#instead of like. relocating them outside or something

[yellowplumfruit]

i think the world would be a better place if people didn’t immediately assume malicious intent when someone makes a post and doesn’t include fifty billion disclaimers

[oceantornadoo]

ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

masterlist | next

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks. 

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over. 

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.” 

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within. 

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.” 

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution. 

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation. 

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

-

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

-

Gaz was right. It only took an hour. 

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia. 

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife. 

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention. 

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

-

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd. 

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words. 

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally. 

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

-

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

-

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[ericscroptop]

Smokey And Sweet

✧ pairing: neighbor! lee jeno x fem! reader

✦ genre: smut

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of food and eating, mentions of death (no actual people die/have died), smoking from jeno & reader (cigarette), cursing, teasing, car sex, semi-public sex (oops), missionary, big d!ck jeno, fingering, protected sex, slight corruption kink, dirty talk, praising, pet names, some drool & spit, kissing, shy reader when it comes to godly men like lee jeno, slightly bad-boy jeno but more so his aura, reader & jeno are in their early 20s

✦ word count: 11.6k words (i literally couldn’t stop)

✧ synopsis: new boy next door takes an interest in you and decides to take you as a warm welcome into town.

ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Winter had said its goodbye weeks ago, and now, it has fully transitioned into Spring.

With Spring having sprung, the environment has come back to life and everything is blooming once again.

You can now enjoy hearing the sweet songs from the birds chirping proudly every day. You can savor the sunshine and natural light for much longer now due to the time being pushed forward an hour. And, the weather isn’t bitterly cold anymore so you could actually go outside having your skin exposed without your body tingling, stinging, and shivering.

Though, there were still downsides to Spring that you loathed— such as torrential downpours, freshly awoken wasps and bumblebees, and random sneezing fits from pollen. But on days like today where the air felt so fresh outside and you frankly had nothing better else to do, the outdoors called to you.

You desired to spend your leisure time this evening outside. Maybe you’d even decide to buy a treat from the ice cream truck that drove past your neighborhood almost daily now that the weather was warmer. You relish in just the thought of enjoying your first ice cream this season from the cute truck. You’d definitely buy one.

With the weather just right, you chose to wear a simple oversized t-shirt and your pair of frilly-ruffled, black and white polka dot shorts, along with your go-to comfortable footwear. Perfect for lounging out in the breezy and warm weather.

Deciding to sit on the tailgate of your dad’s pickup truck while you wait, you scroll mindlessly through your phone with your wallet by your side.

Although your face was trained on your phone instead of enjoying the outdoors peacefully, at least you were outside instead of cooped up in indoors.

In the midst of the sounds of nature, from wind blowing the trees to birds singing, you hear the sound of your neighbors’s door swing open. Though, you refrain yourself from allowing your eyes to follow the sound, trying to ignore their presence even though curiosity fills you.

This past week, a new family had moved into the house next to yours. It had been vacant and up for sale for awhile, as the previous owners decided to relocate elsewhere.

You’ve seen the movers and had your fair share of brief glimpses towards the house, but you tried your best to ignore and avoid them.

Although your whole life your neighbors have been unproblematic and greet your parents every-so-often, you weren’t someone who enjoyed small talk and acted ‘neighborly.��� You lived in your own bubble, and were too shy in even sparing a greeting to your neighbors.

That may seem a bit bitchy, but you just felt awkward and never really knew what to say. It felt easier just minding your own business.

You probably should work on your social skills. Maybe then you’d actually have something to do instead of sitting alone outside like a loser waiting for some ice cream— at your grown age.

With your attention directed towards your phone, you don’t notice that it is a boy that comes out of the door.

Said boy walks out of his house and lets out a deep sigh with both hands on his hips as he stands on his porch.

Honestly, Jeno didn’t really know how to feel about the move. His parents had decided to move out of the big city he’s known and loved his entire life, and ditch it for this unknown-small town he has to call home now.

While he’s in his early twenties and fully capable of living on his own as an adult, he just graduated college and rent was fucking expensive these days. For the time being, it was easier to move and live with his parents until he found a job and could start saving for his own place.

There was nothing wrong with adults living with their parents, anyways. There were upsides and downsides to it— as there were with practically anything. But it’s what will work for now.

It just sucks that he had to leave everything he’s ever known behind and start over. But life’s all about growing and new adventures— at least, that’s what the older adults say. He just has to learn to adapt to his new environment and embrace change.

He’s been unpacking boxes and organizing his new room all day. It was now around 6pm, and he’d been in the house all day doing labor and cleaning. After being stuck indoors all day, he figured it was time for a break to go for a short drive or maybe get food someplace.

As he stepped out his front door and stood on the porch, he looked towards his left and noticed your figure.

A girl, he thought. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to even notice any of his neighbors or surroundings fully, as he was too immersed in helping his parents settle into their new home and couldn’t keep his attention on anything outside of moving in.

From his porch he could see your figure swaying your head faintly from side to side, legs swinging back and forth in the air over the cracked concrete of your driveway. You were in your own world, phone in hand and sat by your lonesome self.

How cute, he thinks. He probably looks like a freak just staring at your form, but he glances around the street fleetingly and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is out right now. You don’t seem to notice his presence watching you— or at least, maybe you’re pretending you don’t.

You peak his interest suddenly. He wonders what you’re like and from this distance, he can see that you’re definitely an adult like him. Maybe you’re around his age. He could use a friend or at least, know someone in this foreign town.

He gives himself an internal pep-talk of confidence to walk up to you. You’d start seeing each other almost daily now that you’re neighbors, and he doesn’t think he can stay unacquainted with you. So he strides his way towards your house to introduce himself like a gentleman.

While engrossed in whatever nonsense you’re watching on your phone, you begin to detect movement from your peripheral, as well as hear shoes scraping against the concrete.

Your eyes slightly widen at that, sensing a complete stranger coming towards your direction. It wasn’t everyday someone decided to approach you suddenly. Your body stilled and you found strength to raise your head, locking eyes with what seems to be a handsome man.

He brings a hand up and waves, continuing walking up to you until he’s like only 6 feet away.

“Hey— sorry to bother you, but I came to introduce myself. I’m Jeno. I just moved in next door.” he shoots you a smile.

“Oh— hey! Yeah, it’s nice to meet you.” you awkwardly get up to stand on your feet and extend an arm out.

“I’m Y/n. Welcome to the neighborhood!” you put on your best smile as he takes your hand to shake it firmly, practically blacking out mentally as you cannot believe this is a real scene playing out.

You’re left utterly dumbfounded once you took a good gander at this guy.

There was a contrast to him. His skin was pretty much bright and his beauty could light up darkness and draw irresistible attention to him, but he was also kind of shadowy in a way. Although he greeted you with a smile that reached his eyes, he seemed to have this intimidating presence to him.

Maybe you’re just saying that because anyone who’s attractive to you intimidates the fuck out of you. But he seems to ooze natural confidence and appeal. His features were sharp, and he just had this indescribable aura to him that made you weak. You couldn’t pin point what it was.

It didn’t help that he was cool enough to rock an undercut, seeing it peeking through slightly from his right side of face. Not to mention, you couldn’t help but shift your eyes down for a second to look at his almost-exposed chest, first few buttons of his dark flannel left undone.

His dark eyes, dark hair, and dark shirt contrast with his light blue baggy jeans and kind smile, making your skin heat up from his presence, even in the midst of a breeze passing through.

But anyways— your new neighbor is a hot man that decided to come over and greet you. If that’s not a moment in history, then you don’t know what is.

The smile on his face doesn’t falter one bit as you greet him back, feeling your smaller, slightly wobbly hand shaking his own, and sees the slight tint of pink coloring your cheeks. Was it from the weather or his abrupt approach? He’s not sure. And neither are you.

“Thanks. I— uh, actually noticed you were sitting out here alone. Figured I’d come introduce myself. Since I’m new to this town, I don’t know anyone.” he admits.

Your lips parted as you attentively listened to his every word, arms crossed. You let out a chuckle as he finishes, “To be honest with you, i’m not really familiar with anyone else in this neighborhood— and i’ve lived on this street my whole life.” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you look around at nothing in particular sheepishly.

Your words and quiet laugh only makes his smile bigger. “Yeah? Maybe I could be your first neighbor-friend.” Jeno smirks at you, his hands shifting around in the pockets of his jeans.

The dopamine releasing from your brain causes you to feel giddy and it feels like butterflies are fluttering inside your stomach from excitement and coyness. You’re gushing internally at the fact that God himself has sent you a cute neighbor— one who had the urge to come over and is showing interest in you.

You only know his name and your delusional-self is already mentally planning your future with him.

“I could definitely use a friend.” your smile is genuine as you tell him, showing courtesy to your new neighbor.

You see the smile reach to his eyes again, meeting your gaze before he looks down at his own feet while grinning, making you look away shyly.

God, you felt like a teenager again.

“Do you care if I sit out here with you? I don’t really have anything better to do.” Jeno speaks. He really wants to get to know you and waste no time. You seem very sweet, and like he said, he actually doesn’t have anything better to do. (He still had some unpacking left to do unfortunately, but he needed a damn break.)

You can feel your heart rate increase and a flash of heat hits you at his words, feeling flustered that your peaceful evening has unexpectedly taken a turn.

“Of course! I could use someone to keep me company.” you say, still feeling flushed.

You pushed your rear back onto the truck’s tailgate and Jeno follows suit. He takes a seat next to you, making you hold back a giggle at how the truck lowered for a moment due to the extra weight now added.

“So… you were just out here chilling alone?” he queries with both arms outstretched behind him, leaning back a bit and making himself comfortable.

“I actually came out ‘cause I wanted some ice cream. Now that it’s warmer out again, a truck usually passes by everyday.” you begin to swing your legs like you were earlier as you continued. “I’m grown as hell waiting for the ice cream man by myself. Can you believe that?” you laugh.

Jeno finds your demeanor endearing. How you’re just out here innocently waiting for some ice cream. And the way that you seem like a ball of sunshine. You’re unintentionally stirring his emotions with sudden fondness and attraction towards you.

“Hey, that’s cute. And, now you have company to wait alongside you.” he states, his eyes stuck on you as he spoke.

Your cheeks must’ve been permanently stained pink since he’s made himself known. His natural charm and solely being in the presence of an attractive male has your palms sweaty and senses tingling.

“So why’d you move here?” you attempt to make conversation, trying to push pass the fact that he basically called you cute and is sitting directly next to you.

He inhales some air and huffs it out deeply before speaking. “Parents wanted to settle in a smaller town now that they’re getting older. We lived in the city my whole life, but my parents wanted a change. Plus, my dad runs an auto repair shop, and he had the grand idea of extending his business here, so… yeah.”

“I just graduated college a while ago, too. You’d think that I would have my own place and not be packed up alongside my parents, but i’m trying to figure out what I wanna do. Rent’s too expensive in the city, anyways. I have friends I could’ve moved in with to split rent, but since we all graduated, we all are doing our own things and they have their partners and stuff.” he continued.

“S’ry for rambling. I’m just dumping all this shit on you.” Jeno shakes his head, scoffing at his own rant. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s looking for pity and seem lame.

“Nooo— it’s okay. I asked you a question and you answered it. Sounds like there’s so much change in your life recently. It would only be natural to feel sour or uncertain about your current life. I know it’s probably not ideal, but I hope you adjust well here.” you offer him an empathetic smile, trying to assure him that his feelings are valid.

Jeno looks at you, intrigued and taken aback by your words. He wasn’t expecting you to respond with something that suddenly made his heart stir.

He isn’t one to get sappy or ever seeks for people to comfort him. He wasn’t even asking for sympathy. You were just kind enough to offer him some touching and uplifting words.

The ends of his lips curl at your tenderness. “Wow… do you always say such nice things to people you barely know?” he decides to tease you.

Your face grows hot, laughing nervously as you speak, “What? I’m just telling you what I think.” you pause for a couple seconds before continuing, “Moving can be mentally and physically taxing. Change is never easy. Especially as a young adult, we’re still trying to figure everything out. So I feel for you.”

“There you go again.” Jeno can’t help but smirk, eyes falling to his own lap, hands clasped together.

“You majored in psychology or something? Your words are naturally comforting.” he chuckles.

You scoff at that. “I’m actually in community college— and undecided.”

He hums at your response, finally learning something about you.

“Well, i’m sure you’d be good in any career field. You sound very mature.”

You pursed your lips to the side, feeling flustered at all these small compliments he’s throwing your way. He’s probably just being nice, but he’s probably thinking the same about yourself towards him. Though, you were a very compassionate person. Your words were earnest.

And his own words carried much weight to your brain, especially because it was coming from a man. A very attractive one, at that.

“I dunno, I was just being real.” you brushed his comment off.

“Nah, you’re definitely a smart girl. Come on now.” Jeno tilts his head at you, staring at you attentively.

He’s wondering what goes on in that pretty little head of yours. He has the urge to figure you out. Jeno isn’t stupid and realizes the effect he has on girls merely from his looks. Call him cocky or whatever, but it’s not a secret that girls easily gravitate towards him.

Though, you’re currently bringing him a different vibe. He’s already gathered that you’re sweeter than a Pop-Tart. And a bit bashful.

Girls are usually so quick to be flirty towards him. Not that he doesn’t like that— he actually loves when girls are bold and quick to get things swinging. But you’re offering him something new, even within the couple of minutes you’ve known each other. He’s definitely interested in you.

You can sense his pair of eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Your vision lies straight ahead, trying to remain composed after hearing him compliment you as you stare at the house across from yours. How is this man still talking to your ass? You wondered.

You can’t even come up with a response before your ears pick up on that familiar tune of the ice cream truck, sounding closer and closer every second.

“It’s coming,” you lift yourself off the tailgate, wallet in hand as you approach the end of your driveway towards the road.

Jeno follows your lead and trails behind you, joining you as the truck comes to a halt in seeing you both.

He watches as you greet the driver and look over the menu momentarily, eventually deciding on a regular-sized Italian ice— flavor of your choice.

You then turn to look at Jeno, smile taking over your features charmingly.

“Do you want anything?” you ask him.

Jeno secretly does have a big sweet tooth, so he refuses to pass up on a treat of his own. “Yeah, i’ll have the same as her.” he announces and smiles at the worker.

You fiddle with your wallet, scrambling to fish out a couple dollars while your treats are being prepared. Though, it seems like you’re beat to covering for the both of you, eyes looking up to the sight of Jeno handing the worker some cash.

“I got it.” he says like nothing to you, happily paying the man in the truck.

You’re left confounded, not expecting him to even have his wallet on him.

Your mouth is slightly parted at his sudden act, ponderously putting your money back in your wallet. You can’t even protest as the transaction was already made.

Jeno hands you your treat with a spoon and grabs his own, both of you thanking the driver and walking back to your dad’s tailgate as the ice cream truck drives away, music now growing distant.

“I was gonna pay for us, y’know?” you say as you sit back down, Jeno doing the same.

“It was only a couple bucks. Plus, i’d never let a girl pay.”

You look down at your Italian ice in hand, poking at it with your spoon in other hand.

“Yeah, but we just met. You’re the new neighbor, shouldn’t I be the one treating you?”

“Your company is more than enough.” he simply replies before bringing his spoon to his mouth, head turned in your direction.

His words make your heart begin to thud erratically in your chest, heat rising all-throughout your body, and you’re left tongue-tied.

You’re still twiddling with your semi-frozen treat, mind and body fuzzy. You’re focused on his comment, the fact that he paid, and the innocent moment of you two enjoying ice cream next to each other here— outside your house.

You feel like you’re squirming on the inside, not knowing what to do with Jeno’s kind presence. He’s your neighbor now. How are you supposed to live now that you have an incredibly beautiful and charming man living next door to you?

“You like playing with your food before you eat?”

“Huh? Oh— my bad.” Jeno rips you away from your ruffled thoughts about him, now feeling embarrassed at how your head is already spinning and going dumb from someone you just met.

A nervous chuckle leaves your throat, finally digging for your first bite while Jeno was on his nth spoonful. You pop the spoon filled with ice cream into your mouth, tastebuds absorbing the deliciously creamy and smooth consistency.

“How is it?” he asks, eyeing you as you enjoy your first taste.

“It’s so sweet. Really good.”

“Definitely.” Jeno says, nodding his head in agreement. Though, he’s not sure if he’s referring to the ice cream or you.

You guys finished up your treats and talked about various topics, slowly getting to know each other better. You even started to loosen up a bit more, feeling just a tiny bit more comfortable the more you two conversed.

“You know, I’m a real huge car guy.”

“Really? I’m honestly not surprised.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it seems like every guy these days is a ‘car guy.’” you sneered.

He scoffs after listening to you. “Well, since my dad’s a mechanic, he’s taught me almost everything I need to know about cars. It’s practically in my veins.”

“Trust me, I am practically infatuated with cars. I used to dream of becoming a F1 driver.” he clicks his tongue.

“Woah, what?! So with cars, do you like the mechanics of it all, or do you really just like showing off how fast you can go?” you cock your head at him, asking curiously with a hint of tease in saying the latter.

“Both. I like working hands-on with cars and having the knowledge to perform car maintenance. It also feels personal cause’ since my dad’s a mechanic, he passed down his love for cars to me.”

“I also love the control I can have while driving. It can be exhilarating when you’re going hella fast. Especially when your car’s all nicely polished and sleek— it’s the best.”

“Damn. You really are passionate, huh? That’s actually really dope.”

“I am.” he smirks, amused that you’re interested in hearing about his interests. Like, you actually are having a conversation with him and are seriously listening to him.

Meanwhile, it’s such a breath of fresh air for you to listen to him speak about his passions and have personality to him. He wasn’t dry or giving you half-assed anything— and he was respectful, making you swoon and happy to have met someone like him.

The sun was beginning to set as you two got loss in conversation, the sky painted in a warm hue.

“Let me go throw these away.” you gather your now-empty foam cups and plastic spoons, grabbing them and getting up to throw them in your trash bin.

“Thanks.” Jeno gets up shortly after you do, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I should be the one thanking you— for the ice cream.” you now stand in front of him, arms crossed behind your back with a hand resting over your wrist.

“It was only a couple of bucks, no biggie like I said.” he assures you.

You smile, the apples of your cheeks more prominent as you can’t hold back in how wide it becomes due to his kindness. You stand meekly, figuring that this is the part where you bid one another goodbye and go inside your separate homes.

Although he literally lives next to you and you’d be seeing him frequently, you don’t want your time together to end just yet. He’s pulling you in like a magnet. You’ve felt lonely lately, and Jeno’s company was the best unexpected gift you could ever ask for.

And it seems like he’s thinking the same.

“Hey— I was thinking now would be a perfect time to drive around for a bit. I’ve been stuck at home all day and could go out for a bit. Would you like to come with?”

Your brows lift slightly, caught off guard by his invite. You didn’t expect to spend your evening with a man outside your house, and now, said man is asking you out for a drive.

“Only if you want to, of course. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to or—“

“No!— let’s do it.” you interrupt him, rather eagerly. You stare at him with a twinkle inside your eyes, mirroring Jeno’s own, eyes dreamy as he looks at your figure.

You might be some trouble for him, and you’re definitely feeling the same about him. The magnetism between you two is strong. Each of you look at one another in admiration and thoughts about anything else are practically nonexistent. It was purely curious attraction. Like a moth to a flame.

You’re honestly not sure if it’s the smartest idea to be getting in a vehicle with a guy you haven’t even known for 24 hours. You know your parents would literally be up your ass if they knew, and the anxious side of you is lowkey freaking out internally, already playing out multiple scenarios.

But you oddly trust Jeno. He seems to find solace in your presence. You each agreed that you were friends now. You hardly got out of the house anyways— you definitely needed this. And you’re an adult, so who cares?

“Alirghty then, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, i’m good to go.”

With that, Jeno leads the way into his new property. His left hand digs into his left pocket and pulls out a pair of keys, walking to the driver’s side of what seems to be his car.

The sight of his car definitely confirms that he’s a serious car guy. You’re not too familiar yourself on the technical terms or remember model names, but his car is black, windows were tinted, and it’s glossy. It looked almost brand new, smooth and sexy— dare you say. It suits him well.

He unlocks his car and lets you know you’re able to get in, and so you open the passenger door and seat yourself inside.

A subtle musky fragrance fills your nostrils immediately as you settle in. The interior of his car smells clean and fresh, mellow undertones within the scent. Not strong, but pleasant and fitting.

Jeno also settles in his vehicle, starting up the engine as you each put on your seatbelts.

“Don’t worry. I know I said I like going fast, but I follow the law. It’ll be a nice drive.” Jeno suddenly says, looking over his shoulder as his right hand takes hold of the gear shift. He puts the car in reverse, using his left hand to steer the wheel.

You sit idly as he cranes his neck slightly to look behind, making sure the street is clear as he makes exit from his driveway. He smoothly reverses, and begins to drive down the street.

Your hands are folded in your lap, and you begin to play with them out of suspense from what is to come during this drive with Jeno.

You’re fortunate that your parents are out of town right now, so they don’t really have to question your whereabouts.

Though, you’re thinking about how you’re alone in the car with a guy you just met. It had been so long since you hung out with a male like this. You couldn’t help but already feel some type of way towards Jeno. Your senses heightened within his presence. Maybe it’s because you still don’t really know too much about him, but you also think it’s because his attractiveness daunts you.

Perhaps you’re already developing a crush.

“Got anywhere in particular you wanna go? I don’t really mind; I’ll let you take the reins.” he halts his car at a stop sign, then turns to smile at you.

“Honestly, there’s really not much to do in this town. People usually go goof around the grocery stores for entertainment. That’s how dry it is here.” you tittered.

“Though, there’s a school a few blocks away from our street that I walk to occasionally when I want to clear my mind, and I usually just roam leisurely around there. Since it’s practically right next to a nice neighborhood, lots of people go on walks or bike rides around, and kids play after school hours.” you internally facepalm yourself once you finish talking. He probably is gonna think you’re so lame and that you clearly don’t go out much. A school? Really?

“We can go there. Sounds chill to me, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah! I’m good with that.” you’re relieved to see that he seems on board with your idea. He seemed to be pretty laidback and easygoing, leaving you feeling safe.

You direct him to the location, and he notices that there’s no music currently playing.

“Wanna connect your phone to play some music?”

“Oh no, that’s okay. You can play whatever.” you kindly smile.

“I listen to the same songs practically everyday. It’s getting old. How about you put on something, I could use something new.”

You feel a bit shy in sharing your music taste, but you see that he won’t take no for an answer. You give in and he helps you in connecting to the Bluetooth. A R&B playlist is what you settle for, as most of the songs in your curated playlist were comforting, catchy, and relaxing.

As the music’s going, you feel flushed and can’t reject the smile that creeps on your face as a favorite song of yours comes on. You notice from your peripheral Jeno nodding his head to the beat of the track, making you fix your attention to simply staring out the window to avoid him seeing how blushed and smiley you are.

After just a few minutes, he pulls into the school grounds, parking in the lot and you two unbuckle your seatbelts. There seems to be hardly anyone here. There’s maybe one or two cars parked, but nobody’s inside. There also aren’t any children on the playground or playing basketball like there normally would be. It seems a bit ghostly out.

With you two now sitting in the car in the practically-empty lot, you begin to wonder maybe this really was a dumb idea of yours.

I mean, what are you guys actually going to do?

With you two in this setting, wouldn’t people expect you two to be doing something shady or sketchy? Especially as the sky’s only growing somber by the minute.

“Do you care if I smoke a cig?” Jeno’s question interrupts your overthinking, making you turn, facing him.

“Go ahead.” you give him the green light to do so. It was his car after all.

Internally, you grimaced at now knowing the fact that he’s a smoker. You weren’t a fan of tobacco or nicotine, but if someone wanted to smoke, who were you to stop them?

Jeno rolls the window down halfway and reaches his hand into his door pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He puts the stick in between his mouth, allowing his lips to hold it as he brings the lighter to the end.

He flicks the lighter and the click hits your ears. Your eyes stay hooked on him once you hear it.

Jeno took a few quick breaths to ignite it, and it lit with ease. He sucked and held the smoke in his mouth for a moment, then removed the cigarette from his lips, letting the hot chemicals cool down before releasing a steady stream of smoke into the air towards his lowered window.

He immediately feels the buzz of pleasure from the nicotine rush to his brain. The warm air embraces his lungs like a comforting hug, allowing him to relax after a long day of unpacking.

Meanwhile, you weren’t in favor of cigarettes. You don’t understand the appeal in smoking something that in the end, is probably going to lead you closer to death by shortening your lifespan and bring trouble to your body. The aroma it left was harsh and acrid, and even eye-watering.

Though, even with how strongly you felt about smoking cigarettes, why was Jeno making it seem attractive?

Your attention is captivated on the erotic bittersweetness of the sight next to you. He made it seem so effortless, like it was second nature to him.

He seemed so carefree and rebellious in this moment. He obviously doesn’t give a shit about the consequences. The habit was hazardous, but the youthful, handsome man with strong features smoking in a dark car was glamorous in your perspective.

Jeno has to refrain from grinning as he notices your wonderment. He takes another drag before shooting you a question.

“Have you ever smoked before?”

“Not a cigarette, no.”

He suddenly moves his right hand with cigarette in hold in between you two, towards an empty tray you just now were made aware of. He taps the ash off the cigarette onto the ashtray, and to your surprise, gestures it towards you.

“Wanna try?” his voice husky.

Your mouth falls barely agape, caught off guard by his question.

You have to admit, even though you strayed away from cigarettes due to the long run danger they pose, you can’t help the burning curiosity fueling inside in trying it at least once.

Jeno made it look oddly satisfying, even in the midst of the now tarnished air and molten stench.

One puff wouldn’t kill you.

“Sure.” you reply, eyelids blinking at the stick in between his fingers.

Amusement is written all over Jeno’s face. He had a hunch before you even said anything that you’ve never smoked a cigarette before. You just seemed too sweet for that.

He found it mirthful that you want to try for yourself, and with him. There was something exciting in the fact that he’s about to watch you take your first ever drag. Knowing it was your first, there was a high chance you were going to be appalled by it. But it was going to be fun to watch, almost like he was corrupting your sweetness.

He brings the cigarette towards you and you carefully take it pinched between your thumb and forefinger.

The smoke envelops your nostrils, and you feel clammy all of a sudden with the cigarette in your hold and Jeno focused on you.

You were already overthinking the way you probably looked to him right now, so obviously amateur. And it was going to be humbling when you’re left coughing or can’t do it correctly.

Jeno can practically hear your worrisome thoughts turning, and is quick to kick them to the curb. “You don’t have to do it just because I am.”

“I actually want to try at least once in my life�� for the plot, y’know?” you chuckled.

“Okay then. Just know I won’t tease you. Nobody’s first smoke is perfect.” he simply smiles, immediately bringing you support.

You don’t waste anymore time for the cigarette’s sake and wrap your lips around it, hollowing your cheeks as you take a shallow drag.

Your throat instantly feels irritated and on fire, feeling tight with the smoke you’ve just inhaled. All the toxic chemicals blaze your throat and lungs, leaving a bad taste to your mouth and it feels almost-suffocating.

A couple coughs rip from your throat, and you attempt to cover your mouth with your free hand and turn your form slightly towards the right, trying to shield yourself away Jeno from your embarrassing coughing fit.

You each let out a different curse word due to your actions, making the both of you laugh— of which, lowkey makes your throat feel even worse. Jeno quickly reaches over and removes the cigarette from your hold, dumping the ash on the tray and he keeps it between his fingers as he rummages around his car for a possible drink he may have lying around.

Luckily, he finds an unopened water bottle in his backseat. It unfortunately is room temperature and he doesn’t know how long it’s been in his car, but he doesn’t hesitate in opening it and offering it to you, which you gladly take.

“God! I fucking hated that.” you huff out after taking a few sips, now feeling calm. The ashy taste still was lingering in your mouth, making you slightly frown. The scent of the smog was definitely going to cling to your clothes— thankfully, your parents weren’t going to be home tonight to be greeted by it.

“Everyone’s first cigarette is terrible.” he chuckles before taking another drag, looking graceful and natural in doing so.

You can’t help the ping you feel in your heart from how you two now practically shared an indirect kiss, him choosing to continue smoking the cigarette instead of putting it out. You’re starting to feel hazy.

“I don’t think i’ll be smoking that ever again.” you scoff, taking another sip of water before reaching for and screwing the cap back on, placing it on one of his cup holders.

“That’s good, it doesn’t really suit you.” he says before enveloping his lips around the stick again.

Your eyes squint barely as you feel slightly offended from his comment. After blowing out the smoke, he notices your expression, and adds on to his words.

“You’re too sweet for that.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“You’re a pretty girl with frilly polka dot shorts who waits outside for ice cream and has a sweet nature. You just seem like you don’t do bad stuff like that.”

Warmth climbs from your neck up to your cheeks, not being able to maintain eye contact once ‘pretty girl’ rang in your ears. Pretty girl? Fuck, why would he say that.

“Duality exists. People can have multiple sides to them.” you voiced, trying to dismiss his comment from before off your mind.

Jeno nods his head in agreement, “Can’t argue with that.”

“Smoking isn’t good for you, though. You should stay away from it.” he utters, about to take another hit from his cigarette.

An incredulous expression takes over your face. “Well look who’s talking.” you teased, shaking your head slightly.

He pauses at your words, not being able to help the breathy laugh that escapes his throat.

“Indulging in cigarettes is like a hobby to me. It’s too late for me. I’m locked in for life.” he twirls the cigarette around his fingers, then brings it to his lips once again.

“So then should I stay away from you?” you mindlessly say, making you clutch the bottom frills of your shorts for comfort as you await for his response.

Jeno blows out smoke towards the window and turns to you, your fingers playing with the fabric of your shorts. He can’t help how cute you look in his passenger seat. You look so delicate, even in the dark interior of his car, even in the thick of the secondhand smoke air.

He’s torn between wanting to protect you and wanting to tamper with you. He could get a cavity just by looking at you. You were delightful and so new and sweet to him. You can be timid but you’ve been so open to embracing your new neighbor. You were a ball of sunshine, and he was the kind of guy parents hated just based off his looks alone.

Like you had said, there can be multiple sides to everyone. Just because someone seems to appear one way on the outside, or you base their personality off one side they’ve shown you, doesn’t define their entire persona.

Jeno really wants you two to get close together. Call him desperate, but he can already feel growing chemistry between you two. You barely met, but Jeno can’t help how he’s already so drawn to you.

And he intends to get to know every part of you.

Your fingers continue to fidget with your shorts, thighs pressed together, suddenly feeling small and hyper aware of your own existence within his presence.

“I kinda don’t want you too.”

“I already like you too much, think I could use someone like you in my life.”

Your nervous system is a whirlwind currently, the opposite of calm. Blood rushes to your head in hearing his response, ears becoming warm. A tight-lipped grin stretches across your face while averting your eyes from Jeno.

You can’t help the nervous giggle that comes out of you, unable to contain your emotions. There’s a change in the atmosphere, and it’s not just due to the smoke floating around.

Fuck. You don’t even know what to say to that.

He grins at your figure, his words clearly stirring something inside you. You avoid his gaze, pupils suddenly finding your lap more interesting and easier to look at than to meet his own eyes as you feel bashful.

Your fingers run along the goosebumps that now decorate the bit of exposed skin from your thighs, coy and still unable to think of a response. He makes you feel so silly and dumb, falling for his charisma.

Jeno’s eyes fall into your lap, following your small movements. You were visibly fidgety. He couldn’t help in wanting to reach over and place a hand protectively over your thigh. He then wonders what it would be like to hold your hand, or to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, or to kiss your lips.

He wants to act on instinct. The attraction and desire he has for you is too much for him to bear with you next to him in his car— in an empty parking lot.

He abruptly rolls up his window and reaches for the water bottle you drank out of from the cup holder, opening it and using a tiny bit of water to carefully add it to the ashtray, to stub his cigarette out properly.

You finally look up towards him because of his movements, watching and locking eyes once he’s finished.

“Y/n…” Jeno begins, head cocked slightly to the side, swallowing before continuing. “Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” he practically whispers.

Your heartbeat feels like it pauses and sinks for a moment when you process his words.

Who would’ve guessed you’d be put in this position today?

Jeno’s eyes carry passion and intensity, awaiting for your permission or any answer. He’s craving for your attention, and he can’t deny the carnal desire within him to make each other feel good right now.

“I’d really love to kiss you.” he mumbles, eyes falling to your lips, head still tipped slightly, like a puppy concentrated on you.

The outside world and any miscellaneous thoughts are drowned out by the intention behind his eyes. The tense air and his admirable stare makes you feel a sense of vulnerability. Your own lips are trembling and heart flutters.

You’re lost from his eagerness and interest in you, caught off guard that he felt some attraction towards you while you’ve been trying to ignore how handsome this man was.

It’s been long since you’ve had any ounce of intimacy with another person. Loneliness has consumed you lately. With Jeno showing up in your life out of the blue, confessing that he wants to kiss you even from the little time you’ve known each other, it makes you feel validated and enchanted.

You peer down at the ashtray and center console, being a barrier between the two of you.

It would be slightly discomforting to kiss him over the compartment. But you really did want to kiss him.

Given the fact that you were parked in a parking lot during the late evening, you wondered in the back of your mind secretly of the possibility of him wanting to fuck you. Honestly, you wouldn’t be opposed to that idea in the slightest. A hot guy like Jeno wanting you was generating intense euphoria in your brain.

You were definitely nervous and timorous but fuck, you wanted him to feed your desires and take you heatedly.

“Would the backseat be more comfortable?” you finally manage to speak, viewing him with doe eyes. You knew what you were implying— a bold move for you but you now know that he wants it, too.

Patience never really was your thing.

Jeno’s lips curl upwards, sending you a knowing-look in response to your comment. He gestures with his head to the backseat, “You wanna?”

You merely swallow and nod your head, eventually letting out a faint ‘yes.’

Excitement charges him up in how fast things turned. He opens his own door first, with you following and opening yours a second after, making your way to the backseat on your respective sides.

Frisson is present within the pit of your stomach as you move to the back. Your body hairs are raised due to the tingling sensation rippling all throughout your skin.

You were excited but apprehensive. You were suddenly taking a leap into a new adventure, which was you about to get fucked by your new neighbor in the backseat— in a school parking lot. It was definitely indecent, but lust persisted.

Your pupils flickered around nervously as you each sat in the back, growing sweaty with every second that passes, wondering how this was going to play out.

Jeno takes note of your body language and immediately speaks up. “Are you okay with this? We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t comfortable.”

“I’m okay, just a bit awkward.” you sigh out with a slight laugh.

He smiles and looks down at the decent amount of empty space in between you two.

“C’mere.” he says, signaling towards his lap.

You take a breath as you slip out of your shoes and move closer to him. Jeno stretches his arms out, pulling your weight to seat you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his waist, and your body stills, in disbelief that you’ve found yourself in this foreign position.

Although patience wasn’t your thing, this situation was unfamiliar to you. About to get fucked by someone you barely met was crazy for you. You craved him, but you were also scared something was going to go wrong, whether it was from you or him.

Jeno’s left hand rests on the small of your back, drawing circles with his thumb over the fabric of your t-shirt. His other hand slowly reaches towards the apple of your cheek, rubbing it carefully with the pad of his thumb.

Your tummy flutters wildly from his small touches and the desire emanating from his eyes as he scans you.

“Relax for me, pretty.”

“Can you touch me, hm?”

You don’t verbally respond. You pupils go back and forth between his face and neck as you hook your arms around the thick skin. Your lips parted in being careful with your movements, still in disbelief of this current moment. He called you pretty again.

He smiles at the feeling of your arms around him, and lowers his thumb down your face until it reached your lips, playing with your bottom lip, eyes hooked to something so inviting.

Your own eyes seek his lips, watching the tip of his tongue slip out to give his own a lick, making you force to resist in shifting in his lap out of anticipation or letting out a whimper.

He’s the one to rip the tension by seizing a kiss from you. He gently pulls your face in, and as his lips meet yours, your only focus was on the heat that ignited within you.

The kiss was warm and smokey. It was intense with the way his lips moved jointly with yours.

While you didn’t care for nicotine, the taste of Jeno’s lips was a drug you could see yourself becoming addicted to.

As more seconds pass, the kissing becomes increasingly passionate. You’re practically melting, and it intensifies even more with his scintillating touches.

He protectively keeps a hand around your back, keeping you in place and subtly pushing you in closer towards him. HIs other hand holds your jaw, keeping your face slightly angled and steady.

You can’t help but rub down your clothed crotch against his own, surprising you when your movement draws a deep moan from Jeno, making you quietly gasp.

“Fuck.” he breathes out before he meshes his moist tongue into your hot mouth, making you produce a moan in feeling the wet muscle explore your sensitive erogenous zone.

Your eyes are clenched shut and fingers suddenly find themselves messily fiddling through Jeno’s locks, mind and body lost in the rush of how you’re locked by his lips.

There’s a growing hardness felt through the lightweight material of your shorts. It’s a signal that he wants more, each of your endorphins going nuts by merely making out.

He pulls away from your swollen lips, breathless, hushed gasps filling one another’s ears. Jeno then maneuvers a hand to cradle the back of your head, and brings his face towards your left ear, simultaneously beginning to play with the hem of your shirt.

“Let me take care of you.” his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

His hands redirect to either side of your waist, feeling you up as he brings his face back and scans your face, awaiting for a verbal response.

“Please.” you whisper, warmth spreading across your skin.

“Please what?” he teases.

“Please undress me. Touch me— my body and pussy. Want you to.” you slip out, swallowing your pride. It was a bit embarrassing to say such things aloud in front of your new neighbor, but fuck it. He wanted you equally as bad.

Fully blushed and flushed out, your eyes fall down to stare blankly at his chest. Jeno is filled with amusement though, and hums in satisfaction at your words.

He smoothly reaches for your jaw and tilts it up so that you’re looking at him properly, bringing a buzz to your pussy from his dominance.

“You’re gonna be so good to me, sweet girl.” he says, caressing your face like you’re made of glass.

He brings you in for a couple more deep kisses, savoring how perfect your lips felt and tasted against his own.

He then confirms again with a nod if you’re okay to proceed further, to which you nod back, allowing him to remove your shirt. He also helps you shimmy out of those cutesy shorts of yours, tossing the clothes somewhere up front.

Although you still have your undergarments on and you agreed to do this, you feel so exposed and vulnerable now. Jeno was still fully clothed while he began to fiddle with your bra strap, which made this feel unfair.

“Let me take off your shirt.” you whined and batted your lashes at Jeno, causing him to halt his attempt in wanting to remove your bra next.

He can’t help but smile as you grab onto his flannel shirt, waiting for him to give you the signal to remove it. You were so fucking cute.

“My bad, pretty. I’m all yours.” he kissed your cheek before allowing you to do so, which made you burn inside with all kinds of sensual emotions.

He watched you in awe as you shakily started to undo all his buttons, entertained in seeing the curiosity behind your eyes of unveiling what lies beneath the fabric.

With his shirt now open, he fully removed it himself by pulling off the sleeves and threw it in the growing pile up front, leaving his entire torso bare.

Now uncovered, you can’t help the admiration beholding your eyes as you view his exposed skin.

It shouldn’t have been such a shocker that a handsome face like his had the perfect body to match: hard chest, sculpted abs, and lean waist that contrasted from his broad shoulders.

You really lucked out.

“Like what you see?” Jeno can’t help but snicker, aware that he had this effect on people. You just boosted his ego even more.

You can’t help but giggle at the cliche line, eyes timidly flying away from his torso. Unfortunately he doesn’t get a verbal response from you, but he knows how you feel inside.

“For the record… I definitely like what I see.” he traces the edges of your body, appreciating your skin and details.

Your eyes redirect to his face, watching him eye you hungrily, his fingers beginning to delicately feather over the lace detailing of your bra. Your breathing slows, air tense with you seated over him and his vision glued heartily on you.

His eyes find yours with his fingers still over your bra. You pump your chest out a bit, gesturing to him that you want things to proceed and to remove the rest of your garments.

He immediately leads his hands to your back, unhooking your lacy bra. Your mounds spill out as he removes it and tosses it to the side, the sight making his cock so pumped, full of blood.

“Beautiful girl.” he mumbles, then latches his mouth onto the underside of your ear, making you angle your face to give him better access.

The open-mouth kisses he leaves activates the nerves around your neck. It tickles for a second, but he hits that sweet spot of yours, making you melt.

You’d give into any demand of his with the way his warm lips suck and nibble over your delicate skin. You grind down into him, arms hooked around his neck, clutching for security or else you’d probably melt away.

Your sex only covered by thin panties rutting against his cock straining through his jeans has him groaning into your neck. He zealously continues to suck on your neck, adding gentle bites and hot licks in between, making you arch your neck to the front and moan out of pure bliss. You secretly hope he’d leave a mark or two, so you’d have a visual reminder of this heated night for a few days.

His kisses meander to your throat and chest, tongue sliding out to trace all around one of your areolas, lips then enfolding over the nipple.

Squeals of delight reign free from your throat at Jeno’s foreplay, continuing while he engulfs and sucks both your firm nipples.

“You sound so pretty for me, girly.” he rasps out, dragging his lips over your fleshy, supple breasts.

The nickname sends lightning straight to your core, making you whimper in neediness.

Jeno ends the fun with enjoying your tits to start the pleasure awaiting for him from your cunt.

His left hand holds you while his right hand travels down your tummy, until it reaches the bit of skin below your navel.

There’s a dark appetite visible in his orbs. He looks at you for any sign of uneasiness while his hand goes down. Your breath only hitches, pussy tingling with a quiet gasp from your mouth once his fingers rubbed down to your panty-covered cunt.

It’s so damp and warm down here, he thinks to himself.

“So horny, aren’t we now?”

The way he talks to you alone makes you ignite within.

He decides to pull your underwear to the side, his fingers now coming in full, bare contact with the outside of your pussy.

You’re practically holding your breath at this point, waiting for him to play with you, anticipating the feeling.

“Me too.” he utters, answering his own rhetorical question before he starts running his fingers slowly around your clit.

His touch on your swelling bud causes another hushed gasp to come from you. He’s beyond pleased by listening to all the noises your voice produces due to his sultry touches.

His finger tips slid over your clit and then inched down, feeling the outside of your sex and letting you grow accustomed to his touch.

He ends up sliding one finger up your hole, leaving your mouth ajar and body to quiver from him inserting it in.

Jeno’s tongue licks around his teeth while he fingers you, your walls so tight around his finger.

“Relax for me, hm?” he leans in to kiss you, easing your body to the feeling.

His lips continuously colliding with your own makes you lost for a moment, body fuzzy and loosened up until he decides to squeeze in another finger.

The jolt of pressure wrenched a moan out of you, making Jeno draw back to bite his lip and laugh quietly. It was such a turn on for him to listen and see the beautiful noises and faces you make— and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

He was prepping your pussy for his own length, already salivating in thinking of you taking him whole.

His long, thick fingers curl into a ‘hook’ motion, causing your legs to shake in lust and a shiver runs inside your core that tingled.

“Mhmmm…” you mewled, starting to subconsciously grind and meet the movements of his fingers toying with your moist and velvety sex.

Watching your responses to his movements feels so good to Jeno. He can feel you start to clamp around his digits, making his own mouth open and turn into a smirk. His cock is painfully hard, begging to be free and feel that clamping sensation that his own fingers do. He really hates to rip you from nearing your climax, but he’d rather you both cum together, your body underneath his.

With that, he halts his movements and removes his fingers. A broken whine rips from your throat at the feeling of him leaving your needy cunt. You could practically cry. Desperation clouded over you.

Jeno quickly quiets you down with now inserting those sticky fingers of his inside your mouth, causing you to hum around his digits, eyes wide and then closed shut.

The fullness and heaviness from his fingers and your own essence weighing over your tongue has your pussy clenching over nothing. You eagerly suck your wetness from his fingers, not bothered that he was just in you. This was all so racy.

“Such a good girl for me— fuck.” he groans, watching you suck his fingers in, your teeth faintly raking over them, cock twitching at how dirty this sweet girl was.

“Gonna make you cum from my cock, don’t worry.”

He removes his fingers from your mouth, pulling you off his lap, motioning you to lay back down.

Your heart rate picks up as you carefully lie over his backseat. He traces the delicate curves of your hips and finds his way to the band of your underwear, you each sharing a nod of consent for him to remove them.

He tugs them down and off, tossing them and he gets you to pull your knees up, allowing more room for Jeno within this limited space.

He mentally whistles at the sight of your princess parts and the position you’re in, waiting for him to take you in the back of his car.

He doesn’t waste anymore time and hastily gets rid of his confining jeans and briefs, his cock immediately standing proudly once his underwear is pulled off.

The sight of his big and thick, towering manhood has your breath stuck in your throat.

While he moves and reaches over to dig for a condom in his glove compartment, your palms become sweaty in the thought of him squeezing his length inside you.

He looked absolutely delicious, but you weren’t sure if you could handle someone as big as him.

Jeno finds a condom, ripping the plastic open with his teeth and flings the wrapper out of sight. He stretches the rubber over his length, precum already leaking from his tip.

As he inches towards you, you can’t help but voice your concern.

“Will it fit? you shakily breathed.

Jeno can’t help but tilt his head, staring at you intently. His lips can’t help but curl, offering you a reassuring smile.

His lips suddenly find themselves over your knees, pressing a gentle kiss over both of them, making your heart pump with fondness.

“We will make it fit.”

“Let me know if it hurts, okay? Don’t want you in pain, pretty.”

“Okay.” is all you say, still sweaty, but ready for him to enter you, core aching to be touched again.

He massages the inside of your thighs with care, trying to ease you up some more. He grabs his length and rubs it along your folds— especially dragging the tip past your clit, making you moan at the sensation.

He finally takes it upon him to prudently push his cock into your entrance, his mouth open while he starts to stretch you out.

Your legs immediately hook around him and rest on his lower back, meanwhile your arms decide to cling onto his beefy biceps for support. You cry out a moan from the pressure.

“It’s okay, girly, I got you.”

“You’re safe with me. Gonna take care of you.” Jeno’s breath fans over your face before he captures your lips with his. His hips slowly begin to roll as you kissed him back with enthusiasm, a burst of adrenaline racing through your bloodstream.

Your walls practically swallowed him, cock fitting so snug inside you. His left hand brushed into your hair, running his fingers loosely around your locks, making you relax from his touch.

“God! You— you’re so big.” you blatantly puffed out, starting to feel his thick cock brush past your walls.

“Yeah? You can take it, pretty— right?” the blood in Jeno’s body starts to boil due to the warmth encompassing his length, and from the sense of pride filling him from your reaction to his size.

He begins to start a steady pace with his hip movements, sliding his cock in and out— not all the way, but enough to stimulate your sensitive walls.

He falls into a natural pattern as your body accepts him well. Your vision darts upwards towards the roof of the car, beginning to lose yourself to his fat cock.

Though it quickly lowers again when his head dips into your right breast, tongue slipping out and starting to twist around your erect nipple.

A mewl jumps out of you, hands redirecting to his muscular back with your nails pressing tightly into his skin.

“C’mon, talk to me.” Jeno rasps, making brief eye contact with you for a second before he briskly attacks your entire right breast with his mouth. He ferociously makes out with your mound and marks you, painting you with reddish-purple splotches and leaving the flesh sheening in spit.

His hunger for attention and to get you both off is ardent. Every other thrust into you is rigid. He was pacing himself at first to start off, but now his rhythm increases to fuck you hard and his length travels into you deep. He has no intention in holding back his horniness.

Lack of words from you aside from the whimpers and moans has him moving a hand to touch and toy with your clit. His calloused fingers alternate between softly pinching and sliding his fingers in a back-and-forth motion along the puffy bud.

“Oh— God! Jeno!” the attentiveness he shows to your aching clit while ramming into you has you scream his name. It has you automatically canting your hips up to meet his thrusts into you.

Your reactions and hearing his name from your voice drives Jeno wild. Breathy grunts leave his mouth, hips continuing in chasing both of your highs.

The current setting and moment is electrifying. Fucking in the car in a school parking lot was obscene and limited compared to bed space, but it was still extremely mind-numbing and euphoric sex.

Your frame caged under Jeno’s ripped body is like a dream. You felt so helpless in this position, but couldn’t possibly wish for him to stop. It was so hot seeing and feeling his figure fuck you into oblivion.

Your body rocking over the leather car seats only amplifies your feeling of sensitivity and arousal. God, how amazing it felt for Jeno to be pleasing you in this way was. You can’t even imagine how good it would be to fuck in other ways— in other places, with him.

His relentless efforts has your mouth stuck open. The arousement increases the amount of saliva within your mouth. Surprise catches you when some of it seeps out the corner of your mouth.

Your tongue lolls out in attempt to catch the drool before it fully falls, failing miserably as it rapidly trickles down from the corner, to your chin. Quickly, you wipe it off messily and then place your hand back over his skin, but it’s obvious that Jeno sees what just happened, as he’s right over you— much to your embarrassment.

Though, his cock surges in amusement, and so does his other head. You were literally drooling over his cock. How fucking sexy was that? Wonder how’d you look on your knees giving him the messiest head. Oh how he hopes to have that thought come to life one day.

“Mhm. So hot— fucking my cute, pretty neighbor. You like that too, hm? You like the feeling of your big neighbor on top and inside of you?” he teases you, watching your pretty figure being ruined beautifully by him. His filthy words mix with his dirty, animalistic movements.

“Feels so full and good, Jeno!” you choke out. You’re blissed out, feeling like the band in your core may snap soon.

There you go saying his name again, making Jeno groan repeatedly in ecstasy, dragging his cock deep into you, his weighty sack occasionally slapping against your bottom.

“Yeah? So full of me, pretty.”

“Taking me so well, like a good girl.”

Heat swells in your cheeks from his comments and the hot temperature and pressure felt as he fucks you. As much as you savor it, it’s becoming too much. The finish line is coming close to being ripped apart.

The thrill in the pit of your stomach has it churning. His long, deep strokes, each of your various moans bouncing off the tinted windows, his gruffly voice, and his finger-work over your sensitive bud— it’s all captivating you to feel an abundance of dopamine rush.

A shiver in your core tingles consistently. You’re beginning to lose control. It’s like you’re stoned and can’t focus on anything aside from the intensity of that tingly pressure present within you.

“Gonna cum, Jeno.” your voice cracked while your muscles tightened.

“Fuck,” he hisses at the tight grip of your walls swallowing him from the tip to base.

Your eyes rolled back behind your trembling lashes, and he watches with a keen stare and relishes in your smutty sounds. It all only encourages him to keep persisting to reach the peak.

And then, you finally break.

Your fluid expels from your pussy, lubricating your walls and leaving you a whimpering, wet mess.

Jeno pushes through your spasming, feeling the warmth spreading in your heated cunt through his condom. His own muscles can’t resist in clenching hard. He pushed you over the edge and possessed your mind and body with euphoria.

It’s practically heaven. His balls tighten and eyebrows push together with hips starting to slow down as strings of cum begin to fill his condom. It’s so relieving that a few guttural moans come out from his throat.

His hot seed falling into the condom is so fulfilling, sack emptied. All this activity has left him sweaty all over and mouth dry. His chest continues to heave and he carefully pulls out of you.

You shake and shiver now that the tension is dying down, and your muscles try to relax after the satisfying orgasm.

Jeno is quick to remove his used condom and tie it, abandoning it in a random spot in the car. He’ll of course, clean his car later.

He reaches towards the front of the car to search for his shirt, and then edges back to you.

“Hey, you were amazing, sweet girl. Let me help you.” Jeno spoke softly to you while the back of his fingers stroke one of your shaky thighs.

He began to use his shirt as a rag for any wetness seeping out and around the outside of your cunt.

You couldn’t help but flush at the aftercare he shows you, even while in a car and not hesitating to sacrifice his shirt to wipe your spills. Seems like chivalry isn’t dead after all.

“Thank you.” you say to him when he’s finished.

He just smiles at you, eyes crinkling as he sticks out a hand for you to grab, and helps you sit up next to him.

Still both fully naked, you still feel flushed and exposed now that the sex was over. Your breasts hanging out and his cock lying limp over his thigh was too hard to ignore. Jeno notices, and quickly gathers your t-shirt for you and his briefs for him, making you thank him once again.

You don’t know what to say now and he doesn’t know what to do. It’s obvious now that you two have an attraction to one another. But, where do you two go from here? Will this be a one time thing? Or maybe a friends-with-benefits type of deal? Guess you didn’t need a label right away, you barely know him. But you know you needed more of him, in any way— sexual or not.

In the midst of each of your silence, Jeno decides to reach for your hand, clasping his fingers with your own under his. He gently squeezes your hand, causing your own legs to squeeze together, beginning to feel a sense of giddiness inside.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, thumb beginning to soothe you as he drags it back and forth the side of your hand.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” the words leap out of you, making you cringe as soon as they come out.

Mortification washes over you. Why the fuck would you ask that? What are you even implying?

Your sudden question makes him chuckle and grin, especially now that you already fucked. You guys are just now having this conversation.

“No Y/n, I don’t. I’m one-hundred percent single.” he smirks at you, thumb still tracing your skin.

His answer is pleasing to your ears. You try not to show how obviously happy you are with that. A faint smile is all you allow yourself to show.

“You don’t have a boyfriend now, do you?” he tilts his head at you, eyes playful.

“I don’t.” you spoke softly.

Just like you, Jeno finds himself content with your answer.

“Good girl.”

ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+ ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ .  #  ۫  ,  ⸺  A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA  !  

summary :: mike schmidt did not realize the weight of his mistake before it was too late. when he had first met you, his baby sister's beloved teacher, he couldn't imagine ever leaving you. with his aunt's demands to see her niece, however, he had no choice. now, a year later and two states over, everyday is spent suffocating on misery and memories. mike does not know how much more of this he can endure before he breaks.

word count :: 9.2k.

content warnings :: obsessive!mike, yandere!mike, fnaf movie spoilers, drugging, kidnapping, violence, stalking, & insinuations of s3x.

mike schmidt's yandere traits are . . .

obsessive, paranoid, & nervous

──── Everything is hazy.

Fuzzy. Blurry. Serenity in its sheerest form. The absolute definition of tranquility.

That April morning in Nebraska. The scent of sugar and crayons, the sounds of children playing outside, the scattered toys left on rainbow carpets. You're sat at the desk in your classroom. Warm light bleeding through the window behind you, framing you with flowering leaves and sunshine.

Across the room, Abby Schmidt sits on the floor. Her small fingers tap the glass enclosure where the class pet is. Mr. Cupcake, your iguana. Or, as you like to refer to him, your teaching assistant. His claws plunge into his food dish, copper-colored eyes scrutinizing his surroundings. Abby watches as the reptile chows on the fruit and foliage left for breakfast.

Sitting in the chair opposite your desk is Mike Schmidt. Sweat beads on his forehead, ineluctably distressed beneath your gaze. The suit he wore for this occasion juts uncomfortably into his skin. His fingers fidget with the trim of his tie. He looks at the woven basket of exotic butters sitting on your desk, wondering why he had gotten you such an aimless gift.

Mike is quiet, as usual. Austere, his permanent disposition. Despite his tireless efforts to express his thoughts to you, the words remain nestled in his throat. Conjuring any syllable in your presence is impossible.

You, however, do not have any wavering confidence. You reiterate the legal documents obligatory for Abby's complete transition to a new school. Noting how all necessities are now in your possession (albeit languidly, as Mike has been painfully trying to buy more time here), the relocation was complete. The obvious insinuation of your words, however, brings crippling dread like no other.

The last time you would ever see one another. Your goodbye.

Standing to your feet, you make your way to Abby and bend down beside her. You will miss your star student, as you have a soft spot for all the children in your classroom. In the process, you do not take notice of the way Mike instinctively reaches out to you. He's sure your touch would kill him, but it does not stop him from wishing for it. Even just a sliver of the precious rarity.

"I think Mr. Cupcake is going to miss you." Abby looks at you with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't tell the others, but you're definitely his favorite." That earns you a smile before she averts her attention back to the iguana.

When you stand, you find Mike breathing down your neck. Horrifically, as this memory still haunts him, he thought it'd be a good idea to hug you. And he practically throws his entire body weight on top of you. When you reject him by placing your hand on his chest, offering a handshake instead, fire spreads with your touch. Knowing he will never know what it feels like to hold you close to him is more excruciating than he is willing to admit.

Abby skips out of the classroom, an adorable pep in her step. At the same time, every step Mike takes from you feels like walking through an avalanche. Dragging him backward, begging to return to you. Almost as if it were his instinct, his body is trying to reject his advances of leaving you.

"Why do you always look at them like that? Like... Like they're a dinosaur or something?"

Abby's question causes Mike's brows to furrow. His feelings for you were certainly discernible. Even his young sister had taken notice of the odd behavior. Had he made it that obvious? He answers her with a weak, affirmative grunt. Too emotionally fatigued to find words to speak.

A sudden flare of biliousness deluges through his body. The hallway walls adorned with children's paintings have morphed into a colorful blur of vertigo. The floors disturbingly stretch in size, making the journey away from you all the more torturous. The suit he had tried to wear confidently sticks to his hot skin. Nausea squirms in his stomach like a dying cockroach. The room begins to spin, lights sway in his vision, and his knees fight for balance.

Mike hears his sister shriek his name before he falls to the ground.

One year later, Mike wakes from this same dream, once again.

Every night of this past year, he has dreamt the same thing. Your final goodbye and the sheer impact it took on him. It is a gut-wrenching memory, but he welcomes the echo of you with open arms. To feel your hand on his chest, see your eyes looking into his. This yearning heartache is the only thing keeping him alive.

For the umpteenth time, Mike faces the harsh, violent reality of his current life. Now, he is somewhere in Utah. Praying straight to God he'll somehow wake up back in Nebraska. Where he could see you again, where he could be happy again.

Tearing the headphones of his Walkman off, the song he had played on repeat comes to an end. He rubs his sleepy eyes. With newfound clarity, Mike shifts his gaze upwards. Taped to the ceiling is a drawing Abby drew. It's of you and him beneath a flowery altar, Mr. Cupcake as your marriage officiant. The picture aids him in his efforts to feel closer to you.

Mike doesn't even know how he survived seeing the drawing for the first time. Someone else validating his feelings for you and the realness of your nonexistent relationship was too much for him to handle. Even if it is a child doing so through a frivolous drawing.

When Mike shuffles over to place his Walkman on the bedside table, he skims over the assortment of clutter left there. Several bottles of sleeping medication had been indolently thrown onto the surface. The pills help his dreams feel more real, as though he were at your side once again.

A glance over, Mike's heart wrenches at the sight of the picture frame. Beside the mess of pills is a photograph of you he had torn from Abby's yearbook. As if you were watching over him while he slept, reaching out to him in the presence of his dreams. It's a comforting thought of his, to imagine you watching over him. Like his personal guardian angel.

Surely, he would prefer to have you physically with him, instead of just relying on these fantasies to hold him over. His stomach flutters at the mere idea of you being in his bed with him. Mike feels empty without your warm weight beside him.

Laying against his chest, huddling up to him for an early-morning cuddle before the day starts. He would ensnare his blanket around your still-sleeping form. He'd press ardent kisses to the top of your head and inhale the aromatic scent of your signature soap. Massaging his hands across your back. Caressing the balmy flesh of your body. It is the physical manifestation of nirvana brought directly into his palms.

Mike shakes the thoughts out as quickly as they come. So cheesy... What on Earth is he doing?

Although he has tossed around the idea of giving in and leaving Abby in their aunt's care, what kind of man would you think him as if he abandoned his family? And if he were to take Abby back to Nebraska, Social Services would surely hunt him down. The mere idea of being locked behind a prison cell is terrifying, but the prospect of never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

Mike's head pounds as these thoughts haunt him. Reveries of brighter days in your presence, trepidation of being separate from you forever — this is how every morning usually begins. His dreams nestled in a nightmare. The chaos in his head brings him to where this story had begun altogether.

February. Two months before the last time he would ever see you.

Jane had demanded Abby live with her in Utah, threatening legal action in the process. Mike had no other choice but to succumb to her orders. It had begun as a minor inconvenience, considering his life in Nebraska was futile to begin with. However, it would soon become the worst decision he has ever made. He knows he should have fought harder, but Mike hadn't met you until after he verified their relocation. It wasn't until he had stepped foot into your classroom for the very first time had he realized the weight of his mistake.

With the start of his shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza approaching, he struggled to bring these rampant thoughts to rest. Resentfully, Mike rises from his bed. The sun has begun to set and his unsatisfactory power nap has come to an end. He trudges over to the foot of his bed and begins his usual set of push-ups. Triggering adrenaline through his body is essential to his daily routine. It helps ease his brain from all the chaos. An area he is in dire need of assistance.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank. It is such an oddity, that Mike is left stunned. Having a silent mind is a privilege that is unknown to him.

And just when he thought he had found coherence, the memory of you comes sprinting at him from the shadows. Mere seconds of emptiness pass before thoughts of you invade his mind.

A week after your final goodbye.

His disposition has suffered from a harsh descent since then. Mike is now irritable and aggressive to anyone who even faintly nudges his buttons. Snapping like a feral dog. Rough like a calloused hand.

Acknowledging weakness has never been his strong suit, but Mike is not a fool when it comes to how he feels around you. The overwhelming nerves stirred together with unwavering devotion make for a sugary-sweet, poisonous concoction. Something he could get drunk off for years to come.

Although his mind is stained in consideration, he cannot storm through the school doors and take you with him to Utah. Merely standing in your presence is enough to make him stop breathing. Contriving an abduction, one that includes you, no less, would fail miserably. And as he stated before, the prospect of being stuck behind bars and never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

So, he gives in. He resentfully gives in to what his Aunt Jane wants and goes about his life.

There was only two more weeks before he'd leave his job as security at the mall forever. Mike meanders through the large expanse, actively averting his gaze from all the happy couples. Hands held together, eyes brimming with adoration, feeding each other ice cream. It never fails to make him bitter, which he prefers to assume it is because of how sappy the sight is.

He wonders what flavor of ice cream is your favorite, the look in your eye as he feeds you a spoonful. What kind of sweet words you'd give him and the way you'd blush when he drowns you in adoration. Within the safety of his mind, he has molded himself into the man of your dreams. You will just have to look past all the sweat and nerves to find him.

A flicker of movement captures his attention. Something strangely familiar in his peripheral. When he turns, his breath gets caught in his chest.

His wide eyes stare at you. Standing alone across the mall.

All Mike can do is gawk. Like a newly-born fawn, staring goggle-eyed and weak-kneed as he takes in the sight of the world for the very first time. A gasp of your name parts from his lips. He sways in his stance like a boat on the sea, his body melts like snow beneath the sunlight. Stood still in place, he feels that familiar sense of light-headedness return. He embraces the dizziness as a comfort, this time around.

Mike could almost laugh at this. At the same time, he could cry his heart out.

Of course, your roads would intersect. Of course, you would find each other in the end. Even when he had fully accepted he would never see you again, you return to him. Like a cloud of happier days, here to hide the torment for all.

And then, he's interrupted.

Walking uninvited into the scene is a stranger. A man approaches you, daring to drape his arm around your shoulder. Mike's eye twitches as he watches. The stranger then plants a kiss on your cheek, something Mike has wished to do since the first time he stepped foot in your classroom. With this man's hands all over you, the two of you begin to walk away.

The word "heartbroken" was something Mike had never felt before. It was something he never understood. He only heard of the word through brainless movies, where he swore he'd never let himself fall apart like the dumb characters do. At this moment, however, that term is stamped all over him in thick ink. A vivid exhibition of all the good and bad you have done to him.

Without another thought, Mike takes a step. Then another. Before he is breaking into a full sprint toward the love of his life and the parasite latched onto them. It's as if a puppeteer was controlling him, grasping hold of his spine and snatching a fistful of nerves. He shoves past any shoppers in his way, a few losing balance and falling to the floor. His speed accelerates with every hastening step, growing closer and closer.

The stranger looks over his shoulder a second too late before he is tackled. The two fall into an adjacent fountain with a loud clamor. Mike's fist clenches, before it surges down into his face. Then, he does it again and again and again.

Again. Again. Again.

And again.

Grunting like an animal, Mike can't stop himself.

Fuck you. Fuck you. 

Fuck you.

Don't you ever fucking touch them.

It is blinding, how enraged he is. In a mess of blood and water. The mere thought of someone laying a finger on you boils red-hot rage like he has never felt before.

Someone ensnares their arms around him and drags him away from the mess he created. When the splashing water eases down to calm ripples, he finally looks over to you to ensure your safety and- who is that? A different person is standing there, utter horror plastered on their face as they watch the scene play out.

They have the same height, the same clothes, almost the same everything. But, now that Mike is able to scrutinize who he thought to be you, he realizes he was completely wrong. He had only formed a desperate personification of you from memory. What has he done?

The dread is soul-crushing as the weight of his mistake crushes him. Other bystanders watch in shock. Mike's fists are bruised red, his clothes are wet and stained with blood. What on Earth was he thinking!? All he ever wanted was to protect you! To protect you from men like that!

Mike's vision doubles and his body shivers. All he ever wanted was to protect you. The only thing he can think about is you and the sheer devastation you have rained down into his life.

This memory playing through his head is abruptly cut short. Mike is then forcefully shoved back into reality when his hand slips during his set of push-ups. He falls face-first into the carpet, grumbling from the harsh contact.

It is a vile memory to have, as it is the reason he lost his job at the mall and truly eradicated any chance of staying in Nebraska. However, it showed him how irrevocably devoted he is to you. How the feelings he has for you are completely and utterly real. Someone like him, who prides himself in being aloof and controlled, was capable of causing such calamity. All for your safety.

It was a terrifying revelation, but it soothed him in a way he had never felt before.

Michael Schmidt needs you.

And unfortunately, his feelings are not powerful enough to stretch into physical reality. Even though it feels as though they are capable of doing so, they cannot mold the world to bring him back to you. They cannot protect him from the inevitability of leaving his home and being dragged to Utah.

Now, he stands at the entrance of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Ivy grows amongst the bricked walls. Bright paint fades from years of neglect. Mike breathes in the scent of midnight brume as he unlocks the doors, trying once more to rid his brain of the thought of you.

The flashlight in his hands illuminates the inside of the pizzeria. Specks of dust permeate the air. Flashy arcade games are riddled with age. Toys on the prize shelf are covered in a blanket of cobwebs. The once gaudy carpets are caked with dirt. And those God-awful animatronics still stand on that rickety stage. Mike takes note of all these little things with a sigh. If this place was still alive today, he knows you'd adore taking your students here.

As his nights have been spent for the last year, he walks through the dilapidated establishment as usual. On the desk is a stack of chunky monitors displaying several angles of the pizzeria. The "CELEBRATE!" poster on the wall mocks him. He plops down on the adjacent swivel chair. The old fabric peels and the wheels whine from his weight.

Unzipping his ragged backpack, he grasps hold of the book he had taken with him, Dream Theory. Adjusting the headphones of his Walkman on his head, Mike then flicks the dog-ear over and resumes his reading.

God only knows how many times he has read this damned book. And every time he rereads it, he prays he can somehow find an anecdote for this torment. A magic step-by-step guide that will bring him back to you.

Despite perusing this book from front to back, he still searches for more. He hates being awake. He'd much rather be asleep, where he can return to you. Any second not spent with you, even if the moment is not tangible, is a second gone to waste. No matter what the circumstances are, he could only ever wish to be with you.

Lethargy hits Mike like a slap across the face. The book in his hands is now reminiscent of a brick. The song that plays on repeat in his Walkman soothes him like a mother's lullaby. All of these sensations embrace Mike; they pacify his brain and body of any unease. And with a few more leveled breaths, Dream Theory falls from his hands and he drifts off.

With a beat, he's woken up with a sharp gasp. This time, however, he does not awaken in the same dingy pizzeria. He finds himself sitting at a picnic table. Located in the very same forest he had lost his brother years ago.

Looking down, Mike finds he is dressed in the same hunter-green sweater and jeans stained with grass. His eyes scan around the expanse, searching for the faces of his family. He cannot find his mother, his father, nor Garrett. No one. Everything is to no avail.

There's a shuffle from behind him. He looks, only to find swaying trees and fluttering birds. And then, a voice.

"I'm sad to see you both go." The familiar cadence has Mike's head snapping back forward. He is struck with desperation.

There you are, sat across from him at the picnic table.

If it weren't for the campgrounds you were both at, this moment would be identical to when he first met you. In that same classroom, on that same day. Every mannerism and timbre of your voice is a picture-perfect copy of that moment. Same look in your eye, wearing the same clothes and bead bracelets your students made for you. Same everything.

It is a precious memory. To sit here with you feels so real, as though the heavens had answered Mike's prayers and brought him back to you.

"Abigail has always been a stellar student. I have no doubt she'll flourish in her new school."

Your smile makes his heart sink. Everyone always looks at him with anger. Not you, though. You're different.

"She does have a tendency to keep to herself. But, I think she'll adapt well to the new environment." He remembers every word from your mouth.

The emotions he was struck with when he first met you come back in a near-fatal rush. Irrepressible tension and rapture plunge through the barrier of his flesh. Practically a duplicate of the exact memory.

Going to a standard school meeting for his sister was an event Mike intended to do briefly. Getting it over as quickly as possible is his standard approach to most if not all, aspects of his life. This day, however, he was thrown in a whirlpool when he found himself wishing to stay with you. Leaving you felt like something he could not bear to endure.

Mike is abnormally pale, drenched in sweat, and mere seconds from passing out. You place your hand on his arm, inquiring him about if he was feeling alright. Hook, line, and sinker. Your mere touch sent him charging away from any perceived sanity he once possessed.

The strictly platonic concern you had for his well-being is addicting. To a point where Mike abandons all morals to indulge in these newfound feelings you give him. Once a poised man has now been reduced to a gooey puddle of sheer fervor.

All he can do is nod in response, completely entranced by the sight before him. You take his assurance hesitantly, before reaching into a basket of children's toys beside your desk. As this memory usually plays out, you retrieve a bear plushie. You then tell him of how it is Abby's favorite to play with and how you wish to gift it to her before your final goodbye. He agrees, of course. Nodding once more to compensate for his inability to speak.

In these woods, however, you show him that orange toy plane his brother treasured. His gaze remains latched to you as stand from the picnic table and walk away. To his utmost surprise, you then bend down beside Garrett. When you present him with the plane, he accepts your gift with childlike elation. He is quick to abandon his recent endeavors in favor of playing with his new toy.

You stand on foot, watching with an adoring smile as the young boy takes off. Mike watches you. An emotional, muddled intensity in his eyes.

"This isn't... This isn't how it happened... This isn't real." In his state of confusion, Mike has found the ability to speak.

He captures your attention and your gaze reverts to him. In response, his mouth goes dry and all coherent thought vanishes. Just one look from you and his entire capacity to speak is robbed, once again.

"But, it could be... It's what you want, isn't it?"

You are correct. You have always been veracious and that attitude does not fail now.

So despairingly, Mike wants this with you. To raise Abby and Garrett together, he can only imagine the wonderful people they'd become under your care. Maybe you and him could even bring a few more beautiful lives into this world. He can only imagine how exultant his own life would become if this dream turned into reality.

The rest of his life would be spent with you in Nebraska, just like this. Mornings and nights spent together at the dining table, all delicious laughter and nourishing meals. He'll even let you bring that lizard, too!

Playing frivolous games in the backyard until the sun sets, dressing in ridiculous costumes to take the kids trick-or-treating, and helping them blow out the candles for every birthday cake. Hell, he'll endure the sweltering temperatures and screaming kids at Disneyland. Only if you're there with him.

And maybe after the bedtime stories and last tuck-ins goodnight, you and him can occupy yourselves with other activities. Mike is no stranger to these kinds of fantasies, after all.

You wouldn't fail Abby and Garrett. Not like he did. You could all be a family. Exactly like he has always wanted.

For a moment, Mike had forgotten how his life had inevitably turned out. He was so warped in the domestic bliss he could have with you, that he didn't anticipate how the next chapter of his life would manifest in this dream.

You are tackled to the ground. You fight, you kick, you scream — you do everything in your strength to get the man off of you. The very same man who took Garrett all those years ago.

Not a picosecond passes before Mike picks himself up, rushing to your safety. He intends to beat the man to a bloody pulp. His sole purpose on Earth is to protect you and ensure your safety, after all. In his efforts, his foot gets caught against the legs of the picnic table, sending him to the dirt floor. Mike is quick to scramble to his feet. His heart races a mile a minute; his eyes are blown wide in crazed worry.

When he stands, he finds that somehow within the few seconds spent on the ground, you had been shoved into the back of a car. You bang your fists against the rear window, pleading for him to rescue you. And that, Mike desperately tries to do.

He sprints after you in a blind, blurred panic. The sudden, swift movement of his body is painful, as though needles poke and prod at his skin. It is all he can see, hear, feel, think of. Losing you and the gut-wrenching devastation that would inevitably follow.

The car begins to accelerate faster and faster. His running pace gets slower with every step forward. Mike tries, God, he fucking tries, but you slip away from him like sand between his fingers. Just the same as it was when he lost his brother.

With his speed receding, his body loses all mobility and he cannot bear to run anymore. The harsh punt of his body falling to the ground pulls a grunt out of his throat. Mike whispers mantras of "I'm sorry," hoping that you can somehow hear his pleas. He prays that by some miracle, the man who took you will have a change of heart and bring you back. Sobs plunge through his chest. The misery seeps in like water leaking through a weak dam.

Consciousness comes back to him all too suddenly. A loud yell of your name erupts from him and echoes through the security room. Mike plummets from his desk chair and splats against the ground. His mind is still plagued by that scene, he is still racing to save your life.

Cold sweat drips from his head. His hands shake with a terrified tremor. He hyperventilates, as though he had escaped the depths of the ocean and were inhaling fresh air for the first time. Mike weakly props himself up against the desk, trying to calm himself.

An entire year of agony. Over 365 days of absolute Hell. Living without you has tortured him in ways he never thought was possible.

Sitting here on the filthy floor of this old pizzeria, Mike finally waves his white flag. He has given up. He cannot do this anymore. It is more than he can handle.

And without so much as another breath, Mike springs into action.

Max is surprised to see him back home so early. Flustered and ridden with sweat, Mike explains how there is an emergency at work and he needs her to watch Abby longer. She obliges and accepts the hefty pay he shoves into her hands. He is driving away before she can process what has just occurred.

The song he plays every night in his Walkman blares from the car radio. Your song. The idea brings him ephemeral ease. A dash of excitement.

This is what his life is supposed to be and if all goes well, it's what it will be in mere hours. Mike's foot slams harder against the gas, doing what he should have done long ago.

All he has to do is explain himself. Surely, you will listen and understand this is for the better. You will see through all his stuttered words and irrepressible nerves. You will taste the sickeningly sweet devotion dripping from his mushy, candied heart. Surely, you will understand this is all for you. And of course, you will love him, too.

Hours pass like gusts of wind. The welcome sign of Nebraska passes in a flash. Mike remembers the route like the back of his hand. He'd never forget the roads that lead back to you, after all.

Dawn is moments from rising. The sky is a dark blue, covered in blotches of dark, orange sunshine. Mike pulls into the parking lot of your school where only one car is present. Yours. And of course, he parks directly beside you. The prospect of being close to you, even with something as negligible as this, sends a hot shiver coursing through his body.

Mike tries to soothe himself as he lets out a shaky breath. A heavy trepidation is nestled in his stomach, still mixed with that crisp excitement. Sweat cascades down his face. His dark, curly hair sticks to his forehead. Nothing can stop these feelings. He may try, but his scattered heartstrings stubbornly remain ensnared around his throat.

When he stands, he has to latch onto the roof of his car to catch his balance. Any passerby would think he was drunk. Being at an elementary school would certainly not help his case, either. Fortunately, the only people here are you and him. No one else. Just the way it is supposed to be.

The path leading to you is familiar. The trees blossoming, the chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and the scent of the early-morning breeze. It reminds Mike even more of how much he missed you.

His wet palms grasp the handles of the front entrance. He pulls, only for the door to remain locked in place. A few more desperate tugs and he watches as his ploy peels apart from the seams. The consideration of breaking down the door is only present momentarily, before any and all function of his is cut short.

The door is unlocked and opened. Stood at the threshold is you.

And with more intensity than Mike had anticipated, the euphoria only you are capable of conjuring comes rushing back.

"Good morning!" is all you say. Your expression is cheerful. Kind. Gorgeous, as you always are. Exactly the way he remembered.

Now that you are finally here, Mike cannot fathom how he had survived so long without you. The pieces of you sprinkled throughout his life are brought to revelation. Your name carved into his bones, your warmth threaded through his veins, your breath stirred with his every word. It is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. The fact he had not collapsed upon making mere eye contact with you is a miracle in of itself.

"Oh! Are you the new security guard? I wasn't aware we were getting a new hire." You break the silence, referring to the yellow "SECURITY" stamped on his vest.

You...

You don't remember me?

The words don't manage to escape him. Instead, you send him into a state of stupor.

The impact your words have on him is nothing short of surreal. When Mike had memorized every sliver of you down to the tilt of your jaw and the curve of your spine, you had forgotten him entirely. For the year he spent longing for you, he was merely a bystander in the background. An apparition within your mind. You do not remember him. And no words in the English language could express the lethal heartbreak.

It has rendered Mike speechless and his inability to speak fills you with unease.

"Please, come in." Opening the door further, you try and usher him inside. All you wish to do is escape this conversation and the fervid eyes of this stranger.

Gaze still glued to you, he grasps hold of the door handles. His unconscious brain still decides to take the weight off of you. Mike has no choice now, he must convince you to stay with him. To beg you to choose him, to remind you of everything you once had with each other. To show you what losing you has done to him.

When you turn and walk away, he tries to find his voice. Mike wants to express all of this to you, but his efforts are futile. He is frozen and can only watch as you leave him again. The opposite direction of your classroom, this time. Towards the office. Most likely to ensure he was actually in the system.

Mike does not take this choice of yours for granted. Gathering up whatever morsel of strength is still left in him, he takes a few wobbly steps. He stumbles through the dark hallways, clutching his hand over his heart as he walks. His rampant heartbeat does not calm itself, no matter his attempts to soothe it.

Upon practically collapsing into your classroom, a flare of fleeting ease envelops Mike. To be surrounded by you is absolute ecstasy. Paradise is personified through flamboyant decorations and the scent of strawberries and books.

He scans every detail of your classroom. The new drawings on the wall, the jumble of recently purchased toys. He sees the new changes you have made in the past year and is shattered to know you were not thinking of him at all. As opposed to every second of his life being enmeshed with you.

Mike soon finds your desk. The first and last place he had ever truly felt happiness. On the surface, some of your clutter had been left behind. Too cute. A colorful planner had been left open to this exact date. A few papers are sat to the side, where students' assessments are in the process of being graded. Most important of all, your thermal scattered with stickers sits on a pained coaster.

Mike knows he should not consider it, no less think about it. You just need to be reminded, that's all.

With a paranoid glance at the door, he takes the orange bottle of sleeping pills from his backpack. He swiftly pours out several onto the desk. Then, he takes a stapler you had left out of reach from children's sticky fingers, crushing the thin white circles into a chunky powder. Your thermal opens with a quiet pop! and Mike pours the residue into your drink. He uses the straw to stir it around for effective measure, trying to ignore the incessant urge to take your straw for... personal use.

A storage closet resides right behind him. Mike leaves everything on your desk as it once was and is swift to hide inside. He leaves the door open a mere creak, within perfect distance to watch his plan unfold.

The minute without you feels torturous, as though it had lasted a millennia. When the aching sound of silence is filled by a creaking door, his heart practically plummets. Through the small peep, you enter his field of vision. You trot over to the iguana enclosure. Saying a quick hello to Mr. Cupcake, before making your way to your desk. Oblivious to the uninvited guest just inches away.

You take a sip from your thermal. Mike cannot find air to breathe or the ability to function.

You take another. This is actually happening.

One more sip. Your pen scribbles on your planner.

You take a sip. It is a blessing straight from God you cannot hear the hyperventilated breaths behind you.

Then, another sip. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

As you work, you reach over to grab some sticky notes. Your elbow accidentally nudges your pen, causing it to fall from your desk and roll across the floor. You stand to retrieve it with a grumble before a sudden wave of lethargy envelops you. It is all too sudden and acute. You have to lean on the edge of your desk to stable yourself.

Before you can question the sudden fatigue, your body fails you. When you inevitably fall, Mike is quick to catch you. Hell, his arms were around you before your legs even wobbled. Slowly, and with loving attentiveness, he guides your limp body to the ground. The adrenaline inside him is so penetrating, that he does not have a moment to process the fact he is touching you.

With you fully unconscious, Mike knows exactly where he'll be heading next. Only now, he'll have an additional passenger with him.

He secures your unconscious form into the back seat of his car. Fastening your seatbelt and triple-checking they are in proper function. Mr. Cookie, or whatever his name is, is in the front seat within his cage. Moving his enclosure and necessities from your classroom was a hassle, as told by the bite mark on Mike's hand. For you, though, he would endure far worse.

With the birds beginning to sing, there is little time before the world wakes up and his intentions are jeopardized. Mike drives off before anyone can see what he has done. Not even he has fully processed what he has done.

Leaving your car, your home, and your life behind, he begins the treacherous and exciting journey back to Utah.

Every car that passes has him gripping the wheel tighter, foot reader to slam harder on the gas. He had already lost you once, he cannot lose you again. Mike does not play music, either. The sounds of your breathing is his new favorite harmony.

He casts a glance in the rear-view mirror every now and then. You're draped among the back of the car, cocooned in the numerous blankets he brought for this trip. Beneath the windows, your head is rested against a fluffy pillow. He even snuggled a few plushies into your arms. The sight is so gut-wrenchingly adorable, Mike nearly crashes the car with how painfully distracting the sight of you is.

This was the state he stayed in for the first several hours of the drive. Mindless driving on freeways, checking on you (as well as continuously cooing over your cuteness), and holding his breath whenever he passes through busy areas or cops. Then, he gets knocked off course.

With blurred vision, you can barely discern where you are.

Sunlight makes you squint. Your mind is messy. You can hear the rumble of a car engine, feel the vibration against your form. The blankets wrapped around you are suffocating. You peel them off from your body, a few random stuffed animals fall to the car floor when you do so.

Mike nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns around. His efforts to take you away were frivolous, yes, but he was sure he had given you enough pills to sleep through the trip.

"Hey, you're okay. Y-You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Okay? Just don't freak out... Please don't freak out."

You do the opposite of what he advised. Little by little, the pieces begin to click together. Panic settles in your stomach like a fresh sheet of snow. Hyperventilating breaths leave your shaking body, accentuated by your frightened whimpers. Who is this man? What the fuck is going on? Tears stream down your face with every question that litters your mind. And every cracked sob you let out is a fatal strike to your assailant's fragile heart.

Mike is quick to comfort you, as you can always count on him to do such. And how badly he wishes to climb into the back seat himself and hold you close. Everything he is doing is for the better, you must know that. As scary as this all may seem for you, he will do whatever it takes to convince you of this truth.

He reaches his hand back to soothe you, only succeeding in the opposite when you cower away from his touch. Mike cannot hide how poignant your rejection is, he is shocked he hadn't broken down into tears alongside you.

"... Are you going to hurt me-?"

"I would never."

He answers without a sliver of hesitation. Your shattered, sugar-sweet voice absolutely destroys him.

The weight of his declaration is so immense that you could almost believe him. You should believe him, as he only tells the utter truth. The fact you have been drugged and shoved into the backseat of a stranger's car, however, convinces you otherwise.

Looking through the window, you take note of the rural area you're in. Nothing but miles of trees to comfort you. No distinct landmarks to help you navigate your location.

Mike oscillates between looking at you and the road. While he's occupied with the road ahead, you take action before thinking thoroughly. Sweltering blankets torn off of your body, you unfasten your seatbelt as silently as you can. You mentally prepare yourself for the turmoil up ahead. Then, within a matter of a single second, you unlock the car door and jump.

Debris slices into you as you fall deeper into the forest. The world becomes a blurred frenzy of trees and cloudy skies. Your frail body is drowsy from the drugs still pumping through your system. Your ribs ache, your ears ring, and you are covered in gashes. Still, survival is the only prospect present in your brain. You pick yourself up from the dirt and dash forward. Never looking back.

April puddles and fallen pinecones ruin your expensive work shoes. Fresh flowers are squished beneath your steps. There is no path you intend to take, you only wish to get as far as you can from that man. Poison ivy and low-hanging branches slash at your skin. You do not think, you only push and push and push. Anywhere away from him.

The second you had opened that car door, Mike slammed down on the brakes. The scream of your name hurts his throat from the sheer volume. To see you jump, leaving him again, sparked fear like no other. He does not even bother to turn off the car or close the door before he is racing after you. He cannot lose you again. He can't, he can't, he can't.

Mike barrels into the forest like a feral animal. He is met with a terrifying sense of déjà-vu. He's seen this movie before, he's heard this song a million times. This dream has haunted him forever. Just when he is inches from touching salvation, you will be snatched away from him. And he will have to watch as his life crumbles before his very eyes.

His legs grow heavier with every step. He screams for you until his voice goes raw. His lungs feel as though they may collapse into themselves. Still, his efforts to find you do not falter. You would have to kill him if you wished to keep him away from you.

A tree branch crunches.

Mike stops dead in his tracks. Listening.

There's a pained whimper. Quiet amongst the soft winds.

He dashes toward the sound. Swift in surging through the steep hills and overgrown forestry in his path.

While you were running, you failed to notice a protruding tree root. When your foot hooks beneath it and sends you tumbling to the ground, you try and scramble to your feet. However, the burst of adrenaline that had gotten you this far could not combat the lethargy still in your body. You lay on your back, exasperated with debility. Entirely paralyzed.

"Y/N! Oh, thank God!" Mike collapses beside you, all while you stare at the stranger in utter terror.

Dirt and sweat paint his body. Eyes blown wide and crazed, his hands reach for you. Fearfully searching for any wounds. One hand cradles your face, caressing your skin with his thumb. The other rests against your hairline, petting the expanse with tender intent. Cries of both relief and terror fill the empty silence. To lose you all over again is a horrifying prospect he cannot fathom the weight of.

"N-... No..." Your voice is weak. Barely able to crawl out of your mouth.

Fingers latched into the mud, you try to drag your body away from this maniac. Mike brings your attempts to a halt, hands still latched onto your body.

"I'll be good, Y/N, I will... Just-Just stay with me!"

Your assailant does not listen to your feeble demands. Instead, Mike wraps his arms around your torso. Further ensnaring you in his locked embrace. He buries his face into your neck and rocks your body back and forth. Trying to soothe you into another slumber. His sniffles are overpowered by his sharp inhales of breath. Consuming your scent.

"You're not leaving me. You're not fucking leaving me!" Mike bawls out.

He is now a complete mess. Face twisted with ugly sobs. All hot tears and running snot.

"Just sleep now, okay? I'm right here..."

Blunt nails dig into your shoulder blades. His weight on top of you is suffocating. Please just love him and never leave him. That is all he could ever ask for, all he could ever want. He has spent so long without the one he loves most, he cannot bear to ever part from them ever again.

With a choked groan, Mike lifts your limp body from the ground. Sniffling reassurances echo as you reach a state of unconsciousness. He lifts you over his shoulder and your body loses all mobility. As he takes you away, your mind fades into a peaceful rest. Escaping is now a pipe dream.

Faint sounds of shuffling are what you're next awoken to. Pipes bang and thump. It is far more quiet than your last conscious encounter.

Darkness pervades your vision. Your body feels weightless, as though you are floating through a dream. You cannot move, no matter your efforts to try. As if your limbs had been glued to the fluffy expanse you've been laid upon. All you are capable of doing is releasing a guttural moan of disdain from the back of your throat.

"Easy, cub. Easy now."

No.

The voice is fluffy and easy. Horrifyingly familiar.

This can't be real; this can't be reality. This cannot be what your life becomes: rotting away in this stranger's embrace.

You were granted several mere seconds of solitude before hands were on your body, once again. The grasp lifts your body, to where your assailant sits behind you and rests your back against his chest. His efforts are gentle. Comforting. Though, the movement still has you wincing in discomfort. You hadn't anticipated how many injuries you had given yourself.

Speckles of your sight return in short spurts. There is light against the darkness, everything is gold. Drowned in the hues of candlelight scattered around the room. The glow is cast against a fuzzy expanse, to where you could almost convince yourself you were in a dream. And my God, do you wish it was.

You miss the rich, headache-inducing colors of your classroom. The judging stares of other parents who drowned their homes in beige decor never felt more comforting. You miss the screeching children with their constant need for attention. Their dramatic tears and obnoxious attitude would bring you peace like no other.

Mike plants his chin against your shoulder and all you can think about is the beautiful life you have lived until this point. His arm slithers across your torso, tightening with vehement need. It is loving in the most suffocating manner. You then hear a bottle unscrew through static noise. shushes you as he presses the lid against your lips. Water cascades into your mouth and down your dry throat, all while Mike presses impassioned kisses to your temple.

"There you go. Very good... You're perfect..." His tone is cordial as he ushers you to drink.

As much as you had tried to fight his attempts to give you water, it has fortunately provided you more clarity. The environment surrounding you fades into something more lucid.

You've been swaddled in a thick comforter. Soft and floral-scented, fresh out of the dryer. The king-size bed is at the end of the room and provides you with a clear view of everything. The lack of windows and decrepit staircase tucked in the corner tell you this is a basement. Soundproofed and locked up, your chances of escape are minimal. He does not want to let you go, that much is for certain.

Across the room is a chunky television. Movie cassettes sit in the cabinet supporting the television, where a newly purchased GameCube is left beside, as well. There's a bookshelf to your left, which is filled with old novels and children's books. Nothing was bought recently. Is there a child in this house? Lego sets and puzzle boxes are stacked next to the shelf. You come to the chilling assumption that it is intended to be something for you to occupy yourself with when he's gone.

Much to your satisfaction, Mike leaves from his spot behind you. He guides you back onto the pillow with romantic, loving ease. A gentle caress to your cheek before he goes. As if he was your doting husband taking care of you while you are ill.

When you look to your right, your heart accelerates when you find your iguana enclosure on top of a rickety table. Thank God he is alright! You do not know what you would do if this man had harmed Mr. Cupcake.

As words have failed you consistently, you whine out like a baby to express your wants. Your assailant's attention is back on you at record speed. The persistent need he has to ensure your comfort is almost pathetic. Teary-eyed and pouty, you reach for the enclosure holding your iguana.

Mike's body goes rigid. A gentle gasp emanates from him.

Are you... Are you reaching for him?

He practically throws himself back onto the bed. Sat beside your laying form, he almost can't bring himself to believe it. His deluded fantasies have bloomed into existence.

"Yes? What do you need, cub?" Please say him. Please say you need him like he needs you.

Mike looks at you and his eyes melt into candy. A gentle smile plastered on his face, he brings his finger up and boops you on the nose. Affectionate is his natural disposition. You're too fucking cute.

Mike had wasted an entire year without you. Too much time spent neglecting you of his love. Oh, you must have been so lonely without him. This is all he has wanted, after all. To take care of you. To take the weight off your shoulders and bring you ease like no other. He will spend the rest of his lifetime making up for the lost time. He would spend forever for you, slaving away to earn your forgiveness.

When you firmly establish what it is you actually want, no amount of sleeping pills in your thermal cup could stop you from seeing how defeated he is. Your rejection cuts like a dagger. Anyone can see this genuine fact. Still, Mike abides by your request. He'd tear mountains asunder for your happiness, after all.

Begrudgingly, he leaves your side. He opens the enclosure with struggle. Too many notches and slots. When he takes Mr. Cupcake into his hands, the iguana squirms and twists. Almost as if the reptile grasped what was happening. He propels his tail like a whip, reaching for the hands around him with his sharp teeth. His nails dig into whatever part of this stranger he can find.

When Mike plops him into your lap, Mr. Cupcake relaxes instantaneously. You snuggle him into your arms and are provided comfort from him, as well. His scaly flesh and jagged spine abrade your face, but you have never known a more soothing embrace. You plant a myriad of kisses and adoring nuzzles on Mr. Cupcake's skin. At the same time, you ignore the third wheel standing there.

Mike watches this and is nearly sick with want. Never in his life had he ever thought he'd wish to be an iguana this bad. The things he would give and the things he would take to be on the receiving end of your affections bridges off insanity.

Averting his gaze, he cannot watch the scene anymore. He had never expected to be so envious of a goddamn reptile. Mike grants you the time you want with that prickly bastard and leaves the basement. You hear the tumultuous clatter of all the locks and bolts being put into place once he is gone.

The time without Mike is something you do not take for granted. Silence is precious, solitude even more so. During his absence, you reel through the supercut of your life. You cannot find this man in any of your memories. You do not remember that face no matter how hard you try. He is the bad guy, the villain. The very definition of 'stranger-danger' you teach your students about.

When Mike returns, all of that disturbed turbulence comes with him.

In his hands is a cracked dinner plate with spaghetti and meatballs splat on top. The closer he gets, the faster your heart pumps. Setting the plate down on the bedside table, he takes your iguana from your tight hold. Mr. Cupcake still thrashes in his grasp, trying to bite and hit wherever he can. Good boy.

When the beast is locked away, Mike is idyllic to be alone with you again. He acts as though the current circumstances were romantic, where you and him are enjoying an amorous vacation. He then places the meal carefully in your lap, wary of the hot plate burning your precious skin.

"You need to eat, cub. You've been through so much. Too much." Mike's hand finds your face again, thumb caressing your cheek.

His mere words make you want to vomit your breakfast all over what is supposed to be your dinner. Still, you obey and begin eating. The dish is mediocre, at best. You've tasted better from the kitchen play set where your students wear chef hats and cook plastic food. Kidnapped and trapped in a basement, however, you'll take whatever scraps you can get.

Eyes glued to your plate, you do not watch as Mike takes a movie from the cabinet and pops it into the VCR. "The Immortal and the Restless" whirs to life as he returns to where you sit. Mike lays down beside you and joins you beneath the warm comforter. He takes the fork from your hands. A shiver cascades up his arm upon the faint contact made by your fingers touching. Oh, it is love. He then begins to feed you. There is nothing but sugary madness in his eyes.

Bite by bite, you are forced to watch soap operas and listen to nauseating love declarations.

"I was so alone out there without you, baby."

If only you hadn't been so fooled by a security vest and pretty brown eyes, you could be with your students right now. You could be free right now.

If only.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ PRAYING STRAIGHT TO GOD THAT

MAYBE YOU'LL COME BACK AROUND . . . ❞

no one asked for this but idc hehe.

gif creds :: mike.

[dannyphantom-zero]

Doctor Danny: First official chapter

The busy hospital was on its last leg. Nurses and interns were scattered, running around like mice.

Sounds of trauma care patients and emergency care patients alarms were constantly ringing.

In the midst of it all, one calm collected doctor cared tenderly for each patient.

He, was Danny Fenton, who used to be known for having two crazy ghost enthusiasts for parents. He still loved his parents despite how hard it was growing up as half ghost.

Jazz had told them a long time ago and they had ignored it for the most part. Like that side of him didn't exist.

It had hurt at the time but Danny had managed to move past it. After successfully securing his position as ghost king (on accident) he put his newfound authority to good use making the ghosts swear a vow to behave.

A ghost vow is a big deal, which is why Danny swore a vow in return acknowledging them, if ever a ghost were in danger he would help them.

After the lack of ghost attacks Danny found he had next to nothing to do. His only hobby outside of playing video games had been ghost fighting. He hadn't realized how used to it he had gotten.

Danny hadn't even picked the college he wanted to go to yet.

Danny approached the Nasty Burger, his last refuge.

That's when he noticed a man who seemed a little out of it. The man stumbled making Danny wonder if he was drunk.

Danny turned to go inside when the man collapsed. Danny rushed over to the man and rolled him on his back. He checked for a pulse but couldn't find one.

Of course he wasn't exactly medically trained.

Danny dialed nine-one-one and started to perform CPR as best he could.

He explained to the operator clearly the situation and the ambulance came in no time.

Later that night Danny was processing the events in his head and instead of feeling scared or nervous he felt excited.

He was thrilled to have something to get his blood pumping again. Which is why he applied for med school. He studied hard, using all the time he had to memorize all the medical information that he could.

After graduation he interned at Amity Parks local hospital before moving up his position to resident.

Only a week after getting his new position he was forced to leave the hospital. It was closing because of a lack of funding.

"Please sir! What about the staff or the patients?"

The head of the medical board shook his head.

"Dr. Fenton, this hospital runs on little to nothing to begin with, we are lucky to have even made it this far. The patients will be transfered and the staff, relocated"

Danny furrowed his brows in concern.

"Don't worry Dr. Fenton, your quite literally the best we've seen walk these halls, your sure to get a good recommendation"

Danny clenched his fist.

"What are my options?" He asked.

The board looked at his sheet, flipping several until he found the right one on his clipboard.

"You said you wanted to work at a busy hospital right?"

Danny nodded yes.

"There aren't too many around here, the busiest hospital I can think of belongs to a crime ridden city a bit far  from here." He said.

"Gotham City"

Danny's breath hitched. He had heard about Gotham before. It was notorious for its villains.

Despite that, it was alluring.

"There! Send me to Gothams hospital!" He said suddenly and eagerly.

"Okay, if you say so. Do us all a favor and survive alright"

Danny laughed, "sure, I'll do my best. No promises though"

Just like that Danny packed up moved to Gotham.

He had little time to research Gotham before hand but he had heard several mutters in passing of a place called Crime Alley, a strange nickname for sure.

Danny was sure that this place would either be completely clean due to police intervention or incredibly overrun.

Danny signed a lease at the Shirley Apartments.

"Are you sure about this young man" the desk lady asked him.

He smiled kindly.

"Yes I am, I've heard the rumors and have weighed the risk. In the end it might be helpful to know just how my patients love to receive the injuries they do"

The lady sighed.

"That's right, you said your a doctor. Be careful out there, any talent in Gotham is either warped by a villain or destroyed"

Danny was a little startled by the warning, apparently there was even more to Gotham than he knew.

"I'm sorry I forgot to ask for your name"

"Didn't give one, in Gotham it's best to remain anonymous"

Danny blinked a little surprised.

"It's that dangerous, well I'll take your word for it then, thank you miss" he said as he took the key from her.

He had been able to store the old car his dad had given to him in a locked garage. He wasn't sure how well it would hold up but there was only so much he could do against humans.

Ghost powers had little, of any, effect on humans when it came to offense. Defensively they were pretty great to have.

He had only brought five boxes with him, no furniture. Back in Amity he had been busy studying and had brushed aside buying furniture.

Unfortunately that meant he had no bed.

Danny was glad to have found a beaten up wardrobe. It was missing it's doors and was leaning to the side, even so Danny was able to fix it and hang his clothes up in it.

He grabbed one of the boxes and smiled warmly when he saw a Fenton Emergency pack inside.

His mom must've stuffed it there when he was looking, lucky for him it had a sleeping bag.

An air mattress would've been nice too, but it's the thought that counts.

Danny safely stored his two favorite pictures. One of him with his family and one with his friends.

They were hidden just in case someone decided to break in, not that there would be much to find anyway but it never hurt to be careful.

Danny went to sleep soon after despite the sounds of the city.

Danny woke up feeling refreshed. He grabbed his bags and hopped in his car.

Danny hadn't realized how busy Gothams hospital actually was. Danny pulled into Gotham General and as soon as he was in his scrubs and coat he was dragged into the frey.

"We need a doctor over here!" Someone called just as Danny had finished with a patient.

Despite having to run around all day Danny wasn't tired, his ghost half supplied him energy after his human side ran dry.

All in all Danny first day on the job was hectic and he had worked for fourteen hours.

Once he was back in his apartment Danny set up a table that he had pre ordered online.

Then he got to work. According to his knowledge, most of his patients had suffered from some kind of attack or other.

Most of the heavy hitters were villains named Joker, Penguin and two face.

The riddler was taken care of, Poison Ivy had been rehabilitated and Harley Quinn had broken free from Jokers choke hold on her.

There was also the less obvious villains, like the business man lex Luther.

Lex Luther was shady at best, while no one could get hard evidence on him most people knew to be wary.

But just being informed didn't stop them from falling into his traps.

Lately Bruce had done official business with Lex Luther, which made him a suspicious person whom Danny had decided to keep tabs on, he was wary of the rich and for good reasons.

The cork board above Danny table has a litter of documents and pictured pined by red string. The players who were out of the game were crossed off.

Then there were the vigilantes. A few of them had been known to be rough, a necessary violence.

Still they seemed to have little awareness of what their little battles did to other people. Because many people came in for minor injuries due to being caught in the crossfire.

Which meant Danny had to find a way to keep everybody in line so patients would decrease in number. Danny let himself sleep for four hours before returning to the hospital.

"Oh my gosh, Doctor Fenton is still here" one nurse whispered. It had been a full day and half, Danny was running on his ghost half that seemed to keep replenishing itself due to the toxic air of Gotham. A positive side effect.

"How does he never get tired?"

"Maybe he's superhuman" one girl cracked. They noticed as he rushed by them to get to another patient.

"He's quite handsome too" one said wistfully, "but who wants a husband that works all the time"

Danny noticed the next patient seemed tense and he kept screaming for his daughter.

Danny whispered in the man's ear and put a hand on his forehead. He had used a ghost technique he learned from Nocturne and the man calmed down.

The other doctors were impressed as they worked to care for the man's injuries.

Finally the head of the unit noticed Danny and after reviewing his chart had forced him to go home.

"I don't feel fatigued at all sir, I promise I am not compromised. I can care for the patients"

The head wasn't having any of it.

"Above all your health is just as important as the patients we care for. For them to get healthy, you have to be healthy. Go home Dr.Fenton, you can come back after you get at least ten hours of sleep."

Danny wanted to argue but he knew the head was right.

"Yes sir" he said before changing into civilian clothes and leaving the hospital.

Now that he was out of a hospital setting things like hunger started to appear.

Maybe he had been to focused to notice how hungry he had been.

Danny blearily noticed a fast food place. His instincts told him the food would be greasy and way too unhealthy.

Mmm, comfort food.

The nostalgia fought with his doctoral instincts and won. All Danny wanted was to sit in a booth and eat some greasy food.

Danny ordered the double cheeseburger with bacon with a side of ten pieces chicken nuggets and large order of fries.

Waiting, even for five minutes, was starting to make Danny ravenous. As soon as he got his food he sat down and started gorging himself.

It was pretty good food for a little fast food place in the world's worst city.

Danny liked the tenderness and crispiness of the burger, the cheese was melted just right too.

Danny dipped his nuggets in sweet n' sour sauce while fighting the urge to kick his legs like a happy little kid.

As Danny left the restraint he saw an alert on his phone for a villain attack and rushed to the scene.

To his satisfaction the culprits were already being hauled away in police custody. They were just small fries, not of them appeared connected to a big player, so Danny was free to shut them out of his mind.

Which is exactly what he did. Danny drove back to his apartment and let out a sigh of relief.

That's when he noticed his door was slightly ajar.

His guard was up immediately. Danny stepped inside cautiously. He was relieved when everything appeared untouched but the scare had sent him a trip to get stronger locks.

On his way back to his car from the store he heard sound of a glass bottle breaking in a nearby alley. It was small alley, from what Danny could tell it was also a dead end alley.

Taking a risk Danny stepped in and chills went down his spine when he heard labored breathing.

Danny rushed over and froze at what he saw.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

This ties into one of the big conundrums of restoration ecology. When trying to decide what plants to add to a restoration site, should we add those that are there now, even if some of those species are increasingly stressed by the effects of climate change? Or do we start importing native species in adjacent ecoregions that are more tolerant of heat?

Animals can migrate relatively quickly, but plants take longer to expand their range, and the animals that they have mutual relationships with may be moving to cooler areas faster than the plants can follow. Whether the animals will be able to survive in their new range without their plant partners is another question, and that is an argument in favor of trying to help the plants keep up with them. We're not just having to think about what effects climate change will have next summer, but also predict what it's going to look like here in fifty years, a hundred, or beyond. It's an especially important question in regards to slow-growing trees which may not reproduce until they are several years old, and which can take decades to really be a significant support of their local ecosystem.

For example, here in the Pacific Northwest west of the Cascades, western red cedar (Thuja plicata) is experiencing increased die-off due to longer, hotter summer droughts. Do we continue to plant western red cedar, in the hopes that some of them may display greater tolerance to drought and heat? Or do we instead plant Port Orford cedar (Chamaecyparis lawsoniana), which is found in red cedar's southern range, and which may be more drought-tolerant, even though it's not found this far north yet?

Planting something from an adjacent ecoregion isn't the same as grabbing a plant from halfway around the world and establishing it as an invasive species. But there is the question as to whether the established native would have been able to survive if we hadn't introduced a competing "neighbor" species. Would the Port Orford cedars and western red cedars be able to coexist as they do in northern California and southern Oregon, or would the introduced Port Orfords be enough to push the already stressed red cedars over the edge to extirpation?

There's no simple answer. But I am glad to see the government at least allowing some leeway for those ecologists who are desperately trying any tactic they can to save rare species from extinction.

[dioslesbianwife]

May i request...the jojo protags with a reader who basically comes to them crying. As if something horrible happened, but in reality, it was something harmless like a spider LMAO

hahaha totally- thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy and here are the headcannons :3

Jonathan Joestar

The moment he sees you crying, he drops everything and rushes to your side like the true gentleman he is.

“Good heavens! What happened? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?” he asks, full of concern, already preparing to throw hands.

When you hiccup through your sobs and finally tell him it was a spider, he blinks in confusion. “A… spider?”

He lets out a relieved sigh and gives you a warm, comforting hug, gently patting your back.

“I see… Well, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it for you,” he assures, proceeding to carefully relocate the spider outside like the kind soul he is.

Joseph Joestar

“OH MY GOD! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” Dramatic and loud, just like you.

He’s already on edge, scanning the area, ready to unleash a Hamon punch on some imaginary attacker.

When you finally blurt out “I-it was a spider!” between sniffles, he stops mid-motion and just… stares at you.

Silence. Then

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH!” He’s exasperated but also laughing.

“Jeez, you really had me worried! Don’t do that again!” But he still squashes the spider for you (after teasing you about it first).

Jotaro Kujo

Sigh. The moment he sees you crying, he’s immediately on alert. “Tch. What happened?”

His eyes narrow, scanning the surroundings for any threats.

You try to explain through sobs, and when the word “spider” finally comes out, he just… stares at you.

He looks at you, looks at the spider, then looks back at you. His soul is tired.

“Yare yare daze… You’re seriously crying over this?”

He ends up getting rid of the spider for you, but not without calling you a “pain in the ass” (softly, though).

Josuke Higashikata

“Oh my God! Babe, what’s wrong?!” Immediate panic mode.

He’s so worried and doesn’t even think- he just hugs you, rubbing your back.

“Who do I need to beat up? Tell me right now!”

The moment you sob out, “It-it was a spider!” his concern turns into disbelief.

“Wait. Wait. A SPIDER? ARE YOU FOR REAL?”

He groans, flops back dramatically, and mutters about how he thought it was something serious. But he’ll still kill the spider for you like the good boyfriend he is.

Giorno Giovanna

Stays completely calm even as you run to him in tears. “What happened?” he asks gently.

He’s mentally preparing for the worst. enemy Stand users, some tragic accident, etc.

“G-Giorno, there’s a s-spider…!”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then

“Oh.” He’s visibly relieved but doesn’t say anything to make you feel bad. Instead, he calmly finds the spider and… turns it into a butterfly. Problem solved.

“There. It won’t bother you anymore,” he says, patting your head with a small smile.

Jolyne Cujoh

“What?! What happened?!” She’s already in fight mode, fists clenched, ready to throw down.

When you finally tell her it was a spider, she just stares at you.

“You had me thinking you were DYING over a goddamn SPIDER?!”

Absolutely roasts you for it but still deals with the spider because she loves you.

“Next time, just tell me so I don’t have a heart attack, alright?” she huffs, crossing her arms- but you can see she’s still amused.

Johnny Joestar

“Oh shit, what happened?!” Immediate panic, already bracing for the worst.

He’s gripping his hat, breathing heavily, waiting for the bad news.

“…It was a spider.”

He just squints at you like, seriously?

“You’re messing with me, right?”

He sighs dramatically but still flicks the spider away. “You owe me for this. I almost had a damn heart attack.”

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

“Huh? Why are you crying?” He’s already super confused.

He’s racking his brain for any possible reason you’d be this upset. Did someone hurt you? Did you remember something tragic?

“A-a spider…”

He just stares. Then slowly tilts his head. “That’s it?”

Softly sighs but then has Soft & Wet remove the spider for you. “There, all gone,” he says with a little smile.

He’ll still give you a hug, though.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 12 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - In the wake of Luke’s visit, you and Spencer are forced to be honest with one another. How will a former FBI Agent react to discovering he’s been harbouring a fugitive?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy on dialogue, graphic depictions of violence and murder, past abuse, death of a parent, swearing, tears, prison arc, Cat Adams, dissociation, brief mention of past addiction, making out, use of term “rape”, fingering, oral (f receiving), male masturbation, confessed feelings.

WC - 6.2k

Chapter 12 - Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Silence. 

As a little girl the sounds of silence ringing throughout your home was a warning sign. Silence was an indication that something wasn’t right, something was deeply wrong. 

The rare moments in which voices weren’t exploding off of walls, reverberating through the halls, cracking, rumbling, echoing within the house filled you with dread, morbid anticipation for when their raucous feuding would begin again. 

Silence in the Reid household derived the opposite, offering a privileged repreve. The small windows in time when his mother was lucid, instead of screaming so loudly that walls shook, were a wondrous abatement of his responsibility. 

When she simply slept as opposed to yelling that they were coming to take her away. Silence was a solace, enjoyed but not necessarily revelled in, because he knew all too well it wouldn’t last.

It went a long way to explain the fundamental difference between the two of you. Where you always tried to fill those deafening voids of quietude, Spencer fought to let them pass freely and for as long as they pleased.

It was so still in the lodge that you could hear the wind rustling through the long grass outside. If you really focused you could even hear the far off sounds of the horses in the stables. 

It was the kind of quiet that left you on tenterhooks, the kind that came before an all mighty eruption. The calm before the storm. The tranquillity before the chaos. The respite before all hell broke loose.

You and Spencer didn’t know each other at all and that was startling apparent now. But thanks to Luke’s visit, it was time to dig up all those secrets you’d both tried to bury from one another.

It was the witching hour. The be all and end all. 

You had relocated to the couch while Spencer was unable to sit still. He paced the length of his living room while you toyed with your hands in your lap. The longer he patrolled, the more he limped, but he didn’t let it slow him down. 

He raised his good hand and threaded it in his hair. He entwined his fingers in the locks and tugged at his roots. Grounding. Tethering. He was trying not to divorce his mind from the situation. 

It was almost an hour spent like this after Luke’s departure. Neither of you wanted to speak for fear of what you might say, what you might unearth. But it was an inevitable conversation and eventually one of you would need to break this fractured silence.

Normally that would fall to you, but not this time. The words wouldn’t come, you were still too busy trying to wade through all of the information. For a time you were at a stalemate, neither of you willing to be the first to break the silence. 

But then with a huff of breath, Spencer finally stopped pacing before he wore a hole in the floor and glared at you with the kind of gaze reserved for the criminals he interrogated back in his previous life. 

“I'm gonna need you to explain to me why my ex Fugitive Hunter, ex boyfriend has a file with your face on in his possession.” His voice was surprisingly steady, not loud but not quiet either. Not necessarily angry but certainly not untroubled.

You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees. You scrutinised him with your gaze, locking eyes with him to show you were not to be intimidated.

“And I’m gonna need you to explain to me how an FBI Agent wound up in prison before falling off the grid and uprooting his whole life to live out some cowboy fantasy.” You retorted, not willing to give it up so easily.

Spencer’s eyes darkened, you saw his jaw pulse as he clenched it. He was most definitely not budging on this.

“You first.” He growled.

You continued to stare at him, offering him your full attention but not a single word. His jaw oscillated furiously, you swore you could hear the grinding of his teeth.

“I swear to god if you don’t tell me everything I will call him back here, Y/N.” He spoke again when you didn’t make a sound. 

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth, weighing up your options. You had very few. You could make a run for it but Spencer was no doubt faster and he was closer to the door. You could try and lie to him but now you knew he’d been a profiler that wouldn't be easy. 

If your gun wasn’t in your glovebox, you might have considered shooting him, not that you wanted it to come to that. You did care about him after all. 

Your final option was simply to tell him the truth and await his reaction. If he called Luke then you could reassess the situation. For now, all you had was the cold, undiluted truth. 

“I told you about my mom and my stepdad.” You began with a tenuous breath. “After I found out she died, I confronted the son of a bitch. I couldn’t stop myself. He as good as admitted to me that he killed her. I didn’t go there to hurt him, at least I don’t think I did. But I did take my revolver.

“He almost immediately started beating on me like I knew he would. I thought maybe if I let him hurt me just enough I could go to the cops. But then he got me up against a wall, his hand around my throat and I thought this is it, he’s going to kill me. So I had to act fast. 

“I pulled out my gun and I shot him in the stomach. As he was stumbling backwards I emptied my magazine into the bastard. But it wasn’t enough. He was dead, sure, but it wasn’t enough. After everything he’d put me and mom through, it wasn’t fucking enough. 

“So I reloaded and shot him six more times. A neighbour must have heard the gun fire because the cops showed up pretty fast. Everything was a blur. I somehow ended up in a cell, my fingerprints taken, my DNA. 

“I had to remain in holding pending trial as I had no one to bail me out. Eventually when the trial came, I was charged with manslaughter two. Seven years. Seven fucking years.” You paused to take another breath. Tears were readily falling down your cheeks at this point and Spencer’s expression was unreadable. 

“The guard that was transferring me upstate was a real soft touch, young and green. I’ll admit I manipulated him, got him in a compromised position and I escaped. 

“I spent about six months on the run. In the meantime I guess I must have fallen on the radar of your ex boyfriend and his partner. I knew I recognised him when I saw that photo in your room but I never saw him up close, only once from afar. It was his partner that finally caught up to me and I was put back in prison. 

“I spent a year in a max security facility. A few weeks ago there was a prison break. I almost didn’t leave. Almost. But I did. I ran and I fucking ran and I kept running until I find some cowboy injured on the side of the road. I'm not proud of what I did, Spencer, but if I had to do it all again I wouldn’t change a thing. So you can call Luke back but I will run again. I am not going back to prison, I would sooner die.” 

You stopped talking and were once again met by a long stretch of silence. Spencer started to pace the room again, his expression still blank and you had no idea what he was thinking. He didn’t make an immediate grab for the phone so you could only hope there was a small chance he might not turn you in. 

You watched from the couch as he walked back and forth, back and forth. Every now and again he would huff out a breath and rake his fingers through his hair. You didn’t know what to think, and it unnerved you. 

He wasn’t entirely surprised in truth, he’d known you were running from some kind of trouble. The signs had been there, and there had been many. And they all spiralled into the forefront of his memory. 

“What if I rob you? You don’t know me, I could be a criminal.” 

“You’re not gonna rob me.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” 

“I'm good at reading people. You have a trustworthy face.” 

——

He didn’t miss the way you jumped a little at the initial sound and how your body seemed to go rigid at the sight of the flashing lights.

——

“What do you do?” 

“This and that.”

——

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

“Why would you think that?”

“Deflection. Answering a question with a question. You are in trouble.”

He suddenly stopped pacing, looking back at you. His face didn’t give away what was going on in his head, perhaps that was deliberate. His body went rigid as he sucked in a breath and then deflated as he exhaled. 

“Four years ago I was arrested for drug possession and later charged with murder. I was framed by a woman I arrested about a year prior. She used a partner on the outside to get me in a compromised position, drugged me so I couldn’t remember what happened. I spent three months in prison while my team worked to prove my innocence. But in the meantime, Cat, the woman pulling the strings, had my mom kidnapped. 

“I have not been the same since then. When I was released I tried to continue as normal, like nothing had changed. But I was changed. Three months inside felt like three years and it destroyed the very fabric of my being. I can’t imagine what a year would have been like. 

“The first time I suffered a dissociation was when I had to come face to face with Cat again after my release. I thought she’d had my mom killed and I got her up against the wall with my hand around her throat. And to make matters worse, she was pregnant.” He grimaced a little now, clearly he was seeing the similarities between what he’d done and what your stepdad did to you. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t the same but he spoke again. “I still to this day don’t remember doing it. For a few seconds I blacked out and when I came back around my friend Jennifer had wrenched me off of her.

“And then it happened with Luke.” He choked back tears. “He tried to…touch me and my mind just divorced itself. The next thing I knew I had his arm twisted behind him, pinning it to his back. That’s when I knew I had to leave. If I wanted to keep the people I loved safe, I had to leave. My medication helps to a degree but I’m not the same. I’m never going to be the same. I couldn’t be an FBI Agent anymore when I couldn’t trust myself in the field. What if I dissociated and killed someone? No, I had to take myself out of the equation.” 

You could see the unshed tears behind his eyes but he was determined not to let them fall. Your own were still rapidly rolling down your cheeks but you didn’t care. You’d kept this all bottled up for far too long and it needed to come out. 

He stood staring at you, rolling his lip between his teeth. What did this all mean? Where did the two of you go from here? 

“So what now?” You sighed with a shrug of your shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame you for calling him back. You might not still be an agent but you took an oath once upon a time. Protect and serve, right?” 

Spencer was mulling over your words, nodding his head slowly. He cupped his jaw, brushed his fingers over the scratchy stubble. You weren’t sure if it was an attempt to ground himself or just something he did when he was deep in thought. 

“I should call him. I know that I should.” He dropped his hand again, his eyebrows pinched. You could almost see the internal debate happening in his head. “But…I know what it’s like to be pushed to the darkest realms of your mind, to feel like violence is the only way out. 

“If Cat had killed my mom, I wouldn’t have hesitated in doing the same to her. And I would have slept well after. There are three particular men from my past who if I ever saw again I would, without doubt, kill. So if I were to call Luke, it would be hypocritical of me. Because I understand why you did what you did. And honestly? I don’t blame you.” 

You choked on a sob and it wracked your frame. Your emotions were coming in huge waves and you couldn’t see an end in sight.

“Is this a trick?” Your voice wet with tears. “Did you somehow alert him and he’s on his way back here? Are you trying to distract me?”

Spencer surprised you when he laughed, shaking his head at your question. He finally moved closer to you, dropping down to the couch. He took hold of your hand in his good one and laced your fingers together. He smiled gently at you, his eyes soft as he looked at you. 

“No, Y/N, I swear to you this isn’t a trick.” He croaked. “Do you believe in karma?”

Your brow pinched deeper, unsure where he was going with this. 

“Yes, very much so.” You nodded. 

“Me too. Although I hate to admit that because I’m a man of science and logic. But I do believe that what we put out in the universe has some bearing on how we are compensated in return. You and I aren’t that much different. We’ve both seen our share of immense trauma, both had to face things no one should ever have to go through. 

“But I’m starting to think that maybe us finding each other was the universe's way of cutting us both some slack. Maybe we are each other’s rewards for the atrocities we’ve been forced to face. I have no intention of turning you in, and if you run anyway, I would be inclined to follow you. Because I think we need each other. I think we’re just two lost souls who found each other just when we needed one another the most. 

“I spent my whole life feeling as though no one understood me, alone in a constant sea of people. But since I met you, I’ve felt seen for the first time in my life. Even before I told you all of this, I think you saw something in me that resonated with you. I think ultimately, we’re one in the same; two peas from the same fucked up pod. I think I’m…” he trailed off, swallowing a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “I think I’m falling in love with you and I think I want to let myself.” 

Somehow his confession caused more tears to fall from your eyes and he was quick to let go of your hand and cup your cheek so he could brush them away. He held you with a delicacy you’d never experienced before. No one had ever been so kind, so gentle with you. No one had ever looked at you the way Spencer was right now. 

You’d done a terrible thing and you knew it. Although you didn’t necessarily regret your actions, and you certainly weren’t missing any sleep over Leon's death. But because of what you’d done you’d resided yourself to being alone. No one in their right mind would ever accept for you for who you were and where you’d been. 

But Spencer Reid - Doctor, SSA whatever he was - didn’t just accept you but he understood you. 

It was intrinsic. A deep seated comprehension passed between you. Perhaps Spencer had a point, for all your collective wrong doings, all the trauma you had both suffered, maybe the universe was offering you to each other in compensation. 

The tears continued to fall and he didn’t stop wiping them away. The look he was giving you told you he would always be there to dry your tears. He briefly removed his hand from your face and took yours again, pulling you to your feet with him. Once you were both standing you instantly fell into his outstretched arms. 

You nuzzled your face against his chest and he encased you in his arms. His cast pressed against your back but if you felt any discomfort you didn’t mention it. His other hand meandered up and down your spine, rubbing your back in a calming manner while you sobbed into his t-shirt. It occurred to you that this was the first time he’d ever hugged you. 

In return you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him so tightly he felt the air being squeezed from his lungs. But he didn’t care. Not in the slightest. 

He lowered his head, resting his cheek on your crown. His breath fanned through your hair, his strong, comforting hand scoring up and down your back whilst his heart beat could be felt from your proximity. 

Never in your entire life had you felt so secure than you did at that precise moment in time. 

You’d spent so many years running from the prospect of closeness, hiding your heart away from the world. After losing your father so young and then your mother at the hands of her second husband, you had learnt to never depend on anyone. 

In Spencer you had found a kindred spirit. He had built up the same walls around his heart, guarding himself from the world with the same careful precision you had. He didn’t let people in because he, like you, had been burnt in the past.

But as he held you in such a tentative yet unyielding manner, you could feel the defences you’d carefully curated start to crumble to dust. 

Spencer's approval and resolute understanding of the very fibre of your being was resoundingly stalwart. You knew as he tightened his grip on you that he would be forever unwavering in his adoration and protection of you. 

“Spence?” You whispered, wiping your eyes on his shirt before looking up at him. 

He lifted his own head and brought his good hand to your jaw. Your chin rested in his large palm while his fingers caressed your cheeks. 

“Yes Y/N?” He whispered, glossy eyes peering down at you. 

“I think it’s only fair that you know…” you trailed off, sucking in a breath, preparing to speak words you’d never said to another person before. “I also think I am falling in love with you too. And at this point, I’m too far gone to stop.” 

He breathed out a sigh of relief and chuckled lightly before brushing his lips over your own. 

“Please don’t stop.” He mumbled into your lips. “Because I have every intention of catching you when you are ready to fall.” 

“You know you’ll never have a normal life, right? I’m on the run, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.” 

“Y/N I have never known a normal day in my life.” He laughed. “I’d rather be looking over my shoulder forever with you by my side than ever be without you.” 

“You really do know all the right things to say, huh?” You smiled up at him, your heart wrapped in a warm blanket of affection.

“Not usually.” He shrugged. “But you make it so easy.” 

He brushed his lips over yours again, keeping his hand on your face, holding you as if you were a fragile bird. 

“No more secrets?” You asked, eyes pleading. 

You noticed something flicker across his features briefly as he drew in a breath.  

“In the interest of transparency, the real reason I don’t drink is because I had a drug problem. A long time ago now but, uh, yeah.” He puckered his lips. 

“Wow, you really are messed up.” You chuckled. “I have a trunk full of cash which I took from my mom’s safe after I killed my step dad. And the car outside is stolen. I took it from a junkyard and changed the plates so no one should be looking for it, but it’s always a possibility.” 

Spencer closed his eyes for a few seconds, nodding his head in understanding.

“Might be best to get rid of it at some point.” He mused out loud. “Where did you get a cell phone if you’re on the run?”

“It’s a burner.” You shrugged. “I mostly relied on a paper map and my own instincts whilst travelling but I needed it just in case. Good job I did too because otherwise you might still be out in that desert.” 

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you again, more passionate than before, his tongue edging into your mouth to deepen it. 

It was a strange and alien feeling having someone know you so completely, and not only know you but accept you. 

He was soon leading you back towards his bedroom and the two of you climbed into bed together. You undressed each other down to your underwear before Spencer started to tense up. He pulled back from your lips and stroked your hair back off of your face. 

“I, uh, I thought I was ready but…” he trailed off with a fractured sigh.

“You’re not there yet.” You finished for him.

“Not quite.” He admitted, a faint blush spreading to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.” 

“Please don’t apologise to me, it’s okay.” You brushed your knuckles over his stubbly jaw. “Spence, I have to ask…” 

His eyes snapped closed and his body stiffened. He rolled away from you until he was on his back.

“Please,” he mumbled. “It’s been a lot today. Can we just…?” 

“Okay,” you agreed, although not placated by his answer. “Can I…at least hold you?” 

His body seemed to relax a little at that and you saw his head nod against the pillow. He held his arm open and you curled into him, resting your head on his chest and draping your arm over his stomach, careful to avoid his wound he hadn’t yet redressed. 

His skin was warm against the side of your face and you closed your eyes, breathing him in. He tucked his own arm around you, resting his hand on your hip and brushing his fingers against your flesh. 

There were some things he simply couldn’t talk about. A part of him wanted to, a part of him wanted you to know him inside and out. And maybe one day you would. But he was exhausted by this day and needed to keep this one thing close to this chest. 

Telling the woman he was falling in love with that he was raped was not exactly high on his priority list.

***

When you awoke you were on your side facing the window. From this angle you could see pieces of the rolling expanse of land bathed in the early morning sunlight through the slatted blinds. 

Spencer’s casted arm was around you, one of his knees pressed between your own thighs, his front flush against your back.  He was already awake, that much you were certain of as his lips were peppering kisses along the side and back of your neck. 

You nuzzled back against him to let him know you were awake too, and he held you tighter. His hips grinded against your ass and given that between you there was only your flimsy panties and his boxers, it was inherently obvious how hard he was. 

Less than twelve hours ago he said he wasn’t ready for anything like this but you weren’t going to complain. 

Spencer had woken up like this, pressing against you, holding you for dear life. He’d been standing at half mast in his pants before he opened his eyes. With his brain still addled by sleep, he was going to take advantage of it and just let himself give over to this. 

He kissed along your jaw bone, fingers that peeked out of the cast brushing over your ribs. The cast was impeding what he wanted to achieve and he grumbled a little against your skin. 

“Can we, uh, relocate?” He mumbled. 

“As in?” You croaked out a reply. 

“Same position. Other side.” 

You nodded against the pillow before rolling over to face him. Spencer was particularly uncoordinated in his attempt to clamber over you, lay himself down and resume spooning you. 

He tucked his casted arm under the pillow and his good hand was now able to freely wander your body. He forced his mind to stay in the ether, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. He needed this, he needed to feel connected to you, more so than he already did. 

He didn’t waste time with the preamble, didn’t want to allow his mind to be fully aware in case he started overthinking it. He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your panties to which you moaned in response.

Taking that as a green light, he manoeuvred his knee back between your thighs to wedge your legs open and let his hand slide inside them, instantly moving towards your clit. 

You gasped at the contact of his deft index finger pressing against your bundle of nerves, wiggling your ass back against his crotch. 

Spencer started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, closing his eyes and burying his face into the back of your neck. 

You were already completely soaked and it drove him wild to know he could have this effect on you before he’d even touched you. 

His ministrations were fast and desperate, and he started rutting against you in no time at all. You had barely escaped the blankets of sleep and your head was still hazy. 

His finger flicked and pressed with adept precision. He knew exactly what he was doing and your moans were testament to that. 

You were already spiralling, falling into the depths of pleasure bestowed by him. You rocked against his hand, fitfully to increase the friction. 

His heavy breaths on your neck and his hardness rubbing up against your ass cheek were only adding to it. You wanted to turn your head, look at him, kiss him; but he kept you pinned to his chest. 

Your thighs were trying to clamp around his hand as he toyed delicately with your clit, but his knee was in your way. You heard him chuckle darkly into your hair. 

“What? What do you want?” He mumbled, his lips pressing against the skin of your neck. 

“M-more,” you simply whined. 

Spencer thrust against you, the feeling was mutual. 

Suddenly he withdrew his hand from your panties making you whine like a feral dog. He then shuffled backwards, pulling you roughly by your shoulder until you were on your back. 

He quickly knelt over you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide. His messy bed hair hung in his face and a sinful smile was adorned on his lips. 

He kissed you hard and fast, tongue plunging into your mouth and messily exploring its contours. It only lasted a moment before his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. 

He sucked deeply at the apex of your throat, you could already feel a bruise to begin to form in his wake. But then his lips continued to trail lower…

He kissed the swell of your breasts over your bra, down between them across your sternum. Brushing over your ribs they kept getting lower and lower until…

A wanton moan escaped you as his lips ghosted across the waistband of your panties. Spencer smirked against them as he raised his hands and started pulling the fabric down out of his way. 

You kicked them off your legs, looking up at him with large eyes. 

“Is this what you want?” He spoke against the skin of your hip bone. 

“Y-yes…” you whimpered. “Yes p-please, Spencer.” 

“Not Spencer,” he smirked at you. “Call me Doctor.” 

You whined loudly, arching your back off of the bed.

“Fucking hell.” You panted. “Why is that so hot? P-please Doctor. Need it. Need you.” 

He growled at your use of his honorific, straining painfully at the front of his boxers. He let his lips graze lower, breathing in your natural scent. 

You instinctively parted your legs wider and Spencer settled between them, gazing between your legs like he’d just found the holy grail.

There was a point not so long ago when the idea of intimacy, specifically oral sex, would have sent him spiralling into the darkness. But right now he needed his face between your legs with an unadulterated desperation.

Perhaps had you been a man it might have been different. In all honesty he knew he’d never be able to perform oral sex on a man again. Chances were, he may never be able to receive it again either. 

Your glistening cunt spread before him was the most dizzying sight he’d ever beheld. And although it had been an extremely long time since he’d been here with a woman, he still knew exactly what was needed to pleasure you the way you deserved. 

His forearm came down on your stomach, pinning your writhing body to the bed. He edged his face closer and closer until you could feel his breath between your legs. 

And then the flat of his tongue swiped through your slicken folds, collecting your arousal on the muscle and swallowing you down. 

He moaned at your taste and it vibrated through you. You wiggled beneath him but he held you down harder with his arm. 

He was purposefully slow in his movements, making you desperately squirm against him in the need to get him where you so badly needed him. 

His facial hair was rough between your legs, causing a friction that was unimaginably pleasurable. 

He allowed his tongue to dance between your folds, teasingly avoiding your clit. You whined as your fingers dove into his hair and tried to tug him higher by his roots. A laugh escaped him, dissolving between your legs. 

“Someone’s impatient.” He mumbled, swallowing down more of your bitter arousal.

“Can you blame me?” You panted, wrapping your legs around his neck. 

He chuckled again, placing a kiss on the inside of each of your thighs. And without warning he plunged back between your legs like a scuba diver taking to the ocean and drew your bud into his mouth. 

You gasped loudly, fingers curling into his thick locks and gripping them with all of your might. He suckled your clit, his tongue swirling around it in the most jaw dropping way conceivable. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head and your thighs clamped around his head. You thought you could have just come then and there. 

His tongue was skilled, as though this was a well practised art to his. He was sure of himself and it was warranted. He settled quickly into a smooth rhythm, one in which sent a heat flooding throughout your entire body. 

His strong arm held you down against the bed as you frantically rocked against his face, coating his chin and mouth in your slick. 

Spencer was moaning against your clit, a man possessed by his one objective of bringing you to orgasm with his tongue. 

In his mind we’re only two thoughts fighting for dominance: getting you off and the almost painful straining against his boxers.

Without really meaning to, his hand wandered of its own volition between your bodies and straight into his pants. 

He gasped as his hand wrapped around his shaft as though surprised by it. He quickly started pumping himself in his hand, but kept his attention between your legs. 

The sounds of his saliva mixed with your arousal and the room was awash with the sloppy sounds of Spencer’s eating you out. 

Your fingers were lost in his hair. Your legs tightened around his head to the point you might suffocate him. But he didn’t care. 

He let his tongue glide back between your legs hissing in desire as he collected your seed on his deft muscle. Soon enough he settled back on your clit, sucking it back into his warm, wet mouth once more. 

Your body was convulsing, trembling and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Your impending orgasm swelled in the pit of your stomach right beneath Spencer’s arm. 

Your nails grazed his scalp and he bucked into his hand, precum leaking from the tip. He wanted to continue this forever, spend every single moment of every single day worshipping you between your legs.

But he knew you were close, he knew it was only a matter of time before you reached your peak. 

As if on cue, you tugged tightly on his hair, thighs pressing viciously against the sides of his face. 

“F-fuck…” you stammered, the tears now rolling from your eyes. “S-Spence, I’m gonna…oh fuck.” 

A final, rushing wave of pleasure encompassed you and he sucked harder on your bud, as a scream erupted from you. 

You came with a string of slurs and whines and Spencer continued to lap his tongue back and forth over your clit until you were physically pushing him away. 

Your body was a quivering mess beneath him, your hold on his hair and grip of his face loosening as your limbs flopped like a rag doll to the mattress. 

Spencer collected your arousal on his tongue, making you whimper and shudder. With a chuckle he sat back on his haunches, still with his hand around his cock. 

You blinked a few times, bringing him into focus. The sight before you could only be described as divine. 

His mouth and chin was glossy with your arousal, his eyes nodded with lust. His hair was messier now after your assault on it and fell in his eyes. 

His boxers were pushed down to his thighs and he hurriedly jerked himself in his hand as he knelt over you. 

You rolled your bottom lip feverishly between your teeth, unable to take your eyes off of his thick, hard shaft in his hand.

His stomach was clenched, his abdominal muscles tightening beneath his flesh. His member was coated with his own slick and you regarded the way the vein on the underside pulsed with each pump of his hand. 

“I’m c-close.” He mumbled, increasing his speed. “Where can I…?”

“Anywhere.” You were quick to answer. “Anywhere.” 

The endless possibilities were too much for his hazy brain and didn’t move, couldn’t move. Instead he kept up his strokes for a few more moments before the tug in his balls and pinch of his stomach alerted him to the imminence of his orgasm.

Seconds later he stuttered out a breath, mumbling, “f-f-fuck!” And then he erupted, streak after streak of hot come across your stomach and hips. 

He slowed his strokes but continued to pump himself more leisurely as he expelled every last drop of his orgasm, some of which dripped down the side of his balled fist. 

Once his cock was completely spent, his legs gave way and he collapsed next to you on the mattress, quickly drawing you in for a deep and slightly messy kiss. 

The smell of sex clung to the air, heavy and heady and in return Spencer clung to you like you were his only lifeline. You held him with as much energy you had left in your body, limbs entwining to the point you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

He peppered sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach, from you cheeks to your neck to the crown of your head. This had to be heaven because nothing had ever felt this good.

He looked at you, deep into your eyes as he cupped your face delicately in his hand. It was impossible to doubt his loyalty to you when he looked at you like that. 

“I, uh, I lied before about something.” He croaked and you immediately frowned at him. 

“About what?” You pouted but Spencer was smiling at you, dispelling some of your nerves. 

“I told you I was falling in love with you. I lied.” 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You croaked. 

He inhaled deeply through his nose as his hand trailed into your hair. His gaze was permeating right through to your soul. 

“I’m not falling in love with you. Because I’ve already fallen.” His smile grew but there was a hint of nerves laced into his words. 

You exhaled in relief, half wanting to slap him for misleading you like that. But instead you kissed him. 

“God that was mean.” You laughed against his lips. “And I guess that makes two of us.” 

You felt him relax in your arms at your admittance and he pulled you tighter to his chest. 

You were ultimately just two fucked up people just trying to find your place in the world. And neither of you would have ever thought you’d find it here together. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

[mychapel-004]

something i've been thinking about post-portal fiddauthor

this could entirely be something i've just missed people discussing, but i haven't seen anyone mention before how this motel:

(presumably the place fiddleford relocates to after being kicked from the blind eye and having his memories taken)

is incredibly similar to the only other motel we see mentioned in the journal:

arguably twin bed motel is just a reference to twin peaks, or back to the future, or just the twins themselves, but honestly? the two seem like they could be the same motel. they're both out in the woods, surrounded by forest (presumably near route 14 and the truck stop ford has been frequenting) with pine tree motifs, and they're both out there in the snow. ford stays there for one night multiple weeks after the portal incident, sometime at the end of january or start of february, and fiddleford is there somewhere between day 189 and day 273.

that might seem like it puts a bit of a wrench in it, because it seems like fiddleford couldn't have been there at the same time if it has been 273 days since the portal incident, but this just adds to the theory that fiddleford is lying in his initial video diary and is filming the first four entries while still working with ford (which i want to make a post about if anyone is interested, i have a lot of evidence). so, with that theory, it is plausible that they are at this same motel at the same time, especially when you consider that neither ford nor fidd have a car at this point. ford's was destroyed shortly after he moved to GF by steve, and he seems to travel solely on foot since then, and fiddleford assumedly stops driving after day 189 when he accidentally hits another car on the road and breaks his arm. how many motels are accessible on foot in this area in the snow?

so two men, both tormented and driven to their limit by the same creature, the same project, unable to escape very far without transport end up in the same motel for one night weeks after their partnership fell apart. ford doesn't even make it inside, he collapses in the parking lot staring at the sign, thinking of the only person in the world who he could trust anymore. he says it himself, "F is nowhere to be found", "if only i had listened to him when i had the chance", but in reality fiddleford was metres away, holed up in a dingy room he rented with the last of his money, driving himself mad with paranoia.

the worst part is arguably that the video diary that takes place in the motel is the first one where we see the start of mcgucket vs fiddleford. his voice is pitchy and anxious, he's rambling about seeing something he didn't understand, he's hunched and scared and tearing out his own hair. he's stopped using the gun, most likely having been thrown out of the blind eye by now, but his mind is gone for good and he's continuing to decline without even using it. if ford had known F was there, just behind a door, and tried to see him, he wouldn't have seen the man he knew. at this point, fiddleford was gone either way. he would have been completely unrecognisable.

in another universe did he find him? did fiddleford see him through the window and try to place where he knew this man's face from, why his chest hurt so badly looking at him slumped over outside his window? did they figure it out instead of slipping past eachother again?

just like the few moments he spent with stanley before the accident, he fumbles and blanks the people around him without even trying, and fails to see past his own goals into how they affect others. he doesn't understand stan's anger at being sent away again, doesn't see fiddleford's collapse even though he's seemingly become known in the community for his very public deterioration, destroys the possibility of anyone "understanding what he's up against" because time and time again he doesn't tell them.

he believes that he needs to keep this information to himself, save the research even though its dangerous, stop others from knowing or they might steal it, but at the same time he needs help so badly and he needs stan and fidd to finish his plans, both to build the portal and to stop bill. but he lets them walk in blind every time, refusing to share what he knows, all under the name of that sly piece of advice bill gave him, "trust no-one." even though, what bill really meant is "trust no-one but me".

arguably it's the same habit which leads to weirdmaggeddon, he doesn't tell anyone but dipper, the child he sees himself in, about the rift or about the truth of his relationship with bill. if mabel knew, she would never have given bill the rift, or felt left out enough to run and be vulnerable, which lends so much more to his character post-BOB, where he's finally opening up to the people around him. he's reunited with his family and fidd, they all know his embarrassing secrets and the things he tried to hide about himself, about him and bill. and it's okay. if anything it makes him more human, more flawed but more relatable. and at the end of it all, F is there, as forgiving and kind and understanding as he always has been, with no door in the way this time.

[wizardinggirl]

The Snake & The Raven

Summary: Adults now, you and Severus have your own lives and careers. The two of you still keep in touch, but something’s been off lately. With a major loss for both of you, your lives begin to shift.

Warnings: mentions of death

Go to the beginning here -> Prologue (1/2)

Last: Prologue (2/2)

Part 1: We Need Each Other

Word Count: 1.6k

It’s been three years since that day. You were working at the Ministry as an Auror, one of the youngest there, you supposed your wit and quick thinking helped you gain the attention of higher ups in the organization. You had risen quickly and gained respect of your peers after graduating and joining the Aurors. You were honored that they thought so highly of you. The tasks they gave you were just surveillance and assisting in interrogations, but you were good at both. Tripping criminals up with your words and making them spill their dirty little secrets without them even knowing. You were surprised when he had written that he had gotten a job at Hogwarts as Potions Master only three years after you graduated. You thought he’d want to get as far away as possible from that place. Not that you would blame him. But you supposed it was a fitting post for him considering his proficiency for potions. The two of you would write to each other often for the first two years and would meet up whenever either of you was in the area, sometimes even going out of your way to meet up for dinner. You began to realize the feelings you had felt for him in school had started to bubble to the surface once again and grow into something more. It began to show in your letters and small touches in person. He’d even begun to reciprocate, in his own, quiet way. Something was off this past year however, he was more distant in his letters and there was more time in between them. He wasn’t able to meet up like he used to, claiming to be too busy. It could’ve just been your Auror mind, but you couldn’t help to think that something was off.

“Y/n.” You looked up from the report that you were failing to write, opting for twirling your wand in your hand instead. “The minister wants to see you.” You raised your brow at the minister’s secretary.

“Me? What for?” The first and last time you had seen her was when you first joined. There was no real reason for her to want to talk to you about anything. So late in the night too? Why was she still here?

“It’s best if you just go.” You tucked your wand into your robe and stood up from your desk.

“Alright then. After you.” You gesture for him to lead the way and he does. You weren’t prepared for what you were about to hear when you stepped into the minister’s office. The secretary stayed outside and closed the door behind you as she stood from her desk. That's when you noticed your old headmaster. “Professor?” You eyed the both of them carefully. “What’s this about?”

“Hello, Y/n.” Dumbledore greeted with a somber voice and a sad smile on his face. “Please,” he gestured to the chair in front of Minister Bagnold’s desk. “Take a seat.” You moved slowly, and sat down in the chair. You didn’t like the feeling that was growing in your gut. The minister took her seat, folding her hands in front of her on the desk.

“Miss. L/n.” She looked at you with something in her eyes…sadness maybe? Pity? “I regret to inform you that your friends James and Lily Potter have been…” there was a pause, your heart was already sinking “they’ve been murdered by you-know-who.” You froze. Your eyes slowly shifted to your old professor. This couldn’t be true, but his face confirmed that what she had said. You looked down to the floor to try and ground yourself. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting out a long exhale. You tried your best to keep your voice from shaking.

“And their son? Is Harry okay?”

“The boy lives.” Your head shot to to Dumbledore. “Lily had sacrificed herself and saved his life in the process. We have already relocated him. He’s safe for now.” Tears pricked at your eyes. Ever since the two of you graduated and she married Potter, the two of you had grown apart, but she was still one of your oldest friends and that meant something to you.

“Have you told Black?” He nodded.

“Mr. Black and the rest of Mr. Potter’s friends.”

“Severus?” You ask in a whisper. This would surely break his heart to learn of Lily’s fate. The headmaster and minister share a look you couldn’t decipher then he looks back to you.

“He was the one that found them.” You banged on the door as loud as you could. It was one thing to hear about it from someone else, but to be the one that found her. You knew he was hurting, utterly gutted more like.

“Severus, open the door!” You were about to use Alohamora on the door, getting your wand out and ready to cast the spell when he finally opened it, slowly. He looked like shit. You shoved your wand back into your robes and pushed your way in, closing the door with your foot while wrapping your arms around his neck. He didn’t resist, nor did he reciprocate. You felt him tremble.

“She’s gone.” His voice was broken and barely above a whisper.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Turning him around you lead him with your hand on his back. Using your other to take off you cloak and toss it on a chair in the living room. You helped him into bed that night; that’s probably where he was before you barged into his home. You were honestly shocked that he had even been able to get himself to the door. Not wanting to leave him completely alone you were going to sleep on his couch, but his hand caught your wrist weakly before you could walk away. You looked down at him, he wasn’t looking at you. Placing your hand on his, you understood. You took a step back towards the bed and lifted the covers. He moved over enough for you to climb in next to him. Tucked in, you held each other, cried, and mourned the loss of your friend together. When you woke up the next morning it took you a moment to remember where you were and who you were with. You looked down and saw Severus tucked into your side with his arm wrapped around you. You were rubbing your eyes when you heard a knock at the door. Looking down at Snape, you carefully unhooked his arm from your body and slid off of the bed doing your best not to wake him. You paused before opening and pulled your wand from your robe on the chair, holding it in the hand hidden behind the door and opened it slowly. You sighed with relief and opened the door completely.

“Professor Dumbledoor, thank Merlin it’s you.” You look back at the bedroom then take a step out in the hallway with him, closing the door behind you.

“Hello dear. How is Severus?” You sigh and cross your arms.

“Not good. I’m sure you’ve noticed how he felt about Lily.” He nodded softly, understanding.

“Perhaps it would be best if you can get him back to Hogwarts for the time being. It could help him cope.”

“So soon?”

“He needs structure. Staying in a routine will keep him from spiraling towards the dark.” You sigh and hang your head. You knew he was right. With how strongly he felt about the woman, he would surely waste away without some kind of responsibility.

“Very well, I’ll do my best.” The headmaster rests his hand on your shoulder and you look up to him.

“You will need each other now more than ever. Perhaps you would like to take a temporary position at Hogwarts to keep an eye on him? We can add a Dueling Class, it would suit you well and help the students use what they learned practically.”

“It would be nice to slow down for a bit…” you mumble softly. He squeezed your shoulder gently then gives a reassuring pat.

“You’ll do great. I’ll speak with the Minister about giving you a leave of absence.”

“Thank you Professor.” Smiling grateful at him, he nods then bids you farewell.

After letting the two of you mourn for a couple of weeks you decided to finally try and get him up and moving. It took a long while for you to convince Severus he should return to teaching, almost a full week, and that it would be good for him to be back into a routine. Eventually he agreed, rather begrudgingly, but he agreed. Freshly showered, fed, and bag packed; you and Severus were on the train to Hogwarts.

“I can’t believe you have your own office.” You run your fingers along the spines of the books on the shelves.

“I am a professor (y/n).” He states obviously then marks on the assignment in front of him. He had a lot of grading to catch up on from the past few weeks. You roll your eyes and move to stand behind him, watching over his shoulder. He pauses, looking up towards the door. “Must you hover?” You let out a sigh and walk back around to the front of his desk.

“What else am I to do? Classes don’t start until tomorrow. It’s not like I have papers to grade and you’re too stubborn to let me help you with yours.” He lets out an exasperated sigh then goes back to work. You exhale through your nose and sit in the chair diagonal from him and cross your legs; drawing circles on the arm of the chair with your nail. He glances up at you then sets down his pen.

“Honestly, (y/n).” He pushes up off his desk to stand and you hop up from your own chair with a smirk on your face.

“Hogsmeade?”

“Fine.” You smile at him and he can’t help but give the smallest of smiles in return. You knew you’d wear him down eventually, just like you had before.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter please let me know!

Next: Part 2: I’ve Missed You

[huffelpuff210]

Bucky Barnes x shy reader connection part 4

Summary: you start to shut down not knowing how to deal with the reactions from everyone

Natasha ended up stitching some of your more serious injuries, she had to relocate your shoulder which hurt like hell, everyone was looking at you concerned Steve was asking you questions, but you ended up shutting down instead, you just couldn’t answer, keeping your head down,

When Natasha was done you rushed out of the room like it was on fire, truthfully you just didn’t want to tell them, it was only going to make everyone feel bad, you rushed to your spot the roof of the house, it was in the middle of the woods a beautiful lake, trees and mountains for miles, you hugged your knees as you found yourself lost in thought.

******* ******

Steve and the others watched as you rushed out of the room to say they were Conserned was an understatement but they were also confused you used to have a pretty big personality always happy and joking around, now…. Your distant you would tense every time someone touched you, you kept your head down, even the way you talked was unnoticeable,

Bucky however could see it the despair in your eyes, he could see the way you would almost check out and wonder into your own mind,

Sure the others kept referring to how you used to be, but this was the first time Bucky met you and he realized you were just as beaten and scared as him..

And yet he wondered what the hell happened in that government facility…

****** ****

It was late and you still haven’t gone back inside you could see your breath as the sun sank behind the mountains, you knew it was risky staying outside but as far as anyone’s concerned if Tony would roll up here you re the only one here….

You would gladly go though that hell again for Steve….

He was there for you all the time when you were part of the avengers him and Nat always made sure you were ok, make sure you were fed, slept properly,

You let out a long sigh as you hugged your knees closer, you don’t blame them for what happened, you are just glad you were able to survive for as long as you did, get to see them again, you would gladly do it all over again.

But still your mind always drifts back to that dark place…. A place that is your constant torment,

Your own personal hell…

A place you can never escape a place that torments and tortures you with every breath you take.

A constant reminder of the hell you had went through..

It was now getting dark which resulted in you standing up and rushing back inside, you couldn’t stand the darkness or small places, it was why you expanded the underground rooms, you did not like small spaces,

Especially since your stay in the government facility, you didn’t like darkness which was why you had very bright lights but they could be adjusted, you did catch Steve or Sam turned the lights dim, but as soon s they would leave you would turn them back up,

You cannot sleep at night because of what might be lurking in the darkness, and the nightmares kept you petrified in fear, you would have such terrifying nightmares you would become paralyzed you could move for a few hours you would try to move but would be unable eventually you gave up on sleep, tonight would be day five without sleep,

You were currently in your workshop trying to concentrate on the watch you were working on…

you heard a knock,

You sighed taking a deep breath,

“Come in.” You say your voice still scratchy and squeaky

Steve enters,

“Hey.. uh Bucky made dinner if you are hungry,” Steve says

You arch your brow, when Steve originally introduced you to Bucky when they first arrived, he was the winter soldier HYDRA erased his mind, and made him into a weapon,

You look back down at your watch,

“I’m not hungry.” It came out a lot harsher than you intended it to be,

You heard him sigh shutting the door you had thought he had left,

“Y/N, you need to eat something, you are underweight, if I can see your ribs you are not eating enough.” He says

“I will eat in a little,” you say

You hear him sigh

“Y/N please..” he says you finally look up when you look into his eyes you knew you couldn’t fight him,

You look at his eyes the concern radiates off of him,

Steve had changed, he was built bigger, didn’t take no for an answer he was more rugged,

He had a beard going on but his eyes still remained the same, still giving away how he was really feeling,

You sighed giving up setting your tools down, sitting back in your chair looking up at the ceiling like it was going to give you the strength,

“Fine.” You responded standing up he chuckled

As you sat down with everyone Bucky had this look in his eyes. This intense look, you could not tell what he was thinking,

*** ******

Bucky watched as you pushed your food around on the plastic plate, taking small bites every now and again

But he could see how lost in your mind you really were, he watched you closely,

That’s when he knew, that you needed each other, you were both the same,

He was going to help you even if you would push him away, even if you hated him for it he knew he had to at least try…

[edenspoem]

i see all of your new requests, but let me post this yapfest first. i wanted to explain my further vision on "the sweeter the wheat" and how post-seattle!ellie just follows the reader around like a puppy and is a fucking #loser. :P

seeking revenge never felt so transformative, inside and outside of the material world. when ellie swore to her blade that it would taste the bitter, briny blood of abby, she never expected such a fallout as the one that befell her in the theater. in the maw of adversity, she failed to quench that blood-promise, and it left her with a few broken things that now surround her in jackson.

her garage quietened to the level of an abandoned church, lacking a dina, a joel, and a heart to laden it with sunlit laughter. her agonies: a ghost you bring back with you that says no word, no whisper, no indications of disgust with that fleshly desire for a second go at the blonde wolf who set her into this cycle, just a silence. something that eroded her thoughts to the bone and made them gnash and scrape against her head in an effort to dig deep for resolve. it brought nothing but regret and punished her into repeated sleep, where yet, she still sorrowed. a laid, humiliatingly tidy hill of bones sorrowed, one of them fractured at the center. forgiveness, fractured.

then there was you, traipsing through the thoroughfare towards the diner she thinks is your new station of operation, but isn't too sure. it was there, she followed many paces behind you, struggling with her weary feet and her slung arm—which dependently embraces her stomach for safety, solace, and health—watching you grow further and further away into the cry of spring light as she gawked on like a dog with a bone. a dog who simply wanted to play a game of catch but fears the look of desperation. maybe she doesn't deserve attention. that was before she even made it inside the diner at all.

it was in you that she sought a temporary resolve, wasting all those temperate, late nights weaving her limbs into you instead of sulking in her own emptiness. ellie's dolour and dejection turned into a sediment; she erased all disgust and question in her gut, and had forgotten what had her in tears weeks before. you're a saint, a goddamn fun person to be around. she likes to laugh with you, at you. she likes to sketch you, paint you. she likes to cook for you—even if hopelessly attempted. she likes to talk about where she might relocate to if given the chance, van life in the apocalypse, perhaps? you tell her everything is far beyond okay, and that she isn't a total loser for taking this long to ask you out but remained a desperate case in her journal and in her sentiments. she likes to hug you, hold you, touch you, even if it makes all those cringy diary entries look like wishes turned true. she likes to kiss you, even if it means she might rise into love with you and accidentally catch you in her never-ending blight.

“i just, um—nevermind. can't take myself seriously when i start to get all sappy, so i better stop before i.. yeah,” her voice became shy again, so to speak, fiddling with her ear nervously. quickly, she made herself useful by reorganizing the pillows so you could lay by her. shuffling onto her side and reaching out that newly-healed arm for you, “c'mon, i'm tired as shit,” elusively laughing.

it's the reason she holds back sometimes.

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 8)

Word Count - 5.6K

Summary - After being ambushed by an unknown foe and coming face to face with the realities of war, Ghost and Doc are forced to relocate to another safe house. Here they come clean about the inner turmoil plaguing them.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn

A/N - Just gunna sneak back in here.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6 ❤︎ Part 7

Masterlist  ❤︎

Simon found himself stealing glances at the hands you had fisted in the fading material of your trousers. Your knuckles flashed white under your skin, and your jaw was fixed tight enough that your teeth might just crack under the pressure. Only the tips of your toes touched the floor, the muscles in your legs were so tense.

A near-death experience in his presence was unacceptable on his best of days. It’s happened twice—it was fucking with his head. He wanted to give you the space and independence that you had asked for but it seemed like every time he did so, you ended up injured. And badly. 

He wanted to pull you out of harm's way, hide you away from danger; but he was so devastatingly afraid of losing you again. A bitter fact that was making him go mad. He was selfish. In every sense of the word. 

It wasn’t that he thought you were helpless, he knew you could hold your own.

But…

He turned over the cyclone of thoughts in his head with a desperate need to find a solution that didn’t involve you getting hurt. Either by him or not.  

You shifted in your seat, brows knitting together and a grimace threatening to stretch your mouth. Simon had growing concerns about a possible concussion. Your agonizing headache and the puking from earlier weren’t a good sign. The singular gash above your brow has stopped bleeding but blood still coated and crusted into the strands of your hair. 

Your body had begun to shake as the adrenaline ebbed from your bones, leaving behind cold and sore muscles. For the life of him, he couldn’t shake the sight of the wild and desperate look in your eyes when he saw you in that hallway. You didn’t believe you’d come out of that fight alive and he could see that from the driver's seat. He forced his eyes to remain on the road ahead but his attention was wholly on you and your every breath. He wanted to ask you to talk to him, to let him know that you knew you were safe now. It was foolish to assume you would, you very rarely spoke your mind. Instead, you pushed your unsavoury thoughts and feelings to the deepest recesses of your mind. He only knew this because he saw it in himself. 

Like calls to like, he internally grumbled. Perhaps that was what he needed, someone who understood him and the way he worked. 

From the corner of his eye, he caught your eyes rolling shut, your head bobbing, as you fought off sleep. He reached over to your arm, shaking you lightly, “Stay awake for me, Doc.” 

Your eyes snapped back open but they were still glazed with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion, and you struggled to focus them. The terrain outside the truck window was moving too fast and your vision blurred then doubled. 

You frowned, “I think I’m going to vomit,” you cupped a hand over your mouth as it began to water. 

This time when he pulled over you nearly didn’t make it out in time—collapsing to your knees just outside. If he wanted to look over he would still be able to see the top of your head and watch as your shoulders heaved and curved forward with every wretch. Simon had to grip the steering wheel so tight that he feared the weathered and worn plastic would give way. Yet, he only tightened his hold to keep from jumping out after you because he knew you’d bite his head off if he did. Instead, he waited, pretending to distract himself with finding something from the back seat. 

He glared so hard out the windshield that he had to blink away a burn from his eyes. If he learned anything from his time in the military it was that he needed to manage his emotions before they took form. He had a track record of “losing control”, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel like punching the fuck out of the steering wheel at this moment.      

You used the side of the vehicle to haul yourself back up, knees wobbling. Simon was already handing you water from his pack. You rinsed out your mouth, giving him a look that confirmed his suspicions. 

He felt his expression harden and watched as you noticed his demeanour change. You waved a hand. 

You waved him off. 

He swore he could feel his blood pressure rising. He was a torrent of emotions and thoughts that he didn’t have the time or desire to sort through right now.  

He cared so much. So much so, that he had to quite literally bite the tip of his tongue to keep from asking you a million questions. 

Are you okay? What can I do? What do you need?

“I’ll be fine, Riley,” you crawled back into your seat, “How much longer?” 

He tipped his head from side to side in contemplation, “Hour and a half.” 

Simon counted to 50, then back down by 7s, and back up by odd numbers, just to get a handle on his breathing. 

Turning back time to a few hours ago to kill those two soldiers again wasn’t an option. He knew that, but dammit it all if he didn’t wish that just this once he could. 

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you arrived, and to your visible relief, this new safe house was in a rather populated city. Around 20,000 civilians if you had to guess. The sky of the downtown area was stretched higher from the dozen or so apartment buildings. All similar looking in architecture. Some were as high as 10 stories, with little glowing windows dotting the sides. Others were no more than four. This would make it easier to blend in and disappear. 

He pulled into an underground car park, finding the most secluded and dimly lit corner he could. He ripped the cover off of a neglected truck from a few stalls down to cover his. Dust kicked up from the disintegrating canvas, and you waved a hand in front of your face and let out a few coughs to clear your lungs of it.  

You let him carry your pack from the car, if only because you knew he would pretend he didn’t hear you if you asked for it.

He led you to the seventh floor of the apartment building, and he quietly apologized for there not being an elevator.         

Simon had made you stand by the door while he made sure the place was secure. From where you stood you could hear him opening and closing the door, his footfalls near silent. When he was satisfied with his findings, or lack-there-of he guided you to the table before disappearing down the dark hallway. The singular light he had turned on in the kitchen was just enough to give you an idea of your surroundings. The apartment was nearly barren apart from the absolute basics. There was a small kitchen table that had the stain and lacquer peeling off, with a couple of chairs and a couch in the main room. Down the hall were two doors one with a bedroom complete a bed and dresser, and a bathroom.

When he returned, he had a wet cloth and a medkit he found in the bathroom in hand. With a nod of his chin, he sat you down in one of the chairs at the table, pulling another for himself in front of you. His legs were too long to sit comfortably unless he placed them on either side of yours. The proximity of his body heat melted nearly every muscle it reached.  

He was so incredibly gentle. It never failed to surprise you that this man was capable of such a touch. His fingers were feather light on your chin as he maneuvered your face to get rid of the blood that had dried to your skin. He said nothing the entire time. Too focused and too in his head to remember to talk. 

Guilt rushed up. You wanted so badly to reach out and take his hand in yours. Console whatever inner battle he was waging on himself. You wanted to feel him. Kiss him.  

Jerking back, you hissed at him when he began to clean the open wound. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, and his whiskey-coloured eyes snapped up to yours for a second before returning to his work. 

Now that he had cleaned up the area, it didn’t seem to be all that bad. Headwounds always bled more you reminded, but he would still need to do something to close it up. He rummaged through the kit, basically emptying its contents onto the table before he found steri-strips at the bottom of the medkit.    

You were certain that if it were he who had the injury he would have been content with a gluing to shut with the common crazy glue you’d find in every household's junk drawer and be on his way. He was no surgeon or nurse. He was a war-hardened soldier. There should be nothing nurturing about him. But with you, he was thoughtful about it. When he was done he leaned back in his chair to take a good look at his handiwork. You thanked him, instinctively leaning forward and resting your head on his chest. His arms encircled you, rubbing comforting lines up and down your back. You could hear the rhythmic thumb of his heart. 

You stayed like that for long enough that your breaths became synchronized. You allowed it to lull you, nearly falling asleep against him.  

“To bed with you,” he stood, holding out a hand for you. He guided you to the bedroom down the hall. There were no sheets or blankets. Or even a pillow. But, the cot looked unused. Brand new, even. 

You pulled off your boots with a grunt, and that was about as far as you got before you decided it wasn’t worth the effort and laid down. At some point during the night, you woke up with his jacket covering the upper half of your body. You curled your body into it, trying to get as much of yourself covered as you could before you drifted back into sleep.   

He left you to rest, but he still came in every few hours to wake you up and check if your condition was worsening. Each time he made sure to quickly close the door behind him so that the light filtered from the kitchen into the hall wouldn’t bother you. He usually left right after checking in on you, and more than on one occasion you could hear the voices of one of the 141 members coming from a radio or laptop in the living room area. 

Right now, he was crouched beside your bed, his eyes searching yours for any indication of a decline in your condition. 

Without thinking, you reached out for the hand that he had dangling between his legs. His fingers almost instinctively curled around yours. You rolled onto your side to face him completely, wincing when the weight of your hair reminded you of your injury. 

Gingerly he pushed hair back from your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

You could tell there was still an inner conflict plaguing him. One that he was trying very hard not to let come to the surface. There was so much he needed to say to you, but he couldn’t find the right wording and he was so afraid of scaring you off again. You would let him have a little more time to think before you pushed him to talk.

“What are they saying?” you had to fight to keep your eyes focused on him as your vision swam in front of you. You reached for him, your fingers catching on the collar of his sweater. You used his form to ground yourself as vertigo threatened to sweep you away. 

He placed a stabilizing hand under your elbow, “We’re gonna have to stay here for a few weeks until we know for sure we weren’t followed. It worked out great though. I have a contact here. Might be able to tell us who that was today,” his voice was unnaturally soft, and melodic. He sounded distracted like his mind was elsewhere, “You should get some more rest.”

He moved to stand up, but his grip didn’t loosen. As if he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered, biting your lip and looking down at his shoes preparing yourself for his rejection. 

He stilled. 

“Let me finish this report and I’ll be back,” he gave your hand one last squeeze before lowering it. 

You were in the limbo between sleep and wake when he returned. He came in with his pack, ripping off the last of his gear piece by piece. You sat up to watch when you heard the soft thud of boots hitting the floor. His shirt was already discarded on the floor, his belt open and hanging loose around his hips. 

You swallowed, your imagination instantly taking you back to that night a few weeks ago. Remembering how he had felt above you. In you. The feel of his desperate panting on your neck, and the sound of his moans were enough of a reminder that you squeezed your thighs together involuntarily. 

“Nuh-uh,” he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction when he noticed your eyes glaze over, “We’re getting you cleaned up.” 

He pulled back the covers on the bed, revealing your bare legs and the shirt he had slipped on you before sending you off to sleep. His shirt. The sudden change in temperature in concurrence with the heat of his gaze caused goose bumps to rise on your skin. 

“Are you planning on joining?” You tilted your head to the side. It was more of a request than it was a question.   

His eyelids grew heavy and he nodded. This time when you stood up, you weren’t as dizzy as you were expecting to be, at least nothing that you couldn’t handle. There was only the constant headache. A shower would help.

With his hands on your hips, he guided you down the hall to the bathroom. Almost immediately after he turned on the tap, steam wafted through the room. Your mouth dropped open, “A hot shower?”    

You fought to keep from pushing him out of the way to step inside the water. You were struggling with your shirt when Simon gave you a helping hand. 

Now completely naked in front of him, you reached for the zipper of his pants, eager to get in the water. He grasped your hand with him, his face tilted up and staring off into the corner. The tips of his ear were crimson and a nervous chuckle escaped him, “You need to give me a second.”

You took a cheeky peek at where your hands had just been. 

You blinked. 

He was rock solid. Painfully straining against the front of his jeans.  

“You’re naked,” he gritted out, and he said it like you weren’t aware. 

“What…” You tried to move your hands again but his grip tightened, “What were to expecting? This is a shower.”

“Please just get in the shower.”

You raised yourself onto your tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Then worked your way down his neck; to his pulse, which hammered against his skin. 

You pressed into him, trapping your hands between your bodies. 

He groaned, the sounds coming up from deep within his chest. 

He stiffened as if remembering that just a few hours ago your life had been forfeit. His blood ran cold, you could feel it in the way his spin went ridged.  

And just like that, he was serious again, quietly guiding you to the shower. 

He did not join. He had brought you a fresh pair of clothes and waited outside the bathroom for you, closing the door behind him. 

You had tried your best to rinse all the blood and dirt from your body, unsure of how much of it was even yours. Your fingers danced over your open wounds, careful not to disturb the dressings Simon had put there earlier. Blood feathered and mixed with the water before slipping down the drain. You stayed under the water until it ran clear. What you wouldn’t give for a bar of soap in this moment. Your skin was red and irritated from the heat of the water and the scrubbing of cloth by the time you stepped back out.  

Steam fogged the glass but you could still see the vague, distorted outline of your body. You looked down at the fresh purple and blue hues of the bruises that marred your skin. They littered your legs and arms and contoured your hips. They peeked out from beneath your chin and disappeared into your hairline. Poking at them to feel the familiar ache was a habit you’ve had since you were a child, one you couldn’t shake all these years later. Your tongue darted out to trace the split in your lip, tasting coppery blood. 

The shower helped more than you had thought it could. It didn’t just rid your body of the blood but any lingering fear and tension. You didn’t move as sluggish as you did before, but you were still unbalanced enough that you had to sit on the toilet to put your pants on.   

   When you exited the bathroom, Simon had tried his best to carral you back the bedroom but you put up a big enough fight that he eventually moved to the side of the hallway to let you past. 

Even though every slight shift in movement sent pain crackling between your temples, you had felt the need to make yourself useful. You had yet to discover what task you could do that would help you achieve usefulness in this moment. You asked and asked until he had finally relented and allowed you to sit at the table in the kitchen with him, and had given you the menial task of planning out meals so that the little bit of food you guys had on hand could last as long as possible. Ghost had set up his little station in the kitchen, and was currently taking inventory on the very limited supplies you guys had available. 

Which was his own C8 carbine with a total of three clips and two extra boxes of ammo, his standard-issue handgun with one extra mag; yours must have fallen out of its holder during your fight in the school hallway because neither of you could find it. Your M4A1 with four magazines. Each of your military-issued knives, and 11 throwing knives, four of them being your own. Between what he found in your pack, his pack, the truck, and the safe house you guys had four maybe five comfortable days worth of food. He had found four blue jugs full of water in the bathroom. 

You sat slouched in the chair, scanning the table and kitchen counters that were now full of all your paraphernalia and provisions. He had told you his plans to meet up with this contact, Alex, some time tomorrow he was just waiting to hear back from him to see when and where. You had asked to come but Ghost shot down the idea immediately saying, “I still don’t really know who’s side he’s on. It’d better if he thinks I’m alone for now.”

You fiddled with one of the bullets he had laid out on the table, your finger balancing on its tip as you rocked it back a fourth. It wasn’t that you missed or even liked the abandoned fort you guys had previously been hiding out in with everyone else but at least that place wasn’t so agonizingly quiet. You guys couldn’t talk above a whisper to avoid any neighbours questioning why the usually empty apartment suddenly had occupants. 

You also missed Soap. Oddly enough. You hadn’t realized you’d taken such a liking to him. Enjoying his company came easy, with stifled chuckles and playful competition.    

Ghost dragged the back of his hand across the growing stubble on his chin, a gesture you had recently discovered might have been a nervous tick of his. 

“I’m going to try and see if I can at least get you back to the others,” he looked up at you from beneath his brows, his long lashes shadowing his eyes. If you knew how to paint, this was a picture you would want to capture on canvas. His deep brown eyes wavered for a second before hardening.   

There was a low, nearly imperceptible hum coming from the light in the kitchen. A noise you hadn’t noticed was so irritating until just now. 

You blinked at him, thinking for a second you heard him wrong, “What?”

He dropped his head between his shoulders for a second before looking back up at you, his eyes full of conflict, “I’m going to-“

”No,” you tilted your head at him, “I heard you. I’m just trying to understand what you're insinuating. You’ve never really been the best at communicating, but I think you’re saying you’re trying to go off on your own right now. Which, by the way, I will not be agreeing to. So I strongly suggest you take back what you just said.”

You watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across his face. You couldn’t help but feel like he hated the fact that without the comfort of his mask. A man who liked keeping his plans close to his chest but had a difficult time hiding his emotions; was an unpredictable man. 

“I’ve already almost died once this week,” you tried to reason with him, “Statistically speaking, I don’t think it will happen again for at least a few more months.” 

A purple so deep rimmed his eyes, that you wondered if he’d slept at all since you arrived. His dark eyes were dull and unamused at your try at a joke. 

“It’s not funny.” He quipped. Pushing his chair back with a thud. He made to move for the kitchen. 

“Why are you so upset?” you sit up, his jacket falling from your shoulders and getting stuffed between your back and the chair. You attempted to reach for him but he shot you a warning glare over his shoulder, his hand shooting out in a ‘halt’ gesture.

Your heart squeezed in your chest, and your blood ran cold. You scowled at him, ”I can’t understand why you are so insistent on trying to hide me from a career path that I chose for myself. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but whatever happens to me out there is something I have already come to terms with. So why, Simon,” Your voice had risen to a decibel that boarded on yelling, “Why do you keep trying to coddle me?” 

“Because everyone I’ve ever cared about dies! They either die, or leave me, or betray me. And you’re being selfish.” He snapped, chest rising and falling. 

Your breath sucked out and you pulled back in surprise. He has never raised his voice at you like this. You knew he could. He has at others. At Soap. At Price. Not at you though. 

“I have done as you’ve asked and I’ve stepped back. I have done well by you in that. But—” he raked a hand through his cropped hair and moved to take a knee in front of you. His hands gripped your shoulder like he wanted to shake you but didn’t, “It’s not working. You have to give me some room to breathe. I can’t keep walking on eggshells around you. We have to come to an understanding. I have watched so many of my comrades die. I couldn’t save them and I am terrified of if there comes a time where I can’t save you. I have this pit in my stomach every time I am around you that it might be the last time,” he huffed, irritated with himself for a reason you couldn’t understand, “I’m still a man. I’m still a man who desires to keep you out of harm's way. And you hate me for it.”

Instinctively, you almost said, I won’t die, but knew that was naive. 

His eyes were frantically searching yours. This wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation with you. He had been carefully putting together a speech for days, and he just threw the entire dialogue out the window, and he was panicking. 

You hate me for it. 

The words settled in the air, and with every breath you took you inhaled the bitter taste of them. The time between his confession and the words that stuck to the roof of your mouth must have been too long for Simon because there was a flash of hurt in his eyes.   

He made a sound of disbelief before turning his head to the side, his tongue digging into the side of his cheek, “Shit.” 

 You caught his shoulders just as he tried to pull away, keeping his attention on you. Somewhere between the shock and foreign emotions, you felt a sense of anguish. A grief that burned at your eyes. 

“I-“ you started, trying to find the words, “There has never been a man in my life who I felt truly safe and protected by. Not a single one. Not even my own father, my flesh and blood, has given me that security. All of my life I have been relying on only myself. I got myself in and out of situations entirely on my own,” you dragged your hand up to his jaw, “But when I am with you, there is no place on earth where I would feel like this. Like I don’t have to watch my back all the time. Or like I have sleep with one eye open. With you, I can let my guard down. I can be vulnerable,” you shook your head, “I’ll be better. I will be better at letting you help me. I will let you worry for me. I’ve never done that before and I don’t really know how to do that, but I’ll learn. I’ll learn. Just don’t send me away.”    

Before he could reply you were leaning forward in your seat, your mouth falling into a now familiar position over his. He immediately parted his lips for you, his hands instinctively delving into the hair at the base of his neck. The salt of tears you didn’t know you were shedding mixed in with the taste of him. He kisses them into your skin. With minimal effort and a soft grunt, he lifted you from your seat, shifting the two of you so he was sitting in the chair with you in his lap. 

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you,” you didn’t think your words could be so honest. 

The agonizing sound that came from him was heartbreaking. The very thought of this man thinking you hated him for something he was trying so hard to ignore was enough to convince you that you never wanted to leave his side.

His mouth captured yours once more, one hand digging into the skin on your hips while the other wrapped around your back to keep you as close to him as he could possibly get you. You let him. Let him grab ahold of you like he desperately needed to. He needed to steal the air from your lungs for his own, his heartbeat to the feel of yours. He needed to memorize every curve and dip of your body beneath his touch. He needed the know how the sound of your gasps and breaths like he needed to know his own name.      

He kissed you until he was all you knew too. Until the world faded away into the shadows of the night, and your mind whittled down small enough for just him to hold. Your body moulded to his, sinking deeper into his hold. Your skin screamed to be touching his, and your fingers searched for any bit of exposed skin they could find. 

For what seemed like an eternity and a few seconds at the same time, you stayed like this. Entwined in each other's arms and fingers, and mouths; lost in each other. Pulling away from one another if only to take in air before diving back in. 

This man would be the death of you. You would throw your neck on the blade if it meant saving him. And oddly enough, you weren’t terrified of that revelation. You welcomed it and felt the need to nurture this new feeling. 

His grip loosened and he ran lines up and down your outer thigh. His fevered kisses slowed to a leisure. 

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed into your skin, “Don’t leave me behind.”

You knew without him needing to say that didn’t mean physical distance, or even emotional. He meant for you not to leave him behind to walk the earth without you by his side. 

You shook your head, giving him one last sweet kiss before stepping off of him and holding your hand out for him to grab, “Stay with me.” 

You lead him down the hall back to the bedroom, where you curled up into his arms in the bed. He pressed into the curve of his arms and engulfed yourself in his warmth and safety. It was a wordless interaction, one that felt natural and practiced. 

For a second, just as you drifted into sleep and your senses ebbed away into the recesses of your mind, you thought about what it would feel like to go to sleep and wake up in his arms every day. What it would be like to wake up in a room you shared, in a house you shared.     

He was gone the next morning before the sun had fully risen. Even though he had tried his best not to wake you, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall tugged you from your sleep. He was barely halfway through the kitchen before you were followed him. He sat at the table tying his shoes while you had prepared a quick breakfast of jam and crackers for him. When you turned around in the kitchen to face him, his eyes were already tracking your every movement, an indescribable expression pulled at his brows and the corner of his mouth. 

“How long will you be?” You handed him the crackers. 

He ate the first one in one bite, chewing quickly before answering, “I’ll be back by noon at the latest,” he paused, “If I’m not, call Price. He’ll come get you.” 

“I’ll wait,” you said with a finality that he didn’t have the heart to argue with. 

You waited for noon to come, keeping yourself busy by monitoring the streets out front. Memorized the cars and people as they went off to work for the day. You took detailed notes of those who left later or lingered outside for longer than what you deemed normal. You wrote down on the small notepad you kept in the front of your pack. You flipped past the pages that had the tasks and notes from previous dates. The pen ink was smudged and washed away from rainy days and spilt coffee on some pages. 

You watched as the hour hand flicked across the clock. From one to two. From two to four. You watched as some of the civilians who left in the early morning hours returned home. Some with groceries for tonight’s dinner, others still stuck on the phone with coworkers as they unlocked their front doors. Some hold hands with their children after picking them up from school.

You sat anxiously by the window, one leg crossed over the other while the other anxiously bounced. You chewed on the tip of your pen as you tried to force yourself to continue to take notes on the people outside. 

You couldn’t help yourself but lean a little bit closer to the window, your breath fogging the glass, every time you saw any man who even remotely resembled Ghost. Your ears perked up every time you heard heavy footsteps come up and down the hall. Waiting until one set stopped in front of the door. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time you heard the softest of knocks on the door. With bare feet you padded over to the door, reaching out for your handgun you felt on the counter on the way there. On the tips of your toes, you pressed your ear up the wood, listening hard. Another knock, this time with a different pattern and force. You tilted your head. Two different people?

You took one large, silent step to the side of the door, pressing your back to the wall. With the gun still in your left hand, you reached over for the door knob. And waited. Waited to see if they speak. They didn’t. You heard no movement. 

Your heart began to pound in your chest, and it felt like your lungs weren’t fully expanding. A million thoughts ran through your mind. 

Who could it be? Simon surly would have just walked in. Right? Or at least said something. With one last inhale through your nose and a forceful breath out your mouth you twisted the cold metal of the door handle. 

The sights of your handgun aim directly at the man's forehead standing outside the door.      

Masterlist

A/N - 

Taglist - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae  

[princessanonymous]

omg i just read your vampire story and it’s sooo good😩😩 i had to rewatch interview with a vampire after i read that masterpiece. i do wonder though, what happens to them in the modern age? do they still live in the mansion? do they relocate? does the reader have more permission to go outside? thank youuu <3333

𝓐𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 (Ask)

When Night Comes asks Platonic Yandere Vampire Story Chapter list

So sorry for taking so long!! I was busy with life and when I finally found the time to sit down and write it down, I didn't have the proper time to correct it bcuz of exams... I have one tomorrow but I really just wanted to finally post this. Another ask is probably coming soon but i can't really promise anything since i have a physics exam followed by one in chemistry 3 days later and one in math coming soon too. Life really isn't on my side now!

Still, here it is!

(Also some of yall might have noticed but I like putting these answers into little situation instead of telling it outright. Hope yall dont mind)

(+ This takes place during the cold war. I found it to be fitting.)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

“I can’t believe I accepted to stay in this dreadful place,” muttered her father as they walked into the new house they had bought. “This house is too small.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” quipped her dad while shaking his head, “this is what mortal Americans settle with. And they do it quite easily; this is the biggest house in the neighborhood.”

“That is the problem,” groaned her father while they walked through the already furnished house. It was a good thing her parents had paid people to do this tedious task. “We have never lived in a neighborhood before. There is no space! We don’t even have our own forest!”

“You agreed to let the little one choose our next home,” he reminded the other with a sigh. “That is her choice.”

The blond frown in distaste and looked around the living room. “Well I didn’t expect her to choose such a mediocre manor. This is utterly ridiculous.” He pinched the bridge of his noise in annoyance and exasperation as he settled in one of the satin armchairs in the room.

The girl puffed her cheeks, vexed by these words. Yes, it was true the house was smaller than the three other homes they had inhabited in America, it was definitely something she would need to get used to, but that didn’t make it less fun. Ever since they had left their motherland for the new world due to the constant attacks and bombings during the war, her existence had been filled with a neverending kaleidoscope of information and new things to see. America was nothing like England: everything was bigger and people acted so differently. 

She had indeed chosen this manor in Pennsylvania for a reason. It was gloomy and often cloudy there, just like they all preferred it. Additionally, while it was not the size her father was used to, she knew it was big enough for him to not outright refuse her request; they wouldn’t remain here very long though, but she could accept that. 

Most importantly… neighborhoods were filled with other children, and that was really the only thing that really mattered to her. The idea of interacting with others, even if they were mortals, made her giddy. If her father knew the real reason for her insistence on this estate, the girl knew he would refuse instantly, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him – or (Y/n).

—---

It took a week before she finally was able to meet people. The day was gloomy and clouds were in the sky, indicating incoming rain. Two boys passed by the house as she was swinging on the swing her parents had ordered installed for her. She watched as they came and went multiple times, playing with their blue ball and almost cackled in glee when one of the boys, the younger one, a boy with red messy hairs and freckles, who looked to be nine years old, threw the ball too far away and it landed close to her. She stood from her swing quickly to pick up the ball and stood–

“Careful!” warned the older, a boy with dark skin and brown eyes, who only looked slightly older than she did. The girl suspected he might be thirteen or fourteen.

It was too late, because not even a second later, she felt the seat of the swing collide with her back and she fell on the floor. The two boys ran to her; the youngest holding the swing as the older one helped her stand up. She winced, hoping her father hadn’t heard the commotion; she knew he would be mad if learned she was interacting with mortals. She didn’t want to be confined to her room for a year like he had done before.

The girl shuddered at the memory. Maybe trying this wasn’t a good idea; if he found out, he would surely do worse, he had promised it last time. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to remain confined again.

She hated how cold and lonely and empty her room felt when it was the only thing she saw for months, she–

“You alright there?” Asked the oldest with his brows furrowed, unaware of the fact that he had snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She nodded, still dazed and gave them their ball. They thanked her and the other mortal asked, “Are you living here? Nobody’s seen the new inhabitants yet. Mom says it’s impolite to not even greet anybody after moving in. Mom said only communists would do such an impolite thing.”

(Y/n) squirmed, embarrassed by these words. She didn’t know anything about neighborly etiquette. Should she have researched the subject before? She doubted her father was informed on that matter, but perhaps her dad knew more; he had always been more aware of mortal things than they were. 

The older glared at the youngest and lightly slapped the back of his head. “Rem, you can't just say that!”

“You heard her say it too!” Protested the redhead in outrage, ready to defend his statement.

The older one sighed and shook his head before rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Excuse my step-brother, Jeremy; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. I’m Kenneth. We live just across from here.”

A smile graced her features again. "My name is (Y/n)," she introduced herself with a graceful tilt of her head, her voice carrying a controlled and melodic cadence, "how do you do? I live here with my fathers." She had to make a good impression.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “You have an accent,” he noted in fascination. “Where are you from? You're not a communist, are you? Mom said we can't speak to those.”

(Y/n) sensed some mistrust coming from him, and she quickly used her empath abilities to soothe him before his words registered in her mind. (Y/n)'s expression faltered for a moment, a hint of confusion clouding her features before she shook her head lightly. “I don’t have an accent,” she denied while pointing at him, “You do have an American accent though.”

The redhead shook his head in disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of defiance. “Americans don’t have accents, silly,” he retorted with a grin, his eyes alight with amusement.

But (Y/n) wasn't about to let the matter go so easily. She protested adamantly, insisting that she could clearly hear the distinct nuances in his speech. Back and forth they bantered, neither willing to concede their stance on the matter  before eventually realizing they wouldn’t agree on that matter. 

"But where are you from?" he asked, his tone gentle yet insistent, "You're not from here, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, I was born in England,” she revealed, her voice carrying a faint trace of longing for her homeland. She still missed England dearly. She knew vampires typically never spent more than a century in the same country, but she had still been devastated when her parents had decided to leave; even more when they sailed to a different continent altogether. 

Jeremy looked starstruck, their small innocuous disagreement already far behind in his mind, thanks to her abilities. "Really? Did you ever meet the queen?" he asked eagerly, his imagination already running wild with visions of royal encounters and grand palaces. 

She giggled at that, then tilted her head, contemplating the question. After a brief moment of contemplation, she realized that he was likely referring to Queen Elizabeth II, rather than Queen Victoria. "No, never," she replied with a casual shrug, noting the slight disappointment that flickered across Jeremy's face at her response.

"Hey, wanna join us tomorrow at two o'clock? We'll be down this street with all the neighborhood kids. Probably going to play Hide-and-seek.”

(Y/n) smiled warmly at the invitation, her curiosity piqued by the prospect of joining in with the neighborhood kids. "Sure, I'd love to!" she replied eagerly, the thought of meeting new mortals outweighing any concerns she might have had about the unfamiliar game they mentioned.

Although she had never heard of Hide-and-seek before, (Y/n) was undeterred. As she agreed to meet them the following day at two o'clock, her mind was already buzzing with anticipation. (Y/n) knew she would have to find a way to sneak out without her fathers noticing, but she was determined not to let that stop her from joining in on the fun. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she began plotting a way to sneak out, confident that she could pull it off.

[uniquelyuninspired]

Introducing My Rook - Raisa Thorne

Hey, guys! I have been writing a lot of Veilguard stories utilizing my canon Rook, and I thought it might be good to have an introductory post for her, in case anybody reads and enjoys those fics when I start posting them, so y'all can better feel you know Raisa, if desired.

I saw a Rook Questionnaire posted on here, and thought I'd use that for this. The post is here. . . .

. . . . for anyone interested in using it for their Rook!

INTRODUCING —

Raisa Thorne, Grey Warden

27-Years Old, She/Her

1 — Where in Thedas is your Rook from?

Raisa was born in Wycome in the Free Marches, and lived there until her parents died when she was thirteen. She relocated from there to live with her Aunt in Antiva, but she took off on her own at the age of seventeen after growing tired of her Aunt’s selfish lifestyle. She’s moved around almost constantly since.

2 — What is your character’s alignment?

Neutral Good: She is incredibly altruistic in her actions and beliefs. She has genuinely only ever wanted to put her considerable magical talent toward helping others, especially those abandoned by the people who are supposed to help. She has very little patience and respect for people who view themselves as higher and better than others, especially when that person holds a position of power and influence, and they only use it to control and demean others. Normally, she will do whatever she thinks is necessary to help/save others, even if it goes against leadership and orders, however, there is one person she will for sure listen to the orders of no matter what, and that is Evka.

3 — Race and Subclass?

She is a human mage.

4 — If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

In the Hossberg Wetlands with Evka and Antoine.

My friend and I actually have a plan for a co-op story where she starts off as a companion before being asked to assist with some of the leadership decisions, and this is exactly where they meet her.

5 — What emotion did they usually pick?

Raisa is very positive and encouraging, always trying to see the better outcome and brighter side of things. She’s incredibly compassionate and selfless, and will always be there for everyone she loves unless there’s something that is physically keeping her from doing so.

6 — What companion are they platonically close with?

She is closest with Davrin and Lucanis, and in the beginning played a lot of the role of the mediator between the two.

7 — What companion are they romantically close with?

Taash is her one and only; a relationship that washed over her despite her attempts to not get romantically attached. She has a general rule of not getting involved with people outside of the Order, because she’s had partners she’s gotten incredibly close with leave her after finding out about the Calling and what it takes to kill an Archdemon. After the second time, she figured it would be best to stay within the Order, since they all understood that commitment. But she fell helplessly hard for Taash despite her own rules.

8 — Who are they suspicious of?

The First Warden is at the top of this list, for sure. From the first time she met him, she sensed that he was the exact kind of person who abused their position of power that she despises. She is also suspicious of most of the mages in power in Tevinter, though she does grow to trust and respect both Maevaris and Dorian, and the Viper before his end. She is also suspicious of all Templars: The Tevinter ones because no one ever knows which ones have been bought off by corruption, and the Southern Thedas Templars because they treat mages like disgusting creatures to cage.

9 — Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

Raisa gets along incredibly well with most of the Wardens, just not the First Warden and those that fully support him.

10 — Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

She’s been able to play the piano and the harp since she was young, but she fell out of practice after beginning her travels. She can still play during those rare times she actually finds an instrument to play, and she’d love to get back into the habit if her life ever permits it.

11 — Weapon of choice?

Primarily, she wields a staff, but she switches easily to an orb and dagger combination whenever a battle calls for it.

12 — What is their orientation?

She is pansexual.

13 — What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

It heavily depends. She is perfectly fine with killing darkspawn, her main enemy as a Warden. However, she isn’t the biggest on killing humans, elves, dwarves, or qunari unless she absolutely has to. She never gets a rush of enjoyment out of killing, though, no matter the enemy; she does for the safety of people and the world.

14 — What hobbies does your Rook have?

She used to love playing music, and she can even sing, though she never practiced vocals as much as she did piano or harp. She also loves reading, both historical textbooks and novels, and she’s always got her two favorite books in her pack when traveling. After becoming a Warden, she fell out of the habit of playing instruments, but she did pick up a love for cooking, and learned a variety of cultures while preparing food for whatever group of Wardens she was a part of at the time.

15 — What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike?

Her favorites are easily Evka, Antoine, Mila and Holden, and Greta. She grows to be quite fond of the Viper, Irelin, Rowan, and Teia as well. She doesn’t really deeply dislike many people, but she has some choice words for the First Warden and a fist always ready for Solas, but if forced to think about it, she wouldn't say she's necessarily fond of Illario or Caterina, Illario for his cruel grab for power and Caterina for the stories about his youth from Lucanis. She likes Illario better though, because she can see in him the desire to do better and his love for his cousin despite his actions taken against him, whereas Caterina shows no regrets about the things she's done and sees nothing wrong with her views and how she treated Lucanis and Illario.

16 — Do they have a favorite creature in Thedas?

Obviously, that would be the Griffons, especially after getting to see them in person after having spent her entire life believing they were extinct. She finds Halla to be incredibly beautiful creatures, and she also has a deep respect and mild fascination with dragons.

17 — Do they enjoy life as an adventure?

She enjoys when on an adventure that isn’t full of danger and risks, for sure, but as a whole she doesn’t really view life as an adventure, despite the fact that a lot of people would see her life that way when they learn of how much traveling she has done.

18 — What would your Rook be doing if they weren’t recruited by Varric?

If she hadn’t been recruited, she would be wherever Evka and Antoine are or tell her to be, fighting the darkspawn on Evka’s orders.

19 — How do you think they’ll meet their end?

If she doesn’t get the chance to grow old and die of aging after being cured of the blight, then most likely she would meet her end by throwing herself into danger to protect someone else without a second thought to the risks.

20 — Would they side with Solas or fight him?

At first, she is wary of Solas given all she has heard about the “Dread Wolf”, but with how much he helps them in the fight and her tendency to want to see the good in people, she starts to trust him. However, the very second that he rips her away from everyone she loves and locks her away in his prison all of that trust shatters, and she is no longer willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She fights him in the end, no longer willing to take any chances, and ready to burst with a multitude of pent-up anger toward him.

21 — What is your Rook’s favorite ability?

Raisa is a healer, first and foremost, and ignoring the limitations of the in-game specializations, she is a Spirit Healer specialist who uses both Fire and Force magic for offensive purposes. Her favored abilities are boosting her companions with protective and rejuvenating barriers, raining down on them with meteors or blocking them off with a wall of fire, and slamming enemies to the ground or blasting them away from herself or a companion with force magic.

22 — What languages is your character fluent in?

She is fluent in the trade tongue of course, but additionally she is fluent in the languages Qunlat and Orlesian, and she is learning both Dwarven and Elven.

23 — What do they do after an absolute crisis?

She always keeps it together and keeps pushing forward during a crisis, but immediately following an absolute crisis, once they are as safe as they possibly can be, she can sometimes shut down, depending on how horrible the outcome was – like after Weisshaupt and after the final battles. If the outcomes were great, then she's mostly just exhausted and needing rest, but enthusiastic and excited about their success and what it could mean for the future.

24 — Does your character believe in the afterlife?

She likes to hope that there is something out there for those who have passed on, but deep down she knows that she truthfully doesn’t believe there is.

25 — What specialization best represents your Rook?

Spirit Healer. Even when she was young she was a natural caretaker. She always jumps quickly into taking care of people and looking out for them, protecting her loved ones at all costs. The way her magic very first surfaced was to heal the wound of a friend when she was a kid.

26 — What animal best represents your Rook?

The best representation for her spirit animal is an Elephant. The positive: Intelligence and consciousness, strength and protection, unity, family and friendships. The negative: Repressed anger. She is incredibly intelligent, with book smarts, critical thinking and common sense, and emotional intelligence. Like elephants, she is known to risk her own life to protect loved ones, and she does not hide in the face of a threat. Family and friendships mean everything to her, and she is intensely dedicated to people, as well as incredibly social. Though elephants are considered one of the gentlest animals there are times when they can become violent and fiercly attack their predators to protect the herd; and there are times where emotions are running high for many people, especially if they are ones that had been forced down for a while for her, and the situation is dire, Raisa can snap. An example is at Weisshaupt. Emotions ran high for everyone, every Warden panicked and fearful, and the First Warden was still refusing to listen. With her own frustrations and anger caused by the First Warden at an all-time high after she’d been forced to shove them down for so long in favor of keeping the peace and respecting authority, Raisa snaps and ends up hitting him before she even knows what she’s doing. It is one of the moments she’ll reflect on later and feel a little shame for how things happened, but ultimately she wouldn’t regret it as long as it helped keep people safe – which it did.

27 — What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

She’s been a Warden since the age of nineteen, so she’s been traveling to wherever there has been darkspawn sightings and helping out with other dangerous issues whenever she comes across them – even when the Wardens she’s with state it isn’t their responsibility because it isn’t darkspawn. Ever since meeting Evka and Antoine, who are exactly like her in the sense that they will help out anywhere even if not darkspawn related, she’s done her absolute best to stick with them.

28 — Is your character the de-facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

She doesn’t view herself as above anyone else, but she’ll take on leadership roles if necessary, though she will always still listen to what everyone around her thinks and, if she absolutely has to be the one to make a decision, she’ll base that decision on what she thinks is overall best for everyone. She is really uneasy when people ask her to make a decision that she has no right being a part of, however, and in those situations she will just pose a bunch of questions that help that person or people get to their own decision. Like with Bellara and the Archive: She truly feels that it isn’t something that she could or should be deciding, especially since she isn’t even an elf, it isn’t her history, so she asks a bunch of questions until Bellara comes to her own decision on what she wants to do.

29 — If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

Out of the ones in-game, she’d likely end up with the Shadow Dragons. She wants to help in any way she can, wherever needs it, and Minrathous almost always needs it. There is a lot of help she could provide in Tevinter. There is a possibility of Lords of Fortune, solely to be close to Taash for the rest of her life, but treasure isn’t really something she cares about much, so she’d mostly just be there to put her healing and protective skills to use, and possibly to aid with puzzles in ruins, since she loves puzzles and riddles.

30 — What’s your favorite thing about your Rook?

This is an impossible question, because the answer is EVERYTHING. I have never been so attached to a self-created character before, either in RPG games or in stories I write. I love Raisa for everything she is. All her strengths, all her weaknesses, all her compassion and intense love and hope. She’s optimistic and hopeful, but not unreasonably so to the point where she refuses to see the bad in the world and people, and she always, always tries to do the right thing, yet isn’t afraid to admit when she’s in the wrong. She’s one of the most complex and realistic characters I have ever created, and I have never been so obsessed and in love with one of my own characters.

She's also quite swoon-worthy, and those grey eyes are to die for.

[tears-of-amber]

Having Pets And Witchcraft

(Some compromises and adjustments I’ve made to my practice as a witch to accommodate my cat Muffin now living in my bedroom).

🔮I don’t burn candles in my room anymore. (Idc that I crack the windows, candles are not good to burn in tight spaces with the company of cats and most pets. Unless your pet is a fish or in a tank of some sort that doesn’t get exposed to the candle smoke or scents). If you see a candle, it’s literally just there for a representation of fire. I never burn it anymore.

🔮I made space on my altar for my pet. Especially with cats, they ARE going to jump on your altar whether you like it or not. Might as well give them some space to sit so it’s less likely they’ll knock things down. (I happen to be devoted to the cat-loving goddess Freyja. So I’m not worried about disrespecting her by making kitty space).

🔮NO essential oil sprays. Nada. Not even a little bit. Instead, use plain moon or sun water sprays with no oils or added infusions. I used to use essential oil sprays before any animals could come into my bedroom. They were a quick and easy way to cleanse my space, but for the health of your pet (dog, cat, or otherwise) do NOT go spraying these around a room they live in. You can charge moon-water or sun-water with intent or draw a sigil on the spray bottle you are using, and it works just as well. Plain drinkable water mist isn’t gonna harm your babies.

🔮Be fine with your witchy stuff falling, getting knocked down, and potentially damaged. This applies to crystals, trinkets, wands, etc. I highly recommend you replace glass spell bottles with plastic tightly sealable spell bottles if you’re going to leave them in reach of your pet. IT IS NEVER THE PETS FAULT IF THEY DAMAGE A CRYSTAL. You’re the adult human, so take responsibility and decide what sort of stuff you’re leaving out in a pets reach.

🔮Meditation is hard (for me) with my babygirl Muffin doing everything she can to distract me. Its ok. I literally go outside in the backyard to meditate if she’s being crazy and playful so I don’t get disturbed. It’s better to relocate than get angry at an animal that just wants playtime or attention.

🔮Most pets are great psychic protectors (each in different ways), so treat them with respect. They are guarding you in your sleep and even on occasion bringing your attention to when the energy is off or something negative is afoot. However, don’t rely only on them for psychic protection, as that’s A LOT for one animal.

🔮Plant allies are fine if you choose a nontoxic one for your specific pet. I’ll give you some generally good examples for cat safe ones, since that is what I know best as a cat mom. African violets, Sunflowers, Roses (de-thorned), and Orchids, and most succulents, are safe bets.

That’s all for now, folks!

Tysm for reading!