#oh no Elle is dead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seattlesellie · 10 months

Text

soccer!ellie x cheerleader!reader headcannons (sfw+nsfw) ⚽️💗 18+

this has been on my mind a lot.

ᥫ᭡ first of all, lets make it clear. ellie is a forward, and an attacking midfielder. when it comes to playing, ellie's a game maker. she's calculated, and knows exactly what she's doing. often times, you could catch her pacing around the midfield in what may seem like an aimless strut, but if you really look at her, you would notice those brain gears turning, she's thinking ahead. it's as if she gets inside her opponents brains and studies them. she knows exactly what their next move will be, and when the balls in-between her legs, her kicks are precise and calculated. while everybody else is chasing the ball, ellie already knows how to score the next goal, and a minute later? she does. oh— and it's her third one in the game already.

ᥫ᭡ when ellie scores, she can get a little cocky, but it took her some time and practice to get this comfortable. when she scored the first goal on her very first college game, she stood frozen in front of the goalie. her eyes narrowed in confusion, “did i…?”— and in a matter of exactly five seconds, her teammates were all over her. dragging her across the field, picking her up and cheering her on. ellie was so exultant and excited she swore she stopped breathing for a moment.

ᥫ᭡ now? when ellie scores... yeah, she knows exactly what she's worth. she points her finger to her ear, signals at the audience; "let me hear you", and nods her head when the chanting gets louder. when they shout; "williams! williams! williams!" her ego inflates in her chest, and she almost feels like a god— albeit, she's not annoying about it. it's just fun when people scream her name, you know?

ᥫ᭡ sometimes, ellie spots a cutie in the audience and hands her her sweat drenched tee with a shy smile. speaking of tee? her kit is a black shirt with blue stripes, and a royal blue, golden crown symbol. her nike socks are pulled up to her ankles, and when she jacks up her shirt to wipe some sweat off her sheeny forehead, she reveals her mouth watering abs, and a firm v line right on her lower abdomen. no wonder girls swoon over her, and no wonder she likes it.

ᥫ᭡ when ellie saw you in the audience, the last thing on her mind was handing you her tee. honestly, what she wanted to do was hide under a bench and bite the ball between her teeth. you made her too nervous, what could she say? you weren't just a cutie in the audience, you were drop dead gorgeous, you wore that cheerleading outfit and you cheered for her— well, for her team, and for some reason she couldn't quite recognize, you paid her no mind. you were the only one who didn't flash her flirty, playful smiles after the won a big game, and you were the only one who made her heart feel like it was dropping right to her pants.

ᥫ᭡ after scoring three goals, she finally spotted you. you had your pom pom's in your hands, and you were talking to two of your friends. after you noticed she was looking, practically staring, you raised her a small, shy smile, and her breath quickened. right when she waved at you, you turned around. then— she pretended to wave at someone else. that, led her blush to creep down to her chest. she fumbled the ball twice, almost tripped on her shoelaces and received one yellow card, that turned into two yellow cards— when she decided that arguing with the referee wouldn't be a stupid decision.

ᥫ᭡ ellie has access to her teams instagram account, so she stalks you from there. obviously, she doesn't follow you on her personal account because at the end of the day she's a terrified loser, hence why she's right here, at 9pm, on her best friends bed, logged on to the jackson's tigers. she comes across a picture of you from december. she groaned at how pretty you are, dropped her phone right on her forehead and... double tapped. "oh fuckfuckfuckfuck" "fucking hate this fucking phone... DINA! HELP" ᥫ᭡ when you asked her teammate about it the next day, ellie was near, and she turned her head to the other direction so swiftly her neck almost cracked. then, that night, she concluded that the smartest thing to do was to spam like all of the jacksons tigers cheerleaders posts and comment "out favorite cheerleaders!" on one of your pictures from practice.

you were so freaking confused.

ellie thought she was a genius.

ᥫ᭡ clearly, ellie talks about you with her teammates. she talks about you so much they practically call her a “fucking idiot” for not asking you out already. it always begins with “that one cheerleader…” and then, they immediately roll their eyes, because they know who she’s talking about, and for some reason— she refuses to use your name. she says it's because she doesn't remember it. they think it's because she's a loser. “one cheerleader”, as if there were truly any others on her mind.

ᥫ᭡ when she asked you out for the first time, it was right after a game. a 6:1 game. she felt so triumphant and the adrenaline rushed through her veins, it was almost a given. she was going to ask you out. today. right now. she walked over, fanning herself with her tee, absentmindedly flashing her abs, you looked at her and smiled so softly she felt as if she was going to choke. “good game, williams” you bubbled, and now, what fucking game and who’s fucking williams? so flustered, all she wanted to do was join the water polo team and drown herself in the pool. “hey… you want my shirt?” she muttered, could you tell she was breathless?. right, her shirt, this is the move.

“for…?” you responded, tilting your head.

she stammered, and toyed with the hem of her tee. “for um…” for? for? for? “for the…” she huffed, scratching her neck.

“for our date?”

ᥫ᭡ for your first date, she took you out for milkshakes. although they were two dollars each, she insisted on paying and nearly dropped her wallet on the floor. "no, really, let me… please?", and who could say no to that? you two practically talked about nothing and everything at the same time. she teased you about being a cheerleader; "all you do is jump around" (she knew it wasn't true, she just wanted to see how cute you'd get when you're pissed) and somehow, you weren't pissed. you responded with a grin.

"and all you do is run around and chase the ball like a dog"

ᥫ᭡ she truly felt like if she didn't kiss you right now she might die, so she did. she crawled under the booth like an idiot, and sat directly next to you. her eyes darted form your lips to your eyes, to your lips again.

"are you gonna ki—"

ᥫ᭡ the next moment you knew, her hand was on the back of your neck, and her lips crashed into yours. when she pulled away, cheeks flushed and lips still parted, she whispered a breathy "yeah, gonna kiss you".

after that night? you two were inseparable, glued by the hip.

ᥫ᭡ ellie gets incredibly in her head before games. she's slightly anxiety ridden, paces in fast circles around the room just huffing under her breath about different strategies, and what her opponents will do. "if i get a penalty kick..." she begins, and she looks so angry and pouty you have a feeling that you know exactly what's gonna help. the best remedy to her nerves? you. it's as if a comically large lightbulb appears over your head. "wait, what's a panel kick?" you question, tilting your head. you give her this pout, like you're stupid— but you know exactly what a penalty is, you've been to about ten games already. she chuckles softly under her breath and shifts her body towards you. "penalty, babe, it's penalty kick" then, you ask her to explain. she sits down on the bed, pats her thigh and signals you to sit on her lap. when you do, it begins. all she does is elliesplain soccer to you, and suddenly all of her nerves are gone. she doesn't know what you're doing, or maybe she does, but truly, she doesn't mind. your touch light as a feather, you caress her arm as she rambles on and on, and at one point— you're not even listening. you fully are just staring into her eyes, focusing on making her feel good. you get off from her lap, and signal her to place her head on your thighs. "keep going, els" you softly hum. "and then... on that one game, messi and ronaldo, like—“ then, she yawns, and her voice has that sweet, lazy raspiness to it, gets breathier and softer. she dozes off right on your thigh. when she wakes up, she huffs a small "thank you", and you know it's sincere. she kisses your jaw, gently holds your wrist, brings it up to her chaste lips, and pecks it softly. "you're too cute, you know that?"

ᥫ᭡ once you two started dating, you no longer felt like the teams cheerleader, you felt like you were ellie's, and ellie's only. obviously, you dont make it clear to them, but when you cheer— you keep your eyes glued on her. you sneak extra glances, and sweet smiles just for ellie. when the chant ends with a "go team!" you mouth her a small "go... ellie" and to that, she grins, and cocks her head.

you give ellie her final hug, before she has to go on the field. "go ellie?" she whispers in your ear. "yeah" you bite your lip, swallowing a giggle, and her hand pinches your waist. "oh yeah?", and it's so raspy and teasing that it makes your knees nearly give up on you. "good luck, williams" you kiss her on the cheek, but she tsk's, grabs your jaw and kisses you hard, in front of everybody.

"don't need luck when you're right here"

ᥫ᭡ when ellie scores, she dedicates the goal to you. she’s scanning the audience, and when she finds you, jumping up and down, clapping your hands and screaming her name, she points at you, and only at you. "this one's for you" she mouths. truthfully? all of them are. as soon as the game ends, her teams all over her. picking her up, carrying her around— that's until she spots you, sucking on your bottom lip and smiling so big it's making her heart practically melt. "wait a sec, guys..." she walks off, and when they groan, she shrugs; "gotta say hi to my girlf—" before she even finishes her sentence, you're jumping in her arms. she picks you up, spins you around and giggles so loud even her teammates can't help but join in. "you're my fucking champion, ellie" you praise, looking deep into her eyes.

"you're my champion" she won. and yet, you still are.

"but you won!!" you argue, fuck— your heads starting to spin.

"only won cause you’re here, only fucking reason" and maybe, it is.

ᥫ᭡ you made her a good luck charm bracelet, and decorated it with blue, black, golden beads. she wears it on her her left wrist, to every single game. she doesn't exactly believe in luck, but she believes in you, and she believes that somehow, every game she won was because of that charm.

nsfw 💗:

ᥫ᭡ the no sex before a big game policy her coach had forced upon the team popped like a little bubble when you two met. one time, one of her friends talked about it with you. you had no idea that was even a thing. the only sentence she said afterwards, was "if coach finds out, she's toast" oh.

ᥫ᭡ one thing about ellie is that she's obsessed with fucking you in your cheerleading outfit. makes you do a little spin, and then takes your top off. when it comes to the skirt? "leave it on, babe". she thinks it has to be a kink or something, because when she watches you cheer, your skirt slightly hiking up and revealing a little of your upper thigh, she loses her mind. she has to bite on her tongue and her face goes all red, you’re killing her— did you know that?

she's sat comfortably on the bed, dressed in her grey sweats and sports bra, whilst you demonstrate your cute little dance. "first, i have to kick my leg up" — and when you do, your panties poke through and she has to swallow hard. "yeah? what else" she places her palms on her thighs, spreads them, and keeps her eyes glued on your body. "then... a little spin" you twirl, and the air lifts your skirt up. to that, she mutters a curse word under her breath.

"do that again"

"ellie…” you whine, and before she has time to respond, you just do it again.

she nods her head up and down. "take your panties off"

you don't listen, do you? deciding on giving her that bratty attitude, she tells you again. "i said... take those panties off"

you stand in front of her, lifting your brow. she gets on her knees, places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, pats it lightly, takes them off for you and stuffs them in her pocket.

"now, do that spin again"

ᥫ᭡ when you take her strap while wearing your skirt, she truly goes crazy. makes you bounce on it as the fabric flaps around, fully just teasing her, and she's just as close to cumming as you are. "fuck! mmmph-ellie!" you wail, incoherently so, and it sounds like pure gibberish. "again, say my name again" she hisses, and now— she's practically fucking it into you, rolling her hips so you don't even have to move a muscle. the only thing you do, is spread your puffy folds open for her, hiking up your skirt so she gets a good view of your pussy and your erect little clit, pumping just for her. "i said... fuck— again" "ellie!" you gasp, and the look on her face is a look of pure bliss, of pure smugness, cocky satisfaction. "that's it…”

ᥫ᭡ when she has a big game coming up, truthfully, so do you. cheering might not be as intense, and it's not a damn competition, but you work just as hard. which is why... she makes you chant those cheering athems while she's inside of you. maybe, it'll make you remember them better.

"what comes next, huh?" she croaks, circling your clit with her thumb whilst deliciously splitting you open with her strap. "then its... it's... oh— ellie" you sob, clenching around her as if she might run away if you won't. "it's...?" she teases, and takes your cheeks between her fingers. "it's... go t—t—team" you whimper, squeaking like a dog's chew toy. "i dont think that's quite right" she manages to keep her voice steady, but her movements are anything but. she's panting, and encourages you on. "c'mon— gotta remember it f'me, you can do it" she grunts, gives your ass a little slap that makes you squirm. she grabs the fat between her palms, and nods her head. you can truly do it, you know you can. "it's... it's go el— go ellie" with the sound of her name, she fastens her pace, both inside of your achy cunt, and right on your clit. "el— el— gonna c—cu!" you cry out, holding on to her wrist while she hovers on top. "you're gonna what?" now, her voice is just as unsteady, with the base of the strap hitting her puffy, wet clit. "c—cum" when you manage to cry, it washes over you, mind boggling, makes your entire body jolt till you're shaking beneath her. she helps you ride it out,

"take it— fuck— take what's yours, take it.”

“that's my girl"

ᥫ᭡ anyways, ellie is obsessed with the way her name sounds as it leaves your mouth. obsessed with hearing you scream it, whimper it, whine it, obsessed when it comes out shaky, and obsessed when it's crystal clear. her favorite one though? "go... ellie!"

ᥫ᭡ if she loses a game... oh, what a sore loser. she puts the blame entirely on herself, especially with her new role as the teams captain. but oh, how lucky she is, to have such a considerate girlfriend. when you two got home from the game, you laid on the bed. she gave your hand a little squeeze;

"gonna shower" and she lifts her body or of the mattress. “dont wait up, babe— go to sleep"

she opens the bathroom door, and the water start streaming. you really won't go to sleep though, would you? what you do instead, oh...

you go through her bag, aimlessly looking for something... something, that will make her feel better. something that will show her she's the boss, whether she loses or wins.

her tee. "WILLIAMS" on the back, with the number "7" right below. you can't help but chuckle, grin— even, and do a little dance before you put it on. it's sweaty, damp, but you don't seem mind. you take off your shirt, your bra and your panties, and you wear it. it smells like her and it caresses right over your nipples, you almost have to stop from being so nasty and touching yourself with whilst she's showering. you're wearing her tee, her name— williams— you're hers. williams fucking girl. you sit pretty on the bed, legs wide open, and you wait. you wait and you wait and you wait— till you no longer hear the water streaming. she opens the door, and if your heart skipped a beat, ellie was pure having heart palpitations. she groaned loudly, and you almost felt the air she let out on your skin. "what is... what—“ she moves closer, and her eyes look hungry, ravenous.

"m'showing you.." you purr, in an attempt to hide the nervousness in your voice. you turn around, on all fours, purposely flashing her your ass and your cunt when the tee rides up. you point at your back. "who i belong to...”

ellie's never moved so quickly in her life, not even when she's chasing the ball. she yanks you by the tee, and pulls you closer to her chest. "yeah?" she whispers, as if she doesn't already know the answer. she nibbles on your neck, and you whimper.

"all yours... captain"

oh fuck.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #the last of us #ellie williams prompt #Ellie Williams hcs #ellie williams headcanons #lesbian #wlw fanfic #soccer!ellie

2K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 11 months

Note

yk that scene of morgan and elle in the car where he says “that must be the boyfriend 😏” and when she answers its gideon

could i request a blurb with that prompt but with hotch?

say when reader picks up the phone dereks shocked (the facial expression he pulled with elle) and he thinks the reader was joking. but she really wasn’t and her and hotch are in a secret relationship 🤗 and derek ends up catching them making out in the conference room later on and says “i thought you were joking 😨”

thank you! :-)

You love riding along with Morgan, because the two of you engage in banter so foul that Strauss's head would explode. There's no shortage of bickering, swear words, and insults between the two of you, but there's also no shortage of laughter, and riding with Derek anywhere is guaranteed to be fun.

Lately, though, he's had a leg up in the teasing game. He's caught you acting odd, and he's insistent that he's discovered your secret relationship.

If only he knew.

Your phone rings while you're on the highway, and he looks over at you smugly, "Aw, that must be the boyfriend."

You glance at the phone, seeing Aaron's contact there, and smiling wickedly.

"It is." You nod, and he slaps the steering wheel in victory while you answer, "Hey, Hotch."

"Y/L/N," Aaron greets you, sure to use your last name on working hours. As quick as Derek had celebrated his guess he retracts it, grimacing in horror as you stick your tongue out at him.

Aaron's only calling to tell you that there's been a new lead uncovered, and that JJ and Reid are investigating. It means you're still on track for an interview you're conducting with Derek, and as you hang up, settling back into your seat, Derek whistles lowly.

"You got me good," He shakes his head, "Would'a veered right off the road if you were dating the big man."

"Oh, you'd flip," You agree, laughing to yourself, "Just be glad you haven't caught us making out."

Derek's luck doesn't last. Hopped up on adrenaline from kicking both doors and ass, he struts into Hotch's office two days later to turn in his report on the case you've just closed. But what he finds behind the closed door stops him dead in his tracks, the file falling from his hand and landing in a messy heap at his feet.

You're making out with Hotch. You're- you're making out with Hotch!

"You're making out with Hotch!"

The two of you were both a little too wrapped up in each other's presence to notice the click of the doorknob, but Derek's bewildered shout does the trick. You jolt away from Aaron, standing were you'd been straddling his lap on the couch. He tries straightening his tie, as if that's the biggest issue and not the lipstick smeared over his face.

"Morgan, close the door." Hotch commands, and the agent tries to escape with it. "Not-! Get back here."

He steps square on the folder he'd dropped when coming in, standing there looking close to tears as you stand with your hands behind your back.

"You two have been," He lowers his voice, glancing around at what you presume are ghosts in Aaron's office, "Fooling around together? Really?"

"In my defense," You smile sheepishly at Derek, "I told you yesterday. You just didn't believe me."

"Yeah, because-!" Derek motions between you frantically, "I- I didn't know you were robbing the grave, Y/N! And Hotch! You're- ah, man, how long?"

"Two months." Aaron states, expression neutral although he's fiddling with his fingers at his sides, "We need your discretion."

"Discretion? Discretion?" Morgan ogles Aaron, "You expect me to walk out of here like I didn't just see her tongue down your throat?"

"Yes," You nod, "We do."

"Well-!" Morgan stammers, throwing his hands up in defeat and letting them slap his thighs on the way back down, "I- ugh, that's- that's gross. How am I supposed to know you'll work together if we leave you at the precinct, and not canoodle in the bathroom?"

"You don't." Aaron muses, and Derek's face scrunches in disgust, "But if you learned how to knock, Morgan, you won't be witness to any more."

"I am gonna walk out of that door," Derek decides, leaving the files where they are in preference of his peace of mind, "And we are never gonna talk about this again! Never, I won't tell anyone, I swear, but never let me catch you doing that shit again, you hear?"

"Loud and clear," You promise, calling after him as he heads out the door, head ducked and shoulders shivering slightly, "Have a good weekend, Morgan!"

"Don't talk to me!" He snaps back, yanking the door shut behind him. He's only halfway down the stairs from Hotch's office when he hears the lock click into place and his face warps in discontentment once more.

"Oh, come on guys, really? I'm not even out of the building!"

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenarip #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

vulpinesaint · 1 year

Text

just gonna fr start posting about what i'm writing on here instead of saying "witcher fanfic" in general. anyway in this chapter the work has VERY quickly turned from "allow ciri to heal from her trauma and open up to people" to "eskel casually out-traumas ciri in the span of a few minutes and leaves her fucking Reeling"

#has ciri been through worse for her age in a shorter time span. yes.#but eskel has Generational trauma on his side! :)#there's so much inherent trauma in kaer morhen this shit slaps. the legacy of the witchers is built on the bodies of dead little boys #elle oh elle. anyway.#lambert's too bitter about it and geralt's too sanctimonious so eskel's the one who gets to casually trauma bomb #he's not trauma dumping it's different. he's telling her the story she asked for.#he just forgets to put trigger warnings on his shit cause he forgets that they could be triggering (he has lived through the horrors)#you saw 'eskel tells ciri that he and geralt are the only witchers their age who have survived this long'.#now get ready for 'eskel casually mentions that roughly 3.5 boys die for every 1 witcher that is successfully created'#and they've done this for centuries. whoopsies #also they torture the kids to do it #i mean hey shit happens!#witcher fanfic

2 notes · View notes

lnfours · 8 months

Text

london bristol boy | l.n

summary: hi! would it be possible to get a second part of Daylight? maybe Charles finding out or Lando telling Charles? that would be so good. I love your writing❤️ thank you so much! - @powerfulmess

warnings: fluff, a bit of awkwardness, language, slightly protective!charles, loving boyfriend!lando, leclerc!reader

masterlist | part 1 | ask box | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

charles didn’t know what to expect when maman had told him you were bringing your new boyfriend to family dinner. he expected someone normal, someone you might’ve met through a friend or a dating app or something.

but when one of his friends walked through the door, one hand on your waist and the other holding your mothers favorite flowers, he couldn’t help the steam almost pouring out of his ears.

on the other hand, arthur thought it was hilarious.

“you owe me twenty dollars,” arthur smirked and charles rolled his eyes.

“you knew?”

“anyone with eyeballs could tell they were into each other,” he said, “you’re just oblivious.”

you and lando made your way over to the couch, your brothers hugging and greeting you. lando stuffed his hands in his pockets, giving a tight lipped smile to a not so happy looking charles. arthur gave him a pat on the back, going to help in the kitchen.

“good luck, mate,”

lando nodded at him, mumbling a sarcastic, “yeah, thanks mate,”

“charles,” you pulled your brothers attention from your boyfriend, “can i speak with you for a second?”

he nodded, following you outside. you closed the door and sent lando a small reassuring smile. he gave you a nervous one back, silently saying ‘please don’t leave me alone in here for long’.

you looked over at your brother, “i’m sorry, we should’ve told you before we came to dinner,” you said, “but it’s new, like a few weeks old new, and we’re still trying to figure everything out,”

you took a deep breath as he stayed silent, letting you continue, “im sorry, char.”

he sighed, “yes it was a surprise, but as long as he makes you happy, amor-“

you cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck, causing him to chuckle before he hugged you back.

“s'il te fait du mal, il est mort,” (“if he hurts you, he’s dead”)

you laughed, “il ne le ferait pas.” (“he wouldn’t”)

“oh je sais qu'il est amoureux de toi depuis des années.” your brother smiled and you blushed softly. (“oh i know, he’s been in love with you for years”)

“so have i,”

“i know,” he smirked, nodding towards the door, “c’mon, better go save lover boy maman’s burning questions.”

you laughed and entered back into the living room, looking around until you saw lando in the kitchen, helping your mom chop vegetables. your brother snorted next to you, which made you let out a tiny laugh.

lando’s head snapped in your direction and he could tell the two of you were making fun of the apron that had pink and white flowers all over it.

“you two are just jealous you can’t pull this off,” he said and you laughed softly, coming to stand next to him.

“yeah, baby,” you said, “the grandma flowers really make your eyes pop.”

“thanks, honey,” he smiled sarcastically at you, nose scrunching. you let out a giggle before placing a kiss on his cheek, your hand on his shoulder.

“maman,” you said and she lifted her head up, “puis-je voler lando un peu ?” (“can i steal lando for a bit?”)

“bien sûr ma chère. charles, s'il te plaît, prends sa place,” (“of course, my dear. charles, please take his place.”)

charles groaned and lando laughed, taking the apron off and tossing it to him. you led lando out of the room, “have fun, mate!”

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” charles mumbled, tying the apron around his waist.

“elle est si heureuse, elle rayonne,” maman smiled at her eldest son, “il pourrait être le bon.” (“she’s so happy, she’s beaming. he can be the one.”)

charles smiled over at his mother, “peut-être que tu as raison, maman.” (“maybe you’re right, mom”)

“je ne le suis pas toujours ?” (“am i not always?”)

he laughed and shook his head, meanwhile you and lando were sitting on the front steps, your head on the shoulder of his black button up shirt. you looked up at him for a minute, just taking in his side profile and how well he dressed today.

“you want a picture, babe?” he smirked over at you and you rolled your eyes.

“you wish,” you said, “no, you look good, baby.”

he’d smile, eyes traveling over you in the white flowy dress, “you look even better,”

you smiled, laying your head back down on his shoulder as he pulled you closer to his side.

“this is a nice little place,” he said, looking around, “can see why you love coming back home so much.”

you nodded, lifting your head up, “yeah, but home isn’t where the heart is,”

he smiled softly, eyes meeting yours, “you and these damn taylor swift references,”

you laughed, “okay, but she’s got a point!”

“i’m not from london, baby.”

“okay, okay, fine,” you smiled, “bristol boy, better?”

“better, thank you,” his lips pressed against your temple. you shivered slightly as the wind picked up a little.

“you cold?” he asked, “i have a hoodie in the car,”

you shook your head, “it’s okay,”

“you sure?”

you nodded, slipping your hands underneath his shirt and finding his stomach. his skin warm, but he still jumped slightly at how cold your hands were. you laughed as he shook his head, “it could be a hundred degrees outside and i swear your hands would still be cold.”

“you’re just as lost about it as i am, trust me.”

he let out a laugh, ignoring how your fingers were tracing the indents in his stomach of his abs. he bent down towards you, noses bumping as he used his to lift your head up slightly before he closed the gap between you. he kissed you sweetly, lovingly, his lips moving from yours to your cheeks to pepper kisses along the skin after.

“i’m happy i drunkingly broke into your house that one night.”

he laughed, “i am, too, love. i am too.”

670 notes · View notes

honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

Text

In Sickness...

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he's gravely ill.

Notes: mentions of a cheating boyfriend, jake convinced he's sick when really he is in loooveeee

Masterlist

“Hey, Hangman, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jake, despite his usual goal of doing everything in his power to get on Phoenix’s nerves, finds himself ignoring the need to be quite annoying. His antics aside, he knew his fellow aviator well enough by now to recognise when she was up for his shit, and when she absolutely wasn’t.

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a little bit of a douchebag, though.

“Give me a second, Trace, I’ll need to start my timer.” he makes a show of observing his watch and starting a countdown from sixty seconds. Phoenix ignores him, and in place of possibly giving him a dead arm, she instead comes to a stop in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that was just a Natasha Thing, and not actually a sign of closed body language-thing

“You’re going to be at Mav and Penny’s later, right?” she asks, even though he knows he’s never given the impression of having any other plans, and she knows it. Jake simply nods, still pretending to count down.

“Right. Well… maybe take it easy on Cricket tonight, okay?” Phoenix asks him, her voice soft and quiet in a manner that makes Jake mess up his countdown, and subsequently drop his wrist and the bit entirely.

“I’m under the impression that I always take it easy on my favourite member of the orthopteran insect family,” he poses, and it's not untrue. He didn’t snipe with Cricket like he did with the others, mostly because she never sniped back, so trying to maintain a faux adversarial relationship would just be boring. No, Cricket was far sweeter and more wholesome than literally anyone he’d ever met, like Elle Woods had a lovechild with Barbie, and instead of banter, he’d found it irresistible and perpetually rewarding to tease her about her Certified Disney Princess status.

(Jake will never let her forget the time a small child at the beach approached her to ask if she was a mermaid, and that wasn’t even the only instance he’d witnessed something like that happening.)

Phoenix shifts uncomfortably in front of him and purses her lips.

“Look, just… give her a break tonight,” she pushes. Jake frowns even deeper, his own mood becoming solemn now.

“What's wrong? Is she alright?” the questions leave his mouth before he can really consider perhaps only asking one, to keep some semblance of cool. Phoenix dances from foot to foot again and nods, but then quickly makes the universal noise, gesture and expression of ‘well, no, actually’.

“She, uh, broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago.” Nat reveals, and oddly, it's the last thing Jake was expecting to hear, and the last thing he’d expect her to divulge to him.

“Oh.” he says, a little unsure of what else to say. Blinking rapidly, Phoenix starts nodding again, this time in a sort of commiserating manner, as if they often gossiped.

“Yeah, she came home to find the prick was fucking one of his colleagues…” She all but spits the words. Her hands form fists where they’re still tucking into her folded arms.

“She's actually really torn up about it, but you know Cricket. She’s not very good at not being positive, you know? So she’s just bottling it up, and I figured, maybe your usual game with her might not be so lighthearted right now. You know she would never tell you if you actually hurt her feelings, so…” Phoenix manages to catch herself before she descends into a full on ramble.

In all the years he’d known her, Jake had only ever witnessed Phoenix fully ramble once, several years ago back in Lemoore, when she and Halo had downed eight shots in ten minutes, and she then proceeded to give him a thirty minute TEDTalk about how cockroaches were basically just incredibly simple AI machines, interrupted every so often when she dozed off against his shoulder, only to pick right back up like nothing had happened.

Pushing the memory aside, Jake takes in her words slowly before at last he releases a deep breath.

He actually finds himself a little taken aback by the sheer depth of anger that lances through him at the thought of Cricket being treated like that. Nobody deserves to be cheated on, but Cricket was simply someone that Jake doesn’t believe anything bad should ever happen to. Around the same time he comes to this conclusion, Jake also becomes aware that as his anger simmers down, he’s struck with the need to seek out his squadmate, and comfort her, something which, if Jake is honest with himself, is not something he has much experience with. He was much more likely to offer space to someone in need, so this sudden urge causes his brow to furrow.

Jake chooses to compartmentalise this oddness for now, but makes a mental note for later to figure out when exactly he’d developed such a strong fondness for Cricket, and more importantly, how exactly that had happened without him knowing.

For now, Jake just gives Pheonix a level nod, and what he hopes is an expression she takes to mean he understands. He then tries to get a hold of his rogue fondness and leashes it with what he thinks is a brotherly, friendly reaction, a more normal reaction for him to have towards his squadmate.

“Does she want him punched or something?” he asks, feeling as though anything more would reveal too much of his scattered, fond thoughts. Jake purses his lips when he realises that ‘fondness’ was quickly becoming an understatement he’ll have to address at some point.

Phoenix's lips curve into a genuine smile, and she chortles softly, shaking her head.

“Well, you’ll have to get in line if she does. I’ve got first dibs.” she states, cracking her knuckles and then her neck, making Jake snort, and shrug, glad to know that perhaps he wasn't the only one suddenly feeling protective.

“I’m sure we could come up with a wrestlemania-worthy finishing move, a la The Hardy Boys to sort him out.” Jake chortles, imagining he and Nat in matching championship belts, and ignoring her raised eyebrow. He knows from that one movement alone that she is filing this information about him away to whip out like a trap card, but compared to the other information she might have gleaned from his reaction to the situation, he doesn’t care so much.

(Besides, Jake felt no shame about his love for Attitude-Era WWE, and if he ever gets the chance to repay her for the thirty minutes of cockroach facts he could have lived his whole life without needing to know, well, now he knew exactly what his topic of choice would be.)

Four hours later, Jake, for some reason, cannot stop thinking about his conversation with Phoenix. He tried chalking it up to the fact that it was an unusual request she’d made of him, but he knows that is bull. Jake is far too invested all of a sudden in your personal life, in your feelings, in a way that honestly, he never has been before. Or at least, has never realised before, because the more Jake lingers on the idea that you were cheated on, he has to confront the fact that these feelings might just have been there all along, and that actually, your happiness and wellbeing are extremely important to him.

He keeps his distance when you arrive with Halo at Penny and Mav’s, but he eyes you hawkishly anyway, uncaring if he’s obvious about it or not. He wants to believe that if he hadn’t known, he’d have spotted your much more reserved demeanour immediately, but honestly, he's not really sure of anything now when it comes to you. Jake isn’t sure if Phoenix spoke to the others, if he was just the last to know, but there is an air of tenderness in the way the others greet you, which wasn't entirely unusual in itself, yet the softness is palpable even from where he sits on the other side of the yard.

He watches you put on a good show, smiling sweetly at Penny as she rushes over to say hello, but the moment you dont think others are paying attention, your features fall and Jake decides that it is basically unacceptable for you to look that sad ever again.

When you disappear through the backdoor, to put the share platter you’ve bought into the fridge he assumes, Jake doesn’t even excuse himself from the conversation he’s supposedly in before he’s beelining for the house. Behind him, he can vaguely hear Javy and Payback protest, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

Jake steps through the sliding back doors quietly, closing the door behind him and shutting out the rest of the barbeque, if only for a few minutes. He moves softly through the small back room and towards the kitchen, once more surprised to find out just how pleased he is when you turn to look at him right away. That was new… or was it? Jake thinks perhaps he should stop trying to figure things out.

“Hey! Jake!” you greet cheerfully, and he’s comforted a little that your smile reaches your eyes.

“I didn’t catch you this afternoon, so I didn't get to find out your fruit platter preference, but Javy told me anything but pineapple–” you launch right away into friendly conversation, and oddly, this small normality brings him comfort too, after his afternoon of quiet worry. Jake nods at your words as you continue explaining your fruit platter, and if he hadn't other things on his mind, he would have voiced his amusement at the fact you’d somehow managed to cut or arrange all the fruits into the shape of jets.

Anger bubbles in him once again, at the idea that anybody would do anything to cause you to be upset. You, who cuts fruit into themed shapes, and who makes sure to ask every member of the team their food preferences, and who, he’s almost certain, has made the yoghurt dip you're currently unwrapping completely from scratch just for this casual get together.

How could any sane person know you, know how sweet and caring and fundamentally, altogether good you are, and still choose to do something that would hurt you?

More importantly, how could a man be with you and want anyone else?

Jake takes a step forward and fixes you with what he hopes is not an expression that reflects his inner anger, but gives off something more like softness. He’s not sure he’s ever really had a serious conversation with you before, especially not one that wasn't about work, so he’s surprised how natural it feels to show you something more genuine than his usual playful amusement.

“Are you alright?” he hears himself ask you, almost regretting it when your expression drops immediately, and you look away from him, back to your fruit platter which you now seem to be pointless rearranging just so you don't have to look at him. You attempt to wave him off after a few moments, plastering a smile on and scrunching your nose as you continue to not look at him.

“I’m okay. Really. Things weren’t right for a while, so it’s sort of a relief, really.”

Jake thinks that maybe in a few months time, those words might actually be believable, but Phoenix was right. You were such a naturally happy and uplifting person, it’s clear to Jake that you were struggling to let yourself be sad or angry about it all.

You seem to be expecting him to speak, because you glance back at him several times before you seem to really get a look at his face, at which point you stop messing with your platter and turn to face him properly.

“Thank you for asking, though, I… I really appreciate that,” you murmur, wringing your hands together, before realising what you’re doing and smoothing them out over your sundress instead. Jake feels his pulse speed up. Or maybe it slows, he’s not sure, he just knows that his heart beat becomes irregular, and before he knows what he's doing, he’s stepping even closer towards you.

“Cricket,” he begins, a frown beginning to crease his brow, which your eyes flicker to consciously, as if you were concerned about his feelings. “Just say the word, and his nose will be irreparably broken. For the rest of his life he’ll be telling people it's an old football injury. Maybe he’ll even need surgery to fix it enough that it’s even remotely normal again,” Jake watches your eyes widen and blink as he speaks, but he makes sure to keep any trace of humour from his voice, so you properly understand just how serious he’s being. “Hell, it doesn't even need to be his nose. I’ll break his collarbone, I've heard that's the most painful in the long run…”

When you let out a soft sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, Jake almost thinks he needs to rephrase his offer, but your soft smile and the almost shy look you shoot at him before you drop your gaze for a moment assures him you understood that he wasn’t joking, even a little.

“Sometimes…” you purse your lips and frown, struggling to find the right words, but you begin wringing your hands slowly again and the movement seems to lend you some confidence. “Sometimes I really wish I could be more like Phoenix… or, more like anybody else, really–” Jake has to physically clamp his mouth shut to stop himself protesting that point and let you talk.

“Sometimes, I wish I was someone who would take you up on that offer. I… I feel like I should want to want that… but I don’t…” you trail off and sigh again, but this time, the exhale seems to take a weight off your chest, like simply admitting these feelings out loud was what you really needed.

You look back up at him properly, and smile again. Jake thinks his pulse has stopped altogether now, and begins to seriously consider reporting to medical first thing Monday morning.

“But, I promise that if I ever change my mind about the severe breaking of certain bones, I’ll know exactly who to talk to.” Your smile widens just slightly, a little mischievous almost, like even just joking about it was very cheeky of you. Jake on the other hand, just believes it to be the only correct course of action.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you begin talking again, dropping your fidgeting hands to hang more relaxed at your sides.

“A lot of my life I haven’t really been surrounded by people who’ve looked out for me, or folks who I can really trust… and I know we’re not really friends, more like work friends, but–” you suddenly cut yourself off and shake your head with a little chortle.

“It doesn’t matter, ignore me–”

“–We’re friends.” Jake can’t stop himself from protesting this time. You blink at him like this is surprising to you. “We are friends, Cricket… I know I–” Jake cuts himself off like you had just done and grinds his teeth a little. This was not a conversation he went around having very often, if ever, at all. “You know I wouldn’t poke fun at you if I didn’t care. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think we were friends,” he says, hoping his words didn’t give away exactly how much he cared. You seem to search his face, but you’re nodding, as if he was the one who needed assuring in this situation.

Jake starts to wonder then if he was actually becoming seriously ill, and all of his reaction to this afternoon has just been one big fugue episode. That idea is genuinely more believable to him at this moment, that Jake is really, actually currently unconscious in the on base hospital, with a skyrocketing fever and some other terrible things, than all of this sudden personal change and inner realisation happening so naturally and smoothly and without him having a say in it.

But then you’re smiling at him again, bright and genuine and all thoughts of climbing fevers and sudden illness evaporate. As sad as it sounds, Jake would never dream of you smiling at him like that, the sight so affecting and sweet that he could never come up with on his own. However, he does conclude he’ll probably be seeing it a lot in his dreams from now on. He thinks this should cause panic in him, he should not be planning to dream about one of his squad mates smiling at him, but unsurprisingly to him now, panic is the furthest thing he feels about it.

“Well, I just know that I’m not always good at asserting myself, but I know that you guys… you guys will do it for me.” You give a little shrug. Jake feels a little shame then, that he’s worked with you for several months now and has not once picked up on the fact that you were completely aware of your own tendency to be a bit of a pushover.

It dawns on him that every time he teased you for being ‘too nice’, and every time you laughed or shook your head in amusement, the real joke was on him. It’s a joke that Jake doesn't find particularly funny right now. He’s not sure he ever will.

“Sorry, I’m being so dramatic and grim!” you say suddenly, and this time your mood change isn’t fake or put on. Jake shakes his head at you, and at last feels some of his regular programming begin to seep back in. He chooses to make a show of leaning back against the counter and carefully crosses his arms over his broad chest in a way that he knows looks incredibly sexy (Javy has assured him), a small smirk slowly spreading over his features.

“Cricket,” he drawls out slowly, somewhat relieved that he feels more himself again. You double take as you look back up at him from where you’ve started fiddling with your fruit platter again, your eyes blinking rapidly as you now quickly try to avoid his whole side of the room. Jake’s grin grows ever so slightly when he has your attention, even if you seem too nervous to look at him now.

Unlike most of the women Jake had worked with, you didn't seem to try to, or perhaps you simply were unable to, hide the effect Jake had on you, how he could so easily make you flustered. It's not something he’s totally unfamiliar with, after all, plenty of women around the Hard Deck were the exact same, but the fact that you aren't some civilian looking to get laid, and are in fact one of the best aviators he knows, makes it all the sweeter.

(Jake had once tried to reconcile the way you handled yourself in the air, with the way you were at all other times, but he could never quite do the maths on it, so it was better for his brain if he didn't think about it at all.)

Honestly, Jake knows his getting a reaction out of you is an act of self ego-stroking, but he loved making a spectacle of himself, just to watch how you would sputter and go all mushy, and if he’s even more honest, a big part of his enjoyment lay in the thought that perhaps, he was doing you a favour, giving you something to think about, boyfriend be damned. He supposes he doesn’t need to worry about that being a problem anymore.

Jake then pauses then, and wonders when exactly you having a boyfriend had become a ‘problem’, a threat to him specifically, because the more he thinks about the idea now (hypothetical as it is), the more his skin starts to itch under his shirt.

Perhaps he was getting sick after all.

“Yes, Jake?” you ask, still avoiding looking his way, and trying to use a tone of voice that was either exasperated or ignorant, but your slightly higher pitch gives you away.

“You didn’t say that I was your friend, too,” he faux complains, watches you shake your head a little, but fail completely at keeping the smile off of your face.

With your platter now deemed ready, you pick it up and turn toward him, holding it out for him to take. Jake, without thought, does so.

“You are my friend, too, Jake,” you tell him, far more sincerely this time, and Jake feels his pulse do that odd thing again. He swallows thickly, and nods, before you direct him out the back door.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jake can’t help but hover, never moving too far away from where you are, and when he doesn’t have an excuse to linger close to you, he always keeps one eye directed your way.

#jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #hangman #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

2K notes · View notes

blackypanther9 · 2 months

Text

How M/n met Mimzy

WARNING!: Cursing, insulting words, threatening, Racist behavior (in memories), angst, Reader is supportive of Alastor, mention of drugging, poisoning, abuse AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

A/N: Remember it is only a fanfic and I just built in background ! Nothing is REAL nor intented to hurt anyone ! Picture belongs to rightful owner ! zeotropes0 The sick part is after the Mimzy part it starts at "M/n felt like utter shit."

TAGLIST!: @zoetropes0, @l0liamk @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

Words: 7 365

It had been almost 3 years since M/n was living with Alastor. They formed a strong and very close bond too, in that short time. The Radio Host found it high time, that M/n met one of his close friends, Mimzy.

The boy was excited and nervous since Alastor informed him about that. That day was a Friday and the second week of the month in October. Alastor got Saturday and Sunday off from work and decided to meet up with Mimzy again.

“So...what are they like ?”, M/n asked his Father.

Alastor didn’t tell M/n that it was a girl. All he said was “a friend”.

“Oh, you’ll LOVE her, mon petit (My little one) ! She’s a real Sweetheart !”, Alastor replied happily.

M/n stopped dead in his tracks, of cleaning up his Dad’s office. He turned to him, stiffly.

“HER ?”, the boy repeated and stared at his Father, who just threw away packages of their lunches from the day.

“Yes indeedy ! You’ll love her ! And I’m sure she’ll love you as well !”

M/n suddenly didn’t feel too sure about that anymore. With his Dad’s new Boss, after Mr. Floyd was found dead in the park not far from here, he started to get very possessive and protective of his Father.

Miss Revonna Ducasse was her name. She constantly tried to get into his pants. M/n couldn’t really blame all the women that threw longing eyes at his Father. He looked handsome and well groomed, he was an absolute Goofball, he never complained about anything, he had manners, he had high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he was an absolute charming Gentleman. There was nothing to hate about him. At least in M/n’s opinion.

Of course there were haters. The racists mostly. Because his Dad had a mixed skin color. What M/n loved most about his Dad was that he was a Creole. He spoke English and French. It gave him a slight accent in his voice, but Alastor always tried to suppress it, no one ever really heard his accent, not even M/n did. Why was Alastor hiding his New Orleans accent ?

Because he is ashamed to have it. His Father and a few kids in his school made fun out of him for a long time. His Father later on forced him to speak, what he considered, normally. His Mother was the only one that was still allowed to hear it, as she was still alive. After she died, he always suppressed it.

How did M/n know about his Father’s accent ? Well...let’s just say a lot of people have it around and it confused the boy greatly, until Alastor explained it to him. He knew that his Father was born and raised here, so M/n came to the simple conclusion that he suppressed his accent, for whatever reason. M/n pestered him about it once and Alastor spilled the tea.

Why did M/n not have that accent ? His birth parents and Sister didn’t have that accent. He supposed they came from a different state and then just moved here. After all...Alastor had to teach M/n French, to understand his Dad and to communicate with him, when he doesn’t want anyone else to know, what they are discussing.

M/n was not as thrilled anymore, to meet his Dad’s friend. It was a girl. YUCK !

“Are you sure you can trust her, Papa ?”, M/n asked gently.

He turned to his Son.

“Of course I am sure, Cher !”, he said, surprised that his Son seemed to not like the idea as much anymore.

M/n bit his lip and only nodded gently.

“Parle-t-elle français ? (Does she speak French ?)”, M/n asked.

“Elle le fait un peu. (She does a bit.)”

So M/n can’t converse with his Dad in French...great...

“Applesauce.”, M/n cursed in a huff.

Alastor looked at his Son in slight concern. Why was he so annoyed suddenly ?

“What seems to be the Problem, Son ?”, he asked gently.

“I don’t like that she can partly understand and speak French. I hate it when people understand what we converse. What if there is something I want to tell you and she is not supposed to hear it ? I will have to wait until we are home and who knows what could have happened until then !”, the boy stressed.

Alastor gave him a confused look.

“What are you implying, mon petit ?”

M/n looked at his Father, as if he was the most stupid man on earth.

“With all due respect, Papa...HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR ?!”, M/n yelled and wildly pointed all over Alastor’s figure.

The Radio Host grew insecure about his form. What was his Son trying to get across ?

M/n saw insecurity creeping into his Father and he huffed. He approached his Father, snatched his hand in a tight grip and dragged him away, to the men bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and then pushed Alastor in front of the full body mirror.

The Radio Host could see his Son’s glare, arms crossed over his chest. Even though he was soon a 9 year old boy, he seemed very wise.

“What do you see, and do not DARE to lie to me.”, M/n said.

Alastor looked into the mirror, nervously.

“Uhm...What...am I supposed to see, Cher ?”

M/n face palmed.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what you see, when you look at yourself. Applesauce, Father !”, M/n cursed with a slight glare.

Alastor did and memories came crashing back down on him. His smile wavered.

“Look at you ! Disgusting ! Look how brown you are !”

“Eww ! Why is he so dark ?!”

“Freak !”

“Just as disgusting as your Mother ! I knew it was a stupid idea to marry that Bitch and have a brat like you with her !”

“He needs a bath to wash the color off of his skin !”

_________________

Children pushed him into the mud and “Bathed” him to be browner.

“Let’s bathe him in mud, so he will get darker ! Hahahaha !”

“Stop it ! Please, stop it !”, his younger self sobbed out.

He couldn’t control how he came out. Why was he punished for this ? Why did color of skin matter ?!

_________________

His Father threw him onto the ground outside, onto small stones. His grin was sinister.

“Come on, Brat. You need a bath.”

His child self sobbed, staring at his Father in fear. His own Father...

The man grabbed small stones in his hands, snatched his younger self’s left arm and started to roughly rub the stones on his skin. Causing the boy to cry and his skin to split open. He tried to pull it away.

“Maybe you are lighter underneath once this disgusting layer is off !”, the man mocked the boy.

“Dad ?”

“Rub it off !”

The boy tried to fight his Father off.

“Papa ?!”

“RuB iT oFf !”

He continued to fight him, yelling and screaming in pain, but the man didn’t stop.

“Papa !”

“RUB IT OFF !”

There was so much pain and blood-

“PAPA !!!”

Alastor jolted out of his memories with a flinch. He looked at M/n from the mirror, who had wide eyes of worry and fear. Unshed tears stood in the boy’s eyes, which confused Alastor, until he looked at himself in the mirror.

His smile was gone, his fingers were digging into his arms, which were in front of his chest and tears were running down his cheeks. He was in every aspect...NOT alright. He jolted in surprise as something collided with his legs and waist. He looked down and saw his Son, hugging him tightly.

He released his hold on his arms and ran his right hand through his Son’s hair, gently.

“I see a dark skin colored man, with a weak figure and he has silly little tantrums over nothing.”, Alastor answered softly.

That’s how he really felt, since his own Father hated him. He was the hated child since he was born. The only one who loved him...was his Mother.

M/n squeezed his Father’s legs, before he let go.

“That is not true at all, Papa.”

“You wanted me to tell you what I see. I see just that when I see...myself.”

Alastor yelped in surprise as he felt a smack on his ass, a harsh one. He looked at his Son in the mirror, M/n’s eyes gave him a harsh stare back.

“Well then, here is what me and many others see, you absolute Dumbo !”

Alastor felt slightly insulted, but kept it in for now.

“I see a very charismatic man, he is charming, sweet, gentle, understanding, has a big heart, loves to do his job, loves to help, hates people with bad manners and he is so much more showing into the open world. The man, me and many others see, is handsome, a Gentleman, looks always well groomed, he is an absolute Goofball, he never complains about anything, he has manners, he has high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he is an absolute Sweetheart.”, M/n listed off.

Alastor’s eyes were wide in shock and awe. That’s how his Son saw him ?

“You always dress properly, you always talk politely, you never show your annoyance, whatever you do, you do it politely. You barely lie, you take care of the people you care about and it is easy to make friends with you. You are easy to approach and talk to. You can make someone feel very welcomed and listened to. Not many have these traits, Papa. All in all...you are true Husband material. You scream ravishing and sexy no matter where you are.”, M/n continued.

The Radio Host looked at M/n from the mirror, while he eyed himself too. He never saw the appeals. If M/n points all that out though...he had a point.

“Where are you going with this, Cher ?”, Alastor asked gently.

“What I am getting at is that a lot of women are attracted to you and would do anything to get into your bed ! You scream sexy ! I don’t want you to think that girl pals will suddenly be happy, with you just being their friend ! Stay alerted ! Friends like that could easily use you ! I want what is best for you and I saw many women and even a few men eye you like candy in a store !”, M/n yelled at him frustrated.

At that Alastor turned around and actually looked at his Son. Was that all ? M/n was worried about him ? Overprotective ? He gave his Son a small smile.

“Are you worried about me or jealous that you could lose all my attention ?”, he asked his Son.

“I am concerned for you, Dad. Miss Ducasse already tried multiple times to get into your pants, claiming that she was your Boss and you have to listen to her. Do you really think I would not hear that Blueberry juice ?”, he asked him stressed out.

Alastor’s smile wavered. Ah yes...Ducasse tried to force him into sexual activity with herself, by threatening to fire him. Since then M/n was most of the times with him and if he wasn’t one of his coworkers waited for him to arrive and be by his side at all times. He still had no idea how they knew.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and gave his Son a big smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen !”, he assured him.

Then he looked at his watch and tutted.

“We have to hurry, otherwise we will be late to meet up with her !”

With that he unlocked and opened the door. M/n followed behind his Father. He had a BAD gut feeling about this...

And his gut was NEVER wrong before.

-Time skip-

They finally arrived at their destination, which was a bar. M/n looked around in nerves and Alastor led him to a table. It was close to a small stage in the bar and M/n felt even worse in his gut. He looked around, nervously.

“Relax, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen here.”, the Radio Host assured the boy with a smile.

Then a waitress came and asked for their orders. Alastor ordered himself a New Orleans Sazerac and for M/n a nonalcoholic orange juice. She noted it all down and then left to get them their drinks.

Suddenly music started and the stage lit up. Alastor had a big smile on his face and looked at the stage. M/n turned and looked too, soon enough there was a woman. She was a bit on the shorter size, she started to sing. M/n didn’t like her voice all that much...

It was a good song, but the woman’s voice just didn’t really fit for it. But as he looked at his Father, he only saw him smile and enjoy the show.

‘How can he like the song with this voice ?’

Soon enough their drinks arrived and Alastor was casually sipping his New Orleans Sazerac. M/n didn’t touch his juice and looked at the female, singing. He scoffed in his mind, knowing he could do better with his kid voice. He can sing his Father’s favorite song without any help and would sing better than her.

‘This is gonna be a loooong night...’, M/n groaned annoyed in his mind.

He looked at his happy Father again. He didn’t glare at him, but he would so love to at the moment.

‘The things I do for him...He better be happy for the rest of this week, otherwise I will NEVER come here with him again. This is pushing my patience...This woman is NOT my cup of tea...’

-An hour later-

The show was over, finally.

‘Finally ! I thought I will die soon enough !’

Some songs were alright, with that voice of the woman, but most of them didn’t really...get the glory and appreciation with that voice. In his eyes it sounded like a woman’s voice trying too hard to fit with every song. In some it just...didn’t sound good. That so many clapped at that, his own adoptive Father included, is beyond him.

What M/n couldn’t help with though...was questioning himself with where his Father’s girl buddy was. She is an hour late. Did his Dad lie to him, to go drinking ? He had his second New Orleans Sazerac and M/n had his fifth orange juice.

Ten minutes passed as suddenly the same voice, from the woman on the stage from before, called out Alastor’s name. M/n snapped his head around and stared at the woman, that approached their table with a smile. He looked at his Father and his eyes almost bulged out of his skull, his old man was smiling at her and waved her over.

‘Oh HELL NO.’

M/n slumped his shoulders for three seconds then sat back up properly and looked at her.

“Hello, dear Mimzy !”, Alastor greeted happily.

Alastor waited for her to approach and then she sat down on the chair next to Alastor, practically in front of M/n. He fought very hard the glare he wanted to send her and looked at his Dad instead. He looked at his Son in return, with a bright smile.

“M/n, this lovely woman is Mimzy. Mimzy, this is my Son, M/n.”, he introduced the two of them.

She gave the boy a smile and waved at him.

“Hello there, little one. Nice to meet you.”, she greeted warmly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Mimzy.”, M/n politely greeted back, a smile on his face.

He knew women like Mimzy. She was just putting up a show right now. She was NOT friendly. Alastor chuckled and emptied his glass again, then stood up, looking at them both.

“I need to use the restroom. Please do get acquainted, you two.”, Alastor encouraged them, then left.

“Be careful, Papa !”, M/n called after him.

“I will be, Cher !”, Alastor replied and then was gone.

M/n turned to Mimzy and as expected...she glared at him.

“So you are the little runt, Al took in out of pity.”, she snarled.

M/n glared back at her.

“Excuse you ? What did you fucking call me, bitch ?”, the soon to be nine year old asked darkly.

“Oh and such bad manners towards a Lady too. How disgusting.”, she said with an insulted voice.

“I’m not a mirror, woman. You called me a fucking runt. Do you really expect me to still be polite, when you can’t be polite towards me ? You want my respect ? Fucking earn it.”, M/n growled out with a death glare.

“Respect your elders, you rude brat.”, she scoffed.

“Respect your next generation, if you still want the world to turn, after your departure, disgusting, foul, bitch. Your future is in OUR hands. The next generation’s hands.”, M/n spat.

She glared harshly at him, which didn’t intimidate M/n. He stayed strong and didn’t look away at all. Staring contest ? You are on, Mimzy.

“I will tell you how this will go now, brat. I want you gone, away from MY Alastor, in a week. You aren’t until then, I will make him get rid of you.”, she threatened M/n.

The boy scoffed.

“For what do you take me for ? A stupid child ? Listen here whore, my Father doesn’t belong to you, he doesn’t even belong to me. I belong to HIM. Big difference, sugar cube. Alastor OWNS me. You want to own him and I won’t let that happen. Curl up and die, bitch.”, M/n told her darkly and gave her the finger.

“What would Alastor just think, if he hears about this, hmm ?”, she asked with a grin, thinking she had the upper hand.

M/n smirked back.

“What would Papa think, if he finds out what kind of bitch his friend is, hmm ? He believes me everything, because I never lie. He KNOWS he can trust my words more than anyone’s.”, he countered.

Her eyes grew wide at that. Her face turned red and the soon to be 9 year old could see how angered she was at that. Then M/n saw his Father return and pretended like nothing happened. He gave Mimzy a subtle smirk, only she could see and then a wink. She scowled.

“So, what have I missed, you two ?”, Alastor asked happily as he sat back down.

M/n looked at his Father with a big smile.

“Not much. Can I have another glass of Orange juice, please, Papa ?”, M/n asked with a smile.

Alastor smiled warmly at his Son, thinking he warmed up to Mimzy, and nodded. He called over a waitress and asked for a glass of whiskey and a glass of orange juice. After the waitress left, Alastor suggested that Mimzy would talk about her life a bit, before she came here as performer.

With that they stayed for at least another hour, listening to Mimzy’s life story, which didn’t interest M/n at all, after the stunt she pulled. He just wanted to get out and never come back, with his Father in tow.

M/n gave Mimzy very little information about himself, which Alastor respected. It took M/n a bit, to warm up to him too. After it was starting to get really late for M/n, in Alastor’s opinion, he decided to pay for the drinks he and his Son had, to say Goodbye and then he went home with M/n.

“So, how was she, Cher ?”

‘An absolute self centered, needy, bratty Bitch...’

“She was alright, I guess. I still need time to connect to her, but I think we will get there, Papa.”, M/n lied easily.

For Alastor, the boy didn’t speak his mind. He wants to keep his Father safe and sheltered, but he doesn’t want to see him sad either, so he will not tell him that they both hate each other and they insulted one another.

“That’s good news, mon petit !”, the Radio Host replied happily, unaware of what really happened.

As they arrived home, Alastor quickly got to cooking a warm meal and M/n went to his room and started to get dressed into his Pyjamas. He washed his hands and growled. The last glass of Orange juice tasted weird. Mimzy brought it. Did she spike it ?

“I swear if this hoe spiked my drink...I will go fucking wild...”, he growled under his breath.

After a few minutes, Alastor called M/n down for Dinner, which he quickly sat down for. Together they ate their meal and then went to bed. M/n promised to wash the dishes tomorrow morning for him.

-The next day-

M/n felt like utter shit. He twisted in bed, didn’t want to get up either. His stomach was doing flips and it was hurting. Mimzy did put something in his drink then...

The door opened to his room.

“Mon petit~! Wake up, rise and shine !”, Alastor cheerily called.

He had a bright smile on his face, but it weakened as he heard his Son groan weakly. M/n never did that, he always got up and greeted him with a yawn. He opened the curtains for the windows and then approached the bed, with M/n inside it. He knelt down and looked at the boy’s face, which was hidden in the blanket.

“Cher ? What’s wrong ?”, he asked worried.

M/n couldn’t speak. He was afraid to throw up if he did. He waved his hands slowly around and tried to communicate with his Dad like that, but Alastor didn’t understand anything. Why was he waving his hands slowly, instead of talking ?

The boy got tears in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he felt too on edge of throwing up, to do so. He pointed to his desk. It took Alastor a bit to understand what he wanted him to do, but he turned to the desk.

“You want me at your desk ?”, he asked his Son and looked at him.

A thumbs up.

Alastor got up and went to it.

“What now, Cher ?”

M/n made a motion for his note book and a pen, then motioned a writing motion carefully.

“You want me to get your note book and a pen ?”

Thumbs up.

Alastor grabbed the items and then returned to his Son’s side. M/n VERY carefully sat up and took the items, his teeth clenched shut and Alastor saw how pale his Son was. He slowly wrote into the note book. As he finished he gave his Father the book to read.

I don’t feel good. Feel like vomiting and my stomach is all over the place.

He looked at his Son and gave the book back to him.

“Do you know what caused it ?”, he asked.

Again M/n wrote then gave it back to Alastor.

I think it was the last glass of orange juice. Tasted different than the other glasses I had.

His eyes widened at that and he rushed down the stairs as fast as possible, almost falling over his own feet twice. He ripped up his phone and quickly called his house Doctor. He picked up quickly and answered.

“Mr. Hugo, I think my nine year old Son got drugged yesterday ! What shall I do ?!”, Alastor panicked.

On the other line the man replied and asked questions.

“I don’t know ! He said the last orange juice he had yesterday evening tasted funny ! All he had after that was Dinner, but he didn’t complain ! His face was only scrunched up with the last glass of orange juice ! He feels like throwing up and his stomach is all over the place !”

He was silent again, worried sick. What if his Son will die ?! No, no, no ! He can’t think like that !

“Alright ! I will do that ! Thank you ! I will see you there !”

He hung up and hurried to get ready to leave the house, then he rushed to his Son’s room, who laid back down and was confused. Alastor picked him up, bridal style and still wrapped up in his blanket, then he went out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house and put M/n into his car, in the back.

Then he closed the car door and rushed back into the house. He got a bucket for his Son and then he got a few clothes for M/n packed, then he rushed back out, locked the house door, jumped into his car, started the engine and drove off.

“We are driving to the hospital, M/n. Hold on and try to not puke.”, Alastor said with a frightened voice.

The boy felt bad for worrying his Dad and slowly lifted his arm, showing a thumb up. Alastor hurried over to the hospital quickly and there his house doctor already stood. Dr. Hugo. The Radio Host stopped the car, turned off the engine, unlocked the car and then jumped out, while the doctor also rushed to the car.

Alastor carefully got out his Son from the back and then turned to Dr. Hugo. He looked at M/n’s pale face and took a sharp inhale.

“This pale skin is NOT normal, not even for sick kids. Follow me, Mr. Hazbin.”, Dr. Hugo said and rushed into the hospital.

Alastor locked up his car and ran after his doctor, with M/n in his arms.

“I need an empty room ! We need to pump out a little boy’s stomach ASAP !”, Mr. Hugo yelled.

Nurses and other doctors rushed around at that and the three were led into an empty patient room. Alastor put him down on the table and Dr. Hugo was about to shoo him out, but he saw how tightly M/n held his Father.

M/n was scared shitless. He had no idea what was going on and Alastor was the only one, he could trust and he knew him best. Everything went too fast, too much stress at once, he was so scared. He didn’t want his Father to leave.

Alastor looked down at his Son and saw that M/n was so scared that he even let tears fall. His plea was obvious.

He wanted him to stay by his side.

He turned to Mr. Hugo, who sighed and pulled up a chair, for the Radio Host to sit down on. He sat down and held his Son’s hand the whole time, while the nurses and Dr. Hugo worked on M/n.

Alastor himself had a few tears in his eyes. How could he let this happen to his Son ?! Whoever drugged M/n...will PAY. Not his child. No one hurts HIS child and gets away with it !

-Time skip-

M/n was passed out on the bed, he was moved onto, after they pumped out his stomach. Right now, the remains, which were in M/n’s stomach, were in the lab. Alastor sat next to his Son on the bed, watching over him. Some color returned to his Son’s face at least. That was a positive thing. At least that was what Dr. Hugo said.

The door opened again and Alastor’s head snapped up, spotting his house doctor.

“What did you find ?”, the Radio Host asked softly.

The doctor sighed and leaned against the closed door.

“You are lucky that you have such a fighter, for a Son, Mr. Hazbin. M/n should be dead already.”, the man informed.

The Radio Host’s eyes widened, in horror.

“Wh-what ?”

“It was a very high overdose on painkillers. It should have killed him overnight, but he made it through until now. And color seems to return to his face just fine now, so he survived it closely. Just throwing up...wouldn’t have solved it. The stomach pumping was his salvation. Good quick thinking.”

He looked at his Son in horror. Someone wanted to KILL him !

“W-was it...in the orange juice ?”, Alastor shakily asked.

“It was, I’m afraid.”, Dr. Hugo confirmed with a sigh.

That solved it then. No more going to the bar for a while. If Mimzy wants to meet up with him again, she will have to come and visit him, no more bars for a while.

“As soon as he wakes up we will run a few tests and determine if he can go back home. He will be very weak and have a weakened Immune System for a few days. He needs a lot of bed rest and he will need a lot of help, moving to the bathroom and such.”

“I can take care of that, if he is allowed back home. I just need a sick leave for my Job and then I can take full care of my Son.”, Alastor replied.

He will always be there for M/n, no matter what.

The doctor nodded and left.

-Time skip-

M/n woke up a while ago, had all the tests run on him and was allowed to return home. Dr. Hugo himself said that he will send the sick leave, for the Radio Host, to his workplace, himself.

Alastor brought him to bed and covered him in the blanket properly, then opened the boy’s bedroom window, to let fresh air inside.

“Papa...?”, M/n called out weakly.

Alastor turned around, looking at M/n with a small smile.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Are...are you mad at me...?”

It shocked the man. Why would his Son think that ?

“Why would you think that, Son ? No, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be ? You should be mad at me, for letting this happen to you, in the first place.”

M/n gave him a soft smile.

“You couldn’t have known. I never blamed you in the first place. I should have told you the juice tasted off as soon as I tasted it...”, the boy said, fumbling with his fingers.

“It’s alright, Cher. Now we need to focus on getting you back to health. A lot of chicken soup, vitamin juices and herbal teas will do the trick in no time.”

M/n gave his Father a smile. It was weak, but he tried and Alastor appreciated the effort. He ran his hand through his Son’s hair with a soft smile.

“Now get some more rest. I will wake you up, when the food is done cooking. Deal ?”

M/n gave the adult a big smile.

“Deal. Don’t hurt yourself on accident, Papa. I love you.”

Alastor’s smile became brighter. His Son really cared about him.

“I’ll be careful, Cher. I love you too. Now get some rest.”

With that Alastor left the room and went into the kitchen. He left M/n’s bedroom door ajar, in case M/n needed something. Then he got, quickly, to cooking his Mother’s infamous chicken soup.

As the soup was done, Alastor prepared two bowls with it and then carried them up the stairs. He almost dropped the bowls, as he saw his Son standing on badly shaking legs. He rushed to M/n’s desk, put the two bowls down and then returned to his child’s side, quickly.

“What were you thinking ? Mon petit, you are far too weakened to move on your own.”, Alastor scolded softly.

“S-sorry, Papa. I just wanted to go to the Bathroom and I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I will be able to make it alone...”, M/n replied softly.

The Radio Host sighed softly. He forgot that M/n was very selfless and never wants to bother him with small things the boy can deal with alone. He lend the small boy his arm, which the child took as support.

“Now then, let’s get you to the Bathroom, Cher.”

“O-okay, Papa.”

With Alastor’s help, M/n was guided to the Bathroom, that was connected with his Bedroom. He let the boy support himself from the sink to the toilet, then he closed the door.

“Tell me when you are done, Cher. Then we can eat.”

“I will, Papa. Thank you.”

“No problem, mon petit.”

Alastor waited at the door. He heard his Son flush the toilet and not long later the water running in the sink. He washed his hands then.

“I’m done, Dad.”, M/n said softly as the water was off again.

Alastor opened the door and then reached out his arm again. M/n grabbed it tightly and then he was led back to bed. The Father helped to cover the boy in his blankets again and then he went to fetch the bowls. M/n sat up comfortably, while Alastor sat next to him, on his bed, to the right side.

“Bon apetit, Cher.”, the man said.

“Bon apetit, Papa.”, the boy repeated.

Together they dug into their soup and the boy hummed, loving the taste.

“This tastes awesome, Dad ! How did you make it ?”, M/n asked in wonder, eating another spoonful after he asked.

Alastor chuckled lightly, a fond smile on his face.

“My Mother made a recipe for a good chicken soup. Sadly...it doesn’t taste as good as when she made it. I...always seem to miss something to add into it.”

M/n looked at his Father. He rarely heard about his Grandma.

“How was Grandma ? What was she like ?”, the boy asked.

Alastor looked at him, contemplating if the boy was ready to hear of her. He shook his head.

“Another time, Cher.”

“Dad, come on ! You told me a bit about her already. Why not more ? You clearly loved her a lot ! Was she really THAT bad ?”, M/n asked.

His head whipped around quickly, to look at his Son.

“She was NOT bad !”, Alastor yelled, slightly angered.

The boy flinched, but didn’t back down.

“Then why do you not want to share with me anything about her ?! I am YOUR SON, Dad ! She would be basically my Grandma !”

Alastor looked away after a while of seeing his Son frustrated with his closed off behavior.

“It...is hard to talk about her with others, Cher. I don’t tell everyone how my Family used to be.”, Alastor replied.

“I understand that, Papa. I really do, but I am Family too, aren’t I ? I am your child. Do I not deserve to know how my Grandparents used to be ? I already missed the opportunity to meet them in person. I can only hope for stories from you now.”

His Son had a point and the Radio Host knew that. He sighed and had a soft smile on his face. He knew it might fade soon, but...M/n was Family. He can let his charade drop around him.

“My Mother...Your Mummo (Grandma), was a very kind and caring soul. She loved to cook, she always knew how to cheer me up and she taught me everything I know, to be a Gentleman.”

M/n just looked at him, as his Father opened up about his Mother, eating his soup slowly. VERY slowly.

“She never had much problems with what I did. There were simple, loose rules in the house. Don’t curse, don’t yell in the house, arms off of the table when you eat, sit straight, respect your elders, no running in the house, don’t lie to Momma and no pets. I always kept to the rules, my Mom put up. I never yelled at her, I never hurt her on purpose and I always listened.”

M/n grew concerned. It seemed like his Father was out of the picture...

“What about your...Father ?”

Alastor tensed, but sighed and tried to relax.

“You are too young to hear everything about that man yet, but...he was NOT a good man, mon petit.”

At that M/n grew worried.

“What...what did he do to you two ?”, he asked worried.

Alastor looked at his Son, smile gone and a certain darkness in his eyes, dancing around like a wild fire.

“Whenever he came home...he usually had bad, stressful days and couldn’t get drunk and cheat on my Mother.”

‘So a drinking, cheating Bastard...’

“When he came home in such moods...there were more rules.”

“Like ?”

“Do not speak unless spoken to, you eat what was on the table, do not engage with him unless he starts to engage with you, you are not allowed to leave the table until he said you can or left himself first, you are not allowed to give him any attitude either and you are not allowed to say no to him. He wants you to get him a beer, you will get it, otherwise...”, Alastor cut himself off.

M/n stared at his Father in horror.

“You are NOT telling me that he was abusive, are you ?”

Alastor looked into his soup, head hanging low.

“That is exactly what I am telling you, Cher.”, he weakly replied.

‘Holy shit... we actually have something in common, just that he had a loving Mom by his side and I only had my Sister.’

The Radio Host took a deep breath. M/n gave him his full attention.

“He wanted me to act like him. Abusive, towards women and lesser people. He said if someone comes at me with attitude, I give it back to them, while my Mother said that is NOT how I should behave. When my Father was out of the house, my Mother taught me how to be a Gentleman. When he noticed what she was doing, that she taught me everything I needed to know and do one day, for myself, he forced me into other activities with him. I made a small mistake...well, I think you can guess the outcome.”, Alastor told him dully.

M/n stared at him, mouth agape. He always thought that at least his Family was great, when he was a child.

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BEG YOUR OWN PARENTS TO NOT STOP BEING YOUR PARENTS ! YOU WEREN’T BLAMED FOR YOUR SISTER’S DEATH ! YOU WEREN’T BEATEN AND ABUSED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HAVE A FEELING TO ALWAYS TRY TO BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM SO THEY WILL ACCEPT YOU ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SLEEP OUTSIDE AND STARVE ! YOU WEREN’T ABANDONED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO SEE YOUR OWN SISTER’S CONDITIONS WHEN SHE CAME HOME WOUNDED BADLY AND YOU HAD TO TAKE CARE OF HER AND LISTEN TO HER TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HOW THEY BEAT YOUR SISTER IN SCHOOL AND NO ONE CARED! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HER GETTING TAKEN BY SOME PERVERTED FREAKS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO FIND HER LIKE THIS THE NEXT DAY AND FIND OUT THAT THESE SICK FUCKS ARE STILL OUT THERE ! I DID ! I HAD TO ! WHILE NO ONE ELSE NEEDED TO BE PERFECT FOR THEIR PARENTS, I HAD TO BE THAT AND SO MUCH MORE !”

M/n looked down in shame as he remembered that day. He judged his Father way too quickly. Just because he seemed happy all the time, didn’t that mean that he really was. His childhood wasn’t rainbows and sunshine either.

He might not have been forced to beg both parents to not stop loving him, but he had to practically endure his Father’s torture. He didn’t have to see a sibling getting hurt all the time, but he probably was forced to see his Mother getting hurt a lot. He was beaten and bruised as a child, just as his Mother was probably. The worst was...it happened at home, a place you were supposed to be safest. His Mother might have confided in him and he probably saw her crumbling a lot. Just as M/n had to see Linda crumble apart all the time and it was up to him, to get her back up. Alastor and M/n had something in common. Shit parents. At least...shit Fathers, in Alastor’s case.

The boy put the empty bowl on the nightstand and then hugged his Father tightly, who took a deep inhale.

“I’m sorry I asked. But, if it helps, he is gone now. No more pain and torture.”, the child said softly.

Alastor chuckled weakly and put his hand on top of M/n’s smaller ones, that were on his stomach, wrapped around.

“Yes, he is gone now. Anyways !”

And the switch flipped again. M/n found it amusing nowadays. Alastor can change the mood so quickly...

“My Mother she cooked the best foods ever ! Jambalaya was one of the best ! I always helped her in the kitchen and cooked with her, when I could ! She was such a loving person, you would have LOVED her ! There were a few times she scolded me, but it wasn’t often. Without her...I would never be the person I am today, mon petit.”

M/n smiled at that and hugged his Father tighter, while Alastor finally ate the rest of his own soup. After he made sure that they both were full, he collected the bowls and brought them into the kitchen. He entered his Son’s room again, with a bright smile on his face.

“Now, you better take a nap, Cher. The more you sleep and drink, the faster you will be better !”, the Father said happily.

“Papa ?”, M/n called softly.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks, as he was about to leave. He turned back around, looking at the boy.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Can you...tell me a Story to fall asleep to ? I don’t care which.”

Alastor put his finger on his chin, pretending to think about it.

“Hmmm....Oh, alright then. But only one.”, the adult replied.

M/n smiled and nodded. Only one.

Alastor sat down next to his Son, on his bed, and started to tell the story about the wolf and the seven little goats.

As he finished, his Son was fast asleep and Alastor left, smiling softly. It felt good to confide in his child about his past. He thought it would feel...bad. Like a forbidden thing to do. Maybe...he will take M/n to his Mother’s grave soon. He deserved that kind of closure. But for now...Alastor has to help his child back on his little feet.

He will kill whoever poisoned his Son, as soon as he finds them.

Over the days, M/n quickly regained his strength. But while he was sick, he gave Alastor a hard time keeping up. At some nights, M/n woke up and needed the Bathroom. The Radio Host was a light sleeper, so imagine his fright when he jumped out of sleep, due to a loud thump, coming from his Son’s room, only to find him hissing in pain on the floor.

He quickly noticed that his Son hated to bother him with such small things. He wanted to move on his own and didn’t want his Father to feel forced to care for M/n, like he was a newborn fawn, that still needs to learn how to walk.

Most food M/n consumed, but some of the dishes, Alastor cooked, made M/n feel sick, so the adult was mindful of what he cooked. It wasn’t his Son’s fault, that his body recovered like that. He will be back to normal soon enough, was all they both always thought. And in less than a week, he was completely fine again.

Alastor had to scold him a lot for trying to walk on his own, after he continuously fell on his face anyways, but otherwise, M/n didn’t put up much of a fight.

What the man didn’t know, was that M/n knew who poisoned him and he was giving that person a lesson to learn from one day.

The audacity of that bitch...

Masterlist HERE !

#Read the warnings above #male!reader #fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #Father!Alastor x Son!Reader #How M/n met Mimzy – Father!Human!Alastor x Son!Reader

139 notes · View notes