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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

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Look At The Stars (Look How They Shine For You)

(Wasting series Part 1)

My Masterlist

Here she is y'all... I already have a vision for what exactly is up with the Wasters which will be revealed later on, probably.

Pairing: Mike Schmidt and gn!Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: after being attacked by a monster, you find yourself unexpectedly rescued by a mysterious man with a vague backstory.

Tags in order of relevance: Apocalypse, original apocalypse AU, gun mentioned, blood, injury, one (1) fourth-wall-break, stitches, needles mentioned, death threat, chloroform mentioned, Abby, cooking s'mores, scars discussed (not SH)

(Future parts) eventual romance, eventual angst, like severe angst

You aren't sure if you've been running for five minutes or five hours. That abomination is hot on your trail, and you know that you don't have much longer before you have to give in. You don't even know what you expect to happen. Do you really think you're going to come across anything that'll save your ass? A tower to climb that'll finally get the nasty thing away from you? A loaded gun on the ground? Maybe even another human being?

You just lost your group a few days ago, so it's not like anyone will miss you if you die... Which is what you think is going to happen as you finally succumb to the agony in your legs, your limbs no longer able to carry you. The Waster immediately pounces on you. You disassociate as well as you can, hoping that if you scream loud enough, you can focus on the shrill noise rather than the searing pain in your abdomen and the eventual feeling of blood rising in your throat.

You don't even realize you've blacked out until you wake up, the world pitch black around you. You think you're dead at first, but your hands grapple at the ground and dead leaves crumble in your grasp. You're still alive, and the adrenaline rushing through your veins is filling the pain, for now. At the moment, you're lying on your back, the only thing visible to you being the stars above you. That is, until the light of a flashlight illuminates the area.

The beam of light is accompanied by the hasty rustling of leaves, rapidly growing louder as the sound approaches you. You crane your neck to the side. The outline of a person makes itself apparent to you. This is your chance.

"Help me... Please," you whisper despite your attempt to shout. The figure takes a few steps forward. You can't see their face and they aren't speaking, but you feel inclined to continue pleading with them anyway.

What begins as an attempt at appealing to their emotions—"I don't wanna die... I'm too young to die, please help me, it hurts so much," etc. etc.—ends up being a verbal expression of your internal monologue as the person's refusal to instantly spring into action weighs on your mind. Are they really just going to sit here and watch you die?

You think you hear them begin to speak, but you lose consciousness again, which is inconvenient for you but incredibly convenient for the author because she just wants to move on to the good part.

The pungent stench of rubbing alcohol is what hits you first, its scent brutally invading your nose. It takes you a moment to adjust; when you do, the next thing you notice is the feeling of deft hands on your stomach. Gently gliding over your skin as if you'll break if they press any harder.

The next of your senses to return is your hearing. Someone's shaky breath resonates above you. In through their nose, out through their mouth. In through their nose, out through their mouth. Every inhale is a clear struggle, their breath hitching each time they breathe in. Is it from exhaustion? Sadness? Fear? Anger?

Your last two senses return pretty much simultaneously, as once you notice the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, you finally decide to open your eyes.

There's a man hovering over you, doing something to your torso, but you can't figure out what exactly because of the angle he's at. Luckily, because of this very angle, he doesn't seem to notice that you're awake, meaning you can silently observe him for just a few moments longer.

You suck in a quick breath as you finally feel it. The sting of air hitting a tender wound, the flesh underneath never having been intended to see the light of day. The pain steadily increases as the heat from the lamp above you continues to disturb your wound; and the stranger's attempt at mending it is amateur at best, causing excessive blood to seep out.

You hear him sigh.

You hear the sound of pages being leafed through.

A pause.

He whispers something under his breath.

A needle pierces your flesh.

"What–"

The word comes out much louder than you intended, startling him and causing him to immediately turn around to face you. He lightly clamps his hand over your mouth, cutting off the rest of your words and demanding your attention. You try to get a glimpse of his face, if only to get a sense of what you're dealing with, but it's hard to fully open your eyes due to the light shining directly onto you.

"Who are you associated with?"

You squint your eyes, shaking your head.

"Like, are you asking if I'm with a group?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"No. I got separated from my group."

"You still looking for them?"

As much as you want to say that they're anticipating your return, you get the feeling that they aren't exactly distraught at the loss of you.

"No."

He nods thoughtfully, still refusing to let his guard down. "Listen. I haven't seen a new person in years," he says. It sounds less like he's telling you this information and more like he's just confirming it with himself; as if he's in disbelief that it's really been this long since he's seen a stranger. "I desperately need another person to work with."

You nod. "I'll stay with you. I have nowhere else to go."

"I have no problem with that. As long as you pull your weight, that is. But, I have something here that's... Very precious to me." He leans in closer. "I don't like to fight. I've never killed someone and I'd rather keep it that way. But if you try anything stupid, you're dead."

He punctuates the threat with a piercing stare into your eyes. He removes his hand from your mouth, letting out a long sigh. Your vision clears up a little as you get used to the light, allowing you to get a good, long look at his face. He looks pretty much the same as everyone else does these days. Exhausted. Drained. On the verge. Whether it's of giving up or of a mental breakdown, you're unsure. With your bad luck, it's probably both.

"Are you ever going to explain to me who you are? And where I am?" you mutter, your throat still getting used to the idea of once more having to accommodate speech. If you were in a more sound state of mind, you probably would've said that a little more politely, seeing as you definitely don't want to get on his bad side—but you're not in a very sound state of mind right now.

"Name's Mike," he mutters. "You're at my camp."

You look up at Mike, dumbfounded. You remember bits and pieces of the altercation. A Waster. Gnashing teeth. Sharp claws. "You saved my life."

"I mean, what else was I gonna do? Sit there and watch you die?"

You don't really have a response to that. You wince as you feel a pang of pain resonate from your wound, hands reaching up to clutch at it. His gaze returns to the wound, and he peels your hands away so he can inspect it again.

"I'm going to stitch you up," he murmurs, tracing his fingers over the marred skin. "Can you be quiet while I do that? Or do I need to put you under?"

"Put me under? With what?"

He holds up a plastic bottle labeled ‘chloro’ in Sharpie scrawl. "Chloroform. If you want, I can give you some. Knock you out for a bit while I finish fixing you up."

You think for a moment. "I don't think chloroform really works that way," you mutter.

"It's either that, or I sew your mouth shut," he says, holding up a sewing needle. You can't tell if he's joking or not.

"Fine. I'll be quiet."

He returns to the wound, this time appearing to be a little more sure in his movements, likely because he now has an audience. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to muffle any noises that might escape due to the pain. You watch as he surreptitiously references that book you heard him looking through earlier.

"Whatcha reading?"

It's strange to you that he's multi-tasking at a time like this. Reading while stitching up a stranger's wound.

"‘It's a book about how to give someone stitches," he mutters in response, holding it up for a split second so you can get a glimpse of the cover. He wasn't kidding.

"Have you never done this before?"

"Nope."

You don't have the energy to care about the fact that you're trusting this man with your body despite his lack of experience. You figure that if he fucks it up, you'll deal with it when the time comes; for now, you're just about ready to conk out again. He notices this. Your limbs growing heavier. The fact that you're no longer asking him questions.

"If you could go to sleep again, that'd be great," he mutters. Your body involuntarily obliges.

You awake to the sound of the rustling of the tent floor. When you open your eyes, the sight before you startles you; you see a girl looking at you curiously. Probably around 12, though you wouldn't be surprised if she were younger. Children these days always look older than they actually are. The survival instincts harden them.

The fact that she woke you up doesn't seem to upset the girl—rather, she seems thrilled to interact with you.

"I thought I might actually go crazy if I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone but Mike for the rest of my life," she says with a grin. "I'm Abby. Mike's my brother."

You slowly prop yourself up on your elbow. Mike... Right. That's the guy who helped you earlier.

"It's just been the two of us for ages... He kind of went crazy when all this ‘apocalypse’ stuff started. I haven't left camp in years. He's super protective of me, you know? He doesn't let me go anywhere by myself. And if he leaves camp, I'm not allowed to leave our tent." She sighs. "But I'm glad that now we have another–"

Mike suddenly emerges through the flap of the tent, immediately telling Abby off for waking you up. He tells her to go and start a fire and she begrudgingly exits the tent, zipping the door shut behind her.

"My sister, Abby," he mumbles as he checks the wrappings around your abdomen.

"She could've stayed in here." You wince when you see the blood on the bandages. You fully lay back down so you don't have to see it. "She's a cute kid."

"Don't tell her that. She'll say you're patronizing her." He gives you a cursory glance. "She thinks I treat her like a baby," he grumbles.

"I don't mean to judge, but I wouldn't be surprised if your refusal to let her be more independent is smothering her in a way."

He brushes your suggestion off. "She's not even a teenager yet."

"Will things change when she is?"

He pauses. He looks like he's about to say something, but he swallows his words and silently resumes his work on your wound—taking the soiled bandages off and replacing them with new ones.

"Let's just take things one step at a time," he mutters. "I'll wait until you're upright and coherent before I take ‘parenting advice’ from you."

"I am coherent."

He gives you an incredulous glance before looking back down at the bandages. He's almost finished. "Every Saturday, Abby and I make s'mores around the campfire." He says as he finishes dressing your wound. "Would you like to join us?"

You smile. "Sure. I could use some fresh air."

"I'll get a camping chair set up for you. Luckily, we have a couple extras."

You give him a weak thumbs up as he exits. You hear him have a brief, hushed exchange with Abby before he returns to the tent.

"How you feeling?"

You shrug. "I've been better."

"Haven't we all?" He mutters. "Need help walking?"

"Nah, I've got it."

"If you say so."

After a bit of struggle, you manage to get yourself out of the tent and situated next to the fire. Abby is evidently overjoyed that you're finally up and moving. She asks you a million questions about your life as the three of you cook s'mores around the fire. You notice that Mike is suddenly talking up a storm, which is a stark contrast to his attitude with you, since he's practically silent when Abby isn't around.

"This one," you say, gesturing towards the mark on your arm, "I got from falling onto my stovetop."

Abby laughs. "How does that even happen?"

"My cat tripped me."

Mike cracks a smile at this. "Cats are brutal."

Abby nudges Mike's shoulder. "Ooh, speaking of scars, tell the story of how you got the one on your cheek!"

Mike laughs awkwardly, glancing at you. "Oh, this one? So, this one time, I was out exploring when I got ambushed by a Waster. The thing was absolutely huge—it knocked me down on my back and I thought it was gonna kill me. But then, I instinctively kicked it right in the balls–" Abby giggles at this. "–and it clawed me real hard in the face before running away."

The three of you laugh at this. "Do Wasters even have balls?"

"Well, clearly they do, since I managed to kick 'em. It was screaming like a little girl, too." He imitates a high-pitched, ‘girly’ scream, eliciting even more laughter from the group, mostly from Abby.

"You know, I think it's probably about time we go to bed," Mike says with a yawn, glancing over at you. You shrug. "I'm pretty tired too."

Mike stands up, staring at the two tents in front of the fire. The smaller of the two tents is the one you came from, and you assume the bigger tent is the one that Mike and Abby stay in. Mike looks at you.

"Hey, Abby, how'd you like to stay in your own tent tonight?"

Abby grins. "Really?! Yes!"

You glance over at Mike. "What's up with the sudden change?"

"I think you should stay in my tent, at least for the next few nights. Just in case you need anything in the middle of the night."

"That's fine by me."

Abby runs into the big tent and collects her belongings, transferring them to the smaller tent. You and Mike make your way into the big tent.

"Who gets the cot and who gets the mattress?" You mutter.

"You get the mattress. You're the one recovering from near-death."

"I feel bad about making you sleep on that stiff cot."

"I'll be fine."

"I still feel bad."

He rolls his eyes, claiming the cot before you can try and take it from him. You begrudgingly take the air mattress, bundling up in the covers and turning to face the wall of the tent. You slowly drift off to sleep–

"I didn't kick a Waster in the balls," Mike says suddenly.

"What?"

"None of that happened. I didn't get tackled, I didn't kick it in the balls, and it didn't scratch me in the face." You stay silent. He keeps talking. "I told Abby that because I didn't want to tell her the truth about why I came home one day with a scar on my face. And she was ten at the time, so she thought the idea of kicking someone in the balls was peak humor. That's why I told her that story. But none of it is true." He sighs. "I've been waiting years to get that off my chest."

"So what actually happened, then?"

"Can you promise you won't tell her?"

"Sure."

"I was walking through the woods and I was bending a tree branch out of my way when I got distracted by a squirrel. I accidentally let go of the branch and it snapped back and slammed into my face. A sharp part cut into my face really deep."

"You got distracted by a squirrel? Are you a dog?" You laugh.

"Shut up. Good night," he mumbles.

"Good night."

...

"Also, Wasters definitely don't have balls. I made that up."

"Mike, go to sleep."

"Didn't you say that if I were to stay with you two, I'd have to ‘pull my weight’?"

Mike shrugs. "I'm not gonna make the injured one do any work."

"I'm not injured anymore."

"You might not be as injured as you were a week ago, but you're still recovering. Lay back down."

You roll your eyes and reluctantly cover yourself in your blankets again. He still won't let you take the cot. You smile awkwardly at him as he exits the tent, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You like Mike. He's cool. In terms of people to be forced to survive the apocalypse with, he's a pretty good option. He's far stronger than you ever could be, and he's super prepared—he has a box filled to the brim with books that he stole from a long-abandoned library a while back, all consisting of first aid and survival skills. He has non-perishable food that'll last for years to come.

That is, if you stay with him for years to come. You aren't sure why, but he barely speaks to you. He comes out of his shell when Abby's around, but you desperately want to have a conversation with him that doesn't include a pre-teen girl.

Despite Mike's insistence, you can't help but want a breath of fresh air, and it's already night-time, so you know the Wasters aren't out. You stagger out of the tent, laying down on the ground just outside of the door.

You get a disturbing sense of déjà vu when you look up at the stars. It reminds you of the scene you saw just one short week ago when you thought you were about to die. Something about the night sky brings you comfort, however. Maybe it's the fact that it has changed since the beginning of The Wasting—for you, at least— since it was only after you found yourself in more rural areas following the start of The Wasting that you got to see the night sky in all its glory due to the light pollution in the areas you had grown up in all your life.

Or maybe it's the opposite—the fact that the night sky itself has remained unchanging. The stars are all relatively in the same place, the constellations still in harmony—a contrast to the chaos happening on the ground that they watch over.

"What are you doing?" You hear Mike's voice from above you.

"I'm looking at the stars."

He sits down on the ground next to you. "They're pretty, huh?"

"What an astute observation. You should be a poet."

He honest-to-god chuckles at this, which catches you off-guard. "I didn't know you had it in you to laugh."

"A man's gotta let loose every once in a while," he mutters.

"Well, I'm glad you chose right now to do so, because I, myself, am in pretty high spirits, all things considered."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno. Just feeling pretty calm."

He looks down at you and the two of you make eye contact for a bit. You eventually close your eyes, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, but you can still feel his gaze on you.

"I'm sorry I haven't been very sociable with you. I'm trying my best, but I've always been an introvert."

You crack an eye open. "At least Abby talks to me."

He smirks. "Yeah, she and I are polar opposites. She's a talker, that's for sure." His smile fades. "Really, though. I wish I wasn't so... Brooding. Especially because you seem like you need someone to talk to."

"What gives you that impression?"

"Gut instinct."

Mike can read you like a book, it seems. He puts a hand on your head, brushing your hair from your forehead. The gesture makes you smile, for some reason.

"Why don't we go for a walk tomorrow night once the Wasters turn in for the night? We can really try to get to know each other. Make up for lost time."

"I'd like that."

"It's a date, then."

You watch him as he heads over to the storage tent, presumably to do more tedious work on the campsite, probably unaware of the fact that his wording left you sighing pleasantly like a teenage girl in a Disney Channel movie after her crush talks to her. You have no idea why you sighed like that, and you also have no idea why you already know that you won't be able to focus on anything but your upcoming ‘date’ tomorrow.

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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

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Send You My Love (On A Wire)

My Masterlist

This one doesn't even really have a plot, it's kind of just me yapping 😭 but it's fun and I think I wrote some fun dialogue so. There's that!

Also this is my twentieth fic! Happy twenty!

Pairing: Clapton Davis x gn!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Inspired by this post by user @bussyholeicedlikeadonut. Basically Clapton gets in a fight and you clean up the aftermath. Hilarity ensues.

Tags: bloody nose, the U.S. Constitution, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)

You already know it's Clapton at the door before you even touch the doorknob. Nobody else but him would show up to your house at 2 am, especially since your parents are on a cruise and they're typically the source of most of the random visitors to your house.

You're a little pissed because he woke you up for the millionth time this week—you still have no idea why he insists on coming by at the most ungodly hours of the night—but your annoyance immediately dissipates when you see him and his bloody nose and bruised face.

"Missed you, babe," he says, grinning ear to ear at the sight of you. He hugs you, hands gripping your back. "Even though it's been, like, a day since I last saw you."

"Another fight?" You murmur, exasperated.

"Yep. And you wanna guess who won?"

"Who?"

He pulls back and looks you in the eyes. "Me, of course. Because I'm awesome."

"You sure are. But you're a little less awesome when you provoke people and leave me to clean up your mess."

"Don't worry about it, baby. I can clean up after myself."

"I don't trust you to tend to your wounds. I feel like you'd end up pouring bleach on your face."

"Well, it is a cleaning product. It's meant for cleaning."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Just come to the bathroom."

He follows after you, talking so much that he barely stops to take a breath between words.

"Is that a new picture on the wall? Don't think I've seen that one before," he says thoughtfully as the two of you enter your bathroom.

"I know there's no way you actually give a fuck about us having a new decoration on the wall."

He smiles. "Nah, you're right. I don't care. I'm just a little nervous, is all."

"About what?"

You pour some alcohol onto a cotton pad and he winces as you bring it to his face. "That." He gestures towards the cotton.

"Maybe if you didn't get into all these fucking fights, I wouldn't have to torture you with rubbing alcohol."

"You say that like this isn't your favorite part," he mutters under his breath. He tries to keep a straight face as you apply the alcohol to his scrapes, but he cracks almost immediately.

"Owww," he groans, leaning away from you. It always goes like this; you having to pretty much restrain him to get him to stop squirming. For someone who gets in a lot of fights, his pain tolerance is practically non-existent.

"Quit whining," you mumble.

"It hurts. I have the right to whine."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have the right to whine."

"First Amendment says so. Freedom of speech and freedom to protest. Sounds like the right to whine if you ask me," he says with a cocky grin.

"Yeah, and the Second Amendment gives me the right to bear arms, so watch your fuckin' back," you snarkily mumble in response.

"Oh, shit, really? I thought the Second Amendment was... Like, the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness or some shit."

You look at him in shock. "Jesus Christ. I'm this close to kicking you out of my house."

"Wait! Actually, hear me out." He holds his hands out, grinning. "Okay. So, you know how if I'm a British soldier and I want to come crash at your place, you have to let me in?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"Well, my grandma is from England and I just kicked Billy's ass, so I'm basically a British soldier which means you have to let me–"

"The Third Amendment reversed that."

His shoulders slump. "Oh."

"Now, will you shut up and sit still so I can get this blood off of you?"

He straightens his back and holds his right hand up to his forehead in a salute. "I won't let you down, lieutenant! ...Sorry, I'm still in ‘British soldier’ mindset," he giggles.

You finally finish getting the majority of the blood off, the rest of it being concentrated in the deeper cuts on his face which you can't clean without him thrashing around like you're strangling him to death; and you almost consider the idea with how uncooperative he's being.

Despite his resilience, you eventually finish your work, bandaging the necessary places.

"You know, I just got Scott Pilgrim on Blu-ray. I know you've been wanting to watch it," Clapton says as you lead him out of the bathroom.

"Hell yeah," you grin, taking him upstairs. "I still haven't taken the time to watch it."

"It's pretty awesome. I've seen it, like, five times."

You get settled as he gets the movie set up before he excitedly joins you on your bed.

"He punched the highlights. Out. Of. Her. Hair," he mutters as the same sentence is said on-screen.

"I'm starting to think you have this whole movie memorized," you tease.

He picks his head up, smiling. "It's a good movie!"

"Never said it wasn't."

He re-focuses his attention onto the movie. You haven't been paying full attention to the plot, but Michael Cera is now fighting some vegan guy? This is a weird fucking movie.

"That's actually exactly what happened during my fight with Billy earlier," he jokes.

"So, who's who?"

He points at the screen. "I'm Scott, obviously, because I won."

"Ugh. Spoilers."

"Obviously Scott fucking wins, he's the main character."

You laugh. "Alright, so if you're Scott, and Billy is Todd, who am I?"

He thinks for a moment. "You're Wallace."

"Why the hell am I Wallace?"

"Because I'm Scott, and Wallace and Scott sleep together," he snickers.

"Ugh, not everything has to be a sex joke," you say, playfully nudging him.

He rolls his eyes. "It wasn't a sex joke. They literally sleep together! ...Oh, don't give me that look. It was funny."

"You know, now that I think about it, I'm not sure I'm cool with you being Scott. He is dating a seventeen year old."

"So am I."

"Yeah, but you're 18, not 22."

He shrugs. "The only reason I said I was Scott in the first place is because I wanted to be the winner in this one fight scene. Doesn't mean I'll grow up to be an adult who likes high-schoolers."

"Touché."

He suddenly pulls you closer to him, a small smile on his face. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

He rubs his thumb along your cheek. "I love you."

You grin. "You sure?"

"I don't think there's anyone else in the world who would put up with my shit the way you do. Of course I love you. I'd be an idiot not to."

You squeeze him tight, like he'll fall through your fingertips like sand if you don't hold on to him as tightly as possible.

"I love you too."

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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

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Reblogging this for myself tbh 😭

Show, don't tell : Part 1

Directory Writing Masterlist Blog Etiquette Buy me a Ko-Fi?

[ Angry + Frustrated ]

Red face

Tensing up jaw/body

Clenching fists

Gritting teeth

Stomped feet

Rolling eyes

Crossing arms

Kick/Hit something

Eyebrows furl

Face crunches up

Tight lips

Narrow eyes

[ Happy + Excited ]

Laugh/Giggle

Smile from ear to ear

High tone in voice

Smiling/Grinning while talking

Heart Pounding

Clapping

Breathing deeply

Squeal/Scream

Talking fast

Contentedly Sigh

Tilted head

Hand clasped over mouth

[Bored + Tired ]

Pace back and forth

Sigh loudly

Blank face

Play with fingers

Staring off into space

Yawning

Fidgeting around

Leaning head on hands

Rubbing eyes

Droopy eyes

Dark circles under eyes

Complaining

[Sad + Scared]

Trembling lips/body

Tears in eyes

Bite Nails

Curl up/tuck knees to chest

Bite nails

Eyes burn/turn red

Stop breathing OR breathe fast

Lose appetite

Frowning

Darting eyes

Blinking quick or not at all

Pounding heart

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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

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Meow.

The Mixture Hits You Hard

Masterlist

Okay this one is very self-indulgent... Let's just say my maternal instincts went into overdrive tonight! For the record I know the sewer mushrooms also give people diarrhea but I'm not writing that so pretend like they just make you throw up

Pairing: Josh Futturman and gn!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Josh tries to use the classic "sewer mushroom" trick to uncover whether one of his coworkers is a Biotic. It doesn't go very well.

Tags: sickfic, hurt/comfort, headache mentions, alcohol usage, poisoning a drink, nausea, throwing up (doesn't happen on-screen, I did a minor time-skip to after they finish throwing up because I didn't want to write that lmao)

So we all get back to yours and you sit and talk to me on the floor There's no need to show me 'round, baby, I feel like I've been here before I've been wonderin' whether later, when you tell everybody to go, Will you pour me one for the road?

Over the club's excessive lights, Josh can barely make out the silhouette of his target, Ben. He clumsily navigates the crowded room, mumbling apologies to the patrons that he bumps into in his haze. His head is pounding for a million different reasons and the volume level of the music around him isn't serving to lessen the pain. Once he finally makes it over to the other side of the room, Josh hovers awkwardly in Ben's vicinity, trying to go unnoticed but failing miserably.

Ben immediately recognizes Josh as ‘that janitor from the lab’ and introduces him as such to the two people he's with before Josh immediately re-introduces himself with his actual name. Somehow, he gets roped into Ben's conversation. They're talking about a movie he's never seen and Josh, in his boredom and frustration, finds himself staring wistfully into the distance when he catches a glimpse of someone on the dance floor. It's hard to make out their appearance, but he's nonetheless mesmerized by them. Maybe it's his chronic loneliness or the fact that his head is pounding so hard he can barely think straight, but he can't help but want to just go over and talk to them—

"Josh, could you fetch us another round?" Ben mutters, lazily grinning and handing Josh his credit card. Bad move on Ben's part, but luckily for him, Josh isn't in the mood to steal his money, especially when he doesn't even know for certain that Ben isn't a completely innocent man.

Josh precariously balances four glasses in his arms, carefully navigating to a table in the dark recesses of the establishment. The lack of lighting makes him feel even more guilty for what he's about to do; as if he's the bad guy in a play and the lights change as he performs a villainous action.

He hunches over the table as he places down the drinks, trying his hardest to conceal his nefarious plan. He reaches into his pocket, uncapping a small vial and pouring its contents into one of the drinks, mixing it with his finger. The paranoid part of him says that he didn't put nearly enough into the drink, but the rational part of him knows that any more of the rancid substance would end up hospitalizing Ben. If he's a regular person, that is.

Josh finally rejoins the group, glasses in hand. He individually passes everyone their drinks, taking careful notice to hand the correct one to Ben. Josh doesn't even get a single word out before he notices you walking towards the group.

Ben leans down to whisper in Josh's ear, "I saw you staring at them earlier so I figured I'd try and be a wingman tonight."

Josh laughs as he sets his drink down, zipping up his hoodie as he prepares to leave the building. His work here is done. "I appreciate the thought, but I really do need to get going."

"Aw, come on. Live a little!"

Josh rolls his eyes. "I really–"

"Hi there," he hears from behind him. He turns around and–

Jesus Christ.

He stands there like an idiot until Ben points at the drink Josh had just set down moments earlier. "Liquid courage," he mutters.

"Yeah," he replies, snatching up the drink and beginning to drink it much faster than he normally does.

Ben introduces the two of you, and when you start talking to Josh, he already knows he's fighting a losing battle. You two chat for a bit before rejoining the group, Josh finally engaging in the conversation if only to try and seem more charming to you.

When you suggest that all of you go back to your place, Josh sends a quick text to his group chat with Tiger and Wolf: ‘this mission is easier said than done. I'm going to have to follow him home so I can spike something there.’

With his cover story set, Josh happily goes along with you, although a little disappointed that the others are tagging along. The five of you somehow manage to cram into a taxi, which involves Josh (the smallest of the group) sitting almost completely sideways, his legs draped over the others sitting in the back seat. Ben got shotgun; the bastard. That means Josh is practically laying on top of two near-strangers and someone who he can barely look in the eyes without getting flustered. His position feels a little unsafe, but the driver clearly doesn't care, as they begin the journey to your house without a fuss.

Getting out of the cab isn't anywhere near as difficult as getting in it was. Josh grins as you lead him into your house, trying to pretend like the three drunkards behind him don't exist. Unlike them, Josh isn't drunk, he's just buzzed; or so he thinks at first, but he's quickly starting to think otherwise as the butterflies in his stomach die off and are replaced by a familiar feeling of nausea.

That nausea only gets worse as he remembers that Ben is supposed to be projectile vomiting, not drunkenly singing Hamilton and playing every single part.

"You okay, Josh? You look a little pale."

Josh's attention refocuses on you. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Alright, good." The two of you glance over at Ben, who is fighting his way through Guns and Ships, and the other two, who are far too invested in Ben's performance. "Wanna go to my room?"

For some reason, Josh's queasiness still won't let up, despite feeling thrilled at the prospect of finally being alone with you. He's salivating now, which just makes him feel like a creep. Salivating at the idea of being alone in a room with someone? Really?

When he walks into your bedroom, he immediately stops in his tracks.

"You have a fucking PS5?!"

You laugh. "Yeah, my friend's mom works at GameStop so I was able to get my hands on one super easily."

He doesn't even wait for you to finish before he's already kneeling down in front of your TV stand, admiring the console.

"That's fucking sick. What games do you play?"

You rattle off a list of games, and right in the middle of said list is a game he had previously hoped he'd never hear the name of again: Biotic Wars.

"Biotic Wars?" He mutters when you finish.

"Yeah, it's this game about–"

"I... I know what Biotic Wars is."

"Cool, do you play it?"

Josh sighs. "Yeah, uh... I did, until I beat it."

You laugh. "Biotic Wars is unbeatable."

"I thought the same thing."

"So you're really telling me you're Future Man?"

"How do you know my player name?"

"Because it's everywhere! Everyone is talking about Future Man's big win, theorizing on who he is and how he did it."

"Here, look." Josh pulls out his ID. "Right there. Futturman. That's where the name came from. Future Man was my high school nickname; my teacher mispronounced my last name when she was taking attendance and it just stuck after that."

You gawk at him. "You're Future Man?! Why haven't you come out and said anything about it? The whole world loves you!"

"I've been pretty busy ever since I beat the game," he says with a shrug.

Everything next kind of happens at once. He feels a sudden wave of dizziness accompanied by his vision going dark around the edges. His feet mindlessly carry him to the only other door in your room which he hopes and prays leads to a bathroom. It does. He hears your muffled voice call after him as his knees buckle in front of the toilet, but it's too late for him to respond.

He's finally done throwing up, but he's still too tired to move from his position on the ground, kneeled down in front of your toilet. The two of you have been sitting in silence for maybe ten minutes now.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, trying to lift his head so he can look over his shoulder but immediately abandoning the attempt.

"Don't be sorry."

"I ruined your night."

"You didn't ruin my night. You actually improved it; now I have an excuse to tell those weirdos to get out of my house."

He lets out a weak laugh, which causes him to heave again. Nothing comes out, but it immediately dampens the mood.

"I'm so tired."

"I know you are. You'll be okay."

Ben just started singing Burn. He's getting very into it.

"Would you like me to get the others to leave?"

"Please."

When you walk out of the room, Josh musters all of his strength to turn himself around so his head isn't hanging over the toilet anymore. He leans back against the bathtub and pulls his knees to his chest, loosely wrapping his arms around them. You've left him alone with his thoughts now, so he finally reflects on what's happening to him. Why does he feel like he's fucking dying? He's never felt this horrible before in his life. What happened tonight? The only unusual thing he did was...

The fucking sewer mushrooms.

Ben must've caught on to his plan somehow and switched their drinks.

He doesn't notice the tears falling until he feels one land on his knee. He fucked up another plan. Next time, Tiger and Wolf are probably just going to kill Kronish.

Josh doesn't notice your return. "Hey," you say softly, kneeling down next to him. You thumb his tears away. "You're okay."

"I'm not," he whispers.

"You are."

"You wouldn't understand."

"You don't know that."

He sighs. "You ever just feel like a massive failure? Like everything you do goes catastrophically wrong?"

"I'm assuming you're asking that because you feel that way?"

"Maybe."

You tap him on his shoulder, causing him to crack his eyes open a bit. "Funny how you say that when you're the first of eight billion people to beat Biotic Wars. I'd say that's a pretty huge win."

"Yeah, but that's just one thing."

"I think being the first person ever to beat one of the biggest games of the year is an accomplishment that outweighs any failure you could possibly be talking about right now."

He can't help but crack a smile. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I am," you say with a teasing smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"I just called you a taxi. You think you feel good enough to stand up?"

"Probably."

You offer to help him up from the ground, which he reluctantly accepts. He really doesn't want to get up, but he also doesn't want to sit on your bathroom floor all night.

"Stay here, I'll bring you some water for the road."

He nods, sitting down on your bed. You leave the room and before he knows it, he's already succumbing to his exhaustion, moving to lay down. He subconsciously nestles into your blankets, letting out a deep sigh.

He's stirred from his rest by your voice. "Tired?"

He opens an eye, seeing you smirking down at him. You're damn good at sneaking up on him.

"Uh-huh."

"You can stay the night. I'll cancel on the taxi."

He hums noncommittally in response, turning to face the wall. He's asleep by the time you get in bed with him, but he'll be in for a treat once he wakes up.

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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

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You think I'm gonna judge you? With the thoughts I've had about this man, I would get within like a fifteen foot range of the Pearly Gates™ and immediately be blown backwards by an invisible force field or some shit and fall headfirst into hell before I even get the opportunity to explain myself. Saint Peter knows I'm irredeemable.

I will hear you out and I will LISTEN and I will AGREE because I want Mike to **** me in the ***** and ******** my ***** until I ****** and ******* from *****

no comments because y’all are gonna judge me

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ronnieafterdark · 5 months

Text

The Mixture Hits You Hard

Masterlist

Pairing: Josh Futturman and gn!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Josh tries to use the classic "sewer mushroom" trick to uncover whether one of his coworkers is a Biotic. It doesn't go very well.

Ben leans down to whisper in Josh's ear, "I saw you staring at them earlier so I figured I'd try and be a wingman tonight."

Josh laughs as he sets his drink down, zipping up his hoodie as he prepares to leave the building. His work here is done. "I appreciate the thought, but I really do need to get going."

"Aw, come on. Live a little!"

Josh rolls his eyes. "I really–"

"Hi there," he hears from behind him. He turns around and–

Jesus Christ.

He stands there like an idiot until Ben points at the drink Josh had just set down moments earlier. "Liquid courage," he mutters.

"Yeah," he replies, snatching up the drink and beginning to drink it much faster than he normally does.

That nausea only gets worse as he remembers that Ben is supposed to be projectile vomiting, not drunkenly singing Hamilton and playing every single part.

"You okay, Josh? You look a little pale."

Josh's attention refocuses on you. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Alright, good." The two of you glance over at Ben, who is fighting his way through Guns and Ships, and the other two, who are far too invested in Ben's performance. "Wanna go to my room?"

When he walks into your bedroom, he immediately stops in his tracks.

"You have a fucking PS5?!"

You laugh. "Yeah, my friend's mom works at GameStop so I was able to get my hands on one super easily."

He doesn't even wait for you to finish before he's already kneeling down in front of your TV stand, admiring the console.

"That's fucking sick. What games do you play?"

You rattle off a list of games, and right in the middle of said list is a game he had previously hoped he'd never hear the name of again: Biotic Wars.

"Biotic Wars?" He mutters when you finish.

"Yeah, it's this game about–"

"I... I know what Biotic Wars is."

"Cool, do you play it?"

Josh sighs. "Yeah, uh... I did, until I beat it."

You laugh. "Biotic Wars is unbeatable."

"I thought the same thing."

"So you're really telling me you're Future Man?"

"How do you know my player name?"

"Because it's everywhere! Everyone is talking about Future Man's big win, theorizing on who he is and how he did it."

You gawk at him. "You're Future Man?! Why haven't you come out and said anything about it? The whole world loves you!"

"I've been pretty busy ever since I beat the game," he says with a shrug.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, trying to lift his head so he can look over his shoulder but immediately abandoning the attempt.

"Don't be sorry."

"I ruined your night."

"You didn't ruin my night. You actually improved it; now I have an excuse to tell those weirdos to get out of my house."

He lets out a weak laugh, which causes him to heave again. Nothing comes out, but it immediately dampens the mood.

"I'm so tired."

"I know you are. You'll be okay."

Ben just started singing Burn. He's getting very into it.

"Would you like me to get the others to leave?"

"Please."

The fucking sewer mushrooms.

Ben must've caught on to his plan somehow and switched their drinks.

He doesn't notice the tears falling until he feels one land on his knee. He fucked up another plan. Next time, Tiger and Wolf are probably just going to kill Kronish.

Josh doesn't notice your return. "Hey," you say softly, kneeling down next to him. You thumb his tears away. "You're okay."

"I'm not," he whispers.

"You are."

"You wouldn't understand."

"You don't know that."

He sighs. "You ever just feel like a massive failure? Like everything you do goes catastrophically wrong?"

"I'm assuming you're asking that because you feel that way?"

"Maybe."

You tap him on his shoulder, causing him to crack his eyes open a bit. "Funny how you say that when you're the first of eight billion people to beat Biotic Wars. I'd say that's a pretty huge win."

"Yeah, but that's just one thing."

"I think being the first person ever to beat one of the biggest games of the year is an accomplishment that outweighs any failure you could possibly be talking about right now."

He can't help but crack a smile. "Maybe you're right."

"I know I am," you say with a teasing smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"I just called you a taxi. You think you feel good enough to stand up?"

"Probably."

You offer to help him up from the ground, which he reluctantly accepts. He really doesn't want to get up, but he also doesn't want to sit on your bathroom floor all night.

"Stay here, I'll bring you some water for the road."

He's stirred from his rest by your voice. "Tired?"

He opens an eye, seeing you smirking down at him. You're damn good at sneaking up on him.

"Uh-huh."

"You can stay the night. I'll cancel on the taxi."

He hums noncommittally in response, turning to face the wall. He's asleep by the time you get in bed with him, but he'll be in for a treat once he wakes up.

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

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"...And don't even get me started on the psychology of those things. Their natural instinct is to serve whoever is the biggest, baddest villain? Why? And how the hell does that even work? Can a creature really be born with an inherent, instinctive ‘life's purpose’ like that, beyond the basic goal to survive and thrive? Or is it entirely ingrained in them by their peers and authority figures? Could a Minion break free from the cult mindset and find fulfillment in indepen—" "Dude." He looks at you. "Yeah?" "I get the point."

Here's a fun snippet from a fic I'm working on, based on when I wouldn't SHUT UP about the psychology of these little fucks the other day. They're so fascinating to me.

#josh hutcherson #jhutch #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

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Happy day the FNAF movie takes place day! Hehehe!

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

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Okay so I started writing ~50 days ago and in that time I have published ~50k words across all of my fics which is longer than The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Great Gatsby, Fight Club, Of Mice and Men, and Fahrenheit 451...

I have ~25k words in drafts alone which when combined with my 50k words in published fics makes 75k words written in total... Which is longer than Frankenstein and The Catcher in the Rye...

It took me 50 days to write the same amount of words that it took Mary Shelley eighteen months to write 😭 all for the sake of a man (Josh Hutcherson) 😔

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

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"Erm... Actually, according to my calculations 🤓🤓🤓"

Edit: wrong blog 😒 whatever who cares

#jhutch #josh hutcherson

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

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We Didn't Start The Fire! (My Crazy Friends Did)

Masterlist

Two long ass fics in one night? Merry Christmas y'all. I'm passing the fuck out the second I post this.

Pairing: Josh Futturman and gn!Reader

Word count: 3.0k

Summary: Josh gets separated from Tiger and Wolf in the eighties. Hilarity ensues.

Tags: New York City written by someone who has only been there for a total of four days, mention of one of those giant New York rats, NYC subway, I had a bit too much fun with the eighties slang, Josh Futturman wearing a crop top! 9/11 referenced, roller skating, bombing (happens off-screen, nobody is injured), Tiger and Wolf, jail, police questioning, TTD usage, time traveling

It's not his fault he got lost. Josh kept ogling at the billboards in Times Square, and then he saw a giant rat, those ones you only hear about in the movies. Obviously he had to stop and gawk at it. The thing was huge! It was, like, two feet long!

He panicked when he saw that Tiger and Wolf had already boarded the Subway, the two of them banging on the windows as they sped off. They didn't quite understand how subways worked; the last time Josh and the others had boarded one of the subway trains, Wolf didn't quite understand that the reason the train kept stopping is because they had to let other people on, and Tiger was just... Being Tiger. She was saying weird things to people which Josh had to immediately apologize for, claiming Tiger was his sister—no, not his sister, because Josh didn't want to seem like he was related to the weirdo who just called someone's baby a ‘tiny freak’— Tiger was his... Patient, who's mentally unwell, so don't take anything she says seriously. And your baby isn't a freak, he's adorable.

After seeing the only two people he knew in this time or place speed off with no sign of where they may go next, especially since they obviously don't have the slightest idea of how to navigate the New York subway system, he ends up slumped on the ground against some mural with a penguin on it. It's kind of difficult to come up with a plan; there isn't exactly a manual on how to navigate a city you barely understand in a decade you only know from movies, history class, and overly-detailed stories about ‘the glory days’ your dad tells you when he's drunk.

He's awoken from the twilight stage of sleep when someone taps on his shoulder, giving him a twenty dollar bill and a rushed ‘God bless you’. Shit, how long has he been sitting here? He checks the time, gasping when he realizes it's 9 PM. He must've fallen asleep.

Also, why did that person just give him money? Did they think he was homeless? He looks down at himself and then looks up at the other pedestrians in the station; he definitely looks a little... Ragged, compared to everyone else, his gray and white loungewear sticking out as depressing compared to everyone else's colorful ensembles. He has no idea how long he'll be trapped in the eighties, so he's going to have to learn to blend in for now. That can be step one in his plan to find Tiger and Wolf.

He emerges from the subway, immediately being greeted by the infamous hustle-and-bustle of New York City; he finds himself unable to handle the hectic crowds. He notices that whenever he bumps into someone, he's the only one that apologizes. New Yorkers are assholes, man.

It's even harder to navigate the streets now that it's night time. People are probably getting off work right about now, and they're eager to get home. So they don't have time to be nice to people, or whatever.

His breaking point is when someone somehow manages to spill an entire Coke on him, and completely disappears right afterward. Not even an apology. His chest and stomach are soaked in the drink, and he holds his shirt out away from him so that it doesn't make any more contact with his skin. Now he has even more reason to get new clothes.

He dips into the first clothing store he sees, which is decked out in some very aggressively eighties decor. You happen to work at said store, and you're in the middle of stocking shelves when you see him looking around like he's never seen clothes before.

He's startled when you show up behind him. He laughs awkwardly; the last thing he wants is to try and navigate a conversation with someone. How different is eighties language? Will he be able to understand you?

"Having a fashion emergency, huh?" You say, gesturing towards his coke-soaked shirt.

"Uh, yeah," he chuckles awkwardly.

"Not to be an asshole, but are you shopping for yourself or someone else? You don't seem like someone who would wear this kind of clothing."

Josh looks down at the rack he absentmindedly wandered to just seconds earlier. The clothing all looks rather... Flashy. It's too late to back out now, right? "Just, ah... Trying out something new. I'm new to New York and I don't really know how to dress..."

You look at him incredulously. "Do you not wear clothes where you come from?"

He scratches his head. "Uh, I come from a really rural town, we don't really do fashion or anything. And I was homeschooled, too. So I don't know what people my age wear nowadays, you know?"

A smile spreads on your face. He internally pumps his fist in triumph; he must've said the right thing.

"Gag me with a spoon!" Uh... No thanks. ”You really don't know anything about fashion? Nothing at all?"

He very vaguely knows about eighties fashion, but he's worried that his perception of it might be extremely exaggerated. "Uh, no, not really."

You give him a wolfish grin. "Let me drop some science on you."

His head is spinning from the amount of eighties slang he's had to decipher. Apparently, ‘you look stupid bad’ can be a compliment in certain contexts. Who would've guessed?

After dressing him in maybe a hundred different articles of clothing, you settle on some high-waisted jeans and a shirt that is far too short for him, claiming he needs to quit ‘barfing out’ over the length of the shirt and that he looks ‘totally brill’.

"No, really, I feel like it's a little too short. Like, I don't think anyone needs to see my bellybutton."

You ignore him, tossing a button up under the door. "Put that on over the crop top. Unbuttoned, of course."

"Of course. Because I have to show my stomach," he mutters.

"You do!"

He slides on the button up, sighing. He thinks he looks like a complete idiot.

"You look schweet!" You laugh as he exits the dressing room. "This is the one. It's perfect."

"Seriously?" He looks back down at the outfit.

You respond with an enthusiastic, "Cheeuh!" ...Whatever the hell that means. Well, guess he'll be buying this outfit. Even if it means that once he finds Tiger and Wolf they'll have a lot of questions, mostly regarding his sexuality.

You ring him up, the outfit costing a whopping sixteen bucks. Back home, it would've been like forty. Inflation!

"So, what are you doing here in the Big Apple?" You say as you ring him up, scanning the tags directly from his body.

"I'm... On a trip with some friends of mine."

"And where are these friends?"

He crosses his arms, sighing. "...I got a bit lost. Kevin McCallister style."

You raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Kev-" he stops himself. Shit, none of the Home Alone movies exist yet in this timeline. "Just... Someone I made up." Someone he made up? Why the hell would he say that?

"Someone you made up?" You laugh like you're pitying him.

He bites his lip. "Yup."

"Do you often reference people you made up?"

"...Yeah."

A pause. "You're kind of a ditz, Josh. I like you."

His eyes widen. How the fuck did he do that?

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome. Hey, I get off in..." You check your watch. "Negative three minutes. Hold on, stay here, I need to reconcile my till."

He doesn't know what that means, but it sounds pretty important. He figures you must've lost track of time in your impromptu fashion stylist moment and forgotten to close up shop.

When you return, you're a little out of breath from closing all of the shop fixtures. "Alright, I'm back. Let's motor, yeah?"

Motor? "What, like... Use a car?"

"You're such a narbo," you laugh. "In, like, an endearing way. ‘let's motor’ means ‘let's go’.”

"Ah," he says, tapping his temple as if to say he's stowing that information away. "Wait, go where?"

You smile. "I want to introduce you to the real world. Did you have roller rinks where you come from?"

"Uh, not a lot of them..."

"Good. Come with me."

He follows you out of the store, waiting for you to lock the front door. You expertly navigate the streets, far better than he had just a hour previous.

Josh starts gawking at a set of buildings in the distance.

"What is it?"

"Is that the World Trade Center?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Uh... Yeah, it is."

"That's just so weird to see in real life," he mutters.

"...I don't think I've ever seen someone give a fuck about the World Trade Center."

"You'll get it one day," he mumbles.

He looks over at you, a nervous smile on his face. "Look, why don't we just... go to the mall or something?"

You laugh. "That's not introducing you to anything new. Rollerblading is totally unique, there isn't anything like it."

He sighs, looking down at his feet. "I don't think I really have the balance for this."

"Oh, come on. If you can walk, you can skate."

"I don't think that's necessarily true-"

You shush him, putting a finger to his lips. "Just watch me. You'll catch on quick, I swear."

He swallows, gritting his teeth and giving you a thumbs up with the hand that isn't white-knuckling the rail around the edge of the rink.

"Remember what I told you."

"Yup. Diagonal lines."

You push off from the rail, smiling at him. He smiles back.

The next time you see him is when he crashes into you, frantically gripping your forearm to prevent you from tumbling to the floor. Your first instinct is to laugh, but he looks genuinely panicked.

"We need to get off the rink. Now."

"What?"

"Just come with me!" He rips the skates off of his feet, clambering to the carpeted floor encircling the rink.

"What's wrong? You say, scrambling over to him. He points over to the TV screen near you, displaying two mugshots. A newscaster reads from a teleprompter:

...Suspected of burning down a newly vacant house in a community near Manhattan. They claim that they are time-travelers from the future and that their names are ‘Tiger’ and ‘Wolf’, but their real names remain unverified...

"Those are my friends I mentioned earlier," Josh says with a hushed voice.

"Your ‘friends’ think that they're time-travelers. And they burned down a goddamn house."

"Listen... Okay, they're not really my friends. They're kind of crazy and I just take them out sometimes because I feel bad-"

"They sound a little more than ‘kind of’ crazy. They're fucking mental."

He sighs. "You don't understand-"

He cuts himself off when a blurry, candid Polaroid picture of himself is displayed on screen. Curse Wolf and his strange obsession with taking pictures with the Polaroid camera he found on the ground the other day.

...Authorities are currently on the lookout for a ‘Josh Futturman’—pictured here—who is believed to be associated with these two, and appears to be the ringleader of this strange vigilante group...

"Ringleader?" You say, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I need to go to the police station. I can't let them dig themselves into a deeper hole than they're already in." He looks over at you, chewing on his lip. "I don't... Know how to get to the police station, though," he mutters. "Would you like to... Come with?"

You roll your eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Depends on your answer."

"I better not end up getting involved in your antics."

"You won't." He's most likely lying. It's pretty much impossible to interact with him, Tiger, and Wolf and not get involved in their antics.

"Fine," you say, and you know you're going to regret it.

"Where's the rest of your shirt?" Tiger asks the second she sees him.

"It's supposed to be like this," he sighs. "It was made to be short."

"Are you gay now, or something?"

Josh groans in frustration, gesturing at himself. "I'm trying to blend in! This is super common for this time period."

"What, short shirts or being gay?"

"Short-" he pauses. "Well, both, I guess. Whatever- it doesn't matter! I just got thrown in your jail cell and your first thought is to nitpick the length of my shirt?"

Yeah, he got himself arrested. He tried to explain himself to the cops, but needless to say it went terribly; and when you tried to defend him, the fact that you knew literally nothing about him just made him seem all the more suspicious.

"So why the hell did you guys decide to burn down a fucking house?" He says, exasperated.

"We were bored, and nobody lived there," Wolf says with a shrug.

Josh's jaw drops. "You were ‘bored?’ So you decided to commit fucking arson?"

"Nobody lived there. It doesn't matter," Tiger says, echoing Wolf.

"Guys, it's still private fucking property!" Josh shouts, seconds away from bashing his head into the wall.

"Where we come from, you can set fire to anything you want," Wolf says defiantly. "Besides, if nobody's living in a house, then how the hell does someone still own it?"

"I don't have time to explain that to you guys. Look, we need to get out of here. Where's the TTD?"

Tiger and Wolf shoot each other a look. "The cops confiscated it."

"Of-fucking-course they did."

"What is this device?"

"I don't know," you mutter, seconds away from bashing your head into the wall.

The officer gives you a skeptical look. "We had some experts look at it. It doesn't look like anything any of them have ever seen before. This is some advanced technology."

"Cool. I don't know what it is."

"Does Futturman know what it is?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"What do you know about his friends, ‘Tiger’ and ‘Wolf’?"

"Josh told me that they're just these crazy people he hangs out with because he feels bad for them."

Tiger and Wolf rip their gazes from the small television to glare at Josh.

"We're just ‘crazy people’ you hang out with because you ‘feel bad’?"

Josh meets Tiger's eyes, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, I didn't want them to know just how much I associate with you guys, considering their first impression of you was that you blow up houses."

Wolf shrugs. "Josh is right. I do feel a little crazy sometimes."

"Shut up, Wolf. How is this person going to help us, Josh? They seem useless."

Josh turns back to the television, ignoring Tiger. He has faith in you.

"You haven't gotten anywhere with your questioning, right?"

The officer raises an eyebrow. "We haven't gotten as much information as we'd hoped."

"What if I talked to them? Josh, Tiger, and Wolf? Maybe I could get them to talk?"

"And now they're trying to double-cross us."

Josh shakes his head. "No, they have a plan. I can feel it."

"They met you, like, two hours ago. Why do you think they're your best friend?"

Josh sighs. "I just feel like we have something, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Whatever. Just—"

The door swings open. It's you, holding the TTD.

"The police want you to demonstrate what this device is and how it works," you say, handing the TTD to Josh. "So, what is it?"

Josh is desperately trying to figure out a way to tell you that you can't be in the room while they use the TTD without making it sound like it's dangerous.

"It's... I can't really explain what it is—"

"It's a TTD," Wolf interrupts.

"Thank you, Wolf. Listen, this device is very, very... Valuable. And I would prefer it if you would leave the room when we use it."

"Is it an explosive?"

"No, no, no... It's just... It might have an unwanted effect on you if you're in the vicinity, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Whatever. Just—"

Tiger steps forward, snatching the TTD from Josh. "Can we just get this over with? I'd like to get out of the eighties now. It's too colorful here."

You look over at Josh. "What is she talking about?"

"Oh, she's talking about how the clothes and stuff are just very vibrant—"

"No, what is she talking about when she says she'd ‘like to get out of the eighties’?"

Josh sighs, taking the TTD back from Tiger. "We really are time travelers. This is a TTD; a time traveling device."

You laugh. "Jesus, so you're crazy too?"

Josh's eyes widen in surprise. "What? No, I'm serious!"

You move to exit the room, knowing the police are probably already on their way, since you're wearing a wire and they surely heard what Josh just said. They're probably heading over to send these weirdos to the asylum.

Before you can leave, Josh grabs you by the shoulder in a panic. You immediately assume he's going to attack you, so you begin to struggle, causing Josh to drop the TTD. It hits the ground, pressing a bunch of buttons at once, and the room disappears in a flash of light.

You see pretty much every major historical event flashing before your eyes before you finally land in a time that seems close to the time you're from, with Josh, Tiger, and Wolf standing next to you.

"2017," Josh mutters, exhausted from having to run from a group of Neanderthals. "We're in 2017 now."

You get up from the sidewalk, your head pounding. "We time traveled. We really time traveled."

Josh nods. "Yup."

You look up. "Something seems different."

"A lot of stuff is different."

"No, like, something major... Oh, the World Trade Center. Was it taken down at some point?"

Josh sighs. "Yeah, something like that."

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

In My Caesar Era (Stabbed In The Back)

Masterlist

I'm sorry... I felt evil today 😋

Literally just wrote for like five hours straight and my eyes hurt so... If there's any mistakes that's why

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x afab!gn!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Mike witnesses a domestic verbal dispute right outside Freddy's. He saves the day, sheltering the victim of the argument, and gets some pretty unexpected things in return.

Tags: unreliable narrator, extremely vague description of a domestic dispute, (entirely verbal), Abby mentioned, alcohol consumption, vague descriptions of a toxic relationship, kissing, making out, vaginal fingering, protected p in v sex, Reader wears a bra

The air is filled with the low, droning hum of the various pieces of antiquated technology scattered around the room. Obviously, Mike isn't supposed to sleep on the job, but it's hard not to when the room is filled with the most lulling white noise he's ever heard.

He paces the room, frustrated with his continued failure to keep himself fully awake and alert. He opts to take a lap around the building, hoping that that'll keep his brain occupied enough to stave off sleep. He fetches his trusty flashlight, beginning to make his way through the dark halls of the building. It's snowing outside tonight and the heating in Freddy's is, unsurprisingly, extremely shoddy. Mike invested in a heater for his desk, but he's on his own when it comes to the hallways.

As he walks, the only sounds that can be heard are of his chattering teeth and his Vans making contact with the floor; that is, until he hears a sudden, new sound. It sounds like... People arguing outside the building?

Mike scurries over to his office, kicking his chair out of the way so he can lean over the table and stare at the monitors. When Abby sits this close to a screen he always scolds her for it, but he can't help but forgo practicing what he preaches when this is the closest thing he's had to an interesting event at this job. Well, besides the fact that sometimes he swears he can see the animatronics move on their own, but that's probably just a psychological effect from being cooped up in this undeniably very unnerving building for thirty hours a week. Mike isn't typically one to get the creeps, but anyone would be affected by the sinister energy those animatronics give off.

He focuses his attention on the cameras that display the exterior of the building. There, he sees a couple arguing outside of the building. He rushes out to the back door of the establishment, immediately zeroing in on the dispute.

Mike steps in front of me, holding a hand out to the side in a protective gesture.

"Alright, guys, break it up! What seems to be the problem here?"

My boyfriend gives Mike a death-glare. "Get away from them."

Mike straightens his back. "Not until I know they're safe."

My boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. "They're fine. We just had a bit of a disagreement, is all."

Mike thinks for a moment. "Could you step away so I could speak to your partner in private?"

"Yeah, sure. If it'll help you sleep at night," he scoffs, walking away.

Mike turns to face me. "Alright, what's going on here?" He says softly.

"We're just having an argument. It's fine."

"Is it?"

"Well, I mean... I don't know, I would like to stay somewhere else while he cools down, but we live together, so I can't exactly do that."

Mike sighs. "Why don't you stay here with me for the night?"

I perk up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Come with me, before he comes back."

The two of us speed into the building, Mike's hand gently resting on my back as he guides me to his office. He gestures towards a couch next to the door.

"You can crash there, I guess."

"Thank you," I respond with a smile. I sit up against the arm of the couch, my knees curled up to my chest, and Mike tosses a blanket over me.

"There you go," he mutters, patting my shoulder. "You feeling any better?"

I wrap the blanket around myself, nestling further into the couch. "Yeah."

He hesitates for a moment before sliding off his hoodie, handing it to me. "Just an extra layer in case you need it."

I slip his hoodie on, quickly feeling myself drift off. In truth, I haven't had a nice rest in a while, and I feel like I can intuitively trust this guy to make sure I don't get murdered in my sleep. The two of us chat for a bit about random topics, but I almost immediately fall asleep.

I wake to Mike nudging my shoulder, opening my eyes to see him inches away from me. He's kneeling on the ground next to me on the couch, whispering my name.

"Hey. My shift ends in ten minutes and I obviously can't just leave you here," he mutters. "I can drop you off at your house if you want."

I yawn, sitting up. "Not to overstay my welcome, but... I think he might need some extra time to calm down."

Mike sighs, scratching his head. "So... I don't want to pry into your situation, but... D'you think you just need a day for everything to get sorted out?"

"Probably."

"You could crash on my couch, if you want. For tonight."

"Really?"

He stands up, heading towards the door. "Yeah. Come on."

Mike wouldn't normally let a stranger stay at his house for a few days, but every time he thinks about backing out, he thinks about Abby; what if, God forbid, Mike weren't around anymore, and Abby needed somewhere to stay? He hopes she wouldn't ask random men in abandoned buildings for refuge, but if she did, he hopes they'd show her the same kindness he's showing this stranger.

"You live alone?" I mutter, trying to scope out his living situation.

"I live with my nine-year-old sister, but she's on an overnight school trip right now, so it'll be just us in the house."

"Where to?"

"She's not giving me any details. Says she wants it to be a surprise when she brings back souvenirs."

"Couldn't you have just read the information when you signed her permission slip?"

"Hey, if she wants it to be a surprise, I'm not gonna ruin that."

His eyes stay trained on the road, but he keeps stealing glances at me. Curious glances, probably. He's nosy. I don't blame him—I'm curious, too. Why is he, like, twenty-five, living with his nine-year-old sister?

The two of us pull up in front of his house. It's cute.

"Home sweet home," he mutters, opening the car door for me. What a gentleman. I smile, heading into the house.

"You can take whatever you want from the fridge except for the stuff in the pink Tupperware containers. That's Abby's leftovers."

I snatch a soda from the fridge. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Thanks."

Mike leans over the kitchen island, absentmindedly watching me as I take sips from my drink. "So, if you're staying over at my house, I think it's only fair that I know what's going on with you."

I raise an eyebrow. "And if I'm staying over at your house, I think it's only fair that I know what's going on with you."

He cracks a small smirk. "Well then, I'll tell you if you tell me."

"You first."

He narrows his eyes. "Fine."

"Now, where do you keep the expensive wine?" I muse, rifling through his kitchen cabinets.

"Bold of you to assume I have expensive wine."

My eyes drift over to his TV. It looks expensive; like he really splurged on it. I wonder how much it costs.

"Well, I can see that you have a Call the Midwife box set sitting on your TV stand, so I have a sneaking suspicion you're full of shit."

He sighs. "It's in the cabinet above the fridge."

"So yeah, that's why it's just me and Abby."

I absentmindedly swirl my wine glass, frowning. Mike is sitting upright next to the arm of the couch, his arm draped over the back. I, however, immediately made myself at home, leaning against the other arm of the couch and bending my legs so that my feet are just inches away from Mike's legs.

"Damn. That's awful, Mike," I mutter, a sympathetic look on my face. "You must be so stressed."

Mike sets his glass down, picking the wine bottle up and refilling both of our glasses. "I sure am. But I'm handling it, you know?"

"Yeah."

"So, now for your part of the bargain."

"Right. My boyfriend... He's a great guy. He's not abusive. He just has anger issues, you know? He can get... Scream-y. I was able to handle it at the beginning, but now I'm fucking tired of him."

Mike nods along, absentmindedly drinking more of the wine. "So, what do you think this means about the future of your relationship?"

I shrug. "I'm probably gonna break it off with him next time I see him. It's been a long time coming, and this is the last straw."

"That's good," he mumbles.

"Hmm?"

His eyes dart over to mine. "Just saying that it's good that you're leaving him." He swallows. "And that guy doesn't deserve you, anyway. It's good that you aren't... Crying over spilled milk."

"What do you mean, he doesn't deserve me?"

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but I just feel like you're way better than him. You're kind, and understanding, and I feel like you're the first person besides Abby to make me really laugh in ages."

My eyes dart across his face. "Really?"

"Yeah."

I scoot closer to him. "You're too kind, Mike."

"I'm not. I'm just being honest."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

I lean in even closer, causing Mike to heat up slightly. "Would you help me get back at him?"

He scratches his neck. "Depends on what you mean by that. I'm not murdering him, if that's what you're saying."

I giggle. "You're so funny, Mikey."

Mike lets out an awkward laugh. My flirting is probably a little forced, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Well, nobody's ever called me that before."

"I think it suits you."

He moves his arm from the couch to my shoulders. "Where were you going with that whole revenge plot on your boyfriend?"

"I want to make him jealous," I whisper.

"Are you saying what I think you are?"

"If you think I'm saying that I want you to fuck me, then I am."

He grins, leaning in and connecting his lips with mine. I fall backwards onto the couch, pulling him down on top of me. Mike fervently kisses me, his lips moving hungrily against mine. His calloused hands roam over my body, his touch both gentle and needy as he explores every curve and dip of my form.

Mike groans softly against my lips as I tangle my fingers in his hair. He responds by pulling me closer, his strong arms wrapping around me possessively, pulling me flush against his body.

Mike inhales sharply as I fidget with the hem of his shirt, a moan escaping his lips at the sensation of my thumb caressing the bare skin underneath. He arches into my touch, his body responding eagerly to my every move as a surge of desire courses through him.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, wordlessly lifting his arms, allowing me to pull his shirt over his head and discard it to the floor. His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his skin warm to the touch as he leans in to capture my lips once more in a passionate kiss.

"We should take this to my room," he mutters against my lips, hooking his hands under my knees and pulling me flush against him. He carries me to his bedroom, placing me down onto his bed and pulling my clothes off. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I catch his gaze lingering on every curve and dip of my form.

"Your boyfriend really fumbled the fucking ball," he murmurs. "Christ."

I impatiently take his hand and guide it to my thighs. He trails his hand along the soft expanse of my thighs, his touch sending shivers down my spine. His touch soon grows bolder, his fingers tracing teasing patterns along my skin, exploring every inch of my thighs. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin as he presses gentle kisses along my inner thighs, his lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Without hesitation, he trails his lips along my thighs, leaving a path of kisses in his wake as he inches closer to exactly where he knows I want him. His touch is hungry, his fingers beginning to teass the warmth between my thighs, building the pleasure within me with each stroke. Mike's breath catches in his throat as I begin to move my hips in sync with his fingers, a cocky grin forming on his lips at the sight of my eager response. His touch grows bolder and more insistent, his fingers finding the perfect rhythm to match the movement of my body.

The room fills with the sounds of my ragged breaths and the noises of his fingers moving against my heated skin. He watches each minutiae of my reactions through lidded eyes, his own desire burning bright as each stroke and caress brings me closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

"Can't finish yet," I murmur, hands shooting to his crotch. Mike's eyes widen in surprise as I unbutton his jeans, his breath catching in his throat. I pull a condom out from my bra, tossing it to him. Without hesitation, he catches the condom with deft fingers, tearing the packet open and rolling it on with ease. For a split second, he appears to question why the hell I'm storing a condom in my bra, but he evidently pushes the thought away.

His gaze meets mine, filled with raw need as he guides himself to my entrance with trembling anticipation. With a groan, he enters me slowly, savoring the sensation of being inside me. He starts with a slow pace, but I'm impatient as hell.

"Fuck, I need more."

Mike's movements quicken at my urging. He begins to nibble on my neck with fervor, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake that he no doubt wants my boyfriend to see. The world around me fades away, leaving only his intoxicating embrace as we both hurtle towards our peaks.

Mike's hands frantically grapple every inch of my body, as if he needs to hold onto me for dear life. After a few more moments, I finally topple over the edge, Mike following almost instantly after. Mike immediately collapses over me, wrapping himself around me. He scatters kisses all over my face, panting heavily.

"Think... Your boyfriend is gonna be pissed?" He mutters, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Yeah," I whisper, pulling away from him and deciding to help him clean up, as he looks like he's about to conk out.

Mike doesn't remember much of what happened next, as he thinks he fell asleep pretty much immediately. They must've cleaned him off or something while he was asleep, which is pretty considerate of them. What isn't very considerate of them is the fact that they disappeared before he woke up. It's mid-day now, and they're nowhere to be seen.

You know what else is nowhere to be seen?

His TV.

I race out to the car, Mike's nice ass TV in my arms. My best friend (and fake boyfriend) waits in the driver's seat, beaming as he sees my prize.

"Nice! That thing is gonna get us a ton of money."

"I know right?" I respond, jumping into the passenger seat after securing the TV in the trunk. "First thing I thought was ‘damn, that's a nice TV’."

I debrief him on the night I had with Mike as we pull out of his driveway.

"You didn't give him your real name, right?" He mutters.

"Okay, maybe I did, but I was half-asleep when I did it," I say with an eye roll. "We'll be fine. It's not like he's a cop or anything."

"Maybe, but security guards are basically buddies with the cops."

"You're just paranoid. Nothing will happen."

"Whatever. Alright, who's our next target?"

I open my notes app. "There's this super rich guy who lives in DC."

"Alright, I'm following."

"Like, filthy rich."

"Who is it?"

"President's son. Derek Danforth."

"Absolutely fucking not. Imagine the security measures he has?"

"And imagine how good it'll feel when we bypass all of them," I muse, to which he smirks.

"Fine. I'll book a flight."

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

Starting this side blog off with a bang, here's some previews of some fics I'm working on. Who knows if they'll ever be published! I certainly don't.

Fic one:

Mike narrows his eyes as continues to watch the camera footage, his chin nestled in the crook of his hand. He watches as the trespasser fidgets with a book, as if they're trying to read but they can't take in any of the words. Like when you read an entire page and realize you were zoned out for most of it so you have to go back and read it again. This person broke into a building to read a book? That's really fucking ballsy. He wants to confront this person (because that's, you know, one of his number one job duties) but he can't help but think about the last time he ‘confronted a criminal’ at a security gig. His eyes drift over to the dust-covered intercom to the side of the monitors which has gone unused for the entirety of his tenure at Freddy's (and probably for the past few decades, too). He would say that there's absolutely no shot that it still works, but, then again, the owner of this place tends to place a weird amount of care in keeping things functional. He knows how to use a modern intercom (he used to be in charge of announcements over the intercom at an aquarium he worked at once—his boss thought he had a great radio voice, or something. That was until he flubbed one of this lines, accidentally saying ‘testicles’ instead of ‘tentacles’... Yeah, he wasn't on announcement duty anymore from then on), but he has no idea how an intercom from the eighties would work. It should be pretty intuitive, he figures.

Fic two:

"You act like you think I care about you," you say, rolling your eyes. "I don't think that. In fact, I want nothing less than for you to care about me," he mutters, voice suddenly growing colder, his previous playfulness dissipating. "And why is that?" You ask, eyes meeting his. "Because I don't care about you. I don't want my apathy to be unreciprocated." You nod, a quick breath leaving your nose. "Gotcha." "You know," he shrugs, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up on his desk, "you should probably stop worrying about me as much as you do. Between the two of us, do you really think I'm the one who's most likely to have a bounty on their head? You're the one who does all the killing." You glare at him. "Well that's a real fucking comforting thought, but I assure you that I don't have to worry about myself. Nobody stands a chance against me." He sighs, resigning to your stubbornness. "Fine. Just remember that you can never be too careful."

Fic three:

I'm the one who first notices it— no, wait, I think he notices first. He can be a bit of a baby at times and he gets all dramatic over the turbulence. He's the first to say ‘something seems wrong’, but because Derek is Derek, it sounds something more like: "What the fuck is up with this damn thing? It's shaking like a goddamn druggie going through withdrawal. Hold on... Look at that. Look at the fuckin'... System... Thing." Error: server maintenance. "The hell does that mean?" "It's like when you can't play a video game because they have to do something with the server," I respond, taking a closer look. "That's a lot of error signs. How do we fix whatever's going on?" "Fuck if I know. I'm not an engineer." "I don't want to touch anything and make it worse." He gets up, standing next to me and gazing at the ever-increasing amount of error messages on the screen. Error: unable to connect to server. "What, so we can't use Bluetooth anymore? 'Least I don't have to hear your damn music anymore," I mutter. Error: piloting system down. "Oh, that sounds bad—" Error: controls disabled. "Controls disabled? Wait, does that mean—" Error: engine disabled. "Engine disabled? Holy shit— Derek! We're crashing!" Derek's head whips around, immediately locking eyes with me. Pure panic. He lurches forward, grabbing hold of my shoulders and—

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #fnaf mike #mike fnaf #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth x you

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

Could I Pay You... Another Way? ;)

Masterlist

You guys know those memes where it's like the delivery driver aggressively shutting down someone's attempt to turn the pizza delivery into some porno? Like "looks like I don't have any money..." "Why the hell did you order a pizza then?" Anyways that's so Josh but he doesn't even realize that the person is trying to fuck him he's just genuinely confused

Pairing: Josh Futturman x female!Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: in his newest mission, Josh has to try and get information about Kronish's work from one of his closest friends. He fakes a pizza delivery and weasels his way into a conversation with her, but she seems to be under the impression that he's there for a... Different reason.

Tags: Josh Futturman in a crop top and skinny jeans, you're welcome, consumption of pizza with pineapple on it, misunderstanding trope, kissing, hickeys, smut, handjob, unsafe penetrative sex, praise

It's very cold out here. He has to walk pretty far down the street, because Tiger and Wolf dropped him off a couple blocks away from the motel. For some reason. They have their reasons, he figures. If only they would clue him in.

He grips the pizza tighter, keeping his head down as he speedily walks towards the motel room. This was the only outfit that fit him. Some tight crop top and low-rise skinny jeans. It's not just physically uncomfortable, it feels like a blow to his dignity. He's never felt more exposed.

The cold air nips at his skin, and now he really wishes his hands weren't full, if only so he could wrap his arms around his uncovered abdomen and provide himself some much-needed warmth. If only he was allowed a jacket or something. Tiger said she didn't want to risk stealing another article of clothing. He thinks they didn't have to steal a single article of clothing; he could've just worn his regular T-shirt, jacket, and straight-leg jeans combo. It's literally just a pizza delivery. Wouldn't it be more convincing if he weren't wearing some risqué outfit?

This pizza is taking a ridiculously long amount of time to arrive. There's no way it's still warm by now. That's what I get for ordering from some random sketchy small business with zero reviews, huh? I just wanted to enjoy a night to myself in a motel room with a warm pizza and some shitty reality TV show drowning out my thoughts. Now I'm going to have a cold pizza and no TV, because the remote is dead and I can't be assed to phone the front desk and ask for replacement batteries.

He sees his destination over the horizon. He's excited because this means he's one step closer to finishing this mission and getting out of the cold night air, but he's also a little stressed. He's supposed to deliver the pizza and find some way to strike up a conversation, and then get information about Kronish and the super-cure out of you. What if he can't find a way to start a conversation? What if he says something weird? He doubts he, Tiger, and Wolf can re-create the miracle that happened earlier when they had to incapacitate the real delivery guy and replace him with Josh. They barely got out of that scot-free.

At this point I'm just staring up at the ceiling, counting down the seconds until this damn pizza gets here.

A knock on the door! Finally! I get up from the bed, trudging over to the door. I feel exhausted. Change of plans, I'll probably just end up scarfing down this lukewarm pizza and then promptly conking out. I open the door, brows immediately raising in surprise.

Second change of plans. There's something up with this guy. He's dressed in an outfit that's definitely a little slutty for pizza delivery, and he's looking around all shifty-eyed like he's trying to do something illegal.

Did I accidentally order from some sort of fucking prostitute pizzeria? That must be why the pizza was so damn expensive. And the business is so sketchy.

...Fuck it. I'll play along. Maybe the Lord is smiling down upon me tonight.

"Uh, hey," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "D'you order a..." He turns the pizza around, opening it. "...Hawaiian..." He shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. "Did you order a Hawaiian pizza?"

This guy's a bit nervous, huh?

"Yeah. Come on in, I guess."

This is going far, far better than he anticipated. She invited him in! This is his shot to get the information he needs! She takes the pizza box from him, laying it on the bed and opening it.

He seems confused, but pleasantly surprised that I invited him in. He walks through the door, seeming relieved to be out of the cold.

"This thing is huge. I don't think I ordered a large."

"Oh, uh... Th- we must've accidentally made a large," he says sheepishly. "Uh... My bad, I guess."

"It's cool. Wanna split it?"

He scrunches his face up. Seriously? Hawaiian pizza? But he needs to stay in her good graces, so... He'll have to do it.

"Yeah, sure," he mutters reluctantly.

The two of them sit down on the bed. She grabs a slice and he mirrors her, taking a bite once she does.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Oh, Josh."

She shoots closer. "Cute name."

He's caught off-guard. "Oh, uh, thanks?"

She tilts her head, studying him. "How did you... End up in this... Business?"

The pizza delivery business? He doesn't know, he probably just... Applied after seeing a 'we're hiring!' Sign.

"Well, I lost my old job at the lab, and desperate times call for desperate measures, so I just applied here."

She nods, seemingly amused.

"The lab? That's nice. A friend of mine works at a lab."

Hell yes! He got an 'in'!

"Really? What do they do?"

"He's researching herpes."

"Herpes, huh? Interesting. What exactly is his research about?"

"He's trying to find a cure."

He nods his head, his brow furrowed and his hand on his chin in intrigue. He might be over-doing the whole 'look like you give a shit' thing, but she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, everything he does, she seems to find... Endearing? Like he's a cute dog or something. He won't complain, though. As long as he gets the info he needs.

"That's some pretty commendable work. How's that research going?"

She laughs. "You seem awfully interested in my friend's work."

Shit. Is she catching on?

"Oh, I just... Really like science, you know?"

"What'd you do at your old job at the lab?"

"I was... A... Researcher," he stammers. "Yeah."

"Researching what?"

"Uh..." he pauses. "...Possums."

"Aww, that's adorable," she says, resting a hand on his thigh. He bristles slightly in confusion, but he doesn't do anything to stop her. The conversation is going very well, he can't fuck it up now.

This guy is a real softie, huh? Works Worked with possums? That's adorable. Almost seems a little... Too innocent. Like he's putting up some act and pretending like he doesn't know exactly why he's in my motel room.

"Y- Yeah, I guess it is," he laughs awkwardly.

We continue chatting. He seems really intrigued by what Elias does for work... Whatever, I think it's cute. He's all excited every time I give him a new piece of information. He almost doesn't seem to notice my hand slowly creeping up his thigh. But I know he notices in the way his speech gets more stuttery. And his eyes get more nervous.

He doesn't seem to notice that I haven't paid him yet. Maybe he's just relieved that I didn't do the whole 'oh, no, sir, I don't have enough to pay for this pizza... Is there any oooother way I could pay you?' Bit.

We finish the pizza, much to his obvious chagrin. He seems to think he's good at acting like he doesn't hate pineapple on pizza, like his face didn't cringe up every time he took a bite. It's like he's never done this before. Is he new? Am I his first 'client'? Feel like someone along the way would've told me that. Right? 'Hey, we're sending you a newbie. Have fun!'

He's slowly getting more comfortable on the bed, his muscles relaxing and his words getting more natural. We're sitting up against the headboard now, the pizza box draped over our laps. He's actually a really fun guy to talk to. Am I allowed to ask for his number after all is said and done?

I'm laying on my side now, running my fingers over his thigh. He's clearly nervous, but trying not to show it.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Is this girl trying to fuck him? She's totally coming on to him. He's panicking. He had no idea this would happen. Should he go along with it? He could get more information. Right? And she's... Definitely really pretty. He closes his eyes, sighing. Her hand feels really nice on his skin.

Fuck it, I move my hand to his exposed abdomen, rubbing my thumb back and forth on his soft skin. He turns over, laying on his side and facing me. He seems a little more relaxed now, humming contently and closing his eyes, letting out a sigh.

She's so nice. He wishes he weren't... Manipulating her. He's not manipulating her. Right? He's just... Trying to get information. That's all it is. And he's feigning interest in everything she says in order to get said information.

But at this point, he's not even sure the interest in question is being feigned. She's really cool. And nice. And pretty. Emphasis on that last thing. The more she touches him, the prettier she looks. He gets lost in thought, not realizing how long his eyes were closed.

"Falling asleep on me?" She giggles, moving her hand up to his cheek.

"Huh? Oh, no," he smiles sheepishly.

"Good." She throws the empty pizza box on the ground, moving closer to him. He feels so much warmer now. The skinny jeans feel even tighter, for some reason. His eyes dart down. Ah. That's why. She smiles at him, moving even closer. She's so pretty...

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" She mutters.

He swallows. "Um..." His mind goes blank. "P... Possums?"

She slowly walks her fingers down his chest. "Are you really this naïve, or is this all an act?"

"I just... Uh... I don't want to seem... Presumptuous..."

He doesn't want to seem presumptuous? He's literally here at my motel room for the purpose of having sex. Whatever.

She wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He tenses up, before quickly wrapping an arm around her back. Gotta act natural. Even though this is far from what he thought would be happening to him tonight.

I trace his face with my eyes, taking in all of the details. He's so cute. "You're so cute," I say, and it's honestly genuine.

"Like in a cute animal way or in a 'this guy is so cute' way?"

"Hmm. The latter."

He seems giddy at my answer, smiling from ear to ear. God, he's adorable. I use my free hand to play with his hair, which seems to calm his nerves.

"You're so pretty," he whispers, his hand around my back moving to my hip. "In a 'this girl is so pretty' way."

"I didn't really need clarification for that one," I smile. I'm sure he doesn't really mean what he's saying, but it still feels nice to hear that from him. I'm sure he's supposed to say stuff like that.

He blushes. "Yeah, I guess 'pretty' is pretty much unambiguous, huh?" He fiddles with the hem of my shirt, eyes darting down to my lips. He's very eager.

"Go ahead," I whisper. He closes the distance between us, holding my face in his other hand. He sighs into my lips, like a cosmic weight has been graciously lifted from him. I push his head closer into mine, kissing him fervently.

"You're so pretty," he says again, like he forgot he said it the first time. It really feels like he means it. I pull away from his lips, instead attaching mine to his neck.

"I'm... Fuck... I'm really... Sensitive," he hisses, squirming as I nip at his skin. I shouldn't give him hickeys or anything. Right? Is there a rule against that? But he's not telling me I can't, so...

He whimpers as I bite harder on his neck, writhing like I'm torturing him. I pin him down underneath me, determined to mark him up. I sit up, straddling him and admiring my work. His neck is stained purple, but it's what's going on above his neck that's even better. He's panting, his hair is a mess, he's looking up at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him.

I lean back down and begin kissing him again. I try to use one hand to pop open his fly, sighing in frustration before moving my other hand to help.

He holds my face in a vice grip, kissing me like he's starving. When I dip my hand into his pants, he gasps, pulling away in surprise. "Oh, God," he whispers. "Please."

I wrap my hand around his dick, pumping it a couple times, and he immediately sighs in relief. "Thank you," he mutters, burying his head in the crook of my neck. He peppers kisses onto my shoulder, taking shaky breaths as I jack him off.

After a bit, he seems to be getting antsier. His hands grasp at my waistband, silently asking for permission to take my pants off. I nod, kissing him on the forehead and he eagerly slides my pants down. I pull my hand away from him and he looks at me in dismay. I roll over on top of him, pulling his pants all the way down.

"You want more?" I whisper, kissing his neck.

"Mhm, please," he whines.

I grind my underwear-clad hips against his dick, and his hands immediately go to grab my hips. He pushes me down against him, panting like he's running a marathon. "Fuck," he hisses, leaning his head back into the pillows. "Please, f- fuck me."

How could I say no to a face like that?

I take my underwear off, throwing it to the ground. He bites his lip anxiously. I line him up with my entrance, beginning to sink down onto him. He breathes out a string of curses. "Oh God, you're amazing," he groans. His hips move up to meet me halfway, burying himself in me. He throws his arm over his eyes, his other hand digging into my hip.

I give him a few testing rolls of my hips against his, which he greatly appreciates.

"Please, keep going," he whines, bucking up into me. I heed his request, beginning to slowly ride him. He needs more. I know that because he won't shut up about it. I brace my hands on his chest, speeding up my movement. He pulls me down on top of him, kissing me passionately. He's basically treating me like I'm a deity. If he's new to this job, I probably ruined all future clients for him. Poor guy.

"You're a fucking angel," he whimpers. "Literally straight from heaven. Fuckin' perfect."

He stares up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Hooooooly shit. That was fucking life-changing. Too bad he's not from this timeline. He has to leave, fast. He's spent way too long in this motel. Tiger and Wolf probably think he died. He jumps up from the bed, glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes?? He was supposed to be here for, like, ten! Just get the information and leave!

I'm moving basically lightning fast, every noise he makes encouraging me to go faster. He shudders, and I can tell he's close. Very close. My orgasm triggers his, and we both collapse into panting, sweaty messes.

He throws his pants back on, looking back at the woman on the bed.

"I'm so sorry... I need to go. I'm... I'm so behind schedule... Thank you so much, I'll never forget you, you just changed my life. Seriously. I... Goodbye!" He stammers, rushing out of the door before she can respond.

He runs down the street, beelining for the parking lot where he was dropped off half an hour ago. The air is a little less cold, now, at least. He sees the car in the distance, thanking the Lord above that they didn't abandon him.

He throws himself into the backseat, panting. "I'm... Sorry... I didn't mean to... Be there for so long... Got caught up in... Conversation," he says between breaths.

"Yeah, because I always leave conversations with my pants unzipped and hickeys on my neck," Tiger mutters, starting the car.

188 notes · View notes

ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

I've Got My Love to Keep me Warm

Masterlist

The frog juice thing mentioned in the story actually happened to me, btw. Last day of my sophomore year of high school.

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x female!Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: Mike forgot to let you know that he didn't need you tonight, so you show up at his door, expecting to babysit Abby. Unfortunately, you can't go home because you happened to show up just before a massive snow storm. Looks like you and Mike get an impromptu night in.

Tags in order of appearance: alcohol usage, kissing, making out, light praise, smut, hair pulling (m receiving), vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare

I clumsily dart through the slippery streets on my bike. Just a few more miles. I should've just called him and cancelled, but I would've felt terrible. Plus, I'll take any chance I can get to see him. I babysit his little sister, Abby, and she's definitely adorable, but I'm mostly there for the tiny sliver of interaction I get with her brother every night. Most of our conversations revolve around Abby, which makes sense, but I desperately wish that I had an excuse to hang out with him. Abby-less.

I moved to Utah thinking it would be blazing hot like its southern border, Arizona, and I realize now that I severely underestimated how frigid it can get here. I'm definitely underdressed right now. To be fair, when I stepped out of the house, I had no idea my car wouldn't start and that I'd have to bike like lightning to get to Mike's house. My gaze went from my useless car to my old bike leaning up against the garage, and I didn't have enough time to think about going back into my house to grab an extra coat.

I don't want to look at my watch, but I know I should. Five minutes late. Dammit! I attempt to speed up, but I realize I'm literally going as fast as my crappy bike can take me. I really should get a new bike, but I'm really sentimental and I just can't bring myself to throw away ol' reliable. This bad boy took me to and from high school every day. Why would I abandon it in favor of some shiny new bike? That sounds cruel.

I finally enter Mike's neighborhood, and then I ride onto his street, and I see my destination in the distance. I squeeze the brakes, kicking my bike's stand out and trotting up to Mike's door, knocking three times, like I always do. It's a routine at this point. Mike takes much longer to open the door than I'd expect, his eyes widening in confusion when he sees me.

"Hey, is something wrong?" He says in his usual dry tone, but there's a hint of urgency in it.

"No...? I'm here to babysit." I'm shivering. Jesus, it's cold out here.

He sighs, looking off to the side. "Shit. I forgot to tell you. My plans got cancelled and Abby went to an impromptu sleepover, so it's just me." He gives me a once-over, scratching just behind his ear. "You should come in. You look kind of... Wrecked. And like you're about to freeze to death."

He leads me over to his couch, throwing a blanket over me. I wrap it around myself, curling up on the sofa. "Had to bike here. My car broke down."

"Damn. That's, what, ten miles? Sorry about that."

"It's cool. Much-needed exercise, you know?"

He laughs, but in that kind of 'quick release of air from the nose' way that he always does. What I wouldn't give to hear him actually laugh. Or see him smile in a way that's more than just a polite, thin-lipped gesture.

"Oh, shit. Look," he says, gesturing towards the TV. A banner scrolls along the bottom of the screen displaying a warning message.

URGENT: SNOWSTORM ADVISORY WARNING. COLOSSAL STORM WILL BRING HEAVY SNOW...STRONG WINDS AND DANGEROUSLY COLD WIND CHILLS...STAYING INDOORS STRONGLY ADVISED...EFFECTIVE: IMMEDIATELY.

He looks back over at me. "I'm not letting you bike home tonight in these conditions."

"Well, I don't have anyone that could pick me up."

"You can stay here. Sleep in Abby's bed, she won't mind as long as you don't let any of her stuffed animals fall to the floor."

Stay here? Alone? With Mike? Don't mind if I do.

"If you insist," I say with a smile.

"Well, then. I wasn't expecting comany tonight. Want a drink?" He offers before heading to the kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm pretty thirsty from the ride over here."

"You just turned 21, right? How about some beer?"

"Sure."

He emerges from the kitchen, two beer bottles in hand. I smile, taking one of the bottles from him. "Cheers to a night in, I guess?"

He gives me a small smile. "Cheers."

I laugh deliriously, barely able to get any words out. "So then... So then the instructions say... They say to take out the frog's eyeball. And I'm like, okay, so I take the tweezers and I try to get it out... And then guess what happened?"

We clink our bottles, each taking a ceremonial swig. Mike seems like a tough nut to crack, but I think I can get past his walls soon enough if I'm persistent. Right?

Mike leans in, totally engrossed. "Yeah? What happened?"

"The eyeball popped... And the frog juice squirted right into my mouth," I slur, sticking my tongue out and pointing at it. "Wight thewe."

Mike leans back, totally grossed out. "Ew," he cringes, laughing. "What'd it taste like?"

"Everyone always... Always asks me that. It tasted like... Acid, I guess. Like... Like a fucking... Nuclear energy drink."

"A nuclear energy drink, huh? That's a... Unique description."

The two of us are chatting on the couch, huddled up under the blanket. He made us some hot cocoa, which I immediately poured alcohol into. Hey, I just turned 21, you know? You only live once.

"So then... So... What did your teacher say?" He says, leaning his head against the back of the couch, sipping his hot cocoa.

"She was all like, 'of course this would happen to you'. I was... A troublemaker. In a nice way. My teachers loved me."

"I'm sure they loved you a lot less when you were drinking frog juice," he smirks.

"I wasn't drinking it!"

We collapse into another fit of laughter.

"I bet your teacher... I bet your teacher was like..." He wheezes.

"What?"

"I bet your teacher was all like, 'there she goes again, drinking all my fucking frog juice'."

"I don't understand how you heard 'I accidentally got a drop of frog juice on my tongue' and interpreted that as 'I was on My Strange Addiction for my obsession with frog juice'. And it's not like frog juice is some hot commodity among teachers and I was draining their supply."

"I bet they had a frog juice black market that you were single-handedly dismantling with your obsessive frog juice consumption."

"Okay, now you're just saying nonsense."

"Oh god, I can't breathe," he laughs, clutching his abdomen. He shoves his mug into my hand, doubling over. His head falls into my lap.

"I had no idea you were so giggly," I say, looking down at his bright red face.

"I'm not normally like this, I guess I'm just feeling energetic tonight."

"It's a welcome change from brooding, reserved Mike."

He turns over on his back, looking up at me and smiling. Like an actual, real smile. I didn't know he had it in him. It's like when you're a kid and your mom says that if you hold a face for too long it'll get stuck there. I figured he didn't even have the ability to smile.

"You're a welcome change," he mutters, grinning.

"Hmm?"

"Abby's different now. She's more social and she's eating more ever since you started babysitting."

I smile, resting a hand on his hair. "Abby's a good kid. I like hanging out with her."

"And... I like that you're here. That I have someone to talk to when I come home from work. It's very... My job is very stressful. Weighs on my mind a lot. And when I come home and talk to you, just for a couple minutes every night, I kind of forget about all of that." I run my fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, sighing through his nose. "You're really helpful. I seriously appreciate you. I'm sorry I can't pay-"

"Mike, it's fine. Really. My payment is the free food I get here."

"I just wish I could give you more. You really deserve it."

I sigh. "Lots of work goes unpaid. Like, I wouldn't volunteer at an animal shelter and then get upset when I don't get a biweekly paycheck. It's the same thing here. Sometimes, people do work and don't expect anything in return."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I still feel bad."

We sit in silence for a while. It's nice. The weight of his head in my lap, the feeling of his soft curls between my fingers.

Eventually, I must start drifting off to sleep, because I'm brought back to Earth by him sitting up and wrapping his arm around me. His hand lightly lands on my shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth over my sleeve. Is he wearing cologne? Does he normally wear cologne? I'm too tired and intoxicated to focus on that. It smells nice. It mixes well with the lingering scent of coffee that always surrounds him, creating a tantalizing aroma that I find difficult to ignore. I rub my cheek into his shoulder, humming contently.

"Tired?" He mumbles.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Not really. I'm used to staying up late. My sleep schedule's kind of jacked up."

"Maybe if you weren't sitting up on a couch, you'd have an easier time going to sleep."

He chuckles softly. "Maybe. But I don't really want to go lay down."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'd have to get up. And I think I'm perfectly content staying right here."

"Lazy," I mutter, smirking.

"It's not that. I just like being here with you."

I angle my head up towards him. "I like being here with you, too."

"Well, I'm glad. Be a bit awkward if the feeling wasn't mutual, huh?"

I laugh.

"You really bring out the best in me. It's like I'm a different guy when I'm with you. I wouldn't have been laughing that hard at that frog juice thing if anyone else in the world were telling the story. Honest. I've missed that feeling. Feeling carefree, like nothing in the world really matters." He sighs. "You're really something, you know that?"

I lean in, smiling. "That's a compliment, right?"

"Of course it's a compliment," he softly replies, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His hand comes to rest on my chin, slightly angling my head up. "You're just... You're amazing."

"You're awfully sentimental tonight."

"I just want you to know how much I appreciate you being around."

I swallow, my eyes darting between his. "And how much do you appreciate me?"

He smiles awkwardly. "How much would you like me to appreciate you?"

"As much as you want," I whisper, eyes darting down to his lips.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"...Like-"

"Mike, come on."

He presses his lips into mine, his hands holding my head delicately, treasuring it like it's the Holy Grail. It's amazing, it's everything I could've possibly imagined, but... He's being gentle, too gentle, and I can tell he's holding back. This isn't the same dude who beat up a guy in a fountain in broad daylight. I push myself further into him, trying to encourage him to keep going. To grab me instead of just holding me. He doesn't oblige. His hands are on my back now, gripping my shirt. He's restless.

"Mike," I whisper against his lips, pulling back. "Do you really want this?"

"What? Yes, of course," he says, brow furrowed in concern.

"I feel like you're being very... Apprehensive."

He looks down for a second.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, worried.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I worry I'm too aggressive. And you're... I'm a lot... Stronger than you." His voice is shaky. Not from sadness or anger, but from desperation.

"You won't hurt me," I say, rubbing his shoulder. "I promise. I don't want you to feel unsatisfied or like you have to hold back."

"Okay," he whispers, nodding. "Okay."

He dives back in, and I'm caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. He's kissing me like I'm the sustenance he needs to survive. Like he's been crawling through the desert for hours and he finally found a spring of water, drinking directly from the surface.

"Been... Been needin' this f' so long," he mutters between kisses, his arms wrapped tight around me. He lays me down on my back, his hands moving to grip the arm of the couch. My arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in. I throw the blanket off of the couch. I don't think we'll need the warmth anymore.

"How long?" I mutter, tangling my fingers in his hair.

"Fuck..." He kisses my jawline. "Fuckin'... Forever." His hips grind against mine, causing me to let out a sharp breath.

"Forever? That's a long time," I tease.

He makes his way down to my neck. Do I own a turtleneck? I hope I do. I'm gonna need one for the next few days.

"You know what I mean. Fuck, it was... You answered my ad for a babysitter, and when you showed up on my doorstep for the first time, you... I was floored. Ever since then... I just can't get you off my mind."

He pulls the neckline of my shirt down so he can kiss further down my collarbone. It's like he's trying to familiarize himself with every single millimeter of my skin.

"You can take my shirt off, y'know. Might make it easier for you."

He jumps at the opportunity, frantically sliding my shirt off over my head. He doesn't even pause to take in the sight of my topless self before him, instead just diving back in and continuing where he left off.

He kisses my sternum, then my chest, then my stomach. "So perfect... Fuck, you have no idea... What you do to me, what I want to do to you..."

I sigh, my hand coming to rest in his hair. He's rushing, speeding his way down to my pants.

"Want me to...?" He whispers, tugging on the waistband of my pants. I nod, leaning my head back.

He wastes no time, pulling my pants down and around my ankles before carefully and methodically sliding them off of my feet. He sits back on his heels, quickly cracking his knuckles absentmindedly.

"Gotta prepare?" I giggle.

He places his hands on my thighs, looking up at me through his eyelashes. "Nah. Just giving you adequate time so you can prepare."

"You're awfully confident all of a sudden."

He smirks, leaning back down over me and kissing my inner thighs, his mouth just inches from where he knows I want him.

"Come on," I whimper, my hand returning to his hair once more. This time, I accidentally pull on his hair slightly in a subconscious attempt to bring him closer. He lets out a groan that catches me off-guard, but it sounds like a good noise. I test the waters, tugging slightly harder. He whispers a soft "fuck," and I grin, knowing I've won this battle.

He shuffles my underwear down, flinging it to the ground. He takes his shirt off as well, as if he predicts that he's going to work up a sweat.

His middle finger prods at my entrance, continuing to tease me.

"You're evil," I mutter, trying to push my hips down towards him.

"You're just no fun," he muses teasingly, finally pushing his finger in. I sigh, leaning my head back. Finally.

He pushes his finger in and out of me, resting his cheek on my thigh. He eventually adds another finger, thrusting them in and out of me in slow, deliberate movements. I tug on his hair again and he snickers, kissing my thigh. "Patience," he chides. He speeds up slightly, reveling in my reactions. I'm grasping the couch cushions so hard that I feel like I might rip the upholstery, making utterly embarrassing noises.

After a few moments, I suddenly gasp, jolting when he finds what he's looking for.

"There she is," he mutters. He pulls his fingers out of me, leaving me disappointed. He wipes them off on his pants, looking down at me and smirking. "Was just making sure I knew where to aim," he says, unbuttoning his pants. He suddenly pauses before pulling them down. "Do you want this? I could just fing-"

"Fuck, Mike, you really like to drag things out, huh?"

"Is that a 'yes' to wanting this?"

"Just fuck me already!"

"Well, if you insist," he shrugs, grinning. He pulls his pants and underwear down, giving them the same treatment he gave the rest of our clothes: balled up on the floor. He straddles me, lining us up. He braces himself with his hand next to my head before sinking in. My breath hitches as he slowly pushes into me, his eyes trained on my face. Once he's fully inside of me, he gives his hips a few testing rolls, which elicits a moan from me. Emboldened by my positive reaction, he begins to slowly move in and out of me.

"More," I mutter, almost inaudibly.

"Hmm?"

"I need more," I repeat, louder.

"No holding back?"

"No holding back."

He shoves himself back into me, his hips snapping into mine. I yelp, hands scrambling for purchase on his back. "Just like that!" I moan.

He establishes a steady pace, aggressively thrusting into me. He makes good use of the knowledge he gained earlier, quickly pinpointing my g-spot and pounding into it.

"Fuck!" I shout, burying my head in my hands. He pulls my wrists away from my face, kissing me and swallowing my obnoxious noises. He's suddenly quiet now, his snarky lines from earlier dying out in favor of groans and curses whispered against my lips. He reaches down and rubs circles around my clit, causing me to feel like I'm going to combust.

"Mike, I'm gonna-"

He groans incoherently in response, pulling back and looking at me. Seeing his glassy eyes throws me over the edge.

He doesn't slow down one bit even though I came. I groan, coming back to reality and sensing everything that I neglected to notice before. The cheap, uncomfortable couch underneath me, the smell and feeling of the copious amounts of sweat covering us both, his nails digging into my shoulders. He's still going.

"Almost there... Just hang in there... Please..." He whispers, his hand reaching out and searching for mine. Once he finds it, he guides it to his hair, silently asking for me to pull it again. I wonder if he knew he was so into that before tonight or if I awakened that in him.

I massage his scalp, tugging gently on his curls. I'm panting, I'm sweating, I can barely think, but I want him to get his release too. I pull harder, wrenching his head up and kissing his neck, which finally sends him reeling. He groans loudly, collapsing on top of me and heaving. I feel like I could literally melt into this couch.

"Fuck... I'm..." He picks himself up, stumbling off of the couch. He throws on a pair of sweatpants, kneeling down next to my head. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and I open my eyes, turning my head to look at him. "Huh?"

He has this vacant look in his eyes. His mouth is hanging open as he breathes heavily. "I pushed you too far. I did too much. I'm so sorry."

"No, no," I say, propping myself up on my elbow after a bit of difficulty mustering the strength to do so. "It's okay. I promise."

His expression softens as he lets out a soft sigh of relief. "I'll make it up to you," he whispers.

"You don't have to do that-"

He hooks one arm under my knees, the other under my shoulder blades. He picks me up, carrying me through the house to the primary bathroom. "What's all this for?"

"Giving you a bath," he says, smiling as he places me into the bathtub and turns the faucet on.

"You're giving me a bath?" I chuckle.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, you reek of sweat."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine, and now I'm cleaning up my mess," he smirks, gathering some shampoo and body wash.

"Four-in-one body wash? Really?"

"It's cheaper."

I roll my eyes, splashing some water in his face.

"Hey, what's that for?"

"For telling me I stink when you use four-in-one body wash."

"You're impossible," he mutters.

"And yet you still can't resist me," I muse, grinning.

He shoots me a look. "And you know what you apparently can't resist?"

"What?"

"Frog juice."

This time, I splash him a lot harder.

316 notes · View notes

ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

Movement of A Major (Cool Guy)

@stop-talking @coriolantha here it is 😈🙏🏻

THANK YOU FOR ONE HUNDRED FOLLOWERS??? ARE YOU SERIOUS????? I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!!!! KEEP BEING AWESOME AND LIVE LAUGH LOVE JOSH HUTCHERSON!

Pairing: Clapton Davis x gn!Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: who would've known that breaking your arm is the best thing that could've happened to you?

Tags: cursing, arm breaking, dangerous activity on a skateboard (that may not even be possible irl), usage of phones that probably isn't time-period accurate, cast signing, banter, silly conversations, Clapton is a little dumb (affectionate) but Reader is there to correct him on all of his knowledge gaps, Clapton doing goofy voices/impressions, vandalization, smooching 💋

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☆⋆｡𖦹°✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☆⋆｡𖦹°

My first run-in with Clapton is... Not really how you'd want to meet someone.

"Yeah, so that should be everything. Here's your locker, the code should be in that pamphlet Principal Verge gave you."

"Alright, thanks for the tour and everything. I'll see you around?"

The girl waves goodbye, heading over to talk to one of her friends. She was nice, I guess. I open the pamphlet and a little slip of paper falls out, which I pick up to find that it's my locker combination. I actually don't remember how to open a locker and I'm not about to ask one of these people for help, so I'm going to have to figure it out myself, I guess.

I try to just turn the knob clockwise and hit each number, but that doesn't work. Don't I have to turn it counter-clockwise too? This is complicated. I turn the knob clockwise to the first number, counter-clockwise to the second number, and clockwise again to the first, still doesn't work.

After several minutes of trying different combinations of clockwise and counter-clockwise turns, I finally think I've got it.

"Alright... Clockwise to the first number... Counter-clockwise for a full turn, landing on the second number... And finally, clockwise again to the third-"

"Shit!"

I turn to my right to see someone barreling into me, their arms outstretched, bracing for impact. I can't discern what they look like because everything is happening so fast; just a giant blur heading in my direction.

They slam into me, knocking me flat on my back. They end up landing on top of me but quickly roll off to the side. The first thing I notice is an instant, brutal pain in my arm, which must be what suffered the brunt of the fall.

I lift my head from the ground and there's luckily nobody around, except for one person who makes eye contact with me but quickly scurries off to their classroom. I didn't realize I had spent so long trying to figure out how to finagle the combination lock on my locker that class had already started.

My arm really fucking hurts. I'm evidently being kind of a wuss about it, because the person who put me in this predicament in the first place immediately gets up, kneeling next to me.

"Shit," they say again, but quieter and less urgently. I finally get a chance to process who this unknown person is; he's a guy, probably a senior, with shaggy brown hair, wearing a shirt that says ‘I make good babies’.

"Are you good, man?"

I need to check my arm.

"Can you help me take my jacket off? Just my right arm. I think I hurt it real bad."

He nods, gingerly lifting my arm and pulling my sleeve off. He cringes, flinching back a little. My arm is swollen and deep purple. It's definitely broken.

"I am so sorry," he mutters, eyes darting up to meet mine. His brow is furrowed in concern, and he looks off to the side. There's a skateboard with a big pink eraser under the wheel sitting a few feet away from us.

"I was just skating, like I normally do, and... I didn't see that there was an... Obstacle. I didn't mean to bump into you, honest."

"Hey, it's... It's fine," I mumble, attempting to stand up. He holds onto my good arm and uses it to hoist me up.

"You new here? I don't recognize you."

"Yeah, I'm new."

"Well, I'm Clapton."

"Like Eric Clapton?"

"Yup. No relation, though. Clapton's my first name, not my last. It's Clapton Davis," he shrugs. "Anyway, I need to take you to the nurse, like, asap. This is a big ass school, though. The nurse's office is across the school. It'll be a long walk." His gaze drifts over to his skateboard on the ground. "How willing are you to do something kind of risky and stupid?"

My left arm is wrapped tightly around him, keeping my right arm behind my back to protect it. He's strong, but not a bodybuilder, so I can tell he's getting a little tired by now.

"We can stop," I mutter in his ear.

"Shit... Almost there, I got this," he groans.

He plants his foot on the ground, relinquishing his hold on my thighs. I feel out of breath even though I didn't even really do anything. All I did was sit there and pester him with 'we probably shouldn't be doing this!' Over and over again. He flashes me a smile as he leans against the lockers, catching his breath. "When I suggested giving you a piggyback ride on my skateboard, I didn't think it'd be that fucking... Strenuous," he says, out of breath.

"I feel bad for making you do all that work. We really could've just walked."

"Hey, it'll be funnier in retrospect. And don't sweat it, consider this my repentance after breaking your arm."

"Yeah, sure," I chuckle. He leads me into the nurse's office, explaining the situation to the school nurse.

"Normally, when I hear ‘Clapton’, ‘skateboarding’, and ‘injury’ in the same sentence, it's you who got hurt," she dryly says to him. "I'm very thrilled to see that you got some poor new student wrapped up in your antics."

He shrugs, smiling. "What can I say? I love skateboarding, and I like to share the love."

"What you did was reckless and dangerous. You could've gotten yourself injured, and you could've gotten your friend here even more injured than they already are."

"Pffft, we were being safe. Right?" He says, turning to me.

Before I can respond, the nurse cuts in. "Davis, I think it's about time you headed back to class. I don't need you interfering while I try to do my job."

He rolls his eyes. "If you say so, miss." He makes eye contact with me as he exits. "Hey, I'll see you around, alright?"

I give him a small wave. "See ya."

After the door shuts, the nurse looks at me. "Don't hang around that boy. He's definitely trouble."

"Oh, I know," I smile.

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My second run-in with Clapton is much less painful for me.

I had to stay after school to make up a test I missed, and my ride home cancelled, so I'm now sitting on a bench outside of Grizzly Lake frantically trying to see if anyone I know can pick me up. No dice.

"Hey!"

I look up from my phone to see Clapton leaning out of his car window.

"Need a ride?" He says, grinning. I roll my eyes, walking up to his car. "Yeah. Thanks." He smiles as I get in and I put my address into his GPS. He pulls out of the parking lot, heading onto the main road.

"So, how's the arm?"

I hold up my arm, covered in a white cast. "Better, I guess."

He pouts. "Man, no signatures? That's sad."

"Well, it's not like I really know anybody who would sign it."

He looks over at me. "I'll sign it."

"What, are you trying to autograph my broken arm that you caused?"

He laughs. "I'm serious! Want me to sign it?"

"Sure, if you really want to."

"I do. It's like I get a walking billboard with my name on it, you know?"

"So everyone knows where to go if they need a broken arm?"

He pulls the car over, a grin on his face. He begins digging through the center console. "I mean, if someone needed a broken arm, I'd be happy to provide, for the right price." He mimes breaking a pencil in half, making a clicking sound with his tongue. "Think people are in the market for that? ‘Broken arms, come get your broken arms, five bucks a pop!’" He says in a paper boy voice.

"Five bucks a snap, more like," I mutter. He finally finds a Sharpie, popping the cap off and leaning over me so he can reach my cast.

"Alright. How big are we talking here?"

"Fuck it. I'm sure I won't need space for any more signatures. Go ahead and John Cancock it."

"If you say so," he smirks. He writes out his name in letters so big that his seven letter name touches both ends of my cast. Once I think he's done, I start to pull my arm away, but he holds on to it.

"Hold on. I have an artistic vision." He begins to doodle something below his name, but I can't see it due to the position of his hand.

"If you're drawing a penis, I swear to god."

"You think so little of me," he says, feigning hurt. "Although, I would totally do that."

He pulls his hand away, presenting the drawing to me like a proud kindergartener. It's a stick figure, wearing a backwards baseball cap and sunglasses, riding a skateboard.

"It's a self portrait. I call it, ‘Movement of A Major’, with ‘Cool Guy’ in parentheses afterwards. Because it's an artistic depiction of me— a major cool guy— moving. On my skateboard."

I look at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. He begins to laugh as well, rubbing his eyes.

"What's so funny? It's a great title."

"Okay, first of all," I begin after I calm down, "‘movement’ and ‘A major’ are terms used in music, not visual art."

"Actually, the title is the most important part of the piece. It represents how I don't conform to society's standards. It's unexpected for a painter to use musical terms in the title of his work; I'm really just breaking societal norms," he says, speaking in a snooty-art-critic voice.

"Jesus Christ," I say, burying my head in my hands as I laugh. "You're such an idiot."

"You know, they said the same thing about Einstein."

"Did they really, now?" I say skeptically.

"I dunno. I just made that up. Woah, I'm totally multi-talented. I'm a visual artist and an oral storyteller. I'm like... A polyglot."

I groan. "A polyglot is someone who speaks several langua- you know what? Let's just get going."

"You don't understand my artistic skills. I'm just like Van Gogh. Nobody will truly get my art until it's too late... Hmm, should I cut off my left or right ear?"

"Speaking of Van Gogh, let's get this van going, please," I smirk. He pulls back onto the road, continuing down to my house. "Ooh, that was a good one. Van Gogh, van going..." He mutters.

He eventually pulls in to my driveway, looking over at me and patting my knee. "Looks like we're uneven again."

"Hmm?"

"Well, I broke your arm, and then I carried you to the nurse's office. That made us even. I just did you another favor, so you need to do me a favor so we can be even again."

"That's ridiculous," I say, stepping out of the car. He rolls his window down, leaning out of it as I walk up to my house.

"I'll be letting you know when I'd like to use that favor!" He says with a thumbs up.

"Yeah, whatever," I smile. "Thanks for driving me. See you later," I say, and he drives off, waving goodbye.

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My third run-in with Clapton is the best one. I'm staying after school for detention, cleaning the bathrooms. I didn't even do anything bad, just showed up late to class a few times. Nothing earth-shattering. I feel like it's kind of crazy to make the kid with the broken arm do manual labor, but whatever.

Eventually, lo and behold, Clapton walks in.

"What are you doing in the girl's bathroom, dude?" I laugh.

"Hey, just doing my time. They told me to come in here and clean. Looks like you're doing the same?"

"Yup."

He cracks his back, sighing. He picks up the mop and begins helping me clean. Not even five minutes later, he groans and leans the mop up against the wall. "This is so boring."

"Detention isn't meant to be fun."

"Well, I have an idea on how to make this more fun," he says, a devious grin on his face. He goes into one of the stalls and I hear rattling, like he's trying to take something apart. He eventually emerges with the giant roll of toilet paper from the dispenser.

"Verge and his family are out of town," he says, leaning against the wall. "Which means his house is vacant for the time being..."

"Are you saying you want to TP the Principal's house?"

"If I said yes, would you be up for it?"

"You're crazy."

We arrive at Verge's house just after sunset, smuggling out as much of that bathroom's toilet paper as we could fit in our backpacks. He and I wait in his car for it to get dark before we make our move.

Once the streetlights become the house's only source of light, we creep out of his car, toilet paper rolls in hand. "This is gonna be great," he giggles, immediately beginning to throw the toilet paper up into the branches of the trees in the front lawn. I follow suit, ornamenting the tree in front of me.

Just as he has his roll aimed towards the roof of Verge's house, a car pulls into the driveway and the fucking Principal jumps out of it, fuming. Clapton and I instantly dash towards his car, managing to slam the doors shut and locking it just before Verge can catch us. We speed off, laughing our asses off.

"Oh my God... The look on his face! God, I wish I could've taken a pic of his reaction!"

"I've never seen someone so angry in my life!"

"/Davis!/" He shouts in a deep voice, impersonating Verge.

"You sound just like him!" I say, which makes me laugh even harder.

He continues with his Verge impression. "Hats off in the building! No shoulders, wouldn't want the boys getting distracted! Davis, drop down and give me twenty push-ups!"

"Holy shit, has he seriously done that?"

"No, but the fact you believed me is really fucking telling, huh?"

We keep driving for a while, stopping in a Walmart parking lot to regroup.

"God, that was literally the funniest thing that's ever happened to me," he says, sighing and leaning his head back, a big grin on his face.

"I know, right?"

He looks at me, and it looks as if he has a permanent smile. "I've never had more fun in my life," he mutters, crossing his arms.

I smile back at him. "Me neither."

"Wish this night would last forever," he says, closing his eyes.

"We've got, like, ten hours. That's plenty of ‘night’ to get through."

"I'm sure it'll feel like two hours. Feel like time always flies with you, you know?"

"That's sweet," I muse.

"It's true." He reaches over and traces the letters of his name on my cast. "Still no other signatures?"

"Nobody else's could hold a candle to yours."

He chuckles, moving his hand to mine, running his thumb over my knuckles. We sit like that for a bit.

"You could say I literally fell for you," he says, breaking the silence.

"You're so cheesy."

"Only for youuu," he says in a sing-song voice.

"What a romantic," I say sardonically.

"What, would you prefer I recite Shakespeare? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day...’"

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me."

I raise an eyebrow. "What was that?"

He leans in, taunting me. "You heard me. I said, make. Me. Shut. U-"

I cut him off with my lips against his, leaning over into his seat. He reaches up, planting his hand on the side of my head, holding me against his lips. His other hand makes its way to the hem of my shirt, sneaking underneath the fabric and rubbing my side-

There's a pounding on the window. We startle, breaking the kiss and looking outside.

"Clapton, you said that we wouldn't get the police called on us!"

"I guess I... Underestimated Principal Verge's reaction," he groans.

"Well, now we're even again. My favor for you is taking half of the blame for this."

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ronnieafterdark · 6 months

Text

You Turned My Whole World Upside Down.

(Clapton Davis x gn!Reader)

Alright, here's another fic for a character from a movie I've never seen 😍

Summary: you're the new kid, and you can't escape this guy who really seems to want to talk to you.

I groan, covering my ears. "Leave me alone," I mutter.

"Hmph. Fine," he says with a smile. "I have a feeling I'll see you again soon anyways," he says, and it feels like he's foreshadowing something.

He was foreshadowing something.

Word count: 2.0k

Warnings/tags I guess: no smut, fluff, cursing, banter, underage drinking, making out, getting walked in on while making out, no use of y/n, very minor usage of lyrics but its plot relevant I swear

Detention sucks. I know that by now. But it's way fucking worse when you have to share it with some annoying ass kid who won't shut up.

It's just the two of us in the room. The teacher (whose name is escaping me at the moment) that was presiding over us earlier left like twenty minutes ago for a 'bathroom break' but I don't think she's returning anytime soon. So now I'm trapped in this classroom with this guy.

"Psst."

He's sitting directly behind me and he's been desperately trying to get my attention for the past few minutes.

"Hey. Can you hear me?"

Yes, but I'm ignoring you. Is that not extremely obvious?

"Helloooo?"

He begins to tap on my shoulder and that's when my resolve breaks. I turn around, shooting him a glare.

"You new here? I'm Clapton. Clapton Davis. Though some people call me 'Claps', like the STD. I was named after my dad's favorite guitarist, Eric Clapton. Have you heard of him? He's pretty awesome. He's got this one song, it's called 'Layla', it's so good. It goes like this-"

I cut him off before he gets the opportunity to torture me with his singing. "Yeah, I've heard that song," I mutter in a monotone voice, trying to show my disinterest in the conversation. He doesn't take the hint.

"It's one of my favorite songs. I just love music, you know? Hey, where are you from, by the way? Ooh, wait, let me guess. Hmm, I'm getting 'M' vibes. Maine? Missouri? Montana? Massachusetts? Minnesota? Maryland? Michigan? Mississippi? Wow, there's a lot of states that start with 'M'. Nine, if you count New Mexico. You ever seen that show Breaking Bad? It actually takes place in-"

"If you say another word I'm going to have a brain aneurysm, dude," I say, cutting him off.

"You're no fun," he says, fake pouting.

I groan, covering my ears. "Leave me alone," I mutter.

"Hmph. Fine," he says with a smile. "I have a feeling I'll see you again soon anyways," he says, and it feels like he's foreshadowing something.

He was foreshadowing something.

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It's my second week at Grizzly Lake and I finally got my schedule the way I want it, so I'm only just now walking into my science class for the first time.

Of course he's here. And of course his lab partner just moved away, so our teacher has me sit next to him. For the rest of the year. He has this shit-eating grin on his face as I approach the table that makes me want to punch him for the millionth time.

"Hey, friend," he says teasingly, resting his chin on his hand. "Do I know you from somewhere? I just feel like we've met before. What's your name?"

"Fuck off," I say, already irritated.

"That's quite the interesting name, Fuck Off," he says, feigning interest. "Just trying to make conversation with my new lab partner for the rest of the school year."

He spins his pencil around in his fingers, looking at me the same way I assume he looks at everyone whose pants he tries to get into.

"Guess what? Mrs. Johnson said we're gonna be playing with some chemicals today," he says, a starry look in his eyes.

"I'm sure she didn't use the word playing."

"Well, every science experiment is basically just playing around, right?"

"That's definitely not how it works."

"You're no fun. Hey, tell you what? I'm throwing a party at my place on Saturday. It's going to be a fucking rager. You should come! Maybe you'll finally learn how to be a little more interesting," he says, playfully poking me in the sternum. "Nah, I'm just playing. I'm sure you're interesting. You just need to get used to Grizzly Lake, you know? Anyway, I'll see you there?"

"You absolutely will not see me there."

"Hey, figured I'd offer. Here's the deets," he says, scrawling his address and a date and time on my hand. "Just in case you change your mind," he winks.

That night, 'Layla' came on shuffle, and despite myself, I thought of him.

I hate parties. I'm only here because I need to start socializing so I don't end up a friendless loser. The alcohol here is a bit excessive, but I figure I'll make the most of this opportunity. I pour myself a cup of the spiked punch, leaning against a counter as I gradually down the beverage. And then I pour myself another one. And another one.

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"Heyyy, Fuck Off!"

His grating voice cuts through the haze of alcohol and sweaty dancers and shitty pop music. I make my way over to him, weaving through the crowd. He's sitting on a couch with several girls surrounding him, clearly all trying to get in his pants, but his hands are to himself and his eyes are solely on me.

"Claps, do you seriously already have beef with the new kid?" One of the girls laughs. I think her name is Brianna. She's in my English class, maybe?

"Nahhhh, I call them 'Fuck Off', because, get this, this is so funny, I asked them what their name was, and they said 'Fuck Off', so now I call them that, as if that's their name," he slurs, leaning his head back against the couch and giggling. Brianna lets out an obviously fake laugh, her hand moving to his chest, and he surreptitiously bats her hand away, much to her surprise. "They're in my chemistry class," he continues, "which is funny, because, like, if you ask me, I'd say the two of us certainly have a lot of chemis-"

I cut him off. "Fuck off, Clapton," I mutter.

"See? They're putting our names together. 'Fuck Off' and 'Clapton'. Don't our names just fit together so nicely?"

"Okay, that one was actually funny," I say, trying to hold back a smirk.

Brianna gets up, clearly getting the hint that she's not getting any tonight. I take the opportunity to sit down where she was, which is a tight fit, since Clapton is manspreading like crazy.

"I knew you'd come," he mutters into my ear, giving me a lazy grin.

"I'm only here for the booze," I say with an eye roll.

"Your cup is empty," he teases. "Thought you were only here for the booze?"

It gets uncomfortable squeezing between him and the arm of the couch, so I move my leg, draping it over his. His hand comes to rest on my thigh; not doing anything, just sitting there, but it's basically the only thing I can think about.

He puts his other arm around my shoulders. "There's only one room in this party that's empty," he mutters. "My room. I keep it locked."

My head is already beginning to pound from the lights and the noise. "Alright, let's go."

"I didn't even have to offer," he laughs, getting up and guiding me to his room. He punches the doorknob in a certain way that looks like it took weeks to perfect, causing the door to open. "The lock is broken, but people don't know that. It's actually really easy to get in here, but when you're drunk, it can seem like a fucking nightmare to open," he laughs. I follow him in and he locks the door behind us.

This room is the most teenage boy room I've ever seen in my life. Dude is literally like a character from a movie. The room has so many posters it takes me a couple seconds to figure out what color his walls are painted (navy blue) and there's just... Knick-knacks everywhere.

"Is that a fucking stop sign?"

"Yeah, stole that bad boy a while back. My proudest accomplishment."

"And the yield sign?"

"Second proudest accomplishment."

"The 'Mile 420' sign?"

"Ha! Yeah, wait, that's my proudest accomplishment. You know they changed it to 'Mile 419.9' because people kept stealing it?"

"What kind of loser would steal a sign just because it says '420' on it?"

He looks at me and we both burst out laughing. I walk over to his bookshelf, noticing the extensive comic collection "You're a comic guy?"

"I was, in middle school. But I spent an embarrassing amount of money on this collection, so that's the only reason I haven't gotten rid of it yet. I don't wanna put all that money to waste."

I hear him approach me from behind. "I'm noticing a lot of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

"Yeah, I was... Kind of obsessed."

I can't see him, but I can tell he has a massive grin on his face just from the way he's talking. His voice is closer now and I can tell he's right behind me.

"Kind of embarrassing, but I was convinced that once I became a teenager I'd turn into a Mutant Ninja Turtle."

"That's adorable."

"Is it? I always thought it was kind of dumb."

"I mean, you were, like, eleven, right? That's not dumb for an eleven-year-old." I'm skimming one of the comics, admiring the artwork.

"...I was fourteen."

A grin spreads on my face.

"You were a freshman?"

"...Yup."

"And you're aware that you were a teenager? And you thought you would turn into a turtle once you became a teenager?"

"I... Kind of figured I was a late bloomer. In terms of turtles. Teenage Mutant ones."

I turn around, and he's just inches away from me, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. "You won't... Tell anyone, will you? I probably shouldn't have told you that," he says sheepishly.

"Maybe I will," I smirk, crossing my arms. "Maybe I'll tell Brianna. See how your girlfriend likes it."

His eyes widen. "Brianna and I aren't dating."

"You aren't?"

"No. I mean, we have sex occasionally when we get drunk enough, but we aren't, like, a thing. Does it seem like we are?"

"She was kind of all over you earlier, so I just assumed."

"She just gets like that sometimes."

"You should probably tell her to stop if that makes you uncomfortable."

"Sometimes I like the attention," he says, and then seems like he immediately regrets it. "That sounds kind of weird to say."

"I mean, I guess I get it."

My head perks up. "You hear that?"

"Huh?"

'Layla' is playing downstairs.

"Oh, shit," he smiles. "I love this song!"

He sings along to it, his eyes closed.

"Like a fool, I fell in love with you...

You turned my whole world upside down..."

"Me too," I say, snapping him out of his singing.

"Huh?"

"You turned my whole world upside down, too."

"What do you.. mean by that?" He chuckles nervously.

"You're a lot less confident than you act," I tease.

He blushes, crossing his arms. "Maybe you just make me nervous."

"Do I?"

"You do. Do I make you nervous?"

"Maybe."

"Cool."

"Yeah."

I look at the wall, my hands in my pockets. My eyes scan the band posters scattered across the room.

My Chemical Romance.

Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Smash Mouth.

Radiohe-

Okay, I'll stop there.

"You wanna... Do something about that?" He says softly.

"...Yeah."

He puts his hand on the crook of my neck.

"...Like, actually?"

"Like, actually."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips and I put my hands on his hips, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He finally leans in and kisses me, his lips a little chapped, but it's charming in a way. He moves his hand up to cup my face, his other moving to caress the small of my back. I lean in closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. After what feels like an eternity, one of us (it's hard to know who really initiated what) pulls the other over to the bed, and I sit on his lap, making out with him.

Someone comes into the room. That lock must be easier to bypass than he thought.

"Claps? Are you cheating on me??" It's Brianna, and she's fuming.

"I can't cheat on you if we aren't fucking dating," he groans, shooing her with his hand. I snicker, watching her storm off.

"She's a real piece of work," I mutter, and we both laugh.

Maybe detention isn't all that bad.

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