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roanofarcc · 2 months

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WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom.

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face.

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them.

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair.

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them.

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.”

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.”

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night.

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you.

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos.

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds.

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet.

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people.

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!”

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?”

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it.

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes.

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter.

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast.

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing.

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk.

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion.

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run.

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?”

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow.

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey.

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir.

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances.

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces.

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you.

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly.

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap.

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.”

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.”

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.”

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.”

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him.

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest.

Bonus!

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt.

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased.

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #glen powell #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters 2024 fanfic #glen powell x reader

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tempo-takoyaki · 4 months

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From an anonymous freeform prompt for SVSSS Action, may I present to you... Delicious in the Abyss! A SVSSS x DunMeshi AU!

More info about the different characters (with some sketches) under the "read more" :

In Delicious in the Abyss, we follow various groups of adventurers as they explore the "abyss" a mysterious place filled with various fauna and monsters. No matter their race or age, most of them have the same goal: becoming the master of the abyss... However, some have a very different idea of how one should explore the abyss. Take for example a certain group led by an elf named Shen Yuan who desires one thing only... eat as many different monsters as possible!

Shen Yuan's party :

Shen Yuan: Elf, 87 y/o, Mage. His wish is to eat and study as many monsters as possible. He started exploring the abyss about twenty years ago, but had to stop abruptly after taking in Luo Binghe. On the surface, his studies seem to merely be for the sake of curiosity... But are they?

Luo Binghe: Tiefling, 63 y/o, Tank (and cook). Thrown into the abyss at the age of 38 (since tieflings are a long-lived race, it means he was about 14), he got stuck in the lowest levels for few years before Shen Yuan saved him. He regards him as his savior (and one true love) and would do anything for him... even if it means cooking the monsters (he hates it, he hates it so much).

Shang Qinghua: Gnome, 87 y/o, Healer. Shen Yuan's oldest friend and the author of many infamous books. He stopped writing them about twenty years ago though, after he started to explore the abyss with Shen Yuan. He seems to be looking for something in the abyss, or rather: someone.

Liu Qingge: Tallman, 26 y/o, Swordsman. One of Shen Yuan's friends. He used to be part of the Cang Qiong guild but left it after a disagreement with one of his colleagues. Now he works for Shen Yuan with his younger sister, Liu Mingyan. "Uh? My goal? Get stronger. Mh."

Liu Mingyan: Tallman, 24 y/o, Swordswoman. Liu Qingge's younger sister, she accompanies him on each of his missions. She got an offer to work with Cang Qion mountain once but refused it once she learned her brother had left the guild. She's quiet but efficient, however, Shang Qinghua suspects that she might stick around for other reasons...

Cang Qiong Guild:

Yue Qingyuan: Tallman, 48 y/o, Tank. The leader of Cang Qiong, he's a respected individual amongst adventurers. However, he seems leniant on the vices of his vice-leader: Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu: Tallman, 40 y/o, Swordman. Vice-leader of Cang Qiong. He's the reason Cang Qiong is exclusively made of tallmen, as he has a strong distate for any other races, especially elves. The only exception to this rule is his adopted daughter: Ning Yingying, a dwarf. He's the one who abandoned Luo Binghe into the abyss after discovering his true nature.

Mu Qingfang: Tallman, 29 y/o, Healer. The group's medic.

Qi Qingqi: Tallman, 31 y/o, Swordswoman. She wanted to create a branch specifically for women in Cang Qiong Guild's but because of Shen Qingqiu's veto on recruiting other races she couldn't make it work.

Ming Fan: Tallman, 19 y/o, Mage. A cowardly young adventurer. He has a crush on Ning Yingying.

Ning Yingying: Dwarf, 51 y/o, Tank. Despite being older than him, she's Shen Qingqiu's adopted daughter whom he took in when she was merely 30 y/o. She likes her father a lot, however she can't forgive him for what he has done to Luo Binghe. (She'll leave Cang Qiong to join Shen Yuan's part at some point).

(Side note, Cang Qiong is still specialized in cultivation, hence why most of them look so young)

The Tieflings hideout:

Tieflings are a race that I made up for this AU specifically, inspired by D&D. They're inhabitant of the dungeon, tall and sturdy, with pointy ears akin to elves, horns of various shapes and tails. They can also use magic like elves, tallmen or gnomes, however their magic rely on its own set of rules.

Mobei-Jun: Tiefling, 92 y/o, King of the Northern tribe. Leader of one of the numerous tiefling tribes hidden in the abyss, he met Shang Qinghua twenty years ago in the abyss and has made him swear his loyalty to him since then. He has sensed change in the abyss since Luo Binghe's arrival, and decided to trust Shen Yuan's party to solve this issue... With the compensation of Shang Qinghua.

Sha Hualing: Half-ogre half-halfoot, 15 y/o, Princess of the Eastern tribe. Adopted daughter of the king of the eastern tribe, she's a bastard born from the forbidden union between an ogre and a half-foot and was abandoned into the abyss at birth. Of short stature, with a short life spawn, she makes up for it with her keen senses and her strength. She later on joins Shen Yuan's party.

The first Tieflings:

Tianlang-Jun: Tiefling, ??? y/o, Master of the Abyss. The master of the abyss, his powers are beyond anything imaginable. He claims to have eaten what has given him those powers and since then has known hunger beyond what any mortal could endure. He has once fell in love with a tallman woman by the name of Su Xiyan, but she has left the abyss years ago, and he doesn't know what her whereabouts are... The only thing he knows is that she's the only one capable of satisfying this hunger that eats him from the inside.

Zhuzhi-Lang: Beastman (snake), ??? y/o, Guardian of the abyss. Tasked by the Abyss' Master to protect its inhabitants, he'll kill anyone who gets in his ways indiscriminately at the exception of Shen Yuan, who saved him years ago when exploring the abyss for the first time. He only obeys the Abyss' Master orders, and because of that, has forced the Tieflings deeper and deeper into the abyss regardless of how they felt about it. As a chimera, he's more snake than the tiefling his soul has been mixed with.

Other groups:

Huan Hua's guild (the governor's guild): The one guild financed by the governor of the state in which the abyss is located. Its members are from various races. Despite the guild stating they're open to anyone, only those from a wealthy background can become a part of it.

Zhao Hua's guild: Specialized in magic. They have rounds to reanimate unlucky adventurers in the abyss.

Tian Yi's guild: Specialized in training new adventurers.

And that's it for now! What awaits them in the abyss? Many adventures and delicious cooking, that is, if Luo Binghe can handle it.

"Freed from the abyss at long last... Forced to cook the monsters with seasoning this time. I've been cursed there's no other way to explain it... Damn it, it's good though, I really am a great cook."

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dissociacrip · 4 months

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i saw that one disability-related post a while ago about dental care but i can't find it again so i'm gonna mention a few things as a (mild to moderately) mentally & physically disabled person, whose teeth hurt when i eat sweet stuff now + i've had a root canal due to a fall + i'm learning to take care of myself, that may or may not help other folks with their dental routine

note: i am not a dentist & this info is mostly what i've gleaned secondhand from dentists, so yeah, i am not an expert in any capacity

water flossers aren't as effective as regular flossing (doing both is actually what's most effective) but they're better than nothing & helpful in cases where coordination problems or other issues might prevent regular flossing technique (i imagine this also depends on the quality of the water flosser)

if you use one of the plastic pre-made floss picks things, rinse the string off in-between each time you use it to floss one side of a tooth, it's tedious but it mimics moving to a new (clean) part of the thread like you do with regular floss

if you get an automatic toothbrush, get one that does circular rotation rather than just vibrating or whatever, as this mimics the tools they use in a dentist's office + imitates the circular motion you're expected to make with a standard toothbrush (which is also hard with coordination issues), i got one that does this pretty cheap from walmart (it's an oral-b but i forgot the specific type) + it automatically times it for you

if you have white spots on your teeth that are uneven with the shade of the rest of the tooth those are potentially white spot lesions due to demineralization; whitening products can make this worse rather than help it, but some products can help with remineralization such as mi paste topical tooth creme, which contains calcium and phosphate (i have yet to try this myself but it seems to get suggested by a lot of dentists, orthodontists, etc. for white spots on teeth & it's also supposed to help with sensitivity and tooth health in general because the white spots are lesions so it's not purely cosmetic!)

it's advised to not rinse your mouth immediately after brushing as this potentially dilutes & reduces the effects of the flouride (if you use fluoride toothpaste), stuff says to wait at least 15 minutes or so

just giving your teeth a quick scrub (even if it's without toothpaste and just water) is better than not brushing your teeth at all

if you have trouble seeing a dentist for financial reasons, try to see if there are income-based or charity dental services in your area, sometimes dental schools also provide low-cost/free dental care

that's all i can think of for now, i wish i had more advice for people who struggle to be able to brush their teeth at all in general but this is all i got unfortunately :(

additionally - you're not bad, useless, gross, or a failure if you struggle to (or can't) maintain oral hygiene; this stuff is much easier for some people than it is to others & those who take it for granted like to forget that, no one deserves to be mocked or looked down on for being disabled & struggling to/not being able to do """basic""" stuff like this!

#actually disabled #neurodivergent #actuallyautistic #actuallyadhd #cpunk #j

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months

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It's Not About You

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: When Tim overhears his fellow police officers and your other neighbors flirting with you, he gets jealous, and takes it out on you.

Warnings: jealous!Tim (he's hot), brief angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Over the last few years of impromptu visits to the Mid-Wilshire LAPD station, you’ve gotten to know most of the front desk staff. They know you too, and you’re often wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge and wished good luck. You’ve heard the stories about the man you come to visit: how intense and grumpy he can be, but you’ve never seen that side of him for yourself.

Today, two people sit at the front desk, and you’ve never seen either before. Moving into one line, you wait until you reach the desk. You smile as you look at his name tag and are surprised to realize that you have heard his name.

“How can I help you today?” he asks, clearly displeased with his current position and forcing his smile.

“Officer Nolan, I am here to visit Officer Bradford,” you answer.

“Bradford,” Nolan repeats. “Tim Bradford?”

“That’s the one. I just need to drop something off and ask him a quick question.”

“Oh, sure,” Nolan replies. “Just fill this out for me and I’ll get you a badge.”

You nod, stepping to the side as you fill out the paperwork you haven’t seen since your first visit. Knowing that Nolan is new, though, and seeing just how busy the station is, you decide to do as he asks rather than argue with him.

“So, do you know Officer Bradford?” Nolan asks.

“I do. I’m his neighbor,” you answer.

“Ah, I see. I’m surprised someone as nice as you would intentionally visit him.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you pass the clipboard back to him.

“Nothing, just- Hang on, I’m out of badges. Jackson, do you have visitors’ badges over there?”

“Uh, yeah,” the man beside him, Jackson apparently, answers.

“She’s here to visit Bradford,” Nolan explains.

“On purpose?” Jackson asks.

“That’s what I said!”

“Why is that so surprising?” you ask, smiling.

“He’s just… grumpy, and you seem so kind and fun to be around,” Nolan replies.

“You think I’d be fun to be around?”

“I- I mean, yeah. So envisioning you and Bradford talking to each other is just weird.”

“And concerning,” Jackson adds. “Have you been tested for any cognitive issues?”

“That’s not cognitive-related, you’re just questioning if I’m a good judge of character,” you argue.

“What’s your impression of me?” Nolan inquires. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well,” you begin, tapping the desk as you think.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim looks down at his watch before glancing at the door. You should be here by now; your text said ten minutes, and it’s been twice that. Tim abandons the conversation he’s been ignoring and walks to the door behind the desk. He hears you say why you’re there, but when Nolan starts talking to you about how different you are from Tim and then dips into what sounds like flirting, Tim's jaw tightens as he listens.

“As much fun as this has been,” you say with a chuckle, “I’m really late, and-“

“Bradford hates that. Trust me, I know,” Nolan interjects. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do. Thank you, Officer Nolan.”

“John.”

Tim watches you smile as you use Nolan’s first name, and his nostrils flare. Usually, he can recognize his own emotions (and he’d admit - to you, at least - that he doesn’t have much emotional range). Right now, he can’t place the feelings he’s experiencing watching you and Nolan.

“Uh, Tim?” you ask, stepping through the door to go to the bullpen.

“Hey,” Tim replies, turning quickly. He picks up a folder and adds, “Everything okay? Took you longer than usual.”

You look at the folder in his hand and answer, “Yeah. My favorite cop wasn’t at the front desk so I actually had to go through the whole visitor thing.”

“I’m not your favorite cop?” Tim asks.

“Depends on the day,” you reply, smiling as he steps beside you.

Tim doesn’t answer, and when you look over at him, you’re surprised to see him looking straight ahead, bending the folder with a tight grip. You stop, placing a hand on his forearm.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Never been better,” Tim answers. “Why’d you stop by?”

“Oh. I wanted to let you know that Kojo is at my house, but also have a question.”

“Then ask.”

You bristle slightly at Tim’s disinterested tone, but you know his job is tough, and he’s probably had a long day.

“Do you-“

“Bradford!” someone calls. “Let’s go!”

Tim looks toward you, and you say, “Go ahead. My question can wait. Have a good day, Tim.”

“You too,” he mutters.

Tim takes the time to watch you leave, despite his seeming indifference. When you stop by the desk to say bye to Nolan, Tim destroys the folder as he realizes what he feels. Tim Bradford is jealous. Worse, he’s jealous of a rookie.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo is on a leash in your front yard, and you smile as you watch him jump after a ball. Tim lives directly beside you, so you’ll know when he gets home. Hopefully, the rest of his shift went okay, and he’s in a better mood now.

A deep voice calls your name, and you look away from Kojo. Your neighbor from the other side stops on the sidewalk before your house to continue talking to you.

“Hey! How are you?” you respond, staying by your porch.

“Better now,” he replies with a flirtatious smile.

He’s not a bad neighbor, but he makes you uncomfortable because he flirts with you every time he sees you. Having Kojo nearby makes you more comfortable, but you hope to get through the small talk and move on.

“I’m having a little get together on Friday if you’d like to come over.”

You call Kojo to your side, and he happily sits before you, another buffer between you and your neighbor. Tim’s truck turns into his driveway, and you sigh in relief. He gets out quickly, stopping by his passenger door as he watches you and Kojo. You smile, unsurprised but disappointed when Tim doesn’t return it.

“Friday?” your neighbor asks.

“I’ll, uh, I’m not sure if I can make it,” you offer. “Thanks for the invitation, though.”

“Open invite,” he adds before walking back toward his house.

“Hey, Tim,” you call, walking across your yard with Kojo’s leash in your hand. “Work go okay?”

“Yep. Thanks for taking care of Kojo.”

Tim takes the leash, his hand covering yours for just a moment. He pulls his hand away quickly and nods before he turns toward his house.

“Do you need me to watch him tomorrow?”

“No,” Tim answers, keeping his back to you. “Have a good one.”

You stand in your yard for a moment, wondering what happened. You’re starting to see the Tim Bradford that the officers at Mid-Wilshire talk about, and you’re not sure you like it.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim was hoping that you’d ask your question when he got home. When he saw your other neighbor talking to you and, from what Tim heard, asking you out, he decided he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Turning his back on you felt wrong, but his jealousy is calling the shots for now. Everyone close to you, close to Tim, seems to be making a move on you. Tim doesn’t want to admit it, but part of why he likes you so much is because he’s falling for you. He knows he’ll never be good enough for you, so he’s happy to be your friend... until today, and now he’s not sure if he can stand by and watch another man attempt to make you happy.

“Any chance you can tell me that I saw that wrong?” Tim asks Kojo. When Kojo huffs, he replies, “I didn’t think so.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo starts barking as soon as you return home from running some errands. Tim said he didn’t need your help today, but Kojo needs something. You text Tim, asking if he wants you to check on Kojo, but he doesn’t answer. After a few minutes, you use your spare key and enter Tim’s house.

As you walk into the backyard with Kojo, you call Tim, but he still doesn’t answer. Kojo is fine, simply lonely, so you take him back to your house. After texting Tim to let him know, you walk back to your car to lock it. A police car stops across the street, and when you see Nolan exit the driver’s side, you yell his name and jog toward the road.

“Hey,” he greets.

“What’s going on?” you ask, walking into the street so you can hear him.

“Noise complaint. How long have you been home?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“They called about excessive dog barking, and that’s a direct quote.”

“Oh… that was Tim’s dog. He’s fine now, but he was barking at me when I got back because he was lonely.”

Another shop parks behind Nolan’s, and Tim slams the door as he exits.

“It was Kojo, I’m so sorry,” you offer.

“I told you he was fine today,” Tim replies.

“He started barking and I was worried about him. You didn’t answer, so I-“

“It’s fine,” Tim snaps.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Nolan nods as he gets back in his shop. Tim waits until he drives away to take a deep breath. He begins to speak, but another neighbor stops as he drives by, rolling his window down to ask how you are. Tim opens his door, and you rush to his shop and look through his rolled-down window.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” you repeat.

“It’s fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t because you can’t even look at me. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not about you,” Tim argues. It is, but he can’t tell you that.

“Got it,” you murmur, stepping back. “I’ll take Kojo back to your place and leave my key.”

You cross the road, walking through your yard as you think about what you’re losing by accidentally pushing Tim away. Tim yells your name, and you stop but don’t turn toward him. He walks up behind you, and you can’t see his hands flex at his sides as he tries to find the words to say.

“It is about you, but not about you taking care of Kojo,” Tim begins. “It’s about you and me.”

Turning your head, you watch Tim’s hand fold into a fist as he continues.

“I just- Nolan was flirting with you, and…”

“You think he was flirting with me?” you ask, turning so you’re facing Tim.

“He was. And it made me angry. When I came home and saw what’s-his-name flirting with you too…”

“You got angry?”

“I got jealous,” Tim forces out.

“Why?”

“Because they’re doing what I want to do.”

“What does that mean, Tim?”

“It means that I want to be more than your friend but I’m not relationship material. Watching guys try to be what I want to be makes me jealous and angry, and for some reason I took it out on you.”

“And Nolan?”

Tim pauses before nodding.

“You know the worst part of this?” you ask. “That if you had just told me, I would have let you know that I feel the same.”

“You don’t get jealous,” Tim argues.

“That’s not true. Every time someone flirts with you or stares a little too openly, I remember that you could have anyone you wanted. Being your neighbor was the closest I thought I could get.”

Tim steps toward you, and you match his movement, closing the distance together.

“So…” you begin.

“So. What did you want to ask at the station?"

"If I could come over, but I feel confident assuming that you'd say yes."

Tim closes his eyes when your neighbor says your name.

“Cute,” you murmur.

“I realized that a big gathering like that wasn’t a good choice, so I wanted to ask if you were free Thursday? Maybe we could get some dinner or something."

“She’s busy,” Tim answers, his eyes on you.

“But-“

“Let me rephrase, she’s taken!” Tim yells.

“Oh, sorry man, I didn’t know.”

Tim watches him scurry inside before turning back toward you. You smile as you look at him.

“I’m taken?” you repeat.

“Only if you want to be.”

Nodding, you lay your hands on Tim’s chest. He moves a hand up to your waist, pulling you against him. Kojo barks before he can do anything, and you laugh against Tim’s uniform.

“Aren’t you still working?” you ask.

“Technically. How about dinner when I get off?”

“Only if you cook.”

“Like I’m taking you out in public this soon. I just got over the jealousy.”

You kiss Tim’s cheek just before dispatch alerts him of a call in the area.

“Where are you going?” he asks as you walk away.

“Home!” you call as you walk into his porch. “My boy lives here. And you do too.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader #kojo bradford #hanna writes✯

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skzdarlings · 5 months

Text

bodyguard: the first guard | part three | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

( 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.

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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ravens-two · 9 months

Text

PAC: What your Future Spouse will be like and how will you meet them?

This reading includes:

your FS's personality, vibes, and general info

how and where you will meet them for the first time

songs that represent the vibe of this relationship

The extended reading includes:

your FS's first impressions of you

your first impressions of your FS

a little moodboard

(this first extended reading is available for free!)

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Hierophant, Hermit and Page of Swords

"Love/I said real love, it's like feeling no fear"

How will your FS be like?

Your FS has a lot of earth energy, for me it feels mainly like Capricorn and Virgo, but there's also Taurus here. This doesn't have to be their zodiac sign, I actually think it's more their overall vibe. They're responsible, down-to-earth, grounded and tend to take things seriously. They also seem to be more traditional, or at least they're someone that respects authority and think that you should follow the rules. Despite being traditional, I think that they're pretty open-minded and open to new experiences. In fact, they like to try new things, they give me scientist vibes tbh. It's like they'll try anything at least once, just to see what it will be like.

When it comes to their work they might work in STEM, law enforcement or in management. I also think that they really like to read, mainly non-fiction because they're always trying to acquire more knowledge. If they're not really readers, then this is more of a nerdy vibe when it comes to their favorite hobby. If they love cinema, then they really like cinema and will be telling you about behind the scenes and production stuff every time you two watch a movie.

I feel like they have a hard time expressing their feelings though. It's not that they're thinkers rather than feelers, it's more like they don't feel comfortable being vulnerable, however I also think that they'll do their best to work through this. These people will not cheat on you and they also do not tolerate cheating or any perceived betrayal. They are very loyal. They're in this to actually get married and stay together, not just to play around.

Also, this is very specific but I also think that they're atheists, but they're very attracted to the occult and spiritual - it's like they really want to believe in something, but they can't believe in something they can't prove.

How will you meet them?

I feel like this will be quite different for everyone, but I'm getting two main things. For some of you, you might meet your person through the internet. This could be through a dating app, social media, some of you will even meet them through an online game I'm seeing (I'm actually seeing you being really frustrated with your person, maybe they're playing against you and winning lmao). For this group your relationship might start long-distance or you and your person might have to travel a lot to see each other.

For the other group I see you meeting this person while you're away from home, this almost has an adventure vibe to it. For some, you might be going away on vacation and you meet someone there. For others, this could be a work trip and this person could be somewhat related to your work. I'm also seeing that some of you aren't exactly traveling, but you're out of town, like the city next to yours or something like that.

your vibes in songs

Cherry - Lana del Rey

Like Real People Do - Hozier

Heavenly - Cigarettes After Sex

Blackbird - Beatles

Francesca - Hozier

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 2

Seven of Wands, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Cups

"put your life out on the line/you're crazy all the time"

How will your FS be like?

Oh right away your person attracts other people's attention and jealousy. They're probably very beautiful, visually striking or they've got money or status. Either way people can't take their eyes off of them. For some of you, this attention isn't for the best reasons. People might feel wary or scared by your person.

This is someone that doesn't take shit from anyone. They are assertive and have high self-esteem. People might try to put them down, but it's literally impossible. I'm actually feeling Leo, Libra and a bit of Taurus vibes here. They're like the brightest star in the room. They also believe that they're the best - not in the sense that they're better than other people, but more in a self-motivation way.

If they've got money and status - like a good job for example (I also think that they're known for their job and they are very good at it) - it's because they worked really hard for it. They don't really come from money, they worked hard for what they have. That's the other thing they are hard workers and will not settle for less than what they have envisioned. They also don't like lazy people or debbie-downers. They firmly believe that everyone makes their own destiny. (for some reason I'm also getting that they like the movie Brave lol).

When it comes to the relationship they love to shower you with gifts, it might be their love language. Also, something that they will do is support your goals and motivate you when you're feeling down.

I also get a bit of a secretive vibe from them, it's almost like they make you look at the brightest parts of them to distract you from the shadows. They sometimes might struggle mentally, I feel like this might come from some childhood trauma or anxiety. Despite this, they're fighters and don't stop trying to get better.

How will you meet them?

Unlike pile 1, I feel like this is a very old-fashioned type of meeting. You might meet in a public place, like going out to a party or to a restaurant or something like that and you see them and they will start a conversation with you and ask for your number.

Others of you will meet your person through someone else, like a friend or a co-worker will introduce you to them. I don't think that this will be match-making, but you two will be instantly attracted to each other.

Either way, this feels like a more traditional courtship type of situation lmao. You'll both take your time getting to know and really dating each other. I feel like this will be very romantic.

your vibes in songs

Art Deco - Lana del Rey

Angels - The XX

Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens

Yellow - Coldplay

Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 3

Tower, Knight of Swords, Eight of Pentacles

"they say I'm too young to love you/they say I'm too dumb to see"

How will your FS be like?

Talk about scorpionic energy. Your person is a force of nature, pile 3. They might have a lot of Pluto or Scorpio influence in their chart. I feel like this is the bad boy/girl pile - in a good way though. If this is a woman she is the embodiment of that dark feminine aesthetic, think Megan Fox for example. In general, they give me dark, edgy, goth vibes. But some lean more towards a romantic, Byron-esque energy. These are the type of people who will seduce you with their gaze and then with their words. They have a very intense sexual energy.

Your person isn't afraid of change, in fact, I think that they crave change. They might start out as being a bit commitment-phobic actually. Your person has also been through a lot, they might be the tortured artist type. They are deep thinkers and love to talk. Like they will talk and talk and talk. Honestly, they're happy to talk about anything, but especially about philosophical stuff or conspiracy theories or that type of thing. Also, as they are so open minded they will be open to talk about anything and are really good listeners. Like, for example, you might love Star Wars but they've never seen it, they're still super happy to talk to you about it and will know about it enough to hold a conversation. They have this gemini energy that they know a little bit about everything. They are very supportive and whenever you have a problem or are feeling down they'll sit you down and ask you to tell them everything.

I get the feeling that they know more than one language and they might actually work as translators, editors or linguists. In general though, I think that this person works freelance and does a lot of different stuff. They want to try as many professions as possible.

They love poetry or music and will either read poetry or sing for you. Again, there's an artist vibe here. They might not be an artist by profession, but they love the arts.

When it comes to their love and emotions they are very passionate. They might express their feelings in really over the top ways. It's like when they're happy they're really happy, but when they're sad they're also really sad. They feel things deeply. Being loved by them is something all-consuming.

How will you meet them?

I actually feel like most of you will meet your person through work. This might mean that you will be co-workers or that you will meet them whilst you or them are working. Let's say that you work as a lawyer for example they might become your client and that's how you get to know each other. Of course, nothing can really happen whilst they're your client, but it will happen afterwards.

For other people, you will meet them during a period that you are very focused on your career and/or you have a lot of work to do. For some people, I'm even seeing that this will be while you're doing your thesis. You're completely focused on something, maybe even feeling a bit stressed and you just meet them randomly. You won't really have time for them right away, but they'll be persistent and keep showing up on your radar until you have enough time to actually get to know each other.

your vibes in songs

Brooklyn Baby - Lana del Rey

West Coast - Lana del Rey

Can't Catch Me Now - Olivia Rodrigo

The Louvre - Lorde

Patience - Guns N' Roses

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

Pile 4

Queen of Wands, Fool rx, Nine of Swords rx

"I live to love you/and I love to love you"

How will your FS be like?

Right away I can see that your person is very stubborn and strong-willed, pile 4. This manifests in both a good and a bad way. It means that they are persistent and don't change their minds without good reason. But, it also means that once they have their mind set it's very hard to make them come around.

This person is very fiery. Mainly I see Aries and Leo energy here. They are extroverted, confident and some of them are a bit brash, while others are charmers. They are also very confident in their charm and sexuality, and it's probably what will draw you to them at first.

I also see them as wanting to boost your self-esteem and show you off to others. They love some jealousy lmao (you being jealous, and also others being jealous of them and your relationship). They are absolute drama queens/kings. It amuses them to blow things out of proportion and they love it even more when you do it back at them. Okay, the scenario I'm getting is they trying to make you jealous by doing something silly or talking about an old partner, they would then love it if you were super dramatic about it and pretended to be really upset. They like to argue for fun as well. Like, honestly you need to rein them in at the dinner table so that they don't push your families/friend's buttons. They are very passionate.

I also think that they are a bit pessimistic at times, but when they really feel like that they will try to keep it to themselves instead of being overtly dramatic. I also think that they're looking for stability and a serious relationship after a time of not having it.

They really don't like surprises. And might not be too excited about change. They would prefer if everything always stayed as it is. I also, feel like sometimes they have a hard time balancing between feeling adventurous and not feeling like leaving their safe space.

I think that most of them speak really fast, and often without thinking. Which ends up with them regretting their words more often than not. Also, acting without thinking.

How will you meet them?

I'm not getting a place/physical circumstance as much as the other piles. But, I think that you will meet your person after you have been through a really hard time. Perhaps you have been struggling a lot with anxiety and are now recovering and then you randomly meet them. I feel like you'll know it's them because they will give you a feeling of calmness and peace.

For others I think that this will be a really difficult situation like the loss of a friend, family member, pet, or even a job. It will take you a long time to recover and you will still be quite vulnerable when you meet your person. You might also be a bit anxious about getting into a relationship at first.

your vibes in songs

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana del Rey

Religion - Lana del Rey

More Than Words - Extreme

She - Elvis Costello

National Anthem - Lana del Rey

(checkout the first extended reading on my patreon - available for free)

#pac #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #future spouse #fs pac #fs pick a pile

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demonsword586 · 6 months

Text

Leviathan Attacker part 5

(Out of context,I am a bit afraid of getting taken down. Since I'm pretty sure we all heard what happened to whb wiki and the person in charge of it. As of now there is ln't too much info but apperantly someone reported them and they had to take down all the pics and audios and their blog is also down?! I dunno,I'm just a bit nervous for everyone who is posting a lot of PB's work in case we also get reported and all of this would go to hell.I really hope the person who arcvhived everything for the public isn't in a lot of trouble. It hurts seeing someone who worked so hard for this fandom get ghosted out of existence. Anyway enjoy your horny deer boy)

Leviathan: Ku,urgh...

Leviathan stiffened for moment.

Not because he had calmed down,but because he had ejaculated largly inside !ou again.

A great rush of pleasure,washed over you as you felt your stomach fill with his fluids again. At the same time,you began to feel something else fill you.

MC: How....Why...are you getting harder?!

As you screamed,Leviathan began thrusting inside you roughly,as though the tightwned grip on his throat has made him more than pleased.

You tried to calm Leviathan down somehow,placing a hand over your hole to stop his cock but it backfired.

He buckled his hips harder,as if your touch has made him even more excited.

Each time he did so,the rattling balls beneath his cock,slapped against your bottom

Unable to resist the pleasure that had taken over your head,your hand that was holding the curtain ribbon finally let go.

Wheter you passed out or died while having sex with him,it would be a death of luxury that would make the former devils of Hades jealous.

With those thoughts,you began to mark Leviathan's entire body as if in a final act of death.

You pulled yourself up by placing one hand behind your back and with your free hand you frantically grabbed Leviathan's shoulders,forearms and chest,punching and slapping,embracing the pleasure that was driving you.

In the meantime,your soften and swollen hole and Leviathan's fully hardened flesh were rubbing against each other,producing an endless stream of moisture.

You had a feeling that Leviathan was about to ejaculate again.

This time however,you wanted him to call out your name,rather than to come inside you in a daze.

MC: Leviathan...ugh..Levi...ah!..than...Who am I?

Leviathan: Shut up.....

MC: Look properly...mmgh...Who am I?

Leviathan: Urgh...fuck...Mc

Your fingertips and toes twiched and your eyes narrowed as the perfect auditory stimulus was applied.

It was like a bull running downhill after being kicked in the bottom and then being lifted back up in the air.

In a moment that felt very long,you tightened your inner walls with all the strenght your body could mutter, in your almost unconscious state.

Leviathan: Kurgh?!

Leviathan's eyes seem to turn bright red,and then he buckled his hips harder than you expected,spewing a massive load of cum into you.

MC: No...there's...no more space inside my stomach...I think it will come out of my mouth!

You uttered something,you didn't even know you were saying.

At the same time,a large fountain splashed unknowingly between your legs.

You felt giddy,like you had just ejaculated for the first time in your life and your whole body tingled.

You had a lot of expectations and fantasies about love and sex in your life,including a variety of diffrent and somewhat bizzare,if you will,delusions as well.

Like the clinches that weren't used that much these days even in the K-dramas that Minhyeoks family enjoyed watching.

Sex with Leviathan however,went far beyond that and fulfilled your most basic desires.

The feeling of being a female,being completely owned and held by the strongest male in the world.

That was an expwrience you would never felt on Earth.

MC: Ha...ha...ha...

A feeling of exaustion beyond a pleasant langour washed over you.

MC:( Will I...really die like this?...From coition death?!)

That was a death that was very becoming of you in itself. But...

MC: ( I'd feel a little bad for Minhyeok if I died like that...)

The moment the thought struck,Leviathan's eyes which seemed to be locked in a state of perfect pleasure flashed with frightwning intensity.

The half-dazed,half-crazed look he had before was now nowhere to be seen.

Leviathan: Who are you thinking of,when me is infront of you?

Leviathan: When I am filling you to the brim like this!

The aura of jealousy dripping from his eyes rwminded you of cum drippi g from his cock.

MC: Levi..ahtan...are you,ugh..awake,agh?!

For a moment you wondered if Levoathan had come to his senses and was done with this act.

He was rubbing his penis that was dripping wirh cum over your genitals.

You were already feeling lanquid,but as he gently rubbed himself on you,you felt sleep wash over you with a faint sense of pleasure.

The cum he'd ejaculated was dripping down but he coudn't be bothered.

MC: Leviathan...

Leviathan: What?

MC: Are you still cold?

Leviathan: !

Leviathan widened his eyes in slight suprise,before returning to his normal expression.

And then he carefully brushed the wet hair off your cheek with a hot hand.

Leviathan:....It's warm.

MC: That's a relief.

You said and completely fell asleep.

You opened your bleary eyes,feeling the sun gently warm your cheeks.

MC: Leviathan...?

You were laying on Leviathan's bed alone.

Barbatos: Ah,are you awake? MC? I understand that you would suddenly open your eyes because the sun makes you feep good!

Foras: ...But it may have been to keep your eyes closed for longer.

Foras said kindly,seriously approaching the bed.

There was already a blanket someone put on top of you,but Foras pulled it up some more,covering you snugly to the base of your neck.

Foras: His Majesty Leviathan is away on urgent state affairs. And he assured us to take good care of you.

You were dissapointed not to see Leviathan when you opened your eyes,but you were pleased that he assured them to take good care of you.

Glasyal La Bolas: Keke,Foras. I think it was too much for his Majesty Leviathan instead! You really must have intended on squezzing out all of the seeds inside his Majesty Leviathan.

Said Glasyal La Bolas,pointing to the curtain ribbon which still smelled thickly of Leviathan.

MC: Huh? What do you mean?

Glasyal La Bolas: Did you know that when they hang death-row convicts,they place a bucket under them?

MC: No? Why do they do that?

Glasyal La Bolas: Because men ejaculate a massive amount just before they die whrn they're hung. They ejaculate all the remaining cum inside of their bodies.

Glasyal La Bolas: They're trying to plant a seed somehow just before they die.

Foras: It doesn't have to be strangluation,but creatures have an instinctive reaction to death.

Foras: For example,ejaculating when stiching up a severed arm that's incredibly painful or when your throat is slit.

MC: !

You suddenly realized why strangling Leviathan has backfired.

Hanging already made you instinctevly ejaculate and Leviathan was a devil who even had a fetish for strangulation.

MC: ( I was out of my mind! I didn't think of that before...)

You felt embarrassed realizing in hindsight ypu had encouraged Leviathan.

And at the same time Glasyal La Bolas's words felt like a clue.

MC:....Today,Leviathan was strange. He was immensely....

Barbatos: I know.

MC: Why is Leviathan...

Why did Leviathan look sad? Why did he say unintelligible things? Why did he indulge himself so much? They were questions with many answers,but Barbatos's wistful face prevented you from saying more.

Foras began to speak as though he understood the meaning behind your question.

Foras: Rather than being today,but today a long time ago.

Foras: Is the day he escaped the farm in Heaven.

Foras: That day he only had two choices: to live or to die.

MC: Oh..!

Only then did you understand the unintelligible words Leviathan had been muttering.

MC: (Having to avoid cold,dangerous places to somewhere safe and warm...)

Glasyal La Bolas: He would only have one thought "I have to survive because I ran at the price of everyone else's lives".

Barbatos: On the same day every year,survival instincts are expressed as trauma.

Barbatos: He doesn't like to be around a lot of devils at this time of year. Yes,agoraphobia in human terms.

Too many thoughts filled your mind,and you went blank for a moment.

Foras: This time MC,I think we have something to thank you for. The beautiful palace is intact.

Barbatos: True! The palace that doesn't need repairs is the best! The architect devil will be happy

MC: What do you mean by that?

Foras: Normally...Theres no telling what his Majesty Leviathan will do with his overflowing lust and rage for the angels on this day,and it usually results in the destruction of the palace.

MC: He destroys the palace?

Glasyal La Bolas: The main hall is submerged up to the ankles in cum.

Foras: Sometimes a coffin will appear and he summon an apostle,and we have to risk our lives to stop it.

Foras: The grief,fear,anger and responisbility he feels today would be hard for even God to handle.

Barbatos: You're the first one ever to accept it all.

Barbatos spoke proudly,but he had a subtle look on his face.

MC: (He's like Leviathan when he's jelaous...)

You sat up and thought of the many expressions Leviathan pulled a while ago. Just then...

Splash!

When Glasyal La Bolas stomped his feet with a grin,the liquid on the floor of Leviathan's bedroom that was about a finger's lenght high belatedly caught your eyes.

MC: Why is the floor in the bedroom so splashy?..

Glasyal La Bolas: (dark grin) It's the liquid you and his Majesty squirted.

Glasyal La Bolas said flippantly and Foras glared at him fiercly.

Foras: Anyway,its all thanks to you that this beautiful palace wasn't destroyed.

Foras: I'm glad that the landscape is the same now as it was when you came here today.

Barbatos: It's like a sword that's been cutting through everything it touches because it doesn't have a sheat now has a sheat!

At Barbatos's words,you felt your stomach tightened involuntarily as though you could feel Leviathans presence again,filling your insides.

Drip-!

Some of the liquid that still filled your stomach to the brim dribbled out.

Noticing the subtle change in your expression,Foras stepped closer and laid you back down.

Foras: Sleep some more now. We'll clean this up.

Foras's soft voice and warm touch drew on the languor you had forgotten about.

The moment you nodded and lay back down,Leviathan's thick scent on the sheets enveloped you.

When you opened your eyes again,you were in Gehenna.

And that night you had a good dream.

A dream of walking on the beautiful streets of Hell with younger Leviathan,his flesh smooth and unblemished.

There,Leviathan didn't have cold,cramped or dangerous memories.

As you smiled in your sleep,Leviathan also had the same expression as he slept in Hades.

As the two were dreaming the same dream.

#whb #I can't belive I just voiced out my worries and then talked about devil cum😐#what in hell is bad #whb leviathan #whb barbatos #whb glasyalabolas #whb foras

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seirindono · 2 months

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TMS - Author's note (Arc 1)

Today I'm stepping up to talk about TMS for a while. It's going to be a lot of blah blah, no TLDR, so hang in there or save it for later if you're brave enough, haha (¯▿¯)

So, another chapter of TMS draws to a close, with the difference that this time it's a whole saga that's coming to an end! That's a big relief for me, given that we recently celebrated the comic's 4th anniversary! That's almost the entire duration of my college life, and that's both an impressive and terrifying achievement lol.

The comic is divided into 3 arcs, each separated by an interlude. The first runs from part 1 to 8, with 201 pages total (wow!). In it, you are introduced to Mel, a young skeleton with a rather unclear past, who accidentally arrives in a a foreign timeline, along with other well known skeletons. Nowadays it's just an isekai haha. Throughout the arc, she proves to be a cautious Monster, quiet and somewhat withdrawn compared to the other skeletons we come across, notably Rus, Blue and Axe, who each got their own sequences.

Still, Mel in the last few scenes is starting to show more initiative, and the interlude will make this even more obvious, but we can expect her to open up a lot more during the next Arc, about her past, motives, goals and thoughts.

I could go on at length about what's in store for us in the interlude, but given that it's due for release sometime in 2024, I'm going to talk about the general story line instead. Although we follow Mel who is foreign to what's going on in this universe prior to her arrival, the other characters and events suggest that strange phenomena are taking place in Ebott, leading many people to become embroiled in a highly unusual affair. Crossing timelines, earthquakes, mysterious apparitions in the forest, something is afoot and the situation seems to be at a turning point when Mellow gets here.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with the situation and what to do next. Some are serious and pragmatic, like Black, others optimistic, like Blue, and others, like Papyrus, find themselves completely backed into a corner, forced to do their best to fix whatever needs to be.

A special case, however, is Axe, whom Mel meets in the forest as she investigates Mt. Ebott. The two have diametrically opposed views of their current condition. One wants to return to her world by any means necessary, regardless of the advantages of a peaceful world. The other, not so much. Both refuse to talk about their past and ignore the other's circumstances, but a sense of familiarity drives them to try to convince the other to stay or go. These are two stark positions to reconcile, and while we can expect Blue and the other skeletons to have their own views on the subject too, Mel and Axe are strangely "committed" in this interraction and resort to violence, spurred on by a unknown substance that causes Axe to momentarily lose control.

Mel is wounded, Axe unconscious, and the status quo disrupted. Other consequences follow this confrontation, and several questions are raised: Can Blue really help Mel when Axe accuses him of having already given up on going home himself? What is this mysterious entity Axe came across a few days earlier? The vibrations? What was that substance that made him go berserk? And what made him stop? Can we trust Mel and what she tells us? And many others.

Because as I'm sure many of you have come to realize, Mel has proven to be a rather unreliable narrator (or at least character since you don't follow her actual POV). Blatantly lying or omitting facts to others and readers alike, it's hard to know her next move and whether she's genuinely forgotten important infos (for it's well established at this stage that she has hazy memories and that they continue to deteriorate. The same applies to her health).

In the same way, each part of TMS so far has raised more questions than it has answered, but I can confidently say that the road is paved for Arc 2 to answer and put in perspective most of them, ahah.

Ah, this is also the moment when I can announce that ALL skeletons will be featured in the Interlude. Should be. Hopefully.

I'd also like to point out a few narrative changes for Act 2! The central characters, in particular. Original cast characters such as Undyne, Metatton and a veiled character will be more formally introduced, but we'll also meet up with characters we've already bumped into, but in a much more concrete way, such as Frisk and Alphys. I can't wait for you to get to know them! You can also expect more pov changes, more elipses and so on. Things are moving fast.

But that begs the question. When is it due? As said before, the first Arc lasted 4 years and I'm entering my last (and most crucial) year of college. I still don't know if I'll have time to get much of it done in 2025, but on the other hand, I'd like to strike while the iron's hot lest TMS be discontinued after a 1-year hiatus and my entry into the working world. Student loan, life and all. There are still plenty of things I'd like to bring to this project, and I now have the skills to actually carry them out, but on the other hand, the time involved has also increased exponentially.

Tbh with you, as an animation student, it's been one of my dreams since 2020 to do one of TMS's sequences in animatic or full anim, or even a trailer for the comic! But as a solo team, it's just unreasonable and I know it. But the parasite ----. Don't get me wrong, I could, but it would take me months and it's just not realistic when 80% of my time has to go into professionnal work that goes into my portefolio or adult stuff. I can't affort to invest time in solo-ing it or to recruit and lead a team over one side project of mine ( ´ ▿ ` ) So we'll most likely stick to classic pages.

But the same goes for collabs, community events, side stories, asks, edits, dubs, testing other platforms, regular animatics. Love all of that. Really. But I never have the time to because, man, I'd love to actually finish TMS someday ahah. It all comes back to the age-old problem of “lots of ideas, little time”, and it's so frustrating but, it's a choice I have to stick to, so bear with me as I vent my frustration. Just for tonight (´ ∀ `, *)

So, yes. Act 2. Next year? Probably? It's a long interlude, so you'll get smth in the meantime, but it's likely to decide the future of TMS and whether Act 2 sees the light of day as I imagine it or if...well, something else replaces it.

bringing back this doodle cuz it seems fiting lol

Anyway, I also wanted to thank you for your engagement with Part 8!

I don't know how other comic artists experience it, but for me it's a very isolated work, and as much as I love working alone, I enjoy the interaction with readers most of all.

Seeing people losing their mind over a serious scene, or chuckling at a dumb gag, or just simping over the characters and art. It's just great, and very rewarding. Likewise, I have a blast answering questions about the TMS universe, reading tags and receiving memes, witnessing people go increasingly mad with messages full of indecipherable screams and hearts. Makes me giggle and kick my feet everytime and I can't wait to drop the next lore bomb or funny scene bwahahah

And while we're on the subject, I'd like to say a special word of thanks to the legions of rebloggers who make it their business to spread the word about TMS. You sweet, lovely, candy scented folks. And to my dear mutuals - with whom I interact objectively so little - who have no idea how a single message or note from them drives me bonkers. Thanks for dropping by. And of course to my super Patreons who support me despite the sparse updates, but to whom I'm more than grateful. Love you all.

Sounds like a farewell message. It's not lol. Just making sure they get the love they deserve.

The post is getting long and I'm kind of done pretending I know how to write organized notes so to wrap things up, here's an exhaustive list of what I'd like to get done this year and/or discuss in more detail another day. •Make a new masterpost (for Act 2) •Analyze/Comment certain sequences from Act 1 to clarify or give context •Redraw and rewrite part 1 and 2 •Make more bonus content again *ahahahahahaha*

•Re open or close the Discord (partially abandoned and it's all on me, but I'm still mulling it over).

•Finish the Interlude and enjoy and nice hiatus

And that's about it? Congratulation for reading this and making it this far! You were there!

Be well, and see you next time.

Seirin-

First part | Prev | Next (INTERLUDE)

Ko-fi | Patreon | Comic | Commissions | To support the comic

#txt #seirin talks #the missing scarf #author's note #lots of rambling but that's what those are for aren't they #a day to celebrate wo~hooo #this is a save point if you're reading the comics - take a break

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wishset · 3 months

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i don't smoke, until i miss you boothill x reader

summary: Boothill was never a greedy man, he didn't ask for much yet he received the whole world. Just you and your child, he really didn't need much else, yet the cosmos seemed to have made a mistake and tried to rectify it by taking everything away.

explored themes. possibly ooc or lore inaccurate. 1k+ words, fluff to angst. written in 2nd pov. play i don't smoke while reading this, trust. can potentially be interpreted as platonic, if you squint rlly hard.

from author: i haven't played hsr in a while, yet researching boothill's lore just struck the rdr2 writer in me. per usual, i can't let myself be happy with anything but angst so grab a tissue. i haven't posted a work like this online before so i'm highkey nervous, but i'd love to hear what you think! there is some bonus info at the end, but i hope you enjoy this! (she said knowing this is what she ends up writing:)

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, the most he would get close to one was standing next to you under a tree after a long day. You'd still offer him one, even though he always said no, as an act of acknowledgment. He couldn't do that now, though, the smoke would damage his robotic body even if he weren't the one inhaling it.

He'd be perched down on a large root of the tree you leaned back on, staring at your boots in his peripheral as you watched the sunset. The river running in the distance, your horses chewing on the grass below y'all when they weren't nipping at each other, the livestock settled down in the barns, and dinner sat on the warm fire for when the two of you returned.

"What's next?" He asks, his eyes following the line of your boot up to your face.

You always shrug, as if you never thought so far ahead. He did, fairly often in all truthfulness, and you only knew that because of how often he asked.

"'Suppose not much next, is there? Keep doin' this, 'till we're old and gray, then someone else takes over. Life goes on," you answer, flicking the ash out the tip of your cigarette.

He watches the ash burn itself in the grass as he thinks about your answer. It was food enough, neither of you learned much besides farm life. No such thing as anything more for the uneducated, which Boothill wouldn't have any other way.

He didn't mind waking and talking to Nick about the farm as he waited for you to come down for breakfast. He didn't mind wounding up the cattle every day while you watch or watching the horses while they round about the fields with you. The crops wouldn't harvest itself and there's no one else he'd rather harvest it with than you.

Life was good and Boothill was fine with it.

Would he have been so fine with it if you hadn't been hired by Nick and Graey when he turned a teen? He was glad he wouldn't have to find out. They hired a farmhand and he got a best friend, even if he was jealous they hired you in the first place.

He thought it meant he wasn't enough for them, not helpful enough, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth and you taught that to him.

And, while Boothill never liked to say he was right all along, there was more for the two of you than the repetitive cycles you'd fallen into. Matter of fact, he couldn't believe he was so content with just that now that you both had a daughter.

Maybe if you hadn't left your cigarette pack up in your room, the both of you wouldn't have returned when you did. Maybe if he wasn't waiting on the porch downstairs for you to return so you could join him at your usual place, he wouldn't have heard crying a little ways off from the house.

"What am I supposed ta' do with her?" He looks up at you when you find him. The cigarette pack falls into your pocket as if the box itself might contaminate the bundle of purity crying in Boothill's arms.

"Dunno. She like ta' join us?" You propose, motioning towards the tree up on a hill that waited patiently for you two. (Now, three.)

Boothill stood, joining you at full height. "Looks like she might."

The red-faced babe looked between the two of you, tears staining her little cheeks. How long has it been since you seen a baby? Quite a while, yet your first instinct still is to smile.

"Looks like it indeed."

From that day forward, you and Boothill were parents. Not even Nick or Graey questioned it when you both returned with a child. Finding one seemed to be common 'round those parts.

And boy, did parenthood change just about everything? She already had her first pony picked out before she could even walk, little boots and a hat, a sass about her, too.

Boothill couldn't recall the last time he was near a cigarette, not after you gave them to him to dispose of so that your little girl would never find them. It was never just the two of you at the tree again, always you three. Two grown horses and a little foal, growing along with her.

Now this he'd have no other way.

He was perched down on the large root of the tree beside you, where you sat as well. He could see the little girl in your lap in his peripheral, which he turned to look at when she called him.

For her, it wasn't Boothill, something more like "Papa." She had this little giggle in her voice when she said it and even after the most tiring days, Boothill never had been happier.

"What's it, sugar?" He asks, turning to look at her. You look as well when she crawls out of your lap and stands, waddling her way over to him.

Was this how the mares felt when their foal stood and walked over to them for the first time? If it was, he was jealous it took him so long to figure it out for himself. You looked just as surprised as he felt and neither of you knew how to respond. Nick and Graey taught him everything he knew, yet the two of you taught him more every day.

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, but now he was the one flicking ash off the tip and watching as it burned the knee of his pants. Now he couldn't get the stench of smoke off of him.

It was nice, even though his metal body hissed in disagreement. He took another puff, then another. Would you feel betrayed that he never really disposed of the pack of cigarettes? He didn't know. But it was late nights where he thought of how he got them in the first place he was glad he didn't.

It was a brand new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty.

Was this what it smelt like when the house burned? Did it burn the same way? ─ No, it couldn't have. This burn burnt good, this burn was all he had left of you. This burn reminded him of you and the sacrifices you made for your daughter, this burn reminds him of the two of you and all the sacrifices he'll make for you.

bonus information: | more here.

[ 1 ] "It was a new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty." That's about how many times Boothill found himself thinking of you, so much so he needed something palpable. Y'know, because everything was burned so all he has is this vague smell of you? I'm sorry. He also has blown through other packs when he just wants to remember the comfort your presence had brought him at one point, he only uses your pack on those nights.

[ 2 ] Wanna know another kicker? Boothill knows for a fact you wouldn't have been happy if you knew he smoked, before his enhancements and after. You used to tell him that they were bad for him, which he already knew, but that was very long ago in the overall timeline of this fic. When he thinks about those times, he smokes another.

[ 3 ] He doesn't have anything to remember your daughter by, he might've if the IPC nuke came a little later so that she could've given him the gift she'd been working on. You might've been able to give him your gift as well, so he had something healthier to cling on to. Those are long since burned and buried, though.

[ 4 ] In the image thing, my brain is blanking on what it's called, the "Everyone you love is dead anyway" is a reference to "You're going to die anyway". Yes, that is the front of a Marlboro pack, lol.

[ 5 ] Alright alright, you've cried enough tears, but if you notice any other little details, I'd love to talk about them/hear your thoughts. I poured my soul into this so many thanks for giving it a shot!

#BY: 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐄𝐓 ───── ⟢ HONKAI SR #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #boothill #honkai star rail #hsr #boothill x you #boothill x gender neutral reader #boothill angst #boothill fluff

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call-me-strega · 1 year

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How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: part 1

Jason meets Single Dad Danny who is taking care of a de-aged Dani while trying to get his degree at Gotham U. Both of them fall hard, hijinks and shenanigans ensue, simping on both sides.

Edit: background info/lore found here

Edit: part 2 now found here

~~~~

Step 1: Meet an attractive single parent

As a Crime Lord/vigilante Red Hood had multiple safe houses that he used in and out of the mask. Some were for each exclusive identity to prevent anyone from linking them together and others used for both. Currently, Jason was walking out of his 2nd favorite safe house and the mostly permanent residence of “civilian and non-profit worker: Jason Todd” with a plate of cookies and a pan full of lasagna for his new neighbors that moved in two doors down. He may have been a street rat but he’d be damned if Alfred and Talia hadn’t taught him hospitality (it was a fact of life that grandparents and Asian people would try to feed their guests like their honor depended on it). Plus it was a great way to do some reconnaissance on whether or not these new neighbors could potentially pose an issue. The apartment complex was on the border of Crime Alley and Burnley meaning the people who lived there weren’t doing too hot money-wise but were at least able to avoid the worst of Crime Alley. Jason was just planning to go over introduce himself, hand over the homemade food, and head off to a different safe house to get his gear and patrol. However, he was not expecting to see his new neighbor standing outside struggling to open his own door, a six-year-old on his hip, arguing with someone over the phone. The young man had a lean build and appeared to be no older than 20, give or take a year or two. He had black bangs that cast a shadow on his face making his eye-bags appear even darker and startling blue eyes clouded with anger and resentment, likely towards whoever was on the phone. He was so occupied with his conversation he didn’t seem to notice that someone else had stepped into the hallway. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a loose white shirt with a NASA logo on it that slightly hung off his shoulder. He also wore a black hoodie with a white hood and neon green accents that seemed to be subject to his sister(?)’s death grip. Despite his disheveled state, there was something about his new neighbor that drew him in. His aura washed over Jason like a cool breeze on a hot day making it hard for Jason to look away. He would have continued assessing the man if he hadn’t made eye contact with the identical blue eyes of the young girl perched on his hip, who looked at him with a curious sparkle in her eyes. He discreetly turned back around to lock his own door, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation the elder (brother?) seemed to be having. It could provide some info on these new neighbors.

“-shut up Vlad! I’m not moving into your rich guy penthouse! I wouldn’t be taking any of your shady money if I didn’t need child support for Ellie!”

Huh. So her dad/guardian then?

“ Of course I have to do this Vald! What’s the other option, sending her back to a Frootloop like you?! … I’m not going to abandon Ellie for something that wasn’t her choice. She didn’t ask to be created Vlad that’s why she gets a chance.”

Okay so setting aside the rather concerning parts New Neighbor Guy™️ was definitely that child’s parent. Seems fairly rational as well.

“How do I know you’d be a terrible guardian? Plenty of reasons, do you want the list chronologically or alphabetized! You violated me, who you said you wanted to adopt despite me having two living parents, you created Ellie and several other failed attempts without my knowledge, you hid her from me, you tried to teach her to hate me before we even met, you named her Danielle after me instead of giving her her own identity, the list goes on and on Vlad! Do you want me to continue because that’s just the stuff that involves Ellie— I was 14, you middle-aged vampire look-alike! Of course I wasn’t jumping at the chance to become a teen dad! I was a freshman in high school! Besides you know what my parents are like, lab safety regulations were more like a healthy suggestion to them. I was in no position to be taking care of a child!”

Rage flashed in Jason’s eyes as he tightened his grip on his glass Tupperware pan full of lasagna. This conversation was not painting a pretty picture about his neighbor’s situation. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself before belatedly realizing his neighbor had gotten real quiet. He turned around, catching the tail end of his neighbor’s conversation as he finally succeeded in opening the door.

“Whatever Vlad, just keep paying your child support and for Ancients’ sake please stop trying to date my mom. …. Yeah, yeah screw you too Count Chocula.”

The neighbor set his daughter down, likely so she could enter the apartment, and slipped his phone from between his head and shoulder into his hand to hang up on that Vlad guy. Now seemed like as good a time as any to approach. Jason walked up the the young man and coughed trying to get his attention. The young man met Jason’s eyes with a somewhat surprised look. As if he wasn’t unaware of Jason’s presence but hadn’t expected him to talk to him. Jason decided he should start speaking now before things got too awkward.

“Uh- Hi, I’m Jason. I live a few doors down in 357,” he said glancing at the 353 on his neighbors’ door before he continued. “I heard you moving in a few days ago and thought I’d swing by with some food to welcome you to the building.” He stuck out his hand for the other to shake.

“Hi I’m Danny, Danny Nightingale,” he said taking Jason’s hand and ‘Wow his hands are cold’, “ and this little munchkin here is Ellie!” Danny and Ellie flashed him matching smiles like twin suns making Jason's heart melt. He returned their smiles before extending the food to Danny.

“ I don’t know if you’ve had time to get groceries yet but here’s some homemade lasagna if you need a quick meal while you’re getting settled,” he then crouched down to Ellie’s level and stage-whispered in her ear conspiratorially “ and there are some chocolate chip cookies on that plate too.”

Ellie giggled out a thank and threw her arms around Jason’s neck, giving him a quick hug before letting go and dashing into the apartment. Jason watched her go, stunned but feeling warm and fuzzy inside. He turned his attention back to Danny, who shook his head and huffed amusedly. They made eye contact as Jason rose and realized he was a head taller than the guy. He felt the heat expanding in his chest and crawling up his neck, curling behind his ears. He decided now that Ellie had gone in it would be a good time to talk to Danny about what he overheard.

“ So it really wasn’t my intention to do so but I overheard some of that conversation you were having over the phone earlier,” he watched Danny’s smile drop a bit as he winced. Jason awkwardly brought up his hand to scratch the back of his neck and continued.

“ Look I don’t wanna insert myself into your situation but if you ever need help I’m just a few doors down. And if that guy gets pushy or stops sending his child support I can help you find a couple of avenues you can take. Plus, although we’re technically outside Red Hood’s territory I’m sure he wouldn’t mind extending protection over you like he does for the other Crime Alley folk if ya really need it.”

Danny’s face smoothed out looking a bit flushed and appreciative as he went on. He gave Jason a small smile and replied, “ Thank you for the offer. I really do appreciate it. Might just take ya up on it at some point. As for Red Hood? I think I’ll avoid needing the protection of a crime boss vigilante if I can help it. Don’t worry too much about Vlad though. I’ve got him handled currently and he’ll behave if he knows what’s good for him!” Danny smiled threateningly towards the end of his reassurance. (‘His canines are peaking out that’s so cute’)

Jason chuckled with Danny as their eyes locked once more. They stayed lost in each others’ eyes for what seemed like hours before they heard a thump followed by a small “oof” coming from inside the apartment. Danny turned to the door and called out to Ellie,

“Ellie, what was that? Are you okay”

“I’m fine! My shirt just fell!”

“That sounded heavier than a shirt?”

“I was in it!”

Danny sighed, shaking his head before turning to Jason once more.

“Thank you again for the food, any chance you’d like to come in and have something to drink?”

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to decline. I need to start heading out for work.”

“Well then, I shouldn’t keep you. I’d hate to make you late for work.” He waved goodbye as Jason nodded his head and started walking down the hall.

His neighbors seemed entirely harmless he decided as he walked away. ‘The kid was cute’ he thought to himself. A smaller voice from the back of his head that sounded vaguely like the Pits chimed in ‘Her dad was even cuter.’

~~~~~ Please let me know what you guys think and if you want to see more of this. I thrive on feedback so feel free to leave any notes or comments!

#dc x dp #danny phantom #jason todd #danny fenton #danielle fenton #jason todd x danny fenton #dead on main #single parent au #SingleDad!DannyFenton #de-aged Ellie #long post #fluff #comedy #misunderstandings #How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps #HBSD sounds like a good acronym #Better than HBSD5ES #HBSD #hbsd

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amxrany · 29 days

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!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

We're going straight to the point here (Jade's Dream):

So for Jade's Dream, we find ourselves in a place called a Submarine Volcano

Floyd says that he's jealous of Silver's UM, because it sounds fun even if he can only do it in his sleep. Silver also thinks that someone like Floyd could easily master his UM, but Jamil just tells him that Floyd would simply turn people's dreams into nightmares 😭

That's when the volcano started going off and Floyd turned into his merform just in time to save us. Because it turns out that the vents on the volcano can release hot water and smoke that contains toxins that are not good for the body, which causes the others what's Jade doing at a place like this.

Floyd asks Idia to give the others mermaid forms but Idia told him that he can't because he would have to create everything from scratch because he has no knowledge about mermaid anatomy, but Floyd just accepts and turns his bioluminescence on

He's doing something called "Counter Illumination", it's used as a way to camouflage from predators by emitting light that resembles the surface. It's also used to communicate to other mermaids and they use it to hide as well, it can also be used to hunt prey.

That's when we find Jade with Azul, who's finding precious metal in the area, they find one but it's stuck in a crack

Ok so apparently Jade likes seeing people suffer in this lmao, but the face Azul makes in this takes me out like wtf is this 😭 (he got burned while trying to grab the metal)

While watching all of this happen, Silver gets reminded of Ruggie, who looks for coins in the vending machine and Floyd just says that even though Azul loves valuable things, he wouldn't go THAT far (he thinks)

That's when Jade calls for Dream! Floyd and THE FACE IS JUST SO STUPID I CAN'T AHAHAHAHAHAHA

Floyd's just like "wtf do i always look this clueless to Jade?" and Yuu is given the option to roast Floyd lmao but yeah we can see that Jade simply dreams of all 3 of them having fun and them listening to Jade's interest

But Floyd wasn't having it, so he proceeds to attack the group. Let's just say Floyd is not happy, and Dream! Azul's confused as to why there are two Floyds that look exactly like each other and Floyd's just like "what do you mean this guy's like a mirror" about his dream self 😭

(yooo these spot the difference games are getting harder than i thought)

Dream! Azul tells Jade to not be fooled by the new Floyd, because the "real" has always been a lovely and charming person, like the fake is pretty much just gaslighting Jade and Jade believes the fake. Floyd gets upset about his brother leaving him, so he attacks both of the fakes but Jade comes in to protect them and they just start fighting

Idia believes that the reason why Jade isn't waking up is not because of his imagination, but rather, his strong beliefs in his mind basically refusing to listen to anyone. Floyd mentions that Jade refuses to listen to their parents. But basically, if Jade refuses to listen, then Floyd will simply let him sleep peacefully

And yeah the fight still goes on and no one has a clue on how to stop it, until Sebek gets the bright idea of using Living Bolt on them and you can say, it was super effective

(By the way one of the accounts I'm browsing through to make these is @/acesuuu on twitter, check them out for their translations btw their thread helped me find the missing info I lacked)

It seems that Sebek's electroshock therapy actually worked, as Jade is starting to recollect some things. But Dream! Azul literally just comes in and pushes Floyd out of the way 😭Dream! Azul asks how his "cute subordinate" is doing and Dream! Floyd is just saying that he can't live without him. That causes Jade to wake up, because he knows damn well they would never say that

Jade defeats both of the fakes and once that was done Floyd approaches him knowing that he's awake...and they proceed to fight again 💀. But they stop and Jade soon hugs Floyd while apologizing to the others about their "sibling quarrel" (which to the others, is way more than that)

Ortho then shows the video to Jade, who agress that the dream's happy ending seems boring. They're aware that the next dream they're going to is Azul, and everyone is just assuming that capitalism is taking over the world in that dream. Before they traveled, Grim complained that they're struggling to fit cuz the Tweels and Sebek are built like closets 😭

And that's it for Jade's Dream, I was supposed to post this yesterday but it was already late in the evening, so to the next day we go

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Next: Azul's Dream Previous: Floyd's Dream

#rany talks about twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst jp #twst spoilers #diasomnia #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #ortho shroud #idia shroud #floyd leech #jade leech #twst grim #this is taking me longer than usual help

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 6 months

Text

We've Got Tonight (Paul McCartney x Starr!Female!Reader)

Find Part Two Here

A/N: WOW, is all I can say. The alarming support from those of you reading my work is driving me to write more than EVER right now! I cannot say thank you enough, y'all. Your notes and comments inspire me, so please keep it up if you wanna read more from me!

I'm about to bless y'all with some McBeardy angst, so I hope you all enjoy!!

Also, this fic was inspired by Bob Seger's We've Got Tonight, so I highly recommend listening to the song before and/or after reading this one to get into the vibe of it.

Summary: Paul is in his lonesome after a break up. So are you. You decide to keep each other company.

WARNINGS: ANGST, but it gets sweet in the end. Mentions of cheating, low self esteem. Suggestive actions, mentions/insinuation of sex, but no smut (that'll be saved for a bonus part 2 if anyone's interested in that.)

There is mention of the Beatles' extended family, so if I have any incorrect info in here, I apologize in advance; I didn't want this to become too much of a history lesson.

Also, like my other fics, this one is a NOVEL, so please read when you have a good half hour+ of free time :)

I don't wanna rate this a T, but there is no smut in this, so please just be aware that there is sex mentioned/insinuated, so PLEASE just read at your own discretion. But most of all, enjoy!

Paul was sitting on the sofa in the den, alone with the lights out. He was staring out the window at the night in silence as he sucked down another cigarette and sipped at another glass of scotch.

It was late enough that the world around him was dead sleep, yet he was wide awake, and alone with his thoughts.

He broke it off with Linda. She was a sweet girl, and no one was really quite sure why things ended between them, but they all knew it was a mutual agreement.

Paul really hadn't been taking it well, though. He hadn't been sleeping right for almost a month, and he stared drinking a little more. He didn't want anyone really knowing, which is why he did it in his lonesome.

He wasn't necessarily by himself, because the rest of the Beatles were upstairs in their collective rooms asleep; but what made him feel alone was that alongside the bandmates in their rooms were their families and wives. And Paul just didn't have that.

Usually he would have been rather vocal over something that bothered him so much, but the band felt like recently they'd been clashing, so he wasn't wanting to bother them with something like that.

While Paul finished the final puff of his cigarette and put out the butt in the ashtray on the coffee table, his head snapped to the entrance of the den, where he caught sight of a silhouette in the threshold.

You stopped in your tracks when Paul made eye contact with you. You supposed he'd heard your footsteps.

From what you could tell from the light of the moon shining in through the window, Paul seemed worn out. He rubbed the side of his face with his free hand before wordlessly nodding to you in acknowledgement.

"... I'm sorry to intrude. I didn't know anyone was still awake. I was just needing a drink," you explained quietly. You'd met Paul a few times here and there-- you had to, with Ringo-- or Rich-- your brother, being one of his bandmates and all.

Paul was always kind when you interacted with each other, but you could definitely tell something was a little off about his behaviour this time around.

Rich did mention Paul's break-up to you briefly, but you were going through your own separation, so you were in your own head with your own problems. That's why Rich offered to bring you along with him, Maureen, Zak, and Jason on this trip with the rest of the guys and their families, so you could get away from thinking about your ex.

Unfortunately, the unfamiliar space put you in the same position as Paul; wide awake, in the middle of the night, with a racing mind.

"'S alright," he sighed before drinking the rest of the scotch in his glass and raising to his feet. You watched him move around the room to the alcohol cabinet right outside the kitchen.

He refilled his glass right to the top before wordlessly grabbing a second glass out, tossing in a few ice cubes, and filling it three quarters of the way before sliding it over to you.

Your eyes widened a little, considering you'd actually come down for some water, but maybe this was a sign you were going to want something stronger.

"... Should've asked you if you even like this stuff," Paul stated apologetically when he realized how gentlemanly he was not being. You smiled sadly at him, but picked up the glass anyways.

He matched his glass to the same level as yours before you both gently tapped them together. The sound of the glass chimed for a moment before you and Paul raised the drinks to your lips.

The scotch was harsh, and you surely made an unflattering face as you took a sip, but Paul didn't say anything to you, as he was too busy staring at the ice swirling around in his own glass.

"... What're you doing up so late, if you don't mind me asking?" You asked after a moment of silence, and Paul's big brown eyes met yours for another quiet second as he thought about what to respond with.

He pushed his tongue into his cheek before shrugging and mumbling into his glass, "thinking."

After taking another sip of his drink and staring off into space for a moment or two, he bit his lip, gesturing over to you with his glass.

"And you?" You shook your head, realizing it was your turn to scrounge up an excuse for being wide awake at such an absurd time.

"Can't sleep," you lied.

Paul frowned, motioning you to the sofa he was just sitting on to invite you to sit for a while. After a moment of pondering whether you should really go back to your room, you made up your mind and headed to the sofa, Paul following suit.

There was just something about the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, and behind them was this sadness you just couldn't ignore.

Before he took a seat, you were able to get another good look at him. He was in black jeans, and a green sweater; his day-clothes completely contrasting your pyjama set. He'd grown his hair out since you saw him last, and now he was sporting a full beard.

You always thought he was a good looking guy, but now, without being blinded by any bias, there was really no denying how handsome Paul had become since you seen him last.

In fact, it felt like every time you ended up seeing him next, he always seemed to look better and better, and you weren't quite sure how that was possible.

Paul took the seat right next to you, and he set his drink down on the coffee table, clasping his hands together, elbows on the thighs, and hanging his head.

"To be honest with you... I went through a separation about a month ago. And I don't seem to be handling it well." He finally sighed, turning his head so he was looking at you again. He unclasped his hands and ran his fingers through his beard a few times.

"I'm a romantic, y'know, and I'm not a fan of being so lonely." You nodded your head a little at his words. What was tough was that you didn't have anything encouraging to say to him because you were in the same boat.

Paul swallowed when you remained silent, and then he cleared his throat. He scratched the back of his head nervously as he leaned back into the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I know it's late, and you're probably just wanting to head to bed." He gave a little head nod of understanding as he rubbed his eye with his finger. "You're not here to talk to me about my problems."

It was your turn to set your drink down on the table, turning your attention to him again.

"Well... will that help make you feel better, perhaps?" you watched Paul's eyes meet yours again, and he pressed his lips together tightly in thought.

"... I don't know if there is really much to say," he said after a moment, reaching for his glass again.

"Thank you, though. Was very kind of you to offer somethin' like that."

After he took another sip of his drink, he gestured to you again with his glass.

"... Ringo sort of mentioned you were going through a separation too... You doin' okay?" Paul tried his best to be as inclusive as possible, but it was all rough stuff to talk about, so he treaded carefully.

"I mean..." you trailed off for a moment before responding with a simple, "I'm angry, above all else."

You were honestly taken aback by Paul's question. Rich wasn't necessarily the greatest person to receive comforting advice from, especially when it came to this separation, since he thought so highly of your ex, but you perhaps weren't telling him the whole truth.

But you were definitely surprised he even mentioned your pain to anyone else, let alone his bandmates.

"Kept a lot of heavy things to myself for a long time, it just became exhausting." Now it was your turn to reach for your scotch, still cringing at its strength as you took a generous mouthful.

Paul waited a beat before asking, "would talking about it with me maybe make you feel better?"

"... you really care to know that stuff?" You asked gently for clarification. As mentioned, you and Paul weren't close, you could probably count on one hand the amount of times you met him prior to this moment...

And this was heavy stuff you were seemingly about to share, and you really wanted to make sure he was okay with that.

Paul nodded his head without hesitation, and offered, "'s the least I can do for you for keeping me company so late."

You sighed a deep breath, and took a few more sips from your glass before putting it back down, curling your legs up to your chest, and began.

You told Paul about your ex. You told him about how you were with him for five years, and watched him slowly fall out of love with you, sleep around, and how you struggled with self-image and self-worth for a long time.

You also mentioned how you were the one to leave, but he had no idea you had any strength to do so, so he tried for a long while to guilt you into going back to him.

The difficult things to talk about made you a little more emotional, so you breathed your way through it slowly as to not cry. The drink Paul poured for you was helping you relax at least.

Paul was more than patient with you, and you were grateful for that. At one point during the lengthy conversation, he lit another cigarette, and began offering you drags throughout your story to calm your nerves.

You took those offers graciously, and thankfully.

"... I don't know. I just lay awake every night, wondering if there was something I could have done different so he didn't do what he did."

You were staring out the window with Paul now, taking in just how many stars you could actually see from the den. He took his final puffs of his smoke, the thin silver waves swirling in the air above the both of your heads.

"Sounds like he didn't cherish you enough when you were around," Paul debated gently, shaking his head and putting out his cigarette end in the ashtray next to the others. He picked up his scotch again before mumbling against the rim,

"He's not worth it."

You pulled yourself from the trance of the tiny lights outside to wipe remnants of silent, salty tears off your cheeks, and you used that moment to glance over at Paul, whose nose was still deep in the glass. When he pulled the drink away from his mouth and swallowed, you parted your lips to speak.

"... was Linda worth it?" You didn't mean it in a rude way, but you hadn't met her personally, and you wanted to pry Paul just a tiny bit.

He smiled, but it was bitter. You figured you struck a nerve, and before you could apologize for what you said, he answered simply, with tears glossing his own eyes,

"Yes. She was."

You tilted your head a little and frowned, trying to understand what drove them apart.

"It was just never the right timing. She was ready for things I wasn't in the beginning, and then down the road, when I was seemingly ready for those things, she wasn't. And I didn't want her wasting her time on a life she didn't wanna live, y'know?"

"So she's the one that got away," you mused gently.

"Indeed, she was." Paul nodded a little before finishing the rest of his scotch in his glass, leaning back again, and cradling his head in his hand as he looked at you for another quiet moment, resting his glass in-hand on his thigh.

"... I'm not a bad person, am I?" Those watery eyes never disappeared, and you had to break his sad gaze, opting to reach out and rub his shoulder comfortingly.

"Hey, no. Wasting your time, or her time, like the way my ex did to me, would have made you a bad person, Paul. Saying good bye was the right thing to do."

"Well, I wish that made me feel better," he mumbled, dropping his own gaze to the space between the both of you. He pushed a stray tear away before he thought you could see it, and then scratched at his beard again. You guessed that must have been a habit of his out of stress.

"Something about her made me feel like she was the one. Like we were meant to share the same story; but we always seemed to be on a different chapter,"

He sniffled, but only once. "That being said, was I perhaps too lovestruck in the end to want to believe that her future was meant to be shared with someone else?"

His voice carried so much sorrow, and you knew he needed some kind of advice. It took you a moment or so to find the right words to say to him.

"... Knowing my ex wasn't right for me and the reality of me leaving doesn't make me feel any better. At all." You offered to Paul, before adding,

"... But why should the expectations of those we chose to take out of our life dictate the way we behave today?"

The words that came out of your mouth were surprisingly wise, and you watched Paul's eyebrows knit together as he absorbed what you said.

He focused his sight to you again, a more determined look on his face. Paul knew you were absolutely right. He was a charmer; romancing people was his thing.

There was no denying Linda was special, but when he realized he really had no commitment in romancing her anymore, he finally understood that it was his own thoughts holding him back.

Even if it took him a little longer than expected, he knew you were right. He would recover from this.

"... I think you just opened my eyes and made me realize something... Thank you, y/n, really." He reached up with his free hand after a second, fingers grazing your own hand still on his arm in comfort, showing you his gratitude for your words of advice.

You smiled a little, glad you were able to help him somewhat through his times of trouble as you pulled your hand away.

Paul stood up again, retrieving his empty glass from the coffee table before facing you fully, a more genuine smile beginning to pull on the corners of his mouth, but it was still rather sad.

"I'm grabbing a refill, you too?"

Your sight drifted to your near-empty glass on the table.

Why let tonight go to waste? End so soon?

"Please," you asked, grabbing the glass yourself, but Paul began to tut at you as he grabbed the glass from your fingers.

"Please, I'll get it for you," he insisted, and you watched his slender figure move around the couch to head for the alcohol cabinet another time. He filled them only halfway this time, and on the way back he made a brief stop at the record player near the entrance of the den.

Soft classical music rang out quietly from the player once Paul dropped the needle down onto the vinyl, and he returned to his spot next to you with your two drinks. You thanked him quietly as he passed the glass over to you, and he leaned in a little, raising his drink between the two of you.

"Hello to... new beginnings," he began slowly.

"And Goodbye to false finales," you finished, your glasses tapping together again before you took yet another sip of the drink.

Paul matched your movements, his eyes watching you, even when you turned away to gaze longingly out the window for a moment, basking in the feeling of the gentle music flirting with your ears.

Sure, you and Paul could have went on for the rest of the night discussing your heartbreak, but you decided to drive the conversation elsewhere.

You sighted back to him after a while, his sight unwavering from you. Your eyes locked for just a beat before you decided aloud with a gentle nod,

"... you know, that beard really suits you."

Paul's eyebrows shot up, and his face darkened a little as he bit his lips between his teeth almost nervously.

"... Think so?"

You'd never seen him lack so much confidence when given a compliment before, but instead of pitying him, you almost admired his innocence.

It sounded like he needed to hear a compliment like that.

"Yes," you laughed airily, raising your glass up for another drink. Paul couldn't bite back his smile anymore, so he copied you to mask his lips. You then gestured to your head with the point of your finger as you swallowed the alcohol back easier and easier each time.

"Your hair, too. I think it's a nice length."

Your kind words made Paul feel warm and fuzzy inside, and he placed his scotch back down on the table.

"Well, thanks, Love." He rubbed the back of his neck, and laughed weakly. "I call it my 'Don't View The Mirror For Three Weeks' look."

Paul paused in his moments of self-deprecation to realize he should have maybe complimented you back. He took a second to take another good look at you as he decided what to say, exactly.

"... Y'know, the last time I saw you was a few years ago, now."

You thought for a moment on that. It had been a while since you'd seen him last. You nodded your head as you recalled the day.

"You're right, it has been some time. Christmas, 1966." John and Cynthia had hosted this massive holiday dinner, and everyone's extended family was there.

You were single at the time, and spent dinner conversing with Paul's sister, Ruth, who was at least fifteen years younger than you. There was no introduction made by Paul, she just walked up, introduced herself to you, and made a friend by herself.

She went on and on about school, and music, and how the potatoes were her favourite part of dinner; and you paid attention to everything she had to say, responding with your own opinions and jokes to keep her feeling included amongst the adults at the table.

And Paul, who was seated next to Ruth, couldn't help but overhear your conversations throughout the evening, and he found it rather charming that you treated Ruth with such respect despite her young age.

And after dinner, you and Ruth danced together almost the whole night. She eventually went over to do a little dancing with Paul, and you watched as she bounced around excitedly with her brother, who, for just a moment, locked eyes with you across the sea of dancing guests.

You remember giving him a shy wave with a smile, and he sent a wink back your way before returning his attention to Ruth, spinning her around as she squealed happily.

"... I'm rather fond of that evening," Paul stated simply, the reality of your melancholy evening strongly contrasting with the memories of the wonderful night.

Now you and Paul weren't so young, and this time he was noticing the little lines under your eyes, indicating the dragging march of time slowly catching up to you both.

"And, even after all the years that have passed... you still look as lovely tonight as you did then."

You blushed at Paul's compliment, biting back a stupid grin as you repeated the words in your head.

"And I admire your ever-present kindness," he added on, and you knew he really just meant he showed appreciation for lending him an ear in his time of need.

"More people need to be like you."

"I don't know what to say," you said honestly, settling for a gentle "thank you," in the end. Paul just nodded, unsure if there was anything to say back.

"You know..." you paused for a second, watching as Paul went for another sip from his glass. "It was quite a shame we never got a dance in that night together, just you and me."

Paul was mid sip when you said that, so you continued on.

"The music was great, everyone was in high spirits, and I was maybe too shy to approach you myself and ask you to dance with me. So I guess that's on me." You scratched your elbow as you announced your rather dumb confession to him.

Paul, who was nearly done with his drink now, waited a moment or two in thought, before rising to his feet, and wandering back over to the record player, scotch still in hand.

You tried to watch his movements over your shoulder, but it was really dark. All you knew was that he was changing the music.

The classical tune cut, and the player began to drawl a much slower, more recent song; one you hadn't yet heard.

Paul turned on his heel as he reapproached the sofa, taking the final sip of scotch he had left in his glass before placing it back down on the table, and reaching his hand out for you to take.

"Well, let's not let this dance wait any longer, then, yeah?"

You froze for just a moment, Paul's outstretched hand hung in the air for a few seconds, and your sight moved up to his face, where you noticed his confidence falter just a little.

"Again, I know it's late, and I know your plans for the night surely didn't include me..."

"But, still, here we are." Your words came out almost effortlessly. You finished your scotch as well, and when you finally put your hand in Paul's, he squeezed your fingers gently, that warm upturn finally returning to his lips.

He guided you slowly over to the windows so you weren't in so much darkness, the moonlight still shining just enough for you both to see one another; and when Paul decided he could see your face much better, he let his other hand drop to your waist, watching as your own hand rested on his forearm.

You both shifted from side to side to the beat of the music, and you stared absentmindedly at the small space between you both.

"... You okay?" He asked you quietly after a minute, and you looked up at him, cheeks reddening as you realized you could feel his breath fanning your face.

"I've realized just how long it's been since I last danced with someone like this," you mentioned sheepishly, and a little smirk pulled at the corner of Paul's mouth.

"You don't have two left feet, y'know," his tone was almost teasing, and you smiled back, glad he wasn't feeling so much sadness anymore.

Paul then added with a little shrug, "'Sides, I wanted to dance with you that night, too. But I'm very glad I have the honours now."

Paul began turning with you in slow circles together as you continued to sway, and you took a moment to decide your next words carefully.

"... I suppose what I'm trying to say is that it's different when you're dancing with someone who actually wants to dance with you. It's just... it's really nice. So thank you, Paul."

Paul let go of your waist for a moment, and raised your clasped hands above your heads so you could twirl under his arm. When you did just that, and faced him again, he pulled you just a little closer than you were before, your torsos flush as his hand snaked slowly to the small of your back.

"Thank you," he mumbled back, quietly. You weren't entirely sure what he was thanking you for this time, but you never asked.

Instead, you shut your eyes and opted to rest your head in the crook of his neck as the hand you had on Paul's bicep slid upward so your arm circled around his shoulders, in a half embrace.

And then you felt Paul tilt his own head down as if to envelope you more. You'd be lying if you said your heart didn't skip a beat when he did that.

Paul then began to hum the lyrics of the song, quietly, as if you were the only person in the world who was meant to hear it. Both yours and his eyes were closed now as you two basked in such a beautiful moment.

Two lonely people, finding comfort, and peace in each other.

Paul raised your clasped hands closer to him so he could rest them against his chest. You could actually feel his heartbeat pounding against the side of your hand, which made you a little nervous, but not in a bad way.

Paul stopped moving you around in circles, but the swaying never ceased. He lifted his cheek off your crown after a while, and you couldn't help but open your eyes and raise your gaze back to his face.

Paul smiled so sweetly at you, and you watched his eyes shift ever so slightly from left to right as he looked back into yours. His eyebrows then worried for just a moment before he opened his mouth slightly as if to say something, but no words came out.

Your shifting finally slowed to a standstill, and you opened your mouth this time to speak, yet you found yourself in Paul's very position.

There was nothing to say.

You watched as his gaze softened on you, and you weren't sure if it was the drinks, or the lack of sleep, but it was like you could almost feel the gravity around you manipulating you to move just a little closer to him.

And he must have felt it as well. Paul's head began to drop slowly, and it wasn't long before you met him in the middle, your lips coming together in a very soft, and very unplanned kiss. The both of you kept still, almost as if the smallest move would have frightened the other away.

You were both holding your breath as well, and Paul pulled away from the kiss first, arm still wrapped around your back, hand still clasped in yours.

He was staring at you in awe, as were you, eyes wide, and lips still slightly parted as you both processed what exactly just happened.

Paul still couldn't muster any words, nor could you, for that matter; but he could definitely read your gaze. Your eyes were almost begging him to do that again.

And that's exactly what happened; your lips came crashing into each other again after only another second.

You weren't stupid, and neither was he. You both already knew this night was going to become something else entirely. You were craving the touch of someone, and you didn't even have to tell him.

You could just tell with the way he was moving his mouth against yours, and the way his body was flush with you, that he was wanting it just as bad.

Paul's hand finally let go of yours so he could lace his fingers into the hair at the back of your head, and your own hand slid around to his back. He tried pulling you even closer, but it just wasn't possible.

You sighed quietly as you kissed him again, and again, and Paul's hand unweaved itself from your hair as he cupped your face before breaking the kiss off again, another troubled look on his face.

"Ringo'll kill me if he knew I was--"

"Paul, please. I need this," you didn't let him finish his sentence. You didn't really care what your brother thought of anything, and you assumed, deep down, Paul really didn't care either, because he dove back in for more kisses as soon as he could.

His hands cupped your jawline as you gripped his sweater in your fists at his chest. You parted your mouth slightly and just melted into Paul's arms when he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip.

You moaned lowly against him, ears ringing, and all Paul could think to do was blindly shuffle you backwards towards the sofa, but instead, you felt the coffee table hit the back your legs, and you nearly stumbled back. The glasses, once filled with scotch but now only ice, shuffled against the table's surface at the force of you bumping into it.

Paul ended your kiss once more, one of his hands leaving the side of your face to circle around your hips quickly so you didn't fall back. He smiled at you when he knew you weren't going anywhere, offering you a teasing, "maybe you do have two left feet, Darling."

That wonderful pet name made your flesh rise with goosebumps, but all you could mumble to him was, "Just shut up and kiss me, Paul."

Without hesitation, he did just that, which felt like an eternity to the both of you since the last one.

He, still blindly, yet carefully, directed you around the table and to the sofa. Paul, with his hands holding your hips, was the first to sink down, but encouraged you to straddle him as soon as he was fully seated with an encouraging tap to the back of your thighs.

It was your turn to pull away now, your dominant hand resting flat against the centre of Paul's chest as you gave him a good once-over, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Paul was leaned back, lips parted and shining, assumably from the spit you'd been exchanging, and his eyes almost twinkling at you in adoration.

Your heart was full of something you hadn't felt in a very long time, and it was all because of this sensual interaction.

You reached out with your other hand and ran your thumb over his bottom lip, his shallow breath fluttering gently against the skin on your fingers. You tilted his head up and kissed him again, and your fingernails just couldn't resist playing with his beard any longer.

Paul's grip on your hips tightened when you started doing that, and when you decided to take your other hand off his chest and start playing with his hair, he let out a very low groan against your lips, and to both of your surprise, his hips bucked up involuntarily against you.

He gasped at his own actions, and you pulled away to view the look of apologetic shock written on his face. His cheeks and neck were flushed, and his eyebrows were bent in worry, again.

"I-I promise I didn't mean to..." Paul's voice carried a hint of... shame, almost. You watched as he nervously toyed his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried searching his brain for something to say, but the effects of his drink and your sweet attention had him grasping for any type of clear thought.

But all of his attempts went completely out the window when you lowered your hips down and rocked them back against his, his head falling back against the sofa as his eyes rolled, a guttural moan rumbling from deep within his chest.

It was absolutely apparent that Paul's jeans were lacking the room they'd possessed a few minutes prior, and when you repeated the circular motion with your hips again, feeling him hard against your core, you were rewarded with another low growl from him.

"W-wait," Paul uttered weakly after a second, arms and fingers tightening at your hips to keep you from moving around and teasing him again, as much as he didn't want you to stop.

"I want this so much. I want you so much," he began, taking a beat to rake his eyes down your body as his tongue swiped against his own bottom lip. His gaze flitted back to your eyes, and he swallowed nervously.

"I don't want you to do this if you aren't, y'know..." you waited for him to finish his thought, and his round pink cheeks seemed to flush just a little more.

"If you're not okay with it."

You took a second to think on his argument. You and he were relatively fresh out of troubled relationships, and you both seemed to be hurting from the aftermath of said relationships...

But you were so lonely, too. And, to each other, you were simply beautiful, and respectful people, offering your... company... in a time of isolation for you both.

And it wasn't like there was any label for what you two were, either. All you and Paul needed was to feel wanted-- to feel loved.

And only if you could experience such a feeling for one more night in your life, Paul was offering now. And you were going to take it.

"I want this moment to last, Paul. If you're okay with making me feel wanted again, I am more than comfortable doing the same for you."

You could see him visibly relax when you said that, relief washing over his features as he reached a hand up to caress the back of your neck and bring you into a single, sweet kiss. You still couldn't get over how gentle and polite he was still being about all of this.

"We should really... go to my room," Paul suggested quietly after pulling a fraction of an inch away from the contact. You nodded your head, sighing "okay" as Paul closed the gap between you both just once more, only for a peck.

He let go of your hips and he reached for your hands instead, fingers intertwining slowly, and affectionately. You slid out of his lap, and Paul rose to his feet, guiding you without a hurry towards of the threshold of the den, where you stood to greet him unexpectedly just an hour or so before this moment.

The 45 on the record player had since finished playing the song, needle spinning needlessly in silence. Paul briefly resituated the player before continuing your journey one step at a time towards his bedroom, the heart in your chest beating erratically.

You climbed the stairs together, one dragging step at a time, and Paul led you around the corner of the hallway, pausing at the first room on the right. He glanced over at you, hand on the doorknob as he gave you another look. One that was asking a final, "are you sure?"

You placed your free hand over Paul's without a sound, and together you opened the door. He pulled you in for one more intimate embrace, lips on yours again before he pulled you into the dark room, gently kicking the door closed behind him.

And that night, you stayed with Paul. Hand-in-hand, bodies entwined, souls healing, loneliness fading away, and hopes of feeling whole again finally returning.

Being awake in the middle of the night had never been so gratifying.

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

A/A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this! like I said, I can always whip up a part 2 regarding what happened behind those closed doors, so lmk if you're interested in that at all! Thanks for the support again and stay tuned for more works!

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#x reader #paul mccartney #the beatles #george harrison #john lennon #ringo starr #paul mccartney x reader #mcbeardy x reader #paul mcbeardy #paul mccharmly #george harrison x reader #john lennon x reader #ringo starr x reader

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blueberrypancakesworld · 22 days

Note

Helloooo! I've been wanting to share rhis idea of mine for our emo boy Martin.

What if the reader and Martin were like friends. And he always has a thing for her as he should because this us, hello? And then when the reader went to his place and saw him all bloodied and beaten up, she started taking care of him, and he was not used to it so he became sobby babyboy overwhelmed and couldn't helped it so he kiss the reader and things got escalated. iykyk

That's all for my rambling, thank you so muchhh!

Friends? But more and more

Martin x fem!reader

warning : +18, smut, oral (f reciving), small fluff/comfort, kissing, pain kink, wounds and treating

Summary : Friend or more? Was there something between them? Did it just take a trigger at the end to realise that there was more than just the hurt and the caring? Whatever it was, it seemed to be everything because when she felt his lips on hers, all worries seemed to be over and this something between them could finally be free and love each other.

info : Thank you very much for this request dear anon i'm glad i could give your rambling a little space. And I mean of course he loves us what else ;) Have fun reading and see you next time :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning hours of the small foggy town, a car with its owner makes its way to a relatively single house. A place she had been to many times, at least so often that she knew the way by heart, the things she could always pick up a few days later, whether it was a new seatbelt, a box of beer, a coat or just cigarettes.

It was a relationship between them like friends, like a salesman and his regular customer, she gave him what he needed and he…yes, what did he give her besides money and a little talk between them.

But maybe having him around was something she needed and had learnt to appreciate, because when the fog settles over the city you can get a bit lonely, the streets are barely visible, the houses are barely visible and you yourself are barely visible, you're glad of any contact, she knew that and she knew that Martin knew it too.

,,How bad will it be this time?" she asked herself as she turned into his street, her fingers drumming lightly on the cool leather of the steering wheel, no rhythm and looking ahead of her rather expectantly, knowing that it always looked different every night.

Sometimes he had little more than a bruise and some days she could almost have taken him to the hospital but he always waved her off, not only too annoying but also ruining his fun or so he had once mumbled to her.

Whenever she came to him he sat on his bed smoking, playing or just seemed to be living his life so tragically and yet so pitifully he didn't want that, whatever it was for him it no longer mattered as she parked outside his house and got out of her car wondering as she used the key if her helicopter was still intact.

The opening of the door always caused a creaking noise she heard moving around the room in the small flat, ,,It's me!" she shouted through the living room knowing he heard her, putting on a shirt and trying not to look quite so broken even though she was already used to the sight.

Her footsteps approached his room and the wooden door opened, her surprise was immediate when she saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, ,,Hi…glad you're here," he said, his long black beams falling into his mind almost as if his own body didn't want her to see what had happened to him again.

But she could have guessed it instead she just sighed slightly saw that the helicopter was back in its box and standing on the dresser ready to be picked up normally she would have taken the fifty dollars and sat in the doorway with him for another thirty minutes.

Talking about everything and nothing and would have left but now she was on her way to his kitchen knowing that she was once again doing him the etxra favour because maybe it was her heart that was stopping her from leaving.

Without a word she came back with the first aid kit she needed, stood in front of him and put her hand under his chin, ,,Please show me Martin," she said quietly, knowing how quickly he could change when he nevertheless gave in and looked up at her, a look of pain and satisfaction in her eyes, ,,You-You don't have to do it," he almost whispered as she told him to slide back a little further onto the bed so that she could position herself better next to him.

She could almost see how he went from relaxed to tense and wanted to push away from her while she came closer to him at the same time. Uncertainty ran through him as if he didn't know what to do, as if he was overwhelmed by her presence or maybe it was because he loved her closeness, he loved it when she was with him, her voice, her loving nature and also her body. But all this remained hidden from her for the moment.

She took care of him, gently stroking the strands of hair from his face, seeing his somewhat guarded expression, the warmth radiating from his body almost inviting as he held still, the warm cheeks almost pink as she was so close to him she would be lying if she said she didn't like him. He might have been a bit strange but who wasn't?

Everyone had a strange way about them and Martin she had often seen him like this, beaten up but happy, making videos, smoking and doing other special things in his world where she only had a small place.

But maybe this small space meant more to him, ,,Almost there" she said as she tried to wipe the crusted blood off him so that she could finally put the plasters on him properly when she suddenly felt his hand on hers, almost carefully he held her hand and she saw that his gaze was probably on her the whole time.

He held her hand not out of pain but out of affection, ,,Martin I-" she wanted to say something as they slowly got closer but the words were forgotten when she suddenly felt his lips on hers, he overcame the last moments between them and it felt like something had finally opened up between them.

It was as if this around between them, the looks, the touches had finally become worth something, ,,Finally" she murmured between kisses as she felt his hands on her body Martin seemed almost overwhelmed as he seemed too overwhelmed to finally have her, to finally be able to pursue his love heard the almost elated sigh of relief at her approval.

He had never looked sweeter, his eyes full of love and devotion, his hands on her, ,,May I?" he asked almost shyly as his hands were about to take off her clothes, smiling as she put her hands on his cheeks and gave him a gentle kiss, stroking his injury for a moment before she lay down on his bed and gave him permission.

Martin did not tear her clothes from her but rather carefully for every piece he took from her he kissed her skin caressing her and seemed to love every sound she made as if she was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him, he was unlike anything she had ever had.

He loved her he loved her like she was his everything with every kiss, with every touch and with every sound she made out of lust he only seemed to love her more as if he was grateful to her, as if she alone kept him alive.

She felt his kisses leave her torso and kiss up her legs, his fingers almost cautiously touching her centre, unsure if he was even good enough, ,,Mhh do-you do well," she said slightly breathlessly, straightening up for a moment to stroke his head, seeing him nuzzle his head against her hand, kissing her fingers, ,,I promise," came the muffled reply from him as she leaned back, caught by the soft mattress and blanket.

He planted a few last kisses on the inside of her thigh before she felt his fingers brush over the bundle of nerves, the first relaxed, pleasurable sounds of her lips leaving the pleasure of his previous touches, the kisses leaving marks from her neck, to her breasts, which he caressed even more gently, to her stomach and legs.

Her fingers clung to the bedspread as she felt his warm tongue on her fingers and he slowly began to make love to her physically, still a little insecure.

But with every sound she made, her fingers from the bed cover first clinging to his shirt, scratching his shoulders and burying themselves in his hair, she also heard the grunt as she pulled too hard on his black hair.

A noise she didn't know if it was too much pain or something else as she was beginning to understand why he was fighting with others in his car at night.

At first, wanting to let go of him in her mind, she only heard Markus say, ,,Go ah-on…please" as he let go of her and looked at her, his bright eyes filled with the veil of lust that had settled on hers, nodding faintly, barely perceptible but understandable as he disappeared between her thighs again and her fingers in his dark hair.

With each lick, each further sensitive electrifying shudder of her body through his caresses, she not only came closer to her high but elicited more and more moans from him, the pain as she held on to him pulling at his strands, tousling his black hair and using him for her pleasure as he wanted, he seemed to give her more and more.

He seemed to want to give her so much more from the start, unable to express his love in any other way than to love her so much that he would give her anything to show her how serious he was.

As she continued to surrender to him with each slight rise of her body as she was caught by the pillows and the mattress, the clutching in his hair, the muffled moans that escaped him, the tingling in her continued to increase, ,,Ma-Martin", she eventually burst out breathlessly, barely able to say anything right as she lost herself in his love and lust.

His breath came hotly towards her as he entangled her in one last kiss as his fingers slid in and out of her one last time, the taste of love and herself she could feel as she writhed against him, her moans mingling with his sighs as her climax was his pain and watching her melt beneath him.

Eyes closed, her chest rising and falling, she realised that the matzo was threatening to lighten as if he wanted to leave, ,,I'll…wait outside," she heard his soft voice, saw that he was licking his lips, reddening his cheeks at this obscene act as if he hadn't just seconds before pressed her completely naked against me and licked her centre.

She moved her fingers slightly, searching for his hand, ,,Please stay with me, Martin," she said, her voice slightly more composed as she pulled the blanket over him with some effort and stroked his cracked knuckles, which were little more than coloured spots.

It took the black-haired man a moment before he almost smiled a little and lay with her, the two of them looking at each other as she placed his hand on her hip, telling him that it was all right as he held her and she could finally close her eyes in peace as she felt his arms around her and kissed him peacefully as she fell asleep with a ,,Thank you…sleep well my heart" from him before her tired mind drifted off into a peaceful relaxed but above all pleasurable sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@dixie-elocin , @pierrotlu , @youre-gonna-see-a-lot-of-me , @paloman18 , @reylatargaryen , @fan-goddess

#ewan mitchell #in the modern world #ewan mitchell as martin #martin x reader #in the modern world martin #male x female #reader is female

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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months

Text

Doggitude

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x teacher!fem!reader (+ Kojo!)

Summary: After Tim takes his bad day out on you, you leave. Kojo misses you and does everything he can to see you again.

Warnings: angst, argument, Tim insults/belittles reader and her job, fluffy ending! KOJO!!

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim loves you, and loves his job, but sometimes those sides of him are at odds. You are happy, bubbly, a ray of sunshine in a dark world, whereas his job shows him only the dark. Each side of Tim impacts the others; a good day with you leads into a good day at work, and a bad day at work is occasionally taken out on you.

Tim knows he isn’t a great boyfriend, and he can be abrasive and use you as an emotional outlet when things aren’t going well. He tries, he really does, but some bad days make being a good person seem impossible.

This week, Tim has worked several shifts back-to-back and is in a terrible mood when his shift finally ends. He’s ready to get home, but he just wants to enjoy some quiet and go to sleep, so he decides not to call you. Even as he sees your picture on his phone screen, he finds your smile a bit too bright. You’re different than him, and Tim usually loves that, but at the end of three consecutive bad days, Tim wants to stew in his anger rather than see something bright, like looking into the sun after extended time in a cave.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve been spending time at Tim’s house while he’s been at work. Every minute with Kojo in the otherwise empty house has made you miss Tim even more. Your kindergarten class has been rowdy all week, but you refuse to let them dampen your mood. Excited at the idea of Tim finally coming home tonight, you sit with Kojo and wait, reviewing lesson plans and report cards in your spare time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo looks up from your lap when the front door opens, and you smile brightly when Tim enters. He doesn’t notice you as he drops his bag and sighs.

“Hey,” you greet. “We missed you this week.”

Tim clenches his jaw as he turns to face you. “Have you been here every night this week?”

Nodding, you explain, “I wanted to see you, but I also needed to take care of Kojo.”

He remains silent, his eyes focused on something behind you.

“Are you okay? I know it’s been a long week, but-“

“You don’t know,” Tim says, cutting you off. “You will never understand what a long week really is.”

“Tim, I-“

“No,” Tim snaps, stepping back as he shrugs sarcastically. “You do not understand what it is like for me. Your job is nothing; your long week is because a kid wets his pants, mine is because one of my own gets shot or I lose a suspect, and someone gets hurt because of it. In the grand scheme of things, your job doesn’t matter because people still become criminals and ruin lives like mine!”

Tim’s chest is heaving with anger, every little thing he had to deal with this week weighing on him while he takes it out on you. You bite down on your bottom lip as he continues hurting you, attacking you and the thing you love to make himself feel better.

“You’re angry and tired,” you begin, your smile long gone. “So, I’m going to go-“

“Don’t talk to me like I am one of students. You can barely control them, so don’t try to placate me. I have dealt with criminals who do more work than you.”

A tear rolls over your cheek, and you wipe it away harshly.

“Then go yell at them, since that seems to be what you do to the people you claim to care about,” you reply, grabbing your things.

“Don’t leave.” Tim rolls his eyes as he says it, like you’re overreacting.

“I didn’t want to, but you clearly do. I hope you feel better in the morning, Tim.”

The door slams behind you, and Tim runs his hand over his hair, pinching the tight muscle at the back of his neck. Kojo jumps from the chair where he was sitting beside you, rushing to the closed door and whimpering. He looks back at Tim, whining as he raises his paw toward the door.

“I messed up, didn’t I, Kojo?” Tim asks.

Kojo whines again, a clear ‘yes.’ Kojo has loved you since the moment he met you, and Tim even refers to you as 'Kojo’s mom.' Tim pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing your number. He gets no answer, and Tim can’t blame you, but he also knows better than to chase you. He texts you and puts his phone away, calling Kojo to follow him to bed. Kojo stays at the door, lying down and watching the doorknob.

“Sorry, buddy,” Tim says, leaving his bedroom door open in case Kojo forgives him in the night.

✯✯✯✯✯

Once you are safely in your apartment, you let yourself cry, Tim’s words on a loop in your mind. Your phone rings again, and you see Tim’s name with yet another message. Turning the ringer off, you push your phone away from you and curl up in the middle of your bed, crying rather than sleeping.

Tim has been emotional coming home from work before, saying something you didn’t deserve. He’s never taken it this far or made it about you personally before tonight. His comments about your job had to have come from somewhere, maybe something he’s been hiding. You don’t believe him; you know what you do is important, but Tim hurt you, and you’re not sure it will ever stop hurting.

When the sun appears on the horizon, you call in sick from work, prepared for a long weekend alone. Part of you wants to know if Tim is feeling better today, but then you remember what he did, giving you a bad day in his attempt to minimize his own.

“I miss Kojo,” you whisper, crying again as you remember that it’s not only Tim you’re losing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo?” Tim calls, growing more worried with each empty room.

Behind the kitchen island, Kojo is sitting and shaking with his head down. Tim kneels before him and lays a gentle hand on his back. Kojo begins whining, a different sound than his reaction to you leaving last night.

“What’s the matter, Kojo?” Tim whispers.

Kojo shakes harder, sliding his front paws out so he’s lying flat on the floor. Tim searches for a nearby vet hospital before picking Kojo up and carrying him outside. Once Kojo is in his truck, Tim drives to the vet hospital. Kojo’s whining turns to short barks as he carries him inside. The vet takes one look at Kojo shaking and leads Tim into an examination room. After checking Kojo's vitals quickly, the vet sets her equipment down and chuckles.

“Mr.?” she begins.

“Bradford. And that’s Kojo.”

“Mr. Bradford, Kojo is faking. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s- he’s fine?”

“Yes, he is. Dogs sometimes do this when they want attention or after something changes, in an attempt to get it back. Has something like that happened recently?”

Tim looks at Kojo and nods.

“Someone will be in shortly with the paperwork. I’m glad Kojo is healthy. Have a nice day, Bradfords.”

As the door closes, Tim asks, “Wasn’t that a bit dramatic? Did you think I’d call her, and she’d answer for you?”

Kojo looks up and grunts at Tim. Someone knocks before handing Tim the bill and telling him he’s free to go. Tim looks down at the bill and releases a deep exhale. He should be upset with Kojo, but he probably deserves a lot worse for what he did to you.

“She really won’t come back now, Kojo. You spent all my money,” Tim mutters.

Kojo grunts again as Tim clips a leash to his collar. He refuses to look at Tim, upset that he was taken to the vet rather than your side.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim hasn’t texted in a few hours. He either realized you weren’t going to answer or decided he didn’t want to talk. You haven’t read the messages or played the voicemails, too hurt to communicate with Tim in any way. Reading his words or hearing his voice will make you cry harder, and you’re already nearly cried out.

Looking at a framed picture of Kojo, you wish things had been different, wondering if one little choice would have made things end differently. You didn’t sleep last night, and you’re sure you won’t sleep again tonight, too busy crying and mourning the loss of the most important boys in your life. As the sun sets, you begin sobbing, holding the picture of Kojo to your chest as you hear Tim’s angry words in your mind again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo won’t come near Tim, content to sit by the door. When Tim moves, Kojo grunts, turning away. The doorbell rings, and Kojo steps back, watching Tim as he answers it. Signing for a package, Tim ignores Kojo’s growling.

“I can’t make her forgive me, pal,” Tim tells Kojo after he closes the door.

Kojo trots away, turning into the guest room to sleep. Tim sits on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realizes he has two problems that must be solved. He hurt you, and worse, he hurt you intentionally, and now he has a dog that misses you and blames him. Tim understands why you are ignoring him and why Kojo is upset, too. Reaching for his phone, he texts you again, but the dozens of unanswered texts above the newest make him refrain from calling you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After managing to get an hour and a half of sleep, you hope the third night without Tim will be easier. When you hear a dog barking outside your window and a man talking kindly to the dog as if it will respond, you realize that tonight will likely be the worst. Tim and Kojo do that, have their own language, and you were part of their world for a brief, brilliant moment. And then it was snatched away from you, breaking your heart and hurting your mind in the process.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You have to go outside eventually, Kojo,” Tim says with his arms crossed over his chest and Kojo’s leash hanging from his hand.

Kojo grunts, looks toward the door, and slowly approaches Tim. On the walk, Kojo pulls harder than usual, not listening to Tim when he gives him commands.

“When is this dog-gitude going to pass, Kojo?” Tim asks. “Because there’s nothing we can do.”

Tim doesn’t realize how close he is to your apartment when he enters the dog park. Kojo runs back and forth across the park a few times, glad to stretch his legs after avoiding Tim in the house for a few days. When he stops suddenly, looking at Tim as his back legs drop, preparing to run, Tim knows he can’t stop him.

“Kojo, no!” Tim yells.

Kojo, of course, doesn’t listen. He runs past Tim, out of the dog park, and down the sidewalk as fast as possible. Tim follows behind, pushing himself past his limit to catch Kojo. When he sees the lights of a familiar apartment complex, he realizes that Kojo is finding you.

“Kojo!” Tim calls again, slowing as he begins up the stairs.

✯✯✯✯✯

A dog barks at your door, and for a moment, you think you are imagining Kojo’s presence. When claws scratch against the wood, you open the door slowly. Kojo pushes past you, circling your legs happily. You sink to the floor, wrapping your arms around Kojo. Unaware that you are still crying, you’re surprised when Kojo begins licking your chin, attempting to dry your tears.

Footsteps echo in the stairwell, and when Tim appears in your doorway, panting and pressing one hand to the doorjamb to stay upright, you turn toward him instinctually. Kojo grunts, moving in front of you, blocking Tim.

Tim sees your tears and bloodshot eyes and can’t stop himself from stepping inside. He closes the door and squats, keeping his eyes on you as he lowers to look in your eyes over Kojo’s head.

“Did you read my messages?” he asks softly.

You shake your head, and he nods before leaning back as he sits against the door.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Shaking your head again, you pull Kojo back into your arms and cling to him.

“I’m going to tell you want my messages said, but if you want me to stop I will,” Tim begins. “I never should have said those things about your job, because they were wrong. Teaching is important, and the kind of teaching you do is far more important than what I do. You give kids a chance to be the best they can be, and I have to find the bad people and make them pay for it. You already know that I had a long week, a bad one, too, and I took that out on you. I can’t say much more than I am sorry; I’m so sorry that I talked to you like that. You are the only good part of a life surrounded by grief. I- I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“Why?” you ask against Kojo. “Why did you say those things?”

“You- you’re bright, sunny, happy… all the time.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“I love that about you. But, after the week I had, it was just hard to turn away from the hard parts of the job and see pure light.”

“So, you don’t want to come back to-“

“Don’t finish that. This has nothing to do with you. This was all me, trying to deal with a bad week and making it far worse. Hurting you in the process was not my intention, and I can never make up for that.”

You hug Kojo tightly, thinking about what Tim said. Having two completely different life elements like that can’t be easy. If it’s not about him not wanting to come home to you, you’re not sure how to avoid the same thing in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeats. “And, if you give me a second chance, I will show you that I can separate the two. Bringing a bad day home to you, hurting you, is not an option and I never should have lost sight of that… I’ve missed you.”

“I missed Kojo.”

“Yeah, Kojo missed you too,” Tim replies with a dramatic raise of his brows. “Cost me nearly $1,000 trying to see you again.”

“How?” you ask, looking up at Tim again.

He softens when your eyes meet his. “He pretended to be sick trying to get you to come back, but I just took him to the vet. Emergency visits are expensive, even if there is no reason for it.”

“Did- did you follow him here?”

“Yeah. He ran from the dog park and came straight here.”

“Would you have come here if he hadn’t led you, or would you have just moved on after I stopped answering the phone?”

Tim slides closer until Kojo is the only thing separating him from you. “I would have come. I would have gotten on my knees and begged to apologize.”

“Just to apologize?”

“I can’t force you to forgive me or give me another chance, just tell you that I’m sorry and I miss you like crazy.”

“Well, I missed you like Kojo missed me,” you say quietly.

“That much?”

“I haven’t slept in three nights, so, yeah,” you answer with a chuckle.

Tim raises his hand to your face, placing his fingers under your jaw as his thumb moves gently across your cheek.

“I forgive you,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Just promise to talk to me, rather than take it out at me next time you have a bad day?”

“I promise,” Tim replies. “Kojo, move.”

Kojo grunts, moving closer to you.

“Kojo,” you say, smiling when he moves to your side, watching you closely for any sign of hurt.

“He likes you more than me. His mom left and nothing could make it better.”

“Has he been eating? Because I have some of his food here-“

Tim cuts you off, kissing you softly as his hand moves to the back of your neck. He moves slowly, communicating his love and his apology in his movements.

“Can we get off the floor?” you ask.

“Only if Kojo and I can stay for a while.”

“You can stay forever.”

Tim pulls you into his lap, smiling when you grab his shoulders in surprise. He kisses your jaw as he stands, pulling you up and moving to your couch.

“I’m sorry you had a bad week,” you say, patting for Kojo to join you.

“Why are you like this?” Tim replies.

“Because I’m sunny, and bright, and all things happy.”

“Lucky me,” Tim hums.

#tim bradford x reader #kojo bradford #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader #kojo bradford. cutie pie extraordinaire.

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