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mountainsandmayhem · 2 months

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BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

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4dbarbie-archive · 1 year

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4dbarbie interview: All about Desires

4dkelly notes: I had fun making this in an interview style Q&A between 4dbarbie and Vanessa. I thought "how would 4dbarbie answer anon questions if she were still here today?". Spoiler alert, it wouldn't be much different to the questions anons asked her lol. Most answers are just directly extracted from her posts/answered asks but some have been adapted a bit or rearranged to make it flow better. I have added some relevant posts for further reading. I may or may not make more of these. This was mainly just for fun (but then it really evolved into an educational piece lol). My highlight key: key concepts are in pink, action points in purple, really important points in red

Vanessa: I really like this guy and want to manifest him. 😢 How do I do that?

4dbarbie: IMAGINE KNOWING ALL THIS AND STRESSING OVER A GUY?!?!? Unbelievable. Who's holding you at gun point to type this out to me??? 😧😧😧 I refuse to believe this is what this material is getting wasted on. I refuse to believe this is the understanding you guys have after I explained who you are in so many ways. Imagine liking someone who didn't text you back right after to tell you how amazing you are as well 🤮 what do you like about this nobody? You want to give me a heart attack? I tell you there is no one out there but you and instead of being free and loving yourself you... you give a crumb of your precious attention to this? I tell you you are life and you try to make life better through dates?

Vanessa: Okay but what about my other desires? I want them...

4dbarbie: Everything about Vanessa is meaningless. She has a life and if it's boring, who cares? Forget it. What do you need these stories for? Do you not understand they have reality because you give it to them? YOU! They have no standing on their own! The whole world is just your mere thought. The body exists because you are aware of it being! Only you have this power. Only you are. Why are you dreaming like this? Gosh, you break my heart. If Vanessa is hurting you why do you keep on choosing her?

Vanessa: Then what should I do? I still have things I desire despite knowing I cannot desire because I am not a person, ego, mind...

4dbarbie: You know it intellectually, but have you acted on it at all? You know yourself as Vanessa by acting like Vanessa, know yourself as your Self by acting like yourself. Desires and fears dissipate then. You have desires still because you never stopped thinking you're Vanessa. Investigate who Vanessa actually is :) Spoiler alert: it's a thought! Think something else and see what happens.

Vanessa: How long will this take? When will I see a change?

4dbarbie: Now. Who is doing the change in attitude, what are you waiting for to happen for you to change your attitude? It's instant. You see it, you realize you have no reason to worry/doubt/desire/fear anymore, let things happen as they happen while you're undisturbed and they dissolve.

Vanessa: Should I just keep assuming that I don't desire things anymore because I already have it while I'm denying and dismissing my senses? It feels like I'm just waiting and being delusional though

4dbarbie: Your world is right and perfect, what you see is what you are so even if you're seeing what 'you' don't want, the world is not wrong in being what it is. Fearing it, trying to manipulate it, lying to yourself about it being something different - all useless and vain attempts.

Not seeing the world as it is, is an aversion to it. - Lester Levenson

See it as it is and it will fix itself.

And no, being delusional is not good, it leads you not to trust your own judgment or senses. Which is not right, why shouldn't you? What is wrong with your vision? Being delusional from your ego self is really harmful, someone could be abusing you and you would go "i'm sure that's not right he loves me so much in my mind!!!"

You won't be able to get rid of the waiting feeling as long as you're identified with your ego, it can manipulate nothing. And if you weren't your ego -- everything would already be materialized, so there would be nothing to wait for.

Vanessa: Well since I Am and I give life to everything, when Vanessa desires something, I can just "give" her her desires, right?

4dbarbie: The desire that *I*... the desire is of Vanessa, the Self can have that and it's nothing to it. It's just another experience. Those things are in you, not you in them.

You don't have to give her anything... you don't have to fulfill anybody... I Am is already everything... you only don't see you are all and have the all because you won't stop thinking you're the ego. All you're doing all the time is creating lack & limitation, perfection already is. You just add unsatisfying labels constantly with your wrong thinking.

Let go of the thinking, it's instant. No need to fulfill anybody. 1 My tip is to realize your Self, have enough courage to face Vanessa's fears. See how unnecessary is to pay them any mind at all. Let go of thinking you are this little helpless thing already. After you realize yourself, any bold assertion does it. There's no time delay. 2

Vanessa: Now I feel defeated, do I just give up on everything then?

4dbarbie: Feeling defeat is actually good, it prompts you to let go :D You don't need to reach for what is already within you. Give up the idea that you have not found it and just let it come into the focus of direct perception, here and now, by letting go of all that is of the mind.

Abandon all sense of separation, see yourself in all and act accordingly - Nisargadatta Maharaj

You have it, all is well. Just stop believing the illusions born out of thinking you're a person.

Vanessa: So as Awareness, I have to stop desiring?

4dbarbie: If you know yourself to be Awareness, then you know yourself to be the all. There is nothing to desire, because you have no reason to create desire.

That's why it's necessary to realize all that is is awareness and the person comes second. If you think all that is is the person, then the chances of believing you're suddenly a different person are slim, and the persuasion and convincing are nothing but a form of self-instilled mental torture. 1 All you're doing is imagining/thinking you're an ego who has to strive for things, but it is "I AM" imagining itself to be so.

What is beyond is clear of all striving. The cause of suffering is in the identification of the perceiver with the perceived. - Nisargadatta Maharaj

When that identification ceases, so does desire. Then, if you want to express yourself as being a person, nothing is stopping you from doing so, only know yourself first. After that, no matter what you choose to experience the world as, you will know you are not it and it can't hurt you.

Vanessa: What do I do when a desire or fear comes to my mind then? It doesn't feel right to suppress them...

4dbarbie: I am not talking of suppression. Just refuse attention. Nisargadatta has a saying "When you happen to walk in a crowd, you do not fight every man you meet — you just find your way between." Neville has another "Indifference is the knife that severs, feeling is the tie that binds." When you refuse to play the game, you are out of it.

Vanessa: Then how do I stop feeling anxious about trying to change my life?

4dbarbie: You are not the one who is anxious or fearful, the ego is fearful. LOA was wrong about letting go because you can't let go of desires or fears if you don't know who you really are. If you think you are this ego you can't help being anxious. You can't help wanting to get. Real surrendering can only be of the ego. By letting go of who you think you are and seeing you were never it in the first place, that it is because YOU are, you naturally drop all desires and fears because they weren't yours. 1 Get into a habit of watching, letting them be but not identifying with them. If you can observe them, it means you are not them.

Abandon all imaginings and know yourself as you are. All craving is due to a sense of insufficiency. When you know that you lack nothing, that all there is, is you and yours, desire ceases. - Nisargadatta Maharaj

Vanessa: How do I stop feeling doubts then?

4dbarbie: You shut them down. There is no reason to argue with them, contemplate them, or give them any kind of attention at all. See them for what they are, an illusion of the mind. When you catch yourself being aware of something that's undesirable, just go 'What problem?' and know it to be perfect again. Always remember, the real you can't have doubts, only your ego can.

Vanessa: I feel like I'm not doing enough to realize my true Self. How can I be more productive on this journey?

4dbarbie: There's nothing to be productive about. What a silly concept. Don't add another burden or worry onto yourself. Right now you make yourself guilty over not seeking more and doing more to attain realization, but you already have it. You need not take time to meditate or put time aside to contemplate and "apply". All you need to do is detach from this form during the day, let life happen as it happens while reminding yourself it's a dream, a dream that doesn't have to be yours.

The guilt is because you think you're running out of time and you need to change "your" life now. Be patient with yourself because you don't lose any time, just get to that place I'm telling you about and then you can just go back in time if you so wish. All worry is pointless! And there is nothing to fear, things just happen, do not claim them as yours for a while. Unclutter your mind, it becomes your servant after you've freed it enough.

#interview #4dbarbie #nonduality #non duality #nondualism #non dualism

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ranoutofficssoiwritemyown · 5 months

Text

Rindou x Reader

wc: 1200

angst, fluff

not edited

Rindou loves you. You know he does, but he has this annoying habit of not listening to you sometimes. Especially when it comes to recommendations. You recommend him food? Yeah, he'll try it. spoiler alert: he forgets. what about a movie you watched the other day and liked so much that you told him to watch it immediately? "Yeah, when I have time I will" is his answer. However, he'll only watch it if someone else recommends it too not even remembering you mentioning anything about it. And then he has the nerve to tell you all about it while you listen to him unimpressed. Sometimes it makes you feel like your opinion matters very little to him but you've never told him this. Part of you doesn't want to seem like an insecure girlfriend while the other part thinks there is no deep meaning to this.

This war in your mind ended when you entered your bedroom after having a bad day and saw Rindou sitting on the bed leaning his back on the headboard and "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" in his hands. You remember telling him how you cried reading it. However, you're surprised he's reading what you recommended. sensing your presence Rindou removed his glasses and looked at you.

"Tired?"

"Exhausted" you sit beside him "Do you like it?" you ask indicating the book.

He shrugs

"I've only read 20 pages yet. But Kakucho said it's really good"

You roll your eyes. thinking that you should've seen this coming you mumble "Of course he did" which wasn't as quiet as you expected because Rindou turned to you with a confused hum. You just shake your head as in "nothing" and try to get up but Rindou grips your arm and makes you sit back down. You sigh not having enough energy to deal with this.

"What is it?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Should I be?"

He closed the book setting it aside as he turned to me with narrowed his eyes as if sensing the trap.

"I... don't know. What did I do?"

"It's nothing Rindou, let me go"

Your words had the opposite effect as his grip tightened.

"That's not my name" His voice got low

"Uh it actually is"

"Not for you. Did I fuck up that badly?"

Now that you think about it no he didn't. It's probably you who's overreacting and creating a problem over nothing. You sound ridiculous even to you and you hate yourself.

"It's really nothing. I've just had a bad day so... I just wanna sleep"

After a moment of hesitation, Rindou let you go, his eyes following as you got changed and got in bed turning your back to him. As you lay in bed your overthinking got worse. The fact that he doesn't know what he's doing affects you this badly means that he's not doing it on purpose. But that's even worse. Does that mean that he doesn't even value your opinion enough to think about how neglecting it would affect you? Maybe he thinks you don't care about it so he doesn't too. Or maybe he just forgets. This also means he doesn't care. Every version you think about leads to you thinking he doesn't care and that feels really shitty.

On the other hand, Rindou was watching you lying silently with your back to him and he knew then he definitely did something wrong. You get in bed and do not snuggle up to him planting your head in his neck? Yes, something is terribly wrong.

"C'mon love, tell me what's wrong" he snaked his arm around your waist, and turns out this is all it took for your tears to run free. You bite your lip to stop it from trembling feeling so stupid for crying over something so trivial.

"And don't you dare to say it's nothing bec- are you crying?"

Rindou could swear he heard his heart crash. He turned you around to face him. tucking your hair behind your ear he quickly wiped your tears.

"Hey, don't cry, i- I'm sorry okay? Whatever I did, I didn't mean it just don't cry"

Even though he thought, and has told you this plenty of times, that you looked pretty when you cried, he hated when you cried. Even more, when he was the reason behind those tears.

"Talk to me please?"

Looking anywhere but at him, you opened your mouth to speak.

"It's really stupid"

"So stupid that you're crying over it? I don't care, tell me."

You don't want to.

"It's just... sometimes you don't listen to me"

Rindou was confused. You sound so crazy to him right now. He doesn't listen to you? You have him wrapped around your finger. Your word is a fucking law to him and you have the nerve to say that he doesn't listen to you? He only listens to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything I suggest you just forget until someone else suggests the same thing. Like-" You sniffle between speech "Like this book. You're reading it because Kakucho told you, but I told you to read it weeks ago"

The more you talk the more you want to shut up. Dreading seeing Rindou's expression you focus on your hands.

"It feels like you don't care about my opinion. It's so stupid I know..."

"I don- What?" Rindou couldn't help but exclaim. His mind processing thousands of thoughts right now. You think he doesn't care? How long have you been feeling like this? And you didn't tell him? Is there anything else you're not telling him because it's so "stupid"? "Listen, love, I'm so sorry, I didn't know- Of course, I care, Who do you think I listen to if not you? Ran? Fucker used to think Julius Caeser was named after the salad."

That made you chuckle and it was like a rainbow after the storm for Rindou. A sound he never wants to stop hearing. smiling at you he continued.

"I do listen to you okay? I remember every little detail you tell me. Starting with the shows you watch to the drama going on at your work. By the way, Rika got what she deserved, she was being the bitch first."

"That's what I'm saying" You exclaim and Rindou was so happy he could see you smiling again.

"I don't want you to doubt your value in my life okay? You're the best thing ever happened to me and I'd be a dumbass if I didn't appreciate you. And don't ever try to hide things from me again. No matter how stupid you think it is. Nothing is stupid to me when it comes to you. So no more tears, alright?"

You nod scooting closer.

"alright"

Rindou wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, kissing the crown of your head.

"By the way, I started reading this book because you suggested it. Kakuchou saw it in my car when I bought it and told me it was good"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Sleep now"

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight, love"

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

got the idea from modern family's one episode

might delete this one too later, not sure. just felt like sharing

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani brothers #haitani x reader #tokyo revengers rindou

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lovebugism · 2 years

Text

✶ ┄ FIX IT !

summary: you thought you were over it, the whole steve-and-nancy thing. spoiler alert: you aren't. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 3.5k warning: angst. gut wrenching angst. with a sort of happy ending. a/n: i'm such a sucker for angst it's gotta be unhealthy at this point. anyway, shout out to all my angsty fic enjoyers. let's read this and cry together <3

Having four roommates and only two bathrooms was worth it if it meant getting out of Hawkins. The apartment was a quaint little thing just outside of Indianapolis — up four flights of stairs with no elevator, cracks in the walls, and a stellar view of an alleyway.

But it was nice to have a place all your own. Sharing it with all your best friends was even better. That was the dream after all, wasn’t it? And being with Steve — that was just the cherry on top of it all.

So you weren’t going to let your mean, green, and envious heart ruin the new life you and your friends were trying to build in this tiny apartment.

You didn’t even think yourself the jealous type. Not until you realized that Steve was going to live under the same roof as his ex-girlfriend. It was dumb and it was irrational and you just couldn’t shake it.

It was probably a whole lot harder for Steve than it was for you, really. Besides, it had been years since they were together. Both of them had moved on, both of them had new and blossoming relationships.

Jonathan was good to Nancy. And to you, Steve was… well he was perfect. More importantly, he was yours.

So it really shouldn’t bother you.

And it didn’t. Not for a while.

Not until Nancy and Jonathan broke up out of nowhere and he’d announced to all of you on movie night that he was moving out.

He said that he missed California too much, that Argyle was getting lonely all the way out there, and that he had a spare room at his place. You couldn’t tell if that was the truth or just some bullshit excuse.

Maybe both.

What made it worse is that Nancy hadn’t seemed all that upset about it. Hell, you were more sad about him leaving than she was.

She told you as much during your weekly designated wine night (the one where you and her and Robin got drunk on cheap wine, while the rest of the boys fucked off and got drunker on cheaper beer).

“It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would,” she’d confessed with a shrug, only slightly tipsy and cheeks pink with it. “We… drifted apart, I guess. Just felt right to end it.”

You and Robin spent the rest of the night comforting her, anyway.

She loved Jonathan, everyone knew that. It sort of came with the whole shared trauma thing. She had to be at least a little bit sad that her person was gone, but she hid it away from the rest of you like it was her job.

But when the days got really bad, and she found herself missing Jonathan more than she liked, she sought refuge in Steve. Your Steve.

And it made sense. He knew her better than the rest of you.

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach when Steve accompanies the girl on a liquor store run without her having to ask. You watch with your heart in your throat when he leaves with her in the dead of night — a swirling bubble of jealousy in the pit of your chest with an ache so palpable you can taste it.

You spend the next several minutes trying not to look as sad as you feel while Eddie can’t stop debating on what the two of them might be talking about.

Nancy had been more reserved as of late, carrying a rain cloud over her as she wandered through the apartment like a ghost — he concludes they’re just going out to spill some hot goss. Robin makes him promise to never say those string of words ever again while you quietly dismiss yourself to your bedroom.

Nancy and Steve have been gone for an hour.

Lying in the dark and staring up at the textured, water-stained ceiling, you start to do the math. Fifteen minutes there, fifteen minutes back with traffic — but the streets are usually bare after nine o’clock. Either way, that leaves a half hour spent trying to choose what alcohol to splurge on.

You’ve seen Nancy try to pick out wine, she’s indecisive and a perfectionist to boot. She could spend hours dissecting each bottle to find the perfect one, if Robin wasn’t constantly over her shoulder rushing her.

Maybe that’s why Nancy had declined when the girl offered to tag along with them.

Or maybe she just wanted to be alone with Steve—

You have to physically shake that thought from your head. But even when you shut your eyes, it’s like the image of him and Nancy making out in the back of her Station Wagon is ingrained in the depths of your mind.

You curl into yourself and bathe in the depths of the dark abyss you’ve created in your bedroom, trying to see your way out of your handcrafted turmoil like a bad cold.

When Nancy and Steve return, they come cradling paper bags in their arms like babies.

Robin relieves the latter of the load in his hands and follows the darker-haired girl into the kitchen connected to the living room, no larger than a decent-sized closet.

Steve notices the lack of your presence as soon as he walks through the door. When he’d left, the three of you were pregaming — a feat that often led to Eddie breaking out his guitar and you and him singing terribly off-key to whatever was playing on the radio.

Now you’re nowhere to be found, and he feels it like a missed meal. He feels the ache of your absence like an empty stomach.

“Where’d she go?” Steve asks Eddie, who’s lounging on the couch and taking up the entire space — legs spread and arms thrown over the back.

The curly-haired boy takes a noisy sip of his nearly gone beer. Then exhales rather dramatically when he sits the can on his thigh. It leaves a damp ring on the denim. “Hey, buddy... Just blow in from stupid town?”

“…What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, already annoyed and knowing more than he lets on. “She’s in her room, dingus.”

“She okay?” Steve wonders with furrowed brows, uncaring of the use of the stupid nickname because there’s bigger things to worry about apparently.

It wasn’t like you to miss a night of drinking. He gets momentarily fearful that you’d gotten sick while he was away, that he wasn’t around to help you if you had.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Eddie lilts with wide eyes, like it’s a bright idea that neither of them would’ve thought of otherwise.

His sarcasm makes Steve roll his eyes, but he heeds the boy’s words anyway.

Through the short hallway and the last door on the right, he finds you in the darkness of your shared bedroom, illuminated only by the orange streetlight that filters through the blinds. You're hid beneath the covers, a little lump on the mattress.

He idles in the doorway and waits for you to react to his presence.

You don’t.

“Hey, babe,” he greets cautiously after concluding you just hadn’t heard the door squeak open upon his arrival. “You feel okay?”

You mumble something he can’t quite make out. He takes the raised infliction as an affirmative and shifts his weight on his feet because it’s unlike you to be so one-note with him.

“Well, I, uh— I bought some of that wine you like... I couldn’t remember if you liked the blackberry or blueberry, so I ended up just getting both, you know, just in case.”

“Okay,” you respond after several agonizing seconds. Your voice sounds so fragile in the still darkness. Like he didn’t already know something was wrong.

He so desperately wants to pry but chooses to err on the side of caution for now, out of fear of turning the bad, worse.

“You wanna come down and try it with me? If you don’t like it we can always go back—”

“I’m okay,” you interrupt gently, with a tone so soft and coated with so much emotion that it makes his heart sink. You’re anything but and he knows it.

“Okay,” he nods anyway with the hope that he can pull you from this funk you’d managed to fall into. “Do you, uh… Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

He hears your deep sigh and sees the way the wad of blankets rises and falls again. A telltale sign of your annoyance. He knows then that he’s overstayed his welcome.

Your voice remains quiet but loses its kindness when you tell him: “You can do whatever you want, Steve.”

He’s hurt by the way you’re so suddenly short with him, then angered because he didn’t do anything to deserve it in the first place.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you? What did I do?”

You don’t answer. You just sigh again, the same really big, dramatic one that’s more to showcase your irritation with him than anything else.

You’re more than keen to end the conversation right there, but Steve isn’t. Not when something’s eating you away from the inside out and he can’t do anything to help you because you won’t let him.

“Babe, c’mon. I get it, alright? You’re mad at me. Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” you monotone, stifled beneath the covers.

“I can’t fix it?” he repeats with furrowed brows. “What do you mean, I can’t fix it?”

You use your silence as an answer, as a weapon. It’s almost worse than any silver-tongued reply you could've given him. The quiet forces him to think for himself and imagine all the things he could’ve done wrong that he can’t take back. It feels like quicksand.

Did he forgot to kiss you good morning? Of course, he didn’t — actually, he gets mad at you for forgetting — and you were golden before he left. Eddie probably said something stupid, that was likely. Or maybe Robin made a joke that upset you, that was even more likely.

He figures it’s something in between all those. Something silly that feels like the end of the world. He can make it better. He always makes it better.

Steve lifts the lump of covers you shield yourself with and crawls beneath them with the intention of pulling you out of the void you’ve sunken into.

It’s not so comfortable, lying in bed in socks and jeans and a collared shirt, but he doesn’t need to feel good right now — you do. He’ll be content if he can just hold you in his arms for a couple of hours, the rest of the night if that’s what you need.

But he can’t even do that.

He reaches for your arm, fingers just barely trailing across the warm skin there, and you jerk away from him like he’s shocked you.

It startles him, how quick you are to avoid him. It has him jerking back too, because you’ve never denied him the opportunity to touch you. He becomes the same sort of storm cloud that you are now, because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Any of it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks you, less soft than he’d been before.

You sniffle. “I told you I didn’t want you going out alone with Nancy anymore,” you mumble, face still shoved into your pillow. The words are slightly muffled but he can hear the tears that coat your voice.

“That’s what this is about?” he wonders, not as empathetic as you’d hoped he might be, but genuinely confused. With your back to him, you don’t see the smile pulling at his lips while he shakes his head, like it’s funny to him. “Babe, we were just getting drinks. It’s no different than you going out with Robin.”

“It’s totally different! Because I was never in love with Robin. She was never in love with me—”

“Well, I beg to differ,” he murmurs in a soft laugh.

“It’s not funny, Steve,” you retort wetly and then sniffle again. When you turn to face him, he sees for the first time what he’s done to you.

The orange of the streetlight lamp outside bathes you in a sunset shade of neon — your eyes are glassy with tears that gather at your lashes. Emotions glow at the tip of your nose and your cheeks. Your skin would be hot to the touch if he felt you now.

“Do you know how weird it is for me? To watch my boyfriend and his ex go fuck around with me?” you ask him with a scrunched nose and brows, like your trying to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Steve scolds. “She just wanted to get alcohol for tonight and had some shit to get off her chest. I mean, she’s been having a really hard time lately—”

“It’s not your job to take care of her, Steve!” you shout before you even realize you’re shouting. You take in a shuddered breath and let it out in a trembling sigh, shining eyes flitted away from him and towards the ceiling as you calm yourself down.

When you start your lament again, you’re quieter.

“You can’t just be this, like, emotional crutch for her every single time something’s wrong. She’ll just get invested in you all over again and…”

Steve watches from beside you, propped up on his elbow, as you trail off. The frown between your eyebrows deepens, a great and inquisitive crevice, while your eyes widen and your mouth falls softly agape — like you’ve discovered something in the midst of your rant.

“Is— Is that what you want?” you ask him then. “Do you, like, need her attention to feed your ego or something?”

He’s too offended by your words to tell you all the ways they aren’t true. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, Steve.”

“What is?”

“Watching you and her together!” you admit through a tightening throat. You rise from where you’d been laying down and Steve follows you, settling in front of you as you wrap your arms around your knees. “When I have to sit here, by myself, while you guys spend time alone. When she always knows what you’re up to, and I don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“—It’s not fair. She’s not your girlfriend, Steve, I am. It’s your job to take care of me, not her.”

Steve deflates like a popped balloon. His chin falls to his chest and his eyes squeeze shut at the weight of your words.

It’s like you’re reminding him that he’s supposed to be in love with you and not someone he cared for a long time ago. Like you felt the need to remind him because you thought he’d forgotten somewhere down the line.

It hurts him too. It feels like you’ve got his heart in your hands and you're wringing it in your grip.

“You’re right,” Steve concedes with a nod. “I just... I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

He feels the same way, too, sometimes. When you and Eddie go all buddy-buddy mode and want to spend time together.

When you’re out all night with him at band practice. When you’re attached at the hip and having sleepovers in his room to talk about everything and nothing for hours until you fall asleep when the sun rises. When you both come down at one in the afternoon the next day for breakfast, giggling about the thing you said the night before.

It makes him feel like he’s missing out. Like you’re sharing parts of yourself with someone else and he isn’t allowed to see it.

And sometimes he gets irrational — keeps himself up all night as he imagines you and Eddie making out on his floor after going through all his new tapes or fucking in his unmade bed while he keeps a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

Steve concocts waking nightmares for himself whenever you’re not beside him.

But even then, it’s different. Because he used to do all that shit with Nancy. They fell in love, made out for hours because they didn’t want to stop feeling each other, had sex on a twin-sized bed and tried to keep from falling out of it while they did.

You’d never done that shit with Eddie — or with anyone you’re now sharing a home with. Besides Steve.

Because he’s yours now. And you’re his.

But you can’t stop thinking about how he used to be Nancy’s too.

“I don’t need you to tell me that I’m right,” you murmur with the childlike shake of your head, slow and lazy, as you wipe your wet cheek on your shoulder. “I need you to do something about it— I needed you to do something about it a long time ago.”

“I will, okay? I will. I promise. I’ll fix it,” Steve assures you quickly, with wide and hopeful eyes and a nodding head that makes his hair flop against his forehead.

He can see you losing hope in front of him, like a flame going slowly out. You’re slipping away. He keeps fighting to keep a hold of you.

“No.”

“…No?”

“You can’t,” you sniffle. “You can’t fix it.”

“Baby—”

“It’s not fair. To either of us,” you tell him, looking at him through clumped together lashes and heavy, sparkling eyes. “And it’s not your fault, okay? But I can’t keep feeling this like. It’s not healthy— this isn’t… this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. It shouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve blinks back stinging tears. He brings his hand to his face and rubs the back of it against his burning nose. He feels a bit like you do now, hopeless. You’re slipping away and he is too and you both just keep on slipping, just going going going.

“You’re not even—” he clears his throat when his voice breaks halfway through. “You’re not even gonna let me try?”

You shrug weakly. Tears burn as they gather at your waterline. You revel in the sting because it’s better than the hole ripping through your chest.

“I don’t know. I think… I think it’s too late.”

“Why would you say that?” Steve agonizes with the shake of his head, looking like a wounded puppy as he gaze at you with brown eyes full of hurt. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”

“Steve—”

“No,” he interjects firmly, stopping the spiral before it can start again.

He positions himself so he’s sitting further ahead of you and holds your arms in his numbing hands, ducking down to catch your gaze when you try to look away from him.

“I love you, okay? I’m an idiot and I’m sorry and I'm stupid, alright? I wasn’t thinking. But we can’t just… It’s not too late. I can fix this. I promise I can fix this.”

Your chest aches at his plea, at the way he still doesn’t understand.

It’s not his fault you feel this way, not entirely. It’s not anyone’s fault and that’s what’s so scary. There’s no one to blame the pain on, no root to cut out and put an end to it. You’re frightened that it’s always going to be there, constantly in the way, forbidding either of you from ever moving on.

“Steve...” you murmur through tears while the boy gathers you in his arms. You try to stop him but your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. Because you don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

He nurses you into his velvet hold, wrapping a pair of strong arms around you to cage you against him. He presses his nose into your temple while he rocks you back and forth. “I promise. Everything’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

He repeats that like a mantra while you keep your head pressed against his chest — everything’s gonna be okay, I can fix it, I love you.

It’s a promise. One that he’d rather die than break.

You stay there, curled against his chest, while dark feelings ebb and flow in a constant and bitter cycle.

You hope he’s right. That these big feelings are just big stupid feelings that'll pass come the pink and blue sunrise. That everything really is going to be okay and that he really can fix it.

Because even now, all hopeless and full of doom and gloom, you feel soothed in his hold. You’ve never felt safer anywhere else. You’ve built a home in the peace of Steve’s arms and you want to keep on living in them.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he whispers against the crown of your head. If you’ll let me.

He feels you nod lazily against him. “Okay.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

3K notes · View notes

lightdustchild · 1 year

Note

More of Yandere Ayanokoji!!! Can you do a headcanon where reader is scared that Ayanokoji is manipulating them and Ayanokoji has to make them change their mind??? Love ur blog <3<3

Convincing

Yandere ayanokoji x gn reader

Note: Yes of course enjoy!! You didn't mention what gender so I assumed gender neutral

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You knew ayanokoji was manipulative. It was very hard to tell but you caught on. Of course you knew he wouldn't manipulate you he loved you right?

Thoughts of dread filled your mind. Was he manipulating you? It could be possible, you might even be another pawn! You talked to a friend and that didn't help.

"I mean if he is manipulative than he's probably manipulating you"

"Yeah"

Your friends had said to you. So now you stand in front of him expressing your doubts.

"how do I know that you're not just manipulating me? How do I know that I'm not just another tool?" You said voicing your concerns and opinions.

"...You will never be a tool to me... I love you too much"

"But how do I know you aren't lying?" You said hands slightly shaking. Ayanokoji cupped your face with his palm.

"You don't."

That was true you didn't know. All that mattered was if you trusted him enough to believe that he wasn't manipulating you. Did you trust him? The boy you gave your heart too?

"Who would even make you think such a thing?"he questioned. You bite your lip before mumbling the names of your friends.

"So you trust them more than me?" He said and you paused.

"I... I'm sorry ayanokoji I trust you and I shouldn't be think-" he cuts you off by kissing you softly and almostly reassuring as if this once kiss melts away all your worries.

It did.

Ayanokoji made sure to draw out the kiss. Making it long but keeping it sweet as he broke it mumbling words of reassurance.

The next day your friends were gone as if they vanished.

What happened to them you wondered....

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Spoiler alert: Ayanokoji kills them 💀

#x reader #classroom of the elite #ayanokoji #ayanokoji x reader #ayanokoji x gender neutral reader #ayanokoji x you #fluff

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fujoshirat · 2 months

Text

+Strawberry Magic! ♡ 30 Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!♡+

Chapter 2: An Extra Boost

Summary: When virgin Pro Hero Shouto turns 30, he gains the magical ability to read the minds of people that he touches. After finding out that his personal assistant has a crush on him, everything changes and Shouto finds himself lost in the stressful game called love.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: aged up characters, mention of virginity, as usual: this entire fic is and will be written in Shouto's POV. HOWEVER... there is a short reader's POV in this chapter so I hope you enjoy it (hehe)

"Todoroki-san, are you alright?"

The sound of Y/N's voice snaps Shouto out of his dazed state. What was he doing again? Oh right, walking her to the subway. The soft splash of shoes stepping into rain puddles fill Shouto's ears, the rain having stopped a few minutes ago.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking about something."

Y/N nods and continues walking with her boss. After a few minutes, the covered stairs to the subway become visible, quickly bringing a smile to Y/N's face.

"There it is!" Shouto nods and escorts her to the entrance. Stepping under the covering, Y/N turns to Shouto and bows.

"Thank you once again, Todoroki-san! I hope you didn't mind the detour on the way." Shouto shakes his head. "It's quite alright, L/N-san. It's the least I can do for my assistant."

He makes sure that she goes down the stairs, and once she is out of sight, he walks in the direction of his house.

...

After tossing together chicken and whatever vegetables he could find in the fridge, Shouto begins his research. Busy typing away on his personal laptop and halfheartedly eating his dinner, he types the following:

Cherry magic 30 years of virginity can make you a wizard

What happens when you turn 30

Mysterious happenings at 30 years old

Is it possible to read minds

Development of mind reading quirk at 30

Mind reading at 30

Hand crushing and mind reading

Am I possessed?

Finishing his food, Shouto groans when his research hits a dead end.

'I don't understand! Has no one ever experienced this before?' Turning his laptop off, he looks at his reflection in the dark screen.

'Maybe I'm just being silly. It's all in my head.'

...

Spoiler alert: he was not being silly. Shouto really could read minds.

Reaching the scene where a villain infamously known for kidnapping women was on the loose, he looks at his interns behind him.

"Mitsuru, Tsubasa, evacuate the area and check for any others who may need assistance."

"Yes sir!"

As the high school students spread out, Shouto faces the villain chasing after adolescent girls. With his right side, he encases the distracted man in frigid, freezing ice. Once he is rendered immobile, he walks up to him.

"If you don't wish to catch frostbite before being sent to prison, I suggest you tell me where your victims are." The twisted criminal laughs and smirks.

"Why would I tell you?"

Shouto's left side flares up slightly and places his hand on the man's head, eliciting a yelp from him.

"Okay! Okay! Fine! I'll tell you! They're in Yokohama, by the river!" Nodding, Shouto is about to remove his hand when suddenly he hears a voice in his head.

'Stupid pro hero Shouto! The guy doesn't realize I'm lying straight to his face! The dumb chicks are still in Hosu City! He'll never find Club Diamond.'

His eyes widen slightly, and he lets go of the man's face. The police arrive just in time, and the city detective walks up to Shouto.

"Pro hero Shouto! Thanks for taking care of him."

"Ah, it's no problem, Matsuyama-san." The shorter man smiles and takes out his notebook. "Did the villain say anything about the missing women?" Shouto looks at the criminal being escorted into a police van. Once he is out of earshot, he turns back to Matsuyama and speaks.

"Can you find a Club Diamond? In Hosu City."

♡ 3 hours later ♡

"Good evening, I am your reporter, Muramoto Kozue, and here is Tokyo's latest headline news. At around noon, pro hero Shouto and Hosu City's lead detective solved the puzzling disappearance of women in the area. Having rescued five women no older than 26, pro hero Shoto also apprehended the criminal."

Holding her microphone, the news reporter turns to Shouto.

"Pro hero Shouto, eyewitnesses have stated that the villain told you that the women were in Yokohama. What made you decide to check our own city, no less a club?"

Taking a silent breath, Shouto speaks into the microphone the sentences that he practiced in his head.

"No villain would truly be upfront with information that heroes want. With the way that he told me the supposed location of the victims without hesitating as well as his refusal to make eye contact with me were signs that he was lying. Also, the alleyway that the Diamond Club is located in has been known for crime and sketchy mishaps."

'Signs my ass, I knew all of this because of this weird mind reading ability.' Nodding, the reporter looks back at the camera.

"Well, there you have it! Shouto-san, thank you once again for your efforts in keeping Hosu City safe. I'm Muramoto Kozue and this is your latest report on what has just gone down in Tokyo. Signing off." The camera shuts off and the cameraman gives the thumbs up. Shouto bows to the report crew and walks over to his interns on the side.

"Sensei! You were so cool!"

"Sir, I would have never guessed that the victims were in Hosu City!"

Shouto waves his left hand. "It was nothing really. Thank you two for escorting all of the victims. I heard from Matsuyama-san that you both assisted well." Reaching a vacant taxi, he gestures for the boys to enter.

"We did good today. The agency's around 20 minutes away on foot, and since you boys did a lot today, we can take a taxi."

His interns cheer in unison.

"Thank you, sir!"

...

"L/N-san! Is it okay if I ask a few questions? It's about my report."

"Of course!" Y/N walks over to Mitsuru, who appears to be struggling with his report. Tsubasa speaks up.

"L/N-san, what's it like being a secretary?"

"Hm? Well, it's a lot of work, especially here at this busy agency. I'm sure you both see me, running around the building, negotiating, answering phones, collecting and looking over reports, deliv-"

"Buying coffee for sensei!"

Y/N blinks slowly at the younger boy, then starts laughing. Tsubasa snickers in the background.

"B-buying coffee? For Todoroki-san?"

Mitsuru's cheeks turn red. "My bad, L/N-san! It's just- you always buy coffee for Todoroki-san. Do all secretaries do that?" The other intern nods. "L/N-san does always seem to get sensei coffee." Y/N chuckles.

"I guess it's been a habit for me to buy Todoroki-san coffee. I mean, ever since he hired me, I've always bought him his coffee in the morning!" She starts giggling.

"Do you boys want to hear a story?"

"Yes! Yes!"

She stands between them and starts whispering.

"So one time, I had an appointment in the morning one day..."

...

When Shouto exits the elevator, he hears giggling. Turning to the desks, he sees Y/N huddled with the high schoolers. Leaning over her shoulder, his frame towering hers, he speaks up.

"What are you doing?"

Y/N yelps and turns her head. "Oh! Todoroki-san! I was just bonding with our interns!" She giggles and winks at the boys.

'L/N-san has a pretty laugh', Shouto thinks.

"L/N-san was telling us about the time when the agency was turned upside down because you didn't get your morning coff-!"

"Shh! Mitsuru! How could you betray me like that? After I trusted you with such a delicate secret... Boohoo.." She sniffles, teasing the intern and slip up.

"Mitsuru!" Tsubasa hisses. "You're such an airhead!"

"My bad! Me and my big mouth..."

Shouto chuckles and looks at Y/N, who has a smile adorning her face. "I was helping them with their reports, and I wanted to tell them one of our agency's very fun stories." "And you decided to tell them the story that could destroy the grand image that the two of them have of me?" Shouto jests lightly, the corners of his mouth curved upwards at the thought of the memory.

"That day was the day that everyone in the agency realized that we couldn't function without L/N-san. L/N-san is a very important person here, so please treat her nicely."

"Oh please," Y/N's cheeks turn pink. "the interns are absolute sweethearts and I really only focus on management, PR, finance, meetin-" All three boys look at Y/N, and she laughs sheepishly.

'Y/N has a very pretty laugh,' Shouto thinks again.

"Okay, maybe I do do a lot. But it's worth it! I love the agency and do not want to incur the wrath of my boss without coffee!"

"I wasn't that bad!" Shouto huffs playfully, his left hand resting on Tsubasa's chair.

"Mhm, whatever you say, Todoroki-san."

Shouto lets out a soft laugh-

And then,

he hears Tsubasa's voice in his head.

'L/N-san and sensei act like a married couple. Are they dating?'

...

After clocking out, Shouto goes home. Once he finishes eating dinner, he takes a shower and lays on his bed.

'Today was... interesting.' Looking at his hands, he smiles softly. 'This mind reading ability was really helpful today. I didn't expect the women to still be in Hosu City. Maybe this mind reading thing is a good thing.'

'L/N-san and sensei act like a married couple. Are they dating?'

'Do L/N-san and I act like a married couple? Well... I do think her laugh is pretty.'

'Oh god, I like him so much.'

Shouto's eyebrows scrunch together 'What L/N-san said yesterday... What did she mean by *like*? Was it admiration? Approval?'

Shouto's eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink.

'No way.'

Gaining an idea, he grabs his phone and opens Line. Clicking on the groupchat consisting of two other members, he swiftly types out a message. He sends it out, anxiously waiting for a response.

Kushikatsu. 7:30

-6:42pm

'L/N-san has a pretty laugh.'

A/N: That's it for chapter 2! Can you guess who Shouto messaged at the end? The little reader POV was completely unplanned so it was a surprise to me too when I was writing this OwO I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Once again, thank you everyone who has being showing interest and support in this series so far <3 If you haven't already, you should definitely check out Yuu Toyota's Cherry Magic! series which greatly inspired this series!!!

Also, I'm starting a taglist for this so if you wanna be tagged, just let me know in the replys/comments :] I didn't realize the amount of people that would actually read this messy fic, so I obviously I didn't plan on making a taglist but here we are!! (i'll figure it out eventually, i promise) ^^ Chapter 3 is in the works, so once again thank you all and I hope you all look forward to that ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

~entire fic and notes written by me: fujoshirat!

TAGLIST (thank u!!): @boogiemansbitch

#shoto x reader #shouto x you #shoto todoroki x reader #my hero academia x reader #fluff #office romance #romance #pro hero shouto #bnha #mha #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #shoto x y/n #shouto todoroki

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connoisseursdecomfort · 1 year

Text

All the lies in Chapter 86, and the truth behind

Yes, I'm still screaming internally, and I don't think I will ever get over this chapter.

Endo have told us right from the beginning: this is a story about lies:

Everyone has a secret self they don't show to other people. Not even to family. Not to friends. Not to lovers. And thus the world. They hide who they are and what they want behind lies and painted smiles.

Twilight is a liar. He consciously tells so many lies in this chapter, but it's what he (and the people around him) unconsciously shows really count.

*Manga spoiler alert*

Endo masterfully blends lies and truths together in this chapter. They recognise the existence of all facades, but somehow still manage to show what reality lies beneath, i.e. the three scenes many people have discussed.

When he tries to use his infamous excuse, "for the mission", once again, even Nightfall could tell that it's not the whole truth.

What's more interesting is when the team is in the car, and the old agent asked Twilight to grab a drink with him once they got back. Twilight refused, and that's when the old agent said: クツ調子いい時だけ家庭面しやがつて in the jp version.

The slight difference is he's saying Twilight only puts on that mask of a family man when he sees fit. It of course still means that Twilight is using his family as an excuse to not grab a drink with him. Twilight then replied: その面をかぶるのが任務ですつてば. (It is my job to put on that mask.)

There is something poetic about the dialogues. There IS a pretence. There IS a mask to be put on for the mission. But Twilight's excuse has lost some of its validity because literally panels ago he's just got called out. And the old agent's tease is a common one against married men who'd avoid office gatherings "because he needs to go home and be the family man". It's a friendly banter.

They then chatted about his "fight" with Yor. There were four professional spies in the car, and none of them found it weird that he just called Yor his wife, and acted like a miserable married man worrying about his wife being angry at him. They were so normal about the situation it's as if Yor really is his wife.

It is the sense of normality that makes everything feel so real. He tried so hard to keep a distance with "his mission", but his actions and the word choices have exposed him.

He still doesn't call the Forger residence home, but he uses this word - 帰, to return. Mika made a thread about this. You only return to something or someone because at the very least part of you feel belong (I'm being ultra careful here but my soul is screaming it's because you feel at home). The place you "return" to must contain some sense of stability. He unwittingly reveals how the Forgers have become his safe place.

That's probably why once he stepped into the apartment and saw a smiling Yor, he fell to his knees. His body finally allowed himself to relax.

But that is also when his lies reappeared. He lied about his day. He lied about his wounds. And he lied about his feelings. It was Yor who opened up to him. He was lying.

While confessing to Yor in his mind.

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I don't think he's telling the truth in his mind. This doesn't mean he's consciously lying. He is trying to convince himself into "seeing the reality".

I'm going to gush so much about these two pages. Brace yourself.

I love these two pages so much, because it shows how lies can be more revealing than a spoken confession. Especially when Twilight is probably unaware of it.

Yor told him that he could rely on her. She uses the term 甘える.

甘える is to go to someone you trust when you feel scared or upset, to moan about your problems even if they sound trivial, and to ask for help for the tiniest things. It works both ways, you wanting to get attention and knowing that the person would still love you and baby you. You know you can be weak and the one you rely on would still find you to be adorable.

That's exactly what Yuri was doing. He ran to Yor crying after being beaten up. That's also what Anya did.

Yor told him that it's okay to be not perfect, and she's willing to share his burden.

He wanted to tell her so much more, but he only gave her a short answer. He just told her that she's made him feel better, but he wanted to talk to her about it. That's when he started to confess to her in his head.

On the surface, this confession shows that he's trying to deny her request. He is insisting that he has to be perfect.

Here's the tricky thing, by explaining to her why he had to be perfect, he had to admit that he's weak.

He wanted to tell her that he fucked up today and needed to be better. He wanted to show weakness. He wanted to 甘える. And his tone just further gives him away.

I will have to admit that I love how he talked to Yor in his head, especially "でもわヨルさん、オレは". He's using such a soft tone while trying to talk himself into toughening up. He went physically soft too. Fell down thrice even if he had prepped himself to get his guard up. He just couldn't do it when he's with Yor.

There are things he can't tell her, but there are more he can't admit to himself. He has wrapped himself in layers of lies, and they turned out to be more revealing than ever.

Twilight is still a huge liar in Chapter 86. I'm not sure if he's a cool liar, but he is the softest liar ever.

There are so many things I want to scream talk about. How he called Yuri "Yuri Briar" but Yor "Yor san". How he asked about Anya once he got home. How he's failed thrice trying to keep his guard up in front of Yor. How he called out to Yor when he thought Yuri had returned. But I guess it's for another day.

#spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #agent twilight #twiyor #spy x family manga #sorry for the Ted talk

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horrorisunknowntoyou · 2 years

Text

Tone indicators.

Simon "ghost" riley x gen reader

Spoilers for MW2, especially the mission 'alone'.

Trigger warnings: gun shot, injuries, self blame and mentioned of childhood abuse.

You were... quiet.

Too quiet in fact.

Through out your whole time being in the military, you kept yourself distant from people. You were highly selective in who you could befriend and trust.

It wasn't your fault you were like this, growing up in abusive, neglected household. And having to be consistently be on alert and deciphering your parents moods etc. It taught you some skills to see through people lies and bluffs. You knew to be observate to every little thing a person does. And if they did one thing you didn't like, you immediately kept your distance away from them.

However as mentioned earlier, there was some downsides in these skills you obtained...it was hard to make friends within people your age.

You would watch other soldiers talk to each other from a distance, laughing, telling stories, family life. And honestly you wanted that...you didn't like being alone but no one liked how you were.

Even yourself.

But that changed when you met a man with a skull mask. Your presence wasn't obvious, you were mostly ignored until something with your speciality came up, like an art kid with a drawing assignment in English class.

But, you soon befriend the quiet man, it took alot of time but he soon put his trust in you. Gently lending a hand to you or sitting next to you without a word and letting you ramble about nonsense.

In all honesty when Simon first saw you, you had this eyes that reminded him of a lost puppy. In which he promptly gave you the nickname K-9. Because of your alertness and observation skills in people. But he mainly just referred to you by name.

And since then you two became inseparable.

You two would be paired in missions at times, sometimes during meetings or small things you would tap on Simon's hand or shoulder to alert him of something. Either they be lying, or something wasn't right.

For example

1 tap = hey, or look

2 tap = be alerted, something not right.

3 tap = this is bad.

4 taps = person is lying.

Etc. You get the jist of it.

So when you two were assigned to the mission of working with Mexican special forces along side soap you didn't bat too much of an eye towards that. But there was something in the back of your head that just didn't feel right.

During this you got to know Alejandro, Soap and others, you had alot of fun joking around and talking to them. They were like family.

And after you guys completed the mission involving the missile, a sense of dread chilled down your spine. Your chest felt heavy, Graves tone felt off...

Something was not right.

How could you not seen this sooner?

We're you blind sided?

Did you second guess yourself?

Ghost gently tapped your hand to see what's wrong as everyone walked to the gate. You quickly grabbed his hand and tapped 3 times.

Graves noticed this as they were in a middle of capturing Alejandro. He pulled out his pistol and shot y/n.

" your too alerted for your own good. " He says firmly almost mocking you.

" Y/N!"

Ghost, immediately grabbed you and hid behind a truck, his palm pressed against your wound. Soap in the other hand, fired back at the shadow company, jumping over the railing and heading down town.

Ghost had to cover your mouth letting you bite down on his thumb due to the pain and to not make any noise. Once the coast is clear he went off the other side of the road.

He went inside one of the homes, setting you down on some kitchen tiles.

"how you hold'n on? " Ghost says at you.

"physically I'm alright, but mentally no." You mumbles, as you went over to a table and with your knife, cut a piece of the fabric off to use a make shift bandage for the time being as Ghost tries to contact Soap.

Once you stop the bleeding, you looked over to Ghost. "Johnny is alive?" He nods, as your peered over to him " Simon...I'm sorry I should have noticed sooner...I'm- I'm so sorry.."

Ghost sighs, "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. Don't blame yourself."

"but-"

"Enough. First thing first, is we meet up with Johnny and figure this out." He lends his hand out to you. " Come on, I don't want to loose you in this"

You nodded and follow his suit, finally getting yourself connected with Johnny.

As you three make yourself unnoticed by the shadow company.

" y/n, how you holding on? " Soap asked.

" fine, for now...Graves didn't shoot any major organs. How about you? "

"messy."

You snickered at his comment, as you made way through a bloodied home, checking for supplies.

" good to know, you can still laugh during times like this" soap commented.

You just rolled your eyes, " what else can I do?"

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

Eventually, you and ghost found an church.

"Tell johnny to meet us here, for now, we need him alive." You gestured.

Ghost nods, " Good idea, I'll take sniper position, I want you on look out, alright? Don't push yourself. "

" aye, aye captain." you playfully salute to him, as you can feel him rolling eyes at that comment.

As Ghost takes position, you kept an eye out, mainly listening to Ghost and Soap's banter. Once an awhile joining in. But soon Soap noticed your speech was off abit.

"Ghost, something is wrong with y/n you need to check on them."

"What?"

" Their speech, it's slurred...sounds like their drunk. It's best to keep them beside you. "

"slurred? Bloody hell. "

Ghost immediately heads down, and grabs you by the shoulders and shake you awake.

" y/n hold on! Johnny is near and I need you awake, this is no place to close your eyes, You hear me?"

You nodded, rubbing your eyes, soon the shadow company started to barge in. Ghost immediately helped you up to your feet.

"we need to hold it down till Soap comes and get a vehicle out of here. Do you think you can hold on till then? "

" yes sir. "

"atta (y/g)," he pats your back " let's get moving, they aren't asking for forgiveness are they? "

You smile, " no sir. "

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

You shot at the shadow company, making your way outside, seeing soap outside the gate steps.

" Ghost! Soap's here! "

Ghost nods, shooting the rest of the shadow company inside, and runs over to some crates and jumps down. As you made over, he catches you and sets you down.

"Soap! We need a vehicle, on me-!" He says as he steps down the wet concrete steps. Running and taking cover, making sure both soap and y/n are following behind.

" stay sharp, they know we're here and they know it's us. They'll send more." Ghost informs soap.

As more of the shadow company appears in the plaza, gunning them down.

As you ran across the plaza shooting at the shadow company, you see a truck up ahead.

" trucks with lights on, up ahead! That's out exfil! " You alerted the other two men. " There's not much space, but I can still fit in the middle! Hurry!"

Ghost, jumps in taking the driver's seat, as soap takes in shotgun.

You never been so glad to be in middle seat for once.

"alright Johnny- you made it..." Ghost says out of breath. You smiled at soap, nodding in agreement tired at this point.

" we made it. L.t..."

soon shots are fired on the truck, glass shattering in the back. Ghost instinctly, cover your head down. Both to cover you and to look behind them as he reverses the truck. Immediately stepping on the gas and hauling ass out there.

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

Once at Alejandro's base, the twos boys, made sure it's safe. Once case was clear, Ghost gestured you to come over.

The two men talked to Rodolfo their plans to break out Alejandro and " los vaqueros".

In the meantime Ghost, tells you to keep watch of the base, and to rest a bit. You needed it.

You wanted to argue but by then you were too exhausted and nodded. Before they leave for the prison break, Ghost walks over to you and pressed foreheads together, his hand on the back of your head.

You smiled as you were laying on a pile of hay.

"Love you too, Ghost I'll be okay.... " Your hands gently pressed against his cheek.

"You worry me too much." He mumbles.

"Of course I do." You mumbles, closing your eyes.

"Rest well. " He gently lets go, and walks out to follows the others outside.

A/n: I'm so sorry if this sucks lmao, but I genuinely tried! I hope you like it either way! :D

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader

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hotpinkstars · 6 months

Text

-> centuries wasted

synopsis -> you find out your lovers real identity, and you leave.

a/n -> this was the angst post i put on poll last week...... i'm sorry furina fans i dont like the way the people treated her in archon quest but readers one of them... y/n in this story is kind of a bitch mb. anyways enjoy....!.!.?.?.?!

cw -> hurt no comfort, MAJOR SPOILER ALERT FOR THE ARCHON QUEST! just hurt nothing more 👍

wc -> 1.0k

“no matter which path fate takes, i’ll love and cherish you forever,” you said that night, your eyes glimmering with adoration for the woman lying beside you. a smile began to poke at the sides of her mouth, trying not to let her made up personality overtake the flustered feeling bubbling inside of her core.

but that was a night in the past now, a night where no worries were anywhere in sight, and the city of fontaine was at peace. the opposite was the present.

she had found herself on trial, in the same courtroom she’d watch other trials. she’d always cringe at how stupid people would be to end up here, soon to be sent down to meropide to sentence a hefty sum of years.

sometimes tears would be shed, due to the reasoning for the crimes. there were times she’d have to excuse herself for not being able to hold her act and deal with the sadness in the room.

you were always the one there to comfort her in times like that. you’d experienced her grief, her happiness, her sadness, and her anger.

but you never thought the woman you’ve loved so dearly could lie about who she truly was. you were deceived into thinking she was the true archon, the archon who could be able to take action in a dire time, the archon everyone could truly rely on. but when disaster struck, she was nowhere near prepared.

she had been accused of not caring of the lives of her citizens, and that she had done nothing to prevent the lost lives from primordial seawater.

that seawater was capable of making fontaine locals vanish in an instant, which is why it was such a big deal, and this prophecy has been something to come up frequently between higher-ups, like the iudex of fontaine or the duke of meropide, where the seawater was just below his feet.

finding out your lover was no archon was shocking. she’d always find a way to present herself, in times of controversy, in times of stress, and in times of happiness and peace throughout the nation.

you had a brief understanding of who focalors was, but you had a completely different thought process, due to the things furina would tell you.

sitting through her trial broke your heart. first she lies, and now she’s sentenced to death, but she’s not the one sentenced to death, focalors is? your mind was swarming with thoughts, overwhelming you to the point of having to step aside in the bathroom and taking a moment to cry your eyes out.

passersby looked at you in a sorrowful manner, knowing your status with the ‘hydro archon.’ at this moment, you wished someone would light you on fire and discard your fried corpse.

while you were gone, furina scanned the room frantically multiple times, looking for any sign of you, the only one who was hopefully on her side. her people were let down, making them enraged, and even the traveler showed disappointment. at this moment, all she wanted to do was cry in your arms, listening to your cooing and words of kindness, telling her that it’s not her fault.

but you were crushed, and you didn’t even know how you’d be able to speak to her.

once the trial had subsided, she tried to find you. she ran desperately, being told by neuvillette that she could say a couple words to you before her ‘punishment’ would take place.

“y/n, i-” she weeped, wrapping her arms around your torso. but the thing that took her off guard the most is that you didn’t hug back.

your face held a horrified look, and your eyes pierced through her face. she noticed how tense you were, backing up suddenly.

“whats wrong?” she said, panicked. “i’m sorry i kept such a sensitive lie-”

“i don’t want an apology, furina,” you felt tears poke from your tear ducts, trying not to cry just as hard as she is. “why would you lie? i’ve been with you for so long, i’ve entrusted even my deepest, darkest secrets in your hands. i understand why you kept this secret, but why would you keep your fake act up around me?”

“i didn’t want you to leave,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes before crying even harder. “i thought you’d judge me for who i really am.”

you take a deep breath in before letting the tears fall. “you should’ve just talked to me. you should’ve been as honest as you could be. but you were never open to communicating your feelings, and you were always hiding something from me,” you looked away, unable to process what just happened. “i understand you’re human, or at least now i do. you should have let me see your emotions, see what was really going on. because if you did, you wouldn’t be this close to losing me entirely, furina.”

she let out a shaky gasp, not expecting those words to come out of your mouth. they fell off your tongue so easily, like you had zero regrets.

“what do you mean, losing you?” she cautiously asked, her tone being nothing but a pathetic whisper. “you’re not going to leave me over something so… so trivial, right?”

“this isn’t trivial, furina. you’ve lied about your whole entire existence. we’ve been married for hundreds of years, and not once have you expressed your worries or suffrage. i have no trust in you anymore,” you sniffled. “this is it. say whatever it is you want to say, and i’ll be off to… somewhere. some other region.”

she officially had no hope for the rest of her life. you were her lover of hundreds of years, immortal alongside her, maybe only being a few hundred years older than her. what makes it even more painful is due to those circumstances, she’ll most likely see you again.

maybe alone, or maybe with someone else who could do better for you. someone who won’t lie about their whole existence, and someone who could give you the satisfaction you looked for all along in a relationship.

she watched as you walked out the doors of the opera epiclese, tears falling from both of your eyes. you didn’t understand. you felt betrayed, and so did she.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin x reader angst #angst #furina #focalors #furina x reader #furina angst #furina x reader angst

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lonelym00n · 1 year

Text

The End.

Part five of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: All good things must come to an end, even if the path to get there is a difficult one.

Warnings: Spoilers for Scream VI, some violence, and a few buckets of angst!

A/N: That's it, it's done! For my first ever series, it's not terrible! Sure it could be better, but I'll happily settle for it being good. I never would've thought that my silly oneshot would've turned into this, but I'm so glad it did!

The Carpenter’s apartment goes from being quiet enough to hear a pin drop, to the loud thunder of arguing voices.

Sam orders Tara to pack a bag, to get all of her stuff together quickly so they can take off.

Tara refuses, stating that Sam is overacting and that she doesn’t want to disrupt her life here in New York.

While the sisters are locked in a battle of crossed swords, you are preoccupied with your own feelings of unease. Mindy has been eyeing you with something akin to skepticism for the past few minutes and you are desperately trying not to panic under her scrutiny.

You have an idea of the conclusion that she’s likely come to. The attacks occurred last night, the same night that everyone was conveniently accounted for inside the apartment. Everyone but you.

All the current signs point to you and as daunting as it is, you can’t deny that if you were in Mindy’s shoes, you’d suspect yourself too. It didn’t take a mind as sharp as Mindy’s to piece together what it might mean that Ghostface reappeared at the same time that you were absent.

A sliver of luck is evidently on your side, because no one else but Mindy has stopped to consider potential suspects.

You know that it’s going to be hard to talk Mindy out of her distrust in you, but you have to attempt to sway her opinion before she notifies the rest of the group.

Without alerting anyone else, you cautiously wave Mindy over to you.

Begrudgingly, she makes her way across the room. Her arms are crossed firmly over her chest while you chew your lip nervously.

“I know how it looks, Minds, but it wasn’t me.”

She snorts, “You do realize that’s exactly what the killer would say, don’t you?”

You attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. This conversation was going to be harder than you thought.

In the days that you were avoiding the rest of the group, Mindy had opened up to you about her trauma. She’d relayed that her uncle was known as the expert, the guy who knew just what to do to not only survive the killer, but to expose them. A ghost of a smile had appeared across her lips when she told you that she’d followed in his footsteps and taken up the same role.

The task of convincing the expert that they’re wrong is overwhelmingly difficult, one incorrect move and no one will trust you for however long these attacks last.

“I swear that I went back to my room.”

There’s a wide and pleading look in your eyes, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to persuade her.

You’re scrambling for anything that can back up your alibi. “My roommate saw me! I can text her, shit I’ll call her.”

Before you can dial the girl’s number, Mindy’s hand lands on your wrist. You snap your eyes up to meet hers.

“Alright, stop. I know how much you hate talking to her, you don’t have to call her.”

You heave out a sigh of relief.

“You’re not off the hook completely, maybe you were at your dorm but there’s still a chance you could be lying. It’s not enough to check you off my list entirely, but I’ll leave it alone for now.”

“I get it,” swallowing thickly, you nod.

“Good.”

Mindy turns to return back to the group, but stops short.

“You’re my friend and I care about you, but I won’t give you a second chance. If you screw up and do anything else that I find suspicious, I’ll make sure that none of us ever talk to you again.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, but you don’t need to. You know she’d keep true to her word, and so you can only hope you don’t find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

You remain in your spot against the wall for a while. It’s in your best interest to try and blend in, so you’re in no rush to reenter the room.

Most of the others are still sitting on the couch, Sam’s pacing back and forth on the phone. Tara stands in the entryway of her room with her arms crossed defiantly.

Sam turns to face everyone, “I’m going down to the station.”

She strides over to the door and Tara speeds over before she can exit.

“I’m coming with you.”

Sam goes to argue, but Tara cuts her off, “We’re supposed to stick together, aren’t we?”

Though you are situated directly adjacent to the entryway, neither of the Carpenter sisters spare you a glance as they leave the apartment.

A sense of apprehension creeps up into your chest, and though it’s glaringly obvious, you have a sinking suspicion that everything is about to go terribly wrong, terribly quickly.

Attempting to ignore the fact that you’ve now become a character in a real life horror movie, you survey the rest of the room once more. Mindy and Anika are hushedly whispering between themselves, Quinn has returned to her room, and Ethan is distracting Chad with some video on his phone.

You want to leave, to lock yourself into your dorm room to process the fact that there’s a pretty high chance that you might die at the hands of a knife-bearing psycho in a halloween costume, but you can’t. You can’t risk being alone right now, not only because you’d be privy to an attack, but because Mindy’s words haven’t stopped swirling around in your head. No second chance.

So, despite your want to be alone, you trudge over to the couch and perch on the edge of it. Your hands come up to cover your face as you try your best to think of anything other than the worst case scenario of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you and the other occupants of the small apartment, another attack has occurred in the rundown bodega up the street.

Sam and Tara, who just barely evaded the long-barrel of Ghostface’s shotgun, are now sitting in the precinct’s interrogation room, accompanied by Detective Wayne Bailey.

Once he receives both of the Carpenter’s alibis for the attack the night prior, he shifts his questioning to the other members of the group.

Mindy and Chad are promptly vouched for, leaving you, Quinn, Anika, and Ethan vulnerable to Bailey’s queries.

The gruff man asks about everyone else’s whereabouts last night, excluding Quinn who, as her father, he can check off the list.

A reluctant conversation silently takes place between the sisters.

Sam gives her sister a sorrowful look, as if to say, ‘We both know who wasn’t there, we have to tell him.’

Tara’s eyes widen, signaling her response, ‘But Sam-’

Sam places a heavy hand on Tara’s shoulder, patting it lightly. She turns to Detective Bailey.

“Anika, and Ethan stayed over at our apartment after the movie night.”

“And Y/N Y/L/N?”

Sam pauses, trying to avoid catching her sister’s pleading glance.

“She left late last night, we don’t know where she went.”

Bailey jots something down on his notepad before looking back up at the two sisters.

“We’ll call her in for questioning.”

Tara stays frozen in her seat, unmoving. All the while, her mind is shouting at her to jump to your defense.

Her lips, however, remain pressed together in a thin, disconcerted line. She wants so badly to believe that you’re innocent, but a tiny nagging voice sings songs that you’re guilty and that you’re out for her blood, out to finish what Amber Freeman couldn’t.

Distantly, Tara notices that Bailey gets up to leave the room. She and Sam sit in silence, the older girl afraid to say anything in fear of upsetting her volatile sister.

Twenty minutes or so later, Detective Bailey returns.

“Before you ladies go, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

The sisters stand and exit the room per Bailey’s instruction. A blond-haired woman shuffles forward.

Sam’s eyes light up, “Kirby!”

The blond chuckles, “Sam!”

Kirby greets Tara, the small girl giving her a tight-lipped smile in return.

As the two catch-up, the sight of a figure being led in by an officer snags Tara’s attention.

Back with the rest of the group, you remained in your own little bubble while everyone else chatted amongst themselves.

Following the pattern that has been laid out for you, your peace was quickly disturbed.

You had nearly dropped your phone when it rang loudly throughout the Carpenter’s apartment. You answered the call, only to be told by the police that you were to report to the station. The call was kept brief, but you knew the reason behind it nonetheless.

Things only declined from that point forward.

You were nervous, extremely so. You didn’t kill the film teacher, nor did you kill Jason or Greg, but the fact that you were being treated as a suspect for the murders had you anxious enough.

You stood up on shaky legs, fumbling towards the door. Mindy pulled Anika closer to her at your haste, while Chad and Ethan merely side eyed you.

No one said anything as you left, and despite the want to sob into your hoodie, you kept your head high and bit your tongue.

The officer who led you into the station was nice enough, her eyes didn’t scream guilty guilty guilty like your supposed friends’ did.

You kept your eyes firmly on your shoes throughout the walk. A tiny, familiar gasp made you stop short in your path.

You looked up and met Tara’s eyes. You were conflicted at how you felt when you looked at her, your usual longing and adoration joined by several other emotions. Heartache, desolation, and gut-wrenching hurt.

She didn’t say anything to you, just blinked back at you with those gorgeous deep brown eyes, her expression completely unreadable.

You understood well enough that the cops were only aware of your potential involvement because someone had mentioned your name to them. You’d thought that Mindy had somehow silently tipped them off at first and sure, you were wounded by it, but the knowledge that it had been Tara? Well that nearly devastated you beyond repair.

If Mindy giving the police your name was a stab to the heart, then Tara having been the one to do it was six shots to the head and a complete dismemberment of your body.

You were entirely conscious of what the girl had gone through with the Woodsboro attacks, and how her previous girlfriend had been the one behind it all. But even so, was it fair for Tara to be treating you this way?

Since you've fallen for the girl, she’s done nothing but emotionally harm you. It started with her flirtatious teasing that drew you into her like a blissfully unaware moth to a too bright flame. She’d had you hook, line, and sinker, but to worsen your infatuation, she’d kissed you. You were trapped by then, drowning in everything that came in the small package that was Tara Carpenter.

Just as fast as she’d pulled you in, she’d pushed you away. She left you to piece yourself back together, and once you finally repaired the cracks, she was back, admitting that she’d wanted you all along.

And now, immediately after her admission, she’s accusing you of murder.

Though your head spun from the back-and-forth, you knew that you’d stupidly always be patiently waiting for her to reel you back in.

So no, it probably wasn’t fair for Tara to be treating you this way, but it wouldn’t stop you from wanting her all the same. How could you possibly distance yourself from her when she was all that you’d ever wanted?

Your eyes sting with the familiar need to cry at how pathetic you feel. You’re hopelessly in love with the girl who thinks you’ve committed murder. Isn’t that just spect-fucking-tacular.

You throw her a dejected look and allow the officer to continue ushering you into the interrogation room.

If Tara glances your way at any point after your nonverbal interaction, you don’t stop to notice.

You have bigger fish to fry than your ill-advised love for her, like the fact that not only do she and all of your friends see you as a potential murderer, but the NYPD does too.

You’re sitting in the room for a while, left to fester in the stale air. You’ve watched Criminal Minds and Law & Order, you know that this is a common tactic used to make criminals grow skittish. Though you are not a criminal, the biting silence in the room makes the tactic work on you all the same.

Your lip has been chewed raw and as you begin to faintly taste the sharp copper of blood, the heavy door swings open.

Two people walk in, introducing themselves as Detective Bailey and FBI Agent Kirby Reed.

Your skin pales at the title of the woman and the flash of her badge. They’d brought in an FBI Agent to question you?

They pull out the chairs in front of you and take a seat.

Detective Bailey clears his throat, “Y/N, we understand that you’re a friend of Samantha and Tara Carpenter.”

You nod tightly.

“We have reason to believe the sisters are under attack by a copycat Ghostface killer. Are you aware that both Carpenters were recently ambushed at a bodega near their apartment?”

The blood drains from your face at the mention of Ghostface by name. Wait-

“Tara was attacked?”

Kirby and Bailey exchange a look at your failure to include Sam in your question.

You, on the other hand, are mentally losing it. Tara was attacked, she must be so scared, so shaken up. It was easy to be distracted by your own involvement in the attacks, but god, this was Tara’s second time going through it.

Seeing how panicked you are, Kirby has to refrain from placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“She’s okay, Sam too. Just a few cuts and scrapes here and there.”

The fact that she hadn’t been heavily injured comforts you. You nod to Kirby in thanks.

Bailey, on the other hand, doesn’t care too much about your emotions. It’s clear that he’s taken over the bad cop persona, while Kirby plays the good cop.

“So, where were you tonight?”

Oh right, you’re here to be interrogated for murder. Any thoughts of Tara’s wellbeing float away at the reminder that she gave your name to the cops for potential murder.

“I was with Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Ethan, at Sam and Tara’s apartment. I came here as soon as I got the call.”

Bailey grunts and scribbles your response onto the notepad in front of him.

Once he’s done, he lifts his gaze up to meet yours and raises a singular, probing eyebrow.

“And what about last night?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling very fidgety.

“I went back to my dorm room and went to sleep.”

“Did anyone else see you? Can anyone confirm that?” Bailey stares you down, a tad bit menacingly.

“My roommate, she saw me this morning before she left.”

Detective Bailey reluctantly accepts your answer, and requests your roommate's contact information to confirm that she’d seen you. You give it to him readily.

Kirby speaks up, voice gentle, “I just have a few more questions, and then we can let you go.”

Something about the way she’s treating you so kindly makes you even more anxious. Whether it’s that or her status as an FBI Agent, you aren’t sure.

She speaks slowly, like your English Lit professor does when she wants the class to catch on to the author’s analogy buried deep beneath the text.

“I specialize in determining whether certain murders have any connection to Ghostface. I know a lot about copycat killers, and what might motivate someone to put on a mask and become a ghostface.”

You get what she’s trying to convey. Boiling it all down, she’s good at telling Ghostface apart from non-ghostfaces. She can tell the guilty apart from the innocent. Wait that means-

Suddenly, you’re no longer scared of Kirby.

Suddenly, you’re hanging off of her every word like she’s a life raft in the middle of a barren ocean. And metaphorically, she is. She’s your last hope in the series of accusing fingers that have been pointed your way.

Her eyes gleam with the sense that you’ve understood her hidden implication.

“So,” she pushes a singular photo in front of you, “Can you tell me who this is?”

The photo in front of you is a movie poster, with all the words edited off. A tall man stares down the camera, complete with blue coveralls and a pale white mask with tufts of hair coming out of the top.

Though you aren’t a huge horror buff, you recognize the character. But is it right to know who he is, or should you lie?

“Um,” you swallow and pause for a second, “That’s Michael Myers, from Halloween.”

Kirby hums, and slides three more photos forward.

The first one has a character that wears a red and green striped sweater, with razors extending from his fingers. Freddy Krueger.

The second picture’s character is donning a menacing grin, and has distinct clown-like makeup on. If the makeup doesn’t give it away, the singular red balloon does. Pennywise.

The third character you are admittedly less familiar with. It’s a bald man with a stark white complexion. A series of nails adorn his head, and he has a long leather getup. In his palm, he displays a glowing box. Pinface? Pinhead?

You lift a sweaty hand to point at the first picture. Your voice is shaky, “Freddy Krueger from The Nightmare on Elm Street.”

You point to the second picture, “The movie IT, it’s Pennywise.”

Finally, your finger lands on the last picture. You’re hesitant, you think you know the answer but you’re still unsure if you should be getting these right or not. Would the killer know all these characters?

“I don’t know the name of the movie. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think that’s Pinhead.”

You think Kirby is pleased with your answer, because she simply collects the pictures and places them back into their folder.

“I know it's a bit of a weird process, but it actually gives me a lot of information. That’s all I need from you, you can go now.”

Kirby’s face remains impassive, not revealing her current thoughts. Detective Bailey, on the other hand, is looking at you with something akin to a scowl.

You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. Kirby and Bailey get up to leave as well. Bailey continues down the hallway while Kirby holds the door for you. Before you can make it fully past the door frame, a strong hand landing on your shoulder makes you jump.

Kirby glances over her shoulder to make sure Bailey is out of earshot. She pulls a card out of her jacket and discreetly slides it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt. “Call me if you need something, or if anything happens. Especially if it’s anything that could be related to you-know-who.”

You look up at her gratefully, nodding. It’s her close-lipped way of saying she trusts you.

She releases your shoulder with a small pat, and you all but scramble out of the police station.

Once outside, you check your phone for any missed messages. Surprisingly, you see one from Mindy, telling you to meet her and everyone else at the park just off of campus.

The same park that led to your Tara-related downward spiral. The same park that was home to the catalyst of your current separation from the rest of the group. Lovely, just lovely.

Reluctantly, you make your way over to the meeting spot, completely unsure of what horrible scenario would be awaiting you this time.

Once at the park, you stop a distance away from the group to take in the scene. They’re seated together on the benches, the only empty seat next to Quinn. Mindy stands front and center, no doubt about to shed her expert wisdom on everyone.

As much as you’d rather turn and walk away, you shuffle forward and make your way over to sit next to Quinn. The group has gone silent at your arrival, but you keep your gaze firmly on your shoes, not wanting to face the judging looks that are being sent your way.

Mindy claps her hands together to break the tense silence, “Okay nerds, listen up. As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time.”

She takes a deep breath, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika interrupts with a question, “Um, what’s a requel?”

Mindy gives her a sweet smile, “You’re beautiful sweetie, let’s hold questions til the end.”

After a few comments from Sam and Tara about Stab, Mindy launches into a ramble about sequels and requels and franchises. You’re listening distantly, but are more distracted by the weight of your own exhaustion. Being interrogated by two officers of the law took a lot more out of you than you thought it would.

Your thoughts are placed on a back burner at Ethan’s voice entering the conversation.

“Am I in the friend group?”

Mindy nods, along with a few others.

“Am I-,” his voice breaks slightly, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

Mindy laughs through her nose, sharing a look with Anika at the boy’s admittance.

“Weird overshare, but that brings us to our suspects.”

You stiffen at the mention of the group’s suspects. So that’s why she’d texted you to come, not just to explain the rules, but to ridicule you in front of everyone.

She gestures towards the flustered boy, “Ethan, the shy dorky kid who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

He splutters for a moment, “Wait- I’m a suspect just because I’m Chad’s roommate?”

Mindy scoffs, “Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could’ve fixed it to get closer to us.”

He remains silent, dumbfounded. Mindy moves on.

“Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic!”

Quinn arches a perfectly plucked brow, “Sex positive, but thank you?”

Mindy rolls her eyes at the terminology. “How’d you end up rooming with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online?” She glances at the Carpenters.

“Say no more!” Mindy barks out a laugh, “You’ve already implicated yourself!”

Sam, sensing that Mindy is getting a bit too carried away with her antics steps in, “It was an anonymous ad, Mindy.

Tara nods, “Plus we vetted her, and her dad’s a cop.”

Mindy’s eyes widen and she exclaims, “‘Cuz having a cop dad is the perfect cover, do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Tara sits back in her seat, huffing.

Mindy shifts her attention to her girlfriend, “Next up, Anika.”

The girl blows her a kiss and Mindy catches it goofily. Her face quickly morphs into a straight look, “Never trust the love interest.”

Anika pales.

“And finally, speaking of love interests.” The horror-loving girl whips to your direction, and regards you more seriously than she had the others. You want nothing more than to shrivel up and shrink down to the size of an ant.

“Y/N, who might I remind everyone, we met while she was wearing a devil costume.”

The feeling of everyone’s eyes burning into you makes you want to throw up.

“We’ve known you the least amount of time, and I can’t be the only one who finds it weird that the only people you’re friends with are here right now. A killer, clearly trying to keep all ties short.”

You flinch and open your mouth to respond, but Mindy continues.

“You were noticeably absent the same night the killings began. And if that doesn’t implicate you enough, your perfect motive will.”

Though you want to scream at how unfair this is, you can only sigh and give in. At this point, you’ve realized there’s nothing you can do to make yourself seem less suspicious. They all think it’s you, so why defend yourself when it would only fall on ears that are unwilling to listen?

“And what would my motive be?”

Mindy grins, victoriously.

“You’re in love with Tara, and not just surface level love, no no no.” She laughs to herself, “You’re actually in love with her, and it goes so far deep that there’s no way out of it.”

The urge to throw up and empty your guts is stronger than ever. You’re pissed, but more so shocked that Mindy has stooped so far as to reveal this to the whole group. And right in front of Tara. She knows now, knows everything. The girl who can’t even decide if she wants to be with you now knows the full extent of your feelings for her. Fucking great.

The last piece of your dignity is gone forever. Mindy speaks again, “She broke your heart when she said she only wanted to be friends. Trampled it even, and you were so upset that you decided to break hers too. Only literally.”

She faces everyone, clearly proud of herself, “There you have it folks, the perfect motive! Break my heart and I’ll break yours, but worse! A flawless romance-horror mashup.”

Everyone remains silent, just blinking at Mindy in astonishment.

Your restrained sniffles break the silence.

You rise, not even bothering to hide your tears or wipe them away. You’re broken, worse than you’ve ever been before.

Before you can stomp away, you meet Mindy’s eyes, letting her see exactly how upset, angry, and ruined you are feeling.

Your tone is even and still as you spit in her direction, “Screw you, Mindy.”

With that, you walk away, uncaring if it makes you look any more suspicious.

Watching as you move further and further away, Mindy finally decides to talk once more.

“I went too far, didn’t I?” She knew she always had a flair for the dramatics and it wasn’t the first time someone had been offended during one of her killer call-outs.

Sam had been the last victim to be scorned by Mindy’s words, “Yeah, yeah I think it’s pretty obvious you went too far Mindy.”

Ever the protective big sister, she glances over at Tara to see how the younger girl has taken the news.

Tara is sat as straight as an arrow, eyes wide and blinking slowly. She looks utterly gobsmacked and as much as a little part of Sam wants to giggle like a child at her sister’s expression, the older and more mature version of her wins over.

“T, you okay?” Her voice is soft like a blanket, a tone she reserves just for Tara.

Tara comes back to life at Sam’s question. She shakes her head heatedly, “No, I’m not okay. Mindy, what the fuck?”

Mindy bristles slightly at Tara’s anger, no one likes being on the receiving end of her chihuahua-like biting remarks.

“Tara I-”

“Mindy, why the hell would you tell everyone that? She told you all of that and you just threw it right in her face?”

Mindy’s silence spurs Tara on.

“It’s one thing to accuse her of being Ghostface but to say all that? Really?”

Tara scoffs and pushes herself out of her seat. She starts striding to catch up with you, to say what exactly, she isn’t quite sure yet, but she’ll figure it out on the way.

To her dismay, a familiar hand catches her wrist and twists her around.

It’s Sam, because who else would chase after an agitated Tara Carpenter?

“Tara, you can’t go after her.”

“She’s upset Sam, and it’s not safe for her to be alone and upset with a killer on the loose.”

Sam frowns, lips almost forming a pout, but nods in agreement. “I know Tara. She’s really upset. But it’s not safe for you to be alone with someone who could very well be the killer.”

Though the shorter girl is still unsure of whether or not you could actually be the one behind the mask, it's the last thing she's thinking of in this moment. A snarl forms on her face, “So you agree with Mindy.”

The older Carpenter is quick to defend herself, “I’m not saying I agree with Mindy, I just don’t think that you and I should split up. Can we keep staying together Tara, please? I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Tara deflates like a balloon, the angry miniature dog that lives in her finally gone. She nods in resignation and lets Sam lead her back to the group.

Meanwhile, you finally make it back to your dorm. You pluck Kirby’s business card out of your pocket and carefully examine it. The only information given is a phone number and her name.

You debate calling her for a moment, maybe you’d be able to find some comfort in the agent. She was the only one who didn’t think you were Ghostface, after all.

You decide against it, choosing to instead stew in your overwhelming emotions. You’d finally been granted time to process the onslaught of events, a brief calm in the inevitable storm.

Just as it was weeks before, your bed remains your safe space. You move to plug your phone into your charger, but stop short upon seeing a message.

Tara: hey, we’re making dinner at the apt and having evryone stay over tn.

Tara: u should come

The invitation leaves you frozen for a minute. Why would she want you to stay over with everyone else? Was this some sick move for her to corner you and reject you once and for all?

You aren’t sure what to respond with, so you leave her text unanswered. You can’t think rationally right now, so you plug your phone in, lay your head on your pillow, and succumb to the swirl of your emotions.

You lay there, staring up at your ceiling and sobbing, for what must be a few hours. Your friends think you’re a killer, and Tara knows the full extent of your love for her.

Your phone, ever the annoyance, interrupts your breakdown with the alert of an incoming call.

Groaning, you roll over and pick it up without looking.

“Hello?,” your hoarse voice croaks out.

“Why hello, Y/N. About time we talked, don’t you think?”

The voice is teasing, like it’s somehow toying with you.

A chill shoots up your spine, and you sit up against your headboard. You sort of recognize the voice, but you can’t place how you know it.

“Who’s this?”

A laugh rings out and it somehow freaks you out even more.

“Since I like you, I’ll give you a hint. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You drop your phone onto your lap and scramble away from it, as if it was purely responsible for how terrified you feel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Back when you were avoiding everyone, Mindy had insisted for you to watch Stab 1 with her, since you’d never seen it before. You tried to refuse, but she shut you up with just one look. Rolling your eyes, you allowed her to put the movie on.

Though she was providing commentary throughout the entire opening, you’d heard the voice that had spoken with Casey Becker on the phone.

You heard Casey’s killer ask her the same question you’d just been asked.

Fuck.

It was him, somehow, someway, he’d gotten your number and was calling you.

You were on the phone with none other than Ghostface.

Shit.

The person on the line chuckles, their altered voice muffled because of the way the phone is being pressed into your comforter, “Now I’ve got your attention.”

With trembling hands, you pick your phone up. “What do you want with me?”

“To thank you. Y’know because of you, I get a little more wiggle room. More time to be off on my own, carving up another person or two, or planning out exactly how I’m going to kill Tara.”

“Leave her alone!”

“Oooh feisty, but not a chance. I think I’ll burn her alive and shoot her in the head, just like she did to Amber.”

“Amber was a psycho and so are you!”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who everyone thinks is psycho.”

Clenching your fists, you remain silent.

Ghostface continues, “I think I’ve decided I want to play a little game. A new game I made just for you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, full of pure fear. “I’m not playing any games.”

“Too bad. It’s a guessing game, it’s simple really. You guess if I’m in your bathroom waiting to spill your guts all over the place, or if I’m under Tara’s bed, ready to slice through her skin at any second.”

Your blood runs cold as you turn towards the tiny bathroom connected to your dorm room. The door is shut, and an eerie silence fills the room. Ghostface could be in there right now, and you’d be dead in seconds. Worse, he could be biding his time for the perfect time to strike an unsuspecting Tara.

“Tick tock,” the killer sings.

You steel yourself and cautiously position yourself upright, ready to bolt towards your door.

“You’re in my bathroom, come out and get me you fucker.”

The bathroom door stays shut, and you’re left poised in a tense position, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Oh god.

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I have to. We have unfinished business.” The words are spat out, clearly in raw anger.

The teasing tone plays through the voice modulator once more, “Thanks for being apart from everyone again, it really helps that you’re always able to take the fall for me.”

Ghostface ends the call. You clamber out of bed, toss on the nearest pair of shoes, and sprint out of the door, though not before grabbing the 3.5 x 2 inch card off of your dresser.

While racing like a madman to the Carpenter’s apartment, you dial Kirby’s number.

After one ring, she picks up. “Agent Reed.”

“Kirby!” You’re panting as you hurry along.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! Kirby you have to get to Tara and Sam’s now! Ghostface is there.”

You can faintly make out her rustling around, likely collecting her jacket and gun.

“I’m on my way. What happened, how do you know?”

“He called me, Kirby. He’s setting me up!”

“Shit, okay get there as soon as you can.”

“I’m trying!”

This can’t happen to you, not again. Your stupid emotions about everyone thinking you were guilty fucked things up even more. If they didn’t hate you and suspect you before, your absence now definitely cements your fate.

Your only hope is to make it there in time to help defend against Ghostface.

But alas, luck isn’t on your side. When you arrive at the Carpenter’s apartment, you’re met with yellow caution tape and the flashing red and blue lights of both ambulances and police cars.

Too little, too late.

You aren’t even sure what to do, not knowing if it’s better for you to turn and walk away, or to feebly defend yourself like a broken record. You see a body bag being rolled by on a stretcher, and the sight of it makes everything that you’re feeling so much worse.

One of your friends is dead.

You aren’t angry at them for how they treated you anymore, how they turned their backs on you so quickly. You can’t be angry. Not when someone died at the hands of whoever was behind this. Not when you’re being so cruelly reminded that this isn’t a petty fight, or a game night squabble.

One of your friends is dead.

You’re sad, instead. So immensely sad. And scared, your limbs still shake from the residual fear leftover from the phone call. The killer was taunting you on the phone, so shouldn’t you have been the next one to go? Whoever died didn’t deserve to, not while you just got to freely exist.

But like Mindy had said, you’ve been brought into a franchise, and everyone has a role in a franchise. Your friend is now nothing more than a notch under the famed killer’s belt, a tally for the rankings of a video titled ‘which slasher villain has the highest kill count?’

And your role?

You’re the killer’s toy, their beat-up ragdoll held together by loosened strings that they’d stopped caring about years ago, but still blame for every mess they create.

You’re the scapegoat, the one to blame, traveling down a path of loneliness and carrying around the killer’s sins for all to judge you for. Just when your innocence is proven, you’ll die, a sacrifice the killer is all too happy to make.

You sigh heavily, the weight of your thoughts resting deeply on your shoulders. You can’t feel sorry for yourself though. Not when you’re still alive, still breathing.

You can’t walk away, because running from your problems has just made everything worse.

The cops are distracted, so you slide underneath the caution tape. You sluggishly drag your feet towards the ambulance, further into the throng.

Mindy’s sitting in the back of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped around her shivering form.

You approach her, moving as shakily as a baby deer.

She sees you out of the corner of her eye. You watch as hers widen exponentially, “Stay the fuck back.”

You halt. The fearful and disgusted look in her eyes at the sight of you swallows you whole.

Tears cloud your vision, “Are you okay?”

She remains quiet, just staring at you, unblinking.

“Dumb question.”

Mindy blinks again.

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t get a chance to. You’re being ripped away from Mindy, met with Sam’s blazing eyes.

You can just barely see Tara behind her, looking smaller than ever.

Sam grips your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Where the fuck were you?” She barks.

The murderous glare she’s leveling you with has you shrinking into your skin. “I- I was in my room.”

“Liar!”

“Sam, please. You have to believe me, I’m not lying.” You’re crying now, because she’s still looking at you like an untamed beast waiting to rip your heart out.

Near blubbering, you continue, “He called me, Ghostface called me.”

The reminder of how scared and alone you felt on the phone with Ghostface makes your cry even harder, and Sam softens slightly, albeit still glaring at you.

“What’d he say?”

“He thanked me for helping him look less suspicious. He said it gave him more time to plan his next kills.” It’s a conscious decision not to include that he’d specifically mentioned how he’d kill Tara. Sam would rip your head off right on the spot.

She stares at you, trying to decipher if you’re telling the truth.

You heave in a breath, preparing yourself to finish your recount, “He made me play a guessing game. He told me to guess whether he was waiting to kill me, or Tara.”

Sam is scarily still. In the distance, you can see Chad harshly slamming Ethan into a van.

If Sam, Tara, Mindy, Chad, and Ethan are here, then that leaves…

Quinn. And Anika. God.

If you weren’t about to be strangled by Sam, you’d likely curl into a ball and sob at the knowledge that the two girls you’d seen earlier today are gone.

You’d beg and plead with Sam if it meant she’d believe you. “I ran here as soon as I realized he was gonna hurt her. You have to believe me.”

You stare up at her with shiny eyes, praying she accepts your story.

Without warning, you’re released from the death grip that she had on you. Sam backs away from you without saying a word, slinking back towards Tara.

You meet the younger Carpenter’s gaze for one brief second, before you tear your eyes away. You couldn’t afford to decipher how she currently felt towards you. It hurt enough to be painted as the killer, you didn’t need her rejection of your love for her to pile up on top of your already too intense hurt.

From your spot alone, in the middle of the group, you can hear Mindy telling an apologetic Ethan to get away from her. She tells him how the two of you are at the top of her list, and that she didn’t need either of you near her ever again.

Though you aren’t part of the conversation, her words still bruise. You might’ve called her your best friend once, probably still would, but she’d forever condemn your name.

You wallow in your sorrow while Gale shows up, sharing a regretful exchange with the two sisters. Kirby comes soon after, also checking up on the Carpenters.

Gale announces to everyone that she’s found what’s likely the killer’s hideout, and everyone silently follows along while she leads the way.

You walk a ways behind the group, arms wrapped around your own waist both defensively and protectively. A firm body knocks their shoulder against yours, breaking you out of your daze.

Kirby levels you with a worried look, “You good kid?”

“Don’t worry about me, ask the others.”

She clicks her tongue at your response, “Already did, now I wanna know how you’re doing.”

You reach a hand up and drag it through your hair, “Mindy hates me, probably Chad too by association. I can’t tell how Sam feels, if she thinks it’s me or not. And I can’t even bring myself to look at Tara, let alone ask her if she thinks I’m out to murder her.”

Kirby shoots you a sympathetic look, “That’s a lot for one person to deal with.”

You shrug, “Yeah well, nothing I can do about that.”

The two of you finish the walk towards the abandoned theater in silence.

Before you enter, Kirby places a hand on your arm to stop you.

“We’re gonna catch who’s behind this eventually. Why don’t you stick with me for the time being?”

Your eyes light up, “I’d love that.”

And truthfully you would. Staying by Kirby’s side will not only be comforting, but will also ensure that you’re no longer left to accidentally fall into a situation that makes you look guilty. For the first time since all of this started, you feel seen, like you finally have a friend that’s on your side.

She smiles at you and the two of you enter the theater. You soon realize that it’s less of a theater, and more of a shrine dedicated to the Ghostfaces of the past.

Everyone fans out to inspect the items. You’re stuck to Kirby’s side like glue, inching your way towards a display case.

She carefully places her hands atop the case, scanning her eyes across the items.

Pointing out a few items, she speaks out to no one in particular. “Charlie stabbed me with that knife, and that’s the same flannel Jill was wearing.”

You hum sadly, what she went through must have been so horrible.

The rest of the visit to the shrine is lonely for you. Kirby leaves to bond with Mindy, then to check on Tara. You’re left to stand in a corner, trying to blend in with the shadows.

When Kirby returns, the group clusters together, forming a plan.

As you sit by Kirby’s side in the van, the plan quickly goes to shit. The killer’s call is traced back to Gale’s apartment, leaving the Carpenter sisters to race to her rescue.

You and Kirby head back to the precinct for a while, where she combs through her files once more. She gets a call about a new plan, and the two of you hop back into her car, headed back towards the abandoned theater.

Sam, Tara, and Chad stand outside.

Chad points to you, where you’re standing by Kirby’s side. “Is it safe for her to come in with us?”

You swallow at his retort.

Kirby calmly comes to your defense, “Safer than leaving her alone, yes. Where’s Mindy?”

Sam explains that Mindy got separated and had to take a different train with Ethan.

Kirby quirks an eyebrow, “Okay, well it’s better if we wait inside.”

The others go their separate ways, leaving you and Kirby to stand by the door. She double checks the ammunition in her gun, and makes sure her bulletproof vest is intact.

A few minutes pass where you’re left to sit and wait. With Kirby distracted with her gun and you distracted with your thoughts, neither of you notice the figure creeping up behind her.

Kirby falls to the ground, groaning before she falls unconscious. Before you can think of screaming, you’re hit hard in the back of the head.

You land next to Kirby on the ground, head spinning as your world fades to black.

You’re groggy as you wake, but you quickly notice that Kirby is nowhere to be found. You stand and take a minute to regain your bearings.

Once you’ve calmed down, you start to make out the faint sounds of voices in the main room. You slowly approach, stopping dead in your tracks once you see what’s going on.

Sam and Tara are clutching bricks, trying to defend themselves from Quinn and Ethan, who are wearing the ghostface robes and taunting the sisters with knives.

Detective Bailey stands in front of them, waving around a gun as he monologues.

To your dismay, Quinn notices you.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite accomplice.”

Bailey turns to face you, grinning.

“Come on over, join us!”

The rest of the group can’t see from where his back is turned, but his gun is aimed at you and his eyes are threatening. You comply, terrified as you inch forward.

When you’re within reach, Bailey reaches out and wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, the force of his arm nearly knocking the wind out of you.

He turns to taunt the two sisters, “We couldn’t have done it without her. Your little girlfriend was a great help, Tara.”

Sam and Tara look shocked and then betrayal fills their eyes.

You’re confused, caught up in fear and panic.

Sam’s scoffs, “You needed four people just to take me out? That’s pathetic.”

Only now do you realize what’s going on. Bailey’s making it seem like you’ve been helping them all along, still not allowing you to be innocent.

Your eyes are wide and begging for the umpteenth time, “Wait, I didn’t help them!”

Ethan rolls his eyes, a tiny hidden smirk on his face, “Drop the act! This is the fun part Y/N, remember? Like we talked about.”

You try to wiggle out of Bailey’s grip, but he’s unwavering.

Your struggling causes you to meet Tara’s eyes. She looks devastated, like her worst thoughts were coming to life.

“Let me go! I didn’t help them, Tara please! Please it wasn’t me! They’re lying!”

Your cheeks are wet with your tears.

Bailey looks between you and Tara for a second before a smirk slowly spreads across his face.

“Well Tara, it looks like it’s up to you.” He tucks his gun into his waistband and pulls out a knife.

He gestures to you with the knife, “Girlfriend, or killer?”

The knife presses against your abdomen, ready to strike.

Time pauses for a second, while your eyes are locked on Tara’s. You’re pleading, the most desperate you’ve been up to this point. Your life is quite literally on the line, and if Tara chooses not to trust you, you’re dead.

Her mouth is agape, opening and closing, as she glances to Sam for help. Sam shakes her head and mouths a trust no one to her sister.

Tara remains conflicted.

Bailey growls, “Girlfriend or killer, Tara. Choose one.”

Tara’s gaze hardens, but you can still see how her eyes are flitting around worriedly.

She’s biting her lip hard.

You decide to try to sway her one more time, this is the girl you love, who knows how much you love her, though not by your choice. You don’t know if she returns your feelings, but this isn’t the time to be fearful of rejection. At least if she still doesn’t believe your innocence, you’ll die knowing you did everything you could to save yourself.

You don’t sound desperate anymore, just broken. “Tara, I- I love you. And I wouldn’t do this to you, or Sam, or any of our friends. You know me better than anyone else, so you should know I’m telling the truth. I have been all along.”

The room is still and silent.

Tara looks into your eyes, and whatever it is she sees, it makes her finally open her mouth to respond. She’s looking right at you as she speaks, “I believe you.”

It’s then that the room erupts into chaos.

You’re blinded with pain as Bailey’s knife enters your insides and twists around.

“You got it right Tara, but you’re too late.”

The knife is pulled out and thrusted back in. A trail of blood leaks out of your mouth.

Quinn and Ethan laugh. Tara’s screams ring loudly throughout the shrine, but she is held from running towards you by Sam.

You’ve lost track of how many times the knife has entered your body. The pain is so intense that you can’t even feel it anymore.

Your vision is spotty, and you slide limply out of Bailey’s grip to crash unceremoniously to the ground.

You’re left to wonder why no one’s ever said how sickening it is to feel your own life draining from your body. Maybe because they didn’t live to retell the pain?

As your eyes drift shut, you think back to the first night you’d met Tara. How you found her to be so alluring, so painstakingly beautiful. You remember the offhand internal comment you made after hours of blushing under her relentless teasing, when you’d said to yourself that this girl would someday be the death of you.

You’d laugh at the irony if you had enough energy to do so.

With the hopes of being reincarnated into a simpler life, you finally stop fighting death’s cold grasp and allow yourself to fade away.

And fade away you do.

Until the paramedics are pumping you full of drugs, their arms flying around you with practiced precision. They’re stitching, and bandaging, and doing everything they can to save your life.

Somehow, someway, they do it. They save you.

A week later, your eyes open for the first time.

The room is empty, your only company being a vase full of wilted flowers.

You’re covered by a thin blue blanket from the waist down. You’d reach down and assess the damage, but your arms don’t want to cooperate, still too weak to comply with your brain’s request.

Besides, you’re alive, shouldn’t that be all that matters?

It’s then that you hear two voices out in the hallway, growing louder as they likely approach your room.

The door opens, and you suck in a breath. It’s Sam and Tara, the latter of the two clutching a fresh bouquet of flowers in her uninjured arm.

They haven’t noticed you’re awake yet, still continuing their previous conversation.

“Hi.” You mentally kick yourself for always having the most awkward greetings.

They gasp and turn to face you.

“You’re awake!” Tara flies towards you and carefully embraces you, mindful of your barely healed injuries. You make a small noise in response, though eventually slowly lift your arms to return the hug.

Sam leaves to go inform the nurse of your condition.

The small girl pulls away to set the flowers down, before moving to gingerly sit on the side of the bed.

She lifts a hand to cup your face, silently stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“I owe you a huge apology,” she begins.

You shake your head, “We have plenty of time to talk about that, let’s just exist for now, yeah?”

She nods, big brown eyes scanning your face nervously. You watch curiously, as she seemingly works up some confidence.

“Is it true, what Mindy said?”

You pale, and meekly nod your head, knowing she’s referring to when Mindy exposed your love for her.

She’s launching herself towards you again, stopping with her lips mere millimeters away from your lips, a silent question of permission lurking in her eyes.

You glance down at her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they were the first time you’d kissed her.

She takes that as your answer, and closes the gap. You’re drowning again, in everything that is Tara Carpenter, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

There’d be time to talk later, to work through your issues of trust with her and everyone else, but for now?

You were perfectly content with the blissful feeling of being consumed by Tara, of her expressing everything left unsaid with just her lips.

You’re scarred and hurt, beaten and bruised, but none of it matters.

You’re kissing Tara, and she’s enough. More than that, she’s all you’ll ever need.

Bonus note: Everyone thank @cartierdreamx for the happy ending, as much as I love it, r's death would've really fueled the evil angst rat that lives inside of me. Send me your thoughts, I'm so excited to hear what you all think after reading!

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29 @fanboy7794 @thelonewriter247 @simp4natasha @cartierdreamx @btay3115 @friedryes @bananasplits-world @alexkolax @ordelixx @adaydreamaway08 @youralphawolf72

As always, so sorry if I forgot to add anyone to the list that asked to be added! I tried my best to add everyone!! <3

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #scream fanfic #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

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