#pesky neighbours.

[joelsrose]

Good Neighbours: Chapter 5

previous chapter Warnings: again SMUT 18+ !!!!!! Hey cuties - this is my fave chapter so far enjoyyyy

You hadn’t properly seen Joel in a week.

Not since that near-disastrous moment on his couch, where you lay bare, your skin warm against his, and Uncle Ray almost caught you two in the act. The memory lingered like a spark refusing to die out, igniting every time you thought about him.

Joel had been swamped with work—construction jobs piling up—and you’d recently started at a cozy little coffee shop in town. The job suited you more than you expected. Your boss was kind, the tips were decent, and you got free iced lattes, which was reason enough to stick around.

The café itself was charming, all bathed in golden sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Dogs were welcome, often lounging at their owners’ feet or wagging tails at the smell of pastries. The constant aroma of freshly brewed coffee felt like a warm hug, soothing enough to make the hours slip by.

Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts had a pesky habit of wandering to Joel—what he was doing, if he was thinking about you, too.

A silly notion, you told yourself, but it clung to you nonetheless.

You’d catch fleeting glimpses of him here and there, as neighbors inevitably do.

Each moment was like a stolen treasure, a tiny lifeline. Lingering gazes across the lawn as he unloaded groceries from his truck, the flex of his strong arms as he lifted heavy bags. The way his lips curved into a soft, crooked smile when he caught your eye, making your chest tighten in a way you’d never admit out loud.

He was right next door, but somehow, it didn’t feel close enough.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Joel found himself constantly wondering about you.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself—but you’d snuck into his thoughts and set up camp there. It started innocently enough with a few texts, a casual way of checking in. But soon, it became a nightly ritual, one he couldn’t seem to let go of. Not that you wanted him to.

During meetings with Tommy, he’d find his attention slipping, his gaze drifting toward his phone, willing it to light up with your reply. Tommy would joke about Joel zoning out, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to care.

At night, when he was supposed to be winding down, he’d break his own rules about screen time—something about the blue light messing with sleep, a lecture he’d once given Sarah. But with you, he’d stay up later than he should, typing out messages he hoped would make you smile, waiting for the little dots that meant you were typing back.

On your end, it wasn’t much different. You’d catch yourself glancing at your phone during your shift, sneaking peeks whenever you thought no one was looking.

Every buzz, every time his name lit up your screen, sent a thrill through you, the corners of your mouth betraying you with a twitch upward.

It was funny, almost disarming, how Joel could shift so effortlessly between the quintessential dad—practical, steady, and full of quiet concern—and the man who made your heart race with just a few words.

Didn’t you say your iron was low? Eat something with spinach, alright?

How’s work? Hope they’re not runnin’ you ragged.

My back is killing me today. Feels like I’m older than I am. Gonna have to start using one of those canes soon.

And then, completely out of the blue:

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Those five words sent your stomach flipping in a way that left you grinning like a fool, coworkers sneaking curious glances your way. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like he couldn’t help but check in on you.

Even in the middle of a hectic day or when his back ached from hours on-site, you’d managed to stake a claim on his thoughts. Somehow, you’d become his favorite distraction.

You thought back to your ex, and the stark difference hit you like a wave. You two had hardly texted—just the occasional logistics or a dry, obligatory reply. What time are you coming over? Don’t forget to grab milk. It was functional, transactional, like checking off items on a to-do list rather than nurturing something deeper.

He would go hours, sometimes days, without a word, and you’d told yourself it was normal, that he was just busy. But now, with Joel, you realized how much you had craved this—someone who cared enough to reach out, to ask how you were, to share the little things.

Joel didn’t need an excuse to text you. It had become second nature, these little windows into his life that he shared with you. Sometimes it was the simple stuff—a snapshot of his day, random musings, or just checking in to make sure you were okay.

Saw a dog today that looked like it wanted to fight me for my sandwich, he’d written once, and you’d laughed out loud, imagining his bemused expression, the corners of his mouth twitching in that way you’d come to love.

And then there was the way every day ended the same. You’d curl up in bed, your phone resting on the pillow beside you, waiting for that final message.

Goodnight, pretty girl.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

It was Halloween, and you couldn’t quite believe it—how had it already been nearly two months since you’d moved here? Your life in Chicago felt like a distant memory, like a bad dream you’d finally woken up from. You thought back to Halloween in the city: your ex’s bougie friends hosting over-the-top parties where everyone tried too hard, and you’d always felt out of place, like a last-minute addition to a world you didn’t quite fit into.

Now, you stood outside Sarah’s door, the faint hum of music and laughter spilling out into the warm Texas evening. A case of drinks rested in your arms, its weight grounding you as Uncle Ray fussed with his costume beside you.

As usual, he’d gone all out, making you feel underdressed in comparison. This time, he was Beetlejuice, the black-and-white striped suit as loud and chaotic as his personality. His face was powdered ghostly pale, with exaggerated dark circles around his eyes, and the wild green-tinted wig sat slightly crooked on his head, no matter how much he fussed with it.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering another Halloween from years ago when he’d gone just as over the top. That time, he’d been Edward Scissorhands—his shirt a perfect patchwork of leather straps and buckles, his face painted pale with dark shadows under his eyes that made him look both haunting and oddly endearing. He’d worn ridiculously oversized scissor gloves that clanked every time he moved, and he kept accidentally knocking into things, muttering under his breath about the impracticality of the costume.

He muttered under his breath now, adjusting his latest wig for the hundredth time, the same way he had back then. “It’s the wig that makes it, you know,” he grumbled, shooting you a mock-serious look.

You were dressed as predictably as every other girl on Halloween: an angel. A fitted corset hugged your torso, while the soft white skirt flowed delicately to your mid-thigh, catching the faint glow of the porch light. Glitter dusted your cheeks, shimmering faintly every time you moved, and the matching wings on your back fluttered slightly as you shifted the drinks in your arms. A delicate silver halo rested above your head, perched perfectly.

It was simple, classic—maybe even cliché—but it felt right.

Joel had texted you the night before, curious as ever.

Hey sweet girl, what're you dressing up as tomorrow?

Sweet girl. The words made your cheeks heat instantly, and you had to bite back a smile as your heart fluttered in your chest.

Nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to wait and find out, you typed back, already grinning at the thought of him sitting there, his brows furrowed in frustration in that way that always made your stomach flip.

You’re impossible, he replied, and you could practically hear the exasperation in his voice.

You can guess... you offered, biting your lip as you hit send, your anticipation growing.

There was a pause—a long one—and you could just picture him on the other end, thinking it over, his mind running through possibilities. Then, finally, his response appeared: Something sweet. You’re not the scary type. Bunny? Fairy?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt, shaking your head as you typed back: You’ll just have to wait and see.

You can be a real tease, he sent, followed by a 👎, which only made you laugh harder.

The door flung open pulling you back from your daydream, and there was Sarah, leaning heavily against the frame with a wide, tipsy grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her voice rising with excitement as her eyes flicked between the two of you. “You guys look amazing!”

She was dressed as a pirate, of course—a cheeky, haphazardly sexy one at that. Her loose white blouse was cinched at the waist with a wide belt, her tattered black skirt swishing just above her knees. A red bandana was tied around her head, matching the sash draped over one shoulder. She had smudged dark eyeliner around her eyes, giving her the perfect roguish look, and a plastic sword dangled from her hip.

“Ray, that is insane! Beetlejuice? You look like you walked straight off the set!” Sarah exclaimed, swatting at his striped sleeve as she doubled over laughing.

Ray, never one to miss an opportunity to perform, gave an exaggerated bow. “Why, thank ya, thank ya!” he said, his voice gravelly as he mimicked Beetlejuice’s signature tone. “Show’s just gettin’ started, folks!”

Sarah laughed harder, wiping at her eyes before turning her attention to you. Her grin widened as she took in your costume, her eyes sparkling. “And you—” she said dramatically, grabbing your wrist to pull you closer, “are the sexiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you replied, your cheeks heating despite yourself as her enthusiasm bubbled over.

She tugged you inside without hesitation, her laughter spilling into the warm glow of the party. Ray followed close behind, still in character, muttering something Beetlejuice-esque under his breath that had Sarah clutching her stomach, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sarah handed you a drink, her pirate hat slipping askew as she leaned in to shout over the music. “Alright, let’s get this party started!” she yelled, raising her glass with a wide grin.

You laughed, raising yours in response, though your mind wasn’t quite on the celebration. Your eyes flickered around the room, scanning faces, colors, and costumes, searching for one thing in particular—or rather, one person.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

You stood by the kitchen, chatting idly with a few of Sarah’s friends. The conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter bubbling up every now and then, but your focus wasn’t entirely on the people around you. You couldn’t help but steal glances across the room as you took a sip of your drink, and it wasn’t long before your heart jolted at the sight of him.

Joel.

He stood by Uncle Ray, half-listening to something your uncle was saying, his hand resting on his belt as he laughed softly, another one wrapped around a beer.

He’d dressed as a cowboy. A sexy one at that.

A fitted plaid shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tanned, corded forearms. A dark leather belt with a silver buckle sat low on his hips, the fabric of his jeans snug in a way that made your thoughts feel indecent.

And, of course, the finishing touch: a weathered cowboy hat tilted just enough to shadow his eyes, making him look like he’d just stepped out of an old western porno.

The dim lighting caught the stubble along his jaw, giving him an air of ruggedness that made your stomach tighten. He looked good—too good—and it wasn’t fair.

Then, as if he felt you watching him, he turned. His dark eyes found yours across the room, catching you so off-guard you nearly spilled your drink.

For a moment, he just stared, his gaze dragging over you in a slow, deliberate once-over.

His lips parted slightly, and he shook his head, almost like he was trying to clear his mind of whatever had just crossed it. Then he dipped his hat at you, a silent greeting that sent your pulse skittering.

You managed a small nod in return, your fingers tightening around your glass as if that could keep you tethered to the ground.

The person you’d been talking to excused themselves, mumbling something about the bathroom before slipping away. You were left alone in the kitchen, the dim amber light casting a soft glow over the countertops. The quiet hum of the party buzzed in the background as you picked at a bowl of chips, trying to distract yourself from how strong your drink was—or how your thoughts kept straying back to Joel.

Joel stepped closer, his familiar warmth and smell wrapping around you. The way he said “Howdy” sent a shiver down your spine, his voice warm and smooth, like a drawl dipped in honey. He was too close now, close enough that you were glad the kitchen was dim, hiding the flush creeping up your neck.

“Cowboy,” you said, your voice low and teasing. “Bit predictable, isn’t it?”

His lips curved into a smirk as he laughed softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and settling somewhere in yours. “And you,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long, “think a devil would’ve suited you better.” He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was studying you, savoring every little reaction you gave him.

Your brows arched, playing along. “Why’s that?”

He leaned in, tapping the side of your temple lightly with his index finger. “These thoughts,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “ain’t exactly heavenly, are they?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe not,” you admitted, your words barely above a whisper.

Joel chuckled again, his hand dropping back to rest on the kitchen counter, but the sound lingered in the space between you, filling the air with a warmth you wished you could memorize.

“Your uncle went all out,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Ray to come barreling through the door in full Beetlejuice regalia.

“I know,” you replied, laughing softly. “He’s actually scaring me a little.”

Joel laughed again, his head tilting back just enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of his throat. The sound was intoxicating, deep and rich, and you found yourself wishing you could hear it on repeat.

He looked around the kitchen, his beer in one hand. The way his fingers curved around the neck of the bottle, the strength in them apparent even in this simple gesture.

Sarah and Ray were nowhere to be seen. The distant murmur of the party seemed to fade into the background as Joel turned back to you. His eyes darkened as they traveled down your body, lingering just a beat too long on the corset that cinched your waist.

The soft, white fabric hugged your curves perfectly, the delicate lace trim dipping low enough to tease, revealing just a tantalizing hint of cleavage in the dim light. His gaze roamed lower, catching on the sheer white stockings that clung to your thighs, held up by delicate lace garters that framed the bare expanse of skin just above them. The way his eyes lingered made your breath catch, the tension in the air crackling as you saw the faintest flicker of something dangerous in his expression—like he was trying, and failing, not to let his thoughts run wild.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word rough and barely audible.

“What’s wrong, cowboy?” you asked, tilting your head as you stepped just a fraction closer, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Whose thoughts are impure now?”

He huffed, his jaw tightening as he set his beer down on the counter, the sound of glass meeting it sharp and deliberate. His fingers brushed against the surface with an almost irritated carelessness, his usual steadiness faltering under the weight of whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

Joel’s eyes flicked around the room once more, but when his gaze landed back on you, his resolve seemed to snap, quicker and sharper than you expected.

“Go upstairs,” he said, his voice low, commanding, each word dripping with a tension that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “My room. I’ll meet you there in five.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the heat pooling low in your stomach made it impossible to question him. You’d never seen Joel this assertive before, his calm, controlled demeanor giving way to something raw, something primal—and God, it did something to you.

Your heart skipped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He didn’t wait for a reply, his eyes locked on yours for a moment longer before he stepped back, the space between you suddenly too vast and too charged all at once.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you wove through the crowd, barely noticing the laughter and music around you. The way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself together, sent your pulse into a frenzy as you turned on shaky legs and headed for the stairs.

The heat of anticipation spread through your body, making it hard to breathe. Every step toward Joel’s room felt heavier, charged with the weight of what might happen.

When you finally reached it, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind you.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

It was the first time you had been in his room.

The room was simple, masculine, and undeniably him. The faint scent of cedarwood and something earthier—something distinctly Joel—lingered in the air. A neatly made bed dominated the space, the dark, plain sheets looking as if they’d been freshly smoothed that morning. A well-worn jacket hung over the back of a chair near the window, and a pair of scuffed boots rested by the corner, their placement almost methodical.

The light was soft, the dim glow of a single bedside lamp casting golden hues across the room. It illuminated the dresser, where your gaze landed on a photo—a younger Joel with Sarah, both of them smiling, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The sight tugged at something deep in your chest, a quiet reminder of the man who’d let you in here, both in his space and maybe, just maybe, his life.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt the cool sheets beneath your hands, grounding you for a moment. Your nerves churned in your stomach, and you wished desperately that you’d finished your drink downstairs. Anything to take the edge off the racing thoughts in your mind.

Your halo felt awkward now, too on-the-nose. You reached up, pulling it off and setting it down on the bed beside you. For a moment, you considered taking off the wings too, but before you could decide, you heard the sound of footsteps.

As promised, exactly five minutes later, the door creaked open, and Joel stepped in. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind him sent a jolt through you. He stood there for a moment, the soft light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the brim of his cowboy hat throwing shadows over his dark, unreadable eyes. His presence filled the room, and all the air seemed to vanish at once.

“Angel,” he said softly, his voice low and heavy, as he turned to face you fully. "Up," he commanded, his voice firm yet impossibly soft, and before you could even process it, your body obeyed. You stood, heart racing, your knees feeling shaky under the weight of his gaze.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed where you had been sitting, his legs slightly parted as he leaned back, his movements unhurried but deliberate. His eyes raked over you, dark and smoldering, as he patted his lap. “C’mere.”

You moved toward him, stepping between his knees before settling on his lap. His hands immediately found your hips, guiding you to straddle him, the hem of your dress creeping up with the motion. The cool air kissed your exposed thighs, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. The stockings that hooked onto your garters were now entirely visible, and his gaze dropped, lingering for a moment before meeting yours again.

That was all it took for Joel to tilt his head and capture your mouth with his. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as though the tension between you had finally snapped, spilling over in waves of raw, unrestrained need. His lips moved feverishly against yours, claiming you in a way that made your knees weak. His hands, strong and sure, slid from your back to cup your ass, squeezing hungrily as he pulled you against him.

“You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice thick and low, as his large hands splayed against your lower back, pressing you flush against him. His words sent a thrill through you, the heat pooling low in your belly as you instinctively rolled your hips down against him. The pressure sent sparks skittering through your body, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

He tasted faintly of beer, a heady mix that made your head spin. The faint scruff on his jaw scraped deliciously against your skin, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but not unnoticed. His grip on you tightened in response, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands threaded through his hair, curling at the base of his neck where it was soft and slightly damp with sweat. His response was immediate—a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your lips. His hands fumbled with the wings on your back, his movements impatient as he tried to rid himself of the obstacle. They were nothing more than an afterthought now, discarded with a few rough tugs onto the floor.

The space between you dissolved completely as he pulled you closer still, your bodies flush. His kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your head tilt back, giving him the perfect angle to devour you further. Every touch, every movement, felt like fire, consuming you both in the quiet heat of the moment, leaving nothing untouched by its flame.

Your mind clouded with the heat of it all, and before you even realized what you were doing, you began to shift off his lap, your knees brushing the floor as you intended to sink down. But Joel’s hands caught your wrists, stopping you.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice rough but teasing. “Wanna try somethin first’.”

Your breath hitched as you stood, his hands steadying you as he knelt slightly to unhook your underwear. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, but purposeful enough to make your head spin. The soft white lace slipped down your legs, pooling at your feet before you stepped out of them. You were so lost in the moment, in the heat of his touch, that you didn’t notice the way he curled the delicate fabric in his hand and tucked it under the edge of the bed, as if he were keeping it for later.

Then, with surprising ease, he adjusted you, positioning you so that your legs straddled one of his thighs. Your bare skin hovered just above the rough, worn denim of his jeans, and your hands instinctively found their place against his chest to steady yourself. His warmth seeped into you, even through the fabric, and the closeness made it impossible to think straight.

“Joel?” you questioned, your voice breathless and unsure, but his name on your lips felt electric.

“Trust me,” he said softly, his hands resting on your hips. His thumbs brushed against your skin in slow, soothing circles. “Take what you need.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice a mix of confusion and disbelief, your cheeks already burning.

“Come on,” Joel murmured, his hands firm on your hips as he lifted his thigh slightly. The motion pressed the rough fabric of his jeans against your swollen clit, the sudden pressure making you gasp. Your body jerked forward, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance, and you were suddenly, achingly aware of just how close you were to him.

“I’ve never…” you started, your voice trembling, but the words trailed off.

Joel tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “Never ridden a man’s thigh before?” he murmured, his voice warm and patient, laced with just enough affection to make your cheeks flush.

You shook your head slightly, your breath catching as his words settled over you.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, soothing motion, his thumbs brushing over your ribs before settling firmly on your hips.

His touch was steady, grounding, as if to remind you he wasn’t going anywhere. “I got ya,” he added, his voice soft but commanding, the promise in his tone wrapping around you like a tether.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears. But the way he looked at you—steady, reassuring, full of something that felt like trust—made you nod, eager to please him.

His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to vibrate in your chest. “Go ahead, baby,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy with intent.

Slowly, you began to move your hips, rocking back and forth against his thigh. The friction was unlike anything you’d ever felt, the roughness of his jeans against your bare cunt, igniting sparks that spread through your body with every motion.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as you found a rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Joel’s hands guided you, his grip firm but gentle, encouraging as you moved.

“There ya go,” he cooed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and molten, making your skin prickle. “Feel good?” he asked, his breath warm and teasing.

You nodded quickly, your movements becoming more confident as you chased the building heat inside you. “Y-yeah,” you managed to say, your voice shaky but sincere.

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and full of something primal. “That’s my girl.”

You kept moving your hips, faster now, the desperation building with every roll of your body against Joel’s thigh. The friction was maddening, deliciously unbearable, sending sparks shooting through your body with every movement.

Your breath came faster, harder, the small room filling with the sound of your panting, the creak of the bed beneath you, and the faint rustle of denim against your skin. The bass of the party thumped faintly in the background, a distant reminder of the world outside this charged, intimate moment.

Joel caught the change in your rhythm, the way your body trembled as you edged closer to the peak. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you as he began lifting his thigh to meet your movements. The added pressure made you whimper, your head falling forward as your hands clutched at his shoulders.

“Is my sweet girl getting close?” he cooed, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Look so desperate for me.”

His words hit you like a spark to dry tinder, igniting the heat already pooling low in your belly. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as your rhythm faltered for just a moment. You nodded quickly, unable to form words, the intensity of his attention making your chest tighten.

You glanced down, unable to help yourself, and gasped at what you saw. The dark denim beneath you was damp, a growing wetness marking the spot where your body met his jeans. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but before you could say anything, Joel’s deep voice cut through your haze.

“Making a fuckin’ mess,” he murmured, his words rough and laced with desire as he watched you. His eyes flicked back to yours, dark and heavy-lidded, and the sight of his gaze alone sent you spiraling.

His thigh bounced slightly beneath you, the movement sending a wave of sensation that pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, every nerve alight as you grabbed at his hair, clutching desperately as your release crashed through you. “Take it, darlin’,” he said again, his tone softer now, almost reverent. “It’s all yours.”

“Joel!” you yelled, his name tearing from your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, raw and unrelenting.

He held you through it, his hands steadying your trembling form, his thigh still pressed against you as your body shuddered with aftershocks. The low hum of his voice reached your ears, soft and soothing as he murmured something you couldn’t quite make out, lost in the haze of your bliss.

"Good girl," Joel murmured, his voice rough and full of praise as his fingers dipped into your heat, drawing a gasp from your lips. He lifted them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. His tongue swept over his fingers slowly, deliberately, and he hummed low in his throat.

“So sweet,” he said, his voice husky, the words making your already trembling legs feel like jelly.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice still hazy and breathless, the sound of his name barely more than a plea.

He smiled, a slow, crooked grin that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. But this time, when you shifted, sliding off his lap and onto your knees, he didn’t stop you. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized your intent.

You knelt before him, your hands sliding up his thighs as you looked up, meeting his heated gaze. You wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made you feel, to see him come undone the way you just had.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice low and strained as his hands came to rest on your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice steady now despite the trembling in your hands. Your eyes stayed locked on his as your fingers went to work, determined to show him just how much you wanted to please him.

You worked quickly, your hands moving to undo the buckle of his belt. Joel lifted his hips without a word, giving you the space to pull the rough material down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. The sound of the zipper, the rustle of denim—it was all so raw, so intimate, and it sent a thrill through you.

Settling between his thighs, you shifted, finding a position that gave you enough room. The hard wood beneath your knees burned slightly, the sensation grounding you amidst the haze of arousal.

Your hands rested on his thighs for a moment, feeling the heat of his skin through the faint shadow of his boxers. Joel watched you intently, his chest rising and falling as his breath grew heavier, his hands twitching at his sides as though he were fighting the urge to reach out and touch you.

You hesitated only briefly before curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, your eyes flicking up to meet his for silent confirmation. His nod was small, but the intensity in his gaze said everything you needed to know. Slowly, you eased the fabric down, freeing him completely, and the sight of him made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening slightly as you took him in. He was bigger than you’d imagined, and for a moment, a flicker of nervousness passed through you. You’d never been with someone so big before, and the thought sent a rush of anticipation mixed with a twinge of doubt through your veins.

But it was delicious, the way his length stood, proud and imposing, the sight of the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. The rawness of it, the sheer intimacy of seeing him like this, sent a shiver through you. It was overwhelming, yes, but also intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated, stirring a deep, primal need you couldn’t ignore.

“My angel,” he murmured, his tone soft yet filled with something that made your chest ache. He lifted one hand, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek, grounding you in the moment. The contrast of his touch—so gentle despite the intensity of his presence—sent a warm shiver through you.

You wrapped your hand around him, the warmth of him in your palm making your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, you began to move, your strokes measured as you pumped him in your hand.

You wanted to savor this moment, to memorize the way he looked—the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted into a soft, breathless "O" as his head tipped back.

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw tightening as your movements continued. The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your touch, and you felt a surge of pride at the way he was already unraveling for you.

Encouraged, you worked faster, your grip tightening just enough to pull a low, guttural sound from his throat. “Shit, darlin’,” he stuttered, his voice hoarse and heavy, the drawl thickened by the haze of pleasure. His hands gripped the bed, knuckles white as he fought to keep himself steady.

The sound of his voice, the raw need in it, sent a rush of heat through you and you grew yourself growing wetter, if that were even possible. You leaned closer, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just above where your hands worked. You wanted to drive him to the edge, to see him lose himself completely under your touch.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip, your lips grazing his heated skin. Your tongue darted out, painting slow, deliberate stripes up and down his side, tasting him, teasing him, while your hands continued their steady rhythm. Joel let out a sharp breath, a low growl escaping him that made your stomach tighten.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers through you. His eyes opened briefly, dark and hooded as they fixed on you. “So fuckin’ pretty on your knees for me,” he panted, his voice ragged and uneven, each word laced with desire.

The words made you hum against him, the sound vibrating softly against his skin. His reaction was immediate—a curse slipping from his lips as his head tilted back again, exposing the strong line of his throat.

The sight made your movements bolder, more confident, as you worked him with your hands and tongue, coaxing more of those delicious sounds from him.

Joel reached up with one hand, his fingers gripping the brim of his hat. He pulled it off and, with deliberate care, placed it on your head, the action so intimate it sent a flush of heat spreading through your chest.

“Keep goin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, his free hand sliding to the back of your head. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, holding you in place, not forceful, but guiding, like he couldn’t bear the thought of you stopping.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his as you continued, your lips and hands working in perfect tandem. His gaze burned into yours, his chest heaving with every shaky breath. “That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Just like that.”

You could tell he was close—the way his hips began to stutter, thrusting upwards into your mouth in shallow, needy motions. His breathing turned ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened, not painfully, but enough to let you know he was barely holding on.

The sounds he made, low groans and curses, were a symphony of pleasure that sent heat pooling in your belly.

It was almost too much—the fullness, the way he moved, the way he tasted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t stop, determined to see him through. You hollowed your cheeks, working him deeper, and his response was immediate.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that made your heart race. His head tipped back, and his thighs tensed beneath your hands as he asked, his words almost slurred, “Where does my pretty girl want me?”

You managed to speak around him, your answer muffled but clear enough, “My mouth.”

The way it came out, slightly garbled but eager, made him laugh, a breathless, strained sound that sent a thrill through you. “My dirty girl,” he murmured, his tone almost affectionate.

With one final thrust, he tipped over the edge, his body going taut as he finished, his hips pressing upwards one last time. You took him as best as you could, the salty sensation overwhelming but not unwelcome. His hand stayed in your hair, steadying you as he groaned your name, his voice filled with raw pleasure.

You pulled away slowly, swallowing as you did, the warmth of him still lingering on your tongue. A thin string of saliva connected you to him, glistening in the dim light, lewd and intimate. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your knees aching from the unforgiving floor, but the satisfaction in Joel’s eyes made it all worth it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable, before he reached down to pull his jeans back up, fastening them with practiced ease. The sight of him—still slightly undone but regaining his composure—sent a flush of heat through you all over again.

Joel adjusted his belt, the faint clink of the buckle breaking the quiet as he glanced down at you. His eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked into something that carried a warmth that made your heart stutter.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his voice lower now, touched with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His gaze lingered on you, affectionate and unguarded, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you in this moment.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you sat back on your heels, the weight of the moment settling over you. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice hoarse but steady.

Joel reached down, offering you his hand, and the warmth of his touch as he helped you to your feet sent a fresh wave of tingles up your spine.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but they landed with the weight of something profound. His voice was warm, filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache in the best way.

You didn’t know how much truth those words held—how much you could dare to believe in them—but you needed them. You needed him. You loved the way they sounded coming from his mouth, the way he claimed you with such easy confidence, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You loved being his, even if you didn’t quite know what being his meant.

Joel helped you to your feet, his strong hands steadying you as you wobbled slightly, your knees still shaky. You found yourself standing between his thighs, his hands settling instinctively on your hips. His gaze traveled up to meet yours, soft and searching, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“Was that alright?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost unsure.

He looked at you like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “You’re jokin’, right?” His lips curved into a lazy grin as his fingers traced small, comforting circles over your hips.

“Got the most perfect mouth on ya, darlin’,” Joel murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with lingering satisfaction. His words made your cheeks flush, a warm, pink hue spreading across your skin as you looked away for a moment, embarrassed by the compliment.

Joel’s gaze softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you. He couldn’t help but marvel at how someone who had just undone him so completely—so filthily—could still look so innocent, so sweetly flustered. It was a contradiction that sent a deep, simmering warmth through him, making him feel both protective and utterly captivated.

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek, his touch light and almost reverent. His eyes flicked up, catching sight of the cowboy hat still perched on your head, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“What?” you asked, frowning slightly at his sudden amusement.

“Mixin’ costumes now,” he teased, gesturing at the angelic white of your outfit beneath his hat.

You laughed, reaching up to take it off, but his hand shot out, stopping you. “Wait,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Wanna remember this.”

“Joel,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing all over again.

“Smile,” he said, ignoring your protest as he angled the phone at you. The flash went off, capturing the moment in an intimate snapshot.

You could only imagine what you looked like—wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, your lips still red and slightly swollen, with his cowboy hat askew on your head.

Somehow, despite everything, you looked angelic. Maybe even innocent.

You sighed but smiled softly as he lowered the phone. “Show me,” you murmured, stepping closer to him. You eased onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck as you leaned in to peek at the screen.

He tilted the phone so you could see, his voice low and filled with quiet reverence as he said, “You’re perfect.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone, your heart stumbling over the weight of his words. “I’m not,” you huffed softly, your cheeks burning as you burrowed your face into the crook of his neck, seeking solace in the warmth of him.

His scent surrounded you—earthy, faintly musky —and you couldn’t help but think about how you’d stay there forever if you could.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute as you felt him shake his head. His hand rested against your back, steady and reassuring. “Not fightin’ you on this, honey. You’re perfect.”

Before you could argue, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and tender, sending a shiver through you. The warmth of it lingered long after his lips left your skin, a quiet promise that echoed in the quiet room, wrapping around you like a blanket.

Joel didn’t need to say anything else—his touch, his tone, the way he held you—it all said enough.

“Take a selfie,” you said suddenly, grinning as the idea popped into your head.

“A what?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

“How old are you?” you teased, laughing softly.

Realization dawned on his face, and he chuckled. “Oh, the one where it’s of us.”

“Yes,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turned the camera toward the two of you. “Alright, alright” he murmured, his tone playful but warm. You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as he snapped the photo.

The photo was simple but intimate: your lips pressed softly against his cheek, your smile warm and genuine, while his own smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. But it was his eyes that stood out most—softened in a way he didn’t even know he was capable of, like you’d reached some part of him he hadn’t let anyone else touch in years.

For a moment, Joel stared at the image on the screen, his thumb brushing over the edge of his phone as though it could capture more than just the pixels on display.

He thought about how, in another lifetime, he’d make it his wallpaper. How he’d keep this version of you—happy, radiant, his—on his phone, a constant reminder of a moment he never wanted to forget.

But that was a thought he’d keep to himself, tucked away somewhere deep and quiet, too fragile to speak aloud - yet.

“Cute,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

“Very,” he replied, his voice low and warm.

Before either of you could say anything more, a notification popped up on his screen: a text from Sarah.

DAD WHERE ARE YOUUUU? NEED MORE DRINKS?!?!? HELLOOOO.

Joel groaned, letting his head fall back for a moment before sighing. “We better get goin’,” he said reluctantly.

Neither of you moved right away, though, both wishing you could stay in the quiet sanctuary of his room forever, wrapped in the intimacy that had settled between you.

Eventually, Joel shifted, his hands brushing against your hips as he helped you stand, the spell breaking just slightly as the sounds of the party filtered back into your awareness.

“C’mon,” Joel said, his voice softer now, a reluctant sigh slipping from his lips. “Let’s not keep her waitin’.”

You started to follow him, but a sudden thought froze you in place, the sensation of feeling bare dawning on you all at once. “Wait,” you said quickly, your voice a hushed whisper. “My underwear.”

Joel paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk so devilish it sent heat rushing to your cheeks. “What about it?” he asked, his tone far too casual for your liking.

“You know what,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing at him.

He shrugged, his smirk deepening as he leaned slightly on the banister, unbothered by your flustered expression. “Consider it… a keepsake,” he drawled, his voice laced with teasing amusement.

“Joel,” you whispered harshly, your tone a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said with a wink, turning to head down the stairs. “It’s in safe hands.”

“You asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glaring after him as he disappeared into the noise of the party below. But despite your annoyance, you couldn’t stop the way your lips twitched into a small, begrudging smile.

He had that effect on you, damn him.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

“Where’d you go?” Sarah asked, her words slurred as she swayed slightly, her pirate hat tilting precariously. She blinked up at you, a lopsided grin on her face.

“I, uh, had to use the bathroom,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual as you held onto your drink like a lifeline.

“Oh, okay,” she said, nodding as if that explained everything. Then her brow furrowed slightly, her gaze sharpening—well, as much as it could in her drunken state. “You’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “A lot of fun.”

She grinned again, satisfied, but then her eyes roved over you, her face twisting in confusion. “Wait... where’s your halo?”

Your heart stopped. For a moment, your hand flew up to your head, panicked, expecting to feel the brim of Joel’s cowboy hat still sitting there. If it was, what would you even say? But when your fingers brushed through your hair and found nothing, relief washed over you like a wave.

Joel had taken it back—thank God. He’d slipped it off your head before the two of you came back downstairs, a quiet, subtle move that now felt like a lifesaver. The thought of Sarah seeing you walk into the party with his hat still perched on your head was mortifying.

“Oh,” you said, exhaling shakily as you quickly composed yourself. “Must’ve lost it somewhere. It’s probably around here.”

Sarah tilted her head, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she considered something before breaking into a giggle. “Guess you’re not so angelic anymore, huh?”

You forced a smile, but her words landed heavier than she could’ve known. If only she knew. The guilt gnawed at you, sharp and undeniable. What you were doing was wrong, and there was no point in sugarcoating it. Sarah was a damn good friend, one of the best, and you had no right…

Your thoughts were cut short when Sarah’s gaze shifted, her expression brightening as Joel reappeared from the garage fridge, a couple of extra drinks in hand. Your eyes followed hers instinctively, heart doing that familiar, traitorous flutter at the sight of him.

“Hey!” Sarah called out to you, her voice a little too loud, her words slightly slurred from the margaritas she’d been nursing all night. She nudged your arm for emphasis, her grin wide as she turned back to you. “I think Dad is seeing someone!”

Your heart stopped. Completely froze in your chest as her words hung in the air.

“What? What do you mean?” you stammered, your voice uneven, betraying your attempt to sound casual.

Sarah waved a hand dramatically, leaning closer with the loose confidence of someone who’d had a few drinks too many. “I mean,” she said, dragging the words out, “I haven’t seen that man this happy in SO long. He’s like… humming in the shower.” She giggled at the absurdity of it, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, who does that?”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks already burning. “Oh,” you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper, trying desperately to will away the blush creeping up your face.

“And!” Sarah continued, clearly on a roll now, completely unaware of the panic clawing at you. “I’ll come downstairs at night, and he’s on the couch smiling at his phone. Like, full-on grinning. Who is this man? And who is he texting?!”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh lightly, brushing it off even as your chest tightened. “Weird,” you murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear the breathlessness in your voice. But the way Sarah grinned at you, so blissfully unaware, only made the guilt dig deeper.

You made a mental note to text Joel the second you got a moment alone: Hide the halo. The last thing you needed was for Sarah—or anyone else—to stumble into his room and find it.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

When you got home and finished showering, the warmth of the water washing away the lingering scents of the night, you slipped into bed feeling both exhausted and electric. The room was quiet, the hum of the party now a distant memory, but your mind refused to settle.

You replayed the events of the evening in vivid detail. Each time you thought of Joel, your cheeks flushed, your stomach fluttered with that warm, dizzying sensation you couldn’t shake.

It was impossible not to wonder if he felt the same—if the way he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you, was as real for him as it was for you.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow, willing the thoughts to quiet enough to let you sleep. But just as you began to drift, your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. The sound startled you, and your heart pounded as you reached for it, the faint glow of the screen illuminating the dark room.

It was a text from Joel.

You unlocked it with shaky fingers, and there it was—the selfie you’d taken together. Your lips were pressed to his cheek, his smirk lazy and crooked, his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache. Beneath the photo was a simple caption:

“Sleep well angel.”

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Tag list: @bbyanarchist @spoonflix @pedritospunk @ickearmn @nrreads @76bookworm76 @pastelpinkflowerlife @shantellorraine @spooky-sculder @merm4id5lut @brittmb115 @rosebuds-and-moonlight @joelscowgirl @spacemamax @locked-ness @bensonispunk @pal3rmo @mystickittytaco @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @rh1nestonecowg1rl @littlenicpascal @jsudsgf @addictedtothisyoungman @denisanoemi @l3zx1v @justsarahbella

[whereisgem]

WHEREIS MASTERPOST

A list of all the mcyt "whereis"

Will update!

Under the cut !

1. @where-is-cleo

2. @whereisgem

3. @where-is-cub

4. @whereisrendog

5. @whereisorionsound

6. @where-is-impulsesv

7. @where-is-eloise

8. @whereislaurencezvahl

9. @where-is-vintagebeef

10. @whereissmajor

11. @where-is-welsknight

12. @whereistibbycaps

13. @where-is-ethubs

14. @where-are-the-emperors

15. @whereiskeralis

16. @wherearemogandpix

17. @whereismythicalsausage

18. @whereisinthelittlewood

19. @skizz-in-places-he-shouldnt-be

20. @gtws-in-various-places

21. @where-is-smallishbeans

22. @imp-and-skizz-but-everywhere

23. @whereissmallishbeansandgeminitay

24. @xisumaworldtour

25. @whereiskrow

26. @tango-but-everywhere

27. @where-is-grian

28. @whereisshinyduo

29. @whereisfalsesymmetry

30. @where-did-joe-go

31. @where-is-grains-mending-book

32. @whereisldshadowlady

33. @laurenzside-in-various-places

34. @where-is-jimmysolidarity

35. @whereisthehermitcraftrecapteam

36. @where-is-ethoslab

37. @where-are-cleo-and-joe

38. @whereispearlescentmoon

39. @where-is-bdubs

40. @where-is-xornoth

41. @whereisdesertduo

42. @where-is-goodtimeswithscar

43. @whereisglitchduo

44. @where-is-paper-cub

45. @where-is-mumbojumbo

46. @xbeverywhere

47. @impulsesv-but-everywhere

48. @whereistherealsquiddo

49. @wheres-wormhex

50. @where-is-shubble

51. @places-where-impulse-shouldnt-be

52. @where-is-hcs8-moon

53. @where-is-hotguy

54. @where-is-cuteguy

55. @where-is-olivesleepy

56. @whereiscyansnail

57. @where-is-pink-snail

58. @doc-is-sometimes-in-places

59. @where-is-cherrifire

60. @where-is-wormman

61. @hermitcraft-all-over-the-place

61. @where-is-tanguish

62. @grian-in-a-plethora-of-places

63. @where-is-helsknight

64. @where-is-poultryman

65. @where-is-sausage-supreme

66. @where-is-evil-x

67. @whereisowengejuice

68. @where-is-kenadian

69. @where-is-wato1876

70. @where-is-welstek

71. @technoblade-but-hes-everywhere

72. @whereis-wifies

73. @where-is-the-pesky-snail

74. @whereisrekrap2

75. @where-is-torchy

76. @whereisdualityduo

77. @whereisperlergrian

78. @french-mcyt-are-everywhere

79. @whereisashswag

80. @whereis-jumperwho

81. @whereisprincezam

82. @where-is-reignex

83. @where-is-mogswamp

84. @nosey-neighbours-everywhere

85. @whereiswemmbu

86. @where-is-skipper

87. @whereiskaboodle

88. @wheres-etho

89. @where-could-sky-duo-be

90. @murdercamelinplacesitshouldntbe

91. @whereisecorridor

92. @where-is-tango

93. @where-is-docm77

94. @where-is-zedaph

95. @where-is-joe-hills

96. @whereiskatherine

98. @count-griancula-gone-missing

99. @where-is-ethostropod

100. @where-is-snaillishbeans

101. @where-is-tangastropod

102. @where-is-isnail

103. @where-is-loreless-gang

104. @where-is-ijevin

105. @spoke-but-everywhere

106. @devotion-duo-but-everywhere

107. @squiddo-but-everywhere

108. @clownpierce-but-everywhere

109. @branzy-but-everywhere

110. @princezam-but-everywhere

Missed anyone? Don't hesitate to tell me!

Others! Are you a whereis wanting to join the discord gc? Send me a dm with your user!

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, captivity, possessive behavior, non - consensual touching, hinted past stalking, hinted non - con, i keep making fairy tale references kfjhks My ko - fi <3

You actually feel calm now, almost at peace - although you can never be truly peaceful in the forest, you guess this is as close as it can get. You flip through the pages of the book, scanning the fireplace with the corner of your eye. It needs more wood, but it still keeps the cottage nice and warm. You tug at your big fluffy sweater - and think about just how domestic, how cozy this scene would be if you couldn't hear his footsteps creeping up behind you. You clear your throat and clutch the book closer to your stomach, trying to ignore him - hoping he'll go away if you pay him no mind. And just like the last few times, he sticks around like mud.

"Are you reading those fairytales again?" Raven calls out mockingly, the click of his tongue teasing your ear. He grasps your shoulders lightly, trying to take a peek at your book from behind the chair. You try to close it, but his hands quickly find your wrists, holding them in place. Now hyper - aware of his chest pressing against your back, you give in and let him look as his body heat spreads to your neck. "Such a pretty illustration, isn't it?" He hums to himself, a fox - like grin ruining his delicate features. When you don't respond, he just keeps going. "The knight kills the monster and rescues the princess." He reads the caption under the drawing, playing curious. "They live happily ever after." He flips the page. "The end." He mouths, averting his gaze.

You clench your fists and try to count to ten before you say something you will regret. You don't know why or how, but just one look at his face is enough to set you off nowadays. And anger is a losing battle - anger has you laying across his knees with your panties in your mouth, muffling your pained cries he likes to pretend are moans as he paints your butt red. So you shut up and bide your time.

"How sweet." The man chuckles with malice, quickly turning towards you just like a snake would curl around an unsuspecting little mouse. "I guess life really imitates art. Just like you and me." He observes with a self-satisfied smirk, reaching to light his cigarette. You hate when he smokes inside the house - the nicotine fume sticks to the walls for hours and you start choking and coughing, but he shows little concern for your heath; not that it's a huge surpirse to you.

"What do you mean?" You raise one eyebrow, hoping to at least take your mind off the nasty, overwhelming smell. If he sees your unease, he doesn't mention it, choosing to inhale even deeper, with his full chest. "You're the pretty damsel in distress." Raven explains calmly, charcoal eyes sinking into your vision like claws. It makes you feel naked, vulnerable - dissected to your very molecule. "And I am your knight." He lets his sharp teeth reflect in the dim light. "I saved you from those pesky insects who kept sulling you." You cringe at the way his tongue piercing drags against his canines. Track - track. "Aren't you glad I removed those obstactles for ya?" He gives you a crooked, sarcastic smile. "I think your hero deserves a little reward for all the trouble he went through just for you."

You blink away the tears as you are forced to remember it all in one breath. The police sirens - the investigation. The blood on your family's threshold. The used condoms hanging on your door for all neighbours to see, and the thousand messages calling you ugly names for months on end.

"You're no hero." You mumble under your breath, digging your nails deep into your palms - desperate to keep your tongue behind your teeth. But he hears you - he always does, and he just nods in agreement, coming close. Coming to take you.

Raven stands before you, hovering over you with one hand on the ashtray and the other tilting your chin up so you'd have no choice but to look at him and him alone. "Perhaps you're right." He admits, taking a puff off his long cigarette and blowing it in your face right after - simply in love with the way your eyes narrow in frustrated defiance as you wave away the thick smoke. "Perhaps I am not the hero, but the monster. The dragon." He laughs to himself, stubbing out the burning fag. You don't know what it is that he finds so funny, but you wish you knew so you could laugh along instead of crying.

He cages you in against the sofa, causing you to press even harder against the soft backrest. The message is clear - you'd let the house consume you before you let him as much as kiss you.

"It fits the story nicely, don't you think?" The man remarks, playing with a strand of your hair gleefuly just like a child would. You assume he derives some sick pleasure from touching you so casually - from caressing you, petting you, holding you. It's not even sexual, but it always shakes you to your core, and maybe for him that's the best part - where you can't go anywhere, but in his arms.

"Huh?" You break from your thoughts, growing confused. "Your analogy." He explains while still all over you. "It makes sense. I fought for you, and I won you fair and square." His eyes light up with the ferocity of a hunter. "I wanted you so I took you like the greedy bastard I am. I have no regrets - and if that makes me a villain, then so be it. I will burn the world down if it means you'd be all mine." His fist wraps around your loose locks, almost gentle, but not quite. There is something unnatural in his smile - you can't help, but imagine blood dripping from his chin. "But there is something your magic tales get wrong." Raven whispers diabolically, snapping his fingers. Everything goes dark - and his coat slips down on the floor.

"W-what?" You ask, shaking like a leaf - both afraid and deadly curious. You try to sharpen your senses, but you remain blind to his shadow - and the way it moves right between your legs, positioning them around his hips. You feel his manhood prod at your pubic bone, and you heart sinks to your stomach. "The ending." Your captor mutters, pushing you on your back, and you curse the electronic chair when it goes all the way down with little fight. "The moment when the cards are on the table..." He all but tears off the first button of your shirt. "And the princess is all alone with the monster. Face to face - with nowhere to go."

His tongue is hot on your neck - you try to push him off, but he pins down your wrists with feral force, growling like a wild beast. "And this time no one is coming to save her."

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Doc: My pesky neighbour has been harassing me though, like, I was wondering it took forever, you know, for them to age, and he came over and had waxed all my copper blocks.

I was working on the elevator, looking over like "euh, why are they not ageing", its like ugh...

I took revenge though, I am launching charged creepers on an hourly basis over to his base at the moment so we're cool.

(Source: ethoslab HermitCraft S9#2: Story Time)

.

[sirianasims]

The Don Diaries

The call from Gina is long forgotten by the time Don arrives at the restaurant and sees Dani.

We request a table, only to be temporarily held back by a pesky EA bug. But nothing will stop this date from happening tonight, and the problem is quickly resolved through ruthless application of UI cheats.

However, from the kitchen, a familiar chiselled face is watching.

It's honestly a little tragic. The heartbroken slacker finally got a job, but it's much, much too late.

Kyle's loud crying in the bathroom makes for a slightly awkward start to the date, and Dani really hopes they get a different server.

Don tries to focus on the menu when his phone goes off - it better not be Gina again.

Thanks for the support, JoAnna, but can we maybe get through THEIR FIRST DATE before we think long-term? You and Matteo need to chill, seriously.

Despite the constant distractions from old friends and unhinged exes, the date is going well. Don is mesmerised by Dani's lips while they wait for their food.

But he's determined to keep his cool and take things slow. He'll be the best possible version of himself, prove that he's changed, that he can be the man she deserves.

The food has barely arrived before Dani lays down some ground rules. She's seen him in the past, and if this date is going to lead anywhere, she needs to know Don is serious about it this time.

Thankfully, Don has changed. His fuckboy ways never brought him happiness, and he wants more stability for both himself and Matteo.

The conversation flows more freely after that, jokes, banter and light flirting flying back and forth.

A while later, Kyle is finally done crying in the bathroom.

Dani suggests that maybe this is their cue to leave. Besides, it's getting late and Don's neighbour can't look after Matteo all night.

Their plates are cleared and Don takes care of the bill. It's the moment of truth.

He slowly caresses Dani's cheek, trying to make sure they're on the same page about this, but it seems like he has nothing to worry about.

And then, at long last...

Took you long enough.

There are many other things Don would like to do with Dani tonight, but he needs to get home to Matteo. Instead, he invites Dani to come and stay with them for New Year's Eve.

It'll be worth the wait.

chrono - previous - next

[aziraphales-library]

Any recommendations of fics where Crowley and Aziraphale are roommates/neighbours?

Here are some housemates and neighbours fics that I've read and loved...

Safe In Your Arms by AppleSeeds (T)

After moving out of his flat following a fire, Aziraphale moves in with Crowley, who turns out to be very lovely and seems determined to do anything he can to comfort Aziraphale when he finds out about the nightmares he's been having.

What Aziraphale Wants by mozbee (G)

“You could shower at my place, if you like,” Aziraphale says. He’s a step out of the lift before he realizes what he said. He quickly laughs, turning to face Crowley, to dismiss it as fast as it had come out, and sees he’s being stared at. “You mean that?” Crowley asks, an arm out to keep the lift doors from closing. Aziraphale fights off the threatening blush. It won’t do to have Crowley know he’s practically foaming at the mouth to have him spend more time with him. Because Crowley is his friend, his confidante. He can tell him anything. Except Crowley is also devastatingly handsome. --- Aziraphale is just being neighbourly, inviting Crowley over to use his shower while his bathroom is being remodelled. It has nothing to do with the pounding lust that fills him when he thinks of Crowley nude in his home. He's just being nice. Now if these pesky feelings would leave him alone...

Good Neighbours, Good Fences (and Other Misunderstandings) by out_there (E)

The first time Crowley meets his downstairs neighbour, Aziraphale is breaking into his flat. He's not what Crowley imagined in a burglar -- he's fussy, old-fashioned, and surprisingly adorable. Crowley is intrigued, Aziraphale is ready to share a good wine... and possibly more.

District of (un-)Certainty by jamgrl (M)

Aziraphale is a PhD student who needs a roommate so he can continue to afford his house in the U.S. capital of Washington D.C. Luckily, the family he tutors for on the side just happened to find him one! He doesn’t think he will like him much since he is in the states to work on Mr. Dowling’s senate campaign, so he’s probably a terrible person (even if he is good looking). Crowley is pretty independent and doesn’t really have a lot of what you would call “friends”. But he doesn’t mind his new roommate. He would much rather hang out with him than his coworkers, anyways. His roommate’s best friends Anathema and Newt aren’t too bad, either. It’s nice to have some friends. Maybe he likes it in D.C. --- They are millenials! But still British and still old fashioned- just a little twist on our favorite husbands.

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

Won't You be My Neighbor? by ProblematicPitch, Spiro (T)

When Mr. A. Z. Fell moves to the quiet English village of Tadfield, he expects nosy neighbors and inquiries into his eccentric, solitary life. What he doesn't anticipate is Anthony J. Crowley, the surly nuisance / next-door-neighbor, who might very well need a friend as much as he does.

And I'll just drop a quick link to the popular and oft-recommended Or Be Nice, because I know someone will mention it if I don't.

- Mod D

[yeyinde]

thank you for tagging me @ivymarquis ! i debated between this, the regency fic (fleshed out), or one of the other Price fics i'm working on (home from college for the summer and seducing hot older neighbour Price whomst you had a crush on since sixteen (aka daddy issues, the playbook), DomPrice, etc), but i think the Soap fic will probably be finished before all of those. so, here is the baby trap piece with Soap.

nothing smutty but this def captures their odd, imbalanced dynamic perfectly, i think:

“And you have no cellphone? No satellite phone?”

“Ye can check it—” he makes a flippant motion toward the glove box in front of you. “Deader than ever.”

You hesitate only briefly. Long enough to level him with a searching look that yields no results (every expression hidden behind a thick, unruly forest of overgrown hair jutting out to his Adam's apple) before you reach for the compartment, gingerly pulling it open, and—

Sometimes, things get overlooked by their surroundings. Swallowed in the vacuum. Blending seamlessly into the muddle, the commotion. Or hidden. Can you spot the mountain lion in this tumble of rock and bush?

This isn't like that. 

It sits on top of a manila folder. Sleek black and cold silver. You're not terribly well-versed in guns—the extent of your knowledge stemming mostly from formulaic crime shows aired late at night; CSI, NCIS, Criminal Minds—but you recognise this one instantly. Some sort of handgun. Police issued, you think. It's bigger than you'd expected. Looks heavier, too. 

Your heart stutters. The air galloping out of your lungs in a stammering rush. 

He makes a noise, soft and nonchalant, as if keeping handguns in the glove box of his old, burnt umbre truck is perfectly normal. 

“Fer protection,” he mumbles. You catch the jerk of his chin in your periphery. “Forgot I had it in here. Been usin’ the rifle for huntin’ mostly. Or the shotgun.”

Three guns. You swallow. “Why—” your voice comes out in a brittle whisper. You clear your throat. Pretend it helps, that you don't feel as vulnerable as you sound right now. “Why, um, why do you need three?”

“Not fae around ‘ere, are ye?” He echoes your words from earlier with a wry twist of his mouth, eyes slanting in the sunlight. “Tha’,” he takes his hand off your thigh to jab his finger at the handgun. “Is fer wolverines.” His index finger falls, his thumb juts out. He jerks it over his shoulder. “Tha’ is fer huntin’. The shotgun back home is fer bears.” 

You try to move out of the way when his hand falls back to your thigh, but the pain radiating up your leg immobilizes you. There's not much you can do in this situation but endure.

Military. Wounded in action. Three guns. Touchy. 

You're not sure what to think. It would be easier if you couldn't. 

“What do you hunt?” You ask instead, glancing out the window to the barren landscape rolling out around you. There doesn't seem to be much in the jagged hills, towering mountains. 

“Gettin’ hungry? Donnae worry, doe. Go’ tha’ pesky hare I was tryin’ tae shoot on the ledge fer dinner tonight.” 

It's not much of a comfort. The idea of being injured—by accident, he claims—to such an extent over a rabbit makes you feel a little sick. 

“That's it?” 

“I can make a mean steak outta anythin’. Stews fer tougher meat. Fish, too—whitefish, arctic grayling, and lake trout. Learned how tae make a nasty fishfry from the locals in Nahanni Butte. Bannock, too. Got berries ‘round ma cabin. Caribou, Moose. Taste better in tacos or burgers. Mountain goat, Dall’s sheep. Been eatin’ better ‘ere than ah did at home.” 

“And you're—just allowed to hunt them?” The website advised of a permit through some special outfit needed to hunt when you requested your pass into the park. Said that only aboriginals were allowed to do so. “You're not—”

“Aye,” he cuts you off with a small nod. “No huntin’ in the park. But. We're not in the park anymore.”

“Where are we?” You ask again, firmer this time. 

“I told ye. Nearly home.”

“And where is home?” 

The way he sucks his teeth makes you recoil slightly. Wet. Irritated. As if he's tired of this conversation already. 

“Close.”

You don't let his flat tone deter you. “Are we—are we still in the Northwest Territories?”

“Thereabouts.” 

It's not an answer. It doesn't reassure you in the slightest. 

You open your mouth to say so, words curling on your tongue when he jerks his chin toward the handgun, brow furrowed. 

“Thought ye wanted tae check on the satellite phone.”

His tone is severe. A growl curdling the ends, pitching it down, down. Displeasure, irritation, blooms in the gnarled petals of witch hazel when he narrows them into slits. 

[socheckitout-mikey]

i really love fright night 2011 so here's some much needed jerry dandridge hc's! i hope you enjoyed these. lemme know what you thought of them! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

disclaimer: THERE ARE 18+ PARTS IN THIS PIECE SO MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dating Jerry Dandridge (2011) Hc's:

° "Dating" is a very stretched word when it comes to Jerry. Being a vampire makes it impossible for him to love like a human would, because of his dark nature having warped him greatly over the years. It's more probable for him to "possess" you as he views you more like a human pet than an actual partner. After all, he is much stronger, faster and possesses far more superior abilities.

° However, just because he can't love like a human, doesn't mean he won't have the outside world believing he can't. To everyone else you seem like a normal, happy and loved up couple. But truthfully,- behind closed doors -, you're anything but that. Jerry is excellent at deceiving, almost to the point that when you're in public, you seem to forget yourself. Even now he takes pleasure in deceiving you, but truthfully it's more for the necessity of keeping up appearances: Your gullible nature is just an added bonus.

° Jerry most likely had the intention of turning you to replenish his ranks, but he found you more resourceful alive... for now that is.

° For instance, you probably will fall into the role of being a daytime protector of sorts for Jerry. Your job is to ensure that pesky nosed neighbours (particularly teenage brats like Charlie) don't go digging where they shouldn't. You need to take your job seriously, otherwise it puts Jerry at risk; and when Jerry is at risk, he gets extra grouchy.

° But you're good to him - usually -. Now where that at first was out of necessity, currently it is due to some strange culmination of love and fear. Jerry rewards you plentifully in many ways (usually with his boundless sex appeal), but he also knows how to punish you. You long ago stopped attempting to escape him, accepting your fate that you're stuck with Jerry. You know only two outcomes will come from this: Death or Rebirth.

° However he does like to spice things up a bit. He doesn't like you always being a goody-goody.

° Even though Jerry is a cruel creature of the night, and where he is dark and terrifying, there are also good things about him. He can make you feel on top of the world, like you're the only person that matters - so long as you never interfere with his quest to form and expand his tribe of vampires.

° With that I will add that Jerry also does not allow his fledgling vampires to go anywhere near you. Fraternizing with you of any accord is prohibited, because (for now) you are worth more to him alive than dead or immortal. This is solely why you're never allowed in the basement or in the home yourself. In all honesty, Jerry has really grown fond of you. The thought of you dying no longer appeases him. He wants you safe and sound... Well as safe and sound as you can be whilst in his clutches. He does like to have fun with you.

° Following off that point, Jerry is actually extremely protective of you. Anyone dumb enough to mess with you (even mildly) will be dealt with accordingly (and my friend, it gets very messy indeed).

° God forbid if any of his fledgling tribe members are dumb enough to attack you (particularly if they have escaped without his knowledge). They're given the special treatment of being catapulted into the fiery pits of Hell much sooner than he would have originally wanted. But that's what they get for defying his rules.

° We also know already that Jerry is possessive of you. You're his, no one else's. So lets say a clueless person tries to flirt with you - you know they're not going to live much longer. Hell, after Jerry has grown fond of you, he may struggle to understand harmless small talk for genuine romantic interest. Where he can happily dish out all of the flirtatious charm to his female prey, he does not appreciate if someone else showers you in the same treatment. God forbid if you reciprocate it too when he hasn't asked you to. You know, for the means of strategy to bring more people into his immortal club.

° In public, Jerry is very hands on with his PDA. Almost to the point where it can become gross and somewhat sleazy (depending on what role he is playing in the new town or city). It never fails to make you laugh, though as he flirts with you. He makes you feel forever alive.

° One thing is for certain, you never have to fear anyone or anything when Jerry is in your life. The only danger you really need to worry about is him - so you have more than a healthy dose of fear. Not that he would harm you, but Jerry has quite the temper - one that you'd much prefer to steer clear of. So when he's in one of his moods when things aren't going to plan, you stick to another area of the house or tend to the garden out back when the rays of sunshine prohibit him from going outside.

° Your relationship is going to be mainly physical, but that's only because that's how Jerry's able to show his "love" for you. His fondness is shown through sex and there's a lot of it. There's just something about the way you attempt to swat him away, but yet you beg for more shortly after that stirs up something crazy in him. He has to remember to pace himself so he doesn't break you - no matter how tempting the latter is.

° With all of his sleazy charm and physicality, he does have some soft moments. Those are more reserved for special moments or times where you're both alone - safe from the nosy eyes and ears of others. It's not that they're impossible to manifest, but that it usually takes something for them to occur. Examples could be; after a dangerous moment that you both narrowly missed, you have been very good for him for an extended period of time, etc.

° He much prefers to tease you though. He's very good at it, and is awfully witty. He also likes it when you tease him back about the persona he shows the outside world. He likes the banter you share - even for a human you've got some spice to you, and Jerry likes his partner spicy.

° Another thing he likes to do is scare you. Typically in the jump scare fashion. You never know when it'll happen, but it never fails to scare the hell right out of you. He also enjoys chasing you too. There's just something about psychological terror that turns him on endlessly. He has a naturally high prey drive, but attached to that is also a sexual appetite unlike any other. Your specific brand of fear exhibits a scent he's grown both used to and extremely fond of. He never gets bored of it though. That's most likely because he savours it, providing a game of how long he can keep himself from quenching his thirst the traditional way. You're almost too good not to eat.

° Following from that point, it really is true that he doesn't feed from you in a traditional sense. It's hard for him to control himself, but driving his fangs into your flesh, placing his lips on your wounds or simply licking said wounds can turn you. Vampirism is spread through his saliva in open wounds, much like a parasite infecting someone. This makes it hard when he gets your blood pumping or when you have clumsy moments like when you accidentally get cut, etc. He's grown better at fighting the urge - even though your eyes beg him to bite you.

° Instead he settles for blood letting. He pours it right into a crystal glass. It almost amuses you how he devours it, licking the rim of the glass clean before sticking his finger inside the glass to get to those hard to reach places. You don't really get why he does it, but that's just a testament to your mortality and aversion for consuming blood.

° Speaking of your blood, it doesn't disappoint. It's a treat he enjoys savouring as he doesn't get it often - when he isn't being greedy. Bonus points if you were frightened just before he consumed it. He just has to repay the favour… over and over again. Fear is the greatest flavour to a vampire.

° After he tends to any of your wounds. If he has taken too much, then there's that softer part of him that will take care of you. Your diet is rich in iron and other vitamins that help keep your blood and health strong. Where this first came from a necessity to keep you alive, he now does so out of fondness. You may not understand it much, protesting that you can take care of yourself, Jerry won't hear of it. It's his ritual after all, one of the only moments where he can show a softer part of him to you. To convey that in his strange way he might actually love you.

° Jerry is four hundred years old. He knows many things and if you're willing, he passes his knowledge onto you. He's a bored immortal though, so he likes to mess with you, but over time you become less gullible. In his eyes, if you wanted to know more about these things then you should have come into his life when he wasn't bored and so twisted. He knows though that one day he'll mellow out again and by that time, you'll be immortal; so he has all the time in the world to teach you things.

° I think with you around, Jerry is more likely to actually sleep throughout the day. You find it strange that he heads to the basement, but you just think he has a coffin down there since there's no bed upstairs. That is until you realise he sleeps in the literal ground when he rises with dirt covering him head to toe.

° There is absolutely no digging your pesky, mortal nose in the basement or in his private room of his tribes knowledge. He only let's you see the latter when he trusts you enough not to run and tell the entire world. The former isn't until he's ready to turn you into a vampire. So in this case, curiosity would definitely kill the cat - the cat being you. It's best to remain in your jurisdiction.

° If he finds you digging, he considers that meddling and he's not privy to nosy people. If you haven't angered him enough, then he won't kill you, but he may punish you. Especially if you rise up against him with the likes of Charlie...

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[delcakoo]

i choose you! ˚ᘒ ˖˚𓈒 n.rk

SUMMARY ! at last, your journey begins on route 1 with your first pokemon by your side.. and your pesky neighbor who somehow angers a flock of pidgeys enough to chase the both of you back to where you started. but don’t worry, riki will be there to protect you.. probably!

PAIRING ! pokemontrainer!niki x gn!reader

WC ! 3.7k

GENRE ! pokemon au (dont need to know that much to understand) frenemies to lovers, fluff <3

WARNINGS ! riki’s nickname for you is dummy, mentions of scraped knews/elbows, bandaged wounds, blood, being attacked by birds

a/n: this has been in my drafts since january cuz i only wrote it for the pokemon nostalgia and im kinda iffy abt it.. i tried to clean it up tho so hope u all enjoy!

ding dong! ding dong! dingdongdingdongdingdongdingdo—

you practically yank your front door off the wall in vexation, the ringing in your ears dissipating the moment your annoying neighbour comes into view. he has a cheeky grin plastered across his pale face as his finger drops from your doorbell, shoving into his short’s pockets mischievously.

he tilts his head, and his black wavy hair bounces along animatedly. “ready to go, dummy?”

you’ve had the misfortune (or fortune) of being glued to nishimura riki’s side since birth.

you were the same age, yet it felt more like you were babysitting than hanging out with a friend during most of the time spent with him. your neighbor was the definition of a dork; an impulsive idiot with no sense of limits or rules that you’d constantly have to take control of before he did something stupid (though, there was no harm in letting it happen and relishing in the entertainment every so often). in fact, you could dare him to lick the sidewalk in exchange for a single oran berry, and he’d do it without hesitation.

reckless or not, you couldn’t deny your vast soft spot for the raven haired boy, considering he’s grown up with you and all.

but today, riki’s grin and visible excitement shockingly held a valid reason.

“hell yeah,” you reply with a smirk, gripping your backpack tighter once you descend down the front porch.

riki’s arm finds its way around your shoulder, smile growing as he stares down at you. “can you believe it, y/n? today’s really the day.”

you chuckle and nod. “yup, all those years at the academy will finally pay off.”

at least, it would for you; it was a miracle riki even graduated, noting that he still didn’t even know what would beat a dark type pokemon if one were to jump in front of him now.

“wonder what type of pokemon our starters will be,” he ponders. “i hope mine’s a dragon!”

“eh.. i think a bug type suits you better.”

in reply, he violently pinches your arm. “ay, ‘bet you’ll get a poison type with that attitude.”

while the bantering continues, the sliding door to your town’s lab eventually parts for the both of you. the high ceiling building was filled with all sorts of strange machines and metal tubes, and it was rather quiet besides the occasional sounds of pokemon chirping and playing in the distance. you vageuly remember being here once before on a field trip, as well as the memory of riki almost releasing a wild pokemon from it’s enclosure and getting your whole academy banned.

ah, good times.

as you trail inside, you feel something enclosed around your hand and carefully lace through your fingers. you glance down to investigate, brows furrowing at the sight of riki’s hand clasping yours tightly.

“..what are you doing?” you mutter with warm cheeks.

he shrugs. “this is a big moment, so i felt like holding your hand.” riki didn’t seem phased nor flustered at all, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. it wasn’t too surprising for him to initiate physical touch, yet for whatever reason something as simple as hand holding was making a strange feeling erupt in your stomach.

though before you could question him further, a feeble voice echoed blaringly through the laboratory. “my my, what do we have here?”

and in walks who you remember as professor bonsai, icy white lab coat nearly touching the ground as her frail fingers reach up to adjust her green glasses. you recall the old woman visiting the academy once or twice, and it was easy to tell she knew a whole lot more about pokemon than any of your teachers or trainers just by how she spoke of them.

to his disappointment, you quickly rip your hand from your neighbour’s, bowing politely. “professor bonsai, it’s an honor!” you exclaim with enthusiasm. riki quickly bows too, following you closely.

the woman’s lips raise, scanning you up and down. “ah, i remember you. y/n, correct?” you quickly nod, smiling. when the professor looks over to riki, her welcoming expression drops, wrinkles deepening unpleasantly. “and you..”

riki’s eyes widened, scratching his neck nervously. he seems to have made a bad first impression with the woman in the past, and you couldn’t say you were surprised in the slightest. “uh, hi again.. professor.”

“lord arceus.. ” she mumbles disapprovingly before clearing her throat. “alright then, both of you this way.”

with that, the old lady turns, walking away and leaving you and riki to exchange worried glances.

“she definitely hates me,” riki whispers as you follow her through the lab.

you raise a judging brow, pinching his side. “probably for good reason. i bet you played some stupid prank on her at the academy or something.”

comically, his eyes widen. “how’d you know?”

as you open your mouth to reply with ‘because you’re riki’, the professor stops, gesturing to a small table under a bright light behind her.

“here we are, i assume you’ve already had the lecture of what it means to have your first pokemon?”

you nod, while riki watches dumbly. “yes professor.”

“then, you may pick one,” she states.

instantly, you freeze up.

there lay three shining red pokeballs, each in their own little capsules on display to the two of you.

that’s when it hit you that this was fully happening. the moment you’ve been waiting for since your first day at the academy; the day you’d get your first pokemon — your partner for life.

you glance over at riki.

when it came to your childhood friend, it felt like you already had a partner for life, as cheesy as it sounded.

you shake your head, riki would tease the hell out of me if i said that out loud.

while you were in deep thought, riki had already walked closer to the three mystery pokeballs, ever so carefully grabbing the middle one.

he glances over to the professor, who’s studying his actions sternly. “do i just- can i..?”

“go ahead,” she deadpans.

you watch in awe as riki throws the pokeball in front of him, red light flowing out of it before a small, turtle like creature with a single sapling coming out of its head plops onto the ground. it was mostly a pale green with a hint of yellow on it’s chin and feet, and a small brown shell adorned it’s smooth back.

“oh my god, it’s so cute,” you squeak in awe, rushing over to pet the pokemon’s shell. riki grins, quickly kneeling next to you to do the same. you fail to notice how every so often, his gaze bounces over to thoroughly take in your beaming expression rather than the little creature before him.

“that one is turtwig,” professor bonsai informs. “he’s a grass type, and the shell on his back is made from soil, which hardens when he drinks water.”

when riki scratches under turtwig’s neck, the creature chirps in delight, leaning into his touch more than yours. “guess i’ll have to buy lots of water,” riki declares, “i’ll choose him.”

without another moment of hesitation, he picks up the small pokemon, holding it in his arms happily. turtwig wiggles around, licking riki’s fingers and making the boy giggle cutely.

you gaze at them in desire, impatience rushing through you. riki observes as you pace over to the remaining two pokeballs, hesitantly taking the left one. the ball feels stable in your grasp, so shiny that you could make out your reflection reflecting onto the red lid. “pick a good one, dummy,” he cheers you on cheekily.

you roll your eyes in fake annoyance, still smirking as you gently throw the ball before you. rather unceremoniously, a small blue penguin flops out of the ball, face planting right onto the hard floor with an ugly chirp.

professor bonsai sighs, and riki bursts into a mean cackle. meanwhile you gasp, rushing over to help the pokemon up and into your embrace. “poor thing, are you okay? i’m sorry, i must’ve thrown it too hard.”

in response, the penguin puffs out its chest stubbornly, yet its expression screams that it’s embarrassed. the creature’s tiny yellow beak was slightly in a pout, and it took everything in you to not boop it fondly.

professor bonsai rubs her forehead. “that’s piplup, her species is rather clumsy yet very prideful. she has a hard time accepting food from humans and bonding with trainers that try to get close to her — and as you can see, she puffs out her chest whenever she falls down, which is quite often due to her poor walking abilities.”

contrary to the woman’s words, piplup seemed to enjoy your presence, peering up at you in satisfaction as you rubbed her tummy. however, when riki walks over to pet her as well, there was nothing to prepare him for when she decides to rudely peck his hand.

riki jumps back, nearly dropping turtwig. “ow!” he whines, and you swear you see the professor snicker proudly in the background.

“that’s what you get for laughing at her,” you declare, sticking your tongue out teasingly. piplup, who was now completely relaxed in your hold, sticks her small tongue out as well, making you burst into laughter. “if it’s okay, i’ll gladly take her, professor.”

she nods, nudging her glasses up with the tip of her finger. “very well then. do you both know where to go from here?”

“yeah,” “no,” you and riki blurt in sync.

unsurprised, you roll your eyes. “don’t worry, i have him under control.” with piplup sitting carefully on your shoulder, you grab riki’s forearm, quickly leading him out. “thank you professor, we’ll be sure to repay you!”

———

“i wanna be the very best, that no one ever was! dun dun du-dun, to catch them is my real test, to train th—ow!” riki pauses his serenading, cradling the arm that you’d pinched rudely.

“shut up, i’m trying to read this useless piece of shit,” you bark. “seriously who drew this thing? even you could make a better map than this!”

it’s quiet for a moment as the four of you continue wandering to who knows where, piplup fast asleep on your shoulder while riki and turtwig searched around cluelessly. there were freakishly large trees surrounding every mile of land, and lots of patches with wild grass that you both made sure to steer clear of; the last thing you needed was to fight wild pokemon before you could even buy pokeballs at the next town.

originally, you suspected that going from the lab to route one would be a piece of cake, but clearly not everything could go perfect in a day. unless you were reading it wrong (which you probably were), your map sent you in repetitive circles — and of course, the boy next to you didn’t provide much support.

abruptly, turtwig lets out a small chirp of his name minutes later, gesturing backwards with a prompt nod. riki follows his pokemon’s guide, eyes widening a fraction. “hey dummy, we’re looking for route one.. right?” he suddenly inquires, tapping your shoulder.

you roll your eyes, “yes, i told you that like an hour ago—“ you finally look up from your map and follow the boy’s gaze, jaw hanging off your face when you see a giant, obnoxious white sign reading ‘route 1’ on it.

you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. you were supposed to be on map duty while he kept an eye out for the destinations you read off. “you’ve got to be kidding me! riki, you were supposed to be looking for that humongous thing right in the middle of the forest for the past hour, are you blind?”

“i don’t know, turtwig didn’t see it either! i was just.. excited,” he defends.

how on earth am i supposed to survive with this idiot? you huff, folding up the map and throwing it into your backpack’s side pocket. next to you, riki has a small, discouraged pout on his lips, walking with his head slightly down.

his posture makes your eyes soften, guilt rushing through you as you reach up to pat his shoulder gently. “it’s okay, ki. sorry for yelling,” you apologise quietly.

riki kicks a rock into the air out of impulse, and you watch as it rockets all the way into a near patch of grass with no mercy. “nah, i deserved it anyway.”

then, an angry squak rips from the grass in front of you, right where riki had booted that stone.

you grip his shoulder in concentration, patting piplup awake with your other hand. “riki..”

“no y/n, seriously,” he insists, “i really do need to start focusing. we’ve only just left and..”

while he blabbers, you’re busy witnessing a raging flock of pidgeys fly up from the tall grass, furiously glaring down at the two of you.

“riki!” you holler, yanking him by his backpack. piplup is chirping frantically, holding on tightly as you grab riki’s hand and pull him behind while you sprint for your life.

the wavy haired boy has barely processed anything; nearly tripping on his own sneakers. when he looks back and realises the situation, riki’s eyes double in size comically. one pidgey hurls a small whirlwind right at him, and he narrowly dodges out of the way milliseconds prior with the help of turtwig’s warning chirp. “holy shit! what the hell do those ugly pigeons want!?”

“that rock you kicked must’ve hit one of them!” you scream your reply, anxiously feeling the birds getting closer. they were all scowling aggressively, clearly not up to discuss or show mercy.

just as you prepare to speed up even more, you feel the warmth of your neighbour’s hand get pulled away as a strong, angry gust yanks you away and down to the ground, piplup rolling off your back in the process and leaving riki screeching to a halt. your elbows and knees burn from scraping against the dirt, and the spinning in your head emits a groan from your lips.

nonetheless, you turn yourself onto your back in determination, sitting up on your palms again achingly. “get out of here!” you order riki, “me and piplup can deal with it.” the blue penguin chirps in agreement as she gets up herself, stretching her tiny arms and puffing up her chest again in an attempt of intimidation.

the pidgeys have almost caught up to the both of you, yet riki refrained from standing down; instead rushing to stand in front of you defensively. “no y/n, i have to do something helpful today,” he snaps. “turtwig, use razor leaf!”

riki spoke confidently as if he’s done this a million times before, yet it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that this encounter was both of your first ever real battles.

your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at his command. “what— but— riki no! grass types are unaffective against flying types, we learned this in—“

it was too late — turtwig had already jumped in front of you in obedience to his owner, throwing an attack at the brown creatures with an angry howl.

but just as you’d explained, the normally sharp leaves had barely any effect on the pidgeys, only infuriating them further as they grouped together to summon another giant whirlwind at you.

right as the tornado spins towards you, you feel riki rush over and wrap his body around you protectively, shielding you for whatever’s to come. his arms felt surprisingly sturdy and warm, opposing the powerful body of wind firing your way.

at the same time, a new voice breaks the silence of your accepted defeat. “watch out, you two!”

you feel riki squeeze you tighter just before everything turns black.

———

it takes you a couple tries until your eyes fully open. the peaceful silence keeps you calm as you slowly but surely wake up, taking in the white hospital room accompanied with a quiet beep of a monitor next to you.

at your awakening, piplup coos in greeting from the pillow beside you. “hey cutie,” you greet with a smile, patting your pokemon’s head affectionately.

“oh, thought you were talking to me.”

you quickly turn over to your other side to see a dishevelled riki in a bed of his own, raven hair sticking up in all directions and a blue hospital gown adorning his figure. he has a couple bandages wrapped around his arms, and your chest tightens when you see slight hints of blood seeping through then.

at his words, you sigh. it amazed you how your neighbour managed to joke around even in a situation like this. “how’re you feeling?” you ask with worry.

riki looks away, staring up at the white ceiling emotionlessly. “useless, stupid, a failure.” you frown further. “besides that, just peachy.”

“it was just a mistake—“

“i’ve made enough of those, don’t you think?” he snaps, now completely turned on his other side to avoid eye contact. “and that time it wasn’t just another fuck up, y/n. you could’ve got hurt.”

your brows furrow, mind flashing back to how hard riki tried to protect you throughout the entire attack, no matter if he was endangered in the process. “and what about you, ki? sure, you messed up, but instead of running away like some people would, you tried your hardest to fix it and take responsibility.” the boy remains motionless, breathing slowly against his white pillow. “even when those pidgey’s nearly swept us off into a damn tornado, you still tried to protect me instead of yourself for some stupid reason.”

he scoffs. “c’mon y/n, you know damn well what that reason is.”

“what? no i d—“

“i care about you, like, a lot. i fucking like you, dummy.” at last, riki sits back up to face you, casually smoothing his hair down as if he’d just commented on the weather or what he had for breakfast. the boy scoffs as you freeze, rendered speechless with your lips parted dumbly. “geez, you’re acting like this is new information,” he deadpans.

in his head, you’d always known of his little-not-so-little crush, but just decided to stay quiet in hopes of not breaking his heart — which he secretly appreciated, even if it was the complete wrong approach to take.

meanwhile, you were spiralling. riki, as in nishimura riki — your idiotic neighbour, lifelong childhood friend, the boy who didn’t know that grass pokemon are useless against flying ones — liked you?

suddenly, you feel a demanding peck on your arm, which happens to be piplup sending you a ‘stop sitting there uselessly before something flies into your mouth’ glare.

you gulp, making hesitant eye contact with him. “i- i really didn’t know, how- when?” you exclaim desperately.

before your answers could be retrieved, the hospital room’s door is pulled open, revealing a handsome young male with jet black hair and sunglasses. a varsity jacket covers his built figure, along with a navy backpack thrown over his left shoulder. his features and demeanour were all extremely sharp and intimidating, which you suppose matches the charmeleon that follows close behind him.

the boy removes his eyewear, surveying you up and down before doing the same to riki and releasing an amused chuckle. “finally. you newbies were out all night.”

riki grunts. “who are you?”

“call me jay, the one who saved your asses.” he explains, leaning up against the wall with crossed arms. “which reminds me, you little dorks owe me big time. took me and my buddy here lot’s of energy turning those pidgeys into dinner.” his tone was too difficult to read to assume he was kidding around, no matter how aggressively charmeleon growled in agreement.

you and riki shared a disbelieving look while jay lets out a yawn, completely unaffected by your lack of response. “y’know, i wouldn’t mind a cash reward too.”

“sorry for the trouble, and thank you,” you gulp. “i had some in my bag i think, you can—“

another round of laughter cuts you off. “i’m playing with you guys, it’s all good. how about you repay me by accepting the poor guy’s confession? i heard there’s a great first date spot up in sandgem town.” riki’s eyes widen at that, an embarrassing tint of red reaching his ears at the idea of the older male listening in on the past few minutes.

relievingly, a doctor shows up moments later. “sir, i’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to check on these patients in a minute.”

before his fortunate departure, jay sends one more glance between the both of you, winking at riki and leaving a teasing salute behind.

it was awkwardly silent once he was gone.

until once again, piplup delivers a gentle but demanding peck to your arm, snapping you out of your daze. you swallow in determination, attempting to build your confidence as you sit further up in bed. “riki, i—“

“it’s okay,” the male swiftly intervenes, “you don’t have to say anything, i already know you don’t—“

“riki!”

he flinches slightly at your raise in volume, sending you a bewildered glare. “what?!”

“geez, i like you too, idiot.” you get a blank stare in response for a good minute, which only comes to an end once a proud, approving chirp from piplup snaps him out of it. riki swallows, clearly not prepared for such an outcome judging by his hands that fidget with each other endearingly.

“oh,” he replies uselessly, ignoring the headbutt turtwig punishes him with moments after.

of course that was all he had to say.

you roll your eyes, hopping off your bed to begin searching through your backpack. it’d be better to simply change the subject if he’s going to react like this, isn’t it?

“jay mentioned something about sandgem being the next town, and that only means one thing. we’re all the way back in twinleaf. so i guess we’ll have to—“ when you look up from the map, you freeze at the view of riki standing in front of you, holding a look in his eye that differs from any one that he’s given you previously. he reaches for the map and places it gently on the bed, taking another step closer to your figure.

your breath immediately hitches. despite the messiest bed-head imaginable, bloody bandages, and his outfit being nothing but an unappealing hospital gown, your best friend never failed to look good, and it was about time you pointed it out. “y/n, do you mean it?”

you didn’t need to ask to understand what he meant. “yeah.. do you?”

before you knew it, your jaw was being cupped ever so softly by his palm, and when you didn’t reject his touch, riki leaned down to connect his lips with yours. it wasn’t rushed or frantic — no, your reckless best friend managed to kiss you so gently, you think he’s imagining you poof-ing into the thin air if he moved any rougher. his other hand attempts to bring you closer by the waist, but the action only results in a pained hiss due to the bandage-clad injuries decorating his skin.

pulling away reluctantly, you reach up to squeeze his shoulder while desperately attempting to hide your giddy smile. “y’know, i always imagined you’d be a messy kisser.”

riki smirks. “i can be if you want me to, dummy.”

at the sound of his nickname that you’ve annoyingly got accustomed to, you pout. “you’re really still gonna call me that?”

his lips press against yours once more, effectively shooing your pout away. “of course, you think being your boyfriend would make me change or something?”

huffing, you reach down to put the map back into your backpack, accepting defeat. “whatever, we should get out of here before the doctors come.”

“okay.. wait,” riki’s eyes brighten mischievously, immediately sending a worried expression to your face. “so.. you’ve imagined kissing me?”

shit.

“…piplup, use water gun.”

if you enjoyed, reblogs + feedback are always appreciated n’ motivating!

© delcakoo on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not rewrite, cross-post, translate, copy, etc.

perm taglist: @duolingofanaccount @strawberry-sunset-skies @scented-morker @koshinene @boowoowho @sultrybaby @yunjinlvrr @kynrki @yujiecho @monstaxdirtywonk @dekusgirl @taejays @luvhyun3 @yjjungwon @miou45 @rosie-is-everywhere @yenqa @rosenatorfirst @millsielovesgyu @syrxiee2 @ily-cuz-i @soobin-chois @wtfhyuck @hoonvrs @gyuuberryy @bucketofhiros @xtra-cheese @vmprshlvr

[hermit-permits]

An Update Concerning the Where-Is Collective:

One of the largest collective permits in the Permit Office is the where-is collective, which consists of gimmick blogs who edit a character into various places (usually at the behest of their followers.) We hope to continue cataloging all of the where-is blogs that may crop up in the future.

However, as there are so many owners of a where-is permit, it becomes difficult to remember who is in the collective, and who is not. Therefore, in order to decrease tagging in collective posts, we will instead link to this post, which contains all of the where-is blogs. This list will be updated as new blogs join the collective.

Only MCYT blogs can ask to be a part of the Where Is collective. Other Where Is blogs will instead be issued an ordinary diamond permit.

The list of where-is blogs is under the cut in no particular order.

@where-is-cleo

@where-is-xornoth

@whereisgem

@where-is-welsknight

@where-did-joe-go

@gtws-in-various-places

@wheres-wormhex

@where-is-grains-mending-book

@whereissmajor

@whereisrendog

@where-are-cleo-and-joe

@where-is-vintagebeef

@where-is-smallishbeans

@where-is-bdubs

@where-is-cub

@ldshadowlady-in-various-places

@whereisthehermitcraftrecapteam

@where-is-paper-cub

@whereispearlescentmoon

@whereislaurencezvahl

@whereistherealsquiddo

@whereiscyansnail

@places-where-impulse-shouldnt-be

@where-is-olivesleepy

@where-is-cherrifire

@whereisowengejuice

@where-is-the-pesky-snail

@hermitcraft-all-over-the-place

@where-is-moon-big

@where-is-pink-snail

@nosey-neighbours-everywhere

[seat-safety-switch]

I had a job interview at the zoo the other day. Now, don't get me wrong. I have enough animals at home, from packrats stuck in my wiring harnesses to my former neighbour's gang of feral chinchillas. In this case, doing my duty to society would involve some light landscaping, which means I would get to drive the little Kubota yard cars they had.

Ever since I was a kid, I was transfixed on visits to the zoo by these yard cars. You could tell me that we're taking a baby giraffe home, and I would not care. Hearing the utilitarian, hay-choked burble of a repurposed Club Car was enough to make me happy for the rest of the day. That and ice cream, of course. When I needed some extra spending money, this memory brought me back to the zoo. Also, their new "get paid cash under the table if you're not a snitch" employment policy, enacted since the last director got caught trying to flog excess gorillas on eBay.

I would like to say that the interview went well, but that's not really my task to judge. We talked for awhile about my basic proficiency with shovels (good,) rakes (adequate,) spades (poor,) and trowels (borderline) and about my availability (slutty, but not for free.) Then it was time for them to evaluate how I handled myself around an internal-combustion engine. Safety is paramount at the zoo: with all those kids around, accidentally backing over one of them while trying to rip a fat skid on the Gator 6x6 would look bad in the papers. Luckily for them, safety is my middle name.

You can imagine that it was a big surprise to me that I not only did not get the job, but that a nice process server arrived to give me a restraining order. In my defence, I figured that it would be a bit "out there" to jump a hedge, and thought twice about it. Ultimately, though, I had to show I was management material by demonstrating how quickly I can get the job done. Cost optimization is the only way that they would ever give me the keys to the really nice, bossman-only, ultra-luxe long-wheelbase EZGO for driving VIPs around. I hear it's got a turbo, all the better for outrunning those pesky investigative journalists and their pro-gorilla bias.

[insomniac4000]

15 - Chris but fiends with george and staying with him, can’t sleep for whatever reason so sits in kitchen so george isn’t disturbed

Can’t sleep either?

This was meant to be a fresh start, it seemed so exciting, so full of promise when when you made the decision to end your dead end relationship, leave your awful job and up and move to London. When your friend George had first suggested it you felt sparks of excitement, this was just what you needed. Your mind filled with dozens of scenarios, getting a high paying job, going to parties, meeting people. moving into a great apartment. As always however, life found of way of humbling you.

George was an old school friend of yours, you two were neighbours and were pretty close, when he moved to London you missed his presence a lot. When he discovered your life was falling apart it was him who tried to convince you to move and start anew. You weren't regretting your move, you had to end your relationship with a guy who put his needs before your own, to the point you were working two jobs you hated just to pay bills. It was a life you had to get away from but your fresh start had stalled.

You had been in London now for over a month now but you were still without a job and as such you had to move out of your air bnb and were currently sleeping on George's floor, a far cry from the new you that you had imagined.

Sleep was becoming a problem, George had tried to make things as comfortable as possible for you and had even offered his bed but you politely declined. You tossed and turned on the air mattress but after two hours no sleep was coming. You didn't want to keep disturbing George so instead padded into the living room, you went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water sighing as you made your way back to the sofa, flopping your body weight onto it.

"Can't sleep either?" A voice called out which startled you a little and you jumped. "Sorry I didn't mean to scare you." The voice spoke again and as your eyes adjusted you finally recognised the small frame of Chris coming into view. Chris Michael Dixon, one of the few bright sparks of these truly drab times you were in.

"It's okay. Yeah I can't sleep, what are you doing up?"

"Those pesky intrusive thoughts," Chris replied sighing a little, you nodded a little. Chris had also been through a break up which had snapped his heart in half. He moved in with George after this and the pair of you would often joke George was collecting strays as he went along and wondered who the next one would be.

"Same. I even tried reading a book but even Thrills, Skills and Mole Hills couldn't knock me out," you told Chris with a small smirk on your face.

"Fuck sake. I was going to say you can talk to me but after that put down I don't think I want to,"

"Oh please. It might help, feel free to bitch to me too." You looked at Chris, admiring how his blue eyes were glistening still in the dark.

"I have a big video shoot tomorrow, I'm probably over thinking it as I always do."

"Downside to being a perfectionist I guess, it always comes out amazing though Chris. The worry shows you care. I wish I could find something I care about that much. I've spent my whole life pleasing other people and now I'm supposedly out on my own I'm still making a mess of it and now relying on George," you sighed taking a sip of water. A warm hand found it's way to your knee, you looked to see Chris staring at you intensely, a very small smile on her lips.

"I think you're really brave. Starting again is really scary and no one thinks it's easy. I'm just a kid who got lucky but you're really working hard to change things, that's admirable."

Your glaze flicked between Chris's mouth for a moment before you looked back at his eyes and nodded. He always had a way of making you feel better.

"Thanks Chris."

"Any time. Same time tomorrow?" He joked standing up from the sofa as he walked back to his room. He got to the door and paused, turning to you again.

"If you get sick of George's snoring, my door's always open for you."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Glorfindel x Erestor

This story has been written for @sortumavaara and is accompanied by chibis made by this amazing artist!

Chibi commissions are open!

Characters: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompts:Neighbours - Locksmith - If you ask me to beg, I'll beg

Words: 2 110

Warnings: a kiss (and potentially criminal activity)

Glorfindel squinted at the door accusingly.

The very next day, he vowed, he’d finally buy a doorstopper to keep those pesky drafts from accidentally locking him out of his flat when all he’d wanted to do was retrieve his mail.

Of course, it might have been a supremely silly idea to do so in the middle of the night, but—being a busy professional—he tended to these domestic chores whenever the thought struck him.

Unfortunately, even the best, most earnest resolutions in the world wouldn’t unlock his undeniably firmly closed front door now.

He considered calling Elrond, but he suspected that he’d gone through all of the seven spare keys his friend had been squirrelling away for emergencies: one, he’d lost at the mall, the other had fallen down an open manhole, two of them were surely somewhere inside his inaccessible apartment, and he couldn’t remember what happened to the others for the life of him.

Maybe, he mused, one was still in the old, battered car he owned but never drove. That sudden burst of inspiration did not help him much either, as the key to that accursed vehicle was in his bathroom drawer, inside his flat.

Fishing his old, battered flip phone, the little battery in the top right corner flickering alarmingly, out of his pocket, he reviewed his options with as much level-headed rationality as he could muster.

He didn’t doubt for a moment that his friends, annoyed and incredulous as they would undoubtedly be, would offer him food and shelter in his hour of need, but the thought of their faces and sympathetic cooing made his blood run cold.

Blowing a stray strand of golden hair out of his face, Glorfindel sagged against the closed door in dismay.

How did this always happen to him?

He was an accomplished ophthalmologist—respected and cherished by his colleagues and patients alike—and yet, he seemed utterly unable to manage something as fundamental as not leaving his flat without a key.

“Hello there, do you need help?”

Glorfindel shot up, banging his head against the doorknob and yelping loudly.

He’d never heard his mysterious neighbour, occupying the flat at the end of the landing, speak this many words in a row. And they were addressed to him!

“I’ve locked myself out,” he confessed in a tiny voice.

“Again?”

Grimacing, Glorfindel brought his hands to his face to hide from the disapproving gaze of the handsome stranger. If even his neighbour, who’d never granted him more than a sharp nod in passing, had caught on to his shortcomings, what were people in general thinking and saying about him behind his broad, muscular back?

“I could help you with that,” the other went on, callously disregarding Glorfindel’s existential crisis in his unshakeable pragmatism. “But you’d have to pay me the common rate for an emergency locksmith.”

That made Glorfindel look up once more; he’d always been so distracted by the darkly magnetic aura of the furtive, slender man with the impressive glower that he’d never stopped to notice that his clothes, while well-tailored, seemed rather threadbare and had been mended with meticulous skill.

The complex they inhabited was far from cheap to live in, and an ungracious but pervasive thought arose in Glorfindel’s befuddled mind: How could this man afford to pay his rent?

As far as he could tell, the mysterious siren with whom he shared a floor and the occasional lift ride went out at all hours of the night, often only returning after morning light when Glorfindel, rising from another night of bleak insomnia, got ready to go to work himself.

“Are you a locksmith?” he asked suspiciously.

“Something of the sort,” the smirking man gave back with a nervous shrug. “I can open your door, right now, isn’t that what matters?”

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Erestor, but don’t worry, there won’t be an official bill.”

The unshakeable sensation of doing something wicked and reprehensible overcame Glorfindel, but he nodded solemnly. “Very well, Erestor. I shall pay you…and I’d like to invite you to stay over for dinner sometime. As a reparation for the time you’ll lose getting me out of this mess?”

Cocking one eyebrow, Erestor moved down the hallway to retrieve his tools from his own flat. “This won’t take all evening,” he said calmly.

“Maybe…it could?” Glorfindel heard himself say in a voice that sounded considerably more suave and confident than he felt.

As soon as he was alone in the hallway again, Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation; his glasses were in the flat and his head had started pounding with a tension headache five minutes ago.

He truly hoped that Erestor would make good on his promise to overcome the treacherous lock quickly.

"You have to move away from the door," a soft, mocking voice resounded.

Glorfindel’s head snapped up, and when he beheld Erestor once more, his tongue went numb in his mouth—he’d tied up his glossy, dark hair neatly and squatted down before the lock, squinting at it in concentration.

The alluring shape of his behind and the elegant curve of his spine didn’t go unnoticed, and Glorfindel desperately tried to redirect his wandering thoughts to something less incriminating.

“Listen, I’m an ophthalmologist—if I can offer my professional services to you one of these days…”

Looking up from his work, his hands enviably steady, Erestor merely cocked one eyebrow. “My eyes are fine, thank you. There just seems to be a considerable amount of lint and other debris wedged into this lock. Do you ever check your key before ramming it into the keyhole?”

Shamefacedly, Glorfindel had to admit that he did indeed not do such a simple inspection.

“I see,” Erestor mumbled distractedly. “No problem!”

His slender wrists were moving delicately until Glorfindel heard the telltale click echoing through the deserted hallway, and his heart sank.

“There we are,” Erestor declared, provocatively pushing open the door and stepping back.

“Do you…want to come in?” Glorfindel asked, all but stumbling over his words.

To his surprise, Erestor seemed to consider his invitation for a few seconds before shaking his head in what looked strangely akin to dismay and regret. “I must be somewhere else. Another time, maybe!”

Softening that ambiguous rejection of Glorfindel’s clumsy advances with a radiant smile, he strode towards the stairwell, tucking his tools surreptitiously under his arm.

Glorfindel threw his suitcase on the bed—he’d only just come home from a symposium about new laser technologies, and he already yearned to be anywhere other than his deserted, slightly disorganised flat.

For three days, he’d been bathed in the company of his peers. At that moment, he’d found them rather dull and boorish, but he now regretted every ungenerous thought bitterly as the gaping emptiness of his own home seemed to expand like a black hole, ready to suck every last drop of light and happiness out of his soul.

Just as he was about to do something laughably dramatic, though, he heard the loose board outside his front door creak treacherously.

Rushing to the spyhole, he was taken over by a recklessly idiotic idea—so much for having overcome that first impulse of madness!

Before he could give himself a moment to think things over, he strode out the door and looked around as if searching for something, pointedly feigning not to notice Erestor standing just outside his own flat.

“I was sure I’ve left it somewhere around here,” Glorfindel mumbled, his eyes glued to the worn carpet, and suppressed a grin as he heard his door clunk shut. “Oh misery!” he exclaimed. “Locked out again! And it’s the middle of the night!”

“I wouldn’t have thought that eye doctors have to work this late,” Erestor commented dryly, gesturing at the long, white coat Glorfindel was wearing and his uncharacteristically neat, smooth hairdo.

“I’ve only just come home from a medical convention,” Glorfindel explained defensively, as he didn’t want the other to get exactly the right impression of what was happening here.

“And, instead of going to bed and resting, you came out here to search for…” Erestor cocked his head quizzically as if it was entirely normal to have vaguely flirty conversations with one’s neighbours in the middle of the night.

“My bag,” Glorfindel replied, trying his best to look appropriately crestfallen. “My medical bag! It was full of goodies too!”

“As I surmise that you’ve been inside your flat already, I dare say that you’ve retrieved your key from said bag and consequently took it in. Do you need help looking for it?” It was evident in Erestor’s tone that he hadn’t in the least bought Glorfindel’s little subterfuge. “I could unlock your door again, and tonight, I have no other plans, so I’d gladly take you up on that late-night snack if you’re not too tired.”

Startled, Glorfindel stared at the apparition in worn grey overalls—had he ever found sturdy work garb to be this attractive before?—partially obscuring a clean, orange button-down until he was sure that his eyes were positively bulging out of his skull.

“Or did you change your mind in the meantime?”

At once, Glorfindel shook his head vehemently, carelessly unravelling his uncharacteristically tidy bun. “By all means, unlock my door and come in!”

All fatigue seemed to have drained out of his system, and he was shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, overjoyed at the prospect of observing those nimble fingers at work again.

Erestor smiled, tapping his skilful fingers against his toolbox playfully, and waited patiently.

“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” Glorfindel murmured, suddenly struck with how profoundly unreasonable his whole ploy had been. “I just want to get back into my flat…now more than ever!”

With a breathy peal of laughter, the unorthodox locksmith bent to his task, humming happily under his breath at the sight of the flustered doctor hovering above him.

As soon as the door swung open with a protesting groan, Erestor burst into laughter. “Your pesky bag seems to have hidden in plain sight! It’s right there, in the middle of the foyer, glaring at us!”

Ducking his head in shame at being found out, Glorfindel slunk in and threw an exasperated look into his clean but empty kitchen—he’d not been home, and he knew his fridge to be woefully empty.

“Can I maybe tempt you with delivery food? I’m afraid I don’t have anything edible in the house,” he confessed, avoiding Erestor’s amused gaze.

“Aren’t you a doctor?”

“I’m an eye doctor,” Glorfindel laughed. “And pizza is food for the soul!”

That was a statement with which even Erestor, contrary by nature, couldn’t disagree, so he followed his distracted host into a slightly cluttered living room where he simply halted.

“You may sit,” Glorfindel invited, hoping that he could at least unearth something to drink from the depths of his refrigerator.

“I’m dirty,” Erestor replied.

“Take the overalls off!” Moving towards the kitchen slowly while also refusing to take his eyes off his guest in case he took him by his word, Glorfindel wracked his brain for something smart and charming to say. “Do you also come from work?”

“Something of that kind, yes,” Erestor grinned. The sound of the fastenings of his protective garment coming undone echoed through the tense silence between them, and Glorfindel swallowed thickly.

The need for a beverage was both eclipsed and exacerbated by the revelation of Erestor’s maddeningly form-fitting trousers and impossibly unwrinkled shirt, leaving Glorfindel hovering on the threshold of the kitchen indecisively.

“Are these yours?” Erestor asked with a hint of sharp interest in his voice as he held up a pair of lightweight glasses that had been threatening to slip off the coffee table.

“Hmmm,” humming his embarrassed assent, Glorfindel decided that the refreshments could wait a little longer.

“Very sexy! Put them on for me,” Erestor demanded, getting to his feet and padding over like a sleek predator on the prowl. “I do want you to have all your senses about you when I name my price for my second rescue mission!”

“I thought I’d pay for dinner,” Glorfindel said somewhat sheepishly as he took his glasses and slid them onto his face; Erestor’s impish expression—his twinkling eyes and the tiny wrinkles around his smirking mouth—came into sudden focus.

Before he could dispel the suffocating mist of confusion and desire pervading the room, Glorfindel felt a strong, slightly calloused hand wrap around the back of his neck, and then, warm, soft lips brushed across his own.

“That too,” Erestor smiled. “Later. Much later!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the last one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[slyvieselkie]

Reverse Comfort - Bakugo Katsuki

They say patience is a virtue, and it really is true. That's why everyone loves you and wonder why you chose to marry him. Because you were the personification of calm water, and Katsuki represented his quirk to perfection. You're tolerant, graceful, and there's always a peaceful smile on your smile despite the situation. And your husband since his youth has been seen with a snarl more than smiles, people have heard his shouting more than laughter, and have met glaring eyes more than collected ones.

His colleagues from high school squint seeing the two of you together, ignoring the way Katsuki's barking at them while you're laughing softly. They have so many questions. Like what kind of big bang phenomenon started this, and also what the hell was your household like? Because the neighbours of the Bakugo household don't really have any noise complaints, but then again the closest neighbour is a ten minute walk.

The high school reunion is held in a small function room and while Katsuki is screaming his head at the pesky things around him, the girls huddle around you. You blink and smile when they ask how you tame Katsuki. Patience, you respond, with time and kindness.

Then you giggle, "Besides, Katsuki knows that happy wife means happy life. I am not above kicking him out of the house for his rudeness."

They slowly nod and turn to their friend who was currently threatening to blow this whole place up...still don't see it.

But that's because its not something explainable, and Katsuki has said he has no intention of letting outsiders into your relationship. So you allow them to ponder while you think about it, the times when Katsuki has truly gotten angry. You snort hearing the group cry his name in panic, when is your man not angry?

The last one had been quite recently. Katsuki had been contentedly sleeping with you hidden in his arms, when he got a phone call. The man jumped out of bed prepared for a crisis emergency, only to hear that there was a management problem that only he could fix. Growling he barked at the other person to get lost, you giggle hearing your husband complain about having to go to work early. You get up to make him breakfast, but the man stops you with a frown and kiss.

"Go back to sleep, why the hell would you wake up?"

You try to resist but Katsuki rolled you up with the blanket like a sushi and smirk, "Yum."

So he leaves without any breakfast and no goodbye kiss meaning he's grumpy and even more prone to aggression. But that's not your problem until tonight, so you let him take it out on the employee.

However, that's not the only problem. Kirishima and Kaminari rushes into his office without knocking and he growls at them, only to freeze seeing the thing on their phones. A bunch of gossip articles painting a story of Katsuki cheating on you with some heiress he had been hired to protect a few days ago, the photos showing them walking down a narrow alleyway in masks and sunglasses. Kirishima scrolls and the man is raging because of course the photographers have a photo of the heiress throwing herself onto him. What they don't have is the after photo of Bakugo almost ripping her hair out.

He's silently fuming, wondering how to get revenge on those damned paparazis and the heiress' family. Then his red eyes zone in onto Kirishima because the one who was actually meant to be guarding her with him, except he had gotten injured at a prior mission so it was transferred to Katsuki.

"I'm sorry!", the hero's pleading for his life and Kaminari's next to him, "He didn't know this was going to happen! Kirishima's also a victim in this!"

Hearing 'victim' makes Katsuki deflate because there's only one true victim, and it's you.

So he pulls his phone out to call you, "Emergency, emergency!", and Katsuki's screaming as he jumps off the building to help a bunch of useless things to catch a villain.

The world tests him further with how the villain uses his camouflaging to hide. Usually he would love a game of hide and seek, ending it by covering the villain in explosions, however he has bigger problems to worry about. So he's running around the city, wondering if this is his villain origin story.

Unlike your husband whose about to explode, you were cruising about at home. After having heard of the small thing with the heiress, you were wondering when Katsuki would call you only to hear that he was caught up with a villain. Knowing that he'd be pissed enough to scare the devil, you went around cleaning since Katsuki loves nothing more than a clean, fresh home.

About evening while he's drowned in paperwork, you start making dinner. You learnt pretty fast into the relationship that when Katsuki is angry, he wants something else to be angry about. Hence his love of spicy food, so spicy one could cry at the waft of it. So you hum and add bags of chilli into the mapo tofu, tom yum, and curry.

Just as you've finished setting up the table, the door opens and your heroic husband walks in like he's the grim reaper.

"Would you like-", "Food!", he barked and storms to sit down at the table.

It would've been rude, and it was rude...if it hadn't been your husband. Because Katsuki would kill himself before he disrespects you, and he's told you before to scorch his ass if you feel that way. You don't because you understand that's just how he communicates after a frustrating day at work. He lets it out with a blast and burns out like a phoenix, only to return more steady until it happens again. Whether it was a good way or not, you've never found it a problem.

So the two of you start eating, Katsuki crying from his special dishes and he screams about how spicy it is before chugging water and milk. The actions are repeated until every last piece of food is devoured and he stomps up the stairs to the bathroom.

By the time you've finished cleaning up and have moved to the living room for the nightly TV session, Katsuki comes down fresh like spring. And you can tell he's burnt all of his anger, leaving behind your cuddly bear.

The man finds comfort in your arms and the crook of your neck, "...Nothing happened", he whispered and you hum stroking his hair, "I know."

His grip tightens and you feel like a python's prey, "That goddam-", "Katsuki", you start laying kisses all over his face, "I don't want to hear anything about her, unless its karma. I know you, and you should know me."

Your roles reverse as Katsuki pulls you into his lap and move your head to his chest, allowing you to hear his soft heartbeat. There's something warm inside you, since you know that only you get to have this effect on him. For the rest of the night he pampers you with kisses, feeding you fruits, delicately applying your skincare and even giving you a massage. He asks you what you want, a red diamond set, a beach house in Okinawa, a holiday to Paris?

You giggle and snuggle up to him, "Make me some omurice tomorrow for dinner", he snorts and nips the tip of your nose, "This genie thinks you're stupid."

Patience is a virtue, and it is so worth it in the end because you get everything you want and more. Katsuki's made you omurice with ketchup hearts, you have one of rarest diamonds in a full set, a beach house to visit in Okinawa, and the trip to Paris had been sorted for Christmas.

And the best of all, you watch from the comfort of your house as the heiress and her father bow to rows of camera for the terrible behaviour she displayed to Dynamight and his wife.

"Honey, I'm home~!", Katsuki cackles and catches you as you jump into his arms, "Welcome home, darling~!"

Hi lovelies, hoped you enjoyed this one.

I was really contemplating what kind of comfort Bakugo would want from his significant other. And I believe that is acceptance of how he deals/communicates with his anger and frustration, even if its not the mature or best way. The metaphor of his anger as a phoenix also really stuck with me as i imagine it to start out like a candle, only grows more intense until it bursts and ends in ashes waiting to be revived. But until then, clarity has returned and Bakugo is more than thankful for your understanding.

I'll see you guys another time ⋆｡ﾟ♡｡⋆｡ﾟ

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Dancing With Death. . .

(John Mitchell x Reader)

(A/N); Hello-Ello! Welcome to my first Being Human fic! I've watched the first few seasons of this show and I'm delighted to continue watching the third. I love Mitchell's dynamic and character arc, Aidan absolutely smashing the role (as always). Do enjoy!! ❤❤

Plot; When a human is invited to live with the gang, things get rather complicated for one John Mitchell...

Pairings; John Mitchell x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; mature themes, violence, blood, coarse language, angst, eventual tooth-rotting fluff

__________________________________________

When you'd first laid eyes upon death, you thought he was human. You'd hardly expected the gentle kindness in his eyes, but maybe that's something you would come to love about him?

"I'm sorry, you've gone and done what? ", Mitchell gaped.

"Look, before this gets out of hand—", Annie tried.

"It did get out of hand! When you went and did that! ", George shouted, quickly falling to a panic. Every part of him wanted to break down and rip out his hair all at once. "Bringing a human here?? I thought the neighbours were bad, but oh no, you just had to go that one step further and invite one to live with us!! Gods, Annie, do you even think??".

Guilt churned within the ghost's gaze, her eyes drifting to Mitchell. "This house was for us, Annie", he sighed. "A safe haven where we can be ourselves! A human would take that from us!".

"Please", she begged their calm. "I've thought about this!! Rent is going up with the coming of the new lease, making it harder on both of you. Don't try to deny it". Annie raised a finger in warning. "And maybe some part of me wants a bit of human normality around here?".

"Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, a vampire, ghost and werewolf aren't exactly a part of any human normality!", George hissed. "Is nothing sacred? Nothing at all??".

"Absolutely not", Mitchell huffed. "A human living here is out of the question".

"I'm sorry you think that", Annie sighed, beginning to retreat from the room. "Because she's coming tomorrow morning to inspect the spare room". The boys went slack-jawed,

"WHAT?!".

That's how a very normal you came to meet the not-so-normal threesome of Windsor Terrace.

When you'd first stepped foot into the house, you weren't expecting the merry greeting you recieved from Annie. She made the house seem like a home. You'd instantly taken a liking to this boisterous and kind soul when she'd made you tea and toured you around the home. Her flatmates were cautious of you, but friendly nonetheless. They took a fascination in your studies and work, somewhat thrilled to have someone else sharing the rent with them to combat the pesky costs. From the morning you'd spent with the three flatmates, you finally felt you found where you'd belonged and didn't hesitate to sign up for their little condo.

The rest was history, Mitchell and George quickly warming to the idea of having you around. Of course, keeping their secrets had never been more imperative than it was with you living in the house. But, there were ways around it.

You'd spend two to five days of your week studying and at work. Mitchell and George also worked regularly, meaning that the evenings and their few days off were the only times they saw you. On those days off, they'd sometimes opt to go out, as you liked to clean the house anyway.

However, you couldn't ignore the strangeness these flatmates had about them in their mundane lives.

Annie loved your company when you helped around the house, the both of you quickly growing close. But one day, she'd completely disappeared. When you'd ask them, the lads would tell you that sometimes Annie leaves randomly to run errands or work. Unbeknownst to yourself, she'd still be around and seen by the lads. Even when you couldn't see or hear her, she was comforted by your presence whilst you'd dance with loud music and clean. It was a comfort to see some human normality in the house.

On the days she wasn't restricted from your sight, you'd come to notice that Annie never ate. Strangely, she reasoned that she preferred to eat alone and you'd left it at that. Out of not wanting to be rude, you never mentioned her cold hands or embrace. She was so cold to the touch. But, maybe that was just her?? Mitchell was the same, after all.

The raven haired male was almost completely cold to the touch, as if he lacked all warmth. You'd asked playfully one day, recieving, 'Reynaud's Syndrome' as the answer. He claimed it was a disease passed to him by his family. When leaving the house even on warmer days, Mitchell always covered himself in many layers. He always wore sunglasses, even on cloudier days. When you'd brought it up, 'photosensitivity', was the answer. You'd started to become concerned that Mitchell suffered from everything, yet he seemed perfectly fine..

George seemed to be the most normal out of them. Warm to the touch, cautious of others, but polite and kind. He was dating a colleague of his, Nina, who sometimes passed by the house. The two often bounced off of each other, often undecided on where they stood with their relationship. You'd prayed they'd get it together. However, the brunette would take a once-monthly camping trip in the woods to apparently honour the tradition his grandfather had started with him. He'd come back dirty and battered after one night, but not even you had dared to ask your flatmates what he'd be doing. You offered to tag along once, George desperately insisting that it was the only 'alone time' he'd get. You never offered again.

All three flatmates knew they'd fooled you into thinking that this house was normal, but for how long??

Things were growing more complex in the world of the supernatural and you were the only one in the house that couldn't see it. You only saw the rippled reverberations in the water, the conflict and sadness in Mitchell's hazel eyes when he looked upon you.

You'd started to grow close with him as well, sharing in his love for history when he'd spotted you with a book. The conversations and playful debates quickly began, allowing you both to bond even beyond the topics of history. Mitchell was a genius when it came to modern history, as if he'd seen it with his own two eyes. His gaze seemed so old for such a young face and it fascinated you to no end. He struck you as an old soul, especially when he'd started showing you his favourite music and movies as well. All were from the 50's and 60's.

Despite how he'd never truly opened up to you about himself, you felt safe with Mitchell. You didn't care that he was secretive or photosensitive. You truly enjoyed everything his company had to offer. Warm coffee, wicked humour and lazy days binging old movies on the TV, even the occasional walk in the rain. He reeked of comfort, despite being a complete enigma. Yet, for someone so happy and surrounded by company, Mitchell seemed so lonely. And maybe that's what drew you closer to him?

To his own detriment, you were all the vampire could talk about to Annie and George. He was slowly becoming aware of his attraction to you and it was a dangerous game to start playing.

"Just tell (Y/n) how you feel!", George proposed amidst chewing his sandwich. "Things might work out?".

"No problem! It's already hard enough for me as it is to sit by her without tearing out her throat, so I'm sure this'll work out fine!", the Irishman retorted sarcastically with his signature glower. George stiffened.

"Is it really that difficult for you?", Annie's voice was a soft whisper, brows knitted together in concern. Mitchell's hazel hues darted up at the ghost, remorse clouded within them. That was all the answer they both needed.

Animalistic desires often raged through his mind when you sat so dangerously close. He was able to smell the sweet heat of your skin, feel the hot blood rushing beneath it and hear the steady beats of your heart. The predatory side of Mitchell was always devious. Combined with other wants, being near you had become almost intoxicating.

"You deserve to be happy, Mitchell", the werewolf sighed. "You owe it to yourself to at least try?".

"Look, I'm not like you, alright?", he grumbled. "I'm not a monster for one day of the month, I live with this every day. I am a monster 24/7, George. You and I are not the same". Annie pursed her lips, laying her cool hand on Mitchell's shoulder as a form of sympathy. "If (Y/n) and I were—", he started. "And she got hurt or died, I'd never forgive myself. Lauren was proof that I'm not good for her, that I can't be trusted". Tears burned in his gaze. "She deserves someone so much better than me".

"What if she knew?", Annie asked nonchalantly with a shrug. "Would that make it easier??". Mitchell's head shook,

"No, no and no". Heaving a sigh, he slumped in his chair. "She deserves to live a normal life. Unburdened with the knowledge of—", he gestured to himself. "This!".

"Doesn't help that Herrick is trying to stir trouble", George added.

"Don't even start with that", Mitchell dismissed it quickly with a bitter laugh, his brows suddenly furrowing. "Speaking of her, where is (Y/n)?". Hazel orbs danced expectantly between his two flatmates, the werewolf's gaze falling to his wristwatch,

"She texted me earlier. Said that her classes were extended by an hour. I'm sure she's on her way". A chill almost seemed to pass through Mitchell. Something wasn't right. It was nearing 7:00pm, you finished at 6:00pm.

"Where does she take classes??".

"Few blocks down from the hospital? Around central Bristol?", George shrugged. Concern etched its way onto Mitchell's expression, adrenaline coursing through his blood. He shot up from the table, marching over to the door.

"Mitchell!", Annie called to him incredulously. "Where do you think you're off to??".

"I'm going to look for her. It shouldn't take this long".

"Mitchell—".

"Text me if you hear from her or if she comes home!", he called from over his shoulder, pointing at his flatmates before the door closed behind him. Mitchell's senses were buzzing, always more efficient at night. Your scent wouldn't be hard to track if he picked it up.

Bristol was such a peaceful city. Coming away from the bright lights and active streets, you found comfort in the sudden ability to see the stars shimmering above without the interference of the street lamps. The air was cool and crisp, fogging as it left your mouth and nostrils. What usually would've been a peaceful walk home suddenly turned into something entirely different. Pained cries rang out from between a few of the buildings ahead, stilling your breaths. "Help— help me!". You were still quite a way from home or the hospital. Your pace quickened, spying a body between the buildings.

"Hey, I'm here, I'm—". Your heart felt as if it had stopped, feeling a wild wave of nausea vaulting into your throat. The air smelt wet with a stench, blood coating the floor around and on the body. More particularly the neck area. This man had already been dead for some time. If he didn't shout, who did??

"Help me!", a man cried with the same voice you'd heard. "Help me!". Although now, he'd emerged from the darkness. The stranger was perfectly unscathed, his eyes almost predatory as they were set on you. "Honestly, do you lot ever not fall for that one??". A dark chuckle slipped from his lips. Your heartrate quickened, your cooler hands suddenly becoming clammy. "And just like that, it was just all too easy", he mused, nearing you. Your steps backtracked, every instinct you had telling you to flee. You turned, trying to sprint; only to run into another male with the same ravening gaze. He shoved you roughly, your back slamming the wall nearest to you before you fell to the floor by the corpse. A shout escaped your throat, whilst you tried to scramble from it, slipping in the blood only to have the first male grab you by the scruff of your neck. He had a bruising grip that made you cry out. You grunted, clawing at his hand, barely even scraping the skin to your own confusion. "Oh, how I love it when they fight", he giggled through his teeth cruelly. A low growl left your throat, in your attempt to free yourself from his grip.

"They think they actually have a chance", the other laughed. Your foot darted out, kicking your captor's shin. Out of surprise, his grip loosened for that split moment, allowing you to slip from him. The harsh hold he'd had on you left your neck sore, your feet beginning to sprint to the other end of the building. You wasted no time crying or screaming, your heart becoming hopeful at seeing the dim streetlights ahead.

A painful grip suddenly wrenched your arm, swinging you into the wall to your left. Your head was the first to smack the wall, the hit completely disorienting you. Wetness travelled down from your temple, the feeling barely able to register before the iron grip resumed on your jaw and throat. With inhuman strength, you were lifted by one hand and slammed into the wall. Your feet didn't touch the ground, suddenly a few feet from it. In your fight for oxygen, you kicked desperately and held onto the hand that clamped down on you. You spied the first stranger's face beneath you, his tongue clicking in a form of tutting. "That wasn't very nice, Love", he chided, squeezing on your neck, a wheeze barely able to escape. Your head ached, the lump on your face stinging as it secreted more blood. You felt a dizzying pressure building up within you, your lungs growing tighter. "Now look what you've gone and done". His grip seemed effortless, reaching up with his free hand to swipe a finger at your blood before sticking it in his mouth. "So sweet", he hummed to his silent counterpart. 'You sick bastard!', you wanted to roar, barely able to continue struggling. "I enjoyed our little game, Lovely. But, I can't control myself any longer". You whimpered, trying to kick from his grip.

"Finally", the other grinned. Fear pulsated in every ember of your body, your lungs barely able to manage a gasp at what you'd seen next. Whether it was your blood loss, your head having been hit or the lack of oxygen; you didn't know. The strangers' eyes turned to a midnight black, their smiles no longer human. They had the teeth of a carnivorous animal, sharp and glinting in the dim light nearby. You couldn't shout, you couldn't run. It was over.

"Oi!", a yell broke the silence of the alleyway, the grip around your neck loosening to the point where you could rasp,

"RUN—". The squeeze suddenly resumed, your eyes closing.

"Put her down!". You knew that voice, you knew that face. Mitchell. Fear leapt into your throat, your feet kicking desperately, trying to get your dear friend to flee. The raven haired male was completely unintimidated by the two sets of eyes and teeth bared to him.

"Ah, Mitchell", the stranger smiled tauntingly, fully familiar with your flatmate to your greater confusion. "We were about to have dessert. Care to join?". Disgusted with the two males, he stared them down with a glare that could've put fear into your own heart, his face inches from theirs. After only a few moments, they relented, throwing you roughly to the floor by Mitchell's feet. You were winded from the impact, your head recieving another painful hit as well. To your relief, your airways were no longer hindered, gasps and coughs wracking your form.

Mitchell would've knelt by you right then and there if it didn't show vulnerability to his enemies. He needed to make them leave first. "You're such a killjoy, Mitchell, you need to—". The stranger squeaked, suddenly being held up high against the wall, within the same grip he had placed you in. Rage coursed through every fibre of Mitchell's being, his gaze hard like stone when confronting these males.

"Not so nice when it's the other way round, is it, Seth?", the Irishman growled through his teeth. His grip grew harder, Seth's eyes riddled with fear, the way yours had been. Your vision blurred slightly amidst your gasps for air, barely managing to see the way Mitchell's eyes became like death and his teeth pointed. "If you or your friends touch her again, I'll crush the life from your fucking skull!". The other male no longer held confidence within his gaze, eyeing his counterpart and your crumpled form on the floor.

"I'm sorry", Seth was only able to mouth. "I'm sorry". Mitchell allowed him to drop to the floor, holding his aching neck. Surprisingly, Seth didn't gasp for air. Unbeknownst to you, he didn't need it. "Is she special to you or something?", he ground out.

"That's none of your concern", Mitchell replied coldly, his expression seemingly human again. "But, she's untouchable. And you will respect that". Straightening his clothes, Seth eyed you pensively,

"Herrick will be intrigued to know about this, Mitchell. Especially since she knows our secret".

"Run back to him then. Tell him the truth. I want them all to know", he insisted challengingly. Taken aback by this revelation, the two males finally backed off from your flatmate. At last, they'd gone.

Dread suddenly clouded Mitchell's every thought. His form dropped down to yours, still slumped on the concrete. "(Y/n)?", he called softly, so unlike the tone he'd just used with those men. That was the Mitchell you knew. His cool hands held your face, your head wound still bleeding. To his own surprise, the bloodlust never came. There was only concern, care and love. So much love.

His hazel hues searched your neck almost frantically, relief suddenly filling his heart at no puncture wounds. He'd gotten to you in time. The same couldn't be said for the innocent stranger he'd spotted at the other end of the alley. He could do nothing for that person now. You were his priority. "Mitchell", you sobbed, weakly reaching up to hold his hands, hot tears falling freely now.

"I'm here", he whispered, hoisting you up with one arm. His lips pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead, his arms encasing you in a protective embrace. "I'm here".

The vampire had wasted no time, effortlessly carrying you through the streets. It wasn't long before he was finally stumbling through the front doors of your shared home with you in tow. Both the ghost and werewolf ceased their worried pacing to rush to your aid. "It's okay, I've got her".

"What happened?!", Annie cried, her gaze growing tearful at your various injuries. Mitchell shared a look with George, the latter able to understand. Vampires. The same two who had taken it upon themselves to beat up George only two years prior. His voice dropped an octave cautiously,

"Is she??".

"No", Mitchell's head shook, his voice gentle. George exhaled in relief. You weren't a vampire. You were hurt, but you weren't a vampire.

The threesome were now faced with the problem they'd attempted to avoid. You knew. How much, was a different matter.

Mitchell had carried you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the bathtub's edge to tend to your wounds. You weren't concussed. Shaken would've been a better word. Whilst the raven haired male worked gently on cleaning the blood from your face, he filled the tub with steaming water so that you could clean yourself later. Your eyes studied him, the colour of his skin, those lavish curls framing his face. His eyes were kind, even when they resembled the colour of death. He'd protected you.

The cool hands that cradled your face tilted your head back with such gentleness, it brought tears to your eyes. Mitchell was so unlike the monsters you'd seen that evening.

"Thank you", you murmured, whilst he placed a dressing over your lump. His gaze withdrew its focus from your wound, still gentle when it was trained on your eyes.

"It's alright". His words of assurance were hushed, as if speaking normally would scare you. "Just clean yourself up and head to bed. If you're hungry, I'll make you some food".

Although he'd left without saying much else, Mitchell realised that you were in a state of shock. You couldn't hear the whole truth, not until you'd had some time to register everything.

The following days were hard. You were in bedrest, only coming downstairs to silently retrieve food. Your mind reflected on what you'd seen. Those men weren't human. Mitchell knew them. He was like them, but unlike them too. If the concept of Vampires existed, what else did??

Your thoughts were suddenly broken, your protector stepping into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. "Annie and George are out. It's just us". You nodded, Mitchell moving to sit on the end of your bed. The mirror that sat by your window was blank. You should've been shocked, but there was only an understanding. Vampires have no reflection.

Moving out from your covers, you crawled to sit beside the kind male. "Mitchell", you began shakily, him nodding gently to encourage you to continue. "Those men. They weren't human. They were vampires, weren't they?". A smile twitched on his expression. You were too perceptive.

"That's right".

"They knew you", you continued, your brows furrowed in curiosity. "How??".

"I'm old, (Y/n). 116 years old to be exact", he confessed. "When you live for so long, you sometimes get caught up with the wrong people".

"You're nothing like them, though", you breathed, reaching out to trail your fingertips along his cold arm. "You don't— hurt people".

"I try not to". Your brows creased in concern, seeing the shame in his eyes. "I've hurt people before. Lost control. It's hard to live how I do". You nodded. "Does that scare you?". His hazel orbs monitored your expression for fear, unsurity.

"I'm not afraid of you, Mitchell", you whispered, reaching across to place your warmer hand over his chest where his heart rested. If his heart wasn't stiffened, it would have been hammering from anxiety. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips nervously.

"I'm the creature of nightmares, (Y/n)", his voice remained surprisingly steady, his smile growing sadder. "I'm a monster".

"I don't believe that", your words caught him offguard, something unreadable flashing in his gaze when it fell on you again. "Monsters don't save people from other monsters. Monsters aren't kind or selfless. They have no remorse. And they can never be human, like you".

You shuffled closer, Mitchell moving away from your touch. "What are you doing?", his brows furrowed in confusion, growing scared that his inner creature would take its chance. But, you instead answered him in the form of a hug. Your arms clasped around his broad shoulders, allowing him to break from your touch any time he wished. He restrained his senses from breathing your scent, carefully resting his head on your shoulder. His arms wove around your smaller form, bringing himself into a less delicate embrace with you. It was firm and sure.

"I'm trusting you", you answered his question vocally now. Mitchell would have begged that you don't, were it not for the sudden epiphany that came to him. It helped him see differently for once.

Maybe through you, he could learn to trust himself again?

Finally grappling that the household you lived in wasn't normal, you found that you didn't mind. Mitchell had helped you understand everyone in the house, whilst helping them to live unhindered.

"We're home!", George announced, sauntering through the door with Annie in tow.

"Welcome home, Mr Werewolf", you greeted him from the couch where you laid alongside Mitchell.

"Glad to see you up and around again, (Y/n)—", he chuckled, suddenly sputtering, "What??". Your counterpart had a shit-eating grin splayed on his sharp features. "You outed me, Mitchell?? I thought she wasn't supposed to know!", his voice was a harsh whisper.

"She is in the room, George", Annie sighed, moving past him to snuggle up beside you happily. "I'm just glad you're okay. And that I'll never be disappearing from your sight again".

"Me too", you agreed.

"In my defense, she figured out that Seth and his little friend were Vampires. Myself included", the Irishman raised his hands, almost proud that you'd worked it all out. "She suspected Annie might’ve been one. A little hint, and she caught on". George's brows furrowed.

"How'd she figure me out then??".

"You do see the state you're in when you come back home the morning after, don't you?", Mitchell deadpanned. "You're hardly beating up bears by the lake. Werewolf was the only logical explanation".

"Aside from camping?".

"George, nobody goes into the forest for a night to roll on the ground naked".

"Fair point", George conceded with some embarrassment, his eyes darting to you. "And you're fine with all of this?". You nodded,

"Absolutely. Your secrets are safe with me".

The household finally felt free, everyone able to be themselves. You actually enjoyed everything being the furthest thing from normal. Secrets were never hard for you to maintain. You didn't have many friends or classmates outside of the home, your personal circle slimming down to just your roommates.

Nonetheless, they encouraged you to live your life normally and pursue a relationship like George had. One of your classmates had asked you out, the two of you only dating for a month before things turned horribly sour.

You had found out that your date was dating many other bachelorettes. Despite how your feelings weren't overly strong for this man, you felt hurt. As if you were only good enough for a backup plan or affair. Your time had been completely wasted.

The front door of your shared home slammed, your feet quickly leading you up the stairs whilst you ignored three sets of concerned eyes. "Told you that this fella seemed like a cock", George sighed, recieving a sharp elbow from Mitchell and a pointed look of disapproval from Annie. "What?? He was in the end!".

"I'm going to see if she's alright", the vampire huffed, standing from the couch to trail your steps. Your bedroom door was closed, but never locked. Mitchell knocked softly, pressing his forehead against the wood.

"Don't come in, I'm a mess", you sniffled, an amused grin forming on his expression.

"Don't worry, I'm not a roomba", Mitchell joked, conceding that it was a cringeworthy one.

"Mitchell?". Your door creaked open, the Irishman slipping into your room. The door closed behind him, his eyes quickly becoming softer at seeing you so distraught. Wordlessly, he made his way over to where you sat on the floor in front of your bed and slid down beside you. His large arm brought you close against him, now trusting himself more around you to do so.

Mitchell's carnivorous instincts had been present, but dying down slowly, day by day. It was difficult, but he was managing to control himself. "I'm sorry", he apologised for your current situation, wishing there was more that he could do.

"Don't be", you insisted, laughing sadly. "It's not your fault that he was an arse". His smile matched your sadder one, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Mitchell had been envious of this man, but never wished ill on your relationship with him, praying that you could find happiness. Some part of him tore itself up at seeing you like this, but was completely oblivious to your true feelings.

You were in love with Mitchell, not this man you'd dated. You'd tried to pursue happiness with another, not believing yourself to be good for or good enough for Mitchell. It felt hopeless, every part of you screaming for whom you truly yearned for. But, you knew it was too risky, even if he felt the same.

Your head turned, Mitchell attempting to press a comforting chaste kiss to your cheek, repeating what happened once with Annie. His lips had accidentally brushed yours, a jolt running through you both. Your tears had been forgotten, Mitchell's expression lighting up in an amused grin. He laughed softly against your lips, his smile becoming contagious. "Annie did warn me about this— I'm sorry", you giggled, eyes flickering shyly to his own. His lower lip was drawn between his teeth, his gaze fluttering over your features in admiration.

"I'm not", the confession tumbled from him in a hushed breath. Mitchell knew, as well as yourself that you were both giving into something so dangerous. His nose brushed your own as the last of his restraint faded from him. There was no going back now.

"(Y/n), Mitchell", George knocked on the door. "I ordered some pizza for lunch. Come down and get it while it's hot!".

"Coming!", you called back, Mitchell forcing a smile when you looked on him again. "Shall we go?".

"I'm hardly one to say no to pizza", he scoffed, coming to a stand with you. Remaining behind, his hazel gaze followed your retreating form before his eyes closed dejectedly.

What had he done??

_________________________________________

Hope you all enjoyed!! Let me know what you all thought! Any and all feedback is welcome!! Part two coming soon!! ❤

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!!

[rayas-ryoiki-tenkai]

feeling things for 261. So have some 236 angst with 261 spoilers (was I thinking about billies "the greatest" while writing this? Yes. Yes I was)

Sometimes, Satoru liked thinking about his youth.

It wasn't much eventful. He didn't get his clothes muddy from childish messes, neither did he scrape his knees during a rebellious game of football on neighbouring roads. None to call him a disrespectful godforsaken brat for silly little pranks.

No pesky classmates and their shenanigans. No ugly squawks from street vendors. No one to glue to his side and ask what song he was listening to.

For it to be so tasteless, so timidly hollow as if acknowledging its existence had dire consequences. It mustn't fit for a body like his.

As a child grows, their bones ossify to lock in the crutch of a growing future. Wiggle room, so bony parts could shift to best fit for the adulthood that was shaped by their own hands. Gojo felt he was born with his bones complete.

Satoru cranes his neck to catch the glare of the sun head-on. He knows the golden hour colours the blue of his eyes the best, much too used to filling the role under the spotlight. Perhaps, in a strange way, Satoru felt he only existed as such: through the eyes of others and nothing more.

The weight settles on his chest but it's nothing new, so he chooses to pull a smile instead. It's hilarious, really. Knee-slapping, even. Within the churning of responsibilities that carved on his skin in slashes, Satoru's thinking of a regretful childhood.

What would it have been like if he bled a little from cycling over a cracked curb? Would it have hurt the way he'd seen on a passing child once?

Would someone pull his head into their chest with a consoling "who's a strong boy?" without it dampening his breath?

Satoru coughs a dribble of blood, though he intends it to be a bubbling laugh. Someone did cycle with him. Satoru can still feel the greedy arm he'd wrapped around his waist, clear days in the blue spring, twin birds of black and white chasing each other tree by tree.

Satoru liked thinking about his childhood, for that selective moment where his best friend let him have one.

Energy warps in insignificant swirls around him. His body feels light even if fate keeps him lying in his own blood, a sadistic call from gravity. The sky looks unhelpfully bland, though Satoru finds it to be pleasantly stimulating. No clouds to pose as backdrop. No aerial flybys scribbling autographs with the trail of their engines.

Devoid of extravagance. It's simple. Dull. Gojo wishes there were more sights to see like this one. Perhaps, there'll be more down south.

You were wrong, Suguru. Satoru sighs to himself. I couldn't have been the strongest. Not when I lost to you.

Satoru lifts his hand to block the sun in his eyes. His wrist falls short in a grievous loss of blood. Crimson drops on the tainted skin of his cheek. Strength slips from each of his dying cells.

The call of the strongest was a curse beyond one's he'd exorcised. Even as his limbs roll with a cry of their own, the camera rolls, and he is to fill the role of centre-stage until somebody rolled out his puppet corpse. Satoru briefly recalls the doings of his body after a supposed death, and Yuta's wide eyes at his reaction to doing whatever the hell they wanted.

So much for strongest. Even in ripping through the higher ups with the claws of the collective vengeance after Jujutsu society, nothing changed. The grumps were dead. Maliciously killed to feel the death equivalent to the magnitude on their hands. Still...

"Please, don't bear the burden of being a monster alone."

Nothing changed. The burden never lessened. Never shared. To belong to him and him only. And nothing changed.

I'm sorry, Yuta.

Satoru doesn't cry. Though the burn of his disappointment stings bad enough to spring a few tears in his eyes.

I'm sorry.

A plane cuts through the sky. The burden never lessened on his shoulders. Gojo passes it on to someone else.