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vilsoo · 7 months

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𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑮𝑨𝑺𝑴.𝑪𝑶𝑴 ⌇GHOST, KÖNIG

ghost x fem!reader x könig || WC: 3,852

𖤐 SYNOPSIS. the dark web was a place every sane person stayed away from. too many horror stories and dark content that barely a few dared to venture in. but you’d rather not be anywhere else than in the hands of two masked strangers…

𖤐 WARNINGS. dubcon, kidnapping, drugging, sadism, voyeurism, bondage (blindfolding, ropes, torture), sex toys, livestream sex, manhandling, exhibitionism, forced creampie, mind break, double penetration, mask kink, impact play.

HORRORLAND/KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

[HAUNTED HOUSE ANNOUNCER] You are now entering the Deathgasm live venue. This haunted house attraction depicts scenes of violence, intense loud audio, special effects, and content warnings posted. For a fun and safe experience, please follow our code of conduct: no touching live performers and decorations, no flash photography, and no eating. Do not block passageways, or this will result in expulsion. Smoking and drinking are permitted for our haunted houses only. We hope you enjoy.

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The last time you ever saw broad daylight was ripped apart before your eyes.

It was just a relaxing morning stroll. You were always, always aware of your surroundings, especially during the night. But you shouldn’t have underestimated what happens in the day. Things became unsettling when you noticed a white van lurking in your peripheral vision, feeling your skin crawl and your body tense up with paranoia when the doors opened.

At first, you thought you were overthinking about it. Stop being so fucking paranoid, you scolded to yourself. Maybe they’re just contractors or something. Nothing sketchy at all.

You just kept walking that day continuing to embrace the warmth of the sun, sometimes looking over your shoulders just to be sure. But that unsettling, turmoil gut-feeling just couldn’t go away. As if you really were being followed. As if that van parked all the way out here for you.

“Quickly.”

It wasn’t until in just half a heartbeat, a brawny, masked man clung his arm around you, rendering you motionless as he presses a cloth over your nose and your mouth. With all your strength you tried to fight back and escape his grasp but your struggle was to no avail. Your screams were muffled and your vision grew hazy, causing your eyes to flutter as your numb body was pulled backwards, backwards, and backwards... And that was when your world was swallowed away by darkness.

“Shh, shh… We got you now. We’ll be taking care of you now...”

“…Told you she’d be easy, Ghost. We’ll have her all to ourselves…”

On that sinister day, you were the one with the shiny price tag. A beautiful woman walking all alone near a remote area, suddenly kidnapped by two masked men in a white van who had special, ominous plans for you. You could hear their conversations reverberating in your head, trying to register what the hell even happened. With your body temporarily limp and weakened, you could still feel the sensation of their caresses all over you.

Usually kidnappers would be so aggressive handling their female victims. At least, in the movies you’ve seen. The men would rush and scamper out of impatience and impulse as they tie their victims up, desperate to get down to business like it was their last meal on Earth. And even though your brain was foggy, you could register that you were being downed by a drug and abducted. Yet, it all felt… oddly tantalizing.

There was no rush. No sign of impulse nor rough treatment from these mysterious masked men. Instead of this predator-prey dynamic, instead of fear and terror seizing every fiber of your being, the men handled your motionless body like having a cupped hand of water, that not a drop would enter gravity's pull. In the back of a van, you laid on a blanket as gloved hands roamed about your skin, your waist, your face, your thighs… The men cut off your clothes with scissors, ever so gently trying not to hurt you. With your hazy eyes drifting side to side, you caught glimpse of one of them holding rope and the other holding your arms above your head.

“Look at her. So fucking cute when she’s all spaced out like that…”

“She’s so obedient for us already. You’re gonna be a perfect little pornstar for us, aren’t ya’?”

…Pornstar?

Before you knew it, your heavy eyes started to sulk. You were slowing down while the world around blurred, completely losing your coherence as the masked men moved you around like a lifeless doll. You couldn’t stop sighing, babbling nonsense, and whimpering when their large hands just couldn’t keep off of you, hanging your wrists on some metal hook attached to the van’s ceiling so they could caress your body. Your numb legs were then spread open, revealing the soaked fabric of your panties that you heard one of them coo in your ears. You whined when one of them slid their hand down to toy with your slit, aching and so swollen, out of your own fear and arousal. It was futile to even try and close your legs from this violation, yet the heat pooling in between was saying otherwise…

“Fuck, she’s already so wet just by being tied up. Makes me wanna take her here right now.”

“…We have to go now, König. Just keep playing with her clit until she falls asleep…”

The anticipation from such a forbidden desire worsened the ache in your cunt. At this fleeting moment you didn’t know what exactly you wanted anymore; how to choose what was good or what was bad for you. Your foggy brain couldn’t even articulate anything except this writhing sensation, this urge to submit yourself and melt onto the man’s chest just to let him use you. Encircling his fingers on your throbbing clit that you were bashfully moaning and whining, knowing that they were getting off to a pathetic, brainless, helpless woman who’s good for nothing but a fuck…

It was too bad that before you could even build up your orgasm, you were already passed out…

“… And we’re live. Wake her up.”

You had no idea how long you’ve been out. At least your coherence was starting to gauge, but your body was still weakened and frail from the drug. You struggled to open your debilitated eyes, vision hazy and blurry as if you hit your head. And when you tried to move, your wrists were still bound above your head.

Your breathing grew rapid, eyes darting every corner as you were scanning the new environment. Tied in a darkened room with red lighting, followed by a camera on a tripod right in front of you. Your mind immediately thought of this setup as a sex dungeon, hence the chains on the walls and a bed neatly made behind you. Recalling what had happened earlier, you tried to look for the men in masks, creating noises by dangling the metal hook above you and whimpering to let them know you’re awake. But as far as you could tell, you couldn’t make out any other presence lingering in the room…

Your heart was a pounding loud drum in your chest. Panic scorches in your brain, but your touch-starved body betrays your inhibitions… You were completely naked, exposing yourself in front of the camera. In your mouth, a red ball gag pooling with drool that dripped down to your stomach and on the floor. Your legs were free from the rope, however, you were on your tippie toes— the rope holding your wrists were too high that it was a struggle to relax them or you’d injure yourself. Dangling on rope, gagging and drooling on a ball, naked in front of a camera that you assumed to be recording already… how much more lewd could this be?

A gloved hand emerging from the shadows makes you flinch as it caresses you from behind. Your skin tingled when you felt the man’s body heat transmit onto your back, hearing him breathe deeply. You were able to study him up close— an alluring, mysterious man wearing a balaclava with a skull design, recalling him being called “Ghost.” Another pair of gloved hands greet you by massaging your breasts, your body immediately succumbing to this white-hot wave of sensation, desperate to be handled like this that more heat pooled between your legs. You turn your head and meet his gaze; piercing, forest green eyes and a draped mask, the other man with the German accent known as “König.”

“You’re not gonna struggle and try to resist us, are you?” Ghost teased, his voice so intoxicating than any alcohol you’ve ever consumed. He had this husky, sultry British accent; something you’ve never expected coming from a stranger like him. It only turned you on more.

You shake your head at him meekly, replying with a faint moan when he suddenly grips your ass. Ghost immediately catches the doe-eyes you gave him, the right kind of heat and lust pooling in your eyes. This was all so, so wrong… to be abducted and chained in the dark, to be turned on by strangers in tactical gear who drugged you and had sinister plans for you… But yet, you couldn’t fight this brain-fazing sensation from the anticipation quivering inside, wondering what was going to happen to you as you were in the hands of these men. And your aching cunt couldn’t stop furtively pounding and throbbing, having to hold back a whimper from how needy and slutty you really were...

“Good girl,” Ghost praised as he held your face with one hand. “Tonight, everything we do to you is gonna be livestreamed. You’re not here just to please us— you’ll have to please our audience, too. You like being shown off, pretty girl?”

“Mhm.” You nodded like you were already made for this, allowing what your body was secretly ravenous for. A little enthusiasm, but also bashfulness— the epitome of submission. Perhaps deep down, you adored being showed off; basking in the limelight of being a free use in front of thousands of strangers…

König’s hand slithers down your back and onto your ass, yelping when he spanked it so abruptly that it left a throbbing sting. Your back involuntarily arched and when his fingers just fit right in between your thighs, chafing your swollen, wet cunt that it was hard holding back your pathetic whines and moans.

“Getting off to this already?” he coaxed, now increasing the speed of his fingers teasing your folds that you threw your head back on his shoulder. Immediately writhing on his fingers playing with your swollen clit, unable to respond properly when Ghost wrapped his hand around your throat.

“They wanna hear you scream,” Ghost muttered into your ears, slightly smirking under his mask. “You can’t be enjoying all this without a little bit of pain.”

As much as you wanted to resist, you couldn’t. The panic and anticipation spiraled into shameless arousal. Without warning, König eased two of his fingers knuckles deep inside your wet cunt so easily, thrusting insanely fast that your eyes fell half-lidded, convulsing around his fingers hitting that spot that made you squirm. Shamelessly spreading your legs as Ghost kept playing with your tits, squeezing both of your nipples so tight that your loud squeal reverberated off the walls of the room.

That mix of pleasure and pain; you’d be lying to yourself if you truly enjoyed it… It was torturous, it was too brutal to endure, but your skin was flashing hotter than ever, your clit throbbing erratically with a heartbeat of its own. König felt his cock stirring in his suit, getting off to your helpless state that he thrusted his fingers so hard, curling them to abuse your g-spot. Denying your own orgasm was painfully inevitable. The two men could see it pooling in your eyes like it was unobtainable, watching your body constantly squirming under their touches.

“You think she deserves to come?” taunted Ghost.

“We’ll make her come as many times as she can. Even if she can’t handle it.” You could feel König’s other hand slithering down to your inner thigh as if he was about to grab it, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “And we’re not gonna fucking stop no matter how many times you beg. You’re our little fucktoy now and you’re gonna be treated just like one.”

Lust speared through you from their words. The men were unpredictable in their own sinister ways; it caught you off guard from the way König abruptly lifted your left leg and held it in the air as Ghost takes a vibrator onto your clit. Fingers still fucking into your cunt and your sensitive clit getting overstimulated had you yanking the rope, your body writhing and squirming that they tell you to “shut the fuck up and take it,” and forced you in place. Electric sensations skyrocket through you before you could even register it all, your glossy eyes welling with tears and your face all ravished and wanton beyond comprehension.

Never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight. It was a fleeting second after you realize your orgasm had already washed over you, your hips stuttering like a riptide from this delirious torment. Knowing that there were thousands of strangers getting off to this, getting off to a helpless slut tied up and tortured by masked men that can’t do anything except enjoy it, you basked in it. Forced multiple orgasms, stinging pain, lewd noises, and loud screams… this was all related to the dark web you’ve been hearing recently.

After collecting yourself, a wave of clarity hit you so suddenly that things were starting to make sense. There were recent kidnappings of women who were found later on a livestream website called Deathgasm.com, where numerous videos of gangbangs with these women and masked men in tactical gear are recorded live. They take place in either the back of a van or in a dark room, which viewers assume as a sex dungeon.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. As sick and twisted this was, your body couldn’t help but succumb to this indescribable feeling of pleasure and torture. There were even times out of curiosity you’d search the site and realize how attractive the men in masks and tactical gear are. Toying and playing with a tied up woman who also secretly succumb to this, their quivering fear and terror surrendering into arousal and tantalization. Having no choice but to orgasm over and over even though it’s too much, looking into the men’s faces with lingering dark anonymity and their brawny, large bodies looming over them just to fulfil their filthy, dark plans. And you would not trade this for anything in the world.

Perhaps you adored being showed off. Basking in the limelight of being used like a fucktoy and watched by strangers online that are fucked up in the head, like an exhibitionist. Or maybe you’ve been brainwashed to even think this way— maybe you just have little, fucked up fantasies of your own... It didn’t even matter anymore; your thoughts became mush when Ghost and König suspended you up in the air this time, your wrists and ankles bound behind you with your legs also tied apart. The gag was finally off but a blindfold had covered your eyes, not being able to tell who’s who and what the men plan to do to you now.

You were already a mess; strings of saliva and drool hanging off your chin that dripped onto König’s cock, slowly easing it in your widened mouth. It was Ghost’s turn to play with your pussy and ass, moaning and yelping when he spanked your cheeks so harshly. Nothing could compare to this amount of excitement pounding in your pussy, practically whining on Konig’s fat cock in your mouth as Ghost kept teasing you.

To describe the comments in the live chat as obscene is an understatement— the men were greedy, ravenous, filthy. Shamelessly admitting their own raunchy, fucked up scenarios with you tied up like that. Degrading you like a worthless whore, admiring your body and pussy that’s good for fucking, or sending money to get Ghost and König to fulfill their requests:

[ $20 ] both of you fuck her pussy and ass at the same time. stretch out that tight asshole

[ $25 ] carve the word “slut” on her thigh i want that bitch bloody and screaming in pain

[ $22 ] make her squirt i wanna see that pussy juice all over the camera lens

And though you couldn’t read the comments or see the camera, you just indulged into this and presented yourself as a horny, free-use slut that’s made for fucking. You can feel Ghost’s cockhead brushing the folds of your cunt, coating it with your juices. König thrusted his cock straight inside your throat that it was too much for you to handle, gagging and moaning pathetically as Ghost kept teasing you it felt like utter torture. But that blissful feeling blossoming in your stomach was saying otherwise…

You were so desperate for more friction; Ghost took sick pleasure in seeing you like this, writhing and bucking your hips for him to slide inside your cunt already. When he finally eased his cock so deep, you were given no warning as he pounded so hard and rough into you. The sensation of your cunt getting stretched out from his size, grabbing your hips and pulling you back and forth on his cock... You were a wrecked mess already; your face streaked with tears, your chin dripping with drool, and your skin all slick and sweaty. The thought of being reduced to a free use fuck-slut that thrives off from only cock and orgasms as you were suspended mid-air… you could no longer think for yourself anymore.

“Look at you. Getting all dumb and brainless over our cocks,” Ghost cooed, harshly spanking your ass. “You like being our little pornstar? Knowing that a bunch of strangers online jerk off to you being used like this?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as the men kept pounding and thrusting, hearing König pant heavily and Ghost grunt when you kept squeezing ever so tightly around him. In just a minute, another orgasm. But that didn’t stop Ghost mercilessly pounding into you like an animal gone wild and König fucking your throat so relentlessly. Your screams and moans form into gags urging out, drips of precum and drool seeping on your chin that König smeared all over your glossy face. The more they sensed that you were taking pleasure from all this, the more brutal they were with you.

It felt like you were in the air for hours as the men switched around and took turns. Your cunt was becoming overly slick with the copious amounts of cum that was being pumped into it, some left on your ass and some dripping onto the floor. Even when they weren’t inside you, the continual pounding and the oozing cum throbbed in your walls. You still couldn’t see anything and you were still bound. It wasn’t until your eyes started feeling heavy again and your body fell numb; the men didn’t like that.

“We didn’t say you could fucking sleep,” König chided as he harshly grabbed your face and slipped off the blindfold.

“That drug is still hitting you, huh?” teased Ghost as he messing around with the ropes that held you in the air. “For that, we’ll make her do the work this time. Untie her and get her on top of me on the bed so she’ll ride me. Leave her arms tied only.”

You couldn’t protest, for your words started to slur and your mouth was only used for moaning pathetically. Once König brought you down from the air, he shoved you onto the bed, holding your legs in the air as Ghost laid underneath you. There was another camera facing the bed that you noticed, the light burning into your retinas as you stare into it. Although you were half awake, a weak smile stretches on your lips, wanting to the viewers know how prideful you were of this and how good Ghost and König make you feel.

When Ghost slowly settled inside your ass, you’ve felt a stirring sensation in your stomach. Never have you thought about losing your anal virginity so soon, but it had you throwing your head back and whining. He had the ball gag from before in his hands and wrapped it back around your opened mouth, telling you to keep staring into the camera and ride him like the dirty, messy slut that you are. With your feet on the bed and your legs spread, you slowly settle down on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and your body contorting from how intense it all felt.

You knew that you didn’t wanna go painfully slow; you wanted Ghost to feel good as well. To the point where he’d finally hold your hips in the air and fuck his cock into your ass and König can finally slide himself in your pussy, overstimulating you so greatly. It was hard to keep balance with your hands bound behind your back and your staggering strength. But you kept telling yourself that this was all that you wanted, grinding your hips and bouncing your ass up and down, emitting juddering grunts from Ghost.

“Keep your legs spread open for me,” König ordered. “Show to the camera how good you take two cocks inside of you.”

Before you knew it, you were sandwiched between the two masked men, filling your holes and stuffing you harshly. Sitting on Ghost’s cock as your legs were wide open, letting them both pound into you… You lost the feeling of stability in your entire body, your inhibition being taken over by the desperate sensation of cock. It broke your mind, but that was what you craved for. It was pure euphoria, rapturing you in a burning enticement that you were bound in. Nearly knocked out of air, your vision becomes hazy as Ghost and König fucks you through your third orgasm, past the point where you're crying two octaves higher than you're used to.

such a hot fucking slut taking both dicks

i wish i could fuck her cunt and put that dumb bitch in her place

how many times did she come already 😂

You enjoyed it. You enjoyed it all. The mind-wrecking, the overstimulation, the humiliation, the pain, the thought of being watched and masturbated to by perverts… It felt as if your life had been reformed. You were now a slutty whore that was good for nothing but a fuck. A depository for cum, just holes for fucking and a toy to torture. Your cunt was now battered and bruised, ass stinging and throbbing from being slapped multiple times, and both of your holes stretched and aching from how deep and rough they fucked you out. All those sensitive, velvet tissues that should never see the light of day, for they were property of Ghost and König only. Your poor cunt couldn’t stop flexing over nothing, yearning for that feeling of fullness again.

The next few hours after you were done being used, you were tied up in a strappado position with a vibrating dildo tied to your cunt. Left alone in the dark with the camera still on and recording, still blindfolded and gagged. Forced orgasms over and over, stranded like this throughout the rest of your days and nights until they felt like using you again. From what Ghost told you, the viewers seemed to favor you. They wanted to see more of you on Deathgasm, never to return to your old life and remain a free-use.

“Next time, I’ll make it hurt real good for you,” he forewarned before. “They can watch and cum as many times as they please, but you… You only cum for me now.”

𖤐 TAGS. @kyumimii @aft0nsimp @crysugu @atinystaypixie @rinshoe @cran-berry-vodka @apwing @daddyzzlittlewhore @kimekioo @mqfuyuu @strawberrymilk4k @strvwberrymilk @maidenssymphony @shycoffeetaco @zippertwat @killzenin @titantears @migueloharacumslut @hayati17 @palefuckinghost @maddietries @nanananamiiii @bookmark-anon @blackhoodlea @bru1sedclavicle @dollicries @hehehehesthings @oneofthesevensins

#🕸️. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 #codmw2 smut #codmw2 #cod x you #cod x reader #ghost x you #konig x you #ghost smut #konig smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty mw2 smut #simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost x reader #konig call of duty #konig codmw2

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reiding-writing · 5 months

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erotomania [ s.r ]

02 - avoidance

Summary:

Your guilt over bringing Spencer into this ordeal leaves you making a painful decision for the sake of his own wellbeing.

WARNINGS: details of grievous bodily harm, hospitals, mentions of panic attacks, miscommunication for a good cause

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: ANGST

wc: 5.6k

main masterlist!!

a/n: lol shoutout to @takethetongue for letting me rant to you for many consecutive hours about my plans for this chapter and stealing multiple of your ideas 🫶

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @starzqzi @duhduck @liveitdoll @alovesongtheywrote @bumblebea-xo @wolfstar-17 @yoonglestime @summerknights @spencer-reid-obsessed @rebloggiest-reblogger @blackbeautyiloveyouso @quackie15 @haileycannotcometothephonern @wittle-bunny420 @minhosdoormat @takethetongue @flowersfromautumn @holymusicalmothman

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Morgan’s eyes shift at the door being ajar, his attitude immediately changing as he realises that your paranoia may actually be founded, and his voice drops an octave as he instinctively brings his hand down to un-holster his pistol from his hip. “I’m going in first, are you with me?”

His voice is barely more than a whisper as he stands with his shoulder to the oak frame of Spencer’s apartment door, and you give him a short nod before you’re readying yourself on the other side with your own gun firmly held in your hands.

Morgan pushes the door open quickly with his hand before entering the main room of the apartment gun first, you following shortly behind him in the same manner.

As you move through the apartment, your eyes dart from corner to corner, searching for any clue that might lead you to Spencer or indicate the presence of the stalker. The silence is deafening, amplifying the weight of your anxiety. Every sound, no matter how small, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

You approach the kitchen, your grip on the gun tightening. The sight of a shattered coffee mug on the floor makes your heart skip a beat. Could there have been a struggle? Is Spencer hurt? Your mind races with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

Morgan follows soon after, splitting off from you to check the small office space Spencer had fashioned himself out of a spare bedroom, his eyes scanning the room with equal intensity.

You continue your search, moving from room to room, hoping to find any sign of Spencer's whereabouts. Each empty room fuels your worry, and the silence becomes suffocating. Time feels like it's slipping away, and a sense of urgency settles in your chest.

You make your way to Spencer's bedroom last, your footsteps almost soundless on the carpeted floor. The door is slightly ajar, and you push it open slowly, trying to minimise any noise as you enter with your gun raised to your eyes, index finger held against the trigger.

The sight that greets you is both chilling and heartbreaking. The room is in complete disarray, the curtains drawn shut, books scattered across the floor, shelves pulled off their brackets. But what catches your attention is the lump in Spencer’s bed sheets.

You approach it slowly, removing the blanket with your left hand to reveal what was causing the lump underneath it, and the sight almost makes you drop your weapon.

Spencer Reid. Unconscious, bloodied and beaten.

His face was gaunt and littered in dark purple bruises, a red stain on his left temple matting into his hair, and his nose bridge closer to a ‘v’ rather than the straight line it’s supposed to be.

His torso was no better, his wrists red-raw and his shirt ridden up to reveal a large bruise on his left side, a dark maroon in it’s centre fading to a yellow-green up over his ribs. You didn’t even want to imagine what else was hidden under the fabric of his clothes.

Your blood runs cold as the realisation hits you. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders, and a knot forms in your stomach. You can't help but blame yourself for dragging Spencer into this dangerous game.

“Morgan…” Morgan arrives at your side almost before you have the time to call out to him, concerned at how long you’d spent in Spencer’s bedroom.

That concern grows into full blown worry as he catches sight of Spencer. “Oh my God..”

He lowers his gun down to his side as he approaches you slowly, “Oh Jesus, Spencer..”

Morgan’s reaction confirms that you’re not dreaming.

You fall into immediate anxiety as you let your gun drop to the floor, falling to your knees soon after to place two of your fingers on the pulse point of his neck.

He’s still alive…

An unconscious sigh of relief leaves your throat as you feel the fast-beating, shallow pulse under your fingers, although it doesn’t do much to quell the shaking of your fingers or the uneven beating of your heart. “Call an ambulance-“

Morgan snaps out of his shock at your plea, and within seconds he’s holding his phone to his ear whilst on dial to the emergency services.

“Spence? Spencer… Please?…”

You shake his shoulder slightly to try and get him to regain consciousness to no avail, and as his body shifts under your hand you spot a small piece of paper sticking out of his balled up wrist, and you gently remove it to read it for your self as you rub your thumb over Spencer’s forehead.

It’s a torn scrap of lined paper housing only six words. The same six words that had urged you to involve Spencer in this mess in the first place.

These violent delights have violent ends.

You crumple up the piece of paper in your hand as your eyes spring with tears, and you let both of your hands fall onto Spencer’s mattress as your mind sends you into a state of dissociation.

This was your fault.

This was all your fault. You’d gotten too comfortable with Spencer and accidentally lead your stalker right to him.

You were broken from your thoughts when you hear the sound of sirens and see the flashing lights shining in through Spencer’s curtains, and before you know it EMTS come running up to you, with Morgan explaining the situation as they load Spencer onto a stretcher.

You watch as Spencer is rushed out of his apartment with hot tears running down your face, anxiety and guilt overtaking every sense in your body as he’s taken around the corner and out of sight. “Hey, hey, he’s breathing, he’s gonna be okay.”

Morgan tries to soothe you, but his own anxiety is plain on his face and in his eyes.“You need to stay calm, okay? Can you do that?”

“This is all my fault-” You remain on your knees at the side of Spencer’s bed, a trembling hand covering your mouth as your body sends itself into a fit of hyperventilation.

“Hey- hey...” Morgan kneels down at your side and embraces you, rubbing your back as he helps you breathe through this moment. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? This wasn’t your fault.” He repeats in a calm, slow voice.

“No you don’t understand Morgan-” You push your arm against Morgan’s chest as he attempts to coax you out of your impending panic attack. “I- I’m being stalked and I confided in Spencer about it and I lead him here- I- put Spencer in danger because I was paranoid about my own well being and now he’s- he’s-“

Morgan takes a small step back and holds your shoulders. “Wait wait, you’re being stalked?” He looks at you with serious concern in his eyes. You hadn't mentioned that you'd had a stalker to anyone else on the team.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone… I thought I was just being paranoid, but I got scared and Spencer let me spend the night here a few days ago… and- I told him everything and- I lead my stalker right to him…” Your voice cracks as you speak, and you force yourself up to take a seat on Spencer’s bed as you try not to lose your composure any further than you already have.

“Hey-“ Morgan continues to kneel in front of you, putting his hands firmly on your shoulders. “Hey, look at me... look at me, okay? You are not at fault for this. I'm not gonna let you blame yourself for this, you hear me?” His voice held a more commanding tone than he would usually use around you.

“How can I not blame myself for this?” You take a sharp breath in through your nose, wiping the back of your hand over both of your eyes in attempt to rid your cheeks of the dampness of your tears.

"Hey, listen to me." Morgan holds your shoulder firm and he leans in so that you can't break eye contact with him. "This is not on you, and I don't ever ever want to hear you say or think otherwise."

He seemed incredibly sure of himself. Morgan had been a rock for you for a very long time now, and he'd always been right.

He wouldn't fail you now would he?

“we have to tell the rest of the team…” Morgan urges solemnly. "…and they're gonna ask questions... especially about why you didn't go to them before. Are you ready for that?" He was trying to prepare you for the onslaught of questions that were about to be dumped on the two of you in the next hour.

You give him a small nod as you take in a slow, shaky breath, trying to regain a regular breathing pattern. “Mhm…”

“Hey... look at me?” He shakes his hand against your shoulders slightly. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here with you. The team is with you.”

Morgan looks at you with a small smile. “We’re not gonna let this sonofabitch get away with anything.” He’d already started mentally planning the investigation he was about to launch into finding your stalker.

“What about Spencer? I need to make sure he’s okay…”

“He’s in good hands. He’s going to be fine. We have to focus on tracking down the one responsible for this. Okay?” Morgan’s plea sounds more like an order as he pulls you to your feet, keeping his hands braced on your shoulders in case you were lightheaded from crying.

“Okay-" You muster up a small nod, taking a shaky breath in through your nose.

“C’mon, let’s go tell the team.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The team had reacted how you’d expected them to.

They were surprised and bewildered by the situation, especially Prentiss, who just kept saying:

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Morgan, on the other hand, was already a step ahead of the rest of you and was briefing Hotch on how he would start searching for your stalker, one of the pros of being an expert on obsessional crimes.

“I’m so sorry…”

JJ gave you a reassuring smile, although accompanied the ‘I'm gonna have a serious talk with you about this later’ look.

Hotch then brought attention to you, seeing that you were struggling, your eyes still red and slightly bloodshot. “Okay... We’re gonna put together a profile to track down your stalker... but for now, go home, alright? You need to get some rest.”

He looked to Morgan who gave an affirming nod, agreeing with Hotch's decision. “I need to see Spencer first-“

Hotch turns to Morgan, gesturing for him to join you. “Go with her.”

Morgan has no objection to Hotch’s order, and he quickly makes his way across the room to join you on your way out. You can sense the protective, domineering aura radiating from him as you two walk out of the conference room, ready to take the trip to the hospital where Spencer was being treated.

You take a short stop on the way to get some flowers. It’s a little cliche but you wanted to do something to express your regret over what happened to him, and flowers were the only thing that came to your mind.

You leave Morgan in the car as you step into the quaint flower shop around the corner from your house, greeted by the sweet aroma of blossoms and a kaleidoscope of colours from the arrangements of flowers covering the walls.

“Oh hello sweetheart, it’s been a while since you’ve given us a visit.” The sweet voice of the flower shop’s owner calls your attention, and you give her a soft smile as you walk over to her, giving a short wave to her two children also working behind the counter. “Hi Mrs Fontana, yeah it really has been a while huh? How’s everything holding up?”

You loved the homey vibe of the shop, family-owned businesses always appealed to you for some reason, it made them feel more genuine, rather than a large corporation solely focused on making as much money as possible.

“Everything’s well my dear,” She gives you smile as you walk over. “What can I get for you today?”

“I’m not actually sure yet, I’m looking for something to bring to a friend of mine in the hospital,”

“Hospital? Is everything okay?” Your confession caught the attention of Mrs Fontana’s two children, who joined the two of you in your conversation with shared looks of mild concern.

That was another thing you appreciated about small businesses like this, it meant you could form a friendly relationship with the people who ran it.

“He was pretty badly injured, so I just want to get something to show my sympathy you know?”

Rachel, Mrs Fontana’s daughter gave you a soft nod with a sympathetic look of her own. “Yeah i get you, one of my friends ended up in the hospital a little while back through a car accident so I know how it makes you feel,”

“What happened? if you don’t mind me asking of course, it might help us pick out a proper arrangement for you,” Mrs Fontana’s son Riley piped up next, leaning his hands against the counter.

“He got into an accident, he was rushed off to the hospital a few hours ago and I’m on my way to go and visit him now, joys of being in the FBI I suppose,” You keep the details of the origins of Spencer’s injuries to yourself, not wanting to dump all of your problems on the three, no matter how well you’d become acquainted with each other since you’d started frequenting the shop a few months ago.

“I can imagine-” Rachel reaches over the counter to place a comforting hand on your own.

One furrowed expression of consideration later, you were being led towards the back of the shop to have a look at some of the flowers. “Traditional sympathy bouquets usually contain tulips, carnations, and hydrangea, but there’s no real ‘rules’ for what can and can’t go into them,”

You give a small nod at Riley’s explanation as he pointed towards a few collections of brightly coloured tulips. “Yellow and white are the best colours to go for if you’re looking for a symbolic bouquet, although I know that some people don’t really believe in colour symbolism so it really is up to you,”

You mull over your options for a moment as your eyes flicker across the different collections of possible flowers.

“Or if you’d prefer something more simplistic, roses are always a great option, they can mean so many things depending on the context in which they’re given,” Rachel shrugs lightly as she walks past you and Riley to grab a few clusters of lily of the valley for a separate bouquet that she was putting together.

You end up choosing a mix of purple tulips and roses, Spencer’s favourite colour, and you watch as Riley organises them into a neatly wrapped bouquet. “Thanks Riley,”

You give him a soft smile of appreciation and he returns it with one of his own. “It’s no problem at all,”

You bid the three florists a goodbye as you rejoin Morgan in the car, propping the flowers gently in the backseat.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You absentmindedly mess with the brown paper wrapping of the bouquet as you enter the hospital, leaving Morgan to speak to one of the receptionists to find where Spencer had been roomed as you focused on keeping yourself from falling into another potential panic attack.

“He’s in room 315, up the hall on your right, although he’s still unconscious.”

Morgan and you make your way to the room, and when you get there the door is slightly open. You can see Spencer lying on a bed with bandages all over his abdomen and one over his nose.

He’s fast asleep.

You sigh softly as you walk into the room, half relieved he’s stable and half guilty that he’s in this position in the first place, and you pull up one of the plastic chairs from the corner of the room to take a seat next to his hospital bed, carefully leaving the flowers on one of the side tables.

Morgan stands back, his eyes flicking over to you as he leans against the wall.

It was a weird thing to think, but... Spencer looked quite peaceful when he was asleep, considering the circumstances of the situation.

You hesitantly take one of Spencer’s hands in in your own, the frigid coldness of his fingers again becoming apparent compared to the warmth of your palm as you cupped his hand between both of yours.

“Can I- have some privacy for a minute? Please?” You give Morgan a half pleading look as you squeeze onto Spencer’s hand slightly, to which Morgan responds with a small nod of reassurance, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

The minute the door clicks shut you feel the tears threaten to spill from your eyes again, and you take a sharp breath in through your nose in a fruitless attempt to combat them.

“I know you can’t hear me right now but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry…” The first tear falls hot against the skin of your cheek, landing against the back of your hand as you lower your head towards the floor. “If I’d’ve just kept it to myself-“

You cut your ramble short as your voice cracks.

“I put you in danger because I was being selfish instead of thinking logically, and I’m so sorry…”

Spencer makes a slight but noticeable movement, his eyes fluttering open slowly as they adjust to the harsh white lighting of the hospital room.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and his vision focuses... eventually landing on your tear-streaked face, and he mutters out your name in a mix of drowsed-confusion and concern at the fact you were crying at his bedside.

“What the- hey, you- what’s wrong?”

Of course the first thing Spencer would ask whilst waking up from a grievous assault was if you were okay.

“What’s wrong with me? You’re lying in a hospital bed half beaten…”

You remove one of your hands from his to wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, trying to regain a fraction of composure instead of breaking down in front of him.

“Hey- Hey no-“

Spencer’s face is filled with concern and worry as he sees you on the verge of a breakdown, and he tries to sit up for a moment, but he grimaces when he feels his wounds. “Hey, it's okay, okay? I’m okay, please…”

“Spencer don’t sit up-“

You get out of your seat to encourage his shoulders back down against the hospital bed as he tries to comfort you despite him being the one that is actually in need of comforting. He begrudgingly obliges to your gentle insistence as he moves to lie down again, although propping himself a little higher up against the angled head of the bed so that he wasn’t completely lying down, and he puts his hand gently on your cheek to wipes away a tear that you’d missed. “Please don’t cry...”

His hands are oddly comforting, like a cold shower on a sunny day. You don’t know why, but something about these small touches that you had with Spencer felt comforting in a way that you couldn’t even begin to fully comprehend.

“Hey, please... I’m okay. You need to be calm, okay? It's okay. I’m okay.”

Was that his go-to line for comforting someone when he himself was clearly hurting? If so, you found yourself rather endeared by the whole thing if not more guilty.

That soft, velvety voice of his saying, “you need to be calm.” was weirdly soothing.

“This is all my fault I’m so sorry-”

Tears freely cascade down your cheeks as you shift to take a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, squeezing one of his hands in between both of your own as you apologise.

Spencer looks at you with concern in his eyes, but he tries his best to reassure you. “Hey, look at me. Please don’t cry. This is not your fault. I promise you that.”

He brings your hand to his chest, gently pressing it over where his heart is as he rubs his thumb over the back of it.

Feeling the gentle strokes of Spencer’s heartbeat under your palm helped a little, but it didn’t stop the guilt from flowing through your mind, overwhelming your senses. “I lead him right to you…”

“Hey... hey look... look at me.” Spencer lifts your chin up and makes eye contact once more. “You don’t know if that’s what happened. Okay? You don’t know.”

Spencer sounds so soothing and genuine, it’s hard to doubt what he’s saying.

As you make eye contact with him you see something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. It was small and subtle, but there was something there... a longing of some sort.

“No Spence I do know-“

You wipe the sleeve of your free hand over your cheeks in another attempt at wiping them from the dampness of your tears. “He left a quote from the book, in your hand,”

Spencer pauses, and the corner of his lip tugs into a frown at your revelation. “...what?”

You can see Spencer’s eyes flicker with concern as he takes the information in.

“I never should have brought you into this I’m so sorry Spencer…”

Spencer is surprised how much you’re blaming yourself when he doesn’t think the situation is entirely your fault at all.

“Hey.” Spencer brushes the hair away from your face. “Stop saying sorry.”

For a moment, there's an electric moment between the two of you as Spencer continues to touch your face. His eyes linger over the remnants of tear stains on your cheeks.

“He’s escalated from sending me things to hurting people that I care about…” You lean your cheek into the palm of Spencer’s hand.

“You’re hurt, because of me."

Spencer’s eyes continue to flit over your form as the silence between the two of you hangs heavy in the air.

His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, his hand still lingering on your cheek. He looks down at your face as his hand traces an outline against your cheek and jaw line. “It’s not your fault… I promise. You couldn’t have known.”

“I just- You mean so much to me Spencer, and I-“ You cut yourself off with a deep breath through your nose, trying to calm yourself down enough to word your sentence properly.

“I can’t bare to see you like this… Especially when i’m the reason it happened…”

“Hey no... listen... I’m okay.” Spencer gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“I know… I just-“ You let out a soft sigh at the gentle sensation of his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m so sorry…”

Spencer continues to look at you for a moment, his eyes taking in your appearance before locking with yours.

There are flecks of light green throughout his golden brown irises, and you find yourself on the verge of getting lost in the way the colours shift in the overhead lights.

Spencer gives a soft sigh, muttering your name softly under his breath. "It's okay. Stop apologising."

“Sorry-“ You cut yourself short as you instinctually apologise for apologising, pursing your lips together with a nod instead.

“I just wanna put this guy behind bars… Before he hurts anyone else…” Your fear that spencer is still in danger begins to make you feel increasingly regretful about coming to visit him.

This guy had obviously attacked Spencer because he was a ‘threat’ of some kind to the stalker’s objective of forming a romantic relationship with you, and you feared that you continuing to see him would only put him in more danger.

"I know you do..." Spencer’s hand moves from your cheek to caress your hand slightly as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "And we will. We will do everything we can to do that."

Spencer’s eyes flicker downwards in the briefest of glances before locking his gaze on yours again. "Please... please stop blaming yourself."

“I’m sorry…”

“No more sorries,” Spencer’s voice is soft as it caresses your ears. “You did nothing wrong.”

Spencer tugs on your hand gently with his fingers so your eyes flit back to his. “I’m okay,”

His eyes are clear and they are only gazing at yours.

"I just- I love you a lot spencer, I just want you to be safe…" You feel a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as your guilt threatens to make you cry again. “I’m putting you in danger just by being here…”

Spencer lets out a small sigh and tilts his head. "Hey... hey, listen to me."

Spencer caresses the back of your hand with your thumb to get your attention.

"Stop apologising and just... stop beating yourself up, okay? None of this is your fault, okay?"

Spencer's voice is soothing as he speaks to you, and he makes eye contact, caressing your arm gently. "If I had the choice to go back, I would let you stay over all over again."

“Spencer-”

“No, listen to me. I would not change a single thing. I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you solve this earlier so this didn’t have to happen.” You can see something in Spencer's eyes as he interrupts your attempt to chastise him, a hint of longing as though there’s something he’s trying to keep hidden.

There’s a soft smile on his face as his eyes flicker over your face.

Spencer slowly props himself up on his elbow as he can look at you properly, ignoring your soft plea for him to remain lying down.

Your eyes flit between Spencer’s chest and the buttons of his hospital gown as they shift with his body. It makes your stomach tingle. You can see the steady rise and fall of his chest, and a part of you wants to collapse into his arms and let him tell you that it’s all going to be okay.

“Can I ask you something..?” Spencer’s question is quiet and hesitant, and if your ears weren’t hyper aware of his voice your not sure you would have heard it.

You give him a small nod, eyes flickering away from his chest to look at his eyes once more

"What does... love mean to you right now?"

Spencer’s eyes lock with yours like they did before, although this time there’s a silent insistence in them.

"Because right now, you’ve said that you ‘love’ me, and I don’t know what that means to you."

"I-"

You blink a few times as you pull away from him a little further, straightening your posture to sit up properly again as your mind computes his question.

You can almost see the thoughts spinning through Spencer's head as he monitors your expression. His eyes still flicker between yours, and you can hear the heavy breathing of his chest as he stares at you.

The longer you sit there staring at each other, the more you start to realise how close Spencer's face is to yours. Even his breath is so close to yours that it's making your heart rate rise to the point where you can feel it in your throat.

"I- You’re one of my closest friends Spencer…" You instinctively dry swallow as if it was going to help you get out of the conversation "I don’t want to lose you- I can’t risk that, not after everything we’ve been through,"

Your words seem to have triggered something in Spencer's mind, as his eyes quickly fix on yours, your name falling from his lips as he shifts himself to sit up further.

Spencer leans in towards you slightly, his lips slightly parted. "I can tell that whatever 'love' is to you... it's not the way that friends love each other. It's different. And I think... I think I'm starting to understand why." The words seem to fall out of Spencer's lips like they're burning to be let free.

"I... love you."

Spencer blurts out the words with genuine emotion, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion, his eyebrows furrowed together.

"I love you, and... and the feeling I get when I'm around you... it's different than anything else I've ever felt, and-" Spencer cuts himself off before saying anything else, his voice breaking towards the end as if he's trying to hold back tears.

His words cause your heart to drop in your chest. But not the type feeling you’d get after your anxiety lifts after solving a case. Not the type of feeling you’d get after the man who you’d been subconsciously pining after for years has just confessed his love for you.

It was that feeling you get when you expected something bad to happen and it turned out even worse than you could have possibly imagined.

"Spencer…”

Your simple utterance of his name seems to cause Spencer to lose any restraint he had left.

“I'm so goddamn in love with you…" he whispers so softly you can barely hear it.

Spencer's eyes are locked with yours, a deep passion in his eyes that he doesn’t think you’ve ever seen from him ever before.

"I-" Your mind seems to short circuit as he doubles down on his confession, and you feel as though you’re going to throw up from the pit you’re feeling in your stomach.

"I can’t do this- I’m sorry-"

You shake your head as you stand up from where you were sat on the edge of Spencer’s hospital bed, a sudden wave of lightheadedness washing over you as you do.

"Please don't do that." Spencer’s voice is gentle as he tries to reach out his hand towards you. "Don't just... hide from this because you're scared, okay?"

Spencer pauses for a moment before speaking again, his voice a bit of a murmur. "You... you love me too, don't you?"

The words are quiet and uncertain as he seems to question himself, his eyes never wavering from yours.

"I’m sorry Spencer-" You subconsciously retreat from his outstretched hand, pulling on your sleeves with your own. “I should go-”

"Wait-" Spencer’s voice is filled with emotion, his beautiful hazel eyes silently begging you not to leave as they glass over with tears.

"Please... Can I please have a moment to just..." Spencer pauses for a moment, searching for the words he wants to say.

"I don't want to let you walk out of this room so you can pretend you don't feel the same way that I do." Spencer takes a breath and tries to calm himself. "Please... please just stay... let’s talk about this…"

"Get some rest Spencer…" Your voice wavers as you walk away from the bed to leave the room.

“No, wait, don't-”

Spencer's voice trails off to a murmur as you close the door behind you, leaving him alone in the hospital room.

Spencer drops back against the bed, and as he spots the bouquet left on the side table the tears that had welled in his eyes finally trickle down his cheeks.

Was he making a mistake...?

No, what is he thinking?

You just need time to process everything... that's all.

Spencer sighs and closes his eyes, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that the love of his life had just walked out the door.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #erotomania

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compassionatereminders · 6 months

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If you have a feeling that a certain person or a couple people don't like you, you may be picking up on something. But if you feel intensely hated by everyone around you, that's likely to be a cognitive distortion caused by mental illness (most frequently psychosis, paranoia, anxiety or depression.) No matter how horrible you think you are, you are unlikely to have 50+ main antagonists judging your every move. And if it doesn't feel unlikely, that's mental illness

#recovery #relationships #kat gets serious #reality check tw

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lordadmiralfarsight · 7 months

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Revolution fetishism is a horrible political view, especially in this context

Okay, rant incoming, partially related to recent events, but also to earlier thinking on my part.

There are, on the Left, a fair few people that romanticize or outright fetishize the concept of Revolution, of violent popular uprising to wrest power out of the hands of a corrupt elite and give it to the people. Very romantic, very righteous (self-righteous pretty often), very good and nice and sexy. And by the grace of revolutionary fervor and ideological purity, everything will be better after.

Except no.

See, a lot of this romanticization of Revolution comes, to my knowledge, from my own country of France. We have romanticized our Revolution a fair bit, and honestly, looking at the first part, fair. A serious go at giving women rights, a no-cause divorce, abolition of slavery, privileges thrown out, equality between people proclaimed loud, enfranchisement given to minorities ... in 1789. A LOT of good and progress, especially for the time.

But then it got fucky, VERY fucky. The Reign of Terror, under the caring leadership of Maximilien Robespierre, was a fucking nightmare on Earth, caracterized by mass executions on political basis, and by this I mean anyone that opposed Robespierre got beheaded. Political plurality? You mean anti-revolutionary sentiment ! Unacceptable, kill everyone.

A rumor of the time said the Place de Grève was covered in a layer of blood that was ankle deep. Is that an exageration ? Yes, certainly. But the fact it got to that point should tell you something about how intense the murdering was. And that was just one square in Paris, there was the rest of the country to consider too.

But surely, after Robespierre fell victim to his own system and was executed, something better emerged, right?

No. Sweet mother of fuck, NO.

What followed was roughly 70 years of political instability and violence, warfare and civil war, several dictatorships, including attempts to restore absolute monarchy, that undid most of the good brought by the first part of the Revolution. And finally, France stumbled onto political stability in 1870 when the temporary 3rd Republic, that was supposed to wait until the presumptive heir to the throne (who wanted an absolute monarchy) croacked did what temporary things do best and became the permanent system (until its fall).

This was not thanks to the Revolution. It was pure randomness.

Did the French Revolution bring good things? Yes, it did. In its first part. The second part brought chaos and misery for multiple decades. And it took a lot of work and efforts to bring back what the Revolution, the peaceful part, had brought in.

And far too many people on the Left fetishize and romanticize the whole thing, as if we couldn't have had the first part without the second, as if the progress and hope and betterment somehow needed the chaos and murder that came after.

Yes, there would have been a period of conflict, European monarchies would not have accepted quietly a realm the size of France doing away with monarchs. But did we REALLY need the political purges ? Did we REALLY need the paranoia ? Did we REALLY need the massacres ?

But you will find people that answer yes, and say the spilled blood somehow made it pure, or good. And those same people are looking at what Hamas is doing and are cheering. These people don't celebrate the first part, the progress and hope. They claim to be, but they aren't. They celebrate the Terror. They yearn for the unjust "popular tribunal" AKA mob "justice". They dream of executing political opponents or anyone they think is "bad" on light or even absent charges.

And That's why they cheer for Hamas rockets and massacres. That's why they sing when Israeli children are murdered. That's why they attack Jews that don't live in Israel. Because they hope to vicariously live this period of unchecked violence.

Know who was celebrating the RIGHT part of the Revolution ? The Israeli working with Gazan to build understanding. The Gazan protesting against Hamas. The Israeli Arabs risking their lives to save the lives of fellow Israeli and of foreigners, regardless of skin or creed. The Gazan trying to improve things in their homes against the wishes and efforts of Hamas.

Know who IS celebrating the RIGHY part of the Revolution ? The Israeli protesting the way the IDF is bombing Gaza. The people decrying the hypocrisy of blood-thirsty leftists. The people calling for Peace and working to make the political change to allow it.

But the Robespierres of the time, drunk on their own self-assurance, condemn and insult them, claiming that blood must be spilt. But it doesn't have to be. The French Revolution started relatively bloodlessly. It didn't need some great orgy of violence. Oh it wasn't clean, but it was far cleaner than the armchair Robespierres would like it to be. Because it didn't need to be.

And that's my point, really. The people fantasizing about and fetishizing the Revolution always dream of torrents of blood washing away the injustices, of seas of corpses forming a fertile ground upon which progress can grow. But that horseshit. All you get with that is, like the Place de Grève, a sinister place that stinks of rot and death, and flocks of scavengers gorging on your crimes.

All you get is a chance for a Napoleon to arrive. Or Stalin's USSR that so casually carried on with the crimes of the Tsars. Or Polpot who murdered 25% of his population.

If you look at the French Revolution, the right lesson to learn is that you need to know when to stop, and that's before you get to indiscriminate killing. Because once you get to that point ... people that thrive in those settings get in power and perpetuate them.

And to apply that to the situation in I/P ... knowing when to stop means realizing that Israeli are still humans, that Gazan are still humans, that their lives have worth and should be protected, that supporting child killings when it's done by "brown people" is not anymore alright than supporting child killings when done by the IDF. And you people should very well consider the possibility that people inside the IDF are doing all they can to reduce Bibi's ability to order war crimes.

And you should recognize that there are efforts on the part of the IDF, sometimes token efforts, sometimes more than just that, to limit the number of dead civilians. Point me to a case where Hamas did the same. Point me to a case where they tried to get Israeli civilians out of the way instead of targeting them.

Hamas is not a Revolution you want to succeed. It's not about being free. It's about killing. This isn't a "glorious revolutionary action", it's a prelude to the wholesale slaughter and ethnic massacre they dream of. It's a tiny window into their ideal, blood soaked world.

Violent revolution should be a last resort, when there is no other option available, when the system is so utterly broken and shattered that nothing can move, and it should be stopped as soon as the system is unfucked enough to negociate. The I/P situation is not at that stage. Look at how much efforts the fascists of both sides have to invest in maintaining this. Look at how much time and money and efforts they have to invest to keep each other in place. And despite this, people of both sides reach for peace, argue and protest for it, even at the risk of their very lives (especially true in Gaza).

And if you refuse to consider all this, if you insist on following Robespierre, remember this : La Veuve came for him too, in the end.

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esotericfaery · 4 months

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Pluto in Aquarius, After Capricorn

This is the planet of endings, intense upheaval and clearing the way for new beginnings.

Pluto leaves ambitious Capricorn for revolutionary Aquarius on Jan. 21st, then is back in Capricorn from Sept. 3rd to Nov. 19th, and then He settles into Aquarius for about twenty years, until March 8th, 2043.

With Pluto in Capricorn we’ve seen the slow breaking down of structures, plus exposing of issues with governments, rules and traditions. Pluto works socially / politically, but also personally. We see radical transformations in beginning stages.

In Aquarius, Pluto is much more about what happens next with social groups, communities and friends, humanitarianism, scientific inventions & progress, and individuality.

Aquarius pushes strongly for reform of all social structures, through idealism, equality or equity, technology, freedom, and a highly mental energy more than emotional, while Pluto brings in strict and transformative energy related to duties, responsibilities, & personal and social value systems.

Through issues of power and control, this energy causes strange, and intensely dramatic events to occur; even more so than the events of the last few years. This can cause a complete overhaul of society, and we could be living in a very different world in twenty years.

The last time Pluto was in Aquarius, the following impactful events occurred therein, or shortly thereafter, in no particular order: The Industrial Revolution, The French Revolution, and revolutions for America concerning their civil war, Haiti, and many more intensely dramatic social changes and shifts in power structures. I recommend learning more about that time, but I won’t make this post too long by going into that stuff further. We can expect that for this one also, critical issues will come up, and big changes will happen on the world stage, and within if we do conscious work. Irma Kaye Sawyer has mentioned that the American Civil War took place while Pluto was in Taurus. There has been some discussion about dates, and confusion online. Some are saying the American Revolutionary War was when Pluto was in Aquarius. As we're Astrologers on social media, not Historians, it isn't clear. If anyone would like to share specifics, please feel free to comment, with links if possible. If you're an American, maybe you remember those dates from high school history.

This is a gigantic opportunity for purging and renewal when the proper introspection happens and is followed with the right actions being taken.

If you’ve been seeing the Tower card a lot lately, it will certainly have something to do with Pluto. This manifests as personal, and or social / political events, depending on who and where we are in life. We can find the best ways to go through this rebirthing energy, or fight against it and make the experience more difficult for ourselves.

Over this twenty year period, we should work closely with Plutos transits, to see where we need to confront issues such as jealousy, paranoia or obsession, and find personal growth. All important transits are covered weekly in my Astrology affirmations series.

Pluto pushes for wisdom through confronting and transforming adversity, and Aquarius encourages standing up for the people whenever it’s right to do so, and causing real change.

#astrology #pluto in aquarius #pluto in capricorn #spiritual transformation #social revolution #pluto 2024

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novlr · 1 year

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How should I go about describing a character who goes through a lot, becoming more disheveled and desperate as the plot goes on?

Desperation is the emotion that drives characters to their limits, leading to their most intense and extreme behaviours.

By showing how characters become more desperate as your plot progresses, you can create characters that are interesting, dynamic, and relatable.

Here are some ways you can show desperation in your characters. As the plot moves forward, these elements can get worse, showing their decline.

How do they behave?

Obsessive and/or compulsive

Repetitive actions like hand wringing, or overuse of stock phrases

Self-destructive and risk-seeking

Enhanced aggression

Avoidant and isolationist

Manipulative

Exploitative

Short-tempered

Impulsive decision-making

Unrelenting pursuit of something

What physical signs do they show?

Heart palpitations and short, rapid breathing

Sweating profusely

Shaking or trembling

Sudden onset of nausea

Feeling weak or dizzy

Muscle tension

Headaches

Insomnia caused by worry and stress

Feelings of fatigue

Stomach pain and cramping

How do they interact?

Begging or pleading with others

Manipulating others to get what they want

Increasing paranoia and questioning other's motives

Pushing away loved ones

Becoming overly clingy

Either an inability to trust or being too quick to trust others

Self-sabotage

Single-focus conversations

What do they look like?

Unkempt hair and poor hygiene

Rumpled, slept-in clothing

Nervous tics, like fidgeting, pacing, or picking at nails

Extreme and unexplained weight loss

A haunted, faraway, or panicked look

Dark-rimmed, bruised eyes from lack of sleep or exhaustion

A constant sheen of sweat and clammy skin

Unusual clothing choices

What body language do they display?

Hunching over, as if trying to protect themselves

Fidgeting or pacing

Avoiding eye contact

Clenching fists or grinding teeth

Sweating or shaking

Staring intently at something

Repeatedly touching hair or face

Darting eyes and biting lips

Meek and under-confident stance

Pleading look

What is their attitude?

Feeling hopelessness

Sad and dejected

Becoming increasingly irrational

A loss of faith in themselves and others

Obsession to the point of resorting to extreme measures

A sense of helplessness

Blaming others

Feeling powerless

A sense of urgency

What are some positive things that can come out of desperation?

Increased motivation to achieve their goals or solve their problems

Resilience and adaptability in the face of adversity

Heightened creativity and resourcefulness

The ability to form deep and meaningful connections with those who share their struggles

Catharsis or character growth through their struggles

What are some negative things that can come out of desperation?

A tendency to become self-destructive or engage in risky behaviour

Difficulty forming and maintaining healthy relationships

Increased isolation or loneliness

Chronic stress and physical health problems

A tendency to make impulsive or irrational decisions

Prone to depression and anxiety

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lovingdabeessss · 5 months

Text

*clears throat* WHITE ROSE HASNT HAPPENED BECAUSE THEY ARE SIMPLY NOT DOOMED ENOUGH

The most consistent thing about RWBY is that in order to be in a romantic relationship the relationship MUST be doomed explicitly

Jaune and Pyrrha only kiss after she knows she’s ABOUT TO DIE

Ren and Nora only get to kiss during an argument where ren slightly expresses his paranoia and reasons he refuses to be with her, then he immediately gets proven right and then Nora gets almost electrocuted to death

The only reason clover and qrow get to flirt for essentially EVERY scene they have together is that they’re EXPLICITLY doomed (it’s about how their individual relationships with luck have led them to be intensely loyal to authority. Qrow in a sense of gratitude, clover in a sense of privilege. they’re both the best huntsman of where they were and most trusted warriors of their leaders. however qrows life has had his team fall apart and has gotten the appropriate amount of disillusionment from ozpins lies. This is what saves him. But clover has been left to be doomed to death because he cannot believe a system he was built for could be anything but inherently correct. Qrows misfortune had saved him clovers luck killed him. And despite how hard anyone could’ve tried their was never anything that could have saved him from being gods most perfect soldier. Or idk something like that I don’t think about them enough)

Tai summer and raven. Raven was always going to leave to go back to her tribe. Summer was always going to be murdered by Salem. Tai was always going to be left. They all knew they all probably tried to deny it. They all walked backwards into their own narrative. Their ship name is apparently str crossed lovers. Which is genius.

Ruby and penny got their whole thing because penny died TWICE and now she’s permanently haunting ruby’s lil narrative so good for her

and that’s why chronic runaway and abandonment issues personified are CANNON SOULMATES (I could go on several rants I adore them)

So yeah if you want them to be cannon they just have to be more doomed but it’s kinda hard for that cause they had a little reversed doomed situation where they’re relationship was always going to get better because they were kinda enemies at first

Anyway good luck to whiterose shippers I wish you all a very happy only team partners that haven’t kissed yet

#rwby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumbleby #rwby bumbleby #ruby rose #yang x blake #weiss schnee #blake x yang #qrow branwen #str crossed lovers #qrow and clover #penny and Ruby #whiterose #arkos #renora #i need to stop #this was unnecessary #good luck to whiterose shippers

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frogspond200 · 5 months

Note

HI! Hello, I was wondering since you had your requests open if you could do a Yandere Mike Schmidt fic? If not that’s fine! :)

𝚈𝚊𝚗!𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚝'𝚜

Requested by: @bisoudoll

Ask: Hi! Hello, I was wondering since you had your request open if you could do a yandere Mike Schmidt’s fic?

Warning: General Yandere's behavior, a pinch of sfw

Word count: 238

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As I stepped into the dark room, my heart raced with a mix of paranoia and fear. The animatronics stood before me, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkness. Their menacing laughter echoed through the halls, sending shivers down my spine.

Without warning, the animatronics began to move. They lunged towards me, their metal limbs clanking against the floor. Hysteria consumed me as I ran, trying desperately to escape their relentless pursuit.

I was knocked onto the cold hard ground, my head a shooting pain causing me to cry out in pain, one of the animatronics grabbed me by my shirt, and dragged me into a dark room… I struggled to break free, but it was no use. The animatronic had a tight grip and I couldn't escape. I could feel my heart pounding as I awaited my fate.

I was thrown back onto the ground, I whimpered and crawled away, holding my twisted ankle close to my body, as they left a dark figure came in…I squinted my watery eyes to find Mike…he kneeled down and stocked my cheek “Mike… what's going on? Please. I'm scared”

He showed no remorse and even smiled. He grabbed my hair and pulled me closer, whispering in my ear "I'm sorry for this baby but it's for your own good". I was confused before feeling something hit my head making me black out.

I felt a sharp pain as I came to, and I realized that I'd been hit in the head with something. I opened my eyes to see my captor standing over me, with a smirk on his face. I try to get up to face him but was yanked back down with cold chains around my wrist...

I whimpered, fear coursing through every inch of my body. He stepped closer and leaned down, his breath hot on my face. "You feel safe don't you...you'll like it momentarily, you will appreciate those tight bonds on you and how secure they keep you. I'll make sure of it sweetheart” he whispered. It would make you sound safe if your eyes were closed but in reality, it was hostile…

He stroked my face gently with the back of his hand, he was seated at the edge of the bed, the room was sluggish, and the only light was the lamp on the bedside table. His gaze was intense, as if he was looking for something in my eyes.

He leaned in closer to kiss my cheek, groping my thigh firmly to make sure I wouldn't try to shift away. I felt my heart racing as I felt my body responding to his touch. I closed my eyes, feeling a wave of enjoyment wash over me. He pulled away slowly, giving me one prior lingering look before he walked out the door.

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friccafracc · 14 days

Note

DROP THE FIC OR IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS

ALRIGHT OK BUT I NEED IT TO BE KNOWN THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING SERIOUSLY SINCE HIGHSCHOOL OK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is after me. I know it is, I’ve seen it. It looks like a man, but I know that it’s not. It…. It’s face is like a mockery of something human- like- like if you asked someone who has never seen a human to draw or model a person’s face, their smile. No… I don’t think any human would be able to get it that wrong.”

“And I’m not crazy, alright? God, y’all probably get that a lot here, don’t you? You people specialize in crazy. Not that I’m anyone to judge anymore, given the shit I went through before coming out here. I didn’t even know a place like this existed outside the Usher Foundation. I just…there’s some weird, crazy shit out there I guess, and when I heard about y’all, I figured I should probably pay a visit. At least let someone know before I die.”

“I know I’m gonna die.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Joshua Nelson, I’m originally from the States–Memphis Tennessee. Now, if there’s one thing you should know about Memphis, it’s that nobody in their right mind should EVER move there on their own accord, ‘cause you’ll either get mugged or stalked or both. I was born and raised there, so I never really got the choice during the formative years of my life. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”

“I worked retail in a gas station before…well, everything. It was a shithole. The kind of building where, no matter how hard you scrubbed and no matter how much bleach you used, the stains and smell of smoke would never leave. Instead just…mingled with the citrus of the chemicals. It paid the bills, though, and I was never witness to a robbery, so I couldn’t complain too much. The customers were docile and if I noticed anyone shoplifting, I kept it to myself. I wasn’t getting paid enough to give a damn.”

“We had regulars that would come in on a schedule and regulars that wouldn’t. People who were just passing through the city or visiting family or friends. You get all types in that kinda place, and if you’re placid enough to any asshole who’s having a bad day, everyone gets along just fine. There were a couple of regulars who were friendly enough, though, that I remember their names. Miss Kelly was an older woman, short and heavyset–she was one of the friendlier ones. We’ve got a lot of talkers in the south and boy did she make sure I knew every exact reason for what her kids were getting up to, or what was going on in a reality show she was hooked on at the time.”

“George Michael, a thin man in his 40s, maybe, always came in whenever he needed a new pack of cigarettes, I think he was a chain-smoker, cause he was in there a lot.”

“And then…then there was Hunter. Now Hunter was a younger man, maybe college age. A little older than that? Poor bastard was hooked on something, that much anyone could tell. He was gaunt, a little twitchy, you know, telltale signs of drug abuse. I could never tell what specifically he was on, but then again, it was never my business to know. I treated him the same as every other customer, we all knew he wasn’t gonna cause any harm, he usually came in for food, chips and hotdogs and stuff and he never caused a fuss.”

“I think… I think Hunter is dead.”

“One day he came in, I think it was a Wednesday or something cause it was slow that afternoon, and he burst through the door. Well–maybe not burst, but he came in the building like he was racing to get indoors first before someone else. The guy was usually jittery and, I’ll admit, a little shifty usually, but this was full blown paranoia. It startled me at first, his intensity, and he made a b-line towards the back of the store and ducked behind one of the shelves. Maybe not duck completely like ducking for cover, but it was obvious he was hiding. It almost made me expect the police or some drug lord to come storming through the door, but nobody else came.”

“Hunter stayed pacing in the building for a good 20 or 30 minutes, periodically lifting his head to crane his neck and peer out the window or the glass of the door. I checked once or twice as well, but if someone was out there, I didn’t see them. Eventually the guy calmed down enough to buy something and when he approached the counter with his bag of Doritos he looked almost like he was going to be sick.”

“I asked him if everything was alright, but he just shook his head and left.”

“I didn’t see him again for another week or two after that. Obviously I assumed the worst. I theorized that someone was after him and when he didn’t show up when he usually did it was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. Be it cops or some random person on the street, I couldn’t decide which fate would be worse, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel for the guy at least a little bit.”

“Hunter was almost completely out of my mind when I saw him again. I was surprised. By all accounts, it didn’t look like anything had changed about him. Maybe aside from the fact that his posture was way better than it usually was when I saw him, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Business went on as usual and when he came up to the till with a liter of coke, I offered him a ‘Welcome Back’ and rang him up.”

“When I turned back to him, he was smiling. For some reason it was like a pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, though. It looked like Hunter–patchy, unkempt stubble, greasy hair, thin face, sunken eyes. His appearance had never bothered me before, so I was struck with confusion that mixed in with the undefinable, sudden sense of dread.”

“‘Thank you,’ he said as I handed him his change. And he walked out the door. It sounded like Hunter, too.”

“Hunter returned the next day, and the next. Each time he was polite and quiet, and each time he smiled when I rang him up. I counted his teeth. They were straight and flat. When I counted mine in the mirror when I smiled, I saw 17 or 18. Hunter’s counted 24.”

“Maybe he has a dental problem that I didn’t notice until now, I told myself. Human bodies are weird. Sometimes you have more teeth than usual.”

“The fourth day he came in a row, I saw his eyes and his pupils were…swollen, is the only way I can describe them. I know what people’s eyes look like when they’re high. This was not that. It was like they almost swallowed up his irises completely, and they were dull. Dull in the sense that the fluorescents overhead did nothing to cast any reflections onto them. It made me want to writhe and squirm whenever he looked at me.”

“I called in sick the fifth day. I knew Hunter would be back in that gas station to see me. I knew it was to see me. And I knew that thing. That..whatever it was. It wasn’t Hunter.”

“I guess a part of me was always dreading that day. I had always heard stories about people being stalked from friends of friends. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me, right?”

“I saw Hunter at the grocery store the next day, posture straight and face split open into that smile with too many teeth. I didn’t have the mind to be polite. I turned completely around and walked the other way, trying to fool myself thinking that he hadn’t seen me. I kept a pocket knife on me after that encounter. I probably should have been before, but hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Each time I saw him after that, it was worse. On the street to my apartment, his eyes were too wide and his grinning mouth was slightly agape. A crude facsimile of delight as I rushed past him. I stopped going into work when I started to spot him everywhere I went. Every destination no matter how far or random, he was there, grinning at me. He knew where I lived, that I had no doubt. So I went to a friend’s one night hoping to throw him off. Maybe I could move out and lose him. Lord knows I didn’t have the money to break my lease early, but I was desperate.”

“My friend suggested I call the police, but for some reason I was convinced that wouldn’t help. Cops usually only made things worse in that town, and I had a sinking feeling going that route would only waste my time.”

“The final straw was the second night I was crashing on my friend’s couch. I was exhausted, the past few weeks spent sleepless and paranoid and I was ready to finally pass out when I heard a light, rhythmic tapping on the window behind my head.”

“It’s just the wind, I thought to myself. A tree branch or something scraping against the glass. The exhaustion was completely gone, my pounding heart and pumping adrenaline overpowering any lame excuse that I would be stupid enough to be reassured by.”

“I didn’t move from where I lay. Tap. Tap. Tap. Came through the window once again.”

“I don’t know why I laid there for so long, unmoving, convinced that if I didn’t turn around, whatever it was outside would lose interest and leave. I really, really wanted it to leave.”

“I lay still for what felt like hours, every muscle in my body wound up and tense and ready to leap into action at any given opportunity. I was praying the opportunity would never come.”

“I don’t know how long it was when the tapping ceased, but it was long before I finally managed to relax. It seemed like my strategy worked. What an idiotic thing to think. Like I was a child hiding from an imaginary monster in the dark. Like the logic of not giving a stalker any attention so it would go away was sound. No. I think it was that false hope that landed me in this situation.”

“Because when that tapping came again, I wasn’t prepared to turn around. But I did. I turned around and what I saw in the darkness through that glass was… I don’t know what it was. I know it had eyes and teeth. It was grinning, but its teeth stretched well beyond what would be the borders of its face. God, I couldn’t see its face. I knew it was Hunter, though. It had those same lightless eyes that stared back at me every time I closed my own. Dead and dark and dull and staring at me–eating at me, wide and gleeful and spilling into the shadow that I could only assume was a part of the creature, itself. Its form took up nearly the entirety of the window, blocking the outside world. It didn’t move.”

“I screamed. I screamed and closed the curtains and I hid. This woke my friend of course, and she came stumbling out of her room, looking bleary but alert. I tried to signal to her not to go to the window or do anything or to call the police. Thankfully she got the message and the cops were there within the hour.”

“They didn’t find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I left out the…the monster bit, because I assumed it might land me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.”

“They were about as helpful as I thought they would be. Told me to call them again if I noticed any suspicious activity.”

“I booked my flight here that very night. I wasn’t going to stay in that goddamn city with whatever the HELL that thing was. I don’t want to end up like Hunter. I don’t want it to wear my skin.”

“It will, though. I know it will and it scares me more than anything in the world. And I know I can’t escape it, either.”

“It followed me here. I saw it. It was still grinning at me and it was still. Wearing. Hunter’s. Skin. The shadow that was cast over it made it so I could only see the whites of it’s eyes....its teeth.”

“I don’t want to die.”

#txt #oc fic #tma sona #tma oc #avatar of the stranger #ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE WRITTEN FIC...PLS BE NICEYS

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rassvetsky · 1 year

Note

i was wondering if u can come up with ‘a trust issue who needs reassurance all the time’ reader and ‘i dont know how to communicate my feelings’ bucky. basically a miscommunication trope.

i will accept however storyline and ending you make because i love you and i love ur writing💕❤️❤️

hi babe!! i really really hope i did your wonderful request at least some justice because i got too carried away-- i hope you like it! thank you for existing ♡

Out Of Mind

bucky barnes x reader

"Falling in love with you terrified Bucky, enough to push you away. He was sure that it's better this way. But merely a week later, when you disappear without a trace, Bucky realized that he couldn't handle being without you."

[5.2k] | angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, arguing, bucky being an asshole at first but he has his reasons, natasha being protective, sassy tony, canon level violence, fighting, reader getting minor injuries, clint is the loml, bucky is an idiot in love my dudes, they're so cute god help me

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

Bucky used to be a simple man, Steve had told you long ago. After all those years of torture, he developed… Complexity.

And you couldn't agree more.

He was a tender lover to begin with, the one to always make sure that you were alright, the one to put your wellbeing above his. He wasn't good with words- wasn't the most expressive man out there, but you understood him. You understood why he never included cards in the flowers he sent to you, or sometimes didn't say anything back to your love declarations other than a bashful smile; you understood that for him, these things worked in different ways now.

And that's why he loved you so much. That's why he was terrified.

Because the deeper he fell for you, the more intense his feelings got. The harder his separation anxiety hit, the more mushed his brain became.

And in any other scenario, that would be lovely. Those butterflies that one would feel in their stomach, or the sweet little dumbification that came hand to hand with love. In another life, he'd bask in the feeling. He'd see the world around him under a different light, a light that you cast on his life.

But in this life? It was nothing but dangerous. Nothing but absolutely horrendous.

Because he was supposed to focus. He was supposed to be alert. His fight or flight response had to be on at all times and no matter what, he was supposed to prioritize his life to save the others.

He couldn't do that when you were involved, not anymore. The paranoia got too much- he was terrified of seeing you get hurt, of losing you in any way. That fear brought out the worst in him, causing fights to break out whenever you willingly got yourself in trouble, distracting him, making you drift apart further.

You didn't want that. He didn't want that. But life for you wasn't always just movie nights at the compound, breakfasts on bed, long nights of talking about the future.

He had to let the chips fall where they may.

You needed reassurance, he knew that. But suddenly, after the last mission you went on with the team including Bucky, he suddenly… Stopped doing that. That bashful grin was nowhere to be seen when you told him you loved him, when you held his hand it just didn't last as long as it usually did, he… He didn't even look at you properly. And that went on for days, each day worse than the one before, until he barely even talked to you.

And the dread you felt on your chest was unbearable.

The night-time fell quicker than any other day that one evening, as you prepared yourself a warm tea to accompany your book. Carrying the mug up to your shared room with Bucky, you slowly got under the sheets, holding the book open with one hand, mug with the other.

The plot was barely interesting to you with all the thoughts running through your mind, snatching your attention from the words, making you have to go back and reread the same paragraphs over and over. It wasn't anything new, this type of distraction, but more often than not, it was the aftermath of the latest mission plaguing your mind. Not your boyfriend being excessively restrained towards you, as if your sole existence was a problem for him.

Speaking of, maybe it was. Maybe you were too high-maintenance for him, maybe you weren't giving him enough space, maybe he was just going through something. Or maybe, he was done with you. He didn't need you anymore, now that he got rid of the vivid nightmares and dissociations-

How cruel of you to think that. How cruel of him to leave that open as a possibility.

With your tea half-drank, you set the mug back on the nightstand, pinning the bookmark between the pages before leaving it by the mug. You didn't feel like laying down- didn't think you could fall asleep with your mind on overdrive like this anyway. Getting up from where you were laid across, you slowly made your way over to the window, arms crossed on your chest as you heaved a sigh. The view was nice, moonlight illuminated enough of the surrounding trees, and if you were to squint, you could see the grass shine wetly, with a layer of dew upon them.

You couldn't help the way your shoulders tensed a bit when the door knob twisted open, hearing the heavy steps of your lover and a sigh leaving his lips. Your back was facing him still, and you didn't dare to look at him, figuring he was busy changing his clothes judging by the shuffling sound of fabric.

The slight squeak of the mattress brought a bitter grin to your lips as you spoke up. "Not even gonna talk to me?"

He was quiet for a full minute. "Sorry. I'm tired, sweetheart."

"Of me?"

"What?" he sounded surprised. "Wha- why would I be tired of you?"

"I don't know." you sighed. "You've been acting incredibly distant for the past week. Figured I was tiring you out."

Another squeak, he was on his feet now. Slowly walking towards you, he rested a hand on the small of your back, but you still didn't look at him. You wouldn't admit that to yourself but you really didn't want to know the truth.

"Don't be ridiculous," he spoke, tone quiet. "It's just that… The missions, you know how they-"

"We went through rougher missions back then," you chuckled. "On the verge of death, covered in blood. Missions that went on for months. You didn't treat me like this then."

"How am I treating you?"

"Like I'm a fucking nuisance!" you finally snapped, pushing his hand away from your body before turning towards him. Your eyes were wide with anger, chest heaving. "You're treating me like you don't even want to see me!"

"You're my girlfriend!" he was bewildered, albeit a bit guilty. "Of course I want to see you, what the fuck are you even talking about?!"

A scoff left your lips. "Fuck that! You used to treat me better when we were barely friends," you watched him look away, annoyed. "I've been trying to give you some space but you- you just won't tell me shit! You're barely talking to me, anyway! How the hell am I supposed to know what I did wrong if you won't even talk to me, Bucky?!"

Bucky felt his heart getting heavier. "Stop assuming that you did something wrong-"

"Then what else?! What else can I assume? For fuck's sake, am I supposed to assume that there's someone else, or you're just- you're just sick of me. That you don't need me anymore, is that what I'm supposed to think?" you could feel the tears building up by your waterline. "Fucking hell, it'd hurt way less if I was sure that it's all my fault! Or- even if you were- I just- just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, please?"

"Nothing!" he was loud, suddenly. The sudden outburst had you taking a step back in instinct, and he panicked so hard for a moment that he almost took a step towards you.

He knew he shouldn't.

"Nothing, okay? Just one of those weeks. Leave it alone."

"Fine." you sighed. "Fine, I'll leave it alone. I'll leave you alone, Bucky, to figure your shit out and- please, for the love of God, don't talk to me until you do. I'm done being treated like garbage." and with a final shove to his chest, you walked out of the door.

Bucky knew that he deserved that.

Hell, he deserved a solid punch for the way he was treating you but he didn't know how else to act. He didn't know what else to do. He was so sick of worrying, being in a constant state of paranoia because of you, so sick of his heart hurting like someone reached right into his chest and severed it off whenever you got hurt.

Was he protecting himself, or you?

"Hey," Sam swiftly sat by Bucky's side with a bowl of cereal on his palms, not giving the other a chance to walk away before speaking up again. "You good? You look like… Hell, I can't sugarcoat this. You look like absolute shit."

Bucky felt like absolute shit.

"I'm fine." he muttered, eyes trained on the big TV screen in front of them. The compound had been pretty quiet for the past few weeks, with the main troublemakers scattered around the globe for a mission.

Sam saw right through his bullshit, though. "Your girl ain't talking to you?"

"None of your business."

"She looks like absolute shit too."

Bucky took a moment to process that.

"Did you guys fight?"

"Again, none of your business, Sam." heaving a sigh, Bucky slowly pushed himself up to his feet, leaving Sam sitting on the couch all alone. Natasha, who was busy making herself something to eat to get through lunch, decided to chime in after Bucky managed to take a few steps away.

"You push her away the second things get hard and then wonder why she hates you."

If looks could kill, Bucky's would murder everyone in that room under three seconds. "She doesn't hate me."

"You want her to hate you."

"Bullshit."

"Because you hate yourself. Isn't that it?"

Sam's eyes were wide when he looked at Natasha. She was the one to deliver a hard kick on the shin when one needed it, tough-loving and relentless with her words- not to hurt the other, but to give them a chance to see things from a different perspective.

When Bucky didn't say anything, Natasha decided to continue. "I don't know how you're justifying this in that 'cyborg' brain but you don't have one single right to punish her. For absolutely no reason, too."

"Natasha-"

"Shut it, Sam." she shook her head. "We get it, you don't like fights. But I never took you for a coward, James, and you're not being anything else but that with the way you're refusing to fight for her."

Nobody said anything else for a solid minute, while Natasha kept glaring at Bucky. His eyes were on the ground now, the harsh nature of Natasha's words hitting him right across the chest- and it hurt. It hurt bad, because he knew that he was hurting you on purpose. "How do I make it right?"

"In my opinion? Leave her the fuck alone-"

"No, no. Natasha, calm your horses," Sam got up from where he was seated, approaching the two with a relaxed expression to calm them both down. "Just tell her how you feel, man. Be real with her. Be completely honest- if you don't love her anymore, just say so. If that's not the case, then-"

"I love her, Sam."

A soft sigh left Sam's lips. "I know. Just talk to her. She'll understand."

Bucky shook his head in a nod. The idea of talking to you was nerve-wracking, to say the least. You hadn't talked to him in a week, despite living in the same compound. Didn't even dare to step into your shared room when he was there, instead deciding to take on a vacant room for a while and get your work done in silence.

You were afraid of continuing that argument, honestly. Because you and Bucky- you two weren't the type to argue. Problems would be solved in peace at all times, with both parties admitting to their faults. So when that dynamic changed, it freaked you out. Just like how falling in love with you freaked out Bucky.

"FRIDAY," Bucky called out. "Where's Y/N?"

An automated voice answered immediately. "I'm afraid that information is classified." Bucky tensed up quicker than he'd like to admit.

"What?" Sam muttered under his breath, gaze finding Natasha's confused one. Natasha spoke up not too long afterwards. "What do you mean by classified?"

"Mr. Stark specifically requested that I keep Mrs. Y/L/N's current location confidential."

"Fucking hell," Bucky heaved a sigh. "Have any of you seen her today?"

"Nah," with a shrug, Sam walked towards the counter to set down his bowl of cereal, suddenly not interested in the food but rather, your whereabouts. "Last I saw her… Yesterday evening, yeah. She was leaving Tony's office, didn't say anything."

"Where did she go after that?"

"Man, how would I know? I'm not keepin' tabs on your girlfriend, that's your job."

"FRIDAY, where's Tony?" Natasha ignored the two, focusing on the matter at hand. For all she knew, you weren't the one to keep secrets from the team. Even on solo missions, you would always keep your tracker on just in case.

"In his office. Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your visit?"

"Nope." lips pressed into a thin line, and a not-so-apologetic shrug. Typical Tony Stark nature. "Just because you live here doesn't mean you have to know everything."

"But she's my girlfriend."

"Just because she made that mistake doesn't mean you have to know everything, Barnes." Tony quipped. "If anyone else in this room was on her position and I were to give away your location, which she specifically made sure that I wouldn't tell, I would be murdered horrendously."

"It's not like her to do that." Natasha's tone was way softer than Bucky's, understandably. She was mad at Bucky and worried about you at the same time but still, keeping her cool was an art form and she was doing it beautifully. "We're just worried, that's all."

"You don't seem like her parents to me."

"Would you tell us if we were her parents?"

"Wilson, use your head. Of course I wouldn't." plopping down on his seat with a huff, Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'd beg to differ but I'm a very virtuous and excruciatingly handsome man, and I made a promise, so… The door is right behind you. I got a lot of stuff to do."

The sound of Bucky's palm meeting the desk separating him from Tony caused everyone's eyes to find his, including Tony. "You have to give me something."

"I don't owe you anything." Tony's words were like venom as they dripped from his tongue, his challenging gaze on Bucky's rampageous one. "But if you really, really want her to hate all of you, fine. She's on a solo mission."

"A solo mission?! You sent her on a solo mission?!" Sam was quick to grab Bucky by the arm, pulling him back a little.

"Man, calm down-"

"Last time I checked, she was perfectly capable of handling a mission and taking care of herself." Tony spoke, calm despite the furious man standing in front of him. "She wanted to go. Why the hell would I say no?"

"Bucky, he's right." Natasha pushed herself up from the wall she was leaning on. Signaling for Sam to possibly take Bucky out of the office with her eyes, she approached the desk. "I'm sure she's fine and she only did that just so you wouldn't go after her."

"Yeah," Sam continued. "Let's just- let's get you out of here. She'll be back before you know it."

Tony didn't miss the glare Bucky sent his way when he left the office with Sam.

Feeling Natasha's judgmental eyes on him, he looked up at her, leaning back on his seat comfortably. "Do you need anything?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, except for her location."

"No," Natasha shook her head. "It's obvious you didn't tell us everything. I'm not expecting you to, but I've known you for a long time, Tony. I can see it when you're leaving a crucial part out."

A sigh left Tony's lips.

"She's indeed on a solo mission. A mission that I know absolutely nothing about, and she disabled her own tracker."

"Are you sure nobody knows you're here?"

"God, Clint, what's with all the secrecy?" you weren't even sure your hushed whisper was heard by Clint, crowded streets of Hong Kong were noisy enough to usher a headache within you. You hadn't seen him in a while, with him retiring again, and God he retired a lot, but after receiving a message with 'emergency, don't tell anybody.' and coordinates, you rushed to his aid rather immediately.

You owed him a lot.

Following him to a small apartment building as he pushed the door open, you looked behind to see if anybody was following, before climbing up the stairs with him. "What's going on?"

"Extraction." he whispered. "Kind of a sensitive one. Tony didn't want anyone involved."

"I really think Laura should lock you up sometimes."

"So do I, kid."

Your time spent in his small hideout apartment was filled with intel and planning. It was supposed to be a very quiet mission, a sensitive one like he mentioned earlier- a swift infiltration to save a former SHIELD agent from where he was held prisoner, just so he could return to his research.

You didn't quite understand why Tony wouldn't want anyone to be involved and to save the agent, but you weren't going to ask. You trusted Clint, sometimes more than you did Tony, and if Clint told you that what he's doing was right, then you'd believe him.

The next day, with both of you suited up, his arrows ready and your secret knives hidden beneath layers of fabric all around your body; the quiet approach to the building went pretty smoothly. He kept telling you to keep your cool and to keep it quiet. This was a stealth op, and made sure to assure you that you were excellent at those.

Except, for all the stealth operations, your partner was Bucky. He was the one who knew exactly what you were going to do without needing you to tell him, he was the one who fought by your side, in so much sync with you that it felt like you two were one mind split to two bodies. You felt safer when he was by your side, calm enough to perform better.

You didn't tell Clint that. You didn't tell him that you felt way too insecure without Bucky by your side to perform well.

He was expecting your help, and you were going to deliver.

Except, things took a turn for the worse far too quickly. You got into the room in which the agent was kept, with Clint following from far behind to keep you safe; and saved the agent from his restraints. Before you could lead him out, though, you heard Clint telling you to stop taking your time because apparently, a swarm of people were coming your way, and he had to hide.

You helped the agent all the way down to the ground from the first floor, through the piping by the outer side of the wall and informed Clint of your current location, before spotting a few men running your way.

Pushing the agent away towards the woods where he could hide and protect himself, you pulled your gun out and managed to down at least two of the five men. You noticed one of them following the agent as the two attacked you; landing a harsh kick by one's neck before sliding out your knife and swinging it at the other's direction, but the distraction that they needed came quickly when through your in-ear, you heard Clint's voice again.

"Shit, abort. Get the hell out of there, get away from the building."

And a loud explosion right to your left followed.

Natasha was torn.

Tony's words kept replaying themselves on her head as she paced around the room, unable to decide between telling Bucky and keeping it to herself. She didn't know what she would be risking if she told him, but at the same time, you could get yourself in a much bigger situation and a supporting pair of eyes at solo missions were always required.

She couldn't bear the worry and uncertainty anymore.

Pushing the back door that led to the living room open with a loud thud, she found Bucky by the kitchen area, and Sam by the couch, watching the afternoon news. "I need to tell you guys something."

Bucky perked up at that, pulling himself away from his moping state to get back up on his feet, and walk towards the couch where Natasha approached. "She disabled her own tracker. Tony has no idea where she is, or what she's doing."

"Shit, how are we supposed to find her, then?" Sam slowly got up from where he was seated in worry. But before any of them could say anything else, a loud explosion sound snatched their attention and brought it to the screen.

"Earlier this morning, a lab explosion took place in a Hong Kong biochemistry lab, for reasons unknown. Public CCTV footage shows two unidentified individuals breaking into the building only ten minutes before the blast."

"Isn't that-"

"Damn it," Natasha whispered. "God fucking damn it, Barton."

No matter how fast the Quinjet was, Bucky felt like they couldn't get there quick enough. His heart was basically beating through his ribs, brain pumping adrenaline into every single bit of his veins as he watched the jet decrease altitude. The news didn't even provide the number of casualties, and the fact that he wasn't sure if you made it out of there alive or not was eating him alive.

The fact that he didn't get to make things right with you beforehand was outright torture.

The jet landed on a clearing by the woods, pretty close to the remote building in which the explosion took place. Bucky's strut seemed like it was made out of steel, as if nothing in this world could even attempt to stop him as he walked in front, Natasha and Sam following close behind. It had been at least twenty hours since the blast, and if you were dead, you'd be identified, right?

The news of your passing would be all over the world by now, right?

"I know where they might be hiding," Natasha spoke up, a bit breathless from having to catch up with Bucky's fast steps. "Clint has a hideout apartment, not too far from here."

"Fuck!" your loud cry was enough to land a grimace on Clint's face, as he let out soft shushes, trying his best to wrap your injuries up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he mumbled, taping down the bandage wrapped around your thigh before giving it a slight pat. "Just a contusion. I know it hurts but you could have it much worse."

"I know, but it still hurts, you idiot!"

"And whose fault is that? Not mine!"

Letting your head fall back on the cushion with a thud, you let out a slight groan. "How's the agent?"

"Called somebody to pick him up," he sighed, pulling himself up from the floor to sit next to your laid out figure. "I genuinely didn't know that they had explosives laid out through the building. Some sort of eradication. Must've been big, whatever they were hiding."

"Couldn't really keep it quiet, huh?"

"Unfortunately," he chuckled. "But we saved him, at least. Probably going to get an earful from Tony when he finds out… But you did a good job. Thanks for coming."

"Didn't have anything better to do," a grin made its way to your lips. "Don't even wanna go back, if I'm being honest."

A frown took over his features. "Did something happen?" and he continued, when your only response was a slight nod. "Bucky?"

"That easy to guess, huh?"

"Nothing else has an impact on you," a soft chuckle followed. "It'll be fine. You two- you shouldn't lose each other. Not over anything."

"I don't know if I can make sure of that anymore, Clint."

"Look, I'm saying this from a man's point of view," he repositioned himself on where he was seated, now completely facing you. "And I don't ever want you to think that I'm sexist or something, but, um… We're different. In a bad way- we're not… Complicated like your kind."

"My kind? Okay, now that's-"

"No, shut up, you know what I mean," he laughed. "Every single woman that I had the pleasure of meeting knew what they wanted. Maybe it was a bit rough around the edges, maybe it was just a scaffolding but there was a plan. There was an… expectation of how things are supposed to go, you know?"

A short silence followed. "And because of that scaffolding, you folks don't freak out as much as we do. And when you do, you still make sense. We don't. We freak out over the smallest inconvenience and everything goes shit because we don't know how to restructure our own plans that quickly. We take longer to adapt. Because we're a bit more primitive, does that make sense?"

You smiled at him, earnestly. "That's… vague, but it makes perfect sense. Thanks."

His hand found yours then, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry about it."

That night, Clint woke up to footsteps across the apartment. He was sleeping on the armchair by the side of the bedroom, making sure that you were safe on his bed since you had to take a pill or two to manage the pain and fall asleep quicker.

Quickly getting up to his feet, he grabbed the pistol he placed on your nightstand earlier, slowly pulling the door open- only to find Natasha, with a gun in her hand, seemingly relieved to see Clint.

Clint brought his finger up to his lips, signaling the room as to let her know that you were asleep. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"That was a sloppy op, don't you think?" Natasha whispered back, teasing. "Gotta warn you, Barnes will be here in a couple of minutes and he's going to be mad, Clint."

"Let him be," he sighed. "She's-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the front door got pushed open, revealing a worried and seething Bucky and an apologetic Sam following suit, shutting the door slowly after the other. "Where is she?"

"She's in the bedroom-" Clint stepped in front of the door, shutting and guarding it. "She's exhausted. Be quiet."

"Why the fuck is she with you?"

"Hey, not like I kidnapped her, alright?" Clint rolled his eyes, still speaking as quietly as he could. "I needed her help and I couldn't call anybody else. I'm sorry I kept your girlfriend away from you for literally two days, Barnes."

Bucky took a step back, heaving a deep sigh. He was angry, angry at you, angry at Clint, angry at himself… Yet he didn't know where to direct that anger. He didn't know how to calm this feeling down. "Why didn't she tell anybody? Not even Tony- what the hell did you make her do that she felt like she needed to hide from everyone?"

A scoff left Natasha. "Bucky, stop making assumptions."

"No- you know what?" Bucky was getting louder by the second, and nobody in the room had the guts to shush him down. "My girl doesn't hide anything from me, ever. I need to know what was so important that she had to turn her tracker off and you had to lead her into a building full of explosives."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that the lab would explode?!"

"You were supposed to make sure that it's-"

"Bucky?" your frowning, sleepy figure appeared by the door that everyone was too busy watching the argument to notice opening. Bucky's gaze visibly softened when he saw you, tense shoulders relaxing before Clint stepped out of the way and with a few steps, he approached you to pull you into his embrace.

You didn't hug him back at first- instead sending a confused look to the rest, to which Sam shrugged as a response. "Are you okay?"

"No, are you okay?" he asked, pulling away to get a good look at your figure. A few cuts and the bandage by your thigh was visible as you were just wearing one of Clint's old shirts and underwear. "Are you okay?" he asked again, tone more stern this time.

"I'm fine," you pushed his hands off of you. "Why the fuck were you yelling at Clint?"

"Yeah, alright, have that conversation without us," Clint sighed, pushing the two of you into the bedroom gently before offering you a small wave and shutting the door, to give you some privacy.

Bucky sighed before looking at you again, wanting so bad to just cup your cheeks and leave kisses all over your face- but he knew he fucked up, and you were mad. "I was worried about you. You left without a word, and when I heard that your tracker was off-"

"I don't owe anyone any explanation." your tone was harsh. "And I'm sorry if I thought that you wouldn't give a shit, Bucky. You made it pretty obvious that you wanted me to leave you alone."

"I never said that," he ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to stay calm and work this out- but you were almost as stubborn as him, if not more. "I never- I care about you, alright? You're my girlfriend, and you should've told me where you were going."

You shook your head to both sides in disbelief. "You're not entitled to that."

"Y/N-"

"No, you're seriously not entitled to knowing anything about me. Not when you have the audacity to treat me like I'm nothing more than an absolute stranger, and then to not even make an effort to talk to me for a whole week."

"I freaked out, alright?!" he sighed. "I was fucking terrified because- because of you!"

"How the hell is that my fault?!"

"It's your fault! You're the one who made me fall in love with you!" he was loud, and you got cryptically quiet.

He never dropped the L-word before.

"It's your fucking fault because I can't stop thinking about you, I can't stop worrying about you, I can't stop making everything about you and it's putting everyone in danger!" you were biting back a smile now, as he kept ranting. "Including you! I can't- do you have any idea how hard it is to look at you and not just burst into tears because oh my fucking God, you're the love of my life and-"

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, your hands cupping his face. He was shocked at first, unable to comprehend the sudden switch from arguing to kissing, but he wasn't going to complain. Wrapping his arms around your body delicately, he deepened the kiss, exhaling softly against your mouth when your fingers massaged the nape of his neck.

"You're such a fucking idiot," you whispered against his lips. "You're like, the dumbest person I've ever met. Your IQ is so low that-"

"Okay, okay. I get it." he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry. I genuinely am. I'm sorry for making you feel like I don't love you- because I do, I love you so much that it's physically painful."

"I thought you were tougher than that, Bucky."

"I'm just a coward, honey." with a shrug, he pulled you closer to his embrace. "I'm just a fucking coward, nothing more. But you know what? Seeing you so angry at me, telling me that I don't deserve to know anything about you- that hurt more. I guess I- I really can't be without you."

"I can't be without you either," you sighed. "I've been so cranky, just ask Clint."

"Oh, I'm still kicking his ass."

"No, Buck," a soft giggle left your lips. "He actually plays a grand part in me forgiving you. And he's one of my favorite people in this whole world, so, I won't hesitate to punch you if you ever yell at him again."

"In that case, I'm thanking him. And kicking his ass in my head."

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eksvaized · 3 months

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[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 6, MDNI

You stare at Simon. He refuses to move away from the window. Dim moonlight trickles through the curtains and illuminates his silhouette. His figure casts a dark, elongated shadow that seems to stretch across the living room floor. Your eyes glide up and down his body, and once in a while settle on his hand. He grips the pistol. His hold is so tight that his knuckles have bleached to a stark white from the strain.

The stifling silence that hangs heavy in the room is almost unbearable. It's like a thick, oppressive fog that refuses to lift. You bite down on your tongue to stop yourself from breaking the tense stillness. He had forbidden you from uttering even a single word. You feel suffocated by the countless questions that swirl in your mind like dust in a tornado. Every time you shift on the couch, the soft rustling of the pillows earns you an icy glare from him.

Simon also orders you to remain in the living room. When you try to stand and walk to your bedroom, he barks a hushed command for you to sit your ass back down. His voice is laden with a muted menace. You know he is afraid that you might try to sneak away, to slip out of the house and into the night, if he lets you out of his sight, even if only for a moment. His paranoia is palpable.

After what feels like an eternity of staring into the cold fireplace, growing restlessness compels you to peel yourself from the couch. The room's chill seeps into your bones. You tiptoe towards Simon. As you press against him, your hand wraps around his arm, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You lift your chin and peek over his shoulder. His index finger is still hooked into the heavy, moth-eaten curtains, holding them. Through the small, narrow gap, your view is limited. But it's more than enough to see the two shadowy figures still are out there, wandering down the street. They move with a grave, unspoken purpose. Their flashlights cut through the all-encompassing darkness like lighthouses in a tempestuous sea. The light beams punctuate the shadows, illuminating the sombre house fronts in sporadic bursts, seeking any signs of movement within the abandoned homes.

"Why are they looking for you?" The question slips from you in a whispered murmur, directed towards his ear. He returns your query with an angry stare, his nostrils flaring in a display of growing irritation. His eyes darken with an unspoken warning.

With a heavy sigh, you close your mouth and press your lips together in a tight line. You're gripped by the fear that if you dare to utter another word, he'll find something - anything - to shove into your mouth to silence you. Your attention shifts when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the dog bounding towards your home. A sudden, intense dread descends upon you. Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as if it's a stone cast in deep, murky waters. The icy tendrils of paralysing terror slither across your skin.

"While you slept, I… I saw that dog. It was prowling around our front yard," you say, despite the lump forming in your throat. As the words leave your mouth, you feel Simon's muscles tighten under your touch. "Do you think it could lead them to us?"

"I hope not."

You and Simon remain vigilant, eyes glued to the street that lies before your house. The two shadowy figures disappear. The only evidence of their presence is the dog that runs towards your home. It sniffs around the front yard again. After ten seconds, the dog sits down on the grass. Its tongue lolls out from its mouth as it pants, its tail wagging in an elated rhythm. You glance at Simon. His brows are knitted together in a confusion that mirrors your own. Yet, before either of you can voice your thoughts, a loud bark makes you jump. The startling sound reverberates through the stillness of the night. The noise caused Simon to recoil, and he springs away from the window.

"We need to hide. Now," he says and reloads his gun, the metallic clicks echoing off the room walls. A frigid shiver trickles down your back, akin to a stream of ice water threading its way down your spine. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down to his belt with his free hand, pulls out the knife, and pushes the blade into your trembling hands.

The cold metal handle feels foreign in your warm grip. Its heavy weight weighs down your arm. Fear seizes you, and you find yourself unable to move. Simon's frantic command bounces around your head, back and forth like a ping-pong ball. But your feet, as if they had been glued to the wooden floor, refuse to comply. Seeing your terror-induced paralysis, Simon wraps his hand around your forearm and drags you out of the room. His grip is unyielding, his urgency palpable, as he pulls you up the stairs and into your bedroom. His last instructions are clear. "Barricade your door and don't open it until you hear my voice. Until I tell you it's safe."

"Don't even dare to look outside the window. Just sit and… and keep quiet," he adds, his voice fading into a whisper as he rushes down the staircase, leaving you.

Before you can ask what he is planning to do and why he isn't staying with you, he is already gone. You toss the knife Simon gave you on the foot of the bed. As your eyes dart around the room, you realise you have no way to block the door. Panic rushes through your veins, and fear keeps you from leaving your room to find a safer hiding place. So, in desperation, you do the only thing you can think of. Your hands, shaking with a mixture of cold and fear, clutch at the back of a wobbly chair. Each heartbeat feels like a drum pounding against your ribcage. You manoeuvre the chair, positioning it under the door handle and jamming it.

Your heart continues to thunder in your chest. A sheen of sweat soaks your back. The fabric of your shirt clings to your skin. You pace around the room like a caged bird. But upon the realisation that the floors betray your presence with their incessant creaking with every step you take, you retreat to the bed. Sitting down, you press your body against the headboard. You curl into a protective ball and draw your knees up to your chest. The knife in your hand is pointed at the closed door. A part of you wants to creep to the window. You can hear the unsettling noises in the backyard. The ominous, low footsteps circle the house. But you resist the urge to look and force yourself to stay put; Simon's words ring in your ears.

As the minutes morph into hours, seconds seem to pass in slow motion. But suddenly, a faint noise, a whisper of movement, catches your attention. The handle on the door starts turning. Your heart plummets as an icy chill of fear washes over you, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. The intruder tries to push the door open. However, their first attempt to get into the room fails. You creep out of bed. Like a shadow, you glide along the wall, cautious of where you place your feet. You don't want the floor to creak. Inching closer to the door, you tighten your grip around the knife. Your hand is slick with sweat. The blade threatens to slip out of your fingers.

Every muscle in your body aches from tension. Fear grips you, yet you muster the strength to suppress it. Whoever is on the other side of the door, you know that once they enter the room, you must be the first to strike. Your only advantage is the element of surprise; they might not know you're in here. If you can attack before they see you, you might walk out of this room alive. You were the prey, yes, but you were not helpless.

The door creaks open. The figure, shadow-like, slithers inside. Their towering frame fills the room, their broad shoulders blocking your view. They are taller than you and look a lot stronger. The tension is palpable in the air. You can feel it weighing you down. But before you can overthink this, before you allow yourself even a moment of hesitation, you lunge at them like a cornered animal ready to fight for its life.

The stranger turns around. As your eyes fall upon his face, a rush of relief spills over your body. Simon. But your alleviation twists into tension as you realise it's too late to stop the movement of your arm. Your hand is high in the air. The tip of the blade pointed at his head. But his reflexes, sharpened by years of experience, are quicker. In a blink, he seizes your hand. His fingers curl around your wrist and halt the knife just inches from his skull. The shock of his action and the realisation of what you were about to do, causes the knife to fall out of your now limp hand. It clatters on the hard wooden floor.

You feel your knees buckle; the strength leaving your legs as the adrenaline rush fades. Instinct takes over, and you collapse into Simon's strong, comforting embrace. His presence, once a source of fear, is now a beacon of safety. You want to lash out, punch him, and scream at him for scaring you. But all you can do is wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. You take quick, shallow breaths. It's a feeble attempt to prevent the tears that threaten to spill. Your emotions are in overdrive.

After you pull away, your hands continue holding onto his shirt. You look at him. His clothes are smeared with dirt. Blood from a fresh cut on his eyebrow is trickling down, staining his skin. His fingers run through your hair as if he's ensuring you're not just an illusion, a trick his mind is playing on him. He cups your cheeks. You feel the warmth radiating from his touch and spreading throughout your body. Tilting your head from side to side, his eyes scan your face. Concern fills his gaze. Once he makes sure that you aren't hurt, that nothing has happened to you, a sigh eludes him. His arms drop back to his sides. As his shoulders surrender to gravity and his back unbends, he wipes his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear away the blood that has begun to drip into his eyes.

"We are safe. They are gone."

"What happened to you?" The question tumbles from your lips before you can swallow it. You step closer to him. The distance between your bodies diminishes completely. our eyes, wide and worried, traverse his face once more. It's clear he has been in a fight of some sort. Without thinking, your thumb sweeps over his eyebrow. The cut doesn't look deep, yet it is enough to send a pang of worry coursing through you.

"Nothing really. Just nicked my face while wrestling with the biters in the shed," he replies with a nonchalant shrug, attempting to dismiss the incident as if it were trivial. But his words, far from providing any comfort, only deepen your confusion and concern.

You guide him to the bed, which he sinks onto with a quiet sigh. After retrieving a half-empty water bottle from a nearby drawer, you position yourself between his spread legs. The intimacy of the situation causing your heart to thump in your chest. His hands settle on your thighs, anchoring you down. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of your pants. It takes every ounce of your willpower to resist the temptation to push his body onto the mattress and climb on top of him.

You want to kiss him. But again, just like the last time, you find an excuse why you shouldn't. Your emotions are a whirlwind. They are amplified by the adrenaline that courses through your veins like a rushing river. You aren't thinking straight. And since your judgement is clouded, you worry that acting on this impulse, pressing your lips against his, would be a foolish decision.

Diverting your attention away from your tumultuous thoughts, you concentrate on the task at hand. The cool water on the cloth feels like a balm against your heated skin as you clean his skin. The simple act of taking care of him helps to ground you, pulling you away from the edge of your desires.

He explains to you how he had lured a group of biters into the house's front yard. They acted as a distraction. As Simon continues to talk, a realisation dawns upon you. You remember all those mornings when you had woken up to the sound of him rustling around in the backyard. You had always assumed he was taking care of the dead. But now it turns out he wasn't killing biters. Instead, he crammed them into the shed, ensuring they stayed there, locked up.

"Wait, you mean to tell me that… we have a shed full of the dead in… in-in our backyard?" The realisation strikes you like a punch, its force threatening to knock the wind out of you. The colour drains from your face until you are pale as a ghost. You feel lightheaded as another wave of memories floods back into your mind — the countless times you had stayed awake until the early morning, wandering around the dark house. You recall hearing a low, guttural growl and a distinct banging sound outside. But you were never able to pinpoint the location of the eerie noises.

Simon, sensing the panic creeping into your eyes, quickly tries to rationalise it all. "Not anymore. But I thought they would come in handy," he says, maintaining a calm and steady voice. "And they did. After I lured the biters to the front yard, the two guys who were approaching our house got scared. As they ran away, I heard one of them say that the dog probably smelt the dead… which hopefully means they have no idea that someone… we live here.”

That night, despite the hurricane of questions rampaging through the back alleys of your mind, you are simply too drained to chase after them. The day has been a rollercoaster. You are exhausted. So, when Simon forces you to lay down and sits at the foot of the bed, you can't resist closing your eyes. His gaze darts between you and the closed bedroom door. The sound of the blade twirling into his hand lulls you to sleep.

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