#but like somehow she’s always over this horror and not feeling the slightest bit of guilt or even uneasiness

[fideidefenswhore]

Every single JS novel follows the same blueprint of Jane being appalled and horrified at Thomas More’s execution in 1535, she cannot believe evil skanky AB ~made~ Henry do this���. and then by May 1536 she’s always chilling in Chelsea (More’s house which was seized by the crown) like… tehe.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐝♡𝐰𝐧 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Yandere Survivors x Survivor Reader part 1

Summary: you survived. You survived the zombies. But you can't hide for too long. You have to go out. You have to find food and water. And you did but it didn't go according to plan now, did it?

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes it's basically watership down characters but in a zombie au where they are humans. Hope you enjoy!

Original gif by @mikelogan ♡

The days had blended into an endless stretch of silence, fear, and aching hunger. Y/N sat on the floor of the small, darkened house, her back pressed against the cold wall. The room was a suffocating tomb of shadows, barely illuminated by the slivers of light that crept through the cracks in the boarded windows. Her stomach had long stopped growling, replaced by a hollow, gnawing pain that felt like her insides were turning to dust. She had run out of food days ago—maybe longer. Time didn’t feel real anymore.

Her lips were dry and cracked, her throat burning from thirst. The last drop of water had been carefully rationed, but now even that was gone. She knew she couldn’t last much longer like this. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but sleep wasn’t an option—not when the slightest sound, the tiniest movement could bring them.

The zombies outside weren’t the shambling, mindless creatures of fiction. They were quick, calculating, and relentless. She had watched them, their movements eerily coordinated, like packs of wolves hunting. They were always looking, always listening. And they were smart. Smart enough to sense a human’s weakness, smart enough to track her down if she made the wrong move. The memory of their bloodshot eyes, snapping jaws, and the awful sounds of their shrieks haunted her every waking second.

She shifted, her body stiff from days of sitting in the same position, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. But she didn’t dare make a sound. Not even a whisper. Her breaths were shallow and slow, each one carefully measured as if the air itself might betray her.

Her eyes flicked to the window, the boards creaking slightly as the wind pressed against the house. She stared at the shadows outside, her heart racing in her chest as her mind played tricks on her. Was that movement? Was something out there? She couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen one of them, but that only made the fear worse. The quiet—the not knowing—was driving her insane.

Every small noise outside made her body tense up, her mind racing with the possibilities. Maybe they were waiting. Maybe they knew she was in here, hiding, too scared to leave. Maybe they were just biding their time, like hunters watching their prey, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Y/N's hands shook as she reached for the small knife she had kept beside her, the only weapon she had. It felt pitiful in her grasp, barely enough to protect her from anything, but it was all she had. Her fingers tightened around the handle until her knuckles turned white, as if gripping it harder would somehow give her more strength, more control over this nightmare.

She couldn't keep this up. The hunger was driving her mad, the constant edge of fear leaving her brain in a foggy haze. Her vision blurred, her head throbbing with each heartbeat. She had tried to sleep once, for just a few minutes, but every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares came. Horrors of being ripped apart, of being trapped, screaming but unable to make a sound.

Now, she was too scared to even try. If she slept, she would be vulnerable. If she slept, she wouldn’t hear them coming.

She bit down on her lip, hard, the metallic taste of blood flooding her mouth. It was the only thing she could do to stop herself from crying. She couldn’t cry. Crying would make noise. Noise would bring them.

Her stomach twisted violently, and she doubled over, gasping silently as the hunger pain sharpened into something unbearable. She had never felt so weak, so helpless. Her body was eating itself from the inside out, and all she could do was sit here, paralyzed by fear.

The worst part was the loneliness. She had been alone for so long, her mind starting to play cruel tricks on her. Sometimes, she thought she heard voices—whispers in the dark, like someone was calling to her. But when she strained to listen, there was only silence. Sometimes, she swore she could hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, right outside the door. But when she looked, there was nothing there.

She was going mad. Slowly, painfully, she was losing her grip on reality. The isolation was eating away at her, just as much as the hunger.

Her eyes darted back to the window. No movement. No sounds. Just the wind. But she knew better than to trust the quiet. The quiet was deceptive.

Her breath hitched as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision, darting past the window too quickly for her to see clearly. Her heart pounded in her chest, a sickening rhythm that made her feel like she was going to pass out. She held her breath, knife trembling in her hand, as she stared at the window, waiting for the inevitable.

She was going to die here. Alone. Starving. Too terrified to even try to escape.

The darkness of the room pressed in around her, suffocating, as her thoughts spiraled deeper into despair.

She didn’t want to die. Not like this. But what choice did she have?

The zombies were everywhere. The world was gone. And soon, so would she be.

Y/N’s hunger had become unbearable. The sharp, hollow ache in her stomach twisted and churned until it was impossible to ignore. She could feel her body weakening, her limbs trembling as she sat in the dark, staring at the front door of the house. She had resisted for so long, too afraid to make any noise, too terrified to go outside. But now, she was past the point of fear.

Her body screamed for food. Water. Anything. If she stayed here any longer, she would die.

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, pushing herself up from the floor, her legs shaking beneath her. Every step toward the door felt like it took all her strength, her mind screaming at her to stay hidden, to stay safe. But her survival instincts—those primal, desperate needs—were louder.

With a trembling hand, she carefully unlatched the door, moving it just enough to slip out into the alleyway. The cold air hit her face, sharp and bracing, and she froze, listening for any sign of movement. But there was only the wind, a gentle rustling of leaves in the distance. No growls. No footsteps.

She moved quickly, keeping low as she crept through the deserted streets, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The store she had seen before—what was left of it—was only a few blocks away. She just needed to get there. Get something. Anything.

As she approached the crumbling remains of the building, her heart raced in her chest, her fingers twitching nervously. She knew it was a risk, but her body had overridden her fear. She needed food.

Slipping through the broken door, Y/N’s eyes scanned the dark, empty aisles. Shelves had been torn apart, broken glass scattered the floor, and debris littered every corner. But there were still a few things left—cans, boxes—anything she could find would do.

Without thinking, she grabbed a dusty can of soup, her hands shaking as she tore it open. She didn’t care that it was cold, that the smell of it was faintly metallic. She ate greedily, stuffing the food into her mouth, her stomach growling with hunger as if it had been waiting for this moment.

For a few blissful seconds, she forgot everything. The hunger, the fear, the world around her—it all faded away as she ate, her body rejoicing in the nourishment. But then, in the quiet, she heard it.

A low growl.

Her body went cold. She froze, her eyes wide as the sound echoed in the distance. She glanced toward the shattered window at the front of the store, her heart pounding in her chest. Shadows flickered outside—shapes, moving quickly.

They had heard her.

The growls grew louder, closer. Panic surged through her as she backed away, her breath quick and shallow. She had made a mistake.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and they rushed in—three of them, snarling, their pale, sunken faces twisted in hunger as they lunged toward her.

She ran.

Her body screamed in protest, weak and exhausted, but fear drove her forward. She could hear their footsteps behind her, fast, relentless, like predators on her heels. She stumbled through the store, her breath ragged, her vision blurring as tears stung her eyes.

Just as one of the zombies leaped toward her, its teeth snapping inches from her neck, a blur of movement appeared in front of her—a man, tall and strong, slamming the zombie back with a brutal force.

“Go! Now!” he shouted, his voice urgent as he fought off the creature.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She ran, her legs carrying her faster than she thought possible. The stranger was right behind her, the sounds of the zombies fading as they sprinted through the streets together. Her lungs burned, her muscles ached, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet.

It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of the town, far enough away from the chaos, that they finally slowed down, gasping for breath. Y/N collapsed against a wall, her chest heaving, her heart still pounding in her ears.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even process what had just happened. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, her entire body trembling. But when she looked up and saw him—really saw him—a wave of relief crashed over her like nothing she had ever felt before.

He was real. Another person. She wasn’t alone.

Tears filled her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she started laughing—soft at first, then uncontrollably. The sound was strange, unhinged, mixed with sobs as the weight of everything came crashing down on her. The loneliness, the fear, the hunger—it all poured out of her in a wave of raw emotion.

“I-I thought it was just me,” she gasped between sobs and laughter. “I thought I was the only one left.”

As Y/N’s laughter faded into soft, hiccuping sobs, he remained kneeling beside her, his hand a steady presence on her shoulder. She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers, her breath still shaky from the emotional release. She could feel his eyes on her—kind, patient, as if he understood everything she had been through without her having to say a word.

“I... I’m sorry,” Y/N stammered, her voice hoarse and raw. “I just... I haven’t seen anyone in so long...”

He shook his head, offering her a gentle smile that eased the tightness in her chest. “Don’t apologize. I get it,” he said, his voice low and warm, like a calming breeze after a storm. “You’ve been through hell. We all have.”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Thank you... for saving me. I didn’t think anyone would...” Her voice trailed off, still unable to fully believe she had been rescued.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his tone firm but kind. “I couldn’t just leave you there. Not when I knew you needed help.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the world around them eerily still, like it was waiting for the next move. Y/N glanced at him again, really taking him in—his sharp features, the light scruff on his jaw, and the intensity in his eyes that hinted at the weight of what he had been through. He looked strong, but there was something about him—something gentle, too.

“I’m Hazel,” he finally said, breaking the quiet. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she managed to say, her voice still weak but steadier now. Saying her name aloud felt strange, like a reminder that she was still here, still alive.

Hazel nodded, as if committing her name to memory. “Y/N... it’s good to meet you, Y/N. Even if it’s in the middle of all this.”

She let out a small, shaky laugh at that. “Yeah... could’ve been better circumstances.”

Hazel’s smile widened a bit, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’re not alone, Y/N. There’s more of us. A group. We’ve been sticking together for a while now. Safety in numbers, you know?”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “A group? There’s... more of you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s not just me. There’s a few of us—good people. We’ve been scavenging, keeping each other alive. It’s tough, but we’ve got a better chance together. You should come with me. Join us. The more we are, the better our chances.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as hope surged in her chest. She hadn’t even dared to dream of this—other survivors, people who could help her, protect her. After being alone for so long, the idea of being part of a group again seemed like a dream. A miracle.

“Really?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’d... you’d let me join?”

Hazel’s expression softened even further, his gaze holding hers. “Of course. We don’t leave people behind. Not if we can help it.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes again, but this time, they were different—tears of relief, of gratitude. She had been so close to losing hope, so close to giving up entirely. But here, in front of her, was a lifeline. A chance at survival. At something more than just existing in fear and hunger.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, nodding quickly. “I... I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Hazel’s smile returned, gentle and reassuring. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stick with us, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. She hadn’t felt this kind of connection with anyone in so long, hadn’t felt safe or cared for. But here, with Hazel, there was a glimmer of hope. A chance to live again, not just survive.

She managed a small, but sincere smile. “I’ll come with you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Hazel’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. You’ve got us now.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

Y/N’s legs were shaking as she followed behind him, trying to keep pace. The hunger gnawed at her insides, and her body ached from exhaustion. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, but the adrenaline from their earlier encounter with the dead still burned in her veins. He hadn’t left her behind. He’d saved her.

Now, he was leading her somewhere safe—or so he promised. But after days, maybe weeks, of hiding and surviving alone, the word safe felt foreign, almost unreal. The building they approached was crumbling like all the others. It felt as though it might fall apart at any moment, much like her frail body. Her mind screamed at her not to trust anyone, that safety didn’t exist anymore.

Still, she followed him. Because she had nothing else.

They slipped inside, through a small gap in the side of the building. Y/N had to squeeze through, her pulse racing as the walls seemed to close in on her. She didn’t speak. He had told her to keep quiet when they were running. The zombies were too fast, too clever. They could hear, smell, and even sense movement like animals on the hunt. She hadn’t made a sound since.

Inside, there was a hidden stairwell leading downward into darkness. Her heart pounded louder with every step, echoing in her ears as they descended into the depths. The air grew colder, heavier. Her stomach churned with nausea, and a deep, primal fear started crawling up her spine.

When they reached the bottom, a single dim light flickered on, illuminating the underground space. It was larger than she expected—too organized, too clean for this new world they were trapped in. And that was when she saw them—several figures, standing, watching her in silence.

Their eyes were hollow, dark with suspicion. Her pulse quickened again, her breath shallow and labored. She wanted to shrink back, to disappear. There was something unsettling about the way they stared—like predators deciding if she was worth the effort to keep alive. She felt raw, exposed, and very, very small.

One of them, tall and lean, stepped forward. His eyes weren’t as cold as the others, but there was still an edge to his gaze, as if he was trying to read her thoughts, her past, her worth.

"Who is she?" he asked, his voice calm but filled with doubt. He looked past her, speaking to the man who’d saved her.

"Someone who needs help," was the quiet response.

Y/N could feel every heartbeat echoing in her chest, each one louder than the last. She didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth, the wrong thing would come out, or worse—nothing at all. Her throat was too tight to form words. Fear hung over her like a shroud, suffocating and heavy.

Another figure, a woman this time, stepped forward. Her face was sharp, hard. She didn’t look at Y/N with anything close to kindness. “She’s a risk. What if she brings them here? We don’t know anything about her.”

Y/N swallowed, her mouth dry. She wanted to scream, to beg them to believe she wasn’t a threat, but the words tangled in her throat. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The room felt like it was closing in.

"She doesn’t look like much of a threat," came a low, gruff voice from somewhere in the shadows. The man who spoke stepped into the light, his arms crossed. His eyes were cold, calculating. “But we’re already stretched thin. We can’t afford dead weight.”

Dead weight. That’s what she was to them—useless. Disposable.

Her hands trembled at her sides. She could feel their eyes on her, boring into her skin, judging her every flaw, every weakness. She wasn’t strong like them. She wasn’t capable. She was nothing.

“Look at her,” someone else muttered from the back, a rough laugh following. “She’s already half-dead.”

The weight of the words made her chest tighten, her breath quickening. It felt like the room was spinning, tilting, and she had to fight the urge to collapse. The starvation, the terror, the constant silence—it had eaten away at her, and now, standing here, she felt like a ghost of herself.

The man who had saved her finally spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “She’s not a risk. She’s alone. She’s been hiding for who knows how long. We all know what it’s like.”

But his words didn’t seem to be enough to sway the others. The murmurs grew louder, more voices chiming in, each one cutting through her like a blade. She wasn’t wanted here. They didn’t trust her. Why should they?

Before the argument could escalate, one of the larger figures—the tallest in the room—moved forward. He was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding and hard to ignore. His gaze wasn’t cold, but there was something intense about the way he looked at her. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood between her and the others, as if creating a barrier. His eyes held hers for a moment, and in that brief second, she felt something shift—like he understood.

“She stays,” he said, his deep voice breaking through the noise.

The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. His tone was final, not up for debate. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but no one challenged him.

Y/N’s legs trembled beneath her, the adrenaline finally wearing off, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. She wanted to collapse right there, to give in to the crushing weight of everything, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn’t show weakness, not now.

The tall man—her unexpected ally—looked at her again, his expression softening just slightly. “You’re with us now,” he said quietly, his voice a bit gentler than before.

She nodded, too drained to do anything else. The fear still lingered, but the relief was there too, creeping in like a slow tide. She wasn’t alone anymore. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn’t alone. But that didn’t mean the fear was gone. The hunger still gnawed at her, and the cold, calculating looks from some of the others told her this was far from over.

As the others dispersed, muttering to themselves, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but when she turned, it was him—the man who had saved her. His eyes were soft, warm, filled with understanding.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured. “We’ll keep you safe.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she could trust them, that this nightmare might finally be over. But as she looked around at the faces of her new group, the doubt still lingered. Safety was an illusion in this world.

And yet, it was all she had.

Y/N sat on the cold, dusty floor, leaning against the crumbling wall of their underground hideout. She couldn’t stop shaking, her body weak, almost numb from hunger and fear. The moment they’d brought her inside, she had felt an overwhelming rush of relief, but it had been quickly replaced by the gnawing need for food and water. The world around her seemed to blur as her mind focused on one thing—survival. She had been running on empty for far too long.

A large shadow approached, the tall man who had stood up for her in front of the others. He carried a small bottle of water and something wrapped in cloth—a bit of bread, maybe. She could hardly care what it was at this point; all that mattered was that it was food.

“Here,” he said, crouching down beside her and holding out the water. His voice was calm, though his presence was still intimidating in its size. “Drink this first.”

Y/N’s hands trembled violently as she reached for the bottle, fumbling with the cap before she could unscrew it. She took a sip, and the cool water hit her parched throat like a punch, almost too much at once. She coughed, sputtering, but forced herself to drink more. It was like tasting life itself after being so close to death.

The man—her savior, really—sat beside her, watching her carefully. His presence was strangely comforting, even though he was a stranger. “Take it slow,” he advised softly, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice.

But Y/N didn’t have time to listen. As soon as he handed her the food, she tore into it like a starved animal, her teeth sinking into the bread without hesitation. She barely chewed, forcing herself to swallow each piece. Her stomach roared with hunger, but the food felt like sandpaper against her throat. She was desperate, too desperate to care.

A piece of bread lodged in her throat, and for a moment, panic surged through her chest. She coughed violently, her eyes watering as she gasped for air, still trying to stuff more food into her mouth. She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk the chance that it could all be taken away.

The man next to her—he was watching her with a raised brow, his lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. “Careful,” he said, his voice lighter now, the edge of seriousness softening. “You’re going to choke.”

Y/N sputtered, a piece of bread half-swallowed, half stuck in her throat as she coughed and gasped. The combination of hunger, exhaustion, and embarrassment hit her all at once, and she couldn’t help but glance at him, her face burning with shame. She didn’t want to be seen like this, so desperate, so weak.

“I—I’m fine,” she managed to choke out between gasps, waving her hand weakly as if to reassure him.

He chuckled, and it wasn’t unkind. “Yeah, sure looks like it.”

Her heart sank. She hadn’t meant to make him laugh, especially not at her expense. But the sound of his laughter wasn’t cruel. It was… warm. And something about that made her want to keep talking, even through her embarrassment.

She managed to swallow the rest of the food, sitting back against the wall, still clutching the water bottle tightly. Her hands were filthy, her face streaked with dirt and fear, but for a moment, just sitting here with him, she felt something that wasn’t pure terror.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice raspy from both hunger and choking. “I… I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“I figured.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, still watching her with that calm, assessing gaze. “You looked like you’d been through hell when Hazel brought you here.”

Hazel. That was the man who had saved her in the store. The one who had promised her safety and a place with them. But now, this man—the one who had stood up for her—was sitting beside her, talking to her as if she weren’t just some desperate stranger. It felt surreal.

“I’m—" she started, hesitating for a moment before deciding to offer her name. "Y/N.”

“Bigwig,” he replied simply, his voice carrying a hint of pride in the name. It wasn’t a real name, not in the traditional sense, but it suited him somehow. Strong, unmovable.

Y/N blinked at the name, nearly choking on another piece of bread as she processed it. She tried to stifle the laugh, but a small, surprised giggle slipped out despite herself. She coughed again, covering her mouth, trying not to make a fool of herself.

Bigwig looked at her, and for a moment, his serious demeanor cracked. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Weird name, huh?”

She nodded, still trying to swallow the last bit of bread, though her face burned with embarrassment again. She wasn’t laughing at him, but she felt like a mess—like this starving, desperate girl who was sitting next to this towering man, choking on food while he tried not to laugh at her. It was absurd, and for the first time in so long, the absurdity of it all made her feel something that wasn’t fear.

Bigwig leaned back against the wall beside her, his presence calm and steady. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, offering her a reassuring look. “The name, I mean. And everything else.”

Y/N smiled faintly, wiping at her face with her sleeve, the remnants of the meal still sticking in her throat. The tension in her chest started to ease, even if only a little. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “For… you know, sticking up for me.”

Bigwig shrugged, though there was something softer in his expression now. “Don’t mention it. You’ve been through enough already. Besides,” he added with a faint grin, “it’s better if we stick together. The more of us there are, the better chance we have.”

She nodded, taking another careful sip of water, feeling it soothe her dry throat. For the first time since all of this had begun, she felt a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And sitting here, with someone who had looked out for her, who didn’t see her as a burden, that flicker of hope felt like it might actually grow into something real.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

It was night and Y/N was still catching her breath when she heard footsteps approaching, soft but steady. The moment she lifted her head, she saw Hazel’s familiar silhouette appear in the dim light. He carried something under his arm, something soft and warm-looking.

“You doing alright?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful not to disturb the others. He knelt down beside her, his presence so calm and reassuring. It was like the chaos of the outside world didn’t exist in his company.

Y/N nodded, her stomach still full from the food Bigwig had given her, though her throat was a little sore from nearly choking earlier. "Yeah... better," she murmured, though exhaustion weighed heavily in her bones.

Hazel smiled gently, his dark eyes scanning her face as if to check if she was really telling the truth. Then he unfolded the bundle he’d brought with him—a blanket, soft and worn but warm-looking—and draped it over her shoulders. The simple act of kindness nearly made her want to cry again. She hadn’t felt comfort like this in so long, not since before everything had fallen apart.

“Here, this’ll keep you warm tonight,” Hazel said softly. “It’s cold down here.”

Y/N clutched the blanket around herself, feeling the warmth of it immediately start to seep into her skin. She looked up at Hazel, her heart skipping a beat at how close he was, how gentle he seemed. His face was so beautiful, framed by the faint light. Even in the harshness of the world they lived in now, he still looked... perfect. Too perfect, almost. Like someone who belonged in a world before all the death and destruction.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Hazel smiled again, a little more brightly this time, and he sat down beside her. “It’s nothing. You need to stay strong if you’re gonna survive this.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence between them, but Y/N couldn’t stop staring at him. The more she looked, the more she noticed—his strong jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair curled slightly at the ends. He looked tired, like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but still, there was something about him that made her feel safe.

“You... you saved me back there,” Y/N murmured, her voice wavering slightly. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Hazel shook his head gently. “You don’t need to. We’re all just trying to make it through this nightmare. And now... well, you’re part of the group. We look after each other.”

His words made her heart swell. Part of the group. After so much time alone, so much time spent hiding and starving, she had almost forgotten what it felt like to belong somewhere.

She shifted a little under the blanket, her gaze still fixed on him. “It’s just... I didn’t think anyone was left. I thought it was just me.”

Hazel’s expression softened, and he turned to face her more directly. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ve got a little group, and we stick together.” His voice was so steady, so certain.

Y/N smiled faintly, though her eyes were still filled with awe as she looked at him. She was so tired, so drained from everything that had happened, but sitting here with him, she felt... lighter. Less like a ghost of herself and more like a person again.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Hazel said, standing up slowly. He gave her one last look, something soft and reassuring in his eyes. “Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, feeling the warmth from his words and the blanket wrap around her like a protective shield. “Goodnight, Hazel.”

He gave her a small smile before turning and walking away, his footsteps fading into the background. She watched him leave, her heart still beating a little faster than it should have, but not from fear. This time, it was something else. Something warmer, something that made her feel like maybe... just maybe, she wasn’t as lost as she thought.

She lay down, curling up under the blanket. Her mind was still racing, but there was something different now—a spark of hope that hadn’t been there before. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

She was safe. And she wasn’t alone anymore.

Sleep came easier than it had in days.

In the dead of night, Y/N stirred, her body tense beneath the blanket. Something had pulled her from her sleep—no, someone. There was a noise, faint but unsettling, like the sound of muttering mixed with ragged breaths. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she instinctively reached for the blanket, clinging to it as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of an old lantern in the corner, casting long shadows on the walls. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings, until her gaze landed on the source of the noise.

In the far corner, huddled against the cold stone wall, was a figure. At first, she thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her—a shadow—but no. It was a person. She squinted, heart pounding, and recognized the small, shaking form of one of the men from the group, the quiet one with wide, haunted eyes. His back was turned to her, his shoulders trembling violently as he whispered feverishly to himself, over and over, the same words that she couldn’t quite make out.

Her throat tightened. Something about the scene felt wrong, like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t. The darkness felt heavier, suffocating, and her own breath came in short, shallow gasps. Part of her wanted to stay where she was, stay silent, but another part of her—a stronger part—knew she had to do something.

Slowly, Y/N pushed the blanket off and sat up. The floor was cold beneath her feet, sending a shiver through her body, but she forced herself to stand. She took a hesitant step forward, the faint creak of the floorboards echoing in the eerie silence.

The man—Fiver, she remembered his name now—didn’t seem to notice her. His muttering had grown louder, more frantic. He rocked slightly, his arms wrapped around his knees as if trying to hold himself together. The closer she got, the clearer his words became.

“They’re coming... they’re coming... we’re all going to die...”

Her stomach churned at the sound of it. There was something off in his voice, something desperate, like he was trapped in his own mind. Her heart ached for him, but fear gnawed at her too. What had made him like this?

Y/N crouched down beside him, hesitating only for a moment before she reached out to touch his shoulder. The instant her fingers brushed his skin, he flinched violently, a sharp, guttural sound escaping his throat as he recoiled from her touch. His head snapped toward her, his wide, terrified eyes locking with hers, and for a split second, he didn’t seem to recognize her.

“No!” he gasped, scrambling back as if she were one of the undead. “No, don’t—don’t touch me! It’s too late! They’re coming, they’re coming!”

His voice was raw with terror, and Y/N’s heart shattered at the sight of him. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. He was unraveling right in front of her, consumed by whatever horror was playing in his mind.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe. We’re safe here.”

But Fiver’s eyes darted around the room, seeing things that weren’t there, his breath coming in rapid, panicked bursts. “No... no, you don’t understand... I’ve seen it. I know what's going to happen. It’s all going to fall apart. They’ll break through. We’ll all die. You... you’ll die.”

Y/N swallowed, a cold dread creeping down her spine at his words. His fear was contagious, and she could feel it sinking into her bones, making her hands tremble. But she couldn’t let him spiral any further. She had to do something.

“Fiver,” she said more firmly, trying to make her voice soothing despite her own fear. “Look at me. Please, look at me.”

He was shaking harder now, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. His hands clawed at the floor, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as if he couldn’t get enough air. His muttering had devolved into incoherent gasps, and Y/N knew if she didn’t calm him down soon, he would lose himself completely.

Without thinking, she reached out again, more forcefully this time, and pulled him into her arms. He resisted at first, his body stiff and trembling against hers, but she didn’t let go. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him as he struggled, whispering soothing words even though her heart was hammering in her chest.

“Shh... it’s okay... it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re safe. Just breathe, Fiver. Just breathe.”

At first, he didn’t respond, still caught in the grip of his terror. His breathing was ragged, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. But slowly—agonizingly slowly—he began to calm down. His gasps turned into deep, shuddering breaths, and the tension in his muscles started to ease. He slumped against her, exhausted, his head resting against her shoulder as he finally let go of the panic that had consumed him.

Y/N held him close, her own breath shaky as she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him like a frightened child. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Fiver’s breathing steadied, his body relaxing into hers as he leaned into the warmth of her embrace. His voice was hoarse and broken when he spoke again, barely a whisper. “Something bad’s coming... I can feel it.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy and foreboding, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she held him tighter, letting her warmth shield him from whatever horrors haunted his mind.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she promised, though she wasn’t sure how much she believed it. But it seemed to be enough for him.

Eventually, his breathing slowed, his trembling stopped, and he drifted into a restless sleep, still clinging to her like a lifeline.

Y/N stayed awake long after that, her mind racing with fear, dread, and the chilling words he had whispered to her.

“Something bad’s coming...”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[yanderes-galore]

It’s finally October for where I’m from

I would liked to request prompts 9 and 30 for Airachnid with a human darling

Sure, sorry if she seems OOC or something, still not used to writing her and I haven't seen TFP in a bit ^^ I assumed my prompts for this. For those who wanted more violent stories, here ya go. Spider Decepticon is very fitting for October so this is horror oriented. Short but delves into dark territory, read warnings.

Yandere! TFP! Airachnid with Human! Darling Prompts 9 + 30

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

"Those lasting marks are signs of our love!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Cybertronian/Human, Sadism, Degrading behavior, Violence, Injury, Blood, Punishments, Human pet companionship, Dark themes, Power imbalance.

Human are such fragile prey. The smallest knick makes their skin split open. Said wounds tend to leak a beautiful red substance.

Airachnid felt the same way about her human. They were an adorable pet on their own, one trained to obey their hunter. Yet training their obedience was an even better experience.

Other humans she'd like to kill as trophies, like little animals to hunt for fun as much as she desired. Your fate is different... but not necessarily better. You're a pet she can chase around whenever she wishes.

If you disobey or try to leave? She corrects you.

Airachnid doesn't have to do much to reprimand her human pet. All it takes is holding them down... and the slightest scratch of a claw on a limb. In this case, she's chosen your leg.

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

It's a lesson for running away. A lesson for underestimating her and thinking she'd truly let you get away. Now she's slashed your leg, the sanguine blood running down your skin and onto her hand. She grins as you stare up at her in delicious fear.

She's sure you can still walk, just not right off.

Aren't you just the cutest?

"Those lasting marks are signs of our love!"

She says such words in a tone that tastes of saccharine. She's so teasing and playful with what she's done. Like she hasn't added another scar to your skin.

Yes, love... this was her form of twisted love. A love not like any other, one born from that of predator and prey. Similar to how a cat would love a mouse.

This mark, no matter what she says, did not remind you of love. This mark stung of defeat. This mark bled as a reminder you're not free.

You're nowhere close to free.

Every mark she leaves is a reminder you're nothing but a toy. Something an alien can play with with sadistic glee as you hiss in pain. She claims this is love to you.

No matter how much she tries to tell you it's love, you're reminded of a dying fly. She's a spider, one who feeds on the weakness of other. You're a fly... trapped in her web... meant to die by her hands.

She says she'll never kill you. Even if that happens you assume you'll expire by other means. Somehow it may relate back to her.

You feel vulnerable with your leg bleeding, those glowing predatory pink eyes staring you down. Even now she coos at you. Like your pain is the cutest thing in the world to her.

"You humans always have so much fight in you. Even now you still fall for me letting you go! You know... I'll always find you wherever you run." Airachnid grins, watching carefully as your hope cracks more and more.

You vision wavers for a moment and you want to rest. Airachnid looks unimpressed and gives a sigh. The game is done, the fun is over.

Maybe the message will get across this time...

Meanwhile she'll have to patch you up to keep up this twisted game.

"Love you, little pet~"

[shnargo]

(un)lucky? | pigeonholed (pt.1)

pairings: ethan winters x cadou-ified!reader (more on that later lol) warnings: mild descriptions of violence & gore (it is RE8 after all) word count: 759 a/n: so i'm in the process of writing this and frankly have no idea how long this might end up because i decided to begin it on a whim. i have a general idea of following the canon plotline for this series, but i'm open to suggestions and ideas to add :)

-

Its skull all but burst when he unloaded his last bullet into the lycan's head, splattering rotted brain bits and blackened blood all over his hoodie and tan jacket. Disgust sounded in his throat as he wiped as much of it off as he could. You’d think the horror show that was Dulvey, Louisiana was enough trauma for a lifetime, several lifetimes frankly, but the universe had other plans it seemed. So here he was, knee deep in snow, rubble, and miscellaneous gore in the middle of a forest somewhere in Eastern Europe. A shuffling noise sounded around the corner, and he tried not to voice his disdain as he pulled out his knife. Maybe he could get the upper hand on this one if he could sneak up behind it—

A bird. No, not like the crows that cawed at him incessantly when he was walking through the trees, it was a pigeon that was wrapped up in netting, laying pitifully on the floor. It looked like any sky rat he’d seen in the cities, with a checkered pattern on its wings and its dilated eyes. Somehow it hadn’t caught any adverse attention despite its flapping around in its attempt to escape from its netted demise. While it could have been a trap, he honestly just felt bad for it. It frankly looked like it hadn’t the slightest clue of what was going around it, or really of anything at all. He sighed. 

“Hey little guy, need some help?” He knelt over the bird, and it paused in its escape attempt as if acknowledging his voice. However, it soon went wobbling around till it flopped onto its backside. Humor tugged at his lips at how out of place the poor thing was, and he reached down and gently grabbed the net to not startle it. “I’m gonna cut you free, buddy. Try to keep still.” It almost seemed to listen, pausing again, but maybe it recognized the danger of a knife as he went about cutting the bird free. As soon as he pulled the knife away once he was finished, the pigeon jostled about, basically kicking the net off before giving it as much of a stink eye as a bird could before tilting its head at him in classic fashion. “There you are. You’d better be more careful next time, huh?” It cooed back in response, before turning around and walking off… straight into the door of a nearby building. He stared at it, stunned, and he couldn’t keep from barking out a laugh as the bird fell to the side in a daze. 

“What did I just say, bud?” Other than a light nudge of his hand, he did little to help the little guy back up as it came to its senses before flying off. He noticed a little falter in its flight pattern though, some of its feathers were clipped. He had his doubts that the bird would survive, but really he could say the same for himself. He entered the building the bird stumbled into and to his relief, found a generous heap of bullets. Maybe he’d be just fine for a little while longer, and who knows? Maybe he’d come across that silly little pigeon again elsewhere too. 

You could feel the heat fluttering in your chest as your wings just barely managed to allow you to find purchase on a sturdy enough branch. He was an outsider. Mother Miranda always warned you against straying too far, but your curiosity couldn’t be contained. So naturally, she clipped your wings. Luckily (or unluckily?) that resulted in your unfortunate entanglement with that despicable netting, but led to you meeting him. Him. His hands were warm, radiating heat as he helped you to freedom. Strangers weren’t nice, they weren’t supposed to be! So why did he go out of his way to help you? He could have left you for dead, well, to lay in the snow for a few more hours at least. But he helped you. He looked at you with nothing but mirth and kindness in those mesmerizing eyes of his... He even called you a friend, his buddy! That’s why you directed him towards extra supplies in the house, playing dumb so he wouldn’t catch on— but also because you lost your footing after laying about for so long. The wind whistled, sending a cold chill through your feathers, but you allowed it to lead you off the tree and lend some guidance towards the castle. There was a family meeting today, you were certain, and maybe you could help him just a little bit more. 

[neonpaperlanterns]

I should sleep right now... But I wanna ramble one last time before I hit the hay.

So we already know nearly all of the smiling critters are dead. What we don't know yet, or may never know. Is how the crew broke up in the first place.

Did Catnap turn against them off the bat? Did they never actually get along and sought different areas all for themselves? Did PickyPiggy eating or trying to eat their friends put them all in a paranoid mess?

... That last bit actually opens up something else I wanted to ramble about. PickyPiggy... Clearly went after their fellow smiling critters. Though that alone isn't really a lot to say on how successful that was.

If they all are the same size and body structure, if not similar. Then it would be a difficult fight... I imagine she DID eat someone, but only could get a PART of one or two others.

It hit me when I listened to the cutouts again. Piggy (somewhat) states what condition they were in.

"Roast beef" I'm no animal guy, so Im not sure which critter best fits "beef". But they were most likely burned whomever they are. My best guess? A unseen side character from their show given a toy product of their own. Bear isn't exactly beef and nether Dogday nor Catnap fit the bill. A unknown bovine character?

"Grilled Chicken" another one burnt. But not roasted, grilled. Grilling something is a lot faster than roasting something. So Picky had more time with the "beef" fellow than with the Chicken. Maybe could only get a little before having to flee from something? Got to taste grilled "chicken" at least.

"Seared elephant" another critter cooked. Piggy likes to cook if this is the pattern. Once? A fire somewhere, simple accident. Twice? Something fishy but possible, thrice? Pattern if you ask me.

"Flayed Unicorn". *Crafty doesn't have a death scream at the end of her cutout.*. Flayed means to tear the skin off... Crafty is somewhere in the factory, missing her "skin" and Piggy ate the "skin" as that's all she could get. Otherwise she got a part off her "Flayed unicorn" before Crafty escaped, somehow.

... Not a lot of information, but enough to paint a picture we already know. Just... Gives it more color... It gets even worse when you think about the fact most of them were children before becoming these Smiling critters.

-Sunny Anon.

I always saw the roast beef comment as a way to lull the player into a false sense of security before the true horrors.

Though I do enjoy the idea of Picky attempting to cook her prey. It shows an odd amount of patience and maybe even the slightest hint of lucidity.

I have to imagine at one point they were together but I can see infighting, paranoia of both Picky and Catnap, and guilt splintering them apart. But not before at least one Critter goes missing under mysterious circumstances. Either Picky eating them or even Catnap handing them over to the Prototype.

Also I feel like a bit of a downer but even if Crafty got away I don't think she would have survived very long. We don't know how durable the bigger bodies are against infection. I can see her trying to get help maybe even going to the medical ward we saw in chapter two but I can't see her making it out. Either she goes down because of sickness or someone else takes her out before she can get any form of aid. They are also children so I don't know how much knowledge they have to even treat wounds like that. I'm an adult and I don't know much beyond the basics.

[streets-in-paradise]

Horror Characters Preference - How they celebrate Christmas with you

Happy Holydays! This is a little gift i wrote for you all :)

 I wished I could have added more characters and some escenarios ended up a bit short, but this is the best i got in the few writing time i had in between holyday preparations. 

Fandoms incluided: Chucky, The Walking Dead and Stranger Things.

tags: @losersclubisms @helie-brain ( i added Daryl for you) @richiethedigidestine ( i remember how much you like Carl)

Chucky

Andy Barclay

-Only after growing tired of hearing you sing ' You are a mean one, Mr Grinch' he ends up confessing why he hates Christmas. 

- Andy is the sort of person who would give speeches about consumerism and children being brainwashed by commercials. It is a very important topic for him because it ruined his life, over the years he blamed himself a lot about wanting a Good Guy for his birthday when he was 6 and manipulative advertisement played a big role on that. 

- He is the least materialistic person you have ever met. Although he has a hard time expressing what he wants or needs you have clear that he prefers people over things. 

- If it would depend on him, he would spend Christmas like a regular day, but he has you and Kyle getting him out to get things and do holiday stuff. 

- Decorating the tree was easier to convince him about, you made the cabin look like a home and he couldn't complain of that. 

- It made him feel a bit fuzzy inside. His place would not be a prison or an Isolation spot anymore. You wanted to stay with him and turn it into a home, your home. 

Junior Wheeler

- Christmas is Bree's favorite holiday and she is your favorite of your boyfriend's parents, so you are there to celebrate. 

- You also want to support Junior because you know Logan has a way of always ruining his mood somehow. He would never let him be happy, not at least in his own way. 

- For so, you were there to do it. Perfectly aware of his musical inclinations, you encouraged him to sing Christmas songs with you for the little kids in the party. Junior knows that you like that and only you could have convinced him of joining.

 - People are shocked, Logan receives tons of compliments and advice coming even from some of his friends regarding the unexpectedly discovered talent of his son. 

- You casually mention that you play piano, a subtle act of support in that context. 

- Junior is so happy that, if there weren't formal appearances to keep, he would have kissed you ríght there.

Jake Wheeler

-Christmas is a hard time for him. He used to love it as a kid but since his mom died nothing is the same. The season reminds him so much of her and his father is not a good source of support. Lucas gets even worse around the holydays and Jake has to either avoid him or babysit his drunk ass.

 - One of his saddest memories involves him having to decorate the tree alone, feeling the loose even harder' because the season makes him feel like he is alone in the world. 

- That's precisely why it meant so much to see you at his doorstep visiting to help him with the decorations. You even brought some yourself along with some other Christmas plans. 

- He almost cried while eating your gingerbread cookies, that's how strongly emotional you got him with such simple acts. 

- Lucas gave you the side eye as he was passing by. He knows who you are and he is not supportive of your relationship, but that time you didn't mind in the slightest. 

- In fact, you previously fought the urge of bringing a mistletoe just to not get Jake in trouble. 

- You love your boyfriend and wouldn't let the assholeness of his father get in between your chances to give him happiness.

Bonus

Chucky

- He is the gift for one of the kids on your family gathering.

-Switched the original gift for a box containing him, actually. 

- Good luck surviving his holyday fun.

The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon

- Celebrating anything is complicated in the world you live in, almost impossible for most people. When you were freshly arrived the Alexandria people were trying to push parties down your throats and Daryl had the worse reactions to that. 

- He hates to be pushed into anything, even more when it is about a celebration he wasn't a fan of before the apocalypse. 

- One thing was for sure, his reactions of discomfort were quite adorable to you. At some point of the party he got tired of giving deathly stares so he wouldn't be bothered and he stayed outside. He was out in the front not only refusing to participate, but to even be present.

- Of course, you followed to make him company and make sure he wouldn't freeze. After all, If both of you wanted, that party could be just the two of you.

Carl Grimes

- If he gets the chance to celebrate, he wants to make it nice for his little sister. Carl feels he was fortunate because he got to experience a real Christmas and she will never have that. 

- Even if she is too little to remember, he wants to make it special for her and you help with whatever you can. Sacavange for things, arts and crafts, whatever necessary to get some nice decorations and presents.  

- Your determination on the topic ends up convincing Rick of accepting the idea. As soon as he heard your reasons, even Daryl was up to participate. He has a soft spot for the little girl and Carl is doing so much for her. 

- When the time comes, all the people you consider family are there. It's your first truly felt Christmas since the end of the world.

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

- He doesn't get much comfort and family at home, but since he has you and his little friends he found a family where he belongs and that manifests on his attitude around the holidays. 

- His gifts are super thoughtful. Everyone knows he is gonna surprise and that makes you nervous. You fear he would give you the most perfect gift and yours for him wouldn't be as good enough in comparison. 

- Meanwhile, Steve stresses more about what to get for Dustin, considering how far he is from his peculiar likes and interests, than what he planned for you. 

- For Christmas Eve he gets invited to dinner by the Hendersons and that means you also got invited. Dustin loves you both and wants you to be there with him and his mom. 

- When you arrive the boy is watching ' Silent Night, Deathly Night'. 

- " No horror movies tonight." You commented to him. " It's our first Christmas together. We have to make it nice. " 

" But it counts as a Christmas movie!" He playfully complained. " It's an open film subgenre." 

- Steve laughed and messed with his hair, loving to hear him being himself and you trying to make things the normal way. 

- You both in your different ways make him insanely happy.

Eddie Munson

-I get the feeling that his celebrations are the closest to how It's used to celebrate where i live. 

- Loudest Christmas ever, it's 6 pm of Christmas Eve and Eddie is already blasting music. He is a happy and unapologetical dude and that's how cheer hits him.

- You are neighbors, so you are constantly crossing over trailers to see how each other is going as you await for the night. You have to get reminded to get back whenever someone needs any of you for something on your preparations. 

- Eddie and Wayne end up joining you. Your family is on good terms with them and getting all together is better than having to stand how you and Eddie leave out of sudden to see each other. 

- At some point of the night, once you have enough time to dedicate to your families, you follow him into the next step of your celebrations. 

- Surprisingly crashing late at Dustin's and pumping up the party. 

- Steve mocked you for showing up late, he and Eddie have a secret war going on over who amazes Dustin the most.

Bonus

Billy Hargrove

- You have been dating for a while and your mom suggested you could invite him to your Christmas party. 

- Everything goes fine when you are introducing him to your parents but, as soon as he saw him, your little brother reacted as if he would have seen the reaper. He clumsily tried to dissimulate, but you know him well enough to notice he is terrified. 

- That’s how you find out that the dude you were seeing was also your brother’s bully, the nameless guy he would always complain about everytime he came back home made a scared mess. 

- You dump his ass without hesitation. He may be charming and super hot, but he showed his true colours messing with a little boy, with your family.

- Nothing can excuse that. 

[forgetmynamepleasethanks]

Hi! I have pretty serious "Kris simping for self-aware Reader" brainrot, so can I please get a one-shot where Kris is absolutely smitten with fem!weirdcore!Reader, probably even attempting to go against the Player? For extra angst point, maybe the Player tries to get them to hurt the Reader? Thank you!!

Heads up, I didn't know what weirdcore was before this so I had to look it up, I hope I got it right.

-----

Kris never thought of themself as someone to fall head over heels for someone. Most of their young life was spent gallivanting through the forest with their brother. Kris didn't know what it was about you that caused them to want to latch onto you and never let go, but something was there and boy was it strong.

You arrived in hometown in a very you manner. Friday, August 13 was the day you just... appeared? A new house in a new clearing harboring a new family with a new daughter. Everything that had to do with you just happened one day and no one but Kris seemed to notice.

Of course, Kris would later find out the reason they could see past the fog of ignorance that stopped the rest of the town from noticing the oddity that was her and her family wasn't a blessing in the slightest.

Kris first realized how much they liked you almost immediately after they met you. Something about the new girl's eyes... the way they looked right through everything as if they were seeing something that only they could see. Maybe it was the way she cocked her head to the side every time she was listening. Maybe it's the little sketches of unimaginable horrors she doodles on her school papers that give Alphys night terror- wait what?

Or maybe, Kris just thought you were pretty. 

Kris realized they liked you, a lot. Like a lot lot. So much that they started making their own effort to talk to you and help you with your schoolwork or talk or even just stare into your eyes until they realized that you noticed their staring and started staring right back. The possibilities are endless, one thing Kris did find odd was how you spoke. You were always talking about people like they were cartoon characters or something.

"Hey Catti, how's the not really existing going over there?" You half-joked to your project partner who, instead of stopping the menace who was adding countless eyes to the model house she was making, was very busy texting someone on her phone.

"Stop talking to me. Or I won't be the only one not existing today." Retorted an unphased Catti.

Like... who says that stuff???

Kris thought your strange behavior and constant jabbering about how everything was an illusion was just your own special way of expressing yourself until a particular excursion into their psyche left them at the mercy of one of these 'Real people' you mentioned on occasion.

You noticed your friend's change in behavior instantly. Even though you tended to be a bit... floaty you understood that this was bad. You waited a day to see what this intruder would do and after understanding that they were on a quest of some sort, your first instinct was to strike up a 'friendly' conversation with them.

"Fancy seeing you here, isn't it? Huh. I wonder how many times you've heard me say that? Probably a few right?" somehow, you had managed to take the advantage in a conversation against someone who can literally control time. This caused Kris to remember why they fell for you and kept falling. No matter how bad something seems to be, you can always wrangle some sense of stability out of them.

Even while still trapped, a faded version of their real self, bound to follow their body as it was maneuvered by someone else, you still managed to make them feel like they were safe.

"I knew you wouldn't say anything, you can only program so many responses huh? I just wanted to let you know that no matter how many times you retread these steps, no matter how careful you are, I'll know who and what you are, and I'm gonna get Kris their body back... because I have a few things I never got to say to them, and that's your fault." You said merrily before tripping Kris' body snatcher and walking back to your home.

Kris was still riding the high of what you said while they were piloted back home.

'She knows what's going on... and she wants to help me' Kris thought.

Unfortunately, whatever it was that was controlling them could hear their thoughts. It paused for a moment, then resumed its inspection of Kris' room with a new, monstrous, gleam in the eye. Kris could only imagine the horrors that await you the next day.

You have decided that today would be your planning day, you probably still had some time before fake Kris takes over their body completely, so today, it was time to come up with your main strategy. As you sat outside at recess, writing your plan in the bright little notebook you carried around, someone approached you.

You looked up, seeing empty scarlet eyes behind draped bangs, only revealing pieces of an uninteresting puzzle that was this monster's interpretation of Kris' usually stellar eyes. Kris was using every last bit of control they had to prevent their body and its host from attacking you. Their body reached behind them and grabbed the object stuffed in their belt. Small, sharp, and usually used for cutting pie, Kris' knife hovered behind their back for a moment before raising above their head.

You were all alone behind the school.

You had appeared in town in less than a day.

How fast could it get rid of you?

As it turns out, not very. In less than a second of you noticing the looming threat, you pushed them squarely in the lower stomach knocking them down. You used your foot, wearing one of your mismatched shoes to push Kris' chest to the ground.

The whole process of disarming Kris took less than two seconds. Kris didn't know if the trope of people having a nose bleed when they found something attractive was true, but if it was, this was exactly the moment they would have one.

"Don't you have a real-life to be worrying about right now? Isn't there some cat stuck in an existential crisis you have to go save? Why are you here bothering me and my friends... er... friend." You said looking down at them, foot still on their chest keeping them pinned to the ground.

Somehow, what you had said resonated with this creature, it would be back you were sure, but it seemed to have powered off for now. Kris assumed control over their body again, and when they looked at you, you were even more wonderful than they remembered.

Something clicked inside of Kris at that moment, after being ousted from their body, only you had come to their aid. No matter what issue they had, whether it was small or gigantic, easy or difficult, she was always there for them.

You helped them get up from the ground and before you could say anything they wrapped their arms around you. You looked deep into Kris' eyes, admiring their eyes, once lifeless and fake, now glorious and perfect, like gemstones perfectly cut to fit Kris' face.

And before you knew it, your lips had met.

It was only for a second, probably less, but it was exactly what you had hoped it would be.

-----

Forewarning: I am not proofreading this so ignore all my grammatical errors, I hope this is what you had in mind.

[marvelslut16]

The one with two Pietro’s

Pairing: Pietro x reader, Wandavision!Pietro (Peter Maximoff) x reader FORCED 

Synopsis: you find yourself in Westview living with Wanda, Vision, the boys, and your boyfriend Pietro. But happens when you start to remember your Pietro and figure out what Wanda’s doing to you and everyone else? 

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Swearing I think. Angst. Fluff if you squint. Mind control. Forced relationship. Briefly mentions the idea of a forced magical pregnancy. Bullet wounds. Death. Grief I suppose. Mentions pmsing. The over use of italics. Kinda feel like I make Wanda a psychotic asshole. SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION!

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, if you can really call it dark. Writing for Wandavision was a fun little challenge. Takes place in the 90′s so my title is a reference to friends, and so is a tv show character I use in the one shot. Pretend Evan Peters’ hair isn’t that blonde cause I will always see him with the silver he has in xmen and wrote him as such. 

"Vision, that's not my Pietro," you mutter in horror to your friend as the two of you stand in the kitchen. 

You’re not quite sure what makes you say it, but you’re glad you do when you glance at the new Pietro in the living room, he's been playing video games with Tommy and Billy for close to an hour now. He's sweet and funny, but he's just not your Pietro.

"I'm afraid not, (Y/N)," Vision's voice is sullen, but he's glad you're not in on Wanda's mind games. Unless you are, and this is just another way for Wanda to mess with him. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but he knows from what you’ve reminisced in passing to him about Pietro on nights when Wanda isn’t in the room, that that’s not the Pietro you know and love. 

"Oh my god," you murmur, hand coming to your mouth as little bits and pieces of memories race through your head. The genuine pain, horror, and sadness that cross your face make it obvious to Vision you're being manipulated like everyone else, even if you are Wanda's oldest friend. "My Pietro, he had an accent."

Your knees buckle when you hear his native accent saying his catchphrase in your head, 'you didn't see that coming.' Vision rushes to your side to help you stand more firmly.

"His face was longer, hair a white blonde not silver, his body more toned, and he had gorgeous blue eyes- bluest eyes I've ever seen," you grip onto Vision's arms as you imagine moments with your Pietro.

You grew up in the cell beside his and Wanda's, immediately forming a sisterly connection with her at a young age while Pietro hated you. He would tease you, pull on your pigtails, and steal some of your food on the off chance you three were eating outside of your cells. Over the years the teasing turned to flirting, and your dislike for him turned into a huge crush.

One night-a night you can normally remember with full clarity- after Hydra fell and before Ultron, the two of you were out on a walk, much to Pietro's chagrin. You were telling him about this new book that you were reading and how the characters annoyed you so because they were obviously in love but wouldn't admit it. Pietro zoomed in front of you, causing you to smack into his chest and almost fall to the ground, you would have if not for Pietro's arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his toned chest.

The wind was blowing his hair into his eyes ever so slightly, so without thinking you reached up to move it out of his face and away from his eye. The small act of tenderness that you had displayed caused Pietro to give into his desires, he leaned in and his wind chapped lips descended onto yours. You melted into the kiss, clinging tightly to his biceps to ground you. One of his hands slipped down from your waist to squeeze your ass, the other wrapped more tightly around your waist and kept you anchored to him.

"I love you, Printesa, I have since we were kids," he admits when you pull apart for air, leaning his forehead on yours.

"I love you too, Quicksilver," you use the superhero nickname he gave himself when you were twelve. He grins before attaching his lips to yours once more, it was an unforgettable kiss that filled you with warmth and hope for your future.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Vision's voice brings you back to reality, or whatever this is.

"No," your voice cracks as you remember the last kiss Pietro planted on your lips, right before he protected Clint. The memory that still haunts your dreams, seeing him with all those bullet holes and knowing there was nothing you could do to save him. "What kind of person forgets the love of their life? I'm a terrible person Vis!"

"No you aren't (Y/N)," the sincerity in Vision's voice makes you really believe him. "Wanda's doing this, she didn't want you to remember."

You gasp as another memory floods your mind. You had agreed to go on a road trip with Wanda after being resurrected from Bruce's snap and defeating Thanos. You both wanted a break, or so you thought.

Wanda had stopped right when you had passed the entrance into Westview, she claimed to be checking her directions when you asked why she had stopped in the middle of nowhere. And no matter how weird it was that she chose to stop at the border to the town and not at a gas station, you believed your best friend and sister in law because she had no reason to lie to you.

A moment later her eyes and hands were glowing red as she touched your temple. She pushed all your memories behind a wall in your brain, then filled your head with memories of a happy life with her and Vision in Westview.

She did it again when 'Pietro' showed up on your guy’s doorstep, this time filling your head with memories of him. Memories of a different first kiss, but an eerily similar first date to the one you and your Pietro had. It makes sense to you now, you and Pietro had never told Wanda the real story of your first kiss, instead telling her you had it weeks later on your first date. You had tried to keep your relationship a secret for a little because you didn't want to make it awkward for Wanda if it didn't work out.

Another thing she didn't add was your engagement and subsequent marriage to her brother. In this reality you and 'Pietro' are just dating. You have to assume that it's because it happened weeks before the battle against Ultron and she doesn't want to remember anything that close to her brother's death.

The thing about the new Pietro is that he seems to rub Wanda the wrong way, something your Pietro never did. He makes comments that you know yours would never, and Wanda always tenses up near him. This Pietro likes to show you off more than yours did, which is saying a lot because your’s used to cling to your side, praise you, and show you off in town when girls would flirt with him. Every time this Pietro kisses you it doesn’t feel right, it’s nowhere near the earth shattering kisses that you had somehow managed to remember from the deep parts of your brain. 

"My ring," you shudder in horror when you realize the diamond ring that your Pietro stole from the jeweler in Sokovia is no longer sitting delicately on your left ring finger like it was before entering Westview. You hastily search your body for your most prized possession, sighing in relief when you find it hanging from a simple silver chain around your neck.

"(Y/N)," Vision says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder, it’s one of the few times he doesn’t know what to say. 

"He's dead," you cry, knees buckling under your weight again. This time you catch yourself on the kitchen table, before sinking in the seat to your right.

"Who's dead?" Wanda appears in the doorway out of nowhere. She has an innocent, concerned expression on her face, but the tilt of her head tells you she'll come take your memories away again if you slip up in the slightest.

"Dr. Drake Ramoray on Days Of Our Lives, the soap opera I was watching this afternoon when you and the boys were out. He fell down the elevator shaft, and I'm apparently taking it harder than I thought I would. I must be pmsing or something."

"Or maybe you're pregnant," there's a red glint in her eyes that scares you to no end.

"Oh," you swallow the lump in your throat, and hold back the bile rising up your throat from anxiety. "I don't think so, I'm not ready to be a mother yet."

"It would be so fun though," 'Pietro' zooms behind your seat, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek. "Little mini me's and you's running around the house with Billy and Tommy."

"I think two super human children are enough for the house right now," you let out an uncomfortable giggle. You and Vision side eye each other, both very aware that you'll probably be as pregnant as Wanda was a few days ago within the week.

[targaryenimagines]

Just Wait

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,989

Summary:

Notes: I hope this is all right. 

Dialogue Prompt:  “Try and stay calm, okay? Help is coming.”

The wind was howling through the air. Snow whipping past your face and obscuring your view. All that you could see were the elegant spikes of Rhaegal’s neck. The pebbled scales being the only comfort to your numbing hands. You wince as the winds howls were intersected by the wails of the damned. Glowing blue eyes appearing before your eyes as you blinked. 

Glancing down, you could see nothing but the unending swirl of white in the pitch blackness. 

How many of your friends had already perished below you? 

How many would you never see again? 

How many would you never be able to properly bury?

The questions only cause the growing pit in your stomach to become that much larger. Your hands clench around Rhaegal’s spike. Trying your best to keep your breath steady as he took another sharp turn. Your body pressing against his neck in order to stay upright. Squinting doing little to alleviate the temporary blindness the action caused. 

Craning your neck, you look up in hopes that the moon would be able to guide you to where you needed to be. You were only met by even more suffocating darkness-- even the clouds having lost their glow. Curses fall from your lips as you angle Rhaegal down into another dive. Getting too close to the ground could prove to be fatal but you had no choice; images of Viserion’s lifeless body falling from the sky comes unbidden to your mind at the thought. Your heart breaking all over again as you remember his pain-filled cry. How Rhaegal had echoed it as you both tried to desperately save him. Your gentle boy being swallowed by ice and snow; only to be awakened by the very thing that had cursed him. 

You hadn’t seen Viserion yet but you had heard his roars. The once gentle and calming sound turned ragged. A mournful howl for everything that was lost and that had to continue to be. In the same manner, you hadn’t seen Drogon or Daenerys since the battle had begun. Both you and Rhaegal taking to the outside defenses to make sure there wouldn’t be any stragglers. Even now you couldn’t hear the sounds of Drogon’s mighty roars or the cries of battle. 

You and Rhaegal were completely alone. In the ghost filled sky that promised nothing but despair when it used to offer nothing but freedom. 

That is until a sharp cry from above you caused every hair on your body to stand on end. Your head snapping up towards the sound, even as you made Rhaegal dive to the side, and nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing Viserion. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing him so broken. His scales, once so vibrant, turned ashen and lifeless. 

His gentle face devoid of any emotion except for the mind-numbing coldness that seemed to be in constant supply in the North. 

Once golden eyes, that always reminded you of the sun, turned blue. Fire turning to ice. 

The only thing rivalling the horror you felt at seeing Viserion in such a state was seeing the thing that was riding him. The Night King’s cold eyes were watching your every movement as Rhaegal dipped lower and lower in the sky. Your attention diverted from his icy gaze towards Rhaegal as his wings narrowly escaped the tree tops. His body jolts as he tries to avoid the imminent collision. 

With your mouth pressed into a line, you force yourself to relax and remember everything you had learned over the years with Rhaegal. Every minute movement of his body and what that told you. Even if the Night King could control Viserion, he would never be able to fly like you could. You just had to get to Daenerys, to Drogon, and everything would be fine. 

Chancing one last glance towards him, you couldn’t help the sardonic smirk that pulled at your lips. “If you want me you’ll have to catch me you sick bastard.”

-----

In retrospect, taunting the Night King wasn’t the smartest plan. While you had the advantage of experience atop dragons. He held the advantage when it came being able to see where you were going. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was a very useful tool to have. 

As it wouldn’t be the first, or second, time you had almost slammed into something as you made your back towards Winterfell.

“How did we get so far out?” You hiss as you, yet again, dip Rhaegal into a dive to avoid Viserion’s talons. His disjointed shriek causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. You didn’t remember flying this far out from Winterfell but as each moment ticked by you could tell that you had somehow gotten turned around. We were only supposed to be a few minutes out at most. How did this happen?

Feeling the sudden breeze of air on your head, causes you to duck. Your head almost collided with Rhaegal’s neck as Viserion made another dive towards you. Feeling the slick feeling of liquid running down your neck, you raise your hand to the base of it. Letting loose a soft hiss as a sharp stab of pain is the response your body gives to the prodding. You know you didn’t have to look at your fingers to see that your glove was stained red. 

Catching sight of the beacon fires almost causes you to sob in relief. Your eyes welling up at the brilliant sight of light after spending so long in near darkness. The sounds of battle resounding out towards you like a choir. 

“Only a bit longer, Rhaegal,” you murmur against his neck. Feeling the way his breaths had gotten deeper. You don’t know how much longer he would be able to last if the pace continued like this. The constant bobbing and weaving through frozen air. Squeezing your eyes shut, you send a silent prayer to R’hllor to get you through this-- to get Rhaegal through this. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit longer and I promise you’ll be able to rest.”

Only a small snort was your response. The reaction caused a small smile to quirk your lips despite the situation you were in. His tenacious spirit hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even as his energy was so clearly waned. That’s my boy. 

Angling Rhaegal into a steep dive, you make your descent towards Winterfell. Your eyes desperately searching for Daenerys. Your breath catching when you finally caught sight of Drogon’s familiar form. His looming black shadow shifting over the battlefield as he and Daenerys dealt with the Wights. The Unsullied fight valiantly underneath their Khaleesi. You think you could even see Jorah shifting about with Jon Snow’s direwolf-- Ghost. 

Viserion’s sharp cry causes you to wince. Your head is already bowing as you twist Rhaegal into the opposite direction. Hoping that you would be able to be fast enough but you hadn’t reacted fast enough. Not as you felt Viserion slam into Rhaegal and press you down against his back. Your breath escaping you in a harsh exhale as Rhaegal tried desperately to free himself. His angry shrieks like daggers through your heart. 

Knowing that there was little else you could do; not when you and Rhaegal were so tired. You call for Daenerys-- hoping that your dragon would be able to get to you. Your eyes search for her violet as you begin your descent towards the snow covered ground. 

“Daenerys.”

------

“Daenerys.”

The sound of her name ripped through the air. Louder than any scream from the undead below her. Louder than any cry of the dying that would forever echo in her head. Louder than even Drogon was at his angriest. 

Her head snapping up in the direction the scream, no plea, had originated from. Her own beginning to form when she saw her mate and son in a spiral. She had known that Viserion was a slave of the Night King’s now but she had never truly prepared herself to see him. 

She had never thought it would be when he was clutching onto Rhaegal’s back. His talons like anchors against Rhaegal’s green hide. Rivulets of red already became obvious as her son struggled to break free. Struggled to protect his mother, his rider, from harm. She could even see your face from here. See the pain that was so clearly etched across your beautiful features. The blood that was becoming apparent through the stark white of your cloak. 

It was a sight that forced her into action. Nudging, Drogon in your direction as fast as he was able to go. Her heart hammering in her chest as Rhaegal let loose another cry of pain. As Viserion echoed it back with one of his own demented shrieks. Her two boys, that were closer than even she could comprehend, enemies because of the vileness that Westeros held. It brought tears to her eyes as Drogon finally got a hold of Viserion. His much larger form easily being able to overpower his brother. Claws ripping and tearing through brittle hide as he was tossed to the side. Little decorum being shown for what used to be his brother. 

Glancing down, Daenerys’s heart almost stops at the sight of Rhaegal’s still plummeting form. His wings weakly trying to keep him afloat but nothing would be able to stop his descent. She could see the wounds in his wings and the way his head was drooping which each second ticked by. Angling Drogon into a dive, Daenerys does everything she can to stop his descent. To stop him from hitting the ground but it was all in vain. 

Her widened gaze watching as Rhaegal was weakly able to run across the surface before crashing down completely. The form of his rider being thrown from his body into a heap on the icy landscape. 

Not thinking of much else, Daenerys jumps off of Drogon the moment his feet make contact with land. Her hand ran against Rhaegal’s neck in a quick search to make sure he was all right; relieved when she felt his heavy breathing through her glove. His steady warmth is still there despite everything.

With that task accomplished, she makes her way over towards the form of her mate. Her knees hitting the ground with preamble and she brought you into her arms. A worried gaze taking in every bruise and scrape that made up the expanse of your skin. Blood trickling down slowly from open wounds that didn’t look to be too deep. A relieved sob leaving her lips when she notices your breathing; while shallow it was something. 

Closing her eyes, Daenerys sends a silent thank you to whatever deity helped keep her mate and son safe. Her mouth pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she pulled you tighter into her embrace. Very much aware of Drogon’s presence wrapping around her. His protective stance warmed her heart.  

“Try and stay calm, okay?” She murmurs softly to herself as she pulls you tighter against her. Wanting to keep you as warm as she possibly could. “Help is coming.”

Glancing up, Daenerys could no longer see the various shadows of war against the landscape. Her heart thudding against her chest at what that could mean. Though none of it mattered if it meant that she lost you. 

Looking down, she presses another small kiss to your forehead and smiles despite the tears in her eyes. “I love you. If you hold on a bit longer I promise I will never leave your side again.” She nuzzles into your neck; needing to be surrounded by your scent. “You’ll be stuck with me. Just wait for help to come.”

Unbeknownst to Daenerys the slightest of smiles curled your lips at her words. You could never imagine not waiting for your dragon. 

[roger-that-cap]

what a lovely dream it is

english major!wanda x english major!fem!reader

summary: who would have thought that wanda, the self proclaimed queen of reading science fiction, would be just as obsessed with shakespeare as you? 

warnings: one use of the word “su*cide”. shakespeare. nerds quoting lines. bad writing. (i challenged myself into writing this in an hour and a half). cringey writing (there is a difference)

word count: 4k!

You and Wanda connected at first because you two spoke the same language from different regions. It felt like she spoke British English, and you spoke American English. You were on the same wavelength but not exactly the same individual wave, but it was as close as you had ever gotten with someone who you deemed worth your time. 

While everyone else was partying or drinking until they threw up or flaunting around bags with white powder in them, you sat with your back to the wall after studying, reading a classic, knowing that the change of her leaning against the same wall and doing the exact same thing you were was high. 

You met her in the library, on your third day at your university. You were trying to find your group of authors, your little nook where you would feel the safest in the entire school. You had stumbled right into the fantasy section, looked around for a second, and then tripped over a brown boot that was just at the start of the science fiction shelf. 

“I’m so sorry,” a woman’s voice murmured, and you just shook your head and said that it was okay, much more interested in the way that your hands suffered from the fall on the carpet than the girl. Until you looked up. 

It was everything about her that stunned you. The brown hair, the flush of her cheeks, the apologetic look in her pale blue eyes that caressed her features to sit in one beautiful and genuine expression. The moment your eyes landed on her, you swore that your heart stopped and started in the same second, and then took a run for it with all of the parts of your brain that you needed to make a coherent thought. 

 You promised yourself in that moment that you would never forget the way the woman in front of you looked. And despite seeing hundreds of more faces throughout your self-tour, you never truly did forget it. If you didn’t know any better, if you were perhaps any younger and less exposed to the cruelty of the world and fate and its way of not giving you what you wanted, you would have been certain that the universe had finally given you the contemporary meet cute that you yearned for. 

But then, you saw which aisle she was in. You looked at the books and recognized the authors just to be sure, and then you turned to look at her. “You’re into science fiction?” 

 Her apologetic look fell completely into a look of pure surprise, and then excitement, almost as if she thought that she found someone else who liked the genre she did. “Well, it’s the best genre that was ever written.” 

  “Wow, how wrong,” you found yourself saying, and somehow, you knew that the look of offense on her face was all for fun. “It’s definitely gothic literature.” The look she gave you was one that you would never forget. 

  A week later, you ran into her in the cafeteria, holding a copy of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, your beat up one from home that you would put your life on the line for. The cover was torn up a bit and the pages were dog eared, from a time where you hadn’t discovered the way that bookmarks changed lives. It was the copy your cousin got you, and it was your favorite gift to date. 

  She was holding The Martian Chronicles. You nearly gagged. 

At first, you thought she hadn’t seen you, or hadn’t recognized you, which was even worse. You sighed under your breath and said, “at least it’s not Nineteen Eighty Four,” and watched in complete horror as she turned around. 

She locked eyes with you immediately, and her own eyes widened when she saw you, and then she grinned when she undoubtedly recognized you and your disdain for science fiction. “No, it’s even better than Nineteen Eighty Four.” 

“Anything is better than that,” you said, swallowing down your nerves at speaking to the girl again, kicking yourself for being so nervous despite not even knowing her name. 

She gave you that same “offended” look she gave you during your first interaction, and you cracked a small smile. “Um, don’t you voluntarily go into the gothic section?” 

The smile dropped. “The most valid section in the library? Sure do.” 

She smiled too, a genuine grin as she took a step forward and extended her hand. For a second, you just looked at it, the calmness that came with the discussion of literature suddenly washed away so far back into your mind that you panicked for a moment, not reaching for her hand until you saw it shake in just the slightest, like she was regretting even doing it. 

You nearly bumped your elbow on the table trying to stand up and shake her hand. Your hands connected and you grinned so wide it felt like your face had split open. You told her your name and she repeated it to make sure she had heard you loud and clear, and then, she smiled even brighter. 

“Nice to meet you, Dracula. I’m Wanda.” And that was where it started. 

As your library meetups started to become more intentional than not, you learned that not only was Wanda a student that stayed in the dorms, but the student who was next door to you. You learned that she pretty much kept to herself for the most part besides a few other people at the university, and that she kept a small circle. You learned that her favorite book was Brave New World. You learned that she would rather shy away from classic romance novels, even though you didn’t mind them, and that she hated gothic literature. You loved it. Your favorite book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, for god's sake. So, you hated each other’s favorite genres. 

  But you both loved symbolism. And you were both English majors. And for some very odd, very coincidental reason, you both met in what was nowhere near the middle- Shakespearean plays. 

  Now, that was something that you were always made fun of for as a child. No one wanted to hang out with the girl who quoted Shakespeare, especially if it wasn’t even from Romeo and Juliet. Reading normal books just made you look “smart”, but you knew that genuinely enjoying plays would make you look pretentious. So you had always kept it to yourself when you left your hometown. Until Wanda came along. 

Wanda came along, and suddenly, you found yourself quoting tragedies and getting the correct response back. Sometimes, she would even start it first. You would do nerdy things like halfway reenact scenes because even you guys weren’t that nerdy… you supposed. 

One morning, you and Wanda were in a study group (that was hardly productive because it was just Wanda’s little circle that was actually astoundingly close), and she looked over your shoulder to see your computer, where you were hardly typing an essay about the importance of the establishment of places for higher education. She put her chin against your shoulder, sat there for a minute, and then turned her head to whisper in your ear, “nothing will come of nothing.” It was embarrassing, the way your eyes lit up at hearing her voice, and even more so when Natasha, Wanda’s extremely perceptive friend, picked up on what you were feeling. The red head shot you the widest grin ever known to man. 

“C’mere, Frankenstein,” Wanda said one night, already looking over at you while you tried to finish your work for the day.

You held back the smile on your face as you sat on your bed, one leg over it while you typed. “I’m right here.” 

“No, here,” she emphasized, and then she was patting the spot on the small couch in your room, the same look in her eyes that always came with when she asked for any kind of physical contact. 

  That was by far the worst thing about Wanda, and it hardly had anything to do with her. She was touch starved, and touch was your love language. Her asking you to hold her on the couch used to mean nothing to you, because at one point, you just thought she was pretty. But now, holding her hand on top of the table while you both were submerged in your respective worlds felt like a promise ring. Letting her rest her head on your shoulder and in your neck felt like giving your vulnerability over to her, and feeling her hand rub against your back felt like she was taking it and guarding it. But you knew she didn’t feel the same way, not at all. 

She was straight. 

But it did you no good when she quoted back some of your favorite lines. It didn’t help when she said all of the romantic lines towards you at the drop of a hat, almost like she didn’t even realize what she was saying. She didn’t understand the way your heart died and was revived every time she said something like that, something that was so dear and vulnerable to you. And she certainly never would, because you would never tell her. 

Now that you thought about it, allowing yourself to fall for her was the dumbest and most destructive thing you could have ever done. The first bookworm who didn’t make fun of you for your knowledge and love of old plays was the one that took hold of your heart, and now you were paying for being such an idiot. Now you would have to sit through three more years of school with her being your friend, just your friend, while you pined over her. It was going to be hell.  

And was it. You had to sit through her saying the most romantic of Shakespearean quotes every day and act like she wasn’t making your heart shake. You had to listen to her speaking the language that you two shared and pretend that you just wanted to be her friend. You were so attached to her and everything that you two had established together, and you couldn’t ruin it by giving her googly eyes. She was way too important for that. Because now, she was way more than a person who you could talk to about old plays. She was the person that you could talk to about anything, without a doubt. Anything but the intense crush that you were harboring for her, and the way that she made your heart sing and your soul ascend whenever you smelled her perfume or saw her smile. Anything but that. 

§§

 “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” You looked up from your book only to see Wanda looking over at you, lying down on the blanket and just watching you. You swore later on when you were alone that you imagined it, but for a moment you could have sworn that you saw a flash of adoration in her eyes. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” 

You were choking on the inside. Your face was blank, but your mind was going haywire, and you couldn't think of anhytnign besides holding back the urge to say something that you had no chance of taking back. “You’re in a sonnet mood today, aren’t you?” 

“And what mood are you in today, Jekyll?” 

“I’m in the mood to finish this book,” you teased, and she rolled her eyes. 

“What if I’m in the mood to sit and watch a movie?” 

“Then you should do it,” you said, going the way your heart clenched at the thought of her cutting your friendly outing short. “I’ll follow you in an hour or two.”

She gave you a look. “You know I don’t go anywhere without you.”  

“You can go watch a movie, Wands.” You sighed out, closing your book and wedging your pointer finger between the pages so that you wouldn't get lost. 

 “I’ll wait,” she said, and you shook your head at her. 

“I don’t want to hold you back from getting in time with your favorite sci fi movies.”

“Can I go forward when my heart is here?”  

You were hit with such a wave of longing that you had to shut your eyes for a moment, but it looked like it was simply a long blink. “You’re so cheesy.” 

“I want to hear one,” Wanda said, leaning on her elbows as she stared up at you, and your heart pounded. She looked celestial, glowing under the sunlight with growing grass around her and a sweet smile budding on her face. “You never quote any back to me anymore, you know?” 

You knew, for sure. It was on purpose that you didn’t quote back. If you were to continue the conversation in romantic quotes, it was going to feel way too real to you. You could handle Wanda and her touches, but you were not going to be able to handle quoting Romeo and Juliet to her. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled softly, and then you heard her make a sound with her tongue, a displeased clicking noise.

  You looked up at her and lost your breath again, and your mental footing. There she was, looking up at you with her pretty eyes, giving you a look more intense than she had ever given you before. She was… it was almost like she was waiting for something, like she knew something. She was staring up at you and leaning on her hand in a way that was so oddly domestic in your mind, and you could almost see in your mind the way that she would do that if you woke up in the same bed, like she was waiting for you to wake up and trying to memorize your face. It made you warm on the inside, and just like she always managed to do, your brain turned to mush. 

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all,” you blurt, and you saw her brows pull in for a second. You blinked. 

  “Huh?” 

You were panicking on the inside. There were plenty of ways that she could have taken the quote that you had chosen, but you knew exactly what it sounded like. A half assed love confession. “You know, from Hamlet,” 

“Of course I know it’s from Hamlet, Jekyll.” She shook her head at you and sat up, crossing her legs without breaking eye contact. “But why that quote? You know so many, and you chose the one about death.” 

Unfortunately, it’s death by silence in this context, not by swords. “You said you wanted to hear a line,” you said, shrugging as you opened your book, trying to get rid of the embarrassment that you knew would stick to you for hours and hours. 

 “What a line,” she said, and then she rolled over to look up at the sky. Minutes later, you heard her sigh. “What a line.” 

§§

Romeo + Juliet was a classic for your movie night. At first, Wanda showed it to you after you boycotted it for years, despite your male celebrity crush being one of the main characters in it. You had always avoided watching because of the modernism, but one Wanda made you sit down and watch it, you actually found good things about it. For instance, the party scene. 

  “It was done wonderfully,” Wanda would always say from beside you after your extremely predictable comment of the scene being a masterpiece. 

Like always, there were a few moments of silence as you two watched the movie together, shoulder to shoulder on the small couch in your dorm while your roommate was off getting high. You watched the rest of it in near silence, halfway focused on the movie while the other part of your mind was split in two; feeling blessed that Wanda was even there with you, soclose, and feeling cursed that she was so close but so far. It was the perfect moment to hold her close like you wanted to so badly, but the timing wasn’t right. And that killed you. 

“Do you ever think about how they fell in love so fast?” Wanda asked, and you shrugged your shoulders. “I’d say that they were encroaching on soulmate territory.” 

“Soulmates, or foolish teenagers?” 

“I hardly know of any teenagers who would die for each other, even if they thought they were in love,” Wanda pointed out, and you rolled your eyes at her. “Don’t give me that face. I’m right, and you know it.” 

“I’ll always let you believe it, sci fi.” 

“But, really, don’t you ever want something like that?” 

You turned your face from the screen and looked at her incredulously, like she had gone mad while completing the process of growing three heads. “A suicide pact?” 

She groaned and threw her head back. “No. A love like that. Take away the death and violence, and look at what they had.” 

“It bloomed too quickly to have much potential later in life,” you countered. “That was infatuation, and that never lasts long.”

“You think that they both died for infatuation?”

“I think that they were young, and it’s hard to tell the difference between love and infatuation at any age, let alone as a teenager. I think they thought they loved each other to the ends of the earth, but I guess they’ll never know.” 

“You’re so cynical. Just like a person whose favorite is gothic literature.” You laughed, leaning forward towards her without even noticing what you were doing. “Do you believe in love?” 

“Of course I do,” you answered, giving her a look. “I’m just saying, Romeo and Juliet were not in true love. They were confused.” 

Then, the playful air that the conversation was flowing on changed so quickly that you nearly got whiplash and your heart started racing. The way Wanda was looking at you sent a chill down your spine, and in that moment, you were worried. “Are you confused?” 

You took in a breath. “About what?” 

“About anything,” she said slowly, almost like she felt like she was walking on thin ice with skates on. “Books, people, love, food, sexuality,” she ignored the way that you choked, “writing a paper, how to get  a strike in bowling. Or how to realize that Romeo and Juliet were definitely in love.” 

“You’re so intent on proving that they were to me,” you said, a laugh bubbling over and into your words. “Why are you suddenly so passionate about them now?” 

“The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.” 

Your heart jumped out of your chest again, and your hands clenched into weak  fists as you tried to will yourself into not assuming that she was talking about you. And then, white hot panic struck you at the thought of her being in love with someone else. “Speak low if you speak of love.” 

“Why should I?” Wands asked, shifting from her position on the couch to put a hand under her chin and watch you, her kind eyes afire with something that you had yet to see in them yet. “Really, Jekyll. Why?”

You hardly waited a full second before responding as truthfully as you ever would. “I’m afraid.” Before she could get a word in, you shook your head and finally loosened your lips, letting all of your worries and fears slide right through your teeth. “I’m afraid that I’ve fallen in love with someone who can never love me back. I’m scared to admit that I’ve been in love with you for a long time.  I’m afraid that you aren’t into girls.” You saw her make a face, almost like she couldn't believe that you were even suggesting the things that you were. “I don’t quote Shakespeare to you anymore because it feels too real to have you say lines like that back to me. I think that I’ve latched onto you without even meaning to, and now I don’t know if I can ever let you go.” 

Wanda was silent. She was watching you, as quietly as the sun hovered over the earth while she shone her light. Your heart had never beat so fast before as you watched her watch you with a face so blank that you were sure that she hadn’t retained a damn thing that you pulled from the depths of your heart. Then, the daunting thought that she had heard and understood everything but chose not to act swallowed you whole, and your hands started to shake. You gave a humorless laugh and finally looked away from the woman who had raised your spirits and crushed them all within five minutes. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” 

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, shaking your head and closing your eyes for a second as hot tears burned in them. When they opened, a fat tear sappetered onto your hand. I’m such an idiot. You looked to the screen, and then saw Romeo screaming, on the ground, and you could hear the words even though your ears were rushing with blood. I defy you, stars. “You don't have to say anything back, I know you don’t feel the same.” Your eyes pulled away from the screen. “I can leave- wait, um, this is my dorm. I-” 

“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” Wanda started slowly, and your brows furrowed as you heard the words fall from her lips. Fuck. You knew what this ended with, and still, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

Your eyes were wide by the end of it, watery and fixed on her. “W-what?” 

“How could you not have known?” Wanda asked softly, and you but your lip to stop from bursting into tears. 

“I thought you were straight!” You accused, and to your surprise, she laughed. 

“No, sweetheart.” Your heart stuttered. “I’m not.” 

Your breathing was still slightly heavy as you tried to get a  grip on everything that was happening. “You… you feel the same way?” 

“Of course I do, Jekyll.” She said, and you found yourself falling for her expressive eyes all over again as she stared up at you.  You reached your hand out experimentally, like she did the second time you ever met, and you waited that torturous moment for her to take your hand in a way that was much different than all the other times you shared a touch. This touch was the moment of truth.

She took your hand, kissed your knuckles, and put your palm on her cheek. 

“The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.” 

“This can’t be anything but a dream,” you murmured, feeling her cheek in your hand and the way they were warm and flushed. The softness was bringing you in and out of your head, and every time you went back to reality, you were thrusted into a little sliver of paradise. 

“Well, what a lovely dream it is, then.” Her lips found yours. The movie played on, the clock kept its incessant ticking, and your leg was starting to tingle from sitting on it in the same position for so long. But to you, time absolutely stopped. And as long as a particular science fiction nerd was in front of you, nothing that ticked or clicked or buzzed was ever going to matter. 

*******

i said i wasn’t going to post this, but i did it anyway!! hope you guys enjoyed this fic!! it was a lot of fun to write but it also made me mad nervous LMAO let’s hope this wasn’t absolute dogshit

@teenwonder i know you said you wanted a tag on my stuff so here it is, love!! 💕💕

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Halloween Oreos (Michael Myers x Reader)

Original Ask: How about some snack time with Micheal uwu sharing Halloween oreos with his s/o or someone me whose getting close to him. Perhaps they buy him some huehue

_____________

Haddonfield had become a rather quiet place following the Halloween murders, the following years becoming somewhat grim.

Halloween was no longer the same, or at least it was something that made the residents of Haddonfield tense up. Even after thirteen years, people were sometimes too afraid to speak the Boogeyman’s name. At least, people finally came out of their homes, as if the plague was already over with. After thirteen years, one could have said that the Boogeyman was no more.

October had finally come around, and this year Haddonfield was gifted with a veil of fresh white snow on just the third day of the month.

You grunted as you fixed the plastic bags in your hands, the mittens you wore making it somewhat difficult to properly hold them.Today was the day to go out for groceries, a task you only did every now and then due to your current living condition.

“Need help there?” you heard a voice behind you, prompting you to turn and see the cashier that had rung you up in the grocery store.

“Oh! Ah,” you gave a nervous chuckle as you once again fixed the plastic bags. “I-I can bear, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind lending a hand, especially in this weather.”

“It’s alright.” you insisted, especially after a chill ran down your back, your eyes glancing around as an uneasy feeling came over you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I just need to get going right now. Somebody’s waiting for me.”

“Ah, I see.” he nodded, taking a step back as you sighed in relief. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Thank you, have a nice day.” you nodded as well, not bothering to watch him leave as you knew the consequences of such things.

As you headed to your car, you took notice of a news crew that had stationed itself across the road, right at a sidewalk that led to another array of stores. The crew was specifically focused on a hardware store that had its glass windows broken, even the farthest eye could see the bloody handprints that were splattered on the walls inside as well as other blood prints.

You shivered at the thought of what had gone down inside, instead focusing on the trunk of your car before loading everything inside. Not paying much attention to the camera crew, or at least not wanting to do so, you hopped into your car to drive out of town. But not before taking a good look at your surroundings, on edge about the eyes that were possibly watching your every move.

_____________

Home was a rather lengthy ride, no more than an hour’s time thankfully, but the searching for it was what made up for that isolation you required. Considering the situation you lived in, your partially preferred living arrangements lie in the woods outside of town, where things were calm and quiet.

Hopping out of your car, you felt as the snow began to fall once again. This meant that in the morning, the veil would be much thicker and there was no going out, especially as your small home was situated in a deep part of the woods.

Hearing your boots with every step, you unloaded the groceries which would definitely be taking more than one go. You made your way towards the cabin in front of you, coming to stop after walking onto the porch as your eyes caught crimson.

Right on the wood were boot prints, every single one as red as the blood from the hardware store.

Your eyes followed the trail that led to the door itself, and you took notice of it being ajar.

Dropping the bags onto the porch, you placed a hand on the door to cautiously take a step inside. The creak of the door was enough to have you jump back the slightest bit, especially as your eyes continued to examine the trail of blood that led into the kitchen.

Now, you knew not to act like a girl in a horror movie but…

“Hello?” you called out into the emptiness of your home, holding your keys close to either fight with them or immediately flee to the car. “Is that you-”

Soon enough your scream pierced the air as you jumped off the ground, this due to feeling a rough hand clasp onto your shoulder from behind.

Once you had turned around, you groaned at the sight of an older man that stared down at you with dead eyes.

“Michael!” you yelled at him, then fixing your jacket which had slightly crumpled up at the shoulder where you had been grabbed. “I thought you were someone else.”

The man before you in no way flinched, not even bothering to blink as he continued to watch your every move.

“You leave in the middle of the night without a word and leave me alone all day.” you mentioned before passing by him, knowing that he turned his entire body to always be facing you. “Well now that you’re done with scaring the hell out of me, I’m done with the groceries. Won’t need to go out until January I think. I hope so, since it’s starting to get pretty cold out.”

Michael Myers, the Shape or Boogeyman of Haddonfield, stood right at your door with not a care in the world. If anything, your door to your house, was his door to his house. It had been this way for quite awhile now.

A few years actually.

It was surprising that he was not wearing his mask, his blue and clouded eye completely fixated on your figure as you grabbed the bags right at the entrance.

Once you had grabbed the bags at the door and then the remaining ones in the car, you shut and locked the door before being followed by Michael into the kitchen.

After he had spared you years back, Michael had come to act like a cat. Always with his nose on the lookout for what it is you would be feeding him. Hilariously, that was just how Michael reluctantly came into your life.

“I haven’t prepared anything since I’ve been out most of the day.” you admitted, ever so quietly laughing at the soft groan that rumble in Michael’s throat. “I did find some sweet goodies at the market though. Especially at WalMart.”

Michael didn’t always understand the things you talked about, but he was always listening. Always watching. Learning.

“They have these new cookies for the season. The orange looks kind of funny, but I’m pretty sure they taste the same as the originals.” you mentioned as you set the groceries on the counter, looking through the bags as you began to put everything in its place. “I also got you some stuff to shave off that scruff.”

Michael’s eyes darted down in an attempt to look at his chin, instead seeing you hand placed under it as you softly rubbed your thumb on it.

“Though I have to admit that it’s starting to grow on me.” you smiled before making your way back to the groceries. “Just like the greys in your hair.”

It really had been a few years since you had met Michael, a relationship forming after a pretty good while. He was in his mid-twenties, practically a middle-aged man now who hadn’t been found by the authorities this entire time thanks to you.

As you began to prepare a hot beverage for yourself, and Michael who you knew would ignore it but drink it behind your back, you knew that Michael was watching you intently. His eyes were glued on your hands that grabbed a pumpkin you had purchased. Somehow, he had not even realized the large vegetable as you brought it in.

“Found a recipe you might like, especially for the cold.” you spoke before grabbing a kitchen knife, one that piqued Michale’s interest but was not enough to have him snatching it away due to its size. “Especially with all the pumpkins that are out now.”

To his dissatisfaction, you set the knife down besides the pumpkin on the counter before facing him.

“But before I make that, I’m gonna go change. These clothes are starting to make me feel stuffy.” you removed your jacket as you walked around the counter and out the kitchen, for once not being followed by Michael who was now focused on the knife you had left behind.

Knowing that you would be too focused on finding one of his shirts to wear, he approached the counter to take hold of the knife, bringing it to his face to admire how it shone under the kitchen light. He first held it pointing upwards, but changed it so that he was instead gripping it with the blade pointing down. His head craned to the vegetable beside him, and instinct got the best of him.

“I see you got started with the pumpkin.” he heard your voice, turning around after having jabbed the knife down into the pumpkin which had more than a simple wound.

Michael grabbed the knife once again to pull it out, his entire body facing you once again as he tilted his head at your figure.

Your eyes fell to the knife that contained a bit of pumpkin residue, even a seed or two managed to slip out due to Michael’s brute strength. Now your eyes were on his blank features, and you couldn’t help but give him a smirk.

_____________

It wasn’t often that you lit the fireplace as to avoid any attention from outsiders, especially authorities who had honestly given up on the search for Michael despite his former psychiatrist’s demands, but you believed that tonight was just the night for a warm fire.

Despite the cold weather, you only wore one of Michael’s shirts with socks, perhaps a little something on your bottom. You figured that there wasn’t an entire need for covering yourself when Michael was your human blanket, and one that refused to come off you.

With all of the day’s work done, you sat on the couch, or more like Michael’s lap as he sat on the couch. Your legs were crossed as your torso was constricted by Michael’s strong arms, his chin casually laying on top of your head as you ate the last of your pumpkin soup.

Both pairs of eyes stared up ahead, almost next to the fireplace where your TV screen was placed. You were both watching the moving pictures, or at least Michael resumed that when you made comments about the movie.

“That’s so cheesy, no girl would scream and faint on the spot if she saw a monster.” you ever so slightly shook your head, Michael’s chin too heavy to actually complete the motion. “At least, nowadays. However, that looked like that one scene from the latest Child’s Play movie where the guy has a heart attack.”

It was an old monster movie kind of night, your mood demanding it and Michael no doubt being curious. Frankenstein actually seemed to catch his attention.

The man’s eyes glanced down at you as he saw your arms stretch out with your empty bowl, attempting to put it on the coffee table in front of the couch. This of course was quite impossible with Michael holding you back, his grip on you only becoming tighter as you were managing to barely escape his grasp.

“Michael!” you groaned, pulling your head forwards until his arms made a ring around your hips after you were able to snake the top part of your body out.

As you reached out to set the bowl down, you felt Michael bury his face right into your back before rubbing himself all over and taking in your scent simultaneously.

“I just want to put the damn bowl down.” you wheezed, eventually releasing a sigh of relief when your glass bowl safely landed on the table. But it made you also pleased to have grabbed the plate you had prepared along with the bowls of soup, making sure it or its contents didn’t slip out of your hands as you adjusted your body to the former position.

Michael gave a grunt as he placed his chin on your head again, this time making sure that you had no way of escaping him.

“You wanna try one, Michael?” you lifted the plate just a bit, having Michael peer down at the plate that contained black little circles that smelled weirdly to him. “They’re the newest Oreos. The cookies I mentioned earlier.”

You placed the plate on your lap, wishing that that was enough to hold them up while you took one of the cookies and offered it up to Michael.

“I don’t have any milk right now because you’re not gonna let me get any, so take it like this.

Michael squinted at the cookie, the orange filling enough to have him blinking at least once. In this state of his, you were able to break free and spin your body in place so that your legs were no longer crossed but instead on either side of Michaels’ waist. The plate of cookies was safely put on the empty space of the couch so that nothing could fall.

Having a mind of their own, Michael’s hands wrapped themselves around you as he once again stared at the cookie.

“It’s just a cookie Michael.” you giggled, lowering it before taking a bite out of it yourself.

Michael’s eyes landed on your lips, watching the way they moved as you chewed the cookie piece. Tiny black crumbs adorned your lips, every now and then shifting the more you chewed.

You watched him as well, finding it how funny his curiosity was. So, you popped in the remainder of your cookie before eating it as well, now feeling one of Michael’s arms leave your waist.

Instead, his fingers brushed against the warmth of your skin as his nails carefully scraped your cheeks. The tips of his fingers now coming close to your lips, his index finger actually on your bottom lip before it pulled it down and open.

“Michael,” you breathed out, knowing that Michael was merely observing the crumbs left on your lips.

Blinking up at Michael, you saw as he brought his face down to yours. His lips now dangerously close to yours as he continued to play with your bottom lip, making your breath hitch as he neared more and more.

Soon enough you closed your eyes when Michael closed the gasp, but not with his lips but his tongue.

Your eyes shot open as you felt his tongue lick the corner of your lip, continuing onto your lips themselves. You placed your hands on his shoulders, gripping onto them as you felt his own twist around the shirt you wore.

Your lips had already been parted from the shock of Michael’s actions, that good enough for Michael to slip in his tongue to get a taste of your mouth.

He didn’t care about your nails digging into his shoulders but in fact enjoyed it, pressing your chest against his as his tongue continued to explore your cavern, tasting every bit he could. But before you could follow along with his treatment, Michael retreated himself and looked down at you with half-lidded eyes that matched yours. Well, his didn’t have as much emotion as yours for he was difficult to faze of course.

“Michael?” you sighed at him, thoughts clouded with what just happened. You were then snapped out of it when Michael let go of you with one hand, reaching to the side where the plate of cookies was.

He had grabbed another one, bringing up in between your faces and leaving it there for just a moment. Soon after, he brought it to your lips, scraping it against them before slowly slipping it in so that you could take a bite.

As you chewed the cookie, Michael took the other piece into his mouth, leaving the two of you with crumbs on each of your lips.

His tongue slid out once again, licking the crumbs off of his lips before you got the memo.

The flush on your cheeks was more than enough to warm you up on this chilly October night.

[danielxricciardo]

Hi love the writing! Could you do something angsty around 26 or 35 with max??

Summary: You found out Max cheated on you

Warnings: angst, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

26. “Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?”

35. “What will you do if we break up?”

'Max is looking at you' you read what your best friend Anthony, an engineer at Red Bull Racing, wrote.

And you worked at Red Bull Racing too, you decided with Max Verstappen, your boyfriend, that this is the best way for you to travel with him. You didn't have a complicated job. You dealt with filtering the negative ad on the team and then you gave it to Victoria to deal with the articles as she knew.

'Okay, let him look,' you write on the piece of paper that Anthony wrote quickly on.

You were at a meeting with all the Red Bull Racing employees, to your bad luck. Being in the same room with Max Verstappen was the last thing you wanted at the time.

Sure, your relationship was beautiful, or it had been anyway. He was whatever you wished from a man and more. He looked like a bad boy but he was the cutest and most thoughtful man you knew and he made you feel safe even when you couldn't see him.

His words still resonate in your mind and you had to make a supernatural effort not to cry.

You knew Max Verstappen loved you. He told you that every day and showed you through the gestures he made. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you didn't look for scandal either.

But every time you saw her, a lump appeared in your stomach. Without wanting to, you became careful around you, looking for her or Max. When you saw them talking, you looked for any excuse to go near them.

But your fear was unfounded, wasn't it? Max loved you, you were together for two years and you were fine.

But you also looked at her. She had also had a long-term relationship with Daniil Kvyat, a relationship of almost three years and they have a little girl together. There can be nothing between them.

Anthony has told you several times that Max and Kelly have been spending a lot of time together, at least lately, and you said you weren't worried. Why would you be?

But last night all your worries and fears came upon you at once. Anthony told you he saw Max leave the paddock with Kelly and didn't come back for about three hours. He didn't want to pay attention to this thing but when Anthony went to the driver to show him some sketches he noticed a small bruise on the backside of his neck.

"Really?" he tells you laughing. "How old are you to leave hickeys on your skin? Only teenagers still do that."

You felt all the color drained from your face. Hickey? You never left anything like that on his skin.

Anthony probably realized that what he said was not about you.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry..."

"It's ok," you say and smile at him even though you wanted to die at that moment. "I need a little bath, I'll be right back," you say and get up from the chair.

You started crying in the bathroom. You were disappointed, scared, disgusted, and shocked. To learn that someone you trusted unconditionally had been lying, cheating, and had developed an emotional bond with another woman behind your back was not registering in your brain.

Yes, you weren't a model, you didn't look like one, but Max always told you that you were perfect and that no other woman compares to you.

You literally could not wrap your head around what was happening...

You hoped that your darkest thoughts would never come true, but they did. Max and Kelly. Together. Behind your back.

It feels like every nerve in your body has either frozen or left your vessel completely. Your body literally enters a state of shock; adrenaline. You are absolutely stripped. Vulnerability. Disbelief. Disgust. Horror. Anger. Confusion. Shattering, crippling, traumatizing heartbreak.

Trust, honesty, and respect are necessary for a relationship, and Max just shattered all three at once. You have been the victim of an emotional crime. You ask yourself, how could this person fuck me over like this?

I trusted them.

I loved them.

I was loyal to them.

I kept my end of the fucking bargain.

How could you emotionally manipulate me?

What was I lacking?

Am I the problem?

Truly sickening, reality-twisting, mind-fucking stuff. You just couldn't believe that this was happening to you. Infidelity is something you hear about quite often, in books, movies, the media, or to other people, but not to you. This was somebody you loved with all of your heart, who told you he loved you, who had never shown the slightest inclination of dishonesty or moral transgression or disloyalty.

"Y/N, are you okay?" you heard Anthony behind the door, the fear and worry present in his voice.

"I'm fine," you say, though no one would have believed you. "I'll be there in a moment."

You splashed some water on your face, looked in the mirror, and bit your lip. You looked like hell. The eyes were red, the small veins that irrigated the eyeballs were broken, the face was red, in a combination between the violent crying crisis and the anger you had.

What were you going to do? Will you pretend you didn't know anything? Will you tell him you knew? Were you going to break up with him or were you going to wait for him to break up with you to be with Kelly?

You finally came out of the bathroom and Anthony was waiting for you at the door. He hugged you tight and assured you that everything would be fine. But he had no way of knowing that. It was nothing more than his simple hope that his best friend would not lose her fucking mind.

The phone starts ringing. Anthony lets you go and he goes to see who's calling you. He gives you a worried look. You immediately realized that it was Max who was calling you. Tears began to flow down your cheeks again and Anthony took your reaction as an invitation for him to answer the phone.

"Hey, man," he replies, and you don't hear what Max is saying. "No, she went for a coffee and left her phone on the table. Okay, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

You approach him after he's finished the call to make sure you don't hear Max's voice.

"He said to go to his room."

"I don't want to see him."

"I realized that. Let's go, we'll deal with this problem later."

You went for a walk. The fresh air calmed you down a bit, but you had all kinds of thoughts in your mind.

How many times has this happened? Did you really want to know that? You really wanted to know how many times he kissed her and then he would come to you and tell you that he loves you.

If Anthony hadn't seen the hickey, how many more times did he planned to cheat on you?

Did he love her? That would have hurt you the most, knowing that you failed to give Max the love he needed and had to look for it in the arms and bed of another woman.

"Just know that I understand your feelings. I've been through this myself." Anthony breaks the silence and you look at him. "To be cheated on, it's a feeling of helplessness and zero self-worth. You feel as if you didn't do enough for that person which is why they reached out for someone else sexually or romantically. You blame it on yourself half the time. You dig for answers in your memories to try to figure out where you went wrong, where things started to go in a different direction. You hope that it won't happen again. You hope that the saying "once a cheater, always a cheater" it's just a myth. They broke your trust, how could you ever trust them again, right? You become paranoid when they go out at night or they don't answer your phone calls by the first ring. You find yourself having more down and depressed days than happy days. And a lot of questions will always replay in the back of your mind. Why? Why now? Why with them? How could this be happening to you? No matter how many times you get an answer, it won't be enough. Day after day, it'll get better but worse at the same time."

After two hours you returned to the paddock. You were immediately notified that Max was looking for you everywhere and he was worried he couldn't find you. Ironic, isn't it?

"Y/N!" you hear Max's voice.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Anthony asks, standing in front of you to block your image of Max.

"No, it's okay. I'll handle it somehow..."

Anthony nods and leaves, staring angrily at Max.

"Hey, I was looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Your eyes are a little red." he asks and if you didn't know better you'd think he cared.

"Let's go somewhere private."

You went to his room. You sat on his bed and thought about what you could say. You were thinking about what Anthony told you when you walked together.

Max hands you a dose of Red Bull and you take it, feeling your throat very dry.

"We need to talk," you tell him and you feel your eyes start to sting. It was not yet time to start crying.

"Okay? Is something wrong?"

"Is it true what Anthony told me?" you ask and you see that Max doesn't know what you mean; how would he know? "Is it true that you and Kelly spent some time together?"

His face went blank for a moment as he tried to understand.

"What you mean?"

You reach out your trembling hand to the collar of his polo shirt to lower it where Anthony told you it was the mark.

And Anthony was right. There was, in front of you, the hickey Kelly made on him.

Max didn't expect that. He looks at you with wide eyes and you hear his heart start beating harder. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked away from you, numb. You discovered his secret. You didn't know if he was afraid of your reaction or sorry you found out his little secret.

"I didn't intend to hurt you," he says, and you realize he's telling the truth.

He had a guttural voice.

You smile at them. A broken smile that hid the primordial desire to cry and hit him with all your best.

"I don't care about your intentions. They're irrelevant. You didn't intend to hurt me? Well, you didn't intentionally try to keep me from harm either."

You don't know where you had the strength to look into his eyes and not cry. Max looks crushed. Because you found out? Because you're breaking up? Because he has to put an end to the affair with Kelly?

"How long was it actually going on before I found out?"

You see Max trying to think of an answer that doesn't affect you so much or destroy you at all.

"For less than a month," he answers.

One month? Where were you a month ago? In Spain. Did something happen there? Did you notice anything strange about him? To his behavior? No. You didn't notice anything.

Was he really that good at hiding his mistakes?

That, of course, if he considers the relationship with Kelly a mistake.

"Did you ever think of me when you were with her?"

He did not answer. You didn't even know if you wanted to know the answer to that. What would it be like to answer that he never thought of you and that his mind was soaked in serotonin that only Kelly could think of those moments?

"I never stopped loving you."

"I don't believe you loved me while you were cheating on me. Love and betrayal are incompatible. I don't feel safe with that kind of 'love.'"

"So? You're breaking up with me?" Max asks.

Although you still had so much to say, you no longer had the power. You were so mentally and physically exhausted that you just wanted to be alone and cry.

"There's nothing else to do, is there?" you say and leave his room.

Anthony was waiting for you. He noticed that you had no tears on your face and frowned.

"What happened? Did you guys make up?"

You hug Anthony hard and cry. At that moment you gave up being strong. You gave up pretending, even in front of you, that you were fine.

Fuck it, you weren't fine. You were far from fine.

You looked back at Christian Horner, who was presenting something on the video projector. You lost the whole meeting with the crew. You had no idea what was being said.

Honestly, you don't even care what they said. You only worked there because you were Max Verstappen's girlfriend. But for eighteen hours, this was no longer true. So what's stopping you from going to Christian and telling him you're resigning? What keeps you from going home and forgetting about Max, forgetting the last two years of your life and starting over?

"That's it for today, thank you very much, friends, and let's get back to work, yeah?"

Everyone gets up from their seats. Anthony draws your attention and beckons you to look at the garage door.

You could faint then and there. No one and nothing ever prepared you for the emotions you were experiencing then. Kelly Piquet was at the garage door, waiting for the meeting to end. She was staring at Max, but he was just looking at you.

"Can we talk a little?"

You nod to Anthony that you're fine and he can leave. You look at Max and you see that he doesn't look very good. He had dark circles and you're sure he didn't sleep last night either, just like you.

“Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?” he asks, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes," you answer categorically, looking at his face, waiting for him to raise his head so you can look him in the eye.

“What will you do if we break up? You will leave here or-” you interrupt him.

"Not 'if I break up with you,' we've already gotten over it," you say and Max looks at you with wide eyes. "We already broke up last night. I'm still here because I haven't had a chance to talk to Christian yet to tell him I'm resigning."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have nothing to do here. I came to Red Bull Racing for you."

A tear runs down Max's cheek.

"What can I tell you to stay?"

"There's nothing left to say. Now go," you say and you feel a lump in your throat. "She's waiting for you."

Max turns to the garage door to see who you're talking about.

"I gave her a text message last night and told her it was all a mistake between us."

You smile at him. "Goodbye, Max," you say then you shout for Christian.

[sylvies-chen]

Get me for Brettsey 😏

Mathematically speaking, someone Sylvie's size should be no match for someone Matt's size.

The size difference has always been noticeable to her. He'll wrap his arm around her while walking out of the firehouse and she'll be reminded just how massive his arms are, she'll have to tilt her head up when kissing him and is reminded of their difference in height, sees him making daring rescues that she probably doesn't have the core strength for. Most times, this difference in height, weight, and strength isn't scary but rather comforting. She feels safe in his arms-- in fact, some days it's the only place she does feel safe. This time, however, it becomes an obstacle.

They're in some warehouse that's on fire. There'd been victims who couldn't be moved without medical assistance so Sylvie and Violet had been sent in to help the victims. Only now she's here, trying to get the victim out with the members of Truck 81 surrounding her, and she's reminded just how risky coming into a building like this is. They're on a floor that the fire hasn't reached yet, thankfully. But fire isn't always the only obstacle in these kinds of situations.

She's standing there waiting for Truck to find them a decent exit as Violet keeps an eye on the victim they'd found. It's then that she notices it: the crumbling ceiling. At first, it's just bits of drywall flaking off, but then in turns into crack in the walls. Her eyes follow the trail of cracks and, much to her horror, the cracks start forming a spider web-- a single point of impact-- right above Casey. Her Casey.

It's not normally a requirement to have to check ceilings but something must be putting pressure on that single spot between the two floors that's causing a break under the stress of the fire. She knows Truck shouldn't be expected to notice the crumbling ceiling. But dammit, why the hell hasn't anyone seen it yet?

It starts getting worse. It's situated right above Matt, who's less than twenty feet away from her. But it's going to crumble, she feels that in her bones. Ten seconds later, large chunks of cement starts tumbling down and she knows she was right-- which, now, is not the slightest bit comforting. She can't bear the thought of anything happening to him. It's even more daunting, being five feet away from it all. So to hell with it. She's not standing around and doing nothing to help.

"Matt!" She yells out, but he wastes the half second of time he had to turn his attention to her instead of ducking, moving, anything. Maybe shouting was the wrong move, she thinks, because he didn't get the message. Sylvie doesn't have the time to explain it though, can't find the words even if she did.

This is where the mathematical impossibilities somehow kick in. Because before Matt can react, Sylvie's running. She pushes through the rubble and past her 81 friends, trying to reach Matt right away and toppling into him. On any day, she'd expect this to have no effect on him. Trying to knock him over is like trying to push a wall sometimes. But Sylvie does have two things working in her favour. One, is that she's got freakishly strong arms from her Fowlerton country girl days. The second is that Matt's decked from head to toe in firefighter gear which weighs him down and makes him less balanced. Those two things combined mean that when she takes him by surprise and plows into him, it actually works. They tumble out of harm's way, Sylvie landing right on top of him as they both grunt from the force of the fall.

They both look behind Sylvie's shoulder at the exact right moment, only to see a chunk of ceiling about three feet wide and weighing at least 200 pounds, thumping down on the ground. Violet and the rest of Truck take five steps back, stunned by the sudden collapse of the floor above them and bewildered that Sylvie caught it-- and, she thinks, that she was able to knock their tough, stocky Captain over.

She turns her head back to Matt, whom she's still on top of. "Sorry," she apologizes quietly, coughing slightly due to the dust from the collapsing drywall. Admittedly, through the dust he can probably still see her cheeks heating up with a rosy blush. She's straddling him and they're not normally in this position in a professional setting, to be frank.

"No, don't be," he dismisses politely with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Thanks. For, you know... saving me."

Sylvie can tell, even through the dust and chaos and smoke coming from the hole in the ceiling, that his awkwardness is not brought on by embarrassment or shame at being toppled by his tiny, sweet girlfriend. No, she sees it in the way his eyes heat up with something wonderfully intense as he stares at her. Because of course Matt Casey would be incredibly turned on by his girlfriend saving him.

But hell, with the way he's looking at her as they untangle themselves and get the hell out of the warehouse with their victim, she thinks she should definitely save him more often.

[ickymichi]

Hiiiiiii I’ve never put in a rq on tumblr before I’m usually a silent reader ahah so idk if I’m doing this right >.<

Butttt if ur taking rqs Rn I’m here to request a denji one shot, I have no proper ideas but some denji x reader very soft, fluffy and funny 🥺 maybe something like cuddling late at night and all that cute shit. Also if power makes an appearance her and reader have a very cute relationship and power actually doesn’t hate her ahaha.

Anyways u totally don’t have to do this!! I just love denji and am starving from the lack of denji content on tumblr hehe

SLUMBER PARTY!!

warnings: fluff!, cute denji as always :).

things to know: gn! reader, (if you’d like a fem reader lmk and i’ll change it!)

note: so so sorry this took so long lovey!! but it’s such a cute idea and i had such a good time writing for our boy :,) but i hope you enjoyed and sorry again it took so long! reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

©hotboyissei 2021.

one thing that became a ‘tradition’ in yours’ and denji’s relationship was having a sleepover every weekend. even though he sees you at least three times a week, he’d tell you that he needed to at least spend a whole night with you or he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly until it happened.

so now right on time just like every other saturday at 6:30pm you were stood infront the apartment door with your over night back and some snacks n’ drinks in hand. the door swung open violently, startling you a bit, but it didn’t last long when you seen the wide smile on denji’s face, showing his sharp teeth and the corner of his eyes crinkling. “(y/n)!! your here!!,” he lept forward and wrapped his arms around your middle, squeezing tightly. “hi denj’! of course i’m here, just like every saturday! should we go inside?” he nodded his head quickly and taking your arm to usher you inside.

“what’s in the bag, what’s in the bag?!” eyeing and grabbing at it is what he kept doing once you set it down in his room. “i’ll show you, i’ll show you. so first i brought alll of our favourite sweets n’ chocolate. and of course your favourite favourite drink,” watching his eyes light up as you listed off the different items you’d gotten for the night was one of the things you loved about staying over.

“hey! why’re you so loud denj- (y/n)! i didn’t know you’re here!” somehow, power was quite fond of you and quickly the two of you grew close through denji. something that shocked him and Aki. “silly, i always come over on a saturday,” “yeah stupid!” denji had butted in and pulled his eye while sticking his tongue out at power. “hah?! (y/n) do something to him he called me stupid!! your the stupid one, stupid!!” she quickly fell into you and whined into your chest while snapping back at denji, continuing the bickering. “hey, stop stealing them from me! go play with meowy or something” huffing, power eventually pulled of you and left to look for her furry companion.

the afternoon grew into the late night and the both of you had already devoured all the sweets you bought and sat through two movies, a comedy and a horror. you were now watching one you remembered from your childhood and how funny it was.

from the corner of your eye you could see denji’s eyes fluttering and his head bobbing—almost as if he was trying to fight off the tiredness. he looked so cute like this, but you knew if he fell asleep here you’d have to wake him then he’d get all moody. “hey denj’ wake up for a sec, let’s go to bed ‘kay?” “mmhhff okaaayy” he was probably already asleep and now you’d woken him but it was probably only a light slumber.

leaving him to lay on the floor while you set up the futons he couldn’t help but admire how the bright lights of the city reflected off your face in the dark room. “pretty,” is what he mumbled to himself, not caring if you heard or not. while trying to keep watching your movements he also was trying his hardest to stay awake for you. when he did open his eyes again he was met with you in your sleep shorts and slipping your shirt over your head, just about giving him a glance of your bare back. he claimed it as him just being a normal teenager, but he couldn’t stop the heat rushing to his cheeks and the sight of only your bare legs and the quick glance of your back.

“hey, you still awake sleepy?,” his eyes must’ve closed again for a few second because now, you were crouched infront him, softy rubbing the top of his head. with a nod he crawled over to his futon-not before helping you get tucked into your own. “goodnight denji, see you in the morning,” soft as ever your voice was when you wished him goodnight at the early hours whenever you’d stay with him. “g’night (y/n) see ya when we wake up,”

even though it was just a few hours prior that he was desperately trying to stay awake, he’s now laying flat on his back staring into the dark room trying desperately to fall asleep. the only thing he could thing of was scooting over to your futon and cuddling into your back—but he didn’t want to frighten you, so he just kept to himself for the past hour.

finally deciding that if he actually wanted to get some sleep he’d have to cave in and move over to your futon. he was moving as slow as power does in the mornings, but only because he was afraid that even the slightest movement would wake you-even though you’ve learned to sleep through his loud snoring and kicking limbs-. slowly, ever so slowly he moved closer to your sleeping figure with shaking hands. once he was close enough to wrap the blanket around himself he used the arm he wasn’t lying on to drape it around your waist and pull you into him with some new found confidence.

you don’t think he realised how harshly he pulled you because, even just that movement had shook you from your odd dream and back into the darkness of denji’s room. only this time you could feel his breath on your neck and his arm clutching your tummy. softly, you laughed and twisted in his grip so you could face him.

he wasn’t expecting it that’s for sure. you could tell by the way his mouth fell and eyes bulged slightly. when you smiled back at him, he tried to splutter out an explanation as to why he was cuddling you out of no where.

“you don’t have to ask to cuddle denj’ you can just do it whenever you like, i really don’t mind. i love it when you do.”

it was one of those moments he was having that only happened once every few weeks. it’s when you say or do something that makes his heart skips a few beats. the last thing you’d done was wipe the crumb off his cheek and kiss it afterwards.

like earlier, he frantically nodded at your comment and now wrapped both arms around you, pulling you even closer to his chest so you can wrap your own arms around him and entangle your legs.

slowly and softly falling back into your previous sound sleep—until denji’s snoring quiet literally vibrated through your body.

[sunlight-moonrise]

The Law of Attraction (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reader cannot understand how Spencer is in a relationship with someone who is his complete opposite. 

A/N: Hello Everyone!!! Here’s another story from the secret-fic-swap in the Discord server. I tried my hand at a new genre and I like how it came out. A big thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for helping me make this real nice for y’all (this story was also written to her). Enjoy!

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: If you’re a fan of Max or Maxcer, this may not be the story for you. Sacrifices needed to be made for this story to be told. 

Word Count: 4.2K

Masterlist

The thought that the concept of ‘opposites attract’ was only true when it comes to physics. After all, the comparison of people to magnets doesn’t make any sense. If two people are together, there should be some similarities to build an established relationship, right? Without that foundation, the structure will surely crumble back into the fragmented pieces that created it, leaving them cracked and weaker for it.

Compatibility is necessary, yet there is none whenever I look at them. This is the fourth function that he has brought her to, and with each event, I find it harder to look their way. But when I do find them among the crowd, I can’t look away. Like a car crash or thunderstorm ripping tree roots from the ground.

It doesn’t make sense to me, why on earth would Spencer Reid be with a girl like her.

“If you keep staring at her, she might drop dead,” said a sarcastic voice, breaking me out of my reverie. I turned to see Tara with an amused smile occupying her face.

“I just don’t get it,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on the drink in my hand.

“What’s not to get?” she asked, glancing over at the couple in question. “They seem cute together.”

“They have nothing in common. He might as well be talking to some random person in this bar.”

I chugged the remainder of my beverage with desperate hope that the alcohol will somehow make things better in this situation. It didn’t.

“You sound bitter.”

“I am not bitter,” I bit back.

“I didn’t say you were, I said you sound.”

I didn’t respond to her because deep down I knew she was right. I just fiddled with the straw in my now empty glass as Tara continued, “Look, they both like coffee and going to the park, that’s something.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped my throat at the thought.

“So do half the people on the administration floor, he might as well have a harem if those are the main qualifications.”

“So what type of person should Spencer Reid have?” she asked, an eyebrow arching up as she focused her attention on me.

“I don’t know. Someone who is family-oriented and loves kids. Someone who doesn’t judge him for his idiosyncrasies. Someone who listens to his rambles and actually responds to them. Someone who he can escape to when things get too tough. Someone who understands when to give him space but will continue to support him unconditionally. Someone who can challenge him and make each day exciting and interesting. Someone who can ke—”

“Whoa there, I didn’t think you were going to give me a whole novel.” If she thought that was a novel, then the rest of what I wanted to say would be considered an encyclopedia. The only one that Spencer would never read.  

“I just want him to be happy,” I relented.

It was the simple truth. Everyone deserves some sort of contentment in their life, but with everything that Spencer has gone through in the past, his happiness should be at the forefront. He always put others before himself. It was time that someone prioritizes his wants and needs for a change.

“And she doesn’t make him happy?”

Not in the slightest. 

But I didn’t want to say that. I was sure half of the team already thought, or knew, that I was infatuated with him. But I didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of a confirmation by talking about this any further. The looks that Tara had been giving me the past few minutes validated my belief that I didn’t need to dig myself into a deeper hole.

“Maybe,” I said, hoping to put an end to the topic.

But just then, I heard a laugh despite how noisy the place was. I knew without a doubt that was Spencer’s laugh – it was the only sound that would demand my attention that quickly. It was the one he used when he felt uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, Tara.”

I didn’t give her a chance to reply before I hopped off the barstool and made my way to where Spencer and his girl were as casually as possible. Jennifer and Penelope were also with them, and it seems as if the three ladies were doing most of the talking.

“….like kids someday?” I heard Pen say. I didn’t need to hear the beginning of the sentence to know what it was about.

“Ehh, certainly not. My nephew is a handful as is, I don’t think I need any more than that one in my life,” she laughed. She, of course, being the ever loving, ever annoying, Max. A quick glance at Spencer's face confirmed that he was bothered by the subject being discussed. If the rest of the ladies were a bit more sober, they’d probably have seen it too.

“Hey guys,” I interrupted, taking my previous seat next to JJ, “I ordered some water for us and some appetizers. Tara is going to bring it over when it is ready.”

Cheers and thank you were shouted across the small table, but there was only one face I cared to pay attention to. Spencer’s mouth was quirked in a sad smile that was meant to hide the discomfort that had already taken root in his heart like an invasive vine.

“Did you place my fries order?” Max asked, garnering my attention. As much as I wanted to ignore her, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t openly be a bitch to her, no matter how much she irked me. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Other than stealing the affections of a man I’d never actually pursued, that is. But I couldn’t really blame her for that one, right? I should’ve jumped on the opportunity before. It was my fault.

“Yup,” I answered quickly with a small fake smile before focusing on the wooden décor of the bar.

“So any plans for Halloween? Assuming we don’t get called in for a case of course,” JJ asked the table.

“There is this pop-up haunted house coming that weekend.” Spencer said, his voice laced with that childlike excitement that made my heart race, “It is near the annual fair, so I’m going to try and do both.”

“Awww, that’s a cute date idea.”

The table was silent for a moment before Max announced, “I probably won’t go. I am not a big fan of anything spooky or… horror. I’ll leave all of that to this guy.”

The table shared an awkward laugh in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Anyway,” I coughed out, attempting to save this poor conversation, “you guys need to hear this terrible joke the bartender told me. So basically, this screwdriver walks into a bar….” and just like that, the topic had been changed.

Tara joined us shortly after and the conversation remained lighthearted for the remainder of the evening. We later said our farewells and readied ourselves to go back home. While I should’ve been sad to leave him, I couldn’t help but feel a bitter joy from the fact that Spencer and Max didn’t talk directly to each other for the rest of the night.

●●●

It’s been a couple of weeks since the last team outing. Rossi must’ve missed us, because he decided to host a dinner at his place to celebrate the ending of a long and tough case. No one was going to pass up the opportunity of free food and wine, especially after dealing with a bunch of cops and detectives with entire tree trunks up their asses.

I was the last to arrive, which was not surprising since I live the furthest away from Rossi. Krystall welcomed and settled me in while informing me where everyone was. What I assumed was a team gathering turned out to be a whole party. There were definitely more than two dozen people occupying the space.

Good god. 

“What’s all this?” I asked as I greeted Rossi in the, thankfully, empty kitchen. Because, of course, Rossi wouldn’t be Rossi if he didn’t take care of all the hors d'oeuvres himself.

“Krystall wanted to celebrate our anniversary,” he sighed, as if this ordeal was somehow troublesome. I had to roll my eyes; he wasn’t fooling anyone. We all knew that Rossi would move mountains for his wife.

Their love was pure and genuine, a perfect example of two people meeting again at the right time and sharing something wonderful with one another. As I reminisced on their beautiful wedding day, a thought came to my head.

“Isn’t your first anniversary coming up in a few months?”

“That’s for our second marriage, this is for the first.” Rossi simply stated with a proud smirk, as if it was standard to celebrate any and all anniversaries in life. I supposed that for him, it was.

“Why do I get the feeling that this was more your idea than Krystall’s?”

“Guilty.”

Classic. Well, I wasn’t going to tell a man what he should celebrate nor how to do so. I wasn’t going to ruin any opportunities to eat some fresh crostini.

Once I made my way back out into the main room, I was able to find my team within seconds. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer’s tall and lanky form. And I would’ve been excited for that, if it weren’t for the familiar woman standing beside him.

Max was there. Hooray.

Usually, I was able to properly prepare myself for seeing her. It actually, unfortunately, took a lot of effort to not be openly hostile to someone I dislike. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but it was true. Typically in a situation like this, I’d avoid the person all night. However, I wasn’t going to allow her presence to influence the night, much less stop me from spending time with one of my closest friends.

“Hey guys.”

“Ahh, you’re finally here,” squealed Penelope, “I already grabbed your favorite drink!” She stepped aside to make room for me in the small gathered circle before handing me the glass.

“So what did I miss?”

They all caught me up on the harmless gossip circulating around the office and the new happenings emerging in everyone’s lives. Everything was going well until I heard the next words from Max, words that felt like a bucket of ice water and lead being poured over my head.

“Well, Spencer and I are moving in together.”

Time slowed down, I was sure it had. Because I was able to gauge everything in a matter of seconds. Tara’s concerning glance my way, her hand reaching out and retreating as if to hold me. Penelope’s joyful appearance over the news, her arms rising quickly causing her wine to slightly spill on Rossi’s floor. Matt expressing congratulations as he roughly patted Spencer on the back.

And Spencer….

Spencer looked like he rather be anywhere but here. His lips were drawn in a too tight smile that I knew was far from authentic. He was tapping his heel against the floor and wringing his hands together.

If this was merry news from the two of them, why did he look like he swallowed a spiked fruit?

The loud clanging of metal against glass brought everyone’s attention to the noisy source. Time returned back to its normal pace at Rossi’s call, thanking everyone for joining in on the celebration and announcing that the food was ready in the dining room.

While everyone cheered and made their way towards the ornate display, I headed to the balcony. It was too hot, too stuffy, too loud inside the house. There was one too many people there.

As soon as I passed through the double doors, I took a deep breath of cool, refreshing air. Everything around me felt muffled. Like I had stumbled into a small pocket universe that only differed from ours by a few notches on the volume knob.

I was thinking too many things, and none of them adding up or making sense in my head. How do you move in with someone you’ve only known for such a short amount of time? What was he going to do with his apartment? With his personal belongings that were scattered and settled on crowded shelves? Why did he look so uncomfortable when she announced it? Did he not want us to know? Did he want to say it himself?

“What are you doing out here?”

As if being brought back to reality by the very same hypnotist who enchanted me in the first place, I became aware that I was not the only one on the balcony. I turned to look at Spencer, taking in his disheveled and tired appearance.

“I just needed some space. I was feeling a bit crowded.” It wasn’t a lie, but my companion and I both knew there was a lot more than just that. Trying to keep the attention off me, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I saw you come out here dressed like that and wondered what would drag you out into the freezing cold.”

Now that he mentioned it, the breeze was hitting hard. I didn’t notice my body trembling until now. It is funny how you can’t feel much when lost in your own thoughts. The pain was a welcome distraction, I supposed.

Spencer stood next to me and shrugged off the suit jacket he was wearing. I opened my mouth to refuse, but he gave me a pointed look before I could. Instead, I accepted the warm jacket over my body. The scent of cinnamon and spice immediately enveloped my form and I tried to hide the way my inhales grew deeper. Trying to keep him as close as I could for however long he would allow. He kept his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down the sleeves of the jacket to instill some heat in me.  

“So whatever happened to taking it slow?” I asked bluntly, keeping my eyes on the interesting speck of dirt that had ended up on my shoe. I didn’t feel bad about getting to the point -- There was no way I could subtly ask him what the deal was, and I’d rather not beat around the bush.

“Well, after the whole situation that happened, sh— we decided to pick up the pace of things,” he spoke lowly, as if he was unsure of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Has she even met Diana? Or know about her?” I instantly regretted asking, the angry look he shot my way had me feeling remorseful. But it also answered my question.

Max only knew the surface level of Spencer. She wasn’t aware of all the good, bad, beautiful, and ugly layers that comes with a man like him. She wasn’t the only one to blame, but I wondered how a profiler couldn’t tell that he was hiding those parts from her because he didn’t want to share them with her. He didn’t want her to know, because the knowing made it real.

“I just want the best for you.”

His irritated expression dissolved into a defeated one as he released the breath he was holding.

“I know, I know. It’s just…”

He stopped talking, appearing scared to share his opinions and feelings with me before he remembered that, unlike Max, he never had to hide things from me. He didn’t want to.

“It’s just…” I prodded, hoping he would continue with what he was going to say.

But he just stayed stuck there, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. I could practically see the cogs in his brain whirling as he properly tried to explain. “Well, the thing is that Ma—”

“Spencer?”

We sharply turned our heads to see Max and Tara staring at us. It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered our position. With Spencer’s hands rubbing tenderness heat onto my arms, his jacket over my shoulders and our bodies pressed together to keep warm.

It would be one thing if everything was settled, but this situation was anything but. Max had every reason to be angry. This wasn’t a new thing to her. So when she turned around, she stomped away fueled by the belief that she’d nearly caught her boyfriend committing adultery. Again.

“Fuck,” I heard the man in front of me whisper as he released me back into the cold night.

Still, as he left, he looked back at me. His eyes burned into mine up until he tore them away, making his final decision and hastily running from the balcony. Away from me. Towards her.

Tara and I shared the silence, but she looked at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if I was a client seeking out therapy from her.  

“What?” I hissed, “We were just talking.” I refused to feel guilty over something that I didn’t do. If anyone had done anything, it was Spencer. But at the same time, I didn’t think he was entirely wrong, either.  

“I didn’t say anything,” she muttered, holding her hands up high as a sign of surrender.

“You didn’t have to, I can feel the judgment from here.”

“Look, I’m not judging you. But I do want you to put yourself in Max’s shoes. You guys were gone for a while and she finds you two all over each other.”

“What are you talking about, Tara? Christ, it’s not like I was fucking him on the balcony!”

Although I didn’t intend for my words to be humorous, Tara laughed. I was conflicted on whether it was at me or with me, but it ended up amounting to nothing, anyway.

“Look, the night is young and you need to relax. Come back inside, enjoy the party, and don’t let them bring you down. At least for the next few hours.”

She was right, as she usually was. It was why I usually sought her out as the voice of reason; I knew that despite everything, she would always have my best interest at heart.

“Okay,” I agreed before following her back into the chaotic fray.

I heeded her advice and avoided the couple for the remainder of the night. Shockingly, it was pretty easy, but I was sure it was because they were avoiding me too. There were times, lots of times, where Spencer and I made eye contact, but we’d just as quickly look away, as if we were ashamed of what we have done.

All we did was talk. So why did it feel like something more?

There were also times when I made eye contact with Max, but instead of shame, there was anger and contempt. If looks could kill, like Tara had suggested, I was sure my heart would have given out.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that I saw Max take a cab home while Spencer was still inside the house. No one else but me noticed that they didn’t leave the party together.

●●●

I hadn’t seen Spencer since the incident at Rossi’s a few weeks ago. He had to take his mandatory sabbatical leave and I had to take an abrupt trip back home. What used to be almost daily texts between us became nonexistent in a matter of hours. It was a terrible predicament that I was hoping to fix soon.

As I arrived, I spotted him at his desk. For a long time, I stood there staring at him. If he wasn’t nose deep in a bunch of files, I was sure he would’ve seen me, too. I contemplated on how I should go up to him, but nothing I could think of was good enough to say. 

Hey, I have your jacket, I took it to the dry cleaner’s, so it is all clean. Rid of me like you wanted to be. 

Hi, how were the lectures this time around? Still have a bunch of teens crushing on you?

What’s up, it’s been a while, do you want to get lunch during the break?

I hated that things were awkward, even though I was pretty sure that I was the only one that was making it so. I should have just gone up to him, greeted him, and acted like everything was normal, because everything was normal. Right?

Just when I was about to do so, Emily called us in for a meeting. Impeccable timing.

We had a serial killer case in Louisville, Kentucky. My situation with Spencer was going to the backburner.

During our stay in Louisville, Spencer and I barely interacted. We exchanged notes and passed long messages, but that’s pretty much it. I wasn’t surprised. Our specialties don’t really correlate when we are working on a case. Anytime I did catch some free time, I’d look his way, longing for the opportunity to speak to him. He didn’t look back.

Then, just as the case ended, another chance presented itself. After five days of hardly any proper rest, we finally found the unsub. Everyone was in their respective room catching up on some much needed sleep. Except for Spencer, whose gangly body was tucked away at the bar by himself, a glass of what appeared to be soda in front of him.

Silently, I took the seat next to him, and for a few minutes, everything was quiet. But unlike the usual, comfortable quiet, it was torturous.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I stared at him, letting the silent communication denote the fact that I knew he was lying to me. Spencer released a sigh and looked at me with eyes more intoxicating than any whiskey that shared their color.

“Actually, no, I’m not okay.”

I was going to ask him what was wrong or if there was anything I could do to help, but before I had the chance to do so, he hastily answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Max and I broke up.”

I stared at him, my face and mind blank as I tried to comprehend what he’d said. That Max and Spencer broke up. They were no longer together. Spencer was single.

I thought that if this ever happened, I would be happy, elated, jumping at the chance to take her place by his side. But I felt none of those things.

“What happened?” I didn’t want to appear nosy or meddlesome, but I needed to know.

“We were fighting a lot, and I couldn’t take it.”

“Oh.”

“We were… actually fighting about you.”

I sharply turned my head at him, both intrigued and disturbed by the implication that I had anything to do with the failure of their relationship.

“What? What about me?”

“She thought I liked you,” he said while staring straight back at me, daring me to scan through each fleck of gold and green to ensure that he was telling the truth. But his hazel eyes expressed nothing but honesty as he continued, “and she was right. I do.”

“Y-you do?”

All he could do was nod his head, lifting his hand and catching a loose strand of hair before tucking it behind my ear.

“Can I try something?” Spencer shyly requested.

Once again, the universe felt different. I held my breath, trying to wake from the dream. Although he didn’t say it, I had an idea of what he wanted. If the hand on the side of my face and the staring at my lips were anything to go by, I knew what was going to happen next.

I nodded back and closed my eyes. A few seconds passed, the sweetest kind of anticipation. But then I felt the gentle pressure of his lips against my own, sweet and tender. He moved his head to get a better angle while I brought my hands up to cup his face. The roughness of his stubble against the tip of my fingers was a perfect contrast to the softness of him. I could taste the soda he was drinking on his tongue and breathed in the cinnamon scent that seemed sunken into his skin.

When we pulled away, it was full of hesitation. All it took was one look for us to know we couldn’t do this. Not now, not yet. He was still healing from the recent break up and I didn’t want to be a rebound. I didn’t want us to resent one another for jumping into a relationship so soon. We weren’t ready.

We sat there in relative silence, taking in everything that has happened.

“Maybe one day,” he paused “one day we can give it a chance.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” I beamed at him, “And I look forward to that day. Until then, we remain as friends.”

He returned my smile and I realized that it had been a while since I’ve seen his real smile. I missed it so much.

“Friends,” he confirmed.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt relief and comfort. Because I knew everything was going to be okay. I had hope that someday Spencer will get the happily ever after he deserves and he’ll get it with me by his side. One day.

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”