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simplee-dreaming · 3 years

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The Great Escape

A/N: So this was requested by an anon and I had so much fun writing it, I think it's the longest fic I've ever written so I hope you enjoy! (Also, reading back over this, I realised I've mentioned Vision and Jarvis in the same story which I know isn't possible but I cba to change it because I love them both...even though they're technically the same...)

Word count: 2458

Summary: The reader tries to sneak out to a party, but Tony, Steve and Bucky are onto her.

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“Are you coming tonight or what?” Your friend asked at the other end of the phone.

“Yes, yes I am. I’m just thinking of ways to escape without being caught.” You replied.

“You’re not in a prison, just walk out of the front door,” they said.

“I wish it were that easy. Tony’s already said no to me going so he’s gonna be on high alert. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way,” You said.

“Okay, meet me outside the party at 9, no later. Good luck, agent Y/L/N” your friend teased.

“Shut up, I’ll see you later.” You hung up the phone. It was half 5 in the evening and it took about 45 minutes to get to the party by walking. You decided you were gonna attempt to leave at quarter to 8, so you would have time to escape without being seen and enjoy a gentle stroll to the party.

“Everyone normally eats dinner about 6, then they tend to go off and do their own thing. This should be a doddle, right?” You thought to yourself.

At 6, everyone sat round the table together to eat.

“So, what’s everyone doing after this?” You asked, trying to work out everyone’s movements.

“I’ll be working on my latest model,” said Tony, shovelling a load of pasta into his mouth.

“I’ll be in the gym, pumping iron,” said Bucky.

“Vis and I have got a date night booked,” said Wanda. Sam made gagging noises next to them.

“Are you gymming too, Steve?” asked Bucky before spilling pasta sauce on his leg.

“Nah I did my workout earlier. I may chill with a film. Fancy joining me, Y/N?” He asked.

Shit. That backfired.

“Oh, uh, thanks but I can’t. I said I’ll phone some friends tonight.” You said, thinking quickly.

“Surely that won’t take long though, would it?”

You paused. Tony looked at you suspiciously.

“You know Y/N, she won’t shut up once she gets talking to her friends.” Peter piped up. You relaxed.

“Yeah, exactly. I’ll be up there for hours.” You said.

“Aren’t they all going to this party you talked about?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, no, not this lot. This is the nerd group I’m part of, they don’t party.” You said quickly. Tony grunted but said nothing more.

Once everyone finished eating, you raced back upstairs to find an outfit. Once you had gotten changed and done your hair and makeup, it was quarter past 7. Half an hour before you were due to leave. You were sat on your bed, scrolling through TikTok until half past 7.

“Sod this,” you thought. Waiting around for any longer would heighten your anxiety so you decided to put your plan into action now.

You left your room and decided to scan all exits of the building to see which one was the best option to use.

“Sir, I don’t mean to alarm you but Y/N seems to be acting pretty suspiciously,” Jarvis informed Tony. Tony was in his lab working on his latest project.

“What do you mean suspicious?” Tony asked.

“She’s wandering back and forth around the compound.” Jarvis replied.

“Maybe she’s just taking a walk.” Tony said.

“Sir, she’s wearing make-up.” Jarvis informed him. Tony stopped what he was doing.

“Makeup? She never wears makeup unless…” Tony stopped in his tracks.

“Jarvis, does Y/N appear to be scanning all the exits?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And does she look dressed up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That little minx.” Tony said. “Jarvis, get Steve and Bucky up here please.”

“Of course, sir.”

A few minutes later, Bucky and Steve appeared in Tony’s lab.

“What’s up?” asked Steve.

“I’ve got a mission for you both. Y/N is trying to sneak out of the compound to get to this party of hers tonight. I’ve got eyes on her through Jarvis but I need your help to stop her leaving.”

“Tony, she’s just going to a party. What’s the big deal?” Bucky asked.

“The big deal is that she’s 16 and she’s going to a big party where there will be loads of people and most likely alcohol...or worse. Plus she’s already asked me if she can go and I’ve already said no so now she’s disobeying me.” Tony said.

“Oh. Right.” Bucky replied.

“Here are some ear pieces, I’ll stay here and tell you where she is and you go and stop her from leaving,”

“Roger that,” Steve said. “Mission: Trap Y/N is go.” He saluted Tony and left the room with Bucky. Tony sighed.

“Alright Tony, where she at?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Jarvis, I need eyes on Y/N.” Tony said.

“Sir, she is currently heading to the north exit.”

“North exit guys,” Tony spoke into their ear pieces.

“I’m closer, I got this.” Steve said. He quietly ran to the north corridor and saw you walking to the exit.

“Hey you, finished your phone call already?” He asked. You jumped and turned.

“Oh, uh, yeah, um, I was just going for a walk.” You said.

“Oh sweet, I’ll join you.” Steve said.

“Oh, um, well I just wanted some alone time,” you said, hinting at him.

“I’ll be quiet, I can do with some fresh air too.”

“Actually, on second thoughts, I really need to pee so um...yeah…” you said, jogging past him and back upstairs.

Shit. Back to square one.

You gave it a minute then decided to head to the east exit.

“Guys, she’s going east.” Tony informed the boys.

“On it,” Bucky responded.

He was closer to the door than you were so he decided to open it and lean against the threshold, as if he was just admiring the garden. You turned the corner to see him stood with his back to you. You froze in your tracks.

“Dammit,” you thought to yourself. You tiptoed backwards and headed for the south exit instead.

“Nice work guys, she’s going south now.” Said Tony.

“My turn,” said Steve. He, once again, appeared the same time you did.

“Oh did you pee? Fancy going for a walk now?” He said behind you. You rolled your eyes and turned around.

“Hey, um, yeah I did, but um I’ve changed my mind I don’t actually wanna walk anywhere now.”

“But you’re heading for the exit?”

“Uh, yeah, um...I...I got lost.” You said, shrugging.

“Lost? You’ve been here for 16 years…”

“Yeah, um, bit forgetful it seems,” you laughed nervously, “alright well back I go.”

You walked past him. Once you knew you were out of sight, you headed for the final exit to the west of the building.

“Alright guys…” Tony began.

“Going west, got it,” Bucky finished. He headed in your direction and deliberately walked straight into you.

“Whoa, watch where you’re going.” He teased.

“Sorry Buck,” you responded.

“Where exactly are you going?”

“Just going to get a drink then back to my room,” you lied.

“....dressed up like that?” He asked. You blushed.

“Um, yeah, we decided to dress nicely for our call earlier. Bit of a treat, you know?” You said.

“So...what are you doing at the exit if you’re getting a drink?”

“Thought I’d go around the outside to get some fresh air before entering the kitchen.” You lied, again.

“Without me?!” Steve said. You jumped.

“Oh uh, hey, um, yeah I changed my mind again.”

“Well can I at least join you this time?”

“Oh, uh..”

“What do you mean this time?” Bucky asked.

“Well I found her at both the north and south exits and she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to go for a walk or not. I offered my company and she said no.” He said.

“Maybe that’s why she said no.” Bucky teased. You giggled a little.

“So how come Steve caught you at the north and south exits and I caught you at this one and the east exit?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, I...um...I...wait, how did you know I was at the east exit?” You asked.

“Because we have eyes everywhere, Y/N.” Tony said, appearing behind Steve. He held up his tablet that contained Jarvis’ map. “I told them to follow you.”

“What? Why?” You asked.

“Because, you’re sneaking out to that party. Don’t think you can outsmart Jarvis now, Y/N.”

“Damn you, Jarvis.” you mumbled under your breath.

“I have been programmed to protect everyone in this compound, especially children.” Jarvis said over the speakers. Bucky, Steve and Tony all laughed.

“Oh very funny. I’m not a child.” You said, sarcastically.

“No you’re not, but you’re also not 18 yet which means you’re still legally under our care. And when I say you can’t go to a party, it means you cannot go to a party.” Tony said, taking a step towards you.

“But Tony, if I miss out I won’t be one of the cool kids.” You said.

“You live with all the cool kids here.” said Bucky, you rolled your eyes at him.

“I can’t believe you disobeyed me and tried to sneak past even Jarvis.” Tony said.

“I’m sorry for disobeying you, I really am. I just...I need to go to this. People are waiting for me.” You pleaded.

“No. Maybe I would have considered it if you didn’t break my trust. But now I want an apology.”

“I just said sorry.”

“No no, I want a proper apology.”

“What do you mean by a proper apology?” You asked.

Tony took a step towards you and you subconsciously backed away.

“Come here.” He said, sternly. You looked to Steve and Bucky for help but they just kept a poker face. You stepped closer to Tony.

“Now, I need to make sure you mean your apology and that you’re not going to break my trust again. Any ideas on how I’ll do that?” Tony asked.

“By putting a Jarvis tracker on me….oh wait,” you said, sarcastically. Bucky chuckled. Tony cleared his throat.

“Keep talking like that and this will be much worse for you.” Tony said.

“What will?” You asked.

“This.” Tony said. In one swift motion he had swooped you up and pinned you to the ground, careful not to hurt you in the process.

“What the hell?!” You complained, now trapped under Tony.

“I’m not going to stop until I know you’ve learned your lesson.” He informed.

“Stop what??” You asked. He pulled your arms up and pinned them above your head. He then took a single finger and wiggled it into your armpit. You instantly started giggling.

“Nononono wahait shit plehease,” you giggled.

“Not until I know your apology is sincere.” He said, wiggling another finger into your armpit.

“Please please please I am sohohorry,”

“No you’re not, not yet.” He said. With that, he let go of your arms and stuck both hands into your armpits. You pulled your arms straight down, trapping his hands in the process.

“WAIT NO PLEASE!” You screamed as he tickled deep into your armpits. Bucky and Steve both awed at your giggling mess.

"Come join, agents. You deserve some down time too.” Tony said to Steve and Bucky. They exchanged a look and smiled before walking over to you.

“NO NO NO NOT YOU!” You screamed, watching them approach. Tony was still tickling your armpits so Steve sat to the side and started kneading your hips. Bucky grabbed your legs and went for the back of your knees. You yelped and screamed and arched your body violently.

“AHAHAHAHA NOHOHO STOHOHOP!” You cried.

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson.” Tony repeated.

“I HAHAHAHAVE!” You cried.

“What do you think guys? Has she?” Tony asked the others. They both said “no” in unison. “Right then,” Tony continued.

He removed his hands from your armpits and started tickling your neck. You hunched up your shoulders and squealed. Steve noticed you were trying to pull Tony’s hands away so he shuffled up next to your head, grabbed your arms, pinned them above your head again and sat on them.

“WHAT THE HEHEHELL?!” You screamed, now unable to protect yourself from Tony. Steve gave an evil laugh then proceeded to drill his fingers into your armpits. You screamed louder than ever and frantically tried to twist away.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEASE!” Tears started forming in your eyes as the boys tortured you. Bucky adjusted himself so he was now sat on your legs. Having just taken your shoes off, he was now tickling the soles of your feet.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE I’M SO SOHOHOHORRY!” You yelled through the laughter. Tony felt your legs trying to move and looked over his shoulder to find Bucky holding your toes and scratching at your soles. You screamed loudly again and fell into silent laughter, your face going bright red.

Tony looked at Steve and they both stopped instantly, but you were still screaming. They looked over and realised Bucky was still going, tickling both of your feet simultaneously.

“Buck, ease up now, don’t kill her.” Steve said.

“Oops,” said Bucky, climbing off your legs. Steve got off of your arms but Tony was still sat on your waist.

“I….I...I really am sorry, Tony.” You breathed out.

“I believe you,” he said. “Will you do it again?”

“Absolutely not,” You giggled softly.

“Good.” He climbed off of you and helped you up.

“What time does this party start?” He asked. You looked at your watch, it was now half 8 .

“In half an hour,” you said.

“Go and fix your hair and makeup. I’ll drive you there.” He said.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes, really. I was too hard on you earlier. But you’re still only 16 so I’ll be collecting you at midnight, okay?”

You stood up and smiled at the three of them. Then you thought for a moment.

“No.” You said.

“Excuse me?” Tony responded.

“I’m not gonna go. I want to spend the night with my family.” You said. Bucky clutched his heart and let out a long “awww”, which made you giggle.

“Movie and snacks?” Tony asked.

“Movie and snacks.” You agreed.

You all walked back down the corridor together.

“So, does this mean you’re definitely not going for a walk?” Steve teased. You laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. He put his arm around you.

“Wait, let me get changed into something more comfy,” you said, running up the stairs. When you came back down, you got your phone out and messaged your friend.

“Sorry, can’t make it, got caught. See you another time.”

You then placed your phone on the side and sat down between Tony and Steve.

One by one, the other avengers slowly joined your little film group. It really was the perfect family night.

#tickle fic #avengers tickle fic #ler!steve rogers #ler!bucky #ler!tony stark #lee!reader

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omnitf · 3 years

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Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

#coach stone #meathead #transformation #muscle #bro #dumber #dumb #musclehead #programming #computers #science #sci-fi #fiction

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monicashipslokius · 3 years

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Soulmates, Actually Pt 4

(read part 1/part 2/part 3)

A sharp, shrill alarm blares before the sun has even risen, rousing Loki from a perfect slumber. Loki groans their disgust, but it’s muffled in the meat of Mobius’s shoulder.

“Easy, sunshine,” Mobius says, and the infernal man is actually trying to move.

Loki grumbles louder. Mobius, chuckling, eases Loki away from him and onto the pillow instead. It’s not the same - too soft and not nearly warm enough. Loki clings tighter around Mobius’s waist in retaliation.

“We talked about this,” Mobius says. “I have to go back to work today.”

Loki huffs in frustration as they let Mobius remove their hold and lower their arms to the bed. The pillow is a poor replacement.

For a moment, Mobius brushes Loki’s hair back away from their face. His fingers linger, feather-light, at the edge of Loki’s cheekbone. Too soon, the touch is gone.

“I’ll be back at six pm sharp.”

Loki rolls onto Mobius’s side of the bed and falls asleep again.

When they awaken, the sun is bright and the sheets are cool. Loki’s stomach rumbles. They groan as they pull themself out of bed and finally face the day.

The long, lonely day.

A week has passed since Thor’s departure - a week of Loki and Mobius redecorating and cuddling and learning each other.

They bought six plants of varying sizes, new drapes the color of the ocean, and a soft bedspread to match. Mobius fixed up the broken bathroom door, and Loki hung a few new art pieces and string lights.

The La-Z-Boy they arranged in front of a small boxy television set became a fast favorite.

“What did I tell you?” Mobius said the first time Loki relaxed deeply into the recliner. “It’s the perfect throne.”

Mobius may not understand color palettes, but the man knows comfort.

“It will do for now,” Loki told him, not wanting to give too much away.

Mobius’s smile never wavered. “Mmhm.”

Now, Loki drags themself to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Ten minutes later, they are perched on the recliner, plate on their lap, watching soap operas on television.

Claudio is surprised to find that his fiance Regina’s twin sister Georgina has been behind all of his misfortune, but the plot twist has Loki rolling their eyes.

“Amateurs.” Loki bites into an apple slice.

The hours tick by. Loki watches the anchor-shaped clock that hangs in the kitchen - much of their new decor has an ocean theme. But the more Loki watches the clock, the slower time seems to pass.

Time flew by with Mobius here. But without him...

After the soap operas, the courtroom shows begin. And then the news programs. Loki walks laps around the apartment while listening to the weather forecast for the third time - partly cloudy with a 30% chance of rain. The cost of gasoline is skyrocketing. The local high school football team might make county finals, whatever that means.

At quarter to six, Loki thanks the cosmos. Finally. Mobius will be home and put an end to this monotony.

Loki cleans up a bit, dusting some crumbs off the arms of the recliner. They place the plates in the sink.

Then, because they don’t want to appear too eager, they grab a book and stretch out on the bed.

Six o’clock comes and goes. Mobius does not arrive.

By seven, Loki is annoyed.

By eight, they are angry.

By ten, they are concerned.

Dubuque seems relatively safe. And Mobius has lived here alone for a long time before Loki.

But Loki has enemies. Many, many enemies. All of whom would be more than happy to get their hands on their soulmate.

Mobius is probably fine.

But what if he’s not?

At eleven, they are examining the photo of his office building that Mobius keeps on the dresser. Mobius had taken them to see it in the past week, though they hadn’t gone inside. It wasn’t too far a walk, if they recall. Loki is certain that they could find it again, even in darkness.

So they change into a black suit and hurry out the door. The Dubuque city streets are barren this time of night. Loki encounters no one on their trek to the office - until they barge through the front door and are stopped by a security guard.

Loki promised Mobius that they would not hurt anyone, so instead they create a projection of themself to distract the guard while they themself head toward the elevators. Following the signs for the data analytics department, they ride the elevator to the fourth floor.

They step off the elevator into a darkened field of cubicles. Each is the same - small desk, computer, and chair. All are empty. But Loki isn’t alone here. They follow a light through the cubicle maze and come to one that is occupied.

Mobius has a foot-high pile of files on his desk. He’s tapping at his computer keyboard with the index finger of each hand and peering at the small monitor.

“Mobius?”

Mobius jumps, then clutches his chest. He exhales when he sees Loki standing in the opening of his 3ft x 4ft cell. “Give a guy a warning next time.” He smiles. “But it’s good to see you. How’d you get here? Security let you in?”

Loki only frowns at him. “You said you’d be back at six.”

Mobius’s smile loses some of its brightness. “I have to work a little late. Next time we go out, we’ll get you a phone so I can call and let you know -”

“’A little late?’ Mobius, it’s been hours. I thought you were...” They won’t give name to their truest fears. That Mobius had been kidnapped or killed. Or perhaps that he had finally seen the true darkness in Loki and left of his own free will.

Mobius shakes his head. “Come on, Loki. It hasn’t been that long. It’s only...” He glances at his monitor. “Midnight? That can’t be right.”

“I assure you that is accurate.”

Mobius sits back in his squeaking chair, and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry...” He releases a drawn out sigh and his whole body droops. “Boss was cheesed that I bailed on the conference. I have a lot of work to make up.”

The stack of folders towers over Mobius’s slouched shoulders.

“Would it helped if I -”

“You can’t kill him,” Mobius says.

Loki closes their mouth. Tries again. “He needn’t be killed. I could simply... frighten him.”

Mobius shoots Loki a flat look.

“Fine,” Loki says, disappointed. “But what is your intention? To stay here all night?”

Mobius side-eyes the folder mountain. “I’m going to have to.”

“No.”

Mobius sighs. “Loki -”

“This is a place of employment, Mobius, not a living space.”

“It’s my own fault. I should have come back sooner.” He rubs at the corner of one eye. “Maybe I should have stayed at the conference.”

The words stab Loki between the ribs.

“Magicking away was not my best idea,” Mobius says. “I shouldn’t have run from my responsibilities. I’ll never catch up on this work.”

More stabs, a thousand tiny cuts.

“So you regret everything,” Loki says, fighting hard to keep the hurt from their voice. They are disappointed by their own surprise, their own pain. They had thought Mobius was different. They should have known.

Thor was wrong when he said no one could hold Loki’s interest. It was the other way around. Loki protected themself by leaving before the other could get bored. They should have done that here.

But they thought...

Mobius is supposed to be their perfect match.

“No, hey,” Mobius jumps from his chair. That’s all it takes to put him in Loki’s space. Loki takes a step back. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t regret everything, just some things.”

“You regret coming with me when we escaped.”

“N-no,” he says, but not without hesitation.

“You could have stayed. They weren’t chasing you. You could have told them I brainwashed you and gone on with your day.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” The bags are heavy under Mobius’s eyes. He’s tired, Loki knows that - but Loki’s tired too. Sitting, waiting, stressing.

The room sparks with tension. Loki’s pain festers under their skin.

And Mobius regrets.

Loki takes a breath, searching for calm. For understanding. For their soulmate. “Come home,” they say, “And we can continue talking in the morning.”

Mobius exhales again, too sharp. He places his hands on his hips and looks at that damned pile of folders again. “I can’t go anywhere.”

“Mobius -”

“This is my life, Loki,” Mobius tells him. “Data analysis is my life. You have to understand that.”

Something dark in Loki’s chest snaps clean in half. “This is your life. This.” They wave a hand around. “This tiny box in a sea of tiny boxes. Where everyone else has left you here in the dark. Where your employer buries you under papers so deep that you cannot find your way out of them. Is all this extra work truly because you left the conference? How often would you work late before I arrived?”

Mobius looks away, and Loki knows they’re right. The answer, too often.

“Are you at least receiving additional benefits for all this extra time spent here?”

Mobius still won’t look at them.

“They are taking advantage of you, of your loyalty, and you are letting them.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mobius snaps, the sharpest he’s ever spoken to Loki.

Loki stands taller. They’re used to anger, to cutting words, to pain - more than they were ever used to kindness.

“I am trying to protect you,” Loki says.

“I don’t need protection from my job.”

For one wild moment, Loki thinks of grabbing those folders and tossing them across the room. They dream of throwing Mobius over their shoulder and saving them from this drab place and its tan carpet and eggshell walls.

Instead, they insist, “No, you do. You owned three photos when I first met you: one of your parents, one of a jetski, and one of this office. Can you not see how depressing that is?”

Mobius face hardens.

“You are meant for better things than this. When was the last time you even rode a jetski? Or had fun of any kind?”

“I’m an adult. I don’t need fun.”

“That is absurd.”

Mobius’s brows draw together. “Listen, not all of us could be born into royalty, and just go around doing whatever we want all the time.”

Born into royalty. A fresh sting, not one Mobius could know would hit so hard. But it does all the same. Loki steps backward from the force of it.

Mobius unhooks his arms. “Loki -”

Loki shakes their head. Mobius watches them, confusion replacing frustration, followed quickly by concern. He lifts his hand, but Loki steps back again, further out of reach.

“It’s fine,” Loki says, lying. “Stay as long as you like.” They bury the pain down deep. It’s familiar, an old, hated friend. “I wouldn’t dare dream of treading on your unhappiness.”

Mobius drops his hand. “I am happy. I am perfectly happy.”

“Good,” Loki says.

“Great,” Mobius says.

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

They stare hard at each other. Loki refuses to look away first.

When Mobius finally does, turning back to his cubicle and his chair and the stack of folders, disappointment floods through Loki.

They don’t wait to be dismissed, they turn and leave on their own.

Loki does not return to the apartment. Instead, they walk and they walk and they walk. They almost hope to be accosted by vagrants, so as to release some restless energy in a fight, but they see no one. They reach a river and follow it into a forest.

They sit along the riverbank and watch the sunlight crest over the trees.

Maybe they shouldn’t have surrendered the scepter. With the tesseract, they could have traveled anywhere. Now they are limited to the distance of their own two legs. Not that they would know where to go anyway.

The only place they want to be is back at the apartment with Mobius.

It’s evening when they eventually make their way back there. Their stomach growls, and they’re thirsty and tired. With some food and a good night’s rest, perhaps they could leave again with a plan this time. Hire a taxi to an airport and take a plane. Find a city of decadence and lose themself for a few decades.

They don’t expect Mobius to be home. It’s only shortly after seven, far too early for his beloved late nights. Yet as they place the key into the lock and start to turn, they barely have time to remove it before being yanked forward into the apartment and into a crushing embrace.

“Don’t leave me,” Mobius says. His arms are sure around Loki’s waist. His nose is buried in the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. His words are muffled by Loki’s forest-dirty suit coat. “I’m not happy. I haven’t been in a long time. Not until you. And not without you.”

Loki sags into his arms, and he holds tighter, keeping Loki upright. Keeping them safe. They close their eyes and let the warmth of Mobius’s body chase away the chill of the Iowa evening air.

“You scared the hell outta me,” Mobius says, voice shaky. “I looked for you everywhere, but I kept checking here. I kept hoping you’d come back. I’m so sorry.” Mobius leans back. He reaches up and cups Loki’s face between his palms. Gently, he rubs his thumbs over Loki’s cheekbones. “I want to be good for you.”

“How could you think you’re not?”

Regret shines in Mobius’s eyes now, more than it ever did during their argument. “I hurt you. I don’t want to ever do that again.”

Loki places their hand over one of Mobius’s on their face. “I hurt you, too, I suspect.”

“No, everything you said was right.” He swallows. “Work’s all I had for so long, and when I was back there, and they started piling it on... Everyone else in that office has always had someone, so before I would take on the extra work myself. It was better than coming home alone. It’s a hard habit to break. Loki, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this.” But Loki still wants to hear it. Each of Mobius’s words are a balm over their pain. Mobius keeps going. He doesn’t even stop for breath.

“I lashed out at you, and I only did that because you were right. And I didn’t want to hear it. But then you were gone.”

“I’m here,” Loki says. “I’m here now.”

“I am a lousy soulmate.” Mobius smiles, but it’s too soft, too sad. “After so long alone, I don’t think that I know how to be with somebody. But I want to learn. I want to deserve this, with you.”

“Mobius,” Loki says, and their mending heart threatens to break again. “I am no great prize.”

Mobius starts to laugh. “I’m trying to be serious, Loki.”

“I am too,” Loki says, and whatever Mobius sees on their face stops the laughter. Loki studies the softness in Mobius’s gaze, the adoration, the great care, memorizing as much as they can, in case this is the last time they see it. “I’m a monster.”

Mobius, voice flat and unamused, says, “Be serious.”

“I was not born to royalty. Not like you think,” Loki says and waits. Dread rolls over them in waves, but Mobius does not react more than a slight cant of his head. “I’m not...” It would be easier to show him, but Loki can’t. If they do, Mobius will change all of his sweet words. He won’t stand to share this small apartment with them any longer, and Loki will be back on that riverside. “How you see me is not... how I am.”

Mobius is patient. Mobius waits. Maybe Loki wasn’t wrong about Mobius after all. Maybe Mobius, like them, is imperfect and a little afraid but trying.

Slowly, Loki pulls Mobius’s hands from their face so as not to burn him with the cold of their skin as they lift the glamour that hides their Jotunn form.

They want to look away, to hide from the horror they are sure to see on Mobius’s face, but simultaneously are too desperate to see any and every reaction.

Mobius’s eyes grow wide. His lips part. He blinks a few times.

“Loki,” Mobius says, and Loki braces for fresh heartache. But then he smiles, real and true and bright, a lighthouse in a lifetime of hurt. “Blue like the ocean.” The adoration never dims from his eyes. “You are beautiful.”

Mobius insists he doesn’t care, but Loki only feels comfortable again with their glamour restored.

“Either way,” Mobius says, and sends Loki off to the bathroom to shower and change. “I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re done.”

When Loki leaves the tiny bathroom in their silk pajamas, they find the small two-person table lit by candlelight. Mobius stands beside it, wearing one of the dark suits Loki picked out for him at the store, with a deep green tie that’s slightly askew.

“What’s all this?” Loki asks.

“I know we’re soulmates, and our fates are destined and everything,” Mobius says, tugging at his collar. A bit of pink dusts his cheeks. “But some things should be done the old fashioned way. I want to win your heart, so I thought...” He clears his throat. “I want to wine and dine you. Properly.”

“Ah.” Loki slides further into the room, heart lighter than it’s been in the past forty-eight hours. All the lingering hurts are mended. And Mobius looks delectable in that suit, just as Loki thought he would. Loki strides right up to him, reaches out, and adjusts his tie. “You are attempting to seduce me.”

Mobius’s cheeks redden. He glances away for the briefest of moments before his eyes return to Loki’s face.

“You are everything a guy could want,” Mobius says. “More than I ever dreamed.”

Loki finishes fixing Mobius’s tie, but leaves their hands flat on Mobius’s chest. Mobius takes one and brings it to his mouth. He places a kiss to Loki’s palm.

Loki shivers, but not from any cold.

“Loki,” Mobius says, giving so much weight to the name - things unspoken, maybe not ready to be said, but are known - so known, and ready to be shown.

Mobius leans, and Loki stays very still, waiting, wanting but so, so afraid.

Mobius stops just out of reach. His breath hot on Loki’s lips, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Loki swallows all their fear and whispers, “Please.”

Mobius closes the distance and presses their lips together.

Fireworks ignite in Loki’s chest. Their heart thunders. Their hands itch for more, so they grab Mobius by the shoulders and hold, clinging, ruining the new suit and not caring at all.

Mobius cups Loki’s jawline, guiding them closer, tilting gently, positioning Loki just as he wants them. Loki goes willingly, opening their mouth as Mobius licks his way inside.

They should have done this long ago. They should do this all the time. This should never, ever stop.

Loki moans as Mobius’s fingers comb into their hair. Mobius breaks for air, tilts his head, and comes back for more. Loki holds Mobius so close, they are certain their heart beats straight into Mobius’s chest.

It’s perfect, passion incarnate, and Loki wants so much that they -

Loki’s stomach growls. Loudly.

Mobius smiles against Loki’s lips.

Loki groans as Mobius plants one more soft kiss and pulls away.

“Wining and dining time,” he says with a wink.

Loki is both endeared and annoyed. “I will have more of this.” His stomach grumbles again. “After dinner.”

Loki doesn’t miss the flush of Mobius’s cheeks, even as his easy smile returns. “It would be my absolute pleasure, and I mean that.”

#i wrote this #lokius #wowki #loki x mobius #soulmate au #part 4 of 5 theoretically though the list of scenes i want gets longer every chapter oops #might be 4 of 6 #anyway #fighting cw #making up #that jotunn scene that must be in every long fic #first kiss #i fit a lot in here haha #OH! also #long fic #be warned if you click the read more #ao3 link tomorrow prolly #this one hits a little different than the rest #i really wanted to deal with mobius's workaholism

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redvoid-40 · 3 years

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Well, this is a continuation of sorts to my previous FyodorxOC snippet, A Game for a Kiss. It has bee sitting on my Drive for a few weeks now. It’s not the whole lemon, but it’s enough for me to post it with its own trigger-warnings. >.<

TW: NSFW content, a bit of manhandling and a bit of misogynist thoughts.

Hope it’s enough to stave off the thirst for our feral rat-man while I work on some other projects. Maybe I’ll get back and finish this. =.=

Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Fyodor let out a deep exhale as his body fell back on his chair, neck rolling over his shoulders in a poor attempt to relieve the tension built up from spending hours in front of multiple monitors. Finding Mary’s ability, Adam, was proving to be a challenge, even though he knew to look for him with the members of the Detective Agency.

No doubt Dazai has his grubby fingers all over him, Fyodor mused with a crooked smile as his brain quickly made a bridge from Adam to Mary and the little indiscretions he had shared with her until now. He thought of how she had kissed him after their game of chess in the library, how he ran his hand up and down her thigh as they had afternoon tea while Eric Blair sat just across from them, and more recently how he accosted her back inside the library, pressing himself flush against her back as he pretended to look for a book on the upper shelves.

The memories alone made his cock twitch inside his pants, so Fyodor pushed them to the back of his mind to focus on his work instead. Despite their proclivities, Fyodor couldn’t let himself forget their relationship was supposed to be professional and that he was being paid - rather handsomely at that - by Eric Blair to provide them a service. And while that service was nothing more than a front that would blow up in the older gentleman’s face as it provided Fyodor the opportunity to better evaluate the Detective Agency’s capabilities, the Russian still had to play his part with diligence.

With a sigh, Fyodor pulled open a drawer to retrieve a half-empty bottle of vodka and a glass to pour himself a generous “pick-me-up”. He downed the drink quickly, face placid despite the burning that followed the liquid running down his throat. His eyes perused the multiple tabs on his monitor that showed live feed of the comings and goings in the streets of Yokohama, especially on the places frequented by the Detective Agency. He saw the detectives multiple times in the last 16 hours, but still no sight of Adam.

Thankfully, he had made great strides on his bot-programs. A few more hours and he’d be able to dump this menial task on technology instead of wasting his time on watch-duty.

“Excuse me,” Ivan called, knocking softly on the door. Fyodor hummed, swirling his chair to watch the door open for the man; he was carrying a tray with tea and pastries and his smile lit up his face as his eyes fell on Fyodor. “Our hosts are enjoying their afternoon tea at the gardens, so I brought you something to snack on as well. You should take a break.”

Ivan, always so dutiful, so grateful, Fyodor thought, smiling. As endearing as he is overbearing.

Still, the simple mention of their gracious hosts brought back the thoughts of Mary he had just pushed to the back of his mind, and suddenly Fyodor couldn’t bear to stay in this small, dark, stuffy room anymore. Maybe it was the vodka, but he felt ridiculously hot.

“There’s nowhere to put the tray, Ivan,” Fyodor pointed out, pushing away from his set up. “But I think I need some time away from these screens. Let’s join everyone.”

Ivan’s ever-present smile faltered, making Fyodor’s own grow into a crescent. “Is there a problem, Ivan?” He asked, though he knew the answer.

“Not at all, sir. Sounds like a good idea,” Ivan said, pulling the door further open for Fyodor. “I’ll just take these back to the kitchens, then.”

“You do that,” Fyodor said as he floated by the other man with a giddy lightness on his steps. Last time he sat at a table with Mary and someone else, he kept his palm resting high on her thigh and underneath her skirt, little finger teasing the elastic of her panties as his eyes enjoyed the dusting of pink that bloomed on her cheeks.

Fyodor sauntered through the mansion’s corridors, making a straight line to the gardens, when Nikolai appeared in front of him. The clown smiled widely, in a way Fyodor didn’t appreciate.

“Quiz time,” Nikolai sang as he walked by the other man. “Where in the world is Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley? What is she waiting for? Or who?”

Fyodor’s steps didn’t pause or slow down, but when he reached the end of the corridor, instead of following the path Nikolai had made and that would take him to the gardens, he turned right towards the main hall, to the stairs that would lead him to the private quarters.

The lightness in his steps morphed into purpose as he marched to Mary’s door. He didn’t knock and he didn’t hesitate before pushing it open, only to find an empty room waiting for him. It gave Fyodor whiplash, causing his eyes to widen at being surprised for maybe the third or fourth time in his life. Had Nikolai misled him with those stupid, annoying quizzes of his? Just because he dressed as a clown, did he think everything around him was a fucking joke?

No, he lives for these little things. These little soap bubbles of human drama that threaten to burst open and drip into the eyes of people around them, Fyodor thought, shaking his head slightly. It was Mary; it could only be her, with that infuriatingly delightful way of frustrating his expectations.

Fyodor raised his thumb to his lips as he slammed the door close and marched away from Mary’s bedroom, making a straight line to the library, wherein they had shared their latest encounter and also enjoyed a wonderful game of chess that was followed by an even more wonderful heavy petting session a few days ago. Certainly, if she were to wait for him somewhere in this mansion, the library would be it, right?

Wrong. The library was as empty as her bedroom, making Fyodor bite hard on the pad of his thumb in frustration and stain his pristine white shirt with a few drops of blood, just like anger stained his previous giddiness.

Where the fuck-

Fyodor’s train of thought halted.

Could it be? She wouldn’t be so bold. Would she?

Fyodor’s purple eyes widened and his shoulders dropped as he closed the library’s door, much more softly than he had done with the one in Mary’s bedroom. With a sigh, he looked down at himself, at the blood staining his shirt, and immediately stopped chewing on his thumb to suckle on it instead, in hopes the bleeding would stop before he’d reach his next destination.

This time, Fyodor’s steps were languid as he made his way through the mansion’s corridors, back where he had come from, up to the wing destined to their private quarters. Only, this time, he passed by Mary’s room without a glance; just kept walking and walking until he reached his own door.

He took his thumb off his mouth, nostrils flaring when he found his thumb was still bleeding.

Oh well, he thought, whipping his thumb on the front of his shirt, further staining it with red before also leaving a bloody fingerprint on the doorknob. Fyodor opened the door to his bedroom, and at last found Mary Shelley. The doctor was barefooted, sitting comfortably on his windowsill and enjoying the warm sunlight as she stared at the book atop her crossed legs with furrowed eyebrows, mouthing words he couldn’t hear.

Fyodor should feel wary and downright wrathful at the invasion of his personal space, even though nothing in this mansion was his - or maybe everything, everyone was, and they just didn’t know it. However, the turmoil inside him was immediately smothered by the sight of Mary sitting barely three feet away from his bed. The vision was titillating; it made a predatory smile pull at the corner of his lips.

He didn’t worry about Mary going through his things; he doubted she’d ever be so daring, and it wasn’t like he’d ever be stupid enough to keep anything worthy searching in that room. Besides, he could always watch his private security footage later on.

For now, he had something much more entertaining to enjoy, something live and alive that flew into his territory without knowing how dangerous it could be.

Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s getting into, Fyodor thought as he stopped behind her, bending at the waist to whisper in Mary’s ear.

“What are you reading?”

The woman gasped, shoulders tensing at the sudden gust of warm air caressing her ear as she turned her neck to look at the man over her shoulder as if he was the one intruding in her space and not the way around. Though, when her eyes made out Fyodor towering over her, they immediately fell to his lips, darkening until they were almost black with longing. Fyodor wondered if, in the end, she would be the one to devour him and not the other way around.

“It’s more of a picture book, really,” Mary answered, turning back to the book open in her lap. Fyodor followed her gaze, eyes widening slightly at finding a picture of the beautiful tulips of the Gorky Park in Moscow with a brief text describing its history written in Russian. “I found it in the library. It’s an image guide for tourist attractions in Moscow. The photos are beautiful, and the descriptions are simple enough for me to decipher.”

Fyodor’s smile dropped slightly as a hand reached over her shoulder to run over the bright-coloured tulips on the page. “You speak Russian?” He mumbled.

“Not at all,” the woman replied with laughter. “I’ve been trying to learn a bit since Eric told me you’d be helping us, and it’s been very slow progress. The spoken word is a complete mystery to me, but I can read a little. There are many words I haven’t learned yet, but I can make out the general idea of simple texts like this.”

Mary turned to stare at Fyodor’s profile, and her smile dropped at the far-off look in his eyes as he stared at the photo. “Do you miss it?” She asked.

Fyodor sighed. “Life wasn’t easy there. Still…”

Mary’s hand reached up to lay gently over his cheek, pulling his attention from his mind to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought this.”

Fyodor fixed his eyes on Mary’s dark ones, incapable of turning away even if he wanted to. The longer you stare into the abyss, he thought ruefully as he grabbed a fistful of black, silky hair. His hold was firm, but uncharacteristically careful not to pull on any strand in a way that could cause discomfort.

“What are you doing here, Mary?” Fyodor asked, letting his eyes dance all over her features, enjoying her dilated pupils, savouring the pink on her cheeks and longing for her pouty lips.

“I wanted to see you,” she admitted without hesitation or shame, and just an inkling of trepidation. “I wanted to be alone with y-”

Fyodor slammed his mouth over Mary’s, swallowing her words as his other hand encircled her neck, putting just enough pressure to prompt her to stand up, uncaring of the book that dropped to the floor as he pressed her against the wall.

The Russian moaned, upper body folding over Mary’s in search of heat and pressure as he pushed his knee between her legs and ground his thigh against the warmth of her clothed pussy. Meanwhile, Mary’s arms sneaked up his body, taking a moment to appreciate the planes of his chest before wrapping around his neck as one hand reached up to take off his hat and place it on the windowsill.

“Get over here,” Fyodor growled as he pulled Mary back with him to the bed. “Sit on my lap. Like before.”

Mary complied, climbing over his thighs as his hands groped her ass. This time his hold was bruising as he urged her to grind hard against his cock, drawing moans from both of them. Purple eyes fixed on dark brown as Fyodor cupped Mary’s jaw with his hand, thumb hovering over her swollen lips, teasing them until they opened on their own volition to suck the digit into the wetness of her mouth.

Fyodor exhaled through his nostrils as a wide grin stretched on his lips. He pushed his thumb deeper into her mouth as he applied pressure on her jaw, forcing it open just enough for him to shove his tongue back inside. Her mouth tasted of Earl Grey and lemon-poppy scones; he wondered how the rest of her would taste.

With that thought consuming him, Fyodor pulled back slightly, a thick string of saliva connecting their mouths. His eyes fell down further, past her lips, until he was staring directly at her breasts and how the buttons of her button-up tank top strained to hold them in place. The image caused him to lick his lips as his long fingers began undoing the buttons of her top, from the bottom up, and one at a time. When Mary moved to help him, he slapped her hands away.

“Don’t,” he chided, smiling darkly at the gasp that escaped her. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while now. Let me enjoy it.”

Slowly, Fyodor made his way up, until the halves of her shirt fell open to reveal a perfectly sensible white bra that, to the man’s absolute delight, opened in the front.

“You came prepared,” he said as he undid the clasp, letting the cups fly open to reveal the prettiest breasts Fyodor had ever seen in his life.

Gently, almost reverently, he cupped the left breast and planted a soft kiss on the rosy nipple before opening his mouth to flatten his tongue over it. Purple eyes looked up at Mary’s face, and he moaned at the look of pure bliss on her half-lidded gaze as she stared back at him.

“Fyodor…” Mary moaned as her fingers entwined around his hair, applying gentle pressure. “Please-”

How could he ever deny such sweet supplication?

Fyodor’s fingers tightened around the flesh of Mary’s breast as his mouth opened wide to engulf her nipple. Teeth worrying the erect nub, he suckled hard on her flesh, stretching the skin as his other arm circled Mary’s back, disallowing any notion of escape she could entertain.

“F-Fyodor!” Mary whined, sounding like a wounded animal. But her hands didn’t push him off; instead, they only tightened in his hair, pulling the strands with the exact amount of force to keep him on the line between pleasure and pain. And to make everything worse - or better, so much better - she continued to undulate her hips against his cock in a steady rhythm.

Fyodor growled, sucking harder before pulling out with a loud pop. He took a second to admire his work, smiling at the reddened and swollen nub before diving in to give the same treatment to her other breast as his fingers pinched the abused nipple. Mary’s hold on him tightened as her whimpers escalated, urging Fyodor to double his efforts until she was pushing against him in overstimulation that bordered on pain.

Satisfied, Fyodor bit his way up her neck, leaving teeth marks and bruises over the pale column of her throat as he made his way to her ear.

“On your back,” he growled, twisting his body to throw Mary over his pillows, uncaring that her shirt and bra were still hanging open over her shoulders.

Smiling, Fyodor sat back between her legs, committing to memory the image of Mary splayed over his bed, looking absolutely debauched and ready to be devoured. He was about to do just the later when she shot up, hands reaching out to grab the lapels of his shirt.

“Off,” she said, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t move to help. Fyodor didn’t remember any of his past trysts ever being so excited at the prospect of skin-to-skin contact, and he found he quite enjoyed having someone so eager to put their hands on him. Let her work for it, he thought, smiling widely as his shirt finally came undone, floating down his arms before the woman peeled it off him and chucked it somewhere to the side.

Fyodor was not what someone could call athletic; he was thin and wiry and ghostly pale. But Mary still looked at him with unashamed want as her warm hands danced over the muscles of his abdomen and pectorals.

“You’re like a marble statue,” Mary whispered, staring at him as her hands framed his face. “So beautiful.”

This again, Fyodor thought, feeling something warm burst in his chest. This softness, this warmth… what’s the point? Fyodor didn’t know what to do with freely given praise and blatant desire; he knew only how to buy people and manipulate them into doing his will against their own.

So he pushed Mary roughly back onto the bed before she could kiss him again and steer him further in this uncharted territory. The Russian made quick work of her skirt and panties, pulling them down her legs with haste before grabbing her thighs and pushing them wide apart, opening her cunt for his hungry eyes without giving Mary a chance to protest.

Fyodor’s breath caught in his throat at the pink folds spread open for him, already glistening with so much arousal he bet he could shove his whole fist inside her with a bit of patience.

“Fyodor?” Mary called to him, voice trembling in a way that he didn’t quite enjoy.

Easy, Fyodor thought as he let out a shuddering breath; purple eyes jumped to Mary’s face, taking in her wide-eyed stare for what it was: fear. Easy, he told himself again as his fingers tightened around the soft flesh of her thighs, wanting nothing more than to tear her open inside out. Easy, he chanted one last time as he let down her legs and folded his body over her until the tip of his nose touched hers.

He had never tried to be soft with anyone before, never cared if his desires scared or bruised his filthy partners as long as he took what he wanted from them in the end. But Fyodor had also never been with someone like Mary before, someone who’d seek his company without promises of material rewards or emotional manipulation, someone who had nothing to gain from letting him use their body, other than using his body back in the best possible way.

Fyodor smiled, hoping it would soothe her as much as her own smile soothed him, even though his personal history attested against such wishful thinking.

“Got a bit excited there,” Fyodor whispered, planting butterfly kisses all over her face as a way of apology.

“You looked angry,” Mary said worriedly. “Are you uncomfortable with me? Do you want to stop?”

Fyodor pulled back slightly with a raised eyebrow, unbelieving she’d worry about him after he had treated her like that; like she was one of those tramps who’d spend nights on their feet around corners of the worst parts of town for some quick cash. As if she was like the others he had taken before.

Fyodor put a smile back on his face, combing Mary’s hair behind her ear. “I never want to stop,” he said, and if those words inflamed her apprehensions, Mary didn’t show. Instead, she smiled at him and ghosted her lips over his, gentle as a rose petal.

Fyodor shut his eyes tightly as he held back from pressing against Mary until their teeth clashed.

Easy.

He wanted nothing more than to pull his fly open and piston inside Mary with no preamble or preparation, like he usually did. But he also wanted to spoil her rotten, have her come apart in his mouth and fingers before even thinking of pulling his cock out of his pants, like he had never done before.

It took everything he had to commit to the later.

With a quick nip of Mary’s bottom lip, Fyodor pulled back and made his way down her body, taking a moment to kiss every single bruise he had left on her neck and pretty nipples, all red and swollen from his rough treatment before. He smirked to himself as her body jerked when he dipped his tongue in her navel.

“Ticklish?” He teased, propping his chin on her lower belly as his hands moved beneath her thighs, hugging her hips to him.

Mary propped herself on his pillows to look back at him with an embarrassed smile. “A bit.”

“I’ll save that piece of information for later,” Fyodor promised. “But for now…”

His pupils blew wide as he moved his gaze back to Mary’s pussy, humming in pleasure as his right thumb danced over those pink folds, nuzzling her labia open to admire the vision before him.

“You’re pretty all over, aren’t you?” Fyodor mused, licking his lips.

Truthfully, he had never put his head between another person’s legs before, unwilling to expose himself to the smells and diseases of the filth he costumed to fuck. But Mary was in a league all of her own. Cultured and clean, she was the sort of woman who knew better than to get within a 2-meters radius of someone like him, the sort of woman he’d watch from afar, imagining all the ways he could make her cry if he was ever alone with her.

Oh, the irony, Fyodor thought, letting his lips ghost over Mary’s cunt with pure reverence, savouring the moan that escaped her throat and went straight to his already straining cock. His eyes focused on Mary’s face, committing to memory her glossy eyes, flushed cheeks and parted lips as she looked at him with desire unlike anything he had ever seen.

Once their gazes locked, Fyodor closed his lips over her clit, humming loudly as his tongue ghosted over the swollen nub; the contact so soft it was torturous to Mary.

“Fyodor, please…” she begged, fists clenching around the sheets. “Don’t be mean.”

Mean? Fyodor thought, chuckling against her clit. Mary didn’t know the meaning of the word, didn’t have the slightest idea of how horrible he was when he was being mean.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Fyodor asked, smiling widely as he stared at her twitching cunt. Without warning, he brought his index and middle fingers to her opening, slowly carving a path inside her. Her walls were heavenly, warm and wet, snug and spasming around his digits as they struggled to take his intrusion. “So tight, Mary. You’re not a virgin, are you?” He asked, even though he knew the answer already; could feel it in the little cord that gave away the IUD inside her uterus.

Mary shook her head, chest going up and down rapidly. “It’s just… It’s been a long time.”

“Oh? How long?”

The light blush dusting her cheeks exploded in a bright red that ran down her neck and to the top of her breasts. Fyodor raised an eyebrow at that, fingers going in and out at a leisurely pace.

“How long?” Fyodor repeated, suddenly shoving his long fingers inside of her as deep as possible, pulling a loud moan from deep inside her throat.

“Three years!” She said, arching her back as she pulled on the bedsheets. “It’s been three years… since I was last with someone.”

Fyodor froze, fingers unmoving against the cord peeking out of her cervix. Mary was… breath-taking, with an elegant beauty Fyodor had never seen before, and a brain that could actually challenge him in chess. Which begged the question-

“-How?”

“Adam… was a lot of work,” Mary explained, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. “Keeping my ability out of trouble demanded so much of me, especially while juggling my Core Training in Pathology at St Bart’s. I didn’t have the time to even think about dating. Not that it did me any good, considering I completely lost control of Adam anyway…”

Fyodor should’ve imagined. Unlike most ability-users, Mary understood her sin and strived to take responsibility for it, even at considerable personal cost. And unlike the lascivious masses, she wasn’t the type to overlook her duties to go out and open her legs to just anyone for a quick fix. Mary was a woman of class that somehow fell in bed with a filthy sewer-rat.

And he’d chew her to the bone.

#fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor x oc #bsd fyodor #ivan goncharov #bsd #oc mary shelley

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cancerbiophd · 3 years

Note

Hi Julia,

I’m all most about to finish my undergrad exams and at same time want to apply for jobs , so I want to ask my anatomy lecturer/ program leader for reference (not recommendation letter) but I do not know what to include in the email. Any ideas?

Hi anon,

Congratulations on being nearly done with undergrad! Things will only get better from here on out :)

In your email, you can include something like this:

Start off with "reminding" the lecturer of who you are by saying how much you enjoyed their class in [whichever semester/quarter] (and any other special detail you want to include, like if you ever helped out or did an extra project).

Tell them you're about to apply to some jobs in the ___ field, and if any of them ask for references, would it be ok to put their name and contact info down?

Add to that why you think they'd be a good reference by highlighting a few things they could bring up about you that would show you're a great fit for whatever position you're applying for (eg. good grades = organized, attention to detail, hard worker).

Then, point out that you've attached your resume/CV/transcript in case they need it (and anything else you think may be helpful, like if you have a personal statement about career goals, etc).

Finish by saying thank you, and that you're looking forward to their response.

If you don't hear anything back in a week, you can reply to the same email to check in with them (lecturers can be really busy sometimes, or maybe they're on vacation, feeling under the weather, etc). If you still don't hear back a week after that, it may be time to think about other references, or to just go ahead and put their name down as a reference anyway--but only if you're close enough to them that you know they won't object and will have good things to say to your potential employer.

I hope that helps! Good luck on your exams and job hunt! 🍀

#job advice

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bat-besties · 3 years

Text

Roman’s Victory

AO3

1.7k

Sci-Fi Platonic Prinxiety Hurt/Comfort

As the only medic on their spaceship and the most reckless of the fighter pilots, Virgil and Roman are used to seeing each other. Perhaps there are problems which Virgil can't fix for Roman alone.

Mention of a burn, characters not taking care of themselves, medical environment

"Mars below, Roman, you can't keep doing this-" the medic snapped, hitting the touch screen of the hologram so hard that it glitched out for a moment. He kicked the box projecting it and then keyed in some details. The green-yellow light flickered up along the corroded metal panels of the floor and walls. "Okay, I'm getting you some proper painkillers and you can't operate heavy machinery for the week's course-"

Roman scoffed, then stopped to catch his breath for a moment, curling his fingers into the foam mattress. He was sure Virgil tied the bandages so tightly just to annoy him. "My elegant racer is as far from heavy machinery as a butterfly is from a rhinoceros-"

Eyes underlined with bags far darker than Roman supposed was healthy met his own flatly. "Just because you spin out a chunk of metal really thin doesn't stop it being a chunk of metal."

"And just because you put a willow tree into an aspirin doesn't make it not a tree, but you're not prescribing me chewing on bark!" Roman rejoindered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not- this is all synthetic, it's not the Middle Ages."

"It comes from willow trees," he insisted. “That’s what they did in like...3000 CE when they discovered it.”

"It comes from my limited store and you're using it all up," he groused. He didn't bother with the little keypad by the medicine cupboard, instead just whacking the top of it with the heel of his hand so it fell open.

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you shouldn't do that where a crewmate can see you."

"Look, if you start stealing bandages and painkillers rather than returning them unused I wouldn't stop you." As ever, it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic, but Roman was fairly confident he wasn’t this time.

"Bandages are for nerds," Roman muttered to himself. He patted the spot over his shoulder which had been- well, lightly toasted by blaster fire and tightened his hands once more so he didn’t flinch. There. It was basically nothing. "Nerd losers who don't have dashing and fun scars-"

Virgil pointed the box of pills at him in what the pilot could only interpret as a threatening gesture. "At any point in time, I'm between keeping you here on bedrest so you stick to my rules and being off put by how much you like to annoy me." He looked at Roman’s shoulder with a frown. "You're walking that line."

He put on his most charming smile as he took the box and tucked it into his jumpsuit. "What, like my company wouldn't delight and fill your dreary days, borebones?"

Virgil pulled a face. "Yeah, nope, you can go get infected all you like."

"Somehow I feel like a doctor shouldn't have this lack of care for his dear patients."

"Maybe the patient should have more care for himself-" Virgil sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Guilt squirmed into the pilot’s chest, as well as exactly what his captain would say to a general medic trying to dissuade his most committed soldier. "Roman, seriously, I can refer you to talk to someone, at least-"

There was a ringing knock on the door, like two metal pipes clanging together.

He cut off and called, "Yeah?"

"It is P10!" an automated voice replied. "Requesting access?"

Virgil checked his patient, who was busy pretending to be engrossed in picking at the foam mattress, then nodded. "Sure, come in!"

As a robot built to the dimensions of a tiny snowman rolled in, Roman tried to slide off the bed but Virgil held up a hand to keep him. And he was so close to avoiding another doom-and-gloom medic lecture. "Hey, P10," he said- his voice was softer than usual, Roman noted- and then, with a jolt, he realised it wasn’t much softened from when he spoke to him. "This is just Roman."

"Hi!" the robot beeped, then came to bump into the end of Virgil's scrubs where the black faded into washed-out grey.

He crouched down to P10's level. "Usual treatment today?" His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration. Diagnose-y face, Roman deduced.

"Yes.” The robot bobbed his head into a nod. “Performance normal. Satisfaction...low." Somehow the pause in programmed words sounded dejected.

"Yeah, tell me about it,” he sighed as he wrapped his arms around P10's round sides in an awkward hug.

Roman laughed in disbelief and Virgil's eyes snapped up to glare at him. He held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry! It's just- funny."

"What is?" His eyes narrowed.

He shook his head with a grin. "You're all...soft.”

"What are you talking about? I'm always soft," he snarked at him.

Impatient, P10 bumped the dome of his head into Virgil's chin. "Kiss it better!"

As demanded, Virgil dropped a little kiss onto the robot's head. "There. That should help," he said gruffly, not looking at Roman as his cheeks went pink.

P10 made a little whirring noise, almost like a purr. "Satisfaction...medium.”

"A little bit better is still better," the medic said, standing up again with a stretch and a grunt. "I'll see what I can do when I get those books in, okay?"

"Thanks, Virgil!" He rolled back out again before stopping to wiggle his head goodbye. "See you tomorrow!"

He gave a little two-fingered salute in return. Academy habits died hard, Roman knew.

However he was looking at Virgil as he reappraised him made the medic scowl and turn away, before wheeling back and pointing at the holes he had dug in the foam mattress. "Dude, come on. I get one of these a week and it's Tuesday."

Roman shook his head. "It's Monday."

His eyes widened in alarm. "What day did you say it was?"

"Uh, Monday?”

Virgil quickly crossed the room and drew out a small flashlight from a seemingly random box of tools. His brow furrowed as he held it up to the pilot’s face. Roman swatted it away from his eye. "Check the date before you check me!"

He rolled his eyes, but turned to hit the touchscreen on. He stared at the display for a long moment, the holograph’s light making his pale face look faintly green. Then his shoulders slumped. “Shit. Well, it is Monday." He kicked the box so it flickered off. "Ugh, disgusting."

A wide smile grew on Roman's face. "Shall I check you with the little light, Virgil? Are you sleeping enough, Virgil? Do you know who the King is, Virgil? How many fingers-" He held up three.

"Shut up," Virgil grumbled. "It just slipped my mind."

"Are you sure you don't need a nap?" Roman teased. "Come on!" he said more seriously. "I always say you look like you need a nap!"

Virgil slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh my S-"

He was cut off by a suddenly bright flashing alarm and a beeping sound. Instinctively, Virgil hit the intercom button. "It's medical,” his voice said in almost as even a tone as P10’s.

"Yeah, uh, Wang fainted up on the bridge-" a voice crackled through. "Could you come up?"

He let his head slump backwards to look at a rust spot on the ceiling before he replied without a change in tone, "Give me five minutes."

"Okay, cool."

He hung up and turned back to Roman. "Painkillers four times a day for a week. No heavy machinery. Come and talk to me once you're done. No more dumb heroics."

Roman pouted. "That would all be so much easier if you'd just kiss it better for me."

Without any fanfare, Virgil crossed the room and cupped his patient’s face in his hands. Roman stared up at him for just a moment, eyes widened in surprise, before Virgil kissed his forehead as gently as if it could break apart at his touch. He pulled back, his deep brown eyes meeting Roman's. "To tide you over. I'm getting books for P10, but there are better people than me to help your head. I'll find some choices for the follow-up, okay?"

Without thinking, Roman nodded. He could feel the calluses on his fingers.

Virgil took his hands away, and turned to put gloves on. Roman touched his own lips for just a moment. He watched as the medic checked the contents of a First Aid kit before unfolding his bed from the wall and reaching into the shelf of his belongings behind it.

It took a moment to speak again. "Virgil?"

"Yeah?" He tucked a pack of his own sweets into his pocket with the same efficiency as he'd grabbed the rest of his supplies with.

"Are you...doing alright?"

Virgil laughed through his nose. "Nope, we're not doing that one. I'm going to go and do my job, and you're going to go and get better. I'll talk about it with someone who isn't my patient if I do have a problem."

"No dragons for me to slay at all, then?" he said, his disappointment barely palpable in his voice.

"Help me fight yours and we'll be even,” he replied just as lightly before he disappeared out of the door and, presumably, up to the bridge. No time for goodbyes. Maybe no need, after that. Maybe he was just sleep-deprived and forgot.

Roman wouldn't even think of calling a medic if he fainted, he thought smugly to himself. He could probably fix that all alone. Then he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall with a small clang as he thought of what Virgil would say. You can't keep doing this.

He looked around the room for a moment as if the piles of boxes and confusing equipment would give him any clues as to what to do to help.

Then, he slung his legs back over the bed and began, instinctively, to head to the break room to see if there was anyone around to go over the skirmish with. He mussed his hair in the reflection of a sliding door, admiring the dashing line of an old scar down one cheek.

Then he stopped and heaved a great and dramatic sigh.

He checked the packet of painkillers- causes drowsiness - and gave one final glance to where the story of his success would still be flashy and exciting, and turned his feet to the sleeping quarters.

It looked like Roman would celebrate another daring victory with a goddamn nap.

#platonic prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts fic #sanders sides fanfiction #hurt/comfort

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plush-anon · 3 years

Note

You worked at joanns? 😍 dream job

In all fairness, a large part (and I do mean a LARGE part) of why I enjoyed working at Joanns were the managers.

The store manager was a guy named Richard, one of maybe two or three men who worked there total, and this man was practically a saint as far as retail goes.

This was a man who would, with no hesitation, get on the floor to help customers, or hop on the registers to check customers' purchases out, or pop on to the cutting counter to cut fabric. He remembered the names of regulars, would chat and smile while getting shit done, and was the type of guy to speak slowly and softly when we had shitstains explode at us measly peons for not giving them the full cost of an item back in a return (ex $200) when they used a coupon to purchase an item to begin with and only paid a portion of the cost (ex. $150). No joke, this actually happened to me on Black Friday with a man who stood at about 6 foot with a crewcut and a snarl (the military Karen, if you would)

Richard, of course, stood at about 6 foot 5 inches, and reminded me of a ginger grizzly bear in some ways. Very few customers continued to be assholes when they asked to speak to the manager and Richard came over, smiling wide. He encouraged us to chat with the customers while we worked the cutting counter - it was a good way to learn about what they were making, encouraged general conversation and lent itself to a better environment for everyone, worker and customer alike, so we weren't just awkwardly standing in silence the whole time.

The assistant store manager (aka his second in command - we had two other assistant managers, but she wielded more power than both of them) was Farrah, and she was basically Cool Wine Aunt, but with weed. She was open about smoking it (but not in a pressure-the-underlings kind of way, but more of a 'yeah, it calms me down' kind of way) but never on the clock, and was just really chill in general. She was also a 'jump on the registers' type of manager, and on occasion would take the closing staff out to get a drink from the texmex place next to us in the shopping center, and cover one for each of us - particularly during the Holiday Clusterfuck of October, November, and December (their Frozen Kahlua Mudlslide was my alcoholic drink of choice - they also had these spicy chicken strips that were amazing with it, but I digress).

Both of them were amazing people who would support and back us up without hesitation (if they weren't dealing with corporate or stock trucks coming in), and both routinely worked 15 to 20 hours UNPAID overtime during the Holiday Clusterfuck so that we the underlings could get more hours without Corporate jumping up our ass about going over budget.

They were also refreshingly upfront in our monthly meetings about profits and meeting them, as well as why company policy was the way it was, and how to work within the boundaries so we got more hours. One of my favorite moments was when they said the fabric sales essentially covered their own cost (production and delivery); the rest of the cheap crap in the store was what covered our paycheck and electricity, so hawk it as much as you can if you want extra in the bank (paraphrasing here, but that's not that far off what they actually said tbh).

With some Karen-y exceptions, the customers were honestly pretty chill. There were two women from a nearby church who bought well over 200 yards of cut fleece to make no-sew fleece blankets for children and the poor in December (it took forever to do, but they were so cheerful about it and told some funny anecdotes in between, kept the counter clear as soon as they were cut, etc. Took them three carts to haul everything to the register XD).

There was the slew of quilters making everything from baby blankets to anniversary gifts to quilts for their grandkids attending the local university that they could wear to football games in the colder weather, while still showing team pride. They always bought quarters and eighths and the end of the bolt for half price, digging thru our remnants bin for something they might have missed they could get for half price. They always talked about what they were working on, and spoke in great detail on their kids or cousins or niblings or grandkids. I saw so many pictures on phones, in wallets, and they loved them to absolute pieces.

There were cosplayers making their first costume to comicon, halloween goers trying their hand at making their own outfits, and a few furries making custom suits for order or just updating their own personal outfit. There were the usual school and church Christmas plays that needed costumes, and folks making custom table runners and place settings for family holiday meals.

One notable young man bought out 30+ yards of our 65" inch wide bolt felt for JEWELRY projects he was making as a part of his business and as a part of his art program (you can major in art with a concentration in jewelry making, and he was using it for that). He didn't leave a card, but the pictures he showed us were STUNNING.

We had a few elderly mothers come in with their daughters, to pick out fabrics so they could make their own wedding dresses, or quinceanera outfits, or veils; they showed us the patterns they had, or the pictures they were basing the designs off of, and all of them were STUNNING. (One came back in with the finished dress in the bag, this intricately beaded poofy dress that had to have taken days, hot pink and shiny).

We had local restaurant owners pop in for re-upholstery projects and curtains and vinyl; same with teachers and deck dads and furniture restoration workers that would gush about the design, what they had planned. Some would bicker with their spouses on the pattern, but it felt good-natured on the whole.

We had some elderly men come in to peer over our sewing machines - "How much it run for? My wife's birthday is coming up and her old machine's about done, and I want to surprise her. She had a Singer, but she hates the electronic screens on some of these newer ones, they hurt her eyes." - and moms coming in to sew some custom bed sheets for their kids - "My son really likes the new My Little Pony show, but he's a little shy about it. Do you think the blue's okay? Only he like yellow more, but they don't have any back there and he doesn't MIND blue really but - Actually scratch that, how wide is the fabric? My pattern says it needs to be at LEAST 22 inches wide, does it say on the box?" - and people coming up with some WILD craft ideas that were always a delight to hear them gush about - "So this MAY seem crazy, but I can turn these plastic pumpkin trick-or-treat pails into SNOWMEN heads with felt like this. We fill them with treats for the kids since we don't have a fireplace and they like it fine, but someone said I should sell these on Etsy and people really like them! But I've run out of pumpkins, and you have NO idea how happy I am that you guys still have some left."

The group we had to work with was also pretty crafty; a few were chronic call-outs, some a bit lazy, some perpetually done-with-this-nonsense, but we were mostly on the same page on shift, and all of us were crafty as heck. The employee discount was a blessing AND a curse, lemme tell you.

Stock was the best part, for me. Hours before the store opened at 9 AM, we would rip open the boxes and stuff everything onto the shelves, organizing anything the closing shift missed the night before along the way, updating new stickers or shuffling pegs over for new product arrangement, etc. We could listen to music or podcasts as we worked, and I ended up impressing some of them bc of how fast I tore through everything some mornings (the music definitely helped out there).

I was actually about to be promoted to assistant manager after 6 months, but then I got my job with the university, and they had federal health benefits AND dental, so... yeah, no contest there. Richard actually laughed when I told him I'd been hired at the university and was giving my two week notice, since it meant he didn't have to do the slew of paperwork that accompanied new assistant manager hires. He congratulated me on the job, especially the health benefits - he said that was a perk worth leaving any job here for. I nearly cried with relief that he wasn't mad.

He and Farrah chipped in and got me a small music box that plays Man of La Mancha's Dream the Impossible Dream on my last day. It still sits on my desk at work.

It was honestly my favorite retail job out of the bunch I've suffered through. Surprising at first, since I initially received a rejection email bare HOURS after my interview with Farrah, but about a month later (as I trawled endlessly through interview after interview, desperate for anything those first few months ), I got a call back from them asking if I was still interested (which I was, bc hey a job!). They remembered me specifically bc I had missed my bus to the interview, called ahead to let them know I would be late, then walked the whole way there in the rain to get there. (It was only about a mile and a half away, so not a terrible journey, but flooding is an issue in our flat-ass city; I looked like a drenched afghan hound holding a useless umbrella, so enjoy that imagery).

They were particularly impressed by the calling-ahead part.

Unfortunately, both of them ended up moving on to different paths over the year after I left - apparently they had been friends with benefits (? I say hesitantly, since I ran into one of my coworkers at an art show later on and she spilled the beans there - she was a bit flighty in nature though, and got caught up in gossip a LOT, so who knows. Lovely brocade custom projects though), and his ex girlfriend had called corporate on them and got both fired.

I think Farrah came back some time later, but the damage was done after that - the new manager came in and operated SOLELY to corporate policy. A LOT went to pieces in terms of store cleanliness, order, and general camaraderie after that - the new fabric counter folks look and sound dead inside, and barely interact with customers (not even a 'whatcha making' in passing, which is kind of sad - the stories I got helped to pass the time, and kept me from using up all of my Set Conversation Phrases for customers that actually WOULD leave us standing in silence). Corporate also stopped some of the smaller store policies that made our job easier and gave the customers a little something extra (the 'end-of-the-bolt' discount - if, after the customer orders say, 2 yards of fabric on the bolt, and there's say, a half yard "remnant" left on the bolt, we can sell them the remnant for half-price. A LOT of quilters LOVED this, and we did too, since it saved us from filling out the remnant tag and printing a sticker later on).

Just goes to show how important good management is in a business; especially when it can kick a store previously part of the top 50 stores in the NATION (while being a medium store at that - smaller place, NOT Hobby Lobby size like the Large stores) to something much less pleasant. I could be rose-goggling the situation thought - retail is still retail, no matter how nice some aspects are - but it still sticks with me as to how good he experience was even taking into account that it WAS minimum wage retail.

Food for thought, lads, food for thought.

#plush gets personal #joanns #joann fabrics #employment #retail hell #or well #not so much hell for this one #retail... purgatory? yeah that'll work

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part Seven

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: *checks watch* Well well well, look at the time! Friday already?! I hope you're all doing well, and I hope you all like this installment. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals briefly with perceived self-worth, and contains certain dialogue/terminology/viewpoints that may be detrimental to individuals who have suffered emotional, sexual, or physical abuse. Stay safe!]

Acquiring a first edition of anything in this day and age had never been a simple task, so it was awe-inspiring to have a book that was not only a first edition, but one that your artwork graced the pages of.

You stared at the cover for longer than you meant to, your fingers rubbing over the embossed name that sat small and unassuming beneath Ezra's lavishly showy pseudonym. With illustrations by…

You almost felt like your ordinary moniker was out of place, but after looking at it for a moment, you decided it was exactly where it belonged.

"I am about to be overcome with emotion." Ezra informed Thomas in a hushed tone.

The publisher heaved a heavy sigh at the other man's antics before getting to his feet, his hand outstretched. A small smile played over his mouth, probably one of relief to finally be free of your companion. "You've done it. Congratulations. It debuts on the digital platforms tomorrow, and physical copies ship next week."

Ezra shook his hand rapidly, then turned to you. "I...I am rendered speechless." He whispered.

"I don't know if anything could claim that lofty honor." You couldn't resist teasing him and he grinned broadly.

He rested his forehead against your own momentarily, ever cautious not to crowd you. "I am truly a better man for having known you, gentle soul." He murmured fervently. He took your hands, the book clasped tightly between the two of you. "These hands that have helped me in the mornings, that have drawn the man I could have been, that have delivered me from my deadly trials...now, see the fruits of your labor."

"Pretty sure you mean your labor." You corrected him. "I had the easy job."

Ezra shook his head. "Our labor." He was looking at you so warmly, his brown eyes crinkled at the edges from how hard he was smiling-

Kevva help you, did you want to...kiss him?

You had no time to ruminate on the sudden thought. Mr. Anglio cleared his throat and the spell was broken, Ezra exclaiming in juvenile delight that this was cause for celebration.

You nodded absently, feeling off-kilter. It was as though a switch of comprehension had been flipped in your mind. You did want to kiss him.

…

You wanted a lot of things, you were quickly realizing.

You wanted to sketch every sleepy smile Ezra graced you with over his mug in the morning. You wanted to be the only one to make his tea just right. You wanted to sit with him for hours in the kitchen or living room, letting him bounce ideas off of you.

The two helmets perched on the mantelpiece taunted you every time you glanced at them because you wanted to be part of a pair, more than a simple partner or roommate.

And it was terrifying.

You started searching for your own apartment even though the idea of living alone filled you with trepidation. He had said you were welcome for as long as you wanted, but now...the situation had changed. You couldn't handle living in such close proximity to him if your brain was hellbent on doing things like this.

It wasn't fair to him for you to want something like...that. For you to want anything at all from him.

You were ashamed of the way you had to tear your eyes off of him. You felt like an intruder, a thief, a scavenging floater hoping for opportune jetsam. You hid away in your room whenever he was around, claiming that inspiration had struck and fumbling to dissuade his childlike enthusiasm when he asked to see your 'new works'. Little did he know that you erased most of what you drew.

You were infatuated with an idea, in love with the picturesque plastic pornography that your mind had conjured, you told yourself sternly. Life wasn't perfect, and no one, let alone someone who had endured as much as Ezra, would be interested in the pitiful gift of your affection. In your own eyes you were dirty, your body forever stained with the invisible mark of abusive handling.

You didn't even know if you wanted to be intimate with someone again! Worse yet, you were uncertain if you would be able to, or if Damon's treatment had so utterly broken you that you would be reduced to nothingness if you ever deigned to attempt.

You should have been happy. The book (Aurelac And I: An Audacious Tale Of Greed In The Green) was performing remarkably well. Ezra had woven a lucrative story with just enough realism, fact and fiction carefully melded into a seamless narrative that appealed to everyone from grizzled floaters to cushy Central socialites. You should have been happy. You were set financially for the rest of your life even without the book.

You should have been happy.

Yet all it took was him giving you a tousled, sleepy smile over his morning cup of coffee or tea and discontent fairly devoured you, turning your insides to knots. Your longing was sharp to the point of agony, an ever-present ache in your chest that you weren't certain any amount of distance would quell.

But you could try.

So you prepared to leave, wavering between resolute and terrified while you tried to articulate yourself.

You had survived the Green. You knew you would survive this.

…

Despite his predisposition towards prattling, Ezra was remarkably perceptive. You sometimes wondered if he used his rambling nature as a screen to observe reactions, instead of to actually carry on a legitimate conversation.

He didn't miss a trick, coming to knock on your door one afternoon as you finished packing up your meager items. Even though you had lived in this room for several stands, you had yet to clutter the space, really make it your own. Maybe you had always suspected this would be temporary, maybe...maybe you knew better than to assume you would be anywhere for an extended period of time.

Fantasizing about having a real life with Ezra...wishful thinking, indulgence of the highest caliber. You blinked back your tears, shoved the backpack off the side of the bed, and went to open your door.

"Gentle soul, I have brought you sustenance! Now please, I beg, unlatch from the fickle teat of your creative muse to indulge with me." The former prospector implored from the doorway of your room, shaking a small paper bag at you.

The scent of the sopaipillas in the bag hit your nose and you heard your stomach roar in reply. Ezra quirked a brow as you flushed. "Well, I guess a...a snack wouldn't hurt." You mumbled.

"I have greatly missed your company these past days." Ezra admitted softly after the two of you had posted up on the couch (you clutching your small sketchbook like a shield), his words clawing at your heart. "I feared you must be growin' weary of the burden of my presence."

You nearly choked to death right there, coughing and sputtering. "What? No, of course not! If anything, I'm surprised you're not tired of me!" You replied once you managed to swallow, guiltily thinking of the small knapsack that you had thrown into the space between your bed and the wall. Your plan was to leave a little later this evening, slip out while he was occupied with Serv A/V correspondence. He dedicated a certain amount of time in the early evening to managing his business affairs, currently working to iron a few more things out with Anglio regarding proprietary Serv-reader programs that wanted to port his tale. Hopefully by the time he realized you had left, you would be checked into your temporary quarters.

Ezra opened his mouth to answer you, but a chime at the door cut him off. "Did you order somethin'?" He asked, his face lighting up when you shook your head. "Ah, it must be something of mine then! How tantalizing, I keep forgetting what I've purchased. I love the surprise every time somethin' appears on the stoop." He grinned like a child, bouncing to his feet.

Stay happy for a little while longer, you found yourself begging silently. His smiles warmed you from the inside out and you knew that you would miss them immensely.

You watched as Ezra popped the door open, the man signing for the thick envelope while the courier hovered patiently. "I don't recall…" he trailed off, hip-checking the door closed and ripping the envelope lip with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Who's it from?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant. That's not supposed to get here until tomorrow, you reassured yourself. This must just be a coincidence. The envelope did bear a striking resemblance to the ones from your printer, but surely--

Oh no.

You felt your breath hitch as you spotted the return address. You had specifically requested that this delivery arrive tomorrow, you had planned to leave later tonight, oh no! You lunged to snatch the envelope from his hands. "Wait, wait, don't look!" You exclaimed sharply.

Ezra flinched in surprise at your abrupt change in volume, dropping the open envelope as his startled brown eyes flew to yours. Your hard copies spilled out onto the floor, pages flying here and there.

Shit.

"Gentle soul, what is...what is all this?" Ezra asked cautiously when you crouched to start picking the sheets up. "Are you workin' on a new project?"

Your hands trembled as you collected the sheets scattered on the floor at his feet. He knelt after a moment, but you knocked his arm away when he reached for a sheet. "I'm leaving." You whispered. "I made you this to...to try to explain."

You pressed the stack of pages, now reorganized, into his limp hands. Ezra didn't even look down, his fingers automatically gripping the paper. "What?" His voice was hoarse.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I said, I'm leaving. I made you this to explain." Please don't hate me.

"Gentle soul, I...surely we can engage in some civil discourse about this? Have I done something to vex you?"

"No, it's not you."

"You'll forgive me if I am not reassured by your statement." He muttered. "I can think of no other reason that you would attempt a covert exodus like a beleaguered Israelite. Should I investigate the kitchen for unleavened bread?"

"I...what?" You asked in confusion. "Bread?"

Ezra groaned, shaking his head. "Never mind." He then asked bluntly, "why are you leaving?"

You tapped the sheets in his hands, smiling tremulously. "Goodbye, Ezra." With that, you got to your feet and bolted to your bedroom, your face burning with embarrassment. You hated that you anticipated an explosion even after all this time; this was Ezra, not Damon. You picked up your pack and slid on your boots, then hesitantly crept back out.

Ezra was still on the floor. He hadn't moved an inch, just staring down at the pages in his hands. You skittered past him tentatively, but he didn't so much as glance in your direction. This was what you had decided, you reminded yourself while depositing your fob to the apartment on the table next to the door. You had chosen this route. All you could do now was stick to it. The door clicked closed behind you but instead of relief, you felt gut-wrenching sorrow.

Ezra,

It's time for me to leave. I've never been good with words. They always get tangled up inside me.

You popped open the door to the complex stairs in the hallway, sniffling quietly as you began making your way down.

I wish I could tell you in a way that I knew you would understand. I wish I could articulate like you, but all I can do is draw.

You checked the time on your battered watch. You hadn't invested in a new chronometer yet, the bulky square still serving its purpose even with a cracked screen. Perhaps you were too hesitant with your good fortune, you mused, but after having spent so many years carefully scraping and budgeting for every piece of gear, there was bound to be an adjustment period.

So here it is. Ramshackle and hackneyed; everything that you hate. It's got nothing to do with you, so please don't be upset. I just know that I shouldn't stay here any longer.

Your mind's eye ran through your sketches over and over. Weary, worn-out boots. A leaking mug, broken and poorly repaired, pieces that would never fit back together properly. Your helmet, the dome cracked, overgrown in creeping, mossy green. Alone.

You should be able to get on with your life. You don't need me hanging around.

You rubbed your temples. It was too early for check-in, but you were certain that the hotel wouldn't mind you sitting in the lobby for a few hours.

You reached the ground floor without incident, emerging onto the street and weaving your way through the crowded sidewalks of Puggart Bench. Maybe you would go off-planet, get away from the crush of Central's runoff. But that might mean a pod…

You could easily buy your own ship, though you would have to hire a pilot. Perhaps you could get your pilot's license? You would already need one if you wanted to have ground transport options, instead of being subjected to the mercy of the Pug's PTS. Of course. There it was, a plan. This wouldn't be so difficult. You had survived on your own for most of your life!

You squared your shoulders, scrubbing at your face in an effort to shore yourself up. Of course you could handle this. "I can do this." You said aloud, clenching your fists determinedly. "I have four hours until check-in. Tomorrow I have my appointment slated to look at living spaces, and I'll stop by the registry to sign up for the courses. Then, I can go to the grocery depot-" You continued ticking off your objectives, searching through your pockets for your analog sketchbook so you could write everything down. Where is-?

You thought you were imagining things for a moment when you heard Ezra's voice. "The gentry will think you've gone lunar if you keep rambling to yourself, gentle soul."

He sounded slightly out of breath. You froze when a familiar hand tapped your most recent sketchbook against your arm. You must have left it on the couch. For a split-second, you debated on trying to lose him again in the thick crowd.

But then, "Wait, please. Just...permit me a moment of your time." He begged. You sighed and obligingly struggled along crossways to the general flow of pedestrian motion, following him to the sheltered harbor of a nearby doorway.

Ezra shoved his hands into his pockets, looking incredibly rumpled. You folded your arms over your chest, barely resisting the urge to hug yourself nervously. "Look." You said quietly. "If you saw the thing I gave you, you know why I'm doing this."

"I understand the trajectory, but I am still in the dark when it comes to the catalyst." Ezra muttered. "What brought you to such a conclusion? What scurrilous thoughts have flourished, propagated, conspired to usher you onto the path of solitude that you are so determined to float without me?"

I love you. I love you. I love you and I'm scared-

"I think I love you, okay?!" You exploded, flinging the words heedlessly as you finally dared to actually look at him. "I love you and I...Ezra, I'm-" Your lower lip began to quiver while you came to terms with what you had just done, your sentence drying up and your face flushing with shame. "I'm…"

"You're what?" He encouraged you softly, his eyes impossibly, infuriatingly kind.

"Scared." You managed to get out, a raw hiccup catching in your chest.

"Why?" You gestured vaguely up and down at your body, giving him a helpless little shrug. Ezra shook his head. "Attempt again. I want to hear what you have to say, but you must speak."

"I'm not...I'm...Ezra, I'm just-" Your voice dropped to a defeated whisper, tears beginning to roll down your face. "I'm broken."

"By whose definition?" He asked sharply, his visible bristling causing a spike of gratitude to nourish the flame in your stomach. "Who has planted these thoughts in your head? Because they are a bold-faced liar."

"I don't expect you to understand-"

"Oh certainly!" He interrupted you in that ferociously cheery tone, "Why would I, a simple floater that has been crushed under the monstrous heft of the Great Chain time and again, understand what it's like to feel worthless or used? Better yet, abandoned."

"It's different for me!" You cried, hating how pitiful your voice sounded. "You deserve--you deserve everything and I'm so...I'm dirty, I'm wrong and-"

"How the hell can you say things like that about yourself?" Ezra's large hands framed your face gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "How can you spout such untruths about the woman I love?" He murmured tenderly.

The woman I love. The woman I love. The woman I love.

You stared up at him, certain that your mouth was agape. "You speak of deserving with no regard for how little I deserve you, gentle soul. It wounds me that you think so low of yourself." Ezra breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between your own. "All I can think about when I look at you is how much I do not deserve...any of this. The stability, the contentment. I am akin to a somnolent cat on a warm windowsill, gentle soul." His expression grew pained, clouded with thought. "My life has not been an easy one, perennially by the fault of my own hand. I did not anticipate such...fortuitously serendipitous circumstances, wherein I would be confronted with the task of engaging in mutual lodgin' strictly for the sake of enjoyment of another's company, you must understand."

"I uh." You swallowed, "I probably will once I figure out what you said, give me a minu-"

"Let me translate into the layman's vernacular then. To spare you the...intellectual toil." Ezra sucked in a ragged breath. "I would appreciate you giving me the honor of er, being able to pursue a relationship with you. I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss...as much of you as I can. I would like to touch you, wherever and whenever you'll permit. I would like to know you...i-intimately."

His awkward little stammer at the end set you off, helpless laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Ezra-!" You sputtered, clinging to his hand.

"What?" He protested. "I am a loquacious fool, gentle soul! Simplicity undoes me, as sure as your tenderness undoes me! I am at a loss." He pressed his forehead to your own. "I beg of you, don't leave. Not yet. At least allow me to attempt to...to offer you something. Anything. Permit me to prove you wrong."

"I don't know if you can." You murmured sadly.

"You have saved me time and again, gentle soul." Ezra reasoned. "With your permission, with your consent, I...martyr's malfeasance, let me help." His voice broke. "You nearly died, I nearly lost you in that Green Purgatory. I do not approach this task lightly, please understand. You are immensely precious to me, and I...I am afraid I am being too verbose once more."

You reached out to run your fingers through the blond patch on his temple, then checked your watch with a put-upon sigh. "Well, if we hurry home, I can cancel my reservations before they charge me."

"Home?" He echoed hopefully, his eyes brightening as he nudged his head against your palm.

"Yeah." You nodded, allowing a little smile to curve your lips. "Home."

…

"I haven't done anything for months, so I…" you trailed off nervously, your hands clasped in your lap. "I don't know whether I even can anymore, you know?" You admitted.

Ezra nodded from his spot by the mantle, circling around behind the couch as he spoke. "I will not rush you, gentle soul. We focus solely on encouraging your relaxation." Your hands dropped to unbutton your shirt and a hand lightly tapping your wrist halted your motion. "Be still." He murmured. "You are safe here. Disrobing is not even on the itinerary for this week."

"The itiner…tell me you have a weird little chart somewhere." You snickered, faltering when his large palms pressed down on your shoulders and eased you back against the couch.

"It is not little, I assure you." Ezra's thumbs slid over the back of your neck. "Rehabilitation is no laughing matter. I will speak throughout so you know that it is me here. If you wish to close your eyes, please do. If you wish for me to stop, simply raise your hand."

"Wh-What are you going to do?" You queried warily.

"Rub your shoulders."

You blinked, confused but immensely relieved. You had thought… "You don't want to...y'know?"

"Gentle soul, never doubt my want." Ezra muttered darkly. "The quest for knowledge is one of eternal restraint, prudent temperance and mute burden." You hummed, not entirely sure what he meant by that. His palms were calloused and warm even through the fabric of your shirt, large fingers spread on your shoulders. Strong thumbs carefully worked into the nape of your neck, alternating in circles back and forth, back and forth. "What shall I speak of, gentle soul?"

"Hmm?" You were so focused on his hands you hadn't really heard his question. Ezra chuckled and repeated himself. "Oh! Um, I...well, whatever you can think of. I like hearing you talk. You could probably read the ingredients on a ration bar and I'd be invested."

Ezra sputtered, trying to muffle his laugh with his shoulder. "There's only so many ways I can expound upon such gripping topics as monosodium glutamate before it lapses into tedium, gentle soul." He hummed low in his throat, then opened with, "On a most divinely appointed day, when our beloved Screamer had been taken by tempestuous winds and scorching rains, I found myself as William Bligh."

"Oh, I love this one." You grinned, settling against the couch. "Favorite story, hands down."

"The increase of your inclination towards bias when I am involved is duly noted and immensely appreciated, gentle soul." You could hear his smile, picturing it in your head with ease. The way his eyes crinkled at the sides, his brows pitching slightly. "By the grace of Kevva I was tossed upon the mercies of fickle men who would not hesitate to slit my throat to save their own…"

...

The shoulder rubbing became a bi-nightly engagement. Ezra would recite a chapter from Aurelac And I, occasionally adding little bits in for flair as he went. Tonight was one such night, "She swaggered into the tent, braggadocious and bold, her hair immaculately coiffed under the dome of her helmet and it was then I knew my demise was encroach-"

"You are ridiculous, I am so far from braggadocious!" You interrupted him to protest. "And no one's hair ever looks good in those helmets. Plus, I was one hundred percent not in your book, thank Kevva."

"I confess I toyed with the idea of writing you in, but you struck me as an individual so fiercely private...I did not wish to remove you from such delectable obscurity." The man teased. "Aside from your name on the cover, naturally."

"I can't believe you wrote it so that you lost an arm-"

"How many times must I remind you that the protagonist of this tale is not myself? He is a man of unwavering moral fiber." Ezra groused. "A man of dubious, shaded past and impeccable integrity. Ambidextrous as well. Nothing like myself in the least."

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

"Hey, Ezra." You craned your neck to look at him, his palm sliding to cup your ear automatically. "Can I do this for you instead?"

"Do what?" He asked blankly.

"The whole relaxation thing. Like what you're doing for me, you know?" You extended your hands. "Can I do it for you tonight?"

"That's...it's not necessary, gentle soul, you don't-"

"I want to. Please?"

Ezra grimaced reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if you are certain." You nodded enthusiastically and he sighed, slowly settling down on the couch as you climbed off of it. "I am unsure if I am quite so receptive to this particular tech-" His words hitched mid-sentence as your fingers slid up into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. "-nique." Ezra squeaked. "Going in for the kill so quickly, gentle soul? I at least gave you the fair play of two nights before my digits even grazed your h-air-"

You laughed quietly, fingers raking through his short hair with something very close to greed. He tilted his head to follow the motion of your pulls, humming low in his throat. You contentedly basked in the feeling of his body under your hands, even for something as mundane as rubbing his shoulders or finger-combing his hair. "Ezra, you're so tense." you murmured.

"You cannot fault me." Ezra protested. "I have a lifetime of prospectin' that these shoulders have borne the burden of without complaint. It's a miracle I can still move, the foolhardy things I've done…" He flexed his right hand idly. "A miracle, facilitated in no small part by yourself."

Like always, you found yourself flushing at his praise. You bit your lip, a little hesitant to ask the question that had been plaguing you since that particular stormy night. You had your suspicions, of course, but you really wanted to hear it from his mouth. "So I don't know if you remember this, you were kind of half-asleep when you did it. You recited a poem to me and it started out something like…'you come to me in my dreams'."

"Ah, hmm." Ezra coughed awkwardly. "Dare I ask why you enquire?"

You drummed your fingertips on his shoulders, then slipped your hands down to cradle his throat. Your fingers laced together just over his Adam's apple, pinkies resting on his exposed collarbone. "I was just wondering, what's the full version of it?"

You felt him swallow convulsively. "I'm afraid I have not finished that one yet." He admitted softly.

"You wrote that?"

Ezra nodded, chuckling, "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Well uh, no, not really. I just...I guess I never thought about you writing anything else aside from the floater's rendition of Blood And Swash." You hummed as he laughed again, then asked, "What's it about?"

"It is poetry, gentle soul. It doesn't necessarily have to be about anything." He retorted a little too quickly.

You gasped softly. "Is it about me?"

Ezra froze. "What? No! As if written word alone would be enough to extol your virtues!" He snapped indignantly.

"It is about me!" You crowed triumphantly, the fire in your stomach blazing bright.

"Hush yourself, you contemptuously smug thing." The brown-haired man grumbled.

"You're writing poetry about me!"

"I can do little else!" He exclaimed in exasperation, pinning your hands in place on his chest. "You demand it. You are poetry without a page, gentle soul. I have a responsibility to mankind itself, t-to document...such beauty must be preserved, lest it fade to the marches of featureless time." Ezra proclaimed staunchly, staring straight ahead. "And truly, what a disservice that would be."

You blinked down at the top of his head, tears gathering at the edges of your lashes. At your sniffling, Ezra half-turned to look up at you.

"Gentle soul?" He asked uncertainly. You shook your head, fumbling back over the couch to essentially tuck yourself into his lap. Ezra, to his credit, adjusted remarkably well to your sudden craving for closeness. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You apologized thickly after a while, certain that he couldn't be comfortable.

Ezra grunted, adjusting his posture beneath you into something that resembled a dignified slouch. "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn." He muttered the words rapidly, rushing through the memorized lines. "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight. For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of youuuu-" He groaned the last word. "And there it stops. My brain, for all its magnanimous, expansive lexicon, falls utterly flat." His hands stroked over your head, fingers carding through your hair.

"Maybe it is done?" You suggested timidly.

He scoffed. "No, I just...I have to come across the right turn of phrase. The whole thing is trite enough as it is. Hopelessly lovestruck. Never thought I would be the type. Truly, a horrendous conundrum." He lamented, his voice soft. He didn't appear overly distraught about the aforementioned horrendous conundrum.

"Is it making you feel querulous?" You jibed.

Ezra laughed ruefully, his eyes warm as he smiled. "It very well might be, gentle soul!"

"All for the fleeting glimpse of you, all for the…" You paused, your gaze falling to his lips. "A-All for the touch of your mouth on mine?"

Ezra ran a hand through his hair, seeming a bit flustered as he tried to avoid your gaze. "We have not even-"

"But we could." You whispered.

"Could we?" He asked, his voice low. "Should we?" You cupped his jaw, your thumbs rubbing over the unruly stubble he permitted to grow there. "Do you wish to?"

You nodded, smiling. "I do."

"Strictly to further research, naturally. To...facilitate my Byronic breakthrough." Ezra reasoned, his voice drawling lazily. You shook your head and his brows furrowed, drawing tight at the peak of his nose. "No?"

"Because I want to." You confessed shyly.

Ezra cleared his throat, hoarsely rasping a single word. "Temperance."

"What?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'm merely makin' a note of what to petition the saints for later tonight." A hand rested on the back of your neck, coaxing you in. His mouth was gentle on yours, tentative; lips moving with equal amounts of caution and curiosity. His mustache sent unfamiliar sensations racing across your skin, somehow coarse and soft all at once. You closed your eyes, whimpering quietly as you clung to his shoulders. "I must admit," he gasped into your mouth, "this is hardly conducive to my--"

"Shh," you hushed him, smiling when he chuckled. You bumped your forehead against his, nuzzling your temple over his Mallen streak. "Thank you."

"I believe that is my next line, gentle soul." He teased. "All for the touch of your mouth on mine. What a deliciously trite stanza." His brown eyes searched your own. "I am lost in impassioned rumination over it." He murmured, drawing you back for another kiss.

Part Eight

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yandere-society · 4 years

Text

True Love

Prompt: Can I have a delusional Jungkook who is obsessed with fairytales and the whole idea of “prince meets princess and falling in love at first sight”, and is convinced that y/n is the princess and he has to “save” her in order to achieve a happen ending?

Admin: @psycho-slytherin 🐍

Warnings: Yandere-themes, stalking-themes, and profanity.

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was all coming together. Jungkook swiped through his phone, checking and rechecking his plans. Tomorrow, between 9:14 and 9:18 AM– depending on foot traffic– she’d round the eastern corner of 14th and Park. She’d be carrying her purse and a coffee, but she’d be finishing her drink by the time she reached the corner. The point, the most crucial part, is that her hands would be full. He’d bump into her, she wouldn’t be able to catch herself, and he’d swoop her up before she fell. She’d have to fall in love with her Prince Charming, and he’d, at last, have his princess. His y/n. Everything would be perfect.

They were destined to be together– Soulmates, Jungkook was sure, he’d known it since he’d first laid eyes on y/n. She was his true love.

»»————-　♔　————-««

You check your watch, careful not to twist your wrist enough to spill your coffee. 9:12. Finally, it looks like you’ll get to work early today! With a spring in your step, you weave through the usual crowd of hurried suits and turn the corner. You have a meeting that you’ve been preparing ages for, and you’re thinking of nothing but your various talking points, everything you’re going to present, when–

“Oof!” You bump into someone, hard, and lose your balance. Shit, shit, your hands are full. You drop your coffee and purse in an attempt to catch yourself, but instead of solid concrete, you feel the contact of strong arms holding you tightly.

“Are you alright?” You look up at your rescuer and see gorgeous dark eyes full of soft concern. The stranger helps you to your feet and hands you your purse. “That was quite a fall.”

“Ah, thank you– I’m okay. Appreciate it, man.” You breathe deeply to calm your pounding heart. The handsome stranger seems to be waiting for something. What else can you say? “Er… thanks again.” With that, you turn and begin walking to work, your pace increasing. Dammit, you really hope this won’t make you late.

“W-Wait!” The stranger grasps at your wrist, his eyes bright, his voice revealing an emotion you can’t understand. “Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“Uh…” Aaaand he’s crazy. You pull your arm from his grip and hurry away, flustered. Love at first sight? What fairy-tale bullshit. Sure, he’s cute, but the creepy-to-cuteness factor is way off balance in this case. Love at first sight… When you were a kid, you dreamed of being a princess and riding off into your happily ever after. But you’ve grown up since then, and you know fairy tales aren’t real.

You glance backward. He’s staring after you, and you feel a rush of guilt. He looks like a kicked puppy… or a wounded prince.

Prince? “Gah– stop it!” You scold yourself, blinking hard. The guy messed with your head, distracted you with that love-at-first-sight stuff. Whatever, you’ll forget about it soon enough. In the meantime, you’ve got your meeting to think about.

“And now I believe y/n, head of our innovation department, has the latest proposal?”

You stand. “Yes, thank you. With help from our customer surveys, we’ve noticed there are a few flaws in our current system.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“We, uh, have devised a few options: First, we could begin requiring browser logins and game downloads for individual accounts– that will cut down on incidents such as the one that went viral last quarter. Additionally, we could consider removing ourselves from the browser-based gaming market entirely and shift to a downloaded application-type medium. We predict a decrease in traffic but profits should remain largely steady–”

His eyes, his lips, his hands, his skin, his voice...

“Due to ad revenue and potential membership opportunities.” You continue. “We could also consider discounted subscription packages, which seemed popular in our surveys.”

He was really cute. Maybe you were too hasty? You don’t even know his name.

“...We believe that changing the medium of the game presentation will improve security, decrease online harassment, and increase profits within the next three quarters. I will now take questions.”

Usually, creeps gave off a vibe, the type of thing you could sense right away. This guy didn’t give you that vibe.

“Very well said, y/n.” The company president clapped several times. “What software changes do you propose making for this to work?”

You beam. “It’s rather simple, we only need to move our content offline to an external database– we already have games in development using this system. The cost for the whole switch would be a fraction of potential profits.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“The board members will give it some thought, y/n, and I’d be very optimistic. Great work.”

Yes! “Thank you.”

At the end of the day, you leave the office grinning. The meeting went really well, and if you pull off this project, you’re certain to be looking at a promotion. You’ve been working on the proposal for three months and now that it’s looking so good, you could sing.

“Y/n?”

At the summons, you turn around– and then stop dead. “You again.”

And it is the love-at-first-sight stranger from the morning. He waves awkwardly, breaking into a cute bunny-like smile. “Hi.”

“H-hi.” You brush some hair out of your face, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, how did you know my name?”

The guy winks. “Magic.”

“Or stalking.”

“Or…” The guy hands you a business card. Your business card. “Maybe you dropped this in the morning.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

In truth, Jungkook had your business card for a few months. He couldn’t say that, though, and he needed an excuse to know your name and place of business.

You look at him with your beautiful doe eyes, the kind of eyes that a man would kill to protect. “Why were you waiting for me?”

Jungkook smiles. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I saw you dropped your card and, well… it seemed like a second chance.” A chance to be your prince, my love.

“Oh.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook by the way.”

You smile shyly, that smile he’s seen a hundred thousand times, directed at everyone but him. You’re active on your social media accounts, and he’s seen all your photos. When you’re with your friends, your family, even today at your meeting– when you smile, you shine, a princess without a throne. It’s one of the things Jungkook loves about you. He can’t wait until your smile for him alone.

“I’m y/n. But I guess you knew that.”

“I did. Y/n, I’ll be honest, and I hope this doesn’t come off as too forward.” Jungkook leans towards you, his princess– his queen. “I’d love to get to know you better.”

“Um…” You hesitate, and a hint of fear makes its way up Jungkook’s spine. He really hopes you don’t reject him. In the months since he’s first noticed you, you’ve remained single. If you were to reject him, he couldn’t leave you to prance around in front of other men. If you, Jungkook’s princess, didn’t want his love, well… something would have to be done about that.

“Sure. That sounds cool.” You nod, a light blush coloring your cheeks.

Something akin to joy floods Jungkook’s psyche. The first step achieved. She said yes– she must see that what they have is true love.

Jungkook has always loved fairy tales. He was teased as a kid for how much he enjoyed princess stories. But Jungkook’s mom made it clear that she didn’t like him, and his dad was rarely around– unless he came home to berate Jungkook. No one could blame him for yearning for true love; it’s not like he ever experienced it at home. When he first saw you, he knew you were his princess. He needed to rescue you, sweep you off your feet, and carry you off into your happily ever after. True love is real, and you’ll help him prove it. The characters in Disney movies were happy after finding each other. He knows you’ll make him feel happy. In fact, he’ll make sure of it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Well, he’s cute, and he did return your business card. You’ll be careful. What harm can come from a date?

Later that night, you’re catching up on some work. The company president said he’d have the board’s answer on your proposal by next week, and since it seemed like a sure thing, you’re anxious to get the OK to move ahead with the project.

Your phone buzzes.

Jeon Jungkook: Are we on for Friday at six, milady? [10:43]

Y/n: Haha yep, see you then! [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: Can’t wait :) [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: What are you up to? [10:44]

Y/n: Just organizing resources for a project [10:45]

Y/n: I’ve been working really hard on it [10:45]

»»————-　♔　————-««

Oh, Jungkook knows. He’s a decent hacker. When you were out drinking with friends last month, he accessed your laptop and installed a backdoor program that lets him see whatever you’re doing on your computer. It’s been useful: he knows about your work projects; the failed first dates; your porn preferences; your email contacts. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t cheating on him. Perfect princesses don’t cheat, and he knows you’re his perfect princess.

Friday arrives. Even though it’s only been a few days since he asked you out, Jungkook has been waiting for months to finally sweep you off your feet. It’ll be amazing. He walks up to the door, the details of which he’s practically memorized, and knocks. Three grand knocks, just like he’d imagined.

“Half a moment!” Your sweet voice floats from inside the house. Jungkook presses his lips together– do you even know how beautiful, how kind, how regal you are?

And when you swing the door open, his heart aches with desire. He can’t wait to possess you entirely. You’re wearing what Jungkook has to assume is your favorite light pink dress. You wore it to your birthday dinner four months ago, and again to your friend’s wedding three weeks ago. He hasn’t seen you wear this dress on other dates, though– does that make Jungkook special? He knew it. You do believe in love at first sight. You see the same thing he does: you’re destined to be soulmates.

“Your highness,” Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You giggle and take his offered arm. Jungkook knows you think you’re just playing along with a joke. It’ll take a bit of time to introduce you to his royal fantasy– you don’t know you’re already Jungkook’s princess. But you will. Oh, you will.

»»————-　♔　————-««

The date goes surprisingly well. You haven’t been having good luck with dating lately, and you can actually see Jungkook being the one to break your dry spell. He’s a perfect gentleman, respectful and humorous. He continues to call you milady and your highness, and it’s cute, honestly. He makes you feel so special, almost like a princess.

“Thanks for tonight, Jungkook,” you say as he walks you to your door. “You finding my business card ended up being a pretty great coincidence.”

“I agree. I’m glad you decided to go out with me, y/n. I hope we can do this again.”

You nod. “Definitely.”

You smile as you change into your pajamas. You’re excited to see what Jeon Jungkook has in store. Before you get into bed, you open your laptop and notice a new email from the company president. Yes! Have you finally gotten the go-ahead and funding for the project you’ve poured yourself into?

Y/n, the email reads. I wish I had better news to give. The board declined your recent project proposal. Don’t let this discourage you from continuing to do great work! I’ll see you on Monday.

You sit back, slack-jawed, and rub your eyes. What? But… but it was looking so good. You worked so hard. What did you do wrong?

»»————-　♔　————-««

Jungkook frowns, looking at your computer screen on his phone. He’s still sitting in his car, parked around the block from your home. He knows how much you cared about getting this project approved. And this, this board. They kept his princess from achieving her goals. He blinks once, twice. Surely you’ll love him if he gets the board members to change their minds, if you realized he’d do anything for you. Jungkook turns the key in the ignition and drives home, thinking about how he can cheer you up. The individual board members are named on your company’s website– perhaps he’ll pay them a visit.

»»————-　♔　————-««

That night, you can’t sleep. This proposal was a display of your hard work, all the thought you’d put into making the company more successful. It was supposed to be a straight line to a promotion. The night started off so well, your date with Jungkook was so fun. Ugh. You bury your face in your pillow. How will you face your team members on Monday? And the board members. You know some of them don’t like you– you’re too determined, too innovative for a woman.

How you wish you could show them.

Whatever. It’s just one more failure. You’ll start brainstorming new proposals tomorrow.

You spend the rest of the evening tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, and sulking. The weekend passes much in the same way. You’re not one to get discouraged, but it’s hard to feel hopeful. If the project had been approved, your responsibilities and funding would have shifted into seeing it through for at least the next year. Monday morning, you’re headed out the door when you get a text.

Jungkook: When can I see you again? [8:35]

Y/n: Want to grab dinner after work? I get off at 5. Shall we say 6:30? [8:36]

Jungkook: Your wish is my command. Have a good day at work ;) [8:36]

Y/n: Yeah fat chance [8:37]

»»————-　♔　————-««

What you don’t know, Jungkook decides, wiping a bit of something red off his cheek, won’t hurt you. You wanted this project– and your knight in shining armor will ensure you get it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Y/n, can I see you in my office for a moment?”

“Hm? Uh, yes. Sure.” You follow the president into his office.

“How are you doing?” He asks as he settles into his chair. You sit across the desk from him. “I know how hard you worked on that project– it’s okay to be upset.”

You straighten up in your chair. “I’m fine, sir. Just focusing on moving forward.”

“That’s good. Well, I’ve actually got some surprising news for you today. Three board members– that is, the three that voted down your proposal– contacted me separately over the weekend to let me know they changed their minds.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?”

“Your proposal has been unanimously approved, y/n. Congratulations. I’m excited to see where your vision will take this company.” The president reaches across the desk and shakes your hand. You can only stare, half euphoric, half numb. “You will, of course, be transferred along with your team to the advanced development department. I’ll have the paperwork ready for you by the end of the day.”

“Okay! Uh… thank you.” You break into a radiant grin. “Thank you so much, sir!”

“Don’t thank me, the board members made their decisions. That being said, you really deserve this. Good luck.”

You practically skip out of your boss’s office. You did it! You knew the meeting went well, they just needed more time! You did it!

That evening, you hum to yourself as you put on your makeup. Jungkook will be here soon, and you’re really excited to see him. Even though you told him you could meet at the restaurant, he insisted on picking you up. What a gentleman.

Three knocks at the door. “Coming~” you sing as you pad into the hall.

“You look beautiful, y/n,” Jungkook murmurs as you swing open the door.

“Oh stop it, charmer!” You laugh, swishing your skirt like it was a ballgown.

“You’re in a good mood today, what happened?”

“My project got approved! The board changed their minds. Isn’t that great?”

Jungkook laughs. “That’s fantastic! Congrats!”

On impulse, you throw your arms around him and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

You snuggle into his shoulder. “For being so nice. For making me feel like a princess.”

You’re so preoccupied with how good Jungkook smells that you don’t notice him tugging his jacket up to cover a red stain on his sleeve.

“I’ll always be your prince, milady.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

This is true love, Jungkook thinks. We’ll get our happily ever after.

#yandere bts #yandere #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #yandere!jungkook #yandere!bts #bts #BTS jungkook #jungkook #yandere-society

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tobyjenny · 3 years

Text

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conradscrime · 3 years

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Lyle Stevik John Doe (Identified in 2018)

January 08, 2021

Ugh. I love a good John/Jane Doe case.

However, I do want to just remind everyone that as interesting as these cases are, they are very sad. We need to remember that yes a person who is unidentified is very interesting because there are a lack of answers. The main one being who are they but also what happened to them?

I think when it comes to John/Jane Doe cases we need to mindful and remain extremely respectful and not so judgemental. These people at one point were someone’s children, sibling, perhaps someone’s parent, someone’s spouse. They were most likely someone’s everything at one point. And now there could be a family or friend or loved one who has no idea what happened to them, has no idea why they haven’t heard from them or seen them.

John/Jane Doe cases are probably some of my favourite to research because they are just that, interesting. But I especially think in these cases we need to be respectful because these people are no longer here to tell their story or defend themselves. And everyone no matter, deserves to have their name back.

I’ve known about the Lyle Stevik John Doe case long before he was ever identified. I want to say around 2016 is when I first heard of the case and when he was identified in May of 2018 I was so happy, though his story is sad. Since being identified his family has chosen to keep his identity from the public which I do not blame them one bit especially because I believe the family assumed he was out living a life without them and had no idea he had been deceased for so long. My heart goes out to the family of Lyle Stevik John Doe.

TRIGGER WARNING: This case involves the topic of suicide and someone taking their own life. If this is triggering for some I suggest not reading this case and to stay tuned for upcoming cases I cover! I have a lot planned and there will be new posts from me every Friday (and on days where I am not so busy with work and school I will have 2 cases uploaded!)

On Friday, September 14, 2001 a man checked into a motel in Amanda Park Washington called the Quinault Inn under the name Lyle Stevik after arriving there via bus. The clerk told police that he may have been Canadian, as he spoke with what seemed to the clerk as an accent similar to a Canadian one.

When registering for his room he entered the alias Lyle Stevik, and for an address he wrote down the address of a Best Western facility in Meridian Idaho. The police ended up locating the hotel and questioning the staff, but none of them recognized photos of him.

The man was reportedly seen walking back and forth at the side of the highway near the motel, but it is uncertain whether these sightings were seen before or after he registered for his room at the motel. The man actually requested a different room after complaining about the noise outside the room was he given.

The man was found deceased in his motel room on Monday September 17, 2001. An initial report said he had stayed at the motel for two nights, but he had checked in on September 14, which meant he had stayed there for three nights. He originally only paid for one night, but then planned to stay for a few more days. He had hung himself by his belt from a bar inside the closet.

He had left a note that said “for the room” on the bedside table and left $160 in $20 bills to cover the remaining two nights of the weekend, which I think just shows what kind of person he was in life, a good person. The bills used to pay for the room looked fresh, it appeared that they had been recently taken out of an ATM machine. He had no wallet on him or credit card, so it seemed kind of strange that the bills looked so fresh, because how did he use a ATM machine if he didn’t have a card or wallet on him? There was also a note left that just said the words “suicide.” He is thought to have died on September 16. It is suspected that he may have died by suicide due to depression or because of a fatal disease, though the autopsy showed no signs of that.

The man was described to have light-skin, and by his features some report that he could of been from Native American or Hispanic ancestry. He also had black hair which was trimmed and neatly combed and green/hazel eyes. He weighed between 130-140 pounds, and was about 6 feet tall.

An investigator also claimed that there had been a piece of paper located in the trash bin that had “suicide” written on it as if the man were practicing how to spell it. Some believe he could not speak English well. I find this strange though because the clerk that gave him his room never mentioned that he could not speak english well from the research i’ve done, the clerk only said he had some sort of accent and like previously mentioned it was thought to be a Canadian accent, and I feel as though that would of been a very important detail that wouldn’t of been left out.

Police also said he had closed the blinds of the room and lined the closet with pillows. The man had no luggage with him, he only brought a toothbrush and toothpaste which were found in the room. He was wearing a gray tshirt and blue levi jeans and black timberland boots. There was also a blue long sleeve plaid button up shirt found laying on a chair in the room.

So you may be wondering where the name Lyle Stevik comes from. Some believe that he came up with this name from a character in a book written by Joyce Carol Oates. The novel was called “You Must Remember” and it was released in 1987. In the story, the main character’s father, Lyle Stevik, contemplates suicide, and attempts suicide, however doesn’t suceed. The John Doe spelled the name Stevik, but in the book the character’s name is spelled Stevick, with a C.

The local coroner’s office also said the man could of been from African-American ancestry in addition to having Hispanic and native american ancestry.

DNA analysis concluded he was at least one-quarter native american and one quarter hispanic or spanish. His teeth showed evidence of earlier treatment with braces. He had an old appendectomy scar which is when you get your appendix removed, and also a small mole on the left side of his chin. He also had attached earlobes which is a genetic characteristic. His nails were clean and trimmed as well.

The man also was not wearing a ring on his left finger, and there was no tan line there or any indication that he had ever worn a ring on that finger. They also did isotope testing on the man and found that he had travelled to various states before his death. Isotope testing in criminal investigations is basically used to find out things such as locating the country of origin for a given explosive, or to identify drug trafficking routes.

The examination also showed that he had recently lost a large amount of weight up to 40 pounds. The medical examiner estimated this weight difference after noticing that the size of his jeans were fairly large in comparison to his body. His belt also had extra holes that had been punched into it. His age was estimated to be between 20 and 30 years old, giving his estimated year of birth to be between 1971 and 1981.

Some also found it strange that this man had committed suicide only a few days after 9/11 happened. Investigator’s tried to connect the two, some people thinking maybe he had lost someone in 9/11 and could not go on without them so he decided to end his own life.

The man known as Lyle Stevik was a John Doe. They had no idea where he came from or where his family could be. He was buried in an unmarked grave at the Fern Hill Cemetery in Aberdeen, Washington, and went unidentified for almost 17 years.

Because this man had only been deceased for a short period of time before being found, examiners were able to obtain fingerprints, dental characteristics and DNA. These identifying markers were placed in international databases, including CODIS, but no matches were made. It was believed that he came from Port Angeles or Aberdeen, locations from which buses daily traveled to Amanda Park.

The man was not recognized by any of the bus drivers from those areas. There were also two men who had gone missing named Alexander Craig and Steven Needham, but both had been ruled out as possible identities of the Lyle Stevik John Doe.

In April of 2007, Lyle Stevik was listed as the profile of the month for Missing From the circle, which was a public service initiative launched by Lamar Associates, a law enforcement advisory organization based in Washington, D.C. to help solve cases of missing and unidentified Native Americans.

The case went cold. But in 2018, two genetic genealogists from the DNA Doe Project named Colleen M. Fitzpatrick and Margaret Press uploaded DNA profiles to GEDmatch to attempt to link the unidentified man to individuals living in New Mexico and Idaho. The DNA Doe Project is a non-profit organization dedicated to identifying unknown deceased persons.

And then on May 8, 2018 it was announced by the Grays Harbor Sheriff’s office that Lyle Stevik had been identified through DNA analysis and comparison with genetic relatives, performed by the DNA doe project in collaboration with Aerodyne and Full Genomes Corporation. They found a cluster of matches of relatives, perhaps even two or three generations removed, in New Mexico. Through this they were able to find members of the John Doe’s birth family.

The man was from Alameda County, California and was 25 years old at the time of this death. The Grays harbour county sheriff’s office notified the man’s family, who had believed him to be alive and had just thought he did not want to associate with them. His family had a set of his fingerprints that were taken in grade school, as part of a children’s identification program.

The sheriff’s department compared those to the fingerprints of the deceased man taken in 2001 and made a positive identification. However, we do not know the man’s actual name because his family has asked to keep it private, they do not want him to be publicly identified.

This case is oddly similar to a case that happened in 1996. A woman who went by the name Mary A. Anderson committed suicide in a hotel room in Seattle, Washington in October of 1996. However, this is known to be a fake name the woman used and they have never been able to identify her.

She reserved a room via telephone on October 9 about 90 minutes before she checked in. She arrived with two bags and paid cash for two nights. She also entered a New York address and telephone number, which investigator later determined to be false.

On Friday, October 11 her body was discovered by a hotel staff member after she failed to check out. She was found reclining in the bed, clasping a Bible to her chest with the pages opened to Psalm 23. There was a suicide note on the bedside table. She left no identification.

The Medical examiner determined she had consumed a lethal mixture of metamucil and cyanide and ruled her death a suicide. The woman was white, said to be between ages 30-50, with well groomed manicured nails and neatly combed hair. She had an IUD inserted, and appeared to have had breast surgery at some point in her life.

Police tried to identify her through fingerprint records on file with the FBI, as well as through missing persons reports filed in the US, Canada and through Interpol which is the International criminal police organization. They were unable to trace the origins of cyanide used and the medical examiner’s office said that the woman had purposely left out any way that she could be identified. I included a photo of her facial reconstruction down below along with Lyle Stevik’s.

Though I don’t really believe there’s any connection to these two cases they are eerily similar and as I mentioned earlier I think John/Jane Doe cases are especially important to cover, and especially important to be respectful of any friends or family if they ever come across this post.

It makes me extremely happy that Lyle Stevik John Doe was identified in May of 2018. His family has asked to keep his identity from the public, however after doing further research I did find some websleuths who have supposedly found a picture of Lyle Stevik in a yearbook and have released his real name. Personally, the photo to me looks extremely real and does look like him, almost exactly.

However, because his family wants to grieve in peace I will not be posting that photo or his supposed real name. I do not think that is fair to the family and I think we need to let this case rest. Lyle Stevik got his name back, his family has the closure they needed after all these years and that’s all that matters.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this post! I have included a photo of Lyle Stevik John Doe’s sketch but I will not be including photos of his body or the supposed yearbook photo of him as I just find that extremely disrespectful to not only him, but also his family.

Hope you enjoyed this case!

#true crime #crime #solved #johndoe #john doe #identified #2001

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