#I have my pantry half stocked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 2 months ago

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there is a knock at your door.

yandere!jade leech x (gender neutral) reader x yandere!floyd leech cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, fear/paranoia, kidnapping note - will you open it? // a birthday gift for the lovely and amazing @fish-brain-go-brrrr!!!!!!! may your special day be filled with eels, tako, and boundless happiness. (´▽`ʃƪ)♡ thank you for being a wonderful friend!! have the best birthday and enjoy this little gift hehe!!!! 🎉

Knock, knock.

The door opens to reveal your friend since forever: Azul Ashengrotto.

And, more importantly, his Alaskan Malamute, who bounds over in quick clicks to greet you. You laugh as she all but pushes past Azul’s legs in an effort to reach your outstretched arms.

“Well, excuse you!” Azul laughs. She slobbers all over your face in her form of affectionate greeting before pulling away to sniff curiously at your suitcase. “Someone’s excited to see you.”

“I haven’t even gotten through the door,” you remark in between giggles.

“Okay, Pepper, that’s enough.” Azul clicks his tongue and she parts from you (not before delivering one final lick to your cheek. He smiles and pats her affectionately. “Good girl.”

Despite Pepper’s impressive size, she’s nothing but a softie. A gentle giant, some would describe her. You remember when she was just a puppy, small enough to be cradled in Azul’s arms like a human baby. How she’s grown!

“If you’d come this way, you can put your stuff down.” Azul shuffles aside to allow you to step fully into the foyer of his smartly-furnished home. “I’m sure you’re already familiar with everything, but it won’t hurt to reiterate.”

“Please do. It’s been a while since I’ve been at your place. Doesn’t seem like anything’s changed, though.”

He hums and shuts the door behind you. It locks smoothly. You trail after Azul, wheeling your suitcase down the hall and into the sitting room. Pepper bounds after the both of you and makes herself comfortable on a fluffy dog bed.

“Pepper’s feeding schedule hasn’t changed. Although I did switch to a different brand of dry food. This one is much better. Vet’s orders and all that. And every month I have a chef come in to prepare her a special, nutritionally balanced meal with only the freshest ingredients.”

“Wow! Isn’t she spoiled?” you tease in an exaggerated baby voice.

“I take care of my things,” he replies simply, shrugging your playful remark off, “and Pepper deserves only the finest.”

“I’m sure she appreciates it.”

As if having realized she’s the subject of conversation, Pepper barks.

Azul leads you through the house into the kitchen. It looks different from the last time you saw it and you realize he must have had it redone. Every appliance is brand-new, winking back at you when you peek into each gleaming surface.

Sleek, you think, admiring the wall oven.

“Pepper gets one cup of dry food twice every day. Once in the morning and once at night. On Fridays, I give her a can of wet food as a treat. She can have that whenever you think is best. I usually do it around late morning, early afternoon.”

“Dry food twice each day. Wet food Friday. Got it.”

He opens a small door to a cupboard packed neatly with cans and containers. “This is where I keep her food. This bigger door is for human food. The wonderful pantry.” He knocks on it playfully.

Knock, knock.

You attempt a poor joke. “So it’s not just all dog food?”

“I have to feed myself,” he says, dramatically aghast. “I’m not a dog.”

“You sure about that?”

Azul barks out a chuckle. His mouth quirks up in an amused half-grin. “I’m sorry to disappoint. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve stocked this one full of everything indicated in the preferences you sent me.”

“So that’s why you asked me for that list! I just thought you wanted food recs.”

“That, too. You have unique tastes.”

“Microwave and canned meals are always there for me in my darkest hours.”

He hums. “Well, I’ve made sure to get each of your human favorites, so you needn’t feen for those too much.”

There’s a razored edge to his remark that makes you shrivel inside. As if your appetite is cheap in some way, more like a dog’s than a person’s.

But this is his house and it’s his money. You wouldn’t put it past him to factor in the pay cut for unnecessary sass. So you simply bare your teeth in a smile and take the punch, whether it was intended for you or not. Sometimes you forget he’s supposed to be your friend.

“You’re welcome to use the kitchen. The whole house is your oyster, really,” he continues, guiding you towards the back door. It’s then when you notice the little black camera positioned in the corner of the room, its red eye peering soundlessly back at you. You wonder if that’s a new addition—the dog cameras. You can’t remember if they were there the last summer you were here. “Pepper has a tendency to stay out longer than she needs to after she’s done her business. She’ll come to the door once she’s had her fill, so there’s no need to fret. Although I’m sure she’ll listen to you. She’s quite obvious in her favoritism…”

You laugh but not because it’s funny. Because it’ll hopefully land you within his good graces, which is patently absurd if he’s meant to be your friend. You’re not even sure you can call these favors friendship when they’re transactional. If anything, you’re friendlier with Pepper than you are with Azul.

Am I really closer with a dog than a human? you think as he opens the door for you to view the fenced-in yard. You watch Azul gesture, his lips moving with his words. Actually, maybe Azul’s the dog.

Doubtful, but that doesn’t make the imagery any less comedic.

“I’ll be back next Monday. If you need anything or have any questions, you have my number. Oh, but just in case I’ve written the schedule for you and pasted it on the fridge should you forget.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

At that, he smiles sincerely. “Thank you. I really do appreciate this, considering everything was such short notice.”

“Nah, don’t worry. We’re friends. Plus, Pepper loves me.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that’s more than enough of a bonus. Speaking of which, how much would you like to be paid?”

“However much you’d like to give me,” you blurt and immediately regret it.

“I researched the average pay for dog-sitters, but there were just so many conflicting opinions and variables. So what do you think would be best? Please don’t sell yourself short on account of my asking. I’m always willing to give you more for your services.”

Taking a pause, you contemplate his words. If you factor in the grocery trip he made on your behalf and his letting you stay for the week alongside the tasks you’ll be completing for Pepper…

You open your mouth to suggest four-hundred madol, but he beats you to it—and with a completely different amount.

“Does three-hundred suffice?”

“Sure. No, yes. Yeah, that works.” You smile, but you aren’t very pleased.

“Wonderful! If you ever find yourself thinking you might need more, please do tell me. I want to make sure you’re paid accordingly. Good work deserves equally good acknowledgement, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod. If you know anything about Azul, it’s that he’s always willing to work with you when it comes to finances. He’s a businessman, so of course he’d know how to flawlessly navigate these types of situations. And having built himself a career and life on hard work, he has the confidence to throw numbers around and see which one sticks.

Briefly, as you follow him to the front door, you try to imagine yourself in his shoes—a businessperson who dresses smart every day, who never has to worry about money, who doesn’t have to be silently amazed by shiny appliances and refurbished kitchens.

And then you wonder if Azul is in the market for a spouse, but that idea is swiftly stamped out when you realize how silly it sounds.

He props his suitcase against the wall and bends down to welcome Pepper, who can easily match his height, into his arms. She licks at his face, sniffing the cologne spritzed on his suit, and he doesn’t seem to fuss over the hair.

“I’ll see you in a week. Be good to (Name) while I’m gone.”

Upon hearing your name, she whips her head up to look at you.

“She’s always good no matter what,” you vouch, reaching to scratch behind her ears. Her tail wags wildly. “The best girl.”

“I’m glad.” Azul pulls away. He plucks a lint roller from the side pouch in his backpack and casually brushes down his front. “I trust you’ll be fine in my absence? Do feel free to sleep wherever—whether on the sofa or in the guest bedroom upstairs. The sheets were just washed and the room is clean. Mine is as well, but I suppose it may be awkward to offer it.” He coughs into his fist. “Regardless, whichever space you find most comfortable, consider it yours for the duration of your stay.”

“Thank you for everything, Azul.” You hold the door for him as he drags his suitcase over the threshold, his backpack hanging from one shoulder. “Have a safe flight.”

Pepper joins you at the door to watch. You wave to him while he lifts his belongings into the trunk of his car, and then within mere minutes he’s pulling away and driving out of sight.

“And that’s that,” you announce, ducking back inside with Pepper. You shut the door and lock it. Surveying the sitting room, your hands situated on your hips, you wonder what you should do now. She peers up at you, just as expectant.

The first thing you decide to do is peruse the pantry and the fridge. All of your favorites are arranged within. It’s actually too much, you realize, now unable to settle on a single option for dinner.

So instead you swipe the money Azul’s left for you on the counter—in case of emergencies, the note reads—and decide that this predicament is dire enough for pizza.

Knock, knock.

You pop up from the sofa and trot over to open the front door. Pepper gets there before you, barking loudly at the person on the other side. Gently, you shush her and peek out through the small crack to greet the driver. They smile and hand over your food. Rushing through the process, you give them the amount owed.

The door shuts and locks with a click.

“You’re babysitting for the same rich guy? You’d think he’d give you a raise or something since you do it so often,” Ace mutters into the phone.

“Yeah, well, it’s only a week.”

“Still a week’s worth of work. Why do you even feel bad? Ask for more. He said he’d give it to you, didn’t he?”

“I dunno… I mean, we already agreed on an amount and I don’t wanna seem like a greedy asshole—”

“(Name), he’s rich. They’re all greedy assholes. If he has the money to spoil his dog with monthly fancy feasts,” he says, putting on a posh accent, “then he has the money to pay you what you deserve. If you want, I could always say something. J-Just because you’re too chicken and all, I mean! Sometimes you need superstar Ace to step in. No need to thank me. I know I’m great.”

Propping your feet on the armrest at the end of the loveseat, you roll your eyes at the ceiling. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Case in point! So you should totally ask him for more. Wring him out like a money rag.”

“We’ll see… He did buy a bunch of food for me and he’s letting me stay. He even left money for emergencies.”

“You used it, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m not stupid.”

Ace laughs. “So you’re alone then?”

“The dog’s here, too. You wanna say hi?” You tap your phone. “Okay, you’re on speaker. Pepper, you wanna meet my friend?”

“What’s up, Pepper!”

She lifts her head from where she’s resting on her cushion, her ears raised curiously. Her only response is a soft huff.

“She says hi.”

“You sure you’re not putting words in her mouth?”

“Surprised you couldn’t understand her, you dog.”

“Hey!”

Grinning, you pick at a loose string on your sweater. Azul’s house is always so cold. “But, yes, it’s just the dog and me. Why?”

Ace is quiet for an uncharacteristic beat. Eventually, he clears his throat. “Dunno. Just figured you might want some company. I could come over.”

You understand the implication coyly woven into his words. “I’d say yeah—”

“Really?!”

“But he’s got cameras. For the dog, I think.”

“So just cover them up?”

“Wow, great suggestion. How long did it take you to think of that one, brainiac?”

“I’m just saying… He’s away on a business thing, right? How much time is he gonna have to watch the cameras?”

“If he’s neurotic enough, he’ll find time.”

“He shouldn’t be if he trusts you to look after the house.”

“He also trusts how easy it’ll be to connect the dots if something goes missing from his house.”

“It’s not criminal to have a guest over! Geez. You make it sound so illegal…”

“Tough luck. If you really wanna hang out, we can just get lunch next time I’m—”

Knock, knock.

You sit up slightly on the sofa, brows furrowed. Is someone at the door? At this hour? You’re certain Azul isn’t expecting anyone, and the mail isn’t due to come until tomorrow morning. You glance at Pepper. Her eyes are closed, but her ears are raised, listening.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Hold that thought. I think someone’s at the door.”

You manage to catch the very end of Ace’s don’t-get-murdered warning just before you set your phone down. Azul’s door has a panel of frosted glass, so even if you wanted to discern the person’s features on the other end you’d have to open it for confirmation. All you can go off of are shadows.

Unlocking the door, you pull it open and poke your head outside. The crisp air hits you like a slap.

No one’s there.

You check around in case someone dropped something off, but there’s nothing in sight. Nothing on the stoop. No mail to collect.

Did someone have the wrong house? you think, trying to picture the scenario in your mind. Or maybe some dumb kids are pranking me.

Now irritated, you shut the door in a huff.

It’s summer. Don’t they have anything better to do?

Maybe it’s precisely because it’s summer that they don’t.

You choose to brush this annoyance aside in favor of picking up your phone to return to the conversation.

“Sorry about that. I’m back.”

“Everything good?”

“Yeah. No, yeah. All good here. Just some kids thinking they’re funny.”

“Yeaaah, no surprises there.”

“You’d think they’d stay away. Azul’s probably got enough money to sue them for disturbing the peace or some other stuffy nonsense and win.”

“They’re kids. They’re not gonna know any better.”

“Says the public menace.”

“I’m not that bad! Cut me some slack. I’ll have you know, I’ve matured significantly since my school days and I am very much a changed man.”

“Yeah, oookay.”

“I’m serious!”

“Sure, Mr. Mature. Anyway, it’s late. I should let Pepper out and get to bed.”

“You sure you don’t want me to sing you to sleep?” he teases.

“I actually value my sense of hearing, so no. Thanks, though.”

Before he can retort, you bid him sweet dreams and hang up. Gazing at the camera positioned in the corner, you rise to your feet.

The cameras are definitely new.

“Pepper, sweetheart, you wanna go outside?”

She seems to have understood that last part, for she scrambles out of her bed and pads over to the back door with a swaying tail. You open the door for her, and she rushes past you in a blur of fur.

Good. She’ll get one last run and bathroom break in before bed and hopefully we’ll be fine until morning.

Like a wine stain on a white shirt, your eyes are drawn to the camera once more. You can understand having cameras outside the property, but inside the house feels…unusual. But then you’ve never had a dog of your own and you’ve always lived in apartments on the highest floor, so maybe this is what most dog owners do when they need to monitor an overactive animal.

Maybe they’re those cameras that you can speak through! If that’s the case, then I can totally see him talking to Pepper or scolding her if she’s up to no good. Okay, that makes a little more sense now.

Another reason hits you, and you feel foolish for not realizing it first: For safety and security’s sake, too. Of course.

Your phone buzzes then and you pull it from your pocket to read the message. Ace has sent you something stupid on Magicam, no doubt. You’re about to open it and confirm when—

Knock, knock.

An admonishment on the tip of your tongue, you storm through the hall towards the front door. You throw it open this time, and like before you find empty space.

“Not funny,” you seethe, stepping out into the cold night to peer through the neat hedges and flower bushes. Surely those kids are hiding somewhere… “It’s late. Go home already!”

You don’t receive a reply. For a moment, you wait in anticipation. Wherever they’re hiding, they’ll have to get up and retreat eventually. It’s oddly quiet. You strain to listen for any giggles or whispers.

Nothing but suffocating silence.

And then Pepper barks, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You shut the door slowly, watching the outside slim down until eventually all you see is your warped reflection in the frosted glass.

Weird…

Again, Pepper barks.

“I’m coming! Wait just a moment, Pepper!”

You lock the door and scurry to let her in.

Come tomorrow, those kids won’t be able to hide in the daylight, you tell yourself as you brush your teeth. And when I catch them, I’ll make sure to give them a talk on why it’s not nice to bother other people, especially at night when it’s dark out. It’s just unsafe for kids to be out late anyway!

When you settle into bed, you realize the house is perfectly still and silent. Pepper is snoozing comfortably on Azul’s bed. You never realized it, but Azul’s house seems bigger at night. More rooms. More space. Lots of shadows. A creak every now and then as everything settles. It’s in between sleep that you begin to wonder if you locked the door.

It’s fine. I’ve got Pepper to keep me safe.

Comforted with this knowledge, you fall asleep.

Knock, knock.

There is a knock at your door.

You jerk awake and, rather clumsily, feel around in the bed for your phone. It flashes the time back at you. The rest of the world comes trickling in through dull, still-sleepy senses. You finally register Pepper’s bark, which is beginning to sound more like an alarm with how relentless it is.

“Shit. It’s already afternoon?” And then you sit up. “Shit! It’s already afternoon!”

You rush down the stairs, apologizing profusely to Pepper with each step. She’s waiting for you at the very bottom, pacing in circles and barking at you.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry. I completely slept in. You must have to go really bad.”

She races you to the door and you yank it open in your haste, heaving a relieved breath when she bursts outside. You lean against the doorframe for support and bask in the sunshine that spills in.

The weather’s beautiful today. I can’t believe they were saying it might rain.

While Pepper runs laps outside, you busy yourself with filling Pepper’s bowls with the recommended amount of dry food and then fresh water. Her shadow appears against the door a few minutes later and so you let her in.

“Just in time,” you praise, watching as she trots eagerly over to her bowl.

With that out of the way, you begin preparing a very late breakfast for yourself. You can’t remember when the dishes from before were cleaned. Did you do them last night before bed?

“Doesn’t really matter,” you murmur, slicing fruit for a salad. “One less thing I have to do. Thank you, (Name) from the past.”

You skim through the notes Azul’s pasted to the bulletin board. Instructions for Pepper’s feeding schedule, reminders, times and dates. But then there are also things he’s left for himself. A calendar with important events marked. Various notes for miscellaneous things: Bring suit in for cleaning. Meet with dietician at the end of the month. Celebrate colleague’s birthday. These tiny slivers of his life remind you that Azul is a busy person like you. When you look at the stars he’s doodled around dates of particular importance, you feel yourself smiling. He’s not such an intimidating figure when you look at him through his calendar.

A text from Ace coaxes you out of your thoughts: u still on for tonight?

Tonight? But then you remember. Oh, fuck! Deuce’s birthday! I forgot we planned the surprise for today.

hell yeah!!! is your enthusiastic reply.

Later, while you’re getting ready for the evening, you think you hear someone knocking. But the running water drowns out all sounds from downstairs. If Pepper isn’t barking, it’s likely nothing.

You leave the house somewhat frazzled, hoping to shake off the strange suspicion that something isn’t right.

The biggest surprise, aside from jumping out to shock Deuce when he walked into the restaurant on account of thinking it a date—yes, you and Ace catfished him for this very cruel, irreverent birthday joke—is perhaps the text you receive from Azul.

Is it raining? Did Pepper track mud in the house?

You read it three more times and then you peek outside the window. It’s been raining ever since you arrived. So much for perfect weather… But Pepper couldn’t have gotten into any mud because the ground was dry earlier today.

No?? you write back, confusion bubbling in your chest. I haven’t sent her out since this morning when it was sunny. It’s raining now, but she hasn’t been out at all.

Horrified, you begin to wonder if you somehow spilled something during breakfast. Or did Pepper have an accident in the house? Did she get into something? A million questions headline your thoughts, overwhelming in their intensity. Thankfully, it’s Ace and Deuce who bring you back to the present.

“Ace told me you’re doing that house-sitting gig for that guy again.”

“Oh, yeah! I am. Dog-sitting, too.” You stuff your phone away.

Best not to think about it.

“Didja catch those kids?”

Deuce looks between you and Ace, a brow raised. “What kids?”

“You totally missed it! I guess some kids were knocking on (Name)’s door all night long.”

“They’re still doing it. I think…”

“No way!”

“Sooner or later, it becomes less annoying and more like harassment.” Deuce cringes. “And you haven’t caught them yet?”

“No. Or… Well, I thought I heard some knocking this morning. But I was still asleep and the dog was barking.”

“This guy has cameras, doesn’t he?” Ace looks to you for confirmation.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I have access to them.”

“Maybe that’ll drive whoever’s bothering you away. If they see the cameras, they’ll realize they’re being recorded and hopefully leave you alone.”

“Hopefully.”

“I offered to come over.”

“It’s not that serious.”

Ace and Deuce share a look of doubt.

“Really! It’s not, guys. All they’re doing is knocking on the door. Irritating as hell? Yes. But it’s all harmless. They’re outside. I’m inside. Plus, I’ve got Azul’s dog. She’s huge.”

“Just…keep yourself safe. Call one of us if you need to. We’ll come over,” Deuce says, poking around at the food on his plate.

“I will. Thank you. But let’s not worry about any of that. It’s your birthday! It’s supposed to be all about you.”

Somehow the unsettling atmosphere ebbs away, replaced with the joyous delusions of short-lived celebration.

You return to Azul’s house to find muddy pawprints on the floor. It takes you thirty minutes to scrub the floors clean, and for the entire time you’re racking your brain trying to understand how this happened. Was there mud in the backyard that you just weren’t aware of? Or did Pepper truly go outside when it was raining? Did you leave the door unlocked?

Surely Azul must have seen what happened on the cameras.

Something isn’t adding up. You spend your entire shower constructing the scene and its many possibilities, but none of them make a lick of sense.

It’s just you and Pepper, right?

As you toss and turn in bed, struggling to relax under a duvet that feels too itchy and hot, you think you hear someone knocking on the door.

Or maybe it’s the window. Maybe it’s right below you, tapping at the ceiling, pacing around in the kitchen, reaching to pet Pepper.

Maybe you’re just dreaming.

Azul calls you on the seventh day to check in. You consider telling him about the knocking, the dishes, that rainy day when Pepper tracked in mud, but you can’t seem to form the words without sounding utterly insane. So you smile and lie.

“No issues here. Pepper’s been wonderful.”

Azul hums, pleased. “Aah, I miss her something fierce. Oh, can you tell her I said that?”

You repeat his words to Pepper. “I dunno… I think she’s starting to like me more than you.”

“Well, isn’t that a problem? How else will she get her fix of you once you’re gone?”

“I’ll be back next time you need me.” And then you hesitate. “You…will need me again, right?”

“Of course. I always need you, (Name).”

There’s an awkward pause on his end. He clears his throat, but you don’t add anything to break the tension.

“Um, right. Yeah… Enjoy the rest of your business trip. I hope all is well with…that.”

“It is, yes. Thank you.”

“Then I won’t keep you.”

You end the call before he can say anything else. Pepper, who had been resting beside you on the sofa, tilts her head at you.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” you whisper, “but your owner is really bad at words sometimes.”

She leans in and licks your cheek.

Someone knocks on the door and lies in wait. You watch with bated breath, repeating the same phrase over and over: “Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door.”

Knock, knock.

She reaches for the knob.

“No… Come on. Don’t do it. It’s so clearly a trap!” You almost don’t want to watch. You know she’s as good as dead as soon as she opens the door, for the killer will descend and drag her back inside her own house.

Knock, knock.

She’s already opened the door. As expected, the killer pounces like the Grim Reaper and she shrieks like a banshee.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Remote in hand, you lower the volume and focus on the silence that creeps in shortly after. You wait for a creak or another knock—a disturbance of some sort.

Slowly, you turn to glance at the door and then at the windows nearby with the curtains drawn. As quietly as you can manage, you set the remote down and slither off of the sofa. Pepper doesn’t seem bothered by the sounds, but you can tell she’s listening, her body tense.

No one’s out there. It’s nothing.

You peel the curtains back ever so slightly and peek out at the darkness. There’s no one on the stoop. No one at the window. No one.

So then where was the knocking coming from? Was it really just the movie?

Or… No, certainly not. You refuse to entertain that thought.

But, if not the movie and not from outside, where else could the sound be coming from? Where else if not from within these very walls?

You shut the curtains and return to the sofa. Horror is swapped for a cheesy rom-com. You need the laughter and the cringe and every fluffy thing in between to calm the electricity in your nerves.

And it works. You fall asleep by the third rom-com, listening to cheesy one-liners and bad jokes with terribly written punchlines.

Knock, knock.

And then a noisy clatter.

You’re shaken from your slumber in a daze. You’re not sure what time it is or where you even are, and it takes a moment for clarity to filter in through the grogginess. You’re wrapped up in blankets on the bed in the guest room in Azul’s house and there’s someone standing at the foot of the bed, watching you in the gloom, and—

Wait.

How did you get to bed? Most importantly, what’s that blinking back at you? It can’t be Pepper. Pepper doesn’t have two-toned eyes. Pepper can’t stand on two legs. You squint through the shadows to pick out the shape of them, and your blood freezes when you realize it’s a person.

A person. A person.

Someone’s inside the house and they’re looking right at you.

Do they know I’m awake? you think, your thoughts racing wildly. You lie there, rigid as a board and stiff as a corpse, and hope that they can’t tell. Calm down. Relax. Pepper will scare them off.

But then you notice she hasn’t barked a single time since you opened your eyes. Is she sleeping?

Terror pierces your heart. Did this person hurt her? Is she—

Don’t think about that.

Your eyes slide over towards the doorway, and you just about scream when you see another figure. The breath sticks in your throat. You know it’s another person because the way they lean so casually against the doorframe suggests a certain nonchalance with this situation. A nonchalance that can only belong to a person.

“Knock, knock. Aww. Did we wake you up?” It’s a man’s whispery drawl that combs through the room, raking through your scalp with sharp fingers, prodding at your ears like a hornet. “You looked so peaceful, too. Sorry about that.”

You’re not sure what you should do. Should you even try to run or escape when you’re already so cornered? Is there enough time to call for help? Will Pepper hear you if you shout? Should you play dead or feign sleep? What should you do?

What can you do?

You glance at the other figure. Unlike the other one, who sways and fidgets like he’s caught in a perpetual, invisible breeze, this person is perfectly, eerily still. Almost like a doll.

But then the man in the doorway laughs. “Layin’ it on thick there, ain’tcha? They’re already shakin’ like a leaf. No need to overdo it.”

A razored smile cuts through the gloom. Your eyesight adjusts enough to catch sight of a J-shaped strand of hair and the glint of an earring.

“No need to look so scared,” he continues, but you can’t pry your eyes from the other’s smile. It’s a smile of grotesque pleasure—one that feasts on fear so palpable it might as well be a three-course meal for him. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Then will you do something much worse? you want to ask, but all you can do is blink.

“Just gonna take you somewhere nice and cozy. Nothin’ scary about that. Ain’t that right, Jade?”

“Indeed, Floyd.” A voice as smooth and soft as melted caramel. Maybe it would’ve been soothing in a different situation.

Before you can scream or lunge out of bed, arms are reaching out to restrain you. A hand slaps over your mouth. Fingers curl into your arms. A sickly sweet rag is stuffed against your nose.

Your feet kick against the wall, a steady knock-knock-knocking like a heartbeat, until your muscles still and the fight is drained from you. Unconsciousness blankets your body and mind within minutes.

There is nothing more unnerving than returning to an empty house, especially when it was once filled with human presence. No one knows anything, but they could’ve if there was evidence. Incriminating footage is no good.

Azul certainly thinks so while he dons his finest suit and practices a few expressions in the mirror. Pepper watches him from where she lays curled on his bed.

“A hero must look exceptional when he rescues his dearest one. Most of all, he must be innocent and trustworthy. Wouldn’t you say so, Pepper?”

At that, she can only offer a halfhearted whimper. He smiles.

“Let’s go visit my (Name).”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd

627 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 11 months ago

Text

Of Roomates and Revenge

Lewis Hamilton x fake girlfriend!Reader

Featuring Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, and Nico Rosberg

Summary: in which your search for a free place to stay leads to helping one half of Brocedes live out his petty fantasy for revenge … and falling in love while doing so

Cat and Apartment Sitter Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1500/week plus all the Red Bull you can drink

I’m a world-traveling young professional who is rarely home. My two beautiful and rambunctious bengal cats need someone to stay with them in my Monaco apartment whenever I’m away for work.

The ideal candidate will be an experienced cat person who is prepared to deal with a lot of energy, chaos, and shenanigans from these two little terrors. They knock everything off every surface, wrestle at 3am, and will likely attempt to smother you while you sleep. If you can handle that, we’ll get along just fine.

In addition to caring for the cats, you will need to keep my place relatively tidy (i.e. no crushed Red Bull cans or fast food wrappers everywhere), collect any packages or mail that arrives, and randomly turn a few lights on and off every evening so the neighbors don’t get suspicious.

The position is ideal for a mature student, digital nomad, or someone between living situations who wants an amazing place to stay for free in one of the world’s hotspots.

Drop me a line if you think you can handle the cats from hell and wouldn't mind living in a 230 m² penthouse apartment with a private terrace, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a badass view of the Mediterranean. Preference goes to non-smokers who follow directions well and won’t throw ragers when I’m gone.

Send a brief intro, your experience with cats, and a couple photos attached. Urgently need someone for various stretches starting mid-February.

Do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers.

Live-in Cactus Caretaker Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1000/week, free snacks, and you can play my Xbox

I’m a young dude who’s rarely home because of my job that involves a lot of international travel. I have a single cactus plant that I promised my mum I would keep alive until she visits again. The thing is ... I have absolutely no idea how to care for plants. Like, I nearly killed it the first week by forgetting it existed.

What I need is someone responsible who can essentially live in my swanky Monaco apartment whenever I’m gone and keep my tiny cactus friend alive.

Duties would include:

Watering the cactus like ... once a month? Twice a month? I don’t know how often it needs water

Not letting the cactus die in any other way (pretty sure they need sunlight too … I think)

Keeping the place tidy (I’m a bit of a mess)

In return, you’d get:

A sick apartment all to yourself with a stunning view, giant TV, and full kitchen (please for the love of god be careful in there ... I almost burned the place down trying to make a grilled cheese once. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating. I almost went up in flames over a silly sandwich. If you can't even operate a microwave, we may have problems. There’s only room for one idiot like that in Monaco — and it’s me)

Unlimited snacks/drinks from my well-stocked pantry

Free rein over my gaming setup (just don’t break anything)

First dibs on any events/reservations I can’t make

The ideal person is responsible, shows they can follow basic instructions for cactus care, laidback since you’ll be alone a lot, and trustworthy enough not to wreck the place or throw illegal parties. Having a green thumb would be great, but frankly if you can manage not to kill the one plant, that’s good enough for me.

Send a brief bio about yourself and your qualifications as a cactus/housesitter if interested! I’m gone quite frequently starting in February so could use someone ASAP.

No scammy offers or soliciting, please!

Roommate Needed to Drink Wine and Listen to My Woes (Monaco)

Compensation: Free rent in a nice apartment, plus all the wine you can drink

Are you a good listener? Do you enjoy dry red wines and occasional bouts of tears and venting? If so, I’ve got the perfect living situation for you!

I’m a youngish guy with a high-stress job that involves a lot of traveling. When I’m home in Monaco, I tend to unwind by polishing off a couple bottles of nice Bordeaux or Burgundy while complaining about work, my colleagues, and my rival who is giving me really mixed signals.

What I need is a roommate who doesn’t mind a little drunken blubbering here and there.

You’ll get:

Your own bedroom in my spacious 2BR/2BA apartment in the La Condamine district

Rights to my kitchen, living room with large TV, piano, and music recording equipment

Access to the building’s pool, sauna, fitness center, and lounge areas

As much wine as you can drink (and more)

In exchange, you’ll be expected to:

Listen to my periodic rants and rave sessions without judgement

Preferably nod along or offer supportive-sounding feedback like “Yeah, that’s really tough man” or “Wow, they sound terrible”

Refill wine glasses as needed

Maybe rub my back or pat my head if I’m really going through it

The ideal candidate is a decent human being who can empathize with the high-pressure struggles of a young professional trying to make it in a cut-throat career.

You’ll need a decent amount of free time and lots of patience. Prior experience as a life coach, therapist, or sympathetic drinking buddy is a plus.

If you can handle crying guys after a few too many glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, inquire within! Include a little about yourself and why you would make a good non-judgmental wine friend. Merci!

Expand Your Search? Similar Opportunities:

Impartial Referee Wanted for Parking Lot Brawls (France)

Compensation: €400 per event

Two athletic young men in their late-20s are looking for a level-headed third party to oversee and officiate their semi-regular parking lot boxing matches. Yes, you read that right — we’re talking straight-up fisticuffs in the back alley behind the Circuit Paul Ricard.

A little background: We’ve been frenemies/rivals since we were kids — constantly competing in friends, employment opportunities, you name it. There’s a healthy amount of hatred between us that simply can't be resolved through words alone. Every few months, we feel the need to just take out our pent-up aggression on each other's faces.

Up until now, it’s been an unregulated shitshow with no real rules or oversight. We’re looking for someone impartial who can:

Set some fair ground rules around where/how we can strike

Ensure no prop weapons get involved (last time he tried to scalp me with a wrench)

Officiate and declare a winner once one of us is knocked out or quits

Ideally have some basic first-aid skills in case of a nasty cut or broken nose

We will pay €400 cash at the start of each bout. You’ll get a free show of two extremely fit dudes wailing on each other until there’s a clear victor.

Loser exits with his tail between his legs, winner gets to gloat for the next couple months until we run it back.

If you can be a neutral third party and aren’t squeamish about a little blood, send us your info with some details about yourself and your experience resolving conflicts (legally or not). First come first served — our next fight is tentatively scheduled for mid-May!

No flakes or perverts, please. Serious connoisseurs of violence only.

P.S. Don’t be scared to give out penalties (one of us is used to that)

Actor or Actress Needed to Annoy Ungrateful Ex-Friend (Monaco)

Compensation: €2700 per week, free luxury accommodations

I’m a successful guy in my late 30s looking to hire someone to pretend to be my significant other for a few months. Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain ...

I had a major falling out with a former best friend who stabbed me in the back years ago. We live in the same apartment building, just one floor apart.

I’m trying to show him how amazing my life still is without him … and maybe make him jealous in the process.

That’s where you come in. I need you to move into my penthouse temporarily and act as my gorgeous new boyfriend/girlfriend.

Your main duties would include:

Loudly introducing yourself to said ex-friend by knocking on his door and being line “Hi, is [insert my name] here?” Then pretend to be embarrassed and apologize when he tells you that you’re at the wrong apartment

Hang out in the hallway near his place and have very loud fake conversations detailing our imaginary passionate nights together (rated R)

Post cringy coupley photos on your social media of us dressed up going out, cuddling on my yacht, etc

Ideally you’re an aspiring actor/actress or just a really convincing liar. Being somewhat loud and dramatic is a plus. You’ll need to be willing to play along if my petty ex-friend tries to confront us.

In return, you’ll be living in a lavish penthouse with all the amenities for free. You’ll have your own private suite and can hang out on the oversized balcony, by the pool, or in the media room when you’re off the clock. Might also be able to introduce you to some high-profile people if you’re trying to network.

Oh, and my bulldog will provide plenty of cuddles.

If you can pull off a remarkably realistic fake partner act and aren’t afraid of a little light deception, hit me up! Please include a couple photos plus a bit about yourself and your acting experience. Aiming to start mid-April.

I’m an equal opportunity employer — girlfriend, boyfriend, nonbinary partner, you name it. All genders welcome to apply for the role if you’ve got what it takes! Only preference is that you have especially luscious hair … for reasons.

No weirdos please.

Hi,

Okay, I have to admit — your ridiculous request to hire a fake girlfriend to make your ex-best friend jealous is quite possibly the pettiest thing I’ve ever heard. And I absolutely love it.

I’m literally the perfect person for this role. Petty vengeance is my middle name (well, not really, it's actually Y/M/N ... but you get the idea).

A little about my qualifications:

Took some theatre electives in university so I can really sell the dramatics

Lots of experience putting on an Oscar-worthy performance faking ... well, you know ... thanks to my douchebag ex-boyfriend who couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pleasure a woman 🙄

Not afraid to get LOUD and will happily reenact our “passionate nights” at earsplitting volumes in that hallway

Can pull off playing dumb if your friend tries to interrogate me about you (“Oh [whatever your name is]? Yeah he’s just the best at ... stuff”)

No shame in my pettiness game — I once spent my weekly paycheck on a Cameo just so an ex’s favorite celebrity would call him a dingleberry

In terms of looks, I’ve been told I have just the right amount of “hot” to make your poor pal jealous without it being too unbelievable. I’m attaching a few photos for reference.

Let me know if you want to meet up for a glass of wine and we can workshop some juicy storylines for our imaginary romance. Perhaps I was a former fling you rediscovered? A hot younger thing giving you a new lease on life? The possibilities are endless!

I’m a pro at faking it, so selling our relationship will be a piece of cake. Your ex-friend will be bright green with envy by the time I’m through!

Let’s make him regret the day he double-crossed you, babe.

Cheers,

Y/N

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 16h

My ex-best friend’s new girlfriend is the WORST!

I really need to get this off my chest. My upstairs neighbor’s new girlfriend is, without a doubt, the most insufferable human being on the planet. She’s loud, obnoxious, and seems to take immense pleasure in tormenting me for some reason.

A little background: I used to be really close friends with my neighbor. We had a big falling out a while back over ... well, it’s a long story. We don’t talk anymore and there’s a lot of resentment between us. Clearly the universe is trying to get back at me now with this new girl.

This chick has made it her personal mission to give me a play-by-play account of every single intimate encounter she has with him. And I mean DETAILED accounts. The other day I was just trying to enjoy my morning coffee and I hear her incredibly shrill voice from right outside my door:

“Oh he was an ANIMAL last night! The things he did with his tongue, I thought I was going to pass out!”

Like, seriously? Keep it to yourself, weirdo! That’s just the tame stuff too. Sometimes she’ll go into pretty graphic detail describing body parts and positions that I really didn’t need a mental picture of.

Here’s the thing — she quite obviously positions herself to be as close as possible to my apartment without actually trespassing — I mean, she doesn’t even live on my floor for god’s sake! So every word comes through crystal clear. I’ve confronted her about it a few times and she just plays dumb, like:

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry if I was being loud! We just get so carried away sometimes, you know how it is,” with this stupid ditzy valley girl voice and hair toss.

I don’t know if my former best friend put her up to this or if she’s just a massive troll in her own right. But it’s like psychological warfare at this point. Literally ANY time I’m home, I have to listen to her yap about their Sex Olympian-level escapades.

My wife even heard them once and thought I was playing porn at an insane volume! She doesn’t believe me that it’s just this deranged lady running her mouth constantly.

I’m half-tempted to start recording her rants and blast them back at full volume to give them a taste of their own medicine. Or maybe start describing lurid details of my own (admittedly not quite so colorful) sex life in retaliation.

I don’t know, maybe I’m being oversensitive. But living under these two insufferable assholes is a waking nightmare. I need to move or something because this is massively affecting my peace of mind. Who knows if they will ever get bored of tormenting me and move on.

Rant over. Thanks for letting me vent about the neighbors from hell.

u/chronicgossiper · 12h

Damn, that sucks man. Your neighbor and his gf sound like immature assholes trying to get a rise out of you. I’d look into noise complaint options or even see if you can get them evicted for harassment.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 11h

Seriously? You really think the landlord would evict someone over this? It’s not like they’re blasting music at 3am. Sounds more like passive aggressive pettiness than anything illegal.

u/chronicgossiper · 10h

Idk, having to listen to people loudly describe their sex acts against your will seems like it could qualify as harassment or creating a hostile environment. Worth exploring at least if they won’t stop.

u/NotBritneySpears · 9h

Eviction isn’t really an option here since we all own our apartments and there’s no landlord dictating that. It’s not that type of building.

u/nosyandproud · 8h

Did your former friend move into that building first or did you move in knowing he lived there?

u/NotBritneySpears · 7h

He was there first, I bought my place a few years after him when I could afford it. Never expected he'd pull something this childish.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 6h

So you willingly moved into the same building as your ex-best friend that you aren’t on speaking terms with? That’s just asking for drama, dude.

u/NotBritneySpears · 5h

It’s a great building in an amazing location. I wasn’t going to not pursue the opportunity just because he lives there too. It’s a big place, I didn’t think we’d be running into each other much.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 4h

Still seems like a weird decision to willingly insert yourself into his orbit like that if the relationship was so fractured. Probably should’ve seen some fallout coming.

u/nosyandproud · 3h

Yeah exactly, why would you move somwhere your ex-friend lives if you two clash that much? Kinda put yourself in this situation.

u/NotBritneySpears · 2h

Okay, let me be clear — he and I were best friends for over a decade before we had a colossal falling out a few years ago. We’re not just some casual ex-buddies who don’t get along. We were legitimately very close for most of our lives until things went nuclear between us. When I decided to move into the building, our friendship had been over for a while already. I really didn’t anticipate he’d take things to this vindictive level years later. I’m not going to miss out on my dream home just because of what happened between us.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 1h

This is getting juicyyy, do tell about what caused the falling out!

u/NotBritneySpears

Not really trying to dredge up old drama, that’s a whole other can of worms. The girlfriend situation is annoying enough as is.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 51m

Fair enough, you gave context. Still think you two need to have an adult conversation about boundaries. Purposely trying to loudly narrate their sex life at you is unhinged.

r/relationships

u/yourusername · 19h

I’m catching real feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend to get revenge on his ex-friend ... help?

Buckle up folks, because I’ve got one hell of a tangled situation to unpack here. This is going to be a long one.

About a month ago, I responded to this Facebook Marketplace ad from a guy (let’s call him L) looking to hire someone to pretend to be his new girlfriend. The goal was to make his former best friend/downstairs neighbor jealous after a brutal falling out between them.

I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But the benefits were good and I’d be living in his insane luxury penthouse in Monaco rent-free. More importantly, I really vibed with L’s pettiness and desire to get deliciously pathetic revenge on his ex-friend. My last boyfriend was the actual worst, so I was absolutely here for any slightly insane Karen antics.

Anyway, we hit it off immediately at the “audition” over drinks. L is brilliant, successful, gorgeous, and fucking hilarious in a sarcastic, unfiltered way. We both have a wicked mean streak and frankly get off on emotionally messy situations. It was like looking into a mirror — two beautiful trainwrecks finding each other in the wreckage.

From night one, we had crazy chemistry. The back-and-forth banter was electric, we finished each other’s sentences, etc. I felt so comfortable around him despite the bizarre circumstances. I assumed it was all fun and games to toy with his former best friend.

But over the last few weeks of loudly chronicling our “sex marathons”!outside said ex-friend’s door and doing phony coupley things around the city, I’ve realized my feelings are ... complicated. L and I CONNECT on a deeper level, in addition to just being partners in crime. We’ll be tangled up watching movies and he’ll make some perfectly timed quippy comment that has me cackling until my abs hurt. Or we’ll get deliriously wasted and end up baring our souls about our upbringings, dreams, fears — everything.

I’ve never been so open or comfortable around someone before. Our walls are gone. And the most messed up part? Some small, perverse part of me loves the strange intimacy we’ve manufactured through this farce. How much closer can you get than meticulously co-creating a fictional relationship?

In the beginning, I think we were both just in it for the laughs and pettiness factor. But something shifted for me recently. One night we were drunkenly rehearsing how I was going to describe our latest imaginary tryst to his ex-friend and ... I don’t know, I couldn’t stop staring at his lips while he was talking. His face was so close to mine and I felt breathless. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to ditch the script and really kiss him. I had to physically stop myself from lunging forward.

Later, when I went back to my room, I was hit with a crushing wave of realization — I have actual romantic FEELINGS for this basketcase who hired me to play-act as his girlfriend! What the actual fuck?

Guys, I’m in too deep. How did I let this happen? L is technically still my employer and this whole operation has an expiration date. His former friend is already growing visibly annoyed, so Phase 2 (feign a dramatic breakup, I move out, L moves on with his life) is likely coming up very soon.

Do I just bury my feelings and end this gig without saying anything? Do I risk the humiliation of confessing my heart to someone who was only pretending to want me around? Or should I just go for it and make out with him next time we’re tangled on the couch? I’m spiraling here!

The pettiness that brought us together may also tear us apart. Or maybe I’m just a sad clown who read too much into a fake relationship. Someone slap me with a reality check, please! I need perspective from the outside.

Tl;DR - Developed legit romantic feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend as part of his weird revenge plot. Not sure if I should come clean, keep it professional, or start actually making out with him for real. This was NOT part of the deal!

u/judgingloudly · 18h

Oh honey, you are in a MESS. This is like a bad romcom plot but IRL. I think your only real option is to fess up and tell L how you’re feeling. Contrary to popular belief, the fake dating trope doesn’t always have to stay pretend!

If he doesn’t feel the same way, at least you put it all out there and can move on with some dignity intact. But who knows — from how you describe the crazy chemistry and connection, he might feel relieved you said something first! Don’t let this fire burn out without taking your shot. Oh and definitely keep us updated, I’m invested now!

Reply to u/judgingloudly · 17h

I agree with this take. You already acknowledged you’re in too deep emotionally. Might as well put those cards on the table and let the chips fall where they may. Shooting your shot is always better than letting the “what if” eat away at you forever!

u/livefordrama · 16h

I’m sorry but I simply must ask — how did you land a gig like this? And does he happen to have any more openings for a fake girlfriend? Asking for a friend …

u/yourusername · 15h

Honestly it was a random Facebook ad looking for exactly this — a girl to move in and fake date this guy to drive his feuding neighbor up the wall. I applied semi-joking but he picked me!

As for openings, not that I know of ... yet. I may have to quit soon depending how this all plays out, so will keep you posted if my spot opens up!

Reply to u/yourusername · 14h

Omg please do! I would 100% take on a role like this, it sounds like a total riot.

u/unpaidtherapist · 13h

Girl, I think you already know what you have to do here. Is keeping things professional and never admitting your feelings really an option at this point? You’re clearly enamored with this guy and he seems to reciprocate the intensity at least platonically so far. I say GO FOR IT!

Just pull him aside one day, say “hey this isn’t just an act for me anymore, I really like you and need to know if there’s a possibility for us or not.” If he’s as caught off guard and freaked out as you’re implying, a direct conversation is needed to get those cards on the table. Don’t die wondering “what if?” That’s my advice.

u/everydayopportunist · 12h

This is so wild, I’m living for this drama! Seriously might need to pursue some similar gigs myself, apparently that’s where all the romance happens these days 😂

u/devilsadvocate · 11h

I’m sorry but I have to go against the grain here — please do NOT make a move or confess any feelings! This guy hired you for a very specific job under very specific pretenses. Catching real feels was not part of the deal at all. Selfishly throwing that at him out of the blue would be so unfair after he opened his home to you. I worry he could feel betrayed and violated even if he did secretly like you back.

My advice? Give it a few weeks, see if these feelings persist or if it was just a passing crush brought on by the intimacy you’ve found yourselves in. If it’s still intense after cooling off, then maybe consider looping him in. But don’t go nuclear until you're absolutely sure. You could risk imploding a good work situation and friendship over a temporary infatuation. Tread very lightly!

Reply to u/devilsadvocate · 10h

I’m with this take, OP shouldn’t jeopardize her living situation if her feelings might be fleeting. Taking a step back and giving it more time could provide clarity. It’s easy to get caught up in the fantasy.

The more prudent move is to wait until the “job” wraps up before considering opening that can of worms. If feelings persist minus the contrived closeness, she’ll know it's real. But springing it on the guy now seems wildly unfair and could blow up in her face.

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 15h

AITA for turning down my fake girlfriend after she admitted feelings, only to want her back days later?

I think I may have tremendously fucked up in a spectacularly messy way. Let me walk you through the tangled web I’ve woven ...

A couple months ago, I (39M) hired this woman to essentially move into my apartment and pretend to be my new girlfriend. I know it sounds batshit crazy … but I was trying to make my ex-best friend/neighbor jealous after a bitter falling out between us.

She was the perfect partner for this ruse — sarcastic and spunky, with a hint of unhinged energy. We bonded instantly over bottles of wine and throwing deliciously overblown “loud sex” performances in the hallway to drive my ex-friend nuts. What was meant to be a transaction quickly bloomed into a legitimately fun, effortless friendship.

Soon after, we started having real sex. It sort of just … happened, albeit very awkwardly at first. Like “well this is weird, want to try it for real just to see?” And what do you know, we had insane chemistry between the sheets too! We were soon sleeping together nearly every night, always swearing afterwards that it was “just for fun” and didn’t mean anything more.

But I started catching feelings. She was hilarious, confident, beautiful — everything I could ever want in a partner. We had connected on a deeper level through the medium of batshit pettiness. And our physical intimacy only amplified that bond.

Cut to a couple weeks ago. We had just finished a particularly athletic round and were cuddled up, spent. Out of nowhere, she pipes up nervously: “Hey … I think I’m really falling for you. I don't want this to just be sex or games anymore. I want to really try being together.”

I froze. The words I had been longing to hear suddenly terrified me in that moment. My throat clenched up as a wave of panic crashed over me (yes, I’m well aware of how stupid this was in hindsight). After an agonizing pause, I managed to choke out: “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. This thing between us was only ever supposed to be fake. I don’t think of you that way.”

I could actually see her face crumble. She quickly mumbled “okay” and slid out of my bed, wrapping a sheet around herself to cover her dejection. I swear I heard muffled sobs through the wall once she was back in her guest room. I felt like a piece of shit.

The next few days were some of the most awkward, brutal tension I’ve ever experienced. She was now acting like a scorned woman just doing her job, no intimacy whatsoever. We could barely make eye contact.

It took seeing her so closed off, so cold, for me to realize how much I desperately missed her warmth, humor, friendship. How much I longed for the easy intimacy we once had, both emotional and physical. I tried a few times to apologize or explain myself, but she brushed me off — utterly walled off to protect herself.

After days of wrestling with my suppressed feelings, I realized that I was in love with this wonderful woman. Hiring her as a fake girlfriend was one of the best things I had ever done because it brought her into my life … and now I didn’t want to let her go. She was becoming my person, even if she had started out as a farce.

But here’s where I really need some impartial perspective — AITA for freezing up and rejecting her confession?

I didn’t meant to tank her feelings so callously. I think I just ... panicked in that moment. The idea of committing to a real relationship terrified me in ways I didn’t expect. My career keeps me constantly on the go, always jet-setting to the next thing. Could I really give a romance the time and energy it deserves right now?

Part of me also felt massively conflicted about the circumstances. I’m literally paying her to pretend to be my girlfriend as a sort of ongoing petty revenge. If I admitted I wanted to actually date her, wouldn't that blur consent lines in some messed up way? Like, is she just going along with it because she’s on the payroll?

I know these both sound like flimsy excuses, but they were very real fears racing through my mind in that moment. Fears that made me impulsively reject her, despite how utterly gone I was.

Now, days later, those same hangups don’t seem so insurmountable. Maybe she and I could make something work, travel schedules and all. And if she reciprocated feelings, it would be a starting point — not her just placating me for a check. We could rip up the old arrangement and start fresh.

But I haven’t confessed any of this to her yet out of gut-wrenching cowardice. She’s still giving me this cold, professional shoulder. I don’t know how to begin recanting my idiotic reaction and opening up about the REAL reasons I panicked — the commitment fears, the moral dilemma, all of it.

Part of me wonders if I even have the right to try and pursue things with her at this point? I absolutely shattered her feelings for my own hangups just days ago. AITA for potentially stringing her along further by trying to retroactively take it all back? Maybe I’ve missed my window and should just let this phase of my life be over before it gets even more painful and messy?

Ugh, I’m rambling now. The crux is — AITA for how I recklessly rejected her in that moment? Do I even have a right to try and make amends after that thunderous fumble? Or should I just take the L, chalk it up to collateral damage of being in the world’s most messy pseudo-relationship, and move on?

u/juryofone · 14h

YTA, but only because you handled the initial rejection in the worst way possible. Your reasons for hesitating are somewhat understandable. But you really dropped the ball in communicating that to her in the moment.

Instead of calmly explaining where your headspace was at, you just blurted out a kneejerk rejection that crushed her feelings. No wonder she went ice cold — that had to sting like hell! If you had taken a breath and talked it through with more nuance, maybe you could’ve reached an understanding.

The good news is, you’ve now realized how much you DO want this woman in your life as more than a pretend romance. I don’t think you’re an AH for having those feelings or wanting to pursue her again, provided you make a sincere, thoughtful effort to apologize for your tactless approach before.

My advice? Explain the real reasons you froze up, how torn you felt over everything, and make it clear you still have feelings. But lead with a heartfelt apology for how horribly you botched it at first. If she’s willing to give you one more chance after that, DO NOT blow it.

Reply to u/juryofone · 13h

I agree with this take. He’s not an AH for the situation, but majorly the AH for the WAY he handled rejecting her. That had to sting badly after putting herself out there. The mature thing is to own up to that and properly communicate where his head was at.

Reply to u/juryofone · 12h

Yeah, going straight for “I can’t do that, I don’t think of you that way” after she bared her soul was so harsh and unnecessary. He could have let her down wayyyy more gently if he was that conflicted about it all. She must’ve felt like a fool!

u/neutralpartier · 11h

NAH — I get that you panicked in the heat of the moment and why this whole situation is heavy with ethical quandaries. The reality is, you two started off pretending but real feelings developed, and that’s okay! It happens. The moral issue only remains if you knowingly took advantage of or manipulated her feelings while she was on your payroll. Since you seem just as confused as she was, I don’t think any lines were really crossed.

The way forward is to rip off the bandaid once and for all. If you have mutual feelings now, figure out if you want to date as equals. If not, it’s time to part ways amicably while you both still can. But don’t keep paying her while catching feels — THAT would make you an AH.

u/glasshalfempty · 10h

ESH ... look, you suck for how you handled rejecting her confession. That was really hurtful and avoidant no matter your internal struggles. She sucks for going into this thinking it was all pretend, catching real feelings, and expecting you to want to be serious too. You PAID her to be your fake GF and made that clear.

My suggestion is to have an honest discussion about whether you can BOTH separate the transactions from reality. If you’re both all-in on trying for real, great! But one of you is going to get burned if expectations don’t align. And please, for the love of god, stop paying her!

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 9h

This is exactly what I was thinking too! Way too messy ethically to keep paying her as the lines blur between fantasy job and real romance. Either take the plunge and date properly or go separate ways for good.

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 8h

Agree but like ... is this even real? How does someone end up hiring a fake girlfriend to make their former best friend jealous? That alone sounds like a bad romcom plot.

u/criticaloverthinker · 7h

I’m calling cap on this whole wild story. Childhood besties turned feuding enemies living in the same building? A fake girlfriend who moves in as part of an elaborate revenge plan? It’s all too unbelievable.

u/struggling-with-reddit · 6h

I’ll play along and rate, but no way is this post legit lol. Having a fake girlfriend you eventually catch feelings for while pranking your neighbor? What’s next, one of you is actually royalty or a secret millionaire? Too much happening here.

Reply to u/struggling-with-reddit · 5h

Hahaha I know right, the excessive details and backstory gave it away as creative writing practice or something. No judgment from me, it was an entertaining read at least!

u/struggling-with-reddit · 4h

Next thing you know, OP will be claiming he’s Michael Schumacher or something 😂

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 8h

UPDATE — I’m the idiot who rejected then realized I loved my fake girlfriend … and she took me back!

When I made my initial post a bit over a month ago about this whole fake girlfriend situation, most of you understandably called it outrageously far-fetched.

Which, fair. How does someone actually end up hiring a woman to fake date them just to make their neighbor jealous? It does sound ripped straight from a Nicholas Sparks fever dream.

Well put on your straight jackets, because this ridiculous saga is 100% real. And I’ve got an update that’s even crazier than the original tale ...

After reading the feedback on my initial post (and getting a whole lot of shit from some friends too), it became crystal clear that I had to make things right. I put her through the emotional wringer by callously rejecting her in the moment, when her feelings were just as tangled up as mine were. I owed her a sincere apology and a proper explanation of why I froze — with no more deflections or excuses.

So I wrote her a long letter. I laid it all out there. How torn I felt about the ethical and emotional complexities of our arrangement. How her vulnerability awoke my own fears about commitment, my transient lifestyle, and whether I could realistically be the partner she deserved. Mostly, I repeatedly owned up to being a thoughtless prick who shattered her trust out of pure pathetic self-preservation.

But above all, I made one thing clear — despite my bumbling, I had fallen for her too. Completely and utterly. She had cracked through my defenses and healing her hurt became the only thing that mattered.

I ended the letter by owning up to the fact that she now held all the power. While she had moved into this arrangement under certain pretenses, I had violated that implied contract. The ball was entirely in her court now. I would abide by whatever decision she landed on — friendship, an amicable parting of ways, or taking the terrifying gamble of trying to make this the real deal.

When she emerged from her room the next morning, I could barely look at her. I was a sweaty, nauseated wreck, steeling myself for the worst. She sat down next to me in silence and unleashed the longest, most blistering dressing down of my life. How I had made her feel so small, so foolish, so painfully vulnerable. Words like “coward” and “asshole” were thrown around. But you know what phrase stung most?

“I wish you had told me all of this up front instead of dealing with it like a child. I could’ve understood where you were coming from.”

It was a dagger — she was absolutely right. My dumb automatic rejection utterly betrayed the openness and intimacy we had built. Still, she didn’t dismiss me entirely. She would need some time to think, but asked that I stand by for an answer.

The limbo period was … not fun.

After four excruciating days, she came to me again. This time, she was almost shy, like her old self. She told me she had thought it over extensively, and ultimately my explanation and full-hearted apology won her over. I may be an idiot, an asshole, and a bit of a mess (her words), but I was an honest idiot with a good heart under all the bravado. And that’s what had drawn her to me in the first place.

So with the understanding that we would both need to work on our communication skills and respective hang-ups, she was in. We would press the reset button altogether, end our old arrangement, and try to make this relationship happen for real — messy origins be damned.

That was exactly a month ago today, and things have never been better. Sure, we still lean into some harmless (and vaguely unhinged) pettiness with my former friend from time to time. Some habits are too fun to quit cold turkey. But ultimately, I’ve never been so grateful for the insane set of circumstances that brought this amazing woman into my life. We may have started as an acting exercise, but we took a leap together into something beautifully real.

And yeah, I still have to hear shit from literally everyone about how our romance origin story is the most unbelievable meet-cute of all time. But I’ve learned to lean into the absurdity. After all, what’s life without a little chaos and a perfect partner to share in the pandemonium?

Thanks to everyone who offered candid advice on my original post. You may have received an update sooner if not for all the people accusing me of faking it! All I can say is … this is my blissfully ridiculous reality now.

u/juryofone · 7h

Well hot damn, I have to hand it to you — this saga is even wilder than the original post let on! I went from being totally skeptical of the whole outrageous situation to being fully invested in this insane romance. Love that she put you through the wringer a bit before taking you back. You absolutely deserved that and more after treating her like you did.

But huge props to you for manning up with that apology and giving her the power to make the next move. That vulnerability and respect for her feelings despite your own doubts is what true partnership is all about. I have a feeling you two chaotic bastards are going to be just fine as a real couple now that all the crazy pretenses have been stripped away. Wishing you both nothing but more pandemonium and pettiness together!

u/neutralpartier · 7h

I’m officially obsessed with this love story. You went from hiring a woman off to punk your neighbor, to breaking her heart over catching feelings, to doing the MOST to grovel your way back into her good graces, to ACTUALLY SUCCEEDING. It’s romcom gold! I need this to get optioned for a movie immediately.

u/glasshalffull · 6h

As wild as this story has been from start to finish, this update has me straight up emotional! The groveling, the way you explained your fears, her roasting you for days before mercifully taking you back … my heart. Love that she cut straight through the bullshit by calling you an idiot AND acknowledging your good heart. That’s the ideal balance.

I’m so invested in this nonsense and need regular updates on how things progress from here. You better not blow it after all this chaos or I’ll be leading the charge to vandalize your apartment!

u/romanticempath · 5h

What a journey! To go from manufacturing a fake relationship purely for petty vengeance, to developing REAL emotional stakes, to breaking each other's hearts quite viscerally, to finding your way back together through sheer vulnerability? Incredible stuff.

I laughed, cried (a little, don’t judge), and cringed throughout this entire saga. Thank you for bringing us all along for the insane roller coaster. I wish nothing but ridiculous happiness for you and her moving forward!

u/fairytaledreamer · 4h

I’m sorry but I still can’t get over the fact that this is somehow a real series of events? You’re a madman and this is truly unhinged (but also incredible). How did ALL of this unfold before your 40s?

Romcoms have been put to bed. Welcome to 2024, where people actually hire fake GFs to get revenge on their scorned former friends, develop legit attachment issues, torpedo everything in a panic, grovel for redemption fit for cinematic history, and somehow STILL end up together in some sort of demented happily ever after!

All I can say is cherish the chaos you've manifested. I can’t wait to see what bonkers plotlines await the two you. Start recording everything for the biopic!

Reply to u/fairytaledreamer · 3h

“Cherish the chaos” is absolutely the perfect sign off for this update. I’m deceased at this whole wild drama, but also soooo invested! Cannot wait for the inevitable Netflix mini series. Thanks for the laughs, drama, and emotional whiplash!

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 21h

My ex-bestie’s wedding to his obnoxious girlfriend was a nightmare … and so was their wedding night (unfortunately)

You’ll have to bear with me on this one, because I’m still reeling a bit from one of the most cringey, uncomfortable, and downright baffling weekends of my entire life. I need to get this off my chest before I have a full mental breakdown.

A couple years ago, I made a post venting about my former best friend’s new girlfriend at the time. For those who missed the saga, she was an insufferably loud woman who seemed to take immense pleasure in loudly narrating her sex life with my former friend right outside my apartment door. It was psychological warfare, plain and simple.

Well, I’m sure you can all see where this is going based on the title. Against all odds and reason, this woman and my ex-friend somehow stuck it out … until he put a ring on it last year. Which leads me to the first in a cascading series of mind-numbing events — receiving a wedding invitation from the happy couple!

Now, let’s be clear — I have not spoken to my former best friend in almost a decade at this point. Not since our cataclysmic falling out (a story for another day). We were thick as thieves until our bond was shattered beyond repair. For him to invite me to his wedding with the woman who crudely mocked their intimacy for my benefit was … certainly a choice.

On one hand, why on EARTH would you invite the person whose heart you deliberately stomped on so many years ago? It felt like a cruel joke, rubbing salt in an open wound that never fully healed. A reminder of their domestic bliss and my bitter ostracism.

Yet on the other hand, maybe there was a subconscious part of me that would have felt insulted if he didn’t invite me after so many shared years? As if he had utterly erased me from his life without a second thought? The thought gut punched me too in an admittedly unhealthy way.

Long story short, I RSVP’d yes … half out of morbid curiosity and half out of a deeply unwell desire to not get excluded from such a significant life event. In hindsight, a foolish decision that kicked off a horrifically uncomfortable series of events.

The wedding itself was … a lot. An over-the-top spectacle at an insanely expensive venue. My miserable self stuck out like a sore thumb surrounded by all the adoring couple’s friends and family. I sat through mushy vows reaffirming their “unlikely origin” in the ��most unexpected yet fortuitous way” … while trying not to puke.

So yeah, sheer cringe start to finish. Little did I know the worst discomfort was yet to come!

In perhaps the most on-brand grand gesture of the entire weekend, the groom rented out an entire boutique hotel for all out-of-town guests to stay at after the reception. That way we could all keep the party going nearby before he whisked his new bride off to parts unknown on their honeymoon the next day.

Ever the gracious host with a penchant for the spectacle, he let wedding guests draw for their room assignments out of an actual top hat. I somehow managed to get seated right next to his parents who, while cordial enough, knew me as the ex-best friend responsible for so much fractured history.

But wait, there’s more! Wouldn’t you know, the universe is supremely messed up because I ended up with the room directly underneath the newlywed suite. Yes … I spent their wedding night listening to a live-streamed porn broadcast courtesy of the paper-thin walls and floors.

Dolphin sounds didn’t even BEGIN to cover the unholy noises raining down from above around 2am. I’m talking full-on screams of unbridled passion echoing off the walls at maximum volume. Mind you, this woman had become infamous for over-enunciating their coitus for my benefit previously. Now it was a frighteningly real-life rendition that no noise-cancelling headphones could drown out.

I finally had to flee my room to the lobby. I ended up crashing on one of the lobby couches until an employee politely asked me to leave around 6am. Disheveled, disoriented, and officially diagnosed with PTSD from the sounds I cannot unhear.

So yeah … not exactly a therapeutic reunion that could have allowed my ex-friend and I to bury the hatchet. If anything, this wedding was one massive “screw you” that opened up all the same unresolved wounds. I need about 20 years of intensive therapy to move on.

I also need to find a new place to live because I can’t bear returning to that cursed apartment building.

u/chronicgossiper · 18h

Dude, I think you need to get some serious perspective here. Your ex-friend getting married and going on a honeymoon has absolutely zero to do with you. That level of self-centeredness is off the charts.

Why in the world would this guy plan an entire wedding — one of the biggest days of his life — around secretly tormenting you again over ancient history? That makes no sense. He invited you as a polite gesture after years apart, probably hoping to start burying the hatchet. The room assignments were random by your own admission.

As for the … “noises” … look, they were on their wedding night. Maybe overenthusiastic, but 100% to be expected between newlyweds. It’s not some psychological ploy, just poor planning on their part for thin walls. You’re projecting like crazy if you think that was directed at you specifically.

At a certain point, you have to realize the universe doesn’t actually revolve around your grudges or history with this person. They’ve clearly moved on to live their best life. It’s on you to stop obsessing over them and do the same.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 16h

I agree, this is just pure paranoia from OP. No newly wedded couple is sitting around thinking “how can we sneakily stick it to your ex-best friend during our wedding festivities?” That’s deranged thinking.

They invited you to be polite, you drew an unlucky room assignment near their suite, and then biology happened on their wedding night. Hilarious and awkward coincidence? Yes. Intricately designed fuck you from the bride and groom? Come on now, that’s giving them way too much credit.

u/NotBritneySpears · 13h

Maybe you all have a point, and I am still holding onto way too much resentment and baggage from our falling out. My intention wasn’t to imply they orchestrated an elaborate sting operation around their wedding. More just a general sense that the universe has a funny way of reminding me about them at highly inconvenient times over the years.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 12h

Even that line of thinking is incredibly self-centered though. Why would random coincidences or them just … living their lives be the “universe’s way of reminding you” about your failed friendship? That makes it sound like they should perpetually be walking on eggshells and avoiding certain life events just because you can’t get over the past.

Look, it sucks that things fell apart so badly between you two. But they have clearly moved on, as you should too. This obsessive framing of their marriage as some universal affront to you is … not healthy, my dude.

u/nosyandproud · 10h

The wedding itself sounds like it was in poor taste for sure, so I can certainly understand feeling aggravated and triggered being there as the scorned former friend.

That said … you’re borrowing A LOT of trouble by assuming any of their private wedding night activities were purposely being broadcast to you specifically. Projection level 1000 there.

At the end of the day, these people have built a whole entire life and future together now that quite literally has nothing to do with you anymore. You looking for “signs” that they’re still fixated on you is just self-involvement. For your own mental health, you have to let go of whatever happened and see them as background characters in the story of your life now.

u/realitychecker · 7h

OP, you need to take a step back and realize that the sheer logistics involved in purposely torturing you at their wedding are just not plausible. Do you really think they were like:

“Alright honey, for our wedding night I was thinking we should make sure your former friend gets the room directly below ours! That way when we really get after it, he’ll be able to hear every excruciating moan and body smacking sound in haunting detail! That’ll show him for being your friend a decade ago! Mwahaha!”

Come on, mate. That’s delusional cartoon villain level scheming you’re attributing to them. Occam's Razor — they just wanted to consummate their marriage in privacy and didn’t account for the thin hotel walls. The world doesn’t actually revolve around your history with this!

Reply to u/realitychecker · 5h

Lmaooo the idea of them sitting around strategizing the most psychological warfare possible on their wedding night is killing me. “Yes honey, we simply MUST reenact scenes from our noisiest adult films for your ex-best friend’s terrible pleasure!”

u/buildingbridges

OP, it seems like you really miss having your friend in your life if I’m reading between the lines here. Getting invested to this level over random coincidences at his wedding doesn’t come from a place of hatred, but hurt and longing for that bond again.

My advice? Use this weekend as a wake-up call to stop obsessing, reflect on whatever caused your rift, and decide if you want to properly reconnect. If not, you need to rip that band-aid off for good and stop torturing yourself over what will never be again. Or the walls between you two will just get thinner and thinner ...

r/ask

u/amateurdetective · 15h

I think these juicy Reddit posts actually interconnect … but I need your help cracking the code

I think I’ve stumbled onto something wild here and I need the Reddit hive mind to help me piece this tangled web together. Are you ready for some batshit conspiracy-level connecting of barely-there dots? Too bad, I’m going in anyway.

So, over the past few years, I kept seeing these extremely juicy, dramatically-written posts pop up every few months that seemed … oddly interconnected despite being in different subreddits.

Hear me out:

First there was the unhinged post in r/offmychest from a guy ranting about his former best friend’s obnoxious new girlfriend. Dude was griping about how this woman would loudly recount the smutty details of her sex life with the ex-friend whenever she was in his general vicinity, seemingly just to mess with the OP. We’re talking legitimately disturbing stuff about feeling “psychologically tortured” by her oversharing.

Fast forward a few months and I stumble across a wild post in r/relationships from the perspective of this same “obnoxious” girlfriend! Except her story painted a whole different, unhinged picture — she was hired on FACEBOOK MARKETPLACE by the former friend to literally move in and fake date him as part of an ongoing revenge plot against the OP from the first post. She rapidly develops legitimate feelings for the guy and it becomes a messy will-they-won’t-they romcom situation.

But THEN there was a follow-up post from the fake boyfriend’s side in r/AmITheAsshole about him realizing he caught feelings too before nearly blowing it, followed by another saga-capping update about them deciding to pursue a real relationship against all odds and absurdity.

Are you seeing the parallels here? These three posters each gave one side of an absolute dumpster fire of a convoluted love triangle situation that seemingly intersected. And based on the intricate backstories, my crackpot theory is they all emanated from the same formerly tight friend group that experienced a bitter falling out.

The insane attention to detail, literary flair, and geometry of it all almost had me utterly convinced these were all fictionalized creative writing exercises posted separately across Reddit … but building on the same unhinged storylines each step of the way.

I’m utterly obsessed with mapping this all out into one cohesive narrative now. My working theory is something like this:

Some guy hired an actress to pose as his fake GF and torment his former friend as revenge for some past betrayal

The two fake partners rapidly caught real feelings amid the ruse, he panics and nearly torpedoes it

Meanwhile, the ex-best friend is losing his mind overhearing the fake girlfriend’s loud performances and comes to Reddit for advice, not realizing it’s all a ploy

After a saga of miscommunication, the fake boyfriend comes clean and the couple decide to actually date for real

Capping things off, the former friend is forced to attend their wedding where he’s subjected to one final night of unholy noises

Does it all track? Or have I completely unraveled the conspiracy and stumbled onto a drastically personal set of circumstances being workshopped on Reddit? If so, that’s some ludicrously elaborate storytelling!

I need to know if I’m onto something here or completely off my rocker. If the former, I’ll burn every last calorie mapping out a master record of events across all the posts. If the latter … someone needs to drop their juicy fanfic writing prompts because these were WILDLY entertaining reads.

Help me connect these dots or point me towards any other potentially linked tales! This has been a public service aneurysm brought to you by pure boredom.

u/scepeticbynature · 14h

Wow, you’ve gone full Sherlock Holmes with this. I’m dying at how insanely detailed your working theory is in tying together these random Reddit posts into one cohesive narrative. This is either a brilliant piece of performance art … or you need your meds adjusted, my friend.

Reply to u/scepticbynature · 12h

Hahaha exactly! The amount of time and brain power OP has devoted to mapping this out is beyond obsessive. I don’t know whether to applaud the commitment to the bit or get them professional help.

u/amateurdetective · 10h

I’m sorry, did you actually read through the posts in question? The intersecting pieces of random, elaborate backstory between all three distinct voices is way too specific and layered for it to be an accidental alignment. There are unambiguous throughlines about:

A pair of feuding former childhood best friends

One hiring a woman off Facebook to pose as his fake GF and torment the other as revenge

Said fake relationship descending into a very real emotional entanglement for both parties

The eventual fallout of the ex-friend having to bear witnessing the real couple’s wedding and chaos that followed

Like that’s such a bizarrely specific plot keeping consistent across three different users’ lenses! So you’re either pointing out the artistry of someone doing an incredibly elaborate creative writing exercise across multiple subs … or these people are just leading unbelievably unhinged lives. And part of me hopes it’s the latter? It’s too batshit crazy not to be true!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 9h

Or, and hear me out … it’s all an internal dialogue you’re having with your numerous Reddit personalities to work out your own unresolved relationship issues. We’re all just incredibly intricate fragments of your aching psyche!

u/opinionatedtruther · 7h

Lmao you are both nuts, but I have to side with OP on this one. The chances of these being all interconnected fabricated stories is way too perfect to be an accident. All the tiny threads and recurring backstories/character details woven between wildly different subreddit posts? That’s not a coincidence.

I could buy it maybe being some extended Reddit fanfic experiment between a couple of redditors seeing who can craft more engaging characters and drama while world-building off each other’s plot threads. Like a weird form of collabing through the confined lens of Reddit posts. It would be pretty genius if so.

But for it to be entirely real with all the coinciding details scattered across entirely unrelated posts like that? I’m sorry, but there’s just no way. That’s beyond the scope of believability for me. OP may be bungling the conspiracy, but they’re onto something for sure!

u/amateurdetective · 6h

THANK YOU, someone gets it! And to answer your other theory … while I can’t 100% rule out some sort of viral Reddit fanfic experiment, I struggle to believe even the most creative writers would be capable of improvising THAT intricately interconnected of a storyline stream-of-consciousness style like that.

Like each voice and perspective they inhabit remains remarkably consistent across such wildly different contexts (relationship drama, life events, ethical debates, and updates). It would take incredible skill to stay in the headspaces of these distinct individuals and keep their personalities/plot orbits from tangling into an incomprehensible mess. While possible, it seems incredibly unlikely.

That’s what has me believing there’s a remarkable kernel of stranger-than-fiction truth at the heart of this whole saga being teased out piece-by-piece. Or again … I’ve finally been gaslit into being a tin foil hatter of beautiful Reddit fantasies. Either way I’m here for it!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 3h

All I have to say is please touch some grass and post to r/creativewriting instead 🙄

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot.

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless.

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity.

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside.

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?”

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.”

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.”

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?”

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly.

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?”

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too.

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?”

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force.

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.”

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.”

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!”

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil.

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.”

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board.

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting.

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door.

You both freeze.

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you.

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?”

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s.

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly.

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.”

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.”

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.”

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out.

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.”

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you.

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur.

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.”

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?”

“For you or for me?”

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t really.

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chrystal-ink · 27 days ago

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Shadvent Calendar Day 25!!!!!!!

Shadow X GN Reader

Merry Christmas

Twas the morning of Christmas and all through the house

not a creature was stirring not even a chao.

The Stockings were filled with gifts and much more

And presents under the tree there was so much was in store.

the lovers were snuggled nice and warm in their bed

with dreams of each other dancing round in their head.

and that my dear reader sets the scene,

for I quickly grew tired of this rhyme scheme.

🎄

Shadow was the first to awaken, cracking his eyes open he saw that you were still wrapped in his arms from the night before. he looked down admiring how beautiful you looked as you slept, so serene and gentle. he couldn't help but lay a kiss between your ears, holding you close as you snoozed.

your eyes fluttered open after about thirty minuets, feeling a warm embrace and the sweet sensation of Shadow petting your hair you looked up at him and smiled.

"Good morning sweetheart" you said your voice still a little groggy.

"Good morning my love, merry Christmas" he said gently.

"Is that really today?"

"Yes, would you like some breakfast, or maybe open up some presents?"

"mmm, In a little while, I want to stay here for a bit."

"very well love, take as long as you need."

You two spent the next hour snuggling in bed holding onto each other keeping the cold weather at bay. the two of you holding each other's ungloved hands enjoying the soft intimacy of skin on skin contact. sweet nothings were whispered as the wind blew softly against the window.

"I suppose we should have some breakfast" You said finally ready to begin the day.

"How would you like me to help?"

"Could you feed the Chao and grab our pancake toppings from the pantry"

"Consider it done"

The two of you quickly got to work on your tasks You brewed some coffee and grabbed Shadow his beans. Within a half hour you had a pancake feast ready for the two of you.

After breakfast you couldn't wait anymore. It was time for presents.

The two of you took turns opening one another's gift's. Much to your surprise Shadow was a very advanced gift giver. he gave you things you never thought to ask for, like a replica of your favorite toy from childhood, the perfect accessory for an outfit that never felt quite complete to you, a signed album from your favorite musician. what warmed your heart the most wasn't the things themselves but the fact that he had listened to you, he took the time to know you well enough and chose your gifts from the heart, that was the best gift you received on Christmas morning.

after presents you went on a walk enjoying the winter weather. you played in the snow even letting Shadow's Chao in on the fun.

Vanilla insisted on having everyone over for Christmas dinner. Her home filled with the most wonderful aromas imaginable. a meal made with love and served to a company of your closest friend's, what could be better than that.

That night after the two of you had gone home, you were snuggled up by the fireplace.

"Did You have a good Christmas?" Shadow asked

"The best" you responded

"I'm glad you think so."

Shadow placed a kiss on your lips, warming your insides any hint of a chill destroyed by his love.

"Merry Christmas Shadow"

"Merry Christmas Y/N"

Note: Oh my gosh it's Finally Done!!!! I want to thank everyone who has read this series even if you only read one or two it means so much to me, every like, comment, and reblog really helped push me forward and keep going with this series. this is the first time I've ever completed a project like this and I'm so proud of myself. I started this blog to help me get through a really tough personal time and thanks to all of you lovely readers you helped me get through it. I will be taking a short break for now not too long maybe just a week or two. I have been writing for this blog non-stop since October and I want to avoid any burn out. I will be back soon with Regency Au part three (which is looking to be very long) and chapter one of my enemies to lovers series so be sure look out for those soon. I will continue to do my one shots as well as I really enjoy doing them I think I'll probably need to figure out a schedule lol. until next time, Merry Christmas and have a beautiful Day.

Much love,

-Chrystal

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow #x reader #sonic fanfiction #not beta read #advent calendar #shadvent calendar

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cannibalisticskittles · 22 days ago

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wingmanning - pt. 1

also on ao3 here :)

Lucanis has become accustomed to waking in odd positions in the months since Spite was forced into him, so finding himself half-crouched on the floor, thighs tensed like he’d been in the process of rising, isn’t much of a shock.

What he is less accustomed to is regaining consciousness with another person present.

Ward Ingellvar, called Rook by everyone around her and holder of his current contract, is currently peering down at him, worry etched between her brows.

“...Lucanis? Are you… back?”

Is he in control, or is Spite?

But Spite does not press at his mind, clamoring to wrest control away. Instead, he skulks about the edges of Lucanis’ consciousness, faintly grumbling – and yet, relatively quiet.

“...yes.” For now. Which means he should get up and figure out what damage has been done while he was out.

Rook’s fingers twitch at her side, but she has the good grace not to offer him a hand up and worsen his embarrassment as he stands. She does, however, stare at him with that same look of worry. Intently. Lucanis takes a moment to assess his surroundings more thoroughly.

The last he recalls, he was writing notes, and now… well, at least Spite has not brought them far. He is still in the Lighthouse, not far from the pantry he has recently taken residence in; Spite’s escape attempt only brought them as far as the dining room.

The fire is out. The scent of wet woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air. There are potatoes scattered across the floor – as well as a few of the place settings that were formerly at home on the table.

What exactly was Spite doing?

“What… happened?” he asks carefully. The words are spoken with great reluctance. It is… less than pleasant to have to rely on others to get answers for these missing moments.

“Spite… got into a few things,” Rook says. “Well. A lot of things. Tried to talk him out of the more, ah, dangerous ventures, but that wasn’t hugely effective, so then I tried to… distract him.”

“With – the potatoes?”

Rook laughs, suddenly, then claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. You just sounded so – …sorry.” She clears her throat. “No, the potatoes are my fault, but it wasn’t intentional. I came in to take stock of how many we had; Harding wants to make stew. But when I went to check, it… drew his attention, I suppose? He came out of the pantry, startled me, I dropped them, they scattered everywhere… then he started to poke around the room.”

“Just in the room?”

“Mmhmm. He said something about leaving, or wanting to leave, but he didn’t seem to be actively trying to go anywhere. More… seeking new sensations?” She shrugs. “I imagine there’s a lot here that was not present… before.”

In the Ossuary, she means.

It’s been mere days since stepping foot on solid ground, and in that time alone, the demon has witnessed far more than he ever did when they were trapped down in that accursed place. It should be more than enough to keep Spite occupied – but it is not.

Spite has been incessant with his questions since getting out, pestering him about new sights, new concepts – and yet, between all this, Spite makes demands to leave no matter where Lucanis goes, and complaints of being trapped when he declines. It makes no sense. The demon has always been insistent when he wants something, and he does seem to struggle to understand much about this world that is different from his own, but how could walking free of their prison have made Spite more restless?

Now, it’s like he rankles whenever Lucanis isn’t in motion. Even in the Ossuary, the grousing was less frequent. It’s enough to drive a man mad. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, nor does there seem to be any rhyme or reason to what Spite has been doing here.

But… he considers Rook’s words. Is that what it is? Curiosity? The desire for these new sensations? Mierda. If that’s true, he’s not sure the demon is ever going to be satisfied.

Lucanis spots a bent spoon amidst the fallen tubers, and a fork with its prongs bent back by the fireplace. “Spite’s handiwork, I assume?”

Rook nods. “Mmhmm. He did get ahold of a few more than that, though I’m not sure where they ended up.” She peers around the room as Lucanis sighs, then adds, “it’s not so bad – there weren’t enough place settings when we got here, but the Fade spit more out, so I’m sure replacements will show up eventually. And while he was preoccupied with that, I was able to move the knives out of the way.”

“The knives?”

Lucanis glances at the far corner of the kitchen, where he can detect a flicker of violet – a telltale sign that Spite is lurking nearby. The demon does not deign to chime in, though. His silence feels purposeful.

…or perhaps he is simply bored and wandered off. Maker knows he did it often enough in the Ossuary, even if the wards in place kept him confined to their erstwhile cell.

“Half the kitchen knives were laying on the countertop,” Rook says. “Felt like the sort of thing he should probably know his way around, but not without some… supervision. So. I moved ‘em. Set ‘em outside the doors, on the little balcony.”

Spite does pipe up now. “No fun,” he grumbles, then disappears from view, in the direction of the door.

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” Lucanis fires back.

He realizes too late that he has spoken aloud, when Rook stops in her tracks and shoots him a puzzled look. That’s a habit in need of breaking.

“That… was for Spite,” he explains with a sigh.

“Ah!” Understanding dawns in her eyes immediately. “Is he – still here?”

“He’s never far,” Lucanis says, “but I believe he has left us for the moment.”

Rook nods, but her eyes still drift in the general direction Lucanis was facing when he spoke to Spite. “I wonder how far he’s able to wander from you,” she murmurs. “And… does actual, physical distance have any bearing on how well you can communicate with each other? Are there sound waves moving through the air and it’s a matter of attuning to it, or is it entirely magical and facilitated by, or through, the Fade? Is there a way to become attuned to it?”

As she muses, Lucanis surveys the damage once more. It could be worse, all considered. Though the fact that Spite was able to take charge so soon – so easily – is… worrying. But there is little to be done about that now besides fixing the disorder the demon caused. He bends to pick up one of the wayward potatoes at his feet.

This, at last, breaks Rook from her reverie. “Oh! Sorry, here, let me help.” And she begins to do just that. She takes to the task with fervor, scrabbling on her knees to scoop up nearby tubers and coax them out from the nooks and crannies they have rolled into.

“Rook,” Lucanis says, “you don’t have to do that. It isn’t your mess to mend. It’s Spite’s fault – which means it’s mine to handle.”

But Rook is not to be deterred.

“Oh, no,” she says. “There wouldn’t be a mess if not for me. Not this one, anyway; I suppose he might have still gotten to the silverware later on. Even so, this?” She waves a potato in the air demonstratively before, for some reason, tucking it into one of the many pockets adorning her coat. “This one’s my fault.”

“You were only preparing for dinner. There’s no fault there.”

But she grimaces. “Weeeell, if it was that simple, I might agree with you. However…” Another potato, another pocket to stash it in. “I… may have come to, ah, hide them.”

“To hide them,” he repeats. “Is that why you're keeping them in your coat?”

Rook pauses, shoots him a glance, then… tucks yet another potato into her coat. “Yes. Better here than within reach.”

“And why exactly is that?”

“Harding wanted to make stew.”

“Yes,” he says, “you’ve mentioned that.”

“Ah. Right. You weren’t here the last time this happened. Harding made potato stew once before, soon after we came to the Lighthouse, and it was… well…”

She pauses for a moment, staring off into the middle distance as though beset by a terrible memory.

“The taste was… passable.” Yet the wrinkle around her nose and the way her lip curls slightly as she says that suggests otherwise. “But the texture… I don’t understand it. It’s like every mouthful, there was something different wrong with it. Crunchy, then mushy, then gritty, and sometimes even rubbery.”

“In a stew?”

Rook nods.

Suddenly, a comment Bellara made the previous night about acquired tastes makes sense.

“I don’t know if it’s a Ferelden thing, or if it’s because we’re in the Fade, or what,” she says. “When it was just her and Varric and me, we almost never had access to a kitchen, so I can’t say I really had a reference point for her cooking skills outside of the sort of things you could throw together on the go. But I know she could make a killer sandwich. I had so many of the Lace Specialty when we were tracking down Solas, and her yam and jam slam was perfect for traveling, too.”

“...yam and jam slam?” The words sound bafflingly foreign together.

Rook nods. “Y’know, just… buttered toast, slices of roasted yam, and some butter in between. Keeps for a surprisingly long time.”

That… sounds heinous, but he lets it pass. He won’t bother asking about the Lace Specialty – it might be best to keep that one a mystery.

“Whatever it is, though, when Harding said she wanted to make it again tonight, it seemed like it might be for the best if the main ingredient was to be… conveniently lost. But they were heavier than I expected, and I dropped the bag the first time I tried moving them, and then Spite came out, and I dropped it again and spilled them… so really, if I hadn’t been so uncharitable, maybe Spite wouldn’t have come to investigate in the first place. No noise, no mess.”

“Or,” Lucanis says, “perhaps Spite would have done more than bend a few spoons – he may have wandered off without any eyes on him.”

He is loath to admit the limitations of his ability to control the demon, but it does no good to ignore the potential threats it poses.

“Mmm.” She considers this. “You may be right. Still, I say I’m at least half responsible for the mess,” she says, and resumes her efforts to tidy.

Lucanis does the same.

A few minutes pass in silence this way, filled only by the sound of quiet shuffling and tiny clang of silverware being scooped up.

Lucanis is the first to speak. He has done much for the sake of a contract in his life – much that was miserable, or injurious, or torturous, even – but the thought of rubbery stew will not leave his mind. That… cannot come to pass.

“What did you plan to tell her?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“Harding,” he says. “When you went back to her empty-handed. Surely she would find that odd, knowing that there had been plenty here, before.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Rook says. “Maybe that we misremembered what we had? Or the Fade did something to them? Or… I tripped and fell and lost them all in the abyss.”

“And… what did you plan to eat, then?”

“Had not thought that far either,” she admits.

He makes a contemplative noise and picks up what seems to be the last of the ruined silverware. Unless, of course, Spite has stashed more elsewhere in the room. Lucanis wouldn’t put it past him.

“You know,” he says, “I do know how to cook.”

“You do?”

Perhaps he ought to be offended by her tone, but amusement wins out. “I do,” he confirms.

“The master assassin has kitchen skills?”

“The master assassin has to eat.”

“I suppose so.” She cocks her head to the side and blinks owlishly at him. “Wait – are you saying you’d be willing to make dinner tonight instead? Really?”

“Seems a waste of perfectly good potatoes to hide them away,” he says. “That is, of course, if you do not mind a master assassin handling your food.”

Rook scoops up the last handful of potatoes at her feet and rises. “If you poison me with something edible, I’ll die happier than I’d live if I ate that stew again.” And then her expression reflects a sudden panic. “–not that I really think you’d do that!”

“It’s natural to worry about,” he says. They ought to consider the possibility, at least. He won’t be poisoning anyone today – but a little more caution on their part wouldn’t go amiss.

“But I really don’t think–” She cuts herself off before finishing. Instead, she worries her lower lip between her teeth, then asks, “are you sure you’re alright doing this for us?”

There is apprehension in her voice, in her expression, but he is unsure of the reason for it. “I would not offer if I did not mean it,” he assures her.

“I only mean – we’re asking a lot of you, as it is. Killing… gods, or ancient mages, if that distinction means anything. That’s your contract, not… playing scullery maid or chef. We really should be providing for you, not the other way around.”

Ah. The fear of overstepping. That, he can do something about.

“If I allow myself to be sickened by tainted food and am too weak to hold a dagger straight, my odds of fulfilling my contract become… low,” he says. “And I do not fail contracts.”

Rook nods slowly at that. “Point made. …you don’t think it would do any harm to tell Harding a little white lie, do you? Say that you were already making food when I came in – something with potatoes, so, alas, we’re fresh out, and dinner is taken care of for the night. You know a recipe that involves potatoes, right?”

A recipe?

“I'm sure I can think of something,” he says mildly.

“Excellent. And… maybe Harding will just forget about stew by the time we get more.” She rolls her shoulders. “…I suppose there’s no need to hold on to these, then.”

Rook crosses to the kitchen area and begins to set tuber after tuber on the countertops, first arranging the ones from her arms, and then pulling them from her coat pockets. Lucanis brings his armful over as well, placing them beside her pile until there is a nice, tidy row.

“We’ve got sort of a hodgepodge of various ingredients,” she says, “and they’re a little… scattered.”

“I’ve noticed.” The pantry has plenty of root vegetables, but not nearly as many essentials beyond that, and while he may not have had much time to examine the areas of the Lighthouse besides his erstwhile living space, even a quick perusal of the cabinets did not turn up much more.

“Honestly,” she says, “it’s been difficult to keep track of what was here before we got here, what we brought in, and what’s just… appeared. Still! There ought to be enough to make… something other than that stew. Would you like some help?”

But as she asks this, another voice steals away his attention.

“Smells. Like earth.”

Lucanis has the composure not to jolt or visibly startle when the demon speaks into his ear – but it does delay his response by a moment. What was it she said? She asked if he needed help?

“There’s no need,” Lucanis says, “you’ve already done more than enough, straightening out Spite’s chaos. I shouldn’t require any further help.”

“I’m sure you’re quite capable in the kitchen and you don’t need help,” she says, “but would you accept some anyway? To speed it up, or to give you less to do? I can’t say I’m particularly practiced – I never spent all that long on a cooking rotation – but I also never had my rotation ended early after giving the whole hall food poisoning like some of the other Watchers did, so…”

Spite chooses now to hover around her, craning to peer over her shoulder, and then looks back at Lucanis. “Lucanis. Why?”

Lucanis does his best to ignore the demon and process her words.

Does she ask out of that fear of overstepping again? Not wanting to give him too many duties outside of his contract? Lingering distrust, despite her insistence on the contrary? Wanting to be sure he isn’t going to slip something in the food and poison them after all? Or is it simply a genuine desire to be helpful?

He’d like to think he would have a better read on that, normally – when there isn’t a demon speaking incessantly into his ear.

“Different. From potatoes. Different. From the others. Lucanis.”

“...Lucanis?”

Rook, this time. Her brow is once again knit with something akin to worry. She has said something else, he realizes, that he did not catch, preoccupied with Spite as he was.

“It’s… Spite,” he admits. “He is… curious again.”

Rook tilts her head and narrows her eyes as though doing so will allow her to hear the demon. As though this is something to desire instead of something to endure. “What is he asking?”

But Lucanis shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Best not to indulge him, it will only encourage him to try this again.”

She frowns and opens her mouth as if to protest, then shuts it again. Which is just as well, because Spite continues to pester him, needling him with increasing agitation.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” she asks, just as Spite growls, “Lucanis!”

He needs —

A moment to himself. Some quiet. Rare though that may be.

Lucanis runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. “…didn’t you say you were going to tell Harding her efforts were no longer needed?”

“Yes!” Rook clasps her hands together. “Right. I should let her know. Then she can rest of it longer, after all that rock magic she did today. Why don’t I do that and then I can come back and… peel? Stir? Scrub? Any of those tedious little tasks you don’t feel like doing, foist them onto me, yes?”

“Yes,” he agrees, though really, he has only ever been able to tolerate the presence of others in the kitchen with him in small doses, aside from those who had the kindness to teach him the basics in the first place – and Illario, though his cousin usually tested his patience before too long.

He shouldn’t refuse, though. What grounds does he have to turn her down?

Rook nods, and then she is off.

When she is gone and Lucanis is as alone as he can be, these days, Spite redoubles his questioning.

“Like dirt,” says the demon, “earth. But not like. Harding.”

“No,” Lucanis sighs. “Not like Harding.”

Harding smells like… loam. Fresh, healthy soil, flecked with green and growing things. Rook smells more like… old earth. Drier, dustier.

“Why?”

“Why does it matter?” He cannot keep the exasperation from his voice any longer.

“You notice. But won’t. Say why.”

He does notice. It’s an old habit, and one he intends to keep sharp. Things left unnoticed are things he cannot account for, and even a scent can be a warning sign of some danger lying in wait.

“It isn’t important enough to interrupt,” he says. “Spite, I cannot focus when you’re speaking over someone. Others… notice.”

“But why? Why not. The same?”

“It’s just different. There doesn’t have to be a reason.” Even if there is, it’s not one that the demon is likely to understand. What does he know of gardening, or catacombs? And he does not have the time required to give Spite an answer that would satisfy him.

“Is,” Spite grumbles. “But Lucanis. Never wants. To say. Why.”

Spite continues to voice his discontentment, but Lucanis turns his focus away from the demon and towards the task at hand, taking the opportunity to take stock of what’s in the cabinets.

It isn’t much. The shelves are in dire need of restocking. But… there’s olive oil. And several glass jars with the names of various spices written on them in what looks to be Bellara’s handwriting.

Below, pots and pans of… sufficient size and quality, at least for now. Right. He can make something of this.

He diverts, briefly, to the pantry, and returns with root vegetables, as well as a few onions. It won’t be the stew Harding envisioned, but there is enough for soup.

As he sets these on the counter, besides the row of potatoes, he says, “Spite.”

Spite is entirely uninterested in his attempt at conversation, preferring instead to stare intently at the vegetables. He bends until his face is almost flush with the countertop, then reaches out and pokes at the pile, watching one of them wobble.

Lucanis isn’t sure if that actually does push it forward or if it’s simply unbalanced. Truly, he’s not certain how much influence Spite can exert on the world when he isn’t considering Lucanis’ body. There wasn’t much to test this on in the Ossuary; the venatori did have enough sense not to provide a practiced assassin with anything that could be used as a weapon. Which was, well, anything, when you’re a Crow. So the only thing Spite could consistently attempt to influence was… him.

If Spite is able to influence physical objects even when incorporeal... well. It’s something to watch out for. Another layer of danger to this whole situation. Even if Spite is only using this influence to poke around at root vegetables.

“Spite,” he says again, firmer.

The demon glances his way, which might be the most acknowledgment he’s going to get.

“You cannot – we cannot – be walking around whenever you want. And you cannot just… take over like that. My body isn’t yours to do as you wish with it, and – besides that, a demon in the midst of everyone, outside of the Fade, it scares people.” As it should.

“Wasn’t. Outside it! And she. Already knows! About us!” Spite protests.

“Yes,” he says, “but losing control like that – not knowing where I am? – it’s… unprofessional.”

Spite grumbles but makes no other reply. Lucanis opens the cabinets again and begins sorting through the jars of spices.

“We – I – seem less… competent. Less trustworthy when this happens.”

Spite doesn’t even bother to grumble in response this time, only presses his face closer to the counter, watching how light filters through the glass jars.

Lucanis sighs. His professional reputation has surely been marred enough by his absence; that he has been made an abomination and cannot seem to keep a tight enough leash on Spite for this fact to stay secret forever… well. It will not help that. The whispers back home may not have started yet, but it is only a matter of time, and all his past deeds, all the respect and good regard he once had earned, may crumble in the face of his new, permanent guest.

And he can’t even say this isn’t exactly what ought to happen. Who would trust a man – an abomination – who could lose himself at any moment to the capricious whims of a demon? Even here, now, amidst all their kind words, these excursions cannot foster encouragement about his ability to fulfill his contract.

“What must they think…”

Spite pokes at a potato now.

“Rook thinks. You have. Nice hands.”

Lucanis pauses. He closes the cabinet to get a clearer look at Spite.

“…Spite,” he says quietly, voice carefully restrained, “how do you know that?”

Spite barely spares him a glance between examining root vegetables. “She said so!”

“Yes, but – why did she say so?”

A thousand different scenarios flash through his head. Rook said Spite bent silverware, chased potatoes, was interested in knives, but… what part of that could have inspired a comment like that? What else could Spite have done while Lucanis wasn’t in control?

Spite spares another glance at Lucanis, but seems faintly baffled by the question. “No. Fun.”

That’s hardly an answer.

“Spite.” Lucanis is terse, now. “What. Exactly. Did she say?”

“Careful, Spite. Don’t want to ruin. His nice. Hands.” Spite makes a face – with his face, which should feel stranger, but doesn’t, after so many months with only reflection of his own face gazing back at him as his only company. “And then!” the demon says, no longer mimicking, “she put. It. Out!”

“The knives?” Lucanis asks.

“The fire!”

Spite’s expression – his expression – suggests this is an offense of the highest order. He practically pouts, jerking his chin towards the fireplace, which he now gazes balefully at. “Wouldn’t. Let me touch,” he complains.

“…ah.” That… makes sense. The smell of wet wood, the decidedly damp logs in the fireplace… “Spite, fire is not to be touched.”

“Why. Not? Rook makes fire.”

“And Rook still doesn’t go sticking her hands in fireplaces. You shouldn’t, either.” He sets another jar on the counter, then adds, “or ovens. Or candles.”

Spite’s lips twist down. “Lucanis is no. Fun. Rook. Is no. Fun. Only want. To see! Not fair!”

“Touching is not seeing, Spite.” Lucanis can hear the sound of footsteps, faint but growing nearer. Rook is returning. “You’re welcome to watch and see all you like, now, but keep quiet. …I’ll see about relighting the fireplace if you can manage it.”

This, at least, elicits a positive response from the demon, and Spite is grinning as he says, “deal!”

It is a deal Spite is likely to break before long, but Lucanis will cherish the brief moments of silence he gets all the same.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rookanis #rook ingellvar #ward ingellvar #dragon age #veilguard #YES this is connected to that other thing i posted a while ago. this happens.... earlier! than that one.

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iridescent-solstice · 6 months ago

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Old fic for an au I was planning out with the character: Claude Faustus | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: {MDNI‼ This fic contains stuff not meant for minors to read. I do not want you to interact with this, please respect my wishes or you will be blocked. Contains themes of a/b/o dynamics, possessive partner, yandere themes, stuff of this category} |

{Wolf spider!Claude X moth!reader}

No one expected you to enjoy being mated to Claude Faustus, but here you are… Not one to take many risks, this was daunting for you. Usually being very cautious and rarely acting impulsively. You knew all it'd take for you to be captured is one wrong move... But ever since you had accepted him as yours. You began to stir up trouble. At first it was daunting, to rely upon someone, but as time passed on you found yourself enjoying it. Enjoy being around Claude. Finally letting your guard down enough to enjoy every day to its fullest. Long gone were the days you’d have to sleep with one eye open in case of intruders or worry about running out of food. Because like the amazing mate he was, not only was no one allowed to lay a finger upon you, but the pantry was always stocked with the honey and nectar, what you craved daily…. Well, it wasn't the only thing you craved but he did well to satisfy your other needs as well

But as reserved and introverted as you were. That didn't mean you stayed out of trouble. Often getting into strange predicaments and disappearing for long hours. You were quite the energetic one. Very rambunctious and full of curiosity. The gift of flight usually led to long adventures. He didn't seem to mind them. He did, but we all know he's great at playing pretend. You felt relieved. Finally, someone not hot on your tail. Finally, someone that gave you the freedom to be yourself...

The other moths in your colony which had attempted to court you, felt like they had every right to restrict you. Overbearing to an unhealthy degree so it's no wonder you never settled for them… No. You're too free spirited to be tied down. But that didn't mean Claude was hands off with you. No, in fact he had many rules and regulations you were more than happy to abide by. And if you weren't… Well, he was more than happy to put you back in your place. The place by his side.

It wasn't until you disappeared for a day and a half did Claude begin to reconsider his leniency on your routine escapade. Because as sweet as he was with you. He wasn't one to share, and certainly wasn't one to let what was his leave so freely. He was almost too sweet with you, sickeningly so sometimes. Smothering with his affections. Borderline obsessive. Almost as if he didn't quite know how to love. It certainly took him some time to adjust to taking care of you. Once he got a hang of it though? He was a natural…. Coddling and often babying you. Leaving your mind hazy. Sometimes not letting you do anything by yourself. Most would often find you perch upon his lap, nuzzling into his chest as he dealt with trespassers. With his hands running up and down your back, wings, legs, anything he could get his hands on. Fully showing you off to the dismay of those cowering under him. His favourite was when the arch of your tiny foot fit perfectly into the palm of his hand and the shudder you’d give when his thumb would gently be stroking your ankle... If he had a little less self-control than usually, he probably would’ve taken you right then and there. Yes, in front of said audience. (He's icky like that)

“You’re too precious to be out on your own.”

He couldn't stop the nagging thought in the back of his head that argued with him every time you headed out… He knew had to play it safe or you’d run away. Fly away where he couldn’t reach you. So, he prods around your mind quite often. Asking your opinion on matters, what you feel about certain things, etc. Trying to understand you. To know you, it makes your heart swell and quickly turns you all lovey dovey and sappy. But you misunderstand… This is not to entertain you… Oh no, rather it’s to find out how to better capture you. To make you his in mind, body, and soul… So, when you made the pricey mistake to return back to the den gravely injured… He had no qualms wrapping you in his arms tightly and pinning you in his web. After treatment but nonetheless... Poor unfortunate you had warmed your way into his heart. He’d be less inclined to let you leave, making up silly excuses, but after some time it's not like you’d wanna leave after he’d be done… satisfying you.

“Its for your own safety, you need me! You would do well to understand that”

[ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @saradika-graphics]

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solar-sunnyside-up · 1 year ago

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hey! sorry to bother you, but is there anything a teen without transportation in a rural area can do on their own? im pretty isolated, and theres barely anything around me.

Hey ya sprout 🌱

**A disclaimer Punk comes with some risk socially. Particularly if your in a rural area this risk goes up bc people Know You and also typically these spaces have a different vibe to alt ppl in general. Some activities are more or less risky and I'll try and do my best to give you a range of stuff from the whole spectrum! Of course this is a generalization of rural areas. Some palaces will be more cool then others depending in so many factors I couldn't go into here**

Rural solarpunk

Your gunna been to pick a topic, sorry babe. In order to not burn yourself out and in order to feel like you have an impact your gunna have to pick a cause to chip away at but I'll give you ideas! And remember just bc your focusing on one thing doesn't mean your ignoring or not helping others. Everything is interconnected and any help, helps all!

So let's give you some ideas to focus on:

Libraries- as a teen in particular you'll have access to a library at school, but depending on how big your town is you might have a public one as well. Become their biggest supporter! They are a great safe space, even conservative ones are still a good place to go for archiving/loitering purposes. They give you spaces to print stuff, to build clubs and community.

Archiving- if you cannot leave your house due to access you can always do stuff online and hear me out, i know when we do stuff online it feels like half points. Like we arent doing anything. I feel that with this blog, it feels so passive no matter how hard you work youll feel lesser. But Archiving is vital to humans! Think of the anthropologists wholl thank you down the road! Plus it does actually give you a way to have a physical representative of work your doing. Dvds, pirating media and archiving them to drives, collecting vinyls/tapes/cds!

DIY- To fight against fast fashion (although that barely exists in the towns I've been in tbh) and to stick out** you could make your own patches, battlejackets, gloves, etc.. They are statement pieces you can wear whenever your in town/at school/social spaces that ppl know what you stand for and who you are. Depending on who/where you are this might be risky so take what you can bare ok? You don't have to wear these items too you can just make them for later on!

Little libraries/little pantries- in a rural space you have more Gruella tactics you can take if you do them in random abandoned spaces. You could build a waterproof little pantry and stock it and leave info somewhere about it for ppl to drop off/pick up items. Stock it with mittens! With canned goods! With books! You might be able to do a space like this at school/library depending in how cool your town is too!

Zines- You could look into making a zine and even if it's digital you could have the QR code for download in places (stickers on lamp posts, flyers in school bathrooms, hidden in a churches pamphlet stacks >.>) making a zine is a cool task that is time consuming and informative and fun!

Vandalism- like I said you can often print off stuff at Libraries, or usually you can find a place to print stuff off near or at post offices depending on how modern your rural space is. if you have your own printer this will reduce your risk by quite a bit though! Create/find stickers or posters you want to toss across town or even school. I'd recommend starting off with some stickers and see how their handled, dipping your toes is important with these kinda things. If your really feeling it, and you know some abandoned places Moss Graffiti is also a good option! I've know ppl who have converted old abandoned stored to skate parks (I honestly have no idea how they built the ramps out of concrete but damn!! Good job guys!)

Also I'll leave you with 2 book recommendations as well-

Moxie - a RIOT GRRRL story about a girl who gets so fed up with her conservative town she makes a feminist zine and distributes it via girl bathrooms (even having a basically me too stickers and encouraging ppl to put it on boys lockers who have assaulted them). I know there's a movie, didn't seem to capture the same vibe tho so book!

Braiding Sweetgrass - this focuses a lot on reconnecting and adding story to nature around us and having science along side spirituality

#sporut guide #reaping week #solarpunk #hopepunk #anticapitalism #punk #rural #cottagecore #community #ecopunk #direct action

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serendipitydang · 24 days ago

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My favourite scene in my autistic soap and ghost WIP so far

Soap’s eyes wandered around the kitchen as he carefully inspected the groceries Ghost had brought home. At first glance, the sheer quantity of some of the items was enough to make him blink in disbelief. There were apples. So many apples. It was like Ghost had raided the entire produce section. Soap had no idea what someone needed with that many apples. Did Ghost have a secret apple addiction? Was he planning on making cider? Maybe he was going to bake an entire orchard’s worth of pies. Soap had no clue, but whatever the reason, the sight of the apples was almost comical.

He moved past the fruit and his eyes landed on the pasta. The pasta. There was a mountain of it. Every kind of shape you could imagine—spaghetti, fusilli, penne. Soap could’ve sworn Ghost was trying to single-handedly boost Italy’s economy by buying every pasta packet in sight. It was almost impressive in its own way, how much pasta one person could stockpile. Soap couldn't imagine ever needing that much pasta unless Ghost was secretly preparing for the end of the world and intended to live off carbs for eternity.

Then there were the tea bags. Two hundred of them, neatly stacked and taking up half a shelf. Two hundred. Soap stared at them for a moment, eyebrows raising. That was an absurd amount of tea. He leaned closer to the pile, inspecting the labels. Yep. Ghost wasn’t messing around. That was a serious commitment to tea-drinking. Was this how he survived his days? Had he been hoarding tea for years, preparing for a world where tea was a scarce resource?

Soap let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, mate,” he muttered, still fixated on the massive stockpile of tea. “Two hundred. Are you trying to brew your way through the next decade or something?”

He snorted under his breath, the thought making him smile to himself. I mean, I can’t really judge, can I?

He paused, glancing over at his own habits. His cupboards were, to be fair, not much better. He might not have the tea situation figured out, but Soap had fifty—yes, fifty—packets of mac and cheese stuffed away in his kitchen, all neatly stacked in a corner like a shrine to convenience. He didn’t even remember how they got there, but one day he’d been hungry, saw them on sale, and well—one packet turned into fifty. What was he supposed to do? Let the deal slip through his fingers? Hell no, Soap wasn’t that stupid. But still, fifty packets of mac and cheese? That was more than a reasonable person could ever need.

But then again, Soap mused, running a hand through his hair, Ghost has his own thing going on. His pantry wasn’t filled with instant meals or emergency snacks. Instead, there were actual staples: bread, cheese, spreads. The kind of foods that suggested Ghost was an adult with, at the very least, some semblance of a balanced diet.

Except, then there were the lemons. So many lemons. They were stacked in a precarious little pyramid, sitting there like some sort of citrus army, waiting to invade the kitchen. Soap narrowed his eyes at the pile, leaning in a bit closer. What exactly does one do with that many lemons?

He had his suspicions—Ghost had a reputation for being a bit of a mystery, and maybe he liked to keep a few tricks up his sleeve. But Soap couldn’t help himself; the sight of those lemons was just too ridiculous to ignore. He chuckled under his breath, giving the lemons a side-eye. “Lemons,” he muttered, half to himself. “You planning on making a bloody lemon grove, Ghost?”

The more Soap thought about it, the more it made sense, in a weird, unexplainable way. Ghost didn’t exactly seem like the type to go out for a takeaway meal or rely on ready-to-eat meals. No, Ghost probably preferred simple, wholesome ingredients. And hell, Soap couldn’t fault him for that. It wasn’t like he was about to judge someone for having healthy, nutritious food when his own cupboard was stocked to the brim with artificial cheese powder. At least Ghost wasn’t buying frozen pizzas or stacks of instant ramen. No, he had real food—if you counted lemons and two hundred bags of tea as “real” food.

Soap gave a small shrug, trying not to be too critical. Ghost’s pantry might be... well, a little eccentric, but who was he to talk? He wasn’t exactly the poster child for healthy eating either. Besides, this was Ghost. If there was one thing Soap had learned about the man, it was that his quirks were a part of the whole package. And Soap wasn’t about to start criticizing now—especially when Ghost was letting him snoop around and see just how strange the man’s grocery habits were.

With another glance at the lemons, Soap let out a breath and gave up. Maybe someday he’ll explain all this—but for now, Soap just had to accept it. The guy might live off apples, pasta, tea, and lemons, but it worked for him. And if it worked for Ghost, then Soap wasn’t about to say a word. Not when his own food habits were probably just as ridiculous.

Soap leaned back against the counter, his gaze lingering on the pile of lemons for a moment longer than necessary. He couldn’t help it. The sight of them, all stacked up like little yellow soldiers, was too much. He glanced over at Ghost, who was now rifling through a bag, probably pulling out more of the strange assortment of groceries he’d bought.

Soap cleared his throat, the words bubbling up before he could stop them.

“Oi,” he began, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “What’s with the lemons, then?”

Ghost paused, turning his head slowly to look at him, the silence hanging between them for a long beat.

Soap’s eyes widened as Ghost stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. There was something about the intensity of the gaze that made him feel a little too exposed. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Soap didn’t break eye contact. He couldn’t. Ghost was making him wait for something—some kind of answer or reaction—but Soap had no idea what.

Then, without a word, Ghost reached for one of the lemons, grabbed it with a steady hand, and before Soap could even process what was happening, he saw Ghost roll his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. And then, without hesitation, he took a bite out of the lemon.

The whole thing. Skin, pith, juice—it was all in there. Ghost chewed slowly, still holding Soap’s gaze, and Soap swore his brain short-circuited for a second. The sourness had to be overwhelming, yet Ghost looked completely unfazed, like it was nothing. The kind of calm, casual confidence that only Ghost could pull off.

Soap couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open slightly, eyes flicking between the lemon in Ghost’s hand and his unblinking stare.

“Wait. What. The—” Soap’s voice cracked for a split second as he stared at Ghost, who, to his absolute horror, was chewing the lemon as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

He blinked rapidly, mouth agape. Ghost’s eyes didn’t leave his for even a second, and Soap felt his heart rate pick up as the sourness of the situation seemed to seep into his very bones. “You’re... eating it?” Soap's voice was higher-pitched than usual, an involuntary mix of confusion and utter disbelief.

Ghost’s slow, deliberate chewing didn’t slow down for a second. The only thing he did was lift an eyebrow ever so slightly, still holding Soap’s gaze, as if daring him to say something.

Soap’s brain couldn’t keep up. “That’s... that’s not normal!” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. "Who the hell eats a lemon like that?!"

Ghost chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed, still unfazed. He simply shrugged and, in his typical deadpan tone, said, “Lemons are useful.”

Soap's hands twitched, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether to run away or just melt into the floor. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he muttered to himself, though he knew he was talking to Ghost—probably still waiting for an explanation that was never coming.

And then, to make it worse, Ghost just stared at him, his gaze cool, composed, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And took another fucking bite. Soap’s chest tightened, and his entire body froze for a moment, his mind completely blank. He watched in horror as Ghost chewed through the sour fruit like it was a snack, unfazed, completely casual about the whole thing.

Soap could feel his pulse in his ears, his hand instinctively reaching out for something to grip, though nothing seemed sturdy enough to hold his sanity together at that moment. His mind was short-circuiting, desperately trying to process what he was witnessing. He had seen some odd things in his time—hell, he’d done some odd things himself—but this? This was beyond any reasonable explanation.

“Fucking Brits,” Soap muttered under his breath, his voice a mixture of exasperation and genuine panic, though his lips still curled into an incredulous grin. It was the only way he could react. If he didn’t laugh, he might lose his mind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he managed, staring wide-eyed at Ghost, hoping for some sort of answer.

Ghost didn’t flinch. He didn’t even break his gaze. He just kept chewing, slow and deliberate, as if the lemon was the most natural thing in the world.

Soap rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down, but all he could do was watch as Ghost took another bite. Another bite. Soap wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or absolutely terrified at the sheer audacity of it. His mind kept coming back to one terrifying question: What’s next? Would Ghost dip the lemon in salt? Maybe add a little hot sauce? Or, god forbid, pour himself a drink of straight vinegar?

He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, trapped in some bizarre fever dream where logic had taken a back seat. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to make sense of it, but the words just wouldn’t come out. There was nothing that could explain this insanity. Not even a "You’re a madman." Nothing could do it justice.

So, instead, he just sighed loudly, muttering another baffled “Fucking Brits,” as if that was the answer to the madness unfolding before him.

Ghost shrugged, nonchalantly finishing his bite of lemon, his cool demeanor never wavering. It was as if he couldn’t understand the chaos that was clearly unfolding in Soap’s mind. Maybe that’s why he was so calm about it. Maybe he knew something Soap didn’t, like how to embrace the chaos without getting swallowed by it.

Soap, on the other hand, couldn’t take it anymore. He flopped back onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, throwing his arm across his face in mock defeat. "You’re fucking impossible," he muttered, turning his head to glance at Ghost one last time.

Without warning, Soap shot him a middle finger, the gesture a mix of frustration and disbelief. Ghost didn’t react. He just kept munching on his lemon like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Soap, utterly drained from trying to make sense of everything, just let his head hit the back of the couch. “I can’t even,” he groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. Ghost had truly taken "living life on his own terms" to a new level, and Soap had no idea if he should be impressed or horrified.

Ghost didn’t respond, of course. He just kept on with whatever weird ritual he was engaged in, and Soap, knowing there was no reasoning with him, just shut his eyes, hoping for a few moments of peace before his brain had to process whatever bizarre thing Ghost would do next.

#ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #ao3 fanfic #when life gives you lemons #You eat them #autism

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undead-supernova · 11 months ago

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HIGH TOLERANCE

Masterlist

important note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series!

plot: this is the one where you and Eddie smoke weed together for the first time--well, amongst other silly little firsts (about five months after they first met)

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

warnings: fluff to the nines with a hint of desire, smoking weed (obviously), body image mention, death mention

this was already something I'd been thinking of but I heard the song Close One by FIZZ and it is so Eddie and Weirdo coded it's crazy

wc: 4.8k

Eddie watched as you took a few steps past the door, walking slowly as if you were in some art gallery. Tentative steps that echoed off his empty walls and unsettled wooden floors. Noticing the hum of the air conditioning and birds chirping near the windowsill.

This was the first time you’d been in his new apartment.

There were boxes everywhere, some half-opened, others not at all. You’d insisted that you could help him with the move, but he’d shaken his head. Told you that Steve, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant could do it. Told you that you’d be his first house guest once he got everything figured out.

But, uh. Well.

There were boxes in every corner. No table. Only a plank of wood on top of two extra-large boxes in front of a TV being held up by yet another box. But he loved it. This was the first place he could call his home, no matter how shitty or overpriced the place was. He had a view of the street and a place to put his amp. A fridge with next to no food. A mattress with no frame.

It wasn’t exactly a palace and Eddie knew that. But it was his.

“This is a fucking palace if I’ve ever seen one,” you said, turning to see Eddie leaning up against the door. His eyebrows raised. “I’m surprised you don’t have any guards standing outside. What if a dragon gets in?”

The smile you gave him was playful, without a hint of judgment.

“Guess I’ll have to slay it with my bare hands,” Eddie replied, finally pushing himself off the door to flex his nonexistent muscles.

“Wow,” you said, placing your hands over your heart. “I’m shaking in my little boots.”

“What can I say?”

Eddie gave you a grand tour of his studio apartment, which consisted of walking about twenty steps to the bedroom before turning to the bathroom and coming right back to the surprisingly spacious kitchen but tiny living room.

The two of you mainly stood at the small island separating the kitchen and living room, leaning over with your chins propped up by your hands. Discussing where to put his Dio and Iron Maiden posters. Contemplated going to the thrift store for a couch. Wondered if you could change the upholstery yourselves if you didn’t like the fabric but loved the feel. Decided you were too stupid to even try to figure that out.

By the time you checked your phone, it was nearing evening.

“Should we cook dinner?” you asked. “I’m hungry as fuck.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cook?”

Eddie didn’t know much about cooking. Robin and Steve had been the ones to stock the fridge and take turns at the stove. Eddie was merely there to watch or be called to meals, savoring every last bite like he could wake up the next morning without the access again.

A part of him was still reeling from Spaghettios and whatever low-priced high fructose corn syrup meal Wayne left in the pantry. There was nothing like spending nights by the shitty TV eating saltine crackers and peanut butter. Sometimes blocks of cheese when Wayne wanted to try making sandwiches before work—but those attempts never lasted very long.

“Yeah, like we could make chicken Alfredo and some garlic bread.”

He shrugged. “I was thinking like, you know, takeout or something. There’s a Thai place across the street.”

You gave him a weird look. “Do you not cook?”

“Uh, no. I don’t really know how.”

“Chicken?” He shook his head. “Pasta?” Another shake.

You nodded, walking over to pick up your purse. “If you’re going to be living alone, I think I should at least teach you how to cook pasta, chicken, and bread.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“We,” you started, fiddling with your keys. “are going to the grocery store.”

Eddie groaned, dramatically falling to the floor. “I fucking haaaaate going to the grocery store. It takes fucking forever out here.”

You smiled with an eye roll. “Get up, you dramatic queen.”

He sighed, letting you help him to his feet before grabbing his wallet and keys.

“The one and only.”

“Mm. Yeah, well you haven’t gone to the grocery store with me. I’ll show you the way.”

You truly were a wizard when it came to navigating the grocery store in fifteen minutes or less. Kroger was your bitch and he respected the hell out of that. On top of it all, you explained how to shop cheap as you whisked him around. You never grabbed his hand, settling for his wrist.

Was it weird that he felt a sting of disappointment?

Despite this, he loved watching you move, watching you move him.

Bakery.

You hummed, fingers ghosting over the different breads. “See, you get the bread that’s a dollar or two, the ones that are on sale because they’re a few days out from going bad,” you explained, plucking a French baguette out of one of the top shelves. “That way,” you turned to him. “you’re saving money and have enough for a few days.”

Aisle 14.

“So, you get that cheap fettuccine,” you said, crouching down to grab the generic brand before immediately popping back up. “It really doesn’t matter anyways. Well, as long as you cook it all the way through.”

Produce.

“You have garlic?” you asked.

Eddie only shook his head, almost embarrassed at the idea that he was supposed to have it.

But you just smiled.

“No problemo. I didn’t either before someone showed me.” Grabbing a giant jar of minced garlic, you chucked it in the basket. “This will last you a long, long time. I haven’t gotten another bottle in months and I use it in just about everything.”

Meat.

“Always grab the ones that are on sale since they’re going bad sooner. It’s still good and you can just cook it up to use for a few more meals if you’d like. Should we get you tortillas? I feel like you could get good at making a mean quesadilla.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, watching the ingredient list stack up, wondering how much everything was about to cost.

“Next time.”

“Next time,” you promised.

And after grabbing heavy whipping cream, mozzarella, parmesan, and basic spices for the alfredo sauce, claiming that you were able to make more than what a jar could provide him, you headed to the self-checkout. You insisted on buying everything despite his protests. Even cooking pans and spatulas.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I have a Kroger card. You’re saving me, like, fifty cents on gas.” As you scanned, you added, “Consider it a housewarming gift.”

Eddie didn’t know what to think about your kindness, the way you were able to just give to him without a second thought. It was a friendship that seemed beyond the realm of tough boundaries. You were able to help and provide your support without asking anything in return. Without thought, without any demand of him. Offering aid, leading with an open mind and heart.

It occurred to Eddie that he still didn’t know what to think of you.

“Always use butter,” you stated, giving him a serious stare. “You will fuck up your nice new pans and your chicken if you use oil.”

As he watched you cook, with a little furrow between your eyebrows as you focused, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have this be a regular occurrence. If he could always have you here, cooking and laughing with him. Dancing around the small space to Nova Twins and Black Sabbath all the time, using his spatula as a multi-purpose tool—a cooking utensil, a microphone and a guitar.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.”

“Yes, what?”

Eddie snorted. “Yes, chef.”

But there was a little something he couldn’t shake, noticing for the first time how your black babydoll dress fit you, with lace dripping down below the hemline. His eyes traced down your body as you preoccupied yourself, a new sort of heat reaching his cheeks. It was starting to move further through him, finding its way down, down, down…

Without thinking, Eddie shook his head and opened the cabinet next to you, placing a wooden box on the counter. It was littered with stickers, chipped and nicked from being used and moved so often. As he lifted the top, the aroma of cannabis hit the two of you like a particularly brutal wave.

“Woah, there!” you said, looking down with wide eyes. “What do you have there, Mr. Munson?”

Your reaction was nearly unreadable. He couldn’t blame you. There was a stockpile, with cones and papers and a few edibles and rolled joints. Little jars full of bud. An extra pack of cigarettes.

He hadn’t really thought about what you’d think about it or if you smoked at all. As he combed through his memory, he found no recollection of you mentioning it at all since you’d met.

“Oh, uh,” he mumbled, continuing to pull out a particularly pretty joint. “You smoke?”

Something in his stomach twisted when he saw a wide grin reach your lips. Because, Jesus, you were cute. Had he really not noticed just how cute you were until then? He did everything he could to prevent the heat from returning, but the steam omitting from the stove was making it worse.

“Do I smoke?” you teased. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

Relief ran through him at your banter, knowing he picked you well when he asked to be your best friend. “I didn’t know!”

“I clearly didn’t show you my bong collection. That’s my bad.”

That pulled a laugh out of Eddie.

Being around you was just as easy as being around Wayne. It was something resembling familial, but for some reason today was beginning to show him that it extended far beyond that. It was like with each passing moment spent in each other’s company, the definitions and adjectives were shifting and stretching into something he couldn’t quite articulate. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What the fuck are they even saying?” As Eddie looked at the name of the album on your phone, Этажи, he added, “How do you even pronounce that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. But it’s cool, right? Like, this is goth music from Belarus. Belarus. Isn’t that cool? The guitars, the fuzzy feeling. The baur-dunnunununun,” you sang along, imitating playing the drums. You were actually quite rhythmic, able to follow along to the beat perfectly. “I listen to this on repeat all the time. It’s so addictive.”

Since the two of you finished dinner and split a joint, you had gone on a full on mission to induct Eddie into the world of goth rock. The Eighties classics, the recents. Bauhaus, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, London After Midnight, She Wants Revenge, Alien Sex Fiend, etc etc.

At first, Eddie was opposed to the whole thing, extremely disinterested. But you were adamant to keep going, to delve into the subculture and expose him to the magic. The dancing began to make sense to him, watching as you gave a demonstration. Your face angled towards the floor, your arms high. Wrists twisting and turning as you swayed back and forth. The lace moved and twirled wherever you went, your outfit fitting the music perfectly.

He was starting to understand, with each string of poetic lyricism and atmospheric stroke of the guitar—the same thing he’d always seen in Black Sabbath. The outfits, the makeup. The defiance against modern society and culture. The romanticism, the guttural heartbreak. The yearning. Pining. The desperation for something pure and lovely to hold onto. It was something else, something special all on its own and his judgment had been extremely unwarranted.

“I didn’t get what you meant before about it having its own sound, but that’s on me,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for being a little bitch.”

Your smile grew as you continued dancing around him, eyes never leaving his. Eddie turned to hold your eye contact as you swayed, nearly mesmerized by your movement. He wanted to blame it on the haze of the weed, but something scratching at his brain told him it was just you.

“That’s the last time you doubt me, alright?” you said, seemingly closer than before. This time, you were dancing even slower as you circled him. It was starting to make his mouth dryer than it was already.

“The last time, indeed,” he responded.

Your playlist started over, the haunting beginning to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” filling Eddie with an odd sense of ease. It was kind of like metal, but stripped down. The beat never stopped moving, always pushing forward in a soothing way. What the hell did they pump into these songs?

“Look at us, unplugged from the outside world,” he said with a little laugh as the two of you sat down on the floor. Your backs against the wall, cross-legged. “We’re so cool and different.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a smile never leaving your lips. “I’m usually unplugged when I’m not at work.”

This was news to him. You were always quick to answer his texts whenever you were off, always at a rapid fire pace. In fact, it was unusual if you weren’t texting him back.

But Eddie decided to keep that to himself, letting you continue.

“Everyone is so loud these days.” You began to gesture with your hands, nearly hitting his arm. “‘This is the right opinion. No, this is. Who said what. This stranger is too judgmental, this one isn’t critical enough. Oh, look, this celebrity is wearing something. Wanna hear about a YouTuber you don’t give a shit about having beef with another YouTuber you don’t give a shit about?

“‘Want to make money dancing to sped up classics? Well, how about we do it so much that artists are rearranging their already awesome music to appease an audience. Let’s bully kids. Let’s doxx people. Did you see this? What about that? Well, why aren’t you online? Do you not care? Here’s the news. Oh, wait, that’s the wrong news. Someone famous is having a baby. A Kardashian just broke up with someone, can you believe it? Let’s make body sizes a trend and follow every celebrity who has changed their appearance to fit a fad. Skinny’s in, skinny is still in but you’re allowed to have a few curves. Fuck it, it’s cool to look sick. Here’s an Eighties trend, here’s Y2k.’”

You paused, taking a deep breath. “And then suddenly you’ve spent your whole day spiraling from an existential crisis about the lack of control you have. Feeling fucked up because we were not designed to go this fast. And then suddenly you’re wondering if you’ll ever be able to just frolic in a field like we were built to. If we have a future at all.”

With a final sigh, you shook your head. “Sorry, I get a little intense sometimes when I smoke. But, yeah, I think I’m gonna try to block out the noise before the whole internet explodes and there’s nothing left but scraps and archives.”

Eddie nodded, understanding your thoughts completely. He’d never been one to care about social media or the internet in general. Hell, he hadn’t gotten a smartphone until he got his first real paycheck here. The most he did was read the newspaper, no shit, and get help from his friends whenever he was in rotation to do promo for the band on their socials. His brain was usually filled to the brim with racing thoughts anyways, never needing the outside world coming in.

Well, until he walked into a bar and met you.

“What do you do then?” he asked.

Shrugging, you said, “I like to get high and cook while listening to music. Read books and listen to music. Journal. Go to some local shows to find new bands. Drink coffee at local places and listen to music. A lot of it has to do with listening to music.” Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “It’s the only thing that really seems to make sense anymore. Spotify tells me I listen to music more than, like, ninety percent of people, but I think they’re lying to make me feel cool.”

Eddie laughed. “Don’t go all conspiratorial on me this early in the smoke session.”

As you wiggled your fingers in his face, your voice went low. “Listen to my words, Eddie Boy! These are no longer theories, but facts! Tinfoil hats are sexy! Oooooh, spooky! Creeeeepy!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, shooing your hands away. “Okay, okay. Enough with whatever any of that was.”

Laughter died out before you asked the one question he’d hoped you’d never ask.

“I was really surprised when you said you didn’t know how to cook. Has your mom really never taught you how?”

Despite wanting to look away from your curious eyes, Eddie held your stare. “Uh, no. My mom died when I was a kid.”

Eyes widening, you sat up. “Oh, Eddie. Shit. I’m sorry for assuming—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “It’s all good. You didn’t know.”

“Okay.”

The two of you were quiet again before Eddie asked, “Do you wanna know about it?”

You nodded silently.

Eddie embarked on what he called his backstory, like he was a fictional character in a novel. Maybe it was the only way he would make it through his shitty past, a tale of a boy with a dream for a good future but always coming up short.

You didn’t say anything the entire time, only watching him, eyes trained on his hands whenever he gestured. But as he spoke, he realized that his descriptions of everyone just weren’t right.

He led you to a box that he swore he’d keep closed forever, already hidden on the top shelf of his closet. The two of you sat on the carpet by his mattress, music faint in the background.

He began showing you a picture or two of his mom before he couldn’t help but keep going through the photographs. There was Wayne. The Hellfire Club. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, and Erica. Ronnie, before she left for college. Bev, scowling at the camera from The Hideout. The band after their last show there. The solitary picture he had of his father from when he was barely a year old.

All of these pieces of himself that he kept close to his heart, kept close to his soul if those existed. The life he swore to keep hidden now that he was gone, with only Steve and Robin connecting him to his past. Gareth, Grant, and Jeff once they were able to graduate and move. Even then, it felt like they were a part of something new, not old.

Hawkins made him feel isolated, hollow. It was a constant reminder of everything he lost, from his mother to his father to watching Wayne slowly killing himself from working so hard all the fucking time. With his last name preceding him in reputation, there was no way to get through a singular day without a hiss or an insult. Even when people cared about him.

When he got out, he didn’t realize that there was a possibility he could meet people who were willing to give him a chance.

And he was noticing how engaged you were, studying all the photos intently, taking your time to scan them for seemingly every detail. You were focused on one in particular, of his mom in a blue sundress and Eddie resting on her hip. She was smiling, the kind of smile that comes once in a lifetime. The kind of smile that gave him an ache in his bones from missing so fucking much.

“My mom’s from Memphis, actually,” he whispered.

Your eyes lit up as you met his gaze. “We could’ve grown up so close to one another. Could you imagine?”

Eddie could. Transporting Ronnie and Granny Ecker to Tennessee. The three of you running around causing trouble. His mom calling them in for dinner, watching you fall asleep before your parents picked you up. Blasting metal around the suburbs, carpooling to school. Climbing trees and making it a shared hiding spot when things got tough.

Making sure he never lost contact with Ronnie.

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “I really can.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” you asked, looking at him.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t want you to judge me or something.”

“We all come from somewhere. Just because I grew up in a suburb doesn’t mean I’d judge you for living in a trailer. It’s not like you chose that or like that’s a bad thing. You didn’t choose to have your mom pass away and you didn’t choose to have your dad fuck up and get arrested. Those are the cards you were dealt, sure, but you came here. You got out with people who love and care about you. That’s no small feat.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, feeling heat flood his cheeks at your nice words. “I just haven’t ever seen it that way, I guess. Just a metalhead finding his way through the throws of life.”

“You’re more than just a metalhead, you know,” you said. His eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not the most interesting thing about you.”

“What is?”

“Well, I, uh…” You hesitated and Eddie began to wonder why you were tongue-tied all of a sudden. “I mean, you’re talented and you clearly enjoy quality time with people. You care and that’s a big deal. Not a lot of people care the way you do, even if you’re a little shy about it.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times like you were fighting something before adding, “There’s more but I’m pretty high. Ask me again tomorrow.”

Eddie smiled, trying not to let your words affect him the way they were starting to. “Will do, captain.”

It was infectious, being around you. You never failed to surprise him, to twist him into something more than he already was. No matter what, you were always changing the way he saw the world. His world. And Eddie knew that if he wasn’t careful, there would be a day when he would fall desperately in love with you.

Before either of you knew it, you were another joint deep, going in and out of full on talking and watching TV. He tried to show you Alien but then you kept pausing the movie to engage in a discussion that led into conversations that led into sheer nonsense. Laughter and banter and eventually a little bit of beer.

When Eddie finally checked his phone, the realization that it was midnight washed over him. “Oh, uh, hey, when do you need to leave?” he asked, looking up. “I don’t wanna keep you here if you need to go. It’s late.”

Your expression turned sheepish as you played with the fabric of his blanket. You didn’t even bother to check your phone. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’m sober enough to drive. I didn’t really think about it.”

“You could just sleep here if you’d like?” Eddie offered without thought before realizing exactly what he was suggesting. You, here. In his apartment. Alone. For the whole night.

“On the floor?” you asked with a laugh.

“I could take the floor,” he suggested. “You can have my bed.”

“Why don’t we both take the bed?” you asked, finally making eye contact with him. He noticed your eyes widen, something washing over you.

But there was no time to wonder as Eddie froze at the realization at what exactly you were suggesting. You, here. In his apartment. In his bed. Together. For the night.

“You’re, uh, cool with that?” he asked, starting to fiddle with the damp label on his second beer. It was starting to shed from his picking, the adhesive sticking to his fingernails.

“Um, yeah. I am.” Your nonchalance seemed to fall as you shrugged. “But if you don’t feel comfortable with that, like, I totally understand—”

“Let’s do it,” Eddie said.

After your final attempt to finish the movie, you two were beat. Three in the morning, the world outside clouded in slumber while Eddie fumbled through the dark. Did he forget to mention that he didn’t even have a lamp yet?

When you were finally settled in bed, with you wearing a spare set of his pajamas, there was a silence between you. Eddie was unable to discern whether it was awkward or natural, his thoughts kicking into overdrive. This was a close one, maybe a little too close. Here you were, in his bed. In his apartment. In a sick turn of events, he didn’t have to stop being around you and he didn’t want to. You didn’t drain his energy. Not even once. It was goddamn twisted.

Eddie felt a shift in weight in the bed and before he knew it, your foot had come to rest on top of his calf. His heart hammered in his chest, wondering what this was. And he was…nervous? Why was he nervous? You were just friends. This was fine, right? Just some normal human contact between friends.

But you started…running your foot up and down his leg?

And then you wiggled your toes.

“Helllooooo, Edward,” you said with a high-pitched voice, verging on absolute creep territory.

He immediately flinched from your touch, scooting away from you to the edge of the bed. You howled with laughter, getting closer.

“Fuck off with that!” he nearly shouted. “That’s so fucking weird.”

“I’m cooooming for you, Edward,” you said in the voice again. “My preeeecious!”

You tried to start tickling him but Eddie fought back, pushing you away from him. Howls of laughter poured out of you, clutching your chest with pure glee. You were an absolute menace of a person.

“You’re such a weirdo!” he exclaimed, laughing his ass off.

“At least I own up to it.”

He finally turned over, watching you with your head tilted on the pillow, your hands wrapped up underneath. Mirroring your position, he let out one last chuckle before his smile softened.

“That’s your name now,” he concluded. “Weirdo.”

You nodded. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Eddie couldn’t believe that people like you existed, silly and real and beautiful and fun. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only goofy person in the room, always starting bits or talking in weird voices. Usually it was just him being up for a laugh with only some reciprocation. You, on the other hand, were just like him. It was unique in its own way, but you still fed off of his energy as much as he fed off of yours.

You two just looked in each other’s eyes illuminated by the light cascading down from the blinds. His eyes couldn’t help but flicker back and forth, trying to read you. Because you had this doe-eyed expression, with an extra sparkle of light starting to shine in your eyes. And your smile was tied up with a slight bite to your lip, like you were holding something back, like there was a sentence forming on your tongue.

It was new, this side of you.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked, nearly desperate to know what you were thinking.

Some of your smile dropped…but not all the way.

There was a glaze over your eyes, the playfulness gone. It was something more serious than what was normal for you. He couldn't discern what this was and he knew it was going to kill him. “What? Nothing. I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he teased.

And then there were moments like these, where the silence felt comfortable and the stillness in the air didn’t feel suffocating. He was beginning to realize that he still wanted you there. Actually, if anything, it made spending time with you even better. He didn’t have to always be on all the time. He could just be himself, be human. With someone else.

He hadn’t even felt the need to smoke a cigarette tonight.

You two stayed like that until you lost whatever game you were playing and you closed your eyes for the night. Lightly snored, with your face squished against the pillow. It made him smile to see you at such a raw level and still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and—

Eddie’s eyes widened as realization overcame him.

He grabbed his phone and pulled up his texts with Robin.

ik it’s 4am but she stayed over

rob i think

well i think i know

Robin’s three dots popped up.

Spit it out, Eddie!

Eddie sighed quietly, glancing over at you one more time.

i’m falling in love with her

extra special thanks to @jo-harrington for always being so so supportive and encouraging of this series :')

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #best friend!eddie #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #best friend!Eddie x reader #high tolerance series

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the-hinky-panda · 5 months ago

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Yellowstone: Boss Mare Series: Part IV

You have an ill mother and a pantry stocked with Hormel chili to thank for your temporary appointment of the ranch cook. It’s the middle of the afternoon when you follow Jamie up the wide front porch steps and through the large main door of the main house. It reminds you of your father’s house in the northwestern part of the state. Large, grand, picture perfect. You’re wise enough to know every foundation has cracks though and perfection doesn’t exist.

That knowledge doesn’t stop you from pleading your case for a job in the ranch’s kitchen and with John Dutton facing the fourth night of canned food for dinner, you gain your job as interim cook. Things may change when Gator’s mother rallies from her heart attack and he returns to Montana, but for now, the kitchen is yours. You’re also given a room and small bathroom over the kitchen to stay in until a more permanent plan is made.

You impressed them that first evening with a simple meal of green salad, a pot roast with potatoes and carrots, and a simple chocolate cake for dessert. You were told the big challenge though was feeding the bunkhouse. That’s why you’re thankful for running into Walker that evening. Despite his telling you to leave the ranch as soon as possible, he gives you the list of favorite breakfast foods in the bunkhouse.

“If you find that biscuit recipe,” he told you by the stream, “you’re golden.”

You spent half the night searching through books, boxes, and drawers in the kitchen. It’s almost midnight when John Dutton comes into the kitchen and finds you sitting on the floor with binders and recipe cards laid out in front of you. You wait to see what he’s going to say, to do. Is he going to scold you for being out of your room? For going through things that he didn’t give you permission to go through? Instead of saying anything, he just retrieves a glass from the cabinet, steps over you, and fills it with water from the tap.

“You know we’re not going to give you a written test, right?”

You nod. “Yes, I know. I, uh, I was just looking for a specific recipe.”

He drinks the water and sets the glass in the sink. “Let me guess. The biscuits?”

“I heard they were a favorite.”

“Well, you heard right.”

He goes over to a cabinet that holds multiple liquor bottles and reaches into the back. He pulls out a stack of worn, stained index cards held together with a rubber band. Carefully, he pulls out one and hands it to you. It’s the biscuit recipe. You glance at the others and he chuckles.

“You gotta earn the other ones.”

You stand up from the floor. “Fair enough. Thank you, for this. For everything.”

He nods in acknowledgement and points at the card in your hand. “How about we trade a secret for a secret?”

You shift uneasily on your feet. “Okay.”

“This thing you’re running from, is it going to come looking for you?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “I don’t know if I’m worth going after, to be honest.”

“Husband?”

You curl your toes into the stone floor and force yourself to nod your head. “Yes. And my father, possibly. Like I said, I don’t know if they consider me worth tracking down.”

He hands you another recipe, roast duck in a wine sauce. “Where did you come from?”

“Between Yarnell and Rexford. In the-”

“Kootenai National Forest, I know it.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Doomsday preppers? Hoarding guns and ammo, that kind of shit?”

You shake your head. “No. Nothing like that.”

“The only other groups that like those types of areas are cults or communes.” He gives you a brief head to toe scan. “And judging from how much you’re set on proving your worth, I’m going to say you’re no hippie.”

“No sir.”

He hums quietly and hands over another card, chestnut dressing with currants. “My family’s safety comes first. This ranch comes first. If anything threatens it, the threat will be swiftly dealt with. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. If anyone from my old life comes around, you will be the first to know. But please know, no matter what they say, I don’t want to go back there. Ever again.”

“Alright. That’s all I need to know for now.” He hands you one more card before putting the rest in his shirt pocket. “That one is also a breakfast favorite around here.”

You look down at it and see it’s a hashbrown casserole recipe. You smile as you run your fingers over the oil stains and neat handwriting on the cards. They are more than just the roadmap to your success; they’re pieces of trust. That is something that has been severely lacking in your life. Hopefully, that won’t be the case anymore.

#jamie dutton x you #jamie dutton x reader #jamie dutton fic #jamie dutton #yellowstone fic

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sincerely-anascot · 7 months ago

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Rain douses the district of Ehrmich. The concept of downpour still baffles her—the abundance of water and the rumbling of thunder never did reach home.

Gliding through the back door of the building, she leaves her drenched cloak in what would have been the mudroom of the abandoned dwelling. She weaves through the stairs and dodges open windows to reach the attic.

She stills when she notices the tea set on her dining table and rolls her eyes at how the place appears slightly cleaner than she left it.

“Leave my shit alone, Levi,” she says into the deceptively empty room.

Paying no mind to the figure revealed by closing her door, she silently pads to her makeshift kitchen and picks one of the tins in her cabinet and sets it on the counter. It remains unopened from when she liberated it from some old noble’s castle in Wall Sina.

“Here. Now, get lost.”

Unlike every time she shoos him off with his monthly tea caddy, his usually unheard footsteps follows her behind a wall of curtains into the makings of a bedroom.

She does not miss a beat and began removing wet layer after the other until she stood bare. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

When she’s covered with her nightgown, he finally speaks, “Your operation last week reached the higher ups.”

“Hm. I thought they’d have caught on months ago.”

“You don’t give the MP a lot to work with.” He sounds almost proud.

A twitch of her lip almost blooms into a smirk as she reaches for a towel. It’s the most words they’d spoken to each other ever since making contact last year. With the speed only she could contest, he grabs the fabric from her hand.

“Let me,” he says. She considers dropping him to the ground for invading her space.

“Sit.” He gestures to the bed and she finally looks at his face when she hears the uncertainty under his command.

Levi looks more sleep-deprived and the ever present frown on his face more prominent. No one would have noticed the difference. But none of them were her.

With a huff, she relents.

When his hands sifts hrough her hair, she immediately regrets it.

Dimmer days than the storm outside trickle through a crack in her defenses. Back when light was a commodity but her heart full as he never fails to volunteer to take care of her grooming. Back to when he’d run his fingers from the base of her skull to the tips resting at her bare behind. The moments when he would ball and tangle her hair to take them both into new heights of pleasure—

A shiver jolts her back when his fingers brushes her ear.

“That’s enough,” she hisses and grabs the towel from his hand.

For old times sake, she’d riffle through the needlessly stocked pantries of those rich bastards his tea. When she heard what had happened to Isa and Farlan, she allowed him to use her abode as a safe haven when the nightmares would come back after every expedition. She actively ignores the fact that he could have taken his supply without waiting for her to return every single time. When he needed information it was there for him to use to support the Scouts.

She would give him anything. But she will never surrender herself to him.

Never again.

“I’ll have a new tin for you next time.”

She parts the curtains.

“Leave.”

He hesitates, hands tighten into fists before he silently makes his exit. The scent of him mixed with rain is new but familiar as he walks past her, shoulders almost colliding.

Just before the curtains close, she hears him say, “Don’t get caught, Dove.”

She has half a mind to rip the heavy fabric open to see if wore the expression to match the tenderness in his voice. A scream has crawled its way to the back of her throat barred only by painfully pinching lips as she watched his shadow grow smaller. The nerve of that man to utter her once cherished name as if it hadn’t fallen from grace; a once treasured endearment decrepit to a mere criminal’s moniker.

Tears of frustration choruses with the rain. She falls to a crouch begging her own body to not betray the walls she had built over the years.

Yet as she gazes down her window, her hand reaches out to the man under his umbrella as he crosses the street—the sight of his retreating form a recurring nightmare.

“Be careful out there, Raven,” she begs.

#she was his freedom #ravens mate for life #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi x reader #levi x oc #levi x you

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 5 months ago

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Long rambling about personal health stuff under the cut:

So, my physical health has been slowly declining over the past couple of months--think extreme fatigue, headaches, lightheadedness, and energy levels that are basically on the ground--and it's left me unable to do a full day of adult life, ie. work a full time job, be a parent, take care of a house, and participate in my hobbies. Most days I can now only choose a few of these essential activities and know that I absolutely have to budget in significant time to rest if I want to reach the end of the day without becoming comatose on the couch.

As someone who is used to having almost an unlimited well of energy (thanks, ADHD!), the reverse is almost unbearable. It makes me feel lazy, unproductive, and a burden on my loved ones, and it SUCKS. I'm used to being able to run long distances as WELL as participate in all of my responsibilities and hobbies, and now I can barely get through the day without a nap. I literally ran a half marathon in May, and now it's a miracle if I'm able to do a single mile.

Blood tests revealed that I have low B12, and everything other measurable metric is perfectly fine. So, I've started taking B12 supplements every day for a little under a week now, but so far I've not really felt any better. I still can't go for a walk without feeling all shaky and unsteady. I know I'm probably going to have to give my body more than a week to adjust, but honestly my biggest worry is that there's something ELSE wrong at the same time and that, whatever it is, it's not going to be easily identified and I'm going to have to spend disgusting amounts of time and money attempting to navigate the healthcare system and find an answer.

Meanwhile, I continue to be exhausted and anxious because not being completely 100% self-sufficient is one of my biggest triggers in life.

Anyways, things have kinda sucked lately, I've been trying to navigate chronic fatigue and I'm still learning how to function on less. My biggest struggle right now is figuring out how to have ready-to-eat food on hand at all times without spending an arm and a leg. Having a fridge and pantry full of ingredients that I have to cook has been my biggest obstacle, and realistically I need to get over myself and keep myself stocked with frozen dinners and other already-assembled food for times when I'm not able to cook.

I know lots of other folks out there are struggling with chronic fatigue... anyone have any other tips for me?

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viciouslyyearning · 2 years ago

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Considering a story idea here... With a monstrous prisoner and his caretaker

Imagine you're living in an old kingdom that's been around for at least a few hundred years, the royals appear kind and caring but as soon as someone mentions something out of that image they disappear. The secrets are ignored for self preservation of the people.

Due to the reputation of the castle, as well as the decent working conditions, whenever an opening for a job under the crown is available it is just as quickly snatched up. Except for one.

"Caretaker"

Not nanny for the children, not companion for the young royals of the court, caretaker. It is a position that is filled and reopened again and again as though whoever takes the job on just... Leaves. If nothing else.

With no family left and no means to make any money you brace yourself for caretaking of a royal pet who's a bit more dangerous than ought be.

You are found by the guards after applying and taken directly to the King and Queen. They are nice in the way a shopkeeper might be, nice as long as you give them business, nice as long as you do as they need.

They tell you that your job will be to watch over and care for a prisoner locked away in the catacombs under the castle. He is in a small cell, unable to escape so there is no threat to you. They only wish not to deal with him personally. They refuse to kill him either so, a life of nothing is his punishment.

You hesitate, and ask his crime to deserve as such.

"That creature was judged by my great great grandfather, I trust his judgement and instructions. He will not be killed but he must not be allowed to die either." The queen spoke with order in her tone.

You bowed, her louder tone reminding you it is not your place to ask.

The King stood alongside his Queen, "you will be housed in a small cottage, the entrance to the catacombs is in the basement, hidden from any outside of your job and our title." His voice grew firm. "You will not discuss the contents of your role here. You will never allow him to be found by curious eyes."

You agreed silently, wholeheartedly.

The Queen spoke once more, "You will be provided meals for you and for him. Be certain not to switch the two, one is fit for health, the other is only there to not allow starvation. All you need do is give food and water as you see fit. As long as he doesn't perish under your care it can be as often or as far between as you'd prefer." She hesitated, "it would be best to ignore him entirely while you are there. He has earned his punishment and will serve his sentence for however long it takes."

You were escorted quickly and stealthily to your new home, it was a decent little cabin. Room for one with some food already stocked in the shelves and a small bag of coin to start you off.

The guards left you after that, not a word to be shared.

You settled what few belongings you had and noted the time. Supper already, might as well go ahead and greet your new... Acquaintance.

You looked through the pantry to find a decent sized bag filled with scraps of food, presumably from the castle. Half eaten, molding bread. Squishy fruits, foul smelling meats.

You were quick to close the bag once more. Bewildered at the state of what you assumed was your prisoners meals.

You shook your head and left the bag, searching through the rest of the pantry to collect the food that must have been meant for you, fresher, not smelling of something rotten, decent textures.

Assembling two bowls of a mix of cheeses, slices of meat, some grapes, and a small half loaf of bread each. Grabbing an empty water skin and filling it up as well, you headed to the basement and down through the catacombs.

The catacombs were musky and dimly lit, the greatest light source being your small lantern. It was a decent sized hallway with various connecting rooms, some with empty dusty cells, others carved out hovels. You made sure to note different rooms as it would be your new working grounds.

It took a few minutes of walking before you finally saw a room with a lantern that had long since ran out of fuel.

It was deathly silent as you slowly peered into the room, dingy brown rock walls, a wooden table covered in dust, and a heavy cell door made of metal bars with a small hole at the bottom of it.

You cautiously walked into the room, bringing your lantern with you, illuminating the room, you couldn't see much but felt something here. It wasn't empty silence it was a silence that contained something... Or someone.

"Hello?" You called cautiously, walking towards the dark cell.

You almost dropped your items as a pair of glowing green eyes opened in the darkness to watch you. You swallowed silently, observing the silhouette of what must have been your prisoner.

As he said nothing, you sat on the ground in front of the cell door. If he was sitting you would too. "I'm here to bring you your meal." Your voice wavered slightly, uncertain of what his response might be, would he slam the cell doors, scream madly, try to reach you and hurt you?

"Oh..." The feeble voice sounded softly. Heavy with an unfamiliar accent and resigned to his fate.

You nodded, finally looking away and towards the two bowls. You froze when you felt his eyes focus intently on you.

The rattling of heavy chains echoed through the stone room.

When you looked back to where the man was you had noted he'd crept closer, in doing so it allowed you to take note of his appearance. Long unkempt dark hair, a scruffy beard and a mountain of a form covered in simple grey fabrics. The man was massive and also so damn feeble. His green eyes watched you closely, he sat away from where you were still. Waiting.

While watching the man you slowly slid one of the bowls through the slot in the door, watching him eye the simple meal like a predator. As soon as your hand had retracted he slowly reached an arm towards the bowl, seeing his skin close to your light let you see how his hands were black as charcoal, blending into his natural skin tone. As he moved to grab his bowl you could also take note of how skinny he was, how dry and cracked his lips were. The poor man had damn near been starved multiple times if his reaction was so calm to his situation.

Once he had taken the bowl and looked properly at it's contents his eyes darted to yours. Had he truly been eating the scraps you had found?

You looked away to take your own bowl and begin to eat, hearing the man tear apart his meal with a fever.

You both sat in silence, the man long finished before you, yet staying where he was. It wasn't until you lifted the waterskin to take a sip did he make any noise.

You looked to him, watching him stare intently at the skin. "When was the last you'd had a drink?" You spoke gently.

He breathed slowly, finally looking away from the skin, almost ashamed to have been caught. "Since the last time it had rained, there is a crack in the rocks that allows a small trail of water to run through this hole."

His words made you freeze. It was someone's job to keep the man alive and hardly that had been done. He was sound of mind and calm, could the basic decency of humanity have not been applied here? You sighed, slowly capping the waterskin and sliding it through the slot. "Drink."

The mans hand shaked as he reached out, almost unbelieving. Lifting the waterskin and delighting in feeling that it was almost full, not even an empty promise but a container of fresh water. He drank desperately, downing the entire waterskin and leaving you wide-eyed at the display.

Once finally finished he breathed deeply, eyes closed and silent. You watched curiously as he finally opened his eyes once more to look to you.

The man bowed his head silently, clutching the bowl and waterskin as though precious treasures. As he lifted his head he shuffled closer to return them both. "I can not tell the last I've such a meal. Your kindness is greatly appreciated."

He spoke with such joy and respect it astonished you. For multiple reasons, though the main one rising in your throat. "Did no one feed you a proper meal? This was just what I could grab short notice."

He looked confused now, "I would say that was a proper meal, not a speck of soiled food anywhere." The both of you had moved closer to the cell bars as you spoke, allowing you to see how truly massive this man was and how powerful he would be if well kept. Damn near twice your size at least.

You shook your head, "No this was not a actual meal, this was something quick and easy." You declared. "My entire job is to keep you fed and I refuse to make multiple different kinds of meals, whatever I make for myself I make for you, that will be simplist." You decided, refusing to also waste time on food that would make you sick from looking at it.

The man stared at you with wide eyes that looked almost tearful. "Avalon." His voice came out more clear than before.

Cocking your head to one side you spoke, "Avalon?"

"My name," He replied. "If you are to speak so kindly with me I wish you to know it."

"Ah, thank you then."

He nodded. "You might wish to return home now, I don't think you'd enjoy wandering in the dark." Guesturing to your flickering lantern, Avalon made a very good point.

"Shit!" You exclaimed as you realized that it would extinguish soon, not enough fat to keep it burning for much longer. You quickly gathered your things, pausing as you realized you would be leaving with the only light source, leaving Avalon in the dark once more. You grimaced as you looked to the empty lantern that had been left behind.

"I can bring more fuel for the one here when I return tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Avalon grasped the cell bars, staring intently with a hopeful look in his eyes. "You would return tomorrow?"

Now you were once more confused, "Yes? I plan on bringing you a meal at least once a day, most likely in the evening so I'll have time to prepare."

The massive man smiled so brightly you'd think you had told him he was free. You couldn't help but offer a small smile in return. "I'll be back tomorrow, and I'll bring more lantern fuel so you're not sitting in the dark." With that you turned and left, walking quickly to avoid having to navigate the tunnels in the dark.

Avalon stared at the door, watching the same spot long after your light had left. Even he could understand the miracle that had been such a kind person being the one to care for him. He almost felt hopeful, if nothing else, than for someone to properly speak with, not to be ignored. As long as you showed no kindness whenever the king saw fit to come around, would you be safe.

For weeks everything was calm, you would cook a hearty meal for supper, and bring it with you down to Avalon's cell where you would both eat together. Along with two waterskins, one for each of you. You both would spend time talking, sharing stories or various thoughts and dreams.

You had noted that Avalon only had his clothes, so you brought him a blanket and a pillow, he refused anything else. He noticed how you seemed to have a difficult time when you were feeling ill and presented a small rot that had grown in the rocks, telling you to use it for a tea and it would cure the sickness and it did.

The two of you would share many a nights talking, until the night you had brought a small storybook with you and saw Avalon light up like never before. After that it had become tradition for you to bring him two books each week. One for him to read to you when you were there, one for him to read when you were away.

Avalon had proven to be quite a gentle, soft-spoken, and kind man. You could never imagine why he had been locked away. The night you asked he confessed that he wasn't certain either, he couldn't think of doing anything warranting such treatment nor could he remember how long it had been.

So you had dropped it.

And all was peaceful. Almost pleasant.

Until it wasn't.

The evening was like any other, you had began to make your way through the catacombs, almost able to make the trip blind at this point. Your hesitation came from hearing a commotion from Avalon's cell room as well as bright lights of multiple torches lighting the hall. You hurried closer, growing anxious as you saw multiple guards standing watch, noting how they immediately moved to let you pass.

Avalon's cell was opened, and the King had dragged him out by the metal collar around his throat, connecting chain rattling as the king snatched Avalon up to his knees by the collar.

Avalon let out a sharp wheeze, yet remained limp, refusing to do anything but allow whatever to happen. The very sight made you want to do something.

"Ah, caretaker." The King spoke with a delighted tone. "I was wondering where you had been," The King guestured his free hand out, holding a heavy looking mallet in said hand, one covered at the end in blood. Avalon's blood by the looks of it.

You bowed slowly, not wishing to risk the rage of a King in such a state. "My king. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The King grinned, dropping Avalon's chain and grabbing a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back in one fluid motion and allowing you to see the bruising and blood along his face and neck. "I was just coming to see your work, you were told to keep this one," shaking Avalon's head slightly, he continued, "in a living state and I see you have!"

Avalon wheezed before stilling once more, remaining limp as a small pool of blood began to form beneath him. How many injuries did he have that you couldn't see?

The kings voice was overly sweet, "almost too well I might add. We wish him to live not to thrive." His tone turned accusatory. "This?" His voice grew as he shoved Avalon to the ground, the far bigger man falling to his side, gasping as he hit the cold hard rock floor. "This thing is not a friend, not a companion. It is a prisoner by the decree of this kingdom's crown." The King slowly stalked closer, barley contained rage making itself known as he continued. "You were asked to keep it alive. How have you chosen to do so?" He asked staring at your arms that contained the usual meal and drink

Ah. An evaluation then. You were quick to respond, looking the King in the eye and speaking as respectfully as you could manage. "I have decided to feed and water him once a week as that seems to keep him stable enough. If the nights are too cold I bring him a blanket and take it back once it warms up. I am uncertain of his limits and don't wish to push lest he freeze or starve." Your tone sounded as uncaring as you could manage, the King wished you to make Avalon suffer, you would make him believe that you had like everyone before you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted Avalon watching the King from his spot on the ground, one of the many guards holding a sword to his throat to ensure that he wouldn't rise up.

Your focus returned to the man in front of you who stared intently, before tapping against the bowl of hot stew, one of Avalon's favorites.

"Then why feed a prisoner as you would a friend?"

You were quick to reply as confidently as possible, "The food given to me to feed the prisoner was foul enough that I refused to lay my hands upon it. For my own convenience I simply make what I enjoy and use a portion to feed him. Less work, less mess."

The King before you considered your answer before gently taking the bowl from your hands, "I will ensure he receives his meal tonight," he finally broke eye contact as he turned and walked once more towards Avalon. Dropping the bowl carelessly as he raised his mallet high and swung down hard against Avalon's side, the cracking wet noise paired with Avalon's sudden muffled scream made you flinch.

"It would be wise of you to take your leave now and return home, caretaker."

Avalon wheezed raggedly, looking to you with a pained expression before looking towards the opened door behind you, silently begging you to obey and leave.

You slowly took a step back, ducking your head down and rushing out, trying to find the strength to leave while hearing the King continue his display of mad aggression.

Rushing back to your home you locked the door to the catacombs. Uncertain of what to do, all you could do was wait. Wait and watch the bridge to the castle where the King would have to travel to return home.

You sat by the window until long after dark before you finally saw the torches of the King and his guards leave, waiting just a while longer to be certain.

Once you were positive that they had left for good you grabbed anything you knew would help and headed straight for Avalon's cell.

The sight that laid before you almost left you in tears, Avalon had been locked back in his cell, collared and chained to the bolt in the floor once again as he laid in a bloodied heap upon the ground. The bloody trail from where he had been dragged slowly fading to a dark brown.

You moved silently, doing the one thing you never had before and unlocking the cell door.

Avalon's breath froze, he was listening.

"Avalon?" Moving to sit next to the giant man you set down your supplies, wanting him to know what you were going to do so you didn't surprise him. Not after what you had seen done to him. "I'm going to clean you up if that's alright?"

No response other than his breathing settling once again.

You reached a hand to place it along his back, hesitating. You had never touched him before, he wouldn't hurt you, you knew that. He would have already if it was his intention. Taking a breath you settled your hand between his shoulder blades, eyes tearing up as you felt the warm blood beneith his clothes.

Avalon shifted slowly, with your help the two of you managed to place him upon his blanket against the wall.

As soon as he was settled you realized just what position you were in. Kneeling in the floor next to the slumped over giant of a creature you only made it up to his toreso at best, his massive hands able to cover your entire stomach if he tried. This powerful and dangerous prisoner that you were supposed to fear or hate for whatever unknown reason, opened his glowing eyes and looked at you with such relief and fatigue that any fear left in that moment.

You leaned closer and reached a hand out slowly, not wanting to startle your companion.

Avalon watched closely, eyes growing hopeful as your hand almost reached his cheek.

The moment your hand settled against his cheek, softly stroking the skin and offering comfort he hadn't felt for ages.

"I'm sorry, Avalon."

He stared at you, your voice so sweet in his ears, your warmth easily pushing past all of the cold and the pain he felt in that moment, your care. He couldn't stop himself from leaning into your hand, raising his own to keep yours in place as he closed his eyes and choked back a sob.

Your own tears were quick to follow as you moved closer, moving to hold his face in both of your hands, you let him keep you in place. You startled for only a moment as his free hand wrapped around you, slowly pulling you into his embrace as he cried, desperate for any comfort you were willing to allow.

The soft silent cries were muffled into your shoulder as Avalon held you close, encasing you in his arms. His grip was gentle, yet firm and unwilling to let go. You couldn't care in the slightest as you attempted to comfort the creature that had grown to such great importance to you.

You remained there for the rest of the night, staying in his grip for hours until he finally released you to allow you to patch him up as best you could.

Avalon was grateful for every moment you allowed him, often saying so when he could find the strength to speak.

It felt wrong leaving him in his state. You spent your days afterwards by his side, helping feed him and replacing any bandages that might need fixing, staying by his side in his cell as he slept. You realized quickly that he slept best with you somehow touching him, be it his head in your lap, your hand in his, or simply pressed into your side as close as he could get.

As the days passed and his strength returned, his wounds closed at remarkable speeds. His ever gentle personality grew as well, into something more affectionate, dependant.

One calm evening you sat in his cell with him laying next to you, arms wrapped around your hips as his head laid in your lap. Breathing slowly and easily as compared to the broken breaths from before.

Placing the book down next to you, you looked to the side of Avalon's face, brushing his hair away so you could see him better. "You shouldn't be here." You decided.

Avalon's eyes opened slowly as he shifted to look up to you. "You think so?"

"No one even knows what you've done to be locked up." You watched as he leaned into the hand you'd placed against his cheek, a now common gesture.

"And yet I am and forever will be. They wait for me to die, refusing to try and kill me, unknowing that I never will." He spoke quietly, causing you to pause.

"You never told me that," Shifting slightly and settling once more you moved his face to look at yours. "Avalon why won't you die? What could you possibly gain from living this way."

He sighed softly, looking to you with such an openness. "Before, I would have told you that it is the nature of my kind."

"And now?"

He smiled softly, reaching a hand up to the one you had on his cheek and nuzzling into it happily. "Because you are here. I refuse to leave your side."

The threat of the royal family weighed heavily upon your mind. Avalon deserved better than this, he always had and now you were beyond certain. But how could you obtain such a thing for him?

"What happens when I'm gone, then?"

The creature sat up, turning to you in confusion and something you hadn't seen in his eyes before. "Why would you not return? You have a cabin, food, coin, all you need do Is keep me and avoid the king whenever he feels the need to lash out against myself."

Looking up to the creature that towered over you had lost any semblance of intimidation long ago, thankfully. "If they find us like this? If they see how I care for you and how you care for me they very well might execute me seeing how the king acted thinking I fed you a decent meal only once a week."

You hardly finished your sentence before Avalon's green eyes glowed with an unnatural fire, he snarled and let out a menacing growl, showing off a pair of fangs you'd only caught glimpses of before. "I will sooner burn this entire damned kingdom to ash and rubble than allow them to lay a hand upon you." He declared, his voice echoing in multiple layers at once in the most threatening and terrifying you had ever heard from him. The fire in his eyes gave you just a glimpse to the danger this creature could have been at one point.

"Avalon?" You called gently. Watching as he quieted and looked to you like a lost puppy.

He sighed and reached out to you, holding you close once more as he sat against the wall of his cell. Avalon closed his eyes and nuzzled against the top of your head, focusing on your warmth, your scent, the way you fit in his arms. He wouldn't lose this, he refused to lose you.

If he could get you to agree...

"Why don't we leave then?" He questioned hesitantly, "We can just leave, the two of us. We can find somewhere safe and I can care for you as you have me." He looked to you as he felt you shifting.

"You would want to stay with me after gaining your freedom? I'm not expecting that of you-"

He silenced you gently, "I have already told you that I will remain by your side. Even before I was here I remember people being scared of me or hating me if not both." Avalon rumbled happily as he looked to you once more, "never you."

Happily you leaned against him, soaking in the affection he so happily gave and received. "It would have to be at night. I would need to collect a bag of supplies and we would need clothes for you that blend in with crowds."

Avalon let out a breath of relief that you were willing. If it wasn't safe for you here he would need to get you away from this place, all the better you agreed.

It took another week of planning, between strict patrol of the castle walls left so little opportunities to leave unseen. After watching the patrol schedules you had found the best path, at the time just before the sun rises.

That night your bag had been packed and brought down to Avalon's cell. He encouraged you to rest before the journey, promising to wake you when he felt the time was close.

Sleep was nonexistent however you could take bittersweet solaces in being in Avalon's arms as the night passed. Trying to not think that it was the last you'd be able to rest peacefully with him.

When it finally was time you could only wish you were as certain as Avalon. You could tell that he definitely had a greater advantage than when you'd first met him. No longer skin and bone the massive man had filled out and looked healthy and strong, as well as determined. Stark contrast to the once lifeless walking corpse you had cared for.

Avalon held you close one final time before releasing you and letting you grab for your pickaxe. The old thing had to be put to use to get his chains off as the magic in them would shock him should he ever grab them with his own hands.

Had that same magic not been embedded in the metal he could have also warned you of his nature, his capabilities as soon as the damned collar would come off. Could he have, he would have told you what he was from the beginning. Though, you had to be quick, no time to explain until after.

The pickaxe was loud and someone might hear it, you would break his chains and the both of you would leave, finding the path and escaping into the deep woods. There he could take the collar off once the chains were disconnected and transform into his true draconic form. Once he could do that he could easily protect and care for you as he found somewhere safe for the both of you to settle happily for the rest of your lives. If only he could tell you his piece in the plan instead of probably giving you a heart attack when the time comes.

As you walked over, pickaxe in hand he braced himself for the sound.

With your arms raised, you slammed it down upon the chain bolt. The metal ringing out in protest and startling you with just how loud it was. With no time to waste you struck it again, flinching with how the room rumbled as though arguing with your actions.

"Once more." Avalon suggested worriedly.

Once more.

With the final swing the chain broke at the bolt, disconnecting the metals and freeing Avalon from being forced into one place.

You both stared at the broken chain in disbelief for a moment before looking to each other with hope. Avalon stood tall and moved to follow you as swiftly as he could through the catacombs.

He would let out little noises of excitement or disbelief every few minutes, the reality of the scenario sinking in.

As you made it to the entrance to the catacombs you had him wait, poking your head out and noting the distant shouting and torchlight moving your way. Fear struck your heart then, "we need to move quickly."

Avalon happily moved out of the doorway and stepped into the soft grass with the joy of a child, wanting to embrace the moment for all it's worth before hearing your heart speed up in fear. Instantly he had regained his composure and noted the guards approaching. Avalon took your hand in his and began moving quickly through the brush and trees. Trying to focus on getting you somewhere safe, not the utter joy of seeing the outside world for the first time in how many hundreds of years.

You were far more worried than he was, however. Listening for every tiny noise while trying to escort someone of his size away from any noise or light. The break in the castle walls weren't far, if you could get through that and to the edge of town you were free.

As the wall came into view you bit back a smile, truly believing it was going so well, it would work, you could leave the kingdom and it's mysterious disappearances and secrets and leave it all.

With Avalon by your side, you could leave you would both be free- the sharp pain that struck your leg forced you to cry out and stumble. Only being caught by Avalon as his expression shifted from worried to murderous.

The arrow in your leg was the same crafting as the royal guard's.

"You thought you would go unnoticed?!" The King appeared above you both, standing atop the castle wall, sword drawn and smiling far too wide. "Did you not think that there were guards that took note of how long and how often you'd go to the catacombs? That we would just ignore how worried for a mindless beast you seemed the night you found it in such a state at my hands!?" The King's voice boomed, not that you could pay it much attention, the arrow lodged in your leg was your main focus, whimpering and tearing up you couldn't walk much less run in this state.

You attempted to speak, to tell Avalon to leave. They would certainly kill him now. However, when you looked to him, when you saw his expression, the murderous rage in his eyes as he glared the king down from his position in the dirt beside you. You couldn't find the words.

The King could, however, "and you, beast!" He shouted, pointing a sword towards Avalon. Speaking confidently as a swarm of soldiers surrounded you and your companion, arrows and swords ready. "You truly thought you'd be allowed to leave? The first king who dominated this land and seized the fearsome dragon who owned it all?"

Avalon turned back to you with a great sorrow in his eyes, "I will get you out of here, I will bring us someplace safe." He swore quietly, ignoring the King's shouting. Focusing on trying to comfort you. It was only as the soldiers stepped closer did he snap to attention. Raising a hand to his metal collar, the final magical enchantment connected to him.

"The Kings before you were as cowardly as you. I lived here before this kingdom had formed and aided in it's creation as a friend of the King. He feared my power, and betrayed me. I had done nothing to deserve what your family has done to me. My companion has done nothing to deserve what you have done to them." Avalon tore at the metal, sparks of bright magic flying from the metal as well as his throat as he began to pry it open with an enraged shout.

The King looked horrified, raising his sword as he shouted to his army, "ATTACK!"

Avalon tore the collar off, in the same moment shouting in anger that turned into a thunderous roar from the changing and growing black scaled dragon.

As soon as you closed your eyes and braced yourself for the incoming soldiers, you were lifted up quickly into the sky, Avalon held you tightly in his claws while lifting himself off the ground with his mighty wings, flying far enough that you were both out of range before he took a deep breath.

Pressed to his scaled chest you could feel the immense heat of the dragons core growing as though it were made of-

Avalon opened his maw and a torrent of green flames fell towards the king and his soldiers.

You closed your eyes and tried to cover your ears from the sounds of the army of humans being burned alive.

As quickly as it began, it was over once more. Avalon breathed heavily, lifting himself higher in the sky and swooping down somewhat to take off with speed, flying high and fast away from the kingdom that had imprisoned him for so long, with you in his claws still.

With so much excitement and nothing making any sense you simply kept your eyes closed and allowed yourself to slip into unconsciousness.

It was a dull pain in your leg that you registered first upon awakening. Secondly it was the massive dragon form that had encircled you. Avalon was fast asleep, curled so tightly around you with such a massive form that even laying down his body was almost as tall as the trees you had seen grow.

Your senses returned to you swiftly as you tried to get up and move, only to let out a pained whine as your leg gave out, before you could hit the ground however, Avalon's clawed paw was underneath you. He had caught you and was now awake. The draconic maw inches from you as he leaned close to look you over.

"Gentle now, it will hurt worse if you move too much too quickly." His voice rumbled, similar yet far deeper and rough.

You whimpered slightly, attempting to calm yourself as the memories came back to you at once.

Avalon seemed to catch on rather quickly, "oh, it's alright little love, I swear." He cooed softly as he could in such a form. Slowly he dragged the paw that held you closer to his form, moving his maw so he could look at you once again and gently as ever nuzzle against you, careful to avoid your leg.

You caught your breath, letting your heart settle as you began to rationalize. It was just Avalon. He saved you he saved both of you. He was a big dragon apparently but he would have hurt you already if he meant to.

"Where... Are we?" You managed. Looking around to notice the plush bedding you had been laying on, seeing glints of something shining brightly in massive piles beyond the dragons form.

Avalon sighed happily, "my old cave. My home before I was imprisoned. Apparently none had found it in my absence and my hoard remained." He sat up slowly, keeping you close to his chest as he showed you the extensive collection of golden items and precious jewels and treasures that littered the cave.

You felt your heart freeze. With everything sinking in you tried to focus on your thoughts as you felt Avalon press his maw to your side once more.

"You're a dragon."

Said dragon rumbled contently, "I am."

You pressed a hand over the sore spot on your leg, trying to distract from how it felt. "You didn't say anything about this because?"

"The magic in the chains and collar forced me into my human form indefinitely, I had no proof. You would have thought me mad."

He wasn't entirely wrong.

You winced slightly as he began to move, instantly the dragon began to fret once more.

"Oh, forgive me, here. I'll place you back upon your bedding," the massive dragon moved so slowly and carefully it was almost impressive. As soon as you were placed upon the soft blankets once more you settled and watched as he finally stood, able to see the true size of such a creature.

Avalon began wandering through the cavern, digging through piles of treasure methodically.

You were content to watch before closing your eyes and attempting to find the position that eased the dull pain in your now bandaged leg.

It was only a few more minutes before you felt the heat from Avalon's maw radiating inches from your form. Opening your eyes you saw him holding a vial of a deep purple liquid.

Curiously you reach to take it, feeling the cold nature of the liquid through the glass.

"I have made friends that specialize in healing magic and nature. Drink. It will ease the pain until you heal naturally." He spoke quietly, moving to once again curl around your form.

You hesitantly opened the vial, the scent was somewhat sweet and almost fruity.

Noticing your stalling, Avalon leaned his muzzle down to gently tilt your hand as well as the vial closer to your lips. It tasted of a strange fruit with something bitter, an odd combination and not the greatest either. After drinking you made an unpleasant noise, closing the vial and setting it far from you.

Avalon pushed it farther away, agreeing with your response. He settled down however, nudging the blankets surrounding you even closer to ensure you were comfortable and warm.

He did seem rather pleased as the liquid began taking its effect and your discomfort diminished, replaced by a newfound exhaustion.

You yawned loudly, mind feeling foggier with every passing moment. "What will we do now?" You mumbled out, shifting to lay comfortably with Avalon pressing as close as he could to you.

He spoke softly and with such care, "Now you will rest, I will care for you. Later we can decide if you wish to stay here, close to the kingdom that betrayed us both, or if you wish to leave we can simply leave and find somewhere else. I have ways of transporting my hoard if needed be."

You nodded, cuddling into Avalon's muzzle as best you could, feeling him press closer to you in turn.

Avalon cooed softly and watched closely. You were already asleep. You might not notice if he slipped away to finish burning the damned castle to the ground with the rest of the royal family. No doubt they would send hunters and soldiers to find you both. That can't happen yet though, you need time to rest and heal and understand.

He didn't want you to see him act so harshly to keep you safe. He enjoyed you loving him, not fearing him. But if they came, if he didn't protect you-

Avalon growled lowly, eyes glowing green with the promise of death. He would kill every single one of them. One by one until they are all of them a pile of ash.

There was a reason he had been imprisoned, after all.

#dragon x reader #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #terato #dragon #x reader #tw blood #tw mentions of death

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valleydean · 5 months ago

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Chapter 13 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

“How’d you sleep?” Jo asked as she spooned ground coffee into the drip.

“What are you, my mother?” Dean grumbled, his voice coarse. She rolled her eyes in response.

He rolled his neck to get the tension out, but it was no use. Especially not with the hangover headache lighting up his skull.

Alcohol aside, he’d had a hell of a night after Cas had kicked him out without any money for a taxi. Dean had to skip fare like he used to when he was a kid and take the subway all the way to the West Side. He was lucky Jo let him in, even if she said she’d only let him stay for one night “and then you gotta get your shit together.” Dean thought about pushing his luck, but she’d seemed pretty strict.

He pulled the package of steak out from the cushion and frowned down at it. The sight alone made the stale alcohol in his stomach slosh uncomfortably.

“Is that my steak?” Jo scolded.

Dean looked up at her and shrugged innocently. “Needed it for the swelling.”

“That’s gross! I wanted to eat that!”

His irritation spiked. He had enough problems without having to worry about Jo’s dinner. “What else was I supposed to do? The only other thing you have is ice and that melted in, like, five seconds!” He gestured in the direction of the ice box behind her. “You know, for a woman, you’re bad at keeping the pantry stocked.”

Jo dropped her hands to the counter. “Do you have any idea how misogynistic that was?”

Dean grumbled, “Yeah, tell it to the suffragettes.”

The smell of coffee permeated the apartment. It woke Dean up marginally.

Jo huffed and walked around the counter to the space that counted as the living room. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You know I don’t go to those stupid meetings.”

Dean was glad there was at least one woman in his life who didn’t.

“Anyway, I gotta get to work in a half hour, which means you have to leave,” Jo told him.

Dean sighed and leaned back against the chair. “Where the fuck am I supposed to go?”

“Not my problem.”

He shot her a fake smile and hummed. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

Jo rolled her eyes again and pushed her shoulders off of the wall. She stood directly in front of the chair and arched a thin eyebrow down at him. “You want my advice? Go grovel to Cas to let you back in.”

Dean puckered his lips. “Why do I always gotta be the one to go to him? He should be groveling! He lied to me, remember?” His anger dwindled as the reality of it washed over him. “Him and Lee.”

Was anyone telling Dean the truth?

Finally, some empathy played on Jo’s expression. “Lee’s an asshole.”

“And Cas?”

“He’s an asshole, too,” Jo said, “but he’s your asshole.”

Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste at the imagery.

“You know what I mean,” Jo said, dropping her arms to her sides. “Look, I’m not saying what he did wasn’t shitty, but he had good intentions.”

Dean thumbed at his ring, eyes downcast. “Yeah, he always does.” And look at where it always got them.

“So? Wouldn’t you prefer an asshole who at least means well? You and him have fought before, and you always make up. So make up.”

She made it sound so easy, but Dean had no idea what he was going to say when he saw Cas again. He knew what Cas wanted him to say. That he’d overreacted, that he’d done some soul searching and was okay with Cas keeping the belt, that he forgave Cas for keeping secrets yet again.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t mean any of it. And he really wasn’t in the mood to hear more of Cas’ half-assed excuses and justifications.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean winchester #dean #castiel #cas #my writing #my post #heavyweight

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theclairvoyage · 8 months ago

Text

Centrifugation: Chapter 10

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

An anonymous source discloses something that threatens to ruin your relationship with Joel.

Chapter Warnings: allusions to smut, ANGST!, anxiety, mentions of past traumatic event, adult language, kissing, fluff

WC: 4.2k

Divider by @plum98 <3

Tuesday, October 26th | 1505

Shaky hands reach up to unlock the door to your apartment, keys jingling with your movements. Fuck. Your hand falls to your side as you try to recollect yourself. Eyes closed, you take a few deep breaths and straighten your spine. Why am I nervous? This is my goddamn apartment.

“Okay,” you say to nobody. “It’s fine. It’s just a door.”

Courage pools in your belly. Taking one last deep breath, you unlock the door and push it open, eyes widening at your surroundings. The place is spotless. Keri stopped by your place to stock the fridge and clean up for you a couple days ago. She must’ve either baked or sprayed some Febreze in here—it smells like cupcakes. A smile forces its way on your face.

You set your purse on the kitchen island and gaze around. Empty sink, full fridge and pantry, clean countertops. Clean blankets thrown over the couch, new candles centered on the coffee table, remote on top of the TV. There’s a small piece of paper on one of the candle lids. You trod over to the couch and pick it up to read, grin creeping up your cheeks.

Hey, love. I made your favorite enchiladas and stocked the fridge full of your favorite goodies. Laundry is done and folded. There’s some special liquid in the fridge, too—but don’t take it when you’re on your meds!! 😉 Call me if you need anything.

-Ker

Curling the note up to your chest, you walk over to the fridge and open the door. Keri was right—she got everything you like. Cheese, salami, fruit, wine, cookie dough, orange juice, and two giant containers of half and half. A large, covered baking dish is calling your name.

Two enchiladas and what feels like half a pound of cookie dough later, you turn on the TV and scroll through Hulu until you find your favorite comfort show. It starts halfway through the last episode you played.

“Picture it: Sicily, 1922…” Sophia Petrillo’s loud, Brooklyn-accented voice speaks to you. You smile and sink into the couch, whipping your phone out to check your messages.

Joel: Have a great night, baby. Sweet dreams.

You send him a picture of your blanket-clad body curled into the couch, along with a witty caption. Missing your couch already. He replies after a few beats.

Joel: Gorgeous as ever. I’m missing more than that, though. Gnight baby. See you tomorrow.

You: Night, Joel. 🥰

Happy to be home and tired of binging your show, you decide it’s time to rinse off the day with some hot water and get ready for bed. After hopping out of the shower and changing your bandages, you pick your phone up from the bathroom counter and stare at the screen.

Three messages from an unknown number stare back at you. The area code is unfamiliar to you. The fuck? Your stomach flip flops like a fish on a dock as you shakily long press on one message to open it.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: Better watch your man.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: Sent 2 photos

Shock sucks the air out of your lungs. You blink once, twice, three times to make sure this is what you’re really looking at. Beads of sweat emerge from the pores on your forehead, and your hands tremble. This is exactly how you felt after you left the hospital—panicky, lost, terrified.

The first picture is of Joel’s truck parked outside of a Motel 6, with someone in the passenger seat next to him. It looks like a woman, but it’s too dim to make out the rest of her features. The second picture is the same angle, but of Joel leaning near the woman’s ear, smile plastered on his face—and there’s no question that it’s him. Salt and pepper beard, curved nose, those fucking brunette tendrils you adore so much. He’s even wearing one of his green flannels that you’ve worn while he’s fucked you. This photo is better lit, almost like headlights of a passing car flashed on as soon as it was snapped. The woman’s face is—gorgeous. She’s Latina, with beautiful caramel skin, long, shiny black hair cascading down her shoulders, bright red lips, piercing hazel eyes, and a low-cut top that shows some massive breasts stuffed in a pushup bra.

The phone slips out of your hand and lands on the bathroom tile with a thud. Fuzziness clouds your vision, and your pulse is racing so fast there’s barely any time between heartbeats. Confusion hazes in your mind, interrupted by a loud voice telling you to sit down before you pass out. You plop on the toilet seat and pick up your phone.

Nausea pierces your stomach as you stare at the photos again. Clamping your eyes shut, you lean back against the toilet and take some deep breaths, allowing reason to squeeze itself back into your head.

When were these taken? Where? Is this pre-Omaha Joel? Is that girl his cousin?

His hair and beard look the same as they did yesterday—and the motel looks like a Motel 6 near the Denny’s on 84th and Center, posted up right by Interstate 80. Though it could be somewhere else, maybe in Texas, you’re almost certain it’s Omaha. Oak and maple trees line the back of the motel, with leaves of various shades of red, yellow, and orange—you don’t know enough about Texas to know if they have fall foliage like Nebraska does. Maybe you don’t want to know.

Your heart feels like it stops beating altogether at the realization that this was taken very recently—maybe even today.

A tear drips down your burning cheek and lands on the screen of your phone, painting the woman’s face in rainbow pixels. Somehow, she looks even more beautiful than before with your tears plastered on her perfect face.

Anger sears your insides and clutches your throat. You ignored every little voice in your head that was telling you something wasn’t right, shoved it into the depths of your brain and tried to stay present, optimistic. Joel had given you everything—took care of you, made you feel safe and loved, went out of his way to be there for you. What was the fucking point of this shit? He could have easily dropped you and carried on with his life.

Standing up from the toilet, you lean over the sink and splash some cold water on your face and neck, arms propped up on the bowl as you hunch over and continue to take deep breaths.

How am I gonna address this with him? Send him the pictures with no context? Screenshot the messages, including the number?

No, no, no—the latter would be too easy for him to explain. You wanted him to squirm and roil like you are now. Sure, you weren’t exactly a fucking couple, but you never expected him to do this. Fuming, you save the pictures and pull up your messages with Joel. You look at his contact picture in your phone—it’s one of him and you from your date at Village Pointe, when he’d watched you admire the flowers at one of the boutiques. God, he’s fucking handsome, and he looks so happy.

Fuck that. You send the pictures over to him and shut your phone off before stomping off to bed.

Wednesday, October 27th | 0712

Cheerful chirps of the American robins outside your window wake you. You rub your eyes, quickly realizing that they’re sore—probably from all your sobbing the night prior. Dread fills you quickly as you recall the events from last night.

Shit. Your phone is off. Probably wasn’t the best idea, considering you’re still recovering from a traumatic event and people might worry if they can’t reach you.

Anxiety weighs your arm down as it reaches for your phone. You hold the power button and watch the screen light up with fast, shallow breaths.

15 missed calls. 10 from Joel, 2 from Sarah, and 3 from unknown numbers. 20-something messages, mostly from Joel. Your heart skips a beat and your finger inches toward one of them to read it before stopping.

Nope. You’re not giving up so easily. He can squirm for a bit. After all, he made a conscious choice to do this. Another question burns the back of your brain, though.

Who took the pictures?

You open your messages and see that the unknown number that sent the 3 messages is the same one that texted you the pictures. You open them, and your stomach falls to the floor as you read.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: Oh, girl. You sent him those? Tsk tsk.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: Now you’re giving him time to come up with an explanation??

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: If you can’t get rid of him after he did this, imagine what else you’ll let him get away with.

Lips tightened and jaw jutting angrily, you puff out a hot breath and feel anger bubble inside you as you type a response.

You: Who the fuck are you? What is your problem?

They don’t miss a beat replying.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: Someone you don’t want to fuck with. Let it go now and you’ll get over it in no time.

A rough, defiant snarl rips through you as your fingers zip across the screen.

You: You’re so threatening that you have to send shit anonymously? Grow the fuck up.

You: Fucking clown 🤡

The number doesn’t reply immediately. You sit up in bed, hot tears starting to brew behind your eyelids. And your head is pounding—likely from the crying, which has no doubt left you dehydrated. You slowly stand up and wait for the stars to fade from your vision before padding into the kitchen.

As you brew a strong pot of coffee, your phone rings. You close your eyes, inhale deeply, and flatten your palms on the countertop to ground yourself. The cold material heats up underneath your fingertips, leaving condensation in their wake.

You pick up the phone, slowly. It’s Joel. The air in your chest halts. Do you answer, or continue ignoring him? Part of you wants so badly to hear his deep voice, hear him tell you this was all a big mistake, and the photos are AI.

But you know that’s not the case. You accept the call and wait a beat before speaking, lips sucked into your mouth.

“Baby, you there?” His voice is frantic, and you can hear him pacing in what you guess is his kitchen. It’s early, and he’s probably making coffee of his own.

“Why are you calling me?” Your voice is frigid, distant, setting the stone blocks of the wall you’re placing between him and you.

He sighs heavily, footsteps echoing in the background.

“Darlin’, it’s not what you think, I—,” he groans, exasperated. You interrupt him before he can finish.

“I’m sure you can, you’ve had plenty of time to think about it,” you snarl, voice scathing. Joel is silent for a moment, shocked at the anger in your voice. He’s never seen or heard you like this. He chooses his next words carefully.

“Please, let me see you and we can talk about this,” he pleads, agonized. Part of you wants to smile, making him grovel at your feet—the other part is heartbroken, the photos plastered in your mind permanently.

“I really don’t want to talk to you after what I saw. I-I trusted you, and you had every opportunity to cut things off with me… Jesus, Joel, we weren’t even a couple!” you spit, voice transforming from strong and firm, to shaky and choked. Your fists are clenched so hard, your knuckles are bone white, and salty tears roll down your cheeks.

“Baby, you don’t realize h—,” he starts, but you cut him off again.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“Please, please, just lemme explain and it’ll all make sense,” he cries, almost whimpering. Frustrated, you hold a deep breath in your ribcage and pinch the bridge of your nose as you contemplate a response.

“I’ve seen everything I need to see,” you say, surprisingly calmly. “You made me look and feel so… so fucking stupid. I don’t even know who sent me the fucking pictures and now they’re threatening me, I j—,” you continue, and this time Joel cuts you off.

“Threatening you?” he hisses. Your eyes roll so hard it hurts.

“Gimme a fucking break, Joel. You’re pissed you got caught—you don’t give a fuck about me,” you sear, irritated. Part of you knows that you’re not being entirely truthful—you know that he does care. But you want it to sting, and it does. He inhales sharply.

“Now you know damn well that ain’t true, and that I lo—,” he stops himself, your stomach twisting at the realization of what he was about to say. He clears his throat.

“I want you to be happy. If that ain’t with me, then I have no choice but to let it be. But if you wanna talk, I’ll be here. I’m askin’ ya one more time to let me explain,” he chokes, the pain evident with each syllable. He sounds like he did when he first came to the hospital after the stabbing—broken and worried.

You close your eyes for a moment and think about your life since you’ve met Joel.

Happy, exhilarating, euphoric, a whirlwind.

A new version of you—confident, glowing, sexy. Now it all seems so abstract, utopian.

What’s the worst that could happen? He explains, you don’t believe him, and you never see him again? As much as you’d like to stick to that plan, you know once you’ll see him it’ll be over.

“Baby, you there?” he asks quietly, hesitantly, trying not to poke the bear.

“Yes, I’m here. Thinking,” you reply, matching his volume. “Fine. We can meet up. Tomorrow,” you offer, tone stern. You need a day to think.

“Whenever y’want. Just let me know and I’ll be there,” he says, voice like a warm hug. It’s pissing you off, how easily he can melt you. You give him a pinched mhm. He sighs.

“D’y’need anything? Bandages, food, anythin’?” he asks, kindness slicing your heart open.

“No. Keri stocked my place while I was gone. I’m good,” you reply coolly.

Shit, you don’t want to tell Keri—you can’t bear to rehash what you saw last night and break your heart all over again.

“I’m—m’sorry, baby. You mean the world t’me,” he laments. You pinch your eyelids shut, running a clammy hand through your hair. He’s not making this easy.

“Do you realize how hard it is to believe that after seeing those fucking photos, Joel? How do you think I feel whenever I think about them?” You sob, hands waving with each pained syllable that escapes your mouth. He sniffles on the other end, but you continue.

“Seeing you close to that… that woman, who is clearly so much fucking better than me, that perfect fucking wo—,” he cuts you off.

“Nobody is better than you. Nobody. Get that through your head,” he says, voice angry. You groan angrily as tears continue pricking your eyelids.

“What do you expect? Like… I don’t understand what you thought I’d think. Maybe you thought I’d never find out,” you mutter.

“Y’won’t believe me when I tell you what’s really goin’ on. She’s not who y’think,” he sighs, and you can hear him hanging his head on the other line. “I’ll tell y’everything tomorrow.”

Jaw ticking, you nod before realizing he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“F’you need anything, y’know I’m here. Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

Wednesday, October 27th | 1239

After the call with Joel, your crying and frustration exhausted you to the point that you fell asleep on the couch while watching TV. The quote from the Golden Girls episode you watched struck a painful chord with you, sending you further into the abyss.

I don't want to talk about it. Oh, how could George betray me this way? Dammit, those wedding vows were sacred to me. Well, they must have been. I turned down hundreds, thousands of offers. Teachers, doctors, astronauts. I even said no to a journalist famous for his work on 60 Minutes. Now, if that's not fidelity, I don't know what is. Then I find out that the only man I ever loved cheated on me. On me! Oh, I could just die.

Blanche discovered her late husband had an affair that produced a child—but only when the adult child showed up at her doorstep. It puts things in perspective for you.

One, you and Joel aren’t married—maybe this is a sign not to let it progress further.

But—you hated to admit to yourself that he was the only man you had ever loved.

Does the pain come with the territory, or is it an omen?

You roll off the couch, frustrated still but filled with a bolt of energy. You needed to get out of here. It’s not like you have work the next day, or anytime soon—somewhere far, far away was calling your name.

Fuck it. You decided to head to Chadron early—your grandma’s house was ready for you and clearing your mind with some time at the rustic farmhouse sounded hypnagogic. Thinking of the rolling hills, buttes, pine trees, and open skies filled you with tranquility. Joel’s face sits in the back of your mind, beautiful brown eyes filled with love and adoration. A wave of sadness engulfs you.

Joel would have to figure out fast if he really wanted this.

Having packed a decently sized suitcase in less than 30 minutes, you stuff it in your car and hop in the driver’s seat. You quickly type a text to Keri asking her to check up on the place every few days before starting the car. The gas tank was at half, and with you leaving later in the day, it was probably smart to fill up before starting the 7-hour drive.

You make a quick stop at a QT not too far from your apartment and fill up. As you watch the numbers on the pump display tick, a sleek black truck pulls up to the pump next to yours.

Shit.

It’s Joel.

He steps out and saunters over to you. It’s only been a day since you’ve seen him, but it feels like months. His handsome face looks sullen, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes absent. His frown lines have deepened, stubble grown out, some new gray hairs have erupted along his chin.

And then you see his eyes. Despondent pools of dark chocolate, no traces of the golden flecks you’ve grown to love. What pisses you off the most, though, is how much love pours out of them. It’s so hard to be mad at him when you know that he loves you.

He stops at your side, and you turn away to stare at the numbers. The nozzle clicks and the numbers freeze. Ignoring him, you yank the nozzle out of your car and shove it back on the holder, fingers still gripping the handle. His warm hand envelopes your forearm, rendering you motionless. You can’t look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he says, tone of his velvet voice echoing the sullenness in his eyes. He takes the pump from your hand and turns you toward him.

Tears pool in your eyes for the zillionth time the last 24 hours. Your lip trembles, and you snap your eyes shut. He cradles your face in his hands and tilts your head up to look at him. Your eyes are still squeezed shut.

“Look at me,” he says your name gently, and the familiar scents of sandalwood and bourbon waft into your nostrils, relaxing you subconsciously. Involuntarily, you inhale deeply and slowly open your eyes. A single tear falls from the corner of your eye as you stare at him.

He winces at seeing you in pain—pain that he caused. He leans in and kisses the tear on your cheek. Your gut feels like he reached in and twisted it.

“Where y’going, darlin’?” he says quietly, soothing your cheeks with his thumbs. You can only imagine how this looks—the two of you wrapped in each other in the middle of a gas station, tears streaked down your cheeks and looking a hot mess.

“To Chadron,” you sniff. At some point you grabbed his forearms, the familiar feeling of safety washing over you.

“So soon? Baby,” he says, deep line etched into his forehead. You reach up and smooth it with your thumb. He closes his eyes, exhaling in relief at your touch.

“I needed to get away from here,” you say quietly and absentmindedly, distracted from smoothing his skin. He grabs your hand and kisses it, featherlight, eyes locked on yours. He opens your hand and leans his cheek into your palm.

“Let me come with you. Please,” he pleads softly. His eyes are melting you from the inside out.

“Not before you explain what the hell those pictures are… and who sent them,” you say, arching one eyebrow. He sighs, long and heavy, glancing to his left as he shakes his head and rakes a calloused hand through his stubble. He huffs again before turning back to face you.

“S’my cousin, Valeria. She left her abusive husband in Laredo and is stayin’ at that Motel 6 since that asshole cut her off. I paid for her room f’the next few weeks while Tommy n’ I figure out somethin’. I’m sure I was givin’ her a kiss on the cheek. M’sorry I didn’t tell you—it was sudden, and she wanted me to keep it a secret,” he says with a loud swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing. Your shoulders slump instantly. You feel like a fucking idiot.

“As f’who sent ‘em… no goddamn clue. Pretty fuckin’ close to hiring a PI,” he grumbles, chest puffing out slightly. The knot that’s been tightening in your stomach the last day finally releases, relieving tension throughout your entire body. Your shoulders lift and fall as you take deep breaths, before tensing again as you realize you made a mountain out of a molehill.

Jesus. You’re a complete asshole. Of course, you assume the worst. You’d be surprised if he still wanted you after this charade.

The tears flow before you can try and stop them. You bury your face in his chest, and he wraps his solid arms around you, rubbing your back and soothing you as you sob quietly.

“Shh, baby, s’okay… I understand,” he murmurs into your hair. “Don’t cry. You’re still my favorite girl.”

You alternate between giggling and sniffling into his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Joel—that was psychotic behavior,” you bemoan. You feel him shake his head.

“Don’t apologize, baby,” he coos. “Y’didn’t answer me, though.”

“Hmm?” you say, craning your neck to look at him.

“Y’gonna let me drive you?” he asks, gazing into the somber pools of your eyes. You roll them, small smirk stretching your cheeks.

“I ‘spose. Only ‘cause you asked so nicely. And ‘cause I’m a fucking asshole.” He chuckles, pulling you into his warm embrace. He kisses the crown of your head.

“My asshole,” he soothes. You squeeze him tightly, a nonverbal apology flowing from your fingertips into his broad back.

“Baby,” he says, and you pull back to gaze at him. His eyes flick between yours, a question hidden behind his pupils. You arch one eyebrow at him.

“I love you—y’know that, right?” he says, the volume of his voice lowered, redness creeping up his neck. He looks shy, almost childlike.

Shock doesn’t fill you; rather, warmth blooms in your chest. You knew he did—it was just a matter of when he decided to tell you verbally. He shows you constantly with his actions. The corner of your mouth ticks up in a sly grin.

“Fastest you’ve ever told someone that, yeah?” you poke, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

“Been through more in 12 days with you ‘n anyone in a lifetime—seems like we’ve known each other a long, long time,” he says, picking some stray hairs from your face.

“Yeah, very true… I love you too. Even though you hate the coffee I drink.” He beams at you, shoulders shaking along with his deep chuckles. He leans in and stops just prior to his lips brushing yours.

“Hey, I’ve tried and tried to like the sugary shit—ain’t my thing. But you certainly are,” he croons, pressing his lips against yours before you can respond.

This kiss feels much like your first one, back at McKinney’s—passionate, fresh, experimental. It doesn’t heat up immediately, either—you two savor each other’s lips and embraces, content in the softness and sweetness of this moment of forgiveness. It’s almost a new beginning for both of you. Liveliness surges through your veins, scraping the sludge of uncertainty, self-doubt, and anxiety from the walls that have built up since the stabbing. His lips are chapped, longer stubble chafing your skin, hands holding you a bit tighter than they did when he kissed you goodbye yesterday. He pulls back, teeth lightly pulling your lower lip with him.

“Y’know, you’re sexy when you’re mad at me,” he teases you, lusty undertones echoing in his deep voice.

“Don’t make it a habit, Miller,” you scold him, squinting your eyes at him. He laughs again.

“Come over so I can pack, and we can hit the road, sound good?”

“Sure does.”

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin, @danaispunk <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #centrifugation #pedro pascal fandom

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