of your dignity.

He wasn’t taking no for an answer, not from someone who had shown him such genuine kindness, such unguarded affection for the first time in decades.

It dawned on you just how monumental a mistake that kindness had been.

As you stood there, frozen in your shock, he moved swiftly. In an instant, he had closed the distance between you, his strong hands seizing your blouse. The fabric bunched under his grip, the force of his hold sending a jolt through you.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. “You and I both know this was inevitable.”

His words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the palpable tension that seemed to throb between you. His touch, firm and unyielding, ignited a tumult of emotions within you—fear, defiance, and a disturbing undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name.

“You think you can just come into my life and—” your voice faltered, the defiance wavering under the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t think, I know,” he interrupted, his tone commanding and confident. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. “You invited me in with every letter, every secret you shared. This connection we have—it’s real. And now, it’s time to face it.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled you closer, the proximity making your heart race. The air between you crackled with an undeniable energy, a mix of danger and an inexplicable pull that left you both terrified and entranced.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice.

“No,” he replied, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the reality of your situation crashing over you. The walls of your sanctuary seemed to close in, the room shrinking as his presence dominated. You were caught in his web, and the more you struggled, the more entangled you became.

With a final, firm tug, he brought you even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s see how this night unfolds,” he murmured, a promise and a threat woven into his words.

In that moment, you realized there was no escape. You were his, for better or worse, and the night was just beginning.

His deft hands worked quickly, yet with a surprising gentleness, as he pulled at your blouse. He was careful, mindful of not tearing buttons or threads, his touch respectful in its slow haste to undress you. Each movement seemed deliberate, as if he were savoring the unveiling of your skin, as if he knew the value of each delicate inch.

Once your clothing lay discarded, you stood before him in just your bralette and panties, exposed yet somehow still veiled in mystery. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of a woman—a vision of beauty that left him breathless. He drank in every curve, every line, every delicate feature, his gaze lingering on each detail as if committing them to memory.

He had seen countless women in his lifetime, but none had captivated him quite like you. There was something about you, something ineffable and intoxicating, that drew him in, leaving him hungry for more.

In that moment, as you stood there before him, vulnerable yet unyielding, he realized just how much he craved you. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on obsession, that he would stop at nothing to possess you completely.

You knew that begging would likely be futile, so you chose silence instead, allowing your gaze to wander anywhere but at him and what he was doing. But he seemed to revel in being watched, his ego swelling as he unveiled each layer of your clothing.

His touch was insistent as his index finger and thumb grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to remain solely on him. You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly quelled by the intensity of his gaze.

With practiced ease, he removed your bra, followed by your panties. The air between you crackled with tension as he exposed you completely, and you couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

A low groan escaped him, barely audible but unmistakable. It was a sound of longing, of desire unleashed after years of confinement. You realized then just how long it had been since he had seen a living, breathing woman, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You stood there, naked and exposed, feeling his eyes on you like a physical touch. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as though he were seeing you for the first time, drinking in every curve and contour of your body.

You tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was difficult under his relentless gaze. You felt stripped bare, not just of your clothing but of your defenses, your vulnerabilities laid bare before him.

As he stepped closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, you knew that there was no turning back. The night stretched out before you, a vast unknown filled with equal parts fear and fascination. And as he reached out to pull you closer, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises lay in store.

Your cheek pressed into the cold, quartz floor of your bathroom, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You could feel the weight of him behind you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your rear pressing against his hips. His blazer, shirt, and pants had been discarded, leaving him in just his boxers. Despite the fabric that still separated your bodies, you felt everything from him—his warmth, his strength, his desire.

He had positioned you in a neat arch, your body stretched taut, every muscle straining against the confines of your own submission. His command was clear: remain still, hold that position until he was ready to take you further.

You obeyed, every fiber of your being thrumming with anticipation and fear. The cold floor beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him, and the sensation only heightened your awareness of every touch, every breath that brushed against your skin.

Time seemed to stand still as you waited, your body poised on the precipice of something unknown. You could hear the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, a counterpoint to the electric tension that hung heavy in the air.

And then, without warning, his hands were on you, tracing the contours of your body with a touch that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers were skilled, mapping every curve and dip with a precision that left you breathless.

You felt him shift behind you, his body moving with a fluid grace that belied the strength coiled beneath his skin. You were afraid of the movement, wanting to look behind you to see what exactly he was doing. And when you felt the tip of him nearing your heat, you redacted the beautiful arch he helped you to create for him and tried to squirm away.

Before you knew it, he had your hair twisted in his hand, pressing your head painfully further against the floor, his breath fanning over your ear. “Move again… and I will crack your skull over this floor and with this treasure I’ll summon something worse than death for you.”

And then, with a suddenness that stole your breath away, he entered you, filling you completely with a single, powerful thrust.

The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure and pain that threatened to consume you. You bit back a gasp, your body trembling with the effort to remain still as he took you further, deeper into the abyss of his desire. He was much too large to enjoy, your stretched muscles struggling to comprehend the intrusion.

And as he moved within you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of oblivion, you realized that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, caught in the grip of a passion that threatened to consume you both. And in that moment, as he claimed you as his own, you surrendered to the darkness that beckoned, knowing that there was no escape from the depths of his desire.

By the time he was finished, you had orgasmed nearly six times. The final was barely an orgasm, he had edged you and slapped your ass. Breathy laughs finding your ears and somehow you felt yourself able to share his laughter. Your cunt clenched against his twitching length, a feeling he relished in.

Just when you thought he was finished, he pushed your legs apart as far as they would go, nearly into a split, pressing himself further into you, impossibly deeper. Your eyes bulged, hips tightened and your cunt contracted against his deep-seated length once more, your cervix contracting and relaxing in slow bouts against his tip. He lifted your hips, allowing him a new arch, fresh angle, and an even deeper reach.

You wanted to sob, to beg him to stop, but you also wanted to see what he would do in this position.

He reached one hand in front, taking your neck into his possession and he pulled back just enough to keep you stationary and choke you slightly at the same time, the angle would do the rest.

And slowly, he pulled back, allowing just the tip to remain before he thrusts intensely inside of you, pressing against the spot he knew would drive you insane.

And you cursed him, screaming out all sorts of obscenities and lewd things as he continued to abuse the same spot. His girth squeezed in and out of you with much effort, the tightened feel of your cunt in this position was the one thing that kept him grounded, eyes drawn into a focus on your connected bodies.

He had cum so many times and this position had him dangerously close to blowing his load again, but he held back just enough. He wanted to cum with you again.

Increasing his speed, he pushed and pulled inside your pussy, watching as it sucked him and pushed him out simultaneously.

“S’kunaaaa… Fuuuccckkk! Pl-please!”

He knew what you were begging for, screaming out his name for. And he was so close to giving it to you. He had to give you what you wanted since you had been so obedient for him all night. He was nearing his end, bringing his free hand down to your clit and rubbing dangerous circles and odd shapes into it, nearly ritualistic in his methods and just he groaned his approval, you squirted. Full-body quakes erupting, your eyes rolling back into your head. Anyone watching the scene would have thought you were having a seizure.

But Sukuna knew. And you knew.

It was simply nirvana.

140 notes · View notes

kpop---scenarios · 19 hours

Text

Monster

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader x Lee Felix

Genre: Mafia, Arranged Marriage

Warning: None right now

Word Count: 3.4k

“Babe?” You call out, closing the front door of your apartment behind you. You set your bag down on the table in the front hall, slip off your shoes before making your way further inside. Heading into the kitchen, the lights are dim, your boyfriend's uniform is laid out on the table, ready for him to put on in the morning for the 24 hour shift he was going to be working. You wander into the living room, seeing Seo Joon sitting on the couch with his head laid back, softly snoring as the show he was watching continues. Gently, you push his shoulder to wake him up, grabbing his hand to drag him to your shared bedroom so you could both pass out. It was a long day and you were exhausted.

“How was your day?” Seojoon asks you, his eyes barely open as he slips off his shirt and then his pants, crawling into bed with just his boxers on.

“It was fine.” You mutter. “Pretty uneventful.”

“Sounds about right.” He says, letting out a big yawn. You crawled into bed beside him, scooching closer to him. You lean in to kiss him, his eyes shooting open. He turns his head slightly, so you catch his cheek instead of his lips. You're a little taken aback as you look at him, feeling hurt, which was a feeling you'd come accustomed to over time. You really weren't sure why you'd continued to let it bother you.

“I've got a big day tomorrow, I need to sleep.” He tells you, rolling over to face away from you.

“Yeah okay.” You huff. “My dad called earlier, I need to go see him tomorrow.” You say, rolling over too, your back facing his.

“I don't know why you're telling me, I'll be busy working. Again.” He sighs. You don't respond. You honestly don't know how to respond.

Your relationship with Seojoon wasn't always like this. At the beginning of the two of you dating he was very sweet to you, he would hold you, take you on dates, kiss you and actually be affectionate. Since he became a paramedic a year into your relationship, things have been different. He's been distant, cold and just not the man you fell in love with. You'd tried to talk to him about it - one too many times but he always said he was fine. You knew you weren't going to get anything out of him so you stopped trying. Sex was never a thing with the two of you, he told you from day one that he was saving himself for marriage, but that didn't stop the two of you from doing other things here and there, never consistently.

But now, it's been a year since any of that has happened, the longest it has ever been for you. The last time you rubbed your pussy on his clothed cock, you both came but the look he gave you made you feel like the most disgusting person, he looked at you with disgust. He made you feel insecure, but secure, and most of the time you felt safe with him. You also hoped that one day the man you fell for would return to you but for right now you were just taking it day by day.

The next morning, you're awake and dressed, ready to go to your father's house. Seojoon's side of the bed was cold, he had already been gone for hours.

On your way to your fathers house, you think about the talk you'd been hearing from various sources. Every person had been talking about these rumors that were floating around, things that were happening underground but you hadn't had a chance to speak directly to your father to see if there was any truth to any of it. He was the one you could go to about the things you'd hear and he would always tell you whether or not there was any sort of truth to any of it.

Your father was a very wealthy and a very feared man. A man that Seojoon did not know, and one you weren't sure if he would ever know. He was a man who took what he wanted, hurt whoever got in his way and made deals with a lot of people who others would consider to be the devil. You were the daughter of the second largest mafia organization in the country.

It was a life you had always known. Seojoon has never pressed the issue of meeting your father and you didn't know if you appreciated that fact, or sort of resented him for it. You also didn't think that confessing the fact that your father was participating in drug distribution, prostitution and all other illegal activities would do well to your relationship but part of you also wanted Seojoon to know where you came from. However, if you could trust him with that information, well that was a whole other story.

Late at night, when Seojoon was snoring beside you and you couldn't sleep, you thought about the things he didn't know or didn't want to know about, despite having been together for 3 years. He'd never asked you about your family, your childhood. The only information he ever got was things that you volunteered to tell him. Those thoughts would always leave you feeling confused about him, and whether or not he was truly in this relationship with you.

Your car comes to a stop in front of your fathers large house, two men in all black stand outside the front door, their fingers interlaced in front of them, not a smile on either of their faces.

“Wonho. Shownu.” You smile at both, they each give you a nod before opening the front door for you. You walk in, the familiar scent brings you back to your childhood, growing up in this house. The walls down the long hall are covered with pictures of family, friends and others your father has done business with. You make your way down the long hallway, listening to the buzzing chatter of the men roaming the house. It was always like this, as long as you could remember there were always so many people inside the house at all hours of the day and night. You've seen many things growing up here, men loading weapons in the living room, getting bullets pulled out of them on the kitchen counter. Going into the basement for a popsicle and seeing someone who ratted hung up with chains being tortured. It really didn't take you long to become accustomed to what was going on inside this house.

“Dad?” You call out, standing in front of the living room, but also near the kitchen and his office. It was always one of those three rooms you could find him in.

“In my office with Mia.” He yells back.

You figured. Mia was your half sister, his daughter but with the woman he married before he was with your mother. She was a few years older than you and the two of you never truly saw eye to eye. You felt like she hated you, and though she has never confirmed or denied, you maintained that thought.

“I've been hearing a lot of shit dad.” You say, walking into his office. Mia sits in front of your dad, who sits behind his desk. “You're marrying one of us off?” You say.

Mia looks back at you with wide eyes. “Is that what you wanted me to come today for? To tell me you've arranged a marriage for me? Because if that's true, it's not fucking happ…” She yells before being cut off by your father.

“No.” He says. “Well, not quite.” He continues. “Mr. Lee and I have been discussing joining our organizations. I've been wanting to get into trafficking and more in depth organized crime for a while, and he's been wanting to step foot into drug distribution.” He says. “You two know as well as anyone the best way to combine is through marriage.”

“I'm in a relationship though. A good.. well, a relationship.” You blurt out. Your father did not know about Seo Joon. Or so you thought.

“Yeah I know, with the nurse, or whatever. We're going to have to have a chat about him.” He says, pointing at you.

“He's a paramedic, dad.” You correct him. Your father just stares at you before turning to your sister.

“Mia, I mainly mean you. Mr. Lee has two sons. Lee Felix, and Bang Chan, as you know Mr. Lee took Chan into custody after Mr. Lee's best friend, Chan's father passed away. I don't give a fuck which one you choose, but you need to choose one. We’re having a party if you will, tomorrow. You'll meet them then. I expect you to wow them.” He explains. You take a deep breath, so fucking relieved its not you, but slightly stressed that your father knew about Seo Joon. You shouldn't have been surprised. You should have known your father finds out everything.

‘So I don't have to be there, right?” You ask, smugly smirking at the back of Mia's head.

“You are expected to be there, Y/N.” He says. Your smirk fades quickly. “Understood?” He asks.

You nod your head. “Yes sir.”

“What if I don't want to?” Mia asks, crossing her arms.

“This isn't up for fucking debate, Mia. Either you do it or I'll kick you out and cut you off.” Your father threatens.

The room is quiet.

Mia shuffles in her seat, uncomfortably as the awkward silence continues.

“Do I make myself clear?” He asks.

“Crystal.” She says, abruptly getting out of her chair and storming out of the room.

“Well I'm gonna head out.” You say, clearing your throat before turning towards the door.

“Y/N.” Your dad begins. “That boy. The one you're dating. It would be in your best interest to break things off with him.” He finishes, looking down at a stack of paper.

“We've been together for a while. We live together. I'm not going to just leave him. I know you haven't met him yet but..” you continue on.

“I don't want to meet him. I'm telling you now to end things. That's all. I've got work to do, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't be late.” He says, cutting you off. Typical of your father. You wished one of them had wanted to meet the other one.

You left your fathers house annoyed. Not really wanting to go to the party tomorrow but also at how your father acted. How could he tell you to break up with Seojoon without even having met the guy. As you drive off the property, you call your boyfriend just to check in and see how his day is going.

“What?” He snaps, answering the phone.

“Woah, sorry. Was just calling to check in.” You mumble.

“Well I'm busy, sorry.” He sighs. “How was your dad's?” He asks. You perk up a little at his question.

“It was fine. He wanted to let me know about a party he's throwing tomorrow evening.” You say. “I don't suppose you'd be feeling up to accompanying me?” You ask.

“I have to work, YN. I picked up an extra 12 hour shift after this one so no, I can't come with you to your fancy party. Some of us have to work for a living.” He snaps.

You're quiet.

So is he. For a second.

“I gotta go. Bye.” He says, hanging up the phone. You really fucking wondered why you were even in this clearly one sided relationship.

That night you ate dinner alone, crawled into bed alone, and woke up the next morning alone. You checked your phone and you didn't even have so much as a “Hi” text from your boyfriend. You felt done. You didn't want to try anymore, you didn't want to care anymore. It was exhausting to be in a one sided relationship with him. You were done being the one to call or to text. You were done being the one to start conversations or be affectionate. Whether or not he noticed would be the sign that you needed on if you were going to continue things with him.

Later that afternoon you got ready for the party. You hadn't heard anything from Seo Joon and you weren't going to be the one who messages him first. If he wanted to talk to you then he would reach out to you. Arriving at your father's house, the front door is wide open, you can hear the music from outside, as well as a ton of people waiting to get in. Shownu and Wonho were standing in front of the door, checking the lists to make sure only the ones your father wanted got into the house. There were too many groups who either wanted to ambush your father or get into business with him and he didn't want to deal with it tonight.

“Excuse me.” You say. “Pardon me.” You say, moving through the crowd of people towards the front door.

“You look good.” Wonho smiles, winking at you before moving sideways to let you in.

“So do you.” You smile, moving past him inside. It was your typical type of party. Food, a lot of drinks and a lot of serious conversations and deal makings. You quickly grab a drink, chugging it back before grabbing another one and one more just in case. You looked around for your father to say hi, but instead your attention was caught by an extremely handsome man trying to talk to your sister. You sat on the couch behind them, listening to him try to say anything at all to Mia.

“Hey there.” He says, going to tap her on the shoulder.

Mia doesn't even give the poor man any acknowledgement. You take another sip of your drink, smiling as you watch him awkwardly stand there, trying to figure out something else to say.

“Hi.. uh, are you Mia?” He asks. She turns to look at him, scoffing before turning back to those she was talking with. You can't help but laugh, a little too loudly. He turns to look at you as you cover your mouth, trying to hide your giggles.

“What?” He asks.

“I.. nothing.” You smile. “Good luck with her.”

“Believe me.” He sighs, sitting next to you. “I don't want to be talking to her, but my father is making me.”

“You're one of the two who is supposed to get married, aren't you?” You ask.

“How do you know that?” He asks.

“L/N Y/N.” You smile.

“Ahh, the sister to.. that one.” He laughs. “Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan.” He smiles. Before you can answer, a second, overly attractive man stands beside Mia, smiling. He tries to talk to her, but she gives him the exact same treatment as she gave Chan.

“Bro. Don't even bother.” Chan sighs, pulling him to the couch. “YN, this is Felix, Felix, Y/N.”

“Hi.” You smile.

“Mia's sister.” Felix smiles.

“The one and only.” You laugh, finishing your drink. “You're better off not to even try with her, she doesn't want to get married.” You say.

“You say that as if we actually have a choice.” Felix laughs.

“Well, I mean.. it sucks to suck.” You grin.

“You do know that whoever she doesn't pick, is marrying you, right?” Chan says.

You choke. You don't know what you choked on, but it was something. “I.. what? No, that's not a thing that's happening.” You laugh. Your dad would have told you, right? “Besides, I'm in a relationship.” You say.

“Ah, yeah, the cop.” Chan says, rolling his eyes.

“He's a paramedic.” You respond, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh right.” He snickers. “The paramedic.” He says, looking at Felix, who gives him a knowing look.

The rest of the evening you spent with both those men. The conversation flowed so easily, nothing was forced, you never ran out of things to talk about with them. It was honestly refreshing. The fact that they asked you questions about yourself, things that Seojoon hadn't even asked you, and he was supposed to be your boyfriend. At the end of the night you said your goodbyes to them, and you didn't want to. You wanted to continue being with them, there was just something about them that made you feel safe and secure being around them. That night when you got home, your apartment was empty. You walked in, got yourself ready for bed, checked your phone and there were no messages from Seo Joon. At this point, you were tired of him not even trying with you. You didn't care anymore. But you did care about what Chan had said earlier. you couldn't get it out of your head. You laid down, your mind replaying what Chan had said about Seo Joon, over and over.

“Ah, yeah, the cop.”

He wasn't a cop. Those are two very different professions, you can't just mistake a paramedic with a cop. You closed your eyes, and it takes you back to a moment where you had overheard a conversation that made you question, Seo Joon. Honestly at the time you had thought he was cheating on you, but now you weren't sure if it was cheating or maybe he really is a cop?

You were laying in bed, alone, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Seojoon had been in bed with you but you assumed he thought you were sleeping when you heard him on the phone.

“Hey..” he sighs. “Yeah no, I know. No No, I don't think she suspects anything.” He chuckles. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen. “Look, I'm trying my best here with her. This shit isn't easy.” He snaps. “I'll try that. Yep, I'll keep you updated. Bye.” He begins walking towards the bedroom, you lay back down, closing your eyes, snoring softly. You can feel the bed dip slightly beside you. He scrolled through his phone for a few minutes before he plugged it in and went to bed. You barely slept that night, wondering if he was cheating and who he was cheating with.

You close your eyes, wanting to stop reliving memories that hurt you. It wasn't beneficial for anyone. You tried to sleep again, until your phone pinged. You had hoped the message was from Seojoon.

It wasn't.

[From: +82-463-3629] Hey, Y/N. It's Chan.

[From: +82-394-1293] And Felix. It was good talking to you today.

[From: +82-463-3629] It was. We wanted to know if you wanted to hangout tomorrow night?’

[From: +82-394-1293] Unless you and your ‘paramedic’ boyfriend have plans?

You chuckle at the conversation already.

[To: +82-463-3629,+82-394-1293] No plans. What did you guys have in mind?

The next night, even though you knew better, you put on your little black dress that hugs your curves, your favorite shoes and got yourself out the door, without a word from your boyfriend, if you could even call him that anymore. You wanted to forget about him tonight. You walk outside your apartment, looking around, you hear a car honk at you. You turn to look, seeing Felix smiling as he holds open the passenger door for you.

“You look beautiful.” Felix says, helping you into the car before closing the door.

“He's not lying.” Chan smiles.

“Thank you guys.” You laugh. “Where are we going?” You ask.

“Some of the men in our group own a club. We were thinking of drinks and maybe some dancing.” Chan smiles. You buckle your seat belt happily.

“Sounds great to me.”

The three of you sit at a table, drinks scattered all around. You're all drunk, laughing, having a great time until you turn your head towards the bar, and you see Seojoon standing there with a woman. Your smile drops, you look away, Chan and Felix notice immediately.

“What?” They both ask. Felix stretches a little, looking at the bar. He spots Seojoon immediately, and understands.

“That's him right?” Felix asks. “Your boyfriend?”

“How did you know that's him?” You ask.

“Believe me, I know a lot of things.” Felix says. You turn around to look at him, just in time to see his arm snake around the waist of a woman you recognized.

Chaeyoung. She was Seojoon's partner at work. Why were they dressed up and at the bar? Why didn't he tell you? Why wasn't he at work? What the fuck was happening?

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“I'm fine.” You smile. “That's his work partner. It's fine. Everything is fine.” You mutter.

Everything was not fine.

128 notes · View notes

st4rgzer · 2 days

Text

you’re so vain (spencer reid)

summary: singer!reader x flirty!spencer. spencer shows up at your gig and you unsuccessfully call him out

genre: fluff, maybe a bit more suggestive…?

cw!: kissing, sexual innuendos

a/n: sorry i haven’t been posting much, i’ve been sick and busy with exams but i have some ideas for fics coming soon!

you wiped your hands on your satin dress, clammy as your nervousness increased by the minute. thankfully, you had the talent to turn on an imaginary switch in your head that gave you the confidence to step on 1000 men’s feet. which came in luck for times like this.

you gripped the mic and you noticed how the bright lights suffocated you, luckily they dimmed after the crowds voices faded.

“son of a gun” you whispered into your mike in a velvety voice, anticipation gleaming from the crowd as you subdued them with your words.

just a little before the chorus, you noticed a familiar face grinning from the audience, spencer reid, to be precise.

the man you had had a seemingly frivolous encounter with the other day, and the day before that. was listening to you sing with a massive grin plastered on his face. you needed help with a stalker and he found a way to leave an imprint on you the following days after the case closed.

“you’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you, don’t you, don’t you?” you sang directly at him, not daring to break contact.

after the song finished, and the wave of applauses dried out, you headed backstage to be met with that man again.

“following me, are you?” you said absentmindedly, taking off your white gloves and placing them on your dresser.

“you just dedicated a song to me, i don’t think youre the one who should be questioning me in this situation” his hands dug into his pockets, you looked up at his calm, collected expression. one you couldn’t emulate this time.

you responded with a simple roll of the eyes, you knew that he noticed how you refused to meet his gaze. like two equal ends of a magnet, repulsing each other. you felt as if, if you did look, he’d be able to see right through you.

“i like your voice, do you think i’d be able to get a private concert?” his voice sent explicit chills down your spine as you took off your heels. you sat up, appalled by his comment.

“i fear i don’t think you’d be able to afford it” you grin, standing up and resting a hand on his shoulder, tilting your head to him with a mockingly pitiful expression.

he laughed, looking down as he bit back a smirk. he placed his hands on your hips, grip tightening slightly as you hesitated to take your hand off his shoulder.

“if that’s what you think. maybe i could offer a different kind of payment in return” he drags you in closer. you have a seemingly collected expression on your face, but you’re wondering if he can hear your heartbeat break the silence.

“and what would that be?” you bite your lips slightly in anticipation, your other hand coming up to be placed on his other shoulder. his eyes loom over you with an expression you’re yet to decipher. that is, until his head dips gently to place a soft kiss under your ear.

your eyes widen in stupefaction, then quickly closed shut as he nipped the skin of your collarbone, hands lingering further down your waistline.

then as quickly as it started, it ended. with a rapid open of the door and your agent screaming your name. spencer quickly retracts his hand, and you’re left with a yearning sensation and a missing feeling of his lips on your skin.

“i’m sorry, was i interrupting something?” your agent speaks, pointing in between the two of you.

“no-“ you try and respond, you’re abruptly cut off by him

“i don’t care, you have to talk to a possible business opportunity so put those heels on, retouch the lipstick, and meet me there in 2” he walks out and his voice drags on for a few seconds before being completely gone.

“guess you have someone waiting for you” spencer grins, reaching into his pockets as you stare sheepishly.

“here’s my card if you wanna do this again sometime, maybe over coffee”

you’re left with your mouth opened, confused by the series of events that happened so quickly.

“wait! where’s the card?” you ask as he briskly exits the room. he points to your puffy hair, and smirks as he heads out.

you reach into your hair and pull out a card with his name and phone number on it.

“son of a gun.”

a/n: unfortunately this was better in my head.

taglist: @potatovoyager @lvtilzs

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut

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bettyfrommars · 2 days

Text

Call From a Payphone at the End of the World

Eddie Munson x Reader

18+ONLY, mention of smut, yearning, gender neutral reader but a few pet names are used, alcohol consumption, no Vecna, new crush, star-crossed lovers, strange things happen. Reader and Eddie are over 21.

word count: 1.6k

This a mix of several fic ideas that all blended together somehow. One being a road trip fic where Eddie falls for an older reader that I hope to finish one day, plus something for the Stranger Prompts list. Several of the prompts are used in this, but I wanted to keep them a secret. I wouldn't say this is a hurt/no comfort fic, but there will be a hint of that. It is a hopeful, star-crossed lovers story at its core.

------

After Eddie pumped a few bucks worth of gas into the tank, he couldn’t get across the parking lot to the payphone fast enough. He was sure his heart would explode if he couldn’t talk to you again as the few hours of highway seemed to roll out for an eternity.

After punching the metal keypad, he secured a hand over his heart, waiting. Just after the second ring, there you were with that voice he’d come to adore with every fiber of his being.

“Hey you,” his smile was so big it made his cheeks hurt. “It’s Eddie. Wanted to check in, you know, make sure you made it home okay.”

At the other end, butterflies exploded in your stomach. “Hey there stranger,” you ached to reach out and hold him. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He played with the metal cord attaching the receiver to the phone box, tucking his chin so that his next words were mumbled. “What would you say if I told you I missed you already?”

He felt as if he no longer existed in this reality, as if time and space and whatever the hell else didn’t matter as long as he was connected to you somehow, as long as you were real. The words kept bubbling up in his chest, and if he didn’t let them out and tell you how he felt, he might suffocate.

You put down the stack of mail you were holding and sat on the nearby chair to calm your buzzing head. “I’d say you got it bad for me, Munson.”

“I think you might be onto something there,” he chuckled, turning his head to make sure no one from the isolated gas station was lurking nearby. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“I wish we could do more than that,” you said, grinning.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” he pinched the front of his Megadeth shirt and brought it to his nose. “I’m never gonna wash this shirt ever again, just so you know. It smells like you.”

“I almost kept it,” you started to doodle spirals on the pad in front of you with a red pen.

“I would’ve let you,” he smirked, remembering the way you straddled him in nothing but that shirt in the back of his van for one final quickie before parting ways. The feeling of being inside of you, that sense of completion and connection, would be his main masturbation fodder for the foreseeable future.

Holy shit, he was crazy about you.

Having such intense feelings for someone after barely 24 hours of knowing them was not reasonable, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.

He’d been on his way home from visiting his friend Ronnie when the storm hit, and some of the roads were blocked off due to flooding. The rain crashed down all night, lightning cracked the sky, and all he could think of as your bodies writhed tangled and sweaty, was that he could die a happy man.

He called Gareth that night, told him he wouldn’t make it to practice, and decided to slink into a dark bar for a beer. There you were, looking all sorts of futuristic and out of place. You had a device in your hand that resembled something out of Star Trek, but you said it didn’t work, that it was “dead” and you couldn’t find your “charger”. You fascinated the fuck out of him. He asked if you were an alien, and without missing a beat, you responded, “would that be a problem?”

Not at all, sweetheart. Not. At. All.

“I kinda want to get in my car and race back to you,” you spoke softly.

Eddie tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s all I could think about the whole way was turning around. I feel like I left my heart on the road back there.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” you whispered, making his entire body shiver with longing.

“When can I see you again? I mean, when do you think…should I come to you or—”

The automatic operator’s voice cut him off, asking him to deposit 25 cents.

“Are you calling me from a payphone?” You sounded astonished. “I didn’t even know those things existed anymore.”

“They’re all over the place, sweetheart,” he huffed, distracted with searching his denim pockets for change. “Not all of us have strange little pocket calculator things we speak into.”

“I love an old school man.”

Hearing the word “love” roll off your tongue in relation to him made him want to reach out and take you in his arms so bad he could scream.

“Hey, I left all my change in the van, this is going to cut me off, but I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”

“Please do, I don’t care how late it is.”

“Okay I will, and also—”

But then the line went dead.

You pulled your iPhone away from your cheek and stared at the screen with a sad frown. You hoped that one day he’d let you bring him up to speed with the age of technology. Until then, you found it charming as fuck that he didn’t own a cellphone, and loved to act oblivious to anything involving computers.

You had your cell charging on the countertop when one of your friends texted you a few minutes later, demanding the details of the mystery man who’d swept you off your feet in some dive bar out in the boonies.

Usually, you avoided one night stands at all costs. You had to care very deeply about someone in order to be intimate with them, and for some reason, you felt bonded to Eddie after the first hour. It was thrilling, but also scary and uncomfortable all at once.

“What happened to the dude you were supposed to meet there?” Your friend Tina asked. “The one from the dating app?”

“Oh, he never showed,” you chuckled, thinking that you’d totally forgotten why you’d driven almost two hours away to another town in the first place. “But it was for the best. If he hadn’t ghosted, I never would have met Eddie.”

“What was the name of the bar again?” She asked after you dished all of the details on your new crush.

“Wait, I think I have one of their matchbooks in my bag—” you dug around, finally holding it out in front of you. “I guess it’s called The Upside Down? Never heard of it before, but the address was correct, I’m sure of it. My GPS was acting weird, so who knows.”

The bar hadn’t been updated since the 70’s, it seemed. Wood paneling, sticky tables, peanut shells on the floor, and one of those vintage jukeboxes that played nothing but oldies. Eddie remarked that it reminded him a lot of one of the bars he did gigs at with his band.

Corroded Coffin, you doodled the name down, reminding yourself to google it later. Eddie said he wasn’t on social media, and pretended not to know what it even was. Just one more quirk of his that charmed you to death and made you smile to yourself.

You fell asleep on the couch that night with the phone on your chest, and woke up the next morning with a kink in your neck and a dry mouth.

Nothing from Eddie, not even a missed call.

Maybe he got in late and didn’t want to wake you. It was almost 9:00 in the morning when you tried the number he’d given you for his uncle’s place.

The number had been disconnected or was no longer in service.

Panic swelling in your throat, you scrolled back to the number of the payphone he’d called you from.

Also not in service.

Glassy eyed, you sat up and stared at the wall for a long time.

Soon after, you wiped away frustrated tears and got on the internet to search.

“That can’t be right,” you whispered at the screen, looking at a photo of Corroded Coffin at a bar called The Hideout in 1985. Eddie Munson, graduate of Hawkins High in 1986.

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

Zooming in on the few photos you found, you couldn’t help but notice the insane similarities between your Eddie, and 1980’s Eddie. The one you knew was maybe a few years older, but that was definitely him.

Could it be a relative? No.

All of the odd conversations you’d had that night began to click together. Had his perplexity with the idea of you carrying a phone been legit? You figured he was just being silly.

There wasn’t much you could find about him, but one final news snippet caught your eye:

“....Hawkins native and Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson has not been seen or heard from since the fall of ‘89 after leaving a cryptic note for his uncle, Wayne Munson. “He had a bunch of letters he wanted me to pass out to his friends,” Wayne explained. “He said he hoped that he would be able to come back to Hawkins, but he wasn’t sure how it all “worked”. That he loved me, but he had to go and find someone.”

You gulped, tears rolling hot down your cheeks.

“He went back,” you sniffed, choking on a sob. “He went back to find me, he…”

You trailed off, looking up at the clock, and then over to your car keys on the table.

What if Eddie circled back to find you and you weren’t there? What if that bar you’d met at never even existed?

But Eddie, he was real, and he was coming for you.

You left a note too, texted Tina, and then you were on the road again.

Pedal to the metal into the gathering storm.

—-

Thank you for reading, I love you.

#stranger prompts #stranger things fanfiction #Eddie Munson #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #twilight zone inspired #Spotify

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starleska · 2 days

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can we talk about the brilliant execution of Dot and Bubble's big reveal!!!

i am still absolutely gobsmacked by what a well-written episode Dot and Bubble is. startling, disarming, confrontational, and tremendously impactful. and holy shit i really really want to talk about how excellent the 'twist' (which really should've been obvious in retrospect 😭 was done):

as a white person it took me about ten minutes to clock that Lindy's friend group were a nightmare Aryan Tupperware Party collective: all white, all blue-eyed, and even Gothic Paul was dressed in blues and whites, with no black at all. but you know how i responded to that? mentally i went 'oh i'm sure it's nothing!' and shoved it aside. and i think it is exactly that insidious tendency to ignore, normalise, and validate overt and covert racism that the episode does such a tremendous job of tackling! everything in the episode gives us the lore we need to understand Lindy and the people of Finetime are white supremacists. Lindy's disgusted face and immediate blocking of The Doctor versus the amount of time she spends with Ruby. Lindy's shock at the Doctor and Ruby occupying the same room implying segregation on the Homeworld. Lindy calling the Doctor and Ruby 'criminals' not for being in the Bubble, but for breaking segregation. Lindy using Ricky September, a white influencer, to calm herself down not just from the monsters, but from interacting with a Black person. the tradwife aesthetic of the Finetime residents making a comeback in real-life right-wing racist circles. ugh, there's so much and it was all right in our faces!! yet many of us who aren't POC had the privilege of going through the episode baffled and uncomfortable, without being able to put a finger on why until the final bit of the episode. doesn't that tell us how quickly and easily we've all taken to ignoring both micro and macroaggressions? that we needed talk of being 'contaminated', improper use of the word 'voodoo', and Lindy straight up telling the Doctor that face-to-face contact was unacceptable, to understand they're white supremacists? oh my God 😭😭 what a genius play, to make Lindy so detestable from the start. she's an arrogant, vain, self-absorbed, moronic, uncompromising, traitorous bitch...and by layering that abhorrent personality and then giving us the reveal of her white supremacy, there is no argument even the most wishy-washy of people could have re: their awful views. Lindy and her friends are revolting racists who are so wrapped up in their own echo-chamber 'bubble' that they would genuinely rather be devoured alive than challenge their own narrow, bigoted views. i'm still blown away by the power of Ncuti's final scene. the disbelief, the frustration, the sadness and the fury...and yet the Doctor still tries to save them against all odds. i think the most common response to this episode was 'The Doctor should have gone all Time Lord Victorious on them', and you're right - he should have! but doing that would've affirmed the beliefs of the real-life racists viewers. the Doctor responding not with violence or righteous vengeance is a very deliberate writing choice: we are supposed to come away feeling revolted that he needed to behave that way, to almost be supplicant to the white supremacists. because that is the real-life view of so many people who don't even view themselves as racist: Black people need to 'perform' to a higher standard, than white people just to be considered worthy of respect. the more i watch it, the more i'm convinced this is the best episode of the whole season, and one of the best Doctor Who episodes we've ever had. we were taken off-guard by having an episode overtly about racism set in the future rather than the past, because our tendency is to assume equality is a natural consequence of becoming technologically advanced. this clearly isn't the case, and Dot and Bubble is a masterclass in confronting racism head-on rather than dancing around it for the comfort of white viewers. just. aaargh!!!! absolutely amazing 🔥🔥🔥

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diettwistup · 2 days

Text

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

NOTES: hello lovely people! so excited to be back n finally posting this next chapter. i really hope you guys enjoy this, as it’s a little bit of a filler chapter to get ready for the juicy stuff. also i was a little lazy and didn't edit much, so mind any errors! hope you enjoy kisses n hugs xx 💋

WC: 4.3K

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO, ONE, and TWO

CHAPTER 3: CRACK ME AND I’LL CRACK YOU

STANFORD DINING HALL , 2007 1:00 PM

My eyes scanned the dining hall and all the students grabbing late lunches. Taking out my phone, I looked down to read a text from Art.

“I’ve got a table by the window.”

Looking up, I almost immediately saw his backward cap and blonde curls facing me as he looked out the window, hands bridged.

Softly inhaling, I walked over to where he was, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Hi…” I softly spoke, making him turn around and flash me his signature lopsided grin.

“Hey,” He started as I sat down across from him. “Such a beautiful day. I just had to get a window seat.” He nodded his head towards the view we had.

Following his eyes, I saw our beautiful campus basking in the hot California sun.

“It really is beautiful if you have the time to stop and stare.” I sighed as I stole a glance at Art’s side profile.

I felt my breath catch in my throat solely from his features. They really were perfect, and that’s saying something.

“Ready to eat?” He snapped his eyes back to me as I tried my best to play off staring at him, grabbing a piece of my hair.

“Yeah!” I spurted out, too eager for my liking, as I quickly stood up, student ID in hand. “Let’s go…” I finished calmer as I brushed my hair out of my face.

I heard him softly chuckle as we went to go get our food.

Returning to the table, I sat my tray down, looked at my food, and grabbed a piece of my hair to play with.

Again.

“So, I wanna hear everything about how your semester went.” I smiled and crossed my legs under the table.

Shooting me a soft smile while opening his water bottle, Art locked his eyes onto mine.

“It’s been rough. Lots of hard practices and tough classes, but like we said the other day, it’s all gonna be worth it.” He explained before taking a bite of his food.

Picking up my fork and poking my salad, I tilted my head. “Have you and Pat been keeping in contact?” I questioned as I took a bite of my food.

Nodding as he chewed, Art put his fork down. “Yeah, we talk all the time, and he’s visited a bunch,” he responded.

I knew about the visits since Tashi always told me when she needed…alone time.

“That’s fun,” I continued to eat my food before looking out the window. “Tashi said he’s coming for her match next week. We should all do something.”

“I like that idea.” I could feel him smiling at me as my cheeks heated up.

A comfortable silence befell us as we ate our food. Surprisingly, it was very enjoyable. I liked this.

I liked Art.

When we finished our food and returned our trays, Art shoved his hands in his pocket and looked at me, letting his eyes ask, "What's next."

Smiling at him, I bit my bottom lip and parted my lips. “Since we didn’t talk much, I wondered if you wanted to return to my dorm. I have a single, so we wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing my roommate.” I spoke as I played with my fingers.

I could practically feel the happiness radiating off of his smile as he simply nodded.

“Lead the way.” He responded and extended his hand out for me to take.

Softly laughing, I grabbed his hand and walked us to my dorm building.

His hand feels good in mine.

Reaching my dorm, I turned to Art as I unlocked the door.

“She may be messy, don’t judge.” I playfully scolded as I opened the door.

“Don’t worry, if yours is bad, mine is worse.” He laughed and followed me into my room.

I closed the door behind us and put my keys down on my desk as I watched Art look around my room.

Sitting down on my bed, I took off my shoes and moved my legs up to sit with them crossed.

“This is cute,” Art said as he turned around and showed that he was holding a framed photo of Tashi and me from third grade.

Tashi and I were standing back to back with our arms crossed, both making the silliest faces we could muster. Tennis rackets were in our hands, which you swear were bigger than us. We had just won our first of many doubles matches.

Softly laughing, I stood up and took the photo from him, staring at it with a fond smile.

“We were so young…” I whispered softly as I studied the photo. Art’s head was right above my shoulder, and I was looking down at the photo as well.

“You never told Patrick and me about how you and Tashi met,” he said in my ear as I placed the photo back on my desk.

Sitting back down on my bed, I patted the area next to me with a smile. “Come sit, and I’ll spill my guts.” I chuckled as he moved to sit next to me, taking his hat off and handing it to me to place on my desk.

“Do I need to sell my soul for this information?” He joked and ran a hand through his hair while I rolled my eyes and gently hit his knee.

“Shut up…” I chuckled before moving my hair behind my shoulder.

“Tashi and I have known each other all our lives, really.” I started smiling at the memory of young Tashi and me. “Our mothers were friends, so we were bound to be just like them.” I laughed to myself, looking down at my hands.

“I feel like we’ve been playing tennis since we were both able to walk,” I smirked as I looked at Art, who was hanging onto every word I spoke.

He simply nodded to show that he was listening, a smirk widening at every new fact.

“We were doubles partners for years before we decided to play singles for better recruitment chances, and here we are.” I shrugged at this, looking at the photo on my desk while a lazy smile played on my features.

All Art did for a moment was stare at me with a slight smile.

I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that.

Quickly running a hand through his hair, he laughed softly before looking back at me.

“I can’t say I’m shocked.” He smiles before flickering his eyes back to the picture of Tashi and me on my desk. “You two have something special.” He finishes and looks back at me.

“Look who's talking,” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and responded. “You and Patrick have one of the most genuine friendships I’ve ever seen.” I smiled as Art adjusted himself, our knees now touching.

“Please,” He laughed and shook his head. “Patrick and I are more brothers than friends.” He smirked.

“Exactly!” I exclaimed and subconsciously moved closer to Art. “That’s what I love about you two. I can tell you really care about him.” I tilted my head with a gentle smile as I placed my hand on his thigh.

Art glanced down at my hand as my face instantly turned red.

“I’m sorry-“ I began as I retracted my hand, but Art stopped me by grabbing my wrist and staring right into my eyes.

“No, it’s okay.” He spoke, eyes piercing into my entire being: soul, body, and all. As he held my wrists, his thumb softly caressed the sensitive skin of my palm.

Biting my bottom lip softly, I turned my head to look out the window as my stomach churned.

“So,” I began as I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m glad you texted me…” I softly spoke, refusing to make eye contact.

“Wow,” He started and shook his head slowly with a smirk.

Tilting my head, I furrowed my brows and looked at him through my eyelashes.

“What…?” I asked as I gnawed my bottom lip, and my face heated up.

He threw his hands up in defense and let out a chuckle as he stared at me.

“Never did I ever think that Milan Mikaelson would express any sort of feeling without having an attitude.” He laughed as my mouth dropped, and I chuckled before leaning in and smacking his arm.

“You’re such an asshole!” I laughed, not realizing how close our faces were.

He shrugged with a smirk before moving his hand to play with the sleeve of my hoodie.

I watched him do this, eyes trained on his fingers before flickering to the roughness of his calloused hands. Sure, I had them, too, but for some reason, seeing him made me smile at all his hard work and dedication to tennis.

“I told Pat about this.” He chimed and snapped me out of my thoughts, pointing between the two of us to signify that there was now an us.

“I think he’s more happy than I am about this.” He laughed and rolled his eyes.

I turned my head to look back out at the window as I softly laughed.

“Yeah, I told Tash,” I responded before looking back at him, his smile growing wider. “She was surprisingly chill about it.” I laughed as I thought of Tashi’s stubborn nature.

Moving his hand from my sweatshirt to my thigh, Art smirked even wider at me.

That damn smirk.

“See, I told you they wouldn’t give a fuck.” He chuckled and patted my thigh.

Rolling my eyes, I clicked my tongue and looked back at him.

“Hey, I was just playing it safe!” I explained in defense as I leaned my head closer to his to counteract his smug expression.

“When is playing safe ever fun?” he replied and leaned in, grinning from ear to ear.

My mind trailed back to the hotel as I remembered the harsh eye contact between us when Tashi and I first arrived. This moment seems to be teleporting me back in time.

Returning to my senses, I noticed that Art’s hand had moved from my thigh to my waist, and our noses were almost touching.

“Art…” I whispered, almost warning him about what we were about to do.

He only learned more until his lips ghosted mine.

“There’s nothing to worry about…they’re fine with it, remember?” He reassured me and moved a hand to cup my cheek, rubbing it with his thumb out of comfort.

He was right. We can do whatever we want…I know we both wanted this.

Softly laughing and smiling widely at this realization, I quickly pressed my lips to his and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He, of course, kissed back instantly as his hands moved to the base of my neck.

I could practically taste his smirk against my lips as I parted my lips to give him access.

Swiping my tongue across his, I laced my fingers into his hair and gently tugged the blonde tuffs. All he could do was softly groan into my mouth before pushing me back gently on the bed to let me lay on my pillow.

I smiled at this as I moved my leg to wrap around his torso and push my heel into his back to push him further down, whining at the slight friction below.

I was almost totally lost in the kiss before Art pulled away after biting my bottom lip to catch his breath.

Panting softly, I raised a hand to brush a piece out of his face, softly humming to myself.

“I really want to get lost in you, but I’m refraining myself because I want to show you that I’m all in. I don’t want a one-time thing.” He spoke breathlessly as he leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek and gently pick me up so that I lay on his chest.

“I want us to happen. I need us to happen.” He continued into my hair as he gripped me closer, hands under my shirt, tracing shapes on my bare stomach.

Smiling and closing my eyes, I moved my hands to play with his.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard something more perfect.” I laughed and buried my head more into his chest before continuing, voice quiet.

“This is exactly what I want. Everything I need.”

NEXT WEEK- STANFORD DORMS 2007, 10:00 AM

“Are you excited?” I smirked as I sat with my head dangling off of Tashi’s bed, hands resting on my stomach.

“Excited? Yeah, excited to beat that Pepperdine bitch.” Tashi finished as she sat at her desk and did her skincare.

Scoffing, I turned my body around to sit upright on her bed.

“Um, I was talking about Patrick coming…” I laughed with a subtle eye roll as I rested my chin on my palm.

“Oh,” Was all she said as she looked at her skin closely in her mirror.

I fell back on her bed with a chuckle as I stared at her ceiling.

“What about Art? How’s that going?” She chimed, grin so wide I could practically hear it.

I blushed at the mention of his name and turned my head to face her, hair falling into my face.

“It’s been good,” I smiled like a child as I thought about last week with Art.

We’d been taking it slow to really get to know each other. Finding time in our hectic schedules was definitely a challenge, but we were both up for it.

All I heard was Tashi snorting before standing up from her desk and moving to sit next to me on the bed.

“I’m happy for you,” She smiled and draped her body over mine as I let out a laugh with protests for her to get off of me.

Times like this made me wish that Tashi and I didn’t have to worry about the future. We could perpetually live in certain moments where we would only show certain sides of ourselves to each other. It was refreshing, really.

Laying next to her, I grinned and brushed my hair out of my face.

“The four of us should do something after your match. Maybe grab dinner off campus or something.” I thought out loud as I grabbed one of Tashi’s stuffed animals to lie with.

Shrugging, Tashi sat up next to my head and pulled a blanket over herself.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she nodded before letting a smirk break out. Just think, this will be the first time the four of us have been together since the hotel.” I saw her eyes flicker with mischief.

Sitting up quickly, I gently pushed her off the bed as we both burst into laughter.

“That night was fucked!” I laughed as I crawled to the edge of the bed to see her sprawled out beneath me, clutching her stomach as she continued to laugh.

“Hey, but it brought both of us two attractive men who play the same sport as us!” She quipped before grabbing my arm and pulling me off the bed, laughing through her words.

She does have a point.

As we continued to laugh momentarily, I softly sighed and sat up, brushing my shirt off.

“Well, I should get going. I want to grab something to eat before I go to study before your match,” I said as I stood up and walked to my backpack and shoes. Plus, I know you’ll want to have some alone time with Pat.” I smirked and raised my eyebrows at her as I bent down to put my shoes on.

“Fuck off.” She laughed and kicked my foot as I cursed her out and threw one of her stuffed animals at her.

“You’re being defensive because you know I’m right.” I stuck my tongue out at her before quickly putting on my shoes, fixing my outfit, and slinging my backpack over my shoulder so Tashi couldn’t throw anything back at me.

“Love you!” I yelled as I ran out the door, only catching a glimpse of her shooting me the middle finger.

Smiling to myself, I quickly made my way to the dining hall, not wanting to waste any time so I could get ample studying in before Tashi’s match.

Reaching a hand up to my mouth, I bit my nails as I entered the dining hall, looking around to see if I knew anyone.

Shockingly enough, Art and Patrick were sitting by the window, eating churros and talking about something.

I decided to get my food before heading over, just in case I got caught in a long conversation.

It’s happened with them before, who said it wouldn't happen again?

Grabbing my food quickly, might I add, I walked over to the boys with a small smile.

Patrick was the first to spot me, expression turning to a wide smile as he waved.

This caused Art to look at who his friend was waving to, and his face immediately lit up when he saw me.

How sweet.

“Mila!” Patrick exclaimed as he got up from his stool and hugged me. “How’ve been?” He asked while I hugged back, laughing softly.

“Awe, Pat, good to see ya,” I smiled before letting go of the hug. “I’ve been decent, pushing through.” I laughed and placed my food next to Art.

“Hi,” I whispered to Art while he wrapped an arm around my waist below my backpack and smiled at me.

“Hi,” He responded with a lopsided grin and whispered softly. “You look good today,” He patted my waist while I gently chuckled.

“How about you, Pat? How's the tour?” I angled my attention back to Patrick, who looked between Art and me with a knowing grin.

“It's been great. I've learned a lot of things and am getting better every day.” He nodded and crossed his arms with his signature smirk.

I smiled at this, genuinely happy for his success. I never really took much time to get to know Patrick, but I knew he was a good guy. He and Tashi made a good couple, and I know he was treating her right, which is all I cared about.

“Well,” I began, patting Art’s arm, then grabbing my food. I have a huge test to study for, and I want to get a lot done before Tashi’s match, so I’ll see you two there?” I pointed between them, already knowing the answer.

“You know it,” Patrick smirked before sitting back down on his stool and shot Art a very large smirk.

“Yup, I’ll text you.” Art smiled and moved in to press a small peck on my cheek, making my face heat up.

Well, that’s new.

Laughing softly, I waved to both of the boys as I yelled, “Let's get dinner tonight with Tashi!” before making my way to the library.

Something tells me that today is gonna be a great day.

STANFORD TENNIS COURTS - 2007, 1:00 PM

The walk from the library to the tennis courts was never something that I had never done before and was never something that I would do again.

My legs were about to give out any moment, and you would think they would be strong from years of training, but when you’re carrying a backpack with textbooks, notebooks, multiple papers, and more, your abilities are truly tested.

As I reached the bleachers, I walked up and sat near the middle, discarding my backpack and letting out a groan.

“Tashi Duncan, you’re glad I love you,” I told myself as I pulled my phone out to text Art that I had seats for him and Patrick.

After a bit of waiting and looking over my notes to get a little extra studying in, Art showed up, startling me as he pulled my notes out of my lap.

“Hey, give that back,” I protested, staring at him through my lashes.

“Hm,” he started before sitting next to me and skimming my notes, pretending to know what he was looking at.

“The importance of oxygen in oxidative phosphorylation? Who wouldn’t know that?” He pointed to my section in the notes as I laughed and took them before putting them in my backpack.

“The day you can explain cellular respiration, you can put a ring on it.” I joked as I zipped up my backpack.

“Well, I guess there will be no marriage anytime soon.” He pretended to sound extremely disappointed before looking at the court.

Rolling my eyes, I stared at him in confusion as I realized his partner in crime was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Pat?” I asked as I rested my chin on my hand.

All Art did was shrug and look back at me. “He went to Tashi’s dorm a bit after you left and told me he would meet me here.” He explained and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hm, I see.” I slowly spoke as Tashi exited the locker rooms, the crowd cheering. Maybe you should send him a text,” I added as I looked back at Art.

“Yeah, let’s see.” He responded as he pulled out his phone and quickly texted Patrick.

Not even a full ten seconds later, Patrick had responded.

“Well fuck,” Art said as he read the text. “He said they got into a big fight, and he’s not coming.” He sighed as he put his phone back in his pocket.

“Shit, that’s not good,” I spoke as I reached a hand up to my mouth and bit one of my nails. “Thank God Tashi knows how to lock in.” I continued and watched her stretch and warm up.

Humming in response, Art’s eyes were focused on Tashi just as mine had been.

I shook my head at the thought of Patrick and Tashi's fight. The match began, and Tashi started off perfectly, as usual.

The crowd roared as she continued to score over and over again, strides faultlessly, obviously not letting the fight with Patrick get to her.

When Tashi set the next ball, the volley with her opponent went down momentarily. I watched in awe as she strategically moved across the entire court, hitting the ball back with great force.

“Come on, Tash!” I yelled as the crowd roared with me.

“She’s really on point today,” I glanced at Art and spoke before my eyes locked back onto Tashi.

“I know, she’s so-“

CRACK

“Oh my god…” I gasped and stood up as I covered my mouth in horror while Art shot up, eyes wide.

Tashi was on the ground, thrashing and crying out in pain. Her screams wracked throughout the stadium as she gripped her knee.

“Fuck, Art, we gotta go,” I exclaimed and, without hesitation, sprinted down the bleachers, jumping over the fence and net with Art over to Tashi.

“Tash, hey, it’s gonna be okay…” I calmly spoke as I moved her head into my lap. Art grabbed her hand and rubbed it soothingly.

Moving her hair out of her face, I whispered softly down at her. All she did was cry and squirm back and forth, blubbering about her knee and how badly it hurt.

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay, everything is gonna be okay,” I whispered as I wiped her tears away before glancing at Art, who was looking at me with a worried expression.

Biting my lip out of anxiety, I looked back down at Tashi as she cried and turned her head to hide her face in my thigh.

Shit.

STANFORD INFIRMARY - 2007, 2:00 PM

Complete and utter silence filled our end of the infirmary as Tashi sat on a stretcher between Art and me.

No one dared open their mouths while we listened to the physicians and tennis coach speak hushedly.

I knew this was going to break Tashi. She would never let anyone know that even me, but an injury like this is something that could severely affect her future. I reached a hand up to my mouth to bite my nails in anticipation of her exact diagnosis.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” A rushed and exasperated voice sounded from the doorway. Looking up, my eyes locked with Patrick’s as Tashi started to yell at him.

“Get out,” She warned before raising her voice to scream when he wouldn’t listen. “GET OUT!” She spat and threw her entire body to point at him to get out.

Patrick continued to protest, wanting to explain himself and apologize as his eyes darted between us, looking for some forgiveness.

“Patrick, get the fuck out!” Art yelled when Patrick went to step closer to us while I closed my eyes, shook my head, and furrowed my brows.

Why the fuck was HE yelling?

Crossing my arms and biting my lip, I sadly looked up at Patrick as I spoke softly.

“Pat, I think you should leave.” I softly whispered, his eyes burning into my being.

If Tashi wants him gone, he should go.

All I was met with was his defeated eyes, pleading for this not to be serious. I turned my head away from him, and he finally nodded in disappointment and left.

Sucking in a breath, I turned my body back to Tashi and moved to grab her hand, softly gripping it while she did the same back, her gaze pointing forward.

Looking back up at Art, he only stared into space with a piercing expression.

Sighing softly, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall.

So much for today being a great day.

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