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burntheedges · 1 month

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Maintenance Request: Chapter 15

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.6k

chapter summary: you and Joel go on a second date 👀 a/n: thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕 chapter tags/warnings: flirting, banter, fluff, cursing, pet names (honey, baby, gorgeous, darlin’, sweetheart, cowboy), fondling, kissing, cuddling, comfort, food mention, drink mention, cursing, mention of reader's shitty ex (controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, cheating) (shitty ex does not appear in this fic)

Chapter 15

Saturday, October 26 Ninth week of the semester

Joel (10:03 PM): Hey honey, you awake?

you (10:04 PM): sure am. even though someone tired me out last night 👀

Joel (10:06 PM): Think that was a joint effort, gorgeous. (10:06 PM): You up for a call?

** outgoing FaceTime call to Joel **

“Evenin’, honey,” Joel looked tired and warm and like something you wanted to sink into and never come back out of. Like what you wanted in bed with you, right next to you.

“Hey there,” you smiled. “How was the movie?”

He shrugged. “Not bad. Funny. One of those movies for teens that she loves and I find incomprehensible.” You laughed. You probably understood more of those than he did, given Ellie and your students, but you knew what he meant.

“Got plans tomorrow, honey?”

“You mean other than my hot date with some cowboy?”

He laughed. “Some cowboy, huh? Yeah, other than that.”

“Brunch with Ellie and Beth, since we didn’t go today.” You watched as he sat on his bed and leaned back into his familiar pillows. “You look comfortable over there.”

He shook his head. “Not nearly as comfortable as I’d be if you were here, baby.” You smiled and looked up at your ceiling.

“You’re such a flirt.”

“And you love it.” You looked back at the phone to find him raising his eyebrows at you. When you’d looked away you’d lowered the phone, so he could see your shirt. Which was his.

“You sleeping’ in my shirt, honey?”

You smiled. “Smells like you, Joel.”

His eyes were soft as he looked you over, even through the phone, and you pulled it back a bit to give him a better view of you lying against your pillows on the bed.

The grin that took over his face wasn’t soft anymore.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, honey, or are you wearing my shirt and nothing else?”

You grinned. “Sharp eyes you got there.”

He groaned. “Fuck, sweetheart. What do I do with you?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Anything you want, I guess.” He groaned again and wiped his hand over his face.

“You’re tempting me, honey, but I think we should hold that thought until tomorrow.” You sighed, but nodded. He may have blown your mind the night before, but you were only going on your second date. And you didn’t want this to only be about sex. As amazing as the sex was.

“You’re probably right, Joel. So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

You talked to Joel for about a half hour, until it was obvious to both of you that you were falling asleep.

“I can see your eyes closing from here, gorgeous. Go to sleep.”

“Joel–”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, honey. Get some rest. You might need it.” You smiled at his wink, and said goodnight.

...

Sunday, October 27 Ninth week of the semester

On Sunday evening, you were ready and waiting on your sofa for Joel to pick you up around 5:45 pm. You were in a comfortable outfit, as you’d agreed, and you’d gotten to choose the place for dinner this time. Joel would have to be home for Sarah later, anyway.

Your phone buzzed, and you checked it, wondering if Joel was running late, but you found a text from Beth.

bestie (5:39 PM): have an amazing date (5:39 PM): tell me everything later

you (5:40 PM) I will

bestie (5:40 PM): don’t be afraid to tell him, babe (5:41 PM): I have a good feeling about this one

you (5:41 PM): me too

bestie (5:42 PM): 🫂

Over brunch, you’d told Beth and Ellie that you were planning to tell Joel about Matt. At least, enough about him to give him an idea of what had happened. You figured if you and Joel were going to be together – and you hoped you would be – you’d have time for details later. They’d agreed it was a good idea, and helped you think about what you wanted to say.

You took a deep breath and sank back into your couch. You can do this.

A moment later, a knock at your door announced Joel’s arrival, and you smiled.

You opened your door to find him leaning against the frame on the other side, already grinning at you. He was dressed in one of his flannel shirts that showed off his shoulders, though you noticed it was still nicer than his typical work shirts. Before you could say anything he stepped forward, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he mumbled against your lips. “Missed you.” He teased along your bottom lip with his tongue, and for a moment you both slipped into a deeper kiss, before you gentled it and pulled away.

“Hi yourself, handsome.” You pressed one more gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and you felt it when he smiled.

“You ready to go?” He stepped back from you and let his hand fall to tangle with yours. You nodded.

After locking your door you let him lead you to his truck. When he offered his hand to guide you into the passenger seat, you kept hold of it and pulled him in to kiss you again. You felt him smile against your lips as he stepped in between your knees. “If you keep this up, honey, we might not make it to dinner.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Can’t help myself.” He hummed and slid his hands up the outside of your thighs, around your hips until he had a firm grip on your ass with each hand. He squeezed once and then pulled you forward suddenly, tugging your hips to meet his.

“Honey, if you wanted to stay in, I wouldn’t be hard to convince.” You could feel the evidence supporting his claim in his jeans and you bit your lip. He watched and then kissed you, softly.

You straightened your shoulders and shook the haze out of your mind. “I do actually want to go on this date with you, Joel.”

He smiled. “Me too, darlin’.” He leaned in for one more quick kiss before stepping back, gesturing for you to turn in the seat so he could close the door.

Soon you were on your way, and Joel’s hand found its home on your thigh once more.

“So where to?” You’d agreed last night that you would choose the restaurant tonight, since Joel had chosen for your first date. You gave him directions to your favorite local taco place. It was in a tiny old-house-turned-restaurant, and you figured he’d love the backyard that functioned as their outdoor eating area. You also knew you’d be able to have some privacy for what you wanted to talk about.

It wasn’t far from your apartment, and soon Joel was pulling into a parking space just around the corner from the restaurant. “I’m guessin’ it’s that colorful place on the corner?”

You nodded. “Yep! Come on, tacos await.” He laughed and followed you down the street.

Inside, the restaurant’s cheerful interior was as warm and welcoming as always. The walls were painted bright colors and all of the furniture was comfortable and well-used. The host recognized you (which was a little embarrassing, but fine) and quickly took you through the small indoor space to the backyard. You heard Joel’s surprised inhale behind you as you stepped outside, and you smiled.

The backyard was fenced off and the lot was bigger than it looked from the street. String lights decorated the fence and criss-crossed the yard overhead, along with other colorful decorations. There were a lot of tables, but the thing that had always made you love this space was how the tables were divided from each other – with plants. It was like sitting in little garden nooks where you’d normally find benches. There were bushes and tall plants everywhere that had been intentionally grown to provide privacy throughout the yard. Paths wound throughout, and the host led you down one of the winding paths to a small table in a back corner, surrounded by the fence on one side and a large hydrangea bush on the other. It was a gorgeous spot.

You turned to see Joel’s reaction as you sat, and you weren’t disappointed. He was looking around with a curious, interested look on his face, taking in the yard. You bit your lip, waiting for his reaction.

As he settled in his chair he reached his hand out to brush his fingers lightly against the hydrangea blossoms, and he smiled. When his eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat.

“I had no idea this was back here,” he sounded stunned. “Darlin’, this is amazing. D’you know if they grew it like this?”

You grinned. “I hoped you’d like it. Yes, Beth and Ellie and I come here a lot, and we’ve met the owners a few times. There was a huge overgrown mess of a garden when they bought it – it took a lot of work, they said, but they kept as much of what was here as they could. They decided to let it guide their plan for the space, rather than the other way around.”

Joel was smiling, almost wistfully as he looked around the yard again. “They did a great job. I can tell someone really knows what they’re doing.” You nodded. He turned back to you and suddenly reached across the table to take your hands in his, tangling your fingers together and squeezing. “I do like it, honey. I–” he cleared his throat. “I love it. But I also,” he shook his head, and you squeezed his hands. He looked down at where your fingers were tangled together, and then met your eyes again. “It’s been– nevermind.”

“Joel, I–”

“No, baby, thank you. That’s all.” He smiled and squeezed your hands again. “I love it.”

You thought maybe he wanted to say something else, but then he changed the subject to the food. You told him what you liked, and soon your waiter arrived to take your order. After your drinks quickly arrived, you were alone again.

Joel still seemed to be thinking about something, and you weren’t sure what, so you decided to give him time to work it out. You could always ask about it later. Instead, you decided to go for a lighter topic – you weren’t quite ready to bring up the one you’d planned to talk about, not yet.

“So what show are Sarah and Tommy watching?”

Joel groaned, and the two of you discussed the reality TV show that had hooked the other two Millers until your food arrived.

“I just don’t care about the love lives of these people,” Joel said. “I can’t figure out why they find it so compelling.”

You laughed. “I watched a couple of seasons of that one with Beth. It’s entertaining, at least.”

Joel shook his head. “None of their relationships ever feel real, you know? I just get impatient with it. Knowin’ most of them won’t end up together, anyway.” You nodded. That made sense. You could already tell that he went after what he wanted, once he knew he wanted it.

You both took a moment to eat, and Joel told you how much he liked the food, too. “I’m glad you showed me this place, darlin’. Can’t believe I’ve never been here. Sarah’ll love it.”

When your tacos were done, you ordered another round of drinks, and Joel scooted a bit closer to the table so he could reach out to take your right hand in his left again. You were feeling comfortable, and as always, talking to Joel was easy. You took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

“Joel, I wanted to, um, talk to you about something.” You noticed that his brows furrowed immediately in response to that, and you squeezed his hand. “Nothing like that. I wanted to–” You sighed, and took a sip of your drink. “I want to tell you about that past relationship, the one I told you about a little bit the other day. In my office.”

Joel looked surprised – his eyebrows flew up, and he reached to take your other hand, capturing both in the middle of the table. “You don’t have to, honey. I–”

“No, um, I know.” You interrupted, but brushed your thumb over his knuckles in apology. “I want to. Not all of it. I figure we have time, you know? I think we both, well. It feels like we’re both thinking we'll have time.” His face was serious as he nodded in agreement. You nodded once, sharply. “But I want you to know a few things, just about what it was like. I think it’ll make it easier, for us. If I tell you now.”

Joel listened attentively as you explained. His hands were warm and you felt comforted by his touch, by the caress of his thumbs as they moved back and forth. He murmured your name softly. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me. Thank you for trusting me.”

You closed your eyes, thinking about how different just this moment was from anything you’d ever had with Matt. It was a good place to start, maybe.

“Let’s start with that. Matt, that’s his name, he didn’t trust me at all. It’s easy for me to put names on all of the issues now, it’s been five years and a lot of therapy,” you smiled weakly, but Joel was watching you like nothing could tear his attention away from this moment. “I didn’t recognize it at the time. But he was pretty manipulative, emotionally. He withheld things like trust and–” You closed your eyes. “And love. I had to, um. Earn those things, he said.” Joel made a noise, and your eyes flew open. His expression was dark and angry and you blinked, surprised. He seemed to see your reaction and softened his brow.

“Sorry, honey. That – that wasn’t for you. I don’t like the sound of this guy, might look a bit mad as I listen.”

“I feel pretty angry about it sometimes, too. I did, for a while.” You shook your head.

“Um, but anyway. He didn’t… I’m not sure he actually liked me, you know? More that he liked having someone to control. But there wasn’t really any love in that relationship, not after he swept me off my feet at the beginning. He never did things for me, like nice things, and when I did things for him he would only tell me how I didn’t do them right. It was…” you looked away, trying to decide how much detail to give, how much you needed to say right now. You shook your head and looked back to meet his gaze. “I’ve had a lot of time to work through it, I guess. Not that I’d say I’m over it. But like the other day, sometimes I react based on my experiences with him, not based on what’s happening right now, in the moment. He cheated on me, a lot. He used to tell me things like that were my fault, because I wasn’t good enough.” You felt Joel’s grip tighten on your hands and looked down. “I was with him for almost two years. It wasn’t like that the whole time, but you know, it ended up there by the end. I just–”

You looked back up, but the look on Joel’s face made you lose your train of thought. He wasn’t angry anymore. Or he was, a bit, but he was also looking at you like you were breaking his heart. “Joel? Are you–”

“Don’t ask me if I’m ok,” the words rushed out of him and he stopped, taking a deep breath. “I– I am so sorry that happened to you. I don’t, shit,” he trailed off, eyes dancing over your face. “Thank you for telling me about it. I promise, sweetheart, I won’t–”

You cut him off. “I know, Joel, I–”

He whispered your name again and shook his head. “Let me say it, please. I promise I won’t ever treat you like that. If I ever do anything, anything at all that even hints at how he treated you, please tell me. But you should know Sarah would probably kill me herself. If Tess and Frank didn’t get to me first.”

You smiled. “Joel, Beth and Ellie agreed with me that I should tell you a little bit about it today, because we all think you’re a good man. And I want you to know me, you know? This might… well. It might come up again. It probably will. And I wanted to explain, more, after… yeah.” You felt shaky, suddenly, like telling him all of that had taken more out of you than you’d thought. He eyed you and tugged on your hands.

“Can you come over here, just for a minute, honey? Can I hold you?” You nodded quickly and stood, coming around the table to let him pull you into his lap. He slipped his left arm around your waist and his right up your back, cupping your neck and pressing your head down onto his shoulder. The chairs weren’t really meant for this, even if they were sturdy, but you figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone. Hopefully the waiter didn’t come back.

You felt Joel press a kiss to your hairline, and you sighed into his neck. He put his lips to your ear, and murmured, “I won’t lie, baby, I am so angry that man treated you that way. I don’t…” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I know it’s early, so I’ll just say I care about you. A lot. I’m so sorry, honey. And I want you to know how proud I am, to have your trust.”

You didn’t know how good it would feel to have someone say that to you until Joel said it.

“I know you could tell I was thinking about something when we got here, something I was having trouble telling you.” You nodded into his shoulder and felt his smile where his mouth was pressed against your cheek. “This year for my birthday, Sarah got my watch fixed.” He moved his wrist to show you the watch you’d seen him wear most days you’d known him. “I’d been meaning to do it, never got around to it.” He let out one rueful sounding laugh. “But it’s… You know that feeling, when someone does something for you or gives you a gift that really makes you feel, well. Seen, I guess? Appreciated. Like they really know you.”

You try to lift your head to look at him, but he presses your head down gently. “Sarah knew I’d never get this fixed. She snuck it out of the house to do it, all on her own. It, well. It meant a lot to me.” He cleared his throat. “Honey, you know I like you a lot. I think you like me, too. But when I saw this place, and when I saw you waiting to see my reaction to it, it— it felt like the watch.” He kissed your cheek again, and this time he let you lift your head so you could meet his gaze. He cupped your cheek in his right hand and the look on his face took your breath away.

“I know this is only our second date. I know we’ve barely gotten started. But this feels special, sweetheart. I didn’t want to scare you off by sayin’ too much. This feels like…” he trailed off, and smiled.

You smiled back. “I know, Joel.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, and you leaned into it, eyes slipping closed. “I feel it, too.”

You sat there together for another moment, but too soon, you pulled back. “I should get back to my seat before the waiter gets back.” Joel nodded, but pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before he let you go.

Back in your seat, you and Joel just looked at each other for a moment. “Should we, um,” you started, but didn’t know how to finish your suggestion. He smiled.

“Want to get out of here, darlin’?” You smiled back, and nodded.

Once the waiter came back you took care of the bill, and Joel guided you out of the yard and through the house with his hand on your lower back the whole way. At the truck you reached to open the passenger door, but Joel reached out to put his right hand on the door, holding it closed.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and turned you around. He crowded you against the side of the truck and cupped your face in his left hand. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

You smiled. “Hey, handsome.”

“I’ve got a couple more hours before I have to head home, you know.”

“That so?” You grinned. “Well then, I think you should take me home, hmm? Maybe come in, have a drink?”

Joel answered by leaning forward to kiss you, hard.

…

bestie (9:14 PM): how did it go???

you (9:32 PM): it went really well (9:33 PM): he liked the garden too

bestie (9:33 PM): well we know he’s into plants (9:34 PM): did he say anything about it

you (9:35 PM): about Matt? just that he was sorry I’d been through that and he promised not to treat me that way (9:36 PM): he said if he ever did anything like that Sarah would probably kill him

bestie (9:37 PM): as she should (9:37 PM): I’m calling you I need more details that can’t be all of it

you (9:37 PM): lol fine

...

a/n: the taco place is based on a real coffee shop and empanada place I used to frequent when I lived in Houston (Campesino, I miss you), with the addition of a garden I saw somewhere else.

I hope I tagged everyting write for their convo! Don't worry, shitty ex never actually appears in this fic. let me know if you think I should add any tags.

Also, time to share this genius meme from @gasolinerainbowpuddles:

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tag list: @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin @myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123 @joelalorian @untamedheart81 @ashleyfilm @jessthebaker @jeewrites @fluffygoffpanda @paleidiot @mithicakurogo @theclairvoyage

@secretelephanttattoo it's posted now lol

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou fic #x reader #maintenance request fic

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sisterspooky1013 · 5 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 30/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

All three men join them on the drive back to the safehouse so they can bring the files up in one trip. They’ve been careful, moving only between the Gunmen’s house and their secret apartment, diligently watching for recurring vehicles and changing their route at random. The purported Jehovah’s Witnesses have not knocked on the Gunmen’s door again, however they’ve seen a utility worker checking gas meters as well as an unfamiliar mail carrier on the street, so they are operating under the assumption that the house is being monitored to some degree.

Scully is too emotionally exhausted to summon the energy for paranoia, so she keeps her head down and allows her male companions to watch for anyone nefarious who might be following them. After all five boxes of files are deposited on the kitchen counter in the safehouse, the Gunmen wish them a good night and remind them to set the alarm, and once again she and Mulder are alone.

Alone. She still feels so alone, now maybe more than ever. She can’t stop thinking about Missy bleeding out in her entryway, about the vacancies in her ovaries where her future children should be. Mulder is standing in the living room window, hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the gray walls of the surrounding buildings. The memories stored in the very cells of her body are begging her to go to him, to seek comfort in his touch and the smell of his skin. But while he does seem to believe that she is who she says she is, he doesn’t remember her. The question of why is too painful to consider.

She slumps onto the couch with a weary sigh and he turns around, then carefully makes his way over and sits on the other end, as far away from her as possible.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he says, and she looks at him, desperate to find some flicker of recognition. It’s Mulder’s face, Mulder’s eyes, Mulder’s voice. It’s him, but there’s something missing. The part that knows her. That loves her.

“I’m sorry about yours as well,” she says quietly, and his expression falls. She looks at her feet, feeling maudlin and guilty. This isn’t his fault; they’re both victims here. “Are you afraid of what you’ll find? Is that it?” she asks, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

He’s quiet for a long time, but she can sense the buzzing of his thoughts, and waits patiently for his answer.

“If I read those files, and what I learn is that everyone I know is lying to me…” his voice catches and he stops. Again, she waits. “Won’t that be even worse? To have nothing, and no one?”

She considers her words carefully. It feels incredibly profound to have the opportunity to tell someone who they are. What they believe. What they would want for themselves. She shifts so that her back is against the arm rest, her legs folded up on the cushion in front of her. Mulder pivots his body towards hers as well, his expression expectant.

“There is still so much that I don’t remember,” she tells him, “but I know you. And there is nothing that is more important to you than the truth. Even if it’s painful. Even if it’s inconvenient.” She points to the row of boxes lined up on the counter, and his eyes follow her finger. “The Mulder that I know would have torn through every single one of those documents the second we walked through the Gunmen’s door.” Her voice begins to quaver and she clears her throat. “And I believe that if you will please just read those files, you might remember that.”

Despite her best efforts, a tear springs free and runs down to the corner of her mouth. Mulder watches it fall, and then looks at the floor. His chest rises and falls heavily, and after a few moments, he stands. He stalks toward the back of the apartment, disappearing through the bathroom door, and her heart sinks. Minutes pass. Horrible, desperate minutes in which she has horrible, desperate thoughts about how she can possibly extricate herself from this torment. The toilet flushes, the bathroom door opens, and he appears back in the doorway.

“Okay,” he says with an air of finality, his shoulders squared. “Let’s get this over with.”

She expects that the information regarding Samantha’s abduction will be the most difficult for him to accept. She can recall the way it consumed him, the way it defined the edges of both their lives. She expects it to be just as big, just as prominent, just as important. She is wrong.

His mother and father, both liars. That fact gives him pause, makes him stop and walk out onto the balcony to collect his thoughts. The idea that his parents are unkind to him feels familiar, and it makes her so indescribably sad. But he moves past it, keeps reading page after page with a set jaw and a blank expression. When it comes to Samantha, he tells her he’s had dreams. He says that it makes sense, in a way, like the final piece of a puzzle. He keeps reading, and she wonders if he will truly find himself again.

It isn’t until he gets to the parts of the file regarding his life with Diana that he starts to lose control. Starts clenching and unclenching his fists, heaving frustrated sighs and chewing on his bottom lip. She wants to ask him what he’s reading, what he is learning that has him so agitated, but it feels like information that she isn’t entitled to. There was a time that she suspected Cal of being in on it, of lying to her, and she feels a great deal of empathy for Mulder that her worst unfounded fear is his reality. He turns a page over and taps his index finger rapidly against the back of it, his nostrils flaring.

“Are you okay?” she asks from her spot curled up on one end of the couch.

She watches the flex of his jaw as his eyes scan wildly over the documents on top of the coffee table. He seems to calm suddenly, running the tips of his fingers under the lip of the tabletop thoughtfully.

“Mulder—”

He stands with an agonized shout, grabbing the edge of the table and flipping it over. It crashes against a shelf and papers go flying, fluttering through the air like falling snow. Scully’s heart leaps and begins to race, but she stays calm and waits to see what he does next.

“Did you know?” he asks angrily, spinning to look at her. She’s too stunned to speak, so she just shakes her head, not understanding the question. “Did you know that she did this?!” he asks again, taking two steps toward her and pointing at the mess on the floor.

“I don’t know anything, Mulder,” she says softly, pressing herself into the corner of the couch.

“I need to get out of here,” he says, stalking toward the door.

Scully leaps up and rushes past him, putting herself between him and the door just as he’s reaching for the knob.

“You can’t leave, Mulder, it’s not safe,” she pleads.

“Get out of my way, Scully,” he growls, not looking at her. “I can’t be here, I just need…I need to go. Please.” Now it is he who is begging.

“No,” she says resolutely, straightening up to make herself as large as possible. “I’m not going to let you do that.”

He slowly lifts his eyes to hers, and there is so much pain there it nearly takes her breath away.

“She lied to me,” he croaks. “About everything. We’re not married, I never left the FBI, she’s not a fucking lawyer.”

His chin puckers and he looks at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Scully whispers, though she knows that she is not the one he needs an apology from.

When he looks back at her, his eyes are wet.

“She let me believe that I cheated on her. She made me believe it. She held it over me, Scully, she—”

She reaches for him then, and he accepts her embrace. He collapses slowly toward the floor in increments, a sinking ship, and she escorts him down to the bottom. To the depths of his loss, his pain, his betrayal. He leans heavily into her and she strokes his hair, rubs his back, tells him how sorry she is that this happened to him. To them. She thinks again about Missy, about Emily, about the terrors that her body has gone through. While she is technically the one providing comfort, she allows herself to take it as well. From the feeling of his muscles flexing under her palm with his shuddering breaths, the weight of his head on her shoulder, the smell of his breath—something she didn’t realize she knew so intimately. They sit there like that, feet from the doorway, until the room starts to grow dim with the setting sun.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she says sweetly, the way his mother should have, but never did. “I think that’s enough reading for today.”

She helps him into the bedroom and out of his clothes, not allowing her eyes to linger on his chest and belly, not allowing herself to remember how they feel pressed against her bare skin. She tucks him in, but when she moves to leave he grabs her hand.

“Do you need something?” she asks, searching his face and raking her fingers through his hair.

“Could you sleep in here? Is that…would that be okay?” he asks, so vulnerable it makes her chest ache. “You don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable,” he adds, breaking eye contact.

“Sure,” she says lightly, as though her heart isn’t about to burst at the idea of being so near to him, of sharing a bed—even if chastely. “I need to go get ready for bed, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She smiles at him, and he attempts a smile back. In the bathroom, she changes into her pajamas, washes her face, and brushes her teeth. By the time she arrives back in the bedroom Mulder is quiet and still, and she can tell by his even breathing that he’s fallen asleep. She considers going back to the couch, given that he seems to be sleeping just fine without her, but she told him she would sleep in the bedroom with him and she won’t allow herself to be added to his list of broken promises and lies.

Carefully, she draws the covers back and slips underneath them. Mulder is lying on his back right in the center of the mattress, so she lays on her side as close to the edge as she can get, both to avoid waking him and to reduce the possibility that she’ll gravitate toward him in her sleep and potentially make him uncomfortable. She feels concurrently exhausted and wired, and she focuses on the steady hush of Mulder’s breaths in and out, synching her own breathing to his. There’s something familiar about this—lying beside him, keeping her distance while craving closeness. She allows her mind to wander, and her eyes to fall closed.

“What are you thinking about?”

She blushes, even though she knows that he cannot see her face in the murky dark of his motel room. Truthfully, she was thinking about his half-naked body, dappled with drops of water from his shower. She was thinking about the towel slung low on his hips, and the trail of hair below his belly button that disappeared beneath that towel.

“Nothing, just can’t sleep,” she lies, and he hums. A beat passes, and the air feels thick with anticipation, setting the hairs on her arms on end. “What are you thinking about?” she asks him, sensing that he has something to say.

She hears the wet sounds of his lips and tongue forming words that don’t make their way out of his mouth. Her heart starts to pound, though she can’t rightly say why.

“I’m afraid to tell you what I’m thinking about,” he finally admits. “I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

She has never wanted to know anything more in her entire life. Are her instincts correct? Is he thinking about what she thinks he is? What she hopes he is?

“Is it bad?” she asks, testing the waters.

A pause. He clears his throat.

“That’s fairly subjective. I’m not sure if you’ll think it’s bad, and I suppose that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Please tell me,” she says, not even caring that the desperation she feels can easily be heard in her voice.

She feels the mattress dip and hears the rustle of the blankets as he rolls to his side. They are now face to face, the minty heat of his breath warming her cheeks. She can’t see him nearly at all, save for a vague outline, and for that she is grateful.

“You know how important you are to me,” he says softly, and she nods, even though he didn’t ask a question, and he can’t see her. “I can’t risk the possibility of losing you.”

“You won’t, Mulder,” she tells him. Inside, she’s screaming for him to come out with it, to be brave enough for them both.

She feels the tips of his fingers bump up against her elbow, and he follows her arm up to her shoulder, then her neck, finally cradling her jaw in his palm. He runs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and she closes her eyes. Please, please, please, she begs.

He begins to pull his hand away and she grabs it, holding it against her chest.

“Please tell me,” she says again, giving his hand a squeeze.

He shifts, moving closer, returning his hand to her jaw. She tilts her chin up, letting her lips fall open, and when she feels the brush of his breath against her mouth, she arches up, meeting him halfway. Her whole body relaxes, and he pulls her close as he kisses her again. And again. And again.

She shoots up in the bed, disoriented and panicked. Mulder is thrashing beside her, kicking at the sheets and shouting half-deciperable gibberish.

“No! She…she…leave her alone!” he wails, swiping at nothing in the air in front of him.

Muscle memory kicks in. She’s done this before.

“Mulder, it’s okay,” she says, touching his shoulder. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe.”

“Don’t touch me!” he barks, throwing an elbow that collides with her cheek bone.

She cries out and scoots away from him, one hand cradling her throbbing face. She reaches for the bedside lamp and switches it on, squinting and blinking as her eyes attempt to adjust. Mulder shields his eyes with his forearms.

“Samantha!” he keens, and her stomach drops as she remembers that light does not help. Bright lights are a trigger.

She switches the lamp back off, trying to remember how she used to calm him down in these moments. Pressure. Weight. That’s what he needs. To feel grounded, to find himself in place and time.

She pitches herself onto him, shielding her face from his flailing arms with her own. She moves quickly, not giving him a chance to throw her before she sits on his chest, her knees tucked into his armpits. She folds her body in half, bringing her mouth as close to his ear as she can get it, and shouts, “Mulder, stop!”

He startles, and his arms and legs freeze before they slowly drop down to the mattress. Now that he’s quiet, she can hear his ragged breaths and feel the hummingbird beat of his heart against her thighs.

“You’re okay,” she says gently. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

His heart slows. He doesn’t speak. There is a shuddering breath, and then the bark of a sob. He brings his hand up and covers his mouth, but his chest lurches beneath her and gives him away. She attempts to move off of him, but he grips her upper arms urgently so she stays close, tucking her body against his flank and laying her head on his chest. He holds her so tightly it hurts, his fingers twisted up in her pajama top and his face buried in her hair. And she feels awful, so incredibly awful, because it feels so, so good. To be held by him, to be wanted, and needed. She breathes him in deep, holds him right back, cries her own tears of relief. This isn’t how she wanted it to happen, but if it’s all she can get, she will happily take it. Just to be near him.

It will have to be enough for now.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #xf fanfic #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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joeey-dee · 11 months

Text

I just stumbled over some of the Olicity scenes in 4.08 Legends of Yesterday on YouTube, and can I just say WTF! That’s always my mind’s first reaction when watching them.

And can I just point out the hypocrisy and gaslighting on Felicity’s side? She accuses him of not trusting her and yet, she is the one who didn’t trust him, used her skills to track his movements, and forced Barry into showing her something he was aware of Oliver didn’t want anyone to know about. That screams I trust you to me.

Especially after Oliver told her there was something he needed to figure out and he would let her know what it was about, as soon as he had more information. Yet, she didn’t even wait for him to return to find out if he was telling the truth or not. No, she pretty much stalked him.

So, who isn’t trusting whom?

And all of this after she had lied to him for months, worked with Team Arrow behind his back and pretended she was as happy and content with their life in Ivy Town as he had been.

She is the last person who has the right to get down on Oliver for lying. Seriously!

And since she realized it was a paternity test, Oliver had Barry do, she’d also realize Oliver had only learnt about being a dad, maybe two minutes before she showed up to demand answers from Barry, which would’ve been a couple of hours before she confronted him. When exactly was he supposed to let her know? This was the first time he’s seen her since finding out. Give the guy some time to process and you know, if he still hasn’t told you in a couple of days, okay, maybe bring it up but not like this.

This is a major event in Oliver’s life, and like he pointed out to her it is a lot more complicated than it appears at first glance.

He had also just learnt that Samantha and his mom purposely misled him into believing his child died before it ever had a chance at life. Oliver was confronted with loosing a child in his early twenties, whether he had wanted it or not doesn’t really matter, the flashback to that event and the fact that Oliver is a good, compassionate and caring person clearly shows how much he had struggled with that loss.

To then learn it had all been a lie just to keep him out of his child’s life? How utterly cruel and devastating must that have been? Knowing that they’d rather lied to him and made him believe his child had died, then have him be a part of his child’s life. Just imagine the anguish that must have been to learn how little Samantha and his mom thought of him. This being amplified by Samantha’s demands to him.

And after considering all of this, who can blame him for going along with the demands of the woman who had had no issues making him believe his child had died in order to keep him out of their lives? In his mind there was probably no question she’d do anything in her power to keep William away from him if he didn’t adhere to her demands, she’d done it before.

I will never understand how the majority of the fandom is on Felicity’s side here and vilifying Oliver over the only choice he had really.

Oliver was the victim in everything concerning his son. Oliver and William. But that’s it. No one else was a victim in that situation.

The way Felicity behaved both times she learnt about William was just disgusting and horrible and that was the point I was done with her character. She of all people should’ve understood and supported Oliver’s choice to do whatever he had to to be a part of his son’s life, given her past with her parents.

Okay, so this rant turned out much longer than expected.

This might be an unpopular opinion but I don’t care. Oliver was the victim and everyone was victim blaming and never put his actions into perspective with everything we’ve known and learnt about the situation with Samantha and William.

#oliver queen support #defending oliver queen #oliver queen #anti olicity #oliver never had a choice #anti felicity smoak #this will always piss me off #oliver was done so wrong #oliver was the victim #arrow rant #arrow 4.08 legends of yesterday #trust is a two way street #hypocrisy at its highest

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unethicalmorals · 4 days

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Tumblr crashed on me while I was writing all this and I was like 5 paragraphs in🫠

Anyways-

I'M SO CURIOUS ABOUT THE SCARS ON BISHOPS FACE YOU HAVE NO IDEA. THE ONLY REASON I DON'T HASSLE YOU ABOUT IS CUZ I KNOW YOU'LL JUST GO ":)" YOU CHEEKY SHIT (I love you still though <3)

MAX GRRRRRR I AWAIT YOUR RETURN MY BELOVED

TRANS ORANGE YEAAAH 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

When it comes to writing orange honestly I'd suggest you approach it the same way you'd approach writing smut for any other character. It would depend on whether or not she's had bottom surgery obvi, but overall she shouldn't be treated very differently from other characters! At most someone might be surprised if she whips out her dick (Then again, Lethal Company takes place in the 2500's, people probably don't care as much by then [hopefully])

TALL ROBIN YOU'RE REAL TO ME‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

God Wrench my fave piece of shit (I'M FUCKIN LYING EVERYTIME I SAY I HATE WRENCH...... I'M A FRAUD, HE'S TO FUNNY FOR ME TO GENUINELY DISLIKE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 PLUS HE'S LITERALLY ME SOMETIMES I CANNOT DENY WE HAVE SIMILARITIES)

ALSO I *****SEE***** THAT LITTLE SKETCH OF RABBIT AND DOVE KISSING. I AM LOOKING *DIRECTLY* AT IT👁👁👁👁

HYBRID AU HYBRID AU GRRRRRR

I keep putting your little guys in situations..... I love them too much💚🧡❤️🤍🖤🩷🧡 (there's like 2 other au's I have in mind that I haven't even talked about yet)

Hybrid au Bishcky(?) Is soooooo so good to me because i think Bishop is like, 10x worse at acting like he isn't into Lucky. He is so obvious it's painful for other people to watch

You know how cats rub themselves against you in order to scent mark you? Bishop keeps doing that to Lucky, all the damn time. Whether it be making sure to rub up against Lucky when they pass by each other, lending him his clothes every chance he gets, or just blatantly rubbing his face up against Lucky (Lucky hate-Loves the face rubbing. It's cute until Bishop runs his face against Lucky's and then Lucky is painfully reminded about Bishop's beard) Lucky just assumes this is a weird way Cat people express their friendship towards others (He does not notice that Bishop does this to exclusively him)

Lucky will find out eventually, and when Bishop is confronted about it he becomes worlds #1 gaslighter like HELL he'd admit to what is essentially putting a big sign on Lucky that screams "THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND" To literally everyone within radius

Lucky doesn't really mind though, he's flattered honestly, and maybe a bit flustered too

Though.... it is a bit rude for Bishop to just leave his smell all over Lucky without even telling Lucky about it first, practically claiming him.... it's only fair if Lucky gets to "Claim" him as well in his own way, right?👀

(I'M JUST SAYING...... GROWER LUCKY + KNOT??????? I'M GOING CRAZY)

(Thinking about the knot process..... Lucky holding Bishop so so close to him as he gently grinds into him.... giving Bishop sweet praise [I saw the damn Bishop likes praise comment] and cuddling him and kissing him as he waits for his knot to come undone.... Bishop takes him so well- *EXLPODES*)

ALSO I SAW THAT BISHOP LIKES CUDDLES COMMENT.... FROTHING AT THE DAMN MOUTH GRRRRRRR

Thinking thinking thinking about Lucky and Bishop entangled in one another on a cold night, Lucky having his tail draped across the both of them while Bishop purrs so loud Lucky can feel the vibrations in the taller man's chest.... UGHH💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚

And Lucky being a Squirrel-Dog (Squog💀) is so fun because I think he'd have to keep himself from getting to excited while in public..... the amount of times he's accidentally knocked tables over because his big-ass tail started wagging is too many times to count and each time is more embarrassing than the last😭😭😭

Also thinking very heavily about the Avians and wing preening

Avian wings are sensitive, especially at the base. Most of them only ever let people they trust preen their wings, let alone touch them in the first place

Dove obviously let's Rabbit take care of her wings. It's one of the rare moments you'll find Rabbit so gentle and focused on her task, delicately realigning her feathers, removing any dirt or grime caught up in there. Rabbit likes to tease Dove on occasion, gently rubbing the base of her wing, feeling how Dive shivers under her touch, letting out the faintest of moans 🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

Robin loves Wrench.... she really does.... but oh my god she does not trust that guy to preen her wings, at least not before excessive training. If Robin needs her wings looked after she will most likely go to Lucky (his hands are so small! He's so precise with his work) and if not Lucky she'll go to Max or Captain 1.0 (All 3 of them often help Robin with her wings on hangout days)

The first time Robin finally trusted Wrench with her wings he was so nervous! He tried to play it off he really did, but Robin was able to see right through him, and honestly she found it cute. Wrench honestly did a good job his first time! He's not as good as Lucky, but with more practice he'll get there eventually!

Captain almost never gets his wings preened. He's not keen on asking for help, and he doesn't fly around that much anyways. So it's fine. Probably.

That's a lie it's NOT FINE‼️‼️‼️‼️ Dove was the one who noticed that Captain had blood feathers. BLOOD FEATHERS‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ the moment she spotted them she was dragging Captain back to her house and forcing that man to sit his ass DOWN so she can fix up his wings

It takes a loooooong time since Captains wings are so big, but she eventually cleans him up properly. It becomes a routine for them (reluctantly on Captains part), Captain comes over to Dove and Rabbits and allows Dove to clean up his wings, making sure he doesn't get any infections. Robin eventually joins in to quicken the process for all of them

Pink wants to preen Captains wings SO FUCKING BAD IT MAKES HIM LOOK STUPID‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ FUCK

He promises he won't purposely touch the base of Captains wings he pinkie swears that he won't poke and prod at him in all the right places that'll get Captain riled up he SWEARS on his life he won't lean in and kiss the base of Captains wings just to see how he reacts HE SWEARS HE SWEARS HE CAN BE TRUSTED TO PREEN CAPTAINS WINGS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GOD FUCK-

DIVERSITY WIN!!!!! THE ASSHOLE CREWMATE IS NONBINARY🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 (also they're kinda uhhhhhhh👀👀👀👀👀 errmmmmmmm👁👁👁👁👁 I am certainly looking at Jay)

Also the Killer Lucky au is coming along👍🏽👍🏽👍🏽👍🏽👍🏽 turns out there's uhm... a LOT more that I'm writing down than I originally intended😅😅😅 (I'm basically making a fanfic at this point, this is the first time I've had to write something down in the notes app before I sent it to ya XD)

-Watcher

NIGHTMARE SCENARIO OHNOO‼️‼️‼️ 😭😭

Yeah :)

I have to force myself to not think about Max and the rest of the old crew (the other two that fill out the crew,,, ahgrrgrrrgr) Obviously I am not doing a very good job at that 😌🤭

AHH THANKS!!! 🧡🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵🧡

I'm already updating the height chart just for her✍️😌

Wrench just has that undeniable rizz that makes everyone love him hasjdknl; ((I've accidentally made Wrench incredibly relatable - I see this as an absolute win!!)

👁👁 My little yuri magma sketch? 👁👁

❤️🤍❤️🤍(Seconds away from smooching~)❤️🤍❤️🤍

ALSO THIS ONE IS FROM BY FRIEND!!!

Anyway-- I love the Domestic AU and the Hybrid AU with all my heart,, oughhh they are so happy 🥺🥺🥺 Just a bunny rabbit and her birdie~ 💖

Please keep putting them in situations,,, I'm in love,,, 🥺 I want to write a oneshot or two so bad-- (LOOKING- PATIENTLY WAITING- LOOKING- LOOKING THROUGH THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE--)

Oh god, this fool can't NOT be obvious about it! I don't think he knows the word subtle,, (Maybe Lucky just makes him go-- 👀👀)

SCREAMING AND CLAWING AT THE CARPET AHGRRR!!! Have I told you how much I love your mind?? Because oh my god,, 🥺🥺 Kitty Bishop rubbing his face all over Lucky,,, oughhh-- (the feel of beards can be so very hit or miss sometimes 😔) HE DOESN'T NOTICE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ OH MY GODD ‼️‼️‼️‼️ Oh, Lucky,, 🧡🧡🧡

I'm giggling so much with a big smile on my face reading this,, (I keep reading this ask a lot,,, ggrrr) 💞💞💞

Bishop can try,, he'll be great at it too until Lucky pushes just a little bit more,, he won't need to say anything when his face is already giving away the answer~

(Grower Lucky + Knot is an insane combo and it makes me weak,,)

👀👀 I am looking,,, incredibly,,, disrespectfully👀👀 💥🧡💥💚💥🧡💥💚💥🧡💥💚💥🧡💥💚💥🧡

BANGING MY FISTS AGAINST MY DESK, HNUHNBJyhu7 ohmygoddd,,,, WATCHER YOUR MIND--- RHGRJRR ‼️‼️‼️‼️ LOVE LOVELOVE BITING BITING (affectionate) BITING BITING 💞

Lucky's big-ass squog 💀 tail knocking over anything and everything is fucking hilarious 😂 Poor guy can't catch a break 🧡🧡🧡

👁👁 Avian wing preening 👁👁

Dove and Rabbit being so gentle and soft with each other,,, OUGHHHHRGRGRG GR!!!! THESE TWO,,, ‼️‼️ ❤️🤍

Wrench would try his best for her,,, which is unfortunately NOT that great 😶😶😶 but at least it's not too bad,,, (Robin needs to put this man through a wing-preening boot camp)

Also-- the crews hanging out together,,,, ahhhh 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 They are all friends!!! They are all taking care of each other!! <3

CAPTAIN IGNORING TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF AHGRGRGRG!!! (I am actively exploding reading everything here,, I keep coming back to read and I just explode again 💥💞💝💞💥💞💝💞💥) AND BLOOD FEATHERS?? NO NO NO!! I'm so happy Dove is dragging this oversized bird brain and getting him some much-needed help!! (Imagining Dove dragging Captain while ranting about how important it is to preen the wings and practice self-care,,, she's so small compared to Captain that it's actually comical <3)

WE ALL KNOW PINK IS UP TO NO GOOD, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE'S ALLOWED TO BE SO CLOSE TO CAPTAIN-- HIS HEART IS HAMMERING SO FAST,, HE'S SO EXCITED!!

🎉🎉DIVERSITY WIN!!🎉🎉 (👁👁 Porsha's designs are so so good,, hehjeehe 👁👁)

Waiting so, so, SO patiently 😌 I'm over here sitting on my hands, kicking my legs in the air and swing from side-to-side 🤭🤭 I AM SO SO SO EXCITED WHEN YOU'RE READY TO SHARE IT AHGRGR 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

#ask #watcher #tsitd #hybrid au

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thatfraudcassandra · 2 years

Text

It's been about a month since Marcos Jr won, and I'd be lying if I say I had been marinating in thought, trying to find the right words to write to make sense of all this. No, I buried myself in work and decided that my energy is better spent elsewhere (carbs). Facing it is inevitable though, so as I kill time waiting for my dutiful husband and demon dog to pick me up, I'll try to articulate all the anger, the disappointment, the exasperation.

Unpopular opinion, but I've always thought he won, from the time the first votes started flashing onscreen. Overwhelmingly so. Whether that's a glaring indictment of our voting behavior as a nation I'll leave up to you, but I have seen how friends, family could easily be bought by the sanitized version of history the Marcoses sold us so it wasn't too farfetched a thought that millions would prefer him. His mother was too determined, too much was at stake, they weren't going to let 2016, when Leni won by a hair, repeat itself. They've had decades of practice in propaganda, the father bequeathed them that skill, and they continued to build their legacy on dead bodies and lies. Leni simply did not stand a chance.

Holding this opinion has allowed people to tell me I had bought into the gaslighting, but I've always called her supporters out for being exclusivists, for reveling in their echo chambers and looking down on everyone who did not speak their language. Do I think we lost because of this criticism? No, it was the well-crafted strategy of the Marcoses that did it, but we didn't help Leni's cause either. We hurt whatever was left because we just have to be right. It was clearer after the elections, all the turnt up noses saying "we'll stop helping you", the denial of the existence of the majority. "Let them suffer", I've read more than once. We disregarded pre-election surveys because it didn't fit our narrative, but when Leni herself said that in 2016 she jumped from 1% to two points behind Marcos Jr, we believed it then. We were in too deep in our echo chambers that the only way we think he could've won is if he hoodwinked the elections. But we believe Marcos supporter friends really voted for him and call them stupid, or in my case, unfriend them. We just couldn't decide.

Confusion comes in the form of Leni, who undoubtedly in the most difficult press conference of her career, calls on us to be calm, and to respect the results. She even pushes her luck and asks us to keep helping, huwag mamili--lahat kasama. A far cry from the chest-beating, foot-stomping indignation our impulses have taken us to.

It's interesting to see how kakampinks take this. Some agree with her, harkening back to the Radical Love her campaign represents. But still others deny the results, proclaim themselves victims, declare war in her name even when she never asked for it. We act as if accepting reality and fighting for good governance are mutually exclusive when it isn't.

These are facts: my husband and I will continue to walk our dog, people will still be mean and stupid and kind and passionate, and the Marcoses will continue to line their pockets with our tax money. This doesn't have to be true: we will never have another Leni, we will never have our chance. No. We try and try again.

#leni robredo #leni kiko 2022 #eleksyon 2022 #politics #philippine politics #opinion #let leni lead

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papirouge · 1 year

Note

If my father was a rapist, he would be dead to me no matter what, not like I'd visit his rapist ass in prison. But yeah, most of the evidence in the depp/heard trial DID point to it being in retaliation.

Totally forgot about that ask but I will never understand how people will die on the hill of arguing someone who straight up admitted starting fight on tape.....acted in retaliation 💀

It is soooo obvious if a man said the exact same thing ("I didn't beat you I hit you" etc) y'all wouldn't be out there arguing that aKtcHualLy dEfEnsiVe violence and shit 💀 The way people tried to find excuses to put up with this trash was disgusting and tbh scrotes are kinda right to start using this shady argument against women.... can't wait to see how the pro Heard feminists who pulled it out left and right gonna find a way to argue back against it now👀

The problem with this whole "retaliation-only" violence narrative is that this very same argument can (and actually IS) used by Depp supporters saying that Depp NEVER been violent against Heard and only defended himself.

Same thing with the way pro Heard drag Depp previous antics & drug problems to show how of an awful person he is.....but then complain when pro Depp do the same with Heard (who also had drug & violence problems in past relationships...). Oh and let's not forget the way of pro Heard do baby her for dating much older Depp when she was in her mid 20s....and then drag Depp over shitty things he did around that same age.... So what's the truth? Are mid 20s ppl too young to make good decisions? If so, why using the awful things he did at that age when he was too young to know better... like Heard did when dating him.. right? 👀

In a defamation case, the trustfulness of the defendant is being investigated, not whether the plaintiff is a "good person" of hasn't done ugly things before with other people. So the way of pro Heard of dragging his history with ex girlfriends (from DECADES ago) who had nothing to do with the case at hand was silly & desperate. Character assassination ≠ evidence. Depp ain't no saint but I'm not surprised Heard lost because there was too much inconsistency in her delivery. She lying about "donating" when it was a "pledge" was ridiculous.... In a defamation case, if people find you unreliable over such small details, there are chances they won't believe you for the rest unfortunately....

I really recommend SWOOP coverage on that case.

I know that pro Heard tried to gaslight women into thinking that EVERY blogger covering this case was a misogynist (which is true to some extent hence why I never cared about males opinion on this case lol) and biased by 🧟‍♀️Depp PR smear campaign🧟‍♂️, but it's really insulting people's intelligence and hypocrite. Especially when pro Heard are as much as keen to rely on social medias and desinformation to push their narrative....Never forget that infamous post trial twitter thread exposing "undisclosed files" showing how aKtcHualLy Depp was the bad guy....... which eventually got proven to being cropped to erase the aggravating elements about Heard + the false narrative surrounding it that was a "Depp stan" paid to get them disclosed" when it was a female LAW PROFESSIONAL who did (idk but ridiculing a female justice professional as a "Depp fan" is kinda misogynist....very ironic coming from the 'pro woman' side 🤡) and I even heard those documents were actually FREE to read but she only paid to print them....(?)....But ofc pro Heard never bothered about this rebuttal bc law of Brandolini ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

#answered

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darlingpwease · 10 months

Note

*taps the mic* uhh, well I just uhh well y'know I umm– >:ロ I truly never know how to respond to you most sometimes /ht ?? Really?? /neu ME?! I'm the bully?! I can't believe you!!! "heheheh" ( ° _°) ...wait, now I'm kinda questioning myself... hm (ಠ_ಠ ;) /gen /kinda confused tbh /in a neutral way tho, if that makes sense??

WHAT– darling, we can talk this out,, :'C there is just no winning with you hhhskjgfh /t /pos /hpos 😒

Karma is unfair and biased, but I try for our writebabies <//33 /hj I'm playing hot potato with it currently, but give me like a day and then I'll properly be lazing around for a whole day lmao

Although that image made me laugh, no <33 They are ours, and we will all stay here~~ <333

A waffle cake, a panna cotta, the more nicknames given the more sweets I find out about lol /t /gen /pos ?? Haven't I told you before tho??? I'm pretty sure I told you that before?? /neu

...(°ㅂ°╬) I haven't seen in that direction so you are taking and innocent person, don't you think that is unfair? >:(( I do! Unfortunately, I haven't been able to paint as much the past year, but I still draw, and I enjoy watching people paint :DD Hm,, I mean there is the painter Albert Bierstadt, I absolutely love his paintings, but I don't really have a "deep meaning" with them, they just fill me with a lot of awe and joy :)) But his paintings definitely inspired me (still do) when I was younger, and they actually encouraged me to start photography years ago lmao. The same is with Oswaldo Guayasamín, I don't really have any "deep meaning" with them, but I grew up with his paintings due to my ma's family, so I enjoy looking at his works, they remind me of family, in an odd way. mwah♡

/┬┴┬┴┤(⁄ ⁄•̀⁄_⁄├┬┴┬

/everyday I endure abuse and straight up murder by you, yet here I am... repeating the same damn process... (╥_╥) /t /nsrs

-panna cotta

yes, I know. you fall into a tremor, you make this puppy-scared face and everyone looks at you and thinks, "oh my god, get him out of here, someone give him silence, he's going to cry urgently, turn down the volume, turn down the volume" sjshhddhdhdhd sjhshsh the truth is told "the family rests on the patience of a panna cotta" /t /j ? of course, cutie~ provokes me to tease you even more hehehe~ someone is just a shy flirt, I see, although you used to be quite smooth~ are you getting old~? yes!!! you're a bully!!! constantly tormenting the poor dove!!! hooray hooray gaslighting works!!! jshshdhdhd /t /j /i get you don't worry, sweetie♡

can we???... maybe, but I only crave blood >;33333 this is a family trait on the maternal side; only my mom, me and my younger sibling possess it. fortunately, my youngest is not that good yet, but imagine the battles when she and I come together in battle if we lack the prudence to give up earlier dhdhhdhdhdh hehehe,,, kith kith<333

in my opinion, now it is more than fair and on time~ almost instantaneous~ <333 I know, dear. it remains to be seen whether you are lying down because you are conserving energy or because you are easily exhausted hwhwhhw /ht /affectionate

hooray, soon our communication will reach a point where we will share a sense of humor~ finally, you won't be able to brush me off with "we're not close enough" anymore, because even if a common sense of humor doesn't give you intimacy, then you're obviously a biorobot and I'm not sure if I want to let kids communicate with such a pamna,,,, /t /j /nsrs

dear,,,,, waffle cake,,,,,,, everyone knows waffle cake, it's practically the best thing in the world,,,,,,,,,, It's like a napoleon cake ??? I know that you love me because you continue to communicate with me, but, dear, if you love me even despite the fact that I constantly kill you, I have a question,,,,,,, many questions,,,,,,,,,, /t /hj

why are you reacting as if I'm leading you into a dark forest towards a strange hut while there's not a single living soul around pretending to be a minor and accusing you of something you're sure you're not to blame? relax, it won't hurt, you might even like it >;33333 mmm!!! how interesting... you know what I'll ask next — favorite painting / paintings by Albert Bierstadt and your first acquaintance with it / them? mwah mwah♡

/ AWWWWWW,,,, cutie cutie cute pie,,,,, little one,,,,,,,, sjdhjdhdjdhd sweetheart<//333333 mwah mwah mwah<3333333

/ well... you're just masochistic, honey — we both knew it for a long time, though, but I'll let you deny it because sometimes I have to be kind to you<3333 /t /j /nsrs

#[📂] — voice from under the bed #❖.my jewelry #✮.panna cotta <3

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darlingyanderes · 3 years

Note

Can you do one with Muzan and Kokushibo (bad at spelling 😂) With y/n. You can choose the content

Hi thank you for your request!! I might have gone a little ham on this one, I recently watched a movie called “Forgotten” on Netflix, and it inspired me to write this! I hope you like it (and that it’s not a straight up rip-off of the movie ooop)

Warnings: (fake) illness, drugs, explicit gore, murder, demons eating humans, manipulation/gaslighting, badly written amnesia

Word count: 1731

Take your pills - Yandere!Muzan Kibutsuju x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Kokushibo

Muzan and Kokushibo were always right. Or at least, Y/N had to trust they were always right, since her memory is so fuzzy. When the three first met, they told Y/N that she was ill and needed treatment. They claimed it was still in the first stages, so Y/N of course didn’t notice anything yet. But as they took her to the doctor and got her these pills, her whole head has just become so fuzzy. It was hard to stay in the real world and she could barely remember what she had been doing 5 minutes ago. Y/N wrote it off as the effects of the disease and that it was progressing despite all the medication.

But some things were so odd. That doctor they took her to, was that her usual doctor? Who was that person? When did she start living at Muzan and Kokushibo’s house, and since when did they call her ‘bunny and ‘darling’? The more she thought about her situation, the more questions popped up, and the harder it became to find answers. How could she, when her conscious felt like it was floating in an endless sea?

In the end, thinking became too tiresome. She decided to save herself the useless trouble of looking for answers she wasn’t going to get, and just trust Muzan and Kokushibo. She must be ill, that’s why they’re giving her these drugs. She can’t think straight, that’s why they’re taking care of her. That’s all she knew, and all she had to know.

Y/N stood at the sink in the bathroom, with a pill and a glass of water in her hand. She was about to pop the pill in her mouth, when Muzan suddenly opened the door, startling her and causing the pill to fell out of her hand and beneath the sink.

“You scared me half to death!”

Muzan shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny. I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready. Did you take your pill today?”

Y/N looked at her empty hand. She thought that she hadn’t taken it yet, but it wasn’t in her hand. She tried digging through her memory, but it was no use: she didn’t remember even that. Judging from the glass of water in her hand and the absence of a pill, she probably took one. Right?

She grinned at him and said: “Of course! What’s for breakfast?”

---

Y/N awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes drowsily looking around the room. Despite having just woken up, she felt her mind was a bit clearer than it usually was. Rolling over in bed, she realised she was more aware of the softness of the sheets, the faint smell of Muzan and Kokushibo clinging to the fabric, and the warmth radiating from the empty spots where they usually slept.

Wait, empty spots?

Y/N sat up, patting the rest of the bed to see if Muzan and Kokushibo had somehow been lying at the very edges of the matrass, but it was all empty. Why were they both gone?

A scream suddenly ruptured the house. Though it was dampened by the walls, Y/N could tell it was a guttural scream of pure fear. It made the very hairs on her neck stand up. She was frozen in her bed, horrified at the silence that followed. She could only hear her own heart beat frantically in her chest.

Only when the scream came for a second time, did Y/N quickly move from the bed. The scream must have been coming from inside the house. There must be an intruder. Was someone hurting Muzan or Kokushibo? Or even worse, both of them?

She had to help them. Even if her presence would just be a distraction to stop whatever attacker was in their house for only a split second, that would be good enough.

She inched her way through the darkness of their house, following the noise, until she was right around the corner of the bathroom. The light inside was on and the screams of agony kept ringing in her ears. She grabbed her slipper as a make-shift weapon and braced herself, before jumping in the opening of the door and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Stop!”

But what she saw made her drop the slipper in her hand.

The screams weren’t coming from either Muzan or Kokushibo, but rather a deadly pale looking man in the bathtub. His eyes were red and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and blood. He was partially submerged in his own blood and was most likely the cause for all the red smears and hand prints on the bathroom tiles behind him. Even if Y/N was able to perform surgery on him, she could never save him; half of his abdomen had been hollowed out, his intestines draped out for all to see. He was littered with claw marks, and an occasional bite was missing from his limbs.

Right as Y/N had entered the bathroom, a bloodied hand had dug its way into him, tearing his flesh out. The hand belonged to Muzan, the usually neat and tidy man who now had wild eyes and a face smeared red. Kokushibo was crouching next to him, licking the blood off his fingers with that same feral look in his eyes.

With a hopeless dread in her stomach, Y/N fell to her knees. They were demons. She had been living with demons this entire time. Monsters, vicious killers, who posed as loving humans so they could have a cover and continue eating humans in peace. With shallow breaths, Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the man in the bathtub, whose horrifying final moments she was witnessing.

“Y/N? Y/N, it’s not what it looks like.”

Y/N gaze shifted to Muzan, who now turned his whole body towards her. He looked like a tiger about to pounce its prey.

“Go back to bed, Y/N,” added Kokushibo, who tried to show her a calming smile. All Y/N could see were his bloodied fangs.

Y/N shook her head fervently and crawled backwards away from them, tears stinging in her eyes. “You are monsters. You- You killed that man!”

Muzan frowned, before looking at Kokushibo. “The pills should’ve prevented this, right?”

Kokushibo stalked towards Y/N, who couldn’t move away fast enough. “I suppose there’s something we could still do to make this right.”

---

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was back in the bed. Light was shining through the curtains, announcing the start of a new day. For a moment she was lost in the warm comfort of the bed and the two bodies surrounding hers, but then she suddenly remembered the events of last night.

Her eyes shot wide open and she gasped when she saw Muzan’s face right in front of hers. With his usual gentle smile, he whispered: “Good morning, darling.”

When he attempted to brush her hair out of her face, she flinched backwards, suddenly scared of the long claws on his hands. However, she didn’t get far: Kokushibo pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her stomach. After he pressed a lazy kiss on her neck, he said: “What’s wrong, bunny?”

“You killed him.”

“What?”

“You killedhim. How could you do such a thing?”

Muzan once again moved his hand to caress her face, this time succeeding since Y/N didn’t have enough room to dodge him. With a carefully crafted worried look on his face, he said: “Sounds like you had an awful nightmare.”

Y/N frowned. “What? A nightmare?”

It was quiet for a while. Kokushibo propped himself up on his arm so he could look Y/N in the face. He looked grave as he asked: “Y/N, did you take your pill yesterday?”

Y/N opened her mouth to say yes, but stopped. She didn’t remember if she took one. Did she take one? No matter how much she dug in her memory, she just didn’t know.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Muzan sighed and shook his head. As he stroked her cheek with his thumb, he spoke: “You always had terrible nightmares before we took you to the doctor. You’d wake up and be so, so scared, just like you are now. The nightmares seemed so real to you, but they aren’t. They’re just nightmares.”

Kokushibo backed him up as he rubbed Y/N’s shoulder. “We were by your side the whole night, bunny. Right here in this bed.”

Something was wrong. She knew what she saw that night. But then again, why would they have any reason to lie? If they really were demons, they’d just eat her up if she witnessed them doing something like that, right? Demons wouldn’t care if they had to kill one more human, it’d just mean an extra meal for them. And they surely wouldn’t take care of someone like her like this. They must be right. They just have to be. Otherwise it just doesn’t make sense.

This illness really was messing with her head and her sense of reality. She felt like a fool. How could she possibly think that they’d do something like that, when they were always so kind and patient with her? She really was an idiot. In a small voice, Y/N said: “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling, we know it’s hard.”

Kokushibo reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and grabbed a pill and the glass of water on top of it. Meanwhile, Muzan sits Y/N up straight, keeping his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting in hers.

“Open wide,” Kokushibo said as he held the pill in front of her mouth. When Y/N opened it, she received a pat on her head. “Good girl.”

She couldn’t help but feel this nagging in the back of her head. Something wasn’t right here. The gentle smiles on their faces, and the way Muzan patiently held out the glass of water for her. There was something hidden behind her eyes, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it really just the illness that was making her feel this way?

Finally, Muzan pressed the glass to her lips, forcing Y/N to take a sip and swallow the pill.

“From now on, we’ll make sure you take your pills, okay?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kibutsuji #yandere muzan x reader #yandere muzan kibutsuji #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader #yandere muzan #yandere kibutsuji muzan #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demonslayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere muzan x reader x kokushibo #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader x kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan kibutsuji

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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peepeepotter · 3 years

Text

Late Night Encounters Part 3

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! Female receiving oral, unprotected vaginal penetration

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: It’s my birthday so I didn’t proofread this!! I’m sorry!!

Once again, Fred had a date. He woke up that morning and remembered every bit of what he had said, and stood by his words. He told Y/N he still wanted to see the ring on the table when he got home. He wanted her to think about it for at least 24 full hours before she made a decision.

Y/N and Fred had narrowly missed each other that morning. He was off running errands for the day and she had only just woken up. He was home for lunch and she was out with Hermione. Y/N felt her heart sink, feeling guilty for wanting to see him. Why guilt, though? She didn’t feel like she had a valid reason to feel guilty. After she got home from lunch Fred had already left for his date, so she fell asleep on the couch in the living room, figuring it was a good way to pass the time until she saw her new best friend again.

“Why was this on the kitchen table?” George asked, waking Y/N up out of her sweet, dreamless sleep on the couch. He was holding the ring.

“I can’t sleep with jewelry on.” She shrugged, getting up and going to grab the ring. He held it up higher. She almost laughed until she saw the look on his face.

“I’m serious.” She sighed heavily at this.

“I know, George.”

“You know what?” The audacity that men have.

“I know you’re sleeping with her again.”

“W-what?” He almost dropped the ring.

“I just don’t get it, George.”

“I w-wouldn’t do that again.”

“Except you are.”

“Why are you accusing me right now?”

“Because I’m not dumb! Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I’m dumb! I’m not naive. The first time, sure. This time, no! It’s the same as last time, but you thought I’d stay with you just because you proposed this time! Maybe I won’t, did you think about that? What if you get her pregnant? Did you just expect me to stay around and raise the kid? Or what if we both get pregnant, who are you leaving alone with their child?”

“I cannot believe this right now--”

“Stop that! Stop it! You’re gaslighting me! You know I’m right! Stop lying!”

“Fine!”

“How long?”

“A year.”

“So immediately after we got back to where we were.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did I do? Why am I not enough for you?”

“Maybe if you--”

“Actually, no, fuck you. I’m enough for me. I’m enough for so many people. I gave you a second chance and you fucking blew it! I’ve done so much for you, for Fred, too!”

“I--” He sighed. He was speechless. It was the first time you’d really fully stood up for yourself. It was on him, he knew that. “I think...I’m going to spend the night at the Burrow, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Go, spend the night with her, but don’t lie to me and say you’re staying with your mom.” She spoke bluntly, tears streaming out of her eyes quietly. It was a silent cry, the only way Y/N ever allowed herself to cry in front of people. He hesitated, but he turned around and left the living room. Y/N entered the kitchen, starting to grease pans for baking.

Fred came home that night, mostly confused. Y/N wasn’t in the living room tonight, which didn’t make him feel great. That wasn’t the worst of it though. The date was great. She was perfect, but...he hated it. Something was missing. As she listed off interests, favorite movies, her favorite quidditch team...all he could think was that something was missing. When he got home, and Y/N was missing, it dawned on him. It was her. She was missing. The girl had listed off all of Y/N’s favorite movies, her favorite songs. She liked to bake. Her favorite quidditch team was the Holyhead Harpies, the team his little sister played on. Suddenly, Fred felt rather sick. He can’t have feelings for his brother's girlfriend--no, fiance!

With a pit in his stomach, he walked into the kitchen, where he opened his eyes wide. The entire kitchen table and window sill were covered in baked goods. There was one clean counter, where Y/N sat staring off into space, waiting for her next round of cookies to finish.

“Oh! I forgot! I’m sorry, how was the date?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing--”

“Don’t, please don’t close yourself off. We’re close now, just let me in. What happened, what’s with the baked goods?” He asked, leaning with his arms crossed and his back against the island counter across from where she sat. He noticed the ring was missing, it wasn’t on Y/N’s finger, it wasn’t on the counter or the table where he’d seen it last.

“He admitted it. He’s cheating on me with her again.” She sighed, looking to the ceiling and holding back tears. “And it sucks so hard to know he wasted all this time of mine again. He proposed to me. I know he’s your brother, but that’s just so...crazy. Who does that?” She paused, and just as Fred was about to talk she kept going. “And the worst part is that I don’t...I don’t feel anything. The first time he cheated with Angelina it was like my whole world came crashing down. He was my best friend, my boyfriend, and my roommate. Now, it barely even feels like we’re roommates. I thought I could love him the same way after it all, and maybe he cheated because I couldn’t.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Cheating is always a decision. If he realized you didn’t love him the same way he should have communicated with you. Broken up. Not proposed and delayed this.” Fred sighed. Y/N wouldn’t make eye contact with Fred, assumingly because she was upset.

“I--” She paused, chest tight. She looked up at Fred, making blatant eye contact. “What if I’ve been emotionally cheating?” Fred’s eyes widened and his heart sank. He felt awful, like his feelings for her would just have to go away again. Right as they were getting close.

“W-what? With who?”

“You fucking idiot.” She sighed, pushing herself off the counter. She went to walk away, but Fred put his arms on either side of her on the counter, pinning her where she was.

“Don’t walk away.” He whispered, so close to her face. Her heart pounded.

“I--” She sighed. “Fred, I’ve felt more for you in the past five days than I’ve felt for George in the past year and a half. I waited all day for you to be here, and I kept feeling guilty for it. I’ve felt so guilty, and then I find out he’s cheating and I’m so numb to it because you’re all I can think about.” She paused to breathe before she continued her quick ramblings. “Also, the idea of having feelings for you is so weird, because we only just started to like each other, but you’re standing so close to me and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t stop thinking about all the girls you used to bring home and how I don’t want to be just one of those girls you sleep with. But obviously I can’t just be with you because I think I just broke off my engagement with your brother and also because you haven’t said anything--” So Fred, in his overwhelmed state, pushed forward and pressed his lips against hers. She grabbed both sides of his face as he grabbed her hips. After a few moments, he quickly pulled apart, moving one of his hands to keep her hand on his face in place

“I couldn’t tell you the other night, but I had feelings for you that summer before the war, but you were with George. I couldn’t...I couldn’t just confess then, and besides you were so happy with him. Then we didn’t like each other, and the night before you got engaged I couldn’t stop thinking about you all over again. And...George made us spend all that time together and you’re the only thing I think about. The girl I went on the date with was so perfect, but I couldn’t get you off my mind and I realized she was just like you. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t you, no one will ever be you.” Fred spoke in a hushed tone with his eyes closed, as if speaking any louder or seeing her would make Y/N evaporate into thin air. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see her with tear tracks down her face.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me before.” She whispered, taking the hand that wasn’t trapped by his and wiping her face. He giggled, letting go of her hand and using both of his hands to hold the sides of her face. He leaned forward and kissed the tear stains on Y/N’s face. “You’re like this perfect man, it’s so wildly different from George.” She mumbled.

“I can’t account for where he went wrong, and I haven’t always been great. But if you give me the chance, I will love you better than anyone else could dream of.” With tears streaming down her eyes she pulled him in to kiss her again, he smiled against her lips. He held the small of her waist as she rested one of her hands on his chest, the other sat at the back of his neck playing with his hair. He moaned when she pulled it gently, causing her to smile into their kiss. She almost missed being able to see him rolling his eyes at her smirk.

“Love me, please. Tonight, tomorrow, every day. Just--love me tonight.” She whispered against his lips as they panted for air.

He leaned down, kissing her again as he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her back to a sitting position on the counter. Y/N threaded her fingers through Fred’s hair, one of Fred’s hands was on her thigh, the other rested on her waist. Finally, she bit his bottom lip in an attempt to get him to do anything. In response, he gave a noise that sounded between a groan and a growl, moving to her neck to leave bite marks. He licked the shell of her ear and bit the lobe as he moved down to the length of her neck, sucking hard. She moaned softly, whimpering when he used he grazed his teeth over her neck.

She started grinding her hips against his in an attempt to get some friction. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him to aid in her plight for friction. After he felt satisfied with the bruises he’d left on her neck he went back to her lips, sucking on her bottom lip briefly before licking it in a silent asking of permission to use it. She gracefully licked his tongue, granting his own tongue admission to her mouth. Their tongues wrestled messily, Y/N playing with Fred’s hair and occasionally pulling softly to hear him moan. She was starting to feel frustrated with just grinding, so she moved the hand that was on the side of Fred’s face to gracefully feel all the way down his body before she started palming him through his slacks. He gave a harsh groan this time, pulling apart from her mouth briefly.

“You’re so beautiful, so sexy.” His voice was deep with pleasure and she moaned at the sound alone. Her heart swelled, she hadn’t been praised like that sexually...ever. Fred took one of his hands off of her hips to thread into her hair, pulling gently to hear her moan. He swore to himself that he could hear that every minute of every day and never get tired of it. While Fred knew he was going to fuck her, his intentions were pure-- he wanted to make love to her. Y/N, however, was getting frustrated with his politeness. She started to unbutton his slacks and he broke off their kiss again. “Hold on, I want to take care of you.” He whispered, flush against her lips.

“I appreciate that, but I want you inside of me.” She whispered, her hand that had been unbuttoning his pants was now tangled in his shirt. Fred felt his heart drop to his cock when she said this, groaning at her lack of restraint. Y/N started unbuttoning his shirt as he separated her thighs and pulled her completely to the edge of the counter.

“You’ll just have to be patient, princess.” He grinned as he went to crouch, kissing her knee on the way down. He left kisses all over the inside of her thighs, leaving her soaked to the core before he had even really touched her. Both Fred and Y/N were thankful she was wearing a dress that day, making his access considerably easier as he rubbed her through only her thin panties. Kissing the inside of her thigh as he looked up into her eyes, he felt like the luckiest man alive. He almost grinned when he saw she was adorning another pair of fruit covered panties.

“You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said the cherry panties were sexy,” He smirked up at her, rubbing circles into her clit through peach covered cotton. “These are sexy too, but I think they’d look a lot better on the floor.” He grabbed the cotton on her hips and pulled them down, leaving them on the floor like he promised. Y/N’s thighs were shaking from all the teasing he had done already. He licked from her inner knee to where he promised to take care of her, latching his mouth onto her clit. She gasped at the feeling of his warm tongue, closing her eyes. He used his tongue to create figure-8’s against her clit, and slowly pushed one finger into her. At this, she threw her head back, resting the crown of her skull gently against the cabinet behind her. She laced her fingers through Fred’s hair, now pulling hard. He groaned in his own pleasure, creating vibrations against her clit which in turn made her moan. He pushed a second finger into her, slowly pumping them as he worked her clit. After adding a third finger, her legs were shaking violently, showing she was nearing the edge. He quickly swapped his fingers and tongue, using his thumb to rub circles against her clit and sticking his tongue as deep as he could inside of her warm pussy. He had his other arm wrapped around her thigh, one of her hands reaching to hold the hand there as she neared her end even faster than before.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby, can you do that for me?” He paused briefly, looking up at her, she nodded vigorously. His tongue returned to it’s warm reserve inside of her. The motions he made with his thumb against her clit became faster, and soon enough she was squeezing his hand and nearly screaming his name. Fred waited for her to stop squeezing his hand to stand up and kiss her on the lips again. “You did so good, baby.” He whispered against her lips.

“Freddy,” She whimpered against his lips. “You haven’t even fucked me yet and I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” She almost laughed at the thought. He grinned, happy with his work so far. He tucked a strand of her behind her ear, kissing her ear as he spoke.

“You won’t need to, baby. I’ll fuck you right here,” He started licking and kissing her neck again, making her whine. “And I’ll take care of you so you don’t have to walk.” He whispered against her quickly bruising flesh. She whined again, reaching to finish her job unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his already unbuttoned pants. He let her continue as he wrapped his hand in her hair once and pulled back, exposing the front of her neck to him where he continued his attack. When she finished unbuttoning his shirt he helped her pull it off his shoulders, exposing his freckled and scarred skin on his chest to her. She rubbed her hands against his chest, feeling every individual scar and wondering where each of them came from. He watched her eyes dart around, a small closed-lip smile adorning her face as she felt the raised white scars. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek softly, loving his own view. Using the same hand that was petting her cheek, he lifted her face to look up at his. He pulled her face close to his own and kissed her softly.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered against her lips with his eyes closed. She smiled, reaching her face up to kiss his eyelids. Angel kisses on his blonde eyelashes. It was a sweet moment, to remind them both that not only was there no going back after what they were about to do, but also to remind them that this wasn’t just fucking. This was real, unadulterated love. He opened his eyes, looking deeply into hers as she pushed his slacks and boxers down as far as she could with her hands, using her bare feet the rest of the way. He lifted her dress over her head, tossing it somewhere behind him, inevitably landing on some type of baked good. She rested one hand against his jaw, pulling his face close to hers, her other hand pumping his cock and gently rubbing the tip. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath at the feeling of her small hand around him. He rested one hand on her jaw, mirroring her. His other hand rested on the small of her back to push her closer to him. They kissed gently, feeling like this moment was fragile and could be broken. Y/N moved the hand that was on his cock and squeezed his bicep, quietly communicating that she was ready. He moved his hand from the small of her back to line himself up with her entrance, and as he pushed in the both gasped quietly at the feeling. Fred rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed as he waited quietly and politely for her to adjust to his size. After a few moments she tapped him to tell him to move, her eyes squeezed tightly closed for preparation of any pain that would come from his movements. He moved slowly, truly taking this moment to get to know Y/N’s body. He felt every groove inside of her, every dip and small raise in her skin, memorising her inside and out. As they both started to get used to this puzzle-piece moment in which it felt like the clicking of soul-mates finally coming together, they started kissing again. Fred’s tongue entered her mouth, exploring, dead set on memorising her entire body. Her hands found themselves resting on his back, nails digging in every so often. If this had been her sex dream, she would’ve been wondering how many girls had dug their nails into his back, but in person all she could think about was him. He filled her every sense, she could smell him, feel him everywhere, taste him, his freckled skin stuck on her eyes even when they closed, and their shared moans overwhelmed her ears. If this was what making love was, she definitely had never shared that with George.

Fred lowered his hand, rubbing her clit gently as his pace got faster. He wasn’t sure if he had ever felt so good so quickly, he was almost positive he hadn’t ever felt his high come so quickly. As he pounded into Y/N’s g-spot and rubbed her clit, she found herself loudly moaning. Her nails were now leaving deep marks into Fred’s back, and Fred hadn’t even noticed.

“Fred,” She moaned his name loudly, the sound of which made his own high come even faster. Set on finding their highs together, they were flush together. Y/N nor Fred had never been so close to someone, their entire bodies touching. Her legs were wrapped around him, her torso flush against his and her face buried into his chest. His face was buried into her neck, leaving occasional kisses to avoid his own moans. Quickly, they found their highs together. After hitting her g-spot so many times, she warned him. He quietly thanked Godric, his own high coming as well. So as they came together, panting, completely embraced, they felt loved. They’d both felt fucked-out before, but this felt different. This felt simultaneously heavy and weightless on their hearts, and they stayed together for a long time. They kissed quietly, Fred not really wanting to leave her, and she not wanting him to leave her either. Before he pulled out she spoke.

“I love you too, Freddy.”

Tag list: @fredshufflepuff @melonoptimist @phelps-weasley-twins @maybeisthemoon @groovynachos @katllol @manuosorioh @brownieparker @superblyspeedydragon @packmentalityx @missryerye @p0gue420 @hogwartshomiehopper @skarlettmikaelson @seppys-return-to-madness @fandomscombine @wzardweasley @eattheboat @mgchaser @borhap-boiiii @gabiconstellation @hardpartybasketballshepherd @superpowereddonut @sukunas-cult-leader @whysoseriousssssssss @skateb0red @urgingforyou @lookscutebutwillfight

permanent tag list: @potters-heart @0x0spunky-monkey0x0

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nifolution · 2 years

Text

Good Girl 3

Pairing: Robert Pronge & Reader

Summary: Mr. Freezy’s new client has an interesting request.

Warnings: Dark fic, Violence, smut, noncon/dubcon, angst, humiliation, death, manipulation, gaslighting, kidnapping, betrayal, mentions of torture, vengeance

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 3rd person. 18+ only due to smut and noncon/dubcon situations. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 2 Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 3

It had been seven hours. Seven long hours of finding different ways to make George scream and beg for mercy. He beat him, broke all the fingers on his right hand, smashed his left knee with a hammer, cut off three toes and two fingers, and ripped out a few teeth. He took a grater to his face and had some fun with pliers, a lighter and a hand saw. He wanted him to suffer, but had to keep him alive. It wasn’t time yet.

Pronge waved the red handset in front of George’s face. “You ready to make that fucking call?”

“Yes,” George admitted weakly.

“Give me the number asshole. And it better be the correct one this time. You don’t want to lose anything else, do you?” He stared at his crotch to make sure George got the implication.

Pronge dialed the number. It rang five times before she picked up. He recognized his sweets voice right away as she greeted him. He shoved the phone toward George.

“Hi darling, it’s daddy… Yes, I’m sorry I missed breakfast. I had to leave early for some very important business…. Um, hold off on dinner talk right now. I need you to meet me somewhere. Grab a pen….” George relayed the address to Y/N, telling her to get here quickly. And like the good girl she is, she obeyed without question.

Forty minutes later, Pronge heard her car pull up. He was grateful he parked his truck in the back so it didn’t raise suspicion. She knocked on the front door, how cute. He stood in the shadows, waiting.

Y/N opened the door and walked in. “Hello, dad are you here?” She heard her father call her. She followed his voice around some tall shelving and stacks of pallets. “Daddy?”

She gasped when she spotted him. Her father was tied to a chair, so bruised and bloody it looked like he’d been put through a woodchipper. “Daddy!” She ran to him but was suddenly pulled back as her feet touched the plastic tarp on the floor.

Pronge was surprised at the ferocity she fought him. She screamed and kicked and clawed him. She even bit his arm. He held her tight, “Calm down!” The asshole she was fighting for was not worth it. He would prove that to her.

He covered her mouth to silence her. “Don’t worry sweetness, I’m not going to hurt you.” She froze at his words. Her breathing became panicked and erratic. Pronge felt the tears drip onto his hand. “Shh shh shh shh. You’re safe. Calm down.”

Pronge began to rock her. “I want to make amends, sweets. Expose the snake in your grass.” He released her and stepped away. “Your father here has made fucking pawns of us both.”

“Don’t listen to him, Y/N. Run!” Her father yelled in desperation.

“No, she needs to hear this, George. Needs to know all about your lesson for her.” He walked in front of her, but Y/N’s eyes remained fixed at chest level. She wouldn’t look up.

Her father cried out again, “Run darling, get the cops. Just run, please!”

Pronge laughed, “Oh please get the cops. I can’t wait to tell them what this fucker’s been up to… He’s been playing us, sweets. He acts like father of the year, but he is a vile traitor. He’s been grooming you as his plaything. A pretty toy he was too scared to touch himself. So when you started to rebel, he hired me… He paid me to take you, sweets. He gave me a lot of fucking money to teach you a lesson of his design. And he wanted pictures of it, souvenirs of his perverted fucking game.”

Y/N shook her head furiously, “No, you’re lying. You’re the bad guy and you’re trying to trick me. My father had nothing to do with it. He couldn’t.”

“I may be a bad guy, but trust me, he’s worse.” Pronge tried unsuccessfully to meet her eyes. “I’m not tryna trick ya, just open your pretty eyes. Get you to see the perverted asshole he really is.”

George continued to beg his daughter, “Don’t believe this criminal. You know me, Y/N. You’re my good girl, I love you. Please don’t let him get in your head. I’m your father, you know me.”

“Shut your fucking mouth. She deserves to know the truth.” Pronge took a folded photo out of his pocket, handing it to Y/N. Her eyebrows knitted together as she stared at her picture. “Turn it over.”

There was writing on the back. Her address and Perry’s. There was no mistaking it was her dad’s messy handwriting. “I… I don’t understand.”

Pronge sighed and gave her the newest photo of the collection. The one of her dad jerking off to the dirty photos of her. He saw the recognition as she stared at the items in her dad’s hand. Unbeknownst to him, she had already received one in the mail. A warning to behave when her ex-boyfriend kept calling the house.

Y/N was mortified, “I don’t… No, no, these are fakes, you’re lying. This isn’t real. You’re lying!” She continued denying and shaking her head, but Pronge could tell he had gotten through.

“I’m not, sweets. You’ve been betrayed by the person you should be able to depend on the most. I want to help make it right. As you can see, I gave him a fucking lesson of my own. I hope it pleases you so far, but it’s not finished yet. That part is up to you.” He hands her the manila envelope and a hunting knife.

Her dad continued pleading as Y/N opened the envelope and viewed the contents. “It’s bullshit, darling. Just one big pack of lies from this godless felon. Look what he did to me. Look!” George watched Y/N drop the photos and weapon on the ground in alarm. “God damn it, don’t listen to him. Y/N, look at me… Come here and help me, please.” Receiving no answer, George began losing his composure, “Get over here and untie me you stupid bitch!”

Y/N’s breath hitched at the outburst. Everything seemed to slow down and click into place. She was confused and horrified. She doubled over, feeling like she was going to be sick.

Pronge started a fire in a nearby drum. “You can trust me, sweetness. I am doing this all for you.” He picked up the fallen photographs and threw them into the fire. Y/N appeared beside him, watching the images crackle and turn to ash. He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. Surprising himself with the soft gesture.

George yelled the entire time. “What the fuck are you doing, Y/N? Fuck the pictures and help me. They don’t mean anything. Pick up the knife. Pick it up and kill him before he hurts us more.” He was ignored again. “You are just too fucking dumb to listen, aren’t you? I know what’s best for you. None of this would have happened if you just obeyed. You are supposed to listen to me, always. You brought this on yourself. Now get over here and cut me loose!”

She whirled around to face her father. Crying now with rage. “How could you do this to me? You’re my dad. You raised me. You…”

Her father spat on the floor and said the words that would seal his fate. “Ya, and what a mistake that was. If I knew you’d turn out to be such a disappointment, I would have left you at your mother’s grave to rot alongside her.”

Pronge pressed the blade back into Y/N’s hand. She slowly walked over to her father. Seeing him in a new, jarring light. How could she have been so stupid? Why didn’t she see it before?

“What do you want, an apology?” Her father asked, disturbingly amused.

Y/N brought the knife down on his thigh. As George released a blood curdling scream, she stabbed him in the neck. Then she continued to plunge the blade into his chest over and over, like she was possessed. The only screams now came from her. He was long gone as she continued shredding his body.

She stopped just as quickly as she started. Y/N backed away, trembling as her wrath left her. Without it she felt dazed, like it was all a dream. Looking at her dad’s dead body, she should be upset, but she felt… nothing. Numb. She was no longer crying. Wasn’t sure she would again.

Pronge approached her cautiously, “You look a little zoned out there, sweetness. You okay?”

Y/N was unresponsive. She continued staring at her father, feeling fake. Detached from the whole situation she found herself in.

He wasn’t sure she heard him. Pronge gently took the knife out of her hand, she let him. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He led her into a room with a tub.

Pronge stripped off her clothes, and lowered her into the tub. He began washing the blood off of her, taking care to remove every last red drop. She was moving on her own and obeying commands, but blank. Like she was sleepwalking. “You did good sweets. I’m proud of you.”

She turned her head to look at him. He looked… hazy. Something was wrong, she felt broken, hollow. She shivered from the cold water.

“Too cold? Sorry about that. The people I usually clean don’t complain,” he laughed to himself.

Y/N didn’t like the way he said that. He was a monster, but he saved her from a bigger one, didn’t he? She was having trouble reconciling why she didn’t attack him too. She should have, should have stabbed him when he went to take the knife from her. Why didn’t she? Why was she letting him touch her? She could only sit there, enjoying the feel of his rough hands as he washed her. At least she was feeling something.

Pronge picked her up in his muscular arms, sat her on a nearby bench and started drying her off. Again, she allowed him to move her around like a ragdoll. It didn’t make sense, this man hurt her, but only because her dad made him, right?… And now he’s taking care of her. Why was he doing that? She watched his eyes move underneath the large frames, realizing she’d never seen them until now. Such pretty blue eyes…. Something was most certainly very wrong with her.

Pronge pulled one of his undershirts over her head and weaved her arms through. He walked her to another room where his bed was set up. He encouraged her to lie down. When she did he covered her up to keep her warm. “You certainly did a number on that asshole. I have to go clean the mess now.” He kissed her lips tenderly. “You’ll never have to worry about him again.”

Y/N lay there staring at the ceiling. This couldn’t be real. She was hallucinating, she had to be. The blue eyed man had yet to return. As the hours ticked by, she drifted off to sleep.

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

Pronge finished cleaning the area. The tarp cleaned and put away for future use. The body was wrapped in plastic and stored in the deep freeze. He’d get back to it in a few months. He decided to get a quick bath in instead of his usual sink cleanse. It has been a very long day and he wasn’t smelling the freshest. He had to think of his guest.

He smiled remembering his sweetness was currently asleep in his bed. Pronge abhorred being around other people. He was a solitary creature, feeling alone in a crowd, comfortable only in his own company. He didn’t feel alone around her though, and if that didn’t speak volumes.

Y/N slowly regained consciousness, still in a fog, her body writhing. Something was tickling her thighs. Something was… what the hell? She lifted the covers and saw a mop of brown hair. As she felt a warm tongue swirl around her clit, she squealed and bucked her hips. The man looked up from between her legs, smirking devilishly.

Pronge crawled and kissed his way up her body. Removing his shirt from her as he went. He paid extra attention to her neck, sucking new hickeys. Pronge was sad to see his earlier work had healed. She was his now, and he wanted to mark her as such. He reached down and continued playing with her wet cunt.

Y/N bit her lip, holding back the moan that was trying to force its way out. He was completely naked, not even wearing his glasses. His chest hair scratched her breasts in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. She could feel his manhood rigid against her leg. His thick calloused fingers stretching her. He smelled like bleach and cigarettes. Even lying down he towered over her. She was drowning in him. “What are you doing?” She asked quietly. She wasn’t sure if she was asking him or herself.

He raised his head to look in her eyes. “Making love to you, sweets.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth.

Her head was swimming, she still felt out of it. Y/N found herself opening her mouth to him, kissing him back. In the back of her mind she knew this was wrong, so very wrong. But she didn’t want to stop, it felt too delicious. And right now she just wanted to hide in the pleasure. Before him, god she didn’t even know his name, before him she’d only orgasmed by herself. No guy ever put in the effort. But this guy, this terrible person, knew how to make her body sing.

Pronge felt her clamping harder on his fingers, she was getting close. He stopped before she went over the edge. He then gripped his cock and slowly slid into her. There was no rush, he wanted to savor it this time. When he reached his limit he kissed her again. “Sweets you feel like fucking heaven.”

He began with steady strokes, but as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, he couldn’t hold back. He began thrusting into her vigorously. “Mmm, your pussy’s so good to me.” He lifted her legs over his shoulders, pounding her until she cried out, head thrown back, body arching off the mattress. He continued fucking her as she recovered.

Once her feet were back on the bed, Y/N pulled his head down, claiming his lips. She didn’t want to think anymore. This blue eyed stranger made her feel and she wanted to feel nothing but him. It was intoxicating, she needed more… She rolled them over and seated herself on top of him. Bracing her hands on his broad chest, she began rolling her hips.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweets, that’s it. Fuck me!” He moaned and squeezed her breasts. She stared into his eyes as she bounced on his cock. He moved his hands to grab her ass, holding tight and thrusting up into her. “Fuck sweets, you’re such a good girl riding my cock like this.”

Something in her eyes changed. Y/N leaned over him, her hand reaching…

Pronge groaned, “Fuck, oh sweets, you’re so fucking good.” He closed his eyes, fully lost in her wet heat. “Fuck,” he moaned as she sat up again, riding him faster. Then suddenly, “FUCK! Ahhh what the fuck? You fucking bitch!”

Y/N had stabbed him in the shoulder with a knife that he kept under the mattress. She found it and put it under her pillow when he left her alone. She smiled as he screamed at her. She continued to fuck him, moving her hands higher up his chest till blood met her fingers.

“What the shit? Fuck! Can’t believe you fucking stabbed me.” He left the blade in, watching her tits bounce as she rode him. Okay, let’s finish this. He gripped her hips and pulled her down on him. He thrust up hard as he moved her body. She soon screamed as another orgasm tore through her. He followed close behind, spilling inside.

Pronge kept his eyes on her as she got off of him. “Okay, I guess I deserved that.” He sat up, swung his legs off the bed and pulled the knife out. She sat there observing him like a hawk watching its prey. “You going to fucking help me with this?” He asked, meaning stitching up the wound.

Y/N disregarded him, lying down and pulling the covers over herself. She couldn’t find it in her to care that she was once again bloody. She rolled on her side, turning her back to him. Not bothered by the thought of him stabbing her with the knife she put in him.

Pronge started walking out of the room to go fix himself. “You’re lucky I like you, sweets,” he shouted back to her. Oh, this one was trouble. Him and her were going to have a lot of fun together.

The End

A/N: Yeah, she's lost it. And Mr. Freezy is going to use that to his advantage.

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has read this version or the original. I appreciate you all. I'd love to know your thoughts.

#mr freezy x reader #mr. freezy x reader #robert pronge x reader #robert pronge x you #robert pronge x y/n #robert pronge smut

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sisterspooky1013 · 5 months

Text

Gaslight, Chapter 33/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

She remembers slow mornings. They were few and far between, but they were one of her favorite things. Nothing to do, nowhere to be, no reason to leave the warmth of the bed for anything other than a quick trip to the bathroom to brush away their morning breath. It felt so painfully normal, like they were any other couple sleeping in on a Saturday.

She remembers slow mornings when she wakes up with Mulder’s arm slung heavy across her waist, and feels the press of his erection against her ass. Morning sex. She remembers that, too.

Yesterday already feels like a dream, and yet here he is beside her. He’s not quite himself, but there will be time to find the rest of him. To pull it out slowly from wherever it was secreted away, to help him remember how dogged he is, how determined, how insufferable at times. She doesn’t hope for any aspect of his personality to remain forgotten, even the parts that drove her crazy. She wants him back in full, right down to the sunflower seed hulls in her cupholders and the socks he always seemed to leave lying on the floor. The pain of missing Cal and the kids, of worrying about what will happen to them and her mother, is tolerable with his arms around her. She hopes this feeling never fades.

Mulder’s chest presses against her back as he pulls in a deep breath and stirs. She runs her hand over his forearm to let him know that she’s awake, and he wriggles down a little so he can hook his chin over her shoulder.

“Morning,” he says in a gravelly, sleep-worn voice.

“Hi.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Really well. You?”

“Good,” he says, then drops a kiss to her cheek. “I dreamt that we were on a boat and you were wearing a red dress. Is that a memory?”

Scully tries to remember being on a boat together. She gets strange little flashes that don’t quite add up. A snow globe. Sitting on a rock surrounded by water.

“I’m not sure,” she answers.

“You punched me, if that helps,” he adds, and she rolls to her back so she can see his face.

“I punched you?” she repeats, and he nods.

He looks adorable, rumpled and boyish with his hair standing on end. She smiles at him and tries to smooth it down.

“Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“What time is it?” He asks, craning his neck to see the bedside clock. “The guys said Langly would be here to pick us up at 10:00.”

“Only 8:15,” she answers. “We have plenty of time, and not much to pack.” He looks at her for a long time, and an intense expression that makes her nervous slowly crosses his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just…there are things I want to say to you, but I feel like I hardly know you. At the same time, I feel like you know me better than I know myself.”

The knot in her stomach tightens.

“What do you want to say?” she asks.

Mulder hesitates.

“How I feel…” he begins, then averts his eyes to where his hand is resting on her belly. “I want to tell you how I feel about you, but I don’t know if that’s already happened or if it would be the first time. And it seems like it’s too soon, but it also…doesn’t.” He shakes his head and cringes. “I’m afraid I’m not explaining myself very well.”

Her heart begins to pound and her throat tightens.

Fuck, Scully. I love you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she whispers, and he looks at her face.

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“Maybe that’s why…” he moves his hand to her face, running his fingers lightly across her cheek. “Maybe that’s why I feel such a strong urge to say it.” She waits, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing. Mulder sighs, then leans forward and brushes his lips across hers. “I love you,” he says, just a ghost of a sound. If she’d not been waiting with bated breath, she might have missed it.

She barks a sudden sob, tears springing to her eyes with alarming speed, and Mulder pulls away, horrified.

“No, no, no,” she says emphatically, reaching for him. “Happy tears.”

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, and he holds her while she cries with relief. Her dreams have come to life, finally. No more waiting.

Once she’s gotten her bearings, she loosens her grip on him and he pulls away so he can see her. He frowns, and she’s sure she looks a mess, but she feels better than she’s felt in months.

“I love you too,” she says, and his frown quickly morphs into a goofy smile.

All of Scully’s possessions fit into her small duffel bag, and Mulder has no possessions at all aside from the clothes he borrowed from Byers. When the phone rings at 10:01, they take a look around the apartment to be sure they haven’t forgotten anything, then lock the door for the last time. They trail down to the ground floor hand-in-hand, excited and afraid, and most of all hopeful. They both slide into the back seat, and Langly twists around to address them.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he says with some measure of surprise, and they smile like a couple of lovestruck teenagers. “Did you bring the burner cell?” he asks. “We’ll need to wipe it and pop in a new sim card before we send you on to the next leg.”

“Shit. No,” Mulder says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll go grab it, be right back.”

Before he exits the bus, he drops a quick kiss to Scully’s cheek and whispers, “love you,” in her ear.

She watches him disappear into the building, already anxious for him to return.

“Seems like you two worked things out,” Langly says with a suggestive pop of his eyebrows.

“I guess so,” Scully answers, feeling embarrassed that their affection is so obvious.

Langly chuckles and sits back in his seat, fiddling with the radio.

“Frohike drove up north this morning to pick up Mulder’s dog,” he tells her as he scans through rock, hip-hop, and pop music stations. “Our identity guy is leaning towards Canada for your location. It’ll be easier to get the dog across the border if you don’t have to fly.”

“That’s great,” Scully says. “Mulder will be happy to hear that.”

She looks at the door to the apartment building, tapping her toe against the floorboard impatiently. He should be coming back through any moment.

“Did you know that 90% of Canadians live within 150 miles of—”

Scully jumps at a sudden shattering boom against her ears, and her hands instinctively fly to the sides of her face. Her ears are ringing and her heart is in her throat as she slowly looks up to see that the bus’ windshield is mostly gone, and green-blue pebbles of tempered glass are littering the dashboard.

“What the hell was that?” she asks.

Langly doesn’t respond. She only hears a wet gurgle from the driver’s seat. She starts to sit forward so she can see him, but the door beside her flies open and strong hands are encircling her arms before she has even a split-second to react. The world goes dark as something slips over her head, pressing painfully against the front of her throat. She can’t speak. She can’t think. It’s too familiar. Is it happening again, or has time gone on a loop? Is she back there, at the warehouse?

“Mulder!” she manages to scream, just once.

Her hands are forced behind her back and she hears the zip of a cable tie, then her knees hit a hard surface. She hears a door slam and then the roar of an engine. She’s knocked against a wall as the vehicle she’s been placed in begins to move.

It’s happening again. They’re taking her back. They’re taking him from her.

Again.

Mulder is just swiping the burner cell off the coffee table when he hears a muted boom from below. He steps out onto the balcony and looks down to the parking lot where Scully and Langly are waiting in the bus. At first, he can’t make sense of what he sees. There are bits of something spilled all over the hood of the bus, and the steering wheel looks too in-focus considering how far away he is. Then he spots a van, black and mostly windowless, parked across the lot. He watches a broad-shouldered man walk briskly away from the van and towards the bus. He doesn’t wait a second longer.

He flies down the stairwell, his feet moving so quickly it’s a miracle that he doesn’t fall. His heart is pounding in his legs and in the palms of his hands, and he feels like he might vomit. The only thought in his mind is “no.” No, this can’t be happening. No, they can’t take her again. No, not when he only just got her back. No, no, no, no, no.

When he flings the entryway door open, the van is peeling out of the parking lot, taking a right towards the freeway onramp. Mulder chases after it, his feet pounding against the pavement somehow propelled by pure will as his lungs burn and his mind goes blank. The van turns and disappears from view, and he stands there, breathless and bereft.

They took her.

He doesn’t know what to do. He should know what to do. He runs back to the bus, where the back door is hanging open and Scully is conspicuously absent. He pulls the driver’s side door open to find Langly blood-soaked and sputtering, a deep red patch wetting the chest of his T-shirt.

“What happened?” Mulder asks desperately, pressing the palm of his hand against the wound.

Langly lurches and blood runs from the corners of his mouth. He tries to speak, but his throat is flooded. Keeping his hand in place, Mulder pulls the burner phone from his pocket and dials 911. They keep him on the line, instructing him to do what he’s already doing by keeping pressure on the wound. Langly is still breathing, but his eyes have fallen closed.

Mulder needs to call Byers and tell him what’s happened. He needs to figure out how to get Scully back. He should know what to do, but he doesn’t. He can’t remember ever feeling so hopeless.

When Frohike walks through the front door with Frenchie in tow, Mulder is sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. Frenchie barks at him once, but when he lifts his head and looks at her she begins to wiggle excitedly and pulls at her leash until Frohike cuts her loose. She charges him, jumping up onto the couch and licking his face, and he actually smiles, forgetting for just a split second that Scully is gone and Langly is in critical condition.

“What the hell happened to you?” Frohike says, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. “Where’s Scully?”

Reality comes slamming back down like a two-ton weight.

“She’s gone,” he says tightly, fresh tears springing to his eyes. He pushes Frenchie off the couch and encourages her to lie down at his feet. “They took her.”

Frohike turns and looks at him, gobsmacked.

“Who?”

Mulder shrugs helplessly.

“Whoever took us before, I assume. And Langly—” Frohike’s face blanches, and Mulder chooses his words carefully. “He’s alive, but he’s in bad shape. Byers is with him.”

Frohike slumps into a chair.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles, and Mulder gives him a minute to let it soak in.

He pets Frenchie aggressively, running his hand from the top of her head down to her tail over and over.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, glancing up at Frohike. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Jesus,” Frohike says again, his hand held loosely over his mouth. “In all the files, it never once referenced a location. We’d have to find someone who was involved in the project.”

Somebody who’s involved in the project. Mulder knows of a couple somebodies who are.

It only takes him a split second to make up his mind. He takes out the burner phone, which is streaked with Langly’s blood, and dials Diana’s phone number from memory.

“Who you callin’, man?” Frohike asks, looking worried.

It rings and rings. He waits to hear the clipped sound of her voice, followed by her angry demands. He’s prepared to do whatever is necessary to get Scully back. To keep her safe. If that means returning to Diana, so be it. If he is the collateral that will allow Scully to go free, it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make.

You’ve reached Diana Spender, I’m unavailable right now—

He snaps the phone closed as a strange mix of relief and frustration washes over him. He tries the house phone and hears his own voice on the answering machine. As a last ditch effort, he tries his parents’ house, hoping that she’ll be there.

Teena answers almost immediately, as though she’d been waiting by the phone.

“Jeff?” she says fearfully, her voice lowered. “Are you all right, son?”

“No, Mom, can’t say that I am,” he tells her, running one hand over his eyes. “And you can stop calling me Jeff; I know that’s not my name.”

There is a long, heavy silence.

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

“You should be,” he says flatly. “Is Diana there?”

“No,” Teena answers. “She and your father have been…busy.”

“I recently learned that my father was murdered in 1995,” Mulder tells her bitingly. She doesn’t respond. “Do you know Scully, Mom?” he asks her, sitting back.

“Yes, Fox. I’ve met Dana many times,” she says. The sound of his given name on his mother’s tongue pricks at something in his chest. “She’s a lovely woman.”

He feels the tears welling up again, tightening his throat.

“They took her away,” he whispers harshly, closing his eyes. “They took her from me, Mom.”

“I know,” she whispers back, sounding equally pained. “I’m sorry. I know now that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I regret ever agreeing to any of it.”

Mulder sits up suddenly. Frenchie scrambles to her feet and watches him raptly.

“Do you know where they took her?” he asks. It feels as though his entire life is riding on the answer.

Teena doesn’t respond right away. He hears her even breathing, and seconds tick by in agonizing purgatory.

“Have you ever visited the Patapsco River, Fox?” she asks, and he blinks, stupefied.

“What?”

“Of course you have, it runs right through Baltimore, but it’s much more enjoyable in a country setting.”

“Mom, what the hell does this have to do with anything?” he barks at her, frustrated. “Do you know where Scully is?”

“There’s a nice little area called Henryton, right on the banks of the south branch of the Patapsco. I think you’d like it there, Fox. Just do be careful of the tunnel, the railroad is still active.”

His anger fades as a chill creeps up his spine. He stands, and Frenchie follows him as he paces towards the kitchen. Frohike follows as well, only with his eyes.

“Is that where she is, Mom? In Henryton?” So much adrenaline is coursing through his veins that he feels sick.

“Be careful of the tunnel, Fox. Trains do pass through,” is all she says in response.

Mulder closes his eyes and heaves a shuddering sigh.

“Thank you,” he says, and he hears Teena heave a sigh of her own.

“It’s the least I can do,” she whispers. “Please, take care.”

She hangs up before he can say goodbye. He turns to Frohike, who is waiting with raised eyebrows and upturned palms.

“Well?” Frohike asks expectantly.

“Find out everything you can about an area on the Patapsco called Henryton,” Mulder tells him. “We’re going to need a car.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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strawberriianime · 3 years

Note

Y/n who catches Hanma cheating she tells him she is leaving him

She tells herself he doesn’t need him

But a couple of days after she is sucking his dick and letting Hanma use her however she pleases.

♡ you got it! sorry it was so late :(

♡ cw: mature language, sexual content, 18+, gaslighting, cheating, degradation, dub con & no minors pls!

♡ miss girl is kinda dumb but yk toxic relationships

You where out running some errands thanking the heavens that your boss had given you pleasure of leaving work early. You had nothing planned today so you decided to do a little retail therapy for yourself, a little reward for working so hard. Picking up your cellphone you decided to give your boyfriend a call, but went against it so you didn't disturb him at work. Shuffling from store to store you decided to visit one last store. Walking into the lingerie store you browsed the different selections, trying to find something new your boyfriend would like. "Babe isn't this the cutest!" a girls voice rang throughout the store. "Yea baby it'll look nice on you" a familiar voice replied. Dropping the items I had picked I moved closer, following the trail of the voice. "Hanma..." your voice cracked seeing your boyfriend with another woman. "Babe do you know her?" the girl blinked in confusion. "She's just a friend" his golden eyes glanced over you. It was as if he really didn't care. Turning on you heels you ran out the store, attempting to leave Hanma in the past. You where given a week off work since your boss thought you where grieving. It was hard not to think of him. Your bed smelt like him, he has clothes in your drawer, trust he was all over your house. It's been 4 days since you seen his face, hell you haven't checked your phone since you got off work that day its been resting on the headboard. Rolling over you snuggled into you pillow once more before closing you eyes and going to sleep. Shuji Hanma would see me no more. 12:46 am *creeeek*. Sitting up you clutched your blanket, eyes scanning your room as you seen a fairly large figure making it way toward your bed. “Baby it’s just me.” You knew that voice...a voice that was sickly familiar. “Hanma...what are you doing here and how in the fuck did you get into my house?” you questioned pushing yourself farther into your headboard. “I still have a spare key.” he replied removing the clothing he had on and sliding under the sheets with you. As if none of the past events has happened, he roughly grabbed your arm pulling you towards him. “Hanma..what are you doing.” you say attempting to pull your arm back. “Come on, you know I miss you. What other reason would I come over here?” he say pulling at the buttons of your sleep top. “I don’t think this is right. You where out with another female, you haven’t called me and you-” he cut you off by placing his lips on yours. Pushing him off, you sat up and hopped put the bed. “I think you should go.” You said crossing your arms. He sighed, placing his keys on your nightstand. “Why must you be so difficult. I’ve been busy with work so I haven’t had time to call you. That girl you seen was just a past fling. I promise this won’t happen again. You’re the one I want to be with, not the other girls but you.” He sighed looking you in your now teary eyes. “But if I must go” he added sliding his pants back on. “Wait! Don’t go...I miss you” you said running over and gripping his hand. And that’s how he gets you every time. “Show me just how much my baby miss me.” he smirked, he had you just where he wanted. As if something had possessed your body, without hesitation you dropped to your knees. Your soft hands slid off the sweatpants he had on revealing his throbbing, needy member. Taking your hands, you licked them before placing one on his pulsating shaft. Within seconds you placed your wet lips along the dead of his twitching dick, still using your right hand to twist with a not-so-painful grip. Feeling a hand on your head, you felt him push himself down your throat causing a shower of tears to come flooding out your eyes. Placing you hand on his legs, you attempted to push yourself off as he forcefully fucked your mouth. A trail of slob began running down the side of your mouth mixing with the salty tears that formed earlier. With one last final push, you felt the salty liquid began running down your throat as he released you causing you to cough slightly. “I don’t think I feel satisfied enough.” he smirked grabbing your forearm once more tossing you onto the bed. He climbed on top of you, pulling your pants and shirt off leaving you completely exposed to his greedy eyes. He pulled both of your legs to each side of his hip as he rammed suddenly into you with enough force to make you scream. “I didn’t think a useless whore like you needed much prepping. Just look how wet you are, you like the idea of me coming to fuck you after I fucked another bitch?” he teased as he thrusted in and out of you. “It’s like your pussy was made for me and only me, you know if you’re fucking another guy I won’t hesitate to kill him.” he added grabbing your face as you where overly drunk with pleasure. “Tell me who does this this pussy belong to?” he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, fucking you deeper than he was before. “I-It belong to you-fuck onl-ly you-u Hanma please I can’t” you wept out mind clouded with pleasure as the no good man above you fucked your brains out. It didn’t take long to reach your high as you began clenching around his dick. “Fuck. It’s like you didn’t want me to pull out.” he smirked filling you completely with his warm cum. Releasing your legs and pulling out of you he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. Your eyes felt heavy as you turn to the right to see Hanma’s phone ding with a new message popping up. Still on for tonight? was the last thing you seen before darkness had taken over you.

EXTRA

You woke up the next morning to no Hanma in sight. He didn’t even tell you he was leaving- oh right the message. Clearly he had other plans, you sat up looking at you used and sour state. Your sheets was a mess, dried cum ran along your legs and your arm was slightly purple. You reached for your phone as you saw a message on your screen. I’ll be back for more.

#hanma sucks #ps hes not physically abusive #reader gotta do better she just needs somebody to love #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma shuji #hanma smut #toxic #ayeteen plus #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers scenarios

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theghostofblackbunnymask · 3 years

Note

Can I request some Dream with y11, a8 and a10...?

Author's note- This was based on a dream I had with yandere dream, and as always, sleepy bois inc family is canon in this story, and Y/N is the second youngest, older than Tommy but younger than the twins Techno and Wilbur. Also, Mumza is in here, I don't see her in a lot of fanfics that included the SBI family dynamic.

Author's note 2- The first half of this fic is mainly SBI fluff, then the rest will be Dream x Reader

Author's note- this isn't the best but I tried, wasn't in the best mind space when I wrote this.

Warnings- Implied Abuse, Kidnapping, Gaslighting (?)

Yandere Dream x Reader

Y/N banged on Techno's door, their legs being close to giving up due to exhaustion. Techno yawned as his walked towards the door with an axe in hand, his hair covering most of his face, it was around 2 AM when Y/N knocked on his door. Techno opened the door and saw Y/N looking at him with despair, wearing nothing but a T-shirt that wasn't their's, and they had a black eye.

"Y/N?" Techno asked, since he hasn't seen his little sibling in years.

"Techno... Let me in, please..." Y/N said, barely being able to speak before they collapsed, and everything going black.

The next morning...

Y/N woke up in their old bedroom, the entire room looking like it hasn't been touched in years. Touching their face, they felt bandages covering their left eye. Tommy walked into the room holding a plate of pancakes and bacon. Looking up, Tommy almost dropped it the moment he saw Y/N.

"Y-Y/N..." Tommy said.

"Hey Tommy..." Y/N said, giving him a sad smile.

Tommy ran toward Y/N and knocked them over, hugging them as he cried.

"We thought you were dead! After you didn't show up after you went hunting, we looked every where and we couldn't find you. I thought you..."

Y/N hugged Tommy back and rubbed his back. Tommy pulled back and rubbed his tears away.

"Where were you?"

Y/N looked at the ground and shook their head, implying they didn't want to talk about it. Tommy just nodded before standing up.

"Come down stairs once your done," Tommy said, before closing the door.

Y/N picked up their plate, looking down at it, waiting for something to happen. The words that Dream said kept replaying in their head.

"Ugh, you're getting fat again, you know what, no food for the next 2 weeks, got it?"

Y/N hands shook as they backed away from the food. Y/N gripped Dream's shirt as they held back tears. Y/N just grabbed a piece of bacon and ate it with their eyes closed. When they realised how good it was, they ate more and more until their plate was clean.

Y/N got up and walked down stairs, Wilbur lying down on the couch while he listened to Tommy rant about Ranboo and Tubbo, Techno was no where to be seen, and Phil was doing the dishes in another room. Wilbur glanced at you before walking up to you and hugging you.

"I thought Techno was fucking with me when he told me you were back, but you really are!"

"Heh, yeah," Y/N said, hugging Wilbur back.

"Where's Dadza?" (They call Phil Dadza instead of dad)

"In the kitchen," Tommy said, taking Wilbur's spot on the couch.

Y/N left as Wilbur began pulling Tommy off the couch.

"HEY STOP IT MAN!"

"GET OFF THE FUCKING COUCH TOMMY!"

Y/N giggled as they entered the kitchen, chat was annoying Phil as he did the dishes. Phil saw the crows fly towards Y/N and started to fly around them. Y/N giggled as they let two crows on their shoulders.

"Hey Dadza," Y/N said, hugging Phil who hugged them back.

"My God, you look so... different, not like it's a bad thing of course but, where the hell were you, if you were going on vacation you should of told us," Phil said, rubbing Y/N's hair.

Y/N just giggled as the crows kept flying around them.

"Yeah I know. Hey, where's Mumza? If she here right now or is she working?" Y/N asked.

"Uhhhh, I think she's in the forest outside."

Y/N waved goodbye as they left, the crows flying after them.

"Finally those things leave me alone..." Phil sighed in relief.

Y/N walked in the forest while the crows flew behind them, and they stopped when they saw a familiar hat.

"Mumza?"

Kristen looked down behind her and saw a familiar figure. Shrinking down so she wasn't above the trees, she saw a familiar face.

"Y/N..." Kristen said as she walked towards them and placed a hand on their cheek as she covered her mouth, hiding her smile.

"Hey Mumza..."

Kristen began to cry tears of joy as she hugged them.

"I knew you weren't dead, when I checked the limbos and the train station you weren't in neither of them," She said, backing away.

"Oh my, what happen to your face?"

"I don't really remember," Y/N lied.

"Y/N, you know it's wrong to lie to your mother."

Y/N giggled as their mother gave them a stern look.

"I don't really want to talk about it, it's a long story."

"Ok sweetie, now stay safe, I don't want you going missing again, we were worried sick that something happened to you."

"I know, Dadza told me."

Mumza just shook her head with a smile before kissing them on the cheek, like she did when they were very young. Kristen waved goodbye before disappearing into black dust. Chat flew back to Phil's house, leaving Y/N all alone in the woods. Y/N just sat under a tree as they listen to the nature sounds. A fox walked by and slept next to them, bringing Y/N some joy.

Fast forward to night...

Tommy opened Y/N's door in at panic before closing it behind him. Y/N was on their bed reading when the teen came in.

"Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?"

"TOMMY WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

"I may have stolen Will's guitar..."

"That doesn't sound that bad."

"And I may have broke it..." Tommy said, revealing a broken guitar from behind his back.

Y/N burst out into laughter, holding back tears as they laughed.

"You're so fucked!"

After Y/N said that Wilbur burst through the door, knocking Tommy over.

"Shit!" Tommy said, crawling under the bed.

"Get out from their you fucking gremlin," Wilbur said, trying to get tommy.

Techno walked by and just stood at the door way watching the commotion.

"Techno! Can you help me out?"

"Eh, looks like a you problem."

Wilbur groaned as he grabbed Tommy's leg, and once he did he pulled him out from under the bed. Y/N looked at Techno and just shrugged as he showed confusion. Wilbur picked Tommy up, opened the window, and threw Tommy out from it.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" Tommy yelled as he prepared himself as he fell.

But the ground never came, but instead felt himself get picked up. Looking up, he saw Kristen with a pissed off face.

"Willbur, what did I saw about throwing Tommy outside of windows!"

"Oooo, Will's getting yelled at by Mumza," Techno mocked, snickering.

"Oh shut up," Wilbur told Techno.

Kristen placed Tommy back inside of the house as she picked Wilbur up and scolded him.

"A 23 year old man getting scolded by his own mother, tsk tsk tsk," Tommy said, shaking his head in a disapproving manner.

"Now, I don't want to see anymore fighting or throwing each other out of windows or breaking each others things, am I making myself clear?"

"Yes Mumza," Wilbur and Tommy said, sighing in defeat.

Kristen nodded before Disappearing into black dust.

"Your getting me a new guitar Tommy," Wilbur said.

"Fine, asshole," Tommy said as he left.

Techno and Will left, leaving Y/N alone. Picking up their book, they noticed that, all the words on the pages were gone. Scrolling through the book, the only thing their was a smiley face. Y/N looked around confused before closing the book.

"He's gone Y/N, your free, don't let your imagination ruin it," Y/N said, putting the book in their drawers.

Later that night...

Y/N slowly opened their eyes and saw a too familiar face staring at them. Before they can screen, Dream covered their mouth and placed a finger over his mouth, silently telling them to hush up. Dream had a sinister smile on his face, he didn't have his mask on, but instead it rested on the side of his head. His green eyes glowed in the darkness as he spoke.

“Scream all you want sweetie, no one’s going to hear you. And no one ever will…”

Y/N panicked and kicked Dream who was towering over them, in the dick, making him wince over and fall onto the floor in pain. Standing up, they ran out of the room and ran downstairs, opening the door and running out of the house. Dream recovered and chased after them.

"COME BACK HERE LOVE!" Dream yelled, running after them.

"Leave me alone, Leave me alone, Leave me alone, I don't want to go back," Y/N mumbled, running faster.

Y/N felt the air get knocked out of them when they fell to the ground, Dream pinning them down as he leaned in to whisper into their.

"Your pathetic... You're the child of the Angel Of Death and the Goddess Of Death, yet you get defeated by a mortal like myself... I guess I really am a God, just trapped in a mortal's body... I told you so many times Y/N, you're weak, you're nothing without me, you'll never be anything without my protection and care, your family doesn't care about, only I will waste my fucking time with you," Dream said, before knocking Y/N out.

Dream picked Y/N up and slung them over his shoulder. As he walked through the forest, he thought about something, a little gift to leave in Y/N's room for the family to see. Sitting Y/N down, he written down on a note 'Thanks for the gift :)' before running back to the house, quietly going in Y/N room to leave it on the bed. Then he ran out and went on his merry way.

The next day...

Tommy went to wake Y/N up, but he was greeted by a messing, dishevelled room.

"What the... What the fuck happened in here?" Tommy asked, looking around.

Once he got to the bed he saw the note, when he picked it up he almost dropped it instantly. Tommy ran down stairs and waved the note in the air.

"They're gone, Y/N's gone!"

"What do you mean?" Phil asked.

"This note was on their bed, and their room was a mess."

Techno grabbed the note as he skimmed over it, his face that held confusion turned to realization and then went to anger.

"What's wrong Techno?" Kristen asked.

"I know this handwriting from anywhere... Dream has them."

"What?!" Wilbur and Tommy asked.

"H-How? Y/N's never met Dream," Tommy said.

"How can we know that for a fact? Y/N was missing for years, and now they come back mysteriously in a panicked manner and in a very unhealthy condition."

"What are you leading towards Techno?" Phil asked.

"My theory is that Y/N was with Dream the years they were missing, and it wasn't by choice. I'm not sure how they met, but they definently have some sort of relationship, and it isn't heathly."

"What does Dream look like?" Kristen asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"I can ask Drista or XD to help me, I have a feeling Dream's linked to the two in some way, and it can help me locate him with the crows help."

"No one's really seen his face," Tommy said.

"But one thing that stands out is his mask, he wears this smiley mask all the time, making it impossible to see his face."

"With that info given to Mumza, what's the plan?" Wilbur asked.

Techno let out a dark chuckle as his eyes went dark.

"Oh I have a plan... And it's not going to be easy..."

With Y/N and Dream...

Y/N looked up and their hands were above their head, cuffed to the wall with no way to escape. Their legs were tied together, and the shirt they were wearing was gone, leaving them in just their undergarments. Looking up, Dream was sitting on a chair, looking at them dead in the eyes with a pissed off expression as he sharpened his netherite sword.

"Tell me this Y/N, what made you get the confidence and ego to pull this BULLSHIT on me?!"

Dream stood up and grabbed their face

"I give you everything, anything! If you want it I get it for you. But you just had to get selfish and leave me, you're fucking disgusting."

"I'm not disgusting..." Y/N mumbled.

"What did you say whore?"

"You heard me, I'm not disgusting! You're the one that fucking kidnapped me and hid me away for years, starving me whenever I got 'too fat?' WHAT BULLSHIT IS THAT?! You physically and emotionally abuse me, and you do this just because you love me? I believed you for years, but when I got to see my family again I remembered what real love was, and this, this isn't love! You need fucking help Dream, and after this I'm going to need fucking therapy due to your FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Dream slapped Y/N hard across the face, before putting his hand around Y/N's throat.

“Your life is in my hands, don’t test me, ok?”

"I'm not testing you Dream, I'm telling you the truth. You're just too caught up in your ego to see it."

Dream began to chuckle, before going into a hysterical laughter.

"Oh~ Y/N just doesn't know when to shut up..." Dream said, before kicking them in the stomach.

"Being with your family for 1 day made you get your ego, confidence and self respect back... Now that's not good," Dream continued, stabbing his netherite sword into Y/N's hands, making them scream in pain.

Dream began to hurt punch them over and over again until he got bored.

"DREAM PLEASE STOP! I'M AT HALF A HEART!" Y/N yelled, looking up at Dream with pleading eyes.

Dream just smiled, his eyes glowing as he looked down at them.

"Oh Y/N... I could kill you right now, and no one would care! NOBODY! And if people did care, where's your family? Where's your friends? Only I care about you, only I can make you happy, only I can touch you the way I do, and only I can love you..."

Y/N's brain just completely shut down as they stared down at the floor with emotionless eyes. Y/N began to cry, tears rolling down their face as they thrashed against their restraints.

"No! You're wrong! Youre..." Y/N said, before they felt Dream grab their chin.

"Care to finish that?"

Y/N just shook their head no, being too tired to do anything, and having too many mental and physical scars to even care anymore.

"Now, who's the only one that can love you?

"You..."

"And who do you love?"

"You..."

"Good..."

Dream unlocked their cuffs and watched as they fell to Y/N's side limply. Dream placed Y/N in his lap and ran his hand through their hair.

"You're all mine... And not even you're family can change that..."

#yandere dream #yandere dream smp #yandere dream x reader #yandere mcyt #dream smp x reader #dreamsmp x reader #myct x reader #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #Yandere dreamwastaken

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives.

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

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