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rafecameronssl4t · 1 month ago

Note

a fic where kook readers hates the idea of Rafe x Sofia and gets irritated seeing them together and at a party Rafe confronts her and tells her that they’re just hooking up and if she’s jealous. Please and thank you 🙏

Standards || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @giorgiawingham

A/n: yeah I’m not on break really since I’m posting lol

Warnings: angst, r is mean in the beginning mb just doing the request!! Stereotypical kook bitchy r 😛

Word count: 1,518

MASTERLIST

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the country club as you sat with Topper on the patio, sipping on a cold drink and letting the soft hum of conversation fill the air. It was a calm afternoon, typical of this place, where everyone dressed to impress and mingled like it was their job.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. Your eyes drifted towards the entrance, and the moment you saw them, your jaw tightened. Rafe Cameron, tall, smug, and all too comfortable, had his arm draped lazily over Sofia’s shoulder, his signature smirk plastered on his face. The sight of them together made your stomach churn, irritation bubbling up inside you

She was laughing, her hand clutching his forearm as she leaned into him like they were the perfect couple. Your stomach twisted, a bitter taste creeping up your throat as you watched them, Sofia all smiles and Rafe looking way too content for your liking. He looked different—softer, like he had let his guard down.

“Look at him,” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowing as you followed their movements across the room. Rafe’s arm was slung lazily around Sofia’s shoulders, her face lit up with a grin that looked almost rehearsed, like she knew eyes were on her. You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms with a sharp scoff. “Our Kook king has completely gone soft, Topper.”

Topper barely glanced up from his phone, but when he finally did, the disdain in his expression mirrored yours perfectly. His lips twisted into a dark chuckle, shaking his head as his gaze flicked toward Rafe and Sofia. “Yeah, no kidding,” he said, voice dripping with judgement. “Rafe with her? Didn’t think he’d sink that low.”

The two of you shared a bitter laugh, finding some perverse satisfaction in tearing them down. It was easy—too easy, really. Sofia had a reputation, and not a good one. She was known for trying too hard to fit into the kook elite, always clinging to the right crowd, desperate to belong somewhere. But she didn’t. Not here. And certainly not with Rafe. The thought of them together made your skin crawl.

“He’s slipping,” Topper muttered, his voice full of judgement for his friend. “Rafe used to have standards.” “Right?” You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your distaste. The sight of Rafe with Sofia made your chest tighten, the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic.” Topper snorted, this time putting his phone down, his full attention on the scene playing out across the room.

“She’s just desperate for attention,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’ll cling to anyone with money to fit in. It’s kinda sad, actually.” You nodded, your eyes still glued to them, unable to look away from the trainwreck. Sofia didn’t belong here, not with Rafe, not anywhere near him, if you were being honest with yourself. “Exactly,” you agreed, feeling the annoyance simmering just below the surface.

“She’s not even his type. I don’t get what he’s doing with her.” Topper snorted. “He’ll get bored and it’s probably just a phase,” Topper said with a shrug. “Rafe always does get bored, you know that.” You were about to respond, maybe throw in another biting remark about Sofia’s lack of style or how obvious she was being, when you noticed them heading straight toward your table.

Sofia had that too-bright smile plastered on her face, and Rafe—well, Rafe looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much, knowing full well that his presence was getting under your skin.“Great,” you muttered under your breath, sitting up straighter, preparing yourself for the inevitable. Rafe reached your table first, smirking down at you, his arm still casually draped over Sofia’s shoulder like she was an accessory.

“Hey,” he drawled, eyes flicking between you and Topper, clearly amused by the tension in the air. Sofia waved, her smile way too forced for your liking.“Hey!” she chirped, like she wasn’t fully aware of how much you couldn’t stand her. You shot them both a withering look, barely able to mask your irritation. “Rafe. Sofia.” He raised an eyebrow at your tone, but before he could say anything, you rolled your eyes and stood up.

The last thing you wanted was to play nice. “I’m out of here,” you muttered, pushing your chair back and walking away without another word, leaving them standing there awkwardly. Later that evening, the frustration still lingered as you found yourself at Topper’s party. The house was packed with familiar faces, music thumping from the speakers as the evening buzzed with energy.

You needed a break, something to clear your mind, so you stepped outside onto the back patio where the cool breeze offered a moment of peace. You didn’t expect to be alone for long. You heard footsteps approaching, and when you turned, Rafe was there, leaning casually against the railing, his expression unreadable.

You shot him a glance, not entirely in the mood for whatever he had to say. “We’re not together, you know. Sofia and I,” he said, his voice breaking the silence between you. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you stared him down. “Could’ve fooled me,” you said coolly. Rafe shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets, his gaze not leaving yours.

“We’re just hooking up. That’s it.” You scoffed, turning away slightly. “Oh, well, that makes it so much better,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I don’t know why you think I care.” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The tension between you and Rafe had been simmering for weeks, and his smug expression was doing nothing to ease the frustration building inside you.

Rafe’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk, and he took a slow step closer, his body language dripping with confidence. “You make it pretty fucking obvious, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, and despite your better judgment, you found yourself biting down on your bottom lip. He’d always had a way of getting under your skin, of knowing exactly how to push your buttons, and right now, he was doing it with ease.

You didn’t respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But Rafe could see the way your body tensed, the way your eyes flicked away from his for just a second, betraying more than you wanted to admit. “Why, are you jealous?” His voice was still laced with that cocky edge, but there was something more in his eyes—something that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t just teasing anymore; it was a challenge, daring you to deny it. You scoffed, forcing a laugh that felt hollow, even to you. “Please. You wish.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rolling off his tongue, as if he knew exactly what game you were playing. Shaking his head, Rafe ran a hand through his hair, his gaze never leaving yours. “I have standards,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more serious now. “You know I wouldn’t actually get with a freakin’ pogue.”

“Yeah, well these days, Rafe,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration, “I don’t even know you.” His smirk faltered for a second, something flickering behind his eyes. For just a moment, it was like you had struck a nerve, like maybe he didn’t know how to respond to that. “You don’t know me?” he echoed, his tone softer, but still challenging.

You took a breath, standing your ground. “Not anymore.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if your words had gotten under his skin more than he wanted to let on. “Sofia’s just fun for now. She’s not permanent.” His tone was dismissive, almost like he was convincing himself as much as you. There was an edge to his words, like he was trying to brush it off, but the way he held your gaze—intense, lingering—told a different story.

You couldn’t help the way his words made your heart beat a little faster, though you tried to ignore it. He was playing some kind of game, you were sure of it. A game where the lines between teasing and something deeper blurred just enough to make you question everything. It was maddening. “Whatever you say, Rafe,” you muttered, not giving him the satisfaction of a real response.

You turned to leave, but you could feel his eyes on your back as you walked away, the tension between you thick enough to cut. But even as you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this conversation than either of you had said aloud. Something unspoken lingered in the air, hanging heavy between you.

The way he’d looked at you—challenging, almost daring—stayed with you, creeping into the corners of your thoughts long after you’d stepped away. You wondered, against your better judgment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one feeling something more. Something deeper. Something neither of you were ready to admit, but that was quietly pulling you both in.

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rainrot4me · 2 months ago

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TW: Size difference, monster fucking, tentacles, vaginal, just the tip

𐚁₊⊹

Slenderman had such a distaste for humans.

They were weak, greedy little creatures. The only purpose they served to him was completing tasks or scurrying for his praise, bending over hand and foot just for a sliver of his mercy. His disdain for them was never ending.

He was formidable, a force to be feared and respected.

So, why couldn’t he hold that power over you?

“Ooh… fuck- So big…”

Because you had him wrapped around your finger, that’s why.

“Ah- C’mon-”

Tentacles glided across your skin, gripping tight onto your arms and waist as you whined. The cryptid wasn’t even inside of your dripping cunt yet, but you were already a stuttering little mess. He loved it, could never get enough of just how excited you could get him.

You pressed your shoulders back into his chest, an angry huff as you force your shaking thighs lower. Slender’s desk chair was creaking as you shifted, his claws dug firmly into the fabric of the armrests while you tried so pitifully to press his tip into the tight ring of muscle at your warm entrance.

“Easy, love.” He groaned, sliding another tentacle between your thighs to rub against your clit, trying to easily open you up.

“Give it to me…” You’re near childish now, hips stuttering once again as his cock slips from your entrance and between your soaked lips.

You both wanted it so bad, frustrated whines and near tears as you let his length spread between your lips, gathering all of your slick and arousal to rut against your clit.

“Now. I need it now, Slender. Jesus-”

If anyone else talked to him like that, they’d be sprayed across the ceiling. But when your near-snarled command has his length twitching against you, there’s only so much he can do.

His claw is reaching to wrap around the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your flushed cheek presses against the cold wood of his desk.

You readjust, spreading your legs across his and arching your back deep enough for him to see your glistening cunt, so ready and needy. Your hands grip into the wood, clawing in anticipation.

“Nowww…”

“Fuck, little thing. Hold on-”

He’s wrapping tentacles across your back, snaring your wrists back to hold them behind you. Another comes to wrap around the base of his cock, his claw still gripped firmly against the nape of your neck and holding you still against his desk.

He’s pushing his cock head back against your entrance, the tight ring so unforgiving as he pulls your hips back.

“Oh fuck-”

A long his comes from your gritted teeth as you feel the sting. Slender’s slowly bobbing your hips back and forth, popping the slit of his cock in and out as he works you open slowly. You’re writhing, pushing back against his grasp on you, tears puffing in the corners of your eyes.

“Easy… Open up for me. C’mon, love, be good…”

He’s trying his best to coax you, tentacles splayed across your abdomen and sliding between the lips of your pussy to relax your body.

He’s never given this much effort for anyone, but he’d gladly spend the rest of the night stretching you loose.

You nearly scream when the bulbous head of his cock slips past your pulsing entrance and into the sweet grip of your cunt. Slender’s gripping your neck, the muscles on his face tensing and straining at the intoxicating feeling of your tight walls nearly sucking him in.

Tears fall from your eyes, his tentacles hauling your hips back to gently ride on the roundness of his tip. The muscle catches, you blubbering as he pulls out- just to push right into the ring again.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you to cum like this, hm?”

He can’t stand humans, but he’d happily waste his time on this one.

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edensxgarden · 8 months ago

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Lando absolutely adored watching your face contort into pleasure as your slender fingers dipped inside your needy cunt.

He'd sit back cockily watching as you pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping hole, eyes filling up with glassy tears of frustration.

Your fingers were just so small and unfulfilling compared to his big thick ones, let alone his fat dick that never failed to stretch your tight walls so deliciously.

He loved watching you work yourself to desperation, lips jutting out in a pout when you finally gave up and gave in to his cruel desires.

He loved hearing you beg for his attention and praise his dick, telling him in your poor pleading voice that you simply can't satisfy yourself anymore and you need him to fill you up.

One day when you went out with your girlfriends to get your nails done and they convinced you to go out of your comfort zone and try acrylics.

You loved the way the cute almond nails looked on your best friends, long nails adorned in pretty pastels so you decided why not!

When you sent lando the price for the bill, he clocked that it was a bit more expensive than usual but he figured maybe you'd gotten a little design or possibly the place you went to just raised their prices.

But when he saw the long pointed nails on your hands when he got home, his heart dropped in disappointment.

"You didn't tell me you were getting those." He noted with a pouty lip and a far too sour expression on his face.

At first you felt far more upset than you would like to let on with your boyfriend being so adamant in his dislike for your new nails (of which you were very fond of) and he felt horrible for making you feel bad.

He explained that his distaste for your nails stemmed from his adoration for watching you stuff your pretty pussy full of your fingers and now you can't do that anymore without hurting yourself.

His words quickly replaced your disdain with the familliar burning pit that liked to settle in your tummy whenever Lando spoke of lewd things like that.

After spending a few hours thinking about how Lando would punish you for taking away his ability to watch one of his favorite things, he came back to you with his lovely idea and the pit in your tummy only grew.

You lay on his bed, legs trembling like a leaf and eyes rolling back as you circled his drooling tip around your achey clit, precum lubing it up enough to create a pleasureable friction.

His thick fingers stuffed you full but they were unmoving, forcing you to fuck yourself on them until your brain was hazy.

As your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your cunt clenched around his thick fingers, you absentmindedly decided to never not have acrylics again <3

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Stars all aligned - Chapter 3

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Her father had had three ships. The Nesta, The Elain and The Feyre.

There had never been The Zahra.

Of course not.

She wasn’t truly one of his daughters, was she?

The ships were reserved for his legitimate daughters. Zahra was a bastard. And bastards didn’t get ships named after them.

And still…still she had loved him. Loved her father in that stupid way that every child loved their parent.

She still had yearned for his love, his affection and praise. The praise that only her sisters ever seemed to get. It was such a stupid, childish thing, she thought to herself.

And when he had died...it had still broken her heart. Because it had taken from her the...hope. The hope that one day he would look at her with something other than...regret.

He had looked at her with cold distaste, disdain clear in his eyes. Her mother…a common maid, that he had dallied with on a whim during his wife’s pregnancy with Nesta. And she had been the result of that particular choice.

He had paid the price for it in his marriage, with the woman he had actually loved.

The woman who had hated Zahra…and made it very clear to everyone that Zahra wasn’t wanted or welcome around them. Her half-sisters were beloved. The beautiful daughters of their father. And she was the bastard child. An abomination.

For Nesta and Elain the years at the cottage had been horrible. They had lost their status in the world, the hope for a match with a man in possession of a fortune.

But Zahra…Zahra had known that she would never marry a man with a fortune. She had hope at all to marry a man from a good family anyway…her options had been thoroughly limited from the time she had been born…because even servants didn’t often want a bastard born wife.

And after the cottage…

Her options were just further limited.

Still, she had loved the years at the cottage for one thing and one thing only: She had just been one of the Archeron Girls.

(Everything else that happened…that was another thing entirely.)

She had lost that when her father's wealth had been returned...to be thrown back to being a maid, a servant, not a member of the family, but the staff...it had been bitter. And still...still she had hoped. Hoped that one day, her father would...change his mind. Accept her properly as his daughter and not just as...as something he had been saddled with because her mother had died.

But the day never came. He continued to look at her as if she stained the very air around him. As if she was worse than dirt to him.

Maybe she was.

But Zahra foolishly didn’t give up. She clung to that hope like it was the only thing that was keeping her alive.

And then he had died. And Zahra had lost that hope.

She had been a fool to hold onto the delusion that one day her father would love her as he had his real daughters. Such a silly, stupid, little girl she had been. To cling to something that could never be.

And still, Zahra went and visited his grave. Still, she came there every week and laid some flowers near the headstone...

She never knew why she still did. It seemed….pointless. After all, it wasn’t as if her coming to his grave would bring him. But still, she continued doing it. Every single week. Without fail.

And this week…this week she wasn’t alone.

Zahra froze, the flowers clutched in her hands, as she saw them. All three of them. Standing in front of the headstone. Talking amongst themselves. As if not even noticing that she was there.

They probably didn't.

"Thank you for coming with me," Elain said softly. “I wanted him to hear it from me.”

"He would be so happy for you, Elain," Feyre said. Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear that she was happy. "He would be so happy for you and Lucien."

What?

“He would be,” Nesta agreed. “Sad that he won’t be there to walk you down the aisle, but happy that you would be happy.”

Her sister got engaged? And nobody had...nobody had bothered to tell Zahra?

Her breath caught in her throat…the realization hitting her. They didn’t want to tell her…no, they didn’t care if she knew or not. To them…she wasn’t even worthy enough to get an invite for such a thing. They hadn’t…they hadn’t invited her.

The numbness returned. Full Force.

The numbness she always felt when everything was too much. When all the feelings and emotions got too overwhelming. When she just simply couldn't handle it any longer and her brain shut down.

Numb.

Numb was good. When she was numb, nobody could hurt her. When she was numb, she could survive.

Her hand clenched around the stems of the flowers. And then, suddenly, her feet listened to her and she managed to turn around. To turn around and walk away, like her heart hadn't been shattered...like it was completely normal.

Her eyes had glazed over, her mouth was a thin line, but otherwise not betraying any emotion. As quietly as she had walked to the grave…she walked away. Her sisters clearly not noticing the fact that she had even been there, to begin with.

She returned home to her broken little cottage.

It was probably a good metaphor for her as well, wasn’t it? she reflected weakly.

That cottage…broken, dirty…a fucking mess.

Her hands were cold as she clutched the flowers, her heart aching like it had just been pulled out of her chest. And no tears. No tears. Why wasn’t she crying? She wanted to cry.

She wanted to collapse and sob until she passed out. But no. The feeling of numbness was still around her, like a cloak that just wouldn’t go. The one that always came in situations like these.

It was the only thing that kept her from completely shattering into a million pieces.

She stumbled through the door, her body moving all on it’s own. She walked over to her small kitchen, and filled a bucket with water. Her hands shook so badly that the water sloshed over the top and on the floor.

There was nothing Zahra could do against the grime that would cover her for the rest of her days…but she could scrub the floors.

That's all she was good for, wasn't it? She was a maid's daughter, not a merchant. She would always just be a bastard daughter. Always just be a half-sister, on the edges of her family.

It didn’t matter what she did, what she had done…what she had given to keep them alive, to keep them fed.

She swallowed the bile back down, forcing herself not to think about what she had done.

It was over. She should be over it. She should be…

She kept scrubbing the floor, her hands reddening with the harsh lye soap she used.

Sometimes she wished, she could scrub herself with that as well.

Why was she even surprised? Was she seriously that stupid? Of course, her sisters wouldn’t bother to tell her. Why would they? She was just a bastard-born daughter. A half-sister. Why would they bother to invite her?

She was a nobody. She had always been a nobody.

A bastard that no one wanted. That no one loved. It had always been like that. Why did it surprise her now?

Why did it keep hurting her?

A single drop of water landed on the stone floor. Then another. And another. Slowly trickling down her cheeks.

Why did it keep hurting?

She should be used to this by now. Should have gotten used to the pain. But she wasn’t.

So she kept scrubbing the floors until they were sparkling. Washed off the walls, until they were clean.

She kept scrubbing and cleaning. The floors had to sparkle, the counter gleamed, and the windows shone.

Something needed to be clean. Needed to be pure. Because it wasn’t going to be her.

Never going to be her.

Anything to distract her from the fact that her sisters had just kept her out of a very joyous occasion. Like she wasn’t even worthy of being invited.

She wasn't worthy of being invited. She should get that into her thick skull.

She kept cleaning. She cleaned the floors and the walls and mopped and dusted and did her laundry.

She wondered if Azriel knew. The thought came unbidden to her. Did Azriel know that Elain and Lucien were engaged?

She had to stop the scrubbing and she was clenching the brush so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

Did Azriel know that Elain was engaged? Elain? The one he had...this flirtation with? The flirtation that Rhysand must have put an end to, because nothing else made sense?

She understood completely why Azriel had fallen for her sister…for beautiful Elain. Who didn’t love her? Who didn’t find her beautiful? Elain, who could be sweet and kind to seemingly everybody she came across.

Zahra looked at the clock she kept in the kitchen.

There was a family dinner this evening at the River House, just like there was every week. She was expected to attend. Of course, she was.

Granted, most of the time that meant that she sat through Nesta’s pointed comments and was otherwise ignored.

But if Azriel didn’t know…she didn’t want him to be alone when he found out.

Though, maybe he already knew…just Zahra didn’t.

She didn't believe that though. He would have told her. She was certain of that.

He was a good man. There was no doubt about that.

She glanced over at the clock, her hands clenching on the brush.

Zahra had 2 hours. Just enough time to bake a cake to bring along and appear there...to pretend like her sisters hadn't broken her heart.

Two hours to pretend that her heart wasn’t shattered to a thousand pieces. Two hours to act as if she hadn’t been just completely left out. Two

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. No tears. No tears.

2 hours to act like everything was well.

2 hours to pretend that everything was alright. That she was fine. That her world hadn’t just shattered into pieces. Two hours to shove all the pain to a little corner and not show anything at all.

She could do that.

She had done that before.

***

Azriel would have realised that something was off with Zahra far quicker, if his hands weren't trying to kill him that day.

It was hit or miss if Azriel’s had feeling in his hands at all...and that day...they decided to be far too sensitive. The weather wasn't helping. Velaris had had another cold snap a few days ago and Azriel paid the price.

The bones in his hands and fingers ached, the nerves on fire. The cold had settled deep in his bones and there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain. It was rubbing his nerves raw.

He had even considered not showing up for dinner at well...but he didn't want Zahra to face the rest of their family alone.

Granted, most of the time, they just ignored them both…but sometimes they didn’t.

And when they didn’t ignore her, well, then sharp comments were the norm and quite frankly…he was over it. For both Zahra and himself.

His temper was on a far shorter tether than normally.

His fingers were aching and burning. He never wanted to touch anything ever again.

He tried to ignore the pain. It was only a few hours. He could push through for a few hours.

The first thing that should have told him that something was wrong was the bright pasted on smile on Zahra's face. It was...too much.

The smile on her face was too tight. Too forced. Not like her normal, natural smile.

Something was wrong. He could sense it.

And then Elain showed off her ring.

The engagement ring. She and Lucien were engaged.

He saw Zahra’s face freeze for a split second before the smile was back to being plastered on again.

“I wish you two every happiness,” Azriel said softly. He found that he was even saying the truth. He was wishing them every happiness.

And this was what they all wanted him to say. It would hopefully get Rhys off his back as well.

Now, that wasn't that difficult, was it? Rhys drawled in his mind. Azriel was half tempted to reach for his shadows and wrap them around his brother’s throat.

But he refrained himself from it.

He was glad that they were happy. He truly was...but Rhys’s smug voice in his head was not something that was appreciated at all.

He could practically feel the shadows twitch with annoyance. But he held back from doing anything...stupid.

You got what you wanted, Azriel gave back, his voice icy.

Indeed I did, Rhys drawled back. Azriel could practically feel him leaning back in his chair, smugness seeping from his voice.

Azriel very much wanted to strangle him.

But he didn’t. Because quite frankly…he was more worried about Zahra. Zahra who hadn’t said a word yet. Whose smile was far too tight, her eyes dull.

Like a mask that was pulled over her face, hiding whatever laid beneath it.

Something was definitely wrong with her.

But nobody but him seemed to notice it.

Especially not when Zahra was very good at making the mask as enthusiastic as Mor on her best days.

“I am so happy for you! Congrats!” she gushed to Elain. “I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”

“Yeah, because you absolutely respect the sanctity of marriage,” Nesta muttered under her breath, low enough that Azriel nearly wouldn’t have caught it, if the shadows hadn’t snapped it up.

The sanctity of marriage? From where was that coming from?

But then Zahra continued, her voice too high pitched. Way too cheery. Not like how normally she spoke. But no one else seemed to notice.

Her words were clearly fake, but no one but Azriel seemed to notice.

"I know Father would be so pleased for you," Zahra continued, Nesta snorting under her breath and making a face like she had bitten into a sour lemon. Elain's face seemed to nearly freeze but Zahra just continued smiling brightly.

Even the mention of their father would usually cause Zahra to falter slightly…but today she didn’t even skip a beat. The smile stayed on her face, even as she continued to speak. Her voice was far too cheery, it was almost painful to listen to.

Azriel glanced around the table at his family. None of them seemed to notice how...off Zahra seemed. Her cheerful voice and her overly bright smile.

How come no one else noticed? How could they not see how obviously fake she was acting?

But then, nobody really cared, did they?

The rest of the family dinner was taken up with talking about Elain and Lucien's upcoming nuptials, an nothing else seemed to matter to them at all.

Nobody gave them a second glance either when Zahra said her goodbyes and he followed after her, minutes later.

He caught up to her on a bridge crossing the Sidra. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded sharply.

"Nothing is wrong," Zahra said, her voice, smooth and bubbly. He would give it to her: She was one hell of an actress. It was near imperceptively how well she was lying. But the dead look in her eyes gave her away.�� "My sister just got engaged, what could possible be wrong?"

"Don't lie to me," Azriel bit out. “I can tell something is wrong. Now tell me what it is.”

His patience was fraying at the edges.

"What's wrong with your hands?" she shot back. "You have been clenching and unclenching them continuously."

“They hurt if it rains,” he gave back tightly. “Now you.”

She stared at him, obviously not having expected him to actually answer that question.

And then Zahra crossed her arms, nearly hugging herself as he had seen her do often, whenever there was something…something that brought up memories she didn’t want to think about.

“Feyre, Elain and Nesta went to visit our father’s gravestone. I wasn’t invited," Zahra whispered, not looking at him. She kept walking, staring down at her feet. Clad in leather shoes that had already seen much better days.

He could just stare at her.

"You...you weren't invited?" He repeated back, stopping on the bridge.

She was their sister. And they had just not…not invited her?

“I went to lay flowers there this morning, and I saw them,” Zahra said thickly. “Elain told him about her engagement….All three were there. I wasn’t invited.”

He clenched his hands into fists again, the pain returning to them with a vengeance.

“It’s fine, it shouldn’t hurt me," she said thickly. "They are his daughters. He had three ships named after his three daughters. And then there is me."

He was still trying to process her words. "It’s not fine,” he snapped out, anger rising in his chest. How could they just exclude her like that? “You are his daughter as well. You are their sister,” he continued, following after her. “They shouldn’t have just excluded you like that.”

Zahra just shrugged, her shoulders caving in.

He felt her wobble on her feet and he reacted without even thinking about it. His hand shot out to grab her arm to keep her upright. He held her by the elbow gently to help balance her.

He watched as she continued walking, her shoulders slumped in. Her voice was quiet, like a whisper. “I know where I stand now...right?”

They both knew it, didn't they? Rhys got what he wanted and was happy about it and how Azriel felt didn't matter...and Zahra...

Their family had never been normal by any means, but he had never thought...no, he had hoped. He had really hoped that they would never leave Zahra out like that. But they had done that this time. Left her out, like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter at all.

And he hated that realization. He was used to solving problems. But this…there was no solving this. No way that he could fix this mess.

"How bad do they hurt?" she asked him suddenly, her voice still broken. Or again.

He was surprised by her question, but he quickly looked down at his hands...his hands were clenched into fists, and his knuckles were turning white. He loosened his fists a bit and grimaced.

“Like hell, but I’ll be fine,” he muttered out.

“Don’t you have a cream or salve from Madja or something?” she asked him, still holding onto his arm as they made their way to her cottage in unspoken agreement.

“I do,” he agreed with a sigh. “It just doesn’t help much.” Or at all. A drop of water onto an inferno.

“Let’s go home and try that,” Zahra said nonetheless. “I have a hot water bottle you can have as well…does warmth help?”

“It does,” he answered, surprised by how…much she was trying to help. Even now. Even when she had the most horrible day he could imagine…she was still trying to make him feel better.

Her cottage was sparkling clean that evening…spotless and immaculate.

The shadows fetched the salve as he sat down heavily at her kitchen table. Zahra returned just seconds later, bandages in her hand.

He had expected her to hand him both and was startled when she grasped his hand.

Azriel had been expecting her to just hand him the salve and the bandages. He had not been expecting her to actually just take his hand in hers. To not even hesitate.

To touch the scarred skin like it didn’t even matter. People flinched back from the scars. they didn't just...He had people flinch away from his scarred hands before. He had never had someone just grasp them in theirs and not even blink at the sight of the scars.

But she wasn’t done shocking him. Not when she started spreading the salve over his hands, gently and thoroughly.

Her fingers spread the salve over his skin with gentle, circular motions. The salve was warm on his skin and it brought immediate relief. He could feel his hands slowly relax under her touch.

He felt it more than he saw it at first...though then it became visible as well. Her hands warmed up against his skin, something like a prickling sensation under his skin, but the feeling was....nice. soothing. And then he could just stare at the glowing golden light that radiated from her skin as she cradled his hands.

"Sorry," she apologised meekly, the light stuttering. "Normally it's just sparks."

He was staring, mesmerized almost at the light.

It was only after a moment that he finally processed her words. “Sparks?” He questioned, his voice much softer than usual.

Zahra nodded.

Seconds later, sparks started to dance across her skin. Tiny, golden sparks. Like little stars, dancing across her skin.

“It’s beautiful,” he found himself saying, his voice sounding a bit raspy. He was completely transfixed as he stared at the lights dancing across her skin.

Azriel had never seen anything more beautiful in 500 years of life.

It was…utterly mesmerising.

Only then he realised that his hands didn't hurt anymore.

No ache, no burn, no stiffness. Nothing. It was just...the soft, gentle touch of her hands on his.

"Since when...Since when can you..." he asked, his voice raw.

He could not even form a proper sentence as he looked down at his hands. No stiffness, no ache, no pain. For the first time in years, he was feeling...nothing in his hands.

He gently flexed the fingers of his hands, curling them. He felt nothing. Just the smooth, pleasant glide of the skin. Not a single throb or ache. Nothing. It was completely...incredible.

He continued to stare at his hands, still completely and utterly speechless. His hands...the pain he had been dealing with in his hands for as long as he could remember...it was just gone.

The scars were still very much there. Visible, and the sight of them would always cause his heart to ache. But the pain he had come to know so well...it was gone.

The scars were still visible, but the pain…

He slowly looked up to her face, still completely, mind-numbingly stunned by what had happened. “How...what did you...? How?” He managed to ask, his voice breathless.

"What?" Zahra asked him, her voice shaky. "I didn't hurt you accidentally, did I?"

He quickly shook his head “No, no, you did not hurt me at all," Azriel quickly assured her. “Quite the opposite, actually…” He said, flexing his hands again. He still felt no pain. “They don’t hurt me anymore.”

He flexed and curled his fingers again, watching as they did so easily. No stiffness, no pain. He felt...nothing.

"The sparks came after the cauldron," Zahra answered quietly.

“The cauldron?” He repeated back. The cauldron.

Of course.

"Can't see the future or be pure death, but I do have sparks," Zahra quipped weakly. “Useless, I know.“

No. Not useless at all.

Pure Golden Light. Healing Light. Similiar to Dawn’s gift maybe…but then he saw the sparks still dancing around Zahra and corrected that.

No. Not similar. Completely unique to her. Cauldron-wrought.

"No," he disagreed, unable not to stare at her. "Not useless at all, sunshine. You are pure light."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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redvexillum · 25 days ago

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@peach-flavored-flambe I started this whole Flufftober/Kinktober journey as a way to challenge myself. Thank you for picking all the prompts for me this month. Thank you for always reminding me to write for ME and not for others. Thank you for being supportive of all of my writing since the day I entered this fandom. I know you are a fluff connoisseur so it's only right that I end this challenge with fluff - it is part Flufftober after all (and I wrote 24 smutty stories this month lol!)

TAGS: disgustingly fluffy, catastor, alastor is bad with feelings, alastor is in denial, touch starved alastor, ambiguously defined established relationship, alastor has a tail

✨️ This is a companion piece to Oblivious Love. A snapshot of a possible mini-series I may or may not write ✨️

In another world, in another time, Alastor would have scoffed at the very notion of competing for anyone’s attention—least of all yours. And yet here he was, locked in a contest of affections with the most revolting, misshapen, red… thing. His lip curled in distaste.

Competing?

What a joke.

He, Alastor, the Radio Demon, competing with… this? This mangy, misbegotten creature that you somehow, with all your boundless compassion, deemed to be a cat. His left eye twitched as he watched you coo at it, tenderly brushing your hand over its head. Every stroke made its misshapen ears flicker back before they sprung up again like hideous, overgrown weeds.

The beast grinned up at you—a lopsided, almost maniacal grin—and Alastor cringed at its wide, vacant eyes. Eyes that pointed in opposite directions, adding an extra layer of stupidity to its already horrific form. And to top it all off, it wore some ridiculous monocle over one eye, like some half-wit caricature. Alastor's gaze narrowed on the creature’s absurd antler-like protrusion.

How… befittingly obnoxious.

And then there was the name.

Catastor.

Of all the wretched things to call this freakish beast, you—and the rest of the hotel—had somehow arrived at Catastor, no doubt inspired by some misguided notion that this abomination had any resemblance to him. He huffed. The very idea.

Just as he was about to enjoy a nice, quiet coffee break with you—his sacred time with his favourite person in all of Hell, uninterrupted and undivided—Catastor once again waltzed in, unannounced and unbothered. One garish screech later, and Alastor watched in slow motion as your attention shifted from him to… it. Your cooing started, that soft, adoring voice, while you scratched its revolting back, its purring filling the air with an infuriating satisfaction.

Alastor’s grin tightened, his claws tapping rhythmically against his coffee cup, every nerve on edge. He imagined roasting the little beast, maybe flambéing it for good measure. Or perhaps he’d skip the cooking and just… devour it raw.

It wouldn’t respawn. Unlike the sinners here, this little beast wouldn’t come back...

...Actually, he wasn't entirely sure. It probably wouldn't come back.

“Are you enjoying that, Catastor?” you murmured sweetly, eyes soft and radiant as you stroked it gently, letting your fingers glide down its back. Catastor’s eyes slowly drooped with bliss, purring loudly, completely absorbed in the luxury of your touch.

Alastor’s claws tapped harder. Perhaps he would spare the creature for a little longer, let it feel a few more sunrises. But only for now, until he deemed the time right.

He wasn’t jealous, of course. He’d never lower himself to something so trivial. No, he already had your attention. Compete? He smirked inwardly. He would never.

“Dear?” Alastor called, his pride swelling as you looked up, your lovely smile still intact, eyes gleaming with interest as they settled on him. His heart raced—it always did when you looked at him like that, so openly, so innocently, as if he were your whole world. Clearing his throat, he kept his tone cheerful, even as he threw a disdainful glance at Catastor.

“Your drink is getting cold, my dear. All this fuss over that… thing,” he muttered, lingering on the word with disdain as he quirked a brow toward the vile intruder.

“Oh! That’s true!” you exclaimed cheerfully, scooping up Catastor with all the ease of picking up a damp noodle. The creature seemed to melt in your arms, his gelatinous little body sagging like all his bones had been dissolved into mush. His spine curved absurdly, draped over your arm like a ragged old towel, all while his purring grew even louder. You giggled brightly, an infectious sound that made Alastor’s ears twitch, and his eye give the faintest, most involuntary spasm.

How smug, how terribly smug that little beast looked, he thought, like he’d won something. Alastor was positively certain that he could draw even more radiant laughter from you if he just had you to himself.

But this… not-competing for your attention carried on.

The next day, he found himself strolling around town by your side, his back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, as he recounted the latest juicy bits of gossip from Cannibal Town. Your expression was relaxed, attentive, and that quiet comfort in your eyes swelled a surprising sort of pride in his chest.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on ol’ Frank here,” Alastor chortled, gesturing with his staff at a dilapidated little shop across the street. “Croaked in the last Extermination, poor fool! And now some hapless soul bought the building!” He pointed with glee just in time to see a young woman struggle with the door before it promptly collapsed on her head. He stifled a delighted laugh. “No one’s managed to run a shop there for nearly five hundred years! Imagine such a waste of souls….”

“Aww, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically, your amused smile softening. “Maybe you could help her out? Make her a deal?” you teased, a playful smirk lighting up your features, though your usual kindness still sparkled in your eyes.

“Perhaps,” Alastor mused, softening his tone as the two of you strolled on. He did enjoy these quiet moments with you, wandering through the chaos of town. Ordinarily, he might have offered any other lady his arm with a bit of playful charm, but as his eyes drifted to your hand swinging casually by your side, he couldn’t help a ridiculous little thought from slipping into his mind.

What would it be like to take your hand? To clasp his fingers over yours? He imagined the warmth, the softness of your skin and your hand would fit perfectly in his, as if made for him alone.

The hum of Cannibal Town’s busy streets faded to a quiet buzz as Alastor fell into the silence. His gaze lingered on your hand for a moment longer, and then, in a rare, almost boyish impulse, he stretched out one gloved finger, brushing ever so lightly against the top of your hand.

Immediately, his gaze darted to your face, but your expression remained calm, as placid as ever, lost in thought. The smallest curl of his grin softened as he looked ahead again, spine straighter than ever.

A shuddering breath slipped past Alastor's lips. He had held other people’s hands countless times over the years—flirtations, deals, the occasional well-mannered escort—but this was… different. Strangely intimate. Vulnerable, even, which was absolutely absurd. He was over a century old, for heaven’s sake, not some fumbling schoolboy. It was just a hand, after all; he could chalk it up to nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture.

So, after one fortifying breath, he steadied his gaze forward and reached out, his fingers inching toward yours.

But… instead of your warm, delicate hand, his fingers closed around something smaller. And… hairier?

Alastor’s eyes snapped down, and his lips clamped shut to suppress the hiss of static crackling in his throat. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep the shriek that wanted to escape from manifesting into the demonic roar his pride demanded. Because in his hand, instead of yours, was a limp, furry, noodle-like appendage.

Catastor, somehow, had wriggled its way between the two of you and was now proudly extending its furry little paw into his hand.

“Eugh!” Alastor recoiled, releasing the beast’s fuzzy limb with an audible cringe.

You burst into peals of laughter, the sound bright and melodic as you greeted the cat with your usual warmth.

“Catastor!” you cooed, scratching the creature’s head while it emitted a grating, delightfully hideous meow in response. Grinning up at Alastor, you said with a chuckle, “Look at us—a little family, walking around town like this!”

Alastor’s grin tightened. “It looks nothing like me,” he muttered, only for the monocled beast to cast him a haughty, one-eyed glare. Under the hellish glow of the streetlights, its monocle gleamed almost smugly.

“Oh, of course,” you replied simply, your laughter still dancing on your lips.

His eye twitched as he entertained himself with the idea of cooking the cat into a jambalaya, rich and smoky. But no—that would be a small defeat, a concession that he was somehow competing with the fiendish little furball, which he wasn’t.

Not at all.

Yet, the relentless interference continued. Day after day, Alastor’s patience thinned. The little vermin seemed to have made it its life’s mission to sabotage every moment he tried to spend alone with you. He’d reach out naturally, aiming to rest a hand on your shoulder, only to feel the warm, slightly damp fur of the cat draped over your shoulder instead, as if it had some preternatural ability to stretch itself into his every gesture.

Every time, he could imagine nothing less than punting the thing across the Petagram��and sending it into the deepest layer of Hell. Yet, that urge would disappear the moment he heard your bright, amused laughter and saw your radiant smile. It was like you were some smile devil—any glimpse of your joy, and he lost all resolve to do anything that might bring you sadness.

One afternoon, in the quiet shade of the bayou, Alastor stood by, his legs pulled primly together as he watched you lying in the grass. Your eyes were closed, a soft, contented hum escaping your lips as you lay there, bathed in the dappled light. The whole scene should have been picturesque: you, serene, the epitome of innocence and tranquility.

But there was that hideous thing, sprawled over your chest like a satisfied pancake, purring loudly as if it had any right to bask in your affection.

Alastor’s grin was wide, but his eyes were sharp, glaring daggers at the offending beast now lazing on top of you as if it belonged there. You, oblivious, kept humming, your hand stroking the cat’s fur in gentle, absent-minded sweeps. A perfectly peaceful scene, if not for the blob of red fluff ruining the picture by its very presence.

One day, he mused darkly, one day that creature’s reign will end. But for now, he contented himself with standing by, watching the two of you in bemused, begrudging silence.

The longer Alastor stared at that mangy little beast basking in your gentle touch, the more a unfamiliar itch settled in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, just in passing—strictly passing, of course—what it might feel like if your fingers drifted through his hair instead, tender and deliberate.

Not that he’d ever ask, of course.

It was merely… curiosity.

Still, the cat’s purring only seemed to grow louder, practically vibrating with pleasure. Alastor's ears flattened, lying flush against his head as his grin grew tighter, his shoulders hunching slightly as his neck tried to disappear into his collar. He wasn’t jealous, nor was he competing with a wretched creature for your attention.

He most certainly was not.

His fingers drummed against his knee, the gentle tap-tap-tap a cover for how long it had been since he’d had time alone with you, just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company without any interruptions. To touch your shoulder, perhaps even feel your hand… in a gesture of camaraderie, of course.

Yes, that cat really did need to go.

“What’s wrong?” Your soft voice broke through his reverie, and he blinked, letting the darker thoughts slip away like shadows at dawn.

Forcing a laugh, he pitched it into that usual two-tone cadence, rolling his eyes with practised ease. “Nothing’s the matter, dear, just basking in the peace and quiet,” he flicked his wrist with a dismissive flair, avoiding your gaze.

You hummed thoughtfully, then suddenly mused aloud, “I wonder… is your hair soft?”

Alastor’s eyes widened, his head snapping back to you with an almost painful creak. His heart thundered, warmth radiating through his chest in a dizzying surge. “That’s a rather odd question, isn’t it?” he replied, wincing as he heard the slight waver in his voice. His tail thumped softly against the marshy grass in protest.

“Well, your son—”

“He’s not my son,” Alastor interrupted quickly, unable to hide the slight flush in his cheeks.

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes, and Alastor found himself scooting just the tiniest bit closer.

“Oh?” He let a wicked grin slip across his face. “So, you want to touch my hair, do you? It’ll cost you a steep price, my dear.” His eyes glowed with mock menace, and a low buzz of static crackled from his staff. “Perhaps… your soul,” he laughed darkly, the edge of humour softening his tone.

You blinked at him before bursting into bright laughter. “What if I offer a massage instead?” You wiggled your fingers playfully. “Catastor seems to love it when I give him a little scratch behind the ears.”

“Ugh.” Alastor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “That cat’s so starved for affection, you could probably kick it, and it’d still be purring like mad.” His grumble was almost swallowed up by his own embarrassment.

There was a moment of silence as you watched him, a thoughtful look flickering in your eyes. Alastor stiffened under your gaze, nerves prickling as though you could see right through him. Then, with a bright smile, you reached out, your fingers splayed and wiggling in invitation. “You can be the judge then,” you offered with a grin, your hands open and waiting.

Alastor’s gaze locked on your outstretched fingers, and as if guided by some irresistible, magnetic force, he found himself drifting closer, leaning in with a reverence that felt both foreign and sacred. He knelt just above your head, his eyes meeting yours in a soft, consuming stare, so near he could see the flecks of colour that danced within your gaze under the dim light. Slowly, carefully, he bowed, his face hovering just inches from yours, every breath mingling in the silence.

His hair brushed against your cheek, and the contact brought a light laugh from you, your voice a murmur that warmed his every nerve. “That tickles.”

He was entranced, utterly held captive by your closeness, by the way your lashes fluttered and your cheeks flushed. He’d never seen you this close before, and each tiny detail felt etched into his memory. “Well, go on,” he said softly, his tone dipped in a vulnerability he rarely allowed. “Show me if your massage is as grand as you claim.”

A rush of warmth and satisfaction welled within him when he saw your own eyes flicker away shyly, your teeth worrying at your lip. You looked so endearingly flustered, as if realizing you and he were somehow alone in a bubble of time—just the two of you, no one else to intrude, no foolish cat.

Your fingers threaded delicately into his hair, and he surrendered, eyes slipping closed as he basked in the soft drag of your nails against his scalp. A shiver chased down his spine, and he released a soft, involuntary sigh, savouring every touch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him like this—no, no one had ever touched him like this.

Your fingers travelled over his hair, deft and soothing, with your thumb tracing small circles at the base of his ear. He shuddered, his tail swaying in a steady, rhythmic beat beside him, betraying just how deeply he was affected.

“Good?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Mmh.” His lips curled into a barely there smile, eyes still closed as he revelled in the feeling. “Passable,” he said, his tone rich with teasing.

Your soft laughter flitted across his forehead, tickling his bangs and sending a delightful hum through his chest. He felt your breath, warm against his skin, each laugh another note of the melody he’d come to cherish. The gentle sweep of your thumb against his cartilage sparked waves of pleasure down his spine, and at some point, he’d eased himself down beside you, both of you lying on the cool grass, faces close as if drawn by an unspoken force.

“You okay?” you murmured, your smile impossibly tender, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

He met your gaze and found himself drinking in every detail. He liked your eyes, liked the way they softened as you looked at him.

He liked your smile.

But above all, he adored your laughter—the sound that seemed to strip away his defences and leave him feeling both exhilarated and exposed.

A strange, quiet want flickered in his chest, something deep and hidden, something he hadn’t dared entertain. He wondered, just for a reckless, precious moment, what it would be like to move closer. Close enough that his breath mingled with yours, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, maybe even let his lips graze yours.

Just close enough… to be with you.

Would such closeness chase away that cherished smile, rob him of the laughter that had grown to mean so much?

As his thoughts drifted, your fingers slipped down his hair, tracing the line of his cheek. He could feel your fingertips gliding over his skin, tender and curious. Then came that small, enchanting giggle, a sound so sweet it echoed within him, lingering as if it were a treasure he’d never forget.

Alastor could feel his heart beating a little too quickly as he leaned closer, drawn by the soft warmth of your touch. His face was just a breath away from yours, his lips so near your forehead, he could already imagine the gentle brush of a kiss. A kiss there would be innocent enough, right? Perhaps pressing his lips to yours would be too bold... but a tender gesture to your forehead surely wouldn’t be unwelcome.

After all, this was for friendship—of course.

Just then, you sat up, leaving Alastor frozen, a pang of disappointment dropping like cold lead in his chest. But the ache melted away, replaced by a flash of heat, as you leaned forward, hair falling around him in a private curtain that made his breath hitch. Your smile softened, your eyes warm and unwavering, and then they closed, lashes sweeping delicately against your cheeks. Slowly, achingly slowly, you moved closer, and Alastor felt his pulse roar, filling his ears with a rush of anticipation.

He could feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his, your fingers grazing his cheek as if the touch itself could tether him in place. A thrill he hadn’t realized he was longing for stirred within him. He closed his eyes, waiting, a tension brimming in his chest. His fingers trembled as he raised his hand, longing to close the last bit of distance, to touch you, to be as close to you as he’d been daring to dream.

But then—“KAOUGH, KAOUGH, KAAAOUGHGHGHH!”

A horrid, hacking noise broke through the moment like a thunderclap, snapping his focus away and shattering the spell between you. Instantly, Alastor’s warmth turned to ice as you jerked back, your attention stolen by none other than that wretched, blasted cat.

“Catastor!” you exclaimed, startled, pulling away as the cat began to retch with ferocity. Alastor turned his gaze, annoyance brewing in his eyes, and found himself staring at the feline menace who was now coughing up dark, soot-like balls. These abominable little things, complete with tiny pointed ears and two unsettling, beady eyes, tumbled out of Catastor one after another, writhing and blinking as if they’d just spawned from a nightmare.

“What the—” Alastor’s voice dropped, a disgusted snarl creeping into his expression as he watched the horrid little creatures emerge. Each ball of shadow looked like a poorly crafted miniature imp, malformed and twitching, with pointed ears and flickering eyes that seemed to leer at him.

You, however, looked anything but disturbed. Stroking Catastor’s back in gentle, soothing motions, you cooed, “Aww, Catastor, did you eat too much again?” Your voice was filled with a doting affection, and Alastor watched in utter disbelief as the monstrous cat leaned fully against you, sprawling across your torso and letting its chin settle on your shoulder.

“Yeeeeooowww,” Catastor moaned, an ugly, grating yowl that grated on Alastor’s every nerve.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the rage simmering beneath his strained grin. The cat’s smug, hideous expression seemed to taunt him as it claimed your attention and care. Alastor could practically hear the mockery in its yowl. In his mind, he imagined various methods of removing this furred menace from your life—and more importantly, from his.

But as he looked back at you, watching the way your eyes softened with laughter and your voice became gentle for this thing, the thought of that precious smile disappearing stayed his hand. Instead, he forced a tight grin, one that masked the bitterness eating at him from the inside, knowing he would endure—even if he had to suffer through a hundred more of those retched “yeeeooowwws.”

"Aw, there, there," you murmured, gently patting the cat’s back with slow, soothing strokes. You looked at it as if it were some fragile, innocent creature, while the vile shadowy minions it coughed up scattered in all directions like troublesome spirits unleashed from a curse.

Alastor could feel his patience fraying. With a quiet, heavy sigh, he sent out his own shadows, ruthlessly ordering them to snatch and crush every last one of the creatures scuttling about his beloved bayou. They obeyed, darting after the minions with deadly precision, each shadow winking out in a puff as they met their end. He folded his hands with a dark, calculated grace, but his gaze—his burning, dagger-sharp gaze—never left that insufferable cat.

Oh, he saw it, all right.

Saw the smug curl of its eyes, narrowing like crescent moons, and that infernal tongue hanging out, like it had the audacity to taunt him. Him. Alastor, the feared overlord, the Radio Demon. He felt something ancient and fierce coil in his chest, as if the essence of his full demon form threatened to break through, to remind this creature who reigned supreme.

But just as his head tilted, shadows thickening around him with a promise of retribution, you turned toward him, drawing his full attention like a magnet. Your eyes softened, and a faint blush crept over your cheeks, spilling a fragile warmth he hadn’t anticipated. “Sorry about that, Alastor,” you said, your voice laced with sincerity, and as your gaze flicked downward, his anger dissolved just slightly, easing in the tender lull of your voice.

Your next words undid him further. “Maybe tonight, we could read together?” You glanced up, offering a small, gentle smile that seemed to light the space between you both. “Just the two of us?”

With those words, that insatiable, molten rage that had been brewing in his chest dissipated instantly, snuffed out as though you’d whispered the calmest of spells.

He was sure of it then—you had to be a Smile Demon. How else could you possibly hold such power over him, capable of soothing his very soul with a single look?

He gazed at you, awe mingling with amusement. Yes, you must be a demon of terrifying strength indeed—one who held him, the Radio Demon, in the palm of your hand with nothing more than a smile.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

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prdx-invdr · 9 months ago

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୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

#riize x reader #lee anton #anton imagines #anton x reader #riize anton #riize #riize scenarios #req #riize angst #riize fluff

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chocsra · 8 months ago

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✧ STORMBRINGER CHUUYA AS YOUR GUY BSF IS ....

✧ w/c: 588 ✧ content: drabbles & headcanons of cute things with stormbringer! chuuya

☆ a shocked yet distasteful groan pulling from his throat when you show him a picture of a celebrity you find cute, grumbling about how your taste in men sucks ass. you didn't think he was jealous, just shocked at the creature he was looking at. though sometimes, you barely graze the envy on his face when you actually interact with another boy; especially if he's your type, because chuuya knows. still, he brushes your friendly smile with stupidity—because the dude you're talking with 'isn't even all that.'

☆ like having an annoyed caretaker, always keeping an eye out for you, rebuking your recklessness. just appalled that you have this much carelessness for your life on a day to day basis. but even though he'd scold you gently for anything stupid or clumsy you pull, you'd always find a gloved hand reaching out to you, providing support. either when you've stumbled, or you're about to jump off a ledge from even the smallest of heights.

☆ falling face first into the ground whilst trying to fight off one of the port mafia's powerful enemies because your shoelaces were untied. humilated, you found yourself sitting on a bench as chuuya unashamedly scolds you for your rookie mistake. knelt down as he still ties your shoes. "do you double knot your laces?" he'll ask, if you already said yes, the boy would finish one shoe with a tight squeeze, before gently patting your ankle to lace the other one, "well you better start triple knottin' em!"

☆ late night calls about the silliest things. chuuya would have his camera on in his pajamas, either mindlessly fiddling with his guitar, doing some chores, or cooking simply out of boredom. he'd rant about his day, the jewel marketing circulation, this crazy fuck named 'dazai', how much he admires his superior—kouyou, and his friends which call themselves 'the flags'. in return, you can tell him all the school gossip you've picked up on, new music you caught onto, your rants in your notes app.

☆ exchanging knowing side glances at each other when someone's being annoying or a dumb fuck. it's the kind of look two sassy girls would stare at each other with a secret disdain for the person in front of them.

☆ chuuya keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you and him only. at first, it was extra incase he lost his own hair tie, but soon, if you ever needed one, he always keeps extra on his wrist so you wouldn't have messy hair flying everywhere.

☆ taking unwanted photos of chuuya while he chases after you to delete them. sometimes, it'd be mid sneeze or the boy yawning carelessly. he definitely cares once you've did a close up shot where he looks like the epitome of a ginger leprechaun. he'd (try to) snatch your phone and now gives you the stinkiest side eye when you even try to point your phone at him.

☆ unconsciously resting an arm behind your shoulders when you're both sitting side by side. for chuuya, it provides a comforting stretch for his arms, and it feels safer knowing that he can just manuver you if there was ever an unexpected attack. for you, the fact that he just does it so casually makes you a nervous wreck.

☆ believing wholeheartedly that he's human. afterall, you wouldn't feel this much adoration for a code of strings, no? you always internally chide him if he thinks otherwise, but as friends, you thought it's better to give him a comforting pat on the back.

✧ chocsra™

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starsofang · 6 months ago

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simon riley x gn!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: eating disorder, but the request was for simon and a partner with an ed!

a/n: thank you for your patience while i finish requests! i wanted this to be on the comforting side, seeing as i've struggled with an ed in the past, and these are some of the ways my partner helped me through it!

Never in your life had somebody been so understanding of you until Simon came around. He was a breath of fresh air, somebody who swooped in to smooth over the cracks in your fragile being. He knew how imprisoned you often felt, and as your beloved partner, he’d do absolutely anything in order to soften the blows that your mind evoked upon you.

Body image was a big worry. It consumed you from the moment you were aware enough to know what it was, smothering you with woeful insecurities that picked apart your brain and imbedded harmful self imagery in place of confident beauty. No matter how much you worked on yourself, it always crept back in like a looming storm, raining down on any day perceived as a good one.

Simon was always there to pick up the fragments and glue you back together. He was well aware of the lingering resentment you held towards your own body, knew it from when he saw how you looked at yourself in the mirror with an expression of disdain, or how you’d pile food on his plate while simultaneously portioning your own. Hell, Simon saw it all.

He was observant in his line of work, but he was also incredibly resourceful. Sure, he handled guns much better than a partner who struggled with the inner workings of their own betraying mind, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try.

Simon was mindful in the ways he chose to assure you. He didn’t want to be overbearing, but he also wanted to show you through action.

Over time, he became the cook in the house when he was at home. He made only things you favored, spending hours in the kitchen to perfect any recipe. He worked hard in making each and every grain of food look appealing while keeping it healthy and colorful. Greasy and distasteful foods were on the more triggering side of your spectrum, so he didn’t hesitate to experiment on the other side of that wall.

Portioning the food was something he did instead. He’d match the portions with yours rather than giving himself more. Your plates mirrored one another when he’d set them out on the table, steam still billowing up into the air from the heat. When you’d go to complain about how he deserved to eat more, he’d shut you up with a gentle press of lips to your forehead, giving you a murmured “eat with me” before taking his time to dive in.

It didn’t stop there.

On days where he’d have to go into work for longer periods of time, he’d leave you with sticky notes plastered throughout the house. The mirrors were his favorite.

Scribbled handwriting covered differently colored notes, stuck to the frame of your bathroom mirror as well as the one hanging in the living room. They had gentle words of encouragement as well as silly doodles that were there to make you smile.

He mixed them up every time, always writing his I love you’s, how beautiful you are, how proud he was. It was his way of showering you in his undying affection when he couldn’t be there to vocalize it directly.

Simon would always bring you back gifts from his time spent away, and much to your dismay, some of them were snacks. He didn’t buy them to trigger you, no, he was cautious with it. He wanted you to enjoy the flavors that came from different countries or towns, wanted you to experience the variety of other cultures.

No snack was ever left untouched. The nutrition list on each and every was marked out with a thick black ink of a sharpie, hiding away the calorie and sugar counts, as well as the ingredients that made up the snack.

When you first brought it up to him, he gave you a half-assed shrug, giving a kiss to your cheek, saying, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, love. They came like that,” before stepping off in the bedroom.

Simon continued with these subtle acts of care, never directly overwhelming you with the need to talk about it or tell him what exactly was going through your mind. In fact, you didn’t need to – he already knew, and he’d continue to do what needed to be done if it meant gently pushing you into the right direction.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw3 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #cod requests

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thewitchandtheassassin · 26 days ago

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Honest (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: “Lady, I’m the manager and the only employee today. Get the hell out of my store.”

Words: 1070

Warnings: Language, suggestiveness??

A/N: I hate that lady and wish Rio had punted her into the sun. That's all.

-X-

From the moment you noticed the white-haired woman storming towards your counter, you knew you were in for a horrible interaction. Plastering a fake, cheerful smile, you greeted her.

“Good afternoon! Did you -”

“This place is a dump,” she hissed, slamming her goods onto the counter. “If my daughter was working in this place at your age, I would disown her. Are your parents proud of you?”

Blinking at her owlishly, you bristled with choked back fury. Truthfully, this wasn’t your normal job - nor was this your only job - but you were covering a shift for your mother, who’d taken your father to the hospital but couldn’t afford to close the small “mom and pop” shop. Being here was a favor, not your career, but some old, miserable bitch didn’t deserve your explanations and you weren’t going to dictate a dissertation of your life to a complete stranger.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked brusquely, scanning the few items before placing them in paper bags.

“Oh god, are you one of those hippies who forces paper over plastic? Get over it. Give me something that isn’t going to rip!” she hissed, digging out her wallet before her eyes go wide at the total. “With such horrible service, you’re still going to charge me that without some sort of compensation for my treatment? I’m certain you have some coupons or sale codes back there that you can use to fix your terrible mistakes. My god, do you need a roadmap?”

“H-horrible service? Ma’am, I…” you paused, looking at the stuff tucked into bags before shaking your head. You’d rather offer your parents money than accept this woman’s cash. “Get out.”

“I beg your pardon?” she sputtered, eyes narrowing in a manner you were certain she used to intimidate teenagers at the supermarket. “You can’t speak to me like this! I want your manager.”

Sliding the bags out of reach, you glared at her with unbridled disdain. “Lady, I’m the manager and the only employee today. Get the hell out of my store.”

“How dare you! I’ve been coming here for years! I’m good friends with the owner and when he hears about this…”

Your snort cut through her ramblings. “Oh, you know him, huh? Well, I’ll be sure to let my mother know her ‘good friend’ came in here acting like a rude, entitled, demented demon from the pits of hell instead of a civilized human being so that she knows to bar you from the shop. Anything else I can do for you before I call the sheriff - an actual good friend - to come escort you off the property?”

Mouth agape, you’d never seen a grown woman look so aghast before and truthfully, you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t some fresh-faced eighteen year old she could push around and bully.

Someone needed to tell her a thing or two and good news, you had the time and the attitude to do just that.

“I need those -“

Slamming your hand onto the counter, your smile grew unsettlingly wide. “Well, bless your heart, guess you better go find somewhere else to get ‘em, huh?”

-X-

After your interaction with the woman the day before, you had little interest in keeping the shop open for your mother another day, but as she tearfully explained she couldn’t return until the next morning, you swallowed your distaste and did as she asked.

“It’s one more day,” you mumbled to yourself, forehead resting in your hand as you sat on the lone stool. “Just one more day.”

You had nearly dozed off when the bell above the door signaled the arrival of your only patron so far. Glancing up, you greeted the dark-haired woman with a faint smile and wave.

“Howdy, how can I help you?”

The woman slid her sunglasses up to the top of her head, pursing her lips in an odd way that had you singling in on the softest looking mouth you’d ever seen. She was beautiful and mysterious and goddammit, you were so gay.

“Do you happen to know who was working yesterday?” she inquired, earning a slow brow arch.

“Yeah…” you drawled out slowly, carefully. “It was me.”

“Oh thank god, I’m glad you’re not some sad teenager who cried after she left,” she muttered, eyes locking on yours. “You had the unfortunate displeasure of speaking with my mother yesterday and I came to apologize. Not so much for her sake, but for my own because your shop sells fabulous face care products I can’t get anywhere else in this godforsaken town and I do not want to end up banned from here.”

Blinking slowly, you nodded after a moment. “Uh, yeah, no, you’re fine. I never woulda guessed she was your mother. She always like that?”

“Cantankerous and miserable? Yes. Has been my whole life.”

“Christ, I feel bad for you,” you blurted, eyes widening instantly as she began to cackle. “Uh, sorry, that was supposed to stay in my head.”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile and it left your insides full of butterflies.

“I like a girl who’s honest,” she teased, offering a hand. “Agatha Harkness.”

You shook her hand, marveling in the smooth skin as you absently gave your name in return. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted to her lips before fluttering back up to her gaze.

“I saw that little glance - you’re not as sneaky as you think,” Agatha purred, delighting in the warmth that flooded your cheeks. “What time do you get off… work?”

Glancing at the clock, 5:23 stared back at you tauntingly. The place had been dead all day and at this point, you were just wasting electricity.

Throwing caution to the wind, you shrugged, smirking at Agatha conspiratorially. “Right now if someone gives me a good enough reason.”

“How about you buy me a drink as an apology for my horrible childhood and if it goes well, maybe I’ll find a way to thoroughly apologize for all the trouble you went through yesterday?”

The sparkle in her eye and the way she stared at your lips pointedly for a moment left your heart racing, beating like horse hooves against your ribs. You were nodding before you even realized it, running through your mental checklist for closing the store.

“Give me ten minutes.”

-X-

You closed it in six.

#agatha harkness imagine #reader insert #reader imagine #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #mcu imagine #marvel imagine

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zomb-core · 3 months ago

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۫ ꣑ৎ NOT MY FATHER || carl grimes x female walsh!reader

summary: carl and you had been inseparable before the apocalypse but that quickly changed the night your father lost it.

(intended lowercase)

warnings: carl is sort of a dick at first, mentions of attempted murder.

friends to enemies to lovers

everyone longed for the life they were forced to leave behind when the apocalypse started, some loathed it, it depended on the situation. you, however, were in the vast majority of people who missed it, who wanted back what they once had, who they once had.

it had been several years since the outbreak started and you had come to terms with the fact that this was just how things were now. your life before the apocalypse was simple, you lived with your father, shane, he was an amazing dad despite the hours he worked. when your father was at work you would either be at school or staying at lori's, lori had agreed to watch over you along with her son, carl. carl was your best friend, you did everything together; read comics, play video games, watch tv — whatever kept the two of you entertained.

at least, that's how it had been.

ever since shane had tried to kill rick in a sick attempt to regain lori's heart carl had shown a strong distaste for you. it made you angry. you wondered how the boy you'd grown up with could hate you over your father's actions, you weren't the one who executed them so why?

when it had happened you assumed carl's coldness would eventually wear off, but it never did, it had been years and he still expressed the same disdain for you. you could tell he wished you were someone else, wished you weren't the spawn of such evil, but it just wasn't possible.

rick never treated you any differently, he knew it wasn't your fault, so why didn't carl?

you learned to stop questioning him so much or trying to make amends, it didn't make any difference so you quit wasting your time. that seemed to anger him more, you didn't understand why considering it was his request to you.

you thought being in alexandria would help lessen the tension between you two or at least make it more avoidable, but it was to no avail, he seemed to seek you out just to spare you a scoff or scowl. you hated it, if he wanted to scorn your being then so be it, but couldn't he refrain from making it so obvious?

eventually, rick had tore him a new one after he had crossed a line and he began to leave you alone.

that was until it was deemed smart to send the two of you on a run together. alone.

it had started off fine, silent but fine. normally, silence in a situation like yours would be unbearable, but the possibility of what could be said if either of you spoke was much more unpleasant, and you were certain you were right when he did speak.

you were crouched down, shoveling supplies into a duffle bag while he was standing guard in case any walkers tried to sneak up on you two when he decided to speak, “do you even care about what he did?”

you felt yourself flinch in shock, not expecting him to speak, your lips pressing into a thin line when you processed his question.

“of course I do.”

“then why don't you act like it?”

you couldn't resist the scoff that urged to escape your lips at the accusation, your fingers tightening around the bag they held. “how am I supposed to act? I have apologized a hundred times, cried, tried to make amends— it's never gonna be enough, is it?”

“he tried to kill my father—”

“yeah, carl, he did. shane did. shane tried to kill your father, not me, when are you gonna get that?” you spat, zipping the duffel bag and throwing it over your shoulder. you could hear his hesitation to speak again and used it to your advantage, allowing yourself to quickly exit the store and make it back to the car before he did.

sometimes you couldn't believe the audacity the boy had, did you care? of course you cared, was he out of his mind?

the shuffling of feet dragged you out of your thoughts, you could see carl making his way in the direction of the car and decided it would be a good time to throw the supplies in the back — there wasn't much in the store to loot but it was better than some of your other runs. you closed the door of the car and made your way around to the passenger side, climbing in.

the ride back was just as silent as the ride there, minus the tapping of carl's fingers on the wheel. you could tell he was thinking about something, you were sure that it was related to the conversation you two had just moments ago. you hoped that maybe he finally realized you weren't to blame for the actions of your father, but then again, the chance of that was very slim; you had been trying to convince him for years, one petty argument wasn't gonna change anything.

you didn't waste any time returning to your house the second you arrived back, too overwhelmed with fury to care about much else. you trudged up your stairs and threw yourself on your bed, burying your face in the mattress, allowing yourself to find refuge in the soft material. tears found their way from your eyes into the cloth, absorbing it along with all your sorrows — you weren't one for self pity but you desperately wanted answers, wanted forgiveness for crimes you hadn't committed, and most importantly you wanted your best friend back. was there really nothing that could be done to mend what your father had broken? you didn't want to blame him but you did, you resented him for what he did and what he caused. everyday for the past 3 years you sat and pondered in a puddle of ‘what if’s — what if your dad hadn't lost it? what if he was successful? what if carl never blamed you? still, nothing changed the present, you were still left without carl by your side.

you hear a sigh in your doorway, jolting up to see maggie standing there with crossed arms,

“I told them it wasn't a good idea to send you guys together.”

you couldn't help but laugh as she approached you, taking a seat next to you.

“you're probably the only smart one out of them.”

“what happened?”

maggie and you were never really close, because, frankly, you weren't close with anyone anymore, but she seemed to care and notice things and you appreciated that; you trusted her. “he thinks it's my fault, he doesn't say it but I can tell. he thinks I don't care— it's like he's convinced I'm heartless.”

“with the way you sit in here crying about it, I doubt you're heartless, he just needs someone to be angry at.”

you nodding, a soft sight leaving your lips, “yeah, I just wish it wasn't me.”

a slight frown was all she gave in response, resting her hand on your shoulder for a moment in a brief attempt of comfort before getting up to exit your room. you listened to her footsteps become distant as she descended down the stairs, throwing yourself back against the mattress once she was no longer within earshot.

you guessed she was right, maybe he did just need someone to be mad at and you just happened to be the perfect candidate, how unlucky.

you had no desire to leave your room after the events of today and opted for a nap to cure your exhaustion and hopefully your desolation.

you didn't bother changing into night clothes and instead focused on untying your combat boots, you tossed them to the side and crawled under the comforter, relishing in the comforting feeling. it didn't take long for you to become a victim to sleep, quickly drifting off and being met with a blank mind.

sleep was the ultimate painkiller, that was something you stood by, but with the apocalypse it was just about as hard to come by as ibuprofen. when you did get the privilege of sleeping you took it as a delicacy, you used it to let your mind stray away from carl and instead become blank or filled with dreams. nightmares were rare for you, but the select few times you did have them were nothing major so you never worried about it like others did, which you suppose made you lucky.

you were awakened by the sound of knocking on your window.

you weren't sure what time it was but you were certain it was late. your hand immediately found its way to the knife you had on your nightstand, you kept a tight grip on it as you approached your window as quietly as you could. you pulled the curtains aside to get a view of who caused the noise, you felt your body go rigid at the sight, the knife in your hand falling to the floor and clattering on the hardwood.

carl grimes. carl grimes sat crouched in front of your window.

once you came down from your shock enough to move, you opened the window, moving aside so he could climb in. he landed on your floor with a soft thud, immediately standing to his full height and stretching, his gaze lingering on you as he did so.

“why are you here?” the words came out soft and unthreatening unlike you had intended, your voice wavering slightly. he moved away from you take a seat on your bed, waiting for you to take the spot next to him,

“I wanna talk.”

you got the hint and sat down next to him, staring at your lap, avoiding making eye contact with him. “okay.”

“you were right— today when we were out, you were right. you didn't do anything, shane did. I was just angry, I wanted to be mad at shane, to take it out on him, but he's gone so I took it out on you, his daughter. when it happened it all felt the same and I never let it go, I never even allowed myself to think about it. I saw you and saw shane and that's all it took I guess.”

“I'm not my father, carl.” your broken voice confirmed, the tears from earlier resurfacing and streaming down your cheeks. you've waited years for this conversation and when you finally get the opportunity to have it every last emotion managed to find its way to the surface.

“I know, I see that now. I'm sorry.”

“why wouldn't you just talk to me? I could've told you that a while ago, I shouldn't have had to wait 3 years for you to finally come to your senses and realize that my father is the one who went crazy, not me. I shouldn't have had to mourn a friendship that could've been so much more if you would've just noticed that.” your tear filled eyes rose to look at him, your stare asking him every question you've asked yourself over the years, showing him all the confusion, the anger, the sadness.

“I couldn't. I just couldn't.”

“that's not enough, carl! I want answers, I deserve answers!”

“because I was in love with you! I was in love with you and I couldn't be in love with you then!”

you froze, your eyes widening in shock, “…what?”

“I was in love with you and I knew you were in love with me too, I couldn't handle it. I was mad at you for something you didn't even do and I couldn't bear being around you knowing all I could see was him and what he did while I still loved you.”

you sobbed. you couldn't do more than that. he was right, you had been in love with him and you still were, he knew why you were so upset — he knew that your longing was for more than friendship. what had happened wasn't fair, not just to you, but to him too; you finally understood why he acted the way he did and now you couldn't bring yourself to be angry with him, all you could feel was despair. you felt him wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer to him and you couldn't help but lean into him while continuing to cry.

“I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner.”

a/n: I made this a long time ago and scrapped it, but the story I'm working on right now is not coming together as I had hoped and I feel bad about the lack of uploads so I hope you enjoy this and I'm sorry I haven't been posting!!

masterlist

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natewriteslol · 5 months ago

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Rumors: pt.1

Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: Vil and you have had a semi one sided rivalry as soon as your time at NRC began. However, the feud soon has to be put aside to stop an anonymous gossip blog attempting to ruin yours and possibly other students’ reputation. Will you and Vil be able to find whoever is behind this? Or will you be a fallen victim to those who call themselves, ‘The Catacombs?’

══════════════════════════════

Ever since your explosive introduction at Night Raven, you always had the tendency to stick out like a sore thumb, captivating everyone with minimal effort. You didn’t belong here amongst wizards, beastmen,merfolk and royals, yet you managed to fit right in.

I think that was what really pissed him off, especially since he had worked so hard in order to accomplish what you do, impressing others and having eyes on him. However Vil had quickly got over it, his success wasn’t measured by popularity and validation from others, and he shouldn’t worry about a measly nobody that could never hold a candle to him. Instead, the dorm leader focused on keeping peace within his life, enjoying the routine and tranquility.

Which just wasn’t your thing.

You were clumsy, loud and did things your own way with no regard for how others felt. He did give you credit for you having the confidence to be yourself and being extremely empathetic to those who needed it.

Maybe the tipping point was you seeing him in his most vulnerable state, watching him overblot and lose control in envy against one of the people he hated the most. You were there to solve the issue and stop him alongside your friends. And worst of all he heard you point it out to them, believing that no one could hear your whispers.

But he heard every word.

‘He completely lost it over Neige, I’m glad we got it under control,’ he heard you say quietly to Ace and Deuce.

Later on, you decided to offer him a juicebox as he sat on the empty auditorium stage…

Apple flavored.

Which he swears on his unique magic that you did that on purpose to spite him, a sick joke that only made his distaste for you stronger. It felt like you knew exactly what to do at every moment to make him lose it, like yelling “on accident” when he needs to master a potion formula, saying something crude in the lunch room, the way it seems everyone is obsessed with you.

And of course it was extremely shocking to Rook when his dorm leader had begun re-explaining his disdain for the new kid at school. Despite laying back on the dark purple bedding that would make anyone relax and the sunset pink lighting from the lamp, Vil was far from calm. He had to recount the latest anger-inducing incident to his friend during their “sleepovers” on a Friday night, being wary of his not yet fully dried mauve nail polish as he talked with his hands.

It was this day that really made him angry, his last straw as some would say. He held his pen as he wrote notes busily into his notebook, heavily invested in order to pass the upcoming exam. It was wonderful, as the class was quiet just as he liked it, allowing him to fully concentrate and absorb the contents of the slide show created by Professor Crewel.

However, it was easy to hear a decrepit wooden door close in the pin-drop silent classroom. As the black and white man’s back was turned to the class, reading out the text of the slides to the class, you, Y/N L/N thought you could be slick enough to be unscathed by Crewel’s wrath

You being late was more set in stone than the heat within the land of the Scalding Sands it seems. Your satchel was barely slung on your shoulder with your weird, round cat creature barely catching up behind, and it was just Vil’s luck that he had to be the poor sap that had the only seat that was available amongst the many wooden tables. Crewel began scolding you as you fumbled in your seat, and whilst onlookers found it hilarious they wouldn’t dare look or let out a snicker at the scene. Your nervousness made you fumble your belongings in your bag as you attempted to get out your pen and notebook, your arm would touch his.

Making him neglect his usual manners and his side-eye of judgment fell upon you. Of course you didn’t notice as he began to study your features, the look of panic flooding your face. Although, this moment of looking at you ended up being a grave mistake.

“Mr. Schoenheit, if there is a huge problem with L/N being late to the point where your eyes can’t be bothered to take notes on the slides vital for your final then you will be delighted to join us in a discussion after class,” Crewell spat, his anger piercing the air.

His lilac eyes quickly reverted to the projector placed in front of the usual chalkboard. He was embarrassed yet no one could judge him or usually break out in whispers, in fear that they would be included in the punishment. Vil cursed at himself internally but that damn out of season, raggedy bag you carried was enough of a distraction, not counting the person attached to it.

All throughout the lecture, the actor had prayed that Crewell would forget about the mishap completely as there was an hour of class remaining, yet it had appeared that luck was not on his side at all.

He had tried to flee with the crowd of students rushing out the door, hoping no one would pay him any mind. But after he made one sharp movement to get out of his seat-

“Mr. Schoenheit!”

Shit.

Everyone had completely rushed out, with some snickering at the scene, not wanting to be there when the scolding would ensue as entertaining as it may be to see.

“Care to join us in the conversation like I suggested earlier?” Obviously this was not a yes or no question and Vil had no choice in the matter, but nodded out of courtesy.

“Yes, Professor,” Vil replied, coming down the short steps from his seat in the front row, not making even a hint of eye contact with you.

“I understand that the action of lateness pesters you heavily, Mr. Schoenheit. Does it not?”

“...Well, yes it does, Mr. Crewel. However, I promise that another incident like this will never happen again and I will be sure to mind my business more when it comes to fellow students,” Vil said, wanting to spit out some words that could please his teacher into letting him go off the hook.

“Despite being an actor, lying truly isn’t your area of expertise, young pup,” Crewel replied quickly, keeping a hand steady on the pointer he held. He then turned to you, his look softening as despite you not being an astounding student, Crewel favored you very much. Once again your formula of minimal efforts yet good results was absolutely infuriating to him.

“I truly worry about you Y/N, as along with your grades, your attendance along with Grim’s as a default are. I will be having a meeting with Crowley about the extra work he has you doing on campus to allow you to live here as well. However, I will be suggesting a partner assignment that is extra credit for the both of you.”

“I mean no disrespect Mr. Crewel, but I personally am in need of no extra credit whatsoever. I have a 99.5 percent in this class which will obviously be rounded by the grading admin,” Vil explained with a slight laugh in his voice. You rolled your eyes as it was plain to see that the blonde was putting you down. Sure you may not have a 90 something percent, but he didn’t have gnomes gnawing on his ankles this morning that he had to take care of himself with no magic.

But Crewel just looked at him with a concerned look, he was no stranger to shade being thrown and he was not about to tolerate that disrespect. He then explained as he moved to his desk organizing papers , “Oh dear, it looks like you have a bit of incorrect info dear pup. The grading admin stopped rounding this year due to academic dishonesty and such. Also I must add that you and Y/N had gotten the exact same test score, a C- if I remember. And with this being a huge difference from your usual scores, this will drag you down, I fear.”

The blonde’s breath hitched, he would be fucked for this semester and although not royally, that lack of satisfaction would eat him alive. That last exam Vil had little to no time to study due to his role as a villain in “Love Conquers All” on MovieFlix but of course karma stops for no one.

“A way we could solve this though is through our extra credit tutor program. Both of you enroll, Schonheit tutors you and makes sure you get to class on time, and if there is improvement then both of you benefit. And Mr. Schonheit will get the satisfaction he craves for his grades.”

"Does that sound like a plan?" Crewel had waited for a nod from the both of you, but Vil quickly rejected that notion faster than Ruggie could snatch someone’s wallet.

"How do I know that they will honor their promise, Professor? I am a very busy person and I do not wish to waste my time with someone who does not take things seriously,"

But you found his cocky attitude completely unbearable at this point. There was no way you were going to allow him to speak as if you weren’t standing right next to him. “I actually do take things seriously, please don't act as though you know me,” you said blankly, actually looking at Vil while talking for once.

"Excuse me?" Vil replied, he was thrown off completely due to you being completely silent this entire conversation.

"Listen, I don't flunk because I don't want to and I don't show up late because I want to. I'm willing to fix it if Crowley changes the work schedule because it's virtually impossible to be a handyman and student all at once sometimes," you clarified.

"I am an honorable person," you held out your hand to Crewel "and I swear I will change. I just need some help."

Crewel smiled, enjoying the fire in your spirit to stand up for yourself. You then turned to Vil, holding out your hand with a stern expression and as unsettled as he was he took your hand in his gloved one and shook it.

"Good choice my pups, I know you both won't regret this."

But despite having many differences, you both thought the same thing.

‘Yeah right.’

~~~

After the dramatic retelling, the man grabbed the golden, hand held mirror on his night stand to pluck his eyebrows, carrying on his irritated commentary, “So now I have to watch over them like a babysitter. Can you believe this?”

“Ah, Roi du Poison I do feel sorry for this causing you so much stress, but don’t you believe the little Trickster could hold their end of the bargain?” Rook questioned, as afterall, you were a good friend of his and he knew you of all people could keep a promise. It was always in your heart to get things done, regardless of how you feel about it.

“Oh please, I will give it a week, Rook,” he replied, hyper fixated on evening the arches of his brows only for Epel with sleepiness intertwined still in his walk, wondering what the cause of the angry tone of voice from Vil was for.

“What’s going on, you guys?” Epel questioned with a yawn.

But Vil snapped his fingers in recall, completely ignoring the question, “Ah, Epel you just reminded me, remember when we were walking to class and L/N had come up to you, ruffled your hair and such and was very curt with me? What even was that?”

“...”

“What is it?”

“Vil, Y/N is really aware you don’t like them. They actually talked to me about it today,” Epel explained bluntly.

Rook nodded in agreement, facing the vanity mirror as he peeled off his face mask“Oui, they try their best to not look at you even.”

Vil paused in thought, he didn’t think he made his dislike toward you so obvious but I guess it was quite the contrary.

“They don’t go spreadin’ but they told us, they’re cool about it though,” the lavender haired boy quickly added, not wanting to make anything worse for you.

But it didn’t necessarily matter whether or not you both liked one another, what mattered is that you got the job done by solving your faulty grades and attendance. Dislike is just a small hiccup, plus there were plenty of justifiable reasons as to why Vil did not like you, despite being told otherwise from everyone. However, he didn’t face repercussions nor are there heavy consequences for an opinion after all.

BUZZ.

The trio’s phones either vibrated or let out a cheery notification. Even from the door open ajar to the rest of the dorm, you could hear the different sound effects from student’s devices. The odd coincidence made them all look at their phones at the same time to look at what it was.

“This just in for some hot new gossip! I heard from a little birdy that the fairest of them all is viciously bullying the new transfer from a whole new world. But…they’re being partnered up to tutor by Crewel! Looks like all beauty doesn’t come with grace :(

-The Catacombs”

“The hell is this?” Epel said quietly, staring at the anonymous text message. It wasn’t a registered number, instead it was an auto programming since it was only five numbers reading: 88709.

“Oh mon dieu, Roi du poisson,” Rook uttered, unknowing of what to say, going from looking horrified at his phone to his dorm leader for any type of response.

By then the phone notification of Vil’s was ringing out of control, and he could hear Pomefiore members’ reactions to such an appalling message. He was receiving texts non-stop from multiple people asking him all the same questions,

Is it true?

Why he would put someone down like that?

Why does he have a problem with Y/N?

But a text from one specific person ate him alive completely.

Jack:

Hey, I don’t know if you saw the message

He quickly typed to the beastman in attempt to defend himself, knowing what they both went through together as children. Vil couldn’t let Jack of all people misinterpret him as this bully to his good friend.

Vil:

I would never bully anyone, nor do I waste my energy on people I don’t like. The stress ages you too much

Are you seriously going to believe this anonymous crap over me Jack?

Jack:

I’ll talk to you later.

It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I have never heard the nicest things about you from them.

Something like this absolutely could not get out to the public, bullying scandals can completely drag down a career as almost everyone goes through that traumatic experience of being casted aside because you’re different. And he would never be a monster like that toward someone, but playing villains in countless movies and tv shows would make it seem completely believable.

It was them who most definitely put out that rumor, and Vil didn’t care whether it was late at night, or if Rook and Epel wanted him to stop.

He was paying a visit.

~~~

With nothing planned and being extremely exhausted, this might’ve been the slowest moving Friday night you’ve ever experienced. And while you haven’t been inclined to care too much about what people say about you, to say you weren’t haunted by your encounter with Vil would be an understatement. Of course you were well aware of his distaste for you, but today it just felt as though it reached a boiling point with the way he was acting. But to take your mind off of it, you freshened up after a long day in class, slipped on something comfortable, put your phone on “Do Not Disturb” and decided to watch some movies on your laptop whilst eating snacks with Grim. After all, you deserved a reward as it would be the last day of relaxation before you had to lock down completely on your education.

Your cat and yourself ended up nodding off to sleep on your couch easily due to the calming environment of your house, as the ghosts decided to take a hint on the mood you were in and were extremely quiet. As both of you were catching up on needed rest, you heard an excessive pounding on your door. Whoever this was, it felt like they were about to break down your door with how aggressive they were knocking.

Grim nearly attached to the ceiling with fear, making you yelp in fear, naturally frightened to answer the door to see who was behind that hostility. Your eyes bolted to your tall case clock, the time reading 10:32pm, the late time didn’t ease your anxiety whatsoever.

However, after adjusting to your surroundings, you decided that you needed to answer as to whoever was continuing to hammer on your door as it was giving you a headache. Neglecting your human world instincts of not opening doors to strangers, you walked up to your tall mahogany door, only to find your favorite person on the other side.

Vil Schoenheit.

His face was painted with true anger that you’ve only seen during his overblot, “You have some goddamn nerve writing that shit about me.”

You were absolutely frazzled and confused overall, “What even are you talking about? And why are you at my house?”

“Answer your fucking phone and you will find out,” the blonde replied noxiously, watching your every move believing that you were trying to play stupid with him.

As you opened your phone screen, your eyes were lit up by notifications, as everyone and their mother had texted and called you in a matter of minutes.

But one message sat completely unfamiliar coming from that fateful, 5 digit number.

It was horrible and beyond untrue, even though he didn’t like you, you would never stretch it to bullying. Maybe as a joke amongst friends but never to be taken seriously. And as you digested that everyone had gotten this text message and with him being a celebrity this would do heavy damage. And whoever wrote this was out to get you both as many are absolutely in love with Vil, others hate bullying and hearing a glorified superstar being accused of such horrible things would make tabloids run with this story.

This was a complete lose lose situation.

You looked up to see Vil hovering over you, watching you like a hawk, you swore you saw his eye twitch with irritation, “I would never write something like this. And listen I am so sorry-”

“Who else would write something like this? Do you think I’m a damn fool-?” A small hand on his shoulder cut off his angry tirade progressing as he was about to move forward.

“Vil, we are going to get nowhere if you just get angry and lose control, now Y/N do you have any clue as to who would write something like this?” your friend Epel questioned kindly, juxtaposing his dorm leader completely.

“Not exactly, I don’t hate Vil at all like that and I wouldn’t spend my Friday night making up shit like that and you can check all of my technology,” you defended, offering your phone.

His suspicion got the better of him, snatching it out of your phone Vil scrolled through your phone messaging history. And despite going against his suspicion, he didn’t have any concrete proof that you were the culprit.

So until then, he guessed that you were just as wronged as him.

~~~

You all quickly moved to the inside of your house, both to get away from the cold night air, but also to get out of sight as to anyone who could be watching all of you right now. To say that this made all of you, especially you and Vil paranoid wasn’t an over exaggeration. Beginning to theorize with your two friends as to who would write something like this about you two. But unfortunately, every possible “lead” you had was just a dead end, no clear motive, but then again who would need a motive for a stunt like this. It was obvious that attention was what they craved, to drive both of you up the wall and unfortunately they succeeded.

“All they gave is a nickname, but any phone number could be tracked to a specific device used,” You said, as student announcements used 5 digit numbers all of the time, this person had to be skilled in tech.

Vil leached off of your theory, “The catacombs is quite a gothic name afterall, we need to search Ignihyde or Diasomnia.”

“Why them? That seems stereotypical” you asked, feeling argumentative on such a baseless theory.

“Because, Ignihyde is the most technologically advanced dorm, and Diasomnia students seem like the type to enjoy playing tricks like this anyway,” Vil explained as if it were obvious, his sharp gaze never leaving yours as he spoke.

While the flames of his anger had been flamed, it seemed as though his disdain for you was more permanent than a wine stain on a wedding dress. Never fleeting even during this moment of vulnerability from both ends, but you had no energy to begin bickering about it.

“Roi du poisson et mon Trickster, if we want to find whoever is doing this cruel joke, you must put aside your differences and work together,” Rook said, cutting the tension and bringing the platinum blonde back to Earth.

Whilst both of you didn’t want to admit it, the archer was right. If you wanted to figure this out you couldn’t be at each other's throats, fighting one another constantly. Otherwise you would accomplish little to nothing.

And there was no way ‘The Catacombs’ could be hidden forever, and you would make sure to uncover the skeletons within it.

~~~

A/N: Hi everyone! This fic takes inspo from an amazing novel that I read called "Ace of Spades" please read it its absolutely fantastic and the author is a genius. Thank you for bearing with me for the long time it takes to pump out content, you guys are amazing and it's always great to have opportunities to write.

xoxo, Nate <3

Taglist: (pls let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!!)

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cherryredstars · 6 months ago

Note

hiiii!!!! This is my first request so please bear w/ me. Ok ok so imagine us working at the spider society and going on a mission to a shady universe, in it were kidnapped by a yandere Miguel ohara that exists in that universe and the real one has to come and save us.

thank you so much!!!!! I think you’ll be hearing more of my yapping soon 😋

-🕺

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, Spitting, Slapping, Slightly Yandere!Miguel

A/N: I can’t wait to see you in my inbox again!

Unedited

He was so… nice.

He looked exactly like your Miguel, unsurprising considering he was a variant. But it was the same build, same breathtaking smile. Just a bit more easygoing, less stress planted on his shoulders. So easy to trust with his saccharine words and perfectly timed head tilts.

Real nice your ass.

Your eyes are narrowed as you take in this imposter, arms tugging at the restraints around your wrists and ankles. The fake only smiles at you, the look behind it wicked and irritated. You bite down on a groan when his hand roughly grabs your hair, titling your head back as his other hand squeezes around your throat. It restricts your airflow greatly, but doesn’t suffocate you completely.

“You’re so cute.” He sighs almost dreamily, using his grip on your hair to move your face around to study every angle. “But you would be so much cuter if you didn’t struggle, no?”

You let saliva gather on your tongue before you spit it at him. It bubbles on his cheek, and his smile drops momentarily as he lets go of your neck. His thumb comes up to flick the saliva away, locking eyes with you as he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks. Your nose scrunches in disgust, and he lets out a chuckle as he removes his thumb from his mouth and boops your nose teasingly.

“What’s with the face, huh?” He asks with a tilted head and smile. “It makes you look silly.”

You sneer at him, trying to turn your face away from him the best you can with him still holding your hair. Miguel shakes his head with a chuckle, his grip getting tighter to the point you swear he pulled out a few strands. Your eye twitches slightly from the dull pain, and you have to draw out a long breath through your nose. Miguel’s wet thumb comes up to your face, dragging the wetness over your bottom lip.

He tries to force his thumb into your mouth, but you keep it sealed shut. Miguel grunts in displeasure, eyes darkening as his hand suddenly comes up and slaps you across the cheek. You choke on your gasp as he surges his thumb into the opening, pressing down on your tongue hard. You gag from the pressure, a shiver running up your spine in distaste.

Miguel hums in approve, his eyes lightening slightly as he begins to smile again. “See, now that’s my go-“

His sentence is cut off when he’s thrown off of you, crashing into the wall. His head bounces off with a sickening thud, but you know it only knocked him out. Your eyes stray from the alternate Miguel, searching the dim lighting until you make out his build. The real Miguel stands in front of you, slapping his hands together in disdain as if getting rid of dust or dirt.

His glowing red eyes meets yours, and you smile bashfully at him, “Hey, Miguel.”

He rolls his eyes with a grunt, his claws extended as he reaches for the restraints. He has a look of displeasure on his face as he shakes his head, grumbling under his breath as he breaks through them. Each of your limps fall one by one, the burning skin sighing in relief when the tight cuffs are gone. He’s already prepared to catch your slightly elevated body when the last chain breaks off, and you fall into his arms with a slight huff.

He slowly eases you down, letting your toes skim the floor before he lets you go. You dust your suit off, looking up at him with gratitude.

“Thanks.”

He rolls his eyes again, crossing his arms over his chest and quirking a brow. “What am I supposed to do with you, huh, mi vida?”

You let out a shy chuckle, cheeks heating up as your hand comes up to rub at the back of your neck.

“Save me from insane versions of you?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, muttering something in Spanish as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He glares at you as his hand comes up to give the back of your head a light slap. You yelp in surprise, shooting him your own glare as you grumble.

“Okay, smart mouth. Let’s get you out of here.” Miguel grumbles as he presses some things on his watch and a portal opens to HQ.

You sigh in relief giving him one last smile as you walk through before him. Miguel watches as you step completely through before turning his head to his variant. His eyes are twitching with consciousness, and Miguel sneers. He lets the portal die behind him as he turns away, approaching his twin.

The world is better off with one less Miguel, anyways.

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redvexillum · 2 months ago

Text

Of course, anonnie! This is flufftober after all. I would like to dedicate this story to my wife @nyx-umbrakinesis, my poor nyxy has been feeling unwell. Here's to all the readers battling chronic pain - Alastor will hug it all better!

Pain coursed through every fibre of your being, muscles burning and twitching as they stretched and strained beyond endurance. Each breath was a test of your will, your jaw clenched tightly that the insides of your cheeks ached. The tremors that wracked your body were almost too much to bear, and you wondered, as you always did, if this was your eternal punishment.

Hell was your new home, but to be condemned to carry the same human frailties, the same agonizing ailments that followed to the grave? It was almost too cruel, yet, fitting for where you were.

Perhaps even God had abandoned you. You weren’t just damned – you were forgotten, left to rot with the relentless pain that burrowed deep into your bones, a ceaseless torment that whispered you deserve this.

Some days, you could push through it, the ache a dull roar in the background of your suffering. But today? Today it was unbearable, a storm of agony that left you feeling raw, broken and utterly lost.

Your eyes flickered toward Alastor, who stood across the room, his ever-present grin almost sharp, as if it hid the grimace of someone witnessing something distasteful. He adjusted his bow tie with a haughty scoff, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes – a glimmer of impatience, perhaps, or even frustration. You couldn’t be sure.

Still, you forced a smile. It was all you could offer him, even if the effort to do so made your body scream in protest. Alastor had been your saving grace when you first arrived in this forsaken place – lost, terrified, and utterly alone. Like a fragile, starving kitten, you had been desperate for shelter, and he had taken you in. You had never quite understood why, but you hadn’t dared question it.

Now, your fingers absently played with the silk scarf around your neck, its vivid red a stark contrast against the dim, oppressive atmosphere of Hell. It was one of the many gifts Alastor had given you over time, though you never felt deserving of them.

He had always showered you with such extravagance, his gestures grand and unapologetically bold, as though he were trying to fill the empty spaces inside you that the pain had carved out.

You were just a mere assistant to Alastor, though his enemies would disagree and call you his pet. Perhaps, in a way, they were right. You were always there, just a step behind him, tending to his whims, assisting with his daily tasks, ensuring you were never far from his side. You didn’t care what you were in Alastor’s or anyone’s eyes. It was the happiest you had ever been – in life and death.

Chronic pain had been your constant companion, dragging you into a void of loneliness so deep it became an invisible wound, festering beneath the surface until it felt like it would swallow you whole. No one had ever seen it, no one had ever cared to notice the quiet suffering that gnawed at your very being.

Until Alastor.

He was Hell’s most feared Overlord, his power, and reputation, enough to make even demons tremble. But to you, he was something else entirely – something inexplicably special. He was the only one who had ever been able to stop that wound from consuming you completely, as though his very presence cauterized the edges of your loneliness and dulled the pain that tormented your body, keeping them from spreading further.

“Can you believe it?” Alastor’s voice broke through your thoughts, his tone dripping with exaggerated disdain as he fiddled with his bow tie for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “I swear, who would've guessed being an Overlord is nothing more than babysitting fools!” He sniffed, his ears twitching flat before springing upright again in irritation.

You managed a soft laugh, though it felt weaker than usual. The first wave of pain hit, sharp and persistent, but you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t. If you continued to burden him too much, if you became too much of a hassle, he might leave you – just like everyone else had. That thought terrified you more than the pain itself.

Your steps were uneven as you moved to pick up Alastor’s pinstriped coat, every motion sending a fresh jolt of agony through your body. But you swallowed it down, took a deep breath, and forced yourself to smile. You had learned how to reign in the pain, to push it down until you were alone, where it couldn’t burden anyone but yourself. If you could just keep it together until he left, then you could handle it on your own.

You always did.

“Here you go, Alastor,” you said, your voice gentle as you held up his coat with a bright, cheerful smile that felt more like a mask. “Maybe today won’t be so bad.” You beamed, pushing the brightness of your smile to its limit. “Oh! I could also stop by your favourite butcher shop while you’re out, pick up some of your favourite cuts for you!”

Alastor sighed, a wistful sound, as if indulging in a well-worn ritual. He raised his arms, allowing you to slip the coat over his shoulders, your movements slow and careful despite the pain gnawing at your every joint. “You truly are, my sweet darling,” he murmured, his voice soft as he straightened the coat, then brushed back his bangs and adjusted his monocle with that same practised grace.

You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you watched him preen, admiring his own reflection. “Alastor, you look perfect,” you said, your tone warm, the smile on your face genuine for a fleeting moment as you saw his tail twitch beneath the back of his coat. He’d always told you it was an involuntary ailment of some sort, something you shouldn’t worry about, but you found it endearing all the same.

But even as you laughed and shared in that small moment, the pain remained – a shadow lurking beneath your skin, waiting for the moment you could finally let it show. You were determined, though.

You would never let it burden him.

Not Alastor.

He was too important, too precious to risk losing.

Sweat clung to your skin, rolling down your temples as the pain intensified, pressing on your chest like a crushing weight. Each breath you took felt like dragging air through shattered lungs, but you forced yourself to smile, as you always did, your hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer.

But this prayer wasn’t to God. No, you prayed to Satan, to Hell itself – please, just let you hold out until Alastor left. The physical agony was nothing compared to the thought of being abandoned again, swallowed by the suffocating emptiness of your own solitude.

Alastor’s sigh, deep and exasperated, cut through the haze of your pain. He turned toward you sharply, his eyes narrowing, and your entire body tensed in response. You straightened up, biting back the tremors that threatened to ripple through you, squeezing your hands together so hard your knuckles turned white.

He cocked his head, studying you, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through the mask you wore.

“Are you in pain, darling?”

The question sent a chill down your spine. Your heart lurched, and for a moment, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Fear gripped you, cold and relentless.

For you knew, no one wanted to deal with someone else’s burden. You had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Every time someone asked you that question, you saw it – their faces, vivid in your mind’s eye.

Faces twisted in frustration, exasperation, and annoyance.

Faces that silently screamed, why won’t you just get better? Why won’t you go away?

Faces that turned cold and indifferent, backs turned as they walked away, leaving you behind, hoping you would simply disappear��– too much trouble, too much of a drain on their time, energy, resources.

It had always been the same.

Always.

But with Alastor, it was different. For the first time, you felt needed.

You felt wanted.

When the pain became too much, he would hold you, comfort you. But how many times? How many times could he bear your weakness before he decided you weren’t worth the effort? Alastor loathed babysitting fools, and you feared becoming just that – a burden he’d eventually grow tired of carrying.

Desperation clawed at your throat as you forced out a laugh, the sound far too bright, too strained. “I-I’m not in pain, Alastor,” you stammered, but even as your words left your lips, your voice betrayed you, trembling and unsteady.

You tried to shake your head, but the movement threw your balance, and you stumbled, nearly collapsing under the weight of your own failing body. Shame burned deep inside you. Oh, how you despised this weakness, this cursed body that refused to let you be anything other than fragile and broken. You would give anything – anything – to be strong, to be whole...

To not be a burden.

“A-aren’t you going to be late?” you pushed, your voice a little too eager, too desperate to change the subject. “The other Overlords, they always kick up a fuss when you miss their meetings...”

But Alastor wasn’t fooled. His eyes narrowed further, dark and calculating, and he bent low until his gaze was level with yours. His red, clawed hands reached out, and you flinched despite yourself.

He gripped your cheeks, squeezing just enough that your lips puckered together like a fish, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for some hidden truth. He turned your head from side to side, examining you as though you were a fragile specimen he didn’t quite understand.

“Darling,” he sighed, letting go of your face at last, though the weight of his scrutiny lingered. He began to shrug off his jacket, the smooth fabric whispering against his skin as it slid to the floor. “I’ve told you many times before,” his voice softened, but there was a warning there, sharp as the claws he extended, “if you’re in pain, you are to let me know immediately.”

His words were firm, but they stirred a new kind of fear inside you. The fear of how far you could push him before he finally grew tired of you. Before he saw you for what you truly were – an unbearable, broken thing.

Guilt, thick and suffocating, clung to you like a weight you continued to bear. The apology burned on your tongue, heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing Alastor could do to fix your pain. “It’s not bad, really,” you murmured, but the words fell flat between you. It was too late. Alastor’s fingers wrapped firmly around your hand, pulling you deeper into his room, into the place he had made for you.

He had brought a bed into his room, just for you – a place to rest, though he himself barely needed sleep, if at all. The gesture alone was enough to send a pang of guilt straight through your heart, sharper than the pain that gripped your body.

Gently, he guided you to sit, and then, with an almost reverent care, he pushed at your shoulder, coaxing you to lay down. You obeyed, but the guilt gnawed at you like a beast with insatiable hunger, tearing at the edges of your mind.

When Alastor finally laid beside you, he opened his arms wide, a signal that had become a private ritual between the two of you – an unspoken invitation for comfort when the pain became too much.

Hesitantly, shyly, you inched toward him, slowly closing the distance until your face pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you as his arms wrapped around you with a tenderness you didn’t deserve.

It felt...safe. Too safe.

Too good to be true.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you as if he would never let go. And yet, as comforting as it was, every ounce of gratitude you felt began to sour, twisting into a cold knot of fear deep inside.

Until when?

How long could this last?

How many times would he hold you, rearrange his life around your fragility, before the day came when it was all too much?

Tears burned in your eyes, but you fought them back. You refused to cry. Not again. Not when this ritual – this twisted dance of comfort and guilt – only deepened your fears, choking the breath from you in ways the pain never could.

Each time he held you, each time you ruined his plans, each time you dared to hope that maybe this could last forever, it only hurt more. The guilt, the fear, the shame – it stole the air from your lungs, hollowed you out from the inside.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your body began to shiver uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered again, squeezing your eyes shot, biting your lips until you tasted the faint tang of blood.

You wouldn’t cry. You couldn’t. It was your fault his day was ruined once more, your fault you couldn’t be stronger...

... your fault that you couldn’t...just get better.

“Come now, darling,” Alastor’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, still bright, still full of that eerie, unsettling joy. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing! How unfortunate for you to have to endure such a pesky illness. But fear not!” His cheek pressed against the top of your head, nuzzling you with a comforting affection. “I’m sure we’ll find a cure soon!”

A cure. You’d given up on that a long time ago. The hope of it had dried up, shrivelled into dust. But you couldn’t bear to let him see that.

So, you did what you always did – you played along, forcing yourself to believe in his boundless confidence.

“Really?” your voice trembled, the unshed tears making it sound fragile, like it could break at any moment. “If you say so...it must be true.”

Alastor hummed in response, pleased, his grip tightening around you as if he could squeeze away the pain with sheer will. The silence that followed was thick but not oppressive, filled only by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his breathing slow and calm – a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and the storm inside you stilled, if only just.

Your fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of his shirt, tracing the smooth lines, grounding yourself in his presence. You breathed in deeply, the scent of him, a heady mix of something rich and dark – filling your lungs. The warmth of his body seeped into you, thawing the ice that had long encased your lonely heart.

And yet, even in the safety of his arms, that question remained.

Until when?

“Alastor...if you ever get tired of me,” your voice wavered, barely more than a whisper as you clung to him, “y-you’d tell me, right?”

He sighed, not in frustration, but in that tired, familiar way, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he pulled you tighter against his chest. “Darling, this again?” his tone was weary, but there was no malice in it, only the weight of a conversation you’d had too many times before.

This was your ritual – one that had repeated itself so many times it was etched into both of you. When the pain came, he held you like this, his arms wrapped around you as if to shield you from the world. He’d talk of a future free from agony, and you’d ask him – beg him – to promise, to swear, that he’d tell you if he ever grew tired of you.

You needed him to know he wasn’t trapped, that you weren’t a cage, a burden he had to carry. He was free – free to walk away whenever he wished because as much as the thought of being left alone terrified you, the idea of being a source of misery for him was worse than any pain you could endure.

“You would, right?” The words came out a little firmer this time, a desperate need to hear the reassurance in his voice, to quiet the gnawing fear in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to capture this moment in your mind – his warmth, his touch – before it could slip away like a fading dream.

“I’m quite fond of our little routine, you know,” Alastor replied, his voice light, teasing, but not without affection. His arms held you firmly, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other played with your hair, his fingers moving from your scalp down to the nape of your neck.

Slowly, gently, they traced the curve of your spine, dragging downwards in a soft soothing stroke. Each caress felt like a whispered promise, his touch tender, calming.

You let out a shaky breath, shivering slightly as you pressed yourself closer to him, craving the comfort his touch brought. There was something hypnotic about the way his fingers glided down your back, a rhythmic motion that grounded you, as if he were coaxing the pain out of you with each gentle stroke.

“Who would brew the perfect cup of coffee for me every morning?” Alastor mused, his lips brushing against the top of your head as he inhaled deeply, savouring the moment. His fingers continued their steady, soothing dance along your back. “Who would accompany me on strolls through town, eagerly listening to me about all the latest gossip with such captivating eyes?” He chuckled, his chest vibrating pleasantly beneath your ear, a sound that brought warmth to your aching soul. “And who else would help me decorate my office every Tuesday?” His tone was light, almost playful.

The last comment pulled a soft laugh from you, a small, involuntary snort escaping your lips. The sound was weak, but genuine, and your arms, trembling from pain, from insecurity, finally wrapped around his waist.

You hugged him back, a little tighter this time, allowing yourself to melt into the comfort of his embrace. The pain, which had been a constant storm raging through your body, faded into a distant rumble, no longer the monster it once was.

“Decorating, huh?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You mean moving everything just slightly to the left, or right?”

“Decorating,” he confirmed with absolute certainty, his voice dripping with confidence, as though no one in Hell could convince him otherwise.

You let out another quiet laugh, burying your face into his chest, letting the warmth of him wash over you. His fingers continued their steady path up and down your spine, each touch as soft and delicate as a kiss.

It was moments like this that made the pain bearable, moments when it was just the two of you – safe, together, and for just a little while, the world outside couldn’t touch you, pain couldn't touch you.

A soft trembling laugh escaped your lips, and in that instant, Alastor’s breath hitched, his arms finally pulling you closer with a firm unyielding embrace. It was as if he were afraid you might slip away, and you could feel the tension, the raw emotion behind his usual calm demeanour.

His grip was not just protective – it was possessive, as though the very thought of you leaving was intolerable.

“I don’t very much like change, darling,” Alastor murmured, his voice low, soothing, but laced with an intensity that made your heart clench. His touch, strong yet gentle, was a reassurance, his fingers tracing patterns along your back, grounding you at the moment. “And you,” he continued, with absolute certainty, “are very much a permanent fixture in my life.”

You opened your mouth, starting to protest, to voice your ever-lingering doubts. “Alas-”

But he interrupted, his hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face upward so you could meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, sharp and burning with an almost predatory focus, locked onto yours, filling your vision entirely.

“If you ever wanted to leave me, darling, you should’ve ran away the moment you had crossed my path,” he said softly, his voice a whisper of velvet that held a darker undertone. The hand on your chin was tender, but his grip on you was firm, keeping you close, tethering you to him.

His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and his eyes – oh, his eyes – burned into yours, leaving no room to escape. “You should’ve left before you decided to invade my routine, my space...” His words trailed off, quieter now, as if they held secrets meant only for you. “My mind,” he finished, his grin curling at the edges, tightening with unspoken emotions that he rarely revealed.

There was a deeper meaning hidden in his words, one you didn’t need him to spell out. You could hear it, feel it, as clearly as if he had shouted it. You were his, entwined into the very fabric of his existence, and he had no intention of letting you go.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, a reflection of the overwhelming emotions bubbling within you. Despite the heaviness of it all, you smiled – a bright, genuine smile. “I want to stay with you,” your voice trembled, your desire so familiar, so fragile, as if revealing the very truth that hid in your heart would somehow shatter the delicate balance between you two. “Even if I don’t get better, is it alright,” another tear rolled down your cheek as if expelling the painful memories of your past, “to still stay with you?”

And as always, as you’d heard countless times before, the answer you longed for came, steady and unwavering, grounding you in its certainty.

“Always.” The word slipped from his lips, firm yet soft, sinking into the depths of your heart and settling there like a balm to every wound you carried. He closed his eyes, his head dipping to rest in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Always, darling,” he whispered again, his arms wrapping even tighter around you, as though he feared you’d disappear if he ever let go.

And at that moment, as you lay in his arms, the doubt that had haunted you for so long finally quieted. Because for as long as he whispered those words, for as long as his grip remained steady, you knew this – this bond – would never fade.

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sereinnu · 3 months ago

Text

Fractured Tides

Rafe Cameron x Step-sister!Reader

Despite your efforts to make peace, your stepbrother Rafe's hatred for you persists. Each attempt to bridge the gap only seems to widen the divide, leaving you wondering if you'll ever find common ground in this family.

The Outer Banks were alive with the sounds of summer—the rustle of the breeze through the palm trees, the distant roar of the ocean, and the hum of a world that seemed so far removed from the chaos within Tannyhill. You had lived here for years now, but the house never truly felt like home. It was a place you were forced to adapt to, much like the family you were thrown into when your mother married Ward Cameron.

You were only eight years old then, a wide-eyed child trying to make sense of this new life. But even at that young age, you could sense Rafe's disdain. He was older, already on the cusp of adolescence, and his resentment towards you was palpable. You were the intruder, the outsider who disrupted the Cameron family dynamic.

Now, a decade later, little had changed between you and Rafe. If anything, the years had only deepened the chasm between you. You tried to keep your distance, knowing that your presence in his life was unwanted. But living under the same roof made that nearly impossible.

You were in the kitchen, making a cup of tea when you heard the front door slam. The heavy, hurried footsteps that followed told you it was Rafe. His presence was almost always announced this way—loud, forceful, a storm barreling through the house.

You didn’t have to see him to know he was upset. You could feel it, like a pressure in the air that made your skin crawl. But when Rafe appeared in the doorway, his eyes wild and his hair disheveled, you couldn’t ignore him.

“What happened?” you asked cautiously, not sure if he would answer.

Rafe’s eyes snapped to you, narrowing in that way they always did when he looked at you—like you were something distasteful, something he wished would disappear. “None of your business,” he growled, moving past you to rummage through the cupboards.

You watched him, your fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “I’m just trying to help,” you said softly, knowing your words would likely fall on deaf ears.

He slammed the cupboard door shut, making you flinch. “I don’t need your help,” he spat, turning to face you with a sneer. “You’ve been here for years, and you still don’t get it, do you? You’re not a Cameron. You never were, and you never will be.”

The words stung, even though you had heard variations of them before. But there was something particularly venomous in his tone today, something that made you realize this wasn’t just his usual hostility. He was angry—angrier than usual.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Why do you hate me so much, Rafe? What did I ever do to you?”

Rafe laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You want a list? Because I can start with the fact that you ruined everything. Before you and your mom came along, we were fine. We were a family. But then you showed up, and everything went to shit.”

You shook your head, trying to make sense of his words. “That’s not fair, Rafe. I was just a kid. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snapped. “But here we are, stuck in this fucked-up situation. And every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how much I hate it.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of you. You knew Rafe didn’t like you, but hearing him say it out loud, with such malice, was something else entirely.

For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Rafe’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving. You wanted to say something, to defend yourself, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, rooted to the spot, feeling like the intruder he had always accused you of being.

Finally, Rafe shook his head, as if he were disgusted with himself for even engaging with you. “Just stay out of my way,” he muttered, brushing past you to leave the kitchen.

You watched him go, the tension in your chest slowly easing as the distance between you grew. But the ache his words had left behind didn’t fade. It lingered, a reminder that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be part of this family—not in Rafe’s eyes.

As you stood alone in the kitchen, the house around you seemed to grow colder, the warmth of the summer day outside a cruel contrast to the chill that had settled within. The Outer Banks were supposed to be a paradise, but for you, it was nothing more than a gilded cage, trapping you in a life where you didn’t belong.

And Rafe, with all his anger and resentment, was the constant reminder that you were an outsider—a permanent stain on the perfect Cameron image.

The days following your confrontation with Rafe were tense, but that wasn’t unusual. Tension had become the norm in your life at Tannyhill, and you had learned to navigate it as best you could. But this time, the tension felt different—more personal, more cutting. Rafe's words had sunk deep, and no matter how much you tried to shake them off, they lingered like a bruise that refused to heal.

You spent most of your time avoiding him, retreating to the few places in the house where you could find some semblance of peace. One of those places was the library, a grand room lined with shelves upon shelves of books. It was one of the only rooms in the house that felt like it belonged to another time, another life—somewhere far away from the chaos of the present.

You were there now, curled up in a corner with a book that you weren’t really reading. The words on the page blurred together as your thoughts drifted back to the encounter with Rafe. His anger had always been a part of your life, but now, it felt like something you couldn’t ignore, something that was slowly suffocating you.

The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. You tensed, hoping it wasn’t Rafe. But when you looked up, you saw Sarah standing in the doorway. Her expression was tentative, as if she wasn’t sure she was welcome.

“Hey,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head, offering her a small smile. “Of course not.”

Sarah walked over and sat down beside you, her gaze scanning the room before settling on you. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “You’ve been hiding out in here a lot lately.”

“Just trying to stay out of the way,” you replied, knowing she would understand the implication. Sarah was the one person in the house who tried to bridge the gap between you and the rest of the family. She had always been kind to you, always tried to make you feel included, even when Rafe made it clear that you weren’t.

She sighed, leaning back against the armrest. “I’m sorry about Rafe,” she said quietly. “I know he can be… difficult.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Sarah looked at you, her eyes full of sympathy. “He’s just… he’s been through a lot. But that doesn’t excuse the way he treats you.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. What was there to say? You had known Rafe was troubled from the start, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with his hatred.

“Have you talked to him?” Sarah asked after a moment. “Really talked to him?”

You shook your head. “What’s the point? He’s made it clear how he feels about me. Talking won’t change that.”

Sarah frowned, her fingers twisting a strand of her blonde hair. “Maybe not. But I think he needs to hear that you’re not the enemy. You’re not the reason things changed.”

You knew she was right, but the thought of confronting Rafe again made your stomach turn. “I don’t think he cares about what I have to say, Sarah. He’s always seen me as an outsider, someone who doesn’t belong here. I’m not a Cameron to him, and I never will be.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, as if she was trying to find the right words. “He’s not the only one who gets to decide that,” she said finally. “You’re a part of this family, whether he likes it or not. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide because of him.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t erase the fear that had taken root in you. “I just don’t want to make things worse,” you admitted. “The last thing I want is to set him off again.”

Sarah reached out and placed a hand on your arm. “You won’t. I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can help him see things differently.”

You smiled weakly, appreciating the offer but doubting it would make much of a difference. “Thanks, Sarah. But I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of this.”

“I’m already in the middle,” she said with a small shrug. “But that’s what family is for, right? We stick together, even when things are tough.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. Family was a concept that had always been complicated for you, especially since moving in with the Camerons. But hearing Sarah say it, hearing her include you in that definition, made you realize how much you longed for that connection—for a place where you truly belonged.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I guess it is.”

Sarah gave you a reassuring smile before standing up. “Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit. We can go down to the beach or something. Clear our heads.”

You hesitated, glancing out the window at the fading light. The idea of leaving the safety of the library made you uneasy, but you knew Sarah was trying to help. And maybe getting out of the house, even for a little while, would do you some good.

“Okay,” you agreed, closing your book and standing up. “Let’s go.”

As you followed Sarah out of the library, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. For now, at least, you didn’t have to face Rafe alone. But deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you would have to confront him again—and when that time came, you weren’t sure how it would end.

The two of you walked down the grand staircase, the wooden steps creaking under your feet. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. You tried to push the feeling aside, focusing instead on Sarah’s presence beside you. She was your anchor in this chaotic world, and you were grateful for it.

As you reached the front door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing back down the hallway. It was irrational, but you half-expected Rafe to appear out of nowhere, his anger boiling over once again. But the hall was empty, and the silence remained unbroken.

“Come on,” Sarah urged gently, sensing your reluctance. “It’ll be good to get some fresh air.”

You nodded, finally stepping out onto the porch. The warm evening air greeted you, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed earth. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, the sun dipping below the horizon. It was the kind of evening that should have brought you peace, but the tension in your chest refused to ease.

You followed Sarah down the steps and onto the path that led to the beach. The sand was cool beneath your feet as you kicked off your shoes, the grains slipping between your toes. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing, a rhythmic reminder that the world kept turning, even when it felt like everything else was falling apart.

Sarah walked a little ahead of you, her hair catching the last rays of the sun. She glanced back at you with a smile, trying to draw you into the moment. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favorite time of day.”

You managed a small smile in return. “Yeah, it is.”

The two of you walked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds around you coming from the ocean and the occasional call of a seabird. It was peaceful, almost serene, and you found yourself relaxing just a little. Maybe Sarah was right—maybe this was exactly what you needed.

After a few minutes, Sarah spoke again, her tone more serious. “You know, Rafe wasn’t always like this.”

You glanced at her, curious. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “He was different when we were younger. Before Dad… well, before everything changed. He used to be kind, protective even. But when things started going wrong, he just… I don’t know, he shut down. And then he started acting out, getting into trouble. It’s like he became someone else.”

You listened intently, trying to picture the Rafe she was describing. It was hard to imagine him as anything other than the angry, volatile person you knew now. “What happened?” you asked softly.

Sarah hesitated, as if she were weighing her words carefully. “A lot of things. Mom leaving hit him hard, harder than he let on. And then Dad… he put so much pressure on Rafe to be the man of the house, to live up to this impossible standard. I think it broke something in him.”

You had known about Rafe’s struggles with his father, but hearing it from Sarah made it feel more real. It wasn’t an excuse for his behavior, but it gave you a glimpse of the pain that might be fueling his anger. “I had no idea it was that bad,” you admitted.

Sarah nodded, her expression sad. “He won’t talk about it, not even with me. But I see it in him, every day. He’s drowning, and I don’t know how to help him. And now, with you here, it’s like he’s lashing out because he doesn’t know what else to do.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a surge of empathy for both of them. “I don’t want to make things worse for him, Sarah. I just want to find a way to coexist, to be a part of this family without everything falling apart.”

Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “You’re already part of this family. Don’t let Rafe make you feel like you’re not. He’ll come around eventually. I know he will.”

You wanted to believe her, but a part of you couldn’t shake the doubt. Rafe’s hatred for you ran deep, and you weren’t sure if anything could change that. But for Sarah’s sake, you would try. You owed her that much.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the beach in shadows, you felt a sense of resolve settle within you. You couldn’t change the past, and you couldn’t force Rafe to accept you. But you could control how you responded to him, how you chose to live in this fractured family.

For now, that would have to be enough.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, you and Sarah found a spot to sit on the sand. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and endless, a stark contrast to the earlier warmth of the day. It was as if the world was mirroring your own emotions—caught in a delicate balance between light and darkness, peace and tension.

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you watched the waves. Sarah sat beside you, her gaze also fixed on the horizon. For a while, neither of you spoke, content to just be in each other’s company. The quiet between you was comfortable, a welcome reprieve from the turmoil that so often surrounded you.

But even in the calm, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rafe. His anger, his pain—it was like a storm that loomed over you, always threatening to break. You knew it wasn’t fair to place all the blame on him, but his behavior had shaped so much of your life at Tannyhill. And no matter how much you tried to avoid it, you couldn’t escape the impact he had on you.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Sarah looked at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Different how?”

You sighed, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. I just… I wish things weren’t so complicated. I wish I didn’t feel like I have to tiptoe around Rafe all the time. I wish I could just… be.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I get that,” she said finally. “I wish things were different too. I wish Rafe could see that we’re all on the same side, that we’re family. But it’s like he’s stuck in this loop of anger and resentment, and he can’t break out of it.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of sadness. “Do you think he ever will?”

“I hope so,” Sarah replied, her voice soft. “But I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like he’s so far gone that nothing can reach him. But other times… I see glimpses of the old Rafe, the one who cared about us. I just wish those moments lasted longer.”

Her words echoed your own feelings—this constant push and pull between hope and despair, between believing that things could get better and fearing that they never would. It was exhausting, living with that uncertainty, but it was all you had.

“I don’t know how to help him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I can.”

Sarah turned to you, her eyes filled with empathy. “You’ve already helped him more than you realize. Just by being here, by not giving up on him, you’re doing more than most people would. And I think, deep down, he knows that. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

You looked at her, surprised by her words. “You really think so?”

She nodded, her expression sincere. “I do. Rafe’s angry, but he’s not heartless. He’s just… lost. And maybe, in time, he’ll find his way back. But until then, we just have to keep being there for him, even when it’s hard.”

Her words gave you a small glimmer of hope, something to hold onto in the darkness. Maybe Sarah was right—maybe there was still a chance for Rafe to change, for things to get better. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but you were willing to try. For Sarah, for yourself, and maybe even for Rafe.

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. The air had cooled, and you found yourself shivering slightly. Sarah noticed and nudged you with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s head back. It’s getting cold.”

You nodded, standing up and brushing the sand off your clothes. As you followed Sarah back up the path to the house, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creeping in. The peace you had found on the beach was fleeting, and you knew that once you stepped back inside Tannyhill, the tension would return.

But you couldn’t avoid it forever. You had to face Rafe, and you had to find a way to live in this fractured family. It was the only way things would ever change.

As you approached the house, you caught sight of a figure standing by the front door. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was Rafe. He was leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the glow of the ember illuminating his face in the darkness.

Sarah stiffened beside you, her steps faltering for a moment before she continued forward. You followed her lead, trying to keep your breathing steady as you approached Rafe. His eyes flicked to you, a scowl already forming on his face.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation.

“Just down at the beach,” Sarah replied, her voice calm. “Needed some fresh air.”

Rafe’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing. “What about you? Hiding out again?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… trying to stay out of your way.”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, right. You always have to be where you’re not wanted, don’t you?”

You flinched at his words, the sting of them hitting you harder than you expected. But before you could respond, Sarah stepped in, her tone firm. “Rafe, don’t. She’s just trying to keep the peace.”

Rafe glared at her, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the usual anger. “Whatever,” he muttered, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going out.”

He pushed past you both, his shoulder brushing yours as he walked away. You watched him go, the tension in your chest returning with full force.

“Let him go,” Sarah said quietly, placing a hand on your arm. “He needs to cool off.”

You nodded, your eyes still fixed on Rafe’s retreating figure. As much as you wanted to believe that there was hope for him, moments like this made it hard to hold onto that belief.

But you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t give up. Not yet. Not until you had tried everything.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the house, following Sarah inside. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside, but you forced yourself to push those feelings aside.

For now, all you could do was take it one day at a time, hoping that eventually, the storm would pass, and there would be something left worth saving.

The warmth of the house greeted you as you stepped inside, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled in your bones. The encounter with Rafe had left you rattled, and no matter how much you tried to push it aside, it lingered in the back of your mind like a dark cloud.

As the night grew deeper, Sarah suggested heading to bed, and you agreed. The exhaustion was starting to weigh on you, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes open much longer.

But as you made your way up the stairs and to your room, your mind was still racing, your thoughts still tangled in the web of emotions that had been spun over the course of the day.

You paused outside your door, glancing down the hallway toward Rafe’s room. The door was closed, and the light was off, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

You could feel his presence like a shadow, lurking just out of sight. The anger, the resentment—it was all still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next opportunity to boil over.

With a heavy sigh, you turned away and entered your room, closing the door behind you. The familiar surroundings did little to comfort you tonight, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

You changed into your pajamas and slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin in a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had settled in your bones.

As you lay there in the darkness, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rafe. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind, what demons he was battling in the privacy of his own room.

You wished you could reach out to him, break through the walls he had built around himself, but you didn’t know how.And maybe, deep down, you were afraid that if you did, you would only find more anger, more pain—more reasons to keep your distance.

Sleep came slowly that night, your mind refusing to quiet down long enough for you to drift off. When you finally did fall asleep, it was restless, filled with fragmented dreams that left you feeling more exhausted than before. But even in your sleep, only a name remained constant.

You tried to sleep, but your mind refused to let go of the events of the day. The tension between you and Rafe was like a thorn lodged deep, impossible to ignore and growing more painful with every passing moment. You tossed and turned, the silence of the house amplifying the thoughts racing through your mind. Finally, you gave up, deciding that lying in bed, wide awake, would do nothing to ease the unrest.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed and made your way to the window. You pulled the curtain aside, letting the moonlight spill into the room. Outside, the world was still, the garden bathed in silver light. The sight should have been calming, but it only made the turmoil inside you feel even more out of place.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a sweater and tiptoed out of your room. You needed to clear your head, and the fresh air might help. As you moved through the dark hallway, your steps were cautious, avoiding the spots that creaked. The last thing you wanted was to wake anyone up, least of all Rafe.

But as you passed his door, something made you stop. The door was slightly ajar, and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Your heart rate quickened. Rafe was awake. You hesitated, debating whether to go on with your plan to escape outside or to check on him.

Part of you wanted to keep walking, to avoid another confrontation that might end with more hurtful words, but another part of you was drawn to him—curious, worried even. Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer and gently pushed the door open.

Rafe was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His room was a mess, with clothes and other belongings strewn about carelessly. He didn’t notice you at first, too absorbed in his own thoughts. But the moment your shadow fell across the threshold, he looked up, his eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice low but filled with irritation.

You swallowed, not entirely sure what had driven you to enter. “I couldn’t sleep,” you said softly, taking a cautious step forward. “I saw your light was on.”

Rafe’s gaze flicked to the bedside lamp, as if realizing it was on for the first time. He looked back at you, his expression hardening. “So what? You came to check on me? Don’t bother.”

The sharpness of his tone made you wince, but you didn’t retreat. You stood your ground, despite the tension crackling in the air between you.

“Rafe,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “I just… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. You don’t need to pretend like you care. You’re just another person in this house who’s waiting for me to screw up."

His words stung, but they didn’t surprise you. You’d heard them before, in different forms, always laced with the same bitterness. Still, hearing them now, when you had genuinely been concerned, cut deep.

“That’s not true,” you said quietly. “I do care, Rafe. Whether you believe it or not.”

He stood up abruptly, making you take a step back. His eyes bore into yours, intense and full of emotion that he kept bottled up most of the time. “Why? Why do you care, huh? You’re not even really part of this family. You’re just some—”

He stopped himself, but the words hung heavy in the air. Just some outsider, some girl who was forced into his life, someone who would never really belong.

You felt the lump forming in your throat, but you refused to let the tears fall. Not in front of him. “You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Maybe I don’t belong. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to you.”

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something soften in his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar mask of anger and resentment.

“Don’t waste your time on me,” he said finally, his voice cold. “You’re better off staying away.”

The finality in his tone was like a door slamming shut. It was clear he didn’t want you there, didn’t want your concern or your attempts to reach out. But instead of retreating, you took a deep breath and pushed back.

“I can’t do that, Rafe,” you said, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your voice. “I can’t just pretend like you don’t matter. You’re my brother, whether you like it or not.”

Rafe’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite identify—anger, hurt, maybe even fear. But he didn’t respond, just stood there, staring at you like he was waiting for you to leave.

When you realized he wasn’t going to say anything more, you turned away, feeling the sting of rejection but refusing to let it break you. You paused at the door, looking back at him one last time.

“If you ever want to talk… I’m here,” you offered, even though you knew he wouldn’t take you up on it.

With that, you left the room, closing the door softly behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

This was going to be harder than you thought, but you weren’t ready to give up on Rafe. Not yet. There was something underneath all that anger, something worth saving, and you were determined to find it—even if it meant getting hurt in the process.

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