californ1asnow - Tumblr blog

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader

Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words

Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths.

The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse.

Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room.

That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces.

After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone.

Mike was unaware of it all.

He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left.

With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA.

The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.

“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.”

“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”

A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears.

He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.”

Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.”

–

You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were.

The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything.

All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back.

A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that.

The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.

“Hello?”

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest.

You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice.

“Are you…doing okay?”

“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both.

You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex.

“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh okay.”

“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?”

The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

–

A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here.

However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up.

Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep.

The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company.

You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting?

“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.

A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle.

“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact.

“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap.

Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange.

It’s not worth the unrequited love.

“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you.

Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”

TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #taylor swift #all too well #angst #fnaf

442 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

Mike Schmidt is emotionally unavailable and I'll die on that hill. You cannot convince me that mans is stable enough for a healthy relationship. He for sure has some sort of weird attachment/abandonment mixture of issues.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf

152 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

part two is in the works!

All Too Well - Mike Schmidt x Reader angst

Reader has trauma from neglectful parents that leaves her constantly in the, “I can fix him mentality,” paired with obvious daddy issues. Slight trigger warning for physical abuse?

Word count 2k+

loosely based on the song, “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift

Hurt no comfort

Subtle static hums in the background, enveloping the room in near-silence. The moon, having ascended to its rightful spot in the night sky, bathes Mike's house in a gentle, luminous glow that seeps through his curtains. Your body is entwined in the embrace of silk bed sheets, lying in quiet anticipation beside him. The familiar sensation of his gentle breath tickling lightly against the nape of your neck.

A month has passed since the nightmarish ordeal of Mike's former job. Through it all, you have stood by him with everything, and that loyalty has persisted since the aftermath. After his departure from Fredy's, Mike's night terrors have taken a darker turn, far worse than anything he had experienced before. You've attempted to gently coax the truth from him in the past, but he never divulged the full extent of his nightmares. It didn’t really matter to begin with, instead what truly matters is ensuring his sanity once he wakes up from these tormenting dreams.

You’d met Mike a few years ago after moving into the house next door. Looking for a new babysitter, he had offered you the job of watching Abby while he was away, and you agreed without hesitation. Gradually, the three of you formed a tight-knit bond, uniting through shared experiences of lacking any parental figures. Abby particularly admired you in various ways, given the absence of a strong female role model in her life.

Your relationship with Mike is, well, complicated. Sometimes the both of you would swear your bond is entirely platonic, absolutely nothing but friends. Defending swiftly against Abby’s claims that you two are secretly in love. However, the stolen gazes and lingering touches beg to differ. The line that marks the difference between friendship and romance is hazy, leaving you to wonder about the true tone of your relationship. Neither of you had crossed the physical line that tread into a more amorous kinship, so you could argue that there aren’t any subtle intimate undertones. But, your current situation doesn’t help that defense.

Your gaze is fixated upon the ceiling, circling through the darkness. Mike’s arms are wrapped securely around your waist, like an anchor thrown to sea, cementing you to your spot next to him. He’s recently ditched the need for his nature sounds, instead opting to listen to your heartbeat in an attempt to fall asleep.

It started right after he left the security job, claiming that he was done trying to relive the same dream every night.

“How are you going to fall asleep then?” You had asked him, brows furrowed and questioning.

He stopped for a moment, pondering your question intently. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, and now that you mentioned it he couldn’t think of a tangible way to do it. Frowning, he looked back up to you with a shrug.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. It was troubling enough having to watch Mike struggle the past few years with his sleeping, and knowing it’s going to get worse made you uneasy. You glanced away from him before speaking, “You know, I read somewhere about how listening to the heartbeat of someone you trust helps calm the fight or flight response in your brain…” Words trailing off in a futile attempt of masking your embarrassment, your cheeks flushed pink.

From that suggestion, it became a nightly routine. Although you lived next door, you had been spending the last few weeks laying in Mike’s bed. Letting him drift asleep to the sound of your steady heart, with his head pressed comfortably against your chest. Once you were sure he was asleep, you’d slip away either to his couch or back into your own bed at home. You couldn’t complain about it though, the warmth in your stomach that rose from his touch wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to give up on. You’d forgo everything if it meant he could be happy.

Just as you were about to make the move to leave, you feel him stir next to you. The sound of frantic mumbling pulling you away from your thoughts, and when you turn over to face Mike you find that he’s contorted with panic. Eyes still shut, he’s trashing in his sleep, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The hand closest to your own starts to twitch wildly, and you begin to realize he’s having another nightmare.

Waking him up during one of his nightmares is essential. You know how much it torments him to relive the same traumatic memories repeatedly night after night. Your gentle touch is the only lifeline connecting him back to reality. With a soft grasp of his shoulder, you nudge him lightly, whispering his name. “Mike,” your voice is gentle, attempting to lull him peacefully awake, “it’s just a dream, wake up.”

Mike’s eyes snap open wide, dark with terror. Frantically, he searches the room for danger, still stuck temporarily in a flashback. His chest rises and falls heavily, breath ragged and uncontrolled.

Hurriedly, he shoots up into a sitting position, ready to defend himself against a potential threat. Your heart breaks into a million pieces seeing him so upset. “You’re home,” you tell him, a hand reaching out to grasp onto him.

Suddenly, the weight of your mistake dawns upon you. In a swift motion, his fist hurtles towards you, and you barely manage to dodge it, swiftly ducking to avoid the blow.

The rate of your defense isn’t fast enough compared to his attack, and you catch the tail end of his clenched fist. A yelp of pain sounding from you, immediately bringing Mike out of shock.

When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, he sees you sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to him. His gaze snaps down to his hand, still closed in a shaking fist. Regret instantly flooding his system, he calls out your name nervously. Without turning around, you wave him off dismissively.

He moves off the bed, crouching down in front of you. Staring up at you from his position, he can’t see your face that’s burrowed behind hesitant hands. Warm fingers wrap gently around your wrists, asking for permission to move them. “Please,” he begs, “let me see, I’m so sorry.”

Instinctively, you let him pull your hands away, revealing the damage he had accidentally inflicted upon you. A dark crimson trickles down your chin, flowing from the split of your bottom lip. Mike’s thumb gently glides across the swollen skin, his touch feather light.

He fully sinks to his knees, a muffled sob wracking his body. He can hardly bring himself to face you, to face what he did to you. Accidental or not, he inflicted pain onto you, something completely opposite from what he’d promised to do.

Your eyes well up with hot tears seeing how upset Mike is. You let a gentle hand grasp at his chin, tilting his face upwards so that he’s forced to catch your gaze. “Mike,” your voice is as tender as you can will it to be, “I’m okay, I promise. It was not your fault.”

Broken apologies fly from his mouth, ignoring your statement completely. His mind was too focused on the bruise that’s sure to form rather than what you have to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling.

“Stop,” you tell him softly, trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll fix this, let me fix this. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not angry with you, it’s okay.”

You pull him up from his spot on the floor. Shaky arms wrapping around his middle, all the while he’s protesting against the idea of you being close to him again.

“It was a nightmare, you were just having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have grabbed you so suddenly, I should’ve known better. Please stop blaming yourself.” Your voice comes out more timid than you would have liked it to. Deep down you knew he never would have done that consciously, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety from overtaking you completely.

Your need to take care of Mike in his frantic state is more overbearing than the one to help yourself.

He knows this too, and whether he’s doing it intentionally or not, he’s been clinging to that notion for the past few years. He’d let you just close enough that you’d give him the comfort he wanted, but pushed you away when you became too attached. Keeping you at arm's length was enough to satisfy whatever comfort he’s been deprived of most of his life.

But now he realizes how much of a mistake it all was. You are hurt because of him. Because he’s been too wrapped up in his own issues to see how any of this could have affected you in the slightest. And now that it’s glaringly obvious, he can’t stand to keep you dangling like this.

He mutters your name regretfully, causing you to break your hold and look up at him. “You need to leave,” his voice is weak, strained from crying.

You shake your head in disapproval, “Mike I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can’t be around me anymore!”

Silence. That’s all you could respond with to his raised voice. Mike had never yelled at you, or Abby for that matter, and hearing it is startlingly different from his usual tone.

Years of repressed memories come back flooding you like a tidal wave. All of the moments you locked yourself away in your room because you couldn’t deal with the screams of an angry parent anymore, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Your immediate action is to pull the pieces back together and fix everything. You could do that.

You must have done something wrong if he’s yelling at you, right?

“Wait, wait, wait,” desperately you start to plead with him, “I did something wrong. Don’t do this, please.”

“Just go, please.”

“No, I can’t. There has to be something-“

“Go.”

His volume is lowered but his words cut just as deeply. You know there’s no point in arguing now, his mind is clearly made up.

Solemnly, you get up without another word. Gathering what little you brought over, and you leave without saying goodbye.

—

You could just barely hold yourself together enough to walk through the front door of your house. Knowing you were secure behind your walls, free from the gaze of any onlooking neighbors, you collapse entirely against the wooden floor of your home.

Everything replayed in your mind on loop, from the moment you woke Mike up to his last few words. The confusion, anger, resentment, and sadness fueled the hot tears running down your face.

You feel like a tiny child again, curled up in a ball sobbing as silently as your body allows you to be. Left to be wondering why it’s always your fault that people are upset, and how you can change it so they aren’t.

You think about your relationship with Mike, wondering if it’s truly over now. All you ever wanted to do was help him, so why did it feel like you’re the one being punished?

It was as if you were stuck in that position on the floor forever, caught in a web of remembrance. Every aspect of your so called friendship with Mike questioned intently in your mind.

You think he might have tried calling you a few times the days after that incident, but your phone was set to silence and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. Despite the burning urge to check up on him and Abby, you kept your distance.

Time had moved too slowly when you needed it the most. Healing wounds won’t close when they’re constantly torn open the second you step outside the house and spot Mike’s across from yours. The best you could do is to keep busy with work and avoid staying home as much as possible. You made sure Mike couldn’t catch you in person to talk, and with your phone rejecting his calls it had been months since you last heard from him.

Guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. It shouldn’t take a fight like this to undo years of close connection between you two so quickly. But you felt like there was no other option, he had told you to leave him and you did.

The only thing you’re left with is your hurt and his memories, forever replaying in the back of your mind.

408 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

Needy

Mike Schmidt x reader

blurb, smut without any satisfaction. MxF (F receiving). Thigh riding?? 18+

send in requests for anything similar

word count: 694

Mike Schmidt has a thing for making you flustered.

He’s not sure when or how it happened but all he knows is that he’s got to be careful whenever you’re both in public, in case things might get too out of hand.

Like right now.

It’s Halloween night and Abby is staying over with her friend, which meant you and Mike were able to go out and party. A rare occasion considering the fact that the two of you were always watching her.

You were invited by a mutual acquaintance and had convinced Mike the day before to come with you, beckoning him with a night off and free alcohol. What he didn’t realize was how revealing your outfit would be, and how turned on it would make him.

You’re wearing a black jumpsuit with a low cut V-neck, purple cape, and heels tall enough that accentuated the long curves of your legs. Your hips are robust in comparison to the tight suit, giving your figure a nice look. And by god is Mike all but crumbling at the sight of you.

Maybe it’s the outfit or maybe it’s all the alcohol he’s consumed, either way he doesn’t care, he knows he needs you tonight. Right now.

That’s how you’ve ended up flush against the wall of a random stranger’s bedroom. Hands digging aggressively into the flesh of your hips, his lips are pressed hot against yours. You grasp wildly at the buckle of his jeans, pleading for them to come off.

He mumbles into your ear about something unimportant, most likely suggesting the two of you should get home. A shaky breath escapes him after you pull his hips closer into your own.

“Can’t,” you whisper back, voice deep with lust, “I can’t wait until then.”

“Fuck it,” he says, voice stern. Hot, calloused hands travel down the length of your back, tracing the curve of your ass, before pulling you up and around his waist. Without breaking contact with your swollen lips, he moves to make his way to the nearby bed.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every touch he makes. The rapid rise and fall of your chest with each excited breath causes you to shiver. Mike’s lips trail down the side of your jaw, peppering wet, open mouthed kisses across your skin.

Your jumpsuit and his shirt sit forgotten together in a pile on the floor. Only your underwear and his jeans separating both bodies.

You grind your hips as deeply as you can against his clothed boner, enticing a moan out of the both of you. He’s attached to your neck, sucking hard enough to surely leave a dark bruise for the next day. The whimper that escapes your throat is breathy, a sign of how needy you are for his touch.

“Shh baby girl,” he hushes, “no one can know we’re in here.” He mumbles against your skin, a low groan following as he presses you further into his hips.

Your clothed folds rub sickeningly slowly against him, causing you to whine for more friction. Mike takes note of the needy sound, and strips you free from the fabric. His hands grab at the sides of your waist, gently rocking you to a steady rhythm against him.

The rigid feeling of denim against your sensitive clit is enough to drive you crazy. Your stomach twists with the budding sensation of your first orgasim. The pleasure starts to wrack your body, but before you’re able to fully relish in it someone knocks at the door.

Mike hurriedly, but gently, pushes you off of him and collects his shirt. You find a spot to hide and he opens the door, greeting the person standing behind it. He hopes the person is too intoxicated to notice the wet spot you left on his thigh from your near orgasim. They exchange a few words before Mike convinces them to leave, and soon he’s back by your side.

“‘M sorry princess,” he mumbles against your lips, “let me make it up to you.”

You’ll realize the next day how hoarse your voice would be from moaning his name all night.

#fnaf #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #smut #mike schmidt x reader smut #thigh riding #inappropriate use of a halloween party??#five nights at freddy's

354 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

Multi-Fandom Masterlist

[writing requests - open] |ao3|

Currently working on Broken Promises (Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Keys ↴

♡- fluff

✵- smut

☽- angst

Characters I'll currently write for:

Mike Schmidt - fnaf Peter Parker (all versions) - mcu Matt Murdock - Daredevil, mcu Danny Rand - Iron Fist, mcu

Blurbs

Imagines

TASM! Peter Parker ↴

How You Get the Girl ♡/☽

Series

Blurbs

Mike Schmidt ↴

Needy ✵

Imagines

Series

Mike Schmidt ↴

Broken Promises☽

Feel free to request a song for me to write about! Send an ask with the character, song, and possibly short description of plot (or you can leave it up to me).

Debut

Fearless

Speak Now

Red

All Too Well - mike schmidt x reader

1989

How You Get the Girl - TASM! Peter x reader

Reputation

Lover

Folklore

Evermore

Midnights

#masterlist #tasm! peter parker #marvel #female reader #fnaf #imagines #blurbs #series

12 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

All Too Well - Mike Schmidt x Reader angst

part two here Reader has trauma from neglectful parents that leaves her constantly in the, “I can fix him mentality,” paired with obvious daddy issues. Slight trigger warning for physical abuse?

Word count 2k+

loosely based on the song, “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift

Hurt no comfort

It started right after he left the security job, claiming that he was done trying to relive the same dream every night.

“How are you going to fall asleep then?” You had asked him, brows furrowed and questioning.

Suddenly, the weight of your mistake dawns upon you. In a swift motion, his fist hurtles towards you, and you barely manage to dodge it, swiftly ducking to avoid the blow.

The rate of your defense isn’t fast enough compared to his attack, and you catch the tail end of his clenched fist. A yelp of pain sounding from you, immediately bringing Mike out of shock.

Broken apologies fly from his mouth, ignoring your statement completely. His mind was too focused on the bruise that’s sure to form rather than what you have to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling.

“Stop,” you tell him softly, trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll fix this, let me fix this. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not angry with you, it’s okay.”

You pull him up from his spot on the floor. Shaky arms wrapping around his middle, all the while he’s protesting against the idea of you being close to him again.

Your need to take care of Mike in his frantic state is more overbearing than the one to help yourself.

He mutters your name regretfully, causing you to break your hold and look up at him. “You need to leave,” his voice is weak, strained from crying.

You shake your head in disapproval, “Mike I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can’t be around me anymore!”

Silence. That’s all you could respond with to his raised voice. Mike had never yelled at you, or Abby for that matter, and hearing it is startlingly different from his usual tone.

Your immediate action is to pull the pieces back together and fix everything. You could do that.

You must have done something wrong if he’s yelling at you, right?

“Wait, wait, wait,” desperately you start to plead with him, “I did something wrong. Don’t do this, please.”

“Just go, please.”

“No, I can’t. There has to be something-“

“Go.”

His volume is lowered but his words cut just as deeply. You know there’s no point in arguing now, his mind is clearly made up.

Solemnly, you get up without another word. Gathering what little you brought over, and you leave without saying goodbye.

—

Everything replayed in your mind on loop, from the moment you woke Mike up to his last few words. The confusion, anger, resentment, and sadness fueled the hot tears running down your face.

You think about your relationship with Mike, wondering if it’s truly over now. All you ever wanted to do was help him, so why did it feel like you’re the one being punished?

It was as if you were stuck in that position on the floor forever, caught in a web of remembrance. Every aspect of your so called friendship with Mike questioned intently in your mind.

The only thing you’re left with is your hurt and his memories, forever replaying in the back of your mind.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #Mike schmidt x reader angst #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #taylor swift #all too well #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #josh hutcherson

408 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

y’all it’s in the works

where is the mike schmidt angst fics

71 notes · View notes

californ1asnow · 10 months

Text

How You Get the Girl

Tasm! Peter Parker x Reader

Also posted on my ao3

"Tell her you must of lost your mind when you left her all alone and never told her why that's how you lost the girl"

The first time you met Peter Parker, you swore him off because you knew he'd be trouble.

It was the summer before your first year of college. You worked hard every day to save enough money to get through school. You promised yourself there would be no distractions this summer, just work. You didn't need to be distracted by other things before college started.

But that was before this tall, doe-eyed boy just happened to find his way to your place of work. His eyes glimmered full of mischief the moment his gaze met yours. Your promise of no distractions went out the window from that point on.

When he first approached you, he had tried (and failed) to get your number. He pleaded silently, with that kicked puppy look on his face after your rejection. You almost broke down in that moment, but you were holding on by a thread to the vow you made. So, the boy left with a crestfallen sigh, and you let your shoulders drop, relieved.

That was until a week later. He showed up with a bouquet of sad-looking flowers. He had promised you that they would have looked nicer when he bought them, but they had been crushed in his backpack on the way over. You stared at the pitiful flowers, and Peter held his breath, waiting to see how'd you react. The inside of your cheek stung as you bit down on it. Trying to keep your composer, you scribbled down a few words on an extra sheet of paper. You quickly handed it to him, and he let out a breathy laugh as he read it. The sound was enough to make your heart flutter in your chest.

Before he could cause any more trouble, you quickly shooed him away. With the same crumpled flowers and the paper, you hastily handed him, he left the shop. He had a piece of paper with your number on it, and a few sentences scrawled in hurried writing about how he had to work on his flower transporting abilities. So that maybe the next time you saw him, you would actually agree to go out with him.

Months had passed since that day. Slowly but surely, you began to ask for fewer hours at work. Which meant you had more free time. Aka, more time to spend with Peter.

That damn Peter Parker, with his fluffy hair and stupidly cute, crooked smile, it was all too much. Too often for your liking, thoughts of him invaded your mind.

You had been practically spending every minute of your free time with him. Whether it was late night movies or early morning coffee, it was all coupled with the boy who could make your heart race just by looking at him.

So, you took him in without question when he showed up at your apartment one night, battered and bruised.

Your hands, even if they were a little shaky, worked diligently to clean up his wounds. You had never seen him like this before, although you had noticed Peter showing up with a split lip or an old bruise from time to time.

As you held his face in your palms, a million questions raced through your mind, words on the tip of your tongue. You saw the silent pleading in his eyes, begging you not to ask the questions, so your lips remained sealed. The words died in the back of your throat. You ran your thumb gently over the bloody edge of his lip. His calloused fingers cupped your wrist, stopping your actions in their tracks.

He leaned in close, his forehead pressed against yours. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids fluttered shut. You drew in a breath, preparing yourself for his lips to meet yours.

But it never came.

Instead, he pulled away, muttering a quick apology that he had to leave before you got dragged into his own problems. Your mind barely registered the lack of his presence. It wasn't until you heard the front door close, signaling that he was gone.

Without a single good explanation as to why, he had left you alone.

—

The next morning you woke up. A crushing realization of what had happened last night hit you immediately.

At first you were angry.

You went to work and clocked in without saying hello to anyone at all. It would stay that way for the next eight hours or so. A silent rage would fill the hole that Peter had managed to dig in your heart.

You were a bitter mess.

It was easier for the customers to get on your nerves, and you cursed everyone who ever crossed your path. It took every bit of strength you had not to send several angry texts to Peter.

It stayed that way for a couple of days, until you decided to turn your anger on yourself. You felt so stupid that you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the antics of Peter. It was clear to you from the beginning that your focus should be on nothing but your summer job.

Peter had wormed his way into your heart, found a place where he felt comfortable and made himself at home there.

You slowly let yourself off the hook after a few months passed without any contract from either side. Your anger diminished exponentially. Your thoughts drifted less and less to the image of Peter. Eventually, your heart would stop racing after you passed a flower stand or a person who just happened to look a little too much like him.

One night, as you walked home from work, you let your mind wander. The painful sting of his memories wasn't so bad. And you knew that, at that very moment, you were feeling pretty good about your life again.

Then you stepped too close to the road and heard a car horn honking all around you. Your first thought being, "God, please don't let this be the way I die."

Your body tensed as the car approached at a rapid pace. So close that the lights blinded your vision, and you didn't have time to prepare for the arm that would hastily wrap around your waist. A breath was caught in your throat as the wind whipped through your hair, and your arms clung tightly to the masked figure of your savior.

"Why weren't you paying attention?" Were the first words out of his mouth as he set you down, "That car could have hit you and you could have died!"

Though grateful for your rescue, you didn't appreciate the tone he took with you.

You pried yourself out of his arms and smoothed the sleeves of your jacket. Angrily, you turned to him, your annoyance biting into your words, "look, I've had it with everyone and everything these past few months. I just got back on my feet again, I have no need for a lecture from you."

Silence fell between the two of you, and you saw yourself standing alone in the reflection of the whites of his mask. He choked for a second, seemingly at odds with what he wanted to say.

In a moment of regret, you realized that you had just yelled at the one person who had been able to save you from an untimely demise. Ashamed, you nervously licked your lips before muttering, "thank you, by the way."

The red mask prevented you from seeing the look on his face. But by the way his shoulders relaxed, you knew he wasn't upset. He ran a hand over his mask and let out a small, breathy laugh.

The sound of it made your heart stop and sent pins and needles shooting up the back of your neck. You could recognize that laugh anywhere. He seemed to notice that you also recognized him, and before you could say another word, he was gone.

You stood there mindlessly replaying the sound in your head. All of a sudden, things seemed to be a lot clearer to you.

Peter's mysterious bruises, sudden disappearances, and his lame excuses for always being late finally made sense.

Peter is Spider-man...

His words from the night he left echoed endlessly in your mind in a moment of clarity. Words of sorrow and despair, telling you that you couldn't be involved in his problems.

His problems, you thought at the time, were studying and learning new tricks on his skateboard, so the confusion you felt was justified. Now, though, you realize that he didn't mean his Peter Parker problems, it was Spider-man's problems that he was referring to.

Your phone found its way into your hands. The screen flashed brightly on your dark face. In your messages lay a forgotten draft to Peter. Slowly, you erased all the hateful and heartbreaking words. You replaced them with just two.

"I know."

As the message quickly went from "delivered" to "read" in less than a minute, the corners of your mouth twitched downward. Your hands trembled as you clutched the phone close, waiting for a response that would ultimately never come.

He was too afraid to tell you what he wanted.

—

You passed out as soon as you got home. Your mind was too tired to keep up with your newfound revelations, so you haphazardly tossed your phone aside and slid into bed. Time passed and your sleep was dreamless.

You weren't sure what time it was when you woke up, but the sound of thunder greeted your ears. You tried to blink away the drowsiness of your sleep as you pulled yourself out of the sheets. Your feet padded softly across your apartment's wooden floors until you sat down. Yawning, you reached for the remote and turned your tv on.

Not long after that, there was a faint knock at your door. You scanned your thoughts for possibilities of who would be at your apartment at this time of night, until you settled on one person.

With your nerves on fire, you shot up from the couch and quickly opened your door. It came as no surprise to see Peter stood in your doorway. He was soaking wet. It had obviously been raining while you were asleep. His wet, brown hair was stuck to his forehead, water droplets were collecting on his face, and his arms were wrapped around his frame in an attempt to retain any remaining body heat.

You noticed that he was shivering slightly, and with a hint of guilt you asked, "Peter, are you insane? It's late and it's raining."

You watched as his eyebrows knitted together; he opened his mouth to say something but then quickly closed it again. He seemed desperate to say something, and you silently pleaded that he would say anything to explain his sudden disappearance all those months ago. Without a word from him, you shook your head and started to close the door, but his foot pushed between the door and the frame.

You pulled the door open one more time and crossed your arms in front of you. He looked down sheepishly before finally speaking, "I'm sorry," the words falling from his lips flawlessly. A part of you wanted to take him in your arms and tell him that everything was alright, but the more sensible part of yourself knew that you deserved more than just those two words. With a lack of your response, he spoke up again, "I know you don't deserve how I left you, but I was scared. I, uhm, I was dealing with something? I know that's really vague but-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you held a hand up to silence him. With a sigh, you looked into his eyes and found all of his emotions swirling around in a pool of amber. "You don't have to keep hiding it, Peter. I know," you murmur.

His eyes dart around nervously, and his voice comes out a little shaky, "You-you know?" At your nod of confirmation, he runs a hand through his hair. Your name comes out as a whisper, and he continues, "I was so afraid that I was putting you in danger. That's why I left; I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me. I know it's been a while, but I couldn't stop thinking about you every day." With every word of his confession, you felt yourself coming closer. The soft sound of his voice, in combination with the way he couldn't take his eyes off of yours, was a breaking point for you. With the brush of his hand against your cheek, every last big of anger you were holding on to disappeared.

Peter tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you felt your voice break, "I missed you, so much. It hurt. You broke my heart, Peter." Without letting you utter another word; he pulled you into a tight embrace. He didn't care if his clothes were soaking wet. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and took in the sweet scent of his cologne as he held you. He rested his head on top of yours as he held you in his arms, and you allowed yourself to sink deeper into him.

"Let me put it back together, please." He pleaded, one hand on each side of your arms as he pulled away from you. "I'll be here for you, worse or for better, no matter what happens." His voice was stern, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched in your throat. With one last plea his voice came out as a whisper, "I'll wait for you all my life."

A smile crept across your lips, and it was all the confirmation Peter needed before he cupped your jaw. Gently, he pulled you closer to him. He couldn't hold back his smile as his lips tenderly brushed yours. A hand moved to cradle the back of your head, closing any remaining distance so that he could kiss you properly. The kiss was soft, and yet it was filled with months of unfulfilled passion. Neither of you wanted it to end, but when you started to run out of oxygen, you had to pull away to breathe.

And that's how Peter got you, making damn sure that it was going to stay that way.

#peter parker x reader #Andrew garfield peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #spider man imagines #spider man x reader #andrew garfield spider man #peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker x reader fluff #slight angst #blink and theres angst #works by californ1asnow #peter parker #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm! peter parker #tasm x reader #the amazing spider man

280 notes · View notes