Middle Class Lady Who Has The Gang Sneak In Her Window

Try the Priest

Suguru x f!reader

summary: Your best friend, Suguru Geto, has a warrant on his head. You hadn't heard from him since then, and you thought your friendship was as good as dead. So why is he on your front porch?

Warning: angst, spoilers, imposing Suguru

AN: So, I wanted to try something new. It’s not heavily proofread or flowy so please lemme know what you think. Not sure if I’ll continue with a part 2 yet

Someone you’d considered your friend.

Went to classes with. Assisted in missions with. Fought alongside—taking down a variety of curses. Patching each other up after particularly grueling missions. Sharing many late night hang out. Staying up late reading shitty quotes from your favorite terrible books. Laughing til your sides ached and tears pooled your eyes. Braiding his hair. Telling him secrets you’d never shared—not even with Satoru.

And it came with the territory.

Doing your best to pull him up from his down in the dumps energy. Noticing him sinking deeper into his mangled thoughts. Hugging him and telling him you were there for him if he ever needed. Begging him to just talk to you, and feeling utterly worthless when you couldn’t genuinely cheer him up. When it seemed he couldn’t confide in you. When it seemed he didn’t think of you the way you’d thought of him. Putting those feelings aside, because you couldn’t stand to see him so unhappy. Bringing him food when it seemed he just couldn’t remember to eat—long-since losing the urge. His mind lingering on the taste of each consumed curse. In his moments of hysteria, when he was curled up on your mattress—so lost and broken that you hardly recognized the man you once knew—he’d would finally confess those thoughts swirling in his mind.

Suguru Geto was someone you considered your best friend.

But you no longer recognized the man on the camera before you. The pale walls closing in on you. Photos strewn on corkboard. The man, you’d heard, slaughtered a village of people. assuming the leader role in an infamous cult. The same cult who incentivized Riko Armani’s death only months prior. You weren’t the only one absorbing this information, but it felt so personal. His betrayal. His defection. His indifference to you and the others.

But, more than anything, you’d felt so very guilty. The man you called your best friend—your closest friend, hadn’t relied on you in his darkest moments. Not really. You blamed yourself for this. For the deaths of hundreds. The look of pure agony on your second best friends face when he’d heard the news. Your lack of intervention when you’d seen him spiraling off the rocker. When he’d utter the word ‘filthy monkeys’ under his breath, like a broke record sputtering out. You been the only one around him during those times. When he’d lost all that weight, developing those dark circles on his normally handsome face. You had seen the signs, where even Satoru might not have. But you hadn’t thought he’d form an outlet like this. He’d lash out like this. You couldn't have known. They were both grieving in their own ways, after all.

‘—SUGURU GETO FLED. IN ACCORDANCE TO ARTICLE 9 OF THE JUJUTSU REGULATIONS, HE IS NOW CONSIDERED A CURSE USER AND SUBJECT-TO EXECUTION.’

You instinctively tune out the notice. Numbness seeping into your very fiber. The cold, frigid air of the underground cellar surrounding you. You’d never thought there’d be a day, not even in the deep recesses of your mind, that the righteous sweetheart, Suguru Geto, would be subject to an execution order. Let alone become the cause of hundred of innocent deaths, and the fear behind many. You desperately wanted to talk to him. Desperately wanted to see him again. Ask him if it was true. If it wasn’t a ploy to jerk the chains of the special grade sorcerers. But you were also hit with the small, yet so present, urge to ignore it. To pretend you hadn’t heard it and assume nothing was amiss. That this wasn’t actually happening. And that Suguru was lounging at your apartment, probably hogging the space of your couch. Taking over your bed space just to get on your nerves. Scavenging the snacks you secretly kept for him in your fridge. Or scrolling mindlessly through his phone at your kitchen table, teasingly asking you what took you so long to get back.

But that isn’t where you were. And that wasn’t what was going to happen. And Suguru Geto was a notorious murderer at large. He was as good as dead, along with those he now associates with.

In the months following, you…survived. You’d often have Satoru or Shoko over, they surprisingly took it better than you had. Satoru especially pain closer attention to your actions. Likely in response to missing all of the signs with Suguru. Or maybe because he knew just how close you two had been. You’d often zone out for days. Satoru would shovel spoonfuls of strawberry cake into your mouth, insisting that at least it was something. And at least you got your calories. You found yourself mistaking their presence, on more than one occasion, for Suguru’s. Which would lead to another breakdown that’d require fussing over. But you’ll give yourself credit here. You’d finally,after several long grueling months, set into your previous rhythm. You didn’t require as much maintenance—feeding and cleaning yourself. And you needed much less reassurance—no he wasn’t dead, yet.

Then you saw him. The shadow of a man that had been impersonating Suguru, was now restored to his full former glory. You’d almost thought you’d saw a ghost, opening the late night knocks like that. Standing right next to your pot of camellias, holding a few letters seemingly from your mailbox. A small grin crossing his face, as those eyes lit up oh-so-slightly at your appearance at the door.

Feeling far to nostalgic for comfort.

He looked good. Healthier. Stronger. You wanted to feel scared. Wanted your body to match your mind, to flee from this terror of a man that’s been causing you so much grief lately. But your body just didn’t respond to him that way. Refused to.

You felt a sigh of relief leave your lips, unwittingly, as you stared up into those purple eyes. You thought you’d never see those again. You thought the next time would be when he’d be lying on a steel table, draped in white linens. No—not again. Never alive.

“Suguru” you say to yourself, words nearly a whisper, with disbelief coating each syllable. He nods at you, his lips never dropping that eye capturing smile. “In the flesh.”

You stare at him for a moment, not sure how to react. Why was he here?

“What…what are you doing here?” Your voice strained, and though you didn’t want to admit it, you could feel the back of your throat well up slightly. You knew if you were t careful, you’d revert to the you from months before. You seemed to catch him off guard with your word, as he looked away, having the gal to come off shy.

“Can I come in?” After a second, you nod, peaking your head around the doorframe—your apartments walkway, not seeing a soul in sight. He stood firm as you come within touching distance of him, cautiously peering the corners, before taking a few steps aside to let him in.

As he steps through your front door, you’re left feeling…small. Unbearably so. He was always tall, but you’d never seen him so imposing. The Buddhist priest attire, though not entirely surprising, was so new. So different. And all the same, it made him much more intimidating. You continue stepping back a few paces as he makes his way inside, before he closes the door himself. He carries himself to your living room, your floor plan memorized. He’d been there—practically lived there—enough times in the years you’d known him.

This wasn’t a man you knew.

“Geto, you shouldn’t be here.” He gave small acknowledgement to the distinct line you drew in your words. You speech painfully formal, your tone a pressed politeness. The only hint of irritation showing in his shoulders and the way his smile tightened. Your name—your first name, fell from his lips in absolute familiarity. “Its been a while.”

You stare at him dumbfounded for a second, as he makes his way to your couch, settling in. As if you’d invited him in for an afternoon cup of tea. His energy took up the whole room, looking so out of place. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Why—why are you here, Geto.”

His eye finally trail back to you at the sound of your voice spitting his last name out, so coldly. He’d been taking in the space, searching for changes in his surroundings. Searching for changes in you.

“I can’t just visit an old friend?” Your arms tighten around yourself in a self soothing gesture. Nails biting into your skin. You pull your gaze from him, not able to maintain the somewhat defiant stare.

“You can’t just show up unannounced. If they find you here—“

“Still worrying about me?”

“It’s dangerous for you to be here. Not for you. Not for me. You should g—“

“I missed you.”

The words stalled your thought process. The words ringing in the air, not settling properly. He wasn’t the Suguru you remember. He was entirely different. But those words still carried that familiar softness, the one he’d always reserved for you or Satoru. The ones that never failed to melt your heart, and make you cave.

“You…missed me?” The silence strung through the air. Buzzing. His grin grew at the hesitation through your voice. The confusion. He leaned back into the couch, taking a lax stance that didn’t fit the unwelcome atmosphere. Far too confident in your opinion.

“Of course I missed you. Did you think I wouldn’t?” As if he wasn’t a mass murderer. As if he hadn’t left you and Satoru.

“I…” you stalled again. Just what were you supposed to say to that? To him? After all this time.

“Why are you really here, Geto.”

“Suguru.” You stare at him, in disbelief, eyes narrowing. “It’s Suguru. Don’t act like you don’t know me anymore.” He’s saying this as if it were the most important thing in the world. Not the fact that he was a wanted man.

“I don’t know you. And I don’t know why you’re here. Leave before I-“

“Before you what? Kill me?” The words were a sharp taunt. He knew you wouldn’t. Knew you couldn’t. Your chest tightened at the thought, his words a blade pressed against your neck. You muttered out, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

And, ignoring you, he persists. “You won’t though. Will you?” The challenge there. “That’s not who you are.”

“You don’t decide who I am.” You nearly hiss, “you of all people don’t get to walk in here, acting like nothing has changed. Like everything’s okay—like we’re okay.” His eyes darkened at your words, and his smile faded.

“I never said nothing has changed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. After everything we’ve been through-“

“Everything we've been through?” His words felt so thoughtless at the time, not entirely realizing the provoking nature. You were practically shouting at this point. “You mean everything you walked away from? Everything you destroyed?”

He didn’t even flinch. His voice calm and firm, “I didn’t come back to argue. I came back to see you.”

“Why?” The word burst from your mouth, raw and sharpened with each emotion you’d felt since he’d left. The thoughts and feeling piling up by the second. His words inciting another to add to the pot. “Why me? After everything—after everyone—why did you come here?”

His eyes remained fixed on you for a moment. Your shouting hadn’t fazed him in the slightest. He’d had to have expected it. You’re almost panting, each nerve ending abuzz. Boarding on another mental breakdown.

When he finally did speak, his voice was lower. Almost hesitant. “Because you’re the only one I can’t leave behind.” You search his face, desperately searching for a hint of deception. Searching for a lie. But this man was never one for lying, at least he hadn’t been.

Your voice comes out a whisper, shaky and somewhat wound up, “That’s not fair. You don’t get to say that. Not after what you’ve done.” You could feel the build up behind your eyes. Red, hot, and unwitting. You held back as much as you could, showing him no weakness. But you’d already failed in that aspect. Much like how you failed in the ending of your friendship with him.

“I know it isn’t fair.” His voice about as soft and quiet as yours now. “But it’s the truth. I couldn’t do it. I tried.”

The room was much too suffocating. Your eyes much to hot. His confession hitting like a sucker punch to the jaw. The meaning behind his words, shallowly beneath the surface tension. But you wouldn’t be reaching for it. You felt so utterly worn—which is such a shame since you’d finally been getting back to a somewhat normal pace.

Here comes this man, crashing back in and challenging your every moral—your very being once again. You mustered up the courage—mustered up the strength to set him straight. To set yourself straight.

“You should go.” Barely audible. Yet the silence of the room reverberated each word, clearly. His eyes tried to catch your gaze, as you made it you mission to get him out of there as quickly as possible. Save that sanity.

“Do you really want me to?”

“Yes.” You respond immediately, but it sounded so hallow. Automated, at best. Even to you.

“Then tell me to leave. Tell me to get out of your life. Now. Tell me you don’t miss me. That you don’t want me here.”

Your throat tightened up, a lump forming that was impossible to swallow. Each line he gave, more abrasive than the last. You open your mouth ready to deal that final blow—reaffirm those words, but closed it again. He watched you closely, his expression unreadable. For the first time, you’re coming to terms with just how much you missed him. Just how deeply you cared for him. Your best friend. Your closest confidant. Your high school crush. Your everything. There was so much left unspoken between you two. Were you ready to throw it away? Would you lose your standing in the sorcerer world and be exiled too? Would you be okay with that?

“I thought so.” He said, a hint of satisfaction staining his tone. You try to ignore the tears threatening to spill over. The thoughts racing in your head. You physically pull away, your back finally to him. You can’t stand to see his face, let alone handle this situation right now.

You loved Suguru Geto. And it seemed he felt something for you.

Your back stayed to him. For a moment that stretched far too long, neither of you spoke a word. His last words were left floating in you’re head. Had it really been as hard for him to leave as it had been for you? You found the love for him deep below the anger and betrayal. But that didn’t mean you could act on it. It didn’t mean things weren’t different now.

Pulling you from your thoughts, you felt warmth at your back, before you had even felt his energy. Your breath hitched as his arms enveloped you. He was so close. Too close. Yet you couldn’t pull yourself away from the comforting gesture. You tilted you head back, hoping to catch the expression on his face, only to find those dark eyes already watching you. He was taller now. Much taller than before.

“Suguru, what are you doing?” Your voice trembling, much weaker than you wanted it to be. He didn't answer immediately, opting to watch you longer. His grip tightened around you, almost testing to see if you’d push him away. His head dipped to the shell of your ear, “Just…reminding myself.” Before settling into the crook of your shoulder. The hesitation was clear in his voice, making him sound much more…docile than a man that’d slaughtered an entire village or taken over a destructive religious cult. You almost felt yourself stiffen at the overly familiar contact.

His warm, earthy scent filled your lungs, encoating you in its sentimentality. You’d missed this too. You’d missed him. Your body settled for you, before you could pull from him. Before you could think of why you should be cautious around him. And the thought flowed from you lips before you could even process the desire to carry on this conversation with him. “Of what?”

“…That you’re real.” Your heart clenched painfully at his confession. You’d been wondering the same thing the second you saw him in your doorway.

This didn’t feel real. Maybe another nightmare featuring yours truly, maybe you could expect a ringing gunshot through the room. An astounding thud. Only to find him collapsed on the floor behind you, his blood soaking your pajamas.

His head dug deeper into the crook of your neck, almost nuzzling—as if he’d seen your thoughts. But he wasn’t aware just how much he’d put you through.

“Suguru…” you tried to sound firm, angry even—

“I know.”

You let out a sigh. Were you even angry anymore? Was this sadness flooding your chest? Sympathy? Love? Desperation?

“I know I don’t deserve this. But for a moment.” His voice even and constant, before breaking. “Please, for a moment let’s stay like this.”

come home

i need to know every language immediately

Baby, I'm Home

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wrap yourself up as an early Christmas present for your boyfriend Eddie to surprise him as he gets home from work.

Word Count: 2.5K

Content Warnings: 18+ Only, Smut, Shower sex, Fingering, Oral m receiveing

You frowned in front of the mirror as you fumbled with the flimsy material of your lingerie, if you could even call it that. The ensemble was definitely for novelty purposes, and you suspected you wouldn’t be wearing it for long anyway but you were still uncomfortable nonetheless. It was Christmas Eve and you were waiting for your boyfriend to get home from work, it was the first one in your small shared apartment and Eddie had been working overtime for months to help pay for everything you needed to make your new home feel like home. You had told him he had no need to work so hard, to you, home was wherever he was. You didn’t need anything but him, but he was hearing none of it. He wanted you to have the fancy bedsheets you ran your fingers over last time you were shopping, he wanted you to have the expensive coffee that made you close your eyes in content every morning, he wanted you to be able to buy all the plants and candles and little trinkets you wanted no matter how many times you told him they weren’t necessaties. 

Your Christmas Eve had always been special ever since you were a child, always spent with family preparing for the festivities, huddled up with over indulgent hot chocolates and home baked goods and a long list of cheesy holiday movies. So when Eddie broke the news that he agreed to work the late shift you were more than disappointed, but you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled when you knew he was doing it for you. So you decided to do something for him in return, an early Christmas present. Your body being the present, and he was allowed to use it however he pleased. Your chest was wrapped up by probably the least supportive “bra” you’d ever owned, the huge ruby red bow barely containing your breasts. Ruffled panties of the same shade covered your nether region, held up by the silky ribbons tied on either side of your hips. 

You were expecting him home at any moment, after adjusting your bow one last time until you were satisfied with the way it rested you shuffled your way to the living area. Pouring out two glasses of wine you placed them in the centre of the coffee table before lighting a few candles to set the atmosphere you were going for. You knelt down on the rug facing the front door and waited, your thighs parted slightly, hands clasped together between them while you squeezed your arms to accentuate your breasts. You started to feel fidgety when you finally heard the jangle of his keys in the lock. Your stomach somersaulted as the door swung open, your beautiful boyfriend coming into view, his palm dragging down the front of his tired face as he sluggishly crossed over the threshold. 

“Baby I’m ho- ohhh my god,” he faltered, his keys slipping from his fingers and clattering to the wooden floorboards. “What- what is this?” 

You beamed up at him, not used to seeing him at a loss for words. 

“Merry Christmas baby,” you purred, lips pouting seductively. 

He stalked closer to you, his lip tucked between his teeth as his dark eyes roamed over you. He stopped in front of you and smirked, you gazed up at him with big round eyes, purposefully wide to try and make yourself look as innocent as possible. He reached out to grip your chin, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. He hummed and moved his thumb to your plump bottom lip, pulling down the flesh before demanding you to open your mouth. You did as instructed and opened, moaning as he slid his thumb in along your tongue. You closed your lips around the digit and sucked before biting down gently. 

“Naughty,” he scolded, retracting his thumb and smearing your saliva across your cheek as he cupped your face in his palm. 

He dropped to his knees to match your height and surged forward to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss. Your hands gripped his wrists where they held your head to steady yourself, you whined he sank his own teeth into your bottom lip and tugged. 

“Are you my present sweetheart?” Eddie asked, one hand toying with the ribbon. 

“Mmhmm,” you nodded in affirmation. “You can have me any way you want.”

Eddie got to his feet and took a few steps back, wanting to savour the sight of you a moment longer before he unwrapped you. When he had your every curve committed to memory he reached out his arms to you encouraging you to stand. You grabbed his hands and stumbled when he hoisted you up, your legs numb from being knelt for so long. He grabbed your hips to stop you from toppling over and searched out your lips once more. Open mouthed kisses dragged along your jaw and down your neck, latching onto your pulse point Eddie sucked an array of purple bruises along your throat and across your collarbones. 

Once the feeling had returned to your legs and he was sure you wouldn’t fall down his fingers traced soft lines up your waist and along your ribs, pausing as he reached the edges of the ribbon. He yanked the material harshly, eyes wide in awe as he watched the bow unravel and drop to the floor. You gasped as he wasted no time taking your nipple in his mouth, his hand palming the one which wasn’t getting attention from his tongue. He licked his way down your stomach to your hips, kissing his way across the waistband of your panties he simultaneously pulled at the bows holding them in place. 

You squirmed at the feeling of him pulling the silk from between your thighs, his kisses immediately travelling lower until his tongue darts out to swipe at your clit. Your fingers tangled in his curls as you leaned forward into his touch. He chuckled into your heat at how hard you were pulling his hair. He pried your fingers away from his head and rose to your height, tenderly pressing his forehead against our own. 

“Care to join me in the shower my love?” He was tired and aching from his long shift, wanting nothing more than to ravish you right there in the middle of the rug but also wanting to wash the sweat and grime from his body. 

You agreed and walked him backwards in the direction of the bathroom, tiny pecks of affection against each other's lips as you led the way. You helped strip him of his clothes and climbed into the shower behind him. Your earlier antics were halted as you helped wash away the tension he was holding in his muscles. 

Your nails gently raked against his scalp as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, a satisfied groan rumbling in his throat. With delicate fingers you cover his skin with body wash, the shower head drummed against Eddie’s bowed head, his palms resting against the cool tiles in front of him. Stood behind him you placed loving kisses between his shoulder blades and down his spine, your hands snaking around his front to run along his chest and down his stomach, teasing along his happy trail. You felt the back of your hand brush against his erection, wrapping your fist around him you gave his swelling dick a squeeze at the base. He lets out a soft moan at the contact, the sensation sending a tingle down his spine. Eddie grinded his forehead to the tiles as your hand stroked him at a slow steady pace, every nerve in his body lit up at your touch, your teeth scraping at his shoulder. 

“Gonna make me cum,” Eddie whined breathlessly and you smiled into his skin as he rocked his hips in time with your fist. 

“Good baby,” you assured him. “Tonight’s all about you.”

“Nuh uh, not yet,” he gripped your wrist stilling your motions and rotated to face you, his pupils blown wide. 

He cupped your neck and waist and pulled you forward to his chest, desperate to taste every inch of your tongue. He reached down to run his fingers through your slickness, enjoying the way you writhed against his touch. You moaned as he wedged his thigh between your legs forcing you to open wider, two fingers breaching your entrance and curling perfectly inside you. He growled as your nails sunk into his shoulders, he hooked his free hand beneath your knee hiking your leg up high on his hip. 

The air around you felt too hot, the steam from the shower combined with the ferocity he was pumping his fingers in and out of you was making you feel light headed, his tongue still caressed your own as you whimpered into his mouth. Your brow furrowed as you felt him smirk against your lips, his eyes darkening even more as he had a sudden idea. He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, firmly dragging them upwards over your clit and once again gripping your hip. He breathed heavily against your lips when he broke the kiss, the lust coursing through his veins making his brain feel cloudy. 

“Fucking Christ,” he sighed, the hand on your hip reaching up to unhook the shower head from its catch. “You make the prettiest little noises all for me don’t you?” 

“Uh huh,” you fussed, your stomach flipping excitedly as you watched him twist the head to set it to a harsher spray. “For you Eds, all for you.” 

He smiled at you wickedly as he brought the shower head between your trembling thighs, hoisting your knee back up over his hip to keep your centre exposed. You threw your head back when the water ran over your folds, the pressure of the spray making your toes curl and your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Careful angel,” he whispered as he heard the thud of your skull make contact with the tiles. 

“Oh my god,” you sobbed, your nails biting into his skin hard enough to leave crescent shaped indents as you fought to keep yourself upright. “Oh my god Eddie, oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Mmmm, that’s it pretty girl, let it all out,” he cooed softly into your ear as he nipped your lobe between his teeth. 

Your hips started to buck involuntarily as your orgasm drew closer. Your brows knitted together and your lips open to form a cute little oh shape. Eddie wished he could snap a picture of the moment, he always thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on but right now you looked like a fucking goddess. The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, you flung your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling over, the force of your release knocking the air from your lungs. He pressed gentle kisses to your temple as you came back down to Earth, hooking the shower head back in its place in the wall he wrapped his now free arm around your waist to hold you tightly to his chest. Slowly lowering your leg he rubbed soothing circles against your hip bone with his thumb. 

You could feel his cock rock hard and stood to full attention pressing into your stomach as he held you, a fresh wave of heat flooded your body despite your still trembling limbs, when it came to him you could never get enough. You pulled away from him tapping gently at his chest. 

“All good?” he asked a little breathless, his heart racing from how turned on he was. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, holy shit that was amazing.” 

He chuckled looking proud of himself, the grin falling from his face when you grabbed him by the hips and switched your positions, hissing as his back made contact with the cold tiles. You sank to your knees in front of him, nipping a path from his pulse point down his chest and stomach, your tongue soothing the sting left by your teeth. He whined as you licked a line from the base of his shaft to the swollen leaking tip, lapping up the bead of precum pooling at his slit. You were too impatient to tease him, wasting no time taking him fully in your mouth. The growl that ripped from his throat was primal as the warm, wet heat engulfed him, you bobbed your head hungrily swallowing the urge to gag as you took him deeper and deeper. 

You expected him to tangle his fingers in your hair as he usually did to guide your pace but instead he placed his hands on either side of your face. His thumbs brushing the soft skin of your cheeks tenderly as he tilted your face up to look down into your eyes. He shuddered as your gazes locked, the butterflies in his stomach flapping their wings wildly. You reached your hands around to grab onto his ass, raking your fingernails over the soft flesh and down the backs of his thighs. The sensation causing his hips to jerk forward, you gagged softly as he hit the back of your throat. 

“Sorry, m’sorry baby,” he croaked through a strangled voice as he continued to soothe your cheek with his thumb. 

You huffed a laugh through your nose and pushed yourself further forward again, your face almost buried in the wiry hair surrounding his cock. He was close you could tell by the divine little whimpers falling from his lips, you watched the muscles of his stomach clenching as his hip movements became jerky and uneven. He was done for the moment you reached up to lightly cup his balls, rolling them in your palm as his orgasm rushed to the surface. 

“M’gonna cum, oh- baby m’gonna cum,” he choked out hurriedly, warning you in case you wanted to pull away. 

Not a chance you thought as you braced yourself. Hot ropes of his salty pearlescent release coated your tongue, you concentrated on your breathing so you wouldn’t choke before swallowing every drop of him. You hummed dreamily as you released him from your lips. He slid down the wall so that he was kneeling next to you, his hands never leaving the sides of your face. He pulled you towards him to crash his lips to yours, the possessive part of him loving that he could taste himself on your tongue. Your breaths mingled when you broke apart for air, both panting heavily as he brushed the bridge of his nose against your own and laughed from the giddiness his high had brought. 

“Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

Pretty when you cry

Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

content warning: manipulative ethan; stalking; obsessive; maybe sub!Ethan; mention of murder; he's still ghostface; guilt trapping; worshiping; knife

English is not my first language sorry guys, if i did any grammatical mistakes lmk !

2924 words (7/05/2023)

"Hi" he said simply. As if we were speaking to each other for the first time, but in the same tone with which one greets an old friend. It was ironic how I wished for weeks for him to come and talk to me and when he finally did, all I thought about was running away. He hadn't changed. And so much the better. He was still so handsome. Today, he wore a white shirt and a kind of jeans in a shade between dark gray and black. After taking a brief tour of his outfit, I look up at his face: the most beautiful part of his person. His frizzy curls looked fresh, as if he had just washed them. This thought was confirmed by the smell of shampoo that came to me on a light breeze. His cheeks were tinged with a pale pink that highlighted the small and discreet freckles that sported his cheeks. His gaze escaped mine, watching the floor with a strange and sudden interest as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was embarrassed, no, dead of shame. After all, I still hadn't answered him. I've only watched him so far. And I surely would have continued if I hadn't noticed his shaking hands.

What am I supposed to say to him? I greet him too, I compliment him? I ask him directly why he came to talk to me? After all, the only times we had spoken was to get him to tutor me. Are we even friends? After he stood me up without any explanation, approximately two weeks ago now, we haven't spoken to each other since.

“Hi” I simply replied. Ethan scratches his cheek as he smiles nervously at me, his gaze flicking briefly above me to look behind me. The redness on his cheeks getting worse.

“You uh… Your classes, how are you doing ? I… Like, you're good ?”

To be honest, it wasn't. Which is the main reason as to why I was asking him for lessons, by the way. So he knows all about those four out of twenty that I love so much. (Wrong, I hate them, I just don't have the IQ to have more) How handsome he was. Earlier this year, I had this fantasy where Ethan, who I hadn't spoken to at the time, came up to me and asked me out. Later, having learned about his shyness, I dreamed of seeing him overcome his bashfulness to come and declare his love for me while stuttering.

"I manage. And you ? Are you able to follow the program?

Of course he did. We are talking about Ethan Landry, the best student in the whole establishment. He succeeds in everything. Except talking to people, it seems. For the umpteenth time now, he glances over my shoulder. His eyes alternated with bewildering speed between my face and what was behind my back. Finally, I turn to see the only person in the hallway besides us, Chad, watching us with a big smile on his face and thumbs up. He lowers his arms the second my eyes notice him and he puts his hands in his pockets, pretending to turn around.

"Isn't that Chad?" I knew it was him, Ethan's best friend. But I just wanted confirmation.

-N-no aha, it’s… I don’t know who… It’s not Chad.” His laugh was forced and it showed. He was staring at the ceiling, shrugging and laughing nervously. Too smiley to be true. If he weren't already incredibly uncomfortable and flushed, his friend's intervention would have caused him to be.

"Why did you come talk to me Ethan?"

Our last discussion was two weeks ago. We had seen each other on Tuesday for my private lessons and it had gone incredibly well. He had scheduled a session for Thursday, of which I was counting every second until D-Day. I was smiling just reading our messages over and over again. Then Thursday arrived after an endless wait. I headed for the library, as usual. My smile glued to my lips, impossible to remove. I was on cloud nine. But Ethan was late, yet he had never been with me. I waited and waited and waited but after an hour and a half I left. He hadn't sent a message, nothing. Since then, not a word has been exchanged. In the hallways, not even a single look had been shared. We walked ignoring each other, like strangers.

"I'm sorry.

-For what ?"

I had some idea why he was sorry but I didn't want to get my hopes up. His eyes water, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Ethan extends his hand towards me which I grab by reflex. To be honest, he was starting to worry me. Was he really going to cry? Was it because of me?

“Ethan, are you okay? I forgive you if this is what bothers you so much but please don't put yourself in such a state. Do you want me to walk you home? I'll tell the teacher that you are not feeling well.” As I said that, I adopted the softest voice I could muster.

The curly man holds my hand, he intertwines our fingers together. His tears finally running down his cheeks. A few tears escape him.

“No… he almost sighs.

-'no' what ? I ask, worried.

-I'm not feeling well…"

My concern increases considerably. Forget him which stood me up. His state is much more worrying. Without really thinking about it, my hand rests on his shoulder. I start guiding him to the exit but he seems to realize it. He plants his feet on the ground, shakes his head, then grabs my hand resting on his shoulder.

Ethan was keeping me here.

He raises his angel eyes to me. He was so handsome. His pupils were glowing. The boy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Frustrated, his tears seem to intensify. He lowers his head, his beautiful curls falling in front of his eyes that I love so much.

"Ethan, you can tell me anything."

I was hoping he would open up to me a bit more. We were close, certainly not like best friends, but I considered myself loyal enough not to snitch his problems to everybody. Plus, I wasn't lying. He could tell me anything, I will help him as best I can. Ethan runs his thumbs over the backs of my hands, a slight smile on his lips. For a second, he seemed at peace.

“My love… he whispers and I almost thought I was dreaming.

But this peace does not last

-What ?

"I..." His lips quivered.

Did he really call me 'my love'? My heart was beating wildly. He sniffles and tries to swallow back his tears, to no avail. Finally, Ethan snaps.

“I…I can't sleep anymore, I can't do it anymore! he exclaims between two cries. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I miss you, I want to continue to give you private lessons, even my homework if necessary. I'lldo them for you. Everything, I'll do everything for you…” he had spoken so quickly that he was out of breath. His tears had not stopped, quite the contrary. He had let go.

His sudden outbusrt make me retreat for a split second. The curly man's hands squeeze mine tightly, as if to keep me from moving further away. I don't understand, my absence has affected him so much? Why didn't he come talk to me sooner, then? And since when does he feel that way about me? His words were excessive and I thought he was going a little too fast. He was so desperate that he saw my face all the time? That he was willing to do 'everything' for me? I thought that my crush was not reciprocated, worse, than he considered me as a simple classmate. If I expected that! But where does this outburst come from?

“Breathe Ethan, breathe.”

Like a child, Ethan nods. He tried to calm his breathing while I tried to slow my heartbeat. I knew Ethan hadn't had a lot of conquests in his life, but I never would have imagined him to be so dependent.

"I'm sorry, really sorry...

-Why are you apologizing?

-I left you alone, I swear I haven't forgotten you. I've been thinking about you all the while i was doing it...

So he was really apologizing for that. But why is he making a fuss about it? I had already imagined this scenario and honestly, I expected an apology, a justification and that was it. Why was he so affected? That guilty? His words got mixed up and in the end, I lost track.

- It's okay Ethan, it's not that important. Is that what stresses you out so much?

- What can I do to make you forgive me?

-Ethan, I already told you, I forgive you, it doesn't matter.

-No, he shakes his head, tell me.

Feeling that if I didn't take matters into my own hands the situation was never going to end, I decided to ask for a simple favor.

-Where were you that day? I ask, alluding to the day he stood me up.

-That's stupid." Despite his words, I give a nod encouraging him to continue. Promise me not to be afraid.

-Why would I be afraid of you Ethan? I ask, laughing softly. He's an angel, how can you be afraid of him?

-Promise me."

His fingers gripped my wrist tightly. It almost hurt me. For a moment, the thought that indeed Ethan could scare me crossed my mind. However, I thought of it too late.

-I was supposed to be only ten minutes late, and I apologize for that, but you had to be outside your room for me to get in it.

-What ? I ask laughing, not understanding where he was coming from.

-When I got in your room, there was a perfume that was not yours. But I had already felt it somewhere, on someone. And… I-I'm sorry that pissed me off and… I-I thought you were cheating on me and I was scared and… I cried but I kept smelling the perfume of that-

-Ethan, stop here, I don't understand anything. What are you talking about? I was no longer laughing, the strange details he gave me seemed too precise.

His tears flow, without warning, he takes me in his arms and presses me to his chest. He hugged me tightly, I almost couldn't breathe. His face plunges into my neck, which he was soaking with his tears. He kept saying he was sorry over and over while I tried to understand. Was he telling the truth?

-I felt so guilty for hurting them that I didn't dare come and talk to you. I was terrified that you would run away from me when you eventually find out. It was horrible. Never again. Never part from me again, I beg you. I'll die of it.

I felt his every word knock against the skin of my neck. He was whispering, as if telling me a secret. And maybe it was. I was praying that another student would come down the hall and see us but the odds were low, very low. Ethan had cornered me at the end of my class, everyone had left. The sun was already falling asleep outside the window. Panic quickly set in within me.

-Ethan you're crushing me! I wasn't even sure he heard me since buried in his chest, my voice was muffled.

-I thought you were cheating on me b-but… I’m sorry for thinking that, sorry sorry sorry sorry...

What did he do ? Who was he talking about when he said “having hurt them”? Where is the shy Ethan who softened my heart? Unconsciously, I start to shake. My arms try to tear themselves away from the grip he had on them but he was crushing me too hard; I couldn't move. His arms clung to mine along my body.

-I should never be mad at you again, ever again. Do you forgive me ?

That's when it comes back to me; the framework. Coming home the evening of the day Ethan and I ended our relationship, my frame was splintered to the ground. The shards of glass had been flying all over my room. The photo remained intact; a picture of me and my roommate, but the frame was dead. I hadn't given more importance than that to the situation itself, my window was open and then said roommate was at home during the day. I just thought that a draft had knocked it down or that my friend was clumsy: it happens after all.

No, it was him.

-Ethan, I speak in a shaky voice, please let me go.

-No ! he yells. You promised me ! You promised me you wouldn't be afraid of me!

-E-Ethan please….

- I'm sorry, i'm sorry !

Ethan, six feet tall, collapses to his knees in front of me. He buries his face in my stomach, his arms wrapping around my waist. He speaks in my skin, muttering countless excuses and promises. Immediately seizing the opportunity, I grab him by the shoulders and push him with all my might to the ground. Surprised, he let me go. His back hits the floor, he lets out a plaintive moan mixed with his cries. Without thinking, I turn my back to flee. But Ethan is strangely fast. He gives me a powerful kick in the shin which in turn makes me fall on my stomach.

Ethan is crying. His cheeks are drowned in tears and red. I don't find him as handsome as before when he slightly pulls up his t-shirt to pull a knife out of his pants.

"Why are you doing this to me ?" he growled, his face lowered to the ground. So far, he's let it go. But there, his energy had changed. He was a murderer.

I crawl on the ground, moving away from him, my eyes filled with terror. I'm gonna die. I'm going to die here, alone, killed by the boy I loved. Ethan towered over me, taking small steps towards me.

“I'm begging you…” I cried.

I was desperate, there were no more solutions. I thought, as I disappeared, maybe Chad would figure out who my killer was, since he was the last one to see me other than Ethan.

"You told me you wouldn't be scared..." he pouted as he crouched down on top of me. Afterwards, his actions keep surprising me as he sits on my pelvis. He had fun bringing his knife to my neck and caressing me with it. The coldness of the metal makes my hair stand on and shivers appear all over my body.

"Ethan, please take that away from me... yelling at him wouldn't get me anywhere, so I was begging.

- No, don't be afraid. You know very well that I would never hurt you.”

His promises, I wanted no more. I wanted him to leave me alone, forever. My hands were free, yet I no longer controlled them. They were completely flat on the ground. I couldn't lift a single finger.

“Do you want me to prove my devotion to you? the curly boy points the knife at him.

The sharp tip of the weapon is now to his throat. Ethan looks at me and smiles. His free hand lay comfortably flat on my chest, holding me firmly to the floor. The vision unfolding in front of me was horrific. I was praying that he wouldn't be able to take his own life in front of me, on top of me! I didn't want to see it though, my eyes refused to look away. I was terrified that he would plunge his knife in me without warning.

- You love me too, right? he asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb. Tell me that you love me. You love me so much, my love. You love me so much you're ready to die for it.

-Ethan listen…

-Answer." he orders.

The roles had switched. He had given me a position of superiority, adoring me, throwing himself at my feet for even a pardon, but he was sick of it. And now not even my pleas will reach him.

“Imagine how romantic that would be, huh? May the students meet us tomorrow morning, both dead and entwined. It would be wonderful.” His smile was that of a sick man. What more do you need, my death? You want me to stick this pretty little knife in my heart for you? That I tear it down and give it to you as an offering? Come on, tell me you love me. I know you do.”

Finally, I manage to close my eyes. His description had managed to repel me enough to allow my brain to kick in the survival instinct. Ethan laughs mischievously. I feel him move, all his weight crushing my body. His lips settle on my neck for a second.

“You want me to kill myself, huh? I'll kill myself because of you. All because you don't love me. How can you be so selfish? he kisses my cheek. Tell me you love me, my love. I need it. His thumb passes over my eyelid gently, making me open my eyes.

I knew I was stuck. He was one step ahead of me, physically and mentally speaking. He had me stuck. My eyes were red and swollen.

-I… I love you… I whisper, choked cries leaving my mouth at the same time.

-Where is my first name, pretty ?

And to think that I was dreaming of saying those words to him a few minutes earlier.

-I… I love you Ethan… The curly man's face lights up, a gaping smile erasing his crazed expression.

- There, it wasn't so complicated now, was it?"

That was my first story in english. please do not hesitate to gives me advices whatsoever, like if you think that the plot was too quick, ethan too out of character, not enough details, everything ! I hope you liked reading it anyways.

No, why do you say that? Your writing is amazing, I think it's more the fact that you don't have "request open" they probably think you write only your own writing and at your own pace. I didn't know we could send you requests until I saw you wrote the "he's a liar, open your eyes!" request so I sent you one🤭💓

Oh okay but how do we open the said requests ? Or at least how do I tell it's open? I just say it in the masterlist ??

Thank you for answering by the way! I'm happy you like my writing<3

You would have to kill him if you wished to keep him away from you.

That was so fucking cool ??

ᥫ᭡ .  #  ۫  ,  ⸺  A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA  !  

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

word count :: 9.2k.

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

mike schmidt's yandere traits are . . .

obsessive, paranoid, & nervous

──── Everything is hazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A week after your final goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he's interrupted.

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

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

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

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

Again. Again. Again.

And again.

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

Fuck you. Fuck you. 

Fuck you.

Don't you ever fucking touch them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael Schmidt needs you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You...

You don't remember me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take another. This is actually happening.

One more sip. Your pen scribbles on your planner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I would never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tree branch crunches.

Mike stops dead in his tracks. Listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Easy, cub. Easy now."

No.

The voice is fluffy and easy. Horrifyingly familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you... Are you reaching for him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only.

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

❝ PRAYING STRAIGHT TO GOD THAT

MAYBE YOU'LL COME BACK AROUND . . . ❞

no one asked for this but idc hehe.

gif creds :: mike.

lmao.

eddie brock is the og loser boyfriend and i can’t stop thinking about venom just like completely bullying him when he’s in a relationship like his partner is like this drop dead gorgeous person and eddie wears the same sweaty jacket all the time and eats frozen tater tots haha

"There are crumbs on your shirt." Venom observes, and when Eddie nods with a noncommittal grunt, he continues, "And it is not a shirt. It is a sweatshirt. A sweaty sweatshirt, Eddie. And you wore it yesterday."

"That I did," Eddie crams another handful of chips into his mouth, salted and straight from the bag. His attention remains solely on the television in front of him, and Venom's goopy form shakes its head.

"Y/N is coming over later." He reminds the human, watching with disdain as Eddie chokes slightly on his mouthful because of the way he's slouched in his seat. He swallows regardless, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff from the irritation in his throat.

"Yeah, she'll be here in a few minutes," Eddie nods, "Hey, do you think they fake this show? The drama, and all."

Venom has no interest in whether the trashy reality show that Eddie is so enraptured by is fake or not. He cares that you'll be here any minute now, and Eddie looks like a corpse that's been rotting for a few days.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie moves to get up. Crumbs begin raining onto the carpet and he groans as his lazy joints ache, so Venom shoves him back into place with a strong tentacle and uses another to stretch and open the door for you.

You're clearly expecting a person on the other side, but you're quick to recognize the tentacle you're met with instead. It wraps greedily around your waist and you place your hand over its sticky form, grinning as you're barely able to shut the door behind you before Venom yanks you over to the couch.

"Hi, baby," Eddie greets, tipping his head onto the back of the sofa to grin upside-down at you, "How are you?"

"Good," You lean down to kiss him upside down, and Venom is appalled that you're willing to put your lips on Eddie's crumb-coated ones.

"Sour cream and onion?" You guess, and you're rewarded with the near-empty bag of them that Eddie had been demolishing.

You settle happily onto the couch by Eddie's side with the chips in your hand, and when Venom begins to let go of you you hold his tentacle in place. The symbiote watches you silently for a moment, observing your behavior and thinking a whole host of unsavory thoughts about humans and their disgusting tendencies.

"I do not understand," Venom interrupts your gushy sentiments with Eddie about how terrible the acting is on so-called 'reality' shows, "Eddie is disgusting."

The man's nose wrinkles and you let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Thank you, Venom. That's very kind of you. Did you forget you're made of slime?"

"Slime does not sweat. And I do not have crumbs stuck all over me."

"Venom, being in a relationship with someone means that you need to be comfortable with them. We don't have to dress up all the time, Y/N knows what I look like in pajamas and I've seen her hair unbrushed in the morning."

Venom, too, recalls the rather impressive tangled mess of hair that you sport after a night of deep sleep.

"You do not mind that he smells?" Venom turns to you, his milky-white eyes blinking with a squelch.

"He's smelled worse," You give a half-shrug, only one of your shoulders moving as you squirm closer to Eddie beneath the blanket he's draped over you.

"You're both too good to me," Eddie grins, batting his lashes sarcastically, "Careful not to flatter me too much, don't want my head to get too big to fit in my helmet."

Venom regards Eddie for a moment, then thinks of the motorcycle helmet the man breathes into every day. It's repulsive.

"Your head is already abnormally large," Venom observes, settling into Eddie's shoulder opposite from you, "I will keep insulting you so that it does not get bigger. You are repulsive."

are you fucking kidding me joseph playing with fucking metallica is the coolest fucking thing. oh my fucking god.

You, sweating: John Doe, there’s something I need to ask you-

John Doe: Finally! You’re proposing!

You: How’d you know?

John Doe: You, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

John Doe: I even picked it up once.