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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

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Housewife

Part - 15

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang, word "suicide" is used

Part 1

They said you'd be okay, that everything would be fine. The bubble you so happily lived in for a week burst within seconds of stepping into that building. You drove to the school telling Billy to take his car driving separately with Stu. No one could know about your relationship with the boys. It made you all seem suspicious. Billy and Stu just lost their girlfriends in a brutal attack they wouldn't be holding hands with you. Stu didn't like the fact he couldn't be himself around you. To him, nothing changed. There would be a lack of banter during lunch but that was about it to him.

Billy agreed with you. It wouldn't seem right with all of you laughing and carrying on especially if it's your first day back. You'd be a celebrity to the drama-hungry teenagers. As much as Billy hated that fact there was nothing he could do about it. After a couple of weeks, things would die down and you all could move on. Logistically it made sense. Guy loses his girlfriend and confides in one of the few people who truly understood what he went through. It was trauma bonding he thought.

You picked at your dress sitting in the plastic chair you were assigned. Everyone stared. You didn't look traumatized to them. No, Betty Crocker looked completely fine. Best dressed as always. You heard the whispers, the rumors. The most popular one is that you and Stu were running around behind Tatum. Tatum saw you two at the party going at it and there was a fight. How a cheating scandal got her caught in a doggy door was not explained. In high school, rumors didn't need facts or details. The kids ran with whatever hurt someone the most. Surprisingly Billy Loomis was being made out as a hero. Once again the world thought he could do no wrong.

Keeping your head down and your hopes up you tried to get through the day. The first period blew by without a single thing learned and so the did the second and third. With books in hand, you walked the hallways making your way to fourth period. That's when you saw him. The group of girls some of them cheerleaders crowded around your boyfriend. Stu with a smile answered their questions trying to keep up this sorrowful widowed boyfriend act. Something about the scene made your blood boil. It wasn't cheating, you had told both him and Billy to keep their distance from you. To play their part. It didn't stop you from being upset at him for eating up the attention though.

Stu saw you storm off to your next class. He frowned wondering what asshole made you so upset. Your books hit the desk with a thud making the boy next to your desk jump. "Rough day?" He asked as you threw yourself down in the seat. You wanted to snap at him but hadn't done anything wrong yet. "It hasn't been great." You huffed as the teacher started talking. "What happened?" He whispered. Was he living under a rock for the past three weeks? Every state at this point heard about the gruesome Woodsboro massacre. Your name was in every newspaper in town. If by some chance he didn't know, you didn't want to bring it up. You wrote a note on the inside of your notebook holding it up so he could read. "High school." He read aloud making you close your eyes with a sigh. "Sorry." He whispered still talking.

He stuck out his hand waiting for you to shake it. "My name's Chase." You looked at the teacher with his back turned before you shook his hand. "Y/n." Chase pulled his hand back with a smile. He went to speak before he ripped a piece of paper out of his binder. He passed you a note that read "Nice to meet you." You smiled slipping the note into your pocket as the teacher turned around. The class was much more manageable having someone to talk to. The lunch bell rang as everyone stood up. "Are you grabbing lunch?" Chase asked walking out of the classroom next to you. "I bring my own." The blonde boy followed you to your locker watching you put away your books switching them for your lunch box. "I had one of those in elementary school!"

He looked at your Looney Toons lunchbox with wonder. You laughed remembering how the men you lived with made fun of the bright red box that morning. "My dad got it for me years ago." You headed outside as your conversation with Chase continued. Billy and Stu sat on the water fountain arguing over TV shows. "Fuck off no one watched Home Improvement for the plot. Name one other character besides Pamela Anderson." Stu blanked for a moment making Billy clap his hands together. "Thank you." Billy said having his point proven. That painfully red lunchbox caught his eye and a smile appeared on his face. Immediately disappearing seeing the blonde boy standing next to you.

"Are you sitting with anyone? You could have lunch with me and my girlfriend." He pointed over to a tree on the lawn. "Thank you but I'm eating with some friends of mine." He nodded. "Cool. I'll see you tomorrow then." Chase headed over to the tree seeing his girlfriend waiting for him. You watched the two hug each other getting a little jealous of people you didn't even know. It must be nice to be able to just be normal teenagers. You wouldn't trade what you had with the guys but you did wonder sometimes how much different things would be if all this hadn't happened.

"Hey, Betty!" Stu smiled at you as you sat down next to Billy. "My day could not have been any worse." You groaned opening up your lunch. "You seemed to be having fun with your new friend." Billy sat with his fingers interlocked and his elbows on his knees. It didn't take much to let everyone around him know he was pissed.

"Who Chase? I just met him in 4th period. You don't have to worry he's got a girlfriend." You picked up your sandwich taking a bite. Stu didn't mind you making friends as long as he and Billy were top priority. "That didn't stop you with me." Stu's eyes widened at his partner's words. You sat your food down thinking about what he just said. The sudden hostility wasn't a surprise. "You're saying this was my fault?" The air around you was calm and collected. You couldn't afford to make a scene. "I'm saying a guy having a girlfriend didn't stop you before." Stu nudged Billy's shoulder trying to get him to stop. "Come on man." Stu's neck tensed as he looked around. "There we go. You're blaming someone else for your fuck up. Billy, babe you've got to come up with something more original." You closed your lunch box losing your appetite.

To Billy, your behavior was only trying to piss him off further. It was Stu who saw your hands start to shake. You were strong, both men knew that but only Stu knew how easily you covered up your emotions. "My fuck up?" Billy sat up straight looking at you with bemusement. "You knew I was taken but that didn't keep you from flaunting your shit around in those dresses and writing your number on my hand, did it? You even helped murder my girlfriend just so you wouldn't be left alone. You're the same girl you were in middle school. Just a Stepford wife who will do anything just to have someone care about her." Billy smiled thinking he won the argument.

Your hand collided with Billy's face. The smack made everyone around you three stare at the pathetic spectacle. Stu covered his mouth in shock. Tears threated to fall as you stood up. Billy held his cheek as you walked back into the building. All his words came crashing back down on him. He realized too late that he seriously fucked up. "I didn't mean to say that." Billy said but Stu for the first time wasn't feeding into his bullshit. "You need help man." Stu shook his head as he followed you into the school.

You ran to the nearest bathroom locking yourself in a stall. Your hand shook as it covered your lipstick-stained lips. Small gasps echoed off the bathroom walls as you fought to breathe. How could something go so wrong so fast? Your head spun as Billy's words played over and over. Did he think that poorly of you? The bathroom door opened causing you to pull your legs up. "It's me," Stu spoke making sure no one else was in the bathroom. You struggled to breathe quietly. He could faintly hear the sad whimpers coming from the last stall. "Honey..." He started to talk but the name made you lose all composure you had. Your cries turned into sobs as your lungs fought for air.

"Unlock the door, please. I'll crawl under if I have to but I just bought these pants." He fake whined making a laugh break the chain of tears. He smiled to himself at the noise. You reached up opening the door for him. The girl he'd fallen in love with was curled up shaking like a leaf on a tree. It was a heart-wrenching scene.

Stu held out his arms letting you cry into his chest. "I didn't mean- I- I swear," You sobbed in between words not being about to finish the sentence. "Shhh, it's going to be okay." He repeated rubbing circles on your back. "I didn't mean to hit him." The words were incoherent but Stu understood. He was amused that you were concerned about Billy. He knew the man deserved a lot more than a slap to the face. Hell they both did. After everything he said to you, you were worried about the pain you might've caused. The bathroom door opened once again letting the student walk in. She saw Stu hold your frail body as you continued to cry. Stu opened his eyes wide shaking his head towards the door. "Um, I'll just hold it." The girl said awkwardly as she backed out of the room.

While Stu comforted you Billy sat outside cursing himself for what he'd done. "What happened?" Billy looked up ready to choke out the guy who decided to butt in. "Deputy Riley?" Dewey didn't have time to entertain the kid. "I saw you get hit, what happened?" Billy smiled awkwardly not knowing what to say. "It was just a misunderstanding. I'm not bent out of shape about it." The cop sighed. He knew something wasn't right. Dewey had seen you and the two men leave your house Friday and he saw them again when all of you left for school. He couldn't protect Tatum and that's something he'd hate himself for, for the rest of his life. He still had a chance to protect you.

"I wasn't asking about you. What did you say to her?" Billy was taken aback by the man's tone. "I'm sorry?" Everyone in Woodsboro found it hard to take Dewey seriously. They had met several times when Tatum ran around with the group of friends. Billy never saw him as intimating. He was the kinda guy who if you flicked the cap off his head he'd run to go catch it. Especially now with the cane he was dependent on. If he didn't respect him then he definitely didn't respect him now that he was limping around. Billy still didn't understand how he lived through it all.

"Forget it," Dewey said realizing Billy would be no help. He made his way to the office asking them to call you up. "Dewey you have to be in relation to the student." He frowned hearing that nickname. "It's deputy Riley and this is a police matter." He pointed to his badge and the secretary rolled her eyes. "Y/n L/N to the office."

You heard the call through the loudspeakers. Stu wiped the rest of your tears kissing the tip of your nose. "Don't let him get to you. He says stupid shit all the time. Billy doesn't think sometimes." Stu tried to comfort you but he also had to help out his friend and lover. You sniffled nodding your head. "Is my makeup okay?" The question made Stu laugh. "You look beautiful as always Mrs. Crocker." You half-heartedly smiled not believing the boy. Before you left the restroom you tried your best to fix your appearance in the mirror. "Why do you need to go to the office?" Stu asked hugging you from the back. His head rested on your shoulder looking at your reflection.

"I don't know. Can you put this in my locker for me?" He took the lunch box from you agreeing to put it away. "Thanks." With one more kiss, you ran off to the front of the school. You could see Dewey sitting near the vice principal's office. Cops were never good, especially with everything you've done. "Y/n!" Dewey exclaimed standing up. The secretary looked at him with suspicion as he cleared his throat. "Y/n I need to speak with you for a moment." With a silent nod, you both entered the vice principal's empty office. His arms wrapped around you pulling you into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay." He said thinking of the girl he couldn't save. At the funeral, he had cried on your shoulder. Thanking you for being such a good friend to his daughter. You hadn't even known her a week but that meant the world to Dewey.

The night you came over to stay he couldn't get any sleep because you and Tatum loudly talked about Tom Cruise and sang some songs on the radio. You were probably the last person to see her alive and knowing that meant something to Dewey. "You finally got out of the wheelchair!" You congratulated and he posed. "Physical therapy. They say If I keep it up I might go right back to normal." You smiled happy that things were working out for him. His eyes looked at your side remembering how bad your wound was. "How are you? Did everything heal okay?"

"I'm as good as new. The stitches fell out on their own and it doesn't hurt anymore." You poked the closed wound showing him you were fine. Dewey was glad you were doing alright. "Why did you want to see me?" You wanted to know since you saw him sitting in the office. The man gestured to the chair as he sat down across from you. "I saw what happened outside."

That was just your luck. The one time you publicly assault someone there's a cop nearby. "I feel awful about. I didn't mean to hit him." Dewey held up his hand making your mouth close. "You're not in trouble." He laughed. You could've broken Billy's nose for all he cared.

"Why'd you slap him? I'm not trying to sound creepy but I saw the three of you leave your house this morning when I was getting ready for work." You were great at talking. Your father always said you could "sell a submarine to a seahorse." Years of hearing "you should be a lawyer" definitely changes a person. Lying was second nature but you didn't want to lie to Dewey. Those pitiful puppy dog eyes killed you like a knife to the gut. You knew you didn't have much of a choice. "He said some really hateful shit- oh I'm sorry." You held your hand over your mouth not meaning to curse. He shook his head motioning for you to continue.

"Today has been horrible. Rumors have been going around and I can't go anywhere without someone pointing at me. I keep hearing about that night and it feels like I'm back there again." Your eyes started to water again. Dewey looked around finding a tissue box to give to you. "Thanks." The man smiled. "You're welcome, anyways what were you saying?" The tissues came in use as your continued your story.

"That week after everything I couldn't eat, sleep, or get out of bed. My dad didn't want me getting hurt and it was torture. I had no friends and no one to talk to. Stu called me every night to see how I was doing." You smiled fondly remembering your conversations. "He lost everyone he cared about in one night. Me and Billy were the only people Stu could talk to that wasn't a shrink." The way you talked started to make Dewey feel bad for Stu. "He loved Tatum." You watched as Dewey flinched hearing her name. He grabbed one of the tissues knowing he'd need it at some point.

"I begged my dad to let Stu stay at my house. My dad's a truck driver so he's gone a lot." Dewey looked confused. "Your dad let Stu come over while he was gone?" As long as Dewey was around, Stu and Tatum never got a moment alone. "It may be hard to believe but I am an adult. I can handle myself."

The deputy looked at the desk trying to hold back tears. If he'd had a dollar for every time his little sister said she was old enough to take care of herself he'd be a rich man. You were both stubborn and headstrong. He huffed out a laugh at the irony. "It's a little hard to believe but I'll try my best." Dewey joked making you smile. "Stu spent time at my house while my dad was home. He had to make sure he trusted Stu." Now that made more sense to Dewey.

"His parents were more worried about the damages to their house than their own son." Just saying the words upset you and the deputy could tell. Just from what you've told him so far he could tell you cared about the boy.

"When he showed up at my house that night he hadn't cleaned or even put a bandaid over his stabs. My dad had to teach him how to take care of himself like he was 6 years old." You scoffed looking up at the styrofoam ceiling tiles. "I knew Billy by hanging around the friend group. He's not the easiest to talk to. He took Sydney's death hard. Even Stu couldn't get him to talk." It was utter bullshit but he believed every word of it. Dewey knew about Billy's father's drinking problem. He had pulled him over for DUI once before. The whole town knew his mother left him a year ago. The kid had a tough run. "My dad had left for work and Billy showed up at my door one day. He said he tried to call Stu but he wasn't home so Stu's mom told him he was at my house."

Dewey listened carefully trying to hold off on giving you his brotherly opinion. "Billy had no one. He can be a prick but he's got issues. Billy told me and Stu that he couldn't go home and that school was a nightmare after what happened. I know I should've called my dad but I didn't. I let Billy stay with Stu in the guest room."

You hated the way Dewey looked at you like some dumb little girl. He was probably right but you despised it. "They aren't bad people Dewey." He smoothed his hair down as he leaned back in his chair. "If they're so nice why'd you smack Billy?" You rubbed your face feeling distraught. "I told you what he said was rude. We're all on edge. You don't know how hard it is to go to school and see the seat next to you is empty..." Dewey's gaze dropped as you heard what you said. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean that."

Dewey sniffled trying to compose himself. "I know. I know this is hard for you and it's hard on them too but they don't need to be living with you. They're upset and confused. All of you are looking for something to cling to. It's not healthy." He was sympathetic towards the boys but he didn't trust their intentions with you. You didn't want to hear it. The idea that you were some love-sick girl in need of attention was infuriating. "Is that all?" You asked ready to get up and leave. Dewey didn't want to upset you he wanted to keep you from harm.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked like a child. Once again those eyes made you feel like the bad guy. "No." You groaned. "I'm just upset about everything." Dewey nodded. "I'm not saying you have to stop being friends with them. You need friends, especially at a time like this but they don't need to be at your house." You thought about what he said. Your first day was horrible but you never once stopped to think about how Billy or Stu felt coming back to school. Your whole argument might have just been a build up of emotions.

"Okay. I'll talk to them tonight." Dewey was beyond happy the conversation went the way it did. He used the cane to help himself up. You hugged him again before you opened the door. "Have a good day Dewey." You waved leaving him alone in the office. The deputy truly believed he was doing the right thing.

You knew it was going to be hard to avoid Billy when he sat right next to you in 7th period. You weren't as upset as you were earlier. Just because you had a new perspective on his behavior didn't excuse it. It took you a few seconds to make sure this badass persona you made stayed on while you sat through class. Billy sat in his seat biting his nails waiting for your arrival. You walked in keeping your eyes forward as you took your seat. He waited for you to say something or even look at him but you didn't.

"I'm sorry." He said getting no attention from you. Stu had already jumped Billy's ass for speaking that way to you. He had gotten used to the way Billy had arguments. The moment the boy felt threatened or accused in any way he'd say the thing he knew would hurt his accusor the most. Billy thought if he hurt them first they couldn't hurt him. It usually worked in his favor but today his words hurt him more than they hurt you.

"I didn't mean what I said to you. It was out of line." He whispered still getting no response. "Would it kill you to answer me?" At this, you turned seeing the still prominent red handprint on his face. You almost reached out to touch him. He saw your hand twitch itching to cup his face like you'd done all weekend. That was one thing that really made you feel horrible. After being used all weekend long Billy decided you treat you like this. You cook, you clean, and you moan their names when they ask but it wasn't enough.

"How's your face?" You turned back around and looked at the chalkboard. Billy smiled. You answered him but you had no intention of playing his game. He thought it was attractive. Like he said before you called him out on his bullshit and this was no exception. Although you felt bad for slapping him you hoped he'd remember that pain because it wasn't nearly as bad as the pain he caused you. Billy would find a way to fix his mistake and apologize for what he did. He felt horrible for his actions. He was changing for the better it was just taking a little longer than expected.

"I'm sorry." The note read with a small frowny face next to the words. You sent the note back without giving him a reaction. Billy scribbled something else on the piece of paper before handing it back to you. "I'm an idiot." You nodded to yourself reading his words. "I know." You wrote back as a small smile appeared on your lips. You glanced over at Billy seeing that stupid grin on his face. Both you and the boy struggled not to laugh at each other. How you ended up finding any of this funny was a mystery. Stu's inability to be serious was apparently rubbing off on you.

The class bell rang making everyone run for the doors. "Don't think I'm not still pissed cause I am." Billy pursed his lips in thought. "I can work with that." He shrugged as you both left the classroom. "You know we're like Bonnie and Clyde? When Clyde realizes that he can't go on without Bonnie because she's smarter and a little crazier than he is. He couldn't have done it without her. There's a reason everyone says "Bonnie and Clyde" not the other way around." He raised his eyebrows up at you thinking that was a good response to the current situation. You took his analogy as a compliment and even an apology.

"Didn't Bonnie and Clyde both get shot to pieces?" Billy scratched the back of his neck not thinking that far into the movie. You tried to hide your smile at his embarrassed state. "They did but it was kind of romantic in a way." He tried to spin it so you wouldn't take it as an insult. You both walked outside heading towards your locker. "So you think I'm a Stepford wife huh?" Billy definitely saw some similarities but it'd be relationship suicide if he pointed those out. "No, I just said that shit back there to upset you. I'm an ungrateful psychotic asshole." Once you put away your belongings you slammed your locker making Billy jump. "Ungrateful asshole? Absolutely, but you're not psychotic." You started walking as Billy ran up to you.

"You don't think I'm psychotic?" Billy Loomis was a lot of things in your book but you didn't consider him psychotic. "No. You've got mommy issues, daddy issues, and childhood trauma. Join the club. You and Stu just did something insanely fucking dumb." You made your way to the parking lot dreading the conversation you'd have to have with the boys when you got home. "You think what we did was dumb?" Billy considered the whole plan a work of art. It was something the two boys had spent a whole year planning.

"Incredibly. Now let's not talk about this here." He grabbed your arm pulling you away from everyone else. "Why do you think it's dumb?" He was a little insulted by your criticism. You looked around making sure no one could hear you. "Because you're 18." You thought back to what Dewey had said. "We're just kids. None of us have a job. I don't even know how to do taxes!" You whisper yelled. "If I didn't make a guest appearance you wouldn't have lived let alone gotten away with it all." Billy didn't want to believe it but that night Gale could've easily shot and killed both him and Stu. You saved their asses.

"Thank you." He said catching you off guard. All you heard was I'm sorry but never thank you. "For what?" You asked not knowing what he was getting at. "Thank you for helping us that night. Thank you for taking care of Stu. You took better care of him that night than I ever have." Your eyes looked at his lips as he spoke. The day had thrown way too many emotions at you. You couldn't exactly define what new emotion you were feeling now looking at the man.

"Nope." You said walking away from him before you made a mistake. Billy stood confused. How did that manage to upset you? Quickly you made it to your car seeing none other than Stu leaning on the hood. "What part of stay away from me do you two not get?" Stu watched Billy chase after you. "Did you two kiss and make up?" He asked happy everything was okay again. "Not exactly." You got in your car starting up the engine with a roar. "What did I say wrong?" Billy asked as he tried to catch his breath. Stu jumped off the hood trying to figure out what happened between the last time he saw you and now.

"I'll just talk to you when I get home." You pulled out of the parking space leaving the two men behind. "What the hell did you do now?" Stu held his arms out dramatically. "I apologized." Billy's eyebrows were furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly happened. "I can't deal with another clusterfuck, I really can't." Billy said shaking his head. Stu skipped behind his friend heading towards his car. "Sure ya can buddy. With that mouth you're sure to cause more problems." Stu smiled earning a hit from Billy. Stu groaned in pain holding his arm. "Yeah okay, I deserved that."

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you)

Part 16

Taglist (closed): @katie-tibo @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607 @pumpk1n-writes @lovekeeho @zeysartzone @life-of-music3 @flyestvenustrap @littleblondesoprano @loomiscorpse @nicciekawegosblog @reneemunson @miss-puregotti @ksgsfsgaj @zoleea-exultant @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @mistydreamscape @l4venderia @nex-crowley @ashreblogsnow @brynaa223 @your-desire666 @billyloomiswhore4 @holyladyofsorrows @megluv1 @ellieswifeiya @yoluvrz @forallthstarsinthesky @madsothree @youcantbesirius @lubunnii @captainhowdysseptum @geekygremlin @madneedshelp

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yeoosaangg · 7 months

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Insane || Kinktober - Day 17

pairing ▸ park jisung × f!reader

now playing ▸ insane - black gryph0n, baasik

⤷ ❝i promise honey, i can feel your pain. and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit, does that make me insane?❞

genre ▸ demon au, smut

warnings ▸ sadism, dub-con, knife play, restraints, pain kink, degradation, blood kink, death

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Jisung was strolling down the streets of Hell like any other day. It feels empty now that Halloween season has come around the corner.

Demons keep getting summoned, which should be a good thing.

But he's frustrated that he hasn't been summoned in 3000 demon years. He's itching to cause mischief amongst the mortal realm, yet he's stuck doing errands for The King.

Taeyong: Cheer up, Jisung. Maybe you'll get summoned this time around.

Jisung: Highly doubt it.

But then he feels the pull in his gut.

Jisung: Um, I think it's already happening?

Taeyong: What are you waiting for? Don't make the human wait!

And just like that, he teleports into someone's bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Y/n: Huh... Didn't think that'd work.

Jisung: You summoned a demon without proper knowledge of it working?

Y/n: Pretty much.

The demon stares at you in disbelief.

Were all humans this dumb?

Jisung: The name's Park Jisung. What can I help you with?

You grin, pointing to your bed filled with knives and sex toys.

Seriously? Again?

Y/n: In exchange for my soul, I want you to fuck me.

Of course you do.

But he doesn't agree right away. He doesn't want to seem desperate.

Jisung: Why would I want your soul in exchange for sex? Do I look like a prostitute?

Y/n: No. But I'm super fucking horny and everyone bashes on my kinks because they're "degrading to women everywhere". So I called you.

He analyzes the things you have on your bed carefully.

You must be a masochist.

Jisung: And having sex with a demon isn't kinky enough? You want to be tied up like a helpless victim while I fuck you in demon form?

Y/n: Yeah.

You are not right in the head, but a deal's a deal. And this isn't the first time someone's asked for this.

Jisung sighs, stripping himself of his clothes.

He raises an eyebrow at you and snaps his fingers to get your attention.

You tilt your head in confusion, but understand what he means when he points down at your dress.

The fabric slides off your shoulders, pooling around your ankles. You're left in nothing but your panties.

He snaps his fingers and all your equipment floats in the air. Even though you know he's powerful, you still get surprised by the sight.

Jisung: You want me to tie you up myself? Or do you want me to make it easier for the both of us?

Y/n: Doesn't matter. Also... Why are you so chill about this?

Jisung: This happens a lot.

Y/n: Don't demons need to know our names in order to take our souls.

Jisung: Obviously.

Y/n: But I haven't told you my name.

Jisung: And you don't have to. It's written on the outside of that laptop behind you.

Indeed it was.

You shrug and climb onto the bed when he hovers over you, literally.

Jisung: Demon form now or work up to it?

Y/n: Work up to it please.

Jisung: Safe word?

Y/n: Didn't think I needed one.

Jisung: I'm a demon, not an asshole.

Y/n: Oh... Then the safe word is Flower.

The ropes magically bind your wrists and ankles very tightly. Jisung looks up and grabs one of the knives floating above his head.

He looks down at you and smirks before carving into your neck. His tongue licks up and down, blood deliciously coating his tongue.

Jisung: Fuck, you taste good.

The bed dips down when he kneels right next to you, carving his intials into your collarbone. He licks the blood there too, moaning at the taste.

He hasn't had a good meal in a few weeks, so this was killing multiple birds with one stone.

You're breathing heavily as he continues carving at your skin, drinking the blood from those areas. He reaches your swollen cunt, glistening pussy begging him to be touched.

Three fingers pump into your cunt, not letting you adjust to his long digits. He works you open, watching you squirm and and moan at being used like this.

Y/n: Gonna cum.

He's knuckles deep into your hole, pumping until his fingers are wet from your slick.

Jisung: This isn't even enough prep for my cock, pet.

You gulp.

He was already big, his demon dick must be monstrous.

Jisung: How do you feel about fisting?

An involuntary moan escapes your lips, making his smug expression even more sinister.

He shoves his three fingers into you again, watching you scream as he works his way to punching his entire fist into your gummy walls.

His entire wrist disappears inside you. You're already shaking when it's barely your second orgasm.

Jisung: How cute. You're already far gone.

That's when he grabs three of your dildos, turning them into one huge monster dildo.

He slowly slides it up and down your folds. You whine at the sensitivity, desperately trying to close your legs. But the movement only makes them magically pull you back in place.

Jisung: Oh, silly Y/n. I'm gonna have my fun with you.

He gives no warning as he shoves the huge dildo into your tight pussy. The stretch has you screaming and crying, your face scrunched in pain.

He snaps his fingers again and watches the dildo fuck itself into you so fast, you'd think it wasn't moving. But you feel it pulling in and out as your cunt begs for a break.

His hands squeeze your breasts painfully, but you still shake in pleasure.

Jisung: Look at you. What happened to the desperate and pathetic little human who wanted to exchange her soul for one night with a demon, hm? Now so nonchalant now, are you?

You don't even answer him, you can't. Not when your orgasm was so intense that you blackout for a second.

You try to catch your breath, but the dildo doesn't stop pumping inside you.

Jisung: God, it's been so long. I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back with you.

Y/n: T-Then don't.

Jisung: It might kill you, human. Then your soul would be automatically mine.

Y/n: I'm okay with that.

Jisung: If you say so.

You gasp when he turns into his demon form.

He was already tall, but now he's nine feet tall, claws coming out of his fingertips, horns adorning the crown of his head, razor sharp fangs, and has an eighteen inch long cock.

You gulp, not thinking this through.

He climbs over you and throws the dildo on the floor. He shoves his cock into you, hips slamming against your ass faster than the dildo.

You can feel him in your guts, maybe even further. Your body was shutting down from the amount of pain and pleasure, going limp against the mattress.

He just rams his monster cock into you until he cums deep into your body, all of it spilling out of you like a drainage pipe.

He pulls out, turning back to his original size.

Your sex toys get placed on your desk, the ropes free you of it's restricting hold.

Your breathing is labored, heartbeat too faint for a healthy human.

It wasn't until your body completely stills and your souls apoears in your hand that he realizes the situation. He just fucked you to your death and now he's got another soul to eat.

Other humans will find you eventually.

Jisung: I did warn her. Oh well!

He snaps his fingers and his clothes are back on his body. He teleports back to Hell, right where he was last seen - even Taeyong's still there.

Taeyong: So, I see you made a deal. Very proud of you.

Jisung: And got a good fuck out if it, too.

Taeyong: Please tell me you didn't fuck a corpse.

Jisung: I'm not a fucking idiot. The deal was to fuck her and I get her soul. Not my fault she croaked.

Taeyong: Right... Well, We've got a meeting with Kun.

Jisung: Why?

Taeyong: Yangyang's missing.

---

a/n: i don't like this ʕ •̥ ˕ ก ʔ thanks for reading anyway ‹𝟹

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fruitsoxs · 7 months

Text

stuck

pairing(s); knives x (GN) reader summary; …and suddenly you’re stuck on an elevator with your insanely hot (but rude) next door neighbor. What could go wrong? warnings; spicy make out session, suggestive content, mild panic attack at the beginning but nothing bad, being stuck on an elevator word count; 2k words notes; another little knives fic!

Your feet hurt.

That’s the only thing you can think of as you rush into your run down apartment building. After a long day at your shitty job, it’s as if you can barely walk. You are now desperately wishing there was some way for you to teleport from your current position into the warmth of your apartment. But, magic obviously doesn't exist. So you’re just gonna have to live with walking all the way up to the fifth floor.

Unless….

You find yourself stopping next to the old elevator. The red paint is falling off the double doors, and the lights above it are flickering on and off. That’s a bad omen. Not to mention you already really don’t trust this thing. Plenty of people use it, sure, but you know the moment you step through those metal doors something will definitely go wrong. The building is too old, and taking the stairs normally isn’t too much of a problem.

However you worked a double shift today, and your feet are desperate for a break. You bite your lip and reach out to touch the little button that indicates you want to go up. Your finger hovers over it as you decide what to do. Should you brave the metal death trap? Or should you kill your feet by going up the stairs? It’s quite the dilemma.

Before you can decide, someone behind you clears their throat. You flip around, eyes widening. You’re prepared to offer an apology for standing there like a dumbass, but the words die on your lips the moment you notice who’s there. Oh no. Standing behind you is none other than your hot but annoying next door neighbor.

He’s standing there, arms crossed as he looks down at you with his icy blue eyes. His platinum blonde hair, which is usually styled perfectly, is a bit messed up. And his eyes look tired, meaning he probably came home from a day alike yours. Of course he still looks amazing, even as he glares down at you.

“Well?” he asks, looking unamused. “Are you gonna press the button, or not?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t let him get to you. You’ve had a long day and you’re not gonna let this asshole ruin it even further by embarrassing you. “Have a little patience, will you?” You huff, turning back around. You press your finger against the button. Your decision has been made for you it seems. The elevator dings, and after a few moments the doors open up. You slink inside and make the corner on the left your temporary home. Knives, your neighbor, stands in the corner opposite from you. He leans against the back of the elevator, his arms still crossed against his broad chest.

In order to keep yourself from checking him out the entire time (he’s still annoying, just really hot too), you pull out your phone. It’s at three percent- but it should last until you make it home. Even if it dies you could always just pretend to be scrolling to save you from the awkward tension in the elevator.

The elevator makes a few funky noises, and starts to lift up. You feel your heart begin to beat, but you try to calm yourself down. You’re gonna be fine- everything is okay-

And then the elevator jerks, makes another weird noise and stops. The lights go off for a second, before the emergency light flashes on. You cling to your phone behind you and look over at Knives. He looks mildly inconvenienced, his brows slightly turned down. The ever present frown on his face seems to deepen slightly. He meets your gaze and pushes himself up so he’s standing straight.

This isn’t good.

You feel your heart start to pound, your hands shaking slightly. This is why you never take the damn elevator! You knew this would happen! Your breathing starts coming out a little fast and then-

“It’s gonna be alright.”

The usually icy voice says, but this time a little softer. You look over at Knives again. He’s stepped a little closer to you. Is he trying to comfort you? He’s never done that before. “This happens all the time- It’s just stuck. We just need to press the emergency button, and they’ll come get us out soon.” he explains matter of factly, and strangely it helps. You feel yourself calming down.

He walks over to your side and presses the emergency button. A few seconds later another voice picks up, and the guy talks to Knives for a little while. Before the call ends, the man lets you guys know that someone will be over as soon as possible to let you out.

And now all that’s left to do is wait.

You’re less panicked now, knowing that everything is going to be okay. But you still don’t feel amazing about being trapped inside an elevator with your neighbor. An awkward silence takes over for a few moments, only broken because Knives is still worried you’re freaking out.

“I told you it would be okay.” he mumbles, and while it comes off as a little cold, you can tell he’s trying to comfort you. You smile slightly and nod. “Yeah….thanks…” He’s never actually been this nice to you before. Most of the time he’s offering snide remarks about you being too loud- or pounding on the door to let you know that he can hear your singing in the shower. It seems this man is always out to mock or embarrass you, which is why this softer side of him is weird to see.

The silence takes over again. You look down at your phone, it flashes the low battery sign and shuts off. Letting out a sigh you put it back into your pocket and slump against the wall. “How long does it usually take them to get here?” you ask, assuming he's been in the position before. He shrugs. “It can take up to an hour…sometimes longer if they’re already busy.” You let out a small groan. Knives rolls his eyes. “What, can’t stand being stuck with me for an hour?”

Great. An hour stuck in this shitty elevator with this guy’s attitude problem is already back.

“No, actually, the idea makes me kind of sick.” you respond, sending him a glare. He matches your glare. “Well it’s not like I’m any happier.” He says, his tone indicating that he’s clearly already annoyed. You turn your head away, sticking your nose up in the air. “I wish i had taken the stairs-”

“Me too. Then maybe I’d finally get a moment of peace.” he sneers.

Ouch. That kind of hurts. What’s this guy’s deal anyway? He’s hated you ever since you moved in. you even tried to be nice to him! The first day you got there you introduced yourself all politely. You even baked him some cookies! Still, he’s given you nothing but heated glares and sarcastic comments. You don’t know when, but you started hating him too at some point.

“What’s your problem with me anyway?” you ask, facing him again with venom in your eyes. “My problem? My problem is that you’re loud. You stomp all around your little apartment, not caring that some of us are trying to get some goddamn sleep!”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I actually like to enjoy my life at home!” you yell throwing your arms up in the air. “Apology accepted.” he responds cooly, offering a small smirk.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re annoying.” When did he get so close?

“I hate you.”

Suddenly his lips are slamming against yours. You let out a little gasp, letting yourself get completely devoured by the heated kiss. His hands grip your hips, pushing you back against the wall. You come to your senses at once, kissing back with just as much fervor. You snake your arms up his body and around his neck, hanging onto him. His teeth dig into your bottom lip, making you part your lips to let out a small yelp. He takes this chance to shove his tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch.

After a while of this open mouth kiss, he pulls away. Panting, he eyes you up and down with a want in his eye. “I hate you too.” he responds finally. His voice is low, almost like a growl. Once again you’re kissing. Although, you’re unsure if it’s you, him, or both who lean in this time.

His hands slide down your body, kneading and grabbing every inch till they land on your ass. He cups your cheeks and squeezes, before he hoists you up into the air. You wrap your legs around his waist, gripping onto him as tight as you can. He shoves you back, so the wall is supporting the both of you as you kiss. Your lips continue to dance together, desperately nipping at one another.

One of his hands travels up your body until it finds its home in your hair. He yanks back on your locks, forcing your head back. His lips disconnect with yours. You whimper, your lips swollen from the rough kiss. He growls again, and leans his head down to the crook of your neck. After a few seconds, you feel his teeth sink into the soft flesh. A moan leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut.

What is happening?

He moves his lips up your neck and bites down in a different place, making you moan again. He continues to move upwards until his lips graze against your ear. “You’re so fucking annoying.” he whispers, sending shivers down your spine.

“So loud.” he tugs on your hair. “Always has company over- never thinks about the people living around you. I can hear you singing at ungodly hours- and you slam your door when you leave. Did you know that? Every time you leave your house, you slam the door.” He bites down on your neck again. “But worst of all- I can’t stop fucking thinking about you.”

Your face feels like it’s a million degrees at this point, and you know you’re breathing heavily. What is he saying? Does he know what he’s doing to you? He must. When he pulls away to look at you, he has a satisfied smirk on his face. “What?” he asks, tilting his head. “Got nothing to say now?”

You glare and yank his head down towards you, crashing your lips against his again. Your tongues intertwine. It feels amazing until-

The elevator makes a weird noise, and the lights flicker back on. It shakes, then starts to lift up. Knives pulls away from you and looks around. He sighs and steps back as you slowly let your legs drop to the floor. Once you’re settled, he back away to his corner again, fixing his hair so he looks presentable.

You do the same, smoothing down your clothes and combing your fingers through your hair. The elevator keeps moving up, and stops at your floor. The two of you walk out, and head down the hallways towards your apartments. You fiddle with your keys, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Knives suddenly asks, his apartment door already opened. “Don’t you want to come inside?” he asks. You almost drop your keys at the question. You step through his door, his hand on your lower back as he guides you in.

You suddenly can’t remember why you decided to take the elevator in the first place.

#knives millions x reader #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #knives x you

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mikeysw1fey · 7 months

Text

Woe and behold

request linked here

pairing: amber freeman x female reader

warnings: death, betrayal, murder, blood,

a/n: IM SORRY TARA. IM SORRY READERS. guys i’m back writing again so feel free to send requests :)

“Hi baby.”

I smile at Tara’s pet name as I walk over to our group during our lunch break ignoring Ambers lingering glare towards Tara.

“Hi.” I reply sitting beside Tara and leaning over to kiss her cheek gently. Sitting back against the bench I glare at Amber for a second before turning back to Tara who now rests her head against my shoulder.

“Do you wanna come over later? Sam’s not gonna be home for hours.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively and I let out a laugh. “Sorry, I have an assignment I need to start, next time though I promise.” I kiss her forehead gently before turning my attention back to the group most of which didn’t even notice our affection exchange.

……

School finishes rather early today, letting me head home at a decent time.

Opening my front door I head to my kitchen, humming a tune as I open the fridge and sigh at the lack of contents inside. I debate what to do next when a thud in the other room causes me to pause, my hands moving slowly towards the knives beside the microwave.

“Hello?” I call into the empty apartment, the largest knife gripped so tight in my hand my knuckles bleed white. “If this is some kind of prank Mindy I’m going to have your head.” I yell out again slowly inching towards the living room.

Silence encompasses the house. Not even a whistle of the wind can be heard as I creep along the carpeted floor.

But the silence disappears as quickly as it appeared as another thud causes my head to snap around, a figure dressed in black with a white mask rushing at me.

Ghostface.

I scream as it wraps it’s arms around my torso, the glint of the knife pressing to my throat gently enough as to not draw blood but hard enough that I know if I move it’ll hurt.

Panting can be heard from behind the mask before an arm is removed from my waist to pull of the hood revealing the face behind it.

“Hi baby.” Ambers cheeks are slightly red as she giggles at my glare.

“Your an asshole you know that? We aren’t meant to be in our ghostface costumes unless we are actually pulling a murder.” I snap shoving Ambers shoulder as she pulls the knife from my throat.

The black haired girl pouts. “I wanted to see you. And I wanted to go over the plan again.” Her arms wrap around my waist, the black robe pressed against my body.

“Your lucky I love you.” I narrow my eyes playfully before leaning in to kiss her lips. “Yeah, I know.” Amber replies cheekily before leaning in to kiss me again.

“Can we kill Tara next? Please?” Amber pulls back and presses her forehead to my own. I raise an eyebrow at her question, my own forming on the tip of my tongue. “Are you jealous baby?” I smile slightly and lean over to peck her jaw as she frowns. “Just- I don’t understand why you have to pretend to date her.” Amber shrugs looking towards the floor.

I chuckle gently and tilt her chin back up so she can face me. “I love you Amber. Not Tara. I’m only dating her to have an alibi for the murders. She’s nothing to me. I promise.” I reassure the girl before me who nods slowly. “Ok.” She replies and nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck before pulling back suddenly.

“Don’t you have an assignment to do?” Amber asks with a puzzled frown. I shake my head and move my mouth beside her ear. “Lies. I just didn’t wanna fuck Tara. She doesn’t do it as good as you.” I whisper breathily, smiling at the goosebumps arising on her neck and the tightened grip on my waist.

“Wanna prove that theory?” Ambers eyes go dark as she gently pushes me towards my room. I nod enthusiastically smashing my lips against hers in search of satisfying the fire burning at my core.

……

“Welcome to act three.” Amber pulls the gun from her pants and shoots Liv straight through the forehead. Blood splatters all over my shirt as I fake a scream, pretending to be terrified. “Run.” Sam shouts, grabbing Richies hand and heading out the room, bullets narrowly missing her figure much to my disappointment.

“Baby, follow me quickly.” Tara cries hobbling in the doorway on her crutches. Amber stands on the other end of the room causing me to glance between the two.

“Baby?” Tara’s voice holds caution as she remains frozen in place. “Sorry T, but she’s not your baby anymore.” Amber smirks maliciously, her hand extended to me.

I laugh at Tara’s shock before moving to grab Ambers hand and pulling her in for a passionate kiss. My body remains glued to Ambers as I release her lips only to see Tara had disappeared. “Coward.” I scoff kissing Amber quickly before taking the gun from her hand.

“Hey baby I wanted the gun.” Amber pouts. My eyes roll playfully before I lean in close to her ear. “If I get the gun then once this is all over I’ll make it up to you.” I pur.

Amber nods enthusiastically before pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’ll find Sammy, you look for Tara.”

Nodding, we head out seperate ways. “Tara. Baby. I promise I’ll make this quick.” I shout maniacally, slamming open doors and dragging the gun against the walls to increase the tension and hopefully her terror.

Only when a crutch smacks me in the face do I realise I had fallen into a trap. Tara swipes her second crutch under my legs causing me to tumble to the floor, my gun clattering out of my hands and under the table inches away from my fingertips. Her moonboot digging into my side time and time again.

“No, I’m sorry baby. Your hurting me Tar. Please.” I beg curling in on myself as she continues battering me with her crutches. “You. Mother. Fucker.” She pants, the hits slowing as she grows tired. Her hesitancy as I plead gives me enough time to kick my foot hard against her broken ankle, a snap causing her to scream out in pain before collapsing against the wall.

I leap up, pushing my hand against her throat ignoring her cry. “You couldn’t even tell your own girlfriend didn’t love you.” I pout condescendingly.

Tara paws at my hands, tears spilling down her cheeks as her breathing slows. Just as her hands go limp my own breath gets caught in my throat. Pain rushes through my stomach and I instinctively drop my hand from her throat and move it to my abdomen.

Looking down, blood pours from a bullet wound, the red pooling on the floor just inches from where Tara has collapsed onto her knees. “Touch my sister again you bitch. I dare you.” Sam spits from behind me, gun outstretched in her hand.

My breathing comes out in short sharp gasps, no words leaving my throat as I attempt to speak. With a strangled gasp, I collapse to my knees tears flowing down my cheeks.

“Amber.” I manage to whine earning a scoff from the tall dark haired woman before me. “She’s gone.” Sam snaps placing the gun down to reach for Tara who holds her throat, eyes wide and vulnerable as she gazes at me.

“Please.” I pray on her vulnerability, reaching a hand to her to which Sam slaps away.

“You motherfuckers.” A high pitched screech echoes throughout the hallway before a pattering of footsteps causes Sam to re grab the gun.

Ambers jaw is clenched tightly, her hand wrapped around the knife as she lunges at Sam swinging wildly. “I’m gonna rip out your heart you coward.” She screams before another gun shot is heard, Amber freezing in place.

“No.” I gasp finding enough strength to reach for the black haired girl who stumbles slightly gazing up at Sam in torment before collapsing against the wall, slowly falling to the ground.

Reaching her side, my body slumps against the wall, rejecting my attempts at moving closer. Removing my bloodied hands from my stomach I press them against her chest where her blood pours from.

“No. No.” She whimpers, blinking slowly, her gaze moving from the sisters to my eyes, her brown softening slightly. “Not you.” She manages to wheeze. Tears crawl down her cheeks, a weak hand raising to cup my face.

Both Carpenters remain on the other side of the room, now standing up, Tara’s arm wrapped tightly around Sams waist in order to remain stable. “Come on let’s get out of here. Let them be.” Sam looks almost sorrowful as she leads the shorter girl out the house. Tara looks back only once as they walk away, her own tears falling over her quivering lips. “Goodbye.” She whispers to herself.

“Keep your eyes open for me baby.” Amber breathes, her chest rising and falling with difficulty. I smile dopily at her but that smile falters as her hand drops from my face, her own face scrunching up in a grimace, the pain spreading from her chest as more blood pours out of her wound.

“Ambs.” I manage to breathe, the searing pain in my stomach increasing as sobs begin racking my body. Amber groans half heartedly, her head lolling to the side. “No no no no.” I whimper. My hand presses as hard as I can possibly can against her chest pleading the blood to stop pouring as I watch her chest slowly stop rising.

Heartache tears through my chest, the torturous feeling worse than the bullet wound as I watch the woman I love mosts eyes become devoid of her usual soft brown.

“I love you baby.” I wheeze letting my own head fall against her chest, ignoring her bloody wound. It can’t hurt her anymore.

I can’t find the energy to remain with my eyes open, not wanting to witness Ambers corpse any longer. Instead I succumb to the dark blanket of death, feeling my chest slow and the pain fade.

And just as I find myself drifting into the endless void, Ambers voice echoes through my head.

“See you on the other side.”

#wlw post #lesbian #fluff #mikey madison #amber freeman #scream #mikey madison x female reader #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #angst

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itsbeeble · 4 months

Text

Say Don't Go

SUMMARY: For too long you had been waiting for Vernon. For too long you had let these feelings fester. Now all you can do is wait and beg for him to not let you leave.

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: Vernon Chwe x afab!reader

WC: 1.6k

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

SERIES TAGLIST: @captain-brie @nobraincellmode

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOGGED

WARNINGS: hurt no comfort, Vernon is an asshole, toxic relationship, implied friends with benefits, mentions of blood/knives but no one actually gets hurt it's just a metaphor, people being nosy at restaurants, a waitress is extra nosy, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, friends to fwb to ???, ending is open-ended

A/N: I'm planning on finishing this series asap because good god I've been working on it for TOO LONG. Hopefully I'll be able to finish by mid-January jghisrghuis. Also this is NOT edited so i apologize for any mistakes.

Sometimes you wonder where it all went wrong, when you and Vernon went from something to nothing in his eyes.

Even as you lay in his arms now, you know that he would rather be anywhere else but with you in your living room. There’s a coldness in his hand as it brushes your arm, a discomfort in the smile he sends you at every comment you make about the film on your TV screen. Your fingers play with a loose string on his t-shirt and you exhale quietly, letting your body deflate against him.

It had been months now since you and Vernon started messing around. You weren’t dating, no, Vernon hated the idea of being exclusive with someone while he was so young. This was…this was something else. You knew he slept with other people, knew that every night he found someone knew but on the weekends he crawled back to you. He made you think he loved you. You wonder if he knew that you’d only ever slept with him. That he was your first everything, and that it broke your heart every time he left you.

“You’re thinking.” And then he does this. He knows you so well it scares you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Vernon lifts his head off the arm of the couch, straining to look at where you lay on his chest.

“You’re lying to me now?” A crooked smile, playful yet curious, is flashed in your direction. Your stomach churns uncomfortably, knowing that despite him being able to read you so well, you knew nothing of what he was thinking. Not anymore, at least.

“Why would I lie to you?” Your eyes are drooping, and you nuzzle deeper into his chest. His hand slowly trails up your arm and rests on your head.

“Why wouldn’t you?” His voice sounds faint.

“Because I love you.”

He says nothing, and you don’t expect him to. Not anymore. In the past, before acceptance had hit you, maybe you would’ve hoped he would. Maybe you would’ve begged him to say it back, and maybe he would’ve. He would’ve let you believe that he loved you, but you know he doesn’t.

You should’ve known better than to believe that Vernon would show up. You should’ve known better than to convince yourself that he wouldn’t forget you at the restaurant, that he wouldn’t choose someone else over you.

Now, three hours later, you’re finishing up another drink, picking at the dessert you’d treated yourself to after the meal. You weren’t going to let your own naivety ruin your night, even if the tears welling in your eyes have been threatening to spill over like a waterfall. You’re glad you’d chosen a booth for yourself, facing away from the door so you don’t get your hopes up every time it opens.

The knife in your heart has been twisted far too many times, the blood spilling down your chest for all to see. You were tired of it, so why were still holding out hope for him?

Someone sinks into the booth across from you, out of breath and leaning his head back for a few moments.

“Shit, traffic was bad.” Vernon gasps out. A lie. “And— and then the parking. Shit, the parking was awful.” Why is he lying?

“Stop.” Vernon stares at you, his lips still parted as he catches his breath. “Stop lying to me, please. For once.”

His lips draw into a thin line, and he adjusts his position to sit straighter. It almost hurts to see him so dressed up for you, but then you see the lipstick on his collar and your anger comes back.

The waitress returns with your check, shooting Vernon a dirty look. She’d pieced together the story on her own, not that it was hard to figure out. A heartbroken girl, alone in a booth for two hours. Who wouldn’t be able to figure out what happened?

The two of you sit silently in the booth as you fill out your bill, sliding your card into the book and placing it near the edge of the table.

“You’re mad at me.” Vernon concludes, and you scoff.

“Yeah, sure.” You cross your arms, and Vernon bites on his tongue.

“Why— why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” He tries to keep his voice down, his hands tightening into fists. Your eyes scan him, scan his tense posture and the muscles ticking in his jaw.

“I feel like it should be obvious, no?” The ice in your glass of water has melted and you take a small sip, letting the cold liquid slide down your throat slowly.

“Well, I’m sorry to say this, but it’s not.” You sniff, whether in distaste or to hold back your tears you can’t tell. “Sometimes you have to actually tell people what you want.”

“I have, Vernon.” You hiss and smile at the waitress when she grabs the check again. “I have voiced everything to you time and time again, and yet you seem to ignore it. It’s like you don’t care about me— and I’m not talking about our fucking sex life.”

He opens his mouth to talk, but you keep going.

“Did you forget that we were friends before this?” You ask him, and for a moment he thinks it’s rhetoric. When you don’t continue speaking, he stutters out a response.

“I— no, I didn’t, but Y/N—”

“If you didn’t forget then why do you act like this?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, your lips pursed. “All— All I ever asked of you is to prioritize our friendship over anything else. That— that if you thought things were getting past the point of no return, then we’d break it off. But you didn’t, and it’s like you couldn’t give less of a damn about me anymore. Why, Vernon? Why the fuck didn’t you break it off when you figured out I was falling in love with you?”

It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water has been tossed over him, the heat from running to meet you being entirely replaced with a cold sweat. He knew, of course. How could he not have known when you made it so obvious?

“You— you’re blaming me for this?” He asks. “You’re the one who agreed to be in this relationship— no, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place!”

“Because I liked you!” The tables around you are turning their heads, and you lower your voice. “I knew what I was getting into when you first kissed me at that fucking holiday party at Seungcheol’s, but it’s your fault that it got to this point. It’s your fault for stringing me along even though you knew the whole fucking time.”

Your heart is pounding, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and your head feels like it’s going to explode at any moment.

“So— so this is it then?” Vernon sinks back against the uncomfortable booth. “You’re throwing away six years of friendship because— because what? You couldn’t control your fucking feelings? Well, I’m sorry but I’m not gonna be part of your fucking pity party.” You hear a gasp from the booth behind you, as well as hushed whispers, and suddenly all your anger is replaced by embarrassment.

“I— I can’t believe you.” You whisper, staring at him with wide eyes. “I— why would you say that?”

Vernon’s mind races, thoughts of regret and fear pushing forward as he watches you grab your purse.

“Y/N—” he starts to stand but you raise your hand to stop him. His hands are on the table, the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground.

“I…I loved you, Vernon.” You try to control your breathing, but it feels impossible with the rush of emotions hitting you. “I’m sorry that I meant nothing to you, but do not blame this shit on me.”

He watches you walk away, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Stunned is not quite the word for what he’s feeling at the moment. Confused? No…no he’s not confused. Vernon knows exactly why this happened, and knows that the only person to blame is himself.

You hesitate at the door, your hand reaching for the handle slowly as if waiting for something. He wonders if you’re waiting for him to say something, to chase you and tell you not to leave.

He doesn’t, and he watches you leave the restaurant and shudder under the frigid weather of mid-December.

Your waitress clears her throat, that same dirty look on her face.

“She forgot her card.” She explains, thrusting it back into his hand. “Make sure it gets back to her.”

“I…I uh—”

“I get that you’re a stupid bitch,” she whispers harshly to him, and his head jerks back in shock. “But that girl waited two and a half fucking hours for you. If you give even the tiniest shit about her, you’ll run out the door right now and fix it.”

Vernon’s mouth is hanging open as the waitress walks away to her next table, a fake grin plastered onto her face.

You waited for him.

You waited for him, knowing that he wasn’t going to come, and now he’s fucked everything up beyond repair.

His feet are moving before his mind does.

The bell above his head chimes and his breath is knocked out of him once again when he takes his first gulp of cold air.

Don’t go. Please, please don’t go.

Don’t leave me.

#itsbeeble #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop angst #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #vernon chwe #vernon chwe imagines #vernon chwe angst #vernon chwe x reader #seventeen vernon #reese's moots 🩵#fawn~ 🧼#ally~ ⛄️#brie~ 🫧#reese's works 📩

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dr3amofagame · 4 months

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fuck it i'm making this c!awesamdreamity sitcom AU (dr3 edition) a real thing for the funnies alone. why the hell not

premise: they get thrown into a sitcom. that's it. they're in a sitcom world that plays by sitcom rules, which means that everything that occurs Has to conceivably work within the genre. that means no throwing dream in a cell underground and treating him as a prisoner, sam, that's not funny enough. they can't leave or escape, and if they try to do something that Doesn't work within the genre they'll either just be completely unable to do it or they'll be foiled in some genre-specific way (ex: sam tries to build a cell on the property anyway and ends up in a three-episode arc about his fight with HOA)

the main point of this set up is that anything is technically possible as long as it works within the bit. also, yes, there's a laugh track, and whether or not the characters can hear it has everything to do with what's the funniest option (c!sam fucking hates the thing, for the record.)

highlights of this include:

the sitcom Demands A Relationship. because neither c!quackity nor c!sam is willing to do the whole married couple spiel with c!dream, that means that c!awesamq are the ones that are officially "together." this goes so fucking badly and is like, the primary reason why i'm making this a thing in the first place

c!dream isn't Allowed to be a prisoner, but he does have to stay within the house. between the genre and c!awesamq's opinions, he's not really going to end up as just "the roommate" or family or you know, an official third part of the throuple, so the maid it is

a level of violence is allowed but like, the actual pain/consequences has everything to do with whether it works For The Bit or For The Drama. like, c!q might hit c!dream with the car and nothing will happen bc it'll be played off as a punchline, for example, but also a dramatically timed fall might lead to someone walking around with a broken arm for an 'episode' or two. there's no magical accelerated healing here, just the Power Of The Bit

similarly, a lot will be allowed to slide as long as you're genre savvy about it. c!quackity won't be able to get away with outright torturing c!dream for hours, of course, but pushing him around is fine as long as it's funny enough. especially if it comes with a side of romantic drama

speaking of the romantic drama, hoo boy are c!awesamq a fucking TRAIN WRECK. like my god are they so toxic. c!sam is literally the quintessential asshole condescending boyfriend on that server and c!q has a quick fuse, a hell of a temper, and generally reacts to being talked down to with several knives and cursing. they take to a domestic romantic relationship as a fish does to . uh. lava maybe. like it's BAD

think screaming slammed doors things being thrown there's a glass sailing towards c!sam's head screaming over the banisters holes in the drywall fine! FINE! [laugh track] bad. it'd be gloriously, ridiculously toxic. the crowd goes wild

c!quackity has to contend with the fact that his husband is absolutely down horrendous FOR THEIR STUPID GODDAMN MAID .

the maid also wants his husband more than quackity :/ sidelined in his own relationship once again (i wonder why, Q)

how well they adjust has everything to do with how well they acclimate to the genre. c!quackity does the best job--he knows how to play a crowd and do so well. c!sam by FAR acclimates the worst. he's inherently completely offended by the idea of everything about his job and the prison being turned into Entertainment, into something Funny, into A Show To Consume and basically reacts to the sitcom thing by trying to ignore it. this, of course, means that he ends up generally being the butt of the joke

c!dream is. well. at least he's got less stress about dying i guess. and is generally a lot less injured bc starvation and torture lead to lower comedy ratings smh. is still kinda in hell but you know yesterday he got to watch c!quackity hit c!sam over the head with a frying pan and literal cartoon birds appeared so

honestly he's kinda quietly having an existential crisis and lowkey earning sympathy points from the proverbial audience by being the one that comes off the least as Just The Complete And Utter Worst

(meanwhile: c!sam is yelling at c!quackity for how he's apparently cut up all of his dress shirts while c!quackity screams back about something something and he can stick the scissors up his ass)

[laugh track]

#c!awesamdreamity hell house AU #c!awesamdreamity #not going to be making Anything serious with this it exists solely for the meme #c!quackity slamming open the door of their broom closet to find c!awesamdream making out:#c!awesamq domestic toxicity. GOLD FUCKING STAR #and yea theyre both fucking dream on the side bc theyre a goddamn hell throuple

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queermentaldisaster · 2 months

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"I Have Traveled Far Beyond the Path of Reason"

This is my MW3 fix-it fic!!!! I got this idea a while ago, but now it has finally been brought into fruition! I only have a few words for you...

Eldritch!Soap.

Enjoy!

(Only warning is Konni's up to the same old shit again. Another attempted bombing. Fic under the cut.)

Adoration. Love. Words that Ghost had long since forgotten the meaning of…Until Johnny. And he'd never gotten a chance to say what he wanted to say, because Soap had been KIA by Makarov.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

Some Unknown Base in the Wilds of Russia, January 12th, 2024, 0000 hours.

Ghost looked through his scope, scanning the Konni base. ‘About twenty-four guards, all in groups of three…so eight groups.’ He mentally noted, as he loaded the rifle. This was going to be a tough one. But he needed to get in. He needed that intel, and maybe, if he got lucky, Makarov would be there this time.

He slowly lowered himself down from the tree, his gun held close. He crept closer to the base, slipping one of his throwing knives into his other hand. He threw it into the back of one of the nearest guards, taking out the other two with a single suppressed gunshot. He swiftly slipped into the base, using the shadows to his advantage, taking out guards with ease. He made it to the main office, checking for any booby traps before stepping into the room and beginning to rifle through the drawers of the desk.

He found numerous files about more bases, and he stood up. The computer crackled to life, and he looked over at it.

It was a pre-recorded video, with Makarov. “Ah, Ghost. This is, what, the eighth base you've broken into of mine? You are causing quite a problem for me.” He said, and Ghost wanted to punch the computer. but he kept watching. Makarov's pre-recorded message continued. “My soldiers keep finding your trail, but you vanish every time we try to follow it. So let me give you a warning, boy.” Makarov leaned closer to the camera. “Back off. Go back to your team before you end up like MacTavish.”

Ghost snarled, punching the screen, his fist going right through it. That name did not deserve to come out of that asshole’s lips. How dare he speak the name of the man he'd so cruelly murdered. Where did he get the right? Ghost scoffed, but walked out of the office, heading up to the roof, where there was a helipad and a helicopter. He climbed into it, getting into the pilot's seat and flying off.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

Task Force 141 Safehouse No.607, out in the wilds closeish to Khonuu, Russia, January 12th, 2024, 1200 hours.

Ghost was poring over the files, sitting at the kitchen table, twirling a pen in between his fingers. He let out a breath, there was nothing helpful in any of these. Nothing about where Makarov could even possibly be. Ghost shoved the files off the table, letting out a snarl. He stood up, pacing around the kitchen. He needed to find him. Needed to make him pay. Makarov had taken his sun and the last remaining pieces of his soul. He couldn’t let him get away with this. He kept pacing the kitchen, before throwing the pen at the wall and letting out a scream. It was his fault, if he’d gotten there faster, he’d have been able to save Soap. If he’d gone with Price instead, Johnny would still be alive.

Ghost sank to the floor, his breathing picking up. The world seemed to still as Ghost ripped his mask off, not wanting to risk sensory overload on top of the breakdown. He rolled up his sleeves, hid his face in his arms, and sobbed. He missed Johnny. He missed him so damn much, it felt like every day without Soap by his side was a day too long. Simon Riley was dead, yes, but he couldn't find peace until Johnny's murderer was dead. Makarov needed to die.

He cried for a while, only really snapping out of it when his stomach growled. He groaned, but stood up, putting his mask on the counter. He dug in the cabinet and pulled out a granola bar, opening it and taking a bite. “C’mon LT, ye need tae eat more than that!” Soap’s voice echoed in his mind, scolding him for not eating enough. Ghost threw the granola bar into the wall, suddenly not hungry anymore. He looked back at the files on the ground, and picked one of them up. He flipped through it, trying to find something.

Then, he spotted something. Plans. How had he missed this the first time? The plans talked about another bombing on the Eastern Coast in the USA, and Ghost snarled. It was in the middle of Jackson Square in New Orleans, Louisiana. That would kill so many fucking people. Ghost knew what he had to do, even though this was too familiar. If I die here, then at least I get to be with Johnny again.

So he was off.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

Jackson Square, New Orleans, Louisiana, January 14th, 2024, 1000 hours.

Ghost was set up atop one of the buildings nearby, watching through his sniper scope. He knew enough about bombs to disarm one - Thank you Johnny - but he needed to be terribly careful. This was his one shot at Makarov, and he knew it. He let out a breath, watching the people below. He needed to be ready and aware when Konni showed up.

It didn’t take long, his eyes locking onto people storming into the square and locking it down. Ghost saw them, and loaded the rifle, watching. They were all wearing helmets and body armor, so he’d need to get close to take them down. Dammit. He’d really been hoping he could dispose of them from up here. He put his rifle away, and began heading down to the square.

When he got down there, he saw the civilians being corralled into another nearby building. He crept up on one of the guards and stabbed them in their neck, watching as the masked person dropped to the ground. He looked up and saw them setting up the bomb. He scoffed in annoyance, his eyes scanning for any weaknesses. He didn’t find one, and then he felt the barrel of a gun be pressed against the back of his head. He froze, raising his hands. “Move forward,” a Konni soldier said. “Before I blow your brains out.”

Ghost complied, stepping forward. He was led to the bomb, and he looked at it, his eyes narrowed. Then, the butt of a rifle hit his knees and he fell to them. He looked up as he heard chuckling, and spotted Makarov. “You.” Ghost spat, his eyes somehow narrowing further.

Makarov chuckled again, bending down and getting to Ghost’s eye level. “I warned you, da? It is not my fault you do not listen.” Ghost arched an eyebrow underneath his mask. “I don't listen, you're right. I'm not the guy to bow down to tyrants, monsters, and terrorists like you.” He spat, glaring at Makarov.

Makarov laughed. “Oh, is that so? Then why are you on your knees?” He asked, tauntingly. Ghost rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s the fact that one of your goons hit me with the butt of a rifle in the knees.” He snapped back. “I wonder why.”

Makarov kicked Ghost in the ribs, and Ghost lost his breath, pain spiking. Of course the fucker had steel toed boots, and of course he'd kicked the old scar from the meat hook. He looked up and saw the barrel of a gun pointed right at his forehead.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. “Do it. I fuckin dare you, do it.” He spat. Makarov chuckled. “Well, if you have a death wish, who am I to deny you that?” He turned the safety off. “Goodbye, Ghost.” Makarov spat, and pulled the trigger.

Ghost closed his eyes, expecting the sweet release of death to come.

It never did.

Instead he heard a monstrous screech that seemed to come from right in front of him. He heard all the men around him start cursing in Russian. He felt the gun that had originally been pointed at him harmlessly hit his leg. He felt the blood splatter on his mask. He smelt the faintest hint of cedar, cinnamon, and honeysuckle. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a familiar Mohawk, and his eyes widened.

Soap was standing in front of him, tentacles extending from around his mouth, tearing the Russians down with reckless abandon. Ghost scooted back a little, awestruck. He watched as an arm hit his chest, and he stared. Soap was leaving absolutely no survivors, his fury unrivaled. Ghost felt heat pooling in his stomach, a feeling that could be mistaken for anxiety. In all his years, he'd never thought he'd find an Eldritch creature, tearing men apart with unparalleled fury, hot. He let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

Then it seemed to hit him. Johnny. Johnny is alive. And he's an Eldritch creature. That didn't really scare Ghost, but he certainly was surprised. He sat up on his knees, sitting like a child who was too close to the TV. He smiled, because damn, Soap looked good when he was on a murderous rampage. He let out a soft sigh, smiling like a goof underneath his mask.

Suddenly, Soap turned around, grabbed the still inactive bomb with one of his tentacles, and scooped up Ghost in a bridal carry, before running off with him, snarling at anyone who got too close.

Soap brought Ghost to a nearby empty baseball field, where there was a chopper waiting, with Gaz and Price standing by its side. Ghost watched as Soap's tentacles set the bomb down, then retreated into his flesh, and then Soap smiled that damned cocky ass smile at him. “‘Ey, Lt, ah think ah've been missed.”

Ghost felt the tears well up in his eyes, and he punched Soap in the shoulder. “You’re a bloody prick, sergeant.” He responded. Soap's smirk got more devilish as he set Ghost down. “Aye, but ye love me.” He teased, and Ghost's heart pounded. Ghost rolled up his mask a little, just up to the bridge of his nose, and he pulled Soap into a kiss, causing the smaller being to let out a squeak before melting into the kiss.

Ghost wrapped his hands around Soap's waist.

He was finally home.

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 8 months

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Instant Karma (m, cold)

Time to make Greyson miserable! I've gotten a bunch of prompts about Greyson being sick, so I took some ideas from a few of them and put this together. I had no idea where it was going the entire time, and honestly it's not very plotty, but I actually like it pretty well. I hope you all do, too.

CW: male snz, illness, coughing, contagion, fever (and a fever rash), light mess.

Enjoy :)

“You know those don’t work, right?”

Greyson lifted his head from the blister pack in his hands slowly and gave his boss a watery glare. “What in the ever livigg fuck are you talkigg about?” he asked, sucking fruitlessly through his nose. Elijah shrugged, unlocked his phone, and slid it over to Greyson with an article open on the screen.

“Just came out a couple weeks ago. The decongestant is basically just a placebo,” he said, pointing to the screen. The chef didn’t even look down at the article, just closed his eyes and used two fingers to rub his aching forehead.

“Genuinely,” he said, slowly, methodically, “I have ndo idea why you thingk now would be the right timbe to tell me that.”

Elijah scrunched his eyebrows together, confused, and pointed to the open phone screen again. “I mean… because you’re about to take a dayquil? And if they don’t work then, you know, what’s the point?”

“The point,” Greyson said, slapping the unopened blister pack onto the desk between the two of them, “is that I thought it would mbake me feel better.”

“But… it won’t.”

“Yeah, not ndow, you fuckin’ genius. Do you kndow what ‘placebo’ means? HGGSTHH-ue!” Greyson ducked into his elbow and groaned. Elijah, obviously realizing what he’d done, slowly slid his phone back to his side of the desk.

“Oops,” he said, pushing the box of tissues on his side towards Greyson. “Sorry about that.”

“You should be,” Greyson muttered, yanking a handful out and cleaning himself up. “Asshole.”

“I mean, just take it anyway,” Elijah said, an attempt at a backpedal that was clearly not going to work. “It’s just an article, they probably don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“What site was it published on,” Greyson said, not a question but a preemptive statement he clearly knew the answer to.

Elijah clicked his phone open again and waited a beat to answer. “...science.net,” he said, finally.

“Yeah,” Greyson said, coughing into a fist and standing to put on his chef’s coat. “I’mb sure they have ndo idea what they’re talking about.”

Elijah let Greyson out of the office wordlessly and watched as the chef made his way slowly to the prep table. “Do you want some Nyquil instead?”

“Fuck off, Elijah,” Greyson called back. Elijah laughed, and stood from his chair to join the chef at the prep table.

“I really am sorry, dude,” he said, leaning on his elbows and watching Greyson get his knives set up. “You can have Matt come in so you can go home if you want.”

“Matt has the day off,” Greyson said, looking up from his knives. He knew he looked like shit– his nose was raw and red from how stuffed up he’d been, and there was definitely a flush of color on his cheeks – and he hoped that would make Elijah back off. “I’mb ndot calling him in, that’d be fucked up.”

Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “You just don’t want to admit to him that he got you sick, do you?”

Greyson looked up from the knife he was sharpening and glared at his boss. “Ndo, that’s not it,” he said, quickly setting down the knife and the steel to turn into the sleeve of his coat. “HRRRTSHH-ue!” Greyson cleared his throat and sucked in through his nose before righting himself. “Shut up.”

“I mean, I’m sure not calling him in has nothing to do with the fact that you made fun of him for three straight days for getting a cold from Mark. I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with that.”

Greyson flushed – this time from embarrassment. Maybe it was slightly true that he’d been unfair to his sous chef this week. Mark had gone home early on Sunday night with a fever and a hacking cough and, like clockwork, Matt had come in Monday morning stuffed up and shivering. Greyson had found the whole thing incredibly funny.

“Wow, you guys certainly made quick work of that cold,” Greyson said when Matt turned away from his prep for the tenth time that morning to cover the bottom half of his face with the collar of his tshirt.

“HTSHH-uh! Hh-! Hh’ITZCH-uhh!” Matt, defenseless, had just flipped his boss off as he sneezed.

“Bless,” Greyson had said, chuckling. “Man, you’ve been living together for like twenty minutes and already you’re sharing everything.”

“Fugck off, Chef,” Matt said, his voice low and gravelly. “I could’ve picked this up anywhere.”

“Mmhmm,” Greyson had mumbled. “You could’ve. But it’s definitely easier to pick it up off of your boyfriend’s lips, right?”

The jokes and quips continued that whole day and into the next, when Mark returned from his day off only slightly better off than he’d been Sunday. The two junior managers were huddled over twin cups of tea in the dining room, talking covers for the evening, when Greyson strutted out of the kitchen and spotted them.

“Awww,” he said, putting a hand over his heart mockingly, “it’s my sick little lovebirds! How we doin’, kids?”

Mark huffed out a little laugh, but Matt wasn’t taking the bait. “We’re busy, Chef,” Matt said, attempting to clear the rasp from his voice. “I’ll combe see you after I’m done here.”

“I can see that you’re busy,” Greyson said, unwilling to give up the bit. “Almost as busy as you were the other night, getting each other -”

“HUHETSZCH-ue!”

Later, Matt would claim that it was an accident; that he was turning towards Greyson to tell him, once again, to fuck off, but his body had other ideas. Greyson wasn’t so sure about it being an accident; though, looking back, he had to admit that the way he was treating his sous was deserving of the sneeze he got to the face.

“Oh, motherfucker!” Greyson said, wiping his face on the inside of his chef’s coat. Both Matt and Mark were in absolute hysterics.

“What goes around comes around, Chef,” Mark said, the closest he’d ever get to telling the chef he was being a prick. Matt wasn’t quite so subtle.

“Sorry, Chef. Instant karma,” he giggled.

“Jokes on you,” Greyson said, wiping his eyes and shooting a glare at his sous. “I never get sick.” Once again, Mark and Matt burst out laughing. “What?” Greyson asked.

“Chef, ndo offense, but you get sick all the time,” Matt said, taking a sip of his tea. “Do you not remember, like, six mbonths ago when Elijah basically had to have an intervention with you about going out all the time because you were getting sick so often?”

“You were going out with me, you ass,” Greyson said, annoyed. Matt shrugged.

“Yeah, but I don’t get sick like you do.”

“The hell does that mean?”

Matt shot a look at Mark, who shrugged and took over the conversation. “Chef…” he said, gently, “you just… when you get sick, it’s like a whole big thing. Like, you always end up laid out and miserable.” He shrugged. “Probably just has to do with, you know… getting older.” Mark could tell the moment the words escaped his mouth, he’d made a mistake.

Greyson’s mouth dropped, aghast. “Getting older?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you calling me old? I’m thirty-one!”

Mark held up his hands in protest. “I’m not calling you old,” he said, an attempt at a backpedal. “I’m just saying… illnesses hit you really hard. That’s it.”

The three of them stood there, Greyson glaring and the two younger men sniffling and attempting not to make eye contact, until Greyson decided that he had nothing left to add and stormed off. The rest of that day and Tuesday had passed in relative silence – Greyson too proud to apologize, and Matt too sick to be bothered with Greyson’s theatrics.

By the time Tuesday evening’s service was over, Greyson finally addressed his sous. “Hey,” he said, approaching the line, where Matt was closing up one of the stations. The sous looked up, sniffled, and nodded.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and congested.

“You, uh…” Greyson said, “you almost done?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, before his eyes glazed over. “Holdonasec – HGTSHH-ue! Hh-! Hh’TSHH-ue!” He sniffled into his elbow, cleared his throat and righted himself. “Sorry, ‘scuse me.”

“Bless,” Greyson said. “You’re off tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, throwing the towel he was using to wipe down his station over his shoulder. “Unless you ndeed mbe to come in.”

Greyson shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah, no, stay home. Get better, okay? If you’re done there you should get out of here. Get some rest.”

Matt let a little smile curl the edge of his mouth. “Sure thing, boss,” he said, tossing the towel into a receptacle filled with other dirty towels. “And, uh, boss?”

“Mmm?” Greyson asked, turning back towards his sous.

“Sorry if I get you sick,” he said, coughing lightly. Greyson sang out one little laugh.

“You know me,” he said, thumping his chest. “Made of steel. Night, Matt.”

But, of course, Greyson had already been feeling the cold Matt had so lovingly bestowed upon him sneaking into his sinuses that Tuesday evening – not even 12 hours after Matt had sneezed in his face. He’d kept it at bay with preemptive ibuprofen, ample cups of tea hidden strategically in his office, and sheer force of will; no need to prove Matt and Mark correct just a few hours after they’d accused him of being sickly.

Now, though, when it was just Elijah to pester him, Greyson wasn’t interested in hiding his burgeoning illness – though he wasn’t exactly interested in being made fun of, either. Maybe he’d made a mistake coming in this morning and immediately admitting to not feeling well; clearly, Elijah was in cahoots with Matt and Mark.

“All I’m saying,” Elijah said, snapping Greyson back to the here and now, “is maybe you should’ve been nicer to Matt the last few days, and you could call him in without feeling like a dick. What goes around comes around, and all that.”

Greyson put his knife down to regard his boss. “I apologized to Mbatt,” he said. “And since when are you ndot on mby side? He sneezed in mby face, I would think that that would get mbe at least a little sympathy.”

“Okay, first of all,” Elijah said, “you didn’t apologize to Matt. You realize how small this kitchen is, right? I could hear you talking to him last night. Pretty sure all you said was ‘stay home, get some rest’, and something about you being invulnerable. No apologies to be found.”

“What are you, his mom? Why am I getting the third degree from you?”

“I’m not his mom, but let’s face it, Grey: you’ve been treating him like a second-class citizen since him and Mark moved in together and made it official.” Elijah shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Much as he wished he could, Greyson couldn’t deny it. In his defense, though, Matt was his going out friend, his party friend. He’d helped him through his breakup last year by being there, and now he just… wasn’t. It was hard to get used to, and Greyson was about as bad with change as they come.

“Hhh...hhIGTSZHH-uhh! HGTSZH-ue! Fuck – HTSHHZUE!” Instead of answering, Greyson sneezed, hard, into his elbow. He grimaced, wiped his nose, and stood back up, swaying a bit.

“Bless,” Elijah said, arms crossed and clearly waiting. “Well…?”

“Is there a chance we could have this conversation whend I’m, y’know, not sndeezing every five seconds?” Greyson asked, coughing into the back of his hand. “Especially,” he said, getting it together, “since you took away the only lifesaver I had on this shitty-ass day.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow, confused. “The hell are you -”

“The dayquil, Lij,” Greyson shouted, throwing his hands up. Elijah, remembering, burst out laughing.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “sorry again about that.”

“You’re ndot forgiven, but thanks,” Greyson said, picking his knife back up. “Ndow, can you please leave mbe alone? I promise I’ll think about what I’ve done while we have some alone tiiii...hhhIGTSZZHH-ue!”

“Bless. Again. You sound really shitty, by the way. You sound like you have the fuckin’ flu.”

“It’s just a stupid cold, Lij, relax.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, taking the few steps into the office to grab a box of tissues for the chef. “Sure. And yes, I’ll give you your alone time, but just know that I expect you to apologize to Matt for real at some point this week.” He placed the tissues next to Greyson and gave him a pointed look. “I mean it.”

“Yes, mbom,” Greyson said, rolling his eyes and pulling a few tissues out to blow his nose. “Thanks for the empathy.”

“Sometimes you need tough love more than empathy, sweetie,” Elijah said, walking back into the office and laughing when, instead of telling him off, Greyson collapsed into yet another fit of sneezing. “Serves you right!”

***

When Greyson had walked in that morning, Elijah had really thought nothing of him being sick; in fact, it had been a little bit funny. Mark had told him about the conversation he, Matt and Greyson had, about Matt sneezing in Greyson’s face, about Greyson claiming that he never got sick – it was all very classic Greyson and Matt.

And Greyson had seemed fine at first, despite the dayquil situation and the general malaise. Yes, he was whining and congested; yes, he was coughing and popping ibuprofen like candy, but all that was very par for the course in the grand scheme of Greyson being ill. He had still spent most of the morning riffing with Elijah, and the entire afternoon prepping, calling in produce, meat and fish orders, and helping the cooks get ready for service. He’d seemed, while not 100%, pretty much himself. But now, an hour into service, something seemed especially… off.

“Chef!” Elijah called, pushing through the kitchen doors with a plate in his hand. “We have another send back, the fuck is going on back here tonight?”

Greyson turned around sluggishly, and took a moment to process what Elijah said. “Uh,” he said, reaching for the plate. “Ndot sure. We’ll get it remade. Table?”

“Thirty-two,” Elijah said, crossing his arms. Greyson nodded and relayed the information to his grill cook, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other dropping the plate into the bus tub below him.

“Be out soon,” Greyson muttered in Elijah’s direction before pulling another ticket off the printer and hanging it on the expo board. “Order in, two fish two specials,” he called to his line, who repeated his the order back while Greyson ducked into his elbow. “Hhuh! Hh-ESTZZHH-ue!”

“Bless, Chef,” called the cooks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Greyson muttered, pulling himself to his full height again. Elijah’s face contorted with concern, and he stepped closer to place a hand on the back of Greyson’s neck. Greyson jumped.

“Christ, scare a guy half to death, why don’t you?” he said, pulling away. “Hell’s your problem?”

“You’re burning up, Grey,” Elijah said, allowing the concern he suddenly felt to coat his voice. “And there’s, like, something on your neck…” Elijah reached up to try and pull back the chef’s collar, but Greyson pulled away quicker.

“It’s hot on the line,” Greyson said, wiping the flop sweat from his forehead. “And if you’re goigg to undress mbe, please buy me dinner first. Hh-HRSSTHHH-ue!”

Lucky for Elijah, Greyson had folded in half with the force of that one. While he was doubled over, Elijah yanked his collar up and looked down the back of his shirt – oh.

“Greyson Thomas Abbott,” Elijah said when Greyson finally righted himself again. “Are you seriously so sick you have a fucking rash on your back?”

Greyson’s face bloomed with embarrassed color. “Ndo,” he said, coughing away from his boss. “You’re probably seeing thiiiiETSCHH-ue! HRTSZH-ue!”

“Bless, Chef,” came the chorus again.

“You’ve got them trained well,” Elijah said as the grill cook put up the remade plate of food. Greyson wiped his nose hard on the back of his hand, yanked the plate out of the window and handed it to Elijah.

“They trained thembselves. Like circus rats,” he said. “Take your food and stop touching mbe.”

“Snippy,” Elijah said, taking the plate. “Have you taken any ibuprofen lately?”

“Only every 45 mbinutes, but thanks for asking,” Greyson said, pulling another ticket. “Order in two tofu,” he called, his voice straining. He reached back and lightly scratched his back over his coat, wincing. Elijah just shook his head.

“We only have a few tables left to come in. I’ll close the books at eight,” he said. “You really are a piece of work, Chef,” he concluded, and pushed out the door to the dining room. Only Greyson, he thought to himself as he dropped the new plate at table thirty-two. Fucking Greyson.

***

At nine-oh-three, the final ticket was stabbed, and by nine-oh-five, Greyson was in the office tearing off his chef’s coat.

Despite what he told Elijah, Greyson had known he had some kind of fucking fever rash from the moment service started; it wasn’t information he paraded about, but he had always been kind of prone to them, especially if he had a fever that refused to budge, even with meds. Greyson pawed at his back, pulled his t-shirt up a bit, and examined himself in the mirror they had hanging on the back of the office door – fuck, that looked bad. He was about to try and look closer, when Elijah flew through the door, hitting Greyson on his way in.

“Fuck!” Greyson said, jumping back.

“Jesus Christ!” Elijah said at the same time. “Why the fuck were you standing right in front of the fucking door?!”

“Why are you flying through the fucking door?!” Greyson rebutted. Elijah was about to yell something back, when he seemed to realize that Greyson was pulling at his shirt.

“Were you taking your shirt off?” he asked, moving towards the chef, trying to get behind him. Greyson backed up until his back hit the wall at the other end of their tiny office.

“Ndo,” he said, sucking in through his nose. “I was just taking off my coat.”

“Uh huh,” Elijah mused. He took a step closer, and closer, until he was close enough to slap a hand on Greyson’s forehead. “Still have that fever, huh?”

Greyson pushed Elijah’s hand off of him. “Fuck off, Lij,” he said, looking away since he had nowhere to run. Elijah crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“You have some sort of, like, fever rash, don’t you?” he asked. Greyson rolled his eyes, grimaced at the pain behind them, and slid into one of the office chairs.

“It’s ndothing,” he said, coughing into his hand. “Sometimes I get them when I have the -” he cut himself off at that, coloring once again. Elijah looked at him knowingly.

“When you have… the flu?” he finished for the chef. Greyson just gave him a look.

“Whatever,” he said, trying to suppress a shiver. Elijah sighed.

“Alright,” he said, “tough love over. Grey, you’re sick as hell – why didn’t you say that it was this bad? This morning I thought you just had Matt’s cold.”

Greyson shrugged weakly. “I do. I’mb just old.”

Elijah laughed. “Not as old as me,” he said. “I imagine I’d be half-dead right now if I were in your shoes.”

Greyson huffed out a little laugh. “I really owe Mbatt an apology,” he said, rubbing his face. Elijah made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

“Glad you finally see it,” he said, throwing Greyson his hoodie. “You can call him in the car.”

The chef looked up slowly, coughed into his hand again, and gave Elijah a look. “The car…?”

“On the way to urgent care,” Elijah said. “Your guys can shut down the line. I’ll have Renee fill out the paperwork and I’ll come back later.”

Greyson sighed, clearly too unwell to protest. “Being old fuckigg blows,” he said, pulling the hoodie over his head. Elijah snorted.

“Preaching to the choir. Go get in the car, grandpa.”

“Oh, fugck you Liii... hh...HGSTHHZUE!” Greyson doubled over into the sleeve of the hoodie and groaned.

“Bless you,” Elijah said, pointedly. “Don’t forget to call your son and prove him right, mmkay?” The GM patted the chef on the back and Greyson smacked his arm in return.

“I ought to sndeeze right in your face,” Greyson said, pushing himself to a standing position. “But I’mb a civilized adu – HRTSHH-uh-! Oh shit -”

Elijah stood, eyes closed, while Greyson put a hand over his mouth just a second too late. “Are you. Fucking. Kidding me,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. Greyson couldn’t help but laugh from behind his hand.

“I mbean, you have been pretty mean to me today,” he said, holding up a hand to protect himself from an inevitable smack.

Elijah didn’t even say anything, just pointed to the door. Greyson kept laughing so hard he was thrown into a coughing fit as he walked out the door. He didn’t say it, but he certainly thought of Matt’s quip from the other day, when he rightfully sneezed in his boss’s face. Instant karma.

Greyson made his way to Elijah’s car and dialed his sous while his boss collected himself inside the restaurant. “Mbatt?” he said when the younger man picked up. “Hey. It’s mbe.”

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz

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ladykissingfish · 6 months

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*Hidan stands in Tobi’s doorway*

Hidan: Oi, mask-boy … you gotta sec? I wanna talk to you.

Tobi: Hidan-senpai, I swear I did not eat that piece of cake you left on the counter. Although you DID leave it there for a long —

Hidan: This ain’t about me, fucker. It’s about your other Senpai: blondie.

Tobi: D-Deidara? Is something wrong with him? Is he hurt?? *jumps up* I need to —

Hidan: Relax; he’s fine. Well, kind of. *shuts Tobi’s door and sits at the edge of his bed* I don’t know how to say this gay shit without it sounding gay, but … you know the kid is my best friend, right? You know I … I love that annoying bitch, in a not-gay way?

Tobi: I know that, but what’s that got to do with anything?

Hidan: Does that shitty mask make you as blind as red-eyes? You can’t see that Deidara likes ya?! In a gay way?

Tobi:

Tobi: I … I t-think you’re wrong, Hidan-Senpai. Me and Deidara are pals! There’s nothing —

Hidan: I know there ain’t shit going on between ya because both of you are big pussies who can’t just man up and tell each other the truth! Admit it; you’ve been eyeing him since the day Pein made you partners, haven’t ya?

Tobi:

Tobi, slipping into Obito voice: I’ve spent my entire life silently wanting those whom I could not have. What reason do I have to believe that Deidara would be any different? And why do you care, anyway? You hate me!

Hidan: I don’t hate ya, asshole. I mean I’d like ya better if you converted to the way of Jashin but I’ve accepted all of you fuckers are hopeless heathens. And like I said I care about blondie. He’s the whole reason I got up the balls to talk to the old bastard, and it’s why we’re together now. I want the same for him. So .. *voice gets softer* Talk to ‘em. Please.

Tobi: *sighing* And get rejected? You know what, fine. What’s another stab in the heart after a lifetime of pulling knives out of it?

Hidan: *claps him on the back* That’s the spirit, weirdo! *gets up* Lemme know later how it went!

*two weeks later*

Deidara, in Hidan’s room: … and then he kissed me, hm! Hidan it was soooo good, his lips were so soft and his face! His hair! He was so unbelievably handsome!

Hidan: It’s about fuckin’ time, blondie! Hey, maybe now you can go on dates with me and the old man! We —

Kakuzu, coming into the room: Oi, Hidan, get ready; we’re going out to dinner. One of my contacts gave me a two for one dinner coupon for that place we went to a few weeks ago.

Hidan: … the place I got the food poisoning from?! I was on the toilet for three days! I lost eight pounds!

Kakuzu: Oh, don’t be a baby. Just don’t order the fish this time and you’ll be fine. *walks out*

Deidara:

Deidara: M-maybe we’ll take a raincheck on that double date thing, hm …

#tobidei #tobideiweek #tobideiweek2023 #pining #tobi x deidara #tobi #deidara #obito uchiha #kakuhida #kakuzu x hidan #kakuzu #hidan #hidan the wingman #tw language #🍭💥

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 4 months

Text

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part three - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: bullying ; asshole security guards ; mentions of traumatic pasts ; heavy drinking ; suicidal ideation ; depictions of suicide

She vaguely wonders when she had become such a cry-baby.

It’s her second favorite activity. The first favorite is drinking alone, although enough liquor and she is immediately crying anyway.

She takes another sip of the vodka in the glass, puts her head in her other hand, lets tears drip onto a scuffed kitchen table.

These tears are from the fear that eviction could soon be in her future. Her new job, although awful, pays well, and she’s been picking up as much overtime as she thinks is safe.

She would be taking more open shifts if there wasn’t a hulking security guard out for her blood.

Her mind, clouded by alcohol, remembers that yes, she does get paid well, but that paycheck isn’t for another week and rent is due today.

She tries to rationalize through the misery, but her brain can only sooth with thoughts of disaster, and eventually she always ends up giving in to things like this, so she does that, and lets herself sob for a long while.

Yearning for an actual mother she can call and ask for advice, she picks up her phone and stares at the screen longingly. Maybe a dad would be better for this situation, but she doesn’t have one of those either.

It’s times like these when the thought of slitting open her wrists in the bathtub sounds like a lovely escape. Her eyes catch the glint of scattered kitchen knives on her counter, but she doubts they would be sharp enough. She could walk to the corner store and buy a razor blade, but the fact that she is too lazy to do that right now tells her that she’s not yet fully committed to the idea of suicide.

Sure, it sounds great in theory. Kill yourself and make the pain disappear. Grow up with enough religious trauma, and the thought gets less appealing. The hell of life is nothing compared to the biblical one, at least not from what she’s learned about it, and although she has no belief now, the eternal damnation and fire-brimstone combo still sticks inside her brain and scares her.

When she had told her landlord she didn’t have enough for rent, they had hung up on her. That action alone was enough to interpret as a 30 day eviction notice.

So here she is, nothing to live or die for, head on the table, unpleasantly drunk, crying on her poor raw cheeks. Three cups of ramen left for dinner, a fourth case of pop in the fridge, salt and pepper and a bottle of ketchup and expired mustard, half a bottle of cheap vodka, and eight dollars. And too cowardly to even kill herself.

She remembers John telling her something about taking shitty care of herself, and he’s absolutely right. Out of line, but right. It’s funny how a guy that’s known her for a week can see her better than she can see herself. Her vodka brain suggests asking him for advice since he seems to care so much. She thinks about it for a minute, the irony of asking an inmate for life directions, decides it actually is a great idea. It surely has nothing to do with her wanting to talk to or spend more time with him.

He is very handsome, even sporting that long, unkempt facial hair and prison jumpsuit. And of course she would find a prisoner attractive because he showed her the tiniest bit of non-negative attention. Yes, he’s convicted, but they’re not all bad. Some are in for stupid shit. Maybe he just pissed off the wrong person.

But he is good-looking. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that. Unless they hate tall, dark, broad-shouldered men with muscles. Not obscene muscles either-

She catches her wandering thoughts, screams into the thick wood of the kitchen table, vows to stop thinking about how hot her patient and convicted felon is, because crying is better than jumping down that terrifying rabbit hole.

She reaches for the bottle of vodka, drunken brain convincing her that she doesn’t have to look because she knows where it is. However, her brain is very wrong, and instead of gripping the bottle, she ends up knocking it over.

Before she can rectify the situation, there is already liquid all over the table and floor. The bottle is empty. She tries to look on the bright side because she doesn’t want to cry anymore. At least it would disinfect everything. Less cleaning that she had to do in the morning. It doesn’t work and she’s crying again.

—————

She feels like an idiot creeping into the break room to search for cameras. Of course, there are none. She doesn’t keep her drinks or food in here anymore and she decides that this will be the final time she visits altogether.

Benny can’t get to her if she’s always in the open. The most he can do is scowl at her and make stupid comments, and these things she can live with.

She is at the desk doing her paperwork when she sees him again. Immediately, she wants to run, especially since he is walking her way. She stays put, though, determined not to let him see how scared she is of him.

He slides up to the counter and looks down at her, grinning. “Hey kid, nice shiner.”

She doesn’t look up.

He continues. “I forgot to get your number for the camping trip, mind giving me your phone for a minute?”

“I don’t have a phone.” The lie could have been a better one, but she’s still proud of herself for coming up with it under pressure.

Benny laughs, leans more toward her, his bulging shoulders hunched in and squeezing his cheeks. He reminds her of a school bully. “Bullshit.”

She sighs and puts her pen down. “I really don’t,” she says, “I broke it a week ago and I can’t afford another one.” She hopes the square outline of a smartphone in her pocket isn’t visible once she stands up.

His smile dissipates. “You better not be lying to me.”

That registers as a threat. She tries not to shrink, holds herself steady.

Diane, the other, older female nurse, comes through the swinging door of the nurses station.

Benny backs off the counter and leaves, scowling.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She should have told him off, explained to him that she would rather jump into a ravine full of crocodiles than give him her phone number. She at least likes crocodiles.

She’d like to think she’s never felt this helpless, but she’s wrong. Growing up in foster care, she had met plenty of men like Benny. It grew hair on her chest, so to speak, formed her into a protector for those who needed one. But all those traumatic experiences never made it easier for her to stand up for herself . If anything, they made it much harder.

She can’t focus on the paperwork, not when Benny is here and she hates herself for not telling him to fuck off. So, she decides to round on her patients - one in particular she’s very worried about. Although he did cross a line, the line was already breached anyway, and she can’t convince him or herself that she’s mad at him for it. First of all, because that would be admitting to him that he can get under her skin even further than he’s already burrowed, and, second of all, because admitting she’s angry at him would be establishing that she has some sort or relationship with him outside of the professional one. In a provider patient scenario, it’s often the case that the patient feels weak and helpless, especially if the provider is weird towards them. If John finds out she feels drawn to him like she does, he will probably hate her and think she’s a creep. She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he has to tiptoe around her.

Trying to lie to herself, reasoning that this is her job and John is her patient and she needs to check on him periodically anyway, she stands up and pushes her chair in. A bunch of people have been discharged over the past few days, and her case load is light tonight - light enough to be boring. She only has three patients including John. The other two sleep soundly, both with only one wrist cuffed to the bed. One has an IV running fluid, the other a broken arm.

She knows that John won’t be sleeping.

She’s right, he’s not asleep, but he’s got other company tonight. Mike stands beside his bed with his phone held to John’s face. The blue light of the screen illuminates John’s attempted smile. It’s a polite, slight upward turn of his mouth for Mike’s benefit, but when he catches her eyes, it turns genuine.

She smiles back.

Mike doesn’t notice her, flips through his phone pictures. John has seen at least twenty photos or more of his grandkid’s since the janitor began talking to him tonight.

“And that’s my daughter-in-laws little girl, Ashlee.”

She almost steps back out to leave them to it, but John catches her with his voice. He says her name and Mike turns around, smiling wide.

They both greet her, and she greets back. Mike shoves his phone into his pocket and looks at her apologetically. “I suppose she’s here to do her job, and here I am slacking off,” he jokes.

She chuckles. “How dare you take a break, Mike, you know we don’t get those.”

“Right, right,” Mike sighs, sarcastic, “must have forgotten. My age is finally getting to me.”

“You’re like 30,” she tells him, waving a dismissing hand in the air.

“Aw, I love this girl,” Mike giggles, looking at John. “Best nurse in the building, you’re lucky to have her.”

She rolls her eyes, flushing, still smiling. “If you keep lying, you’ll go to hell.”

“Well, I hope so. I already bought my ticket.” He nudges John with an elbow softly, winking down at him. “I’ll leave you kids to it and get back to work.”

Mike starts to walk out, mop bucket in tow, but stops, addressing John, the surprisingly awake guards, and herself.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” He asks.

“Why?” She grins wide in preparation for the punchline.

“Nobody knows,” Mike sighs. He looks off into the distance, adopting a dramatic, grave expression. “But the road will have its revenge.” With that, he is gone.

She’s the only one that laughs, but one of the guards snorts. John’s smile perks.

She focuses her attention on the man cuffed to the bed.

“I don’t need anything,” he tells her before she asks. “But, I’m glad you came in.”

“That’s my job,” she shrugs.

“I really am sorry,” John says, looking like he means it with his droopy, apologetic eyes. It makes her heart seize to see him moping like a dejected dog.

“Don’t be sorry because you’re right,” she says, past the point of giving a shit what she talks to him about or what he knows about her. Maybe this is her way of living dangerously because of a shitty existence. Some people choose meth, she chooses alcohol and alluring prisoners. We all have our vices.

“Maybe not,” he says, “you’re alive, that’s saying something.”

She laughs without humor. “But I can’t pay my rent, and I can’t afford food.”

She waits for him to say something mean like ‘you clearly look like you can afford food ’, but instead, he thinks critically on her situation for a moment. “Do you have a partner, children?”

“No.”

Then who hit you. “Get a roommate.”

It’s so simple, and so easily slides from his mouth, and she can’t believe she didn’t think about it before. A roommate could help her afford rent, especially in New York where it is obscenely high. And she could ask for first months, which would give her half the payment she needs while waiting for her own supply of money. Perhaps a portion would delay eviction.

She stares at him. “That’s actually a great idea.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have those.”

She laughs again, but there’s humor back in it. “You shouldn’t be in prison, John. You should be an advice counselor.”

“That’s what I keep telling them, but I don’t think they’re listening.” His dry humor makes her giggle harder, enough that the security guards glance over at them curiously.

“No, really, you’re a genius, thank you for that. And I forgive you.”

He just hopes she can pick someone who’s not a scumbag, but based on her judge of character so far, that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it.

“Good. Now I can live with myself.” She thinks he’s joking but the only funny thing about it is he’s really not.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction

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silent-raven13 · 8 months

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It's Over!

"Fine, you know what! I'm done, Miles!" Hobie shouted at Miles on the roof top of a building in some New York City in another world on a mission with their Spider Band plus Miguel, Jess and Ben. They were fighting off three anomalies, some how the couple started to have a very heated argument. They took off their mask feeling the heat of their anger causing them to sweat.

"That's it Hobie! It's so fucking over. I'm done with you! I don't want this anymore." Miles practically in tears. Hurtful words were said, painfully regrettable words that felt like knives stabbing through their skin. Their anger took them over the edge instead of talking it out.

Well, it's not like this relationship was working for a while. Miles wipes his tears off knowing this was for the best. "I'm tired Hobie! I'm tired of trying an-and always waiting for you to fucking step up and be my man! I'm done. I don't want this anymore. It's not fair to me." He wipes his salty burning tears feeling the snot of his nose coming down on his upper lip. He sniffs to prevent it from touching his lips.

"Fine. I don't need this! I never wanted this! I just wanted us to have fun, this wasn't supposed to be serious!" Hobie shouted back feeling upset at himself and the way things are being left. He couldn't blamed Miles, the twenty year old wanted their relationship to be serious, more personal and he couldn't do that. He didn't want to risk heartbreak so, it's best to self destruct before things got to deep.

"MILES! HOBIE!" Miguel shouted over them as he claw one anomaly down while Jess caught it with a net. "Get your head in the game! We're on-" Miles snaps at Miguel, "SHUT THE FUCK UP! CAN'T YOU SEE WE'RE DEALING WITH SOME FUCKING SHIT! FOR ONCE NO PUEDES SER UN IDIOTA CONTROLADOR!"

Miguel blinks in surprised at Miles' loud out burst, he said nothing having to study the boy's face. He's hurting... Hobie merely sucked his teeth, "Pfft, there's nothing else to say, mate. It's fucking over. Whatever," Hobie began walking away to the edge of the building to jump off and help Gwen, "Anyway, see ya later, mate. Hopefully, we can stay friends." He jumps off the building to avoid the hurtful pain of Miles' face. This was hurting him too, he's just good at hiding it. He could only hear Miles' softly crying.

The twenty year old Spiderman stood unsure what to do! He felt so humiliated, so broken that he began breathing in an uneven pattern. "Morales..." Miguel's voice sounding concerned as he placed a hand on his shoulder, "Está bien. Desahogate."

The warm touched only made it worst the young hero. "I'm sorry." He softly cries, having to rub his arm needing to calm his nerves and pain. His heart broken into pieces, for the a man he thought would at least try to love him. He didn't want to embarrass himself anymore, quickly running off into an open portal to leave. Go anywhere but here. He needed air.

"Miles, esperarte!" Hearing Miguel's voice behind him before the portal closed. He didn't need this right now.

~6 months later~

The tall black fit male got off a messy bed feeling a bit hungover, but not too much. He hears a soft snoring, then scowls as his hand rub his head feeling his hair strands coming out his braids. He sighs being a bit annoyed by his braids already messy because of his last night with his on and off fuck buddy.

"Hey, man. Wake up!" He's voice a bit hoarse from waking up, he tapped on his taller lover's back. "Hey yo! Not gonna ask again! Wake the fuck up, man!" This time he roughly shove his lover to wake up.

"Huh! Ugh, what?" The punker snap out of his drunken sleep feeling a slight headache around his temples, "Ugh, what time is it?"

"It's fucking eight in the morning, asshole." His lover snorted, "Come on, get up. You gotta go. I got shit to do."

"Pfft, you kicking' me out?" Hobie chuckles as he sat up to find Miles 42 putting on his boxers. "Ain't that lovely?"

"Whatever, man. You and I, both know this is all just to relieve stress. Nothing more." Miles 42 quickly grab his shirt to cover his chest, they were covered in hickeys. "Tsk, man! I told you to not fucking give me hickeys! Shit looks ugly."

"Does it matter?" Hobie asked as he sit up from the bed to turn to his side to reveal the deep scratches on his back. "I told you not to fucking scratch me, and lookie here?"

Miles 42 blushes for the moment then scoffs. "Pfft, whatever. You fucking deserve it the way you were licking my asshole." He stood over Hobie with his eyes narrowed, and lips puckered, "Shouldn't you go be Spiderman somewhere?"

"Nah! I'm fine. I'ma sleep a bit more then leave. You get going wherever you need to be at." Hobie yawns again before going back to sleep.

Miles 42 snorted, "Whatever, man. I'ma go get dressed and leave. Don't fucking take my joints! Last time, you left me with nothing!"

"I won't, luv." He lowly chuckles hearing Miles 42 walking out of the room to go to the bathroom.

Yeah, it was like this after his terrible break up with Miles. His Sunflower refused to look at him after that day. Hobie wanted to fix things after his anger... his terrible insults were washed over with panic and guilt.

In the end, the two had officially broken it off, his Miles had finally put his foot down, refusing to get back together. It's fair. Miles deserve someone better, Hobie knew this. He knew he couldn't be the man Miles wanted. Yet, fuck it still hurts.

It hurts so much to know his Sunflower avoided him no whatever what. If they were to stumble in the hallway back at HQ, the twenty one year old would quickly pass him by or turn the other way. At hang outs, Miles would cancelled or tell Gwen he won't go. It's fair.

Even on missions, Miles decided to separate himself from the Spider Band just to avoid the punker. "That hurt." He thought feeling his heart breaks. His Sunflower did whatever it takes to not be so involved with their friends group to avoid him. It's understandable, after all Hobie knew them longer.

Still their friends would awkwardly try to avoid bringing up Miles, so they would have a good time. Hobie still felt he lost part of his soulmate. He felt lonelier than before. "Fuck." He snuggle in his pillow smelling Miles 42 scent, hell they don't even have the same scent.

Miles 42 is drastically different from his Sunflower, however after a couple of drinks, that Miles becomes his Miles. The similarity in their faces is enough for him to sleep with him. It's easy to slow the pain with false fantasy.

Hobie slept for a bit more until his watch started beeping. "Ugh, looks like I'm needed." He got up just to get the day over with it. Putting on his clothes, and grabbing his treasured guitar on his back, he tapped his watch making a portal open.

-At Spidey Headquarters-

Hobie walks through the portal to find Gwen and Pav talking to Miles... his Miles. The young turned twenty one during their long six months of avoiding the punker, and looks so damn good.

Miles 1610 stood wearing a more high tech Spiderman suit with the same black and red color scheme, but with silver webbing designs around the sides and had a red V under his Spider logo. He's not wearing his mask showing his face glowing better than ever! His haircut changed from his densely afro cute to a high-top dreadlock fade. This is a new switch.

Hobie squint his eyes noticing Miles ended up with a septum nose piercing that is gold with a small gem on it. His left eyebrow have two slits. He did some sort of change through their silence.

"Oh hey, Hobie." Pav spotted him to say hello.

Gwen turns to him with a smile, he didn't care for it. He wanted to see Miles reaction, he thought he would avoid him. Instead, Miles turns to him with a soft smile and small wave.

"Hey, Hobie." He soft said. It melted his heart to hear him again. Those beautiful doe eyes that shine like precious Topaz, those full pouty lips begging for a kiss, and radiant glow on his freckled cheeks. Just seeing him, again brought back feelings he tries to get over with.

"Hey, Sunflower." Hobie finally said in a calm voice.

Miles merely pouted at the nickname and softly said, "You don't have to call me that." Gwen and Pav became unease as they felt this might cause problems.

"Heh, right." That hurts... then Hobie being stubborn as always, "We're friends, so I can still call you, Sunflower."

"I guess." Miles shrugs it off. "I mean, that's fair, man."

"So! What are we standing here?" Pav jumps to wrap his arms around the two's shoulders on each side, "What are we doing here? Didn't Lyla called us for a mission! Come on, the Spider Band back together again!"

"Yeah, I really want to see how that suit works, Miles!" Gwen said happily, "I can't believe Miguel let you wear the first prototype!"

"Miguel?" Hobie thought to himself, "Since when they got close."

Miles chuckles, "Yeah, I had to do a lot of crazy missions to get his approval. I was against Araña, and she really wanted to try it out."

"Ohh, I know she must be pissed." Pav giggles as the gang walk to Miguel's office.

Hobie merely stayed quiet as he watches Miles from behind, and his rear. It's looking mighty nice, seems like he's working out more often than before.

During the mission, Hobie had certain speculation that Miguel and Miles had a thing going on. Why? Well, in Miguel's office, the older Spider-man had his eyes on Miles, and would often place his hand on the twenty one year old's nape of his shoulder. It could be for reassurance and the punker's jealousy, but he knowns the signs.

He saw the way Miles gave Miguel a small smile with a nod then the leader would go back explaining about the mission's plan. When the gang was about to leave into the portal, Miguel stop Miles and asked something. Hobie couldn't catch it, he already went into the other world, then Miles follow.

During the mission, Hobie worked with Gwen and casually asked if anything was going on with Miles and Miguel. Gwen burst out laughing and scoff with "Your jealous, Hobie. Come on, them two? That's crazy!" She too didn't believe in them being together.

Hobie on the other hand knows they are. He can tell the way Miguel care for Miles, the small touches, and always asking if he's okay. It's not that hard to miss. His heart aches when he sees his Sunflower smiling brightly whenever Miguel comes to him, that smile use to belong to him, him only. To be admire and cherished by the punker.

"Shit." There goes those feelings again. He could feel anxiety and panic spiking in him, the regrets he did in their relationship. Now, all chances are gone and his Miles is running towards another man's arm- not just any man, Miguel's.

That's the worst! Hobie would be slightly fine with anyone- Hell even Ben would be okay on his book, but MIGUEL? Something about that controlling are made his blood boil, now it's worst when it's his Miles, his soul mate being in that man's arms. It irks him to the core. No, he needs to talk to Miles, there has to be a way to fix this. He didn't want this.

After their successful mission, the Spider gang decided to have lunch as a way to celebrate. Hobie saw Gwen and Pav heading to the cafeteria, but the punker stood behind to see Miguel taking Miles' hand back and softly asked, "Estás bien, Morales?" He hide behind the doorway to listen to them.

"Sí, Miguel. I'm fine." Miles nodded with a slight chuckles, as he felt Miguel's hand on his waist then on his shoulders.

"How's the suit? Lyla said it started to malfunction around your sides?" He asked softly.

"Yeah, I think it's not good at absorbing my energy... I think I got bruises? If it's okay. I can come back after lunch? Quieres que te traiga algo? Puedo conseguirte empanada y refresco."

"Sí, por favor," Miguel said with a soft kind smile that Hobie never seen before, "Take your time. I know you want to be with your friends." His hand gently caressing Miles' right shoulder.

Hobie clenched his fist in anger. So that's it. Miles is with Miguel. He quickly walk in the cafeteria being so upset. "Whoa, what's with you?" Gwen said, having to order McDonalds.

"Nothing..." Hobie mutters.

Sooner Miles came to order some food for him and Miguel. He looked chipper, "Miles, are you gonna join us?" Pav asked while he eats his lunch.

"A little bit. I promise Miguel to get his lunch." Miles said holding a bag of their take out. "I don't want him to eat alone."

Hobie slams his drink on the table, "So, is this what your doing now, Miles?"

Gwen and Pav quickly turns their heads being in shock by their friend. Miles didn't show any emotions, just a frown. "What are you talking about, man?" He asked in a serious tone, this time they could see anger building up.

"You and Miguel or you think I'm a dimwit, eh?" He began as he sat up from his seat, "I saw the way you two look at each other- by the way, fucking pathetic for an old man like him to be with someone that could be his child's age!"

"HOBIE!" Pav hissed in shock. Some of the spider-heroes listened on the drama around them. "Dude we're in public!"

Gwen scowls, "Dude, that's not okay! Stop it. I told you, him and Miles aren't a thing."

"No, let him think that! Because he always did when we dated, but that's what cheaters do huh! They blame everyone else but themselves." Miles snaps at his ex-boyfriend. "You think I didn't know about you and Miles 42?"

That caught the punker off guard. "Nothing happened." He lied.

"Oh please, I know you and him had it going on! Not to mention, you slept around with whatever groupies you got with. So put those insecurities to rest! I'm trying to be a team player now." Miles fumes, "You know, what I'm not dealing with this. Talk to me when you got nothing to say about me and Miguel."

"No. No! You don't get to leave and go to him!" Hobie slam his hands on the table causing a scene then getting up to face Miles, "You knew, I despised that bloke and there you go running to him! Why? I always knew you would go to him!"

"No, you used that as an excuse to cheat on me! It's not my fault you weren't ready to in a serious relationship!"

"I told you before that I never believe in them! You think loving you would be enough!" Hobie shouted out loud.

"YES!" Miles shouted back causing the two to stare with their eyes widen. Then his voice went soft almost hurt, "I loved you, Hobie. And maybe it was stupid of me to hope you would see that and give us a chance... but I was wrong."

Hobie stood with his hand clenching into a fist. "It is stupid of you to think that." He finally said in a low voice, he could've been honest right here. Confesses his love, admit to him that he wanted to be with him, but no. He couldn't. He didn't deserve Miles... after all the pain they went through.

No, he needs to end it. He can't risk another painful heartbreak, and disappointment like his crap life always treated him.

"I never loved you enough." Lies.

Miles stood with wide eyes. Pav cover his mouth with a small gasp.

"I never wanted us to be together." Another lie.

Miles eyes began to water. Gwen quickly went over to hug Miles, she glared at Hobie. "That's enough, Hobie!"

"I always thought what we had was an open relationship. All fun, nothing serious..." Another painful lie, he just need to cut the rope.

"Hobie, no! You loved Miles!" Pav said as he got up to comfort Miles, the young Spiderman already having tears running down his cheek.

"No, I never did! All that was lies... I just wanted to have fun." Hobie casually shrugs.

His friend glaring at him, while Miles weeps in their arms. This hurts way too much. He knows what he did can never be forgiven, his heart is shattering too. Then he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, "Hey," knowing that damn voice anywhere, Hobie turns over his left shoulder to find Miguel standing behind him looking very pissed up, "that's enough, Brown."

"Tsk, whatever." Hobie scowls at him, "I bet you like him like this, because you can take advantage of the lad."

Miguel said, "Don't you think you done enough?" His hand from Hobie's shoulder left to aim at a crying Miles, "Does that make you feel any better? Eres una persona terrible si así lo crees."

Hobie shrugs before taking his leave, "You can have him! I'm done. I don't care no more. He's always looking at you than me, so does it matter?"

No, they were lies. Miles loved Hobie more than anything in the world. He was one of the most loyalest and faithful partners, he had ever had.

In the end, Hobie left his friends, Miles and Miguel without another word. Miguel went over to check on the twenty one year old to see if he was okay.

"Hey, it's okay, kid." Miles hugs the leader of Spider Society for comfort, feeling so broken. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, he thought they could find a way to deal with each other.

Miguel's hand gently stroke Miles' back seeing how Gwen and Pav were looking at them a bit rather odd. No surprised, Miguel was never a gentle Spiderman like Peter.

Well, all the matters is that Miles is okay. That's his main concerned at this moment. "Look, let's go eat lunch in my office and you can talk to me about," His voice low for Miles to hear.

"Okay." Miles wipes his tears feeling embarrassed. He turned to his friends, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Gwen looks at Miguel, "Can we join?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Miguel said, "He needs people close to him." He just wanted the kid to be alright. Heartbreak is never easy, he will be honest about that.

Hobie came back into Miles 42's apartment drunk and tired. "Man, what the fuck are you doing in here?" Miles 24 scowled.

"Shut up, and kiss me." He slurred his words, "I had a shitty day."

"Pfft, since when you don't, man!" Miles 42 rolled his eyes then went over to roughly kiss Hobie, he felt his hands trying to pull down his jeans. "Hey, chill! Your drunk."

"Pfft, so! I need you right now! Shit..." Hobie touches his cheeks feeling his own tears coming down his face, "Fuck... I just saw my ex with that arse."

"Miguel? The big guy? Really, those two- damn." Miles 42 nodded knowing the large guy is pretty handsome, then saw Hobie looking down. "Ugh, come here, dumbass. This shit will go away." Being a softy, he made Hobie sleep on his bed.

"Thanks, luv. You really get me." Hobie mutters as he felt Miles 42's hand on his cheek.

"Pfft, I'm only doing this so you won't throw up on my shit!" He said out loud, then saw Hobie sleeping away. Man, this turns out to be one big mess.

Hobie merely mutters, "Sunflower..."

"I'm not him." Miles 42 rolled his eyes then leaves over to kiss Hobie's cheek. Fuck it, let's pretend for now.

(What do we think? Pure heartbreak)

(Part 2)

#punkflower #flowerpunk #miles morales #hobie brown #spider verse #spiderman #across the spider verse #spiderverse #atsv #across the spiderverse

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rorywritesjunk · 18 days

Note

Tell me more about that cupcake buggy 🧐

WELL. Okay fair warning this is set right after they told each other that they liked one another. Cupcake is still performing in the tank. I changed it because I just didn't think it would flow with the story and it changed how I was picturing Cupcake and how she dealt with things. 👀

lmao Im putting this under a cut because I wanted to share more and it got long.

It was nice feeling safe and wanted by someone, but it was silly that you kept looking at it through rose tinted glasses, because while you two didn’t actually officially declare anything, you thought he’d at least be a little less handsy with some of the performers.

It was three weeks after you two actually kissed and it was the first time he wasn’t standing at the tank while you practiced. His attention was elsewhere, on a new freak who could play the harmonica and juggle knives while balancing on a large ball. You sat at the top of the tank, waiting for him to tell you to get in, but after ten minutes your helper just shrugged and you slid down into the water.

Buggy never once turned to watch you and honestly, it hurt.

You also felt stupid as you allowed yourself to sink down into the water, your attention on the captain as he stood near the new freak, watching as she practiced. His hands were ready to keep her steady and through the dirty glass of the tank you could see one of his hands was resting on her back to help her. Cabaji at least came over to keep an eye on you, towels ready for you once you got out of the water, but you didn’t care because it wasn’t Buggy waiting for you.

What was the point of all this then if he was just going to move onto someone new? Why did he kiss you with promises of keeping you safe, why did you bother staying in bed with him then? Is it because you haven't slept with him yet? You weren’t ready, you wanted to wait and as you watched the new freak laugh at something Buggy said, you were glad you did.

You were lost in your thoughts, arms crossed over your chest as you watched the new freak touch Buggy’s shoulder, leaning toward him, and you wanted to scream. And you did, opening your mouth in the water, bubbles escaping as you screamed. It didn’t last long because your helper was reaching into the tank, grabbing you by the back of your shirt to pull you back to the surface. You clung to the side of the tank, coughing and sputtering as your eyes burned with tears.

You wished you just drowned. You felt so stupid. Buggy turned to look at you for the first time during practice, confusion on his face as he left the new freak to check on you. What bothered you was that he wasn’t rushing over to you, just strolling over as he crossed his arms. Cabaji was the one climbing the ladder to assist the helper, getting you out of the tank and lowering you down to awaiting arms of freaks as you coughed and tried to catch your breath.

“She was in there too long.” The helper said as they came down after you. “I think she was distracted. I finally had to fish her out.”

“How long was she under water?” Buggy asked. Cabaji wrapped towels around you while the helper checked their watch.

“Over four minutes, Captain Buggy.”

“Well, you’re getting better at it, Cupcake.” He said with a laugh. “We’ll try again tomorrow, okay? And try to do it without the dramatics. You’re not the star.”

Was this just an act? Was he really being an asshole to you? You said nothing as Cabaji helped you to your feet, but you jerked away from him as you made your way to your room. Buggy barked at his freaks to get back to work as he watched you leave. He didn’t understand what was wrong or why you were acting up, but he wasn’t impressed in the slightest.

Okay here's a lil more that carries on from that. Cupcake definitely has some trauma to handle but I didn't want her like, ever feeling actually afraid of Buggy and that he would hurt her. He threatened her the first time they met, yes, but he changed his tune pretty quickly. He wasn't always nice but I didn't want her to feel like he would ever physically harm her.

You sat in the tub as it filled with water, trying to forget what just happened. It felt so easy to just sink into the water, to let yourself go, and if your helper wasn’t there you would have stayed in the tank until your air ran out. Were you being dramatic? You didn’t think so, but you were upset. Maybe you could sink into the bathtub and never come up again.

Buggy burst into the room as you turned the water off, startling you. He slammed the door behind him when he saw where you were. He stomped over to you but stopped when you seemed to recoil at the sight of him. Right, you told him what happened to you. This wasn’t the best approach, was it? He was upset at what you did. He didn’t want you to spend that long in the water, putting yourself at risk like that. He couldn’t believe you even did that.

“Mind telling me what that was all about, Cupcake?” He asked through gritted teeth as he knelt beside the tub. You wouldn’t look at him, staring at the wall beside the tub instead. “I thought you weren’t going to take risks in the water, remember we had a whole conversation about it.”

You just shrugged, flicking a drop of water off your arm. “You weren’t watching so I wanted to try it.”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t realize I had to watch you every single time.” He shot back in a mocking tone. “I was helping a newbie, y’know. You remember being new.”

“You let all the newbies get up in your personal space then?” You asked. “So, is there room with the rest of the crew? Do I get to go sleep there so your newbie can sleep on the cot here in your room?” You rubbed your eyes, taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “You gonna do her makeup and kiss her too, Buggy?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” He snapped. “Your brain get rattled in the water or something?”

You looked over at him as the tears started streaming down your cheeks. He didn’t understand why you were crying over this. He knew you were capable of being in the water without him supervising, but the newbie asked him for help. You never did.

“The fuck are you crying for?” Buggy sighed.

“Y-You were touching her, and she… she touched you, Buggy.” You managed to get out in between sobs. “You always watched me but you didn't this time.”

“And?”

“You always kept an eye on me, Buggy! Why didn’t you this time? I-I thought you… that you-”

“Spit it out.” He ordered. “What did you think?”

“I thought that you cared ‘bout me.” You cried.

That was not what he was expecting to hear you say.

“You think I don’t care about you?!” He exclaimed. “I let you sleep in my fucking bed! I saved your ass, remember?” He raised his hand up and you flinched, trying to move away from him, but he grabbed the edge of the tub, pushing himself up to his feet. He stared down at you before closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. No, no, he shouldn’t yell at you. It wouldn’t help. He took a few steps away from you to give you space. “Why do you think I don’t care?”

#cupcake x buggy #asks #not a fic

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woodchipp · 24 days

Text

Alright, so it's about time for me to dissect the whole "Sunny slashes Aubrey with his knife" moment because it's just. Not as clever as the game (and the fandom) considers it to be.

The whole shtick of Faraway Town is that it's more "realistic™" than Sunny's wacky and quirky JRRG dream world, and the first fight you have with Aubrey on Three Days Left is supposed to firmly establish that the player's actions have lasting consequences in the real world, with Sunny's attack causing Aubrey to actually get injured, her and her hooligan friends to freak out and Kel to take away Sunny's knife. I'd be lying if I said that the idea of a game pulling off a surprisingly realistic outcome in such a way doesn't sound really cool on paper!

Of course, the operative word combination here is "on paper." As with every other thing about this game's story, it falls apart the instant you start thinking about it.

1) The game only makes a huge deal out of the immediate aftermath of the fight. Aubrey gets shocked, the Hooligans call attention to the fact that she's bleeding... and then Aubrey rides away on her scooter just fine right after that even though she's supposed to be bleeding. I doubt the game would've focused on this the way it did if the injury Sunny inflicted wasn't that major, which brings me to my next point

2) Aubrey's (supposedly major) injury doesn't have any impact on her or the game's plot in general. She's perfectly able to fight Sunny and Kel in the church some time after that, and her battle sprite isn't even edited to actually show the bandaged wound. Remember these huge, visible gashes some of Undertale's plot-relevant bosses showed after you killed them to demonstrate the consequences of your actions to you? Pepperidge Farm remembers

Additionally, neither Aubrey nor her cronies seem to show any fear or unease about meeting Sunny the next day at Gino's pizza joint if you interact with them there. They're more annoyed than anything. Aubrey herself is... uh, giving Sunny the silent treatment? lmao

Considering that the game also gives you the option to pepperspray the Hooligans, Aubrey included, during their boss fight on Two Days Left, you'd think that Sunny wounding and pepperspraying her would make her hate his guts even more and significantly hinder the group's efforts at reconcilliation. Imagine if said reconcilliation depended on you deliberately choosing to hold back and allowing Sunny to lose to her each time you fought her! Of course, nothing of the sort happens, and Aubrey's reunion with the group on One Day Left happens in any case. Because hey, it's not like your actions in Faraway Town have any lasting consequences, right? :) Speaking of that

3) Aubrey (ostensibly) attacking Sunny with a nail bat, which is noted by the game to be "more dangerous than a steak knife", is not treated with the same degree of realism as Sunny's retaliatory strike. Baseball bats can smash a person's skull if you know where to hit, so why isn't Aubrey's nail bat treated as the one-hit kill it should've been treated as?

4) Finally, Kel confiscates Sunny's knife after the fight and scolds him for carrying around a knife in the first place since "That's dangerous!". Not only does Kel come off as a condescending asshole due to taking away Sunny's only real means of self-defense and telling that knives are dangerous to Sunny as if the latter was an actual infant, he also somehow ignores the aforementioned nail bat, which is, again, more dangerous than Sunny's steak knife.

Man, I fucking love how there's barely any thought put into anything in this game.

#omori #omori game #omori sunny #omori kel #omori aubrey #omori fandom #i can't even say the story is held together by duct tape because it really seems to be held together by The Vibes and The Feels

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heavyhighlandheart · 11 months

Text

Hawkins Hellraiser Pt.3

Chapter Three: The Hideout

Summary: You head to The Hideout to find Corroded Coffin have a gig there. Eddie protects you from conflict with the locals.

Warnings: swearing, mention of bad relationship with parents, descriptions of violence, physical assault and knives, mention of attempted SA, underage drinking

Pairing: Eddie x non-gendered reader

w/c: 1.6k

Everything was pissing you off lately. You got a D on your latest Chemistry assignment, you turned up late to Math because this shithole of a school can’t put decent directions on the walls, and then that asshole Munson destroyed your book. Oh, and to top it off, your good-for-nothing excuse of a father forgot your birthday, again. Too ‘loved-up’ with his twenty-something girlfriend to give a shit about his real family. Even your mom was pushing it. You could usually tolerate her or at least find a common ground in conversation, but she had spent the last four nights clinging to a bottle of merlot and bitching on the phone to her friends back in your hometown about how the world was against her. Listening to your heaviest cassettes wasn’t enough to drown out her whining. She didn’t even notice you slip out the front door on Tuesday evening.

You were still getting used to the neighbourhood and only vaguely knew the walking route into town. You were alert, half expecting a stranger’s approach as you wandered alone at dusk. You’d been jumped before, just before you moved to Hawkins. “The local freak deserves a proper send off, don’t you think?” That’s what those fuckers said, right before they pushed you to the ground, kicked you in the ribs and yanked at your hair. Thankfully the little shits were pretty weak and you came out with just a few bruises and scrapes. It left you with a hardened outer shell though, difficult to break or bend. Your encounter with Munson last week was the closest anyone had come to rattling that shell, it stunned you. He’d been a total dick, he knew it, and you hated him for what he did. But your mind fixated on his big, brown eyes and the way he held himself, assured and controlled. A tiny part of you felt welcomed by him, intrigued even, but your guard stayed up.

The streetlamps of downtown Hawkins neared, and you found yourself just off the main strip. Seeing as neither of your parents had bothered to spend your birthday with you, you fancied a small celebration of your own. Neon lights catch your peripheral vision and you turn to see ‘The Hideout’ shining from across the street. Any bar suited really, all you wanted was an excuse to get a drink. You’d just turned 18, but you carried around a dodgy ID in your back pocket for such an occasion as this.

The room was dark and the air felt heavy and thick with smoke. Two red-faced drunks sat at opposite ends of the bar; each bumming a cigarette but only one with a drink in his hand, the other looked like he was lost in the thoughts of a better time. A couple of truckers stood playing pool, the stench of beer oozing from them. Their stare matched yours, and you eyed them as you made your way over to the bartender. “Whiskey and Coke, ple-” you’re cut off by the sound of electrical feedback. You turn suddenly, squinting into the darkness and see a meagre stage setup in the corner of the room. Four bodies come into focus, aligning with their instruments - drums, bass, guitar and vocals. The bartender passes you your drink, and you briefly note that he hadn’t even asked for your ID. Electrical feedback continued as wires were plugged in, the tinkling of a crash cymbal bouncing off the walls.

“Good evening, Hawkins.”

A gruff voice found the mic, its creator clearly pressing their lips to the metal with how muffled it sounded.

“We are Corroded Coffin.” The drummer counted them in with a tap of their sticks 1..2..3..4.

The guitarist began, a sweet riff that you instantly recognised as Paranoid by Black Sabbath. As they opened the song, you realised who you were looking at, The Hellfire Club. Well, four of them at least, and Munson was on guitar. Dressed all in black, he wore a bandana around his head and donned a leather jacket; his ringed fingers wrapped around the guitar neck. At the sight of him you were filled with loathing. You took too large a sip of your drink, the whiskey burning your throat, and you hissed through your teeth.

It filled you with hate that he was up there, probably having the time of his fucking life. You hated his stupid bandana and his ridiculous friends. Hated the lingering smell of cigarettes that followed him and the way he’d mess his hair up with his hands to re-style it. You hated that he was a good performer. A fucking insanely talented guitarist. But the thing you hated most was that you were actually enjoying their set. You necked your drink and demanded another.

Eddie was deep in concentration, now delivering a powerful rendition of Seek and Destroy by Metallica. He’d played it hundreds of times, but somehow he felt like this time really mattered. Closing the song, Eddie lifted his head, his hair already in tangles from headbanging and beads of sweat starting to form at his temples. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand, his rings reflecting the stage lights above. He turned to grab a sip of beer from behind him, a pint glass perched on a Marshall amp.

Crash!

The members of Corroded Coffin turned to the source of the noise. The truckers were laughing and the drunk who’d been lost in thought was now out of his seat and talking gibberish. You were drenched in whiskey and coke. Your hand had slipped as the bartender had passed you a fresh one, spilling it down yourself and smashing the crystal tumbler on the floor. You dabbed yourself down with the bartender’s dishcloth.

“Hey, Blondie! You good?” Eddie called from the dark, half laughing, half sincere. He could only make out your hair in the terrible lighting, but who else could it have been? He’d also never seen that incredible figure on anyone else in Hawkins, so knew instantly it was you.

“Fine,” you huffed, taking off your jacket and fanning your top dry. You heard Eddie say something to his bandmates but were interrupted by the boozy truckers before you could try and eavesdrop.

“Well, well, that’s a damn shame,” the slightly drunker one said, grinning at your now almost see-through top.

“We’ve got spare clothes in the truck if you want ‘em?” the other one gestured to the truck parked out front. You give them a defiant glare. “C’mon, we won’t bite.” They both moved closer, touching your arm, your lower back, anything their greedy hands could reach. “Hey wh- fuck- get off me!”

“HEY!”

Eddie shoved one of the leches to the ground and grabbed the other by his neck, pinning him against the front door. He pulled a swiss knife from his back pocket and put the cold blade to his throat. The man squealed and whined in fear, you could’ve sworn that he even pissed himself.

“I think it’s time you boys took a hike, huh?” Eddie growled, tilting the blade to position it against the trucker’s pulsating jugular. The man nodded profusely, slowly raising his arms in defeat. Eddie pulled open the door and shoved him outside, the one on the ground clambering to his feet to follow. He kept his knife pointed at them until they were back in the truck, spitting on the ground where they had stepped. He turned, closing his blade and putting it back in his jeans.

“You’re welcome, Blondie.”

“I had it under control,” you snarled, “I didn’t need your help”. You knew that he saw the lie behind your eyes. In truth, you were afraid. Teenagers and jumped-up kids you could deal with, but grown men with evil intentions were another bag. You’d played out in your head so many times what you would do if anyone tried to put their hands on you, the self-defence moves to play and the discreet weapons you could carry. But your mind had gone blank. Whether it was the alcohol, the unfamiliarity of The Hideout, or the fact that Eddie’s guitar playing had secretly been sending waves of pleasure throughout your body, you had completely faltered.

“Sure you did, it looked completely under control before I stepped in,” Eddie grinned, that wicked smile again. You were trying so hard to hide your weakness, that whiskey has really kicked in, you thought.

You sighed, putting your hand across your forehead and pushing your curls from your face, “thank you, Munson”.

“Eddie,” he smiled, “just Eddie”.

Your mouth curved at the corner, “thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smirk faded, realising that now was his chance to get on your good side. All he wanted was to be close to you, listen to you, learn from you, find out who you were. He’d had to be bad to coax a reaction out of you and get you near to him. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t enjoyed it though.

“Listen, I, uh- I’m sorry… about the book”. You were taken aback, he actually gave a shit? “The guys were pushing me to do it and I, uh…” he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “I was a dick. A total, big, fat, chunky dick…and an asshole.” You breathed out a laugh, struggling to make eye contact with him now. “And look, if you want to be left alone, I totally get it, okay? If that’s what you want, your wish is my command.” He gave a short bow and stepped back, giving you space to answer.

You looked him in the eye now, those brown eyes that sent your heart fluttering. You smiled, turning away to grab your jacket. His gaze never left your face. You approached him, and placed a hand on his arm, “see you around, Eddie”.

#eddie fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie fic #stranger things 4 #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #joseph quinn

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queenvidal · 2 years

Text

No Means Yes

Negan x Reader (Rick's Daughter)

(Not my gif - found it on pinterest. If it's urs, contact me for proper credit)

Chapter 5: In My Mind

Chapter Summary: The kiss did nothing but complicate things - on both sides. You just try to forget it, while Negan does anything but.

Wordcount: 3150

Era: Season 7 - Part 2 of the The One And Only Series -

Note: I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes or wrong spellings, English isn't my first language.

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (End)

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

“Tree.” Eric says before taking a sip from his tea mug.

“Damn, you’re good at this game.” You joke with both of you laughing.

The two of you have been playing I spy with my little eye for a little while now. Today is surprisingly slow and you got bored during your guard shift, so Eric came up with the idea. There isn’t much you can do anyway these days, without your knives. What are you supposed to do, if you spot any danger, point at it? Nevertheless, you are welcoming the little distraction.

“Well, it’s been a tree for the last three rounds, so I thought I’d go for the safest choice again.” Eric tells you, still smiling.

“Smart guy,” you chuckle.

Eric is very easy to talk to and you two quickly became friends. He had his reservations towards you but still gave you a chance. He and Aaron are about the only Alexandrians who cared to actually get to know you, resulting in a lovely friendship you really don’t want to miss ever again.

With your legs resting on an empty crate, you snuggle back into the old patio chair. The little setup was Daryl’s idea when you two had your last shift together. Standing on the wall for hours on end was just too exhausting for you and he noticed. Last night when you came for your shift, you were surprised with the little guard post. To say that your heart melted would be an absolute understatement. When you thanked Darly, he just brushed it off with a ‘don’t mention it’. Typical for Daryl.

Eric takes another sip from his tea, looking back at the street ahead. Eventually he asks you, “You think, they’ll try something again today?”

“To be fair, they weren’t trying last week.” You pick your own mug up from the floor, warming your hands for a few seconds before continuing. “I didn’t get the inventory in time. As much as I hate to admit it, they actually were right.”

“Did Olivia finish the inventory this morning?” Eric asks, looking back at the still empty streets of Alexandria.

“Nope,” you tell him, “I did before I came here. She’s scared shitless of the Saviors and I’m not. Figured I should do it, so they would leave her alone and come to me in case they needed something."

With your eyes closed, you enjoy the warming rays of the morning sun. You two stay in comfortable silence for a long while. Eric turns around to look down the street ahead of you. An annoyed groan from him makes you open your eyes again. “There they come.” You follow Eric's gaze and sure enough, you find familiar trucks driving towards Alexandira. “Elli!” Eric yells at the woman down at the gate. “Open up!”

The other woman jumps into action, yelling into the town that the Saviors are there, before hurrying to get the gate open.

You make yourself as small as possible without being too obvious about it. Let’s hope they don’t notice me up here. The last thing you want for today is to have to interact with these assholes. If you had your way, you'd be safe and sound in your room but Michonne needed you to cover her shift this morning.

A few trucks drive through the gate, stopping in the parking lot, while two come to a halt just before the gate. Eric watches the ones inside, while you eye the ones in front of the gate. Alexandria slowly wakes up, with more and more people leaving their homes, ready to face today's pick up.

You’re about to turn around and have a look for yourself, when truck doors loudly slam shut. Your head whips around at the sudden sound. Arat, Simon and Dwight left their vehicle but you don’t really notice them. Your attention is completely captured by their boss.

Negan casually jumps out of his own truck, taking his beloved Lucile out before slamming his door as well. He glances through the gate at the street in front of him, before he eventually looks up. His eyes met yours and time seems to slow down. You tense up and the air catches in your lungs. His signature grin grows just a tiny bit wider as his eyes stare back into yours. Even with his men calling for his attention, he does not break eye contact. Only when Simon comes to stand right in front of him, breaking the line of sight, does Negan acknowledge the other man.

You dare breathing again, releasing a heavy sigh. Fuck me, I am so screwed. So much for staying unnoticed. Then again, the only way to truly avoid Negan is by being out of town during the pickups. After all, every time you have been out of sight, Negan seeked you out, no matter where you’ve been hiding.

Eric sits down at the crate, facing Alexandria and the roaming Saviors. You keep staring at the street leading out of the town, still somewhat scanning the surroundings for walkers. Or at least you are trying to.

“I am so glad Rick’s back to do the pickups,” Eric tells you, making you look at him, “Aaron was so stressed out when dealing with the Saviors.”

“Tell me about it.” You joke softly, resting your head on your hand. “A few more encounters and he’ll get used to it. Don’t worry, I'm speaking from experience.”

Eric looks at you with an raised eyebrow, “I’d rather have him not.”

You chuckle and suggest, “You guys know I can always come down and help, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Eric says in a sarcastic tone. “Because you and them get along so flawlessly.”

You have to snort at that. “Hey, I am still alive, ain’t I?”

“True, I give you that.” He smiles at you.

The both of you continue to drink your tea in silence. Involuntary do your eyes switch between the street ahead of you and the men talking at the truck. You can hear Negan's voice, but can’t make out any words, not that you care, you don’t want to eavesdrop. Simon’s still blocking the view and you can’t make up your mind if you are relieved or annoyed about it.

Arat joins their conversation and Simon takes a step to the side for her to come and stand with them. Negan doesn’t look back up, he seems to be listening to the woman quite attentively. You on the other hand can’t tear your eyes from Negan even if you wanted to.

The kiss certainly did nothing to ease your crush on him. If anything, it only intensified it. You have tried for so long to deny you even had a crush, but there is no use in lying to yourself any longer.

It’s been a week but you still don't fully grasp that you kissed that man. The man who sent his men after you to hunt you down. The man who killed your friends. The man who not only spared but also saved your life. Fuck, why can't this be just black and white?

You felt so guilty after you came to your senses, when the Saviors left. You hate how easily you gave in, how your heart was pounding violently, how you felt all warm and fuzzy. How it just wasn’t enough, how you craved more.

“Goddammit,” you whisper to yourself as you pinch the bridge of your nose, forcing yourself to close your eyes and think of something else.

“What's wrong?” Eric asks, visibly concerned.

You turn your head to look at him with a bashful smirk, “I just think I need to get laid.”

“Pfft!” Eric almost spills his tea when laughing.

“Oh, shut up.” You swat him on his chest playfully. “You’re the lucky one in a relationship. Do you know how many years it’s been for me?”

Coming to think of it, was it four years ago, or even five? You can’t pinpoint the exact time, but you do remember it being pretty much at the beginning of your journey. Back in Atlanta,when you stayed at the CDC. You drank way too much wine and were absolutely shitfaced and so was Daryl. The two of you have been talking all night and fooled around, one thing just led to another.

The morning after wasn’t as awkward as you had expected. You woke up alone in your own room and once everyone met again for breakfast, he acted like nothing had happened and you just went along with it. To be fair, later that day you were informed that the building would blow up within hours, so your attention quickly shifted towards survival again.

But even after that, in all those years, not once have you talked about it. You don’t mind really. It’s been a good stress relief and you would not trade the bond you two have today for anything in the world.

Eric wiggles his eyebrows at you, “I’m sure, Spencer would be more than happy to scratch your itch.”

“Oh, I am so tempted to push you over the edge right now,” You tell him with narrowed eyes.

Eric muffels his laughter by trying to drink his tea. After a few sips, he asks, “How come? The topic, I mean. Someone’s on your mind?”

You blush immediately and bury your face in your own mug. “No!”

He laughs softly at your flustered state. “You know I can tell when you are lying.”

“I know I can’t lie for shit,” You look at your friend, pouting, “But you could at least have the courtesy to drop the topic once you see I am uncomfortable”

Eric just shrugs his shoulders. “Where is the fun in that?”

You shake your head with a small smile on your lips, “Sometimes I hate being friends with you.”

Eric just grins at you, “You don’t, you love me.”

All you can do is to weakly chortle. He is right, though. After a long sip from your tea, you look back at the trucks. Negan and the others have already moved on. Bummer. Again you nip on your almost empty mug, when someone calls your name.

You turn around to find Tara standing at the ladder, looking up at you. “Rick wants you at the pantry,” She pants, pointing weakly at the buildings behind her, “At once.”

You turn back at Eric with a frown on your face. Something's up. Eric must be thinking the same with his expression mirroring yours. You hand your mug to your friend before you go for the ladder.

“Please don’t do anything stupid." Eric whispers, worry prominent in his voice.

“You know me, Eric,” you smile at him, trying to ease the tension. “I’m reckless, not stupid.”

Once on the ground, Tara and you quickly hurry to the pantry. She tells you she doesn’t know what's going on, but giving the Saviors waiting for you, you know this can only mean trouble. Olivia is already awaiting you with Rick and Arat standing next to her. She looks so scared and you wonder what could have happened to frighten her that bad.

You enter the pantry and your eyes fall instantly on Dwight, who is standing between the shelfs with the clipboard in his hands. You can’t help but notice your backpack on the scared asshols shoulders.

“What's going on?” You ask no one in particular.

“The list of the inventory is incorrect” Your father states, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

“Incorrect?” You repeat confused.

“Yeah.” Arat confirms. “You are missing cans.”

“Missing?” You look at her in surprise. “No way, that can’t be. I counted the whole stock twice this morning.”

“Too bad you're not better than a third grader, then.” Dwight sighs from behind a shelf. “According to your list-” He tabs on the clipboard with a knife, your knife. Oh, he's gonna regret touching them. “You are short.”

“Or,” you fold your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “You already took some before you guys counted.”

“Oh,” Dwight raises his eyebrows at your statement. “So you are accusing us of stealing?”

You roll your eyes at him. “How could I? After all, none of the things here belong to us anymore. They are all yours, right?”

Low chuckling behind you causes your shoulders to go stiff from tension. “That is exactly right.” Negan appears behind you and makes his way towards Simon and the others. “How many cans are we talking?”

“Eight,” Arat answers.

“EIGHT?!” You shout in disbelief. How can so many cans go missing? Maybe you miscounted, fine. Maybe by one, maybe even two but there is no way in hell you missed eight cans.

Dwight hands his boss the list and Negan quickly scans it before turning around towards Olivia. “Now. That doesn’t look too good, does it?” He takes a step closer towards her. “And whose job was that?”

“The signature looks like a ‘Grimes’ to me.” Dwight says, smuggly smiling at you.

Negan shifts his attention from Oliva to you, eying you for a brief second, before he looks back at the clipboard in his hands. Dwight just keeps smiling at you and it takes all of your willpower not to claw it off his face. “Then we’ll be expecting sixteen next week.” Negan states, looking at your father and handing the clipboard over.

Your eyebrows rise up at the high number. Lost for words, you look at your father who seems to be just as dumbfounded. While biting your tongue, you quickly turn on your heels and march out onto the street. You are seething from anger.

All eyes are on you as you make your way to the gardens. Rick looks after you with concern in his features. Simon just huffs a laugh at your reaction. “What are you all standing around here?” Negan suddenly asks as he looks around. “Get the shit loaded in the trucks. Chop chop.”

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

Amber quickly grabs the blankets from under her to cover up her naked body when Negan climbs out of her bed. She pushes herself further into the pillows, away from him.

Negan doesn’t seem to notice and if he did, he is unmoved by it. He quickly picks his t-shirt up from the floor and pulls it over his head, when Amber suddenly asks, “Negan?”

“Huh?” is all he responds while grabbing his pants.

She shyly looks back on the floor, unsure if she dares to ask her question. When Negan's fumbling with his belt, her eyes slowly move up to look back at him again. “Who’s… who is Y/N?”

Negan’s movements stop and he looks at his latest wife for a short moment. She really heard him? Good thing he doesn’t care if she caught him whispering the wrong name when railing her. This would be awkward otherwise. Unbothered by her question, he leans down on the bed again to kiss her forehead. “No one to worry your pretty little head about.”

Amber doesn’t seem to be satisfied with his answer, but Negan carries on, ignoring her questioning eyes. He quickly grabs his jacket from the nearby chair and leaves her bedroom to make his way back to his own.

Once he closes Amber's bedroom door behind him, he lets out a long sigh. “Shit,” he whispers to himself as he walks through the empty corridor. He doesn’t mind slipping up the names, shit happens. No, what bothers him is that it’s getting significantly harder to keep Alexandria's scout out of his head.

It’s not the first time her face came up on his mind when he was with one of his wifes, but it’s the first time he actually lost himself in the fantasy. Imagining her instead of his wife underneath him.

Amber is by no means hard on the eye. She is beautiful. But not what he wants. Her skin is smooth and delicate. No bruises, no scars. Her thighs lack the small ridges of angry red and silver lines he knows he could feel if his hands run over the scout's skin.

Rick's daughter. Negan shakes his head. Out of all women in that fucking town his mind has to spiral almost nonstop about the goddamn daughter. How adorable she looked, when she was snuggled up in that stupid chair on the wall. How she pushed herself past him, when she stormed out of the pantry. God, she’s hot when she’s angry.

“Negan!”

The boss tiredly turns around towards the source of the voice. Fat Joey hurries around a corner to reach him. "What is it?" Negan askes in annoyance.

Out of breath and with his hands resting on his knees, the larger man says, “Arat. She asked for you. Down. At the storage rooms.”

Negan raises an eyebrow at that. It’s late at night, what could be so important to justify making him walk though the whole factory down to the lowest level? He dismisses Joey with a quick nod before he puts his leather jacket on, going for the stairs.

Arat and a few of his men are already waiting for their boss. “This better be about life and death,” Negan sighs, annoyed as all hell.

"Here." His lieutenant hands him a notebook and he reads the cover, ‘Inventory’. With an raised eyebrow he looks at the woman in front of him. “A worker saw someone sneaking around at our food section.” Arat starts to explain, “When she checked the list, she realized someone fucked with our documents.”

Negan’s eyebrows move into a frown as turns the notebook to the current page. The last row of numbers is blacked out with a sharpie and new numbers are written down below them. “Something stolen?”

“No.” Arat slightly shakes her head. “We’re not short, we’re overstocked.”

Negan's frown is morphing into a dark grimace, he better misheard her.

“The counting for the cans was adjusted from fifty-eight to sixty-six.” She crosses her arms. ”Eight cans.” The notebook scrunches in Negans tight fist. This can't be, he refuses to belive it. “The workers description of the man sounds exactly like-”

“Dwight.” Negan finishes her sentence and Arat nods in confirmation. That little fucker. He starts pacing from one side of the room to the other, trying his best to stay composed. Does the asshole even realize the situation he put the Saviors in, put his Sunshine in?

After a long moment and a deep breath, Negan finally turns around towards Arat again. “Put him in a cell. Maybe he forgot how comfortable they are. Give him a little 'wake up call' while you're at it.”

The woman nods again and snips at the other Saviors to get them moving, too. But before she exits the room, Negan orders, “Also, credit the worker fifty additional points to her name. Shit like that needs to be rewarded.”

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (End)

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

Taglist: @starry-night-20

#The Walking Dead #negan smith #negan x oc #twd negan #negan #negan x reader #negan / reader #rick grimes #carl grimes #michonne #daryl #daryl dixon #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #twd #twd fanfiction

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