#but it all comes from a place of care for her friend
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Steph's Year of Recovery
So! Danny noticed that a new face had made it's way into town. Two new faces actually, an older lady known as Dr Leslie, and a girl about his age called Steph.
He first met them when he was at the hospital for one of his parents. They had stood too close to an explosion again, and he met them while he was in the waiting Area.
Dr Leslie was a strict but obviously caring older woman, who seemed to be the one taking care of Steph as a kind of maternal figure, or maybe more like an Aunt. She greeted him simply and then walked away to talk with the Secretary, leaving him to talk to Steph.
Steph was a blond girl in a Wheelchair, and he could see bandages piking out of her clothes as he talked to her. She explained that she had been in an Accident a few weeks ago that left her wheelchair bound for a while, and that she had come to Amity for their surprisingly good Medical Centers.
He and Steph got along really well, and by the end of it he asked her for her Number so they could continue talking later. They stayed in touch, and when she was finally permitted to leave the Hospital, he introduced her to his friends. They all got along like a House on Fire, both figuratively and in one memorable case very literally (Vlad had pissed them off okay!)
Eventually Steph recovered enough that she moved from a Wheelchair to Crutches, and their shenanigans got even more chaotic (Vlad hadn't even pissed them off, this time was just for fun)
The only thing Danny could complain about was the fact that Steph was hiding something from them.
She said that she had been in an Accident a while ago, which was why they had come to Amity in the first place. But Danny knew it was more than that.
He could sense lingering traces of Death coming from her after all.
...
Steph honestly loved her current life.
Sure she had lost everything, her home, her health, her friends, her life, but she had gained new things too! Like Danny and the Gang! They were honestly some of the best friends she had ever had, and for some reason they just clicked with her instantly.
Danny was interesting and funny, Sam was vegan and a badass, Tucker was smart and witty, they all fit with her personality perfectly! It almost felt like she bad been friends with them for years. (She ignored the way her heart skipped a beat when she saw them)
But she still couldn't shake the sense that they were hiding something from her.
She knew it had something to do with the Ghost Problem in the town. And wasn't that a kicker, there was a whole Supernatural Ghost Outbreak in this Town and nobody knew about it. Dr Leslie had said that Amity was off the map enough to hide from Bruce, but she hadn't mentioned it was hidden from the Justice League itself!
Danny, Sam, and Tucker definitely knew more about it than they let on however. Whenever a Ghost Attack would happen, at least one of them would rush off with some practiced excuse and return after the Ghost Attack was over all dirty. She could guess what was going on, and she really didn't like it.
(This had killed her, she had died doing what they were doing, she didn't want to lose them)
Eventually she had to confront them, coincidentally on the same day they decided to confront her.
"Are you Vigilantes?" / "Did you die?"
"..."
"What?" / "What?"
#Dpxdc#Dp x dc#Dcxdp#Dc x dp#Danny Phantom#Dc#Dcu#Stephanie Brown#Stephanie Browns Death#Steph actually did die to Black Mask#Dr Leslie didn't manage to save her but did manage to bring her back#How she did it is up to you#But because if that Steph needs Physical Therapy and Treatments only found in Amity#Amity is also secluded enough that Batman won't find them there#Steph knows she died but is willfully ignoring it to the point of almost repressing it#Especially because she doesn't know how she came back to life#She doesn't like that her brand new friends are also Vigilantes because being a Vigilante is what got her killed#She doesn't want them to die like she die#She doesn't want to lose her new friends#Trauma#Steph is Traumatized#Also all of them are 17 in this#Stephs age when she died is very vague but 17 is the most reliable middle ground#So the Trio has been Vigilantes for 3 years now#They know what they are doing and have a system so they can share the workload#Sam and Tucker still have their powers#So they can help Danny with the workload#Idk if Steph would develop Powers from the Treatment or her Resurrection but I kind of like the idea#Also yes this is Poly Eternal Trio + Steph cause she deserves happiness#I NEED more Steph Ships cause she deserves more attention
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introducing... bitchy reader!
rafe never pays attention to sarah’s friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesn’t care enough to say hi back.
so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.
you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.
“-and he’s not like topper, like, at all. he’s really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-”
“wow,” he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. “such standards you have. no, really.”
“shut up. he’s totally sweet-” sarah says, but you interrupt her.
“he’s, like, totally a dirty pogue.” that catches his attention—not just the fact that there’s something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth.
you nearly sound like rafe.
“that is so rude-”
“what? i’m just being honest. i’d be a bad friend if i didn’t tell you the truth.”
“what truth?” his sister questions.
“that you’re settling for some pogue boy because you’re bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him i’d be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.”
rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laugh—topper is boring, though he doesn’t think he’s heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter.
“hey! i’m not bored-”
“you mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?”
“he has other hobbies! like-”
“like what?” you pause, watching sarah’s expression before giving her a pointed look—a look that says told you so. “who are you really trying to convince right now?” you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarah—some pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. “don’t i totally need this?”
“shut up.”
“that’s what someone says when they know the other person’s right,” you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. he’s watching the whole thing—you’re funnier than he would have thought. “and if you change your mind just go to country club. top’s dime a dozen there.” the two of you start laughing.
“i’m not gonna change my mind-”
“that’s what you said when you started dating topper,” you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.
“-because he’s really nice. he’s a good guy.”
“ugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. you’re talking like you’re in love. get a grip.”
“what? what’s so wrong with that?” sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.
“because you can’t be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.” that’s when he decides to walk in—sarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.
“and what’re you girls talkin’ about?” rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confused—in all the years you’ve known sarah and times you’ve been at tannyhill, rafe’s never once spoken to you.
“i don’t think it’s any of your business-” his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.
“sarah, it’s okay.” you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like you’re gonna tell in something. “it’s really not any of your business.”
blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.
“y’know i heard that shit you were sayin’. you’re funny, kid.” you turn back to look at rafe.
“thanks. i wasn’t joking.”
“yeah. good. at least one of my sister’s friends has ‘er head screwed straight.” you laugh, but the look on your face says you didn’t think it was funny.
“are you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?” he wasn’t expected that retort.
“no. no, i-”
“maybe if your friend wasn’t such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldn’t be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?”
“hey, kid, i-”
“don’t call me that.” you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.
“so have you?” you pause, turning again.
“have i what?”
“made out with some pogue at the bonfire.” he shrugs. “that’s what you said to sarah, isn’t it?”
“again, how is that any of your business?” you ask, cocking your head at him.
“that’s not an answer.”
“i don’t owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i haven’t. i actually have standards.” he doesn’t miss the remark and what it says about his sister.
“good,” rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop it—your short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.
“shut up. weirdo.” you walk to the living room where sarah’s waiting for you.
rafe’s gonna have a hard time staying away from you.
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do you still have wisdom?
matt sturniolo x reader
summary: in the midst of your wisdom teeth removal, your boyfriend and his brothers become your caregivers, request
warnings: fluffy, language, one suggestive comment, talk of needles and surgery, mention of a safe word
the camera started rolling as you lethargically placed yourself in matt’s arms. today was the day you were getting your wisdom teeth removed and it was safe to say you were extremely nervous.
“tell everyone how you’re feeling y/n/n” nick said.
you lifted your head from matt’s chest and you replied, “i feel nervous about being put under anesthesia and i’m just really tired.” you felt matt footing shift slightly as he chucked.
matt moved from holding you to just wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “yeah so y/n didn’t really sleep last night, but you’ll have all the time to sleep tonight, okay?” you looked up at him and nodded with a small smile.
“so we’re going to go to the dentist and we’ll see you guys there.”
about an hour went by before you were sat in the chair, laying back, getting ready to receive your iv. you were not excited. you didn’t have a big fear of needles, you could tolerate them. it was the idea of the needle being in your arm for a long amount of time.
the three boys stood around you in a comforting manner. nick and matt stood to your right. nick filming while matt held your hand and soothingly ran his fingers through your hair. chris stood to your left paying attention to what the doctors were telling you guys.
“we’re going to put your iv in and it will give you the anesthesia so you’ll be out shortly after that. we’ll be in and out for the next couple minutes to see how you’re doing.” your doctor said as he started prepping your arm for the needle. you turned your head towards matt as he made goofy faces at you as a distraction.
“thank you.” you guys all stated as the doctor left your room. your eyes almost instantly started to become heavy and you felt sleep begin to take over.
the drowsiness became more prominent as the boys started to make jokes. “y/n, what kind of cup doesn’t hold liquid?” chris asked laughing. your eyes fluttered shut as you held a finger to your lips to shush him. “a cupcake.” chris finished making nobody laugh but himself.
you reached your arm up over your shoulder to gets matt’s attention. you blindly hit him and he looked down at you. “what’s up, love?” he asked.
“please ask chris to stop making jokes. i can’t focus on him right now.”
chris gave you an offended face as nick and matt broke out into a laughter. “you heard her chris, stop talking.” nick said almost in tears from laughing.
the doctor came back in just as you fell fully asleep. “okay y/n, we’re going to test your memory later. your password is grape.” you deliriously nodded in agreement. matt stayed by your side rubbing your shoulder for as long as he could before ultimately getting kicked out of the room.
the three boys stood in the hallway half focused on eachother and half focused on you. “how are you feeling matt?” chris asked, patting him on the shoulder and coming around to stand next to him. “i feel okay. i know how much pain she’s been in so i’m glad we’re getting that taken care of. i’m happy we’re all here to support her.”
the camera panned to you in the chair just as you started to lift your head slightly. you quickly side eyed the doctors as they readjusted you to leaning back.
a short time passed before all four of your wisdom teeth were extracted and your three best friends were allowed back in your room.
“how are you feeling y/n/n?” chris asked.
your were still a bit out of it and the gauze in your mouth slurred your words. “i’m cold.” was all that you got out. you were feeling emotional so when the three boys all looked at each other because they forgot your jacket in the car tears started to brim your eyes.
“awe sweetheart don’t cry we’ll figure it out. here you can have my long sleeve.” once you realized matt was next to you it was like your heart did a one eighty. “oh hi matt! i missed you!” you exclaimed lovingly as your words blended together.
“i appreciate the offer but i can’t put the shirt over my iv.” you said with a tiny frown. almost instantly chris started removing his zip-up and draped it over you. “hey! thanks chris.” you gave him a loopy smile.
“hey y/n, do you remember your password?” your doctor asked as he came back into the room to type on the computer. you instantly gave him, and the three brothers around you, a very confused look. “my safe word?” you questioned “yeah, it’s pian-” matt quickly but gently put his hand over your mouth to stop your talking.
you pushed his hand off of you. “what baby? he asked.”
“no y/n, he asked what your password was.” “like for my phone?” you were extremely confused at this point and you couldn’t get much out of the three boys who were laughing their asses off. your doctor took over trying to explain. “we gave you a password that you were supposed to remember. do you?” you shook your head at him. “that’s okay we’re going to give you another on and if you remember then you can leave and go home. your password is ocean.”
“ocean, got it”
you thought for a second before speaking up again. “hey doc, how long until i can suck dick again?” nick and chris had officially lost it at this point. cracking up at the fact that you had no idea that your exposing all of your and matt’s secrets. matt only blushed and tried not to smile when you smiled up at him and grabbed his hand in yours. you tried to wink at him but it came out more as a delayed blink.
the doctor didn’t look shocked at all. you figured he’d been used to receiving this question. “you have to wait until your incisions heal. so a couple weeks.” and with that the doctor left the room again.
you looked at matt with a sorrowful face. “sorry matt.” you remorsefully said. trying to change the subject matt spoke up, “what’s the password, sweetheart?” you looked at him lovingly. “you’re pretty.” you said reaching you hand up to rest on his cheek.
“thanks baby.”
“hey, between me and nick whose your favorite?” asked chris as he poked your shoulder in an annoying but excited manner. you looked at him, then at nick, and then back to matt. you looked straight into the camera nick was holding before firmly stating, “i don’t have favorites.” chris rolled his eyes at you.
“and if i did have a favorite it would be matt, duh.” hearing this matt leaned down to kiss your forehead.
“y/n, what’s your password to go home.”
“um? lake?”
“ohhhh so close. it is a body of water. it was ocean.” chris cooed at you as he rubbed your shoulder.
“your new one is sushi.” “oh i love sushi.”
you reached up to rub your eyes forgetting that your were still connected to a couple of wires. “ow you mother fucker.” you commented looking down at you arms. “please kiss it.” you said lifting your arm up to chris since he was closest to your iv.
“listen kid, i love ya but i’m not kissing your arm.”
“that’s so fucked up. i’d do it for you.” you complained. hesitantly, chris leaned down to place the lightest peck possible to your arm. “thank you. matt, i love you” you quickly changed the subject. he was caught off guard at your sudden outburst. “i love you too, y/n”
“nick, chris, i love you guys too.” “we love you y/n.” “love ya y/n/n.”
the doctor made his way back to the room to see that your medicine was all injected through your veins. and started to take your iv out. “do you remember the password to go home, y/n?”
“yep it’s sushi.” you said as you kept your eyes on matt to avoid noticing the needle coming out of your arm. he ran his hand up and down your arm to comfort you. “that’s right.” nick said patting your leg to congratulate you on remembering.
the doctor got a wheelchair to take you to the car. when you made it to the parking garage matt helped you into the passenger seat and gently kissed your cheek letting you know he had to go get the parking pass.
you leaned back in your chair and sighed contently. “i just love him so much. he’s so perfect and babygirl.” nick and chris laughed as matt came back to the car.
you held your teeth to the camera showing them the container. “i have to put my teeth under my pillow so the tooth fairy brings me money.”
“you’re bloody teeth are not going anywhere near my bed.” “our bed.”
the video ended shortly after that with you grabbing matt’s hand and telling the viewers to enjoy the video while you enjoyed the dominic fike album chris put on for you.
comments:
i love how flirty y/n is in anesthesia
matt was so boyf in this video
y/n is right matt is babygirl
chris is such a little brother it’s unreal
nick is really giving us the content we need
an: this is all i’ve been thinking about for the past day. also i started a tag list so go comment on it if you want added 🤍
taglist: @norr1ssturni0lo @recklessmatt
tags for this post: @thetriplets3 @mazzystar111
#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#sturniolo fanfic
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“Touch me while your bros play grand theft auto” with Abby 😵💫😵💫
cw: cockwarming, titplay, risky business in front of your friends
i need to re-listen to the anthology
they’d been playing for hours. all 6 of them. abby, manny, owen, mel, nora and leah. you didn’t want to join in, you didn’t care about this game. didn’t see the appeal. however, you saw the appeal in abby’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, your head against her chest. you were getting restless and needy, as always. abby notices. she puts the controller down, everyone turning to look at her. you and abby were on an armchair, manny and leah on a sofa and owen, mel and nora on a duvet on the floor. “one second, just gotta do something,” abby says, picking you up to place you on her lap. you’re cuddling under a blanket, now feeling incredibly grateful. you gasp lightly as the bulge you’re sat on top of. your eyes go wide, looking up at abby. she smirks, picking the controller back up. you sink back down onto her chest, trying to ignore the ache in your core.
“anyone else want to play?” she asks, your eyes almost perking up at the question. manny takes the controller from her, everyone gazing at the screen, or their phones. her hands grip your hips, clearing her throat as she leans in to whisper in your ear. “don’t make a sound,” she bucks her hips up gently. your eyes shut at the feeling, biting down on your bottom lip. you hide your face in the crook of abby’s neck. leah spots this from the corner of her eye, furrowing her brows at you. “she’s okay, tired,”
abby says for you, and she looks back at the screen. abby lifts your hips up gently, pulling her silicone cock from her sweatpants. she leans back in. “you’re going to sit on this dick until i tell you to get off. okay, baby?” she orders, you nod immediately. abby peels off your pyjama shorts and your underwear, pushing you back down on her dick so, very gently. you have to bite down on abby’s shoulder to stop a moan escaping your mouth. the feeling of your teeth on her skin makes abby gasp and she quickly covers it with a cough. you let out a tiny giggle that forces abby to push you down. “abby!” you scream. you cover your mouth quickly, looking over your shoulder at everyone. no one even looked. “naughty girl,” she whispers, her hands coming off and out of the blanket, now behind her head. your eyes roll back, the sight of her toned biceps forcing you back into hiding.
minutes that feel like hours pass until abby’s hands snake back under the blanket, making their way past your hips, where you expected them to stay, up into your shirt. she starts kneading, groping your tits while maintaining a conversation like it’s nothing. her calm, soft face drives you crazy. you look up at her, trying to get her attention. nothing. your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, you can’t dare open them. your breathing is heavy and if anyone were to turn around they’d see you both moving up and down with each breath. each soft whimper that leaves your mouth is punished by a pinch to your nipple, only almost forcing another out. “so needy. just wait until everyone’s asleep and i’ll fuck you so good, baby. gotta wait for it.”
#the last of us#abby anderson#tlou#abby tlou#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson tlou#abby the last of us#abby anderson x reader smut#abby anderson smut#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby x reader smut#the last of us abby#tlou abby#abby x you#abby x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby anderson the last of us#the last of us smut
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Abbys reaction to you telling her how hot she is while making out: "you're so hot I can't stand it it drives me crazy." - maybe the first time or one of the first times
all my love is free | abby anderson
tags: eighteen+, lesbians obsessed with each other, had to post during lesbian visibilty week like c'mon???, just a big bag of fluff packaged with light steam, abby being a nervous goofball, sfw with suggestive themes.
an. sorry i kind of disappeared with posts. new collab is taking over my brain. but wanted to at least post something. can't wait for y'all to get a taste. until then, i'll be finishing the requests in my inbox (hopefully). with all the love, ray.
the end of your first date with abby marks a colossal milestone, especially for the two of you. the moment almost seemed monumental. taking one year of abby’s pining, six months of flirting and six months of tiptoeing while you were with someone else. respectfully, waiting until a month after the breakup, she asks you out.
unimaginable expectations abby had before going into tonight, but all she had to offer it seems was her nerves. god, she was acting like a dumb, mumbling, dork tonight. saying the first thought coming to mind, but it makes you laugh. when abby nearly eats it on the sidewalk, tripping over a crack of grout in the cement. your soft angelic voice taking her out for a moment, the only thing centering her from having a meltdown.
“baby, are you alright? be careful, honey.” there it is, angelic. “wouldn’t want you to fall.” the first pet names hurled her way by you, making her heartbeat faster than she could keep up with. you cut her off at her knees, ensuring you are the only person she could ever want.
fuck, fuck, fuck.
it’s pretty obvious who was in control the entire night. if the two of you are friends, this night has a year of expectations, hopes, goals to meet and abby felt like she was failing. deeply.
as she walks you up to the front door, she knows the only thing she accomplished was letting you down. nothing went the way she thought it was going to. everything felt off. worst of all, your silence snuffs her out, completely.
you grab her hands, pulling her up the stairs with you. the collar feels too hot, tense, off. delicate fingers playing with the collar before you unclasp the buttons, keeping down before you move to her chest, placing your hand on abby’s inconsistent heartbeat.
“can i? s’tense, need you to loosen up for me. alright?” abby nods, accepting you can read her like the back of your hand. she just doesn’t want you to stop touching her. “get out of this head of yours. s’just me and you, no one else.” your nimble fingers pop the first three buttons, revealing her freckled chest, dipping into her sternum, giving you a delicious preview. she takes a deep breath, and you believe it’s the first one she’s allowed herself since she showed up with a bouquet of flowers in hand.
“‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to ruin tonight. i just— it’s you. y’know? i’ve never wanted someone like this. been friends for ages and this is just everything. you are everything. i’ll never live with myself if i let you slip through my fingers.” her heartbeat calms under your touch the longer abby speaks, bringing a warmness to your own. “don’t worry about all of it. you’re not going to. i won’t let you.”
“okay.” abby says as she gets lost in the light in your eyes. the fire visible behind yours. the way she’s looking at you? fuck. unimaginable desire — all for you. it almost seems too good to be true. like you don’t deserve it. waiting for the pin to drop, all the misery drowning you with it. “did you have a good time tonight?”
“yes baby, i did.” you smirk as she inches forward, closing you into your front door. back pressed against it, her small breasts pressed to your chest, her free hand extended, next to your head as it lays flat on the door.
“s’good. wouldn’t want to kiss you if the date was bad.” all the confidence is back. the abby who flirted with you shamelessly for months on end. knowing you’re happy is enough for her. it’s all she needs to know to let the loser in her fall to ashes. but you taking the reins for a moment, does something so visceral inside her. she nearly doesn’t know how to act until her instincts kick in.
she’ll satisfy you — just in the way she knows how.
“what are y—” abby pressed her body weight into you, strong hips pinning you against the door using one of her hands to pin both of yours above your head. you’re whimpering, signaling your shock but the whine omitting from your lips tells abby your pussy is shocked. soaked.
“doing what i should have done months ago.” her pink plump lips meet yours, taking complete control over you. but you welcome it with open arms. she grunts in your mouth causing you to gasp as abby’s tongue enters your mouth. massaging it with yours in a swift battle for dominance.
it’s too much but also not enough. you’re grinding against her, your crotch kissing hers as you lift a leg, wrapping it around her waist. she continues kissing you like her entire life depends on it. not letting you feel anything but her. she’ll be your everything and you’re not leaving until you understand it just as much as her. “abs—” you mumble in her mouth, abby relinquishes the tight grip on her hands.
immediately your hands are woven in her hair. tugging at the golden hair, as you try to pull her closer to you, if it was even possible. but the two of you have to come up for air, abby the first one to break as she chuckles at both of your heaving chests.
“fuck, you’re so hot, baby. can’t stand it.” you peck her lips softly. admiring how puffy and swollen they look from her ministrations. god, you want her to devour you once again. “‘m, drives me crazy.” you admit, taking in the intoxicating smirk on her face. you’re not made into a fumbling mess easily. the both of you know it. that’s how abby knows it in her bones, she has you. fuck, she can’t ever imagine letting go.
#hi again#my abby lovers !!!#hope you like this one :')#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson x masc reader#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson x you#abby anderson x poc#wlw x reader#tlou x reader#lesbian#wlw post
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Replaced
Type:one shot
Pairing: Azriel x reader
Based off of this request
Hope this is heart breaking enough anon!
Trigger warnings- slight mention of ED behavior, torture, and implied violence
I stare out at the gardens, I used to think they were beautiful, I tended to them everyday, watered and checked all the plants, made sure the soil was perfect and they got the proper mix of shade and sunlight. I walked in them, sat on my bench under the giant cherry blossom tree and read my book. The gardens were always my space my place. I loved those gardens, always marveled at their beauty.
But not now. Now as I stare out at the gardens I’m disgusted by what I see, I hate the new flowers and the soil. I hate looking at it and I refuse to walk in it. I hate that my family simply gave my place to her. That Azriel gave it to her. That he sits out on my bench all cuddled up with her. Deep down I think that’s what disgusts me. Seeing him with her. No. Disgust isn’t the right word. It makes me sick, fills me with agony that spreads through my bones and boils in my blood. Sends jealousy spiking through my body like bolts of electricity.
When the middle Archeron had come into the family with her older sister- it was fine, everything was fine. My family was happy and although I always felt off about the female, I was civil. It was fine as my family turned to them, it was fine. They needed time and attention, like new animals. I let my family give them that. It was fine when I was asked to let her work in the gardens she ‘loved so much’. It was all fine.
It was all fine until they asked me to let her simply take over the gardens, ‘just so she can keep distracted and busy whilst adjusting’. It was fine till I came crying to Rhys about a vision I had, one of the first in nearly a month- I had seen something, I heard people screaming and blood everywhere, but ‘Elain hasn’t seen anything. It’s fine.’ It was fine till Azriel- my best friend for the last 500 years, the male I harbored feelings for. The male I loved for at least 450 years, turned to her. It was fine till she became all consuming. It was fine till ‘Elain needs me Yn.’ ‘Yn I have to go- Elain needs me right now. You know this is hard for her.’ ‘ Yn, stop being selfish- Elain needs me.’
It was fine till she became all consuming. Till no one listened to me, till Azriel- my mate, the man I loved with all my soul, left me for her. Turned a cold shoulder and left me. Till my family soon wrapped around the sisters and I lost them all.
Now I stare out at the gardens I once loved with disgust, nearly puking at the sight of the two cuddled up together, laughing about cauldron knows what. Now, as a headache comes on, the ones that always do before a vision, I simply slouch back in side, going to lay down on a couch. I want these seeings gone. No one cares anyway. If it doesn’t come from Elain Archeron, it means nothing. I mean nothing.
And it is now, as I lay myself across the chair that it truly sets in. He loves her. They love her. She is better. She is more beautiful and interesting and soft and she isn’t tarnished from years of fighting as I am, she is not the crazy woman I have become. She is Elain, she is all things soft and sweet, she is radiant and all consuming, she is powerful and all seeing. But most of all, she is the one Azriel wants. Not me. Her. He wants Elain Archeron.
———
I walk to the dining room for dinner, my head is a bit foggy and my eyes hurt. I keep my gaze down as I sulk into the room and take a seat next to Morrigan who talks idly with Feyre. It’s as if I’m invisible, no one even looks up to me as I walk in or sit, but of course, as soon as Elain comes in, everyone turns to her, conversations stopping. I simply look to my plate, fidgeting with my hands.
As everyone serves up their food, I sit, I’m not hungry. Plus, Elain is thinner, I want to be pretty like her and I have to be skinny to be like her. “Why aren’t you eating Yn?” Mor’s voice filters through my ears and it takes a moment for me to process them.
In a scratchy tone, caused by not using my voice, I reply. “Just not hungry I guess. Visions take it out of me.”
“You had a vision?”
“Yep. Third one of today.” My family pauses at that.
“Third? Today?” It’s Rhysand this time as his brows draw inward.
“Yes, they’ve been happening more and more often, I’m having at least 2-3 a day. I just want to rest.”
“Why haven’t you told me about them?”
“Because of two reasons. Rhysand.” His name is a hiss off my tongue as I speak, finally loosing my cool, “One, you would not care nor listen, haven’t for a single one of my seeings in the past month. And two- starting tomorrow I will no longer be working for this court.”
“What do you mean by that? Not working under this court?”
“I received a letter from Eris- he is ready to execute his plan to take over the autumn throne tonight and I shall be there tomorrow morning to begin my duties as his second in command.” The table is frozen, mixes of horror and sadness painting my ‘families’ faces.
“But-Yn you wouldn’t betray us like that would you?”
I can’t hold back the humorless, dry, laugh that leaves me. “Betrayal? I have Betrayed you?” My head whips to meet Rhysands as I stand and back away from the table. “Rhysand I have done nothing but support you. I was there for you three-“ I point to the three Illyrian males at the table, “in the war camps, I have been here sense we were learning to fly! I was there under the mountain! I lossed my gods dammed wings for you Rhysand. For you! Because you were my family.” Tears begin pouring down my face as I let everything I had bottled up out, “ I was there to support Mor after Eris’ ‘terrible acts’ and I kept my mouth shut about it being a half truth.” I look to the blond across the table who try’s desperately to avoid my gaze.
“I was there on the battle field. I told you my seeings no matter what they were. I stayed as I watched my family replace me, as I watched the man I loved fall for another over and over again. I stayed as my things were taken from me by her.” My finger points to the middle Archeron, Azriel moving slightly in front of her, “I have stayed as my family was ripped from me, I stayed and supported all of you even as my so called family replaced me, as the male I’ve loved as long as I’ve known him, as the male I have loved with my very soul, my very being, my mate.” I look into Azriels warm eyes, “left me for another, as my mate and my family left me in the dust for a new shiny toy.”
I breathe as I take a moment to survey the room, faces filled with shock and horror and sadness watch me. “So yes Rhysand.” It’s a sigh this time as I speak, tired, downright exhausted, “yes, I am leaving. But I am not leaving anything behind. I was already a ghost here anyway. I am leaving and taking my seeings and duties with me. You do not listen to them anyway, it will be no use to you.”
I snap and bags fall into my hands, I turn to the door, silence filling the room, “your my mate?”
“Yes Azriel- I am.”
“Yn wait let me-“
“Save it Rhysand.” I turn on my heel, “ I am leaving to a new kingdom, one that has much potential under their new leader. I am leaving to a court that I see thriving, I am leaving from the court I see crumbling- and it will not be my fault when it does.”
I turn back to the door, a gust of wind hitting me as I step out, taking the hands of the new high lord of autumn. Ignoring my family’s pleas and Azriels yells as I am taken back home.
—————
Okkkkk here it is! I hope you all enjoyed and thank you anon for the request!! Love y’all!
#acotar x reader#azriel x reader#acotar#azriel#elain archeron#elain x reader#feyre archeron#feyre x reader#nesta archeron#nesta x reader#cassian x reader#cassian#rhysand x reader#rhysand#eris vanserra#eris x reader#angst#no happy ending
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bodyguard: the first guard | part three | chan/reader
masterlist.
(part one of the previous story.)
part one | part two | part three | tba
( read on AO3 )
A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.
pairing: bang chan/reader
content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture. mentions of past sexual abuse, detailed descriptions of needles.
chapter word count: 12,525 words.
-
B E F O R E
“Happy fourteenth birthday.”
Felix looks up from his work. He underperformed in training today and landed himself a punishment. His good record spared him anything too painful, but he has been assigned cleaning duty. Taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling weapons is not difficult work – he could do it in his sleep – but it is tedious.
Tedium is its own kind of torture, especially these days with his mind in a state of tumult. He has grown closer to Chris with each passing day. Felix knows they are not meant to think of each other as friends, just fellow soldiers, but that is the word Felix uses.
My friend.
That is who stands over Felix now. Chris is smiling and holding something wrapped in what looks like a kitchen napkin. Felix blinks at it, then furrows his brow.
“Huh?” Felix says. “It’s not my birthday.”
“Could be!” Chris says.
Felix supposes Chris has a point. Felix does not actually know his own birthday because he bounced around foster care before he found himself in Miroh’s program. If his birthday was recorded anywhere, no one told him what it was. So it could be his birthday. The odds are not great but not impossible.
“Um,” Felix says, because no one has ever wished him a happy – or happy possible – birthday. He guesses the best reply is, “Thanks?”
“It’s not a trick, man,” Chris says, smiling. He laughs at Felix, though it doesn’t feel cruel, and ruffles his hair before shoving the little wrapped item at him. “Here,” Chris says. “Got it especially for you.”
Felix unfolds the napkin and finds a cookie. It’s not the kind of food that is served at the regiment because their diet is so strict. Food is a sustenance and not a pleasure.
“Wow,” Felix says. It is a genuine surprise. Chris had to go out of his way to get this.
Felix feels embarrassed. He still struggles to cope with feeling in general. He almost yearns for a simpler, more naïve time, when he didn’t have to think or feel, just trust and follow. Now he is a flustered knot of embarrassment because Chris is giving him presents just because Felix mentioned he had never received one. It was an off-handed remark a few days ago, that he didn’t know his birthday and had never received a present but that it didn’t matter because he didn’t deserve it.
And he didn’t, he doesn’t, deserve any of it. Not a birthday wish or a thoughtful gift or Chris’s friendship. Felix has so much blood on his hands and he doesn’t how much of it is innocent. He never counted his kills like some other agents, stupid kids bragging to seem bigger and more powerful than their circumstances. Felix never did it for glory. He knew his place. Now he doesn’t count them because it doesn’t matter. It all comes back to him when he closes his eyes. He remembers what they were wearing, what they said before they died, the things they begged to a naïve, indifferent child.
He doesn’t count them because he doesn’t need a number to know it’s too much and he will never be able to take it back. He doesn’t deserve birthdays and friendships and Chris. He never will.
He doesn’t say this out loud. He knows Chris will argue with him, belligerent in his kindness and reassurance. Felix won’t listen in turn. The conversation would be useless. Rather than bother, Felix asks, “Where did you get it?”
“Hey, I know I’m trouble,” Chris says, still smiling, “but I got connections too, you know?”
Felix guesses he means Miroh’s daughter as she is the only agent with outside connections. They seem to have a tenuous understanding because she and Chris get in the most trouble. Chris, because he still bristles at commands and steps out of line. Her, because she’s Miroh’s daughter and held to a higher standard than the rest of them.
Chris can befriend almost anyone, garnering admiration in his peers if nothing else. His rebellious streak means no one wants visible association with him, but in the quietest of corners there is a whispered respect for the First Guard. He is as notorious as he is skilled and he has a natural leadership.
Felix supposes it is not outside the realm of possibility that even Miroh’s daughter would consider Chris a friend – but only somewhere even quieter than most.
Felix does not consider Miroh’s daughter a friend and he doubts he ever will. Her proximity to Miroh makes her an even bigger liability than Chris. Felix would never get close to someone like that, born into their position and too close to power for his liking.
“Miroh’s daughter, you mean,” Felix says.
Felix might keep his musings close to his heart, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t read them anyway. Chris is a soldier by instinct if not choice. He is always one step ahead. It’s like he is inside Felix’s head. He seems to know what Felix will do before Felix does.
“Yeah,” Chris says. He rubs the back of his neck, breathing deeply. He looks almost sheepish, as if admitting he knows better. “She’s not that bad when you get to know her. Really.”
Felix is certain he looks unconvinced. It makes Chris laugh.
“You look worried,” Chris says.
“I do worry about you,” Felix says. He looks down at the cookie in his hand. It is hard to say out loud, but he manages a weak, “You’re my friend.”
Chris is suspiciously quiet. When Felix looks up, Chris has a determination to his countenance.
“Find me when you’re done here,” Chris says. “I wanna show you something.”
Felix, as usual, does as he is told. When his punishment ends, he tracks Chris to the barracks where the older boy is patiently waiting. He claps Felix on the shoulder but otherwise doesn’t stop to greet him. He is a little skittish as he leads Felix to their mysterious destination.
It is not so extraordinary in the end. Nothing around here is. Everything is cold chrome and sleek silver, one room much like the next, branded by Miroh as surely as its occupants.
Chris knocks out a ventilation panel then leads Felix to what looks like an unused crawl space, forgotten and collecting dust.
“Welcome to my office,” Chris jokes, still with that nervous laughter. It is putting Felix on edge.
“Is everything all right?” Felix asks.
“Well, no, Felix,” Chris says. “It isn’t. You know that now, don’t you?”
A couple years of shared assignments between the best and second best, the rebellious and the reluctant. A couple years of watching Miroh bludgeon his way through the world. A couple years of regret.
A couple years of friendship to change everything.
“Yeah,” Felix says. It is all he needs to say.
“Sit,” Chris says. There is a corner of the room that has been cleared of dust, this part of the hideaway evidently well-used. “Let’s talk.”
Whatever conversation Felix expects to have, it is not the one he gets. He sits and watches Chris, watches him breathe and measure his words. Chris is usually confident in what he has to say, even when staring down a barrel of a gun. This is more than disconcerting.
“I’ve been talking to some others in the program,” Chris says. “We’re all growing up. I’ll be eighteen soon. If we’re already strong, we’re just gonna get stronger. Miroh has complete control over us. I’m scared that if we don’t do something about it soon, then everything is going to get worse. A lot, lot worse.”
“Do something,” Felix says, his mind going a mile a minute. “What do you mean? Who else have you told about this?”
“People I consider friends,” Chris says. He puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “People like you, Felix.”
He thinks of the cookie in his pocket. His heart punches up with alarm.
“Miroh’s daughter?” Felix asks and this time he knows for certain his thoughts are very clear. He says her name – not even her name, her position, the daughter and heir of the very thing Chris wants to fight – and he says it with the obvious inflection of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking?
“She’s a friend,” Chris says in a voice he usually reserves for an enemy. It startles Felix into silence. Seeing that, Chris smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to trust her,” Chris says. “Just trust me. Felix, I want to get us out, all of us. I don’t want that man or any other man like him to hurt anyone else. Not kids, not adults, not anyone. I won’t put you in more danger, I swear. That’s the opposite of what I want. I’m gonna protect you, okay? I’m gonna protect all of you. When the time comes to take a stand, I just want you to be ready. If something happens, if it all goes wrong…”
Felix looks at him, alarm and worry plain on his young face. Chris squeezes his shoulder again.
“If…” Chris swallows then continues, “If it is all goes wrong, I’ll pay the price alone. But I’d rather die trying to save all of you than live another day hurting innocent people for Miroh.”
“Chris—” Felix starts, an argument on his tongue.
“Don’t,” Chris says firmly. “If there was anything worth dying for, Felix, then it’s this. I’m gonna get you out. I’m gonna get you all out. I swear. Just be ready for when I say. Just trust me. Just be my friend.”
Felix spends a week after that in a state of restless turmoil. He sleeps poorly and fights worse and even spends a night in the Cell for his mistakes.
He doesn’t know what to think about Chris and his intentions. It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But if it worked…
It wouldn’t take the blood off Felix’s hands, but it would be a start to something better. Felix has little thought for his own fate, undeserving as he is, but he thinks about Chris. Chris, the First Guard, who has been here the longest, who has watched the most people die, who has been punished the worst.
Chris deserves better.
Felix believes in Chris. He believes if Chris made an effort, then he would have what it takes to make a difference. Felix knows Chris is capable. He could do what he sets out to do.
It is not Chris that Felix worries about.
Felix observes Miroh’s daughter, studying her more closely than ever before. Felix trusts Chris’s general discretion but he worries Chris has a blind spot concerning her. They are the only two in their age category and they share a small barrack, the forced proximity undoubtedly creating a semblance of intimacy. Chris might trust her but Felix is not so biased. All he sees is Miroh.
Felix watches her. She doesn’t spend much time with Chris in public, her only close relationship with Seo Changbin. They are a bit notorious together. Felix would not call them the best fighters but they are tricky. He is pretty sure they throw their fights with each other and embellish more than necessary. Both like a good skull crash, more brutal than efficient. The trickery and brutality makes Felix more wary of her.
At the same time, her obvious friendship with Changbin shows she can care about someone else. The pair throw a mean punch but always patch each other up after.
Chris catches Felix watching them. They are having a go in the ring, punching and flipping, grinning when they think no one is watching. They have smiles just for each other.
“You look really deep in thought, mate,” Chris says, laughing. He hands Felix a water bottle while toweling down his own sweaty neck.
“Huh?” Felix finally breaks his concentration. He takes the water and smiles one of his instinctive but fake smiles – the kind he uses on a mission, when he is trying to convince an adversary that he is an innocent, unassuming kid.
Chris sees through it, of course. He lifts an eyebrow at Felix then follows his line of sight to the ring.
“What?” Chris says, laughing again. His own ears turn a little red as he teases, “You got a crush on her or something?”
“Ew, shut up,” Felix says, throwing his own towel at him. He feels flushed despite the fact it is vehemently untrue. He is not used to being provoked with that line of teasing. “No,” he says certainly. “I have no feelings for anyone. But I think they might.”
“Huh?” Chris looks between Felix and the ring. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at them,” Felix says. “They’re a little too close, don’t you think?”
Presently, Miroh’s daughter has Changbin pinned to the mat. She is on top of him and whispering something that makes them both snicker.
Chris stares at them. After a beat of contemplative silence, he laughs. Felix recognizes the fake sound, the same disarming humour Felix uses when conning someone.
“Yeah,” Chris says. “Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah?”
Felix watches Chris amble over. He says something to the duo and Changbin retaliates with some non-descript shouting and flailing. Miroh’s daughter rolls her eyes. She grabs Chris by the collar and yanks him into a fight.
The rest of the day progresses without much fuss or bother. Miroh has no jobs for them today so the schedule is just training and recuperation.
Felix manages to avoid punishment today. He tries expelling his anxiety in a fight but it does not fully work. Felix has come to realize he is not very good at letting go. Belief, emotion, the good, the bad: all of gets clutched in his fists and held to his heart.
Fighting tires him but it is not a satisfying tired, of exerted muscles and a pumping heart. He feels weary and everything everywhere is so loud, the chrome and steel of the Miroh facilities like an echoing dome. It cycles all that noise in an agonizing reverberation. It feels inescapable. He goes to the barracks which are smaller but it makes the claustrophobia worse.
Laying in his bunk, rubbing his temples, Felix dreams of a quiet room of his own.
It is then he remembers Chris’s hideaway. Chris miraculously dodged punishment today so he retreated to the barracks a while ago. Felix doesn’t want to disturb him but he figures Chris won’t mind him using the hideaway on his own if he’s careful.
They are permitted access to the training room for the few hours between work and mandatory repose. The hideaway is en route so it is easy for Felix to stealthily retrace his steps without raising suspicion. He disappears in the security blind spot the way Chris showed him.
Felix is in the tunnel when he hears a noise. He worries he was followed despite being so careful, but then he realizes the noise is ahead of him, not behind him.
He freezes in the crawl tunnel, trying to discern the sound. It doesn’t sound like talking, more like… breathing? Heavy breathing.
Then he hears a laugh that he recognizes as Chris. And he is not alone. The other noise is a sigh, a lighter, more feminine sound.
Oh.
Apparently, Chris’s hideaway is not just for talking to friends. The sound of kissing and sighing is more friendly than his conversation with Felix, that’s for sure.
Felix is frozen for a minute, too stunned and embarrassed to think of moving. He has to shuffle backwards to escape because he can’t turn in that part of the crawl space. If this was a mission, he could do it, but this is personal. He doesn’t want to get caught but it’s not because it will compromise any job; it’s because it will be awkward.
He scuffs his shoe in his backwards shuffle. It clangs, a subtle sound, but one that makes him wince.
It goes quiet around the corner. Felix knows he was heard and there is no time to escape. Seconds later, a frantic looking Chris is in the tunnel, red-faced with a line of sweat on his brow. His uniform is clearly dishevelled and Felix gets even more embarrassed.
Those feelings need somewhere to go. It comes out of him in a burst of frustration.
“What are you doing?” Felix demands, his voice breaking.
“Nothing!” Chris says, clearly a knee-jerk reaction. Then he takes a breath and says, “Look, I can explain—”
“It’s not Miroh’s daughter,” Felix says. He can’t even pose it as a question because he refuses to believe Chris could genuinely be that reckless and stupid. Befriending her is one thing – a stupid thing – but fooling around with the daughter of the powerful man who owns them is begging for tragedy.
“I’m not stupid,” Chris says.
“It doesn’t matter,” Felix says. “Whoever it is, you need to stop.”
“Look—”
“Seriously, Chris!”
“Felix—”
“It’s not worth it!”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Chris snaps. “You’re not normal and you don’t understand what it means to care about someone like that.”
It is obviously thoughtless, blurted in the head of the moment. It hurts anyway. Felix wonders if Chris can see the pain on his face because Chris looks immediately remorseful.
“Look, I didn’t mean it like that—” Chris starts.
“It’s fine,” Felix says. “You’re right.”
“Felix—”
Felix pushes backwards and leaves without waiting for any protest. He does not stop, marching all the way back to this bunk. Anger and embarrassment have finally dissipated by the time he returns. It has been replaced with determination.
Chris is the best, but he has been compromised whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He feels too much, for everyone and everything, and it will get him in even more trouble than he is already in. if he retaliates with thoughtless provocation when it’s just Felix confronting him, then what will he do when it’s Miroh and the stakes are even higher?
Chris said he would protect them all. He swore to succeed at any cost, including his own life. There is no one swearing the same for him. No one has ever protected him.
Felix is the second best. He has never left a job unfinished and for that he is not deserving of the protection Chris is offering.
It won’t clean the blood on his hands, but if Felix can save a life worth more than his own, then maybe it will start to justify all of this, all of him.
Chris was right. Felix is not normal. But he was wrong say that Felix doesn’t know what it means to care about someone. Because of Chris, Felix knows how to care. He knows what he has to do.
Chris can try and save them all.
Felix is going to save Chris.
-
P R E S E N T D A Y
Miroh’s main facility has fallen.
It sounds so dramatic for something so anticlimactic, like you are describing the collapse of a kingdom and not the shutdown of his main office operation.
It feels like an apocalyptic demise.
You and Chan fight your way out of the building, taking on the people who fight in your name. Your father’s name. Miroh.
Miroh is dead. Irrefutably broken, little more than a heap of meat on the tarmac. With him gone and the only named heir on the run – you – this facility will shut down to maintain security.
Miroh ran a meticulously compartmentalized business. There is protocol for everything so even if one part of his operation fell, the rest could continue unimpeded. Miroh tried to establish a legacy that could rival old money like his enemy, going so far as to predict his own demise. Miroh has long braced for the eventuality of his end, so he made sure his business could fracture and run without him.
He did everything in his power to make you just like him, a little broken fracture of himself to ensure that legacy. But then he could not actually face what he created. He could not actually let go. He was the only one with the perspective and power and he had to keep it that way.
Miroh would not have accounted for your rebellion, not for the sake of someone else. For a friend.
Flashes of the last twenty four hours play in your mind. You can hardly pinpoint the change in yourself. It feels like this was somehow inevitable, despite how much you would have balked at the idea before. But now it is all that matters. It’s all that makes sense in this chaos.
You have to find your friend. This facility will be empty in a matter of hours, but there are others. Changbin is in one of them. You have no idea where to start.
One thing at a time, you tell yourself. Before you can ruminate on anything behind or in front of you, you need to fight. You do not have time for introspection or planning. You need to get away. Away from this place, away from your dead father.
Away from his soldier, the First Guard, Bang Chan, who for some reason is helping you escape.
You don’t know why. You seriously doubt your barely coherent pleading broke the conditioning and literal torture that made him into this thing.
You don’t have time to find out. At the first opportunity, you break away, leaving him with a handful of operatives to fight. It should keep them all occupied while you escape.
You do not want to risk trapping yourself in an enclosed space, so you do not venture to the parking garage where the company vehicles are stored. Some of them will be programmed and bugged. You feel bad targeting a civilian, but stealing one of their cars is the safest bet. There are some administrative employees who complete menial tasks for the company, those with next to no clearance level. They park their personal cars around the facility. You pick one that is easy to reconfigure without a key to boot.
Minutes later, you are driving for an exit. Your whole body is aching but you push through it. There will be time to recuperate when you are in the clear.
Sirens wail and alarms blare, every security measure in action. Your escape is certainly not a clean one but it doesn’t matter. You just need to get away.
If you can get off the facility grounds, you can lose any adversaries in the back country roads. The route to the facility was intentionally designed to be a convoluted labyrinth, making it difficult for enemies to approach without giving the facility ample preparation time. You know the paths better than anyone. You can get away.
A soldier marches right into the middle of your escape path.
It is too brazen for a regular agent. They would not be so stupid to try that, knowing you would just barrel into them.
You speed closer and recognize the First Guard. Chan is unflinching as ever, standing in the middle of the road as if he intends to stop your car with his body. He is strong but not that strong. You know that. But he looks like an inhuman phantom, looming there in his combat gear and mask, unphased and unharmed despite the hour of nonstop violence.
But that’s not the reason you stop. You think about him in that van. You could only see his eyes but they were expressive, the tilt of his head inquisitive.
You slam on the brakes. The car stops inches from his body but he doesn’t even blink.
Your heart is racing, breath bursting in gasps. He strolls around the car as if he was just waiting for his ride.
Soldiering instinct propels your hands. You draw a gun as he opens the passenger-side door. He bends down and looks at you, his brow quirked with a silent question. Your hand shakes and he is too good not to notice. You know that, but a regular person would never guess because he does not take his eyes off yours.
He disarms you, faster than a blink. He drops into the passenger seat, then slams the door and shoves the gun in its storage compartment.
You stare at him. Your gaze follows the line of his stark profile. His hairline is a little sweaty but he doesn’t look out of breath.
You don’t know what to think.
This is the longest you have been in his company since you were kids in training. Your memory of him is insubstantial, having spent little to no time with him personally. But it hardly matters what he was. Now he’s a soldier above all soldiers, a shadow filling this small civilian car. He’s not the biggest man in the world but he’s overwhelming all the same, partially because of his uniform and partially because of his posture. He feels too big for this little human space. His knee hits the gear shift, his thighs bulky in the small seat, his shoulders broad where he leans back.
He looks across the car and meets your eyes. You think about how many people have met this gaze, maybe in a moment just like this, sitting across from Miroh’s asset in a little civilian vehicle before he put a bullet between their eyes or snapped their neck. You have seen the results of his missions even if you were not involved in them. The statistics and numbers speak for themselves. Those eyes have seen more death than life and right now they are resolutely focussed on you.
You jump when he lifts his hand. He says nothing but turns the rearview mirror in your direction. You reluctantly peel your gaze away from him. You see what he sees: a vehicle in rapid pursuit of your own.
“Shit,” you say. You shove the mirror back into place. Your hands collide for a split second.
You can’t linger on the weirdness of this moment, that the First Guard is your ally, sitting in the passenger seat and helping you escape.
You drive. The other vehicle chases you down. You get past the easy security measures, blowing past gates and guards. When you approach the last gate, Chan rolls down the window and twists his body. He pulls the stashed gun and aims somewhere. Your eyes are on the road so you don’t see exactly what he does, but the gate slams shut between you and the pursuing vehicle, trapping them on the other side.
Then it is just you, him, and the road.
He puts the gun away. He sits back. He rolls up the window. He makes it seem like a routine, still unphased while your heart pounds with adrenaline.
You do not look at him. You do not speak. You focus on escape, taking a convoluted path through the countryside just in case. When the facility is far, far behind you, you take a back road and pull into a shadowed space between some trees.
You slam to a stop, shift the gear to park, but keep the engine running. You clutch the steering so hard, you imagine it cracking beneath the force of your grip.
Chan still does not speak. The last time he spoke was on that rooftop. What now?
A damn good question.
You look at him. He is not sitting the way you would expect a machine of a man to be sitting. You would have thought the First Guard would sit straight-backed and braced for confrontation, but his slouch is almost insouciant. He sits with his knees apart, his body slanted where his elbow rests on the door. One gloved hand strums the door and the other is draped over his thigh. He looks at you without any expression you can interpret.
You are tired. Your body hurts. Your father is dead and the operation is changing and your only friend is suffering and you can’t do anything about any of it. This morning you held a modicum of control over your life – or you thought you did – and now everything has spiralled.
You know logically that Chan is a victim of Miroh, but right now it does not matter. He is an infuriating figure of composure, not to mention your father’s greatest weapon, and that combination snaps the elastic thread of your patience, already stretched to its limits.
“Take off the fucking mask,” you say.
He stares at you, his expression still unreadable. You are tempted to reach across and rip the mask off his face. You would definitely not succeed, no match for his reflexes on a good day, but logic is inconsequential in the face of your emotions.
He doesn’t test you. He stares for another moment then raises one gloved hand. He unhooks the mask and peels it off. He runs the other hand over his face and through his hair.
You are not sure what you were expecting. The same brown eyes stare back at you, lined with a smudged shadow to look as dark and intimidating as possible. His brows are thick and dark, his hair as black, sweat loosening the slick style so a single curly tuft falls over his forehead.
You follow the slope of his nose down to his mouth. His mouth is closed and he is not smiling. He has full lips, almost too pretty for what he is. Glancing at that mouth on that too-pretty face, you picture a dimple smiled. The memory is almost a blur, a smear of an image over his face. You blink and it’s gone, his stoic face staring back at you.
“What is it?” he says. His voice is like the rest of him, too big in this small space. You swear it shakes the car and the earth under it, though that is ridiculous. It’s just a voice. He’s just a man.
Except he’s not. He’s something else, something that should not have done what he did. You have a million questions. You need those answers before you can continue but it all jumbles together in your head. It’s all too much, the flashes of today, of the past, of an uncertain future full of even more violence.
You finally turn off the engine and get out of the car. You have no intention of going anywhere, but you need space.
You pace in a long line, breathing in and out, using every trick in the book to ease your racing heart. After a minute, you hear the passenger door open. You look over your shoulder at Chan.
You can’t help the instinctive reaction to measure him like an adversary. It doesn’t help he has pummelled you twice in the last few months, not to mention his horrid reputation in an already horrid place. It would be stupid not to brace yourself.
He approaches you cautiously. He has the gall to raise a hand like you are the wild thing and he is the tamer.
“Easy,” he says. His voice is not so booming out here. Other than the dark combat uniform, he almost looks normal, his whole face open to you, eyes narrowed with intense focus.
It makes you breathe harder, the exhale shaky. He notices because he tries to placate you.
He smiles.
It is forced and unpracticed, but there are those dimples, just like you thought. You would have been less startled if he bared his teeth like an animal. The smile unnerves you, undoing all the calming work of your exercises.
“It’s all right,” he says in a frighteningly gentle voice. He tilts his head as he looks at you. “It’s just me, yeah?”
Just him. Like that should comfort you. You suppose you can marginally see things from his perspective, that maybe he has proved himself. After all, he helped you escape. It is obvious he is not doing this for your father or he would not have let you kill him. This is not part of a grand plan. There is no strategy. It’s all over.
It’s just you and him.
It does not comfort you the way he evidently thinks it should. Now is the time to ask those million questions, but you are beyond words. You are a live wire and that pitiful attempt at a truce ignites a flare of angry sparks.
You were built to fight. It punches out of you. Literally.
Chan is faster than you. He dodges your swing with ease, fast as an electric current himself.
“Hey now,” he says, holding out both hands. “Don’t—”
You know you can’t win this fight. You know it’s stupid to try. But each swing flies out of you, instinctive as breathing. He catches every blow, bats your hands out of the way, but he doesn’t swing back. His refusal to fight infuriates you. It makes you feel as helpless as you are.
An aggravated cry spills out of you, a strain behind your eyes as you take another swing.
“Stop it,” he snaps, his smile gone.
He finally goes on the offense, catching your hands and pinning them down. There is a moment of struggle before you feel the driver door at your backside, his body caging you in. You rear up against him but he holds you down, hip to hip, hand to hand.
“I said stop it,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” you ask, voice breaking. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Your chest is pressed against his, moving with your breath while he stands like an ungiving wall. You glare at him and he stares back. His brow furrows in seeming confusion. He closes both eyes and breathes out, a steadying breath.
You thought seeing him lose composure would make you feel better, but you feel worse, more unnerved than before.
He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering when he clenches it. You stare at it as he releases you.
“You must know I can’t trust you,” you say.
You make the mistake of lifting your hands to shove him away. You do not intend to punch him again, the worst of that aggression gone, but he doesn’t know that. You suppose you can’t blame him for his instincts after your demonstration.
When you lift your hands, he grabs your wrists. Swiftly and effortlessly, he pins your hands by your head.
“Oh,” he says. His eyebrows lift and his face is far more expressive than you expected. “I’m the one who can’t be trusted, right?”
“Excuse me?” you snap.
“I’m doing my job, yeah,” he says. “Yesterday you were running jobs for Daddy and today you shot him dead. Wanna talk about erratic behaviour? Wanna talk about who’s unpredictable? About who can trust who here?”
Your mouth parts with a useless, breathless rebuttal, stammering and empty. You didn’t expect that many words from him, not when he has been a silent shadow for so long. Never mind the easy, casual speech, every colloquialism and the taunting hurl of daddy. It makes you think of that scathing, troublesome boy he once was, as sharp with his tongue as everything else. But he is not that boy. You know for a fact he was broken. He has done all those jobs for Miroh without causing any strife in the operation. He is a weapon and nothing more. He exists to follow orders.
Until today. Until you.
“So?” you finally say, because what else can you say?
“So?” he repeats.
“So.” You have those million questions, but there is only one that really matters. “What are we? Soldiers without a general? Because right now it seems like we’re two people who have no reason to trust each other and no reason to work together.”
Your gazes are locked and you measure each other. Not that you are much of a threat to him. He has you pinned with very little effort. If you were at your fighting best, you like to think it would be a little challenge, but right now you stand no chance against him.
But he doesn’t want to hurt you or he would have done it already.
He drops your hands. He doesn’t step away, still regarding you with that scrutinous eye, but it is a menial demonstration of trust.
You drop your arms. You stare back at him, refusing to show the depth of your weakness. You think his body might be keeping yours upright, your legs so weak. You do everything in your power to keep your wild emotions in check, to keep the tears in the back of your eyes. You breathe deeply.
“I’ll help you find your friend,” Chan says, the last thing you expect him to say. You can only watch as he sighs and speaks. “You were my last mission,” he says. “Miroh told me to bring you in. I did. He wanted me to watch you. I am. He wanted me to be your—” He laughs but it is not a happy sound, dry and devoid of pleasure. “Your bodyguard, I guess.” He shakes his head. “Consider this me following orders,” he says. “That’s what I do, yeah? I follow orders. And I don’t leave a job unfinished. Ever.”
“And Miroh?” you say tentatively. “The fact I killed him?”
He shrugs dramatically, hands open in surrender.
“Miroh didn’t make me his bodyguard,” Chan says. “He made me yours.”
It is such preposterously simple logic that you laugh, a disbelieving bark of a sound. You look around at nothing, like the answer to your ridiculous circumstance is in the trees or the road.
When you look at Chan, he is still looking at you, his brow quirked inquisitively.
“Well?” he says. “Is that enough? Can we work together to finish this last job?”
“Your job,” you say slowly. You meet his eyes. “So that’s what I am to you?”
It’s meant to be an easy question with a reassuring answer. He is a soldier. You are his job. He will do what you ask. It’s as simple as that.
He tilts his head as he looks at you. His contemplation is too heavy. It was a simple question for a simple soldier who should speak no language outside of missions and reports.
His gaze is searing and it makes your heart skip a startled beat.
“Yes,” he says. He speaks the word like it’s exhausting to say out loud. It lands with a thud on an exhale. “My job.”
His forearm is planted by your head. His other hand grips your bicep. He is keeping you in place with his hips and thighs. You can feel the tension in his body.
You have no idea why you do what you do. It comes from the same place as those desperate punches. You know it’s useless, you know nothing will come of it, but you ride the propulsion of adrenaline. Your body, on the brink of desperation, has been pushed to its utmost capabilities in the last couple hours. What does it want? What do you want?
What did you ever really want?
You kiss him.
It shocks you both. Unlike the punch, he does not know how to retaliate. He stands there, breathing into your mouth. He is neither encouraging nor withdrawing.
You stop quickly and wipe your mouth. Mortification sets in.
None of this is like you. You blame stress. Your body is confused and hurt. You need recuperation. Whether you like it or not, you need comfort too. It is a deep internal call, only human. But you won’t be getting that from the solid, inhuman wall around you.
You push at that wall and it finally gives. Chan steps back. You doubt a punch would have moved him so easily as that kiss.
“Ignore that,” you say. “Adrenaline. I’m still – not right.”
He just stares, once more a silent shadow. You breathe out in a huff.
“Okay,” you say. “And we’re back to the staring. At least I know you’re still working.”
You turn to open the car door, effectively ending the tense exchange. Chan walks away. He silently circles the car to reach the passenger door. You look at his face, once more stoic and expressionless. He doesn’t look at you, dropping into the vehicle without another glance or sound.
You close your eyes. You take another deep breath of fresh air.
Maybe this is good. Maybe Chan is the ally you need right now. Someone level, someone only concerned with mission parameters. Someone who will not become compromised because of emotion.
Because you are very compromised.
You are not thinking clearly. You need a plan and some water and rest.
You get in the car. You start the engine. You don’t speak another word.
-
You drive for hours, wanting distance between you and the destruction.
The silence in the car is piercing, your head aching after the first hour. The little space acts like an echo chamber for your tumultuous thoughts. You keep replaying the day, every death and cry. You think about your security team strewn across those stairs, just another casualty in Miroh’s game. You think about your father, the unplanned murder but the utter lack of regret in your heart.
You think about Changbin. Your reckless side wants to look for him right now. You cannot stand to waste another second. Based on your father’s words, he could be anywhere, subject to any number of horrors. But despite the whirlwind tempest of your mind, there is a soldier inside you and she is more pragmatic. You are in no condition to fight. Even if you knew Changbin’s exact location, you would be no use to him. You need to rest, formulate a legitimate plan, then attack.
You can’t afford to make any mistakes. Better than anyone, you know the forces you are up against.
You pull into a highway fill-up station at dusk. The car needs fuel and so do you. There is a little shop near the fuel pumps, the place deserted other than the bored cashier behind the counter.
There was some cash in the glove box, enough for necessities. You will inevitably need to steal or manipulate, but you prefer to lay low tonight. You were careful to avoid traffic cameras and security tv as you exited the previous city. By the time the car is reported and Miroh’s operation works out your connection, you will be off the grid.
You turn off the engine and reach for the wallet. Chan snatches it first.
“What are you doing?” is spoken in unison.
“I’m going to buy us some fucking water and food,” you say.
“Are you? Really?” He gives you a pointed up-and-down look. “You gonna do that looking like you just played cannonball with a cement wall?”
You have not gotten a good look at yourself, just a flash in the rearview mirror, but he is probably right. You feel like utter shit so you must look it too.
“Well, you can’t go in there either,” you say. Even without the mask, he is clearly in an unusual uniform. A bored clerk will remember a terrifying soldier in combat clothes marching through his shop.
Chan flashes you a dimpled smile, frighteningly charming.
“Sure I can,” he says. “Just have to blend in.”
Your eyes widen as he discards both gloves then opens the neck of his shirt. You stare as he efficiently strips off his top layers.
If he looked powerful in the uniform, he looks as just as intimidating without it. He doesn’t boast gargantuan proportions but he doesn’t need it. There is lethal strength to the rolling musculature of his sturdy body.
You shouldn’t care. Soldiers strip all the time, long assignments and shared compartments making it an inevitability. But Chan is not just another soldier. In your head, he is that living shadow, covered all the way up to his eyes in the Miroh black and blue. Seeing all that skin is a startling reminder of the man under the mask.
You find Chan watching you, amused. That stupid eyebrow is quirked again.
“What?” you snap.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Be right back. Don’t miss me too bad.”
You roll your eyes, slumping in your seat as he gets out of the car. You have half a mind to drive away but you are pretty sure he would find a way to manifest at your destination anyway.
You watch as he enters the shop in a nonchalant stroll, wearing just his pants and boots. He waves at the cashier and says something that makes him laugh.
To his credit, Chan looks like a regular guy on a hot day, casually perusing a gas station shop. He makes small talk with the cashier and they laugh some more.
You knew Chan was a good soldier but you didn’t expect him to be such a good agent too. He is probably better at the civilian act than you. You are standoffish and opt for a quiet demeanour, blending in through invisibility rather than a persona.
Chan walks in and out, the cashier unaware of the nature of his customer. You return to the road with a full of tank of gas and some sustenance.
“Are you going to put your shirt back on?” you ask.
He gives you a side-eye as he shrugs the outermost layer back on. He doesn’t do it up. You refuse to act like a glimpse of his bare chest means anything to you.
Except it does. When he sits there with his knee against the console and his skin showing and a tuft of hair over his forehead, he looks like a person. He is a person, one who has been subject to some of the worst horrors of Miroh’s operation.
There is no denying Chan is a complicated figure, unwillingly complicit in atrocities. He acts like a normal person with a fully cognizant mind, but you just witnessed for yourself how easily he can fake that. You do not know how much of the real Bang Chan is actually inside him.
“Chan,” you say after a long time. The sun has almost fully set, the sky in its navy gloaming.
“Yeah?” he says.
There are no words that suffice. You could give an entire speech and it would be virtually meaningless.
“I’m sorry,” you say, leaving the breadth of the apology up to his interpretation. You keep your eyes on the endless miles of highway that stretch ahead. There is a long journey in front of you. There is a longer road behind you.
The car is illuminated with golden light from passing cars and overhead lamps. It flashes over his face in the deepening darkness.
“Don’t be,” Chan says. He crosses his arms in a protective position, looking out his window though there is nothing to see but the highway and passing cars. “None of this was your fault,” he says.
You laugh, a similar humourless sound to his earlier laughter.
“That’s not entirely true,” you say, thinking of all the missions you deliberately ran for Miroh. You thought you could make it mean something. You were just like your father, believing the ends would justify the means. You never tortured Chan yourself, but you were part of the operation that kept him in chains. There was nothing you could do to save him, but you certainly never tried.
He looks at you. You hear him move, the crinkle of his clothes, the water bottle he twists in his grip.
“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says. “Seriously. Today was crazy. Everything’s crazy. You’re not responsible for it.”
“I’m not not responsible,” you say. “My team is dead. My friend is gone. My dad – well, you can’t say I didn’t do that.”
“He had that one coming,” Chan says, his laugh a little more real. “No offense, but your dad kinda sucked.”
You find yourself laughing more genuinely too.
“Yeah,” you say. “I think we can agree on that.”
You fall into silence but it is more comfortable than before. There has been an undeniable tension since the moment he climbed in this car, looking at you with questioning confusion as you pointed a gun at him. You were panicking but he must have been equally bewildered. To him, you were a mission. He lives by his orders.
“I should apologize to you,” he says.
You look at him with obvious surprise. He meets your gaze, his expression sincere if not a little chagrined. His dimples show with a faint smile but it is not very happy.
“I’ve been an ass,” he says. “Today was – well.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Trust me,” you say. You try to lighten the mood with your tone. “I’m a Miroh. You will never have to apologize to me for as long as you live.”
He doesn’t laugh or even force that pretend sound. He stares ahead, his gaze sorrowful and faraway.
“Sorry, that was—” you begin.
He forces a smile and shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says. “Truce?”
Smiling feels awkward and your injuries probably make you a terrifying sight. But he accepts it, nodding at you. The car does not feel like such a claustrophobic space after that. The air is clear as it can be, considering who you are.
Neither of you has an identity right now. You were tethered to the same monstrosity and now it is gone. Everything is different.
You are too tired for another late-night heart-to-heart. It is time for rest.
-
There is enough cash for a cheap motel room. You find a quiet inn off the highway, sequestered beyond trees and countryside fields. You finally look at yourself properly in the bathroom mirror. You decide Chan’s earlier remarks were a severe understatement. You look like a battleground more than a soldier.
You injures will repair themselves with time, but it is a grisly sight. You shower for now. The soap and water helps.
You don the same shirt and underwear. New clothes will be a necessity. You mentally plan tomorrow, everything you will need to accrue before you formulate an attack. You have already mentally plotted the closest facilities, but you will need to verify their function and security protocol before striking.
You are mentally strategize as you exit the bathroom. You are distracted, thinking nothing of the fact you are wearing underwear and a shirt.
Chan already showered because you insisted, knowing you would take longer with your injuries. He is sitting on one of the single beds, sorting through his weapons. There is the gun you stole from Miroh plus his own array of armaments, things so well hidden you did not realize he even had them. They are laid out on the bed. He sits at the foot in his combat pants and nothing else, his dark hair damp and face bare.
You stroll past him, feeling his eyes as they lift from a gun to your bare legs. Now that you have scrubbed the worst of the brutality from your body, you feel like something of a person again. His flicker of attention ignites an undeniable spark in your belly. At first, it startles you, because the First Guard is the absolute last person you should ever think of like that.
But then you look at him. He has turned his eyes back to his work, saying nothing as he reloads the gun with second-nature efficiency. He is holding a weapon but, despite his conditioning, he is just a man.
You are a grounded person. You keep your head down and go about your tasks with confident certainty. He is here, you are here, it has been a long day, and it is not unusual for soldiers to seek comfort before the dawn of a new fight. Comfort is as important in healing and recuperation as anything else.
You sit on your own bed and look at him. He is effortlessly attractive with his dark hair and dark eyes, the sloping muscle of his firm body. You trace his chest and abdomen with your eyes. He does not lift his gaze, his attention on the gun.
“Do you want to fuck?” you ask.
Bang Chan is the best soldier in the force. You are pretty sure he has never fumbled a weapon quite so spectacularly. It clatters to the floor and he kicks it under your bed.
“What!” he says. He doesn’t look at you as he retrieves the gun, laughing a comically nervous giggle. “Um… what?” he asks again. Before you can answer, he shakes his head. “That’s uh, wait. Um. No. Bad idea, right? I mean—”
“It’s just a suggestion,” you say, not really offended. “It’s been a long day. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re both adults here.”
As you say it, you consider his circumstances. Chan has spent his entire life in the house of Miroh. He is not innocent but he might be inexperienced. This man has killed dozens of people and worked dozens of dangerous operations. His body is built for violence, not pleasure, and certainly not his own.
You find yourself blurting, “Have you ever…?”
“Yes,” he says firmly, brow furrowing with annoyance.
“All right, all right, just asking,” you say. You decide not to push the topic because it clearly makes him uncomfortable. You just cleared the air and you don’t want to muddy it again.
You change the topic swiftly. You make some empty remark about the weather as you turn on the small television. It’s an old contraption, buzzing with static as it flickers to life.
Chan resumes his work. He puts his head down to concentrate.
Your gaze inevitably strays to him.
His hair dries curly. It feels like an unusual thing to know about the First Guard. He looks so much younger with a clean face.
You jump when that face lifts. He looks at you.
“It wasn’t… you know…” There is a hunch to his shoulders, his eyes dropping to his work. “I just did it on missions, ya know?”
“Did it,” you say. “On missions.” It doesn’t register right away, partly because you are tired and partly because you did not expect him to continue this conversation. “You mean sex?” you ask. “You had sex on missions?”
“I had sex for missions,” he corrects, eyes on the weapon he is disassembling. He is acting like the conversation is meaningless, his attention divided, but you know his task does not require that degree of concentration. He could take that thing apart in perfect darkness.
“For missions,” you repeat. “What, like a honeypot type scheme? You?”
It seems ridiculous at first. You picture the First Guard smashing through windows and tackling you in stairwells. There is nothing seductive about that raw violence. But then you look at the man in front of you, young and handsome, the one who so easily charmed that cashier while pretending he was someone else. You picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a t-shirt and jeans. He would be devastating with the right preparation.
Chan is the best. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you he would excel regardless of the scheme.
“Something like that,” he says. He finally loads the magazine. “It wasn’t so bad, though. Seriously.” He twirls the gun with an effortless flourish. The grip finds his palm like the pistol is a part of him. “Trust me. My body was used for worse things. You get that too, yeah?”
You suppose you relate well enough. You were raised in the same program, put through the same grueling regimen. You have done things and you are not proud of them all. Your circumstances are not the same, though. You are each uniquely situated in your positions, even if you started in the same place.
We’re all that’s left.
Changbin’s voice in your head causes your mind to drift.
“What about you?” Chan asks, drawing you back to the conversation.
“Me?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “You.”
The First Guard is asking you about your sex life. You woke this morning in a safe house and put on combat gear, ready for another mundane day of field work. Somewhere in the middle of that was a cascade of violence. Now Bang Chan is asking about your sexual proclivities. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would laugh.
“I mean, nothing special,” you say, sufficing for the boring truth. “Mostly just this. Sex doesn’t really mean anything to me. It’s like exercise. Long nights on a job. You know. Fellow soldiers on a mission. Sometimes a civilian hook-up.”
You can’t parse the expression on his face. His gaze is somewhat judgemental, or maybe it is just scrutinizing, intensely focussed. It bristles your nerves. Your tone is more derisive when you say, “I’m not a romantic.” You hold his intense stare in your own. “Sex is just a bodily function to me. Sometimes the body needs the release or the pleasure or whatever, so I satisfy it and move on. That’s who I am. I work. I get the job done. That’s what I have always done.”
What you always did. You are not sure how to describe yourself anymore. You nonetheless punctuate that definitive statement. You assume that is the end of the conversation.
Then Chan asks, “So there’s… no one… for you?”
If he was any other soldier, you would think he was angling for flirtation, but he just turned down your very blatant offer. You do not know why he has any motivation to ask such personal and irrelevant questions.
It is not worth the argument. You conclude with a simple, “No.”
He nods, rocking his whole body with the force of his too-casual gesture. The tips of his ears are red, though your gaze does not stay there. You are quickly distracted by his bicep. He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck, muscles softly rippling. His brazen questioning coupled with his awkward shyness is incongruous.
You think it is unlikely you will ever understand this man. He has been taken apart and put back together too many times. Fragments of him seem to fire all at once and in great contradiction.
“What about Changbin?” he asks. “He must be pretty special to you. Ya know, for you to have done all this for him.”
You are simultaneously struck by repulsion and sentiment. Changbin is very special and you regret not realizing it sooner. He has always been at your side, taking hits to protect you well before he became your bodyguard. He is the person who kept you smiling. You understood each other on a different level. His friendship was a rare gift and you took it for granted. Now you would do anything to have it back.
But also…
It’s Changbin. Ew. You are an only child but you feel a brotherly affection for him. Picturing him in any other context is nauseating. It just feels wrong.
You have such a visceral reaction of disgust that Chan laughs. He puts up his hands as if in surrender.
“Sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says. “Just friends, then?”
“Yes,” you say. “Though there’s nothing just about it.”
You have replayed that rooftop exchange a hundred times, torturing yourself with every possible outcome. If only you did this, if only he did that. You rearrange every second, trying to find a version with a different ending.
You wonder how he will react when he finds out what you did. Aha, murder princess living up to her name! he might say. The old man should have seen it coming. I knew you could it, but of course I did. I’m so much smarter and better looking than everyone else here.
You smile at the idea but it fades quickly.
Changbin was with you last night. He was sitting within arm’s reach, his scar under your fingertips. Now he could be anywhere and it’s all your fault. Not just because of the rooftop mistakes, but because of every mistake you made before that.
You exhale. Your shoulders shake. Chan watches you close a fist around a pillow.
“You all right?” he asks.
“I’m ending it,” you say.
“Sorry, what?”
“I always thought Miroh was an inevitability.” You are speaking out loud but mostly to yourself. Your gaze is fixed on some distant point, your mind and heart miles away. “But he wasn’t,” you say. “No more soldiers. No more experiments. No more bribes and theft and terror. My father is dead and I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I am going to make sure his work dies with him.”
You look at Chan. A day ago, you both existed for Miroh. Now you are two people planning to dismantle an empire from a motel room and a stolen car.
“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask.
A part of you is braced for the worst, that he will reject it, that he will revert to some kind of conditioned programming and drag you back to a facility for condemnation.
Even while you think it, you know it won’t happen. The eyes staring back at you are as clear as your own.
“I’m just the bodyguard,” Chan says. “I go wherever you go. Always.”
You feel invigorated to start now, but you are tired beneath the burst of adrenaline. You need to let your body heal.
The room is dark and you doze in the light of the television. After a couple hours, you roll over and find Chan is still awake. He is laying on his bed, arms crossed and eyes open. He is watching the shopping channel, ad after ad after ad, with far more intensity than it merits. His mind must be somewhere else. You can only imagine what he is thinking about.
You wonder how much he knows about himself. He responded to your half-coherent treasonous pleading. Does he remember hating Miroh? Or is he truly only helping you because of mission parameters?
It is easy to forget when he is a bare-faced, curly-haired young man slouching in a motel bed, but Bang Chan is lethally competent. He knew all of Miroh’s innermost schemes. It will come in handy now, but it makes him an irrevocably dark character, whether it was willing or not.
You wonder how much Changbin would trust him.
Wait.
You were so distracted with your plans, you did not question a moment in your conversation.
Chan mentioned Changbin.
You never told Chan the identity of your friend. When you were pleading with him, you just called him a friend.
Maybe Chan heard you talking to your father. Maybe he knows about your relationships because that was his job. Maybe he just guessed because Changbin volunteered himself in the ring.
Maybe Bang Chan remembers more than he is letting on.
-
You fall asleep to the soft drone of the television. Your mind is walking in circles and you dream of similar rings. Nightmares of chrome cages and steel traps, a suffocating helplessness squeezing your ribcage.
In your dreams, the room fills with smoke, a charcoal smog that chokes you as quickly as the compression on your chest. You look down but you can’t see your body, only feel it. Your invisible body struggles against invisible bindings. You gasp for breath.
Your father appears. It is him holding you down, a heavy hand in the middle of your chest. You cry out. You want to move but your body is trapped.
You close your eyes. When you open them, Changbin is there. He is still a teenager. His head is bleeding – why is his head bleeding? – but he wipes the blood as if it’s nothing more than sweat, all his focus on you.
Of course it is. He’s your friend. He’s here to save you. How did you not see it before? It’s like you have been moving through the world in a fog, the same grey smoke that envelopes you now. His face is the only clear image, gawky with youth but alive and real.
The weight is lifted off your chest. Black spots swarm your vision as you suck in a lungful of air.
When you look again, Changbin is grown. He looks like he did a day ago, dark bangs in his eyes, stocky build ready for a fight.
“I’m not leaving here without you.”
Not leaving here.
Not leaving here.
Not leaving here.
His voices dances around you. You are trapped in your body, a screaming, shrieking force, watching through dead eyes as the world spins. People pass but they don’t hear you. You try to reach for someone but your body doesn’t respond to your thoughts.
A labyrinthine stretch of road unfurls then disappears. You are standing in the infirmary at the main facility. You stare at yourself, the younger version of you. You are already dead behind the eyes, resigned to your situation. There are masked doctors around you. A tray full of needles. You watch as the long point penetrates your skin. You’re just a child, arm so small in comparison.
Your child face contorts with pain, an expression your adult face cannot mimic because you cannot control your face.
You remember the pain, even if you cannot cry. It was like nothing you had ever felt. The pain meant it was working. The medicant was only administered to you when it had been thoroughly tested. The first injection killed every subject except one. The second program was a success.
The children were writhing in pain for weeks, screaming and crying, begging for parents that never came. Yours did, looming over your bedside, touching your feverish forehead and speaking through the fog of pain.
An investment, Miroh called it. You’ll thank me one day.
Changbin is there. He is a child too. They put a needle in his skinny arm. He winces but he doesn’t cry. He isn’t scared of the needles or the pain, but he isn’t eager either. He is just there, his head down.
You blink and he is grown. The needle is still in his arm, only it is not an injection but an extraction. You watch the fullness of his face wither. They are taking too much. He becomes a child again, screaming in pain.
The same pain moves inside you.
No, worse.
Worse.
You never could have imagined a worse pain. It courses through your whole body, peeling apart your insides while you lay there, helpless, watching.
Your father stands over you. You’ll thank me one day.
He disappears. For a flickering moment, you see Bang Chan. Curly-haired, dimpled cheeks. He stutters and shakes like a bad film projection. His face contorts, changes. Wide dark eyes stare at you, his face covered in rain – water – tears? Pouring down his cheeks, mouth open and a mute cry in the grey.
You want to touch him but you cannot move. His face flickers again. You feel a tiny, infinitesimal twitch in your pinky.
Then he disappears altogether. Your father is there. He grabs you by the shoulders and slams you down, straight through the earth, holding you there in the darkness where no one can find you and you cannot move.
“Hey—” comes a voice, somehow reaching you in the depths of that pit. “Hey, hey, hey, wake up.”
In your dream, your father shoves you.
In reality, you are thrashing in a motel bed.
It takes a minute to realize you are awake, that everything was just a terrible dream. Your adrenaline is a white hot heat in your chest, your voice a strangled shriek as you clamour around the twisting sheets.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Chan says. “You’re just dreaming, whoa, easy, c’mon… It’s all good. Easy now. Breathe for me, okay?”
It feels like your first breath in years. It goes down shaky, your vision blurry. You realize Chan is holding your wrist, lightly but carefully. You blink up at him. He turned on the bedside light at some point. Half his face is lit in gold as he looks at you with concern. It is such a strange expression to see on him. These were the same eyes glaring at you over that uniform mask. Now that brow is pinched with worry, his own breath a staggered thing.
“You all right?” he asks.
You are sitting upright. You look at your wrist in his hand.
“Did I try to punch you again?” you ask.
“You missed,” he says, smiling. Then he shakes his head and says more seriously, “It was my fault. You were yelling in your sleep so I woke you up. I guess it was too fast or something. Just, you know, I don’t think the walls are very thick here.”
“Right,” you say. Your heart is still stampeding. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he says. “You… you good…?”
“Yeah,” you say. You are too weary for patience, so sarcasm spills out of you. “Peachy.”
He opens his mouth but you don’t wait to hear it. You slide out of bed and land on shaky legs. Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You want to shower, wash away the nightmare and the terror.
You are a light sleeper. You never dream like that. It is a testament to your exhaustion that you fell into such a deep sleep.
You tell yourself it was a dream, but your reassurances don’t work. Because it wasn’t really a dream, was it? It was flashes of real moments, real faces, real pain.
You stand under steady stream of hot water. You watch as the heat and the torrent opens a few scrapes, the water at your feet turning red. You think of Changbin with a needle in his arm, all that red pouring out of him. Standing there, helpless to do anything, like you are right now.
You have no idea where he is. You look at the scar on your palm and think of him in the moonlight, him in the ring, him at your side. A smile, a joke, a reassurance. A hand in yours, a promise.
He knew you better than you know yourself. He predicted this exact crisis of identity.
When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…
He drew that line across his palm. You picture a chasm of a wound, gaping and red, rushing red at your feet.
Just remember me, he said. I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh. I’m your soldier, not his.
True to his word, a man of principle to the end, he is bleeding for you right now.
In all your years of training, fighting, and soldiership, of missions and schemes, tricks and plots, you have always kept composure. Now it all weighs on you at once, every single second of your life, and it’s too much.
When was the last time you cried? You can’t even remember. It pours out of you now, big ugly gasping sobs that spill into the shower. You sit down where the water is pooling in pink. You wrap your arms around your legs and draw them up to your chest like a child.
You do not know how long you sit there, crying until it feels like there is no more water left in your body. It must be a long time because the water runs from hot to lukewarm. It feels strange to heave dry sobs with the shower still pouring down on you.
The water abruptly stops. You lift your head.
Chan stands there. He doesn’t look at you directly, his expression solemn, but he turns off the water and gets you a towel.
It feels surreal. Bang Chan is moving around a small motel bathroom, helping you like he has helped you all day. You stare at him with scrunched, sore eyes, your throat too strained to speak. You drop your legs and let him wrap the towel around you. Your heart kicks with momentary fright when he scoops you up, an effortless sweep.
No one has ever done something like this for you. You wouldn’t have let them, even if they tried.
You need it. You never realized how much you needed it. You are certain you will feel embarrassed in the morning, but right now you put your arms around his neck and cling for dear life.
He says nothing. He hooks an arm around your back and the other under your legs. He carries you back into the room and lays you in your bed, adjusting the towel for your modesty before pulling the blankets over you.
You continue to sputter and hiccup, looking at him as he moves. You wonder if he looks like this on a mission, determined and swift.
No. The First Guard wouldn’t fix the pillows under your head. He wouldn’t tuck the blankets around you.
Bang Chan stands over you, wearing nothing but his combat pants, no weapons or masks or piercing stares. He has curly dark hair and a soft face. When you touch his bare shoulder, he looks at you with a heart-shattering amount of tenderness. You didn’t know anyone could look at somebody that way, never mind him, never mind at you.
There’s a person inside him. There’s a person inside you. You don’t know who either of those people are, but you want to know. You need to know.
You curl your hand into a fist and feel the scar on your palm. A day ago, none of this would have mattered, but you know why it matters now.
“We have to find him,” you say. Your rasping voice is barely above a whisper.
Chan slowly cups his hand over yours, his palm to your knuckles, holding your touch against his shoulder. He squeezes your fingers. He nods.
“We will,” he says.
“You’ll help me?” you say.
“Yeah.” His own voice is a rasp, skirting the edge of emotion too. He swallows it down and smiles at you. “Like I said. I go wherever you go. Always.”
He sits with you in the soft golden light of that small bedside lamp. You do not think you can sleep again, but then exhaustion settles over you.
You are on the cusp of sleep when he touches your forehead. Your eyes meet briefly. It wakes you with a heart flutter, similar to a dream that drops you into reality. It is the heart-racing thump of a sudden fall. The kind that feels so real, more like a memory than a dream.
#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#bang chan x you#chan x you#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x you#stray kids x you#bang chan fanfiction#stray kids fanfiction#skz fanfiction
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ㅤㅤ♡⃕ ﹙"slut!", jude bellingham.﹚
A/N Jude is my newest obsession, so yeah. Expect to see a lot of content on my page about him.
PAIRING Jude Bellingham x Fem!Reader
TW/TAGS Established relationship, use of the word "slut", slight angst, fluff. ENGLISH'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
SUMMARY Even if everyone was against your relationship with Jude, he would still choose you and you would still choose him.
SONG "Slut!" by Taylor Swift.
REQUESTS ARE OPEN | JUDE'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
Jude was the internet's boyfriend these days, and you knew it perfectly well.
And you also knew that the moment you started dating him, many people would like the idea of it and others not so much.
And you were worried about what those people said, of course you were. You got lost overthinking the situation but then Jude hugged you and it was as if everything disappeared, only the two of you existed in your little love nest.
"What's in that pretty little mind of yours, hmm?" He questioned, kissing your forehead, brushing one of your strands of hair behind your ear.
"It's nothing, honey." You denied, burying your face in his chest, losing yourself in the feeling of his embrace and he didn't press any further. He placed a kiss on your forehead again and rested his head on yours.
That night you both decided to go out to a club with some of his friends, you agreed to go with him because after all you needed to clear your mind from social media.
While there, both of you danced, drank and laughed with each other.
"I need to go to the bathroom." You warned Jude, giving him a peck on the lips and he nodded, giving you another.
"Okay, I'll wait here."
You hummed in affirmation and walked towards the women's bathroom to do whatever you needed.
When you were washing your hands, a black-haired girl came out of the bathroom and although you didn't give it much importance, you noticed her mocking smile when she noticed your presence.
"Slut." She murmured as she passed behind you, leaving the bathroom.
You stopped your actions in your tracks and analyzed her words.
"She just...?" You muttered to yourself, laughing in disbelief.
You dried your hands and left the bathroom, but your heart jumped a little when you saw the same girl next to your boyfriend. She seemed to be a fan because they were taking a photo.
You took a deep breath and walked towards them.
Jude's eyes lit up when he noticed you and he offered you one of his hands so that you could approach him.
"I missed you." He murmured, kissing your forehead. It was something he did often because he knew you liked it.
"Me too." Your gaze was still on the black-haired woman who looked at you up and down with the same mockery as before and left.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Yes, vodka. Double." You asked, sitting next to him and he took care of getting you the drink.
The hours passed and the more they did, the more you drank to the point that you couldn't even stand without the risk of falling.
"Oh shit." You murmured between giggles as you left the club with Jude holding your waist firmly.
"Come on, this way, pretty girl." He guided you to his car and helped you get into the passenger seat.
The whole way to his apartment you were silent. The nickname the woman had called you echoed in your mind and the contemptuous way she looked at you.
Upon arrival, he once again helped you out of the car and into the house.
Closing the door, he picked you up bridal style and you giggled, resting your head on his chest, your fingers playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.
"I'm a lucky girl, right?" You murmured as he sat you down on the bathroom sink counter.
"I'm the lucky one, love."
He rummaged through your things for makeup removal supplies and you hummed, thinking about your response.
"Nah, I don't think so." you looked anywhere else but at him as he walked over and stood between your legs.
He frowned and tried to meet your gaze.
"y/n, you've been different since you came back from the bathroom, did something happen?"
You looked at him sideways, embarrassed to say your thoughts out loud but you did.
"Do you think I'm a slut?" You murmured thoughtfully.
"Wha...?"
"I mean, I know it sounds bad, but, I don't know," you brushed a strand of your hair that Jude always tucked behind your ear and continued talking. "A woman called me a slut today," you glanced at him again and played with your hands. "The woman who approached you about the photo."
"Babe..."
"Everyone loves you, that was my crime." You laughed ironically. "And if they call me a 'slut' it'll be worth it, I guess."
"Listen to me." He cupped your face by your cheeks and made you look into his eyes. "You are not what they say you are, you are the girl of my dreams." He made small circles with his thumbs on the apple of your cheekbones and you looked at him carefully. "You are beautiful, the purest soul I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, you are everything I need and if my 'fans' don't understand it then screw them, I'm not going to stop loving you because they don't like the idea of it. I won't, I'm in love with you."
You smiled and pressed your forehead to his, affectionately brushing your nose with his.
"Suddenly I stopped being drunk."
You both laughed at the occurrence and you kissed his lips lovingly.
"I'm in love with you, too."
disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.
#── 𝐕al write. ♡̷ ·˚#jude bellingham#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham x y/n#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham imagines#jude bellingham fanfic#jude bellingham angst#jude bellingham fluff#jude bellingham x you
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Can we get a toxic!babydaddy Matt fic like I’m craving something about my man like it’s been days and I haven’t eaten
⭒ blurb : toxic!bd matt who . . .
toxic!babydaddy matt x poc!reader
warnings: toxic relationship, dad!matt (i understand if u don’t fw it), idk what else :P
mickey speaks: this is kinda different for me so ty for the req!! ik this is just a little headcannon set but i hope you luv this anon 💐
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TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . brings some girl he’s been “hanging out with” to your daughter’s third birthday party just to piss you off
he’d then get mad when you ignore him and his “friend” the entire party…
he’d come up to you as you watch your daughter play on the decorated playground from afar, “the fuck you bein’ petty for, y/n? i thought we were cool with seeing other people?”
“well i just think it’s rude, you didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone else. i don’t care who she is or what you two do it’s annoying from a planning perspective.”
“that’s my bad… you look good though,” he’d glance around for a second before coming behind you and hooking his arm on your neck.
he’d whisper in your ear while you both stare out at your lively daughter, “can’t believe she’s so big now… lookin’ just like her pretty mama.”
you’d roll your eyes and shoulder matt off of you, “matt, go fuck on the bitch you brought here. and stop saying shit like that to me.”
“jesus- watch your language there’s kids everywhere, y/n.”
you blankly stare at him and his cocky smirk that just aggravates you to pieces, “go awayyy, matt.” you whine out and pinch your eyes with a sigh.
and he laughs because everything’s a fucking joke to him.
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . your friends hate but you will always have a soft spot for, he is your daughter’s father after all
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . sends hundreds of roses to your doorstep for mother’s day
when you text him a picture of the ridiculous bouquets with a “????” he immediately facetimes you, “for the best mama in the whole world. you like ‘em?”
you shake your head and hide a smirk beneath your hand to scold him, “you do too much, matt.”
“uh huh i knew you’d say that…” he’d then ask to see his favorite girl, “now where’s my baby at?”
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . can’t mind his business to save his life. he’s always asking you questions about your personal life; and you always shut him down
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . can sometimes be a little too desirable when he drops your daughter off at your place (dressed nicely, smelling good, eyes bright yet droopingly eye-fucking you, etc), leading you to invite him in for a glass of wine or two
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . you sometimes find in your bed again when you feel particularly lonely and nostalgic
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . loves the few times he gets to to wake up to his daughter pulling on his hand and you by his side, fast asleep
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . tends to start arguments from the smallest things to get you to talk to him longer than you need to
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . will always put effort into being a great father (which you respect) despite never putting that same effort into your relationship
TOXIC!BABYDADDY MATT WHO . . . makes sure you’ll never forget he loved you first and is connected to you far deeper than any other man ever could be
#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo triplets fan fiction#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x black!reader#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo x you#dad!matt
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stay ready — emily engstler [blurb]
synopsis. what’s better than napping with your favorite person in the whole world after a long and hard practice? absolutely nothing—or at least according to you and emily.
author’s note. this is my first time ever posting on tumblr so please be indulgent 🙏🏽 its quite short but i loved writing it!!!!!!!!! if any of you guys want to request; don’t be shy, my requests are wide open 😘
warnings. nothing except people in love.
help. liebe means love, tschüss means sweetheart & komm schon means come on in german.
more fics. my paige bueckers one. go take look 💋
“goodness…” you mumble to yourself while climbing up the three last stairs, your hands deep in your tracksuit’s pockets and your thighs screaming in pain.
today’s practice was extra hard for everyone—the coach deciding that this random wednesday was perfect for exhausting the whole team.
usually, you’re not the one who gets tired easily, but those cardio and reinforcement exercises had you dead on the floor; gasping for air and all.
you thought that it was just your body who decided to be lazy today, but when you saw your girl take a seat next to you on the floor, you quickly understood that training was hard—emily being one of the strongest people that you know.
luckily, the rest of the practice went pretty fast, leaving to you and the girls three more hours before team’s bonding—which is really just you and your teammates gossiping over chick-fil-a.
so this is why you’re actually standing in front of your girl’s dorm door, right after taking a very long and good shower and changing yourself into one of emily’s nike tracksuit that you stole from her dressing.
“who dissss?” you hear hailey’s voice, and then the door opening on the blonde’s face. she smiles when she realises it’s you, knowing perfectly that she isn’t the reason why you’re here—even if she’s your closest friend. “hi gorgeous” she invites you inside, closes the door and traps you in a hug. “em is in her room, don’t sleep too much—it’s your turn to bring food!” the blonde playfully says, while you’re making your way through the hallway—sending her thumbs up.
once you’re in front of her room, you knock quickly and don’t wait for her to allow you to enter, already knowing the answer, and come in emily’s tavern.
the german is laying down on her bed, airpods in her ears and phone in hand—the girl only wearing sweatpants and a shirt. her blonde hair are tied in a messy bun—showing off her neck tattoos—and her clear glasses are positioned on the bridge of her nose.
she looks delicious, and she definitely knows it.
hearing the door of her room opening, emily takes her eyes off her screen and lands them on your figure, trailing her pupils from your still-wet hair to your black tasman ugg’s. immediately, a smile takes place on her face and, without a single word, she opens wildly her arms—asking you to come to her.
“my baby” she mutters, when you don’t wait to get rid of your shoes and lay your whole body on hers.
before hiding your face in your favorite place (her neck) you can’t help but peck her lips a few times, humming softly against them. you feel her smile into one of your many kisses, and do the same—happy to be with your favorite person in the whole world.
“missed you…” you mumble again, leaving her soft lips to hide in her neck.
her body shakes under yours, and her little chuckles make their way to your ears—making you more at ease than you already were. “we just saw each other one hour ago liebe” she softly says, her left hand pushing your head more into her collarbone.
“don’t care… it’s too much” your girl laughs again, pressing a kiss against your freshly cleaned hair.
a few seconds pass, and silence takes place in the room—your head still mushed in your girlfriend’s warmth, her arms tightly wrapped around your waist; one hand under your vest and the other gently groping your lower back.
sleepy, you let her cologne, warmth and touch lull you to sleep.
you feel at home, surrounded by emily, and she might feel it because her embrace gets tighter around you—her lips being glued to your forehead and her mutters duplicating against your hair.
the two of you don’t need to speak, the silence is enough for you to understand each other’s needs.
and right now, what the two of you need is snuggles and a nap, which is why emily don’t wait more than a few seconds to put her phone down—not after taking a few pics of yourself being all up on her—and readjust your body on hers.
before joining you in your sleep, the blonde girl brings her blanket to your neck, tucking you and her own self in, and turns off the light from her bed—using her basketball skills to throw a random pen at the interrupter, not wanting to wake you up just to turn off the room’s light.
her eyes closed, cheek pressed up against your hair, arms embracing you and hands gripping everything she can—em feels like she’s in heaven.
she has everything she needs with her: you. and that’s enough for her to peacefully fall asleep, knowing that you’re safe in her arms.
but reality catches up with you two, manifesting itself in the form of a pretty blonde girl, who’s name’s hailey and who seems to be way too much excited when it’s only ten o’clock.
“lovebirds! the two of you need to get up!” she shouts while entering em’s bedroom, alexia trailing behind her with a little smile on her face. you groan loudly and emily shots her middle finger to her roommate. “yo, that’s mad disrespectful! anyway, get your asses up” hailey says, laughing when your girlfriend turns her back on her—bringing your body with hers. “come on girls!” she shakes em’s shoulders.
“hailey you’re getting on my nerves” you hear your girl mumbles, while tightening her hold on you.
“i don’t care, you bitches need to get up!” she chuckles while speaking, before calling out your name: “stop sleeping, i need my bestie back!” you groan again, too tired to move your lips.
“leave my girl alone” your girlfriend loudly says, taking a hold of your thighs and surrounding her waist by your legs. “go back to sleep tschüss” she whispers softly, her hand resting on your lower back.
so you do what you do the best (after being pretty): you listen to em’s words and try to go back to sleep—even if there’s a crazy blonde girl in your room who’s trying to get you up, and that your girlfriend is not sleeping anymore, too busy whisper-yelling to hailey.
“come ooooon! it’s been more than two hours!” she fusses again, her hands on her hips.
emily can’t help but roll her eyes, her head re-taking its place against yours. “bro, just give me ten minutes to wake her up” she gives in, tired of hearing her roommate’s whining about being hungry and bored.
“finally!” hailey smiles with all of her teeth. “i leave you two alone” and with that, she disappears and closes shut em’s bedroom door.
loudly sighing, the german takes a look at you—grinning at your sleeping figure.
gently slapping your ass, she scratches your back and presses a kiss on the skin of your neck. “come on baby, you have to wake up” you groan, again. it seems like nobody wants you to get your beauty sleep today. “come on” she says softly, trying to take you out of your haze.
“don’t want” you mumble, searching again for warmth and comfort in her neck.
“i know pretty girl, but you have to” she keeps on trying to wake you up, her tattooed hand grabbing your jaw and bringing your lips on hers—pecking them a few more times. “komm schon! we have to go get food for the girls” you shake your head once again.
“you liar, you told me to go back to sleep and now you wake me up. you don’t love me anymore?”
and this is maybe the worst thing you could have said, because the next second you feel your ass stings.
“ouch!” you scream, sitting up while bringing a hand to your stinging butt. “em!” she laughs, getting out of her bed to dress herself into one of her many sweater.
“that’s what you get when you talk shit” you roll your eyes.
emily hates when someone doubts of her love—and she hates it even more when that someone is you. she showers you with love everyday and is really serious about her feelings for you—the girl not standing when you or the girls refer her as cold lover or as a fuck-boy type of girl, even if it’s just all jokes.
she only has eyes for you. that’s all. and you must know it, or she’ll get mad—just like right now.
“you know i’m joking baby” you say, properly taking a seat on the bed and scratching your sleepy eyes. she doesn’t respond, only smirks and goes on with her preparation. “you’re driving?” you ask a few seconds later when you’re done with putting your shoes on, your eyes fully focused on the pretty girl in front of you.
“always” she affirms confidently and you smile. “let’s go?” your girlfriend asks, taking a look at you.
“yes” it’s your turn to get up, hands taking place in your pants’ pockets.
you’re making your way to the bedroom’s door, still sleepy but ready to go get food—your stomach already grumbling and waiting for the chicken to be delivered, but you’re stopped by em’s tattooed hands on your waist.
turning around, you’re met with her pretty face and sexy smile. she puckers her lips, then mumbles: “gimme a kiss” which you do, getting on your tippy toes to press your lips against hers.
she hums loudly into your kiss, her hands trailing down your back, before grabbing your ass and lifting you up—snatching a little scream out of your mouth and making your arms wrap around her neck; your fingers tracing the tattoos on it, that you know by heart now.
“em’!” she smiles, pulling out of your kiss.
“i love you” it’s your turn to grin.
“i love you too, babe”
written by © yappersblog, i do not accept plagiarism—this is my work and only mine.
#emily engstler fluff#emily engstler x reader#emily engstler#wlw post#paige bueckers#caitlin clark#kk arnold#imagine#x reader#paige bueckers x reader#kk arnold x reader#caitlin clark x reader#hailey van lith#hailey van lith x reader#wnba#wnba draft#wnba basketball#wnba x reader#wlw#wnba fluff#louisville wnba#paige bueckers fluff#paige bueckers headcannons#paige bueckers imagine#emily engstler headcannons#emily engstler imagine#uconn wbb#uconn huskies#uconn women’s basketball#wcbb
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Painted Smile
Painted Smile VI
<- Previous Chapter
Pairing: Alastor x Female! Reader
Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.
Notes: It's a long chapter because it's Alastor's Point of View from the beginning until the end of Chapter IV. There is dark theme here, like racism, blood, dark thoughts. But I guess you know about it, it is about Alastor's story ! Please enjoy and tell me your thoughts, if you like having a long chapter about Alastor's thoughts.
“ Do you promise to be a good boy bébé?”
Alastor smiled at his mother and nodded. He would always be good for his mother, even if he didn’t like what he was supposed to do. Today, his mother had invited an old friend of hers, someone she used to know before she married his father, and this woman would bring her child with her, hoping that they could play together. His mother was so excited.
He didn’t care about them, but if his mother was happy, he'd put on a show.
He went into his bedroom to be sure everything was clean, but mostly to be sure that his secrets were kept safe. He took his journal, where all of his thoughts were written down. He hid it under a pile of clothes, if his father were to fall upon it, it would be a disaster and frankly, he didn’t want to get into another beating.
He lifted his head up as he heard noises downstairs. So the parasites have finally come. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled brightly. Easy. He tried different types of smiles before going downstairs quietly. He has learned not to make noises when he was walking, sometimes he could walk behind his fathers without him noticing.
And there you were. He tilted his head as he saw you took a photo and stared at it. You didn’t even sense him, you weren’t paying attention to what was going on around you. Your life must be so easy.
“ Do you not know that it is rather rude to touch others' belongings?”
He stopped himself from chuckling as you jumped, surprised. Heh, too easy.
“And it is rude to come unannounced behind a lady!”
A lady? His mother was a lady. Always proper, always smiling… You? You were… a naive, uninteresting girl so far. He did say to his mother that he would play nice… But he couldn’t help himself.
“ I see no lady.”
He wanted to laugh at your expression. How strange. You were giving him your reaction without faking it. In this house, everyone was faking it to make it out alive, even his Mother, faking a smile so his father could be “happy”. And when the emotion wasn't faked, it usually meant that problems were on their way. But you, you just expressed your expression out loud, without fearing it could put you in trouble. How strange.
He turned his head toward his mother who introduced you both. He was ready to go shake your hand but you came toward him and kissed him on both cheeks. The only person who kissed him like this was his mother. Who did you think you were ? His cheeks flushed with anger but he contained himself, not here, not in front of his mother… You wanted to play that game? Alright.
He waited for both of your mothers to go back in the kitchen before stepping closer to you, his face near yours. Hah, how you liked it when someone came too close toward you. He stared at your eyes, your eyes that seemed to say so many things, things he couldn’t comprehend, that he couldn’t grasp because he… he wasn't like you.
“ It’s rude to look at someone face this close!”
He almost coughed, you were the one who kissed him first but now HE was the one being rude? He easily made a lie saying he needed to be close to see. He saw your eyes relax and you almost seemed sorry. Were you watching him with pity? Oh no, he wouldn’t accept it. He’d prefer seeing you angry at him than watching him as if he was some kind of helpless kid who couldn’t fight for himself.
“ But now that I have seen you up close I can clearly say… I see no lady.”
He smiled when he saw your angry face.
----
Your parents were really curious about him. He didn’t really want to talk with them but he put on his mask and talked about school and other boring stuff. He almost lost his calm when he felt you kicked him in the shin. He stared at you as you were beaming with pride and joy because you were now the centre of attention. How naively cute.
His mother always told him to never hit a girl but… If it was an accident ? And you were the one to begin this war. He kicked you on the same spot you had kicked him. His smile widened when he saw you spilled your drink on the table. You were panicking so much and you had every reason to be.. if his father were to be here. He stared at you, drinking. You were a living experiment with your emotions shown so easily. You were still naive… But a tiny bit interesting.
He stood up from his chair when his mother invited you both to play outside. He walked in front of you but he was looking at your shadows which made it so easy to dodge your so-called kick. He looked at you with a beaming smile when he spotted your face. You seemed so surprised.. and a bit impressed.
“ So unladylike.”
He watched you as you stuck your tongue to him, he was sure you were thinking he couldn’t see you. How funny. He let you go toward the swing and watched you as you went higher and higher with each swing. He walked toward you as you closed your eyes and arched your back toward the ground. You seemed so light, like you could just fly at any moment. Now he was curious.
“Jump.”
You didn’t seem keen on jumping, saying things like you could hurt yourself or dirtying your dress. He kept his smile but felt kind of disappointed. Oh well, maybe you weren’t interested.
Or maybe you were!
He stared at you as you jumped when the swing was in its highest spot. He opened his mouth as he saw you, almost floating in the air, you seemed so free, so alive, so colourful, so… out of reach. He wanted to drag you down in hell with him. In his personal hell. In his life. Why were you so happy and he was–
“ Wow! Did you see that Alastor ! I did it ! Haha ! That was super amazing !” you laughed. He looked at you, you were looking at him like you wanted him to be proud of you. You were beaming, you were… cute. You just jumped off a swing because he dared you to do it and you did it. No question asked. Most of the people would have said they didn’t want to play with him and left. But you stayed. Strange…
He tried to suppress his laugh when you dared him to climb the tree. So easy. Once he climbed it he watched you. Now you were the one on the floor while he was near the sky. He looked at you as you watched him, impressed. It made him feel something so he decided to tease you once again.
“ I should thank you, now that I’m here, I don’t have to see your face.”
“ My face is pretty !”
Yes, it was.
“ Pretty ugly.”
“ Alastor !”
You played all afternoon, you always had another game to play, another riddle to solve. Your mind was always thinking about something new… But then you put your hand on his eyes and said that you had a great time with him. What kind of manipulative game was that? Saying a secret, trusting the other person to hold their tongue and never breathe a word of what you just said? How could you be so naive ? Life wasn’t fair. Sharing secrets would make you weak. Never reveal your scars, your secrets or your emotions.
He asked for another game, not wanting to see your face. Did you know that he could see everything in your eyes? Was that why you said your secret with a hand in front of his eyes, so he couldn’t see if you were in pain or happy?
He looked at you as you proposed a game of hide and seek. How cute. He would find you. He was a master of “hunting”. He closed his eyes and counted until fifty. He could already hear where you were going as you ran toward the forest. He smiled as he made you think he didn’t know where you were, he waited some time so you could be so sure of yourself you wouldn’t see him come.
And there you were.
“ Found you.”
You ran.
But what shocked him even further was that he couldn’t catch you. It was like you were flying through the grass, you weren’t watching where you were putting your feet while he was watching the floor, dodging the puddle of mudd, jumping over the branches that would have made him fall. He watched as you ran, he wanted to catch you. He didn’t know why, maybe to prove something to himself.
It seemed like it was time to say goodbye, he didn’t even see the time passing which was surprising, he always knew what time it was, knowing when his father would come back. You came toward him, you seemed sad.
“ Well.. Goodbye…”
Were you really sad ? How cute. But if it was the last time that he saw you, he would rather see you smile.. And , well , he wasn’t going to see you again right? He could tell you a secret. He covered your eyes.
“ I had fun and… you are pretty.”
He went to his mother as he watched you and your family leaving his house. When he went back home, his mother was watching him with an expectant smile. He tilted his hand, smiling at her, she seemed to have had a great afternoon, he was relieved.
“ Did you have a great time Alastor?”
He froze for a second. Did he? He stared at his hand, the hand that didn’t manage to catch you. Well, you were like a fresh breeze. Needed but short. He would have to live once again without feeling it.
“ Yes, I had a great time.”
—----
Alastor was doing his homework in the kitchen while his mother was cooking. Most of the time, his Father was away all week because he worked far from home, so his boss would give him a place to stay to avoid doing long travel. Which meant, when it was the weekend, his Father would do nothing but lay around in the house and if he had a bad week, well.. Let’s just say that his body remembered those days.
There, done!
He stood up from his chair, now that his homeworks was done, he could go and listen to his radio. He went to his bedroom and sat on his desk, listening to the radio until he heard noises downstairs. He didn’t remember his Mother telling him that they would have guests over… And then he heard them. Your footsteps. What was that feeling? His heart was beating louder as your footsteps were getting closer and closer.
He smirked when he heard his door open, did you really think you were being quiet ? He stayed silent waiting to feel you closer to him, and once he saw your shadow, he opened his mouth.
“ How rude, entering a boy’s bedroom without permission.”
“ I see no boy.”
He smiled as he approached his face towards yours making you blush. He didn’t know why, but he was… content seeing you in front of him with all of your emotions written across your face.
But he didn’t like this thought.
The fact that just your presence could make him feel things. You didn’t have the rights. That would mean that you had the upper hand on him, playing with him. No, you couldn’t know.
“ Why are you here?”
And there it was. You looked like a kicked puppy. He didn’t like it. He clearly didn’t like it. You were cute like this but he’d rather see you smiling even if he didn’t like what it made him feel. He suppressed his need to sigh at your face. You stuck your tongue at him, trying to hide the fact that he hurted you. You really were the cutest. Didn’t you see that he already saw your heartbroken expression? Seems like he needed to make things right. He touched your shoulder but you didn’t move. You were such an obstinate brat. He really was trying to be nice ! He sighed. Well…
He covered your eyes, smiling when he saw you flinching and spoke.
“ I didn’t expect…to be content to see you today.”
Your smile was really blinding. He wondered if you were aware of it? How could you smile so easily without fearing that you showed too much emotion? How could you trust him not to use the information you just told him with your smile: You liked being with him.
He was almost worried for your future. He looked at your hands as you raised it toward his face, clearly trying to cover his eyes. You really liked to touch him, didn’t you? He helped you as he took your hand and placed it in front of his eyes. Now what?
“ I wanted to see you too.” you confessed.
…
So that’s what it was.
He wanted to see you too.
How could you speak so freely? He took your hands off him and stared at you, maybe if he stared long enough in your eyes, he could get an answer. The only answer he got? He didn’t flinch when you kissed his cheeks not because he was scared but because didn’t feel the need to push you away. How strange…
He smirked as you told him about making him food. So you asked about him. You didn’t forget about him. Interesting..
He tilted his head as you ordered him to dance. He could dance, his Mother had teached him, he couldn’t wait but show you. He gave you a big smile and held his hand toward you but you went off script. You took his hand and just started to jump around, holding his hand. You encouraged him to do just like you but he was so confused. Was that dancing ? Maybe it was your way of dancing… Well, it was chaotically cute.. But let him show you how it’s done.
He took your hands and twirled you just like his Mother taught him. You seemed impressed once again, he really liked that. He didn’t know why but he wanted you to keep on watching him like this. You let go of his hand and walked toward his bed before throwing his pillow in his face. He didn’t expect it. He stared at your laughing face. You thought you were funny huh?
He took the pillow and ran toward you, pinning you on the floor and hitting you softly with his pillow. “ Rule number one, never drop your guard.” He hitted you with his pillow. “ Rule number two, I’m the strongest here.” he hitted you once again. “ Rule number three, give up.” He smiled as he watched you trying to sit up. You were really trying to get away ? He held the pillow above his head and then he saw it.
Your gaze fell on a bruise from his father. Ah, were you going to ask questions? What excuses should he invent this time? He tried to help his mother but failed? No, it was impossible. As he was swimming through his thoughts you took his hand, placed it on your eyes and began to talk. You talked and talked and talked, you really couldn’t stop huh?
But he listened.
To every word.
He stood up and helped you when he heard his mother calling you downstairs. He followed you to the sofa and sat down, listening to your mothers talking. Seemed like you weren’t as patient as him, he could already see boredom settling on your face. But then you ran off the living room saying stuff about a kitty. He smiled at the ladies and went outstairs, staring at you and the cat. This bloody cat who was always hissing at him…
Maybe if he stopped affraying it, the cat would calm down? Huh…
He came closer and as expected the cat began to hiss but then it hurted you. He stared at your bleeding hand and took it in his. You were trying so hard not to cry. Why? You’ve been showing him every single of your emotions since you have met, why would you hide something that he wanted to see? Why did you not want to share yourself with him? He didn’t remember the last time he or his Mother cried. What would you look like? Without even being aware he dug his nails in your cut making you scream. He stared at you, you didn’t seem angry at him, but confused.
“ Don’t be ashamed, you can cry. I… I think I want you to cry.” Now he was the one being confused. Why would he want to see you cry? Because that means you trusted him enough to show yourself at your weakest. You began to cry, louder than necessary for such a little cut. But he let you. You were crying in front of him without feeling ashamed. You trusted him not to hurt you even more. You were an open book for him, a book he wanted to keep on reading.
But he’d rather see you smile.
He opened his mouth, ready to make a joke but he froze once he heard his voice.
“Alastor.”
He kept you against him. He remembered his Father hitting him because he was crying, he needed to hide your tears from his Father. He didn’t deserve to see you in that state. He didn’t trust his Father and neither should you.
“ Why is this chick crying ? For God’s sake, what have you done boy?”
“ The cat scratched her.”
“ This stupid cat… I’ll shoot it next time.”
He stared as the man went inside the house. It was going to be a hard night… He didn’t want to explain everything to you about his Father, you didn’t need to know. All you needed to know was how to be safe from this man. He covered your eyes with his hand.
“ Never cry in front of this man.”
He didn’t let go of you until you nodded. Then he took you to his Mother so she could clean your cut. Better safe than sorry.
Before leaving you told him about the pizza that you made with your Mother. He sneaked with you to the kitchen, he knew that his Father would eat all of the food you made so he wanted to share it with you before it could be stolen from him. You were so eager for his feedback, he almost wanted to say it tasted bad but after what he did to your hand he decided to be honest and made the promise to cook you something next time. You beamed and kissed him on both cheeks before leaving with your Mother.
—--
He was so excited.
His Mother had told him that you would have a sleep over while his Father wasn’t home. It was perfect! He also had another game he wanted to play with you. His Mother had bought him a microphone thanks to his good grades at school. He wanted to do a radio broadcast with you. He wanted to share his dream with you just like you shared your emotions with him. He was in his bedroom, re-reading his note to be sure that everything was perfect. He asked his mother to do his hair like adults, so now his hair was slicked back. He looked at himself in the mirror. That would do.
“ Can I come in yet?” you asked, outside Alastor’s bedroom, waiting for him to open the door.
His grin got even bigger. He opened his bedroom door and stared at your outfit. You were cute, as always. You kissed him on both cheeks, like usual and he tugged you inside his now radio booth!
“ Welcome to my humble Radiobooth !” He said with glee as he shoved you on a chair. “ Welcome New Orleans to Alastor’s podcast ! Thank you for tuning in, today I’m thrilled to announce that I will not be alone, I am blessed with the best singer in all Lousianna !” he claimed and shoved the microphone to your face. You gave him a big smile and began to introduce yourself even saying he was the best radio host of all New Orleans. He couldn’t help giggling, you were playing your part perfectly. Maybe when he would have had his own radio station he would invite you as a very special guest.
He kept talking as you read the notes he had just given you, he kind of expected you to fumble but once again you surprised him. You were natural, talking about what was written on his notes but then you went off script and made him laugh. You were amazing.
He kept doing his part as the radio host, explaining about why your sleepover has to be delayed to this day. You didn’t ask much more information but was happy he punched the boy who badmouthed his mother. Calling her such a disgusting word…
You both kept playing, sometimes he would forget about your presence, but when he noticed that his voice was the only thing he could hear he would turn toward you, ordering you to talk. You had a pretty voice, why not use it?
Well, he didn’t expect you to raise your voice against him when he said he couldn’t understand people liking sweet things. You were so convinced that there was something wrong with him for not liking sweets. Well, shouldn’t you feel appreciated ? You were the sweetest thing he ever laid his eyes upon and he kept you by his side, didn’t he? He closed his eyes still smiling as you kept blablating with his Mother’s laugh echoing in his bedroom. He liked it. He really liked this moment, if he could, he would like to record this moment so he could play it again and again.
After his Mother’s departure he went toward the letter he wrote with questions for you. You thought the game was over? Think again.
He asked you many questions, well of course the questions weren’t from him, but from the audience ! You answered to all of them honestly and there came the last one. He took the letter and read it to you.
“ And now, our last question before our guest’s performance. What do you think about our dear radio host Alastor ?”
He could see your answer in your eyes before you even opened your mouth. He already knew what you were about to say. He already knew. But he was waiting eagerly so you could say those words he desperately needed to hear. Say it, say it, say it…
“ He is the best!”
Yes, and so were you.
And you needed to know it.
He tugged you downstairs saying you needed to sing or the broadcast couldn’t end. He sat in front of the piano as you were flustered with his microphone in your hands. He smiled at you and then closed his eyes. He wanted you to feel powerful. But first, he needed you to be less insecure about your abilities. So the first lesson would be: singing.
And sing you did. When you stopped being a coward and really sang like the singer that you were, he couldn't help but open his eyes to admire you. Even if some of the notes weren’t the best, you were giving it your all. You were giving him all of you at that moment.
He couldn’t be more proud.
You were the best.
He couldn’t stop himself from crushing you against him as he said goodbye to your audience. Everything was perfect, you were here, his mother too and there were smiles on every lips.
—--
“ We are still playing with Alastor! When we are finished, I will join you.” you said with a shy smile, holding a plushie. He was behind you, waiting for his Mother's command. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to go to sleep with his Mother right away. He still had other games he would like to play with you. As soon as his Mother accepted, you ran into his bedroom with him following you. You were on his bed with this…
“ What is it ?”
“ Well, first of all, it’s a He and he is a deer.”
He listened to your story. So you didn’t know how to swim, he would have to train you. You shouldn’t have so many weaknesses, it was dangerous. But then you started talking about how your deer plushie was protecting you. What were you saying, were you so tired that thinking was too difficult for you?
“ So, a deer saved your life from drowning…”
“ Yes, so my parents bought me this deer plushie so now, when I'm scared I can just squeeze him and feel safe!” you demonstrated your words by squeezing your plushie against you. “ Do you want to try it?”
Did he want to try to squeeze a plushie? Not really. Not at all.
“ How can he protect you?”
You rolled your eyes at him before pushing your plushie in his arms. You forced him to hug it, once you were satisfied, you nodded and looked at Alastor who was clearly confused. “ Now, squeeze him !”
Once again , you were looking at him with those eyes he couldn’t refuse anything. He suppressed a sigh and squeezed the deer against him and closed his eyes. It has your scent. He could feel himself relax. Yeah… It felt nice. If he were to hug you like this, would you also be this soft? He was getting taller than you, have you noticed it? Maybe one day, he would be able to hug you just like this plushie? Would you feel safe in his arms? Or would you try to run away?
“ Mister Deer could be our very first guest in our radio show?”
Our.
He opened his eyes, staring right in your soul. Ah, you were panicking. Did you think he didn’t like that you use “ our” instead of “ his” ? You were so cute!
“ I’d like that.” he whispered with a soft smile. “ Our first guest.”
You both laid on his bed, he still held the plushie against him. He really needed to find him a name, names are important. He listened to you blablating about how he was supposed to take care of the deer. It looked like a fawn for him but whatever.
“ Now that I have Mister Deer, who will protect you?” he asked, with no trace of fatigue on his face, he was used to not sleeping, because of nightmares or just because he needed to be aware of what his father’s doing in the house. You smiled tiredly at him, putting your head on his pillow.
“ Well, because you hold Mister Deer, it’s your job to protect me now.”
It was his job to protect you..? He would do it. He would protect your smile, he would protect your dazzling eyes that seemed to never lose their sparkes.
“ … So, do I need to hug you?”
“ M-maybe but…Do you want to …?”
Does he want to?
He covered your eyes with his hand. Within the next five minutes you were asleep, he took off his hand and stared at your face.
Did he want to hug you?
He looked at the fawn in his arms. You were cuter than your plushie, so that made you huggable. He touched your cheeks with his finger but you didn’t move. He nudged you with his feet but you stayed asleep. You must be feeling very safe to sleep like this. He would awake at any noise in the house.
Did he want to hug you?
He wasn’t touching you but he could feel your body warm from here. Were you too hot? Did he need to take off the blanket ? But maybe you liked being warm? You were so problematic, did you know that? He stared at the ceiling, he knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep soon…
Did he want to hug you?
He put the fawn between his body and yours, whispering in your ear. He hoped you would stay asleep, he didn’t want anyone to witness what he was going to say.
Did he want to hug you?
“ Yes, if you hug me back.”
—-----
He was blushing as his Mother was asking him if he slept well. She had a teasing glint in her eyes, she must have seen! When he woke up, he had you in his arms. He quietly left the bed, leaving the fawn with you.
“ Alastor, this was a very cute scene!”
He didn’t care if this was cute, it was embarrassing ! He hid his face in his Mother dress. Could she just forget about it?
“ Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.” she kissed the top of his head with a beaming smile. He smiled at her, his mother seemed happier since she found your mother back. He liked it. He decided to go back to his room to see if you awakened but what was surprising was that he saw you with his microphone, talking with the fawn. How could the fawn protect you, it looked like you were the one protecting it with the way you were holding it against you. You were so strange.
“ I knew you would play with it.” you blinked at him. He looked at your bed hair and couldn’t help but smile. You looked silly like this ! “ Eamon told me you were using the microphone.” You tilted your head.
“ Who ?”
“ Our deer. He needs a name, don’t you think?” he stroked your plushie’s head while mumbling “ even if he looks more like a fawn than a deer…”
“ He is a deer ! I’m sure you never saw one !” you huffed as you squeezed Eamon against your chest.
“ Actually, I did when Father took me hunting.” he tilted his head as he saw your horrified face. Why did you take a step back?
“ You killed a deer ?”
“ No, I saw one. And most of them have brown fur, not like ours who have a white one.” Why did you seem so confused?
“ But… Why is your father taking you with him.. to hunt..?” you asked, confused.
To kill of course.
But he couldn’t tell you that. His father wanted him to be a man, and man went hunting. His father showed him how to kill while threatening him.
If you don’t want to end up like this, shut your trap.
When he first went hunting , he was terrified but now, he would just stare at the dead animal wondering if he will be the target next time. So far, he was alive. How lucky ! But once again, he couldn’t tell you that, could he? Would you be worried for him?
“ It’s not for little girls, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t bear it.” He teased you.
“ Hey! I saw things too, I’m not a little girl!”
Did you? Were you like him? Did you see things that made you reconsider your morals? Did you see things that made you throw up? Did you see things that made you want to run away and never look back. Did you–
“ My father tried to eat my mother one day.”
…
Now, that was horrifying.
—--
You went downstairs to eat breakfast as he went to the bathroom to wash up. He stared at his body. The bruises were no longer on his body, that was nice. He went to the kitchen and sat next to you. Strange, you were looking at him like you knew something that he didn’t. Did his Mother tell you what happened ? No, she wouldn’t. So why–
“ Next time, we should have a sleepover at my house ! I could show you my room !” you smiled excitedly.
He tensed. He would love to go to your place, being able to see your house. How did you decorate your room? But he couldn’t leave his Mother alone with his Father. What if he decided to come back drunk and beat his mother while he was enjoying himself, free of worries, at your place. No, he couldn’t. He looked at you and there was the kicked puppy stare…
“ I… I don’t like leaving my mother alone at home.”
“ But we will choose a day where your father is home!” you nudged him, trying to coat him to come with you at your house. “ Please Alastor… I really want you to come.” you pleaded as you held his forearms with your small hands. “ You don’t want to..?”
I want to.
He bit his lips, he wanted but he couldn’t. Wasn’t it the meaning of his life? Wanting without having the power to be able to do what he wanted. Fortunately, his Mother had sensed his discomfort and she offered to come with him for your next sleepover.
He relaxed. Yes, like this, it would be perfect.
The day went on as you both “gossiped” as his Mother called it. But unfortunately, it was time for you to leave. You asked Eamon to take care of him and then you asked him to take care of Eamon. You were cute but as asked, he would take care of your Fawn.
—-------
He was in the forest with his Father, holding a rifle. It was a familiar feeling to hold the weapon in his little hand. He was used to it now. He was walking, alongside his father who was making so much noise, how could they hunt like this?
“ Here, be a useful brat, shoot it.”
He shot the partridges which fell down near him. Should he be afraid of himself ? He couldn’t feel anything as he watched the life leaving the animal’s eyes. It was almost boring, he was stronger so he won. It was that easy.
Would you be scared of him?
He stopped himself. You were the first real friend he has ever made. If you were to see him like this, would you be afraid of him? Would you let him explain? He turned his head toward his father as the man pointed to a deer not too far. He could shoot it. It would be easy.
But then he saw your face. He knew this deer wasn’t the one who saved you but this time, for you, he would not kill it. He knew you wouldn’t forgive him.
“Alastor, shoot it..!”
He just stared at the beautiful beast not too far from him. He stared into its eyes as the animal saw him before running off. How he envied the animal right now…
He heard his Father before feeling the punch in his face.
Ah, today it was going to be harder than usual.
“ You brat!”
A kick in his stomach.
He wondered if you were sleeping right now? You always fell asleep so easily, he was almost envious. Maybe next time, he’ll ask you how you manage to find the sweet relief of falling asleep.
“ How useless!”
Another kick in his stomach.
Ah, his Mother was going to be so sad once she saw him. Maybe his Father would let him wash himself up in the water?
“ You nigga !”
Aand there it was. That disgusting word. He felt his Father grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him toward their home. His Father threw him inside his bedroom, Alastor’s head hitting the wall.
Seemed like his mother was out buying groceries. Good, she wouldn’t have to see that. He stared at his Father, smiling. The man took off his belt and began to hit him on his back, forcing him to lay on his belly. Alastor stared in front of him and saw Eamon, staring back at him. He didn’t know why, but he moved. He stood up as his Father shouted at him to stay in his place. He took the plushie against him, keeping his back toward his Father but he stayed standing.
His father hit him on his back with his belt once again but Alastor didn’t fall on the ground. He crushed the plushie against him as he closed his eyes.
It was going to be over soon. He would see you this weekend, you would play together, you would show him your neighbourhood, you would give him something sweet to eat.
He opened his eyes and saw with sadness that Eamond was dirty with his own blood. He touched his nose, oh yes, his father did punch him in the forest. Aah, he needed to clean it before you came back.
His back felt wet and stinky. Was he sweating that much? Normally he could handle it better? He sniffed.
Ah, blood.
He didn’t remember when he passed out but when he woke up, Eamon was still in his arms.
“ ça va aller mon bébé, regarde Maman.”
He looked at his Mother, her smile wobbling. He just closed his eyes and squeezed Eamon, the plushie didn’t have your scent anymore, but it has his blood’s.
—---
He didn’t know why, but each week his Father would hit him with his belt on his torso or back even when his Mother was begging for him to stop. He had to go to school with bandages all over his body but his face. But he never cried, nor asked his Father to stop. He would just think that soon, you would come and the Hell he was living would come to a pause. Each time, he was thinking.
Next week.
But you never came.
It’s been almost a month. Did something happen to you? Were you sick? Maybe he could ask his Mother to see if you were okay? He was on his bed, clinging to Eamon, his back was hurting so much he almost wanted to bite off his hand from the pain.
But no, he just stared in the void, losing his smile. And then, a thought struck him.
Was killing a human any different than an animal?
His eyes widened, but before he could deepen his thoughts on the subject, he heard footsteps downstairs. Yours footsteps. It was you. He was sure of it. He heard the door smashed open, well, weren’t you full of energy today?
“ So unladylike. I could recognize your footsteps anywhere.”
He frowned when he didn’t hear any witty come back from you. Well?
“ I.. I made your favorite dish..” you whispered, your voice trembling with each word as you tried to speak out loud.Why did you sound like that? “ Can… Can I see you?”
You wanted to see his pathetic self right now? You really had a bad timing, you’ll have to work on it, really.
“ No.”
“ Please…” you begged, it sounded like you were crying, why were you crying?. “ I was so worried… My father told me what happened–”
“ What did he tell you?” His voice was colder than usual. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want anyone to know.
“ That… That you went hunting with your dad and–” you approached the bed and flinched when you felt his hand covering your eyes. So you were crying, he thought. He could feel your tears wetting the palms of his hands. “ Because of your father you- you have been hurt.” you cried, holding his wrist with one of your hands. “Alastor, I was so scared..!”
Me too, I was so scared.
“ Keep your eyes closed.”
He couldn't help himself. He hugged you. You were finally here. Hell was over for some time. He wanted to see you so bad. He wanted to see you…
“Yes, I wanted to see you.”
“ Are you hurting?”
“ No. Remember Rules number two: I’m the strongest here.”
He smiled as he heard you laugh. Yes, everything would turn out nicely. He just had to be more careful. To be more observant. He would be the strongest for you. You’ll never have to worry for him to the point of crying. Nobody would keep your friendship from you. He sighed in relief, you were here…
“ I want to see your face.”
Mhn.. Well, as long as it is just his face. He stepped back and smiled at you. You didn’t have to worry.
“ Be my guest.”
His smile widened when he saw your confused face. You must have thought he would have injuries on his face heh?
“ You said you wanted to see my face, not my injuries.” he smiled cunningly at you while holding Eamon against his chest.
“ Why do our deer have pink…red spots on him?” you tilted your head, stroking its fur.
Ah, right. His Mother had tried but she couldn’t wash all the blood he had lost on the fawn each week. Were you going to be upset ? He didn’t protect your fawn even though he told you he would take care of it. Were you going to be disappointed in him?
“ I’m sorry. I bled on him.”
He watched as you sat next to him and gently kissed his cheeks, resting your lips against his skin. Did you know it was the spot his father had punched weeks prior ? Of course, you wouldn’t know. He only could feel your lips, the pain in his back wasn’t there anymore. He squeezed your hand. He missed you… He missed this…
“ I missed you.” you both said.
He smiled softly, as you began to explain all the week he has missed. He felt his heart soared when you explained how you had made a scene so you could come and see him. He had to tease you, because if not, he felt like he would explode with happiness. You have missed him, his presence was something you wanted, he was important for you.
Unfortunately, you had to go.
Well, Hell is forever, right?
He went downstairs, keeping his hand around yours. You seemed so worried. He looked at you after your mother asked about his well being. Why were you so quiet ?
“ I promise, I’ll see you soon.”
“ You promise? How do I know if you are going to be sick, or injured once again?”
Oh that’s why.
You were so cute. Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise to never be injured again, he would be breaking his promise tonight. What kind of promise could he conjure that would make you both ties to each other forever.
“ Let’s make a deal.”
He approached his face close to yours and kissed your forehead. You blushed and he couldn’t feel bad about it, red suited you.
“ You always kiss me good morning, so now, I’ll kiss you goodbye. Now, you owe me a good morning kiss.” he smiled at you teasingly as he took a step back. “ Do we have a deal?”
Please, say yes.
“ Deal.”
He smiled, now he knew that even though he would suffer because of his father, you would always come back to him, healing him without being aware of it. You were his special.. Something. You were the one painting a true smile on his lips. You were his special person.
Tag List: lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @boogiemansbitch @sodavizz @tessemerick @slytherin4ever
#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#alastor headcanons#alastor scenarios#alastor scenario#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor x you#hazbin alastor#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fluff#fanfiction#alastor fanfiction#fiction#alastor fiction#human alastor#human alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fan fiction
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Can You Stand The Reign
warning: smut (18+), @harmshake has inspired me for today's oneshot, so thank her and enjoyyyyy!
"You're such a fucking whore, I swear! I should've listened to everyone who warned me about you!" I unleashed my frustration, my voice cutting through the pulsating energy of the club as I stormed out.
Roman's hand grasped my arm, attempting to halt my furious exit, but I pulled my arm away, shooting him the darkest glare I could muster.
"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me. I hate you," I spat, not even bothering to gauge his reaction before I turned on my heel and marched away.
Between the booming music and the dim lighting, it seemed like not many eyes were on us, but honestly, I didn't care. He clearly wasn't bothered by being the center of attention, so why should I be?
We'd been craving a night out with friends, a rare treat amidst our busy lives. I was thrilled at the idea of stepping out with my man by my side. He'd cleaned up nicely, looking absolutely irresistible as always. But of course, the good vibes couldn't last for too long. Roman disappeared onto the dance floor with his cousins, and in no time, a repulsive groupie latched onto him, grinding shamelessly. That was the moment I lost it.
As I stormed outside, the rain pounded down mercilessly, drenching me within seconds. I didn't know where to go; I hadn't driven here, and the last place I wanted to be was in a car with him.
Seeking dryness is the shadows of an alley, I unleashed my pent-up emotions, throwing my clutch to the ground and succumbing to a fit of rage. My screams echoed off the walls, swallowed by the downpour that drowned out all other sounds.
My back slid against the cold, wet brick as I sat on the ground. My tears mingled with raindrops as I replayed the scene inside the club. The image of him grinding on another woman burned in my mind.
"Get up." The commanding voice shattered all my thoughts.
"Excuse me?" I shot back, thrown back at the audacity.
"You heard me. Get up," Roman repeated.
"No," I growled back, crossing my arms in stubborn defiance, only to feel strong hands seize my jacket collar, hoisting me up effortlessly.
"Let me go!" I thrashed against his hold, landing a slap to his face.
My attempted slap didn't even move him. Was he some sort of superhuman?
"I dare you to slap me again," he challenged, his brown eyes boring into mine with an intensity that scared me and.. turned me on?
Resisting the urge to lash out again, I swallowed my pride, allowing him to release me to the ground.
As he closed the distance between us, gripping my ponytail and tilting my head back, my body gave in immediately. His tongue traced a path from my neck to my ear, sending my heart beat right into my panties.
"Now be a good girl and come back into the club with me," he whispered, his breath warming my body up from the cold.
"No," I resisted, though my resolve wavered under the weight of his gaze.
"I guess 'no' seems to be your favorite word today, huh baby?" he quipped, his fingers undoing my jacket zipper before I could protest.
"Roman, get off of me," I protested weakly, my anger subsiding despite me still attempting to fight back.
But even as I fought against him, a part of me couldn't deny the thrill of his touch, the way his lips had me in a chokehold.
He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, but he didn't bother with finesse, tearing the fabric apart with a roughness. His eyes darkened with desire as he noticed I wore no bra beneath. With a shrug, I let the remnants of the shirt fall to the ground, baring myself to him.
I reached around him, releasing his beautiful locks from their confine. His curls tumbled down his back, soaking up the raindrops that threatened to fall down any further.
He attacked my lips with an intensity that caught me off guard. I hadn't intended to respond, but I found myself kissing him back eagerly. Gripping his hair tightly, I pulled hard, wanting him to feel the sting of my anger. He groaned against my lips and sanded his teeth into my bottom lip with force, leaving a bruise in its wake.
"That hurt, you idiot!" I hissed, my frustration boiling over.
He chuckled, "You get what you give, sweetheart.." he retorted, callously discarding my leather jacket onto the cold, wet concrete.
"You're such an asshole," I muttered half-heartedly.
Capturing my nipple between his thumb and index finger, he rolled and pinched it mercilessly. "I enjoy being an asshole," he confessed, before dipping his head down and taking my nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing it with a hint of aggression.
I tugged on his earlobe, a silent plea for gentleness, but he seemed intent on testing my limits. His lips trailed back up my neck, inhaling what was left of my baccarat rouge 540 perfume. He moaned at the scent, it was his favorite.
Lowering the zipper on my jeaned shorts, he smirked at the revelation that I wore no panties. "Fuck, you know just how to turn me on," he murmured against my lips.
Without hesitation, he plunged three fingers inside me. Gripping my jaw firmly, he tilted my head back, locking eyes with me as he relentlessly thrust his fingers in and out, the feeling of him massaging my walls had me at a loss of words.
"Fuck the club, we're heading home," he declared, withdrawing his fingers before plunging them back in forcefully, eliciting moans of approval from my lips.
His kiss was tender, a stark contrast to the roughness of his touch. "I know I fucked up tonight, but I'll make it up to you. I promise," he whispered, his fingers curling inside me, hitting just the right spot.
I cursed loudly, clutching his wet hair as a euphoric wave crashed over me, my body trembling against the cold brick wall.
As I regained my senses, he steadied me with his arm, his fingers lingering in his mouth as he savored the taste of me. His tongue danced between his fingers, and he slurped the lingering juices that threatened to drip down to his palm. A whimper couldn't help but escape my lips at the sight.
He handed me his damp shirt and my jacket, leaving him in a damp undershirt that clung to his glistening muscles.
"Here, put this on for now until we get home,"
Taking his soaked shirt, I pulled it on, my eyes tracing the contours of his body hungrily.
Oh, we're definitely going to finish this when we get home..
------------------------
I was not planning on posting today LOL but here ya go :)
Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @mzv11 @wrestlingprincess80 @saintmagx
#roman reigns#roman reigns fanfiction#wwefanfic#roman reigns smut#romanreignsimagine#romanreignsoneshot#roman reigns x black reader#roman reigns x reader#fanfiction
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Yandere S.T.A.R.S Team (Resident Evil) platonic headcanons
Note- I am back (It's been years), this has been in my drafts so I said fuck it/this is so messy and the timeline/canon may not be accurate but enjoy! This is mainly platonic, but w/some characters it could be interpreted romantically
Characters; Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, Barry Burton, Joseph Forest, Brad Vickers, Forest Speyer, Richard Aiken, Enrico Marini, Kenneth Sullivan, Edward Dewey
The first person you perhaps meet is Albert; he is the leader of the S.T.A.R.S Team. Not only do all the recruiters get approved by him, but he also overlooks all your tests. He greets you like any other, but gradually something takes a hold of him. He's in denial at first, even seeming harsh. You may initially believe he didn't like you; oblivious to the countless files and cameras hidden everywhere.
Having the rest of the team be just as enamored was not on the table. You are immediately welcomed by the team and Rebecca is the first to befriend you since you two are the youngest of the team. Like how Richard was tasked with watching over Rebecca, he’s tasked with the same responsibility over you (even if Wesker preferred to do it himself).
Chris can't help but grow quickly fond of you. He positions himself in the role of your protector; feeling the utmost responsibility for your happiness and safety. So if you have any problems - whether it's with Chief Irons or getting in trouble for say, breaking a rule; trust he'll be quick to intervene and 'save' the day.
You're all Chris ever talks about to Claire and before long, the two of you cross paths. Claire, like her brother assumes herself in the role of being your friend right away. She occasionally pays you visits and you can be sure that you will receive calls from times when she's unable to visit. Claire expects Chris to keep her informed of you at all times.
Barry, Enrico, and Kenneth all take fatherly roles; they look at you and already placed adopted papers on the table ready for you to sign. It makes it all the harder for Wesker to have any absolute control as they all put their foot down.
Barry adores you and it’s not taken lightly when it’s said he treats you as his child, probably cause he views you as actually one of his own. He invites you to a family dinner, introducing you to his family who all naturally take a liking to you. Barry insists on his house always being open if you need a place to stay or run into trouble.
Since Barry sees you as his own, there is a never-end to his dad jokes. Even when you comment on how terrible it is, he likes seeing the smile on your face. Trust you'll be invited to every birthday, barbecue, or any family Burton event.
Enrico while he adopted a fatherly role, he was a bit reluctant to get so attached to you. He’s the few in the team who's fully aware and doesn't hesitate to call out the others when he thinks they are going too far. He worries a lot about your safety, and most times it's Enrico who comes out on top of arguments on who gets to drive you home.
Kenneth as the oldest of the team, feels the most responsible for you. He is aware just like Enrico and doesn't wish for you to be scared of him or the team. He wants you to come to him whenever you need anything, even for small tasks such as finding a specific file. Like Enrico, Kenneth has no problem telling the others to back off if you need space.
More trouble comes along when Forest and Joseph come along. They develop their tendencies the quickest and tend to be the most clingy out of the team. They (along with Chris) become your partners in crime.
Joseph is someone you can always count on to make you smile even in the most serious of situations; he doesn’t care when others lecture him for it. You're not safe from his teasing. Granted you're not the target of his pranks but he likes to poke fun at you from time to time. It's why no alarms are ringing in your head when he says something questionable, assuming he’s just being Joseph.
You're not safe from Forest's playful teasings either. He can be a little annoying, poking your cheek or trying to tickle you when wanting your attention. Like Joseph, he's very affectionate, putting his arm around your shoulder and resting his head on your lap if you allow it. The others lecture him for doing it so publicly but Joseph knows it's jealousy talking more than anything.
As said, a squad of its own is formed; Chris, Joseph, Forest, and you. While they tend to be jealous, the three are okay with sharing when it comes to each other. Forest and Chris enjoy competing in shoot training and showing off who can do it better, inviting you to place bets. They're happy to show you all the gun's tricks and let you choose your weapon's signature.
Joseph, being a mechanic, can't always spend as much time with you. But he'll eagerly drag you into teaching you the ropes, whisking you away from the other two. He beams with pride when you grasp something from his impromptu lessons. Even if he's not exactly teaching you anything, he's happy to chat about anything as he works.
Jill becomes someone you’re close to, someone whom Chris and Barry trust to leave you alone with. She’s not afraid to whisk you away from the others when she wants to and won’t hesitate to call out anyone selfishly taking your time (Uhm Joseph).
Most of all, Jill loves having girl time with you. She's there for any fashion advice, gladly taking you shopping to revamp your wardrobe. If you're unsure how to do your makeup, she's eager to help, though Jill never wants to teach you so you can keep coming to her.
Jill is also willing to use any excuse to have you stay over at her place anytime even suggesting sharing an apartment to ‘save money”. And if you think Wesker’s the only one with a bunch of files, Jill has a hidden drawer filled with everything she has on you.
Brad becomes incredibly attached but is a bit shy about approaching you. He'll do little things to make your day better, like bringing your favorite coffee (watching you do it too many times) or organizing your desk just the way you like it.
Brad tries to agree with everything you do, supporting any ideas you bring forth in, team meetings and hesitates to snitch on you, always trying to talk to you first to prevent trouble (aka punishments). Similar to Kenneth, he's aware of his tendencies and doesn't want you to fear him.
Richard is the softest guy on the team as said, was tasked with watching over you and quickly grew fond of you, He has made it well known that if you ever need help you can seek him out even when you get in trouble, he’ll gladly keep it hidden from the others to avoid you being in trouble even taking the brunt of it.
If you find yourself spending time with Richard, trust that Rebecca is there, too, being the sweetest in the group as well. Initially, she might not fully grasp her tendencies, but once she does, her sole concern is your safety and happiness. She frowns upon hearing Jill and Chris discussing ways to keep you confined and is the one who tries to reassure the others not to be too 'harsh' on you.
Edward may appear intimidating, but he's actually a softie at heart. While he might not warm up to you as quickly as Forest and Joseph did, given some time, he grows fond of you and eventually places him as your trusted friend. He's aware that his demeanor can be intimidating and desires nothing more than for you to feel comfortable opening up to him, always offering a smile whenever he sees you around the RPD.
----------------------------------------------
Chief Irons has learned that you're the one person he can't even dare to go near. You might be a troublemaker, breaking every rule in the book, but Albert will put his foot down to ensure nothing comes of it. It's enough that the rest of the team has a dislike towards Irons, and he, along with everyone in the RPD, knows that crossing you means crossing the Stars team.
Wesker also keeps the extent of his monitoring and knowledge of you a closely guarded secret. He's aware that Kenneth, Enrico, Richie, Edward, and Barry all vocally dislike the idea of 'stalking' you in such ways (they all do but try to keep it as ‘morally right’). In his grand plan, he hopes to lure you away, but he must do it in a way that won't raise suspicion.
You have the most protective people watching over you. Even a simple accident like someone spilling a cup on you puts everyone on high alert.
Your favoritism doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the RPD, sparking rumors around the station that Edward and Barry quickly shut down whenever they hear someone bad-mouthing you.
Chris and Forest, on the other hand, can be incredibly impulsive, leading to all sorts of issues that Wesker and Enrico have to deal with. Jill and Joseph even got in trouble once for punching someone.
That means going on no dangerous missions; the one thing they all agree on. Wesker ensures that all your missions are carefully managed, eliminating any risks of you being in danger, and he pretends not to know what you mean if you ask. The other members are willing to gaslight you, suggesting that you just happen to get the easy ones, even Rebecca and Brad.
They're all eager to fight each other to train you, each claiming they're better at teaching you self-defense. Chris and Forest are the ones who usually end up teaching you since they're often the first ones to arrive.
But everyone knows that if Wesker insists on training you, they can't object. And it's probably for the best, as some (Uhm Richard, and Edward) will pretend to lose or go easy on you because they don't want to "hurt" you.
The team normally doesn’t go out, but they all want to spend time with you. Usually, all of you go to diners (except for Wesker, wonder why). There's a little argument over who should order you to prove who knows you the best.
Your seat is chosen to please everyone, sometimes between Jill and Chris, other times between Richard and Rebecca. Another silent argument happens when they debate on who should pay for you; Enrico succeeds by slipping the payment to the waiter when the others aren’t looking.
Everyone always makes sure you come home safe. You expect numerous calls from everyone checking up on you. They all secretly know you're fine, as they're in cahoots with each other, but they just want to hear your voice.
There's also a chance that if Richard, Forest, or Jill are the ones bringing you home, they'll make some excuse about needing to stay overnight because they're tired or the weather is bad.
If you need someone to drive you to the station or pick you up, perhaps because you can’t drive, they're all willing to fight each other once again to do so. They've left important meetings or appointments countless times just to rush to your aid. It's almost always Wesker, Richard, Enrico (and sometimes Chris) who beat the others in picking you up.
Once again, you're always taken to events that the teammates have. Brad is getting takeout, he's on his way to pick you up since he assumes you're also hungry. Forest wants to go out for a drink, prepare for him to be at your door, and when you attend together, he’s protecting your drink with his life and will even pretend to be your boyfriend. Barry has a baseball game he wants to attend, so why not come with him and his family.
Jill needs to pick up a new outfit or something in the way, she decides to take you as well. Rebecca comes along, and sometimes the three of you have spa days in the process. Rebecca also loves going on road trips with you; there needs to be a person or two with you to ensure nothing bad happens. Rebecca once brought you to her favorite team's basketball game and the two of you shared those nachos and fries. It was Rebecca's happiest memory.
Movie nights are a must. Brad and Edward agree with anything you wish to watch, while Jill and Joseph are fighting over which ones to watch. Chris and Forest are trying to get your attention more than actually watching a movie. Meanwhile, Rebecca is actually enjoying the movie and wants to talk to you about it later on. She and Richard ensure you have your popcorn, and Richard brings your favorite bakery treats.
Expect to be always praised when you're around the team. Wesker himself praises you for a job well done whenever you find a clue or bring him the right file. Richard, Edward, and Rebecca are the most vocal. Also expect Chris and Barry to give you a pat on the back, while Forest and Joseph jokingly pat your head.
Wesker has you as his right-hand assistant, even when it’s not officially confirmed as such. You're tasked to help and stay by him whenever he needs assistance. He pretends not to see everyone side-eyeing him when he places your desk right next to his, but then again, they all ignore his stare when they come to your desk for whatever excuse they need.
The best people to comfort you are Barry, Enrico, Kenneth, and Richard. These men hate seeing you in tears. Brad will try to make you laugh while hugging you, while also finding the right words to comfort you. You can lie to Enrico, and he'll still know; he's memorized your body language, pulling you into an immediate hug before the tears even come.
Kenneth's ability to comfort shines in giving the best advice and solving any issues you have. Richard will sit next to you and listen; it could be the middle of the night, and he'll gladly answer any call or stay up to do any activities that will cheer you up.
Something everyone has huge arguments about is punishments; it gets heated at times. These discussions are, of course, not done in your presence.
Wesker is open to punishments, Chris and Jill agree with precautions, and Barry may reluctantly agree but claim he wants nothing to do with it. Brad and Rebecca voice their disagreement but can’t really intervene. Edward and Richie, like Barry, say they want nothing to do with it. Forest and Joseph don’t like it but will let the others make the decisions. Enrico and Kenneth are the most vocal against such decisions.
-------------------------------------------
Everything is going well in the team until the mansion incident.
You had to be with the Alpha team, unaware of the fate that fell upon the Bravo team, as there was no way Wesker would have let you out of his sight.
You had to witness Joseph get mauled by the zombie dogs, and if it weren’t for Wesker shooting the one coming at you and Chris pulling you along, you may have been a victim of it. Getting into the mansion has them immediately checking for injuries, only to realize you are just shaken up.
If you try to suggest coming along with Chris to check on what’s happening, Wesker immediately disapproves, even pulling rank to have you stay by him, and Jill agrees. Chris assures you he'll be just fine.
Things happen and it may lead you to be separated from Wesker and Jill. It makes all of them panic and look for you. Chris is nervous but assumes you must be with either Wesker or Jill. Jill and Wesker are trying to remain calm as they search. There is a chance you will meet Rebecca, who informs you of Edward's death, and this leads to you reuniting with Chris.
Alternatively, you may come across Barry, who refuses to leave your side, leading you to reunite with Jill. Both scenarios will have you meeting Richard, who immediately embraces you upon seeing you safe. You may also encounter Enrico, who seems hesitant to inform you of who he believes is responsible for the situation.
Forbid you get injured at any moment in the mansion, everyone will be in panic. Barry will try to reassure you, holding your wound while Jill rushes to get any herbs. Or Rebecca will try to tend to you while Chris silently panics in the background, refusing to leave your side. Richard will insist you stay in a room for your safety while he tries to find Rebecca or first aid. Enrico tries to remain calm, bringing you along with him as he rids the area of any zombies, fearing the risk of leaving you alone.
Soon enough, you will find out about Wesker's involvement, and his first act is to keep you as a hostage, even knocking you out. He’s merely bluffing but needs to keep the others away. If he encounters Enrico, he is well aware the man knows he’s a traitor and will kill him in front of you. After all, you will know the truth either way.
It all ends with Wesker believed to be 'dead,' killed by the tyrant, and the mansion about to blow up. You and everyone mourn all those who you have lost, and you are surrounded by the remaining survivors as they try to comfort you and tend to any injuries you may have gained.
You are too lost in your grief and all you have experienced that you don’t realize the eyes all watching you, as they all make a silent vow to themselves to forever keep you safe. And most of all, you don’t know that Wesker has been reborn, getting out of the mansion as he plots his revenge.
@aphroditelovesu @yanderes-galore @gwynsly @tiddlybops
#resident evil x reader#yandere resident evil#albert wesker x reader#chris redfield x reader#jill valentine x reader#rebecca chambers x reader#yandere x reader#x reader insert#platonic yandere#yandere headcanons#reader insert#video game x reader#resident evil#stars team
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I can offer you an idea of yandere alastor.. What would it be like if alastor as a child knew the reader... Like I imagine alastor as a child not knowing how to act properly like a human, and the reader as a good best friend helping him seems more human (and not because the child reader is scared of him) ... Actually, what would happen?
FROM THE START
[wait a sec! you should probably read the other chapters as well]
— teaching your new best friend, alastor, to be a human. slowly, but surely.
the first day of kindergarten. it was a little scary, but seeing all the kids who felt the exact same— it made you feel a bit better. none of the kids stood out though. except for one little boy, one who was hiding behind his mother’s dress, begging her to not leave him.
“momma, don’t leave me here” he frowned.his mother laughed before she pushed him towards the door. “come now, alastor. you’ll make some friends, trust me dear.” to this, you took it as an opportunity to make a new friend. you walked up to the little boy, waving excitedly. “hi!! what’s your name?” you asked. his mother pushed him towards you, encouraging him to talk. “ehh… my name is alastor.” he said quietly. “cool, i’m s/o! come with me, i wanna play house!” you pulled him inside by the hand, near a table with many children’s toys.
“you can be the papa, and i’ll be the mama, okay?” you looked at him as he nodded. “okay! go far away like you’re coming home from work!” you said, placing him where you wanted. he nodded, getting into his little role, before walking near your little set. “honey, i’m home!” he called out to you in his squeaky voice. you grinned to him. “welcome home, dear! dinner is ready, we’re having tea and cookies.” you pulled a seat for him, before he shook his head.
“don’t do that. my momma says that men should pull the seats for their wives.” he pushed the seat back before pulling it out for you, and offering it to you. you giggled, seating happily and taking one empty teacup. “soo, how was work?” you asked. as he sat down, he thought for a moment. “work was alright. my boss was a big jerk though.” he said. “aww, but you can handle it right, dear?” you asked, taking a sip from your empty cup. he blushed a bit at your words as he nodded. “i can!”
as he spoke, you got up and grabbed all the trinkets on the table. “okay! dinner is done! i’ll go wash the dishes, and you take care of the baby!” you said, making a mess with the plastic toys. he looked nervous looking around. “baby? what baby?” you looked around, spotting something. “ooh! use the blankie, that can be our baby!” he nodded, grabbing the blanket, and bunching it up to mimic a baby.
“okay, i’m done!” you declared, walking back to alastor. “our little baby’s soo cute” you smiled. “um… yes, really cute…” he nodded. “what’s it’s name..?” he asked. “i like the name ellyce! but, it kinda doesn’t fit… what about emilia?” you asked to which he nodded. “um, yeah. it’s a really pretty name.” he smiled.
“hey, um… would you want to be my friend..?” he asked quite anxiously. “yeah! you can be my best friend!” you said, hugging him. and from your hug, came a wide smile from him. “haha, alright..!” he nodded in agreement, the tension in his shoulders falling.
“it was really nice to meet you, alastor!” you grinned. and, though it felt good at first— it was your last chance for a way out of this hell.
#filler chapter 😔#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor x reader#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hasbin alastor#alastor hazbin x reader#alastor hc#alastor headcanons#human alastor#alastor the radio demon
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Surprise, Surprise
a/n: I had this mostly written in my drafts before Bi!Buck actually became canon and wanted to finish it, so enjoy <3 (18+ ONLY)
Warnings: pregnant reader, fluff (whoa! Cali writes fluff? Don’t get used to it 😉)
“Is y/n feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“Because she looks - Well she looks a little-“
“Hot.” Maddie said.
“Yeah that,” Chim agreed while pointing to Maddie.
“Hot?” Buck asked furrowing his brow.
“As in sexy. Foxy. Hot!” Maddie said very bluntly that even had her husband looking at her. Athena and Hen scurried to the three at the kitchen island to join in,
“You guys talking about Y/n?” Hen asked.
“I don’t mean to be suggestive as I am a woman of class, but whatever you’re doing Buck, keep doing it,” Athena nodded as she raised her glass to the gals.
“It’s not that she wasn’t THAT before now, but we haven’t seen her in a while and she looks and even feels different. I can feel her vibe from here,” Hen said as she playfully grasped at the air in your direction.
“Uh, heh, yeah. I guess things are a little different,” Buck said while looking back at you sweetly,
“Uh, I mean, things are good! Great even! That’s why you guys are here. We wanted to see everyone in one room for once,” Buck smiled, “so glad you’re all here.” Buck sipped on his beer before his foot got stuck any further down his throat.
The get together was in full swing when you went and grabbed the extra bag of ice from the freezer. Buck saw you out of the corner of his eye and practically flew out of his pants rushing over to you. Eddie saw the interaction from across the room and squinted his eyebrows in his chismoso ways. He migrated to the group by the counter with a full on detective look on his face,
“Y’all saw that, right?”
“You mean the way Buck Scooby-Doo’ed his way out of his seat to help a grown woman carry 10 pounds of ice? Yeah.” Hen confirmed. All heads turned to Eddie waiting for an explanation.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“You’re his best friend,” Maddie said matter of factly.
“You’re his sister,” Eddie mocked back.
“I mean it would explain the changes we all see,” Hen shrugged her shoulders.
“The glowing skin, thicker hair, filled out in the appropriate places…” Athena drifted off.
“The cravings, the mood swings, the crying…” Chimney chimed in. Now all heads swifted his way,
“I saw her last Thursday-
“Chimney!”
“Dude!”
“What!? I wasn’t paying attention to anything except the safety and well being of my Jiyung. But it does make a little more sense now…”
They stared on as Buck kissed you on your forehead and took the ice to the cooler. Bobby rounded the corner in the backyard and made his way over to you, giving you the biggest hug. The group realizes he’s pointing to Buck a lot and using grand gestures,
“Think he knows something?” Hen asked Athena who just looked on. Bobby went to head inside when he spotted the gathering at the counter and immediately stopped in his tracks to turn the other way.
“He knows!” Eddie said has he raced around the counter, beating Bobby to bathroom,
“Hey Cap! What’s up?”
“What’s up, Eddie?”
“Nothin. Just hangin out, you know,” he said with a big smile and deep eye contact trying to read his Captain.
Feeling awkward,
“Alright well, I’m gonna..” Bobby said as he motioned to the bathroom.
“Yeah, man! For sure! We’ll be right out here!” Eddie walked back to the island.
“He’s not coming out,” Chimney said, “Do you think that’s why everyone’s here? So they can tell us all?”
“I guess we’ll find out, but we can’t in good conscience harass Bobby into telling us,” Athena said as she was the first to walk off.
The party went on for another hour or so when Buck called the attention of everyone,
“Y/N and I would first like to start off by thanking you all for being here. It means a lot to us that we can see the people we love and care about all together and creating memories. That’s why today is so special. Uh, it has come to my attention that some of you may be guessing…” he said as he turned his attention to his family and they turned to Bobby who kept his eyes wide and trained forward,
“My wife and I have created our true dream life and forever team. We’ve been through so much together and have been privileged to have had all of you by our side along the way. Which is why we are-words can’t even describe this feeling, but we are beyond blessed to announce that we are expecting our first child-”
The party erupted in cheer and Bobby let out a sigh of relief before joining in on the applause. Buck never got to finish his speech before parents were coming up to you both and giving hugs.
“You knew?” Athena asked Bobby.
“For 3 weeks now. He said he needed to tell someone but knew it was too early to tell everyone.”
“Ohh, so in the end you just respecting Buck’s wishes?” She delivered with a playful side eye.
“Exactly,” he said leaning down to kiss her forehead and pull her in.
#evan buckley x black!reader#evan buckley imagine#evan buckley#buck 911#eddie 911#911 on abc#evan buckley x reader#evan buckley fluff#911 imagine#eddie diaz 911#eddie diaz#gay firefighter show#bi!buck
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i also think for mob nico, you should make a little something something on how they met! it would be so cute if you could like show how reader was introduced into his lifestyle and to the boys!♥️♥️
Sorry this took me so long! This is more of just their meet cute rather than meeting the boys but she does also meet Timo here so I hope you love it!
Thanks for requesting!
____________________________________________
Nico and the boys (the singles ones at least) spend a lot of time at The Rock. Free drinks, good music, a private section, and endless amounts of girls.
The Rock’s popularity with women took off after Nico rebranded the bar and made it into a place that feels more secure. His security is amazing, they notice everything and aren’t afraid to kick out any trouble.
That and majority of the men that take up space here are his boys, and he’s taught them all about reputation. Just because they’re Devils, doesn’t mean they can be assholes.
So yeah he comes here at the end of almost every day. He gets to bond with his men and drink, and if he’s lucky get a girl to go home with him. Well, more likely go out back to his car with him.
Nico and Timo were eyeing one of the regular groups that come in when he saw you. At first he was concerned because you were huddled in a tight circle with the other girls, everyone whispering and looking around the bar. He thought maybe you were hiding from someone and he was two seconds from climbing out of the booth to go check it out.
But then you, with your back to him, stood up straighter and hiked your black skirt up just a smidgen more. Someone fixed your hair, you flipped it over your shoulder and he watched in awe as you in your knee high boots sauntered away from the group and up to a table of men.
Almost instantly they all melted. It was like magic the way you just had to smile at them, twirl your hair a bit and laugh. One of them ordered you a drink, you laughed and thanked them with a hand on their bicep. The moment they got distracted though, you were slithering off back to your group of friends.
Baffled, he watched you hand the drink to a friend. Then do it all over again. Four more times you got different drinks from these guys, each time reporting back to your friend group to hand the drink over. Nico was in awe of you, how you moved, how you smiled, how you touched their chests or arms.
A little drunk, he waved security over to the booth. “That one,” he said, pointing to you. “Get her a drink on me.”
Unsure what you drank, he just requested something expensive and sent the man on his way. Sipping his beer, Nico admired you some more. He’d never seen you here even though you look so comfortable commanding the place. He wonders if you’d try and pull that move on him, if it’d work. A part of him thinks it would and he grows hot at the idea of it.
You’re handed the drink, confused but smiling when security points towards Nico’s table. Smirking, he winks at you when you meet his gaze and raises his own drink to you. You bite your glossy lip, cheer-sing him across the room before turning back to your friends.
Wait, what?
He’d given you a chance, an opening to approach him. That was your invite to saunter up those couple steps and slip into his lap for the night.
Not that you seemed to care. He even beat you at your own game. The most expensive drink on the menu just for being that pretty, for having that much of a hold over everyone in here. He liked it, and he wanted you to know he had even more.
“Harsh,” Timo tells him, laughing. “Maybe next time you should get her the drink yourself. She seems to like that.”
Nico scoffs, chugging down the rest of his drink. He orders another one, drinks it a little slower to give himself time to calm down. Then he’s leaving the booth, parting the crowd without even saying a word. You look up at him when the path to you opens, a coy smile on your lips. He stands over you, head cocked to the side.
“Thought I’d get a better thanks for that.” He greets and you look him up and down, eyes lingering on the chain around his neck.
“Thanks?” You laugh, turning your shoulder to your friends so you could talk to him. “The thank you was me drinking whatever the hell this is.”
His eyebrows pinch together in offense. “That’s a good drink!”
You take a sip, nose scrunching. “Not a tequila girl, thanks though.”
Not deterred, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you. “I liked your little game, thought I’d help you out.”
Your smile grows almost wicked at that and you giggle a devilish little sound that has his knees wobbling. “You just gave me my ace in the hole, actually.”
Fuck, he really can’t this right, can he? “Oh yeah?”
You drink so more, pursing those pretty lips in distaste. “Yeah, the whole point is to make guys uncomfortable. No one likes when a girl has enough confidence to walk up and demand a drink, and they hate it even more when they realize it wasn’t even for me.”
And he’s lost again. He beat you at your game, he took that confidence and turned it around by sending you a drink. Why doesn’t he feel like he’s won?
“Well you didn’t demand that one.” He argues.
Tucking your hair behind your ear, you step closer to him and tilt your chin to peer up at him. “No, but for the first time I made you leave that booth to come talk to me, didn’t I?”
It takes him a moment to realize you’re right. He’s too busy thinking about beautiful you are, how he wants to feel the curve of your lips on his and run his fingers through your hair.
But you are right. He’s good at getting girls to sneak up into his booth and beg him to leave together. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever come down here to interact with someone he’s interested in before.
When he looks over his shoulder, he realizes they’ve all noticed it too. The whole group of men are watching him with wide eyes and wild hand gestures.
“So that’s the game?” He finally asks, “letting us know you’re better than us?”
Humming, you hand him the rest of the drink. “Not better per se,” he leans down to be closer to you, to feel the heat of your breath on his jaw. “But you look like a man who loves a good power trip. And I do that better than you.”
Something burns in his chest, makes his neck and ears go hot. He knows he can change your mind about that, no he will change your mind about that. You’re in his fucking bar for god’s sake.
“A power trip is all fun and games baby,” he leans in close to you, nose brushing against your temple. “But it’s not just a trip for me. So when you’re done with your game, come find me.”
You raise an eyebrow, not surprised with his offer but definitely interested. Licking his lips, he smiles. “You can call me Nico,” he introduces, throwing back the rest of the drink. “I own the bar.”
Head tilting at that, you just give him another once over and a nod, then turn back to your friends. Nico can be patient, he can sit here until closing and not look at you until you’re begging at the bottom of those stairs with his name on your tongue.
The only issue is, after he’s returned to his table and sipped on beer for two more hours, you’re still not at the steps. When it starts to empty out, girls trailing home with random men, he’s left in that stupid booth looking for that pretty smile of yours.
And he comes up empty handed.
~~~~
A week later, Timo is the one to find you. This time they’re standing on the second floor by the railing, looking down at the crowd.
“There she is,” Timo giggles gleefully, shoving his hand out to point at an even larger group of girls than last time. Smack dab in the middle of them all is you and that radiant smile.
God if Nico had a smile like that he’d run the fucking world.
“M’not getting her a drink tonight.” He grumbles, but he watches you anyway. You don’t seem to be playing your game tonight though, instead just hanging out and chatting.
Timo leaves to go mingle and Nico slinks into a corner where he can hide and watch you. He’s been thinking about you all week, about how he still never won that night and it pissed him off.
He’s sulking and pouting, glaring at you as you pose in front of a digital camera with some of the girls for a picture. Flash after flash of photos that would probably be cute if he actually liked you.
But he doesn’t, you’re mean and you don’t play fair.
The flash goes off again, and to his utter horror he spots the large man behind you that’s jumped into the photo. Unfazed, you lean into the large arm Timo throws around your shoulder, two idiots grinning at the camera.
And then you’re turning around, laughing alongside his best friend as you shake hands and chat. That pisses him off even more. Of course Timo would get you, of course it’d be him that you actually find charming.
His friend whispers something in your ear, and then you’re taking him by the hand and pushing through the crowd to the bar.
You’ve talked Timo into buying you a drink. Nico rolls his eyes, huffing and puffing as he drinks his beer and you order two drinks from the bartender.
Nico doesn’t talk to you that night, he doesn’t want to. Not after you let his friend buy you drinks and then look up at him, almost like you knew exactly where he was, and bat those long eyelashes him. The wink you send him is taunting, especially with your lips wrapped around a straw and your hand in Timo’s.
He scoffs, turning his back to you and heading for the offices in the back. This game of yours is getting exhausting, especially after the night ends and he’s notified that Timo didn’t buy you drinks.
You put them under his fucking name.
~~~~
Nico puts an end to the game two nights later. You’re back, this time by yourself when you walk in. Not that it lasts long. Timo finds you instantly, shoving his way off the dance floor to the entrance and engulfing you in a hug.
He must’ve exchanged numbers with you last time.
Irritated, Nico waits to see if you slink up to the bar and put the drinks on his name again. But you don’t. Instead you link arms with Timo and head straight towards him.
Sitting up straighter, Nico nervously smacks on the mint gum he’s chewing. Your eyes find his, sweet and innocent in the dim lighting as you smile at him.
Brooding, Nico glares at you as you slide in across from him. Timo doesn’t bother staying, just flicks the brim of Nico’s backwards hat and winks. “Play nice you two!” He sings before retreating back to the dance floor.
You bite your lip, gaze unwavering under his own and you reach across the table for his beer. Nico lets you take a sip, subconsciously licking his lips when you’re lip gloss sticks the neck of the bottle.
Your nose scrunches again and you slide the drink back to him. The silence persists, Nico stewing as you grin at him. How the fuck is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t like you when you look at him like that.
“Think it’s my turn to get a round, huh?” You tease and he scowls.
“Yeah, why don’t you go buy my friend another drink under my name?” He says coolly.
Something in your gaze softens, the humor bleeding out. Your foot nudges his under the table. “Thank you, Nico.” You murmur, genuine and sweet. He can’t help it, he deflates back into the booth.
“You could’ve at least said hi.”
You lean in closer, resting your elbows on the table and he does the same. “With the way you were hiding I didn’t think you wanted me to say hi.”
“Gave you my name didn’t I? Not many people get that privilege.”
A coy smile curls your lips. “Why?” You giggle, “because they’ll use it to steal drinks?”
That makes him grin, chuckling just once. “Something like that.”
“You seemed annoyed when Timo came to me,” you explain “more annoyed than when I said your drinks are bad. Figured I’d let you be.”
Nico just nods, smacks his gum and then takes a drink of his beer. He can taste the sweetness of your lipgloss. “You hear for Timo, then?”
Your eyebrows furrow in thought. “Nah, he’s not really my type.”
Nico hums, not believing you for a second. Timo’s welcoming nature and extroverted personality always draws girls in. He’s everyone’s type.
“I’m more into brunettes with pretty eyes.” You add, “Especially grumpy ones.”
His chest warms again, heartbeat buzzing behind his ribcage. He drinks some more, hopes the cold beer will cool him down. It doesn’t.
“You gonna tell me your name?” He asks, offering you the bottle. You shake your head, declining the drink.
“You gonna dance with me if I do?”
Sighing, he looks over the packed dance floor and frowns in disgust. “Not much of a dancer.”
Surprisingly, your smile grows and you lean over the table even more. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” You giggle, eyes shining. “I don’t dance either.”
“That another game of yours?”
You shake your head. “No, it was a test of character and you passed.”
Flattered, Nico slips his hand across the table and takes ahold of yours. “Come on baby, let’s get a drink.”
You stop him when he moves to get up, squeezing his fingers. “Y/n,” you introduce, a blush rising to your cheeks. “But you can call me baby.”
Nico says your name in his head, murmurs it back to you so he can feel it on his tongue. Then he decides he’s gonna give it to the bartender and security. He has a feeling you’ll be coming around more often.
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