#put them in a pot with holes in the bottom

[bi-writes]

you're cooking when you notice him. you finish dicing the onion on your cutting board, and when you look up, you smile when you see the looming shadow that takes up the space behind your curtains. (mercenary!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

"hi, spooky skeleton," you giggle, turning around and dropping the onions into the pot. the sizzle warms your apartment, and when you turn back around, you smile wider when he's come out from the shadows, closer, already on the other side of the kitchen island and only a few steps away from you.

he's geared up. vest thick and heavy strapped to his chest, the hood of his rain jacket over his head to further conceal the skull mask he wears. he stands tall, back straight and eyes narrowed, what little you could see of them. you put the cutting board down, twirling the kitchen knife you hold in your hand before holding it out in front of you, putting the sharp tip against the center of his chest.

"slow down there, big boy," you coo. "did you do as i told you?"

he snarls a bit before fishing a phone out of his pocket, tossing it onto the counter. you look down at it, watching the video playing. it's your mark, slobbering in tears, begging for his life. he pleads, holds up his hands, shakes his head, says that he's sorry in every language he knows until there's a satisfying hole in the middle of his forehead, a lone trail of blood making its way down his face. you think it looks like he's crying tears of blood. it's oddly poetic.

you look back at him, meeting his dark eyes, and you draw your hand back, setting the knife down. with your other hand, you drag your knuckles down the side of his masked face, puckering your lips and blowing him a dramatic kiss.

"such a proficient one, you are," you murmur. "what is that? third one this week?"

"want m'prize," he growls, and you step closer hooking your fingers into the collar of his vest and blowing him another kiss. then, you reach for the kitchen drawer next to you and pull it, taking out a thick envelope and handing it to him.

"you're making them very happy, ghost," you tap the plastic of the skull, giggling. "they like you a lot. got time for another?"

he clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side, and you squeak when he reaches down and grips both sides of your ass with two big hands. you laugh, but it turns into a breathless moan when those hands slip under your skirt and tug at the lace of your panties.

"i want the real prize, want wot 'm owed," ghost says lowly. you stand up on your toes, pressing your mouth to his over his mask. you let your hands fall, pressing on the backs of his hands, encouraging him to slip a few fingers under the lace and prod the entrance of your sticky cunt.

"you want it, baby?" you whimper. "do you?"

"yes--" you feel him bite from under the mask, and you stick your tongue out, licking over the line of his bottom lip, your pride swelling when you feel how shaky he breathes as you tease him. "give it t' me--"

there it is. now i have you.

"well..." you press your pelvis to his, rocking against his fingers, and he hisses when he feels the way you soak the fabric of his gloves. he wants to eat it, he wants to have you, he wants what he was promised. "gotta do somethin' for me first, ghost. gotta job for you. can't pay you for it though, not the way you like."

you think you see him smile under the mask, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if he likes what he hears. as if he knows what it is you will give him if he just does as you say.

"y'know wot it is tha' i want, don't you, swee'eart?"

yes, you think, and you respond by giving the front of his mask a kiss, one you think he reciprocates by the way he cradles the back of your head.

i know what it is that you want because...i want it, too.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Prologue]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist

| mafia!Simon x fem!Reader - violence, death, gambling, gang/mafia violence |

Everyone knew not to ask the Riley brothers what they did after dark. Don’t ask Tommy why he looks so skinny, and don’t ask Simon about the bruises on his hands and face; it’s better that way. Even if you did, neither of them would tell the truth, though they lied for different reasons. Tommy lied because he didn’t want anyone to ruin his fun. It was already bad enough with his brother getting on his ass about his addictions, he didn’t need anyone else trying to play hero for him. Besides, he was perfectly content couch surfing, drinking all his friend’s booze, and shooting up in order to numb anything that the alcohol couldn’t. 

Simon only lied because he was ashamed. 

But it wasn’t shame that stuck him in that boxing ring. No, it was something else. Loyalty, most likely. Servitude, more accurately. Whatever word that could be used to explain Simon Riley’s undying need to take care of his family, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. Even if that meant spilling someone else’s blood and destroying himself in the process. 

It was difficult to hear the sound of his own thoughts in that room. Long abandoned, the pool house bounced around the voices of all the men looking down at him and the poor bastard he would have to fight. Nothing but cracked concrete walls surrounded him and his opponent as they stared at one another from opposite sides of the empty pool, sizing one another up. An announcer using a jerry-rigged auditory system mumbled something into the microphone about last call for bets that sent a few people scrambling. Maybe it was the dull, grey concrete prison he found himself in, but the men in charge had a way of making boxing feel like being put in the colosseum. 

In five minutes, one of them would leave a bloody mess. Simon had every intention of leaving in one piece. 

While he waited, Simon adjusted the wraps on his knuckles and the balaclava obscuring his face. He always refused to show his face in that place because the last thing he wanted was for any of that to come back and bite him in the ass. Underground boxing wasn’t the most legal thing in the world, but being a butcher wasn’t exactly a well paying job, either. The only reason he risked his life in that hole was because the winner got to take home twenty percent of the pot, and he had family to take care of. 

Once everyone began to line the edge of the pool, Simon knew his five last minutes of preparation was almost up. Pressing one thick soled boot against the concrete at his back, he pushed himself off of the wall and towards the large spray painted circle that decorated the bottom of the pool. The line was drawn long ago and was so faded he had a difficult time telling the paint and the bloodstains apart. His contender mirrored his actions as he lazily sauntered up towards the ring, oozing a confidence Simon wasn’t sure was well founded. 

The referee was a bored man who looked like he was nineteen going on forty. Out of all the spectators, he was the only one brave enough to sit down with his legs hanging over the side of the pool, despite how easy it would be to snap one of his scrawny legs should he get caught in the crossfire. Like all the other men who were in charge of the fight, he wore all black which made the silver whistle hanging around his neck all the more eye-catching. 

“Alright boys,” he shouted over the commotion swirling around them, “you know the rules.”

Both men nodded before turning their attention to one another where they took their last few seconds to fully size one another up. Simon was taller, but that wasn’t exactly anything new. He was always well aware that his height and size was larger than the average man, but that rarely seemed to get anyone to shy away from fighting against him in the ring. His opponent had forgone his shirt, which was something Simon himself would have done if it wasn’t for the tattoos and other identifying marks he covered with the cloth on his back. Less clothes meant less things for someone to grab onto during the fight, but the man knew how to adapt. He wouldn’t have been alive that long if he didn’t learn to do that much. 

Neither of them wasted any time getting to work the moment the whistle blew. His nameless opponent didn’t bother to wrap his hands, and he flaunted his tightly wound fists as he danced around the ring. Simon, however, was not that flamboyant, and instead chose to keep his arms guarding his face as he waited for either the man to make a move, or for an opportunity to attack. He had no need to show off, to prove himself to the people who bet on him; his only objective was to survive. To win.

The man’s first punch was slow. Sloppy, even. A quick duck of his head and adjustment of his hips had Simon avoiding the blow like it was child's play, and he responded with a quick and sharp jab to the man's exposed abdomen. The move got him a sharp grunt in response, followed by a half-assed punch intended for his face, but was easily blocked by Simon’s forearms. Bit by bit the fight started to pick up momentum. A quick jab on the right. A wide swing that sent one of the men ducking. Each blow was punctuated by roaring applause mixed with slight grimaces and groans from the audience. 

Two minutes had passed and Simon had managed to receive a decent hit to his cheek, but his opponent suffered from a bloody nose that bled profusely, wetting the skin of his chest. His blood mixed with the rest of the stains that coated the concrete floor of the emptied pool, but neither man paid it any mind as they were too busy sizing up opening opportunities. 

The crowd began to grow restless with the match, as fights usually only lasted a minute maximum if the fighters were good enough. They wanted their results. They needed their winner so that they could claim their share of the prize, should they be so lucky. Instead of continuing the fight, of picking up pace and doubling down, Simon’s opponent placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh. There was a slight pull to his lips, some sort of twisted grin that Simon refused to trust. 

“Look… I really need that money.” 

Now that was new. Simon was no veteran in the career of illegal underground boxing, but he had never seen or heard of anyone begging to win. Refusing to let his guard down, he stayed braced as he watched the man take a step forward, his movement far too confident to be grounded in good will. 

Though Simon hadn’t been expecting anything friendly from the man, he certainly didn’t expect something as insidious as him pulling a pocket knife from the pants of his jeans. Its edge glistened deadly in the dull lights of the pool house, and he couldn’t stop the way his eyes widened at the sight of it. A deafening uproar sounded from the crowd at the blatant display of rule breaking, and the referee blew his whistle in an attempt to halt the fight. 

“The fuck did I say about following rules?” the man shouted after letting the whistle drop from his lips. “Give that here before you get yourself hurt.” 

Despite the man’s warning, no one exactly rushed to defend Simon. Not that he could blame them. They weren’t the ones stuck in that pool with that man. They were perfectly safe and had no intention of spilling their guts just to save their entertainment.

Ignoring the referee, the man continued to stalk closer to Simon who refused to waver even in the threat of the glinting blade in the man's hand. It was a beautiful knife, obviously well loved and kept without a single hint of rust or other ailment. But Simon knew knives, and he knew them well enough to know that the grip the man used was not the telltale sign of a man who was confident in his abilities. Just as sloppy as his punches were, his grip was that of a novice, someone desperate for an easy way out. 

“Just step outta the ring,” the man said as he approached close enough to Simon that he was within reaching distance. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” 

Simon didn’t even bother giving the man a reply, and he certainly didn’t wait around for him to make the first move with a knife in his hand. Instead, he grabbed the blade by hand, taking great care to avoid putting the edge along the fleshy part of his palm as he did so, and used his other hand to twist the man's wrist into submission. His yelp cut through the shouting of the crowd around them as Simon yanked the knife out of his feeble grip and then swung him to the side. Blood and bone crunched on the cement of the pool wall as the man’s already tender nose collided with the rough and unforgiving surface. 

“Sorry mate,” Simon said as he watched the man’s face slide down the wall, “shoulda fought harder.” 

Violent cheering and shouts brought a whole new deafening sound to the crowded room as those who betted on Simon reveled in their win. The man himself stood in the center of the ring as a few workers surrounded his opponent, all roughly grabbing him and yanking him out of the hole, certainly to drag him off to teach him a lesson. Boxers dying during fights wasn’t exactly good for business, and those who placed bets usually got pretty sour when their lucky contestant was too injured to play. 

Folding up the pocket knife and shoving it into his pocket to keep as a souvenir, Simon turned towards the pool ladder where he quickly yanked himself up out of that bloody hole. Several people were brave enough to give him a pat on the back as he cut through the crowd, but most others stared at him with slight terror and the respect he deserved. 

He had won, and that was the only thing he cared about. 

Things were significantly more quiet in the cash room. What used to be a locker room had been turned into something of a makeshift bank with large, heavy duty safes that housed all the cash from that evening's bettings, as well as everything left over from previous weekends. As Simon was the victor, he got priority on the dispersal of money, which meant he found himself standing for quite some time in front of a rickety folding table while the banker, so to speak, counted out his winnings by hand. 

Eight thousand was how much he would take home that night. With a minimum required bet of five hundred, and then some choosing to place even higher bets, his payout was always eye-catching, though usually took some time to count out. Not that he was in a hurry or anything, certainly not at that time of night. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him back home, anyway. 

“Ghost?” 

Unlike most of the other fighters, Simon refused to reveal not only his face but his name as well. In fact, he had peeved the sign up rep a little when he refused to give the man his proper name and in some sort of fit of annoyance he was given the name Ghost. It was a name that had gotten him laughed at when he had first stepped in that bloodied pool as he was seen as nothing but some stupid boy who dreamed too much of being in the WWE. After a few matches, people learned to respect both the name and the man behind the mask. 

Simon turned around to face who spoke to him and wasn’t much too surprised to find a well dressed man with an easy smile. He stood only an inch or two shorter than him, which was something to notice, and he could catch a slight whiff of expensive, woody cologne mixed with tobacco. Though that abandoned pool house was meant for the grunts, it wasn’t rare to find the occasional well off business man or two feeding into their gambling addictions with something a bit more bloody than your average horse race. 

“Yeah?” Simon responded as if bored. 

Much to his surprise, the man held out his hand for him to shake. He was quick to notice the watch band on his wrist, though it wasn’t as expensive as Simon had anticipated it to be. Still, he courteously took his hand as he allowed the man to introduce himself. 

“John Price. That was some good fighting you did down there,” he congratulated as they both returned their hands to their sides. It was obvious the man wasn’t from the area based on his accent. London, Simon guessed, which was quite a ways away from Manchester. 

Simon hummed as he quickly glanced over his shoulder. The sudden quietness hadn’t been lost on him as every soul in that room eyed John Price with suspicion. Even the bank guards looked apprehensive despite how obviously armed they were. He turned his attention back to John as he gestured to the table behind him. 

“Too excited to wait patiently for your winnings?” he asked. 

John laughed, and it rumbled deep in his chest as he glanced down at the ground with a friendly smile. “No, my wife doesn’t like it when I gamble. I came here to offer you a job.” 

It was as if the ambiance of the room itself silenced the very moment those words left John’s mouth. Anyone shuffling and counting cash ceased, as did their breathing by the sound of it. There didn’t seem to be any insidious intent or tone behind the man's voice, and yet his offer stopped the very turning of the world. 

“Must be an interestin’ job if you’re scoutin’ in a place like this,” Simon noted. 

“Interesting and well paying,” John agreed. “I think it would be a shame to let those talents of yours go to waste.” 

Talents? Simon nearly laughed at the compliment. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means, just obnoxiously big and brutally strong in a way that most other people never had the misfortune of being. There were very few reasons why Simon would want to turn to a life like that, a life full of nothing but violence and fighting, and simply being offered decent pay was not one of them. 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m interested,” he said as he turned his attention back to the man at the table. Apparently he had finished counting his winnings quite some time ago because he held the stack of cash in his hands out for him impatiently, almost as if he begged Simon to leave. 

Relieving the man of whatever awkward tension had built up in his body, Simon took the cash and quickly shuffled through it before tossing a few bills back as a tip. The man muttered a soft thanks before his gaze turned back to John Price. Whoever this man was, no one else seemed to trust him even with his kind demeanor. 

“Have a good night,” he said to John with a simple nod. 

Just as Simon walked to the side of the man, he put his hand up in front of his chest, forcing him to stop in his tracks. That same hand then slowly snaked into the pocket of his pants, and he half expected him to pull some sort of weapon on him for denying his offer. Wouldn’t have been the first time that night. Instead, John pulled out a small, rectangular card, which he held out for Simon. 

“Take this before you go. In case you change your mind,” John insisted.

Simon stared at the card for a long moment, studying its features. It was nothing but plain white cardstock with a phone number handwritten on one side, which was oddly simple for someone with a powerful aura. It was almost like the man had scribbled it down before he even entered the building, as if he had anticipated Simon’s rejection. Seeing no harm in taking the card, and also wanting to get the man off his back as soon as possible so he could go home, he took the item and shoved it in his pocket. 

“Just know that if you do decide to change your mind, I always take care of my men. Always,” John said, his eyes unwavering. 

Unconvinced, Simon gave the man a curt nod. “Sure,” he responded gruffly before he turned to leave John Price and that dilapidating building far behind him. 

Simon didn’t take his balaclava off until he was halfway home. Well, the house he grew up in as a child wasn’t exactly home anymore, but his mother still lived there, and that was close enough. It hadn’t changed much since he was younger; it still had the floral patterned curtains and the cement stairs with the railing that squeaked as he approached the front door. The inside had changed considerably, though. Significantly less toys than he remembered, and his mother was able to keep it more tidy since the death of his addict father.

When he reached the kitchen, he flipped the light on and did a quick glance around the room. Several hand washed dishes sat neatly in a drying rack next to the sink, and the fridge was adorned with old photographs of him and his brother Tommy from when they were younger. Annoying bastard used to be cute back then. 

Digging his hands into his pocket, Simon pulled out the cash he had earned that night and began to shuffle through the bills. Six thousand would have been plenty for him to live off of for a little while in addition to what he already made at work as a butcher. His mom could use the extra two thousand, although she’d chastise him and attempt to give it back to him. No, maybe he should give her three thousand just in case his brother came around asking her for cash. Begging seemed to be a bad habit of his.

“Tommy?” 

Simon stopped in his tracks when the sound of his mothers tired voice cut across the quiet kitchen. She stood in the doorway with a hand bracing against the wall while she attempted to squint into the bright light of the room. Surprisingly, her hair was kept fairly well despite her having been roused from sleep, though her pajamas had been wrinkled from her tossing and turning throughout the night. 

“Oh, Simon,” she said in surprise. “Everything alright sweetie?”

He felt like a kid again getting caught red handed trying to steal snacks at some ungodly hour, except instead of stealing he attempted to give something. It was too late to shove the cash into his pocket and pretend he was there for some other reason, her eyes had clearly scanned the bundle in his hands as soon as she had made herself known. Instead of drawing more attention to it than had already been done, Simon continued to count out the cash like it was of no importance. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he spoke softly. It didn’t take him much longer to count the amount he wanted to give to her, and once he was finished he set it in a neat pile on the counter before shoving the remaining amount deep into his pocket. “Just droppin’ something off real quick. Go back to bed, mum.” 

Ignoring his request, she continued further into the room as she made her way to the fridge where cold air soon brushed against Simon’s arm as she searched around in the freezer. It wasn’t long before she pulled out a bag of frozen peas and shoved it his way, all but forcing it into his hand. 

“If you ice it now the swelling should go down by Monday,” she said while her eyes watched him meticulously. 

Sighing, Simon turned so that his hips leaned against the counter while he pressed the cold bag of peas against his eye. The pain from the impact was hardly there, and it felt more like a dull throb than anything else, but he supposed nothing could beat a mother’s intuition. Not like it would have mattered if his eye did swell up. There were very few people he visited, and he always hid in the back of the butcher shop when he worked. 

“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, Simon,” she sighed as she shut the freezer door. Despite her short stature, she stared up at her son with her hands on her hips to scold him as if he was still a child and not a twenty-six year old man. “Whatever money you’re making from this isn’t worth what you’re putting your body through.” 

“It is if it helps get you through the month,” he retorted bluntly. Crackling plastic sounded as he adjusted the bag on his face. His fingertips already ached from holding the ice cold object. 

“I know your mother is getting closer to being a helpless old lady, but I’m not there quite yet,” she chuckled. “I’m not going to be living out on the streets, sweetie.” 

“You will be if you keep givin’ money to Tommy as often as you do.” 

It was difficult for her to come up with a response because deep down Mrs. Riley knew her son was right, even though she didn’t want him to be. The oldest of her two sons grew skinnier and more pallid every time she saw him, and the only thing he ever seemed interested in consuming was cash. His expensive diet was insatiable, and she didn’t have the fortitude to deny him his favorite meal. 

“If he comes around again, tell him to come talk to me,” Simon continued. By that point his cheek felt completely numb and he hastily pulled the frozen bag of peas off his face in order to offer his skin a little reprieve from the biting cold. “Kick him out if you have to. Unless he’s tryin’ to sit for tea, he doesn’t need to be harassing you for money.” 

There wasn’t much more to be said for their late night kitchen conversation. Sleep pulled heavy at his mothers eyes, and all Simon wanted to do was wash away the filth of that night down the drain. So he placed the bag of peas back in the freezer before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. They quietly muttered their goodbyes before Simon quickly slipped out of the kitchen and towards the exit. His hand had hardly brushed against the dull, brass door knob before he heard her call out to him from the kitchen doorway once more. 

“Stay safe, Simon.” 

Hesitating for only a moment, he continued to twist at the knob until the door swung open and the night air seeped into the entryway. He glanced over his shoulder and looked to where his mother’s small frame stood, blocking the illumination from the kitchen. A small smile appeared on his lips, but his face felt too numb to give her something more proper. 

“Always.” 

The thing about Simon Riley was that his hands were always dirty. No matter how much pink tinged water swirled down the drain, he could never quite get the stench of death and raw muscle out of his skin. But that was alright. Men like him, large and burly and utterly terrifying, were meant to be that way. Hidden in the back of butcher shops, transforming once living creatures into something so unrecognizable that the average person would be able to stomach consuming something that once looked at the same stars as them. 

Just as Simon had finished washing and drying his hands, the small pitter-patter of feet caught his attention. Looking up from his station, he caught sight of Meara, the young girl who ran the register up front. She was kind enough yet always seemed eternally bored with the work at the shop, but her usual dull expression was replaced with one of slight concern. Meara leaned against the doorway and jammed her thumb over her shoulder as she cleared her throat. 

“There’s someone up front asking for you,” she said. “He’s uh… very adamant about speaking to you.” 

Sounded about right. It was a Monday, and for some reason that usually attracted the frustrated white collar workers and the absolute loons. Simon tossed his paper towel into the bin next to the sink before following Meara up front where he was met with neither office worker nor freak but his own brother. Each time Simon saw Tommy, he looked worse with gauntly cheekbones and heavy sunken eyes. His skin was so pale it looked as if it had been rotting for some time, and yet he still smiled at Simon as if nothing was wrong. 

“Simon, hey man,” Tommy greeted as he placed his hands on the counter. His scuffed knuckles didn’t go unnoticed, but Simon didn’t bother to mention it. “How’s work?” 

“What do you want?” he questioned, skipping the pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “Got tired of freeloadin’ off of mum?”

Whatever kind persona Tommy wore quickly morphed into something a bit more desperate at his little brother’s comment and he slumped forward over the counter. He was close enough that Simon could smell his breath; it was as if he had rotting flesh stuck in his teeth. 

“Come on, Simon,” he said, nearly begging, “I know it sounds bad, but I just- this is serious alright? Look, I couldn’t tell mum because she’d freak the fuck out, but I… I owe some guys a bit of  money, and they’re getting a little impatient with me.” 

Feet shuffled behind Simon as Meara not-so-secretly eavesdropped. Papers slapped against one another as she messed about, pretending to be busy when he knew that she didn’t have any work to be done. Ignoring it, he kept his attention on his brother, and more importantly the bit of information he had dropped. 

“How much?” he asked. 

Sweating, Tommy rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’d just need a couple hundred to keep them off my back for a while.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Simon snapped. “How much, Tom?” 

Avoiding his gaze, Tommy looked down at the counter. “Seventy five.” 

“Hundred?” Simon pressed. 

“Thousand.” 

Simon nearly laughed at the absurdity of the number. He was well aware his brother was an idiot, but he never imagined he would get into that much trouble. Tommy refused to look at him, which gave Simon the time he needed to get his thoughts together and stay as level headed as possible, lest he scare Meara. 

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Simon asked as he kept his voice low. 

“That’s not important right now,” Tommy retorted, though he backed off when he saw the glare his brother gave him. “I-It’s a long story, I can explain later but right now I need you to help me. Please.” 

A small bell rang with the opening of the shop door and Tommy anxiously turned around to greet the two men like he knew them by their presence alone. Both men were dressed similarly with large bulky coats that Simon knew couldn’t be hiding anything good. Neither brother had time to react before one of the men threw a punch that hit Tommy’s diagram. All the air in his lungs left him with a pitiful heave before he was promptly shoved onto the cold linoleum. Meara’s gasp came shortly after followed by what sounded like a sob when the other man pulled out a knife and pointed it towards Simon in a warning. 

“Let’s not get any ideas,” the man chuckled as his partner sauntered over to Tommy’s crumpled form on the floor. 

Stuck on the other side of the counter, Simon’s eyes flickered between the two men in assessment. Average height and build, neither of them were all too intimidating and yet they both sauntered into the shop like they owned the place. The man who stood above Tommy chuckled as he knelt down to his height like some ravenous beast ready to eat his meal. This was Simon’s work, but this was their territory. 

“Time’s up,” he said as he held his hand out, but all Tommy could do in response was sputter and attempt to catch his breath. “Do you have the cash or not?” 

Suddenly, Simon was in that empty pool again with its cracked cement walls and stained floor. Adrenaline pumped through his body so furiously the only thing he could hear was his brothers groaning and the blood rushing in his ears. He could freeze up. He could stand there and watch his brother get beat to a pulp or stabbed beyond recognition. It was easy to give in to fear, to be nothing but a helpless bystander, but it wasn’t in his nature. No, a man like Simon Riley would do the thing he did best: fight. 

Mimicking his movements from the other night, Simon grabbed the blade of the knife with one hand and the thugs wrist with his other before bending them in opposite directions. A loud crunch reverberated through his hands as the man’s forearm shattered in his grip, causing the man to scream louder than anything he had heard in his life. There was nothing left in Simon’s grip than powdery bone and mushy meat. Yelping, Meara took that as a sign to get the hell out of dodge, and she quickly dove through the doorway and into the back of the shop. 

All it took was a simple shove to get the man to lose balance, and with him out of the way Simon was able to step around the counter. The man closest to his brother was no longer concerned with Tommy and instead turned his attention to Simon. He looked to his comrade who squirmed and moaned on the floor as he gripped his flopping arm, and it was in that moment that they finally realized they should have taken Simon seriously. 

Cursing, the man fumbled with one of the pockets in his coat and Simon’s stomach dropped at the sight. This was the moment where the man would try and level the playing field by drawing his own weapon, and though Simon was strong, no amount of fortitude would stop a speeding bullet. Bracing himself, Simon charged as fast as he could towards the man with his new weapon held tightly in his hand. Strong and powerful steps propelled him forward, and they collided seconds later where they both toppled to the ground right next to Tommy like dominos. 

Ensuring that he was ready for whatever came next, Simon jumped to his feet and looked down at the man he had tackled. His breathing was short and sputtering, and at first he thought that was just because he had knocked the wind out of him; until he realized the knife was no longer in his hand. A long blade had been embedded into the thugs stomach and it fit so snugly as if it had never known any other home. All the man could do was lie there on his back with his hands pawing at his abdomen as if he could will the pain away. But nothing could get the blood to stop oozing from the wound. 

Simon had just washed his hands. 

“Fucking… Jesus fucking… holy shit,” Tommy stuttered, still gasping for air. “Simon… oh my god, he’s gonna fuckin’ die. W-What do… what do we do?” 

Simon’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest, and each thump rattled painfully throughout his entire body. Both intruders laid on the ground, one still half conscious moaning in pain over his arm, and the other slowly losing the light in his eyes. It was then that Simon realized he was scared. Terrified, even, but he had a difficult time deducing what had spooked him. The fact that he had killed a man, or the realization that taking a life was just as easy as butchering a pig?

Ignoring his brother, Simon dug around in his pocket where he quickly pulled out his phone and a small card. He wasn’t sure why he still even had that useless piece of scrap that John Price had given him. Maybe he lugged it around because he knew that there was no escaping a life of violence, no matter how fast he ran. He unlocked his phone and hastily punched the numbers on the keypad before bringing it up to his ear. The line rang for so long he was a little worried no one would pick up, but eventually it stopped and the silky smooth voice of John Price came through the speaker. 

“Hello?” 

“This is Ghost,” Simon answered. His voice was terrifyingly calm despite the fresh corpse that rested on the ground next to him. “That job offer still on the table?”

here's our little introduction for the boy. still not quite sure how i feel about it, and updates will be slow to come, but i'm excited to get more of his lore out there. hope you all enjoyed. we'll get to see reader in the next part

[theboxfort]

Object OCs inspired by Thai culture!

Explanation for each of them below!

From left to right, top to bottom, we'll start with Phuang Malai, also known as Malai! These are floral garland often given to people as a show of respect, gratitude, luck, importance, etc etc, but they can also be used as decorations

They can come in many different shapes and sizes, all for different purposes! Some are worn on the neck, some on the wrist, others are not worn at all. Traditionally, they're made with fresh flower, but nowadays, you can find ones made of plastic flowers or any other material

Next, Triangle Pillow, also known as Thai pillows, are very firm and. Y'know. Triangular pillows. They can come alone as just a pillow, or as a foldable pillow + mattress combo!

These can be used in many ways, as a head cushion, as a seat, or as a bed if it's long enough. It is said to help a lot with relieving back pain. I believe it originated from Northern Thailand? I mean the patterns and some of my research seems to say so

Next, the Chula Kite! Not much to say here aside from that fact that it's one of the many kite shapes we have here

Fun fact: Chula is also seen in the Thai alphabet! (All Thai consonants are associated with a specific word)

Pla Tapien, literally means "barb (the fish)" because it's based on one. These are traditionally made via woven palm leaves, but modern ones can be made using paper or some other material as well

Next, we have Fire Pots! Admittedly, these are more of a Chinese thing than a Thai thing, but we were HEAVILY influenced by Chinese culture (and Indian culture). These pots have a hole at the bottom for putting a candle in, which is used to keep the food heated for longer periods of time

And finally, Lotus Pot!

Originally, I wanted to use the traditional dragon jar (shown below), since it's the symbol of Ratchaburi (my dad's hometown), but the design got too busy, so I settled with a more generic pattern

Fun fact: This thing was the very reason I started this whole thing

[mousedotjpeg]

cw: price being a cutie patootie for his wife, tooth rotting fluff

John Price was quite certain that, of all the moments he's shared with you, this had to be one of his most treasurable. Each and every time the weather forecast predicted storms, from gale-force winds to a gentle Sunday shower, his sweet little wife insisted upon starting a pot of coffee and building a little nest in the nook of the windowsill; the spot he had built especially for you.

Without fail - not counting the times he was away from deployment - you'd always have a hot cup of coffee awaiting his arrival, and a warm pair of arms to fall into, surrounded by blankets and pillows. More often than not, you'd both end up foregoing the comforts of your own bed in order to bask in each other's arms, squished together against the window.

"Honey?" Stepping into your shared home, coat damp from the rainfall, John softly calls out to you. Just as he expected (and found himself looking forward to the whole drive home) the Wizard of Oz was playing at a low volume on the living room TV, blankets pulled from open cabinets, and your shared nest already neatly fluffed up with pillows and the aforementioned throws.

"Welcome home, handsome." You coo, catching him slightly off guard as you pad over from the kitchen. Immediately beginning to help him shed his soaked layers, you press a gentle kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then finally on his lips. "Your coffee is on the counter. Go put some warm clothes on." You instruct, before giving him another chaste kiss.

Price groans appreciatively into your lips, hand giving your waist a soft squeeze before he's off to the bedroom, rushing to get changed into boxers and a loose-fitting crewneck sweater. Upon his return, you were precariously balancing two very full mugs, shuffling over from the kitchen to the living room. He's taking them from you with a chuckle, pressing sweet little pecks on your temple and forehead, then motioning for you to walk ahead to the windowsill.

Setting them down gently in the little square hole carved out by the window, (another handy little thing John insisted the builders add) John's quick to crawl onto the padded wood, making himself comfortable.

"C'mere, darling." He calls, voice gruff as he finally relaxes into the copious amounts of blankets surrounding him. The harsh wind and rain create a juxtaposing lullaby, his eyes already droopy by the time you're settling into his eager arms. With a contented smile, you drape yourself over your husband, the chill of the room quickly being chased off by his warm embrace. Turning so your back is to his chest, (so you could still see your favorite movie play out) you take a moment to fully appreciate the loving warmth radiating from your husband.

"You're like a space heater, y'know?" You murmur, words muffled against his chest.

"That so, love?" He responds, a breathy chuckle to his words. John is met with only a brief nod, then he's gathering you up further into his arms, squeezing your smaller body tightly against his.

"The main reason I married you, actually." You tease, meaning only a slight bit of it.

"And here I was, thinking it was jus' for John Junior." He concludes.

"Oh God..don't... don't call it that."

"Sorry, love. My cock. Thought it was all for my cock."

"Not sure that's any better, John."

"Mmph."

You giggle softly against him, prompting John to smile broadly into your hair. Shit, how he fucking loves that sound - he'd do anything just to hear it.

"Reckon it'll flood, dear?" He prompts after several minutes of silence, only to be met with the very same thing. John precariously tilts his head back, only to find you dozing off, cheek smushed oh so preciously against him. Reclining his head back onto his pillow, it only takes a few more moments of watching the little rain drops race to the bottom of the glass, and the captain's out like a light bulb, snoring loudly into your ear.

cute lil shitty drabble cause it's "raining fucking hard" down here in texas, and mouse loves rain. anyways, i feel like this one turned out like poopoo doodoo. next one will probably be Nik or Rudy. ~ mouse

[turtlesandfrogs]

A basic starter project if you want to start growing your own food but have no money & no experience, assuming you like perilla/shiso, basil, mint, sage, or other herbs that have a square stem*.

1. Get a stem or five**, and pluck all the leaves off, except for the smallest. I worked with perilla/shiso this time, and started them in water, but often you can start them straight into soil. Here's one that's started to root in water:

2. Prepare your container. Someone I know had an excess of water jugs, so I cut it in half, poked a few holes in what was the top half, and then put it upside down inside of the bottom half. Ta-da, pot with drainage & saucer:

Be careful, obviously, because hurting yourself makes this go from a free project to a possibly rather expensive one. Soil can gotten for free, see the green onion version for more info on that.

3. Carefully make holes and plant your cuttings. I put a bag over the top to help increase humidity, because basil and perilla both seem a little fussy.

4. Put in the brightest light you have, and keep the soil evenly moist until you see new growth. These I'm starting inside but with the intention to plant outside in the summer. Obligatory check what's invasive in your area because someone told me perilla was invasive where they live. It's very much not here, it dies with the frost and I haven't gotten it to self-sow.

Tips:

Basil and perilla like it warm (above 50f/10c) and are best started indoors. Rosemary, sage, mint, etc, I've found easy to start outdoors. Keep shaded, moist, and cool until well established.

*for a fun project, look up how many culinary herbs are in the mint family! Lamiaceae will haunt your dreams!

** the first time I tried this, it was a stem of basil from take out, and I was so excited that it worked.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering. 

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.”  You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so. 

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes. 

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap. 

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web. 

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet. 

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it. 

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles. 

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything. 

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed. 

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark. 

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run. 

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo. 

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room. 

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun. 

Run. Run. Run. 

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic. 

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath. 

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop. 

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar. 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves. 

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out. 

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes. 

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette. 

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.” 

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace. 

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you. 

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life. 

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen. 

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement. 

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid. 

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat. 

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

[fox-bright]

Rage Cheesecake with Oreo Crust, Whipped Chocolate Ganache Frosting, and Home-Grown Tart Cherry Topping

I took recipe-bits from all over and changed them into something that sounded more like what I wanted, so here's what I did today instead of committing a felony!

RECIPE BEHIND CUT

Oreo crust part:

* 25 Oreos

* 5 tablespoons of melted butter

* Pan--pie pan or springform, depending on how deep a cheesecake you want. This makes a nice, not-too-deep cheesecake in a nine-inch springform; it would be Too Much Filling in a pie pan, which would mean you have extra, and that's always fun too. An eight-inch springform is probably perfect.

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. You may eat TWO OREOS. Crush the remainder. I have the best time with this when I use a food processor, but if you are *particularly* spirited today, this is a good place to take out some aggression. Just pulverize the things, filling and all, until they are all reduced to the consistency of sand.

3. Add melted butter and mix until it's like *wet* sand.

4. Put buttery chocolate sand into your chosen cooking dish. I use a little jar and push push push pat pat pat until it's all nice and level from the center of the dish to the edge and has no holes.

5. Bake for eight to twelve minutes. You want it to still look a little moist. Do not overcook!

6. Remove from oven and let cool. Don't move the pan around too much before it's cool or you risk fracturing the crust.

Cheesecake part:

* Two packages of cream cheese, room temperature unless you like cream cheese chunks in your cheesecake. No judgment, some people are into that.

* 2/3C white sugar

* 3 eggs

* 3 cups of sour cream (this is a very moist cheesecake!)

* Vanilla to taste

1. Preheat oven to 325F, that's 25 degrees LOWER than for the crust.

2. Cream sugar and cream cheese until smooth.

3. Add eggs, one at a time, mix until just blended.

4. Add all sour cream and vanilla, mix until just homogenous. Don't overmix or you get weird dry pillowy stuff instead of nice dense cheesecake.

5. Cook in prepared crust for approximately 50 minutes, until it's set at the edges but a little jiggly yet in the middle.

Note: Properly you'd do this in a bain marie, but I don't have one, so I wrap the bottom of my springform pan in aluminum foil and set the whole kit and kaboodle into a sturdy cookie sheet, put all that into the preheated oven, and pour water into the cookie sheet once it's safely on the oven rack. If the cheesecake starts to overcook on the top before the center is set, cover it with aluminum foil.

6. Remove from oven; let rest in bain marie/rigged pan for ten minutes before removing springform pan to clean towel. Let rest *there* until it's cool enough to put in the fridge. Cover and chill for two to four hours.

Cherry topping part:

* Sour cherries that have been frozen since last year, or a bag of cherries, or fresh cherries, whichever, approximately 4.5 cups which is too many for just this cheesecake but it's nice to have around anyway

* Granulated sugar to taste

* Corn starch

Or just pick up a can or two of cherry pie filling, in which case you can skip this whole step.

1. Defrost cherries. If you don't do this in a pot, there's a good chance that they will leak precious juice all over your clean counter. Don't be me; thaw that stuff in the pot you'll heat it in.

2. Once they're not a singular ice block but instead a bunch of big ice chunks, turn the temperature on low, maybe around a 2.

3. Once the cherries are separate from each other, add sugar to taste. This changes a lot depending on your cherries' tartness; I eventually used nearly two cups of sugar for around 4.5 cups of cherries. Usually I'd use a good bit less, but they're very tart this time.

4. Cook and cook and cook until the liquid is reduced by about a third.

5. Add corn starch. For those measurements I added about a tablespoon and a half. Remember to make it a slurry before pouring it into the pot; you can either do this with a little water, or you can spoon out some of the cherry syrup (don't burn yourself!), mix that into a little bowl along with the corn starch, and then pour it all into the pot. Bring back to a good bubble for four or five minutes, then remove from heat and allow to come to room temperature.

Whipped chocolate ganache part:

* 1 part heavy cream to 1 part chocolate (I just use Toll House. Everyone says not to do that. It's been fine).

1. Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl.

2. Warm the cream on the stove until it's juuuust about to start bubbling. Stir frequently so it doesn't get a skin.

3. Remove from heat, pour into heatproof bowl over the chocolate.

4. WALK AWAY. I'm serious. Don't touch it. Don't poke at it. Do not, do NOT, attempt to stir it. Walk away.

5. After five minutes, come back and stir, stir, until it's all one thing. It should be like a very good, very thick chocolate syrup. You *can* just eat this, with a spoon. You can pour it over a cake, or dip strawberries in it. Chilled right as it is, it is a dessert on its own.

6. Let it cool to room temperature.

7. Come back and use your hand mixer or stand mixer to whip it up. This should get to a pipeable consistency; if it doesn't, you may need to incorporate powdered sugar. If you add butter and powdered sugar, you'll get a very stable buttercream.

Finishing part:

1. Remove springform edge from nice cold cheesecake.

2. Pipe or dollop whipped ganache in ring atop the cheesecake.

3. Fill the ring with cooled cherry filling.

4. Garnish further if you'd like. I used decorative Sixlets and some more crushed Oreo.

5. Finished!

[tuhbanbuv]

If you’re starting a garden and have little to no proper materials, I’ve got stuff for you.

All you need is

Groceries such as fruit or vegetables that have visible seeds. Even apples; just gather as many as possible just in case one doesn’t work.

Solo cups, coffee filters or metal tins such as tuna or coffee tins. Anything that can be used as a container really.

Ziploc bags

Hairties

Any light source that emits heat. Maybe even just a window will do.

Take some soil from either store bought bags or backyard, pour it into the container of your choice. Make sure the container has a hole in the bottom to drain excess water to avoid root rot/drowning the seeds.

Take out seeds from any fruit or vegetable groceries to plant. You can germinate them by placing them in a ziploc bag with a damp paper towel and tape it to a window that gets sun until they start sprouting or you can just plant them in. Plant as many as you can into one container to ensure at least one grows. It’s plant material anyways so it won’t really harm the crop.

You can actually use the excess fruit and vegetable for compost if you want! Food waste like eggshells and used coffee grains are actually really good for the soil, so if you can add that gradually or mix it in with the soil beforehand, that will help plant growth.

Next, prepare a shelf or area to put the lights of your choice. Water the potted seedlings before slipping the ziploc bags over the containers, securing them with a hair tie each. Once the inside of the bag starts to get foggy and damp, it’s humid and works as a makeshift greenhouse!

I’ve tried this so far with pumpkins and now I have several feet of pumpkin plants with several pumpkin fruit. So I guess it works. If you don’t have too much time to garden though, you can try chaos gardening; basically getting old seeds and chucking them out in a certain area and hoping for the best. This is actually good for the environment, as growing the same thing over and over in the same place actually ruins the soil as opposed to the viability of random seeds!

Hope this helps in any gardening endeavors!

[leafie-draws]

plant care masterpost ⋆˚✿˖°

part 1 Types of Plants: plants come in all shapes and sizes and each plant has specific needs! so here's some quick tips to keep in mind while picking out a little plant friend!

a general rule of thumb when choosing a plant is considering how the plant thrives in it's natural habitat and providing that with your care, whether it's in a sunny spot in your window or in your garden outside. Succulents and Cacti need more sun and dry conditions than tropical plants that enjoy more wet and humid conditions. keep this in mind while growing many different types at once!

if growing plants in a terrarium make sure there is plenty of light and air circulation to prevent moisture buildup and rot. do not seal the plants inside! you'll want to be able to remove them in case they get sick.

all plants have unique grow-times and dormant periods. for example plants native to the northern hemisphere go dormant (hibernate) while plants in the southern hemisphere are growing, and vice-versa. plants in their peak grow-time require more water and care than dormant ones.

some tropical plants have very specific needs; like staghorns, orchids and air plants so I recommend researching those thoughroughly before getting one.

I don't have a lot of experience with trees, fruits and vegetables so I'm skipping those for now.

Watering: the amount of water a plant needs depends mostly on what type of plant it is and which climate it's in. remember that growing plants need more water and dormant plants need less!

plants only drink when they're awake! roots are most active during the daytime so water your plants in the morning, afternoon or evening. watering at night will cause too much water to sit in the pot and will rot the roots.

tropical plants are picky needy guys and enjoy very damp, humid, rainforest-like conditions. humidifiers help keep moisture in the air as well as routine misting with a waterbottle, just make sure there's proper ventilation so the plants aren't too wet for too long.

arid plants like succulents and cacti are pros at storing water and need less watering than other plants. (I water mine every 2 weeks. 3 weeks in the winter.)

no plant likes having wet feet! make sure your pots and containers have drainage holes to allow airflow to the roots and so excess water can escape.

it's always better to under water than to overwater! it's easier to save a dried-up plant than a rotten one. so if your plant seems sick it's better to hold off on watering it for a while.

most plants die from getting too much water! overwatering leads to rot, infections, mold, and even attracts bugs! it's a bad time! so only water your plants when the soil is dry and make sure there's proper drainage.

an overwatered plant will look sickly. it might turn yellow or pale, drop it's leaves, or be squishy to the touch. some plants like succulents or cacti may have swollen, cracked stems from absorbing too much water.

an underwatered plant will look droopy and the leaves will feel dry, crispy or wrinkled. water the plant throughroughly until water drains out of the bottom of the container and give it some time to recover. if your plant is severely dehydrated you might want to completely soak it, spraying the entire plant and putting the pot in a basin or tray of water so it can absorb water as needed.

Soil: the type of soil depends on the type of plant, but all plants require nutrients in order to grow. it's important to use well-draining soil and provide airflow to the roots.

typically you want soil that's a mix of organic matter and grit (like pumice or lava rock.) the organic matter provides nutrients while grit helps keep the soil loose so it doesn't compact and rot the roots while watering. (I've been using Bonsai Jack's gritty mix for years and I swear by the stuff.)

keep in mind that thick, organic soil holds water longer than a loose, gritty mix and takes longer to dry out so you should water your plants less. likewise, gritty mix drains faster and may require more watering, especially in the summer.

seedlings require more nutrients and have less developed roots so highly organic soils or coco coir works best. (more organic matter = more prone to rot though so be careful!)

worms are friends. like seriously. earthworms in your pots are a good thing! not only does it mean your soil is rich in nutrients plants love, but worm tunnels help create air pockets in the soil so your plant's roots can breathe easier and helps prevents rot. they won't hurt your plant at all and only eat decomposing matter. if you don't want them in your house though they'll do wonders for your garden!

[beybaldes]

Keep it like a warm coat when winter comes to cover you

will kitman x reader

summer sleepover masterlist

summary : “one giving the other their jacket / covering them with it when they fall asleep” requested by anon

an : anon I love love love you ty for the will kitman request he is my wife husband I hope you enjoy <33 title comes from one of my fave poems ever by Jimmy Santiago baca you should 10000% check it out!!!!

6 hours. The drive back to Richmond was going to take 6 hours. And given the fact it was already pushing 11pm and you’d been awake since 5am, you didn’t quite fancy the prospect of having to stay awake for 24 hours.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have the option of sleeping on the coach, it was just the given the colder weather, you found it impossibly hard.

From your very first away game with the team back at the beginning of the season, you’d made sure to claim an empty seat towards the back of the bus, taking the side next to the window so you could enjoy the view as you travelled. Back in the warmth of August, taking the window seat hadn’t been a problem, but now that winter was in its depths and Will had slid into the empty space next to you weeks ago, you couldn’t escape the cold that seeped in through the glass during the dark, winter nights.

Not only did the cold stop you from getting to sleep, but the constant chatter and bumpy roads did too. Even at dead of night, even after the most strenuous of matches or even after the most pitiful of losses, someone, somewhere on the bus was wide awake and full of conversation. And when the coach had finally become completely silent and you’d just started to doze off, you’d hit a pot hole - or six - and be woken right back up.

There was no way you’d be sleeping tonight.

“You okay?” Will’s head was titled to face you, his brow tense in a way that had you wanting to reach out and caress it away. “You seem out of it.”

“Just tired, Will.” Your knees were pulled as close to your chest as they could be given the small space in the seat. Back before Will had worked up the courage to ask if he could sit with you on the coach rides, you’d have stretched out across the seats and tried to make the best of a bad situation. You’d rather have Will here then the ability to get comfortable. “But I can never sleep on these stupid coach rides.”

Before Will could ask you the question of ‘why’ that had clearly been on the tip of his tongue, he was pulling off his Richmond zip up and placing it over you like a blanket. “You’re shivering.”

“It’s just cause it’s cold, Will. You didn’t need to give me your jacket.” Despite your words, you were pulling the jacket tighter around you, revelling in the strange amount of warmth it provided you. If you’d allowed your mind to wander, maybe you’d have realised that it was the fact it Will’s jacket that was making you warm, not the jacket itself. “I feel bad, you’ll get cold now.”

“My mum says I run warm, I’ll be fine.” Will pulled out a pair of wired earphones from the bottom of his backpack, plugging it into his phone and then offering one out to you. “Besides, I’d rather you have it. Headphone?”

Taking it from him carefully, you put it into your left ear so you’d have no choice but to lean in closer to Will. You didn’t mention the AirPods that were clearly peaking out of his jean pockets.

Silently, you lowered your head against Will’s shoulder, missing the pleased hum that slipped past his lips and the smile that curled onto them. You didn’t question the music he put on, instead cuddling further into him and his jacket.

Will was tensely aware of every movement you made, from the shuffling of your head against his shoulder to the way your hand was inches from holding his, brushing against his with each bump in the road. So, when your breathing evened out - the warmth and Will being exactly what you’d needed to fix the issue you’d been having - he was instantly aware, pulling far away enough from you to double check you were, in fact, asleep. Before he leant back against the seat, braving resting his head atop your own and letting himself curl into you slightly, he pulled his jacket up tight against your chin, making sure you were fully protected from the cold.

You greatly struggled to hide the blush that covered your cheeks, when, the following afternoon, Colin messaged you a picture of the two of you cuddled up on the coach; Will’s head atop your own and his jacket wrapped around you.

Part of you was certain you wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping on the coach going forward.

[unholydeukae]

After blessing you with sweet, wholesome 2yoo, it's now time for steamy, messy Suayeon :)

(I hope you all like power bottom SuA)

It's been a whole four days since SuA has gotten some dick - which is a long time for her to go without sex, no matter if the person has a cock or not - and even though that was a really great session (she got to deepthroat Dami while JiU ate her out and later she and JiU made out while Dami kept switching between their holes until they were both leaking cum), she feels more than ready for some orgasms.

Contemplating which one of her members she should go to, she can hear someone rummaging in the kitchen. Immediately she shoots up from the couch, who dares to create chaos in her sacred- it's Siyeon. Sua is not entirely sure if she should be glad about that or not - at least it's not Yoohyeon, who kind of magically attracts disaster, but it's not like Siyeon is a master chef. More like the opposite, she once nearly killed the microwave because she left a spoon in the dish she wanted to heat up and Sua has stopped counting the amount of times she stood at the sink for hours, trying everything to clean up the burnt in food from the pot.

Right now, it looks like Siyeon tried to open a package of salt with SuA's biggest kitchen knife and the older one is quick to interfere.

"Hey, careful, give me that. Why do you need salt and why with my biggest knife?"

Siyeon looks at her in confusion, then looks at the package on the kitchen counter and back to SuA.

"I wanted to make a mug cake." - "With salt?"

Silence.

"I thought it was sugar, I didn't read what it says on the package."

Sua sighs. Then she suddenly has an idea.

"How about this: I'll make a nice mug cake for you and in return, you'll fuck me."

Siyeon seems even more confused now but nods slowly.

"Okay. But you know that you can always just ask for sex, right? You don't need to offer me anything in return, I would never say no to you."

Sua just grins.

"Great! I'll get to work."

Thanks to her amazing skills, not even five minutes later Siyeon holds the steaming mug cake in her hands. Hungrily, she shoves a big spoon full of dough into her mouth, only to let it fall back into the mug immediately. Cursing, she grabs a glass of water to cool her burned mouth. Sua laughs.

"It's literally steaming, don't be so greedy."

Siyeon pouts for a moment but decides that waiting a few more minutes would probably be a good idea.

"Come, let's watch something while you eat!"

Willingly, the younger girl lets herself be pulled to the living room where they sit down on the couch and turn on the TV. She clicks through the programs.

"What do you wanna watch?"

Sua only shrugs.

"I don't really care, maybe something light where we don't have to pay a ton of attention."

Nodding, Siyeon puts up a comedy show that they've both watched before and picks up her mug again. She's so focused on her food that she doesn't notice how Sua shifts around until she kneels in front of her and urges her to lift her hips. The younger girl obliges and immediately both her sweatpants and boxers are pulled down in one swift motion. Still chewing, she has a vague idea of what might be happening in a moment but she's completely soft still, no way Sua would-

She nearly chokes on her cake. Sua would, evidently. Since Siyeon is a shower, she can already feel the beginning of her unnie's throat. Coughing, she tries to regain her breath while Sua is already absorbed in sucking her dick, licking the shaft up and down, gripping the tip with her lips and running her tongue around it. One of her hands grabs her balls, massages them, pulls and lightly squeezes and Siyeon can't help but moan. She feels how blood shoots into her dick and it grows steadily.

The older girl feels it as well, the tip of the cock tickles her throat and she opens her mouth wider to take more of it inside. She's the queen of oral for a reason and doesn't shy away from keeping Siyeon as long and deep down her throat as possible. Feeling the tightness around her cock nearly makes the younger one choke again and even though she's still hungry, she decides the mug cake is the less important thing right now.

Pretending to be the one in charge, she lays a hand on SuA's head - well aware that she's just the passenger and Sua is in control of everything. If anyone (who's not a Dreamcatcher member) walked in on this scene, they'd think that Siyeon hardcore fucks SuA's throat, but little would they know that it's actually Sua who forces herself down on the cock again and again until spit and precum run out of her mouth and tears form in her eyes.

"Hey, hey... What was that about.. fuck.. being greedy earlier? You're the one.. ugh.. who can't get her mouth full enough now, god damn.."

SuA looks up and grins, her face certainly looks like someone had fun using it.

"I'm always greedy and you know it."

She wraps her hand around the cock, her fingers not even close to touching, so she uses her other hand as well. Slowly stroking up and down, Siyeon eyes her mug cake again, if Sua keeps that pace for a bit, she could-

No, she can't. The older girl lets go of her and starts stripping, but she doesn't only take her clothes off. Instead, she gives her a lap dance, sensually runs her hands over her own and Siyeon's body and the younger girl forgets about the mug cake nearly as fast as she remembered it. Like in trance, her eyes follow SuA, no matter how hard she tries, she can't take them off of her - not that she actually tries, but if she did, she wouldn't be able to.

Soon enough, Sua is completely naked and leans towards Siyeon, her boobs mere centimeters away from the younger one's face. Before she can touch them though, the girl turns away again and removes the sweatpants and boxers that were still pooling around Siyeon's ankles. Then she climbs on her lap.

"I would take that shirt off if I was you. I wouldn't want it to get stained."

With big eyes and both eyebrows raised, Siyeon takes off her t-shirt and bralette; she's not entirely sure why her clothes would get dirty from riding but decides to not ask any questions. At this point, she doesn't wanna postpone whatever is gonna happen any longer.

"Good, now scoot down a little, just so that your head can lay on the backrest."

Siyeon obliges and Sua smiles in a very self-satisfied way. Without another word she shuffles forward and suddenly, the younger girl understands. She lays her hands on her ass cheeks and pulls her towards her face, just in time with Sua gripping the backrest for more stability.

The moment when Siyeon's tongue touches the girl's dripping pussy, they both moan, although SuA's is definitely a lot louder. Siyeon greedily laps at her folds, enjoying her taste on her tongue but she's only able to do that for a few seconds before SuA starts taking over control. She rolls her hips against the girl, increases and decreases the pressure just the way she needs it.

"God, your tongue feels so good... Just.. stick it out, yeah? Let me... yeah, just like that, fuck-"

While she speaks, Siyeon already obeys and SuA's reaction is immediate. Her movements become rougher, she rubs herself against the girl as if her life depends on it. Tiny hands grab Siyeon's hair at the back of her head and she's pressed even deeper into the pussy that uses her solely for her own pleasure; the pain on her scalp goes nearly unnoticed in the wave of sensations that rolls over her.

SuA is usually a very vocal person and now it's no different. Every movement, every touch is accompanied by moans, whines, groans or curses and Siyeon is sure that it's just a matter of time until at least one of their members curiously walks into the living room. The grasp on her hair becomes stronger and a slightly sharp pain shoots through Siyeon's body. Trying her best to not cry out and keep her tongue where it is, she grips SuA's ass even stronger, accidentally pressing her nails into the soft skin.

The older girl yelps but increases her speed significantly and after a few very loud moans, her whole body shakes, the hand that had a grip on Siyeon's hair switches to squeezing her shoulder and after some last supporting licks on her throbbing clit, SuA slumps down against Siyeon. A few seconds of nothing but hard breathing from both sides.

"That was.. really good. Damn."

SuA shuffles backwards a bit to take a look at Siyeon. Her whole lower face glistens and her eyes sparkle - they always do when she's responsible for making one of the members feel good. Even though she technically didn't do the work this time but she at least provided the "tools". A sweet, almost careful kiss seems to confirm that she did a good job in helping Sua get off.

Still, it's Sua and her energetic self, so even a strong orgasm only calms her down for about a minute. Shifting around, she nearly kicks Siyeon's knee while trying to find a good position. Siyeon just lets her do her thing, she knows the dancer well enough to be aware that trying to help would only end in disaster, so she just sits and waits - waits, until suddenly a small hand grabs the base of her dick and Sua sinks down on it with a satisfied sigh.

"God, finally... Your dick feels so good inside me, it stretches me out so well."

Siyeon sharply breathes out through her nose. Every time they have sex, she's amazed by how easily Sua can take her dick to the hilt, even though she's so small and

"so.. tight, fuck..."

Only giving herself a moment to get used to the stretch, Sua places a kiss on Siyeon's cheek before she starts grinding. Her hips move expertly, stimulating the younger girl in all the right ways. Velvety walls have a firm grip on her cock before they loosen up again slightly, and it's a miracle to Siyeon how nearly every centimeter of her dick disappears in the tight pussy. The grinding slowly becomes more focused, pressure increases and Siyeon can't help but whimper quietly. If the older girl keeps doing that, it's only a matter of minutes until her pussy is filled to the brim with cum.

"I know you love to be deep inside me, I can feel you throbbing. Don't cum yet, I need you a bit longer - or if you do, make sure you can keep going!"

Siyeon groans. Her stamina is by far not as good as Dami's or Dongie's but technically she can cum and just keep going without feeling immediately overwhelmed or needing a refractory period - usually she can even cum a second time. But that doesn't mean that she's just as strong as before, more like the opposite. After she cums, she tends to be exhausted and drowsy and it takes a lot of discipline for her to not just cuddle the person she's with and fall asleep. But now here she is, inside the tightest person the world has to offer and knowing Sua, she's far from being done.

"No, I- I won't cum yet. Don't worry, I'll stay strong today."

Sua grins and pecks her lips before she grabs her boobs and plays with her own nipples.

"Good because I haven't even started yet."

And then she does. She wraps her arms around Siyeon's neck and slams her hips down. And again. And again. The pace is murderous, the slaps resound in the living room and Siyeon can feel the tingling start. Wetness drips down on her thighs, and it becomes hard to not immediately shoot her load. She bites her own cheek to hold on just a little longer, at least until Sua cums again.

The latter is surprisingly quiet. Her face is buried in Siyeon's neck, she can feel her breathe shakily against her skin. Finger nails dig into shoulder blades and it makes Siyeon remember that she has hands as well. She lays them on SuA's hips and tries to help her guide the movements. The breathing gets more ragged, SuA's hips stutter from time to time but Siyeon manages to guide her, even though she feels like she'll explode any second now.

Suddenly pain. Siyeon's shoulder hurts, even her shoulder blades, but she can't concentrate on it - the orgasm rolls over her like a wave, forcing her to fill the trembling girl's pussy up. Sua feels about the same, spasming and panting from the intensity of the orgasm that washes over her, unable to move anymore.

They stay like that for a moment, panting, satisfied but spent. Well, the satisfied part mostly goes to Sua - Siyeon is kind of confused and the drowsy state she's in doesn't help with understanding why her shoulder hurt right before she came. After a minute or two, Sua moves and carefully sits upright. With the cock still inside her, she hisses before she looks at Siyeon.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I'll get sanitizer and a bandaid in a moment, I think I broke your skin when I bit you."

A lightbulb lights up in Siyeon's head. That's where the sudden pain came from - SuA's orgasm was apparently strong enough that she didn't know how to handle it other than biting her shoulder and digging her fingers in her shoulder blades. The younger girl doesn't feel like she's bleeding though.

"Are you sure? It doesn't feel like it's open or bleeding..."

SuA leans forward and looks at the bite mark. She hums for a moment before she sits back again.

"You're right but I still feel like I could've handled it better."

Siyeon shakes her head.

"No, don't be sorry. That... Was actually pretty hot. I'm not sure if it was the bite or you cumming that sent me over the edge, but it definitely was not an issue. So.. lay down for me? Please?"

The older girl tilts her head in confusion but climbs off her lap and lays down on the couch. Siyeon groans when she slips out of the warm pussy, she's sure she could never get enough of that. The girl looks at Sua and lets her gaze wander, from her glowing face, down her breasts, her abs and... She can't help but dive in immediately. Seeing cum, her own cum slowly drip out of Sua, mixed with the girl's wetness must be one of the greatest sights of all time.

Greedily she licks up the liquid, moaning from the way it tastes. She makes sure to gather every drop, pushes her tongue as far as possible into the tight hole. Only then does she move up and draws light circles around SuA's clit. They both went quiet, only the slurping sounds and occasional sighs can be heard. Siyeon lays on her stomach but she can feel how her dick indeed skips the refractory period and presses against the couch. She looks up at SuA whose eyes are closed and decides it's worth a shot.

Carefully, to not interrupt her oral tasks, Siyeon turns on her side just enough that she can grab her cock with one hand. Slowly, she starts jerking off, always making sure to focus on the girl below her, but Sua notices nonetheless. She opens her eyes and grins.

"You're a needy girl, huh?"

The younger girl goes bright red and hides further in between SuA's legs. The latter laughs quietly.

"Don't worry, pretty thing, you were really helpful earlier. Go ahead, make yourself feel good."

Siyeon blushes even harder but continues stroking herself while she still traces patterns over SuA's clit. The latter sighs contentedly and starts to scratch Siyeon's head with her fingers. Being silently praised like that makes the girl put more focus on her unnie again, she increases the pressure on her clit and regularizes her movements.

Even though the second orgasm really took a toll on her, Sua feels equally relaxed and turned on - the sight of Siyeon pumping her dick that's dripping from both her wetness and her semen is definitely an arousing one. She watches her pleasure herself, observes how the girl moves her fingers up and down, how she increases the pressure on the shaft and decreases it on the tip while still licking her with such devotion... Sua can feel her orgasm build up. She knows it's not gonna be as earthshaking as before but when she reaches her climax, she can't help but cry out and grip Siyeon's hair a little harder. Little drops of wetness and cum run out of her pussy and Siyeon is quick to catch them with her tongue.

The girl looks up at her, clearly proud of herself, and Sua pets her head.

"Thank you for making me feel so good today, baby."

Siyeon blushes again, then lays her head on SuA's thighs and puts her attention towards her own pleasure. Her speed increases and she can't swallow a moan. The scent of arousal and sex in the air turns her on more than she wants to admit and the comfortable position on SuA's thighs makes it easy to let go. With a grunt, she cums, her dick throbbing in her hand and semen land on her fingers, her stomach and the couch. Sua makes grabby hands and Siyeon moves her arm towards her until the older girl can lick the cum off of her fingers.

Steps interrupt their moment. Steps, then a gasp and an indignant voice.

"You were fucking right now and here and didn't ask me to join? I haven't had dick in soooooo long!!!"

Clearly Gahyun. Sua opens her mouth but before she can say something, two more people enter the living room.

"Damn, I didn't know two days is 'sooooo long'. Sounds like I really have to work on my performance, if it's so easily forgettable."

"Maybe she will remember if she gets two dicks? I think we should try that, what do you think, Dami?"

"Yeah, you're right Dongie. Come on, Gahyunie, or do you wanna miss another opportunity? We could have enough fun without you as well, you know?"

Siyeon and Sua watch the short interaction with growing amusement. After the younger girls all left the room again, Siyeon turns her head back to her unnie.

"So... can I eat my mug cake now?"

[akai-akai]

Quiet of the Mind

a tiny 141 poly drabble— slightly price/gaz centric but not really.

***unedited***

✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿

It's rare that they're granted this kind of peace.

The sun's just beginning brush against the treeline, the gentle lapping of water against a rocky lakeshore mixing with the hum of cicadas and birdsong.

John's old blue truck— the same once he's had since his beard was no more than some scratchy stubble on his chin— was backed up near a dock, a bright red cooler filled with beer and other drinks and lunch meat sitting on the bed of it and the tailgate flipped down.

Up a wooden plank staircase, a fair-sized cedar cabin sat on structural stilts, not far from the water's edge. The boys had rented the thing for the entire 2 weeks, per John's suggestion.

"We're out in the bush all the time as soldiers," John said when he spoke of the trip. "Never get to really enjoy nature, too busy watching our arses out there."

So here they were. A quiet, private lake spanned out in front of them, surrounded by lush green forest and the only other civilization being the cabins on the far side, far enough that the early morning fog that settles over the crystalline waters completely hides the cabins from view.

Simon and Johnny stand on the cabin's deck above, Simon manning the grill while Johnny spears darts into a dartboard fixed on the side of the cabin. Below, Kyle rests, sitting on the open tailgate with a cold can of coke next to him and a maplewood guitar sitting in his lap, his fingers deftly plucking away at the strings. It's a lulling sound, soft dulcet chords vaguely reminiscent of western folk music. John leans against the tailgate beside him, eyes fixed on the far shoreline as he watches a small herd of deer travel through the grass towards the trees. He's quiet, his mind is quiet. For once.

"What song?" He mutters to Kyle as he glances over to him, only to find Kyle's warm eyes already locked onto him through his pretty eyelashes, head tilted with the way he holds his guitar.

Kyle shrugs slightly, continuing to strum. "Just wingin' it."

John smiles at him fondly, but says nothing more. Just turns back to the lake and listens. Even the sound of Johnny cursing at the dartboard and Simon griping at him for putting a dart-sized hole in the wood siding of the cabin can't interrupt his peace. If anything, it's a comforting sound.

There's several plates lined out on a foldable table next to the still-smoking grill— bratwursts, burger patties, hotdogs, grilled cob corn, potato wedges, macaroni courtesy of Johnny, who nursed the pot over the cabin's stove for 15 minutes and fished the ripped up box from the trash 3 different times because he kept forgetting how much milk, butter, and water to add. (Simon told him multiple times to just leave the bloody thing on the countertop until the mac was done.)

The sun's shining bright gold and orange through the gaps in the trees when Simon lets out a whistle signaling the barbecue's done, and Kyle slides his fingers down the strings, stopping the vibrations as he carefully sets his guitar back in his case behind the cooler. He dutifully fishes more beers from said cooler for the other 3 men, favoring another coke for himself. John's hand brushes over his affectionately as he takes the glass bottle with a soft murmur of "thank you, love."

They each carry their full plates back down the stairs and take their seats at the old picnic table at the bottom as the sky paints itself purple and pink, and John's unusually quiet. Content.

His eyes rest on each of his boys in turn as he eats, Johnny and Kyle bickering good-naturedly about the best time of day to go fishing while Simon glances between the two, subtly eggs them on with a quiet "the best time's midnight" and suddenly they've both turned on him, allies against a common enemy. Simon must feel John's gaze on him— he has a knack for that— because he glances up at just the right moment as Johnny and Kyle move on to their favorite fishing lures.

Simon's lips quirk into the smallest crooked grin, an equally fond look in his eyes as the two speak without words.

Price just takes a swig of his beer and pushes all other thoughts from his mind. Averts his eyes to the sky.

A pretty sunset, he thinks.

✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿..•..✿

*bites hand and screams* I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

honorable mentions: I think simon would secretly have a nice, velvety singing voice, johnny is wicked on a drum set, and john is scarily good at whistling.

[alwaysthegeorges]

What Dreams Are Made Of - Peter Parker x Reader (1/2)

Summary - You and Peter are friends. Except when he looks at you like that.

Warnings - Fluff, pining, talks of sex

Word Count - 4.4k

a/n - this went so far from what I had originally imagined. part 2 will be hardcore smut so stay tuned

!gif not mine!

You and Peter Parker were friends. That was all. At least that's what you told yourselves.

As a neighborhood hero yourself, you spent a lot of time with Peter. Being at the "bottom of the food chain" at the Avengers tower had its perks, of course, but it also meant that whenever anyone was too lazy to go get what they needed, you and Peter were tasked with the errands. Thor wanted a sandwich from the deli across town? Whatever. Natasha craved a chocolate cupcake from the bakery right across the street? No problem. Except when they made you take the friendly neighborhood Spiderman with you to get him out of the house.

Peter had the tendency to hole himself up in his room for days when he wasn't saving the city or doing patrols. Legos and whatever online forums he was browsing took up most of his time, which was frustrating to the entire tower, especially you. Totally not because you liked him, but because it wasn't healthy. So, every few days you had gone solo, Tony would drag his young protégé out of his room (sometimes by physical force) and force him to accompany you.

Being one of the few young women living at the tower and working with the team, they all treated you like a younger sister, just like they treated Peter as their younger brother. They all knew you could both hold your own on the battlefield, but they also knew sometimes you needed big sibling advice, needed to be told which side of the wrench to use, or even to be pushed together with your crush so you guys would just kiss already and stop pining. Steve's words, not yours.

What you loved about the team is that they always looked out for the two of you. What you hated was having to go around like their assistants to get them coffee from the 24-hour gas station at 4 a.m. so they could plan for whatever major fundraising event was coming up. If they were up, so were you and Peter, just in case they needed something. It may have been annoying sometimes, but they did so much for you that it only felt right to give that back in the ways you could. So, when coffee was requested for the second time in four hours, and the idea of buying a coffee pot for the tower was waved off, you and Peter headed out to the gas station.

The ding of the bell sounded as the two of you groggily shuffled in, the clerk side-eyeing you like you had just ruined his night by showing up for the second time in a night. As you browsed the aisles separately to shoot the shit, occasionally calling to one another to grab a certain snack, you could feel the long night getting to your brain. Of course, when you got groggy and tired, your brain started to tell you Peter was sending you signs that he liked you more than a friend, which was preposterous. Peter was dating MJ, and it was going well. However, you couldn't shake the fact that his glances at you felt longer, his arm around your shoulder felt less platonic, and the air felt thicker when you were alone together. But of course, that was all in your head, as you tried to remind yourself as he tossed you your favorite snack before heading to the checkout counter.

"Put your stuff up there too, and I'll just put it on the business card. Tony really shouldn't trust me with this thing when I'm near candy," Peter joked, smiling back at you as you came up behind him to put your items on the counter.

"I don't know why he keeps giving it to you instead of me. I'm clearly the more responsible one," you quip, eyeing the 3 different packs of candy you had grabbed along with the coffee cups.

The two of you shared a stare, chuckling at the haul as Peter shoved the card into the reader. His head whipped around as the card reader started beeping rapidly, taking it out with confusion.

"Sorry man, you shoved it in too hard. Sometimes the reader can get sensitive with that stuff," drawled the clerk, and Peter gently put the card back in with a chuckle.

"Jeez, Parker. Hope you don't treat MJ like that card reader," you joked, shoving your elbow into his arm. His face went red and he laughed, but then suddenly found the reader to be super interesting.

As the two of you carried your bags and drinks back to the tower, the air felt tight, and he hadn't spoken a word since he wasn't able to take his eyes off the reader. You had a feeling it had to do with your joke about MJ, so you piped up.

"Hey, sorry if the card reader joke was weird."

"No, no, it's fine. It just took me off guard," he said, not taking his eyes off the pavement.

"I didn't mean to imply that you were.." you trailed off. That he was what? Rough? You couldn't imagine Peter being rough. Sexually at least.

"No, seriously, you're fine. It's just- we haven't exactly-" he coughed.

"You two haven't had sex?"

"It's not that she doesn't want to, I just haven't-"

The conversation got cut off by the elevator opening, causing a stampede of tired and overworked heroes jonesing for their liquid sleep. After distributing the goods, the two of you made your way into the main living room and sat on the couch, finally digging into your haul of sugar. After a beat of silence, you sat back on the plush couch and looked at him.

"So?" you asked innocently.

He finally looked at you instead of the floor.

"What?"

"Why haven't you guys done it yet? I thought you were in love or something."

"That's a long story," he started, shifting in his seat. He suddenly found the floor more interesting again.

"If you don't want to talk about sex, that's fine. But you're always raving about MJ to me, and you've been quiet all night. You can tell me if something's going on, you know. We're friends," you said, shifting forward and placing a hand on his forearm.

Peter looked at you, and a beat passed as he searched your face. You were worried you had upset him or pushed too hard, but just as you rescinded your hand and opened your mouth to apologize, he spoke.

"She told me she loved me and I just... I couldn't say it back."

Your mind immediately reeled. Why couldn't he say it back? Did he like someone else? Was he lying to protect her from people coming after them?

He must have seen the look on your face, because he pretty quickly launched into an explanation so your mind wouldn't work too hard.

"I wanted to say it back," he started, taking a deep breath. "Something just told me that if I did, then she'd want to have sex, and I know we've been dating for 4 months, but I'm just not ready for that. It's too important and I don't want to waste it on-" he stopped. His face immediately reddened as you sat up quickly.

"Too important? Why?" you asked curiously, not being able to contain your thoughts.

"Just, never mind. I'll talk to you later."

With that, Peter got up and stalked away, leaving a trail of confusion behind him. Your mind raced for answers but came up short, and you ultimately gave up and shuffled back into the meeting room. There was some large map on the table, so you ended up near the end, where Steve was watching, looking bored.

"What was that all about?" Steve asked, apparently in a mood to talk about anything else than a charity event.

"Nosy much?" you joked, giving him a look.

"Indulge me. It's not that often we get a gloomy Peter."

"I think I pushed too hard when he told me he and MJ haven't had sex yet," you admitted with a sigh. Steve looked at you with surprise at the answer.

"Really? I thought they were madly in love~" he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I know, I was surprised too. But apparently, it's 'too special' to do with her yet. But I can't figure out why. He's being weird about it, like he's never done it before-"

The realization hit the two of you like bricks.

"Oh my god, little Petey hasn't had sex yet? Isn't he like 21?" Steve asked, a bit too gleefully.

"Yeah, we're only a few days apart. That makes so much sense now! But I wonder why he feels like it wouldn't be special enough with MJ."

"Why don't you go ask him? Sounds more interesting in this stuff, anyway."

You nodded and cupped Steve on the shoulder before heading to the hallway with both your and Peter's rooms. You slowed as you came up to his door, bringing your hand up to knock, but stopping. He's probably had enough sex talk for the night. Instead, you dropped your hand and went to your own room, sleeping a little more peacefully with the knowledge that maybe Peter and MJ weren't as solid as you thought.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

A pounding at your door woke you up with a jump.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late!" A voice called from the other side.

You rolled over to look at your alarm clock. 11:30 a.m. With a groan, you got up and started to get dressed.

You had been distracted all day. The whole team had to be at this too-large banquet hall to set up for the charity event that night, but your mind was definitely not on fancy curtains and chocolate fountains. As much as you didn't want to admit it, a part of you was relieved that Peter and MJ weren't as serious as you thought. A part of you wanted to know why he was so adamant that MJ wasn't the one he wanted to lose his virginity to, but the other part told you to leave it alone and keep it in your pants. As much as you wanted to fantasize, Peter had in no way made a pass at you, nor should he. He was your teammate. It didn't matter that his eyes gleamed when the two of you stood a little too close, or that his hand seemed to linger when you accidentally touched hands at meetings. He had a girlfriend, and that was that.

You had just started to accept this fact when you glanced at him across the room, and he ducked his head like he had just been caught staring. You brushed it off, trying to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence and that he was probably just thinking about your conversation last night. You had hauled yourself into focusing on the decorating so much that you didn't even notice at first when he showed up at your side with a coffee and your favorite dessert. You jumped a little when he said your name, but thanked him sweetly for the gesture. Peter brought you the combination a lot when he could tell you were tired or stressed. He was just a good friend like that, and you had forbidden yourself from thinking about it any other way years ago.

"I'm sorry about last night," he offered, sipping his own coffee.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I overstepped," you said, placing a hand on his arm. So muscular from training, yet so soft- nope. Not thinking about that. You removed your arm and tried really hard to focus in on the conversation. His eyes seemed to wander anywhere but yours, which wasn't like him, but you were trying not to push too hard again.

"You didn't. I'm just a little sensitive about sex. I just want it to be perfect, you know? And I know that it probably won't be because it rarely is, but I just have this picture in my head of what it should be. And I'm not ready to give that up just yet. Even if I do like MJ."

You felt a ping in your heart at the last sentence, but you soldiered on.

"That's okay. You shouldn't have to settle for something that's not what you want."

"Thanks. I'm trying to keep my expectations down, anyway. It's not like I have the means for a candlelit rooftop," he laughed, shoulders seeming to ease a bit. You chuckled, trying very hard to not notice the cute blush donning his cheeks.

"Oo, candlelit rooftop, eh? What other fancy plans do you have in mind, mister romantic?"

His blush deepened, and he hung his head to the floor with a sultry chuckle before bringing it back up with a look you couldn't decipher.

"Let's just say that when it happens, we won't leave until the sun comes up."

With that, Peter sauntered away with an air of confidence, leaving you to pick your jaw up off the floor all by yourself.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

The alarm set on your phone went off with an annoying ring just as you were putting on your second earring. Fortunately, a lot of important people were going to be showing up to this fancy event, so Tony had instructed the entire team to put on their best. For you, that meant your old-that-doesn't-look-old prom dress you were surprised still fit. You peered into the mirror, giving one final look at the glittering navy that hugged your body so well it was sinful. Your hair cascaded down one shoulder, the other side pinned with silver and diamond pins. It was safe to say you cleaned up well.

You grabbed your phone to shut the alarm off just as Peter opened your door. You stumbled back from your bed in surprise, and as Peter opened his mouth to apologize, he stopped. Like a deer in headlights, the man looked you up and down with his mouth quite literally hanging open.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you said, chuckling at his gawking.

Before you could even register what he was doing, Peter ripped his phone out of his pocket and took a picture. He lowered it after the shutter sound, smiling the biggest you had seen in months.

"Did you really just-?" you asked in disbelief, not being able to control the laughter that spilled out. This man.

Proudly, like a kid showing his parent the artwork he just created, he showed you the picture he took. It was half blurry and the lighting was terrible, but he seemed so pleased with himself that you couldn't help but laugh.

After you got ahold of yourself, you grabbed your clutch purse, sliding your phone in. You walked out of your room, grabbing Peter's hand and pulling him along with you to the elevator like an excited puppy.

"We have a banquet to endure."

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

The banquet was roaring with people, laughing echoing off the walls, and too-drunk women reaching for more champagne. The few people you had talked to didn't have much to say, and only really wanted to talk about their boats and mansions. You decided to steer clear of them for now, going to grab yourself a second flute of champagne from the bar instead. You sipped your glass as you surveyed the scene, and caught the eye of a curly-haired, golden retriever of a man, already staring back at you. You noticed him politely excuse himself from the people he was talking to and saunter over to you, a half-empty glass in a hand of his own.

"Come to bore me with details about your boat, Parker?" you asked jokingly as he reached you and set his glass on the bar.

"Oh, of course. But my glass was also getting empty," he quipped, winking at you before turning to watch the bartender fill his drink.

"You weren't coming over here to tell me how exquisite I look tonight like the other old men looking for a sugar baby, were you?"

Peter picked up his glass and took a long sip before pausing to answer.

"I would describe you as ravishing, darling. And that's not exactly the kind of baby I'm looking for," he said in a jokingly I-am-rich-and-serious tone, going to sip his drink again. You choked on the hair, shaking your head at him. In the background, you noticed a band start to play a slow melody.

"You're lucky you're cute, Parker," you chuckled, taking the time to look him up and down like he had done earlier. Man, did he clean up nice.

"Don't think I don't see you checking me out. If you're going to gawk, at least make it subtle!"

You gasped out a laugh, looking back up at his face to see a cocky look on his face.

"May I remind you that you basically tripped over yourself to get a picture of me earlier?"

"Mm, I don't recall. Shall we dance?" he asked, brushing past the question with one of those goddamn smiles. He sat down his drink, now empty, and held out his hand for you to take.

You shook your head at him with a smile, but ultimately put your cup down and took his hand. He grasped it gently, but like you would slip away if he let go. You could feel the suaveness in his steps as he pulled you onto the dancefloor and into him, chest to chest. As you swayed to the music, hand in hand, so close all you could smell was his cologne, a soft silence fell between you. The music tumbled through the air as he held you, and for once, you let your mind wander. Your gaze drifted all over his face, taking in his freckles, his dimples. The way his mouth curved just so. It was overwhelming, how sudden you felt it. You had known Peter for so long, and your friendship was so solid. You didn't let yourself think about him the way you truly wanted to because you couldn't give that up. You wouldn't trade it for the world. He was so good, and soft, and caring. He sometimes cared more about your well-being than you did, especially when the nightmares would come and the depression would take over. The nights you woke up screaming, he would rush in and hold you for hours, getting you a snack once you had calmed and staying with you until morning. He would go out of his way to run errands with you sometimes, even if it was just getting toilet paper from the corner store. He was everything to you, and you couldn't risk that just to have him not feel the same. It would be the loss of your life. So, you hid it. You didn't allow it to swallow you whole, until now. Here, in this sparkling ballroom, dressed to the nines and bathing in Peter's scent, all you wanted to do was scream that you loved this man. It took everything in you to hold him so close, and yet keep the biggest secret from him. It was too risky.

You thought, at least. In the time you were lost in your head, your faces had gotten close. Too close. You looked up through your eyelashes into Peter's beautiful brown eyes and tried not to drown in your thoughts as you felt his breath on your cheek. As you felt his lips brush yours, your eyes fluttered closed-

A crash. You both jumped back as the music abruptly ended, and everyone turned to see the too-drunk wife of a very rich guy you had spoken with earlier in the middle of broken glass and champagne on the floor. Of course, she ran into the champagne fountain. There's your life.

You and Peter shuffled off the floor now that the mood was sufficiently ruined. You ended up settling at one of the standing tables nearby. The silence as some waiters cleaned up the broken glass slowly began to kill you. Doubt crept into your mind because Peter was your friend. He didn't like you like that. He surely felt you shift and didn't want to ruin the moment. Stupid, letting you feel for him. You knew it would ruin everything.

Peter shifted uncomfortably from side to side, and though the band had picked up again, you could tell something was off. He wasn't as chatty as usual, and he wore a solemn expression you couldn't place, solidifying the fact that you had fucked up.

"What's wrong?" you asked gently, breaking the silence.

"I broke up with MJ," he answered, almost a whisper.

"Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I had to. She's not the one I can't stop thinking about," he admitted, eyes shifting back to yours.

You reeled back, confused. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

"Who is she, then?" You tried not to let the hurt infiltrate your voice. Of course, he met someone.

Peter's face shifted.

"What?"

"Who is she?" you gulped, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. You couldn't look him in the eye.

"Are you fucking with me? If you are, it's not funny," he said flatly. Your world was spinning. The warmth in your chest was gone now, leaving a gaping hole of emptiness in its place.

"Surprise, I don't watch your dating life with a microscope. Just tell me."

"You are unbelievable," he said, stepping back and shaking his head. You could see the hurt on his face.

"Peter-"

"I have to go," he said flatly, and rushed off without saying another word.

You felt the emptiness in your chest rise again, and even though the champagne tower was ruined, the bar sure wasn't. You stalked over to the bar and ordered the strongest drink they had.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Come to the roof read the text you received from Peter. This had better not be some superhero emergency.

You shoved your phone back into your bag and headed towards the elevator, pushing the highest button when you got in. Peter had been gone for about 30 minutes, which gave you plenty of time to sulk over whatever the fuck had happened. Oh, and gave you time to shoot down a couple shots. To your dismay, you were only tipsy. Stark apparently didn't allow too hard of liquor in case, well, what happened with the champagne tower.

As the elevator reached the rooftop, you took a deep breath, trying to soothe the nerves in your stomach. Fucking anxiety.

As soon as the door opened to the crisp night, you saw him. Peter, standing at the end of an aisle of candles. You stepped off the elevator, now officially confused. You walked towards him up the aisle of candles slowly, as if to not startle a deer. He was quiet as you approached, but you still couldn't read his face. You had been friends for years, and yet he still baffled you sometimes.

"Sorry, I uh, I'll leave you be," you pushed out.

"What?" Peter asked, pulling his hands from his pockets.

"You meant this for someone else? Wrong number, I guess. I'll let you get to it."

As you turned to walk away, Peter snagged your hand, pulling you back toward him.

"What do you see?" he asked plainly.

"What?"

"Describe what you see."

Still confused, you obliged, scanning the area.

"Candles. A blanket. The skyline. You," you answered, meeting his gaze once again.

"What does this look like?"

"A date? I guess?"

"And I texted you to come up here," he said, a small smile returning to his face. He grabbed your other hand, which was now apparently free. When did you set that down?

"You meant to text someone else," you replied confidently.

"I did not mean to text someone else. I meant to text you."

"But that means-" you stopped.

"I set this up for you. Us." His smile widened, and he began to pull you closer. Your cheeks reddened. It suddenly was very hot on this roof.

"Why?"

"You are so beautiful. Fast. Strong. Smart. You can be a little daft sometimes, though."

And with that, he brought his hands to your face and kissed you. Not too hard, but definitely not soft. He kissed you like he needed you, like you were oxygen and he was drowning. He put everything he had into that kiss, and it sent you soaring. You wrapped your hands around his wrist and waist, pulling him closer to you and kissing him back. You didn't realize how much you needed this until this moment. It was everything. Spring breezes, crunchy fall leaves, the stars twinkling at midnight. It was the glowing sun and the shining moon, the waves crashing on beaches, and birds singing in the morning. You never realized how much you were missing out on until this moment, when he was kissing you and you were kissing him. It was the moment you burst. There was no hiding anymore.

The kiss slowed, and you pulled away just enough to look him in his big, beautiful eyes. Breathless, the two of you sighed into soft laughter, unbelieving that it finally happened.

"So this is why you couldn't have sex with MJ?"

"You have had my heart since we met. I just didn't realize it yet."

He kissed you until your lips were swollen, until you felt there was no more air in the atmosphere. It was so perfect, and sweet, and him.

You moved to lay on the blanket he had set out, legs getting tired and weak after finally getting to feel everything you had suppressed for years. He held you, and you softly exchanged stories and sweet nothings. You told him everything, he told you. It was nothing short of perfect. The two of you lazily made out on the blanket under the stars and relished in the feeling of finally. Peter didn't even care when the sun rose over the skyline, because even though it was his first time having sex, it was deeper. It was his first time fully loving. Reveling in this happiness and the full extent of what it is to love and be loved. It was what dreams were made of.

[tf2heritageposts]

you could make a gamer room or a home office but for gaming. if you are a gamer. or you could put displays in it. like display some sort of collection on a shelf, idk if you collect anything though. alternatively it could be a plant room... you dont need to buy houseplants, you can just take cuttings from plants you find outside and some of them will probably grow you a new plant (easy piracy). and you also dont need pots. you can use anything pot-shaped, like part of a milk jug, a plastic cup with holes in the bottom, an egg carton, etc.

these are VERY good ideas, thank you anon

[disabled-dragoon]

Gardening with A Disability

Everyone answering my gardening questions has been so helpful and kind. It's made me feel a lot better than when I started the week, but I've reached a point where I'm getting quite a bit of advice thrown at me all at once and it's getting difficult to keep track of it all, so I'm going to note it all down here!

Recommended Plants:

Mint, Tomatoes (Regular, Cherry), Cucumber, Radishes, Strawberries, Peppers. Aubergines, Potatoes, Squash, Lettuces, Chard (Swiss), Beets, Spring Onions, Garlic, French Beans (Specifically Dwarf French), Carrots, Kale, Spinach, Onion, Celery, Bush Beans, Blueberries, Bok Choy, Zucchini, Edible Flowers, Sunflowers, Green Beans, Currants, Lavender, Thyme, Rosemary, Oregano, Sage

Methods:

Fabric Pots

Raised Beds* I was pointed towards Vego garden beds as a starting point. They are quite expensive but I think it's still worth a look to see what you might consider with raised beds.

Trellises

Gallon Buckets

Grow bags in inflatable kiddie pools with a few holes drilled inches from the bottom

Bottomless Pots

Grow Tents and Greenhouses

Nursery Plants

Vertical Grow Towers* Was helpfully linked to this site.

Soil and hay bales

Soaker hoses on the topsoil of small raised beds

Grow bags in bins or on low tables, in 1-2 inches of water

Using a grabber to weed

Long handled tools

Things to Note:

Someone recommended if growing potatoes not to do them in pots as you generally have to lift the pot and tip it over to harvest them.

You can specifically get "container-sized" varieties of plants.

If looking into growing squash and cucumber in pots, look for "bush" varieties, or get "short and wide" trellises for the vines so they're not on the floor.

Big pots for aubergines.

Vertical grow towers are useful because they spin and you can adjust the height, but the price is a bit expensive.

Peppers and aubergines do well in 4-5 gallon buckets.

Cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and potatoes do well in 5 gallon buckets. You can grow blueberries in 5 gallons as well if they are of a "bush" variety

Bush beans do well in window boxes.

You can grow beets in window boxes but they might not get as big.

Strawberries grow well in 1-2 gallon buckets, and can be rooted into other buckets for more plants.

Bok Choy grows great in 2-3 gallon buckets and a "slightly shady" spot.

Containers need more consistent watering and fertilizer than ground plants.

"Lettuce in a “cut and come again” variety should be pretty easy to maintain but do prefer cooler weather".

Apparently immature sunflower heads are edible.

Thyme, rosemary, oregano and sage don't need much watering. Neither does lavender if outside.

Get a bag of soil specifically for container growing.

Buy already established plants and put them in containers larger than maybe necessary.

[xxcocothekillerxx]

Behind Locked Doors

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter x FemReader

Summary: Y/N recently moved into a somewhat small town, Newt, In Texas with her father. Y/N's father thought this would be a good opportunity for them, since things got rough back in California. Little do they know the trouble that awaited them..

!THIS CHAPTER DOESN'T CONTAIN NSFW!

Warning: This series will contain 18+ content & material! NSFW situations and possibly TRIGGERING topics such as- Depression, stalking, blood & gore, manipulation, mention of kidnapping and small amounts of self-harm, such as scars/cuts.

{{ Please proceed with care if you're sensitive to ANY of these topics }}

Author's Note: This is my first time really writing NSFW stories / stories in general. Tips and tricks on how to improve my writing and overall layout are welcome, though keep it respectful please. Other than that please enjoy! 💋

💋Chapter 1: A new town💋

It's been over a week now since you and your father have moved to this small town. The feeling of warm, hot and heavy, air and slight stench of garbage filled your nose as you were cleaning and fixing up your room.

The house you and your father picked was interesting, to say the least. Its dull, gray and moldy wallpaper lined most of the walls around the house. Holes and cracks littered the corners of the old building, the windows barely holding up against the breeze that hit them from the outside. The rusty door knobs, simply waiting to give a poor unexpecting victim a staph infection, and the doors themselves are ready to fall off their hinges.

Although your father had fixed up the downstairs area pretty well, painting the walls in a faded out, pastel yellow. Re-painting the door to their original bright white, and fixing up the hinges so they wouldn't fall off. He also bought new kitchenWare, the stove and fridge were nearly brand new and he insisted they were 'fresh out of the factory'. A beautiful dark brown wood table, with matching chairs, sat in between the kitchen and the living room. A pot of lavender and pink poppies in a little white vase, with a sage green cloth underneath it, laid in the middle of the table. Family pictures hanging on parts of the walls, leading over to the living room where a shag carpet and old leather couch sat with those old style TVs.

Your room had (color) wallpaper, with old CDs and photos hung on the walls. You had a nice window and strung a spider plant about it, pinning some of its vines to the side with some books and some toys sitting on the window sill. Your bed was a decent size, enough to hold two people comfortably, and had soft and cozy (color) sheets. The wooden floor was covered with a shag rug, and large plants sat by your doorway and against your bookshelf. You were just finishing up cleaning up and lighting a candle when your father knocked on your door, slightly catching you off guard because you had music playing on your old radio, you quickly turned your music off and opened the bedroom door.

Your father stood there, he slightly adjusted his almost cartoonishly large glasses and then gave a gentle smile. "Hey sweetie.. sorry I don't mean to bother ya' , I just wanted to know if you wanted to come shopping with me real quick?" He joyfully explained, his goofy smile nearly going ear to ear as he looked at you.

"Uh…sure why not" a small smile appears on your face and you gently put down your headphones onto your desk, brushing your (color), hair back behind your ears. You really haven't been out much this week, and it could do you some good to get out for awhile. Your father gives an almost triumphant look as he quickly turns to walk down the hallway, his footsteps getting quieter as he gets further away.

You walked over to your dresser picking out a simple outfit, a teal color tie dye T-shirt, tied at the waist to give a crop top feel and bell-bottom jeans with little colorful flowers near the bottom of the legs and on the back pockets. You then put your white shoes on and headed downstairs to meet up with your father, grabbing some hair ties on the way out and putting them on your wrist before shutting the door behind you. Your father was waiting at the table while looking at a newspaper, his large glasses slightly tilted downwards as he read. His gaze lifted as he heard your footsteps, a gentle and warm smile appearing on his face as he got up from the table.

"Ready?" He says, keys in hand as he tilts his head slightly towards the door. You nod in response, walking towards the door as your father opened it for you. Walking down the steps of the porch, a warm and comforting breeze hits your face. The fresh air quickly running up your nose, a sense of relief from being so cooped up all week makes you feel good and refreshed. The bright blue sky and the sun, only covered lightly with scattered puffy clouds and chirping birds. You take in your surroundings for a brief moment. The sounds of the wind and birds filling your ears as your father walks past you towards the car, his bright striped shirt regaining your attention as you walk to catch up to him, making your way to the passenger side door and opening it. Your father started up the old, Cherry red, 1973 Pontiac Astre. The engine rumbles to life as your father rolls his window down to place his arm on the door, he adjusts the radio to his favorite channel and some new station comes on.

A man starts to speak through the light static “The search continues in Muerto County for a missing University of Texas student. The Sheriff’s department says that Maria Flores, a native of Uvalde, was last seen near the town of Newt more than two months ago. Her vehicle was recently discovered abandoned along Country Road 172, with officials reporting no signs of foul play. Authorities are hopeful that the expanded search into the nearby communities of Harlow and Chinatown will unearth new leads. Family and friends are urging anyone with information regarding her disappearance to please come forward.” The man then proceeded to introduce the forecast of the week and then quickly cut to a popular music station playing 'Can't get enough - Bad company'. You and your father give a concerned glance towards each other before your father starts to drive out onto the road. The wind blowing through your hair, the comforting breeze making you close your eyes and enjoy the ride. Aside from a few random roadkill on the road, the music played loudly in your ears as you slightly danced to yourself as your father jammed to the song and you enjoyed the car ride into town.

Soon you and your father enter the town. Your eyes couldn't help but look around, an old gas station and mechanic shop sat on the right side with some small buildings and stores littered behind them, a few apartment buildings and roller rink sat on the left side with a large school and church sat behind them. You took in the view, not many people were walking around except for a group of teenagers and some adults, some with their little ones, you then noticed the missing person posters scattered on the telephone poles. 'Must be that poor girl from the news station they mentioned' you thought, a sense of sadness slightly washed over you as you felt bad for her family and friends. Your eyes soon wandered over to an older gentleman, he was smiling as a few older lady's. He wore a yellow button up with a blue and red plaid coat, a yellow hat covered his brown hair that clearly was receding and was graying. He had a cane in his hand that he was slightly leaning against as he was, somewhat in a creepy way, talking to the two old ladies. His smile reminds you of a beaver as he talks, however you notice his gaze quickly rising to your car as you drive by, his smile quickly disappears as his locked eyes with you. You quickly felt yourself look away and down at your lap, you felt embarrassed for staring and quickly looked over to your father who was simply paying attention to the road while trying to find a parking spot.

As your father parked the car, he looked over and noticed your uneasiness. "Y/N? You alright?.." he opened the card or on his side, yet waited for your response and sat there. "Y-yea.. sorry" you chuckled, trying to push off the fact you stared at a random old man and got creeped out. Your father nodded and got out of the car, quickly meeting you on the other side as you got out yourself. "Well, I need to grab a few things from the general store and then the post office. Why don'tcha you go take a good look around town… I might be while so." Your father explained, and a big smile on his face and he gently patted your shoulder. You simply nodded as your father walked away to the general store, your eyes quickly wandered over to a clothing store and its bright luring colors. You started to walk down the sidewalk, humming to yourself when you take notice of the same old man you saw before, now sitting on a bench reading a newspaper, except you can't help but notice him side eyeing you from behind the newspaper. You felt a knot in your throat as you started to get close to him, he was sitting next to the store you wanted to go in. You have no clue why he was giving you the creeps, however you swallow your fear and give a warm smile towards the old man.

This seemed to slightly catch him off guard however and nearly made him shove his face into the newspaper, starting to grumble things underneath his breath.

"H-hello sir!" You slightly felt your heart race as the man raised an eyebrow and slowly looked towards you, his dark eyes giving a questionable look as if he was wondering why you're trying to talk to him. However he quickly snaps a smile at you and puts his newspaper down on the bench as he reaches his hand out for a shake. "Nice to meetcha lil' lady.. new around here?" His voice semi cracked as he spoke, you could hear a slight lisp too. "Yes I am.. My name is Y/N!, my father is also here with me.. he's just grabbing a few things" you nervously stated, you quickly shake his hand before politely cupping them together in front of you. The old man nodded as if he understood and or cared before standing up and giving that creepy beaver smile towards you. "Names Drayton, Drayton Sawyer.. My family lives in this town. Though most em ain't the social type…except that boy Johnny." He gave an annoyed look as he rambled, quickly stopping before giving an almost serious look towards you. "Welcome to the town.." he said, his eyes almost dark as he spoke. He then tipped his hat before walking away, you watched as he almost waddled away and then disappeared behind some buildings.

You calmed yourself down slightly before walking into the clothing store, a nice old lady behind the counter gave you a warm and welcoming smile. "Hello dear! Welcome.." she said, her gray hair in a bun behind her head, her sun kissed skin covered with wrinkles. She wore a pretty blue blouse with a blue floral skirt that hit her ankles and her dark blue flats, she adjusted her glasses to better see you as you walked in. You nodded as you looked around the shop at all the cute and somewhat old fashioned clothes, soon you hear three girls walk into the store. A red head wearing a pink plaid button that was tied up slightly above the waist and jean shorts, a dark Brunette with tanner skin wearing and baby blue blouse with a white floral pattern on the chest and tan bell-bottoms, and a dark Brunette wearing a red tank-top with a deep v-neck and yellow sunflower on it and blue jean bell-bottoms. The girls were talking and somewhat giggling to themselves as they walked around the store, although they looked like they were also seriously discussing something as well. They kept quietly chatting to each other before they took notice of you, giving small waves and warm smiles as they began to walk over towards you. The ginger girl quickly speaks up and puts out her hand "hello! My name's Connie! Are you new here??" Her smile warmly grew as you took and shook her hand, you gave her a warm smile back. "Yea.. me and my father live slightly out of town but we're practically on the edge." You said nervously, not knowing if they knew what you were talking about. Quickly the girl in the red v-neck tank top spoke up and said, "oh that old house!? I remember when a lil' old couple used to live there! Gosh! They were so sweet..my name's Julie by the way!" She giggled, and she gave a girly wave at you. You couldn't help but look at the middle girl, your brows slightly furrowed in worry at her quietness before Connie spoke up, "oh.. that's Ana, her sister went missing.. I'm sure you've already seen the posters around town by now." Her smile quickly faded while she spoke, Ana gave a quick half smile before turning around to look at the clothes on the wall. Julie gave a slightly worried look back at Ana before looking at Connie then back at you, "yea.. she's been in rough shape ever since. But she's been determined to find her…" Julie explained, before giving a big smile, "you should meet up with us at the roller rink tonight! It's always Nice to have new friends!" She yelled excitedly, jumping excitedly. Connie also seemed to get excited by this and nodded in agreement, her smile nearly blinding you with excitement. You smiled joyfully at the idea and soon nodded and agreed to join them later at the roller rink. You wanted to explore a little bit more before meeting up with your father again to tell him the news.

A few minutes pass and the three girls soon leave the building with you before they split off into a different direction than you, leaving you alone. You look around and decide to walk down towards the post office to meet up with your father, however as you were walking you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Your eyes darted around and yet you couldn't see anything, you looked behind you and still nothing. You started to walk slightly faster down the street, pushing the feeling off as just being in a new town. Soon enough you make it to the post office as your father is walking out the doors, mail and other papers in his name. He walks slowly as he's ready the envelopes and other pieces of paper, his glasses at the end of his nose and his eyebrows slightly raised as he reads and mumbles to himself. He quickly takes notice of you and fixes his glasses as he opens the car door and puts the mail in the glove compartment, a large smile on his face as you walk over towards the car. "Soooo?!... Anything exciting happens sweetie?" He smiled, his hand on the top of the car door as he leaned against it slightly. You nod and smile, opening your door on the passenger side and getting in. Your father soon follows and sits in the car, closing the door behind him. "Made some new friends!.. they want me to meet up with them later tonight at the roller rink.." you smiled, your father giving you a big hug before laughing triumphantly. "OH! I knew you could do it! Making me so proud.." he smiled before starting up the car and started to drive, you leaned up against the car door and let the wind start to blow through your hair, the feeling of being watched still stayed as you were starting to leave town. Your eyes widened and noticed a figure watching you pass by, an almost sinking feeling as you drove by filled your stomach. Soon the feeling leaves as you drive out of town, the radio blaring music and your father embarrassingly dancing to you. You chuckled to yourself bringing your attention to the sun as it slowly went down, the sky starting to turn pink and shades of purple, A smile slowly appearing on your face as you drove home.

Today was a good day, yet you couldn't shake a weird feeling about that town.

END OF CHAPTER 1

If you got his far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed chapter 1! I know nothing "exciting" happened in this one, however I promise it'll get more interesting as we continue! 💋💋💋

Special Thanks and inspiration - @lil-spider 💋❤️

//CHAPTER 2//