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wraithdance · 3 months ago

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Good Boy [Part 2/?]

CW: Mentions of canon childhood trauma & abuse, ptsd depictions, awkwardness, Afab!Reader, I’m a dirty liar there will be more parts of this so enjoy the calm before the storm or whatever. This is apart of the Stray Dogs series

Simon is put on leave.

He’d received a nasty hairline break in his wrist after a fall out of a moving car during a recent op. (He’d been pushed out really but semantics didn't matter in the end because he'd gutted the man that had done it.) Price had nearly come to blows with him when he threatened the medic who signed off on his medical leave. Simon had been escorted off the property with strict orders to not return until he was cleared.

The cast is uncomfortable, the sensation of his bare fingers out while in public sends the talons of anxiety coursing through his body. So, he stays in his bare flat. The silence is loud and suffocating, not even the occasional echoes of his neighbors or the drone of a forgotten Manchester United game helps against the heavy weight of isolation.

After a week he’s spiraling in the dark of his own home. Stray lights bounce off the walls from between the cracks of his blinds, sending him into wide eyed paranoia. He had begun seeing things that weren’t there. Shadows moving to embrace him like a burial shroud, movement from the corner of his eyes. Nothing there when he points his pistol at the corners. He can’t sleep for long before the sound of the dull thunk of dirt on a coffin locks his body into paralysis.

When Johnny calls to check in Simon’s teeth are chattering uncontrollably from the chills that wrack his body. He manages to get through the call by grunting and humming when necessary. Johnny takes it as Simon still being upset about the forced medical leave.

‘No good to anyone wit’ yer hand like that LT.’ MacTavish says with sympathy. Simon is silent on the other end of the line.

No good to anyone without a gun in his hand because a dog that can’t be sicced, is not a dog.

He hangs up the phone when Johnny jokes that he thought Simon was invincible, an immortal surpassing the fragility of man.

“Fuck.”

Simon's eyes meet the business card in the mirror as he wipes sick from his mouth. It takes him more than once for his fingers to unclench at his will. The indents from his nails sting as blood rushes back to the digits. He stares at the card for too long before he brushes past the string of texts from Johnny and dials your number.

One ring, two and a third. He hangs up when the call connects. You’re calling back seconds later, he lets it go to voicemail. He’s watching his own eyes dilate in the mirror when you call again.

This time he picks up.

You’re silent and he listens to your breathing. There's a shuffle and he thinks he can make out the sounds of sheets shifting.

“Um? Hi… is this the guy from the pub?”

Simon grunts. “Don't give out your number a lot?”

You laugh despite his flat tone. “Nah, I don’t have anyone who calls me. Just my mum and dad really.” You’re hesitant, he can feel it through the phone like a tangible thing.

“Wasn’ gonna call.”

This makes you laugh again, he realizes you laugh a lot at things that weren’t funny.

“I figured you weren’t after the first week. I’m glad you did though, I still meant what I said.”

There's another lapse in silence before you must realize he won’t assist in driving the conversation.

“Listen, let me show you what I’m working on okay? I’m going to send you an address to a coffee shop and you can show up when you want. I won’t hound you if you don’t.”

“Didn’t give me a time.”

“Oh Yeah! I dog walk in the mornings before the shop opens. I’m there pretty much everyday stealing the free wifi and working on my manuscript, so you can show up anytime and I’ll probably be there.” You laugh again in self deprecation.

His fingers twitch around the phone. Simon thinks you’re too free with your joy. There's a part of him that wants to pluck the mirth from your throat and pocket it inside his own chest for warmth.

He doesn’t promise you anything but you still thank him profusely when he gruffly tells you he’s hanging up.

Your soft good night rings inside his ears for the rest of the evening, it’s louder than the endless quiet or the memories of being buried alive. In the morning when he wakes he squints at the bright light of his phone, clicking on the text thread of your unsaved number. An address and a reminder of your name followed by a smiling emoji.

You’re the fourth contact he saves to his phone.

He shows up after two days. He’d looked at your text for the umpteenth time and pocketed his keys into his jacket, commuting to the building on autopilot. It’s more of an outdoor food court that serves coffee than the coffee shop you described. Simon makes eye contact with you from the entrance of the outdoor patio. Your smile is dampened like you're afraid of scaring him off with your excitement. He’s nearly to the bench you sit on when you suddenly shoot up and throw your hands out to stop him.

“Wait!”

He stops in his tracks. The space in his mind where Ghost exists takes over him like a thick fog as he searches for a threat. His good hand spasms against the fabric of his jeans-covered thigh.

You must realize your error because you grimace.

“I’m so sorry I have a client's dog with me. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t scared or allergic before you saw him.”

Simon is taken aback. His knee jerk instinct is to lash out, ask you if you were an idiot or something else needlessly vitriolic, but he can’t bring himself to with the genuine worry you emote.

The fact that you were concerned enough to check in is an oddity. He’s unfamiliar with being on the other side of care from a woman that wasn’t related to him by marriage or water of the womb. It guts him how easily he wants to lean into it, desperate for the small connection not severed by death.

“Not ‘fraid of dogs,” He rolls his shoulders back, eyes taking in everything but your smile. “I don’ drink coffee either.”

That makes you laugh loudly, you smack a hand over your mouth to cover the giggles that escape. Simon stares down the flickering dance of your irises. You’re unbothered by his leering and instead offer him another grin.

“O-kay! Just let me introduce you to him and I’ll grab you whatever you want okay?” You’re moving before he can say anything.

Despite his objection to being afraid, he still braces himself to be met with a four legged behemoth. The long forgotten dog bite on his right calf sings with phantom pain like he’d received it yesterday and not twenty years ago. His father had let his drunken friends dangle Simon in front of his illegal Japanese Tosa. An eight year old Simon had kicked out in fear and had been mauled by the dog in return. Simon’s mother had sobbed inconsolably at the sight of the deep wounds.

You turn around after a moment of shuffling and he can’t help but to blurt, “Wot the steaming hell is that?”

You’re pouting and holding your free hand over the ear of the pint sized rodent trembling in your embrace. The small elderly chihuahua looked ready to leap from your arms in pursuit of the sweet relief of death.

“This is Sprinkles, he’s my neighbor's dog! Mr. Allens is in the hospital for a bit so I’ll just be taking care of Sprinkles for a few days in the meantime. Do you wanna say hello?”

He grunts, giving you a side eye as you inch closer, “Rather not.”

You huff turning to the mangy mutt with a sad smile. “It’s okay, he just doesn’t understand you like I do.” You tell Simon to sit down while you grab some tea. He’s thankful that you bring Sprinkles with you, uncomfortable with the imagery of the dog meeting its much needed end on his watch.

When you return you hand him his steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and launch into your pitch. Simon makes no plans to drink the beverage instead tapping the digits not in the cast on the paper cup. Sprinkles sits in your lap trembling in his tiny sweater.

Fockin’ hell.

Simon interrupts you mid sentence.

“You want me to pose for a bloody romance?”

You blink “Yep, that is what I’m writing so essentially that's the idea.”

Simon cuts you a look not liking the sass but you return it with a cheeky grin. “I know it's unconventional but when I saw you in the pub I couldn’t help but think you looked like a character of mine. I had to see if you’d be willing to model for me.”

“‘Haven’t even seen my face.” He huffs in disbelief.

Cocking your head you look at him in consideration, taking in the black balaclava and stroking Sprinkles as you do. “Yeah, I figured you were sensitive about it since you’re covered from head to toe. Technically you wouldn’t need to take anything off. I was more so interested in capturing your overall aura.”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a while. Just watches you with narrow eyes. You’re mid sip when he asks you to read the manuscript for himself.

“Ack!”

He’s mildly impressed that you manage not to sputter tea all over the dog. Your eyes burn with tears from the effort to not choke to death. “W-why would you want to read it?!” you’re squeaking with wide eyes.

He gives a half shrug, warmth pattering at his chest. “‘Didn’ hear you say anything about payment so thought I might see what’s the fuss. Got a reputation and all so I can’t just agree to anything.”

The look you give him is unimpressed. “Are you being funny? I can’t really tell and I’d rather you just say no rather than tease me.”

He leans back, raising his arm to rest near you on the top of the bench. You glance at the closeness of his gloved hand but he ignores the pointed look.

“Serious as a heart attack. I wanna read it before I give you an answer.”

There's a moment where he thinks you’ll say no, he’s expecting it, but you set your shoulders back and tip your chin up at him. “Fine. You can read it, I don’t mind whatsoever.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” you pop the ‘p’ in the word. “Absolutely fine with it. I encourage it actually, fair is fair and all.”

He snorts out a dark chuckle. “Right.”

You ask for his email address and Simon gives you an encrypted email containing a string of numbers. You make a joke about him secretly being a spy that he doesn’t laugh at. It doesn’t bother you any, you continue chuckling to yourself as you press send.

Simon watches you pause in hesitation as you gather the half dead dog and your belongings. You’re chewing on your bottom lip in thought stroking Sprinkles whose eyes are half lidded in your arms.

“Wot?” He asks gruffly, startling you.

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “I was just wondering… can I sign your cast?”

Simon’s eye twitches.

“Why would you wanna do that?”

At his tone you squint your eyes at him. “Because that’s what friends do?”

Simon wants to say something snarky around the lump in his throat. Condemn you for assuming they were friends after meeting only once prior. The urge fizzles out when you give him a startled expression.

“Has no one ever signed your cast before?”

No.

He’d broken many bones in his life starting from the age of childhood. Tommy had tried to sign his leg cast once when they were teenagers, he’d earned a broken nose from their father before he’d been able to finish scrawling out the second ‘m’ in his name. He’d never been close enough to anyone else to be asked.

In his reverie you’ve rifled through the tote back at your arm, shifting sprinkles on your hip. You procure a sharpie and hold it up like a trophy.

You approach him cautiously waiting for his objection.

When you’re standing toe to toe with his army grade boots you flick your eyes to the cast and his covered face. “So… Can I sign?”

Simon shifts on the bench, neck tensed. After several beats he looks away and lets out a gruff ‘fine.’ You don’t give him a chance to change his mind.

When you’re finished you pop up with a satisfied smile, slipping the cap on to the marker. “There, all done!”

Simon says nothing. He lumbers to a stand that causes you to stumble back. He watches your flickering eyes and the waver of your smile.

“Okayyyy… I have to get this one home now so just let me know when you want to meet?”

You wave enthusiastically at him and walk away. You only get a few feet before you stop and turn around. Simon watched as you take Sprinkles or in hand and wave it as well. “Say bye to Sprinkles!”

He cuts his eyes at you. “I’m not sayin’ goodbye to the bloody dog.”

You pout and shrug, whispering something to the dog as you go. Simon stands in place for several minutes watching you retreat.

Bloody Hell.

At home on his couch he pops open a can of ale with one hand taking a long gulps. Simon opens the email attachment you sent him, momentarily distracted by your blocky letters on his cast and the lopsided smiley face drawn in sharpie. He squints at the pages before him in his lap trying to make sense of what he was reading.

His eyebrows twitch when he reaches fifty pages in and realizes you’d sent him written porn.

“Wot the bloody hell.”

#once again don’t care if it’s good #this is all yall getting from me I’m just tired of looking at it #yall better thank wren because that’s who motivated me #we need more ghoap x reader food in the fridge smh

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underhousearrestblog · 1 year ago

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Lost In Translation | Pedro Pascal

(summary) a drunk confession makes things weird between you and Pedro

(warnings) an age gap (oh the horror)

(pairings) Pedro Pascal x reader

(genre/ tropes) angst, lemon-y fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, friends to lovers

(word count) 7.7k

(also) Pedro’s point of view (of sorts) is in Italics

(also) minors, scram (I’m kidding. Kinda. I was reading these types of things when I was twelve. I’m not the one to advise anything. Just, please, don’t interact. Better for my conscience and your digital footprint.)

(also) damn – I’m actually doing something here now... a step up from my usual one-post-per-six-months activity...

HAPPY READING!

Things around you blurred, people’s faces were distorted and music was giving you a headache. You lost count how many drinks you had about an hour ago and now you were regretting having any.

Your friends – who were more work acquaintances than friends – had ditched you, you had no car that you wouldn’t be able to operate in this condition anyway and not enough money to call a cab. All you had were a very revealing dress with a deep cut up your right thigh and a phone with around twenty percent charge left.

You stepped outside. Evening air did some but still not enough good for you to feel confident enough to walk those two and a half kilometers to your apartment building. Especially not in these knee-high boots. You would probably end up murdered. Or murdering yourself by accidentally stepping in front of a car. Either way, in a ditch.

You checked over you contacts for anyone who would pick up a phone and pick you up at the club at this ungodly hour. Since you had moved, most of your contacts were pretty much useless for this type of shit.

You pulled out your wallet. There were several business cards that you had gotten since you had started to work as a PR manager for The Last Of Us production team. Your eyes scanned over some of the names. Nico Parker. You weren’t sure she even got her license yet. Bella Ramsey. You knew for a fact she didn’t have a car.

Pedro Pascal.

Shit.

Well, from a purely objective stance, he was the best choice. He could pick you up and he didn’t give creepy vibes so technically you should be fine.

The problem was – he probably didn’t even know who you were. You had been on, like, two lunches with him with purely professional intentions. There had been more people from both the cast and the PR team and, even though you had spoken to him one-on-one multiple times, he had these types of conversations every day.

Worst he could do was say no.

To be fair, he could theoretically also cuss you out.

Or look at an unknown number and not even pick up.

Before you let your mind talk itself out of it, your fingers typed in his number and called.

It was quite chilly, now that you were out in dark alley with only your stripper dress on. It was pretty but god was it doing a shit job at keeping you warm.

The phone was calling and after the very first ring, you started to doubt yourself.

Maybe it would be less embarrassing if you just called your boss? Sure, she would know you indulged in an occasional living of your life but she was a woman and maybe would be more sympathetic than most of the men you worked with...

Two-

- Y/N? – unprepared for Pedro to actually pick up, you startled.

Your brain was foggy from all the alcohol and your body was still trying to decipher the sudden temperature drop so it took you several seconds to even put words together.

- Hey, are you alright? – it was actually him.

He really picked up at a quarter to midnight.

How did he know who was calling?

- Hey, Pedro, - up until this point you had used the formal “Mr. Pascal” just like everybody in your team but now it would feel weird. – So I have a bit of a... situation?

What was the term for getting drunk and placing all your trust in people that you had met two weeks ago?

- Are you alright? – he sounded worried. – Where are you?

Not wanting to appear nervous yourself, you tried to put on a smile, hoping it would make your voice sound lighter and careless.

- I’m at the... – you looked over your shoulder at the sign in front of the club, - Sensual Vibes, - you cringed at the name.

He definitely thinks you’re at a strip club.

- It’s a bar downtown. And I’m kinda drunk and I don’t really have any money, and my asshole friends left, and I’m also kinda col-

- Do you need me to pick you up? – he didn’t sound mad.

If anything – he sounded almost careful. As if he didn’t want to push any boundaries by insisting.

You were silent for a second.

Why was it so hard for you to ask for help when it was clear you desperately needed it?

Fucking pride.

You can cringe in shame tomorrow when you haven’t been murdered trying to walk home drunk...

- Yeah, - you said quietly before adding, - but it’s totally fine if you can’t. I’m sure two kilometers of walking will be fine if I can get off these stripper shoes-

- I’ll be there in twenty, - he said in a voice that left no arguments. – Go back inside. I’ll come in and get you.

- Who was that? – Oscar asked, stuffing the leftover pizza back into the box.

- Y/N, - Pedro put away his phone and went to get his car keys.

- Y/N? Who the fuc-

His hand stopped halfway to close the lid.

- Oh shit, - Oscar laughed, turning towards his friend. – Is that the girl from the PR team? It’s that Y/N?

Pedro didn’t answer and went to get his jacket. Oscar, in true friend fashion, followed him into the hallway, while teasing:

- Is that the same girl who still calls you Mr. Pascal even though you corrected her, like, thousand times?

Pedro just rolled his eyes.

This wasn’t exactly new. Oscar had never really met you – at least, in person – though there was abundance of information regarding you given by his friend every time Pedro had a drop of alcohol in his system.

- You know, if you weren’t so famous, I’d think she actually didn’t even know your first name by how much she uses the surname... – Oscar went back to pick up the leftover pizza, before turning back and looking at his friend suspiciously. – Are you sure she meant to call you? I mean, if she called you by your name, the call might have been meant for another Pedro. All I’m saying is-

Pedro threw him a dark look and turned to leave. Could that be true? You never really called him by his name and he was almost one hundred percent sure you didn’t even have his number...

- Lock up before you leave, - Pedro murmured before opening the door.

You were drunk and alone so, either way, you’ll have to make peace with it.

Once Pedro had ended the call, all you could do was blankly stare at the screen. To be fair, you were very intoxicated so... could you had hallucinated this whole conversation?

Either way – waiting inside was probably the best choice here...

You dropped down on a sofa in the foyer. You felt a headache coming on.

God, this is gonna be embarrassing...

After fifteen minutes of waiting and contemplating about leaving on your own, a hand lightly touched your shoulder, making you startle yet again. You had been way too focused on a painting on the wall to notice anybody approaching.

- Pedro? – your eyebrows shot up as if you were surprised that the person who you had called had actually shown up.

- Were you waiting for someone else? – there was a note in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher and your foggy mind refused to cooperate.

- N-no, - you stammered out. – I just wasn’t sure you would actually show up...

Now was his turn to look surprised. He opened his mouth to say something but, when you lightly swayed on your feet, he quickly put an arm around your shoulders to steady you.

When he lightly pressed his palm on the skin between your shoulder blades, a small shiver ran through your body, making you look up at him. He had probably seen or feel you shiver and had interpreted that as you being cold which was technically true. He pulled off his jacket that looked way too big for you.

You were by no means model-thin but the jacket was oversized on him so it looked like it would end up around your knees.

You shook your head.

- I’m not taking your jacket after you drove all this w-

- Don’t argue, - was all he said before lifting your arm, pulling the sleeve over it and then repeating the same on the other side. – And it’s still longer than that pretty thing you call a dress, - his eyes ran over your half-naked body.

Not in a leering way. But he did gulp when his eyes touched on the slit across your thigh.

Great, there’s no getting this out of memory, he chastised himself for enjoying and savoring you while you were very clearly drunk.

Shit, he’s probably uncomfortable, was all you could think about.

His car was pleasantly warm. You managed to climb in on your own but when it came to the seatbelt, you fingers still lacked focus and were stiff. After two unsuccessful attempts at connecting the two parts, Pedro gently peeled your fingers from the belt, reached over and buckled you in himself.

Before he could step back, you placed your hand on his bicep to stop him. The touch itself was innocent enough but you felt your skin lightly tingling as if you had touched a wire with low charge.

Pedro’s eyes followed you to where your skin had touched his. All he could do was stare at your fingers around his arm.

- Shit, sorry, - you decided he was probably uncomfortable and withdrew your hand, - sorry, I didn’t mean-

- It’s fine-

- I just wanted to say thank you, - your gaze held his. – I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.

There was something intoxicating in doing favors for you. He would’ve driven to pick up any of the women he knew if they were drunk and alone but your trust in him made him a bit delirious.

He wanted you to call him if you ever needed to get home drunk but he also wanted to drive you to a meaningless appointment and pick you up after work.

- It’s fine, - he swallowed before stepping back. – You’re welcome.

He could hear Oscar’s teasing voice in his head, telling him how absurdly romantic it was for him to simp after a girl who probably read his number off a business card when hers had been cataloged in his phone since day one. He probably could recall it from memory at this point.

Pedro closed the door on your side and walked around to get into the driver’s seat. He tried to take in some of the chilling evening air before getting in.

- ... and my friend said just go up to him and ask him out, - he heard you say once he got in, - but every time I looked at his pretty face I chicked out... – you hiccuped, - chic... chickened out! And then-

Your words were slurred and half-coherent.

Pedro started the car, pulled out of the parking lot and then threw a glance at you.

- Who were you trying to ask out?

- I wasn’t trying... And he wouldn’t come anyway...

Alcohol had made you braver and in a stupid attempt to rip your own band-aid off, you turned towards Pedro and whispered in an almost broken voice:

- Would you go on a date with me?

You needed his answer. Tomorrow was gonna be shameful but you could, at least, write this off as a drunken mistake. You had finally done it, you had finally gathered all your courage and taken a step-

But it was the way you had said it. With the accent on the word ‘you’. All Pedro heard was your confession about liking another man and how busy he was, and now you looked at him with glossy eyes and it made him wonder if this stupid man you were talking about had said something to make you insecure. You had just confessed about your crush and needed confirmation that other men – smarter men – would still date you.

But knowing that you trusted him enough to take you home drunk, he knew he couldn’t just confess about wanting you for himself. That was a dick move used by every false male friend around the world.

- I... – you watched his throat work, as he was putting words together, then he ripped his gaze away from where you sat in his car, in his jacket, for the first time ever giving him your undivided attention. – I think you’re amazing and any man would be lu-

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. His figure got distorted through the rapidly increasing moisture.

You are amazing.

Any man would be lucky to date you.

Not me though.

Last one wasn’t said out loud but, in your defense, it was usually never spelled out when a person was rejecting someone.

This was a rejection speech.

He was giving you a rejection speech!

You lifted your hand to silence him. He immediately did and you looked out through the window on your side.

- Please, don’t, - your voice broke at the end. – I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

It was said and done.

You had asked and he had rejected you. Work’s gonna be a bitch but PR, thankfully, was a team effort so you could probably take meetings with another member of the cast and make one of your colleague meet with Pedro. Eventually, your stupid little feelings would stop hurting and you would move on.

Eventually.

Until then you probably should avoid Pedro every chance you got.

It was said and done.

Even drunk, you had realized his incurable crush on you and in a very “I’m well-versed in public relations” manner had put an end to his confession. What was it that you had said? I respect you way too much...

Respect you way too much to outright say “no”.

You had a crush on a man you worked with. Probably someone your age. Probably someone who’s life wasn’t constantly dissected on every media platform.

You were a real pretty girl so even if you never gathered the courage to take the first step, that man you talked about would probably do it for you. He would be stupid not to.

Which meant that at some point you would be seen on set, laughing and kissing some other man who probably had no idea for how long you had lusted after him. And Pedro knew that if your crush forgot what he’s got, he would be way too tempted to teach him a lesson or two about not throwing away life’s biggest treasures.

Maybe even way too tempted to put the fear of god into that man. To threaten to never dare to break your pretty little heart.

But you had good taste in most things. And the man you were talking about asking out was probably good. More than good. He probably was respectful in public and would make you scream his name in private. Buy you a nice dress and later rip it off your body. Pick you up to take you places and then wait patiently for you to come back to him.

You deserved the best. And you were probably way too good for that boy you liked. Granted, Pedro thought you were way too good for basically everyone, including himself, but he also wasn’t one of those men that would pass on an amazing woman all because “she’s too good for him”.

Nah. He knew he would greedily accept your love and lust if only you offered. He might have thought you were too good for him but he also knew there were many things he could provide for you. He was successful, had money, a stable job, he was mature and wouldn’t play any games. Besides, he was damn near sure he loved you and even with you reciprocating just half of that love and affection, it still would be perfect.

- What’s your add-

Once he looked over to where you were watching him just a minute ago, Pedro found you fast asleep with your head pressed against the window. His jacket, way too big for you, had fallen down your shoulder, revealing that distractingly little napkin you bravely called a dress.

Shit.

This was definitely not good.

If he had to bring you back to his home, he knew he would see ghosts of you every time he stepped inside his own house. And that would be bad. Right now you were already everywhere at work, he couldn’t afford to let you make yourself at home in his private space too. Damage would take months to undo.

He contemplated waking you up but even then there would be no guarantee that you would even remember where you lived in this condition.

Pedro started driving towards his own home slower than necessary, hoping you would wake up at some point and give him your address.

All he could hope for was that Oscar had already left because, otherwise, Pedro would never hear the end of this...

Shitshitshit.

Your head was hurting even before you opened your eyes. That was never a good thing. Once you did, you were met with a semi-dark room that was vaguely lit by a small lamp left on on the nightstand.

Where the fuck where you?

This looked way too homey to be a hotel and way too impersonal to be someone’s bedroom. You lifted the thick blanket that was draped over you to check out if you weren’t missing any clothes. Or some more important things, like body parts.

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion when you were met with the same light blue dress you had worn at the club with just more wrinkles in it now. All you were missing where the boots that you saw placed by the bed.

You checked the small alarm clock on the nightstand.

5:06 AM.

It was early.

On a day off, you probably wouldn’t have woken up this early but your body had most likely dealt with the alcohol in your system and had woken up naturally once you had sobered up.

Then you noticed the small note placed next to the clock.

I’m not sure how much you remember but I picked you up from a club. You didn’t give me an address before passing out, so I brought you home with me. You’re in my guest bedroom. I’m in the one down the hall. I got you some aspirin and water. And some clothes.

Pedro.

There was something else written on the paper but it was scribbled out. You lifted the note and placed it before the small lamp, letting the light shine through.

Cute dress.

You smiled, however that smile lasted for exactly one second before you remembered the conversation in the car. You had asked Pedro on a date. He had given you the “there’s more fish in the sea” speech.

God.

You had excused your bravery with “you can live today and be embarrassed tomorrow” but now, when tomorrow was finally here, you weren’t sure it was actually worth it.

Thank god you didn’t work closely with Pedro because this would be ten times more awkward if you were an actress.

You quickly changed into the clothes Pedro had left for you. It was a white t-shirt with something spelled in a foreign language you didn’t understand. The shirt reached down to your knees and covered more than your dress had. You could technically leave in just the t-shirt but your sudden sobriety would probably result in you freezing to death so you decided to wear sweatpants as well. You rolled up the ends of the pants that were too long, threw a glance in the mirror and decided that you looked presentable enough.

Once you left the guest room with the dress still in your hand, you tried to find out if Pedro had already woken up. It seemed unlikely. It was very early.

And that seemed to be the truth, as none of the lights were on in neither the kitchen nor the living room. Or in the hallway.

Thank god the key was still in the door and you didn’t have to wake him up to unlock the door. You carefully tiptoed through the hallway and sneaked out through the front door, leaving nothing but a vague scent of your perfume and a note on the living room table.

Thank you. Truly. You have no idea how grateful I am. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

That’s exactly how Pedro found your note three hours later when he woke up. Note had no name. Apparently, you didn’t assume he rescued women every night and didn’t think he would mix you up with someone else.

As if he ever could.

He was quite grateful to have missed you, in case you remembered how he had come onto you in the car. He didn’t want a pitying glance and you saying sorry, as if you had anything to be sorry about.

Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

Pedro let out a bitter laugh. That’s what you sign at the bottom of a work email, in hopes the recipient never truly reaches out for anything. You just felt like you owed him.

three weeks later

Pedro felt somebody brush a makeup brush over his temple to add some last touches before the filming started. People were running around, adding and taking down some props. Camera crew were doing some last check-ups. And in what Pedro thought was a torturosly ironic touch to an already important scene that caused some nerves to resurface, you were there.

In fairness, you weren’t here on your own and by your own wish. Some people of the PR and social media management teams were here, hoping to take some photos of behind the scenes for marketing.

And they were all pretty irrelevant because his eyes didn’t leave you for one second.

Pedro, Bella and some of the others were placed good ten meters from where you were standing by the door of the room that seemed to shrink every second. You were either unaware of his intense gaze or simply ignored it.

Pedro didn’t know which one would piss him off more.

There weren’t many things that didn’t irritate him these days. Oscar had started to call it Y/N withdrawal. As if he was an addict. A junkie who’s been cut off from his favorite drug of choice.

At first, Pedro was understanding. You probably felt weird you had clocked him liking you and wanted space. Fine. He would be an asshole not to give you space. Then he called you but the call always went to voicemail. On week two he had the first PR dinner since ‘the incident’ and when you didn’t show and had sent one of your assistants in your place, it only soured Pedro’s mood. The assistant had lied about you not feeling well but when you were still nowhere to be seen on the next meeting – and the next – he knew it was an excuse.

You were making excuses.

Week three took the crown when at one of the advertisement meetings that was mandatory for all cast and production team members, you had apparently ‘had a doctor’s appointment’.

Now he was pissed at the whole world and especially himself for fucking this up. You were a smart girl and he should’ve expected you to put two and two together that night. And, in addition, he was just a tiny bit pissed at you for not giving him a chance to apologize.

When you excused yourself and went into the kitchen, Pedro quickly stood up.

- Sorry, - he murmured to the makeup artist. – I’ll be right back.

Filming was set to start in ten minutes.

That was all he needed to say the things that needed to be said.

You were facing the open fridge when Pedro walked in. You read something that was written on the side of what looked like a protein shake.

You looked good. There were no signs of tiredness in your eyes. No sluggish movements. No yawning.

That was good, Pedro tried to tell himself.

Would it hurt for you to be a little affected that he was absent from your life for three whole weeks?

Then his eyes caught a thin bracelet around your wrist. It was shiny and had a minimalistic heart charm on it.

Pedro recalled Oscar once mentioning getting something similar to his wife because “the only time women wear heart jewelry is if it’s gifted by a man who’s interested”.

It was quite a big assumption that the bracelet was, one, a gift, two, from a man, and three, that it was the same moron you wanted to date. And yet it only fueled Pedro’s irrational jealousy and anger.

He let go of the door and it fell shut with a loud bang.

You jumped.

- It’s really unprofessional, you know, - Pedro accused. – This behavior of yours lately.

It only took a second for you to go from a startled look to a glare. You put the drink back in the fridge and shut the door. Loudly.

How matching.

- Excuse you? – you pushed back.

- I get that you’re avoiding me and that’s fine but you also have a job to do, - he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. – You’ve missed several PR meetings and allowed your underage intern to replace you.

You chuckled under your breath and looked away.

So that’s what this was about...

- So you feel a bit neglected because an intern – highly skilled, might I add, - was attending a few of the meetings? Is he not good enough for you?

Pedro looked at you as if you’d grown a second head.

- I don’t care if he’s as useless as a toddler – don’t change the subject!

You blew away a strand of your hair that had fallen in front of your face.

God you looked hot angry.

When you tried to side-step him and leave, Pedro followed your movements until his back hit the door, leaving you without an escape. He leaned against it, wrapped his right palm around his left wrist and looked down at you.

- You’re avoiding me, - he was glaring at you.

You glared back.

- No shit.

Pedro had expected more resistance. Or more excuses. He definitely expected you to look at him with a confused stare and say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’. Now that you had done none of that, it felt a bit weird to “confront” you because you had had every right to avoid him.

- I’m just making sure you don’t get a write-up for skipping work, - even though the words were genuine, the tone was rude and you recoiled.

You looked up at him as if he’d slapped you.

- Are you threatening to snitch on me for skipping few meetings?

His eyes widened.

Shit.

- That’s not wh-

- Fuck you.

Now he looked like you had slapped him.

This was going downhill and fast. He had never accused anybody of bad work ethics and you had never cursed at someone for essentially doing nothing wrong, really.

You had spent three weeks, trying to soothe your ego. But rejection still stung. And, for the first time in your life, your personal feelings had affected your professional life. There was no excuse for that.

So you exhaled, counted to ten, got to five and decided to push your emotions down. You didn’t actually believe that Pedro would ever attempt anything to harm your career but he was still a big star and, would somebody come across this very unprofessional conversation, your future job opportunities might be in jeopardy.

- Listen, I’m sorry, okay? – you said, then quickly added. – For missing those meetings.

You didn’t want to voice that you were also apologizing for taking rejection badly.

Even though, you were.

- Won’t happen again.

His eyes softened.

- I’m sorry too, okay? – he lifted his hand to place it on your shoulder or upper arm but decided against it in the last second and let it fall back against his side.

You laughed. Genuinely.

- What are you sorry for?

- For what I said in the car, - he explained.

Your eyes returned to the startled expression that they were in when he first came in. You had wanted to avoid that night but he had brought it up voluntarily. He could see your prey-like expression and shook his head:

- I didn’t mean... – he got quiet for a second. – That would be a lie. I did mean it. But I think I could’ve worded it better. Maybe. Or explained it to you when you were sober...

I didn’t mean... That would be a lie. I did mean it.

His words, even though soft and placating, still grazed your heart like a knife.

You could respect him for not leading you on.

Leading someone on was still worse than letting somebody down gently.

Be a big girl and accept defeat like a champ, you motivated yourself.

- That’s fine. It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

You had realized he liked you, damn near loved you, and it didn’t mean anything.

His love meant nothing.

Pedro swallowed and nodded. When you gestured towards the door that he was still blocking, he stepped aside, letting you leave.

- Did you feel harassed by me? – he asked before you left.

You laughed. But when you realized he was dead-ass serious, your smile fell.

- What?

- In my car. That night. Did you feel harassed by me?

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Even though it was absurd for him to ask this, you felt warmth engulf your heart.

He’s making sure you didn’t feel unsafe with him...

God.

He’s gonna make a great partner to someone someday...

- God no, - you grinned, trying to put him at ease.

- You sure? – he asked.

- Of course, - you gave him a bittersweet smile. – How could I have felt harassed? Nothing happened.

Nothing happened, as in, I asked you out and you turned me down, simple as that.

Nothing happened, as in, you figured I liked you and that realization meant nothing, I still mean nothing to you.

When week four rolled in, things had went back to normal. The weird kind of normal. The professional kind of normal. You were present in all PR meetings you needed to attend, Pedro went out of his way to treat you like a friend.

He had started bringing these weird mini cupcakes from around where he was living. Every meeting, he would show up and give them out to all, usually five or six, attending persons. He would never skip you, giving you exactly the same amount of pleasantries, sweets and eye contact as to every other person from the cast and PR teams. It was as if he had timed your interactions to make sure you felt identical to everybody else here.

You translated his actions as he’s making sure to drive home the point of “I treat everybody like this, don’t make this weird, you’re not special in that sense”.

He translated his actions as making sure you saw that even after you rejected him, he still wouldn’t be passive-aggressive towards you and wouldn’t exclude you from anything.

“Don’t make things weird” had become a motto for both of you, at this point. This was exactly why Pedro had advised Oscar to also invite you to the party he was throwing in honor of ending the shooting of one of Oscar’s movies. Even though Pedro knew you would show up all dolled up and, most likely, with a plus one, as suggested the invitation.

And “don’t make things weird” was exactly why you had accepted, even though the last time you had attended a formal function, it had ended with you at a club and with no ride or money.

You had showed up in a black sleeveless dress that reached your knees. Pedro had had exactly one drink and he was using the hell out of it as an excuse why he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – take his eyes off you. The dress was simple and maybe exactly because of that your own beauty shone through more than usual when there was nothing to distract people from it.

Then you turned towards the small home bar and his eyes slid over your frame, landing on the dress’ very deep slit. This time it was on the behind of your dress’ skirt.

You and the fucking slits. Making every piece of clothing look like it was designed specifically for you...

- Thank god moods are not contagious because this would be the saddest happy event ever, - Oscar’s hand landed on his friend’s shoulder, as he followed Pedro’s gaze down to where you were standing.

Pedro unintentionally moved to block you from his friend’s eyes which came as a surprise to both. It was very clear that Oscar had no negative or positive intentions regarding you so it was even more weird when Pedro felt small pang of jealousy when he saw the bottle of wine you had gifted Oscar for hosting the party.

Oscar raised his eyebrows, amused.

As if asking, really?

You, on the other hand, were doing everything to avoid Pedro that evening. He looked good. He looked so handsome even though he was one of the very few men here who had chosen to wear a sweater instead of a suit or a dress shirt. You definitely needed a distraction and given how it had ended with drinking last time you got drunk, you avoided alcohol like it was the plague, only drinking virgin cocktails.

The biggest problem with avoiding someone is that that person is living in your head rent free, in order for you to be where they are not. Which meant that before you avoid them in a room, you have to check specifically for them. The biggest support for you in this was the fact that Pedro seemed to avoid you as well, so it was quite easy to keep your distance.

- Is there a guest I’m not aware of? – Oscar humored lightly. – Or are you stalked by someone?

Only the ghost of your best friend.

You smiled, shook your head and asked a few questions about the movie to whose ending this function was dedicated to. After some time he excused himself and said to go look for his wife but before he left, Oscar casually threw out:

- I’m sorry things are weird between you and Pedro right now, - he seemed apologetic.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Pedro had clearly told him about what had happened.

It was already embarrassing enough for you to realize that Pedro had been sober that night and remembered every word your drunk self had confessed. And, to add insult to injury, the rejection still kinda stung. But he had clearly told everything to another man. And that one made you even more upset because you knew Oscar by reputation only but that reputation was quite good. So he probably felt sympathy for your little groupie act by asking out someone clearly out of your league.

You averted your eyes. How many other people knew?

- Look, he’s a grown ass man, he’ll be fine, - Oscar put his hand on your shoulder in a pacifying manner. – It’s just that this was his longest crush ever so it will take more time than usual...

Because you actively tried to block out his voice, the words didn’t register at first. And, once they did, they still didn’t make much sense.

- But it will-

- What did you just say?

Your tone was harsh and it made Oscar do a double-take.

- I... I’m not trying to pressure you into anything by what I said about being his longest crush, if that’s what you meant. I promise.

Your eyes searched his face for any signs of amusement or humor... or confusion. When you didn’t find any, you put down your drink and turned your full attention towards him.

- What did he tell you happened that night?

Oscar looked at you like you were a child asking to explain the alphabet.

- I’m not sure I should-

- He clearly told you something! – you raised your voice – not loud enough to be heard by everyone but enough to make some of the closest people turn heads.

Oscar nodded:

- All he told me was you figured out he liked you. And you don’t like him back, - Oscar used the tone he probably used with his kids. – And that’s fine. You have every r-

- What kind of fairy tale did he fed you? – your first thought was that Pedro had lied to his friend.

But why would he ever do that? What could he possibly get out of telling people you were the one who rejected him? Letting someone down wasn’t a crime and it didn’t make you a bad person.

- He rejected me! I straight up asked him out and he gave me the whole speech about there being men who would be oh so lucky to date me. And then he kept on friend-zoning me for a month just for funsies. Making sure I knew my place was with all the other people who worked for him!

When you turned to leave – and maybe give that free alcohol a shot or two – Oscar unceremoniously grabbed your upper arm and turned you back.

- That can’t be true, Y/N! You were the one drunk! Are you sure you remember everything okay?

You rolled your eyes, trying to pull your arm away.

- I was drunk, not stupid! I know rejection when I receive one!

Oscar’s grasp wasn’t hurting you or anything but it probably looked like you were fighting from afar, at this point.

- Look, Y/N, calm down, - he lowered his voice so other people wouldn’t hear a thing. – All he told me was that you had confessed liking someone you worked with, and-

- And who do you think that someone from work is, genius?

You could almost hear gears turning in Oscar’s head.

- So... When he said that you had asked if... When you were wondering if he would date you, it wasn’t because...

You waited.

- ... it wasn’t because you were insecure about nobody being interested in you?

- Why would I give a shit if other people were interested in me?

It was a good thing you were sober because it was taking a good amount of time to understand this even sober. Your eyes widened when you finally put the pieces together.

The way Pedro looked almost crushed when you had interrupted him to silence him in the car.

Please don’t. I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

Could he had mistaken it for rejection?

You silencing him out of respect so you didn’t have to tell him you didn’t want to date him? Did he thought that you were thinking his ego couldn’t handle being rejected by someone who was not rich or famous?

Shit.

You tried to find his pink sweater somewhere in the crowd. He couldn’t have gone home already, could he? You had relatively little knowledge of the layout of Oscar’s house so your best shot was to run into Pedro somewhere.

Your wish manifested a bit too literally, when you roughly rounded a corner and ran straight into someone.

Pedro’s fingers wrapped around your upper arm in the same manner Oscar’s hand had just mere seconds ago. Just to drive home the point of your attraction to him, a small shot of electricity shot through your arm whereas nothing even similar had happened when his friend had touched your arm.

- Careful, - he steadied you and then removed his hand.

When you looked up, you noticed that he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You thought you had gotten over this awkwardness...

Guess not.

With music still sounding throughout the house, you looked around, grabbed the front of his sweater and pushed him into one of the many guest bedrooms here. Once you closed and locked the door, you turned towards Pedro who was looking a bit thrown out of the boat.

For one moment, nobody said anything. Then you pushed down the dress that had ridden up your thighs while you were frantically looking for him throughout the house, and stepped closer to him.

The height difference was always a turn on for you but right now it did nothing but annoy.

- Sit down, - you commanded.

He took a step back and sat down on the bed.

When he looked up at you, you realized that you probably shouldn’t have asked him to do that. Your foggy brain finally decided to give you back few of the memories missing from that night month ago.

When he had gently lowered you onto the bed and you had finally woken up just in time to see him drop down on his knees to take off your boots. Out of concern, he had looked up at you with a very similar expression as he was having right now. With his lids lowered, eyes dark and pupils dilated.

When his brows furrowed in confusion, unaware of your flashbacks, you snapped out of it.

- Why does Oscar think I rejected you in your car that night? – you demanded before you lost your courage.

Pedro looked away.

You had had a long day at work today and still most of your energy had went into dodging Pedro at every corner, trying to not even look at him, while simultaneously keeping an eye on him at all times to not accidentally get close. Your patience had worn out long before you got here.

You unceremoniously grabbed his chin and turned his head back towards you.

- Look, I’m sorry I told him, - Pedro raised his eyes to meet yours. – I needed to tell someone and you were avoiding me and refused to even look at me!

You shook your head and tried to step back before he grabbed your hand in both of his.

- I’m sorry.

- What are you even sorry for? – you ripped your hand from his. – For lying?

When all he did was stare up at your in confusion, you took a step back to keep some distance.

- Do you get pity points or something for act-

Pedro stood up and you lost any advantage you had due to height. When he advanced towards you and you still stepped back, he caught your wrist, refusing to let you leave.

- Stop running from me! – he demanded. – Talk to me!

Fine.

- Fine, - you still tugged on your arm and he still didn’t let go so at some point you had to give up on it and leave your hand in his grasp.

- Tell me why you were avoiding me for a month, - he used a painfully soft tone as if afraid you would run at the very first sign of confrontation.

You were silent for a moment, trying to find the right words to sound like a mature adult.

- I guess... – you sighed and decided to just get over it. – I was hurt that you weren’t interested in me when I asked you out that night after you picked me up. I was butt hurt and it wasn’t fair to you because you have ever-

You didn’t get to finish when he closed the small distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. You would’ve pulled back by surprise if not for Pedro’s hand cupping the back of you neck.

Your heart seemed to simultaneously skip a beat and stop altogether. After the initial shock, you slid your hand into Pedro’s hair and lightly pulled him back by it.

Amusement danced in his eyes with a light shake of his head.

- To think we could’ve done this weeks ago, - he laughed.

You felt a bit giddy inside, still not really comprehending every piece of this misunderstanding but, in your defense, it probably had been quite hard to catch any love signals that night when you were wasted.

- You want me to ask you out again? – you proposed.

- Nah, - he shook his head. - I’ll do the honors, - he cleared his throat. – You’re going on a date with me.

You cocked your head.

- Are you asking or telling?

- I assumed you were a sure thing, drunk words being sober thoughts and all that...

This felt a bit too good to be true but you weren’t going to question it. Once you both left the guest room, with Pedro’s hand still wrapped around yours, and turned the corner to return to the party, you found Oscar leaning against the wall in the hallway with a drink in his hand and an amused look in his eyes.

- No freaky business under my roof, - he gave his friend with a stern look. – That’s like the only rule I have.

Only when his eyes found your intervened hands, he chuckled under his breath.

- Love must be hard when you’re both idiots, huh?

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #imagine #oscar isaac

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district11crm · 9 months ago

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ririsdelusionalcorner · 3 months ago

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Idia with a cosplayer SO

How did it start (Idia):

○We all know how invested Idia is when it comes to the series he enjoys so it would only be natural that he followed accounts that post content for those series.

○He most likely found his future SO account due to this fact. They were cosplaying a more niche series that he had been hyperfocused on so he had never hit the follow button faster.

○This would have spiraled into him becoming one of their biggest supporters. Always interacting with posts, sending anonymous messages, going to fan meets mostly digitally but sometimes in person when he was brave enough

○I would say he'd even have either drawn fanart for them, or made some type of merch, we'll say a Keychain in this case to give to them during the one time he was brave enough to go to a fan meeting in person.

How did it evolve:

○Imagine Idia's shock finding out his favorite cosplayer was attending NRC and is in the same dorm as him. When he's the Housewarden!

○Idia almost thought it was his eyes tricking him but the sight of a familiar Keychain used as a phone charm made him realize it was real.

○Was Idia going to approach them? Absolutely not, but to his horror delight they ended up joining the board gaming club.

○Things were made worse when they recognized him. How is someone supposed to react when their favorite cosplayer remembers them. Idia almost short circuited that's for sure.

○Idia didn't pursue a friendship with them but they pursued one with him.

○Idia almost thought he was living in a dating Sim at this point. And he was the capture target. His future SO was relentless. Always going to his dorm, dragging him out when they weren't busy with class, building a friendship with Ortho, working on their cosplans in his dorm, listening when he talked about his interests/sharing their own. Anything and everything they could do they did.

○And eventually one day they approached him with a request. They wanted him to cosplay with them for their next event....that is cosplay a couple. To say Idia.exe stopped working was an understatement. He tried to cover his embarrassment by jokingly asking if they were asking him out and he got a serious yes. He almost fainted on the spot but managed to agree.

As a couple:

○From then on it wasn't just his SO who was a famous cosplayer he became one himself to his horror. Their fans were now his fans and he just had to suck it up and accept his fate.

○Couples cosplays are a must! But only from series they both genuinely like. He'll be super embarrassed if you're going to cons in cosplay together but He'll suck it up for you. For private photoshoots he's a little more comfortable but is still embarrassed when his SO posts them.

○His dorm wasn't just his own anymore. It was shared with his SO. You could clearly see they practically lived there.

○Cute gaming sessions, and by that I mean him gaming and his SO working on a project and commentating.

○Friday movie nights are a must. If he doesn't get time to just sit with his SO in his arms binge watching series he'll combust

○Designated bag holder Idia is real. He's the bf walking around the con with all of his SO stuff and he doesn't complain one bit. Why would he when his partner is cosplaying one of his favs and looks so genuinely happy to be interacting with fans

○Idia takes the best photos btw. Both in cosplay and out of cosplay he's always prepared. He'll use drones, go out of his way to get the best angles and even edit the photos himself If his SO asks. He's their number 1 supporter

○Idia will fight to pay for things. Need fabric? You know his card information. At a con and see some merch you want? Here's his card grab anything you want, and actually get multiple of some of the keychains or pins so he could match with you. Basically if you want something you'll get it. He has the money to spare and it's more meaningful if he spends it on you.

○He's a pro at making props. With his technical skills he's making props that actually do the same things that they do in their individual series

○He's very interested in the creation of cosplays as a whole but cannot sew whatsoever so he sticks to what he knows and just enjoys watching his SO work.

Notes from Riri:

You will never have a more supportive Bf than Idia istg. Sorry if this isn't like an actual fic I just wanted to get this out of my head. But lmk if you like content like this and my asks are always open! I'm not a pro at writing but hey I'm here to be delusional so that's what I'll be

#twst ships #twst #disney twst #idia shroud #idia x reader #twst idia #idia twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst headcanons #I think he needs a cosplayer SO idk what to tell you.

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cavydude · 3 months ago

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Hey everyone guess what's back?

To celebrate the one-year anniversary of the remaster, we (the fine folks over at the Baten Kaitos fan Discord) are bringing back Spiriter Week! And now it's bigger than ever: we're going multi-platform!

So mark you calendars for September 15th-21st!!!

Wait, what's this now? Back in ye olde golden age of Tumblr, we used to have an annual thing we called Spiriter Week, a week-long celebration of our favorite card-game RPGs.

What do you mean, "multiplatform"? Due to fandom no longer being fully (or even mostly) within the confines of one website, we figured it'd be a good idea to have folks participate wherever they want to. Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, or wherever. Still have a Pillowfort? Go crazy there too.

Ok, how do I participate? It's super easy- just post something Baten Kaitos related every day. Could be a fic, art, videos, whatever. Wherever you're posting it, use the tag #Spiriter Week I am not blessed with creative prowess Neither am I we're all just bullshitting Doesn't have to be anything skillful like art or writing. Could be fan theories, a personal anecdote, ranking your favorite xyz or even a haiku. Like this example I stole borrowed from No's original post:

Holoholo bird All my apples are rotten Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

This sounds great but I'm super busy there's no way I can post every day. Again, same here friend. No worries, even just one or two during the week is fine. Let's face it, we've all aged a number of years since these were last a thing and life has a way of stockpiling responsibilities.

On what authority are you organizing this? Alright ya got me I'm just some rando with a Gibari pfp. But come on, why not have some fun and build some hype around these games we love?

That's a nice banner where'd you get it? Damn right! Credit goes to No, who still had the old banner and managed to change some digits :D

How can we follow for updates? Here on Tumblr, I (and of course anyone else who wants to say something on the topic) will be posting in the #Spiriter Week tag. Some major updates might also be posted in the baten kaitos tag but I don't wanna spam it too much.

But yeah, that should cover most of the major stuff, feel free to reach out with any questions!

#baten kaitos #spiriter week

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tereotechsolution · 2 years ago

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happyunbday2u · 6 months ago

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So I've seen some Hazbin Hotel role swap things like when the pilot first came out they were switching Charlie and Alastor, Vaggie and Angel Dust, Niffty and Husk and Cherri Bomb and Sir Pentious, one on where Charlie and Vaggie switch, one with a Statichusk, once the season came out I saw like one for RadioStatic and somebody even give out a full list on who is who which I loved BUT have ya'll considered this? And work with me here okay

Also I didn’t get a chance to finish the art since I did it on a school computer cause I don’t have my own and my phone isn’t good with digital artwork but I finished the designs

Angel Dust as Charlie: When his family died they were basiclly considered royalty since their family of mafia had gone on for centuries that when they went to Hell they were already covered, living in a goddamn palace with deseasd family members and others from the same mafia. Angel Dust while he really didn't care at first but then started hate whenever the extermination happened due to how many died, he was covered since his family had already had so much secirity and such but it began to seem like something everyone should have. That's when the hotel idea came to place. He tried telling his family about it but it didn't really work too well so he left to try and make it work and save everyone in Hell. His main weapon choice is guns but he really doesn't like resorting to violence, he removed his gold tooth as a way to symbolize how he left his family and the family business.

Husk as Vaggie: In Heaven there were two ways you could become an Exersit, one is by ending up in the Purgatory and having no choice in it, the second way is by being approched by one to ask for your help in secret and choose to become one yourself which was rare but some did choose to that path and Husk was one of them. Skilled with throwing knives and any small sharp object he was one of the best ones on the field, Lute was kinda jelous, and never EVER showed mercy... except for one time. He cornered a small child but found himself not being able to kill him so he let him run off and make it seem like he had managed to run away fast enough. Lute ended up seeing and saw him as a disgrace as she took out his eye and halo, she almost took off his wings but he fought back so she only ended up damaging them so he couldn't fly anymore. That's when he met Angel who showed him better kindness then his own people, he ended up helping him with his idea and is dating him. He doesn't trust most people but more speficlly woman, okay so I added that because you know how Vaggie doesn't trust men? My thought was because of Adam’s personality and holding a grudge for letting Lute remove her eye and wings so for Husk I made it because of Lute doing those things. His main weapon of choice is small knives but he works with cards and exploding dice. Also Fun Fact on the Fandom page, Trivia, it says that Vizzipop was saying that she wanted to make him Russian ended up deciding not to do it soooooooooooooooooo- To me he's canonlly Russian, oh and another fun fact he knows like 6 languages including Italian so now I can have the mental imagine of Husk and Angel talking to each other sweetly in Italian.

Niffty as Alastor: Okay yes this sounds weird but WORK WITH ME HERE! At first glance you'd think oh look at this lil woman but NOPE she is an bug eating Overlord, she's known as The Bug Demon for two different reasons. 1. Her obesstion/appitie for bugs and 2. In the 1940's a word to describe someone as insane was bug which is around the time she was born. She works on the radio. She's feared by all of Hell and anyone who hasn't met her will probobly know really fast why she is. She is absolute besties with and I'm thinking about replacing Mimzy with Baxter but I'm not sure, if you don't know who that is he's one of the characters made but hasn't been used yet. And like Alastor was a mama's boy she was a daddy's girl and is respectful to men UNLESS they are absolute bitches to people. Another reason I gave her Alastor's spot was so that they can still be crazy together and I can keep the mental imagine of them laughing mainaclly together.

Cherri Bomb as Angel Dust: Cherri Bomb sold her soul to Valentino (Or someone else? Give me ideas people, pls) thinking it'll be as simple as she seen others do, it was not, it was even worse since he ended up having her as a 'favorite'. She acts like she doesn't care but it really hit her deep and her escape, besides ya know all the drinking and such, is blowing things up. She came to the hotel simply so she wouldn't have to live in the studio but overtime ended up liking the people there.

Sir Pentious as Husk: He used to be known for winning any turf war until one day there was one he was fighing that was too powerful to defeat so he made a deal with The Bug Demon for help but it didn't end well. Yeah he won but at the cost of having to work for Niffty, he learned how to bartend over time and grew an alchohal addiction, he was forced to work at the Hotel by Niffty and while he did at first dislike Cherri he ended up liking her in the end.

Alastor as Niffty: A hyperactive always smiling through everything, you know Niffty stays smiling almost as much as Alastor, deer demon he's basiclly the world's best cook and basiclly butler of the hotel. He's just a chaotic tall little shit which is basiclly like before but less out there.

Charlie as Sir Pentious: The Princess of Hell hated her title and how she had to live as royalty so she tried to become her own person, key word: tried. She tried become an Overlord but she wasn't good at making deals, then she tried living like any other demon but they reconized her too easily, then she tried to join the Vees but even with her reputation they didn't let her become one of them so to get their attention she tried winning turf wars, one of her biggest rivals was Vaggie. And the Egg Boiz are replaced by the Goat Bois which are just Razzle and Dazzle look a likes In the final battle she did die and get redeemed. I don’t think people realize that Charlie does have a soul since her mom was literally the first woman and when she made the deal with Alastor it was confirmed, plus I want her to still meet Emily and be besties with her.

Vaggie as Cherri Bomb: A young fighter skilled with throwing exploding spears, literally just bombs strapped to her spears, and a turf winning champion. She used to be an angel but she was kicked out Heaven for being rebellious so when one of the exterminations happened they took her down with them but she put up a fight and ended up getting her eye cut out. She's besties with Cherri.

Molly as Lucifer: She was close with Angel the most when they were alive even though she was never in their “family business”. When she died she went to Heaven and knew that her family wasn't so to reunite with them she brought up ideas like visiting hours and such so that loved ones could reunite in dislocated places so that Angels were never at risk in Hell and Sinners didn't plan to raid Heaven. Dispite the court denying and denying she kept trying until she was casted out in Heaven for her ideas and came down to Hell as a fallen angel. She was happy tho, because she was going to be with her family until she saw how distant they all had become with eachother, nevertheless she tried rebonding with her brother. But when Angel Dust came to her with the idea of rehabilitating sinners she just simply believe that it couldn't be done, not that she didn't want to support him, it was just hard to believe that Heaven would accept them after all her ideas were thrown to the gutter and not long after they became distant and she blamed herself. When Angel called her for her help she was so estatic for her brother to actually WANT to see her. "My brother wants to see me! Take that depression!" "Molly, this is Husk! My boyfriend." "You like boys! Oh mio Dio we have so much in common, put it there Tusk!"

I haven’t decided should be in Lilith’s place but I’m debating on Angel’s dad or brother

Thank you for listening to my rant have a cookie

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin art #hazbin hotel fanart #au #hazbin hotel roleswap #role swap au #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel cherri bomb #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel molly #niffty #I feel like I missed someone #artists on tumblr #my art

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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Chapter 3 - Now or Never

Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary: Reader is a brilliant but shy and awkward CIA employee whose work is often overlooked by her colleagues…she’s blended into the background for so long that she doesn’t think there’s any other way - even if she does have secret aspirations for another life. Unbeknownst to her - a certain blue eyed agent is very aware of her talents, even if nobody else is.

Under the Radar Masterlist

<Chapter Two - Beige

Warnings: Angst! Nick being a dick, some sexist/misogynistic language

Wordcount: 3804 (sorry quite a long one but there’s a lot of stuff to set up 😉 I am excited!!)

You could barely sleep after he left. You managed to grab a few hours…somehow…but you laid wide awake just after 5am. Your mind couldn’t settle. You just replayed what he’d said over and over again.

No drive. Beige. Nothing. No drive. Beige. Nothing.

He was embarrassed of you. All this time you had hoped you were wrong. That you were overthinking it. You had clung weakly to the idea that he’d dismiss such a thing if confronted.

But you were right.

He was ashamed to be seen with you. Ashamed if anyone found out that he was sleeping with you.

The worst part was…he wasn’t entirely wrong. You knew that about yourself. You played it safe. You liked it comfortable, you liked a sure thing. You knew if you went for a promotion you’d probably have a good shot at it, but you were afraid to fail. Afraid to be bad at something. You knew your job like the back of your hand. You were good at it because you knew it so well. Your fear was what stopped you from taking a leap. From learning. From being out in the field. It was cowardly.

You were such a coward in fact that you had let this man walk all over you for so long, too afraid to question him and risk bringing down the fragile house of cards you’d built. Of course he didn’t respect you. How could he? You barely respected yourself.

There had been a moment though…When you questioned him about his soft treatment in the bathroom….how he held you…you could’ve sworn you saw a moment of weakness in his eyes. A hint of admission that you’d hit a nerve. That maybe it did all mean something.

But you couldn’t think like that anymore.

You needed to stop obsessing over every detail in an attempt to find the words he wasn’t saying. Stop fruitlessly trying prove to yourself that he cared about you. It was all so clear now. He didn’t. He never did.

As much as your heart ached, the revelation was freeing. You had your answer. It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but now you knew. You could draw a line under all of this and move on. Maybe, in time, find someone who would be proud to have you on their arm.

You smiled, the glimmer of optimism lifting you from your funk. In a strange way, Nick had given you a new lease of life. You would prove him wrong. Prove him wrong about all of it.

It was nearly 6am when you admitted defeat and accepted you weren’t going back to sleep. You normally didn’t get up til gone 7, but you decided to start your day. You had two choices: mope into your laptop and try to keep a low profile to avoid Nick, or walk into work with your head held high and prove he hadn’t broken you.

You chose the latter.

And…it wouldn’t hurt to show him what he was missing, would it?

First order of business - remove temptation. You deleted Nick’s messages from your phone. Deleted your call log with him. Blocked his number and deleted his contact. It wasn’t like he messaged you much anyway, but this way you avoided any urge to text him - and couldn’t be swayed if he tried to get back in touch (unlikely, but good to be sure). It felt a little sad to remove them, especially the easy back and forth of your banter in the early days. The little jokes. His compliments. All sent to the digital graveyard in the sky. You sighed. A good first step.

After showering, eating breakfast and firing off a few explanatory texts to Annie, you opened your closet to find something to wear to work. You flicked through your endless work blouses and pants, all perfectly fine, but you wore them everyday on rotation. Beige. Some were a bit too big, some a bit too bland. Your non-work clothes were too casual…you didn’t really have anything else to wear except…

….oh yes. The pencil dress.

Annie had given it to you some time ago, suggesting you could wear it to the office. She worked in fashion so was always trying to pawn off garments she thought would work for you. You’d laughed it off at first, the dress was nice - a fitted black number, flattering, pretty but still formal. But you wouldn’t wear something like that - certainly not to work! You’d stuck in the back of your closet and planned to stick it on eBay, but never got around to it. You were grateful for your past laziness.

As you pulled the dress from the hanger your phone buzzed. You held your breath for a second wondering if it was him - but of course it wasn’t. He was blocked. And he wouldn’t be messaging anyway.

It was Annie. She was always up at the crack of dawn doing yoga or Pilates, so it was no surprise she’d got back to you so quickly.

What!! Ugh that ASSHOLE. Sweetie, I’m sorry - but you are better off without him. I’ve always known he wasn’t good enough for you. Well done for walking away. You deserve so much more. Drinks this week, first round on me ❤️ A

You smiled as your phone buzzed again. Annie had sent an addendum.

Also - wear that pencil dress to work today. No arguments. Look fabulous. Make him sweat.

❤️ A

You laughed out loud, it was the first time you’d felt a bit of joy since Nick left. She was your best friend for a reason. You pulled on the dress, carefully rolling it down your body and zipping it up.

You looked in the mirror, immediately feeling a little anxious. You looked…good. That you couldn’t deny. But could you really wear this to work? It wasn’t overly revealing, it fit the dress code, but it hugged your figure in a way your other work clothes never did. Was this really you?

No. It wasn’t. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe trying something not-you was a good idea.

Beige.

You inhaled deeply, your mind made up. You slipped on a pair of heels you rarely wore but kept for weddings and formal parties when you needed them. They were surprisingly comfortable, not painful stilettos you needed to hobble around in.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, surprised at how different you looked. But not hating it. Absolutely not.

You took a bit more time doing your hair and make-up than you would normally spend on work days. Once you finished, you surveyed your handiwork in the full length mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all. You felt a pang of confidence and you welcomed it gladly, a bright spot in the sea of your despair.

You snapped a selfie and sent it to Annie, who immediately fired back a series of flame and heart eye emojis. You chuckled.

It was now or never.

You felt sick as you walked to your desk, very aware of the additional attention you were receiving this morning. A few of your male colleagues said good morning, the ones who barely noticed you normally. You smiled weakly back in return, faintly angry that it took a tight dress to get them to show you some basic courtesy. Grant the security guy was polite at least.

A small wave of embarrassment hit as you sat down. Was everyone looking at you? Judging you? Did you look bad? Did they think you were trying too hard? God. This is why you preferred to blend into the background. Far less complicated.

But once you opened your laptop and started work, your nerves melted away. You threw yourself into your documents, tapping away at a report before comparing some photos of a potential target location. Busy was good. Busy meant your mind was occupied.

It was mid-morning when you got up to refill your coffee, the lack of sleep from last night finally catching up as your adrenaline began to wear off. You were just in the break room filling up your mug when you heard a chatter of voices enter the room.

Nick strolled in discussing a shipment of some kind with Director Walsh. You froze, feeling that nauseous feeling return as you noticed him, your heart pounding in your chest. Your body on fire.

He looked over at you for a moment before looking back at Walsh, but his eyes did a double take and he glanced back at you once more, a flash of surprise on his face before nodding in response to Walsh’s question.

You finished making your coffee as quickly as you could, desperate to get away and back to the safety of your desk.

Walsh’s cell rang and he sighed, excusing himself as he darted out of the room to take it. He was a good boss. A good leader. He was greying and slightly out of shape, but his presence still commanded everyone’s attention. You had always been in awe of him for that.

You waited for Nick to leave too, but you could feel his eyes on your back as you stirred your cup and picked it up to head back to your sanctuary.

“Nice dress” he finally said monotonously.

You turned, giving him a friendly nod as you tried not to look too deeply into those eyes of his. Not wanting to fall into them again.

“Thank-you, Agent Fowler”. You said politely.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh…we’re doing that, are we?”

You looked at him quizzically. “Sorry? Doing what?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what. Formalities. Do you think I’m dumb? You wear the same clothes here day in, day out, and now suddenly after last night you’re wearing that? Don’t insult my intelligence, princess” he spat.

You looked down at the dress, then back at Nick. You hadn’t really expected such a direct response to it. You weren’t sure how you managed to compose yourself but you pushed through, ignoring the thumping in your ears and how dry your mouth had suddenly become.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean…” you said plainly.

He chuckled. “Look, how things went down was…” he paused to think “Unfortunate…but we can still be adults about this. We need to be civil, we both need to work together”.

You nodded.

“So don’t play games and wear tight outfits for my benefit” he said sharply.

You sighed mockingly as if he had said the silliest thing you’d ever heard.

“Agent Fowler, I think you’ll find this is a work appropriate item of clothing that fits the dress code guidance. If you have an issue with my attire, please raise it with HR. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to be getting on with”.

With that you left the room without looking back, a small smirk on your lips.

Despite your cool facade you were on the verge on a panic attack once you sat back at your desk. You hadn’t expected Nick to confront you quite so directly. Still…you couldn’t deny it felt good to rattle him a little. Normally you were the one doting on him, begging for any scraps of attention he gave you like a stray dog - and here you were now - giving him the ice queen treatment and leaving him standing by himself.

You hoped it would get easier to be around him. You weren’t cut out for this dicey game of oneupmanship. Even if it was incredibly satisfying when it paid off.

You managed to throw yourself back into your work, ignoring the occasional admiring glance from some of your male colleagues.

You were concentrating hard when Director Walsh walked by your desk, his deep voice surprising you out of your trance as he said your name.

He knew your name?

He knew your name.

Maybe Nick wasn’t right about everything.

“Yes, Sir?” You smiled, looking up and giving him your full attention.

“You finished that Phoenix report yet?” He asked.

You nodded. “All good to go, I just needed to tweak some of the coordinates”.

He smiled approvingly. “Good work. Can you drop a hard copy over to Fowler ASAP? He’s going to be leading that Op now”.

Fuck.

You smiled again. “Of course, I’ll get right on that Sir”.

He gave you a small nod before disappearing across the office floor.

You sighed. You should’ve been delighted to have such a positive interaction with Walsh. Normally he barely acknowledged your existence. But he knew your name! He said good work!! Of course it was all tainted by having to speak to Nick…

You sent the report to the printer and picked it up on the way to Nick’s office. Just get in and out. Ignore any pointed little comments, respond with professionalism like you had earlier.

As you approached you could see his door was ajar. That was a good sign. He always closed it when he was inside working. You checked your watch. Lunchtime. He most likely wasn’t there, probably on some long lunch with another agent like usual, so you could leave the report on his desk and sneak off before he returned. Perfect.

You padded up to the door, not bothering to knock as you strode in because you assumed it was empty - only to hear a woman’s laugh and a snippet of conversation as you came inside.

“So…when are you taking me out again?” The female voice said coyly as you stepped through.

It was too late to retreat. Nick was sitting at his desk and leaning on it in front of him was Mace, the brilliant and beautiful agent. Nick’s colleague. She was so close to him she was practically in his lap. Nick was wearing the smirk you knew all too well.

Mace was, by all accounts, a badass, and just happened to be movie star gorgeous too. Your stomach sank.

Take her out again?

They both turned to look at you, confused by your presence.

“Oh…I’m-I’m sorry” you muttered. “The door was open so I…I didn’t think anyone was…oh…”

Nick stared over at you, his face giving nothing away as always.

Take her out again? When did they go out before?

You blinked, realising you hadn’t finished your explanation. You quickly regained your cool despite the heat burning in your cheeks.

“Apologies, Agent Fowler…I wouldn’t have barged in if I’d known you were here. I have the Phoenix report for you- Director Walsh said you needed it”.

You handed the report to him and he accepted it, nodding.

“Thank-you” he said impassively.

“And apologies again for the intrusion” you added.

He waved a hand dismissively and you moved to leave.

“You look nice today” Mace chirped as you passed her, her red hair glowing in the sunlight from the window.

You turned to face her, conjuring up the most genuine smile you could. “Thanks…”

She smiled back and you stole a quick glance at Nick as you left. He was just staring, his expression impenetrable.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It had been a few hours since the Mace incident and you’d been quietly spiralling at your desk ever since.

Ugh…you were dumb. Did you really think he was exclusively fucking you? Of course he’s been with other women - other women in the office even. And Mace is beautiful and talented and they travel together out on ops all the time - you were a fool for not figuring it out sooner.

Not only that, Mace was everything he said you weren’t. Established and respected in her career, at the top of her field, known by everyone in the CIA. She certainly wasn’t beige.

Here you were, playing stupid games in your stupid dress trying to provoke him while he was pursuing other women. How embarrassing.

You got your head down and continued to work for a bit longer until you realised you could smell a familiar cologne. You looked up to find Nick strolling to the desk behind you.

“Leigh” he said smugly.

Ugh. Agent Leigh. Hardly your favourite person. A frat boy who never grew up. Loud, brash, as subtle as a foghorn. You did your best to interact with him as little as possible. Fortunately the feeling seemed to be mutual as you were one of the few female staff members he didn’t try to corner at social events. He at least had the good sense to understand that you had no time for him.

“Fowler!” You heard him reply. He laughed his weaselly laugh and you suppressed an eye roll. “How’s life, my man?”

“Not bad, not bad” Nick responded. “Just seeing if you were available for drinks tonight - bit of a guy’s night, yknow”.

Leigh practically hollered. “Hell yeah, man! Where you thinkin’?”

“Ignite, downtown”,

“Sweet! Yes! Ignite has the hottest tail”.

You couldn’t suppress the eye roll this time.

Nick chuckled. “It does certainly attract a class of women who are easy on the eye”.

Pig. Asshole. Pig.

You knew he was doing this on purpose. Baiting you. Trying to get a reaction out of you after you bested him earlier. This was punishment.

“Exactly!” Laughed Leigh. “But you know me…I’m not fussy. If she’s got a pulse, I’m down”.

Grossgrossgross.

“Hey…Palmer, you coming?”

Leigh called over to Agent Palmer, who was sitting nearby and like you was unfortunate enough to bear witness to this scintillating conversation.

Palmer looked up and smiled weakly. “Not really my scene, I’ll pass”.

“It’ll be fun” Nick purred.

“Oh don’t be a pussy, man!” Leigh continued. “You need to get some ass, loosen up a little” he laughed.

You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

“Hey…c’mon man” Palmer said scoldingly. His gaze momentarily flickered over to you. “Don’t talk like that”.

“Oh…you worried about Miss Priss? Forget that hardass” Leigh laughed, referring to you.

You felt your head pound as you did your best to pretend you didn’t hear.

“Dude! Shut it!” Palmer said warningly. You could hear the anger in his voice. “Don’t be an asshole. That’s not cool”.

You looked at him, giving him a small, grateful smile. He smiled back sympathetically.

“He’s right, we’re at work” Nick interjected. “Let’s keep it to shop talk, okay?”

At least he’d shut it down. But you felt a pang of sadness that he hadn’t stood up for you like Palmer had.

Leigh exhaled. “Whatever, party poopers” he got up and headed towards the break room, giving Nick finger guns as he went. “See you at quitting time, Fowler. Hope your liver is ready for me”.

You could hear Palmer calling him a dick and asking if you were okay, but you felt far away - barely present.

You felt Nick lingering behind you but you couldn’t face turning around to look at him. You were flushed with embarrassment after Leigh’s comments. It was like you were back in high school and one of the popular kids was making fun of you. You tightly squeezed your mouse, pretending to be engrossed in your screen.

Beige. Beige. Hardass. Miss Priss.

No drive. No drive. No drive.

You glanced over to the window of Director Walsh’s office. He was sitting inside, squinting at his monitor. You knew he wasn’t busy. He always put in a 30 minute block in his calendar around this time, he claimed it was to catch up on emails and paperwork but you knew he mostly spent it bidding on eBay or reading sports news.

Now or never.

You had stood up before you fully realised what you were doing, striding over to Walsh’s office. The combination of Leigh’s assholery and humiliating truth about Nick and Mace ignited something in you that you couldn’t stop. You were fuelled by anger and disgust. Before you knew it you were knocking on his door.

“Sir? Do you have 5 minutes?” You asked cheerily, hoping he couldn’t see how upset you were.

Walsh looked up, clearly surprised to see you but gestured for you to take a seat.

You sat, then cleared your throat.

“What can I do for you?” He asked gruffly.

You swallowed. “Well, Sir, I’ve been here for five years now. In that time I’ve established myself as an essential team member - my briefing reports are thorough and meticulous, I always meet my deadlines. The agents know that whatever work they give me, it’ll be done quickly and to a high standard. Just ask any of them…”

He peered thoughtfully at you.

You cleared your throat again, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

“…and you see, I think, uh, well I know I’ve got even more to offer. I’ve got a keen eye for detail and a passion to learn. I’m ready for the next step. Not just do everybody’s background work. So…sir…I’d like to be…well, assigned to an op directly. To work alongside an agent on the strategy and planning. I…I just want a chance to prove I can, sir”.

You stammered slightly at the end, but sat up straight and clasped your shaking hands together in an attempt to appear calm and collected.

Walsh studied you, moving a finger to his lip as he considered your proposal. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

“Okay”.

Your face brightened. “Okay? Really?”

He nodded. “You’re right. You’ve proven you’re competent. You deserve a shot”.

You grinned in return, trying to appear professional but unable to mask your glee.

“Thank you! Thank-you sir…I won’t let you down. I promise”.

He nodded again before walking to the door and calling out to the office floor.

“Palmer? A minute please”.

Palmer appeared seconds later, the curiosity evident on his face as he saw you sitting there.

Walsh sat down behind his desk and pointed between the both of you.

“The two of you are going to be working on Project Cotton together. Effective immediately. Palmer - She’ll be your number two - working with you on the strategy and logistics to prepare for you going out in the field. We’ll be taking her off her normal duties for a few weeks so please see to it that her other work is re-assigned amongst the other assistants”.

Palmer nodded. “Yes, sir”.

“Fowler will be out on Project Phoenix for a few weeks from tomorrow so I need you to lead on this” Walsh added. “It’s priority number one”.

“Absolutely, Sir. Understood”.

A new work opportunity. A chance to prove yourself and defy everyone’s impressions of you. Nick. Leigh. Walsh. Yourself. And no Nick hanging around to distract you. Distance and time to get over him.

It was almost too good to be true.

You beamed at Palmer. He smiled back.

“Looking forward to working with you” he said.

“Thank-you, Agent Palmer. The feeling is mutual”.

Chapter Four - The Ghost

#nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler #the 355 #sebastian stan #under the radar fic

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