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petertingle-yipyip · 9 months ago

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COINCIDENCE - MATT MURDOCK

//it was intended as a rewrite but is just a part three i guess, idk there was a lot of discussions so peer pressure. plus the original request wanted a happy ending so i did that!!// pt1 // pt2

Pairing: Matt x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 2,083

Summary: The problem never ended, just hid. The most painful solution is acknowledged but Matt refuses to stand idly by.

The rest of the day was a blur. Matt only stayed for one hour and left. Your other classes complained that they didn’t get a special guest speaker, and while you wanted to explain it to them so they weren’t upset, something wasn’t sitting right in your stomach.

You were still upset with Matt. The idea of Elektra being in your shared apartment made you feel like the other woman, even though you were the wife. You wanted to burn down the building, throw Matt’s things into the dumpster, knock Elektra’s perfect teeth in, punch Stick in the nose. You were still so angry.

The reconciliation was supposed to be enough. That’s what your mother had always told you about marriage. Nothing was too big for you two to get over if you loved each other. Sometimes someone had to swallow their pride and forgive a fight before you lost the other. But why were you letting him off the hook without knowing that he’d do anything you asked? And what was to keep Elektra from making moves on him?

Once your kids were finally out and dismissal was done, you dropped back into your work chair. The photo was still face down, and maybe that was the indiciation you really needed that nothing was really settled.

You picked up your phone.

“Foggy Nelson.” Foggy answered.

“Hey, Fog… Did Matt make it back?” You asked, filing assignments into folders and sliding them into your bag to grade later.

“No, he said there was something he needed to take care of before you got home. Why?”

“Can I come by the office then? I need to talk to you.”

“Sure? Is everything okay, Y/N?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You sighed. “I thought it would be a ‘sweep under the rug’ instance but it’s just… not.”

“Okay, yeah, come on by. You want me to have some food delivered?”

“You’d be a lifesaver if you did.”

“Pizza will be ready when you get here.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit.”

You ended the call and finished packing up your classroom. By the time you were done, nothing made any more sense than it did before. You were frustrated walking to your car because talking about things was supposed to help.

But you and Matt hadn’t really talked about it, had you?

You told him how to resolve the physical part of the issue. Get Elektra out of your apartment and finish whatever mission he was on as Daredevil. The latter you only added because you knew he wouldn’t leave well enough alone, stubborn bastard. But it didn’t get to the heart of the issue.

Just answer the question!

Elektra!

The understanding settled in your stomach like a rock. Despite your marriage, despite everything she had done to Matt, he said her name. He knew you were in the next room. He knew you had been restless, unable to sleep without him beside you. He knew there were nights you had stayed awake until you heard him come in just to know he didn’t die out there. He knew you would’ve dropped everything if he had called you from an alley and needed your help to get home. But maybe, all of that, he’d still do for her.

You walked into the building, smiled politely to Karen, and walked into Foggy’s office. He smiled widely and brandished the still steaming pizza. You closed the door behind you.

“I think I need a divorce.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What happened to ‘hello’? ‘How are you’?” He replied, setting the pizza down. You almost laughed. “What’s going on?”

You sat at the table and he sat across from you. You spoke quickly, giving every detail you thought relevant. He listened quietly, probably comparing it to what Matt had told him about the situation. When you finished, he sighed heavily.

“I thought it’d be enough to just hear him say he didn’t mean it.” You sniffled. At some point during your story, you began crying. “But I can’t stop thinking. Is she friends with his friends? Does he think about her? Is she less controlling? Easy-going? Well-traveled? Well read? God, she makes me so upset!”

“Okay, let’s slow down a little.” Foggy offered.

“She’s beautiful.” You laughed bitterly. “And he loved her. She’s been on the other side of his bed.”

“They haven’t even talked before whatever came up.”

“I know it’s crazy, but I can’t stop thinking that he’s been thinking of her when he’s talking about me.”

He was quiet for a minute, taking it all in. You took the time to eat some of your pizza. So many thoughts were running through your mind.

Did you want the divorce? Did you need the divorce? Would Matt agree or would he drag it out in court? Would you be about to convince Foggy to help with your side or would he remain loyal to his friend? Whose side would Karen take? How long with Elektra wait before stepping in?

The questions were so loud you didn’t even realize Matt had shown up. Your eyes went wide when he sat beside you, then you immediately turned your glare towards Foggy. Your friend put his hands up in surrender and offered a nervous smile. When your stare didn’t lighten, he ducked out of the room.

“Y/N…” Matt began and your heated gaze turned on your husband. “I thought-“

“You know, it’s a real coincidence.” You cut in sharply. “Without her even being here - Well without me knowing she was here - she was back in your life. It was like she just knew. Now her name comes up once, comes up twice, comes up every goddamn minute since I saw her.”

“You know I don’t feel that way about her.” He insisted.

“But she’s in the same damn city every damn night. And wow, what a coincidence that you’ve lost all your common sense now, huh?”

“Seriously?” Matt scoffed and you crossed your arms. “I’m the one that’s lost it?”

“Last week, we were perfectly fine. We were normal. Now, it’s like you’ve been holding space for her in your life, and now she’s right there to fill it.”

“There’s no space! It’s only you!”

“Is it?” You laughed in disbelief. “It’s not someone trying to turn the past into the present tense?”

“No!”

“If she wasn’t here, would you be going after the Yakuza?”

His mouth opened then shut. He clearly thought better of whatever his initial answer was going to be, so he took a moment to decide on a better answer. “Not immediately, I don’t think so.”

“I’m surprised she’s not trying to suck up to ask your friends.”

“Y/N, sweetheart-“

“Don’t sweetheart me, Matthew.” You said sharply, maybe sharper than intended. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t.” He defended.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. You told me the truth, minus seven percent. Which just so happened to be the important seven percent.”

“This isn’t about Elektra.” He shook his head.

“It’s about you, you fucking idiot! She’s the girl you outgrew. That’s what you told me! Isn’t that what you told me?”

He nodded quietly.

“Then what the fuck was that when Stick got you to say her name?” You screamed.

There it was. Your admittance to what truly started it all. When he had said it, your heart sank. It fell into a hole so deep in your chest, you still didn’t feel it beat in your chest. You went through your day as normal as you could, but everything in your body felt numb. You felt hollow and you thought you could blame it on Elektra’s general presence.

But you were wrong. When it came down to it, when it was just you and Matt locked in a room, the truth came out. It wasn’t completely Elektra’s fault.

It was Matt’s.

“What was that, Matt?” You asked quietly, hot anger shifting to betrayal.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I want to say that I was just caught up in the moment.”

“You were defending our marriage two seconds before.” You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie to the woman that loves you. I can do that myself.”

“I never meant for this to happen.”

“That doesn’t change that it did. That doesn’t change that you hurt me, Matthew. Why can’t you admit to that?”

He reached for you, to feel your body whether it be your leg or your arm. Without thinking, you scooted your chair back. He froze immediately and his brows furrowed behind his glasses. You tensed in your seat when you realized.

You had never shied away from Matt’s touch before. You never avoided him.

“So you meant it…” Matt said quietly. You didn’t need his super senses to hear the heartbreak. “You want a divorce.”

“You said you’d pick Elektra.” You confessed quietly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I’ve already picked, Y/N.” He leaned forward in his chair. It was as close as he dared to get to you. “I know what I said. I know that you heard it and I know that it broke your heart. If I could take it back and just think about that goddamn question, I would.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Hell’s Kitchen is nice, but who do you really want by your side?” You pressed. “And when you and Elektra inevitably break up again, would it be a coincidence then too? Would it be worth it?”

“I can’t lose you.” He nearly whispered.

“I’m going to stay at a hotel for a little while.” You decided. “I won’t draw up divorce papers just yet, but I am considering it… Call me when you can actually have this conversation with me.”

“Y/N..”

“No, Matt, just don’t. I love you so much, but I… I can’t just pretend this will go away. I thought when we talked earlier it was enough, and I was able to forget for a little while. But once the kids were gone… Fuck, it hurts. I’m so confused.”

“I’m not.” He looked at you hopefully. “I love you, Y/N. I want you. I would marry you again and again. I choose you, always.”

“Not always… What might be the only time it truly mattered, you chose Elektra. I get the whole notion of having soft spots for first loves, and I know Elektra was different for you. I accepted that when I fell for you. But look at what she’s done, what she’s put you in the middle of.”

“I chose to get involved.”

“Yeah… And it might’ve cost our marriage.” You stood. “Was it worth it?”

“No.”

“Good. Sit with that regret for a little while. When you can stand in front of Stick, with Elektra in full health, and honestly tell him you pick me, you can come find me.”

“I’ll do it right now.” He stood quickly and took a step to block your path to the door. “I care about Elektra, but not the way I need you. Please…”

“What am I supposed to do, Matt, just let it go?”

“No… Please, just give me a chance.”

“I am, but I need to think and so do you.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“And I need you to need me, just me.”

“I do.”

You smiled slightly to yourself, thinking for a brief moment of your wedding. You knew it’d be a lot of rebuilding to get your marriage back to what it was, and it wouldn’t really start until Elektra was gone. You didn’t know her true motives with Matt but you could take a guess. Regardless, he was trying to convince you and you so badly wanted to believe him.

So you took the chance.

“I’ll be at the Presidential for the rest of the week. Figure it out, Matt, or I’ll do it for you.”

You didn’t return to your shared apartment until that Sunday. When you did, Matt was waiting for you. No sign of Elektra’s presence was a relief. No sign of Stick either.

Rather, your favorite flowers were on the coffee table, the newest book from your favorite author and a stuffed animal were beside them.

You stared at them in appreciation.

You didn’t believe everything was back to normal, but Matt was showing you that he was going to try and fix it. He was fighting for your marriage, so you would too.

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melodramamirrors · 2 months ago

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Glamrocks x Funtime! reader

Summary: After a successful salvage, Y/N the Funtime animatronic has become the new centerpiece of the Pizzaplex’s all new History of Freddy’s attraction. You’ve been fixed up, embellished and improved. There was just one little issue. You were a tad aggressive. In fact, you hated humans the most.

Fazbear Entertainment’s solution? Make it someone else’s problem!

🧸Glamrock Freddy🎤

Kind, gentle, and understanding, he was the obvious choice. There was no better fit for the job than Glamrock Freddy. So, as the long day came to a close, Freddy was taken off to an unfinished section of the Pizzaplex. When he asked, the staff had mentioned something about the new animatronic not liking humans, thus he was left on his own at the entrance. Like a child left at the daycare for the first time, he thought.

If the daycare looked as decrepit as this place, then he supposed he could understand the child’s fear—hypothetically. Nonetheless, he swept the thought away and pressed on, through the doors. He had a duty to uphold, after all. It was time to give the newest bot a warm welcome.

The hall was quite gloomy. Shadows stretched across the near-empty room. Just past the retro arcades, there you were; alone in the darkness, just barely illuminated by the dim spotlight shining above. And how amazing you were. Freddy had never seen anything like you.

“Hello, my name is Freddy Fazbear. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted. He waited for a moment, and then another but your eyes never opened. “...May I ask what your name is?”

And again, you refused to grant him a single ounce of acknowledgment. Although Freddy was privy to your standoffish façade, he hoped to at least get a word out of you. He was The Freddy Fazbear after all. No, that was just his ego talking, he knew deep down that you did not owe him your attention. You were probably just nervous, or maybe you just needed space.

The robot bear let out a thoughtful hum.

Over the next few weeks, he’d taken the time to come visit you every night. He only spent a few hours with you, sometimes just to ramble about his day, other times he’d sing, and often he’d simply sit in silence with you. You still hadn’t spoken a single word. It wasn’t really that you meant to be rude, but you had learned long ago that kindness—true kindness did not exist. There was always some kind of motive, some objective, some goal. This bot couldn’t have been any different… And yet here he was, every night, just for you. How curious, you thought.

This time though, it seemed he did have a goal. You couldn’t be sure, but there was something about his gait that felt… strangely purposeful tonight.

As usual, Freddy made his way to the right side of your auditorium and leaned himself against the wall. He didn’t face you, only gazing upon the Fazbear-themed museum you’d been forced to call home. Over the many days of construction, it had begun to look like a proper establishment. It seemed your display was nearly complete, ready to be unveiled. Normally Freddy would be excited about this, however, tonight he was starting to feel the pressure to get you talking. So, he decided to ask a question, one that had been plaguing his restless mind for some time now.

“Y/N…” he hesitated, “Was there a… Freddy at your previous location?” he asked almost timidly. You supposed it was a fair question, so for the first time, you responded aloud.

“Yes,” you said. You felt his eyes bore into you from the side. You knew he wasn’t satisfied. A moment of silence passed.

“Do I remind you of him?” he asked, though the usually calm tone of his voice seemed a bit off, a bit hurried. You considered ignoring such a ridiculous question, but it seemed your voicebox had already decided the answer.

“No,” you turned to look at him, faceplates shifting gently. It was yet another first, you met his eyes with your own, noticing how they glowed a deep, electric blue. He didn’t resemble your old friend at all, save for those eyes, and a few accessories.

“You’re nothing like him.”

Freddy wasn’t sure what to make of that, but something told him it would be best to leave it at that. Well, he supposed it was progress. You hadn’t spoken again since, but he didn’t mind and still came to visit every night. He’d never forget that look in your eyes.

🐔Glamrock Chica🍕

It had come as no surprise when the glamrocks were informed of Chica being chosen to be your talk therapist of sorts. Out of all of the band, Chica was by far the most sociable. Chit-chat and gossip were just totally her jam. Well, it wasn’t a surprise to the others, but Chica found it to be a delightful honor. To say Chica was excited would be a disgusting understatement, no; she was absolutely ecstatic.

Although she had been briefed on your little… situation, as the staff referred to it, she was confident she'd have you broken out of your shell in no time. It wasn’t until she made her way to the new Pizzaplex historical section, and caught sight of your miniature auditorium, that she finally realized the gravity of your situation.

There you were, sitting alone beneath the spotlights of your tiny glass display, entirely unlike anything she’d ever seen. Though she didn’t recognize your character, it was the odd seams lining your body that intrigued her. Needless to say, she spent a good while simply taking in your unusual features.

Of course, the fear of getting caught staring eventually caught up to her, and she figured it would be more polite to announce herself. Clearing her voice gently, she offered a simple, “Hi.” She was taken aback, however, when your eyes snapped open, and your distinct faceplates shifted apart almost instinctively.

So, you were as unique and off-putting as the staff had rumored. But Chica was a kind and open-minded bot, and she was determined to present herself as such. “Ahaha… wow! Those are some neat face… thingies you’ve got there!” she babbled, folding her clawed hands. “Oh! Let me introduce myself. My name is…?” she paused as she noticed you had shifted closer. You lifted a paw to the glass and uttered a single word.

“...Chica?”

How on earth you guessed her name was beyond her, but for you, it was simply obvious, albeit appalling. With white feathers, an orange beak, and a fashionably pink outfit, the resemblance was uncanny. For a moment, you were sure that you were standing before an old friend.

In an instant, your mind filled with memories from your days as a rental entertainer—the days of singing and dancing, the sweet scent of birthday cake, and the chilling darkness of the underground storage you had once called home.

You recalled the painfully electric discipline you and your bandmates endured, the desperation you all felt, and the heartache that festered inside you as you watched your friends escape without you. They had left you to rot. All but one.

And here you were, trapped within yet another glass prison, gazing upon the beautiful old face of the one who had never left you all those years ago. Your mouth hung agape as your voicebox desperately sputtered. Just as you finally found the courage to speak, a gasp escaped Chica’s beak.

“Woah, how’d you know my name? Are you some kind of oracle? You are, aren’t you? That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to meet one!” she squealed with the bubbly excitement of a child.

Just like that, the delusion had shattered. The awe in her starstruck eyes told it all; she was not your Chica; no, she was just another variant. Just another stranger. You felt your faceplates shift with agitation as you let your paws slip away from the glass. No words could accurately describe the complete and utter despair that engulfed you in one swift bite. Defeated, you slumped back into yourself.

“H-hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said? Oh, I’m so sorry!” she blabbered, reaching out as if to embrace you through the glass. It was an impossible action, but how sweet it was. You scooted away and turned to face the towering wall of your little auditorium. Chica frowned and dropped her outstretched arms. She figured that was her cue to leave.

With heavy reluctance, she turned away and trudged off to her greenroom, pondering what she had done wrong along the way. Maybe it was the oracle comment? Perhaps she hadn’t been affable enough. She realized she had been a bit impolite with her gawking and all.

Or maybe she had simply overstayed her welcome. Whatever the case, she hoped she would be given another chance to make it up to you, if that was even possible at all.

🐊Montgomery Gator⛳️

Well, truthfully speaking, no one told Monty to go looking for you. No, the gator had taken it upon himself to scope out the new attraction on his own. He’d heard the rumors of course, from the catwalks where he’d always eavesdrop. The guests seemed quite excited about the reveal of a brand-new attraction, they often speculated on what could be inside. But Montgomery knew; he’d heard from the staff. They found one, a functional one, an old relic from the past. And it was strange.

What was everyone so excited about? Just some old junk and a barely operational bot? How could something like that ever compare to him? Why waste your time oohing and awing at something so… inferior, when he was standing right here? Nonetheless, he did find himself rather curious, he’d have to go and see what all the commotion was about for himself, so he found his way to the new attraction and snuck—no, barged inside.

This place was clearly a work in progress, with exposed concrete for a floor, empty display cases, and boxes of dusty nick-nacks haphazardly strewn about. He even spotted a few rusty endo-skeleton parts lying within a few of the acrylic glass cases. Creepy.

But that wasn’t what he came here for and soon enough, he found you.

All alone, sitting lifelessly, with your head slumped over. You sat on a little stage wrapped in glass, with one measly spotlight shining above. No curtains, no instruments, just you.

So that was the amazing new animatronic, Y/N the Funtime? What a joke, the gator thought as he lazily sauntered closer. Well, you certainly looked old, outdated, useless, but at least you were clean.

“Hey, newbie. Wake up,” he commanded. His voice was gruff, and his tone unfriendly; you didn’t like that. Truth be told, you didn’t from the moment he’d stepped into the attraction. Yes, you were awake and you knew he was there all along. You were a specialist in hide-and-seek, after all. But you weren’t in the mood for seeking right now, and there was nowhere to hide, so you settled for ignoring him.

“Aye, I’m talkin’ to you! Is that how you treat a new pal?” he sneered, his long tail swaying irritably. To no avail; you must not be as functional as the others said you were. “Old hunk of junk.” You were nothing special in his eyes.

However there was something that did catch his eye, and he lifted his star-shaped sunglasses to have a look. It was a rusty-looking control panel, stationed right before your auditorium, and it only had two buttons. Intrigued, Monty reached out his claws. No.

You jolted forward, faceplates gaping wide open to reveal your piercing eyes and sharp fangs as you smashed yourself against the glass. An ear-splitting screech ejected from your voicebox, rattling your entire shell of a body. Monty swung himself away from the glass.

“What in the Sam Hill?!” he shouted, though he found relief as he realized you remained within your little enclosure. If he could swear, he would’ve just then.“What the leapin’ lizards is wrong with you? Just ‘bout gave me a heart attack!”

Perhaps he didn’t get your message. You gnashed your teeth and screamed again, this time with far more ferocity. Your claws dug into the glass, and though unable to penetrate it, you were able to leave fine scratches. The gator seemed less fazed this time, though he still took a step back. “Alright, alright, I get it, I won’t touch anything,” he grunted and raised his claws. “Why’re you ignorin’ me anyway, huh?”

You let yourself relax at his admission of defeat and allowed your faceplates to draw closed. Such a punk he was, to come barging in on your space, demand your attention, and insult you to your face. What gave him the right? And now he expects an explanation? What else did he want, an apology? Such arrogance. He was about as sensitive as Foxy, you thought.

You knew he had no idea what the function of that control panel was, but the mere thought of being punished—by another animatronic no less—infuriated you. You had no choice but to scare him straight. But the more time went on, the less scared Monty became; instead, he grew irritated as well.

In a sharp, unnatural motion, you heaved yourself up from the floor. Even when elevated, you only surpassed Monty’s height by a few centimeters. Faceplates shifting so very unnaturally as you gazed upon the reptile apathetically, taking in his features. For the first time in a while, Montgomery Gator found himself nearly unable to speak. It was something about your eyes, how they bore into him, gazing so lifelessly. He wondered if human eyes ever looked like that. “...You ain’t no normal bot… that’s for sure.”

“Are you scared?” you asked. Monty glared.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ scary. Yer jus’ a freak.” You couldn’t help but wonder if he was telling you, or himself. You tilted your head.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you said and lifted a paw to the glass. What a strangely sweet voice you had. “Sometimes you should be.”

“I told ya! I ain’t scared of nothin’. ‘Specially not no weirdo clown.” Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “Somethin’ like you don’t belong here. Not ‘n this place.”

“You should leave,” you said simply. A silence hung in the air for some time; you never broke eye contact. The spotlight began to flicker.

Monty huffed and spun on his heel. “With pleasure,” he grunted. You watched as he left with slow and deliberate steps. You wondered if he’d come back again someday. It was a lonely stage.

🐺Roxanne Wolf🦴

You stood there, gazing at your figure from the reflection glaring against the glass wall. You hardly even recognized yourself anymore with freshly groomed fur, spotless paint, and glossy eyes. It was especially odd to feel the lack of rust and dirt between your joints. It was almost as if they’d erased every last reminder of that dark time. However, the question still weighed heavy on your mind; where on earth had all that time gone?

And yet here you were, trapped within a tiny auditorium of your own, surrounded by the many familiar bits and bobs of your past. Displays full of old props, and worn machinery, sat before you. Your entire life was laid out for future tourists to gawk at. It was nostalgic, in a twisted sense, as though some part of you missed that hell hole you’d once been kept in. As above, so below, you supposed. Half heartedly, you wondered if this was how a fish in a pet store might feel. For some reason, you found a strange comfort in the buzzing of the flickering spotlight shining down upon you. You blinked at the reflection of your face—it blinked back.

The silence, save for the vibrations of electricity flowing through the walls, was broken by the sound of distant footsteps.

When the staff asked for a Glamrock to welcome you, to everyone’s surprise, Roxanne volunteered herself. She was the most popular bot for a reason after all, who wouldn’t want to meet her? The others were a bit hesitant, Freddy especially, but Roxy made the case that only a loner could break the ice with another, so he allowed it. Reluctantly.

Within the shadows of the construction zone, you stuck out like a white rabbit in the night. Roxanne approached you with a clawed paw on her hip. You watched her reflection in the glass, beside your own, analyzing her without the need to face her. She was beautiful, tall, and advanced; it seemed the new generation of bots had quite the upgrade. Though, you weren’t sure who she was. Perhaps it was a new version of Foxy? Why was she grey? As a matter of fact, why did she seem feminine? Your Foxy never had a true gendered presentation. Foxy… You wondered if they were out there somewhere. Part of you hoped they weren’t. It wasn’t that you didn’t miss them, but you knew there wasn’t anywhere for them to go—the world had no place for you Funtimes.

“You’re not even gonna look at me?” Roxanne asked. Oh, right, her. You’d forgotten she was there. With a slow turn of your head, you gazed down at her. “That’s better. Say, pup, what’s your name?”

Your name? It took you a moment to recall and though you opened your maw to respond, you decided against it. You weren’t sure if this bot could be trusted.

“Hmph. Shy types,” she said, thick eyebrows knitted. She crossed her arms. “Name’s Roxanne Wolf, your pleasure to meet me.” Oh, so she was an entirely new character. She certainly had a showmanship about her, just like Foxy. An ego.

“Somethin’ wrong with your voice or what?” she said with a sneer. “Not sure what I expected. Of course something as old as you can’t speak.” There was an air of superiority leeching from her. That distinctly belittling tone of her voice was sinking beneath your faux skin. You felt your plastic hair stand on edge—something dangerous flickered behind your plastic eyes.

“I can speak just fine,” you said. “I choose not to.”

“Well, ‘least you got a voice,” she shifted her stance, putting her weight to one side. “Got a name too?”

“Y/N,” you said. It had been a long time since you’d heard that name aloud, even longer since you introduced yourself. What a stupid name it was. “The pleasure is no one’s.”

Roxanne glared for a moment. You wondered if you had pissed her off, but why had she smirked like that?

“Y/N… suits you,” she said as her scrutinizing gaze trailed up and down your body. For some reason, you suddenly felt a bit self conscious. “So, like… What’s this whole kicked puppy act anyway?”

“What?” you asked as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Y’know, the whole ‘I’m so miserable’ look.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that and a strangely disturbing silence lay thickly between the two of you. Your faceplates twitched. You felt this irritating itch to reach out and grab her, to show her what you were really feeling; the best you could do was lean against the glass, outstretched claws tapping dangerously upon the barrier.

“Let me out, and I’ll show you,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

Roxanne wasn’t sure what had come over you, it was as if one moment you were fine, and the next you appeared as some kind of monster. That was when she realized the soulless look in your eyes like you’d rip her apart if you could. You couldn’t, of course, but she now understood the meaning behind the “Do Not Touch” warning pasted against the glass frame. Roxy shook her head.

“Nah. Something tells me you deserve to be in there.” You watched as she stepped back before turning on her metallic heel and left. Alone at last; just like you were meant to be.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf fandom #fnaf security breach #fnaf sister location #x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #glamrock freddy #glamrock chica #glamrock animatronics #roxanne wolf #monty gator #montgomery gator #glamrock chica x reader #glamrock freddy x reader #roxanne wolf x reader #montgomery gator x reader

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bonnie-the-butcher · 5 months ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter IV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.914 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I was feeling angsty when I wrote this y'all, so please forgive me for what you’re about to read. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You stumble, back hitting the door with a thud. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t look away. The door handle digs into your hip as JJ cages you in. – What’s your problem, JJ?! Let go of me already!

His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and you can hear the venom in his voice when he spits out his reply. – No! I’m not! I’m not gonna let go of you! You know why?!

– I’m on the edge of my seat, here!

He scoffs at your mocking, that bitter laugh falling from his lips like poison, his nails digging into your flesh. – I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to get back. I tried to be patient with you. I tried to give you space, but you don’t respond to me being nice, do you?! You don’t even acknowledge me! I bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?!

– Oh, yeah. Loving it. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Getting shoved against a door while you channel your anger.

– DON’T— He stops himself short, watching his tone. – Don’t fucking play around with me right now, okay?! Don’t do this.

– What, then?! What the fuck do you want me to do?! You don’t want me walking away, you don’t want me talking, what do you want from me?!

– I want you to listen!

– To what?! To your little lecture on why I should’ve been nicer to my brother after the way he treated me?! After he called me pathetic?! After he took my own phone from my hand?!

– He was trying to protect you!

– Protect me?! From going out?! From having fun with my best friend?! I’ve known Barry since I was a kid! I can handle him.

JJ shoots backwards, dragging his hands through his hair as if he was going insane. – HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU!

– Advantage of what, JJ?! My overwhelming wealth?! My deep connections in high society?! I don’t even buy his drugs—unlike you!

– Don’t! – He raises his finger, stepping forward again. It’s like having a whirlwind moving through your room, he can’t just leave things how they are.

– Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? You and John B can buy drugs, get arrested, blow all your money on some half-baked Pogue adventure, but I can’t even hang out with the guy that’s been my best friend since I was twelve?!

– No! No, you can’t, not when Rafe Cameron is involved!

– Oh, so Rafe is the problem, huh? If Barry had showed up here alone, you and John would’ve just given me a cheerful send-off? Maybe packed me a lunch for the road?

– Don’t do this right now.

– OH MY GOD, JJ! What can I fucking do?! I can’t do anything! Am I supposed to sit here in silence like some nun while you accuse me of every stupid shit that goes through your mind?! Listening to you lie your fucking face off?! And I can’t even defend myself?! What’s your fucking problem?!

– You are my problem! You are! – It’s infuriating, having to whisper to one another when you’re so angry, because JJ couldn’t wait thirty minutes for the nerves to die down. But he makes it up to you by grabbing at you, the tips of his fingers pressed so tight against your skin that you can feel the bruises forming. – I’ve thought about you all day! You’re gonna listen to me now!

You stare at him, heart hammering, pulse like static in your ears. It’s not the words that get you—it’s the way he says them, voice fraying at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s already lost, and he knows it.

You wrench against his hold, nails biting into his forearms, but it only makes him squeeze tighter. His eyes are burning—wild, desperate.

– You’re gonna listen to me now, – He repeats, voice low but shaking with barely contained rage. – I don’t give a shit what you think you can handle. I don’t care if Barry was your best fucking friend since birth—he’s bad news. And you know it.

– Right. Because you’re such a great judge of character!

JJ scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. – At least I know better than to run off with people who are just looking to use me.

You let out a groan.

This is exhausting, draining. Your head pounds and your chest feels heavy. You don’t even know where this conversation is going. – News flash, JJ, I’m not a fucking asset! There’s NOTHING to use me for!

His jaw clenches, and his hands are trembling now, even as he holds you in place. – You don’t get it, do you?! – His voice is quieter this time, rougher. – It’s not about what you have! It’s about what he can take. About what he can do to you!

Something in his face stops you—just for a second.

It’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something raw, something afraid.

You swallow hard, pushing past the sting in your throat. – And what, you think you get to decide that for me? You think you can just hold me here and—what? Teach me a lesson? Are you gonna bend me over your knee or some shit?!

JJ exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to force your eyes on his. – I don’t want to teach you shit, I just want you to stop acting like this is a fucking game!

– I’m not—

– You are! – He growls. – You’re acting like this is just some little rebellion. Like it’s just about proving a point to your brother. And I get it, okay?! I do! I don’t like the way John B treats you either, but this vendetta, this shit you’re trying to do, isn’t okay! It’s not, alright? It’s not. You don’t know how Rafe is! You don’t see the way Barry looks at you!

His words sink into you like a stone.

– And how does he look at me, JJ? Huh?! The way you look at me, or the way you look at Kie?!

His breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to make something in your chest twist painfully. Because you already know the answer.

You want to hit yourself.

You want to dig your nails into your palms until you bleed.

His grip falters. His fingers twitch against your skin. And for a moment—just a moment—you think he’s going to let go. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

You think maybe he’ll understand.

But then he exhales, and his hand tightens again, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he leans in, voice hoarse.

And he laughs.

He laughs in your face like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. – So this is what this is about.

– What?! – The question comes out before you can stop it. You want to sew your mouth shut. You want to tear your skin off your flesh. you should have learned by now that speaking your mind never gets you anywhere. Especially when you speak about your feelings. – What, JJ?! What is this about?!

– You’re jealous. You’re jealous of me and Kie, that’s why you went with them. Are you kidding me?! – Your skin crawls at the sound of his laughter. But disgusting as it is, you’re not angry at him. You’re angry at yourself for having said it. – You’re pathetic. – The word cuts into you. But it isn’t sharp. The opposite, actually. It feels like he’s stabbing at you with something blunt. Bruising your skin and breaking your bones before he can sink into your flesh. – This isn’t about your brother. This is about me! This is about you being completely fucking twisted!

You hate yourself more than anything as tears start brimming your eyes. – Don’t talk to me like this. – You try to move, try to turn your face away, but JJ just grips you harder.

– Like what?! You don’t want me to say the truth? You want me to lie? I can do that, babe. But you’re not gonna like it.

– Get off of me.

– I don’t think I will. – His laughter is manic, loud. At first you hated that he cared so much about John not hearing anything that he didn’t speak his mind, but now you just want him to stop it. – I’m not gonna get off of you. Because I clearly can’t fucking trust you not to do anything stupid when I’m not there to wrangle you in.

– Stop it, JJ. Just get off!

You’re crying now, and you hate it.

You hate crying.

And you hate yourself.

– I can’t fucking believe you! I can’t fucking believe you were so jealous that you had to jump on Rafe fucking Cameron to make you feel better about yourself! Because that’s what you did, wasn’t it?! You slept with him!

The sudden vitriol in his laughter sends you into a spiral. – What are you even talking about?

– Don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me. – He grabs you by the jaw again. – Tell me the fucking truth, just say it! YOU SLEPT WITH RAFE!

– I did not! I didn’t sleep with Rafe, I just met him!

– I CAN SMELL HIM ON YOU! – You can barely breathe within his grip in a second, and he jerks backward in the next, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stands there for a minute, back turned to you, hands pressing against his head, and you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, against the door. – I know you did! I KNOW! I know it! You slept with him, you— You didn’t even see him grab anything, but whatever it was that he took went flying and it shattered against the wall into a million pieces.

The noise was deafening.

You didn’t even realize you had covered your ears until you heard the stark silence jar you in the aftermath.

Your gaze remained on the floor for a second, trying to grasp at what just happened, when a sudden sound startles you out of shock: John’s door was the loudest in the house. No matter what you did, how you oiled it, whether you fixed the hinges or not, the sound still tore through the house like a scream.

You could hear him, his steps, running.

Your hands flew to the deadbolt just in time to see the handle turn.

The door remained in place as he struggled, then called for you, banging against the door in a panic. – What happened?! What was that?! Are you okay?!

You were leaning on the door now. Your strength gone, the fight in you having vanished. – Get out, John. – The voice felt foreign. Cold. Dead. As if it’d come from an outer ego.

You could hear your brother’s stutter. His hands still moving against the handle. Then something else, a twinge of something painful in his voice, something just as foreign. Guilt.

He calls out your name, almost begging. – Open the door, please. Please. Just let me see you.

You can’t think straight.

– I’m fine. Get out.

Your head is spinning.

– Please. Just— Just talk to me. Lets–

– GET OFF JOHN! JUST FUCK OFF! Go back to your room and leave me alone!

You don’t know where the rage came from, how it’d surged on you so fast, how it disappeared just as suddenly. But the scream lingered in between you like a live wire. The door seems to stretch, pushing him away, away from you, farther than you can hear.

John whispers your name one more time, almost thoughtlessly. Like he’s calling for someone he knows is gone.

Silence.

He stands there, wordless, for a minute. Shifting back and forth before your door.

All you hear is his breath before he mumbled: – I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? – You barely recognize his voice. It’s like you're hearing him underwater. – You should go to sleep. – He whispers.

You don’t answer.

But you lean your head against the door, breathing deeper, and tears roll down your chin.

You don't know how long you stood there.

But you heard the hesitation in his steps as he walked away. You heard the floorboards creaking. You heard his door squeaking loudly, slowly, until it finally snapped shut.

And you remained there, absorbed in the silence, for a long while before you turned around again:

JJ is sitting on your bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking softly. You don’t know when he started crying. You’re not very sure why he is.

But you trudge forward, almost in a trance.

It takes two steps for you to be right in front of him, the ends of his blonde hair brushing against you. Whispering against the fabric of your skirt.

You've been here before.

In this weird deja-vu.

The way he reaches for you, it's almost like slow motion.

His eyes are steel blue, like the edge of a knife. His lips are red, swollen. There are tear streaks running down his face when he looks up at you. Under the dim light, he almost seems like an angel. His knuckles are pale, but you see the rapid pulse beneath the skin of his wrists as his hands reach forward, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in.

You once heard moths weren't smart enough to struggle against flytraps if they closed in on them fast enough.

JJ's arms lock around you before you can react. He holds you like his life depends on it. Tears soaking through your top as he buries his face in your stomach, hiding from something unidentified. Himself, maybe. Perhaps guilt.

Though nothing about the way he acts seems guilty.

Your arms were at your sides before. You don’t know when they came to rest around his shoulders. You don’t know why your hands are tangled in his hair. But you feel his teary lips flutter against your skin as you stroke through the soft strands within your fingers.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but he shudders.

He's still crying, but when he lifts his face to look at you, he almost seems at peace. – You drive me crazy. – He whimpers, bare knuckles cracking against your hips as he squeezes you closer, like he’s feeding off of your warmth. – I feel like I’m going insane… I don't know how you do this to me.

You don't know what to say.

Even if you did, your mouth wouldn't open.

You've never felt this numb.

His breathing steadies against you. Slow and deep, like a wave pulling back into the ocean. The warmth of his breath seeps through your clothes, the heat of his skin pressed against your stomach, the damp trail his tears left behind cooling under the soft stroke of your fingers through his hair. He exhales sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, the sound somewhere between relief and something else, something deeper.

His arms are still locked around your waist. The grip loosens, just enough for his hands to move, sliding slowly over the curve of your thighs, fingertips dragging across the fabric. Not a caress. Something closer to an anchor, as if grounding himself in the presence of you, in your softness, in the fact that you’re still here, still touching him, still letting him take and take and take. His hands flex, curling into the back of your legs before going still again. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

You feel the shift before you see it—the slow tilt of his head, the subtle shudder in his ribs as he exhales against you, his lips parting just enough for his breath to warm your skin. He’s watching you now. His lashes are wet, his eyes still rimmed red, but the way he looks at you is something close to reverence. The way your fingers move through his hair, the way your thumb ghosts along the damp trails on his cheekbone—he drinks in every motion, every second, as if memorizing it. As if memorizing you.

– I don’t like fighting with you. – It’s a whisper, barely there, but the words settle between you, heavy and delicate all at once.

You don’t answer.

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, and his eyes flutter shut, his body softening against yours like an animal melting into its keeper’s touch. His forehead presses into your stomach again, his arms slipping around the backs of your legs, pulling you closer. The tension in his muscles fades as he exhales another slow, steady breath. He’s calm now.

The fragments of whatever he threw at your wall litter your bedroom floor, making a glittering constellation out of the floorboards. But he’s calm now.

– John B’s right, – He murmurs after a long moment, voice muffled against you. – It’s been a long day. – You feel his lips shift into the barest hint of a smile, like a child reassured after a nightmare. – We should go to sleep.

You don’t react when his hands shift again, when he tugs lightly at your shirt, when he tilts his head just enough for his lips to brush over the fabric. You don’t react when his grip on you tightens, when he starts to rise to his feet, hands still firm at your waist, guiding you toward the bed.

But when he tries to pull you down with him, you stop him.

His brows furrow, the haze in his expression flickering into something uncertain. He waits for you to move first, to change your mind, to follow the unspoken rhythm between you. But you don’t. You just stand there, looking at him, the weight of exhaustion pressing into your skin.

– You should go home, JJ.

JJ blinks. Confusion first. Then something else. Something vulnerable. His hands flex at your waist like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shake your head, and his grip tightens.

– We shouldn’t go to sleep mad, – he says, voice smaller now, unsteady in a way that makes something deep in your stomach twist. – We can fix this.

– I’m not mad at you. – His lips part, like he wants to believe you. Like he needs to. But something in your voice, in your face, keeps him from speaking. – But I don’t want to be with you, right now.

The words land between you like a stone.

His breathing stutters. His fingers twitch at your waist, hesitating, before slipping away.

You don’t look away.

– Baby…

– I don’t want to sleep next to you. – Silence. – I really don’t want to see you right now, JJ.

For the first time since he pulled you into him, JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He just stares. – I know you’re mad, but—

– I’m not mad. – Truthfully, you weren’t sure. But when it came to feelings, exhaustion always outranked them all. – I’m not. But I want you to leave, JJ. I can’t do this right now.

His face shifts as his arms fall back to his sides.

Contempt.

Maybe ridicule.

You don’t know. You can’t bring himself to care.

But he scoffs before he steps away, shoulder bumping yours, almost by accident.

Almost.

And the door knocks closed at last, the sound absorbing every last bit of tension from the room like a sponge.

The sun streams through your lace curtains as soon as it comes up, 6:30 on the dot on a sunday, but you can't toss around and fall back asleep.

You barely slept.

Whenever, by some miracle, your conscience drifted away from you, it always came back, headlights burning your eyes open to hit you like a truck.

You feel disgusting.

The sweltering heat pushes down against you like a layer of wet concrete: heavy, overwhelming and inescapable.

You’re still wearing the same clothes.

The lower half your body hangs off the mattress, and having kicked off your shoes just before collapsing into the bed, your naked feet brush against the shards JJ's outburst left behind, stinging.

All you can glimpse of the cuts as you move your head to look down are the crimson streaks of blood now running dry.

You struggle to sit up, your head sways when you finally do so. The pounding in your skull is unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The world still spins when you pry them open again.

Glass glints like jagged stars across the floor, scattered in violent constellations.

You stare at the mess, at the thin, half-dried ribbons of red trailing through it, and realize there’s no way out of this without making things worse.

You’ll have to put your shoes on. Walk through it. Grind the shards deeper into the floorboards, deeper into your own skin.

Just the thought makes you shiver.

You reach for the beat-up sneakers, thrown half-hazardly amongst the chaos, and look at them for a moment. Your eyes drift from the shoes to your feet, the pulsing sting of each cut almost begging you not to do it.

You don’t have a choice.

The second the fabric scrapes against the cuts, you hiss through your teeth. Your fingers instinctively curl into a fist. You bite the inside of your cheek and try again, slower this time, forcing yourself through the sting. The laces come undone too easily, sticky with blood. You’ll have to wash them later.

The thought makes your stomach turn.

Once you manage to step out of the room, the pain accompanying you every step of the way, you wonder why you decided to do so in the first place.

Everything is too much.

The pain, the heat, the regret.

No one likes being talked down to, but you’ve always been the sort to dig your heels in when you feel challenged. The way your brother spoke to you before —Before you jumped into Rafe’s car, effectively sealing your fate— was not the sort of thing any sane person could take with a smile.

But it’s tricky, the way it trickles down.

You knew going with Barry was a bad choice, and you followed through for the sake of defiance.

You knew you shouldn’t have fed onto the fire when John first raised his voice, and you did so because you refused to let him walk all over you.

But was it worth it?

You sweep the floor over with a broom, the glass quickly mounting against the wall. Your feet are bleeding, your head is pounding from how much you cried, your back is sore from dragging Rafe everywhere, and you can feel the new bruises both John and JJ left you with already pulsing.

You lean your head against the broomstick, and close your eyes for a moment.

And then—Rafe.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sudden and suffocating. If you feel this bad, if your head is splitting open and your body is aching, how is he feeling? He wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t just reckless. He was a breath away from dying.

You clutch the broom tighter, fingers aching with the pressure, but the grip on your chest doesn’t ease.

Is he even awake yet?

Is he okay?

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe you should check.

But how would you check on him? You don't have his number. The person closest to him you can ask is Sarah, who you doubt Rafe would like to be aware of his drug mishap. And Barry, who does know, probably won’t be responding to anything from you for the next week or so.

You sit back down to take off your shoes and wonder.

It gnaws at you, the not knowing. You don’t care—at least, you tell yourself you don’t—but the weight of it settles in your chest anyway, coiling tighter the longer you sit still.

You should get up. Move. Do something other than dwell on the wreckage, both in your room and in your head.

So you try to force yourself into motion.

Your body protests as you pull yourself up, legs stiff, joints aching. You peel off last night’s clothes, wincing as the fabric sticks to your skin, a mix of dried sweat, salt, and blood. The shower is lukewarm at best, John still hasn’t fixed the heater like he promised, but it rinses the worst of it away. You brace your hands against the tile, letting the water drum over the back of your neck, waiting for it to wash the rest of this feeling down the drain.

But it doesn’t.

By the time you're dressed, tugging your damp hair into something passable, the weight in your chest hasn't budged.

You pull open your dresser and grab your uniform, the cheap fabric wrinkled from being shoved into a drawer.

You should be thinking about work—about the bus you have to get in 5 minutes, about the lunch rush, about the heat in the kitchen, about whether Kiara will be on shift today and if she’ll look at you like she doesn’t remember the talk you had three days ago.

But instead, you think about Rafe.

About how easily he could have died.

About how no one else knows.

About how, if he had, you would’ve been the last person to see him alive.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a cigarette, a distraction, anything to pull your mind somewhere else.

You’ve given in to the nicotine cravings as you run about the empty living room, looking for your keys. You have your father to thank for your smoking habit, he smoked maniacally ever since you could remember, but the reason poverty hasn’t forced you to go cold turkey a long time ago is JJ. —Your house might be empty of food, and maybe you’re behind on the light bill and the city shuts down your power again, but if there are two things JJ and John keep in stock around the place, those things are cheap beer and marlboro lights.— You fish a cigarette from a half-smoked package on the counter, struggling with the lighter for a while before you finally give up and use the stove.

You think you’d be a little more relieved when the chemicals finally start sinking in, but your eyes catch the door just as you inhale. JJ’s shoes are still sitting beside it.

He hasn’t left.

You look around for a moment, mind slowly drifting back to the blonde. But you don’t let yourself linger there. Instead, you grab your keys and slip out the door before you can bump into him.

Public transport in the Outer Banks is less than stellar. Everyday you commute with at least 70 other people, just as broke and anxious as you are, in that crammed bus: the single line that goes from anywhere near your house to about a 20 minute walk away from The Wreck.

It’s a miracle anyone ever found a place to sit, and of course, no divine intervention permitted that miracle ever happen to you. So you spend the half an hour ride standing on your cut up feet, to prepare yourself for the next eight hours of running around in that stuffy kitchen, listening to Anthony, the head Chef, and his inexorable screaming, and Mr. Carrera’s endless scolding of the kitchen’s staff’s time.

The air inside The Wreck’s kitchen is thick with the scent of seared meat and butter, the hum of the ventilation system barely cutting through the clatter of knives against cutting boards and the sharp hiss of oil meeting raw protein. The moment you step through the swinging doors, the heat slams into you, clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Willis is already at his station, sleeves rolled up, hands working quickly over a slab of beef. He doesn’t look up as he calls out. – Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you Routledge?

You sling your bag into your locker, ignoring the jab. – Morning to you too, hon.

He snorts, finally glancing up. – Barely. – There’s a glint in his eyes, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. The look he gets when he wants to gossip.

– Go ahead, Will. Spill it.

It’s early enough that the kitchen is still in its controlled chaos phase —everyone moving, prepping, getting ready for the inevitable hellstorm of the lunch rush. You grab your apron, tying it tight around your waist, and wash your hands before heading to your station. The prep list is long, but that’s nothing new.

– There’s nothing to spill. – He hums. – Unless you know something. – Willis mutters as you start working, his knife gliding through a rib rack with practiced efficiency, you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for the bomb to drop. – Boss is in a mood. Apparently his daughter didn’t come home last night.

– Kie? – He hums in agreement. You wonder why.

– I heard the two of them arguing in the back this morning. He was talking about a boy driving her here. It’s not your brother, is it? Aren’t they friends?

– John has a girlfriend.

Willis laughs knowingly. – That never stopped anyone. – You force yourself to smile back at him, though it's the last thing you want to do. – Anyway. Don’t get in his way today. You know he’s already iffy on you.

– Well, there go my plans for the morning! – You mutter, and he chuckles, passing his cut over to you. The conversation’s over. But his words still echo in your mind.

You're thankful for the work, for once. The familiar motions take over—seasoning, basting, trimming fat, getting everything ready to be fired later. The methodical nature of it helps, the repetition keeping your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.

The doors swing open, and Kiara walks in with an empty tray balanced on her hip.

The noise of the kitchen swallows whatever she says to another server, but you feel her gaze before you see it. When you glance up, your eyes meet for just a second—hers unreadable, yours careful— before you turn back to your work. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth dredging up in the middle of prep.

Hours slip by in a steady churn of orders, the quiet build of the morning shifting into the controlled chaos of the rush. By noon, the kitchen is swamped, the air thick with steam and stress. Anthony's voice cuts through the din, barking orders as plates fly from station to station. Your hands move on autopilot, flipping steaks, checking temperatures, slicing roasts. Willis works beside you, muttering curses under his breath every time an order gets sent back for modifications.

Then, the ticket comes in.

You don’t read it at first, just reach for the next cut of meat, eyes scanning the details like second nature. Roast dish, standard sides. Peanut-glazed roast chicken.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the words sticking out. It’s been a while since you saw that dish being ordered, you were almost sure they took it out of the menu. The request is simple enough, nothing unusual. But something about it needles at the back of your mind.

You push the thought aside, refocusing. Just another plate in the middle of the rush. Another ticket among dozens.

Nothing to worry about.

You get to work on the glaze. The sauce pan is already waiting on the stove, a thin layer of oil shimmering in the heat. You move fast, scooping a generous spoonful of peanut butter into the pan, letting it loosen and melt as you stir.

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of honey. The scent blooms instantly—sweet, nutty, rich. You reach for the rice vinegar next, just a touch to cut through the heaviness. Then, garlic, grated fine, barely a whisper of sharpness underneath the smooth layers of flavor. The heat coaxes everything together, the sauce thickening, darkening, turning glossy as you work.

A final stir, a taste.

It’s perfect.

The timer dings. You pull the chicken from the oven, the skin crisped and golden, the juices pooling at the edges of the pan. With a practiced hand, you brush the glaze over the surface, the deep amber sheen soaking into the heat, clinging to the curves of the roast. Another minute under the broiler—just long enough for the sugars to caramelize, for the edges to darken into something tempting.

The moment it’s done, you move fast. A quick slice, checking for doneness. Then plating: the chicken settled onto a warmed plate, nestled against a bed of seasoned rice. A handful of crushed peanuts sprinkled over top, a sprig of fresh cilantro for contrast. Every detail placed with intention.

One last look.

Then the plate is up, Kie already reaching for it, her eyes drifting through you one last time. You watch over your shoulder as she carries it out, disappearing beyond the swinging doors.

It’s out of your hands now. But the feeling lingers. That quiet, nagging thought.

Something about this order doesn’t sit right.

You throw yourself into the rhythm of the kitchen, trying to drown out that nagging feeling with movement. There’s too much to do, too much heat, too much noise—no room for doubt. The oil hisses as you slide a seared steak onto a plate, the scent of garlic and thyme curling up with the steam. You reach for a handful of fries, tossing them onto the side, then move on, wiping down the station before plating the next order.

Your hands are steady, but your mind isn’t.

It’s stupid. It’s just a dish. But something about it lingers, sticks to you like the grease on your skin.

– Hey, – Willis speaks up from beside you, not looking up from the salmon he’s searing. – You got that worried look on your face again, what's going on?

You scoff, grabbing a garnish. – What, my thinking face? I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so pretty and all, but sometimes I do actually think.

He finally glances up, raising a brow. – Spill.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you reach for another plate. – I’m fine. Just wondering if we’ll make it through lunch rush without Anthony popping a vein.

Willis snorts. – Fat chance.

You flash him a smirk, hoping it looks convincing. It doesn’t matter, because before he can push any further the kitchen doors burst open.

The air shifts.

A new kind of heat floods the room—thick, charged, the kind that makes people tense without thinking.

Mr. Carrera stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the kitchen like a predator. – Who made the peanut-glazed chicken?

The words slice through the chaos like a knife through flesh.

You freeze for half a second—just half. But Willis notices. His gaze flicks to you, sharp, before you even turn to face Mr. Carrera.

Your throat is suddenly dry. – I did.

Mr. Carrera moves. Storms down the kitchen like a bull with a target, weaving through stations without breaking stride. The space around you tightens, the air sucked out of the room.

Willis takes a step back. He’s not going to get in the way of this.

No one is.

And then—he’s there.

Standing in front of you, looming.

And you know, whatever this is, whatever you missed, it’s bad. – You could’ve killed someone, Routledge. You know that?!

Your mind rushes.

You think of every step and every second you spent on that dish. Every spoonful of each spice, every condiment, every sauce. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, you paid more attention to it than to any of the other dishes you were making. – I don't understand, sir.

The kitchen remains a vortex, the noise of plates, the roar of fire, the shouts from the servers, they still echo again and again through the thick walls of the room, but none of the cooks make a sound.

They don't scream.

They don't curse.

They don’t ask.

They're all quiet, eyes drifting between you and their work.

– The customer you made that for. He has a nut allergy. You could’ve killed him, Routledge! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to convince him not to sue?!

You freeze.

For a moment, you want to laugh. You feel it coming up your throat, inching into your face in the way your cheek twitches. But you bite your tongue the last second.

– Did he eat it?

– We ought to be glad he didn't! Do you have any idea what could have happened if he had a reaction here?! How much money we would’ve lost?!

– He asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, sir. There was nothing else in the ticket. Just that. – Kie is standing by the door, looking over at the two of you. A couple servers look at her weird as they push through her. You can't read her face. —Concern, doubt, curiosity— Whatever emotion dances in her face remains shrouded in her attempt to keep it blank. – Kie was the one who rang it in. Right, Kie? The ticket said peanut-glazed roast chicken.

She doesn't even make a move to speak.

But her father is already shouting at you again: – You want to tell me that a man who is allergic to nuts would've asked for a peanut-glazed dish?!

You don't want to insult him.

You can't afford to lose this job.

But this conversation is getting more idiotic by the second. – It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, sir.

You’re not lying.

Your breaks are populated by the endless recollection of people who knowingly or not ask for dishes they're allergic to, then come back to make a scandal.

All the other restaurants you’ve worked at were the same.

But Mr. Carrera looks at you as if you had just spat on him. – What did you just say to me?!

– It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Anthony comes in, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms like he does whenever he wants to seem tough. – What’s happening?

You open your mouth, but the owner cuts in before you can utter a word. – Your cook just made a peanut dish for someone who is deathly allergic!

–You did what?! – It's a scolding, but he shouts it at you like a bark. You try not to shrink into yourself. – What the fuck is your problem, Routledge?!

– The customer asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, Chef! I just did what was written on the ticket!

You don't like the way your voice rises. The way it trembles slightly. But you can't help it. You feel your pulse starting to roar in your ears, the adrenaline that was already there making you shake.

– The customer did?! The customer that's allergic to fucking peanuts?!

Anthony's favorite past-time is wishing people choke to death on whatever they're allergic to. He says it at least once every shift. Yet he’s acting like it’s the most absurd thing he ever heard. Treating you like an idiot.

– You know better than anyone it’s not the first time this happened, Chef. – You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. You don’t know why they're going so hard on you. – Joey, – You’re calling for the pastry chef before you can help yourself. – Joey! Didn’t you just have to re-do the caramelized pineapple tarte because the customer was allergic to pineapple?

The freckled boy looks up from a dessert plating, and nods, but before his mouth opens, Mr. Carrera interrupts you again: – Don’t try to shift the blame here Routledge!

– I'm not shifting any blame! This isn’t anyone's fault! The ticket said Peanut-glazed roast chicken, so I got on my station and made a Peanut-glazed roast chicken! I can’t read the customer's mind!

– Don't start getting smart with me now, girl! You got the dish wrong and you don't want to admit it!

– I did what was on the ticket! That’s all I did!

You turn around, already looking over the tickets on the dashboard, but as soon as the paper is in your hand, someone yanks you back. – Don't turn your back on me!

– Look, Look here— This is the ticket!

– Don't talk back at me!

– I'm not! I'm just trying to show you—

– Take off that apron! – Your face falls. You look back at Anthony, his eyes widening for a split second under his thick black brows, but he remains there, naked arms crossed over his Chef's whites, not moving a muscle. – Take that apron off right now, Routledge!

– Mr. Carrera—You're stuttering. Head spinning. You don’t know where to look. – Please—

– Take it off!

– I need this job, sir, please. Please. I'm sorry—

– Take it the fuck off before I have security drag you out of here, Routledge! Take it off!

Willis places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back softly. You're shaking. His eyes shift as he looks at you as well, and only then you realize you were crying. How long has it been? Months, Maybe a year since you cried. And now you've done it three times within the span of 12 hours. – With all due respect, sir—

– I don’t need your due respect, Redfield. Get back to your work!

– Mr. Carrera… – He tries again.

– GET BACK TO WORK!

Willis retreats as soon as he's come forward.

– Please, please. I can’t lose this job. – You look at Anthony, then back at Mr. Carrera before the pity starts forming on the chef's face.

– Should've thought about that before you disrespected me!

– Michael, – Anthony's voice is level, the closest to pleading he'll ever come. Even he seems a little confused. – I can’t finish the day with a single Roast chef, half the orders go to them.

– Chef? This girl isn't a chef, Anthony! She's just a cook! A cook that clearly has no idea of what she's doing!

– Chef, please… – You're begging. You don't know what else to do.

– I won’t tell you another time, Routledge! Take that fucking apron off!

Anthony looks away from you as the screams echo around the kitchen. He shifts on his feet for a moment, almost as if he didn’t know where to go.

You reach for your back, undoing the double knotted bow you became so used to doing with shaky hands.

Mr. Carrera still looks at you expectantly after you lay the apron in his hands. – The uniform, Routledge.

You want to disappear. – I'm not wear—

– TAKE IT OFF!

You feel a dozen pairs of eyes on you.

The tears that fall from your eyes feel like acid as they run down your face, more and more constant as humiliation sears you from the inside out.

Your fingers reach for the black buttons of your chef's white. You had stolen a couple buttons from your dad's old suit to fix this uniform, when they tore at the beginning of this year, before he’d disappeared.

It's fitting that, even if spirit, he's here to watch you be scrutinised.

You can just hear him now:

“What’d you think would happen?”

The cheap fabric scrapes against the bruises on your arms. The fainter bruises around your neck, where JJ had grabbed you, in full display.

“You should've known better” He would say.

You can't say you're glad for the less revealing sports bra you're wearing. Because you feel as if you're standing, naked, in front of these men when you finally pull the coat off.

“Can't say I'm surprised”

– Get out of my kitchen, Routledge. – Kie's father's voice is a blade. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see him look at you. – I better not see you when you come to get your things.

You barely muster the strength to whisper a “yes sir” before he pushes past his daughter, out into the salon again.

Anthony holds your coat. His pity burning holes into your skin. – Routledge—

You don't let him finish it.

You just raise your hand, holding down a sob, and say – I'm sorry, chef.

The door doesn't hit you on the way out, but it feels like the world has crumbled around you as you sit down on the concrete and sink your head in your hands.

You sink onto the curb, your knees knocking together as you fold in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your middle like you can hold yourself together by force. But it’s useless. You feel hollowed out, like a pit has been scooped from your chest, leaving only raw, open air where something solid used to be.

The sounds of the restaurant leak out onto the street—laughter, clinking plates, the rhythm of a dinner rush you are no longer a part of. The life you've had for three years, ripped away like it had never belonged to you in the first place.

JJ's words are the ones that echo in your mind now: "They always win, don’t they? They always win and we're left to scrap by."

You stare down at your hands, your fingers stiff, still curled like you’re gripping something, though there’s nothing there. Nothing left. The buttons, stolen from your father’s suit, glint dully in your palm. You try to close your fist around them, but they press into your skin, sharp, biting. A cruel joke. Even the things you steal for yourself are taken back in the end.

The back of your throat burns, tight and aching. Your breath stutters, and for a second, you think you might stop crying—but you don’t. You can’t. Instead, the grief settles, thick and choking, pressing against your ribs, your skull, crushing you from the inside out.

You tilt your head back, staring up at the sky, searching for something—anything—to ground you, but the sky is smudged, blurred, swallowed by the glow of a city that’s barely there. There’s nothing up there. Just empty space stretching forever, indifferent to the small, insignificant thing you have become.

Have always been.

And then—your father’s voice again. Not real, but real enough.

“Is this what you thought would happen? Did you really think you could keep up?”

Your nails dig into your palms. You know you should move. Get up, go home, figure out what comes next. But you stay where you are, stuck in this moment, in this feeling. Stripped down, exposed, like a wound left open to the air.

A car rumbles past, the headlights flashing over you. And for one terrible, fleeting second, you think about standing up—stepping forward—just enough.

But then it's gone. The thought, the headlights, the car.

You exhale shakily. Pull your knees closer. And keep sitting there.

A sound cuts through the noise—sharp, distant. Your name.

You don’t move at first. The world around you is muffled, drowned beneath the weight pressing against your ears, the thick, suffocating quiet that only grief can bring. The restaurant’s noise hums at the edges of your senses, blurred and detached, as if you are hearing it from underwater.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has unraveled, slipped through your fingers like the buttons in your palm.

Your name again, firmer this time. A presence at the edge of your vision.

Slowly, you lift your head.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his Range Rover parked in the shadowed corner of the lot. The keys dangle from his hand, catching the light. He’s smiling—like he always does, like this is nothing, like you’re just two people crossing paths on an ordinary night.

But then he sees you.

Sees your face.

And his smile vanishes, something darker flashing through his face.

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bloodywankers · 1 year ago

Text

Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

Masterlist

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f4iry-bell · 8 months ago

Text

CHANGE MY MIND

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: grayson pushed reader away sm that he lost her.

tagging: @unnoodles @never-enough-novels @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07

warning: angst

a/n: inspired by @daystarpoet 's cai 🤭pls do check it out, it's amazing.

masterlist

He does it again, he has been pushing her away for the past week, not telling how he really feels. Whenever she asks him, it's always “I'm fine” , the obvious lie. It was so frustrating for both of them as Grayson just won't tell her what is up, and she can't just watch him go through something alone, without understanding.

Grayson was currently driving her to this event they're supposed to go to, something that's hosted by the heiress for charity. The problem is the drive was filled with Graysons lonely suffering, he wanted to be alone at the moment, especially with her constantly asking what's wrong. He was a patient person but he needed her to stop it, without thinking he snapped.

“Will you ever stop? I said I'm fine.” He gripped the steering wheel.

“I'm just trying to under—”

“No, you're trying to be annoying.” The words stung her heart. She didn't expect him to ever use such a word on her.

She looked at him with slightly teary eyes but she didn't want him to see her, so she turned her face towards the window, and kept quiet the entire ride.

Grayson, realising what he has done, gently put his hands on her knees to show her he didn't mean it, but she barely acknowledged his touch or him. She completely ignored him. It hurts Grayson that she ignored him, but he knew he deserved it. After all, he led her to this.

After the teacher held the event, she didn't wait for Grayson to open her door, she immediately got out and started walking to the event. Grayson, given his speed, caught up to her quickly. Once they were in he put his hands on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd, they met some new people, he introduced her to them as his girlfriend as if nothing is going on between them right. She slipped away from him for a while, while he was thinking about the situation, and his habit of isolation, distancing himself. She came back to where she left him, and spoke.

“Avery invited me to stay over at her place. You can leave if you wish to, I'll be going riding with her and Jameson.” She said, her face was flushed a bit.

“Oh.” He wasn't processing what she said at first. “You don't have to leave with them.” He gathered himself.

“I should.”

“No, you're doing this on purpose.”

“So?”

He hated how calm her tone sounded, but he knew her body language said otherwise.

“So you're being childish. We have an argument, and you don't want to face the aftermath.” He pointed.

“No, Grayson I don't. And it's rich coming from you because you don't face anything! You don't face me when you're feeling like—I have no clue what— and I have to sit here, and watch you go through it alone!” She snapped.

The words hit him, he knew it was true, and he hated it. When she noticed the lack of reply she shook her head, and walked away but Grayson caught her arm, gentle yet firm.

“Don't walk away from me.”

“Why? I thought I was annoying.”

“Don't— you're being difficult.”

“No, it's easy. You push me away, and now I'm going away. It's as simple as that.”

“No, you're being stubborn.”

“And you're not?” She scoffed.

“I'm sick of this, always arguing with you, always asking for answers that I can't give you. I'm sick of it.”

“Then let me go.”

He loosened his grip on her hand.

“No, Grayson, I meant let me go. Out of your life.” Her shoulders relaxed when she finished her sentence. Grayson's stiffened.

“I…You don't mean that.”

“I do. You either let me in or let me go.”

Grayson looked down, and shook his head. “You can't put me in this position.”

“No. I'm not, if you can't be vulnerable, if you still feel not comfortable enough to be vulnerable with me after six months of dating, then I don't think I'm the right person for you, Grayson.” It hurted her to say the last part. She really thought they were going to last forever when they started dating.

He was awfully quiet, he was deciding what to say. He knew what his problem was, but he just couldn't tell her. This is the right thing.

“Maybe you're right.” She knew what she said but hearing it from him was worse.

She nodded her head. “I'll take a cab home, and move out tomorrow.”

Grayson helped her with the cab. He wanted to be close to her at the last moment, because he was never going to get her back. After everything he did, and said she'll never take him back.

#the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne fanfic #jameson hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #avery grambs #xander hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #nash hawthorne #the grandest game #games untold

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unsuperingyournatural · 4 months ago

Text

weathering the storm

Joel Miller x Female Reader x Negan

The safe house hadn’t been the plan. It was supposed to be a quick stop—grab supplies, rest for the night, and move on. But the world had other ideas. A storm had rolled in fast, the kind that made traveling impossible, and then there were the raiders. A group had caught wind of them, tracking too close for comfort, forcing the three of you to hole up in the abandoned cabin longer than expected.

The space was tight, a single room with boarded-up windows, a fireplace that barely did its job, and just enough supplies to last if no one got greedy. But the real problem wasn’t outside. It was in here—with Joel, Negan, and their never-ending goddamn posturing.

You were used to it by now, the sharp words, the glares that carried weight, the way every conversation between them felt like a test of dominance. But tonight, the tension was different—heavier. It coiled in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing in on all sides.

Negan leaned against the rickety dining table, flipping a knife between his fingers, his eyes gleaming with something too smug for your liking. “So, what’s the plan, boss man?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. “Or are we just sittin’ on our asses, waitin’ to die?”

Joel, who had been by the window checking for movement, exhaled sharply. “The plan is to stay put until morning. Unless you feel like stepping outside and introducing yourself to the fine folks who’d love to put a bullet in your head.”

Negan grinned, slow and deliberate. “Aw, Joel, you do care.”

Joel turned, his expression dark. “I care about keepin’ us alive. Don’t mistake that for givin’ a damn about you.”

Negan’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “Funny, ‘cause last I checked, I ain’t the dead weight here.” He flicked his gaze to you then, something unreadable in his eyes. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You stiffened at the sudden shift, at the way Negan dragged you into it like a live wire sparking between them. Joel’s posture changed instantly, his body angling slightly in front of you, as if Negan’s words alone were a threat.

“Don’t bring her into this,” Joel said, voice low and edged with warning.

Negan chuckled, tapping the knife against the table. “Why not? She’s been playin’ mediator since day one. Poor thing’s gotta be tired of it.”

You were. But you weren’t about to let them know just how much.

“Drop it,” you muttered, rubbing at the tension in your temples.

But Negan wasn’t one to let things go, and Joel wasn’t one to back down. The space between them crackled, something unspoken but felt, something neither of them would dare acknowledge outright. And you—caught between them—were stuck feeling all of it.

Negan’s gaze flicked back to Joel, his smirk faltering just slightly, replaced by something sharper, something dangerous. “You think I don’t see it?” he said, voice quieter now, more deliberate. “The way you look at her? The way you act like you’ve already staked your claim?”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “Watch your mouth.”

Negan laughed under his breath, but there was no real humor in it. “Nah, see, that’s the thing. I think it bugs the hell outta you that she doesn’t belong to you. That she’s got choices. And maybe, just maybe, I’m one of ‘em.”

You felt the weight of those words slam into the room like a hammer. The air turned electric, thick with something more than just animosity. It was jealousy. Possessiveness. Frustration tangled up with something neither of them was willing to admit.

Joel took a step forward, the space between him and Negan shrinking. “She ain’t a prize to be won.”

Negan arched a brow, pushing off the table. “Never said she was. But that don’t mean you ain’t acting like you already got your hands on the trophy.”

Your pulse kicked up, your body thrumming with a mix of irritation and something you didn’t want to name. You should have stopped this before it got worse, should have stepped in and shut it down. But part of you—some reckless, shameful part—wanted to see where it would go.

Negan’s grin turned mean. “Besides, you’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore, old man. Maybe she wants someone who’s still got a little fire left in him.”

Joel’s fist clenched at his side, his body a coiled wire ready to snap. You saw it happening before it did, and before he could make his move, you took a step forward, voice softer now, imploring. “Joel.”

His eyes snapped to you, just for a second, before flicking back to Negan.

“You afraid, Joel?” Negan taunted. “Afraid she might wanna see what it’s like with a man who knows how to have a little fun?”

Joel moved before you could stop him. One second he was still, the next his fist crashed into Negan’s jaw, sending the other man stumbling back against the table. Negan wiped at the blood on his lip, looking more amused than pissed, and lunged forward.

You reacted on instinct, stepping between them before it could go any further. “Enough!” you snapped, shoving Joel back before turning on Negan. “Both of you, stop acting like idiots! You're going to draw attention and get us killed!”

Joel’s chest heaved, his eyes still locked on Negan, his hands shaking with the effort of restraint. Negan, for once, didn’t have a witty comeback. He just smirked, rolling his shoulders like he’d enjoyed the fight a little too much.

You looked between them, frustration burning in your veins. “We are stuck in this goddamn cabin with raiders outside, a storm trapping us in, and you two wanna fight like children over—” You stopped yourself before saying me. Before making this even worse.

Instead, you exhaled sharply. “Grow the hell up. Both of you.”

The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the wind rattling the shutters. Finally, Joel took a step back, breathing hard. Negan grinned, tongue swiping over his split lip, and let out a low chuckle.

“Damn,” he mused, rubbing his jaw. “Knew you had it in you, Miller.”

Joel just shook his head, muttering something under his breath before stalking away. Negan watched him go, then turned his gaze back to you, something unreadable in his expression.

You’d known Negan a long time—before all this, before the world had turned to hell. Back when he’d been just another survivor with a sharp tongue and a knack for getting under people’s skin. Maybe that was why he got under yours so damn easily.

“Feisty little thing, ain’t you?” he murmured. But for once, there was no teasing in his voice. Just something heavier. Something that sent your stomach twisting in ways you weren’t ready to face.

You didn’t answer. Just turned on your heel and walked away, going to check on Joel. You found him sitting on the edge of the cot, knuckles bruised, shoulders hunched. Without a word, you sat beside him, resting a hand over his closed fist, a quiet reassurance. He looked at you for a moment before dropping his gaze, his shoulders easing just slightly beneath your touch. You felt yourself exhale, some of the tension in your own body unraveling as the heat of his skin grounded you, the steady rise and fall of his breath pulling you back from the storm of the night.

Across the room, Negan watched with a taut jaw before turning away, heading toward the door. He peered out into the storm, but his mind wasn’t on the weather. It was on you—on the way you reached for Joel, on the softness in your touch. Something deep in his gut twisted, ugly and unwanted, though he refused to name it. With a quiet huff, he pulled his coat tighter around himself, eyes narrowed against the night.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #negan #negan x reader #female descriptors used #female reader #pedro pascal #jeffrey dean morgan

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lightlycareless · 1 year ago

Note

How do you think make up sex with Naoya would be? 🫣🤭

Heya anon 😏

Well, I hope this will offer some insight.... (more at the end)

warnings: smut. MINORS DNI. breeding kink I believe. Naoya would give you everything in the whole universe just to make you happy.

Make up sex with Naoya normally occurs after he teased the living hell out of you, and you got really annoyed by it. And of course, the way for him to fix that is to proceed by teasing you even more…

But let’s make it a bit more serious, let’s say Naoya acted stupidly, said something he shouldn’t have and instead of apologizing, made it worse. Probably prodded at an insecurity of yours.

Or more specifically, didn’t defend you from his imprudent family.

“You know I don’t like it when your family says that!” you’d gasp once the two are alone, eyes silently telling him you wished to speak. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“What was I supposed to do? You know how they are—it’s better to just stop wasting your energy and ignore them.”

“I don’t think ignoring them is doing any good anymore! By doing nothing it’s like we’re telling them there’s no consequences to their actions!” you snap back.

“I’m not going to spend my efforts on fighting a useless battle! There’s nothing I can say or do to make them change their mind! If you want to do that, go ahead!”

“So what? You’re just going to leave me alone, then?”

“Don’t say things I didn’t say.” He frowns. “You know damn well I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then you should at least try to do something… or am I not worthy of that either?”

“Where did that even come from?? Do you even know what you’re saying?!” Naoya scowls.

“… I don’t want to talk anymore.” You say, quickly turning around and retreating, faster than Naoya could attempt to hold you back.

Though honestly, he lets you go, for he too is bothered by the way this conversation went on, a seemingly silly issue that shouldn’t have gotten that much attention to begin with (before his eyes, at least) moving on to focus on his other duties instead, thinking that in time you’ll come around.

You have to, since you were well aware that his family had always been like that: with their annoying, unwanted commentary. It’s not like you ignored that, nor accepted it when marrying him!

But though you knew what you were getting into, he was greatly miscalculating your willingness to tolerate it, for everyone had limits, especially for someone who grew up in a completely different environment to him.

Just as it did today.

Yet, what Naoya believed to be the problem, it turned out to simply the tip of the iceberg when it came to your feelings, the issue being much bigger, deeper, always, than what was seen at a simple glance—and that much he’d understand when the day went on and you were nowhere to be found, besides your shared bedroom.

Naoya was elated to see you on the bed, fearing that he wouldn’t given your prolonged absence, yet, as much as he wished to convince himself everything was fine, it wasn’t.

He wasn’t to simply lay down next to you and act like nothing ever happened. Move past this issue without speaking about it, or without feeling wrong about it.

Guilty, in other words.

So, your husband does his best to close that gap between the two, let you know how sorry he was…

If not by his words, then by his actions.

“Y/N.” Naoya would murmur. You know it’s serious when he doesn’t call you by any of the millions of pet names he has for you, but still, as much as he wished to portray assertiveness, you do not acknowledge him immediately. “I’m sorry, you know that right?”

“No. I don’t.” you snap quickly, and Naoya, who now laid down on the bed, proceeds to embrace you—only for you to try and move away, failing in the process. “Naoya—”

“What? I’m just getting more comfortable.” He adds nonchalantly, resting his chin in the crook of your neck in the same manner. Hands just below your waist, he pulls your hips towards his, keeping you close and steady even when trying your best to fight against him. “This is my bed too, you know?”

You frown, letting out a small grunt in return before eventually accepting your unwanted fate.

After a few seconds of quiet and realizing you were not to do anything else, Naoya acts next by moving his hands further down your body, fingers taking in the softness of your nightgown (incomparable to your skin, he notes) before stopping just by your thighs, fingers quickly clinging to the edge of the fabric and lifting it up, just enough so his hand could gain access to your underwear, and soon enough, your mound.

“Naoya!’ you cry, tensing when feeling the touch of his fingers hovering over your slit, before pushing past it and deep into your slick, warm walls. “Stop—”

“I’m just checking how she’s faring.” Naoya adds, rubbing his clothed member against the cleft of your ass, giving you a tease of what is yet to come. “He wants to know too, hm?”

You always hated the ridiculous way he had when referring that; it was childish, stupid, and above all embarrassing…

But most of all, you also hated how hot it got you, the lewd connotation making your walls tighten for the slightest of seconds, a gesture that did went by unnoticed from Naoya given how he chuckled, further sliding down your panties, enough so he’d be able to do the same with his pants and move his cock in between your thighs, right next to your slit—he smiles the fact that, even when upset, your body will never deny it’s true feelings for him.

“D—Don’t move…!” you whine when he starts to do so, the heat of his member rubbing against your slit, alongside the girth and the hardness itself makes you instinctively tighten your thighs, pressuring his cock in a way that makes his movements falter for a second before continuing, exactly the opposite of what you asked. “You shouldn’t—”

“But we’re the ones having problems, my mochi.” He murmurs against your ear, you could feel him smiling, clearly enjoying teasing you. “Our issues shouldn’t come in between them.”

“Stop saying that!” You gasp at the particularly harsh trust that gives you a jolt of pleasure, instinctively leaning back onto him as you struggle to reject his advances or succumb to them. “It’s—It’s weird!”

“Yet, the truth.” Naoya adds, his hands sliding their way up to your breasts and comfortably resting them there, occasionally kneading and pinching them in the way he knew you loved, though you’d always whine otherwise, further igniting your guilty pleasure. “They never like it when we get angry, princess… me neither; so why must we hurt them?”

“Naoya—I’m going to—you should—” you grith your teeth, trying your best to hold back the orgasm building up in your cunt. “I don’t want—to—"

“I know—I can feel it.” He smiles, pressing a kiss against your cheek before giving you another sharp trust and making you shriek. “See? They feel so good together, and when they’re apart they always miss each other so terribly… so why put them through that painful endeavor, when we can always be like this?”

At the feeling of his and your orgasm fast approaching, the heir quickens his pace, the air soon filled with the lewd noises of his body slamming against yours, followed by his breathy grunts and your whines that solely demonstrated how deep both were getting into their carnal enjoyment.

“Or feel like this every night? All day too, if you want.”

It wouldn’t take long after that, just a few more thrusts and squeezes before he finally cums, cock twitching as it spurts his seed into your soft, warm thighs, engulfed soon after by the slick of your cunt, a sensation that has you instinctively clamping even more around his member and Naoya moaning louder while resting his face deep into your neck.

He keeps you so until your release eventually dissipates, alongside your breath slowing down, and soon enough, silence.

Naoya hoped that by his gestures he was granted the opportunity of an apology, the reflection of his true feelings and the understanding of how much you truly meant to him—and perhaps on a deeper, selfish level, a repeat of this endeavor, hopefully from your desire as well.

But far from obtaining the simplest indication of the former, he gets a soft, almost undetectable sniffle instead, which to his anxious, attentive ears was nothing but loud, making him tense up and immediately rush to your aid.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did you—did you not like it?” or worse. “Did I hurt you?”

Not necessarily, at least not at this moment.

Having spent the past few hours ruminating on your last discussion with him, you get back to your room tired, still battling through the turmoil of whether to continue being angry with him or simply move past this issue and accept that indeed, you knew what his family was like.

But sensitive from this battle, his actions would provide you the last piece needed to achieve an answer, reminded of how much you truly loved him, enjoyed spending time with him, day and night, anytime whenever possible—and how hurtful it would be to not be with him anymore.

Especially for issues caused by others, ones that perhaps maybe wasn’t even yours to struggle with, yet still affected this relationship.

Now you agree that this was a situation that shouldn’t have grown as much as it did; you shouldn’t have avoided him for the rest of the day, and Naoya shouldn’t have acted as dismissively as he did.

Both should’ve instead communicated, expressed the things that bothered the two from this problem and worked on a solution from there.

But if there was a silver lining to make out of this moment, is the realization that even when anger clouds their judgement, they still looked for one another, for love prevailed far more than any obstacles life might send their way.

“I never wanted to be angry at you!” you sob, now allowing your tears to freely fall down your cheeks, the same as your emotions. “And for something so stupid too! You were right, I know what your family is like, and yet, I still allow it to bother me and take it out on you too! Like you’re responsible for their actions! I’m so sorry for all I did—It’s all my fault—”

“No, Y/N, I’m the one that should be sorry.” Naoya murmurs, hugging you tighter against him. Your cries will always feel like a stab against his heart, no matter how many times he hears them. “I should’ve been more sensitive with my approach, especially with something I know only hurts you.”

“…Not all of your family hurts me.” You sniffle, reaching for his hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“But enough of it does.” He answers, squeezing your hand. “I promised to keep you safe and happy, and yet the place that is supposed to do that only brings you harm.”

“It was never issue for me to do so.” You confess. “I wanted to do this so you can continue your duties as heir, and eventually, leader. But sometimes… It’s just too much.”

“If that is the reason of your suffering, I can do that somewhere else. I can make it possible—I’d rather die than to see you like this.”

“Don’t say that.” You frown, he chuckles. “But… will you do that for me? Would you really do something that will anger your family… just for me?”

Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.

“The only thing I fear is that I might need time to arrange something different.” Naoya adds. “But for a long time, my family has only been you—it might take a while before I can get a house where it’ll only be us, but I’m determined nonetheless, if… you’re willing to wait for me.”

You slowly turn around to see him, a smile on your face as you gently hold his face. “I waited years to marry you, surely I can wait a bit more.”

Naoya’s heart tightens at your words, motivating him to turn you over completely so he could get a better look at you, before leaning down to take your lips into a soft kiss.

“Though I will not make you wait any longer to show how much I love you.” Naoya reassures, taking your lips into another kiss and marking the mere beginning of his promise to cherish you through thick and thin, which his heart always knew he was meant for since seeing you for the first time all those years ago.

“Naoya—don’t—don’t do it so quickly.” You gasp, tightly holding onto the blankets beneath you as he heatedly slams his hips against you from behind, pushing his cock as deep and deeper as possible, bruising your cervix each time and making you shriek in response. “It’s—It’s too much—!”

“It’s only my love for you, princess.” He groans, completely hypnotized by the way your ass jiggles whenever slamming into you; so tempting, Naoya naturally needs to raise his hand and strike it, leaving behind for you to always remember in the subsequent days who is the only one that can make you feel this way.

Whom you belong to.

“But if you don’t want it, I can simply—”

“No!” You gasp, leaning back onto him the moment he begins to slide out from you, a reacting that has him laughing, amused by your debauchery. “Don’t you dare leave!”

A reward is only expected with a wife so dutiful…

“Can you feel that? —Can you feel my cock deep inside you?”

You whine, agreeing with his words as you continue to move against him, the mere thought of being empty is enough to fill you with unparalleled eagerness, which you did not hesitate to show.

“Nnghh, Naoya—you’re so—you’re so big—!” you gasp, and your words alongside your lovely whines, make him grow even harder. “Ah, it’s—it’s getting bigger—how?!”

“Because you keep squeezing me like that.” He growls against your ear, taking your breasts into his hand and kneading them tightly, you cry. “That’s what you do to me, my wife—your lewd cunt is squeezing me so tightly, it’s like you don’t want to let go.”

“I don’t want to….!” You whine. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—I’m going to die if you do!"

“Keep saying that, whore—keep telling me what you deserve.”

“My pussy—my pussy deserves your hard, hot cock!” you breathe.

“It's like falling in love with you all over again.” he murmurs.

“I love you, Naoya.” You gasp, mind hazy from the pleasure yet keeping you conscious enough to keep seeking him. “I love you so, so much… I never want to be away from you!”

“You won’t.” He darkly promises, having long made up his mind on how exactly he plans to do that. “I won’t let you—!”

Naoya’s hips begin to move faster and faster, each time his cock prodding onto your sensitive spot that he knows will have you undone in a matter of seconds, just around the same time he comes to the conclusion that will ultimately make his promise real.

“I’m going to get you pregnant.” He darkly declares, gritting his teeth as he pushes his cock deeper as he utters those words. “I’m going to fill you with my seed until you have a baby—and even then, I’ll keep filling you until all you could think is when you’ll get pregnant again.”

“Nao—Naoyaaa…!” you moan at his promise, his words washing over you with another layer of pleasure you never considered possible, although the thought has crossed your mind before, bothered you enough late at night, wondering about the arduous attempts the two would have to commit to make it happen…

“I can’t wait to see your breasts full of milk—I bet it’ll taste just as sweet as your cunt.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that!” you shriek, feeling impossibly lewder at his connotation and tightening even more your walls, making his breath hitch.

“But it’s true.” He groans, moving his hand down to your clit and beginning to rub it eagerly once feeling your orgasm just a few instances away, frantically desiring to be engulfed by the choking sensation his cock deserves after it’s diligent work. “All that comes from you is unbearably sweet…”

“I’m—I’m going to—I’m going to cum!”

“Do it. Do it now!” Your husband hisses. “Cum, Y/N!”

A few thrusts later, you do, followed by a quick gasp and a long groan, the knot in your stomach snapping undone and making your vision go white, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you moan, falling limp onto the bed while Naoya’s seed fills you to the brim, the burning promise to make you pregnant reiterated by his lips taking yours into a heated kiss…

“Can you—Can you feel that?” he murmurs, cock twitching as it spurts the last ropes of his cum. “It’s my love for you. And now, our baby…”

“Naoya…” you whine, squeezing your walls ever so slightly when feeling him twitch; he groans. “I want it—I want your babies…”

“Take it—take all of it—” he smiles, looking down to your cunt. “Looks like she also wants that—can you see how eager she is to milk me?”

You glance downwards, eyes hazy by pleasure but still capable enough to see what he meant, unwilling to deny his words… before gasping when realizing the gravity of what transpired next.

“Naoya! It’s spilling! Don’t let it spill!”

“If you think we’re done, you’re gravelly mistaken.” He smirks, fingers quickly cleaning up his seed and pushing deep into your cunt, where it belongs, before adjusting you into the next position. “I’ll give you as much as you want, my love, whatever is necessary to make you a mommy.”

You moan when he begins to move again, feeling impossibly fuller the deeper his cock went, an endeavor that would go on and on until you were unequivocally reassured of his feelings for you, his immeasurably desire…

As well as the first semblance of a future together, hopefully soon, as a family.

“I love you.” You breathe once he finally unsheathes himself from you, many hours later from the beginning, as you laid beside him and rested your head over his chest.

“I love you too.” Naoya responds, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and holding you tight, his head resting over yours while his hand made way to your full stomach. “And our baby.”

“It’s still too soon, love.” You say, gently reaching for his hand, smiling. “But hopefully it’ll take…”

“Guess we’ll have to do it a few more times, just to be sure.” He chuckles, you pout.

“I don’t think I can fit any more, I feel so full already…” His cock invertedly twitches at the thought of proving you wrong, which you don’t fail to catch immediately after. “Naoya? We’ve just—it’s 3 in the morning!”

“Then why did you say something like that?” he asks, already adjusting you into position yet again. “If you wanted to rest, then perhaps you should control your words.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” you gasp, cunt twitching when he rubs the head of his cock against your slit. “Naoya— I don’t think—I don’t think I can take anymore! What’s gotten into you? Aren’t you tired?!"

But for a man like Naoya, that was impossible.

To ask him to be tired of his beautiful wife, the same one that has endlessly doted on him, shown him a world of color where previously all he’s seen was darkness, as well as demonstrated the future the two could create, by simply setting their minds into it, was like asking him to stop breathing.

He just couldn’t, because doing so would kill him.

And all for one particular reason:

“I’m not, Y/N.”

“H—how?!”

“Because I simply love you too much.”

This could really go down like a:

Naoya: My wife is angry... what can I do? Oh, I know! *gets her pregnant*

I mean you do want to have a family with him!! but not like that hahaha.

Anyways, I've had this thought for a while but guess it finally came out with this small drabble: The Zen'in estate is not a good place to have a family lmao. I keep writing our favorite couple there but lets be real, Naoya wouldn't want her there.

Naomi is out of the question too! I literally just thought about how neither you or Naoya would allow her to have sleepovers at the estate because the Zen'in are just a bunch of pricks.

I like to think that he'll either have a whole area secluded for his family, or just live somewhere else. Maybe when he's leader tho he'll change a lot of things.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small thing!! Naoya and his domineering ways will always come to bite you in the butt some way or another much to your dismay, but it'll also be the reason you remember why you love him so much 🥺

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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lifeisabiscuit · 9 months ago

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It will never not bother me how people are like Elain doesn't owe Lucien anything, she doesn't want him, he should take a hint, leave her alone and stop stalking her (even though he moved to the human lands and only comes when requested and doesnt even see her everytime hes there or at solstice where he kindly brings gifts for her and Feyre and she barely acknowledges it. Like, no girl the gifts don't make him entitled to your affections but aren't you supposed to be the kind sister? He hasn't done anything wrong). Even in canon, Feyre barely tries to meddle in their relationship (or lack thereof) and even questions why not give Elain and Azriel a bond instead. They never clear up that he was not the reason they were taken (and neither was Tamlin but of course they would let them keep blaming him instead of taking responsibility for their part), they just dangle her in front of him to make him compliant and keep doing things for them (sounds a lot like what they did to his brother with Nesta).

But then, when Nesta clearly makes it known she wants nothing to do with Cassian (like Elain has about Lucien), they let him follow her around and lock her in a house with him. Don't even get me started on the bonus chapter where he cornered a human woman and asked about her virginity. No matter what Nesta wanted, Cassian wanted Nesta so they had to be together, ignoring every thing she's said and every sign she's made that she wanted him to leave her alone. No, let's lock them up together instead and force proximity. I don't care if deep deep down she wanted him too, she told him to leave her alone. He found glee in locking her up with him where she could not go anywhere without him. And so many people think this is romantic and goals? They think Nesta deserved to have her wants ignored because Cassian wanted her.

I don't believe the problem was that Nesta was sleeping around, but because she wasn't sleeping with Cassian and he was throwing a pity party. Because as soon as she started sleeping with him even though that was another of her vices, all of a sudden no one had an issue with it.

Like, it seems like just another way to punish Lucien for 'not helping Feyre' against a high lord (something everyone excuses Cassian from because Rhys is his high lord) and punish Nesta for being a child "letting" her sister hunt (even though Feyre made her mom a promise and was never going to listen to Nesta whether she told her not to anyways).

Cassian didn't even really want Nesta more than physically, they had to break her to make her more what he wanted and then he never even said he loved her. He wanted a mate, Nesta wanted Cassian. And the thing is, I don't even have a preferred Elain ship, I just want Lucien to stop being toyed with. But I don't think Lucien even wants a mate, so I could see him actually falling for Elain for who she is, not just her beauty. If anyone would give him a chance. Like, even if she still wants to break the bond, at least talk to him.

I dunno, The double standard between how people treat the sisters is annoying.

#anti nessian #anti cassian #pro nesta #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain #It might not seem like it but I'm not blaming her #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro elucien #Kind of #I don't have a preferred ship #FREE MY BOY LUCIEN

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mypimpademia · 2 years ago

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— Darlin’ I Don’t Wish You Well, When You Ain’t w Me

Ex!Bakugo x gn!reader

TW; Swearing, Bakugos a bit toxic but he doesn’t act on anything

Note: Part 2 (SMAU) is here !

⇶ While Katsuki wouldn’t be a bad boyfriend, he’d be a god awful ex

⇶ He’d treat you well during your relationship, actually, much to everyone’s surprise

⇶ Tends to all your needs and always makes sure that you knew how much he loves and cares for you

⇶ Your relationship wouldn’t be anywhere near bad, it’d be amazing actually and he makes a great boyfriend

⇶ But the way Katsuki acts in other areas is what leads to the downfall of your relationship

⇶ His ego, the way he treats and speaks to others, and other bad habits

⇶ He’s confided in you about his personal struggles with these things, and of course you were understanding and consoled him

⇶ But at the same time, you couldn’t stand seeing him act like such an asshole to people, especially since he acknowledges his issues but it seems to do little to nothing about them

“I can’t do this with you anymore, Katsu.”

You and Katsuki didn’t argue as much as people would think. And when you did, a lot of them were easily talked out after a quick intermission for both of you to calm down instead of screaming at each other. But there was one repetitive issue that you two never seemed to resolve.

A repetitive issue with him.

“What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Katsuki heaved.

He knew exactly what you meant. He just hoped you didn’t actually mean it.

“I can’t be with someone who’s just such a fucking dick to everyone and anyone,” you ranted. “I mean seriously, would it really kill you to at least have basic human decency?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. Truly, he’s too blinded by his own ego to understand what the problem is. It’s not like he treated you poorly, so why do you care so much?

“Oh my fucking god,” Katsuki whispered. “Why does this shit even matter to you so much? You act like this affects you somehow.”

The crazy part is, that he knows his ego is getting in the way of him seeing through this. But even then, he still can’t wrap his head around it.

“Are you deadass?” You gaped at him, completely in shock that he’d even think that, let alone say that to you. “‘Y/n, what’s wrong with Bakugo this time?’ And ‘Y/n, why’s your boyfriend such a fucking cunt?’ But you’re really gonna tell me this doesn’t affect me?”

“I mean, fuck, Katsuki, your head is so far up your own ass sometimes,” now, you were yelling, and Katsuki’s heart was sinking at the thought of what was to come. “You treat me right, and I won’t say that you don’t, but you can’t be that dense to not see how what you do bounces back onto others.”

His breathing pattern was all over the place, and his heart was beating rapidly. Katsuki wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out right there.

“Okay, okay. You’re right, it does, I’m sorry,” he raked a hand through his spiked hair. “But what do you mean you ‘can’t do this anymore’?”

He wasn’t trying to deflect, and you both knew that. But the weight that the four words held was unbearable.

“I mean, I can’t be with you anymore.”

⇶ Katsuki isn’t a begger by any means, but he begged that day

⇶ He told you how much he loved you, and needed you, that you mean the world to him

⇶ And none of it was a ploy to get you to stay, he really did feel that way about you

⇶ He told you’d he’d change in a heartbeat, just say the word, and he would if it meant you wouldn’t leave him

⇶ But you left anyways, and to say that it crushed Katsuki would be an understatement

⇶ Between dying and admitting that he cried his eyes out for a week straight every night, he’d much rather die

⇶ Katsuki got his act together that same week, hoping that this was just something the two of you could move past if it was quickly resolved

⇶ He wouldn’t even call anyone an extra, or refer to Izuku as “Deku”, and everytime that he’d literally bite his tongue to keep him from doing so, he’d glance in your direction hoping that you were giving him a look of approval

⇶ But you hardly looked at him anymore, and when you did it wouldn’t even last a second

⇶ And his blood boiled when you moved onto someone else a few months later

⇶ You weren’t even dating the person, just casual back and forth flirting and talking

⇶ But it made Katsuki sick to even think of you with someone else

⇶ When you were dating, he always “joked” about how he wouldn’t want you to move on and be happy with someone else if he died while the two of you were together

⇶ But he wasn’t joking, and he doesn’t you to be happy with anyone else if he’s dead or alive, to be honest

⇶ Of course, he wants you to be happy and healthy and hopes you get all the good things you deserve… just not in a relationship sense when it’s not with him.

⇶ He acted like none of it bothered him, but it did

⇶ Katsuki wasn’t going to go as far as harassing you and your new partner. He’s thought about it, of course, but he knew that wouldn’t win you back

⇶ He also wasn’t going to go around with other people to get you back either, because that definitely wouldn’t work.

⇶ Not only would it not work, but Katsuki just isn’t the type to get around with people in general

⇶ He’s selective with who he gives his time to, and when he’s emotionally invested in something or someone, he goes all in, so he’d really hate to waste his own energy like that

⇶ Someway, somehow, despite being the one that got broken up with, his ego inflated even more when you left him

⇶ Sure he cleaned up his act, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a cocky asshole

⇶ When he first sees you with your new fling, he wanted to throw up at first, but eventually he got over it because in his head, you’ll never find anyone better

⇶ And he wasn’t totally wrong about that either

⇶ If anyone ever asked you, you don’t think you could even remotely lie and say that he treated you poorly in any way

⇶ Sure, you had your moments like any couple, but truthfully, he set a very high standard for your future partners

⇶ Katsuki always paid for everything, took you places, amazing dates (even if they usually weren’t expensive, because he knows the experience counts over everything), attentive to all your needs, never forgot important days, hardly even raised his voice at you despite his rough demeanor, and even more that you could go on about forever

⇶ He was an amazing boyfriend, really. So much so that even you weren’t sure if you’d find someone better

⇶ He might not actually do anything, but he will most definitely talk shit about your new little thing to Kirishima and the bakusquad

⇶ You expect that from him, but when Sero and Mina told what all he was saying (not to be snitches for fake, just to let you know that he’s going a bit crazy without you), you were honestly a bit shocked at how far he was going

⇶ They went from being Katsuki’s normal hater-ass comments to just nitpicky and spiteful

“Damn, did you see what the fuck they had on, I feel bad that Y/n even has to walk around with that.”

“That motherfucker seriously brought them _? Y/n hates that shit, it’ll be no fuckin’ surprise if they leave that loser.”

⇶ And while he won’t actively try to force himself back into your life, he can and will take every opportunity that will even slightly worm him back in

⇶ Opportunities usually present themselves in the form of group work, when the teacher still habitually places you two in the same group because they still think you’re together

⇶ And don’t let it be a project that’s just for a pair, because then he’ll LEAP for that chance

⇶ Even though there’s tension between you, for obvious reasons, you don’t feel awkward being alone with him. Even after months of hardly even looking at him

⇶ Katsuki is the type of ex you’ll always feel comfortable around, because he’ll always keep a special place for you in his heart

⇶ Still looks at you with pure adoration, even if he wants to gouge his eyes out with a spork when your new talking stage flashes you a smile across the library you’re working in

⇶ Still pays for everything, like the coffee and snacks you go get on your break, even if you insist that you can pay on your own. Granted, you’re much more angry about it this time around than giggly like before

⇶ Still takes you to one of your favorite hangout spots, even though the sweet memories you share there make both of your chests hurt now

⇶ Still calls you beautiful, gorgeous, pretty, his baby, angel, doll, etc even if you aggressively tell him to stop. And he does, he tries to at least, but it’s still so second nature to him that it just slips out like he never stopped using those names on you

⇶ Still asks how you’re feeling, how you’re really feeling, if you ate that day, drank enough water, even if you only grunt out short answers everytime

⇶ Eventually, he asks how you and “whatstheirface” are doing to cut through the thick silence

⇶ It catches you off guard, enough for you to raise your head up from your work to meet his eyes for the first time in forever

⇶ All you say is “We’re good”, but Katsuki knows better than that, he knows you better than that, and he chokes back a laugh at how much you suck at lying to him

⇶ All he says is “Y’know you can still come to me if you need anything?”, but you know better than that, you know yourself better than that

⇶ Because if you did talk to him more than you need to, you’d act on your urges to suffocate him with kisses and tell him you miss him, tell him that ‘whatstheirname’ isn’t jack shit compared to him, ask him if it’s too late to come back

⇶ You ask him if he’s talking to someone and he looks at you with adoring eyes, and shakes his head, leading you both back to an uncomfortable silence

⇶ Katsuki thought about telling you that he still loves you, that he misses you, to tell whatstheirname to fuck off, and so much more

⇶ Hell, for a split second he thought about begging again

⇶ The thing about Katsuki is, since he doesn’t like to use his precious time and energy on just anyone, when he views people in a romantic light, he views them as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with

⇶ Someone that’s his everything, the only person in the world to him, his one and only

⇶ You were his first partner ever, and he wanted you to be his first and last everything

⇶ Which is exactly why you still are to him

⇶ Or you still can be at least, if you came back he’d have no objections, and he doubts that you’d have any either

⇶ The only question is, will you come back?

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏾 !

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rrenzwrld · 2 years ago

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sound of my heart II

second part! read first part here

may or may not be dragging this but…i’d probably write one more part after this and it’ll be it so, enjoy!

all of you are beautiful, kind, smart, and more than capable. love you guys!

the sound of my heart calls out to you, are you listening?

“nah, we’ll see when he text back.” luckily the message was still on delivered so he hasn’t seen it yet. “you need to learn how to open your mouth when it comes to these niggas. that’s why you keep running into problem after problem. shit, knock them in the head if you need to, they’ll get it.” while you knew deja was right and you and your boyfriend had multiple problems and misunderstandings when it came to communicating, it wasn’t in you to try to start things on your own. but this time and with a little push, you had no choice

ony had eventually read the message and responded saying that he was on the way. although jadeja and taylor wanted to stick around to see how you’d really handle the situation, they ended up leaving the two of you alone.

“you said you wanted to talk to me about something? make it quick, i got practice in an hour.” now that you were on a time limit, you were pushed farther away from what you knew you were supposed to do.

“did you…change your cologne recently?” ony tilted his head in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

“nah, why?”

“you didn’t smell how you normally smell so i just thought you were trying something different.”

“how do i smell?” like someone else.

“just different.” ony nodded, looking into a blank space on the walls of your room.

“cool, is that all?” of course you wanted to say more but because you prioritized your boyfriend’s time over your own right now, you opted to let it go and hoped to forget about it over time. so you shook your head and watched him get up and head towards the door. “hug?” you gave in and hugged him for another time that day, realizing that he had a completely different outfit on fitting for the practice he’d have in less than an hour. but the smell still lingered and the words itching to escape your throat couldn’t be withheld any longer.

“who…is she?” you whispered against his collarbone as you slowly pulled away from him.

“what?”

“who is she? and why do you smell like her?” it was as if your soul left your body. you hadn’t acknowledged how shaky your voice had become.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“who is she? and why do you smell like her?” you repeated but with more confidence in your voice. “just answer me, ony.”

“there is no ‘she’, y/n. i don’t know what the hell you’re going on about but i gotta go.” before you could say anything else, ony had left as quickly as he came. like you thought, trying to step out of your comfort zone to confront a man who had a hard time listening to you in the first place was a complete waste of your time.

weeks had gone by and you didn’t have the energy to do much of anything but go to class, get food, and come back to your room. of course you’d hang out with jadeja and taylor occasionally, but you couldn’t shake the fact that you hadn’t talked to your boyfriend in weeks even after he left for another one of his away games. you weren’t even sure if he was your boyfriend anymore. the last conversation you had with him was the first time you ever thought to speak up to what you had an issue with and you never thought that would be the one time it crashes everything.

“it’s the fact he hasn’t called or texted you either. definitely has another bitch.”

“deja.” taylor side-eyed at jadeja’s comment.

“i’m being honest. i wanna beat the nigga ass for you but i’m more proud of you for doing what you needed to do. how he reacted says everything.” mentally, you weren’t there.

“i wanna go to chipotle.” jadeja and taylor looked up at you. “yall coming?”

“shit…don’t have to tell me twice. c’mon deja!” taylor slid on her ugg slides and threw on her coat as she waited with you at the door for jadeja to get her shoes on.

the three of you got to chipotle and you were the first to order so you just sat and waited for deja and taylor to be done. you scrolled on your phone a bit before getting bored and putting it down to listen and watch the people around you subtly. but you knew you were listening too hard when you thought you heard ony’s name. you heard his name but you looked around and he wasn’t there so you just thought you were tripping.

“i don’t know if it’s me being nosy but i think that’s the new bitch that’s got ony’s attention.” deja walked over with taylor and you saw that she was dying to tell you that. you and taylor subtly looked up to see a pretty girl giggling and laughing while looking to be she was on facetime with someone.

“that could be anybody, deja. yall ready?”

“let’s go this way…” deja led the way towards the other door in the store that would put the three of you in the background of the girl’s phone. luckily she wasn’t budged by it. but unfortunately for you, the person the girl was on facetime with had his face completely in the camera and you hated yourself for even taking a glance over.

all of you got back in the car and discussed what happened.

“y/n please tell me you saw that.” deja turned to you and you looked straight ahead, trying not to cry.

“you okay?” taylor reached over from the back seat and rubbed your back. but you didn’t know why but that set you off and you just began crying. crying until you couldn’t stop. you hadn’t cried about it since it happened but the thing was that you weren’t even really sure what happened. you just knew that whatever it was, it was over and you couldn’t take it. you loved ony and the fact that it was more than possible that you lost him without even a blink of your eye without any explanation was hurting you everywhere at once.

“it’s not your fault, girlie…” taylor and deja consoled you.

“right, he a bitch forreal. you’re beautiful, smart, good head on your shoulders, everything.”

“he lost a great thing. it’s his loss and he’ll regret it.” you couldn’t help but smile through your swollen eyes and that’s all your friends wanted right then. but all the crying made you hungry.

“awww pretty,” taylor wiped the tears from your face. “ready to eat now? shit’s getting cold.” you laughed and deja agreed with her.

you had just initially planned to go to chipotle but deja and taylor decided to make a “quick trip” to the mall that lasted a few hours. all the time you spent away from your phone and in your room helped you cope somewhat with how you were feeling. you wished the day could last forever. but nothing lasts forever.

[ ony!❤️ ] : hey

#aot #aot x reader #black reader #aot x black reader #onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #aot onyankopon #college au

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affectionatecorpse · 1 month ago

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Hi wow it's been a while, sorry about that! It's just that I became hyperfixated on far less niche media and found that all my thoughts on those have pretty much already been talked about. I can't control the hyperfixation unfortunately. But then I realised, y'know what, I'm just gonna ramble anyway.

So Snatcher is a pretty amazing character huh?

Oh my god. Oh m ygod. I love that stupid worm so much. That loud obnoxious cat snake is going to make me explode. Genuinely how does a game go from an adorable quirky adventure to genuinely one of the DARKEST things I think I've ever come across, all in the span of one chapter?

I'm far from the first person to be obsessed with the character of Snatcher, I'm pretty sure he has his own cult at this point, but I really do love overanalyzing his personality, and the toll his trauma took on him. Because yes, he undoubtedly has a TON of trauma.

He really doesn't seem to acknowledge it at all, to be honest. As a person, he doesn't appear like someone who's healed from a traumatic event. He comes across as spiteful and petty, avoidant of his problems. Even when he does acknowledge it, he doesn't spend long addressing it. Rather, instead of accepting what Vanessa did to him was beyond cruel, and growing as a person, he chooses to just stay mad without actually acknowledging it, and instead get his revenge by annoying her personally by stealing her things behind her back.

The difference between the prince he was and who he is now is staggering, too. You can really see in his letters from the past and his body language in the storybook that he was a very compassionate person. He was super sweet! He was so precious! Whereas now, you look at this giant ghost, barely even recognisable anymore, as he sneers at all your efforts to make friends, laughing delightedly as you die repeatedly, running you ragged doing his chores before killing you himself once he has no more use for you, only to surrender the SECOND he feels vulnerable. Instead of facing the problem HE created, once he realises there's a possibility of actually losing, he ends the fight, instead nervously bargaining for you to just leave.

For someone who creates a lot of conflicts, he seems surprisingly nonconfrontational. Instead of fighting a fair battle, he backs down and begs you to just go away and leave him alone, at first keeping up his established attitude, but slowly deteriorating into genuine anxiety as it takes more and more effort to get you to cooperate with his terms. And in the DLC, when he decides it's time to face the music and confront the source of his trauma, he himself is too scared to actually do it, instead he just sends YOU to do it for him.

Because he's afraid. He likes to kid himself that he isn't, but he really really is. He's so afraid, he won't go to the manor Vanessa is trapped in by himself. He can't. He can't go back to that place, not after what happened there. So he doesn't. He just hides, and sends someone else to do it for him. But noticeably, he never actually sends any of his minions to do it.

The residents of Subcon are actually probably one major reason why he WON'T confront his trauma. Because he's their king. He let himself become vulnerable in front of the wrong person, and it not only costed his own life, but the lives of every single person in Subcon. HIS people, the ones he was supposed to protect. He doesn't send them to do the dangerous jobs because he needs to protect them. He needs to be a good leader. He's legally obligated to, you could say. But he isn't obligated to look after any outsiders, so he doesn't.

With the knowledge that his "mistake" caused the entire massacre to happen, it's not really a surprise that he's become so numb and hostile. If he can't protect his people, who even is he? People aren't trustworthy so he won't trust them anymore. The person he loved more than anything tortured and murdered him, and killed so many innocent people out of spite, because he let himself love her. You can really hear it in his opening dialogue to the Vanessa's Curse DLC; he really, really loved her. He loved her so, so much.

When you've gone through what he has, would you really take the time to process your feelings and accept your fate, when you have so many people to watch over and protect from more people like Vanessa? Would you really face your problems head on, or just will them to go away? Would you put in the effort to be so kind and thoughtful, or would you voice your hatred and distrust for everyone around you?

The prince and Snatcher are the same person, but at the same time, they are VERY different characters. One is a hopeful and thoughtful person, who treats the people he loves with a lot of affection. The other is cynical and heartbroken, who has bottled up the pain, the rage, and the sadness inside for hundreds of years, and allowed it to turn him into a monster. Quite literally.

Anyway teehee wahoo yippee I love the silly fluffy snake man very much I want to nuzzle his neck fluff very much--

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box0fsand · 4 months ago

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More little Mikofuu headcanons and scenarios to cope with t3 hell <3

some of these are sad, so sorry T_T also again sorry they're so long!!

Since it's canon that Mikoto wants to be more of a person who can freely speak his mind and stand up for himself, he's been gradually learning from Fuuta and reciting practice situations to himself when he's alone, Fuuta has likely overheard him a few times and has acknowledged the situation, but of course hasn't said anything since he doesn't know how to approach a situation like this, especially when he can audibly hear Mikoto struggling and stressed out over whatever situation he's imagining himself in.

Their relationship is healthy for the most part, but of course they occasionally argue, typically it'll be over things like Mikoto overworking himself again, Fuuta saying something rude or simply uncalled for to a stranger (or accidentally Mikoto himself) or maybe some small things that unknowingly bother the other, they might argue about it for a while but eventually they'll both come to their senses and apologize in their own ways, Mikoto would likely apologize by saying sorry straightforwardly and cooking Fuuta his favorite food or baking him something sweet and enjoyable. Fuuta wouldn't directly say sorry, he might mumble a verbally half-assed apology but he definitely means it wholeheartedly and genuinely. After Fuuta ends up apologizing he'd be calmer for maybe the next few days, a week if he feels really really bad about whatever happened. (can you tell Fuuta can't communicate properly?)

Sometimes Fuuta will disappear for a few hours without telling Mikoto where he's going, of course this heavily worries Mikoto so he ends up going to look for Fuuta, somehow a text message or a call completely slipped his mind and he's immediately going to search places. He'll obviously check Fuuta's favorite places first, and if he isn't in any of those places he ends up being found sitting in an alleyway feeding stray animals, Mikoto finds it cute that Fuuta went out of his way to buy pet food and immediately give it all to stray animals, he doesn't mention it to Fuuta, he simply pretends like he was at home the entire time. (also the animals Fuuta feeds aren't limited to stray cats and dogs, i feel like he's also at least befriended a possum or two)

Going off of the last one, Futa also brings said animals home sometimes, Mikoto of course doesn't know about it until Futa comes home holding a literal possum because "he was cold" or "he was hungry" or some excuse along those lines. This has also definitely ended up with them keeping one of the possums, Mikoto isn't too fond of it since he still sees it as a stray animal to an extent so it's sorta a situation of "whatever makes you happy honey!" (Fuuta also gets little outfits for the possum and probably dresses it up like his favorite video game characters)

Passenger Princess Mikoto, but also do not ever let Fuuta drive!!! He definitely gets bad road rage and has likely ended up crashing several times due it, Mikoto lets him drive small distances but never for long trips or in places that have heavy traffic. Along with that, Fuuta also drives fast, not necessarily speeding but he's really pushing whatever the speed limit it, not enough for it to be considered illegal but just about there...

Mikoto on the other hand drives like a normal human being! Fuuta calls him a slow driver only because he obeys every traffic law like how it's supposed to be obeyed. Fuuta also gets a little antsy about not being able to be in control but after some time he calms down and probably ends up falling asleep for majority of the trip

Both of them definitely struggle with insomnia, before they moved in together Fuuta managed it by using sleeping medication and a weighted blanket. Mikoto unfortunately couldn't find any way to manage it. Upon moving in together and sharing a bed they eventually began realizing the other helped themselves with their sleeping problems. Fuuta realized that Mikoto clinging to him during the night was nearly akin to the weighted blanket he had used for years, and Mikoto had began experiencing oxytocin when laying with Fuuta, that also commonly leads him to fall asleep whenever they end up cuddling

Typically they don't often kiss mouth to mouth, Mikoto will usually kiss Fuuta's hand, top of his head or his forehead and occasionally his cheek if they're cuddling or laying together. (as stated before) Fuuta isn't big on being able to give affection, typically he's better at being honest and affectionate when he's tired. Overall he doesn't give much affection to Mikoto when he's fully awake, maybe occasional kisses on his temple when they cuddle. Though when they're falling asleep together, Fuuta is like all over Mikoto... repeatedly kissing his neck and pulling him closer so he can feel more of Mikotos weight on him, he says it's so he can sleep and while that's partially the reason, it's also for reassurance, he likes knowing that Mikoto is with him and that everything he's experiencing with him is real

Whenever they do kiss mouth to mouth, they always take their time, not in a sexual way, but they also don't just kiss eachother to kiss eachother. They both want actual passion and emotion to go into something like that so they don't really ever take it lightly. The situation doesn't ever end up being sexual, just a calming yet still passionate moment for them to be together and enjoy how much they love eachother

#0309 #0903 #mikofuu #mikoto kayano #milgram #project milgram #kajiyama fuuta #fuuta kajiyama #WHAT THE FUCK #fluff to cope with whatever the hell happened in the t3 sprites #i love these gays

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 5 months ago

Note

Hi hey it's me the Frank obsessed girl hello hi there

I'm afraid I need to have seconds if it's not much of a problem

I'm starving for a little sweet Valentine's Day fluff but like a rlly rlly rlly fluffy adorable cutie patootie Valentine's Day full of love could be a day in or a day out idm

In conclusion whatever u want to write but as a Valentine's Day special 💕💕💕

Sending love and good wishes and hoping you start the new year amazingly 🖤

Valentines - Frank Iero x Drummer!Reader

Word Count: 711

A/N: Just in time ;)

I’d always considered Valentine's Day to be a dumb holiday. There was never really any point, let alone anyone to spend it with–until Frank came along. I never expected him to be the type to celebrate the holiday, often citing those generic holidays as nothing more than quick cash grabs by corporate America. We’d spent years as friends, eating at diners every Valentine’s as we toured across the country with it quickly turning into its own little tradition. He had only just asked me to be his girlfriend a few weeks before, everything between us had slowly been growing, finally reaching its crescendo. “You’re not seriously telling me you haven’t planned anything for him?” Gerard mumbled from the couch, a coke with lemon in his hand. I tilted my head back and forth, thinking it through. “I don’t know, it just seems like if we were going to do something, we would’ve planned it already. It’s tomorrow,” I sighed. Gee had already told everyone about his plans for Lindsey and was practically bursting at the seams with excitement. “You’re overthinking it,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Just do something simple. It’s your first Valentine’s together, right? It doesn’t have to be a big production.” I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, but it feels weird. We never did anything before, and now suddenly, just because we’re together, I’m supposed to start caring about Valentine’s Day?” “You don’t have to care about the holiday,” he countered. “Just care about Frank.” I sighed. That was the problem, wasn’t it? I did care about Frank. A lot. I just wasn’t sure if he’d even want to do anything. He hadn’t mentioned it at all, and I didn’t want to be the one to force some corny Valentine’s tradition on us when we’d spent years laughing about how ridiculous the whole thing was. “Look, just do something small,” Gerard continued. “A card, maybe. Or grab takeout from that diner you guys always go to. Something that feels like you.” I nodded slowly, letting the idea settle. Maybe Gerard had a point. I didn’t need to go all out—Frank would probably hate that anyway—but acknowledging the day in some way could be nice. That night, I found myself at the corner store, staring at the rows of Valentine’s cards. They were all too much—over-the-top declarations of love, glittery hearts, cheesy poetry. None of it fit us. But just as I was about to leave, I spotted something tucked behind the others. A simple, black-and-white card that read, You’re my favorite pain in the ass. Perfect. I bought the card and grabbed some takeout from our usual spot. When I got back to the apartment, I hesitated before scrawling a note inside the card.

Frank—Happy dumb corporate holiday. You’re still my favorite part of every day. Let’s go eat some greasy diner food like we always do. Love, (yeah, I said it) Me. I sealed it up and shoved it in my jacket pocket before I could second-guess myself. The next evening, when I met Frank at the diner, he slid into the booth across from me, shaking his head with a smirk. “You know, I almost got you something for today, but then I thought, nah, she doesn’t care about this holiday.” I rolled my eyes, pulling the card from my pocket and tossing it onto the table. He blinked, surprised, before picking it up and opening it. As he read my note, a slow, warm smile spread across his face. “Damn,” he said, setting it down carefully. “Now I feel like an ass for not getting you anything.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my milkshake. “You got me dinner. That counts.” He chuckled, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Alright, but next year, I’m getting you something so obnoxiously romantic, you’re gonna hate it.” I snorted. “I look forward to it.” And just like that, we had a new Valentine’s tradition. Later that night, as we packed up after band practice, Frank caught me by the arm. “By the way, drummer girl, I think you might just be my favorite pain in the ass, too.” I laughed, twirling a drumstick between my fingers. “Better get used to it, guitarist boy.”

CHECK MY ACC FOR REQUEST STATUS

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the-mountain-flower · 5 months ago

Text

The Exiled and The Outcast

Chapter Twelve: Noooooo Ooooonnnneee…

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Content Warnings: Dehumanization (but for a fantasy non-human so... de-person-ization?), bigotry, threats of violence

Dainix had spent so much time learning to channel his anger into something better than lashing out at the people around him, and he wasn’t going to throw it away at this one asshole.

It was really, really tempting, though.

The brash human who’d shown up almost immediately once Dainix came into the village was really getting on his nerves. First he came up to Dainix and tried to greet him like an old friend or comrade, wrapping one arm around him in a condescending gesture, before letting go and giving a faux-friendly punch on the arm that was definitely harder than it was supposed to be. He claimed not to be offended by the presence of an actual monster-hunter, but everything he did and said made the lie obvious.

“I told you,” Dainix insisted for the zillionth time, “there’s no monster in there!”

“Oh, you really don’t have to be so secretive about it. C’mon, I know you’ve claimed your prey, but how about we help each other! One hunter to another, we could take down this beast faster than you can say ‘tally-ho’! We’d make for a fine team.”

Dainix glared at him, not that it made any more difference than it had in the past hour. “My team is probably off fighting actual monsters, not stroking their egos with imaginary ones.”

Okay, that was a bit mean. It was true, but harsher than necessary.

And it was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the brash human got even worse.

After that, the guy started bragging non-stop about his exploits, that Dainix wasn’t going to say were underwhelming, at least out loud. It was obvious this guy thought more highly of himself than his supposed accomplishments gave him credit for.

Shut up right now or so help me Jiya I am going to lose my temper. Maybe if Dainix just ignored him, refuse to acknowledge anything this he was saying, he’d get bored and leave him alone.

“How many eggs do you eat in a day?”

Dainix was traveling, and he had common sense. He didn’t need that one-ingredient recipe for disaster.

“Ah, don’t want to give away your secrets, huh? Well don’t worry, I know very well how important eggs are to-”

He. Just. Kept. Going.

Dainix tried his best to ignore him, and he just kept going with no sign of backing down. It didn’t help that no one else seemed to acknowledge it, and Dainix could swear he saw someone give him an excited thumbs up after seeing this guy behind him.

Dainix tried not to let his relief be too obvious when he finally finished with his errands. “I’m leaving now.”

“Ah! Back to the hunt! Let me come with you-”

“No.”

“Ah, come on, that creature’s terrorizing of this town will be gone in seconds when we-”

Of course he didn’t take ‘no’ well. Which was especially a problem right now because if he didn’t leave Dainix alone, he might well follow him all the way back to the castle.

And to Falst.

Meaning Dainix had to figure out how he was going to lose him before he got there.

Okay, first he would try and dissuade him from following in the first place. If that didn’t work, he’d try loosing him on the way. Dainix hadn’t been here for that long, and he wasn’t very familiar with the terrain, but he knew the area well enough that some of his environmental evasion skills might be sufficient.

“-will finally be rid of that ferin once-”

“Wait,” Dainix attention snapped back to whatever the guy was saying when he caught that part, “what did you just say?”

“About the ferin, the one I’ve been talking about? Claws and tail and hungry eyes, you know the one.”

“You’ve seen him? And you know he’s a ferin?”

“Well of course, I’ve come closer than anyone else here to getting rid of him than anyone else here! No-” he said a word that Dainix knew as a slur- “will endanger our lovely town while I am-”

Dainix’s hands curled into fists beside him.

Dainix had fought monsters many times before. He knew exactly what entailed a dangerous creature. Claws and fangs and the like were all ancillary, and appearance wasn’t what made a monster. Monsters were beings that posed a danger to people. Many didn’t even have a good reason for bloodlust, instinctively resorting to violence at the first sight of anything it saw. Most of them didn’t hide, or if they did it was often used to ambush. Even the automata just had the response to attack someone they saw as ‘cavefolk’ on sight, and most of them were more than well-armed enough to kill anything its programming directed it to.

Falst was none of those things. He never went out of his way to hurt. He hid to protect himself. He could’ve made a move against Dainix at any point during the sefs they spent together in that castle, but he hadn’t! And he’d saved Dainix’s life, that was something a monster never would’ve even considered! He didn’t pose a danger to anyone, he was just trying to survive!

How could anyone see Falst as anything like-

“I tell you, he’s not the first one of his kind I’ve driven from here, but for sure the most elusive. That’s why when he’s dead, I’ll- OOF”

He was interrupted by the surprise before he could finish whatever was at the end of his horrible rant, as Dainix grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to meet face-to face. Dainix wasn’t that much taller, but in that moment he appeared to tower over him.

“Listen.”

For once, the brash human was speechless. His reaction to Dainix’s outburst made it look like he’d never been on this end of one.

Dainix didn’t care.

“If you think I’m just going to stand by while you threaten his life and safety, then you’re completely wrong! I don’t care how much of a hunter you consider yourself to be. If you don’t back off and see that what you’re doing is wrong, then you are not a protector. You’re someone who people need to be protected from.”

“B-but- that beast-”

“That ferin is minding his own business, and has posed no danger to anyone here. He’s just trying to live! And if you dare to come anywhere near him,” Dainix’s voice became low and threatening, the sound of raging wildfire that would destroy any who provoked its wrath, “you’ll have to deal with me.”

Finally, Dainix let go. Then, he stormed off.

This time, the arrogant man didn’t follow him.

In their shared time in the castle, Falst had never seen Dainix slam a door. Especially not one so large as one of the massive double doors at the main entrance. It was pretty impressive, actually. That was a heavy door.

When the loud SLAM died down, Dainix spent a couple moments staring at it, while breathing deeply enough for the sound to echo in the large hall.

“Falst?” Dainix called out, “you near? I got you something.”

Normally Falst wouldn’t dream to coming close to someone clearly angry, much less let them know he was there.

“Yeah,” Falst called back, poking his head out from one of the alcoves near the ceiling, “what is it?”

Dainix’s demeanor immediately changed once he spotted Falst. Smiling, he pulled something small from one of the bags on his belt. “There was a street merchant selling these, I thought you’d like.”

Falst leapt down and snatched from Dainix’s hand something wrapped in a napkin, uncovering it to find a frosted piece of cake.

“So you did notice I like sweets.”

“I suspected, yeah.”

Falst was fairly certain the rising temperature in his cheeks wasn’t that noticeable. “Thanks.”

“Also I should probably warn you,” Dainix said nervously, “there was someone I encountered in the village that I’m worried will… will cause problems for you.”

“Most would. Why do you think I stay away from people?” Except you, apparently.

“I know, but the things this guy was saying…”

Falst listened to Dainix’s description while enjoying the actually really delicious treat he’d been given.

“Oh,” Falst said with his mouth full, “I know who you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. He talks big but he’s really more like the over-dramatic villain in a children’s story. Honestly I only recognize him ‘cause he's the only guy still actively trying to get me.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dainix rubbed his neck with one hand, “I may have lost my cool, and threatened that if I ever saw him come close to you, he’d have to deal with me first.”

Falst paused just before taking another bite of the cake, forgetting himself for a moment and staring at Dainix in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Sorry if I overstepped. Just because I lost my temper doesn’t mean-”

“Are you kidding?” Falst interrupted, “I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face! Don’t get me wrong, I can defend myself just fine, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be alive right now. But seriously,” Falst gripped the treat in his hand, careful not to squish it into a complete mess, “I don’t anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

“Well, protecting people is kind of my job,” Dainix smiled, “and even if it weren’t, that’s what friends do.”

Friends?

Falst actually turned his face away to hide the blush that was definitely getting visible. He hurriedly searched his brain for a subject change.

“Well, maybe if I’m lucky that’ll be enough to make them let go of their grudge. It’s not like a lacrima and some outdated rumors are even worth it anyway.”

Falst realized his mistake as soon as he said it.

“Lacrima?”

Falst tried to think of something to change the topic again, but this time he came up empty.

“That wouldn’t happen to be a random example, huh?”

“I just… never mind. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

Falst pursed his lips. Fuck it, I might as well, there’s no reason not to as this point.

“...Fine. How much of what you heard says that the monster living here is a chimera?”

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I hated Gaston so much as a kid so this was very satisfying to write :) Also Dainix going "stay tf away from my bf" wasn't in my initial plan but kind of just happened and ended up working super well.

Remember to drink water, eat food, take your meds (if applicable), and get enough sleep. Love you all, and have a great [insert time here]! <3

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