#i can feel her distress in the way this is colored

[bonewreath]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth. 

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before. 

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?” 

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her. 

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her. 

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own. 

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can. 

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response. 

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass. 

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying. 

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead. 

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with. 

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement. 

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving. 

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind. 

Ellie’s in awe of you. 

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you. 

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve. 

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra. 

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing. 

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her. 

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.” 

“You sure?” 

Ellie nods. 

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry. 

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip. 

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

 “God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms. 

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal. 

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words. 

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching. 

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead. 

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile. 

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body. 

“Need something?” 

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.” 

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing. 

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs. 

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans. 

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further. 

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly. 

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy. 

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion. 

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.” 

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again. 

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.” 

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after. 

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it. 

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess. 

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams tlou #ellie fanfic #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader smut #ellie x reader fic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #tlou fanfic #tlou2 fanfic #kira writes #wlw #lesbian #sapphic

[revasserium]

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece live action #one piece scenarios #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #x reader #opla #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece fluff #roronoa zoro imagines #roronoa zoro scenarios #floofy floof floof #angst mcgee #scheduled post

[internetskiff]

The panels are definitely sentient but I believe it's less in a "each panel has a seperate consciousness" manner and more in a "this is a collonial organism with the Cental Core acting as the central intelligence" manner. Y'know? It's also a funny look at the mental state of whoever is occupying the Central Core, I think. After her awakening, GLaDOS makes them sweep up messes, shove rubble away into crevices where it won't be seen, she's using them as brooms n whatnot.

But what's a little interesting to me is that sometimes they seem to just be hitting things for no reason. Just violently slamming into the walls, their indicators having turned red. While it could 100% just be a malfunction, I do wonder if this could be GLaDOS trying to vent her frustration by hitting the walls instead of, y'know, just letting it out by violently crushing Chell?

Does this count as hitting yourself if you've become the building? I don't know. What's interesting is a similar red coloration comes through when Wheatley takes charge, and these panels don't show any sign of malfunctioning - which makes it seem as though the red indicators aren't a distress signal, they're a sign of rage. Maybe at one point they DID signify that something's wrong - but now it's just a way of telling that you've angered the entire structure.

The way the panels in the Central AI Chamber behave is extremely fascinating too. They lock up and get caught on eachother as GLaDOS' head is ripped from her body, they bob up and down to match Wheatley's laughter, and during his breakdown they flare up and stare right at Chell like dozens upon dozens of eyes - he's staring her down from every possible angle to try and make her feel as small as he can. He even sticks them onto the chassis which, while yes, do serve as shields, they're also almost certainly also his attempt of making himself look even larger.

It's pretty funny how from that perspective the panels become sort of a window into the mental state of whoever is currently in the chassis. Eyes are the window to the soul, and luckily, Aperture's walls are lined with thousands of them! :D

#portal #portal 2 #GLaDOS #Wheatley #rambling #remembered a conversation about this i've had with a friend and wanted to formulate it here idkkk #aperture science

[eilidh-eternal]

Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish would cross every line and break every rule of a lap dance.

He'd see you from across the club and is already plotting ways to get you alone in one of the private rooms so he can have his hands all over you and help you “relax” 🥴

he's a lil’ creep :)

(18+ MDNI, dub-con/non-con themes)

You can’t even remember why you’re here.

It’s loud, bass thumping in the hollow of your chest, the warmth of writhing bodies weighs heavy in the air, and flashing lights seem to follow your eyes everywhere you look without reprieve. That’s why you don’t see him, don’t notice him staring at you from across the club, and now your friends are whistling and whooping at the dark stranger climbing the steps into your alcove.

“This is the guy I told you about,” Kari leans over to whisper-shout, cupping a hand in a feeble attempt to speak over the music pouring out of the speakers overhead.

Ah, that’s right. Kari wanted to see if the dancer from the near constant stream of videos she inundates the group chat with is here tonight. Seems tonight is her lucky night, because when he steps into your circle he pivots towards the two of you, long legs rippling the slash of cut muscle and tanned skin on display beneath ripped jeans slung low on his hips, obliques bunching and flexing with the subtle tilt of his hips with each measured step. Swaggering.

And he comes to a halt—right in front of you. It’s a long way up, craning your neck at an awkward angle to look up at the silhouette of him against strobe and colorful spotlights. You don’t know what you were expecting. The black leather harness straining over his chest and distressed jeans feel fairly standard, as does his physique and rugged handsomeness, but the warmth that ripples off his body feels like a riptide instead of the languid roll of lapping waves, dragging you under and filling your lungs with the scent of sea spray and brine, the musk of his sweat mixed with whatever he’s oiled his skin with.

“Ooooo girl!” Kari grips your arm, acrylic nails scratching over your skin, and it pulls you out of your dumbfounded stupor enough for you to register the hand he’s holding out to you. “If you don’t go, I will!”

Go? With him? Where would we-

“Ye look a bit overwhelmed, lass. Think somethin’ more… private, might be your style.”

Oh…

Kari snakes her arm between your back and the tufted faux leather of the bench and bodily pushes you forward to the edge of your seat, towards his outstretched hand, and you’re caught wholly off guard when gentle fingers hook under your chin, tipping your head back at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. 

The brightest blue of a searing flame feels gelid in comparison to the heat that dances and flickers in his eyes, and they feel sharp as knives against your skin, boring into you, slicing through layers of trepidation and apprehension to get to the core of you. 

“Promise ye wilnae regret it.” The pad of his thumb brushes across your lower lip, a slow, exploratory movement that sends a shudder trickling down your spine.

Goading shouts of ‘Go!’ and ‘Get some, girl!’ permeate the hazy bubble you’re floating in with him, echoing and bouncing off of flimsy boundaries.

“I- I don’t know… You should take Kari, she-” You’re silenced by the press of his thumb to your lips again, mouth still parted on half-spoken words, and you can feel the swipe of his flesh across the front of your teeth.

“-She’s not the one who needs help relaxin’. You are,” he finishes for you, and it sounds more like a command than an observation. The fingers under your chin tug upwards, straining the muscles of your neck, and you lift subconsciously from your seat to ease the tension. He takes advantage of this and slots a hand under your arm, pulls you up and firmly against him, and turns your head to the side to whisper low in your ear, “I’ll take good care of ye, lass. Dinnae need to worry.”

There’s a collective gasp from the group around you, excited squeals and peals of laughter that ring out over the music. ‘Go!’ they all chant in a cult-like mantra. Go to the private room with the handsome stranger.

Go to the private room where the lights don’t hurt your eyes and the music isn’t so loud.

His hand still holds your face, cups your jaw to draw your attention back to him, and the hand on your ribs has drifted down to your waist, thumb rubbing circles over the fabric of your dress.

“Ok…” you cede, voice a meek whisper and eyes darting away from his to settle on his lips, feeling too scrutinized, laid bare, under their watchfulness.

It shouldn’t be possible but his smile is somehow brighter than the flashing lights, disorienting enough that you blink a few times until the spots across your vision fade. The hand at your waist slides easily around you, tucking you into his side as he leads you away from the alcove, through throngs of patrons and dancers towards the roped off rooms at the back of the club with velvet lined walls and thick curtains across each doorway.

He guides you down onto the sofa that wraps around the entirety of the room, downy upholstery tickling the back of your legs as he draws the curtain closed, and your eyes mimic the motion with a gentle sigh as you sink into the softness that dampens the sound beyond the room, filters out the harsh light in favor dim ambiance. 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you just need to sit here for a moment away from…. Well, away from all of it. Take a moment, and just-

“Och, look at ye… just need a bit of quiet, hm?” The low purr of his voice right in front of you causes you to jolt, eyes snapping open to find him knelt down at eye level with you, arms braced against the sofa on either side of your knees. 

You start to apologize but he shakes his head, one big hand sliding over your knee in a soothing gesture. 

“None of that. Here to help ye relax, bonnie.” His hand drifts higher up your leg, strong fingers kneading at the supple flesh hidden beneath ruched fabric, and you think distantly that this feels more intimate than a private dance should. “Close those pretty eyes and just focus on the way it feels. Can ye do that for me?” 

In the dim lighting the warmth in his eyes blazes bright and fervent with an eager insistence, an illuminating display of hunger and want that burns through your nerves like wildfire.

You take a deep, steadying breath and let your eyes fall closed once more, and the answering growl that rumbles in his chest in response to your submission pools unbidden warmth between your legs.

“Good girl, so good for me. Gonnae take such good care of ye.” Something warm and hard presses against your legs, and before you have time to think about how good that feels, both of his hands find the back of your knees and pull. They force your knees apart, yank you forward to the edge of your seat so that he’s knelt between your legs. 

He clicks his tongue at the flutter of your lashes, eyes trying to open and make sense of the jarring repositioning of your lower extremities, and says, “‘S okay, keep ‘em closed. Just need t’ get a bit closer.” It is a dance afterall. But still, the notion that something about it isn’t quite what it should be festers at the far reaches of your mind.

“Give me yer hands.” It’s softer this time, his voice when he makes the request, but the demand and expectation there is clear–he’s leading, and you’re following. With tentative movements you reach out blindly in front of you until you feel the warmth of his hands enveloping and guiding yours, placing them against something rough that scratches between your palms.

His face, you realize, as your thumb brushes over the stubble on his jaw, tracing the strong line of it from his chin up to his ear. The hair is short there too, shorn close to his scalp, but it feels softer, pleasant against your fingertips. He hums, whether in approval or simply in reaction to your clumsy exploration you can’t decipher, and you can feel the way it vibrates in his throat against your hand lingering on his jaw. 

Lost in the new sensation of him you don’t immediately realize where his hands have settled on you, palms rough with callouses gliding over exposed skin and up the expanse of your thighs to capture your hips, long fingers only just grazing your rear. He pulls you closer, closer to the edge, and your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders, seeking balance and support from the broad expanse of them. 

With his hands splayed across your ribs on either side he presses his face into your neck, dragging his nose up towards your jaw and breathing in long and deep, the shuddering exhale of his breath zapping against your sensitive skin in tantalizing currents.

“Had my eyes on ye all night,” he murmurs, and you can feel the brush of his lips against skin that's begun to warm beneath his touch. 

Odd, you think, for a patron to catch the eye of a dancer. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? A lot of this should be happening inversely, or perhaps not at all. It feels like a violation of the rules, a breach in etiquette, to have so much contact with him–to be touching him.

“Need to know, pretty thing. Need to know… what ye taste like.” He’s panting when he voices that particular desire, voice rough and breathless, and it feels funny that he should be the one short of breath when you haven’t taken one since he put his hands on you, still holding onto the dwindling supply of air and withering sense of propriety. 

This… this should not be happening, you think as he tips you back, big hands pushing you down onto the couch again and this time your eyes do more than flutter, opening wide as your back meets the cushion beneath you.

“Sir, I- this isn’t what-”

“I ken it’s not what ye thought it would be, bonnie. Doesnae change the fact that it’s what ye need,” he cuts you off, gruff and adamant in his assessment of you.

What you need? You don’t need this. The privacy is nice, yes, and he’s certainly a welcome sight, but this isn’t a dance. This isn’t what you agreed to.

He must be able to see your confusion, the warring thoughts in your mind written on your face as plainly as a line drawn on a battlefield. How your mind struggles to reconcile the sudden shift. How that line in sand has been trampled beyond recognition and you don't know which side of it you're standing on anymore. He has to know because he laughs, a warm flutter of breath ticking across your inner thighs.

The gasp that tears from your lungs when his teeth sink into the meat of your thigh, fanning dormant embers of desire you're only now becoming aware of, only seems to amuse him further. Makes his lips, pulled apart in a grin, vibrate against your skin before biting you again. You try to pull away from him but he curls a massive arm around your leg, holding you firmly in place for his tongue to lave over the imprint of his teeth on your skin.

“Just as sweet as she looks,” he remarks, more to himself than you, and his hands push the fabric of your dress up past your hips. You squirm in his grasp but he just wraps the other arm around you and coos sweet sounds between your legs, hooks them over his shoulders and clamps his hands around your hips once more. “Jus’ need some attention, hm? Poor girl, cannae breathe with these, can ye?”

Is he… talking to your pussy?

You get your answer when you feel the hot press of his mouth over the thin scrap of lace.

What the fuck is happening?

Not normal. This is not normal. This should not be happening.

It makes your head spin, the steady stream of realization that trickles in through the haze of… You don’t want to admit what you’re feeling. Don’t want to admit that amidst your panic and confusion, how suddenly the situation escalated, you never said no. 

You aren’t saying no. You should be saying no.

“Such a pretty wee cunt,” he lilts as a hand trails down and pulls your panties to the side, revealing the most intimate part of you to him. 

You can feel your body's betrayal of your emotions, the cooling sensation of his breath against the slick gathering between your thighs. It sends tumultuous sparks of pleasure up your spine and makes your fingers flex against the couch beneath you, seeking purchase and finding none. He coos at this, digs his fingers into your hips and presses his lips to your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste your slick and teeth nipping at the soft flesh. 

It’s maddening how good it feels, how tormented you are about even remotely liking it. He’s taken you here under false pretense and forced himself upon you. You should be angry with him. But it's hard to separate the confusion from the adrenaline, the fear from the lust that addles your senses.

“Ye’re thinkin’ too much. Relax.” His voice is rough, pitched low and graveled by his own desire, and he digs his thumbs into your hip flexors, smoothing out the muscles wrought with tension. “‘S’posed to feel good, bonnie. Let me take care of ye, work ye over how ye need.” 

You open your mouth to protest, to say someone might hear, might walk in and see you, separated by only a curtain from the rest of the club. The words die on your tongue when he cards his through your silken folds in one broad stroke, warm and wet and so fucking good, illiciting a string of breathy moans in place of your objections. A growl of assent rumbles in his chest again, rocking through you in wicked bolts, nerves firing in tandem with the movements of his tongue lapping at your entrance like a man starved. 

Despite how your mind still kicks and thrashes, desperate to pull your head above water and think clearly, your body can't help its response to him, surrendering to the undertow that pulls  you further into the hazy depths of pleasure with each fervent swipe of his tongue. 

“Tha’s it sweet girl, doin so good.” He has no right, none at all, to make you feel this way. Warm and wanting, squirming closer, trying to find more friction. He doesn’t deserve the sniveling whimpers that crawl up your throat, the hands that blindly seek the shock of messy hair to pull him closer and beg for more.

And he gives it to you, focuses his attention on your aching bundle of nerves in tight, precise circles, coaxing you closer to the swell that’s building at the base of your spine.

“Gonnae come for me?” His teeth wrap around your clit and you keen, cry out wantonly at the sudden sharpness of the sensation, the additional pressure, and a litany of yes’s flows forth from lips parted on a moan.

He’s relentless in his pursuit of your climax. Desperate, even, to feel your body go taut with pleasure, pressing his face so far between your legs you wonder if he can even breathe. Each flick of his tongue, scrape of his teeth, pushing you closer and closer until the tension breaks, a cresting wave of pleasure crashing over you and drowning your senses in liquid fire.

He works you to the point of overstimulation, until the drag of his tongue feels like a blade against your skin and your thighs burn from the scrape of his stubble. Only then, does he give you a reprieve, panting when he pulls back and peppers kisses over the raw skin.

“Such a good girl, did so well for me. Knew ye’d be good for me, bonnie.” He gathers you up, rights your undergarments and pulls your skirt back down your thighs before he helps you sit up, and his hand feels warm against your cheek, thumb swiping away the mascara running in inky trails down your face. “Gonna get ye some water, dinnae move,” he murmurs against your temple, lips pressed against your skin in a comparatively chaste kiss before all that warmth pulls away and you're left on your own. 

You couldn’t go anywhere if you wanted to, knees too weak to even think about moving off the couch, lest you look like a wobbling faun stumbling back to your friends. But when the curtain opens, bright light from a flashlight shining into your eyes, you panic, eyes closing against the offending light and you push up onto your feet. You don’t stay up very long, however, as a wave of dizziness crashes into you full-force, sending you back down onto the couch in a clumsy heap.

“Oh, shit- are you alright? Hey,” The man in front of you crouches down, hands on your shoulders to hold you upright. He has a badge on his shirt. Security. “Do you know where you are?”

You rattle off the name of the club and some of the worry bunching his brows lessens. 

“Have you had anything to drink?”

“He’s getting me water.”

“He? Your boyfriend?

“The dancer, his name-” You never did get his name, from him or Kari. “-he has a… a harness? And jeans. I think he has a mohawk too.” There's a funny look on his face now, like he doesn’t really believe you.

“Honey, we don’t have any dancers here tonight that look like that.”

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap #soap headcanons #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #soap cod #cod 141 #cod soap #cod headcanons #cod imagine #cod mwiii #call of #call of duty soap #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mw2 #call of duty smut #call of duty mw19 #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod smut

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Slave!Omega!Dragoness!Reader-

cw/tags: mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics, mating bites, fingering, scenting, pet names, zhongli has a knot and alpha fangs and is not afraid to use them lmao, some nip and clit stimulation ig?? emotional roller coaster ngl.

notes: So remember a loooong time ago when I held a poll and one of the options was "dragon" and it WON?? well actually it was this, (dragon READER heh) it just got WAY out of control. 5.6k words and now I wanna make it into a whole series //head in hands// anyway ye have this weird lil funky AU I poured my sweat blood and tears into (also my heart and soul) idk why I am just so attached I love it so much plsss I have ideas fot other scenes with them already aaaaaaaaa <3

Partially inspired by some of @silentmoths' fics holy shIT I LOVE DRAGON READER AND I LOVE OMEGAVERSE NOD IF YOU AGREE!!

Last but not least if y'all wanna be part of my pinglist uhh I'm making one now so :3c

Part 2 ->

Strange yellow leaves fall around you all over the courtyard…

“Fix your clothes, you have to look appealing… well, as appealing as a creature like you can be.” The voice of your Master calls out harshly, pulling and tugging at details in your outfit. It was a flimsy and silky thing, mostly see-through, rather elegant, but very revealing.

You’re used to it.

“And stop looking so miserable! You better smile and please this Alpha. He’s not just anyone, you know?”

You nod meekly, trying to hide the slight trembling on your body. This will be just another bonding attempt. Nothing else.

It will fail. Just like all the others before.

Silver chains clink and tug the collar at your neck, it shakes you back to the present as you stumble forward.

Master guides you through a maze of corridors, with sleek surfaces of dark wood, decorative lanterns and paper screens. They’re strange, covered in even stranger symbols that look nothing like the ones back in the desert. Your bare feet, used to rough hot sand, now walk along polished wood with your draconic tail dragging behind. Everything looks so lavish…

You’ve been brought all the way to Li- Liu-… Li-yue? A foreign country, to meet a potential client. Well, a client to your Master. You are just the merchandise: a dragonblood Omega. Rare, unique even, “exotic”.

But defective.

Your fists clench in nervousness. How rough will this Alpha be with you? You dread to find the answer. Alphas were cruel, ever since you remember you’ve been taught to please, be gentle, obedient and look pretty, but they were never any of those things. Alphas just took their pleasure and used your body as they wanted, usually until you were crying and screaming, begging for mercy. You just hope this Alpha would give you some pity and be quick… or give you time to rest in between attempts.

Though you had learned since long that your wishes don’t tend to come true.

What a disappointment. After I spent so much money and resources on you.

Such a waste of time, what use is there in an Omega that can’t bond?

Why do I even bother with you? You’re just good for the reproduction camp. Maybe that way you can produce another dragonblood.

This is your last chance, mutt. If you fail again, I won’t be bothering with you anymore.

You feel anxiety creeping on your chest, heart jumping to your throat as the dark thoughts invade your mind. Last chance… your last chance at bonding. At proving you’re not useless and stupid. At serving your purpose as Omega. What was happening to you was fair. You deserve to be punished and you should be grateful you have one last chance after all your failures.

You just want to… to…

Tears prickle at your eyes and you breathe in deeply, trying to contain your distress and hugging your own tail, rubbing your face on the fluffy tip.

Whatever happens today, your fate is going to be sealed.

The nest room is nice.

Like the rest of the place, it is rather elegant, dimly lit with neutral colors and wooden walls, filled with pillows and blankets that had a very subtle flowery aroma to them. Small cabinets to one side with some decorative objects on top and a full-length mirror on the other side. So much different from the barren cold stone walls and tents from the desert camps.

“Hm, pretty fancy.” Master says taking off your collar, your soft unblemished neck now on display, free from any claim. “Now…” He pulls at your hair and you wince, whining and lowering your ears on a submissive display. He wouldn’t hurt you right? You have to look pretty. “The emperor will be here shortly. Make sure to do anything and everything he wants. And you better smile, I told you.”

“E-Emperor?” You pale, eyes widening.

He scoffs and pushes you back, you stumble back into the mess of pillows. “That’s right. I don’t know why but he was very adamant to see you it seems. Perhaps he just wants the prestige of owning the last known dragonblood, hm? Another novelty for his collection, I’m sure. You should consider yourself really lucky. So…” He flashes his Alpha fangs at you with a growl and you whimper again, cowering. “I would suggest you do your best and don’t disappoint this time, he’ll pay a pretty penny for you.”

And with that he leaves, muttering something and almost slamming the strange sliding door.

And so, you’re alone.

Immediately your brain goes into overdrive. An emperor? You had been presented to various Alphas of high status before, wealthy merchants and high-ranking tribe members, but this… this was probably a whole other level.

An emperor had to have an empress, right? Someone of noble birth and high status such as himself, not a lowly sand lizard like you, with weird ears, scales, horns and a tail. Why would he want to see an Omega like you? Perhaps Master was right, he intended to keep you as a trophy in his collection, another pretty thing.

It was humiliating.

But anything was better than being doomed to the reproduction camp…

Maybe the emperor had a harem? You’ve heard of them before, some Alphas liked to boast having many Omegas bound to them. Living in this luxury, not having to worry about much anything except looking pretty and pleasing him once a while. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even pay attention to you, you’d be just a glorified pet.

You could… do that.

Without noticing, your tail starts swaying after you, this could be a chance. Your chance. You just had to make him like you. Forget the bond. Don’t think about it. All you have to do is please him.

You start frantically arranging the sheets and pillows around, building the comfiest nest you ever had with all the extra material, scenting it with excited happy pheromones. You could do it, this was your chance.

You won’t fail this time. You’ll be pretty, obedient, submissive, the ideal Omega. You’ll let him use you to his heart’s content, sure you may be a little sore but it’ll be worth it if he chooses you. He won’t even care about the bond.

…Right?

You jolt when you hear the door slide slightly open again, your heart leaps to your throat as someone walks in.

Oh.

Is… he the emperor? … He’s handsome.

To be fully honest, you expected some fat pompous middle-aged man not this… perfect specimen of an Alpha.

Your tail sways a little with curiosity.

He looks only slightly older than you, tall, wearing elegant robes in brown and golden hues. His eyes are like a sunset: golden, warm, almost glowing. A red liner accentuating them. Long chocolate hair faded to amber at the tips. His scent was earthy and pleasant, subtle unlike most Alpha musk. Almost comforting and… familiar?

He seems to stare back at you with the same surprise, frozen for a moment, eyes slightly wide, he says something you can’t quite hear and it shakes you out of the spell. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, curling your tail around you, ears down and resisting the urge to brush (hide) the scales at the corners of your eyes.

It occurs to you that you’ve been just staring like an idiot, you don’t know very well how to address him, nor know his foreign tongue. So, you simply lower your head in respect. “My Lord…”

You suddenly feel nervous. This is it.

You turn around, following the motions ingrained in your brain. Body splayed on the nest, arms tucked in, head down. Submissive, obedient. Your hands are shaking, you feel dizzy, heart thrumming in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

You lift your butt just slightly, tail curling elegantly over your back, out of the way to expose the flimsy fabric covering your privates, properly presenting to the Alpha. You focus on trying to control your pheromones, letting out just whiffs of a needy sensual scent, worried of mixing in your anxiety and fear and displeasing the emperor.

You had to be pretty, enticing, compliant, and he would, h-he would…

A rather awkward cough has you tense. “There is… no need for that.”

You blink for a moment, taken aback at the rich deep baritone of his voice, so hypnotizing you almost don’t register his words. He speaks common tongue, but still, what does he mean? Isn’t this just… standard protocol for bonding? Isn’t he going to mount you?

You dare peek over your shoulder and see him sitting elegantly over his knees at the floor. He’s outside of the nest range.

He’s also slightly pink at the cheeks and pointedly avoiding looking at you.

Is this a trap? Is he testing you to see if you’ll misbehave? Your hands clench, nails digging at your palms, your breathing and heart increasing pace.

“I just want to talk, I promise.” He tries.

You hold the position.

He sighs, and then-

“Omega, relax.”

You almost squeak at the Alpha command. His voice, his will, seeps into your skin, your nerves, your very bones. You feel your muscles loosen up, tension leaving your body like a bowstring snapping and you lie on the sheets sideways.

Right right right, you’re tense, you have to be soft and pliant-

You look over at him and he’s… heading over to the little cabinets. He picks up a kettle of some kind and little cups that sit on the top, moving around calmly and elegantly as he seems to prepare something. Your head tilts and you gingerly sit up straight. Tail and ears down, curled up not unlike a wounded animal.

“Do you speak the common tongue?”

“Y-Yes!” You nod. “A little…”

“Good.”

The emperor seems… pleasant, he is calm and unguarded, so different from the cold intimidating Alphas you’ve met who like to show off, who immediately order you around. He even used an Alpha command on you but it felt… grounding. There is something equally eerie and entrancing about him and you feel yourself as much drawn to him as terrified of his imposing aura, and you couldn’t explain why. It’s a bit unsettling but also comforting at the same time.

He pours two cups and turns to you. You stiffen and he offers you one.

“Qixing tea is one of the most refined Liyue teas. It tends to be very bitter but this blend has a more pleasant taste, a little floral even. It is also said to help relax one’s mind.”

You carefully take the cup, not wanting to insult such gracious offer, though you’re utterly confused, shouldn’t you be the one serving him?

The cup is warm.

You stare at the golden liquid, small black dots sit at the bottom. This has no alcohol… right? It can’t be worse than snake wine at least.

You carefully take a sip, trying to imitate how the emperor is holding his.

It is… nice, a strong sharp taste but not bad, and very aromatic.

He’s looking at you expectantly and your tail and ears twitch. “I-It’s very good. Thank you, my Lord.”

He smiles and your heart skips a beat. “I am glad. Some say Qixing tea is for older people, but it’s frankly one of my favorites.” He stares at his cup with a somewhat nostalgic gaze, as if it brings him fond memories. “Ah, you can address me as Morax.”

You nod quietly and take another sip. Past the tea’s powerful flowery scent, you can now sense his Alpha pheromones, with him being so close and the air less tense. They’re strong but not overwhelmingly so, sharp and tantalizing, a refined foreign scent you can almost taste in the back of your throat. It stirs something in you, something warm and alluring.

“Do you know where were you born? Who are your parents?”

The question takes you by surprise for a moment as you shake out of your thoughts. Ah, he must be inquiring about your dragonblood. “I-I’m…. I’m not sure, my Lo- um… L-Lord Morax. As far as I know my mother worked at a-a heat house… no one knew who my father was and she passed away when I was very young.”

“I see… so you have no idea where you got your dragon traits from.” It was a sentence rather than a question and you shake your head meekly, taking another sip from the tea, ears lowering back.

“Apparently it could be due to recessive genes.” You once again repeat the same words you’ve heard all your life. You hate bringing attention to your dragon features, people either treat you like a rare exotic creature or a dangerous one. You didn’t know which was worse.

“Hmmm…” Lord Morax seems pensive for a moment, also drinking some of the tea. “Have you been with your caretaker for long?”

You look down. “Master has been in charge of me ever since I… p-presented as an Omega.”

“Does he treat you well?”

Your eyes widen, the question catching you completely by surprise. T-Treat you well? You are… treated like any other slave omega, if only being singled out by your draconic traits. He feeds you, he gives you clothing and education, he arranges the best matches he can for bonding, he even got you here in the first place. You owe him everything, you’re nothing without him.

So then… Why do you find yourself thinking back on all the harsh words, all the punishments, all the screaming and crying, all the… t-touches…

You gulp. “M-Master ensures I have the best living conditions and opportunities I can.” Is what you settle for.

He hums.

There is silence for a moment and lord Morax settles down his cup.

“I don’t think you’re aware of how special you are.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t surprise you anymore, he utters those words and makes your heart speed up.

Is this anxiety? Fear?

“Judging from what your Master has told me, you’re treated like quite the novelty, an exotic half-blood not unlike the Valuka Shuna or Kätzlein. Here in Liyue however those with traits like yours are called Xiānshòu.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue. His golden eyes fix on you and you freeze. “Also known as illuminated beasts. With immense power and longevity, even the half-bloods. They’re well respected and looked up to, why, some are even revered as deities...”

You? Such a fantastic creature? That can’t be…

“Seems to me like things are different in the deserts of Sumeru, however.” His eyes narrow and for the first time you notice his diamond pupils. They look like a snake’s. The same eerie glint he had a few minutes ago is back darkening the bright golden eyes. Yet, for some strange reason you don’t feel scared this time.

A shiver travels down your spine as you feel your instincts purr in delight. Protective… for some reason lord Morax is being protective of you. You don’t know why or how but you can feel it and it made your inner Omega preen inside. An Alpha wanted to protect you, care for you.

“Such a shame.” He adds, sounding almost disappointed but there is something darker underneath. Word simmering with… frustration? “You are such a lovely dragoness, worthy of every praise and prayer they’d sign in your name here.”

You’re very glad your cup rests at your lap, blushing furiously with trembling hands.

For the next few moments, he continued to ask some more questions. What you like or dislike, what you do in your free time, even something as innocuous as your favorite color. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as you grew a little more comfortable with your answers and the whole situation, as though you weren’t talking to an emperor, or even a potential master or Alpha but rather… someone who saw you for who you are.

You liked that. You liked him.

You wanted to stay with him.

You wished to-

“Alright, I think that’s enough. I will have a talk with your Master and we’ll settle things.” He stands up and dusts his attire a little.

Your breath stops.

He is leaving.

He is leaving.

Did you do something wrong? Didn’t he say he liked your appearance? Are you such a failed disgraceful omega? Your last chance at bonding. You didn’t even get to impress him. You want to call out to him, do something, anything. Panic rises in your chest, drowning you, freezing you. You can barely think, instincts screaming, begging, wailing in despair for him. This kind Alpha, this gentle, patient, imposing, majestic Alpha who’s too good for you and yet something deep inside you yearns for him…!

“I am very glad to have met you little xiānshòu.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Then, he turns and heads for the sliding doors.

So, you do the first thing that comes to your mind.

The empty cup falls from your hands, your footsteps thump loudly on the wooden floors, soft fabric clenches between your fingers.

As soft as the lips you crash yours onto.

…

It only lasts a few seconds but when you back just a little, ears low and tail curled up in apprehension, you realize what you did.

You’d kissed him, you’d kissed the emperor.

You’re shaking like a leaf, clinging to him for dear life. He stares at you with wide surprised eyes but you’d rather die right here for your insolence than live the rest of your days in regret.

His scent takes on an alluring hint to it and your inner Omega is overjoyed. Up so close it is almost irresistible. His face remains impassive, if a little tense, but you can see in his eyes something you identify very well… hunger, desire.

“Lord Morax… t-the nest… please.”

“Y-You don’t have to-”

“Please! Allow me to please you, allow me to show you…how…” You whisper against his lips, leaning in again as your eyes flutter close.

And suddenly his hands wrap around you and pull you close, cupping your face, curling at your waist, there’s something possessive in it and you feel slight vibrations as he growls deep from his chest against your mouth. But there is also something sweet, something delicate…

And for once, you want more. You want this.

How did you end up here? In the most beautiful nest you’d ever constructed, with the most handsome, kind, caring Alpha you’d ever met?

His kisses are deep and slow, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You lie on the soft sheets as he looms over you, exploring your mouth with an unhurried pace, hungry yet not forceful, letting you timidly do the same at your own pace.

This is nice…

His hands run along your body, caressing your skin through your flimsy attire. His touch curious but gentle.

“May I?” He asks, tugging at the fabric off your shoulder.

You shiver, at his voice, as the pure want in it, in his eyes, in his scent.

“Y-yes my lord…”

“Hmm…” His kisses trail down your jaw down to your neck as he starts pulling the garments off. Careful, instead of simply ripping them apart, your heart skips a beat. “If we’re going to do this, you can use my name and not just titles…”

Your top falls off and goosebumps litter your skin, nipples pebbled as one of his hands cups your breast.

“M-Morax…” You try, shakily, as if testing out the word alone on your lips.

“No, little one. Zhongli. That is my name.” He kisses down your shoulders, nipping at the skin.

“Ah!” Your tail flickers around and you purr.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time, and your hands start roaming his foreign clothes, fumbling with knots and pawing at the fabric. He chuckles at your frustrated whine. You want more, more of this feeling, more of him. To touch his skin, cover him in kisses, worship him.

(Show him what a good Omega you can be.)

No…

You want to make him feel good and please him.

Elegant fabric falls down discarded as he shakes off the layers of his top and you blink surprised. The fabric was bulky and covered up his figure. Lean but muscled, tantalizing like honey. You immediately latch onto him, nosing, scenting, nipping and kissing, feeling the faint outline of his abs and muscles twitch under your touch. He smells so good, he feels so good…

Your Omega instincts are starting to cloud your senses more and more.

Suddenly one of his hands gently squeezes a soft breast and you moan at the sudden touch “O-Oh!”

“You’re sensitive here, do you like this?” He asks, massaging your chest.

You whimper and nod frantically, tail wagging behind you. You had never been this responsive to having your chest played with, though then again, it was rare… but his sensual touches were quickly undoing you. Wetness pools at your gut and you rub your legs together.

Lord Mor- Zhongli… leans down then and something wet flicks over your nipple making you gasp, before warmth surrounds your nub. You cry out even louder. He sucks and laps at it and you instinctively tangle your hands on his hard dark hair, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You groan again, too many layers on the way.

“C-clothes… off, please!”

“As you wish, my dear dragoness.”

He continues squeezing, kissing, caressing and lapping at your skin, leaving a couple of hickeys along the way and teasing his Alpha fangs against you as his attention descends through your body once more, continuing his trail of kisses along your hip. His fingers dip down the waistband of your mesh pants and when you raise your hips to help, he pulls them down.

You’ve been naked in front of others more times than you’d like to count. But there’s something oddly intimate and special about this situation right now.

Your ears lower in apprehension, and your tail flicks by your side, resisting the urge to cover up. Lying down with your legs slightly spread around him. Already flushed, sweaty and panting.

“…You’re gorgeous.”

Huh?!

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” Zhongli nips at your hip. “So lucky that you want me too.” He kisses at your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches.

You’re the lucky one. Completely overjoyed that this Alpha likes you, desires you.

The first touch at your core has you mewling.

Zhongli strokes at your folds, still gentle, finding you soaked as your slick coats his fingers. Your body jolts and you moan “A-Ah!” He smirks against your thigh and nips there again as his fingers move in circles, teasing, testing, before moving to your clit. A finger pad stroking it just so, making your whole frame tremble, like every nerve in your body is being stimulated.

“Mngh- please!”

His fingers travel between your folds. First one sliding in rather easily, pumping steadily as you shudder in pleasure, and then two, making you writhe, bucking your hips against the touch, pushing them deeper, chasing that feeling.

Your body feels hot, too hot. Every sensation blocked except that warm wet feeling down there, in your new heaven. Your hands claw at the sheets, a pleasant fog setting in and you can feel yourself slipping into your most primal needs. But oh, oh, not like this.

You want him. Need him.

“You- y-you! please my lord!”

Something snaps in the Alpha’s eyes and Zhongli growls. Golden eyes dark, swallowed by lust and need and you whine when his fingers leave you. You vaguely hear rustling noises and before you can protest again, he pulls you up back on his lap and oh…

He’s big.

His erection stands proud between your bodies, rubbing against you and you shuffle impatiently, nuzzling against him.

Yes, yes…

Zhongli helps positioning you, gives himself a few strokes, and you feel his cockhead kiss at your entrance, you whine and stare at him rather confused. “L-Like this? B-But I have never- This is n-not how-”

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and pecks at your lips. “I can imagine this is very different from how they’ve taught you Alphas mount Omegas, but I my dear, intend to make love to you.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your cheeks as he nuzzles you, so close, so intimate. Your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Like this you will have more control. I want you to relax, enjoy, my sweet dragoness.” He kisses at your cheek, down your jaw to your neck. “May I?”

You can feel your eyes water. No one had ever told you that. No Alpha had ever been this patient or even asked your permission before. Words die on your throat as you stare mesmerized at Zhongli. Grateful. Incredulous. Completely enamored.

You nod, and he guides you down.

It’s different like this. So much different.

You bite your lip and whine a little once you start to move, his hands hold your hips as you raise them and sink back down on his cock, inch by delicious inch. You feel… full, but warm, good. Your insides clench around him and he groans.

Oh… you could get used to this…

“Hah… ah! … m-my lord... I’m…” You feel dizzy but in a good way, your body tingles all over and it’s exhilarating, addicting.

He leans forward a bit, nosing at your collarbone, soft kisses tickle your skin and he… he’s almost purring in delight, inhaling your scent. “I told you, you can just call me by my name... Would you let me hear it?”

You buck languidly on his embrace, enjoying this…sensual experience, these new feelings and sensations. His tender closeness, his intoxicating pheromones, his deep baritone.

Him.

“Zhongli…”

His name comes out as a needy cry and he growls, Alpha pride clearly satisfied. His hands roam your body just enough to shift position and pull you even closer, hips rolling in tandem, picking up speed, his fangs grazing your shoulder.

Your head is swimming in pleasure, fuzzy like stuffed with cotton, small little “Ah… ah… ah!” moans punched out of you. You’re vaguely aware of your nails digging onto his skin but you can’t even stop yourself, you need to hold onto something, anything.  

Even your tail subconsciously curls around his ankle (and he doesn’t even seem to mind), like every cell of your body is screaming at you to hold onto him and never let go.

Zhongli’s own breathing comes out in harsh puffs and satisfied groans as he buries himself in you over and over, the sound of skin slapping on skin becomes more prominent.

And then, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Your eyes snap open (when had you closed them?) Back arching as if struck by lightning and letting out a high-pitched moan. H-How did he do that?! What was that? You don’t remember ever feeling like this in previous bonding attempts.

“M-more?” You mewl in delight.

Zhongli looks at you with a satisfied smirk and it only fuels the fire in your belly.

“Gladly.”

That same wonderful feeling travels up and down your body again and again as your moans and whimpers rise in volume, calling his name over and over. Zhongli kisses you, deep and passionate. Whispers praises and sweet nothings on your flickering dragon ears. Touches you so soft and reverently. Your body feels so hot, your mind going blank, you can feel the base of his cock swelling with his knot and the familiar coil of pleasure tightening as you anticipate it, crave it, more intense and satisfying than ever before.

And just as you reach that high, his fangs sink into you.

You come with a squeal, body tensing, clinging onto him, clenching on him as he lets out a deep satisfied groan, knotting you. Wet stickiness coats your insides and thighs. And everything feels right, just right. Perfect even.

It takes a moment to come back to your senses, and it’s to Zhongli’s hands rubbing circles at your back comfortingly, while he laps and kisses at the bonding mark he left on you.

And then the high comes crashing down.

The bonding mark.

Tears well up in your eyes and start rolling down your cheeks, your tail uncoiling from him and curling around yourself protectively, ears down.

Please no… this can’t be…

Please stay…

Please.

Zhongli immediately notices your distress, in your actions and your scent, completely different altogether. His own instincts going wild at the lack of a happy sated mate scent. “Darling, what’s wrong? I’m sorry did it hurt that much? Did I… harm you in some way or did something wrong?” Oh, he sounds so genuinely concerned.

You shake your head desperately. Of course he hasn’t.

But you will.

Your body will. Betray you as always.

No bonding mark has stayed in your neck for longer than a few minutes. They all fade.

Just like the alphas that place them in you.

And then comes the anger, the guilt, the disappointment, the despair, the loneliness…

You can’t take it. Not this time.

“S-stay… please…” You sob.

Your voice sounds so broken, so weak and tiny, absolutely heart wrenching.

And Zhongli embraces you.

“I will, my dearest dragoness. I promise you.” He kisses one of your horns.

You want to believe him but you can only cry harder…

The room is dark as your eyes flutter open. It takes a few minutes to adjust and for your mind to catch up. Where are you…? You look around at the wooden walls, nestled in comfy sheets, you see some wooden cabinets and a tea set-

…!!!

You jolt awake, tumbling some pillows from your fancy nest. Your last chance at bonding. The emperor. He was leaving, and then…!

You slap a hand against the junction between neck and shoulder and feel something there, a bandage… you try to stare at it confused, though it’s impossible from the angle. And then fear consumes you. What if… it’s not there…?

Your body is still naked, though you have been covered with a thick fabric while sleeping, as it now pools at your lap, your Omega scent and that of an Alpha mixed together pleasantly, you turn around.

The Emperor. Lord Morax. Zhongli.

He sleeps peacefully by your side, on your nest, after having mated you.

He stayed.

You stare at his handsome features, fair skin, dark long hair, strong jaw, muscled arms. His lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly. So at ease.

You want to reach out and brush at his hair, touch his face, kiss him.

You want this moment to last forever.

Looking up slightly you see the large mirror, see yourself. A tiny thing, with freaky ears, horns and a tail.

It was… good, while it lasted. Almost like a dream.

Tears start falling down your cheeks again and you try to be as silent as possible as you pull and lift at the bandage in your shoulder. And there underneath it is… something?

Your fingers trace a mark, a wound, it stings and you hiss.

No way. There is no way.

Hope flutters in your chest, your stomach flips and you feel dizzy, nervous. A bonding mark? Is it real? Is it still there?

You shuffle out of the nest as fast and stealthily as you can, standing in front of the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes wide, pale in fear.

And there it is. The clear mark of an Alpha bite, still rather tender. A claim. A bond.

You start sobbing as you trace it, touch it, feel it. It must have been hours, there is no way…

It’s there, it’s there, for real. You want to laugh, to cry, you’re still nervous, scared, hopeful, happy, a million things at once.

But how? Why now?

“Hnng… darling? Are you crying again?” You stiffen as you hear the voice, deep and hoarse, laced with drowsiness. You turn and see him sit up and yawn carelessly like a rishboland tiger. Elegant and intimidating like one too with his bright golden eyes, Alpha fangs and muscled figure. Still naked as well, you note.

“T-the bonding mark… it’s still there!” You exclaim to him, gesturing to it.

“You should let it heal nicely.”

“Y-You don’t get it!” You huff. “My Lord… it’s still there! I’m bonded, I’m yours!”

He chuckles. “Rather, I would say we belong to each other, now.”

Belong to each other.

That sounds nice.

You turn back to the mirror, still staring at it, poking it with a finger softly, as if afraid it’ll disappear, as if it was an illusion, a dream.

But it’s there.

“For years… for years I thought I was doing s-something wrong, that there was something… wrong… with me…” You cry softly. “No Alpha had even bonded me…”

Suddenly you feel strong arms curl around your frame, a chin resting at your shoulder where it kisses your skin, and then brushes over the mark. It stings but you welcome it.

It means it’s real, all of this is.

Zhongli inhales, taking in your scent. “Well you see my dear, a dragonblood… a xiānshòu like you, can only be truly bonded by one of its own kind.”

The words take a moment to process, to sit on your brain, and you frown confused, staring at him from the mirror. And then your eyes widen.

Golden antlers crown his head, majestic and almost glowing, small scales appear under his striking amber eyes, the color of burnt ocher. A large tail, even bigger than yours in golden and brown hues, sways lazily behind him, before finding yours and intertwining with it, the feel is foreign but not unwelcome. Like holding hands.

You turn around so fast you almost trip if it weren’t for his hold. The dragonblood features are still there, in plain sight.

Your throat feels dry.

“You… you’re…”

He raises a finger to his lips and shushes you, then smiles. “I am yours my dear. Just as you are now mine.”

You cling to him and hide your face on his chest as you cry. Overwhelmed, relieved.

Yes, this is where you belong.

#zhongli smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #crys writes #fem reader #PLS I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH???? #this took SOOOO LONG SORRY AAAAAAA #idek what to say here lma just enjoy hope ppl like it bc.... it's so long;;;;; #got a pretty header tho serious business :O #LohK #just in case (?)

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 13]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Words: 5.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The base of your skull pounds as you try to keep focus on the things going on around you. It is almost impossible, as you just want to close your eyes and block out everything. 

You had woken up with a stiffness in your neck and shoulders that had quickly spiraled into the beginnings of a migraine. You hadn't had one since you were pregnant and now that you had a toddler, spending the day in bed and hiding under covers was not an option.

The gods seem to have smiled down on you, though. It is Saturday, which means it is Daddy Daughter Date Day and Matt is more than happy to keep Minnie’s attention on him. You don't have to watch her like a hawk. You can just sit and wait until your ibuprofen kicks in. 

If it ever does. 

You know drinking water will probably help, so you shakily reach for your glass.

Beside you, your daughter is none the wiser to your distress. Last night, a new toy arrived in the mail, and she was insistent it must be brought to lunch so she could show her Daddy and play with him. It is a friendship bracelet making kit - the type that has beads of all different shapes and colors - and it is a hit. Minnie and Matt have been making each other bracelets as you wait for your food.

“Can you please find me another ‘O’?” the nearly perfect man across from you asks your sweet toddler. “Like in ‘Octopus’.”

“‘O’ for octopus!” Mouse quickly confirms. She sets down her string of multi-color shapes and pulls the little box of beads closer to her. She picks up the discs that have letters on them, proudly showing off her ability to identify them by stating what each letter is until she finds the one, she's looking for. Once it is found, it is carefully passed across the table. “‘O’ for octopus!”

You have not been paying attention to the letters Matt has been collecting and thus have no clue what he intends to spell, but you're guessing it won't matter much to your daughter. She's going to be thrilled either way. You have a hunch that the feeling is mutual with Matt - whatever Minnie gives him, he'll proudly wear. Right now, the bracelet in her hands is a mixture of pink hearts with purple and yellow plain beads. There isn't a method to the madness beyond that. 

Your table falls back into silence. Mouse is enthralled with her task of threading and Matt is equally quiet. You think he is aware of your headache, as he's been soft spoken since you met up and hasn't been trying to make your little one laugh and squeal with glee. You're incredibly thankful for that. 

You resist the urge to close your eyes and instead find a scratch on the table's surface to stare blankly at and wait for time to pass. Hands pass through your field of vision to collect different beads and you hear farther-daughter talking, but you don't process any of it. All you know is the pain creeping around your skull. You are aware of how your eyes sit in your head and it is a very weird, unsettling feeling that helps nothing. 

You pray this outing has enough stimulation for Minnie, so that when you go home, she'll go down for a nap easily and you can join her.

You don't know how long you sit there, spacing out while the world moves on without you, but eventually Linda drops your plates in front of you. You fall into autopilot, saying, “Thank you, Miss Linda” in chorus with Matt and Minnie. After a quick cooing over how sweet your little family is, the waitress leaves you be, and you turn your focus to your daughter's plate.

It's chicken strips and french fries today and you know she needs her ketchup and mustard. Before you can start to reach for the bottles at the end of the table, Matt is already taking them and addressing Mouse, “You like it with more mustard than ketchup, right?”

“More mustard!” She happily replies as she lays her napkin across her lap. 

You watch with slightly parted lips as he starts squeezing the condiments onto her plate. You aren't used to anyone taking over this responsibility and you don't know how to react - it is nice to have the help and to see he's learned so much about Minnie's habits, but your mind can't help but chastise you for letting him do this menial task. You know he's her father, but it feels like something you should be doing.

Of course, you are the only one having conflicting feelings. They are having a good time - Matt makes two piles of sauces and Minnie instantly starts swirling them together with her food, a big grin on her face. You try to offer a smile back, but you don't know how sincere it is. Your head hurts so much, and your anxiety is spiking.

You are shaken from your daze when Matt says your name. You look up to see his head tilted just slightly, the slightest frown on his face. Guilt courses through you.

“You sure you don't want any coffee? The caffeine should help with,” he motions to his head, and it just confirms for you that he is always hyper aware of everything, and that Minnie must be too. 

You need to get your act together. You can't just zone out because you don't feel well - you're a parent and you are out in public. You can't just dump all your responsibilities onto Matt because he is here now. 

You shake your head, even if it makes you dizzy, “No, I'll be okay.” 

The truth is the idea of coffee makes your stomach turn. You don't want anything that tastes too strongly, which is why you have opted for a Cobb salad for lunch. 

The man across from you gives you a doubtful look. To keep him from worrying over you, you stab a piece of tomato and eat it. It tastes like nothing and that is fine for you. This earns a frown, but the gods smile on you again and your daughter causes a distraction by starting to play with her food. 

Mouse picks up a chicken strip and begins to make it hop around the plate before dunking it into her now orange mixture. “Oh no, you're all messy now,” she says to herself, “I gotta clean you.” She then proceeds to lick the sauce away with exaggerated sounds. Matt makes a face of pure disgust. 

“Sweetie, what are you doing?”

“I'm a kitty!” is her proud response before repeating the process. 

You know this game well but it's the first time he has experienced it. He knows you allow her to play with her food as long as she's not messy and actually eats it, but you can tell he wants to ask her not to. You are open to him making suggestions and asking Minnie to do things, and he knows that, and you wonder what direction he will take. You can see the wheels turning in his head. 

“I thought you were a mouse,” is what he goes with. 

That stops Minnie dead in her tracks. She considers this statement, a pout forming, before bringing her chicken strip to her mouth and beginning to nibble at it - like a mouse with a piece of cheese.  

The rest of the meal is subdued. You manage to eat a third of your salad through sheer force of will - having an empty stomach will only make things worse - and Mouse only needs her face wiped a handful of times. It feels like the minutes crawl by before Linda is back at your table to take away plates and hand over the check.

Packing up is quick and easy. There are no loose beads on the table, so you just need to snap the case shut and store it into your bag, along with anything else that was brought out for Minnie’s needs. As you do this, Matt finishes off both bracelets by tying the ends together and once he is done, you stop what you're doing to watch the exchange.

He returns the bracelet Minnie made for him to her and she hugs it to her chest.

“Daddy, yous gotta put out your hand. I have something for you,” she says like it is any sort of surprise. 

But of course, Matt plays along. He does as he is told, holding out the hand not holding the bracelet he made, “You got something for me?” 

Very delicately, like it's going to break, Mouse places the bracelet into his palm. Only when she is fully sitting in her seat again does he begin to run his thumb over the beads, feeling what she made for him. His lips twitch up into a smile before he starts to bite his lip. You've learned this means he's trying to not get overly emotional, and you completely understand. 

Having Minnie’s love is the only thing keeping you going some days and you've cried multiple times when she's given you something she's made for you. 

“I love it,” he whispers, his voice breaking a tiny bit. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

You and Minnie watch as he slips the bracelet on, and it settles next to his watch. The bright colors stand out against his muted palette, but you doubt he cares about that. Your daughter absolutely beams when he holds up his wrist to show off his new piece of jewelry.

“You're welcome, Daddy! Do you have a present for me?” Mouse asks, jutting her hands out, palms up.

You can't help but huff in amusement, even if your headache is making you feel cold and detached. You know she isn't being greedy or rude, she's simply an eager toddler. You can't fault her for that. 

Oh, so carefully, Matt sets the bracelet into her waiting hands and once you finally realize what he wrote out on it, your heart clenches at the sweetness. The bracelet is mostly made up of lettered beads, with the words separated by different colored hearts. Minnie quickly brings it right up to her face to inspect it and instantly starts trying to figure out the mystery in front of her.

“D-A-D-D-Y,” she spells out loud, “L-O-V-E-S. Y.O.U.” Her little brow wrinkles up at the words and you wait to see if she needs help figuring them out. They aren't unknown to her, but it's usually a flip of a coin if she can connect the dots. The only word you are confident she recognizes is her name. 

She spells it again, then tries her best to sound it out, “Duh..Ahh duh duh…why. Duh-ah-du- Daddy! It says Daddy!”

You rub her back, silently trying to communicate how proud of her you are, “That's right, it says Daddy. Do you know the other words?” 

While she considers her answer, you look at Matt. 

He hasn't shaved in a few days. It emphasizes his good looks, and you can see the hints of red - and grey - in his grown-out scruff. His charming and sweet appearance is only enhanced by his heart - you didn't know someone could be so full of love. He radiates it when he's around Minnie and it's like he can't help but pour all of his affection into her and he can't believe how much of it is returned.

You wonder if you were put on Earth to give him Minnie - and you wouldn't mind if you were. It would give you some sort of purpose. 

“Mommy,” your precious angel says, thrusting the bracelet into your face, “you read it.”

You feel your face heat up - and throb - at the way Matt turns to you. Your insides pang and you can't help but feel like you're ruining this moment for him. You clear your throat, and tell Minnie, “It says ‘Daddy loves you.’”

Her eyes go wide, and she gasps like it is breaking news, “Daddy loves me?” 

“Daddy loves you,” Matt instantly confirms, “always and forever. And you'll have this to remind you.”

The sentiment stirs so much in you, and you let your headache push it all away and instead of getting emotional, you help Mouse put on her new bracelet. She rips her arm away from you as soon as she can to mimic her Daddy and holds up her wrist to show off her bracelet. 

“I love Daddy, too!” 

The little anxiety and self-doubt demon stirs in your chest. You love to see them bond, but you can't help but yearn for your daughter to shout she loves you, too, and you want your own bracelet. You know, you know, you are going to be overflowing with bracelets soon enough, but these ones are special. They have meaning and memories and -

And you remind yourself you can't do this in public, especially not around Minnie. You can't ruin their good time - if you haven't already. 

Instead, you gently pat her back and ask, “What do you say to Daddy for the gift?”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“You're very welcome, Mouse.”

Your daughter looks at her new piece of jewelry in amazement, turning her wrist so she can see all angles. With her distracted, you move to finish packing up by going to get the stroller, and by the time you have it popped open and your bag secured in the under pocket, Matt and Minnie are joining you by the doorway. Your little one needs no help buckling herself in and you can tell how happy she is by the way she kicks her feet. 

As you get in position to start pushing the stroller, Matt steps to stand beside you so you can guide him as you walk. He waits until you leave the diner to address you.

“We don't need to go to the park,” he says in a soft voice. 

You are shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, “It’s fine, Matt. It's just a headache.” It isn't just a headache - your medicine hasn't kicked in and your head is just pulsing, but you will survive.

He very gently squeezes your elbow, saying your name, “you know I can tell that isn't true. You should be -”

“FROGGY!”

Minnie’s excited scream drowns out whatever he was going to push for. 

On the corner ahead of you, waiting at the crosswalk are Foggy and Karen. They look like they are on a shopping trip - both carrying bags from different boutiques. They turn in unison towards you and Foggy breaks into the biggest smile once he spies your little group.

“Well, if it isn't my favorite little buddy! And her charming and beautiful parents. Wait,” he looks to Karen and gasps, eyes getting comically big, “is this the famous Saturday brunch?” He whirls around dramatically and points to Matt, like he is accusing him, “You're going to the park.”

“We're going to the park,” he confirms, his own grin starting to form at the antics and at the same time, Minnie exclaims, “we're gonna watch the duckies!”

“They are going to watch the duckies, Karen. Do you know what that does to my heart?” Foggy asks as he puts his hand on his chest. Karen shakes her head fondly and completely ignores him to address you.

“We've heard so many stories about the ducks. He gloats every Monday.”

Matt actually pouts at the statement, and you are reminded of a chastised puppy, “I don't gloat.”

“You gloat,” his friends say at the same time.

Minnie, of course, picks up quickly on the new word and kicks her feet as she giggles, “Daddy goats!”

A thought barely crosses your mind before the words are leaving your lips, “You should come with us.”

You can practically feel Matt's initial disapproval of the offer - not from selfishness but from you refusing to acknowledge your headache - but with how both Minnie and Foggy light up, you don't think he'll voice it. And you are right - he gives your arm a light squeeze as he agrees without any disdain, “The more the merrier.”

“I don't think this is an offer we can refuse,” Karen says, nudging Foggy with her elbow. “How can we say no to that face?”

You can't see Minnie’s face from behind her stroller, but you can picture her pleading little face. She has all of you wrapped around her little finger and you suspect she might start crying if they say no. 

“To the park we go!” Foggy declares, “and with perfect timing because the light just turned green.”

You let yourself tune out as you start to walk again. Foggy is animatedly telling Matt and Minnie about his quest to find his girlfriend the perfect birthday gift. Apparently, her preferred brand of hand lotion has been discontinued and nothing else is good enough. It is sweet to hear him being so concerned about her needs and wants. He's the type of partner you used to dream about - before you realized that would never be in the cards for you - someone who listens to what you say and doesn't treat you like a glorified maid. 

You only had two ‘serious’ relationships in your twenties and both had left you feeling worthless and unloved. You spent most of your time commuting to them and taking care of their needs only to be tossed aside when someone worth their time came along. 

You were the type to stay at home and do the laundry, raise the children - be out of sight and out of mind. You didn't get taken out on fancy dates. No one tried to woo you. 

No one went out of their way to buy you a gift. 

In fact, you don't remember the last time you even celebrated your birthday. Some of your coworkers sent you Happy Birthday emails last year - only because the first one is sent out company wide and you are pretty sure it's automated. 

You are fine with it, though. It's not like you celebrated such things as a kid, so you have nothing to miss. You are happy Foggy has someone he so clearly adores, and you hope, when Minnie grows up, she'll find someone like him. 

Soon enough, you're at the park and making your way to your designated spot. Despite it being a warm and sunny day, things are relatively empty, and you are thankful there are no older children shouting or causing a ruckus. You just want to sit down. 

You can hear Minnie unbuckling herself before you roll to a stop and there is a whirl of motion as you park. She's on the grass before you know it, scurrying like her namesake to get the picnic blanket out of its pocket and spread out. As you wait for her to finish setting up and Karen admires what a nice area you’ve picked, you realize Matt not only still has his hand on your bicep, but his thumb has been gently rubbing in a small circle. 

Your heart stutters in your chest and you don't know why he's doing such a thing and now that you're aware of it, it's all you can focus on. Your entire body feels like it is on fire - from his touch, from the situation, from your headache - and you fear making a complete idiot of yourself. Foggy and Karen are here, and you don't want to embarrass Matt. 

“Mommy, I need my sunnies!” Your perfect little distraction says from the other side of the stroller and it's the excuse you need to pull away from Matt. You kneel and rummage in your bag until you find the pink Barbie glasses and hand them over to your daughter, then take the time to pull yours out as well. 

By the time you get them on and lock the stroller, everyone else is on the blanket. You situate yourself beside Minnie and tell yourself you need to pay attention as she enthusiastically begins to point out ducks to Foggy and Karen. 

“That's Moose, he's mean!” She describes to her new friends, while grabbing Matt's hand so she can turn him in the right direction. You aren't sure if he really needs it - you haven't sat down and spoken about his needs since the revelation about his and Minnie’s senses. You make note to do that.

You listen to the back and forth about your daughter's favorite duck characters and story lines, trying to desperately be in the moment. The warm sun feels good on your skin, and you yearn to just flop over and close your eyes. The tension and pain seem to only be increasing. This may turn into a full-blown migraine. 

As you start to mentally debate taking more ibuprofen, Minnie cuts herself off from describing how Moose is a food thief and whips her head towards the street, eyes going big. It very much reminds you of a dog that has caught the scent of a prey animal. 

Foggy snorts with laughter at your daughter's expression, “Oh my God, she's just like Matt. What do you hear, girl? Is Timmy in a well?”

That has you wondering how often Matt gets his attention drawn away by something only he can sense and how many times Foggy has made that joke to him. 

You don't get a chance to ask, because Mouse is turning her big begging eyes on you now, “Mommy, it's the ice cream man! Can we get ice cream? Please, please, please, please?” She is practically vibrating with desire, and you are not going to deny her anything. 

“You can get a small ice cream,” you tell her, like it's a compromise. “You don't want your tummy to hurt later.”

She lets out a shriek of joy and scrambles up. To everyone's amusement, she starts digging through your bag for your wallet, and once she finds it, runs it back to you, held over her head like it's a prize. She practically crashes into you, the biggest smile on her face, and you do a scoop and turn maneuver to sit her in your lap. 

“Would you like any ice cream?” you ask the three friends sitting with you, not wanting anyone to feel excluded.

Foggy pushes himself up into standing before you finish getting the words out of your mouth, “Of course we want ice cream, what kind of question is that? Do I look like I say no to ice cream?”

“Oh, a cone does sound really good,” Karen muses beside you. 

“Then ice cream it is,” Matt declares, getting up as well. “My treat,” he adds much to your dismay. You don't get to protest, as he barrels on, holding his free hand out to Minnie, “Want to lead the way, sweetheart?”

Your daughter practically leaps up to grab onto her Daddy, demanding, “Carry me!”

“Minnie!” You quickly chastise, shame running through you. She knows better than to jump and climb on people, but you are beginning to fear Matt may become her new jungle gym. No one else shares this worry, least of all Matt, who simply gives into his daughter's will and swings her up onto his hip with a laugh. She clings to his neck and shoulder, and because she is sweet as pie, plants a big kiss on his cheek. 

Everything happens so fast that you are still sitting on the blanket with Karen, and you don't even think of standing before Foggy is looking down at you and Karen, “What flavor do you want?”

“I'm feeling chocolate,” the strawberry blonde hums, tapping her index finger on her chin. 

The shame and anxiety demon is growing in your throat at the implication you and Karen will stay while the men and your daughter fetch dessert. You want to say that you can pay and that you can go get it - that they should spend the time relaxing - but the darkness in your mind screams that if you say anything other than ‘vanilla’, you're going to ruin everything. Minnie's fun will stop, and Matt's friends are going to judge you, and thus him, and you can't do that. 

So, you croak out your preference and hope Matt's super senses are too focused on his daughter to notice you are two steps away from a breakdown.

“One chocolate, one vanilla, coming right up,” Foggy says so cheerfully and you wonder if he is always like this, or if it is an act for Minnie. You honestly can't tell, especially when he turns his attention to your little one, “Okay, Lassie, where's the ice cream truck?”

Matt and Karen laugh at the reference, and you force a smile because it is a cute joke. Minnie points over her Daddy's shoulder towards the road and directs, “That way!”

Matt, managing to keep a straight face, purposely turns to face the river and takes a step towards it, “this way?”

“No, Daddy! Other way!”

“Ah,” he pivots to his left, so he is facing the bushes that border the edge of the park, “This way.” 

Mouse dissolves into giggles, hiding her face against his neck and Matt gets the sweetest, dopiest smile on his face - like this is the best moment of his life. It makes your heart sing to see them play and tease and you wish so desperately you weren't in agony so you could actually enjoy it. 

Your daughter must say something to Matt, as he lets out a loud barking laugh before kissing the top of her head, “Okay, okay, we won't miss the ice cream. Fog, would you be so kind?” He motions to the sidewalk with the hand holding his cane and there must be an understanding, as the blonde man holds out his arm for Matt to take. The cane is expertly folded up and the two men and your daughter start walking towards the road. It doesn't take more than a few steps for all of them to start laughing again. 

You and Karen watch as they disappear down the sidewalk. The woman beside you is smiling softly, clearly enjoying the show that is Matt with Minnie. You hope you are smiling as well and not looking like some sort of summer Grinch. 

“You know,” Karen says a few moments after they turn around a corner and go out of sight, “I don't remember the last time I saw him smile so much.” 

You turn your attention to her, ducking your head just slightly, “she adores him.”

“And he adores her,” she quickly confirms. “And you.” You doubt that but know better than to try to argue. It doesn't matter, anyways, because she doesn't give you room to, continuing on, “He's been through a lot - not just his childhood but recently, too. I was really scared for him. We thought…we thought we lost him.” Your heart clenches tightly at the conversation. Karen switches from a soft smile to biting her lips and looking like she might start crying at the memories she's bringing up inside herself. “He's a good man but, truth be told, he's an idiot sometimes. He thought he was alone. That he had to be alone.”

You are lucky you are wearing your glasses because you can't bring yourself to look at Karen. It hurts to hear her talk about Matt in that way. You haven't had this sort of conversation with him - everything has been so surface level or about Minnie. You clear your throat and ask, “What about you and Foggy? You all seem very close.”

Karen laughs a little sadly, then tucks some hair behind her ear, “He and Foggy weren't talking. It was all…complicated. But it's better now. We're all good. Or we are working in it.” She takes a breath, and you see her look up, and you think she's smiling at you, “The point is he's…I don't worry anymore. You came into his life, and it is like you knocked some sense into him. He was never good at taking care of himself and now, he puts in the effort. He doesn't want to disappoint you. He wants to be a good dad.”

Her words confuse you - Matt seems very put together - he's a lawyer with amazing accomplishments under his belt. She must be talking about his personal life and fear trickles into your system. Was he an alcoholic or a drug user? As long as it was all behind him, you can't judge him for it. You know people have spotty pasts and even good people have rough times - and that doesn't make them any less of a good person. You'd be a hypocrite if you did think less of him because you've had your own share of troubles. 

You want Karen to know that. You start to pick at the hem of your jeans, so you have something to do with your hands while your mind free-fall. “He's a good dad,” you start slowly. “He's amazing with Minnie. He's so attentive and understanding and I love watching them play. I'm still getting used to the whole…” you lower your voice, just in case, “super-senses thing, but he's been helpful in explaining things. I’m just glad he wants to be in her life.”

“Are hers as good as his?” She asks and you can feel her leaning towards you. You don't know the answer to that, as Matt hasn't exactly explained in detail what he is able to do, but you do know Minnie has abilities you didn't know were possible. 

You shrug in response, “I'm not sure, but…I don't hear or see an ice cream truck, so.”

She laughs at that, then you fall back into a silence. You can tell she wants to ask more, but you aren't sure why she hesitates. You are grateful for it, though, and behind your glasses, you close your eyes. The back of your skull is throbbing and part of it has curled around to your left ear. You resist the urge to try to massage it away and instead try to stretch, letting your chin touch your collar bone. You focus on breathing through your nose, hoping it will magically make things more tolerable. 

Your mind feels like sludge, and you start wondering how long it will take until Minnie is worn out. You usually end up spending about an hour and a half at the park, enjoying the sun and ducks, and you've only just gotten here. You have no idea if it will go quicker or slower with more people for Mouse to interact with. Usually, she stays in your lap, hiding away from people, but she very obliviously loves Foggy. You think it is because he's good with children - Matt told you he has a big extended family. She had opened up to him very quickly once she realized he is Matt's best friend. Best friend is an important word to a toddler, apparently.

“It isn't just Minnie,” Karen says suddenly, bringing you back to reality. You frown at her, not understanding what she's talking about. Had you missed part of the conversation?

“It isn't just Minnie,” she repeats, “it's you, too.”

You feel like a lost lamb. Your brain hasn't caught up with what is going on and all you can do is gawk at the woman beside you.

“Me…?” You question and she nods. 

“You make him happy, too.”

You don't understand why she's telling you that or what it has to do with anything. You get you've made Matt happy by bringing Minnie into his life. The only response you can think to give is a simple, “I'm glad.” 

You can feel Karen examining you, but you refuse to meet her gaze. You don't think that was the right thing to say, but it is all you have. You are glad bringing Minnie into Matt's life has made him happy and seemingly changed things for the better for him. You want him to have a good life. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Karen reach out and you brace yourself as she puts her hand on your shoulder. She says your name, then gently questions, “Are you doing alright? You look pale.”

You force yourself to smile and give a dismissive shake of your head, “Just a little headache. I took some ibuprofen; it just hasn't kicked in yet.”

She quickly drops her hand, humming in sympathy, “I get that. I have some Motrin in my purse, if you need something stronger.” 

“Oh, no, I'll be okay,” you promise. 

You'll have to be okay. Minnie and Matt will be back from getting ice cream any minute and you will need to go into Mom-mode to make sure your daughter doesn't make an absolute mess of herself. Then, you'll need to keep an eye on her while you remain at the park for however long, because you will never forgive yourself if you give any indication to Matt's friends that you're not a suitable parent. 

You just need to take a deep breath and make sure you don't space out again. 

You'll be fine.

After all, it is just a headache.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ .  #  ۫  ,  ⸺  A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA  !  

summary :: mike schmidt did not realize the weight of his mistake before it was too late. when he had first met you, his baby sister's beloved teacher, he couldn't imagine ever leaving you. with his aunt's demands to see her niece, however, he had no choice. now, a year later and two states over, everyday is spent suffocating on misery and memories. mike does not know how much more of this he can endure before he breaks.

word count :: 9.2k.

content warnings :: obsessive!mike, yandere!mike, fnaf movie spoilers, drugging, kidnapping, violence, stalking, & insinuations of s3x.

mike schmidt's yandere traits are . . .

obsessive, paranoid, & nervous

──── Everything is hazy.

Fuzzy. Blurry. Serenity in its sheerest form. The absolute definition of tranquility.

That April morning in Nebraska. The scent of sugar and crayons, the sounds of children playing outside, the scattered toys left on rainbow carpets. You're sat at the desk in your classroom. Warm light bleeding through the window behind you, framing you with flowering leaves and sunshine.

Across the room, Abby Schmidt sits on the floor. Her small fingers tap the glass enclosure where the class pet is. Mr. Cupcake, your iguana. Or, as you like to refer to him, your teaching assistant. His claws plunge into his food dish, copper-colored eyes scrutinizing his surroundings. Abby watches as the reptile chows on the fruit and foliage left for breakfast.

Sitting in the chair opposite your desk is Mike Schmidt. Sweat beads on his forehead, ineluctably distressed beneath your gaze. The suit he wore for this occasion juts uncomfortably into his skin. His fingers fidget with the trim of his tie. He looks at the woven basket of exotic butters sitting on your desk, wondering why he had gotten you such an aimless gift.

Mike is quiet, as usual. Austere, his permanent disposition. Despite his tireless efforts to express his thoughts to you, the words remain nestled in his throat. Conjuring any syllable in your presence is impossible.

You, however, do not have any wavering confidence. You reiterate the legal documents obligatory for Abby's complete transition to a new school. Noting how all necessities are now in your possession (albeit languidly, as Mike has been painfully trying to buy more time here), the relocation was complete. The obvious insinuation of your words, however, brings crippling dread like no other.

The last time you would ever see one another. Your goodbye.

Standing to your feet, you make your way to Abby and bend down beside her. You will miss your star student, as you have a soft spot for all the children in your classroom. In the process, you do not take notice of the way Mike instinctively reaches out to you. He's sure your touch would kill him, but it does not stop him from wishing for it. Even just a sliver of the precious rarity.

"I think Mr. Cupcake is going to miss you." Abby looks at you with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't tell the others, but you're definitely his favorite." That earns you a smile before she averts her attention back to the iguana.

When you stand, you find Mike breathing down your neck. Horrifically, as this memory still haunts him, he thought it'd be a good idea to hug you. And he practically throws his entire body weight on top of you. When you reject him by placing your hand on his chest, offering a handshake instead, fire spreads with your touch. Knowing he will never know what it feels like to hold you close to him is more excruciating than he is willing to admit.

Abby skips out of the classroom, an adorable pep in her step. At the same time, every step Mike takes from you feels like walking through an avalanche. Dragging him backward, begging to return to you. Almost as if it were his instinct, his body is trying to reject his advances of leaving you.

"Why do you always look at them like that? Like... Like they're a dinosaur or something?"

Abby's question causes Mike's brows to furrow. His feelings for you were certainly discernible. Even his young sister had taken notice of the odd behavior. Had he made it that obvious? He answers her with a weak, affirmative grunt. Too emotionally fatigued to find words to speak.

A sudden flare of biliousness deluges through his body. The hallway walls adorned with children's paintings have morphed into a colorful blur of vertigo. The floors disturbingly stretch in size, making the journey away from you all the more torturous. The suit he had tried to wear confidently sticks to his hot skin. Nausea squirms in his stomach like a dying cockroach. The room begins to spin, lights sway in his vision, and his knees fight for balance.

Mike hears his sister shriek his name before he falls to the ground.

One year later, Mike wakes from this same dream, once again.

Every night of this past year, he has dreamt the same thing. Your final goodbye and the sheer impact it took on him. It is a gut-wrenching memory, but he welcomes the echo of you with open arms. To feel your hand on his chest, see your eyes looking into his. This yearning heartache is the only thing keeping him alive.

For the umpteenth time, Mike faces the harsh, violent reality of his current life. Now, he is somewhere in Utah. Praying straight to God he'll somehow wake up back in Nebraska. Where he could see you again, where he could be happy again.

Tearing the headphones of his Walkman off, the song he had played on repeat comes to an end. He rubs his sleepy eyes. With newfound clarity, Mike shifts his gaze upwards. Taped to the ceiling is a drawing Abby drew. It's of you and him beneath a flowery altar, Mr. Cupcake as your marriage officiant. The picture aids him in his efforts to feel closer to you.

Mike doesn't even know how he survived seeing the drawing for the first time. Someone else validating his feelings for you and the realness of your nonexistent relationship was too much for him to handle. Even if it is a child doing so through a frivolous drawing.

When Mike shuffles over to place his Walkman on the bedside table, he skims over the assortment of clutter left there. Several bottles of sleeping medication had been indolently thrown onto the surface. The pills help his dreams feel more real, as though he were at your side once again.

A glance over, Mike's heart wrenches at the sight of the picture frame. Beside the mess of pills is a photograph of you he had torn from Abby's yearbook. As if you were watching over him while he slept, reaching out to him in the presence of his dreams. It's a comforting thought of his, to imagine you watching over him. Like his personal guardian angel.

Surely, he would prefer to have you physically with him, instead of just relying on these fantasies to hold him over. His stomach flutters at the mere idea of you being in his bed with him. Mike feels empty without your warm weight beside him.

Laying against his chest, huddling up to him for an early-morning cuddle before the day starts. He would ensnare his blanket around your still-sleeping form. He'd press ardent kisses to the top of your head and inhale the aromatic scent of your signature soap. Massaging his hands across your back. Caressing the balmy flesh of your body. It is the physical manifestation of nirvana brought directly into his palms.

Mike shakes the thoughts out as quickly as they come. So cheesy... What on Earth is he doing?

Although he has tossed around the idea of giving in and leaving Abby in their aunt's care, what kind of man would you think him as if he abandoned his family? And if he were to take Abby back to Nebraska, Social Services would surely hunt him down. The mere idea of being locked behind a prison cell is terrifying, but the prospect of never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

Mike's head pounds as these thoughts haunt him. Reveries of brighter days in your presence, trepidation of being separate from you forever — this is how every morning usually begins. His dreams nestled in a nightmare. The chaos in his head brings him to where this story had begun altogether.

February. Two months before the last time he would ever see you.

Jane had demanded Abby live with her in Utah, threatening legal action in the process. Mike had no other choice but to succumb to her orders. It had begun as a minor inconvenience, considering his life in Nebraska was futile to begin with. However, it would soon become the worst decision he has ever made. He knows he should have fought harder, but Mike hadn't met you until after he verified their relocation. It wasn't until he had stepped foot into your classroom for the very first time had he realized the weight of his mistake.

With the start of his shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza approaching, he struggled to bring these rampant thoughts to rest. Resentfully, Mike rises from his bed. The sun has begun to set and his unsatisfactory power nap has come to an end. He trudges over to the foot of his bed and begins his usual set of push-ups. Triggering adrenaline through his body is essential to his daily routine. It helps ease his brain from all the chaos. An area he is in dire need of assistance.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank. It is such an oddity, that Mike is left stunned. Having a silent mind is a privilege that is unknown to him.

And just when he thought he had found coherence, the memory of you comes sprinting at him from the shadows. Mere seconds of emptiness pass before thoughts of you invade his mind.

A week after your final goodbye.

His disposition has suffered from a harsh descent since then. Mike is now irritable and aggressive to anyone who even faintly nudges his buttons. Snapping like a feral dog. Rough like a calloused hand.

Acknowledging weakness has never been his strong suit, but Mike is not a fool when it comes to how he feels around you. The overwhelming nerves stirred together with unwavering devotion make for a sugary-sweet, poisonous concoction. Something he could get drunk off for years to come.

Although his mind is stained in consideration, he cannot storm through the school doors and take you with him to Utah. Merely standing in your presence is enough to make him stop breathing. Contriving an abduction, one that includes you, no less, would fail miserably. And as he stated before, the prospect of being stuck behind bars and never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

So, he gives in. He resentfully gives in to what his Aunt Jane wants and goes about his life.

There was only two more weeks before he'd leave his job as security at the mall forever. Mike meanders through the large expanse, actively averting his gaze from all the happy couples. Hands held together, eyes brimming with adoration, feeding each other ice cream. It never fails to make him bitter, which he prefers to assume it is because of how sappy the sight is.

He wonders what flavor of ice cream is your favorite, the look in your eye as he feeds you a spoonful. What kind of sweet words you'd give him and the way you'd blush when he drowns you in adoration. Within the safety of his mind, he has molded himself into the man of your dreams. You will just have to look past all the sweat and nerves to find him.

A flicker of movement captures his attention. Something strangely familiar in his peripheral. When he turns, his breath gets caught in his chest.

His wide eyes stare at you. Standing alone across the mall.

All Mike can do is gawk. Like a newly-born fawn, staring goggle-eyed and weak-kneed as he takes in the sight of the world for the very first time. A gasp of your name parts from his lips. He sways in his stance like a boat on the sea, his body melts like snow beneath the sunlight. Stood still in place, he feels that familiar sense of light-headedness return. He embraces the dizziness as a comfort, this time around.

Mike could almost laugh at this. At the same time, he could cry his heart out.

Of course, your roads would intersect. Of course, you would find each other in the end. Even when he had fully accepted he would never see you again, you return to him. Like a cloud of happier days, here to hide the torment for all.

And then, he's interrupted.

Walking uninvited into the scene is a stranger. A man approaches you, daring to drape his arm around your shoulder. Mike's eye twitches as he watches. The stranger then plants a kiss on your cheek, something Mike has wished to do since the first time he stepped foot in your classroom. With this man's hands all over you, the two of you begin to walk away.

The word "heartbroken" was something Mike had never felt before. It was something he never understood. He only heard of the word through brainless movies, where he swore he'd never let himself fall apart like the dumb characters do. At this moment, however, that term is stamped all over him in thick ink. A vivid exhibition of all the good and bad you have done to him.

Without another thought, Mike takes a step. Then another. Before he is breaking into a full sprint toward the love of his life and the parasite latched onto them. It's as if a puppeteer was controlling him, grasping hold of his spine and snatching a fistful of nerves. He shoves past any shoppers in his way, a few losing balance and falling to the floor. His speed accelerates with every hastening step, growing closer and closer.

The stranger looks over his shoulder a second too late before he is tackled. The two fall into an adjacent fountain with a loud clamor. Mike's fist clenches, before it surges down into his face. Then, he does it again and again and again.

Again. Again. Again.

And again.

Grunting like an animal, Mike can't stop himself.

Fuck you. Fuck you. 

Fuck you.

Don't you ever fucking touch them.

It is blinding, how enraged he is. In a mess of blood and water. The mere thought of someone laying a finger on you boils red-hot rage like he has never felt before.

Someone ensnares their arms around him and drags him away from the mess he created. When the splashing water eases down to calm ripples, he finally looks over to you to ensure your safety and- who is that? A different person is standing there, utter horror plastered on their face as they watch the scene play out.

They have the same height, the same clothes, almost the same everything. But, now that Mike is able to scrutinize who he thought to be you, he realizes he was completely wrong. He had only formed a desperate personification of you from memory. What has he done?

The dread is soul-crushing as the weight of his mistake crushes him. Other bystanders watch in shock. Mike's fists are bruised red, his clothes are wet and stained with blood. What on Earth was he thinking!? All he ever wanted was to protect you! To protect you from men like that!

Mike's vision doubles and his body shivers. All he ever wanted was to protect you. The only thing he can think about is you and the sheer devastation you have rained down into his life.

This memory playing through his head is abruptly cut short. Mike is then forcefully shoved back into reality when his hand slips during his set of push-ups. He falls face-first into the carpet, grumbling from the harsh contact.

It is a vile memory to have, as it is the reason he lost his job at the mall and truly eradicated any chance of staying in Nebraska. However, it showed him how irrevocably devoted he is to you. How the feelings he has for you are completely and utterly real. Someone like him, who prides himself in being aloof and controlled, was capable of causing such calamity. All for your safety.

It was a terrifying revelation, but it soothed him in a way he had never felt before.

Michael Schmidt needs you.

And unfortunately, his feelings are not powerful enough to stretch into physical reality. Even though it feels as though they are capable of doing so, they cannot mold the world to bring him back to you. They cannot protect him from the inevitability of leaving his home and being dragged to Utah.

Now, he stands at the entrance of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Ivy grows amongst the bricked walls. Bright paint fades from years of neglect. Mike breathes in the scent of midnight brume as he unlocks the doors, trying once more to rid his brain of the thought of you.

The flashlight in his hands illuminates the inside of the pizzeria. Specks of dust permeate the air. Flashy arcade games are riddled with age. Toys on the prize shelf are covered in a blanket of cobwebs. The once gaudy carpets are caked with dirt. And those God-awful animatronics still stand on that rickety stage. Mike takes note of all these little things with a sigh. If this place was still alive today, he knows you'd adore taking your students here.

As his nights have been spent for the last year, he walks through the dilapidated establishment as usual. On the desk is a stack of chunky monitors displaying several angles of the pizzeria. The "CELEBRATE!" poster on the wall mocks him. He plops down on the adjacent swivel chair. The old fabric peels and the wheels whine from his weight.

Unzipping his ragged backpack, he grasps hold of the book he had taken with him, Dream Theory. Adjusting the headphones of his Walkman on his head, Mike then flicks the dog-ear over and resumes his reading.

God only knows how many times he has read this damned book. And every time he rereads it, he prays he can somehow find an anecdote for this torment. A magic step-by-step guide that will bring him back to you.

Despite perusing this book from front to back, he still searches for more. He hates being awake. He'd much rather be asleep, where he can return to you. Any second not spent with you, even if the moment is not tangible, is a second gone to waste. No matter what the circumstances are, he could only ever wish to be with you.

Lethargy hits Mike like a slap across the face. The book in his hands is now reminiscent of a brick. The song that plays on repeat in his Walkman soothes him like a mother's lullaby. All of these sensations embrace Mike; they pacify his brain and body of any unease. And with a few more leveled breaths, Dream Theory falls from his hands and he drifts off.

With a beat, he's woken up with a sharp gasp. This time, however, he does not awaken in the same dingy pizzeria. He finds himself sitting at a picnic table. Located in the very same forest he had lost his brother years ago.

Looking down, Mike finds he is dressed in the same hunter-green sweater and jeans stained with grass. His eyes scan around the expanse, searching for the faces of his family. He cannot find his mother, his father, nor Garrett. No one. Everything is to no avail.

There's a shuffle from behind him. He looks, only to find swaying trees and fluttering birds. And then, a voice.

"I'm sad to see you both go." The familiar cadence has Mike's head snapping back forward. He is struck with desperation.

There you are, sat across from him at the picnic table.

If it weren't for the campgrounds you were both at, this moment would be identical to when he first met you. In that same classroom, on that same day. Every mannerism and timbre of your voice is a picture-perfect copy of that moment. Same look in your eye, wearing the same clothes and bead bracelets your students made for you. Same everything.

It is a precious memory. To sit here with you feels so real, as though the heavens had answered Mike's prayers and brought him back to you.

"Abigail has always been a stellar student. I have no doubt she'll flourish in her new school."

Your smile makes his heart sink. Everyone always looks at him with anger. Not you, though. You're different.

"She does have a tendency to keep to herself. But, I think she'll adapt well to the new environment." He remembers every word from your mouth.

The emotions he was struck with when he first met you come back in a near-fatal rush. Irrepressible tension and rapture plunge through the barrier of his flesh. Practically a duplicate of the exact memory.

Going to a standard school meeting for his sister was an event Mike intended to do briefly. Getting it over as quickly as possible is his standard approach to most if not all, aspects of his life. This day, however, he was thrown in a whirlpool when he found himself wishing to stay with you. Leaving you felt like something he could not bear to endure.

Mike is abnormally pale, drenched in sweat, and mere seconds from passing out. You place your hand on his arm, inquiring him about if he was feeling alright. Hook, line, and sinker. Your mere touch sent him charging away from any perceived sanity he once possessed.

The strictly platonic concern you had for his well-being is addicting. To a point where Mike abandons all morals to indulge in these newfound feelings you give him. Once a poised man has now been reduced to a gooey puddle of sheer fervor.

All he can do is nod in response, completely entranced by the sight before him. You take his assurance hesitantly, before reaching into a basket of children's toys beside your desk. As this memory usually plays out, you retrieve a bear plushie. You then tell him of how it is Abby's favorite to play with and how you wish to gift it to her before your final goodbye. He agrees, of course. Nodding once more to compensate for his inability to speak.

In these woods, however, you show him that orange toy plane his brother treasured. His gaze remains latched to you as stand from the picnic table and walk away. To his utmost surprise, you then bend down beside Garrett. When you present him with the plane, he accepts your gift with childlike elation. He is quick to abandon his recent endeavors in favor of playing with his new toy.

You stand on foot, watching with an adoring smile as the young boy takes off. Mike watches you. An emotional, muddled intensity in his eyes.

"This isn't... This isn't how it happened... This isn't real." In his state of confusion, Mike has found the ability to speak.

He captures your attention and your gaze reverts to him. In response, his mouth goes dry and all coherent thought vanishes. Just one look from you and his entire capacity to speak is robbed, once again.

"But, it could be... It's what you want, isn't it?"

You are correct. You have always been veracious and that attitude does not fail now.

So despairingly, Mike wants this with you. To raise Abby and Garrett together, he can only imagine the wonderful people they'd become under your care. Maybe you and him could even bring a few more beautiful lives into this world. He can only imagine how exultant his own life would become if this dream turned into reality.

The rest of his life would be spent with you in Nebraska, just like this. Mornings and nights spent together at the dining table, all delicious laughter and nourishing meals. He'll even let you bring that lizard, too!

Playing frivolous games in the backyard until the sun sets, dressing in ridiculous costumes to take the kids trick-or-treating, and helping them blow out the candles for every birthday cake. Hell, he'll endure the sweltering temperatures and screaming kids at Disneyland. Only if you're there with him.

And maybe after the bedtime stories and last tuck-ins goodnight, you and him can occupy yourselves with other activities. Mike is no stranger to these kinds of fantasies, after all.

You wouldn't fail Abby and Garrett. Not like he did. You could all be a family. Exactly like he has always wanted.

For a moment, Mike had forgotten how his life had inevitably turned out. He was so warped in the domestic bliss he could have with you, that he didn't anticipate how the next chapter of his life would manifest in this dream.

You are tackled to the ground. You fight, you kick, you scream — you do everything in your strength to get the man off of you. The very same man who took Garrett all those years ago.

Not a picosecond passes before Mike picks himself up, rushing to your safety. He intends to beat the man to a bloody pulp. His sole purpose on Earth is to protect you and ensure your safety, after all. In his efforts, his foot gets caught against the legs of the picnic table, sending him to the dirt floor. Mike is quick to scramble to his feet. His heart races a mile a minute; his eyes are blown wide in crazed worry.

When he stands, he finds that somehow within the few seconds spent on the ground, you had been shoved into the back of a car. You bang your fists against the rear window, pleading for him to rescue you. And that, Mike desperately tries to do.

He sprints after you in a blind, blurred panic. The sudden, swift movement of his body is painful, as though needles poke and prod at his skin. It is all he can see, hear, feel, think of. Losing you and the gut-wrenching devastation that would inevitably follow.

The car begins to accelerate faster and faster. His running pace gets slower with every step forward. Mike tries, God, he fucking tries, but you slip away from him like sand between his fingers. Just the same as it was when he lost his brother.

With his speed receding, his body loses all mobility and he cannot bear to run anymore. The harsh punt of his body falling to the ground pulls a grunt out of his throat. Mike whispers mantras of "I'm sorry," hoping that you can somehow hear his pleas. He prays that by some miracle, the man who took you will have a change of heart and bring you back. Sobs plunge through his chest. The misery seeps in like water leaking through a weak dam.

Consciousness comes back to him all too suddenly. A loud yell of your name erupts from him and echoes through the security room. Mike plummets from his desk chair and splats against the ground. His mind is still plagued by that scene, he is still racing to save your life.

Cold sweat drips from his head. His hands shake with a terrified tremor. He hyperventilates, as though he had escaped the depths of the ocean and were inhaling fresh air for the first time. Mike weakly props himself up against the desk, trying to calm himself.

An entire year of agony. Over 365 days of absolute Hell. Living without you has tortured him in ways he never thought was possible.

Sitting here on the filthy floor of this old pizzeria, Mike finally waves his white flag. He has given up. He cannot do this anymore. It is more than he can handle.

And without so much as another breath, Mike springs into action.

Max is surprised to see him back home so early. Flustered and ridden with sweat, Mike explains how there is an emergency at work and he needs her to watch Abby longer. She obliges and accepts the hefty pay he shoves into her hands. He is driving away before she can process what has just occurred.

The song he plays every night in his Walkman blares from the car radio. Your song. The idea brings him ephemeral ease. A dash of excitement.

This is what his life is supposed to be and if all goes well, it's what it will be in mere hours. Mike's foot slams harder against the gas, doing what he should have done long ago.

All he has to do is explain himself. Surely, you will listen and understand this is for the better. You will see through all his stuttered words and irrepressible nerves. You will taste the sickeningly sweet devotion dripping from his mushy, candied heart. Surely, you will understand this is all for you. And of course, you will love him, too.

Hours pass like gusts of wind. The welcome sign of Nebraska passes in a flash. Mike remembers the route like the back of his hand. He'd never forget the roads that lead back to you, after all.

Dawn is moments from rising. The sky is a dark blue, covered in blotches of dark, orange sunshine. Mike pulls into the parking lot of your school where only one car is present. Yours. And of course, he parks directly beside you. The prospect of being close to you, even with something as negligible as this, sends a hot shiver coursing through his body.

Mike tries to soothe himself as he lets out a shaky breath. A heavy trepidation is nestled in his stomach, still mixed with that crisp excitement. Sweat cascades down his face. His dark, curly hair sticks to his forehead. Nothing can stop these feelings. He may try, but his scattered heartstrings stubbornly remain ensnared around his throat.

When he stands, he has to latch onto the roof of his car to catch his balance. Any passerby would think he was drunk. Being at an elementary school would certainly not help his case, either. Fortunately, the only people here are you and him. No one else. Just the way it is supposed to be.

The path leading to you is familiar. The trees blossoming, the chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and the scent of the early-morning breeze. It reminds Mike even more of how much he missed you.

His wet palms grasp the handles of the front entrance. He pulls, only for the door to remain locked in place. A few more desperate tugs and he watches as his ploy peels apart from the seams. The consideration of breaking down the door is only present momentarily, before any and all function of his is cut short.

The door is unlocked and opened. Stood at the threshold is you.

And with more intensity than Mike had anticipated, the euphoria only you are capable of conjuring comes rushing back.

"Good morning!" is all you say. Your expression is cheerful. Kind. Gorgeous, as you always are. Exactly the way he remembered.

Now that you are finally here, Mike cannot fathom how he had survived so long without you. The pieces of you sprinkled throughout his life are brought to revelation. Your name carved into his bones, your warmth threaded through his veins, your breath stirred with his every word. It is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. The fact he had not collapsed upon making mere eye contact with you is a miracle in of itself.

"Oh! Are you the new security guard? I wasn't aware we were getting a new hire." You break the silence, referring to the yellow "SECURITY" stamped on his vest.

You...

You don't remember me?

The words don't manage to escape him. Instead, you send him into a state of stupor.

The impact your words have on him is nothing short of surreal. When Mike had memorized every sliver of you down to the tilt of your jaw and the curve of your spine, you had forgotten him entirely. For the year he spent longing for you, he was merely a bystander in the background. An apparition within your mind. You do not remember him. And no words in the English language could express the lethal heartbreak.

It has rendered Mike speechless and his inability to speak fills you with unease.

"Please, come in." Opening the door further, you try and usher him inside. All you wish to do is escape this conversation and the fervid eyes of this stranger.

Gaze still glued to you, he grasps hold of the door handles. His unconscious brain still decides to take the weight off of you. Mike has no choice now, he must convince you to stay with him. To beg you to choose him, to remind you of everything you once had with each other. To show you what losing you has done to him.

When you turn and walk away, he tries to find his voice. Mike wants to express all of this to you, but his efforts are futile. He is frozen and can only watch as you leave him again. The opposite direction of your classroom, this time. Towards the office. Most likely to ensure he was actually in the system.

Mike does not take this choice of yours for granted. Gathering up whatever morsel of strength is still left in him, he takes a few wobbly steps. He stumbles through the dark hallways, clutching his hand over his heart as he walks. His rampant heartbeat does not calm itself, no matter his attempts to soothe it.

Upon practically collapsing into your classroom, a flare of fleeting ease envelops Mike. To be surrounded by you is absolute ecstasy. Paradise is personified through flamboyant decorations and the scent of strawberries and books.

He scans every detail of your classroom. The new drawings on the wall, the jumble of recently purchased toys. He sees the new changes you have made in the past year and is shattered to know you were not thinking of him at all. As opposed to every second of his life being enmeshed with you.

Mike soon finds your desk. The first and last place he had ever truly felt happiness. On the surface, some of your clutter had been left behind. Too cute. A colorful planner had been left open to this exact date. A few papers are sat to the side, where students' assessments are in the process of being graded. Most important of all, your thermal scattered with stickers sits on a pained coaster.

Mike knows he should not consider it, no less think about it. You just need to be reminded, that's all.

With a paranoid glance at the door, he takes the orange bottle of sleeping pills from his backpack. He swiftly pours out several onto the desk. Then, he takes a stapler you had left out of reach from children's sticky fingers, crushing the thin white circles into a chunky powder. Your thermal opens with a quiet pop! and Mike pours the residue into your drink. He uses the straw to stir it around for effective measure, trying to ignore the incessant urge to take your straw for... personal use.

A storage closet resides right behind him. Mike leaves everything on your desk as it once was and is swift to hide inside. He leaves the door open a mere creak, within perfect distance to watch his plan unfold.

The minute without you feels torturous, as though it had lasted a millennia. When the aching sound of silence is filled by a creaking door, his heart practically plummets. Through the small peep, you enter his field of vision. You trot over to the iguana enclosure. Saying a quick hello to Mr. Cupcake, before making your way to your desk. Oblivious to the uninvited guest just inches away.

You take a sip from your thermal. Mike cannot find air to breathe or the ability to function.

You take another. This is actually happening.

One more sip. Your pen scribbles on your planner.

You take a sip. It is a blessing straight from God you cannot hear the hyperventilated breaths behind you.

Then, another sip. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

As you work, you reach over to grab some sticky notes. Your elbow accidentally nudges your pen, causing it to fall from your desk and roll across the floor. You stand to retrieve it with a grumble before a sudden wave of lethargy envelops you. It is all too sudden and acute. You have to lean on the edge of your desk to stable yourself.

Before you can question the sudden fatigue, your body fails you. When you inevitably fall, Mike is quick to catch you. Hell, his arms were around you before your legs even wobbled. Slowly, and with loving attentiveness, he guides your limp body to the ground. The adrenaline inside him is so penetrating, that he does not have a moment to process the fact he is touching you.

With you fully unconscious, Mike knows exactly where he'll be heading next. Only now, he'll have an additional passenger with him.

He secures your unconscious form into the back seat of his car. Fastening your seatbelt and triple-checking they are in proper function. Mr. Cookie, or whatever his name is, is in the front seat within his cage. Moving his enclosure and necessities from your classroom was a hassle, as told by the bite mark on Mike's hand. For you, though, he would endure far worse.

With the birds beginning to sing, there is little time before the world wakes up and his intentions are jeopardized. Mike drives off before anyone can see what he has done. Not even he has fully processed what he has done.

Leaving your car, your home, and your life behind, he begins the treacherous and exciting journey back to Utah.

Every car that passes has him gripping the wheel tighter, foot reader to slam harder on the gas. He had already lost you once, he cannot lose you again. Mike does not play music, either. The sounds of your breathing is his new favorite harmony.

He casts a glance in the rear-view mirror every now and then. You're draped among the back of the car, cocooned in the numerous blankets he brought for this trip. Beneath the windows, your head is rested against a fluffy pillow. He even snuggled a few plushies into your arms. The sight is so gut-wrenchingly adorable, Mike nearly crashes the car with how painfully distracting the sight of you is.

This was the state he stayed in for the first several hours of the drive. Mindless driving on freeways, checking on you (as well as continuously cooing over your cuteness), and holding his breath whenever he passes through busy areas or cops. Then, he gets knocked off course.

With blurred vision, you can barely discern where you are.

Sunlight makes you squint. Your mind is messy. You can hear the rumble of a car engine, feel the vibration against your form. The blankets wrapped around you are suffocating. You peel them off from your body, a few random stuffed animals fall to the car floor when you do so.

Mike nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns around. His efforts to take you away were frivolous, yes, but he was sure he had given you enough pills to sleep through the trip.

"Hey, you're okay. Y-You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Okay? Just don't freak out... Please don't freak out."

You do the opposite of what he advised. Little by little, the pieces begin to click together. Panic settles in your stomach like a fresh sheet of snow. Hyperventilating breaths leave your shaking body, accentuated by your frightened whimpers. Who is this man? What the fuck is going on? Tears stream down your face with every question that litters your mind. And every cracked sob you let out is a fatal strike to your assailant's fragile heart.

Mike is quick to comfort you, as you can always count on him to do such. And how badly he wishes to climb into the back seat himself and hold you close. Everything he is doing is for the better, you must know that. As scary as this all may seem for you, he will do whatever it takes to convince you of this truth.

He reaches his hand back to soothe you, only succeeding in the opposite when you cower away from his touch. Mike cannot hide how poignant your rejection is, he is shocked he hadn't broken down into tears alongside you.

"... Are you going to hurt me-?"

"I would never."

He answers without a sliver of hesitation. Your shattered, sugar-sweet voice absolutely destroys him.

The weight of his declaration is so immense that you could almost believe him. You should believe him, as he only tells the utter truth. The fact you have been drugged and shoved into the backseat of a stranger's car, however, convinces you otherwise.

Looking through the window, you take note of the rural area you're in. Nothing but miles of trees to comfort you. No distinct landmarks to help you navigate your location.

Mike oscillates between looking at you and the road. While he's occupied with the road ahead, you take action before thinking thoroughly. Sweltering blankets torn off of your body, you unfasten your seatbelt as silently as you can. You mentally prepare yourself for the turmoil up ahead. Then, within a matter of a single second, you unlock the car door and jump.

Debris slices into you as you fall deeper into the forest. The world becomes a blurred frenzy of trees and cloudy skies. Your frail body is drowsy from the drugs still pumping through your system. Your ribs ache, your ears ring, and you are covered in gashes. Still, survival is the only prospect present in your brain. You pick yourself up from the dirt and dash forward. Never looking back.

April puddles and fallen pinecones ruin your expensive work shoes. Fresh flowers are squished beneath your steps. There is no path you intend to take, you only wish to get as far as you can from that man. Poison ivy and low-hanging branches slash at your skin. You do not think, you only push and push and push. Anywhere away from him.

The second you had opened that car door, Mike slammed down on the brakes. The scream of your name hurts his throat from the sheer volume. To see you jump, leaving him again, sparked fear like no other. He does not even bother to turn off the car or close the door before he is racing after you. He cannot lose you again. He can't, he can't, he can't.

Mike barrels into the forest like a feral animal. He is met with a terrifying sense of déjà-vu. He's seen this movie before, he's heard this song a million times. This dream has haunted him forever. Just when he is inches from touching salvation, you will be snatched away from him. And he will have to watch as his life crumbles before his very eyes.

His legs grow heavier with every step. He screams for you until his voice goes raw. His lungs feel as though they may collapse into themselves. Still, his efforts to find you do not falter. You would have to kill him if you wished to keep him away from you.

A tree branch crunches.

Mike stops dead in his tracks. Listening.

There's a pained whimper. Quiet amongst the soft winds.

He dashes toward the sound. Swift in surging through the steep hills and overgrown forestry in his path.

While you were running, you failed to notice a protruding tree root. When your foot hooks beneath it and sends you tumbling to the ground, you try and scramble to your feet. However, the burst of adrenaline that had gotten you this far could not combat the lethargy still in your body. You lay on your back, exasperated with debility. Entirely paralyzed.

"Y/N! Oh, thank God!" Mike collapses beside you, all while you stare at the stranger in utter terror.

Dirt and sweat paint his body. Eyes blown wide and crazed, his hands reach for you. Fearfully searching for any wounds. One hand cradles your face, caressing your skin with his thumb. The other rests against your hairline, petting the expanse with tender intent. Cries of both relief and terror fill the empty silence. To lose you all over again is a horrifying prospect he cannot fathom the weight of.

"N-... No..." Your voice is weak. Barely able to crawl out of your mouth.

Fingers latched into the mud, you try to drag your body away from this maniac. Mike brings your attempts to a halt, hands still latched onto your body.

"I'll be good, Y/N, I will... Just-Just stay with me!"

Your assailant does not listen to your feeble demands. Instead, Mike wraps his arms around your torso. Further ensnaring you in his locked embrace. He buries his face into your neck and rocks your body back and forth. Trying to soothe you into another slumber. His sniffles are overpowered by his sharp inhales of breath. Consuming your scent.

"You're not leaving me. You're not fucking leaving me!" Mike bawls out.

He is now a complete mess. Face twisted with ugly sobs. All hot tears and running snot.

"Just sleep now, okay? I'm right here..."

Blunt nails dig into your shoulder blades. His weight on top of you is suffocating. Please just love him and never leave him. That is all he could ever ask for, all he could ever want. He has spent so long without the one he loves most, he cannot bear to ever part from them ever again.

With a choked groan, Mike lifts your limp body from the ground. Sniffling reassurances echo as you reach a state of unconsciousness. He lifts you over his shoulder and your body loses all mobility. As he takes you away, your mind fades into a peaceful rest. Escaping is now a pipe dream.

Faint sounds of shuffling are what you're next awoken to. Pipes bang and thump. It is far more quiet than your last conscious encounter.

Darkness pervades your vision. Your body feels weightless, as though you are floating through a dream. You cannot move, no matter your efforts to try. As if your limbs had been glued to the fluffy expanse you've been laid upon. All you are capable of doing is releasing a guttural moan of disdain from the back of your throat.

"Easy, cub. Easy now."

No.

The voice is fluffy and easy. Horrifyingly familiar.

This can't be real; this can't be reality. This cannot be what your life becomes: rotting away in this stranger's embrace.

You were granted several mere seconds of solitude before hands were on your body, once again. The grasp lifts your body, to where your assailant sits behind you and rests your back against his chest. His efforts are gentle. Comforting. Though, the movement still has you wincing in discomfort. You hadn't anticipated how many injuries you had given yourself.

Speckles of your sight return in short spurts. There is light against the darkness, everything is gold. Drowned in the hues of candlelight scattered around the room. The glow is cast against a fuzzy expanse, to where you could almost convince yourself you were in a dream. And my God, do you wish it was.

You miss the rich, headache-inducing colors of your classroom. The judging stares of other parents who drowned their homes in beige decor never felt more comforting. You miss the screeching children with their constant need for attention. Their dramatic tears and obnoxious attitude would bring you peace like no other.

Mike plants his chin against your shoulder and all you can think about is the beautiful life you have lived until this point. His arm slithers across your torso, tightening with vehement need. It is loving in the most suffocating manner. You then hear a bottle unscrew through static noise. shushes you as he presses the lid against your lips. Water cascades into your mouth and down your dry throat, all while Mike presses impassioned kisses to your temple.

"There you go. Very good... You're perfect..." His tone is cordial as he ushers you to drink.

As much as you had tried to fight his attempts to give you water, it has fortunately provided you more clarity. The environment surrounding you fades into something more lucid.

You've been swaddled in a thick comforter. Soft and floral-scented, fresh out of the dryer. The king-size bed is at the end of the room and provides you with a clear view of everything. The lack of windows and decrepit staircase tucked in the corner tell you this is a basement. Soundproofed and locked up, your chances of escape are minimal. He does not want to let you go, that much is for certain.

Across the room is a chunky television. Movie cassettes sit in the cabinet supporting the television, where a newly purchased GameCube is left beside, as well. There's a bookshelf to your left, which is filled with old novels and children's books. Nothing was bought recently. Is there a child in this house? Lego sets and puzzle boxes are stacked next to the shelf. You come to the chilling assumption that it is intended to be something for you to occupy yourself with when he's gone.

Much to your satisfaction, Mike leaves from his spot behind you. He guides you back onto the pillow with romantic, loving ease. A gentle caress to your cheek before he goes. As if he was your doting husband taking care of you while you are ill.

When you look to your right, your heart accelerates when you find your iguana enclosure on top of a rickety table. Thank God he is alright! You do not know what you would do if this man had harmed Mr. Cupcake.

As words have failed you consistently, you whine out like a baby to express your wants. Your assailant's attention is back on you at record speed. The persistent need he has to ensure your comfort is almost pathetic. Teary-eyed and pouty, you reach for the enclosure holding your iguana.

Mike's body goes rigid. A gentle gasp emanates from him.

Are you... Are you reaching for him?

He practically throws himself back onto the bed. Sat beside your laying form, he almost can't bring himself to believe it. His deluded fantasies have bloomed into existence.

"Yes? What do you need, cub?" Please say him. Please say you need him like he needs you.

Mike looks at you and his eyes melt into candy. A gentle smile plastered on his face, he brings his finger up and boops you on the nose. Affectionate is his natural disposition. You're too fucking cute.

Mike had wasted an entire year without you. Too much time spent neglecting you of his love. Oh, you must have been so lonely without him. This is all he has wanted, after all. To take care of you. To take the weight off your shoulders and bring you ease like no other. He will spend the rest of his lifetime making up for the lost time. He would spend forever for you, slaving away to earn your forgiveness.

When you firmly establish what it is you actually want, no amount of sleeping pills in your thermal cup could stop you from seeing how defeated he is. Your rejection cuts like a dagger. Anyone can see this genuine fact. Still, Mike abides by your request. He'd tear mountains asunder for your happiness, after all.

Begrudgingly, he leaves your side. He opens the enclosure with struggle. Too many notches and slots. When he takes Mr. Cupcake into his hands, the iguana squirms and twists. Almost as if the reptile grasped what was happening. He propels his tail like a whip, reaching for the hands around him with his sharp teeth. His nails dig into whatever part of this stranger he can find.

When Mike plops him into your lap, Mr. Cupcake relaxes instantaneously. You snuggle him into your arms and are provided comfort from him, as well. His scaly flesh and jagged spine abrade your face, but you have never known a more soothing embrace. You plant a myriad of kisses and adoring nuzzles on Mr. Cupcake's skin. At the same time, you ignore the third wheel standing there.

Mike watches this and is nearly sick with want. Never in his life had he ever thought he'd wish to be an iguana this bad. The things he would give and the things he would take to be on the receiving end of your affections bridges off insanity.

Averting his gaze, he cannot watch the scene anymore. He had never expected to be so envious of a goddamn reptile. Mike grants you the time you want with that prickly bastard and leaves the basement. You hear the tumultuous clatter of all the locks and bolts being put into place once he is gone.

The time without Mike is something you do not take for granted. Silence is precious, solitude even more so. During his absence, you reel through the supercut of your life. You cannot find this man in any of your memories. You do not remember that face no matter how hard you try. He is the bad guy, the villain. The very definition of 'stranger-danger' you teach your students about.

When Mike returns, all of that disturbed turbulence comes with him.

In his hands is a cracked dinner plate with spaghetti and meatballs splat on top. The closer he gets, the faster your heart pumps. Setting the plate down on the bedside table, he takes your iguana from your tight hold. Mr. Cupcake still thrashes in his grasp, trying to bite and hit wherever he can. Good boy.

When the beast is locked away, Mike is idyllic to be alone with you again. He acts as though the current circumstances were romantic, where you and him are enjoying an amorous vacation. He then places the meal carefully in your lap, wary of the hot plate burning your precious skin.

"You need to eat, cub. You've been through so much. Too much." Mike's hand finds your face again, thumb caressing your cheek.

His mere words make you want to vomit your breakfast all over what is supposed to be your dinner. Still, you obey and begin eating. The dish is mediocre, at best. You've tasted better from the kitchen play set where your students wear chef hats and cook plastic food. Kidnapped and trapped in a basement, however, you'll take whatever scraps you can get.

Eyes glued to your plate, you do not watch as Mike takes a movie from the cabinet and pops it into the VCR. "The Immortal and the Restless" whirs to life as he returns to where you sit. Mike lays down beside you and joins you beneath the warm comforter. He takes the fork from your hands. A shiver cascades up his arm upon the faint contact made by your fingers touching. Oh, it is love. He then begins to feed you. There is nothing but sugary madness in his eyes.

Bite by bite, you are forced to watch soap operas and listen to nauseating love declarations.

"I was so alone out there without you, baby."

If only you hadn't been so fooled by a security vest and pretty brown eyes, you could be with your students right now. You could be free right now.

If only.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ PRAYING STRAIGHT TO GOD THAT

MAYBE YOU'LL COME BACK AROUND . . . ❞

no one asked for this but idc hehe.

gif creds :: mike.

#moonfairy #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt #michael schmidt #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddys x reader #mike schmidt x reader #michael schmidt x reader #fnaf imagine #fnaf imagines #five nights at freddys imagine #mike schmidt imagine #michael schmidt imagine #yandere fnaf #yandere five nights at freddys #yandere mike schmidt #yandere michael schmidt #yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #Spotify

[scekrex]

Okay, okay, okay, ANOTHA ONE. Winner!reader who got lost in Heaven on his first, because Adam forgot that he was supposed to give him a tour and simply kept walking while Reader got distracted and went after something shiny that he thought would look nice on Adam. Now cue in Brandon Rogers skit with a "mother" looking for her son Timmy. Just Adam running around and screaming "Y/N!!!!" and asking around, cause he's totally shitting himself. He lost a soul IN HEAVEN of all places. After some time he sits down on a bench in a park or something, completely exhausted and distressed, when suddenly the reader appears behind him, placing a shiny little tiara between his mask horns saying: "✨👸🌺You're a fucking pretty princess!🌺👸✨" while holding ice cream in the other hand and Adam just looks at him like:

You can end it however you want, cause honestly you're gonna nail it either way 💁🏻‍♂️

Babes, I fucking love you for that request. I feel like I'll write so many crack fics for Adam n Reader just bc of you and I'm fucking ready for it

Lost and Found

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, this is a crack fic (kinda)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

When you had first appeared in Sera's office you had been confused and overwhelmed, the little girl, her name was Emily, was full of energy that you weren't able to deal with at that point. She had been all in your face and while you were aware that it was all good intentions, it made you feel like stumbling right into a panic attack.

So Sera had made a call with some guy named Adam, she hadn't explained who he was and why she called him and not someone else but once Adam had arrived at Sara's office, you understood. The guy was a lot more chill than Emily, sure he could talk a lot - that was the first thing he had proven once he had entered the office - but he wasn't draining you by doing so. He wasn't all up in your face either and you appreciated that a lot.

So once you two had introduced yourself to each other, the two of you took off.

The streets weren't as full and crowded as you had expected them to be. Heaven was painted in bright colors, pastel blue, white and gold were the most common colors you came across. Adam was currently rambling about some chick that he had fucked a couple weeks ago at one of his gigs, you weren't really paying attention though, you were too focused on all the shiny lights that surrounded you.

So your attention was on many things, on everything but Adam, the person you probably should've focused the most on considering that you had no clue where exactly in heaven you two were. And when the two of you walked past a jewelry store you couldn't help but walk right through the door. In your mind you thought Adam would notice and follow you - or wait outside the store.

Well, Adam didn't even notice you were gone at first, he was too caught up in his storytelling. So he continued to walk through the streets of heaven for a good twenty minutes without you. That was until the man stopped to look at you - or at least that was why he turned around. But you weren't there.

Fuck.

For how long had he been walking alone? Where were you and why weren't you following him anymore? A wave of panic hit him. What if Sera would find you all alone without him in sight? He'd be in so much trouble if that were to happen.

So he walked in the direction he came from, checking every back alley he had walked past but he couldn't find you. “Y/N?” he called out for you as he entered yet another back alley, hoping he'd get a response. He tried to remain as calm as possible, that wasn't easy considering that he had just lost a fucking soul in heaven. Oh he was so fucked if he weren't to find you by sunset. He was so fucked if Sera were to find out.

Another wave of panic shot through his body as he rushed out of the alley. He grabbed an angel who just went about his day by his shoulders, shook him slightly as his voice filled with panic got louder and louder, “Have you seen my-” Adam stopped for a moment. His what? You weren't his. Ah, fuck this, “Have you seen the dude I'm supposed to watch? He's about this tall,” he raised his hand to show the angel - who was slightly frightened by Adam's behavior - how tall you were, “clearly gay and has a thing for me, but we haven't had the talk yet.” The second the angel started to shake his head Adam was gone, calling out your name over and over again.

“You fucking little shithead, get your sexy ass over here,” Adam yelled, earning himself a few strange looks from bypassing angels, he couldn't care less though. A panicking expression was visible on his mask as he continued to walk all the way back to where you and him had come from. He opened a door to one of the countless stores you two had passed, “Y/N are you in there? You better get the fuck out if you are!” The customers inside the store looked at Adam in confusion and disgust for yelling so loud. He slammed the door shut and crossed the street to enter a park, maybe you had seen some kind of animal or whatever bullshit it was a soul like you were interested in.

“C’mon you little bitch, I'll let you fucking do drugs if you move your ass over here right now,” that was a total lie, obviously it was, but Adam was trying to get you back and he really had no idea how to do it properly.

Another angel walked up to him, she seemed slightly worried about the situation that was playing out, “Have you tried retracing the steps?” Adam shoved her out of the way, “Fuck, you think I'm stupid? Of course I have!” The lady who just had wanted to help flinched away from the first man and was quick to take off once his attention had shifted away from her.

He rushed through the entire park, even looked at the entire thing from above in hope he would be able to spot you, but nothing. Once his feet were back on the ground he broke down on a park bench, his hands were covering the LED face that was displayed on his mask and he was done with it, there was no way he'd find you before sunset - which was when Sera was expecting the both of you to return.

He was completely fucked, there was no way he'd be able to explain to Sera what had happened. And even worse: what if you got hurt? Shit, he didn't even know why he cared about that, you were just some random soul he had met a couple hours ago but yet there he was, worrying about your fucking ass.

Adam flinched when he heard the sound of metal clicking against his mask and turned his head around. There you were. A soft smile was curled around your lips and you held a cone of ice cream in your hand as if nothing had happened, “Y’know,” you started to speak up and pointed to the thing that was resting on top of his mask now, “For someone who talks about ‘fucking bitches’ a lot you're a fucking pretty princess.”

Adam reached for the object you had placed on his head and looked at it closely. It was a fucking golden tiara. It had tiny purple gemstones attached to it and it surprisingly fit his aesthetic pretty well. He stared at the shiny accessory for a moment before he put it down on the bench, got up and lifted you over the bench he had been sitting on. Before you knew it your ice cream cone landed on the ground and Adam pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your feet still dangling in the air, you simply decided to wrap them around his waist. The taller man didn't seem to mind it all that much.

“Don’t you fucking dare to ever run off again you little shithead,” he whispered as he held you, the face of his mask was pressed flush against your neck. “And I thought I was the one having a thing for you when clearly it's not one sided,” you teased the first man, your hand playfully grabbing his horns and pulling him away from your neck to look at him. “You heard that?” he asked in a mix of anger and embarrassment. “Yeah,” you shrugged, “Next time when you're looking out for me, do better.” Adam couldn't help but simply stare at you in pure disbelief. There was simply no fucking way he had missed you. “Also,” you looked down on the ground where your ice cream cone was melting, “You owe me ice cream, idiot.”

“I swear I'll fucking get you a shirt that says 'If lost, return to Adam' or some shit in case that ever happens again,” Adam mumbled and even though he sounded slightly annoyed, he seemed pretty happy you were back. “Oh, it will happen again, trust me,” you simply grinned.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x reader #adam x you #adam x y/n

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader Hey! Can you do a story where reader gets hurt during the fight in the last episode and Xavier freaks out and helps her feel better? Thank you! I love all your stories, they’re so good!!!

Who’s the idiot who accidently deleted all the asks/requests thinking I was on another side-blog that I wanted to clean up and re-purpose? It’s me. Hi. I’m the idiot. It’s me. I wish I had saved them somewhere, but I didn’t for Xavier… Please send requests for him so I can keep writing!! Also, for some reason I ignore, this post has not been showing anywhere so I took it down and reposted

Request: Can I get Wednesday’s sister getting attacked by the hyde and Xavier being at the hospital when she wakes up?

keep sending requests for Xavier

—

It all happened so quickly.

You and Enid had been running to get to Wednesday with Thing when you heard a grunt as Enid fell to the ground with a strange crack. You assumed she was hurt, but something else was happening. She was turning.

‘’Enid!’’

Her body was twisting in a sickly way as she was turning, her clothing ripping as she grew in size and shape and fur now coating her usual smooth and soft skin. You had never seen a werewolf turn before. You’ve always wondered how small people like Enid could turn into these beasts. It was fascinating.

Farther away in the woods, Wednesday found herself face to face with Tyler. They exchanged a few words until, just like Enid, his body transformed.

Once her transformation completed, the now werewolf girl howled into the night and began running to where you assumed was Wednesday. You and Thing followed after her, your much shorter legs — or fingers — carrying you slower.

You halted when you saw the hyde, seeing it for the first time. He was massive and visually terrifying as he fought with a ferocious Enid. You looked around for your sister, but the raven haired girl was nowhere in sight. She must have gotten away and gone to the school, Thing was explaining to you. That’s where the final battle with Crackwood will happen.

Suddenly, you felt sharp claws in your calf and were dragged down as you screamed in pain and terror.

The hyde got you. You clawed at the ground to anchor yourself, soil getting under your nails as you tried to resist the monster’s grasp but he was so much stronger and bigger than you that your fight was already lost. You were going to be the next victim — the next death.

Thing tried to help you, but he was just…a hand.

You kept screaming and fighting, tears formed at the corner of your eyes as the pain in your calf was intensifying. You’ve felt pain before, but never on this level. This felt like your whole calf had been butchered.

Your screams of distress were heard and a growl echoed, followed by Enid jumping on Tyler and clawing him with all her anger. He had hurt you, he had hurt her friend.

The two creatures moved the fight, and Thing hurried to your side. You sat to check your injury, the fabric of your pants slashed and soaked with blood. There were three deep gashes along your right calf. Blood was spilling rapidly and beginning to make you feel lightheaded.

Thing was telling you to hold on, to stay awake, but your eyes were too heavy and consciousness slipped away.

When you opened your eyes, you were in a room too bright for your sensitive eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut and moaned in complaint, cursing the fluorescent lights above you. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the harsh lighting, then started making out the white walls and the heart monitor that was beeping loudly every three seconds. By the window, there was a table with some dying flowers — pink tulips — and a matching pink card. They must be from Enid. The color palette matched her too well. There was also a small black cat plush that was likely from your sister, Wednesday.

At the foot of your bed was a boy in a dark gray hoodie asleep in a small and uncomfortable looking chair.

‘’Xavier?’’ you croaked out with difficulty, your throat and mouth dry.

You hadn’t seen him since the day he got arrested. No one had been allowed to visit him in the Jericho police office. You had tried to sneak in, but one of the officers caught you and escorted you out.

‘’Xavier,’’ you repeated, a little louder this time. It came out more like a squeak, but it was enough to make him stir and frown, slowly waking up.

Your name slipped from his lips and his eyes filled with tears when he saw you were awake. There were dark circles under his tired eyes and his hair were thrown into a messy half up, making you wonder how long he’s been sitting there for.

‘’Hi.’’ You reached out to him with your hand, only to wince at the small movement, feeling a throbbing pain in your calf and up your leg.

‘’Don’t move. I’ll come closer.’’ Xavier stood, rushing over to you and clasping your fingers with clammy hands.

He should alert the nurses that you were awake, but he’ll do that in five minutes.

‘’You’ve been unconscious for a few days due to all the blood you lost. You…you almost died—’’ His voice faltered, the thought of losing you making his heart ache.

Back in the woods when the hyde had attacked you, you thought that it would be it too. You thought that you would die and never see Xavier again. Never get to touch him or hug him or kiss him again. But he was here, standing before you and holding your hand in his.

‘’Enid told me what happened in the woods.’’ His eyes shifted to your blanket covered feet, your calf more precisely. ’’I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’’

You shook your head, refusing to take his apologies. ‘’You were fighting your own fight, Xavier. Besides, there were handcuffs and chains on your wrists and feet. How could you have been with me?’’

He looked down and laughed softly, knowing you were right. What could he had done from the inside of his cell?

‘’What happened to Tyler? Did they kill him? And Enid? I’ve got to thank her for saving me. What about Wedn—’’

It was Xavier’s turn to shake his head, shushing you. ‘’Later.’’ One of his hands let go of yours and tucked your hair behind your ear. ‘’I’ll tell you everything later. You need to rest…and I really gotta alert a nurse before one of them comes in and see I didn’t tell them you were awake.’’

He kissed your forehead before going, promising to be quick, but you grabbed his wrist as he was leaving. ‘’Not yet. I want to stay alone with you a little longer.’’ You looked into his green eyes and played your cards, knowing how to make him fold to your requests.

Xavier sighed, soft for you and unable to say ‘no’ to that face. ‘’Alright… Five more minutes.’’

—

Xavier Thorpe taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo—uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @wrldofsage @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier wednesday #wednesday imagine #wednesday #wednesday netflix #percy hynes white

[luvmyoui]

her favorite (damsel in distress)

spiderwoman!ahn yujin x fem!reader GP!YUJIN

genre: fluff

warnings: cursing, violence (beating up bad guys), suggestive towards the end

synopsis: yujin was always an easy target for bullying and just couldnt seem to get her crush to notice her. what happens when she becomes a superhero and she starts saving her crush?

word count: 2,048

a/n: first time writing fluff, bcz i cant make my wife a bad person😞. also too lazy to proofread so pls ignore any mistakes😭😭

“uh- y-y/n, can i take a picture of you with the spiders?— for the school paper.”

“oh, of course!” you said in response to the question, happy that it was your picture she wanted.

you stood next to the spiders all in their respective cages and posed next to them. yujin put her camera up to her eye as she backed up so that she could get a full picture. 

“y/n, let’s go!!” you heard one of your friends call after yujin had taken a few pictures, they had already moved on to the next exhibition

“coming!” you called back out as you left yujin and went to approach your friends.

“wait- uh- thank you!” yujin called out to your back, smiling to herself. 

“ow fuck!” yujin exclaimed to herself as she felt a sharp pain in her hand. she had been bitten by a spider. she shook it off her hand and bent down to look at it. she watched as it crawled on the floor the colors of blue and red making it stand out. 

when it crawled out of sight, yujin stood up and looked at her hand. there were two holes there and a redness surrounding it. the spider looked like the genetically made super spiders, but not letting herself ponder on the thought, she left and continued inspecting the cages that contained spiders with her class.  

as the day went on yujin found that she could not simply ignore the spider bite on her hand. she started to feel the effects of the poison slowly becoming more intense. the school day went as a blur, yujin being half conscious for most of it.

when she arrived home, she was greeted by her aunt and uncle. she greeted them back as she walked up the stairs to her room. she could faintly process them asking her if she wanted to eat and she responded saying she already had. 

when she entered her room she locked the door and stripped off her shirt and her glasses which she threw somewhere in her room. she looked at her body in the mirror, her skinny frail body which made her the perfect victim for bullies. the spider bite on her hand had swelled up and turned purple.

she felt hot, but also incredibly cold. she was sweating bullets as she fell to the floor. she grabbed her blanket off of her bed and pulled it over herself.

what their guide told them about the spider that had bitten her replayed in her head as she slowly lost consciousness. 

yujin awoke with a groan, she slowly reached over from where she was on the floor for her glasses and picked them up. she stood up from the floor and went to put them on but when she held them up to her face she found that everything was blurry. she slowly lowered her glasses and found that she could in fact see better without her glasses. 

“weird,” she mumbled to herself as she put her glasses back on her desk.

yujin had to do a double take when she looked in the mirror, she had muscles and abs now. she looked in the mirror smiling to herself as she flexed in the mirror. she didn't know how this happened, but she definitely was not complaining about it. 

after hearing her aunt call out to her telling her that she’d be late if she didn't leave now, yujin turned to the side looking out her window hoping to see a certain someone. y/n l/n, her crush since before she knew what a crush was. this was her daily routine, to just watch as y/n did things. not in a creepy way though, more so in a longing way. her and y/n had been neighbors since they were six but yujin could bet on the fact that y/n didn't know. why would someone like y/n ever notice her. 

when she saw the time on her clock though, yujin quickly put on a shirt and left to try and go catch the bus. to her dismay it was yet another day in which she had to chase after the bus banging on it asking the driver to stop. after a while of running after the bus, yujin figured they wouldn't stop and today she’d have to walk.

her banging on the bus had somehow made the banner stick to her hand. as she slowed down, no longer keeping up with the bus the banner ripped due to it being stuck to her hand. she tried to shake it off but it wasn't leaving her hand, causing her to use her other hand to pull it off and thankfully it worked. 

that had all happened a month ago, yujin was now known to by everyone in her city as spiderwoman. she could shoot spider webs from her wrists, could stick to almost anything, and had super strength. after finding out she had these abilities she couldn't just stand around while innocent people were in trouble. so she decided to start helping out around the city under a disguise. 

“help!” yujin could faintly hear a call from a woman who seemed to be in danger. 

following the voice, she webbed around until she got to the place where the voice was coming from. she stayed on the roof of a building next to the dim alley as she looked down to see what was going on. yujin pumped her fists when she saw that it was you who was in trouble. she wasn't happy you were in need of help, she was just happy she could be of help to you. 

yujin swiftly swooped down and stood in between you and the 3 men surrounding you “what’s goin on here?” yujin said casually and watched as the men glared at her. 

“hmph, it's just a girl, she probably can't do too much.” the man who stood in the middle said to the other two in a smug voice. 

“you know it's not really nice to-” yujin was cut off by one of the men charging at her trying to swing. with ease she grabbed his hand and swung at his face, seeing how far the punch sent that guy the other two ran away trembling in fear.

“th-thank you spiderwoman,” yujin heard a voice from behind her say. yujin turned around when she heard the voice and responded by saying it was nothing.

“hey, uh- if you want i could walk you home. just to make sure no one else bothers you.” yujin said, if she didn't have the red mask covering her face she never would've said something like this, but being in her suit gave her confidence. 

“are you sure?”

“yes of course, it's no problem at all.” 

and thus this is how yujin now found herself walking her crush home and somehow she had managed the courage to put her arm around your waist too. It felt like she was dreaming, was she really walking home with y/n l/n in her arms?! 

when she reached the familiar house that was right next to hers, she let her arm around you drop and bid her goodbyes. as yujin sat at the top of a building she took off her mask and finally everything sunk in, she had never smiled this hard. by the time she got home her cheeks hurt from the smile that seemed to be tattooed on her face.

“what’s got you in such a good mood?” yujin’s aunt asked as she walked down the stairs and into the dining room. 

“uh- n-nothing.” yujin stuttered out and her face flushed as she recalled what had happened. 

her aunt just looked at her with a knowing smile and served her with the food she had cooked. 

“so, who’s the lucky girl?” 

“w-what?! n-no one!” 

“okay okay, just make sure to be careful, don't want any accidents to happen if you know what i mean.” yujin’s aunt said with a wink

“AUNTIE!” yujin exclaimed as her face flushed red, she did not want to hear this, especially not from her aunt.

yujin smiled as she heard the familiar voice calling for help. she knew she shouldn't be happy at the thought that you had gotten into trouble again but she couldn't help it. she always found herself looking forward to saving you. she followed your voice and found herself in the streets with 4 men running after you. she watched as the men cornered you and when they started to get in your face she shot out 4 webs and pulled them all away from you. 

when she jumped off the building the men one by one ran at her trying to attack. somehow, while fighting one of them pulled off her mask, too caught up in fighting them she didn't have time to put it back on. 

after she was done dealing with them she saw you start to walk up to her, it was too dark for you to see her face but she knew that if you came any closer her identity would be revealed. she quickly webbed up to the roof and put her mask back on. you walked over to the small alley she had previously occupied and looked around. yujin slowly descended from the roof upside down holding onto the web that was stuck to the top of the roof. 

“you have a knack for getting in trouble.” she said from behind you, you flinched when you heard the voice

“you have a knack for saving me,” you said with a giggle “i think i have a superhero stalker.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“you are…. amazing.”

“Some people don't think so.”

“but you are.” you replied with, your words tinting her face with red from under her mask.

“It's nice to have a fan.”

“do i get to say thank you this time?” you said reaching your hands out for her mask. 

thinking that you were gonna pull off her mask yujin panics for a split second, voicing a ‘wait’.

hearing that you hesitated for a second before reaching out again and lowering the neck of her suit to pull out the mask. you slowly lift it revealing her lips, you stop at her nose and let the rolled up mask stay there. you slowly lean in towards her lips and let hers meet yours. yujin was screaming on the inside, this was her first kiss and it was being taken by you, y/n l/n. 

she could feel her heartbeat in her head, the way your lips glided along hers made her dizzy. yujin’s lips parted slightly allowing your tongue to slip in and explore the depths of her mouth. yujin couldn't stop the warmth from blossoming in her chest as she felt your tongue gliding along hers. was she in heaven? 

you soon parted from yujin to allow the oxygen to enter your lungs, yujin chased after your lips, missing the feeling. she was pulled out of her reverie from the sound of your small giggles. she looked at you questioningly wondering what you found so funny. 

“glad to know i have that much of an effect on you.” you said as you stared at her crotch. 

following your gaze yujin bent her neck to look up to see what you were staring at, when she realized she flushed red. she quickly reached up with one hand to cover the very visible tent in her pants, she wanted to die. yujin felt mortified. 

“I- uh- i- um-” yujin tried to say but nothing came out causing her to flush an even darker red. 

your giggles continued as you noticed that the bottom of her face matched the color of her suit. suddenly you were struck with an idea.

“hmm, let's make a deal. If you reveal your identity to me I'll take care of that little problem you have there.” you said while pointing at yujin’s groin. 

yujin’s jaw dropped at what you were insinuating you’d do. she fully descended, now standing on her feet in front of you and without any hesitation yujin pulled off her mask and said ‘deal’. 

#ahn yujin x reader #yujin x reader #ahn yujin #yujin x fem reader #fem!reader #girlgroup x fem!reader #girl group #ive x reader #ive #ive yujin #ive yujin x reader #kpop #g!p #gp!yujin #gp!yujin x reader #izone #izone yujin #izone ahn yujin #izone x reader #gp!idol #fanfic #girl group imagines #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #spiderman #spider woman #spiderman x reader

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 13: "Just Wanted To Hear Your Voice"

Timezones apart, Mountain and Aether share a late night/early morning phonecall.

Thank you very much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for the divider. <3

(this could also be for the long distance extra prompt but i digress, enjoy the fic)

Aether wakes not to his work alarm, but to the drum fill in Respite, his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He shoots up, scrambling for it in a half awake haze. He fumbles to accept the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Mount?" He slurs, tongue not fully cooperating yet. His mind struggles with the timezone conversion, the rest of his pack, minus Sunny, halfway across the world. "'S gotta be late over there, what's goin' on?"

There's a deep sigh on the other end, made tinny through the speakers. "Hey, Aeth. There's no emergency. Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't apologize," Aether says, tension easing from his frame as he settles back in bed, phone pinned to his ear by his shoulder as he adjusts a blanket. He doesn't have to be to the infirmary until two hours from now. There's time. And if there wasn't, he'd find a way to make time. Anything for them. "I'm awake, sweet thing. How was the Ritual?"

Another sigh, edging on a groan. "Really fucking long. I don't even want to think about how many more of these we have left. I haven't had a chance to be outside for more than five minutes in a month, nova."

Aether hisses through his teeth in sympathy. He knows second hand what being cut off from one's element feels like, a phantom pain you can't quite shake. Quintessence is everywhere, so Aether's never experienced the loss of it himself.

It's easy for the rest of them to recharge; air a constant, water everywhere on Earth, fire easy to sate with heat. Dew's preferred method of recharging is near-boiling showers, taking advantage of hotels and venues and running their hot water bills sky high. It eases both his fire and what remains of his water.

Earth is a different story, especially when the pack is moving from city to city with barely room to breathe. It's always taken a toll on Mountain, but he takes it like a champ. Though Aether will always, always, always let him vent, knows how satisfying it is to let off steam.

"I'm sorry, Mount," he hums, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He'd been dreaming, something too realistic, almost able to trick his mind that he hadn't been asleep at all, that his mattress had been warm with three ghouls' worth of body heat instead of one.

"Why'd you think it's your fault?" Mountain chuckles halfheartedly. "You in charge of scheduling or somethin'?"

Aether hums. "Maybe. You don't know," he teases. "It's late over there, Mount. You want to hang up and get some sle-?"

"No!" Mountain cuts him off suddenly, distress sharp in his tone. "No, Aeth, please, don't make me hang up."

Aether can't see him, can barely sense their bond, stretched thin with distance. He can imagine it though, the way his shoulders slump, eyes pressing shut. "Not going to make you do anything. Talk to me, sweet thing. Anything you want, just let me hear you."

Mountain sighs, and he can just barely pick up the sound of a hand dragging down his face, scraping against his stubble. Mountain normally likes a clean shave, itchy, regrowing stubble an easy way to send him into a sensory overload. But being on tour makes it difficult to keep up with the upkeep. He wonders when their next hotel day is.

"Cue's halfway through her third blanket," Mountain says slowly. Aether doesn't need to feel the bond to feel the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "We made a stop at a craft store a few days back, she came out with a literal armful of yarn. Every color under the sun. I think she cleared out an entire color's worth of baby blanket yarn. She said something about making one for Aurora."

Aether hums considerately, reaching with one hand to the purple and navy blanket that had been pushed aside in his sleep. Still as soft as the day she had shyly handed it to him, the second one she had ever made, only a few months' summoned. She's come out of her shell since, but Aether rubs the yarn between his thumb and forefinger and remembers anyways. "Aeon's gotten theirs?"

There's silence for a second, and a quiet spew of Ghoulish cursing. "Just fucking nodded like you could see me," Mountain laughs, exhausted. "The second one she made was Aeon's."

"They like it?" Aether asks, biting back a yawn, tail going ramrod straight as he stretches his back. There's the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled back, and Mountain groans softly before the curtain is pulled again.

"Had to make sure they were still out there," he explains. "They're currently burritoed up in it on the couch with Swiss."

"Don't get up and do it now," Aether says, chuffing at the mental image of the new quintessence ghoul all cozy. "But in the morning, if they're still wrapped up, send me a picture, will you, sweet thing?"

A soft chuckle. "Of course, nova. Thank you."

"What for?" Aether says.

"I dunno. Just wanted to hear your voice."

Aether chuffs, reaching for his glasses. It's almost time for him to get up out of bed. "Thank you, too, then," he says, sliding his glasses on one handed. "I miss you all terribly."

There's a long sigh, which changes halfway through into a yawn. "I don't want to hang up, Aeth." His voice is as small as Aether's heard it in years, not since the last time the pack was thrown into upheaval.

"I know, Mount. I know. But you still need to sleep, sweet thing. Call me in the morning?" Aether offers, knowing that he'll probably be on his break by the time Mountain wakes, ever the early riser.

"I'll call you in the morning," Mountain says, still a little hesitant. "I love you, nova."

Aether smiles. "Love you too. I'll talk to you soon."

#dot's writing #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain/aether #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #mushy may 2024

[lilacura]

Fading Embers | Jang Wonyoung

pairing: wonyoung x reader

>wc: 2,680

content warning:  contains themes of angst, car accidents, and emotional distress.

sypnosis: When Jang Wonyoung receives a life-changing phone call, will love be enough to overcome the unimaginable challenges that lay ahead?

The Fourth of July was supposed to be a day of celebration, a day where fireworks lit up the sky in vibrant colors, and laughter filled the air. But for Y/N and Wonyoung, this day would forever be etched into their memories as the day their world shattered.

Y/N and Wonyoung had always been inseparable. They were two souls intertwined, sharing their dreams and fears, their joys and sorrows. Their love was a fire that burned bright, but even the brightest flames can be extinguished with a single gust of wind.

That morning, the sun rose with a deceptive warmth, casting gentle rays of light on the small town where Y/N and Wonyoung resided. But inside their hearts, a brewing storm threatened to tear them apart.

The tension had been building for weeks, their love caught in the crossfire of miscommunication and unspoken frustrations. As the hours ticked by, the weight of their unexpressed emotions grew heavier, straining the fragile threads that held them together.

It was a seemingly insignificant disagreement that sparked the flames of their fight. Words were exchanged with sharp edges, fueled by insecurities and pent-up resentments. Y/N's heart ached, but she couldn't find the words to bridge the growing chasm between them.

"Why don't you ever listen to me, Y/N?" Wonyoung's voice trembled with frustration, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I feel like I'm talking to a wall sometimes."

Y/N's brows furrowed, hurt flashing in her eyes. "I do listen, Wonyoung. I just... I have my own thoughts and opinions too. Can't we have a conversation without it turning into an argument?"

Wonyoung's frustration turned into anger as she felt her defenses rise. "It's not just about having different opinions, Y/N. It's about feeling like you dismiss mine. Like they don't matter."

Y/N's voice grew sharper. "Well, maybe if you didn't always assume that you're right and I'm wrong, we wouldn't have this problem!"

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Wonyoung's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She never intended for their argument to escalate this far.

The silence stretched on, tension thickening between them. Y/N's voice softened, her hurt transforming into resignation. "Maybe we need some time apart," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "To figure out if we can find our way back to each other."

Wonyoung's eyes welled up with tears as her heart shattered into a million pieces. "Y/N, no... Please, don't say that. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Y/N turned away, her voice heavy with unspoken pain. "I can't keep going like this, Wonyoung. We're hurting each other more than we're making each other happy. Maybe it's better if we take a step back and reevaluate."

And with those words, Y/N walked out of the room, leaving Wonyoung standing there, tears streaming down her face, feeling the weight of her regret and the realization that she might have pushed Y/N away too far.

Hours turned into days, and days turned into sleepless nights. Y/N replayed the fight over and over in her mind, each word a dagger to her heart. Regret washed over her, but pride held her tongue. She wanted to reach out, to apologize, but fear held her back.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung, tormented by her own doubts, questioned whether she had made the right decision. She missed Y/N's presence, her laughter, and the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. But the pain of their fight lingered, a constant reminder of their brokenness.

Then, on that fateful Fourth of July, Y/N decided to take a drive alone. The open road beckoned her, promising solace and clarity. But fate had other plans.

The radio played softly, the notes of a familiar song filling the confines of the car. Y/N's mind wandered, lost in a sea of regrets and what-ifs. She didn't see the stop sign until it was too late.

The screeching of tires filled the air as Y/N's car collided with another vehicle. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the world spun into chaos. Pain radiated through Y/N's body as the impact jolted her senses awake. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own wreckage.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung, unaware of the impending tragedy, felt a sudden unease creeping into her bones. A nameless dread settled upon her like a heavy blanket. She reached for her phone,only to find it silent, devoid of any messages or missed calls.

With a sinking heart, Wonyoung dialed Y/N's number. Panic rose within her as the call went straight to voicemail. Her mind raced, connecting the dots between their fight and Y/N's sudden disappearance.

Wonyoung's heart skipped a beat as her phone rang, displaying the number of the local police department. With a sense of unease, she answered the call, her voice trembling.

"Hello?" Wonyoung spoke, her voice filled with worry.

The voice on the other end belonged to Officer Smith. "Is this Jang Wonyoung?"

Wonyoung's breath hitched. "Yes, this is Wonyoung. What's happened?"

Officer Smith's tone turned somber. "I regret to inform you that there has been a car accident involving Y/N. She has sustained injuries, and we are currently at the scene."

Fear gripped Wonyoung's heart, her mind racing with thoughts of Y/N's well-being. "Is she going to be alright?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.

Officer Smith's voice held a hint of reassurance. "We have called for an ambulance, and they are en route. It would be best if you could come to the accident site. It occurred on Oak Street near the intersection with Maple Avenue."

Tears welled up in Wonyoung's eyes as she processed the gravity of the situation. "I'm on my way," she replied, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Please take care of her."

Officer Smith offered a sympathetic tone. "We will do everything we can. Just come as quickly as possible."

As Wonyoung hung up the phone, her heart raced with worry. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, her mind consumed with thoughts of Y/N's safety. Every passing second felt like an eternity as she raced towards the unknown, praying that she would reach Y/N in time and that they would find solace in each other's arms once more.

The sight that greeted Wonyoung was a nightmare come to life. Emergency lights flashed, illuminating the twisted metal and the devastation left in the wake of the collision. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted Y/N's car, mangled and broken.

Paramedics worked frantically, their voices a blur to Wonyoung's ears. She pushed through the crowd, desperate to reach Y/N's side. And there, amidst the chaos, she found her love.

Wonyoung's voice trembled as she knelt beside Y/N, her eyes filled with tears. "Y/N, oh my god, are you okay? Please, please be okay!"

Y/N winced, pain etched across her face. "Wonyoung... I... I'm sorry."

Wonyoung's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's pain. She took Y/N's hand in her own, her voice choked with emotion. "No, Y/N, this isn't your fault. I'm sorry too. I never should have let it get this far. I love you, and I can't lose you."

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as they both realized the fragility of their love and the depth of their regret. "I love you too, Wonyoung," Y/N whispered, their voices barely audible amid the chaos surrounding them. "Please forgive me."

Wonyoung nodded, her grip on Y/N's hand tightening. "We'll get through this together. I promise."

As the paramedics worked to free Y/N from the wreckage, the echoes of their fight faded into the background. In that moment, all that mattered was their love and the hope of rebuilding what was broken.

The Fourth of July would forever be a reminder of their darkest hour, but it would also be the catalyst for their journey towards healing. Their love, once a fire on the verge of extinguishing, now flickered with renewed determination, ready to rise from the ashes and burn brighter than ever before.

a/n: this is so ass omg

#ive #ive wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung #ive x reader #gg x reader #girl group #wony x reader #ive x you

[izzielil]

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🔞 UNDER 18s do not Interact 🔞

🍼ABDL / Little / Diaper Images Ahead 🧸

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Sarah - Caretaker / Mommy | Kira - Little / ABDL | (All 18+) David - Caretaker / Daddy (All 18+)

As Kira embarked on her journey home with her parents, Sarah and David, the car rolled down the winding road, surrounded by breathtaking scenery. Lush green meadows stretched as far as the eye could see, adorned with vibrant wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. Majestic mountains towered in the distance, their peaks kissed by fluffy white clouds.

As they drove through picturesque landscapes, Kira's fascination with nature distracted her from the growing pressure in her tummy. She marveled at the beauty outside the car window, pointing excitedly at grazing deer and colorful birds soaring through the sky.

But as time went on, Kira couldn't ignore her body's signals any longer. The stunning scenery still captivated her, but the urgency inside her intensified. She glanced down at her lap, where she wore a diaper, a necessary precaution due to her recent accidents which her mommy and daddy insisted on.

As Kira admired the mesmerizing scenery during her trip home, she couldn't help but feel the increasing urge to use the restroom. She gazed at her parents, Sarah and David, with hopeful eyes and mustered up the courage to ask, "Mommy, Daddy, can we please find a restroom? I really need to go potty."

Sarah and David exchanged a glance a small smile forming on Sarahs face, understanding the predicament their little one was facing. Sarah turned around with a sympathetic smile and said, "Sweetie, we're on a long journey, and it's difficult to find restrooms along the way. But don't worry, you're wearing a diaper, remember? It's okay to use it when you need to."

Kira's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. She had been working hard to learn how to use the potty like a big girl, and it felt like a step backward to rely on her diaper again.

Reluctantly, Kira nodded and let out a small sigh, as tears began to form around her eyes. "Mummy please- I am not a baby I don'-" Her mother shushed her almost instantly as she just pointed to her diaper.

Kira opened the walls below as she began flooding the warm substance to the front of her diaper splashing against the front, as it began to expand around giving a warm feeling to Kira her face going red.

After the accident in the car, Kira's eyes welled up with tears, and she immediately reached out for her trusted companion, Wilma, the soft green teddy bear. With a tight embrace, she held Wilma close to her chest, finding solace and emotional support in the familiar presence of her beloved teddy.

Kira's daddy, David, recognized her distress and reached back to hold her hand, offering a strong and reassuring grip. The touch of her dad's hand provided a sense of security and warmth amidst her feelings of embarrassment and frustration.

Kira's caregivers decided to pull over to a safe spot. The car rolled to a gentle stop, and her mother, Sarah, swiftly moved to take care of Kira's needs. She spread out a soft blanket, creating a comfortable space for the diaper change to take place.

With practiced ease, Sarah carefully unfastened the soiled diaper, her gentle touch and soothing words helping to ease Kira's discomfort. Sarah made sure to have everything she needed within reach, including wipes, a fresh diaper, and a disposal bag.

As she cleaned Kira's delicate skin with gentle wipes, Sarah paid close attention to every detail. She wanted to ensure that the new diaper fit snugly and securely. With a mother's touch, she carefully adjusted the diaper, making sure it was positioned correctly and fastened with care.

Once the fresh diaper was secured, Kira's parents helped her back into her car seat, making sure the straps were properly fastened to keep her safe during the drive. With the click of the seatbelt, Kira settled back into her familiar spot, clutching Wilma tightly against her chest.

To add an extra touch of comfort and distraction, Kira's parents surprised her with a brand-new toy to play with. It was a colorful, interactive toy designed to engage her senses. As it did just that, later in the car ride Kira found out very quickly what her new toy was, strapped between her legs as mommy simply said. The warm fuzzy feeling spreading across her diaper slowly

"Everything okay back there baby girl?"

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#ab dl #ab dl art #ab dl diaper #ab dl girl #ab dl lifestyle #ab/dl blog #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl community #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl #diapered girlfriend #diaper little #diaper regression #diaper training #diapered girl #adult diaper #little space #mommy #princess #ab/dl little #ab/dl daddy #ab/dl girl #ab/dl kink #ab/dl mommy #ab/dl post #ab/dl relationship #ab/dl story time #md/lb #ab/dl sissy #ab/dl couple

[alottiegoingon]

i had this idea I wanted to write, but every time I started, it I end up hating it, so I thought maybe you could come up with something better!!

jackie doing the reader's make up or hair, and they're really close together and finally jackie can't handle it anymore and closes the gap.

user alottiegoingon is completely dead after this!!! sorry its short, im not sure if thats what you had in mind but i had a draft inspired by that pic and thought it would fit well with your idea

jackie taylor x fem!reader

warnings: fluff and a bit of suggestive ending, not proofread

"you can not go like this." jackie broke into a quiet chuckle, studying every feature of your face. "come on. let's fix that." she grabs your hand and lead the way to her bed.

as always, you were always dragged by jackie to many parties you wouldn't usually go if it wasn't for her. 'lucky' for you, she wouldn't ever miss any. not much of a party girl, you would let her pick everything for you; dress, hairstyle, make up.

tonight, trying to mirror her gestures and putting make up by yourself, you somehow ended up looking extremely boring.

"you don't need any, but if you want to wear it..." she's delicate when pushing you onto her bed, soft smile spreading across her face, but there's something in those eyes when she crawls to you. "then we gotta make it right."

your muscles tightens as you sense the warmth emanating from her breath as it meets your face. jackie had an eyeliner in hand and lipstick and blush resting by your side. her knees were straddling you, supporting her weight as half of her body was leaning over you and you had a hard time discerning if her rosy cheeks were caused by the lack of distance between you two or the blush she had applied before.

she graces you with an affectionate grin and the side of her hand touches your face, the cold and wet feeling of the tip of the eyeliner makes you flinch a bit as it touches your eye. "don't move," she murmurs under her breath even though she was struggling as well with unsteady hands.

the air seems to thicken around you. her focused gaze locks onto your eyes, while her lips begin to slightly part. you have never seen jackie so immersed, not even in class or watching a movie. in a matter of seconds, she was done with your eyes and with a firm grasp on the brush, she swept the pinkish powder onto your cheeks in gentle, circular strokes. "see, now you don't look dead anymore," she lets out a breathy giggle, eyes darting from your flushed cheekbones to meet your hesitant stare.

nervously, you just shake your head to agree with her and give her a faint smile. if your heart was already beating fast, it felt like it was about to explode when she switched to the lipstick. your hands resting on the sheets begin to play with the thin fabric.

popping the cap off and bringing her face nearer, her left hand reaches for your skin, thumb tracing your bottom lip with no rush. she was so lost in the sight of your unselead lips that her ragged and heavy breath was resonating in your ears. holding your breath, you felt like you were about to pass out and judging by jackie's distressed and lost eyes, so were she.

"open wider, please." she demands in a low and raspy voice and her words made your heart stop for a moment. her finger, still resting on your mouth, forcefully parted your lips and her hand then slides down to cradle your chin between her thumb and index finger.

she swallows hard, forcing down the lump in her throat, and with her trembling right hand, she starts to apply the red color to your lips. she's careful to cover every inch of your mouth, paying attention to your upper lip first.

when jackie's about to move to your lower lip, she abruptly stops. looking up at your hazy eyes and back at your colored lips over and over, she was waiting for any sign of rejection. perhaps a spoken longing from you, even a faint noise. but you didn't utter a word and it was all she needed.

with a swift motion, jackie abandons the lipstick on the bed, missing it, and her hands immediately find your face. the sharp clatter of the plastic hitting the floor goes unnoticed by both of you as she fervently presses her lips against yours.

taken aback, you momentarily halted before kissing her back, eyes shutting rapidly.

with her brushing finger over your jawline, her other hand makes its way to your neck, gently wrapping her fingers around it. in an instant reaction, your hands forsake the sheets, eagerly gripping her hips.

"jackie," you tried to break the kiss but your words were nothing but slurred and weak sounds that she didn't care one bit about. "what about the party?"

not letting you speak, denying you any space by not letting go of your lips, and with smudged red lipstick all over her mouth, she whispers something into your mouth.

"forget about it."

#danisbrainrot is a genus #someone sedate me #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader

[fandomxpreferences]

Deja Vu

Pairing: Rooster x female!reader

Word Count: 3.8k (this got out of control lol)

TW:angst, description of injuries, fluff,swearing

Based on this request

A/N: I hope y'all enjoy this because its absolutely one of my favorite pieces so far and im so proud of it.Also did I scroll through dozen photos of miles and zoom in to figure out his eye color? yes I did.

Maverick watches everything happen in slow motion. He looks on helplessly as Rooster gets stuck in a jet wash and goes into a tailspin. His voice is stuck in his throat as he's forced to see the son of his former RIO suffer the same fate. The fate he promised Carol he'd protect her only son from. At that moment, all he knows is that Rooster hit the canopy as he ejected, floating to the ground completely limp. He mentally prepares to face you the same way he had to face Carol all those years ago.

You're standing in the kitchen putting groceries away when your phone rings. You close the fridge and look at the caller ID. Your heart rate speeds up when you see the picture of Maverick holding you in a headlock with a wide smile on his face. Rooster has been gone on a classified mission for the last two weeks. You don't know where he is or when he'll be back, but you know it should be at least another week. 

You know that this was a no-contact mission, meaning Mav shouldn't be calling you. And if they're able to call, why would Mav call instead of Bradley? You pick up the device and hit the green button, bringing it up to your ear. "Hello? Mav?" You ask cautiously. You're terrified of what's waiting for you on the other end of the line. 

"Y/N. I thought I should be the one to call." His voice is nervous, and it causes you to tremble with fear. "There's been an incident. Bradley's on a medevac but he's still a few hours out." On the other side of the phone, Mav is trying his best not to let you know how worried he is. It does no good, you can hear the distress in his voice. 

"What happened? Is he okay?" You ask. You're doing your best to stay composed and get information, but the panic is leeching into your voice. Every second that you don't get an answer, you become more frantic. 

You're brought back by the sound of Maverick's voice. "I…I don't know, Y/N. He-" there's a pause and you hear him take a shaky breath. "He had to eject and he-" Maverick stops again trying to steady his voice. You about rip your hair out waiting for the man to spit out what he's trying to say. 

"He what, Pete?! I need to know what the fuck happened!" You bite out. You know it's harsh. You grew up with Bradley and know Mav is reliving one of the worst days of his life. But you need to know if you're about to suffer the same grief that you watched Carol carry until she took her last breath. 

"He hit the canopy. He was limp when he hit the ground. He's alive, but I don't know anything else." He's crying now, but you're barely listening as your ears ring. You feel your blood run cold and your knees buckle, sending you crashing to the ground. 

You don't know how long you've been spiraling, but you're launched back into reality at the sound of Maverick calling your name. "Y/N? Are you there?" He's yelling, so you figure he's been trying to get a response for at least a couple of minutes. 

"You promised. You promised me you'd keep him safe." Your voice is small as tears begin to roll off your face and onto the hardwood floor. "Where are they taking him?" You ask, already reaching for your keys. You know Bradley's still hours away, but they're out of their fucking minds if they think you won't be there waiting when he arrives. 

You vaguely register Mav's answer followed by him asking, "Is there anything I can do? Trust me, I'm doing everything I can to get there. I'm working with Ice now." You shake your head even though he can't see you. 

"No," you tell him. "He trusted you, just like his dad. Look what that got them." You hang up, not bothering to wait for a response. You know it was cruel. You know you'll regret it later, but right now emotions are running high and all you can think about is being handed a folded-up flag as people look on with pity. 

You get to the hospital in record time, rushing to the front desk. A kind-looking older lady is sitting behind a computer and you momentarily feel bad for startling her with your urgency. 

"My husband, Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, was in an accident on a mission. He's being flown here, but I was wondering if you had any more information." The words run together as they rush out of your mouth. 

She gives you a warm smile and types for a few seconds. She glances up at you and you hate the sympathy in her eyes. You wonder for a second if that's a look you should get used to before she speaks. "I don't have any information on his condition, ma'am. All we've been told is to have a medical team and operating room on standby."

You thank her, barely holding yourself up as you stumble over to a chair. You plop down and just stare at the white wall in front of you. The sterile smell burns your nostrils and your eyes hurt from the harsh fluorescent lighting. You prepare yourself for the worst. You don't know a lot about hospitals, but you've seen enough TV to know having anything on standby isn't good. There must be hope if they're bothering to work on him, right? At least it was a medevac and not a search and recovery. 

You don't know how long you've been trying to reason with yourself, spiraling around different scenarios. It must have been a while because your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a helicopter. You know he won't be coming through the front, which you're grateful for. You don't think you could stand to see the doctors swarming him, yelling out orders and diagnoses that you can't make sense of. 

You do, however, see the doctors running when their pagers alert them that your husband is here. The receptionist gives you a gentle smile, and assures you she'll let them know you're here waiting for an update. You must have dozed off because you're awoken by Maverick sitting next to you with two coffees. 

You sit up and crack your neck, certain that you'll be sore from being slumped over in the stiff chair. He offers you a cup and you take it gingerly, giving him a remorseful smile. You open your mouth to apologize but you're cut off by the older man shaking his head and putting his hand up. 

"Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for. You're scared and it's normal to lash out. It's water under the bridge." You nod your head and meet his eyes. He reaches out to hold your hand and that's all it takes. Within seconds you're crumbling into his arms, sobs wracking your body. He doesn't say anything. He just kisses your head and holds you firmly as you release the terror and panic that you've been swirling in all day.

It takes about an hour for you to settle down. You sit next to the man who's always been like blood to you, sipping your now cold coffee. It's silent aside from an occasional hiccup from you and the normal hustle and bustle of a hospital. There's no need to talk. There's nothing to say. All you can do is wait, and it's torture. 

After another few minutes, the doors open and a doctor in scrubs walks out. Your eyes lift up to look at the woman. She looks tired. It's been 10 hours since Bradley arrived. You assume she's the surgeon who holds the rest of your life in her palms. Her eyes land on you and she takes a step forward. "Mrs.Bradshaw?" She questions and you shoot out of your chair, meeting her halfway. "Yes, that's me." You confirm, your voice wavering. She nods her head and looks over the chart in her hands. 

"Your husband was in a nasty accident." She starts. You wait with bated breath and feel Maverick come up behind you, prepared to catch you if necessary. "He came in with a shattered clavicle and several broken ribs. His body hit the canopy, and it caused a pretty severe internal hemorrhage." You lean your weight on maverick, feeling your knees start to grow weak. 

"I was able to stop the bleeding, but he needed three bags of blood. He has some pretty severe wounds and needed a total of 112 stitches. He's in a medically induced coma to help his body heal, but he is stable. We hope to bring him out of it in the next couple of days if all goes well." You stand there silently, trying to process the information. 

She gives you the time you need and after a couple of minutes, you look back up. "Can I see him?" You ask. The doctor looks between you and Maverick a few times. Slowly, she nods and you feel like you've taken your first real breath since this started. "I have to warn you though, he's pretty beat up. It may be distressing." You shake your head. "I don't care. I need to see him." You croak.

"They're still getting him settled in, but I'll let a nurse know to come get you as soon as he's ready." She starts to walk away before turning back to face you. "For what it's worth, your husband is extremely lucky given the circumstances. Had his shoulder not taken the brunt of the force, he would have sustained a spinal injury or a traumatic brain injury. He’s fortunate not to be paralyzed. I've seen this exact situation play out very differently. At the end of the day, you still get to take your husband home and he will be his normal self after some physical therapy and rest. Just try to think of it that way when you see him." She tells you gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Will he get to fly again?” You ask. If he loses his wings, Bradley will never be the same. It’s who he is and it would destroy him. She gives you a kind smile and nods. “It’ll be a while, but yes. He will be able to fly again.” You nod and she goes back the way she came.

Twenty minutes later, you and Mav are following a nurse down a bleak hallway. You stop outside a door and look at the number plate. 402. "You can go in whenever you're ready. If you need anything, don't hesitate to hit the call button." She informs you with a gentle tone. It's well past visiting hours and the hospital is empty. It's not customary for them to bend the rules, but you know Maverick must have pulled some strings because nobody gives you a second look. 

You stand outside the door for a minute, bracing your head against it and white-knuckling the handle. You listen to the steady beeping coming from Bradley's room and try to remind yourself that it means he's alive. He's here and he needs you. You take a deep breath and push the heavy door open. 

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what was before you. As bad as the scenarios in your head were, this seemed worse. There was your husband laying on a hospital bed, but if you didn't know better you would have walked right past completely unaware. His usual golden skin was pale and clammy. The curls that he carefully styled every morning were messy and untamed, falling onto his forehead. He looked dead. You let out a choked whimper and collapse. Maverick must have been directly behind you because your knees never hit the cold tile.

Instead, you were lowered gently and cradled in strong arms. You felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and thrown in a blender. You clasp both hands over your mouth trying to stifle your gut-wrenching cries. 

Behind you, Maverick feels his own tears fall. He's heard these deep, primal wails before. It was the same way Carol cried when he held her after Goose's death brought her to her knees.

Your eyes rake over his form, taking in all the wires and IVs poking and prodding his body. He's intubated and covered in bandages. You cry until you throw up, Maverick holding your hair back the same way he did Carol's. Maverick had always jokingly asked when you were giving him an honorary grandchild, but at this moment he's glad no child is waiting for you at home. 

Maverick manages to settle you down, and you take your place at Bradley's bedside. The next couple of weeks are filled with updates from the doctors, promising he'd be woken up soon. After a couple days, the rest of the Dagger Squad made it back to solid ground and came first thing. 

He wasn't as pale and ghastly by the time they arrived and you were glad. You would be seeing it in your nightmares for the foreseeable future, and you knew they already had their own trauma surrounding the incident. 

They all took turns checking in on you. Bringing food and clothes, forcing you to shower and sleep. Maverick, Phoenix, and Hangman were the ones who came most often and stuck around the longest. 

Bradley had grown quite close with the blonde aviator since the uranium mission, and in turn, you had too. Hangman promised Bradley that if anything ever happened, he'd take care of you. He was doing everything in his power to keep that promise. 

It's been three weeks and the doctors have stopped the medication and removed the breathing tube. He's now in a coma with no end in sight. The doctors tell you he'll wake up when he's ready, that sometimes these things just happen. 

You and hangman are having your usual chat and watching re-runs of shitty reality tv. He's brought you takeout, forcing you to take a bite every few minutes. Your clothes are baggy and your eyes are sunken in, the stress clearly taking a toll. You're in the middle of chewing when you see Bradley's hand move out of the corner of your eye. 

Hangman notices you freeze and turns to look at you. "What is it? Are you okay?" He asks, giving you a visual assessment. You chew and swallow your food, almost choking. "He moved." You tell him, eyes boring into Bradley's hand. 

Jake watches for a few minutes before placing a hand on your back. "Maybe you should get some sleep." He suggests. You shake your head aggressively, messy hair flopping around. "No. I'm telling you. He moved." 

Jake is getting concerned you're starting to hallucinate when he hears Bradley's voice. "Did you bring me any or were you just going to eat in front of me?" His voice is scratchy and weak after not drinking any water for almost a month.

You jump out of your chair and grab his hand. "Oh my god. Bradley! I knew you'd come back to me." You're sobbing and he reaches up to wipe your cheek. "Hey, none of that. I'm right here." You lean into him, grasping his large hand in your own and holding it in place.

Jake hits the call button, and a nurse comes rushing in. The staff has become quite fond of you. You have the team bring them snacks and you spent many sleepless nights swapping stories, most of them being military spouses as well. Most importantly, you never hit the call button, not wanting to desensitize them for when this inevitably happened. 

The nurse, who was the same one that took you to his room that first night, is smiling so big it looks like her face might split. "Mr.Bradshaw. Glad you decided to join us." She beams. She calls for a doctor and begins taking his vitals. She works around you, allowing you to stay glued to his side. Bless her. You make a mental note to send her a gift basket. 

Jake leaves to call the rest of the team, and you sit in the room listening to the doctor. She looks over his charts and gives him a bright smile. "Well Lieutenant, it seems that coma served you well. You're healing up quite nicely. We'll keep you for observation just to be safe, and if all is well you can go home in the morning." 

You leave Bradley for a moment and give the doctor a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you. For everything." You tell her. She laughs and returns the hug. "You're welcome. You've been a joy, despite the poor circumstances." She tells you, before turning and pointing at Bradley. 

"You. Don't let me see you here again. This poor woman almost withered away. I've never had a loved one not leave the hospital for three weeks. Didn't even take a step outside for a walk or fresh air." She scolds playfully. She bids one last goodbye and leaves to give you two privacy. 

"Come here, sweet girl." Bradley calls out and you rush to his side. His voice is almost back to normal since drinking some fluids and he's gotten his color back. He looks like your Bradley. He pulls you down and you sit on his bed careful not to hurt him. He grabs the back of your head and brings your lips to his. It's a bruising kiss filled with fear, relief, and love. You pull back for air and lock eyes with him.

You make a note to never take them for granted again. Five weeks without seeing his hazel eyes. You take in every gold fleck, committing them to memory. You were terrified you'd never see them again. Never look into them and see the love and adoration he holds for you. Bradley is the first to break the silence. 

"I was so scared, Y/N." He confides with tears In his eyes. "All I could think about was my dad, and how I was going to leave you the same way he left me and mom. I kept picturing your face when you got the news. Kept seeing Mav hand you a folded flag and dog tags like he gave me at dad's funeral." He cries. 

You shake your head, not wanting to think about it. That had been the only thing on your mind while you were waiting to find out if you were a widow. You place his hand over your heart. "No, Roo. None of that talk, okay? You're here. You're alive. You feel my heart? It beats for you. Only for you. I never want to think about that again, okay?" You tell him as a tear falls down your face.

Bradley brushes it away and kisses the wet streak it left in its wake. "No more crying, baby, You're too pretty." You give him a teary smile and pull back. "No more crying." You confirm, leaning forward to give him another kiss.

The room is filled with junk food and laughter as the whole team sits around catching up. You look around and smile, beyond happy that things are back the way they should be. Visiting hours come to an end and everybody says their goodbyes, promising to come to see him once he's home tomorrow. 

You shut the door and turn to lean against it, facing Bradley. You give him a small smile and he returns the gesture. He waves you over and you make your way to his side. He lifts the blanket and pats the bed, signaling that he wants you to get in. 

You shake your head gently. "You're still hurt, Roo. Besides, I don't think that's allowed." You reason. He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Neither is you living here, but you're all moved in. I don't give a fuck what the policy is, I haven't slept with my girl for over a month. Get your cute ass in here." He retorts with a teasing tone. You give a defeated sigh, before gently crawling into bed. 

You can't deny that you've missed this. You haven't gotten more than two hours of consecutive sleep since the accident. He pulls you tight against his chest and kisses your temple. Your eyes flutter shut as he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand tracing up and down your spine. 

"Get some sleep, sweet girl. You look like shit." You can hear the smirk in his voice and you gasp dramatically. "I thought you said I was pretty." You shoot back with mock offense. He chuckles and you feel him wince. "The prettiest. But that doesn't mean you don't look like you went three rounds with Rocky." He jests. 

You're half asleep already when you respond. "You're lucky I love you." He lays his cheek on top of your head, smelling your shampoo. "The luckiest." He whispers, joining you in a peaceful slumber. 

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of breakfast and Bradley's body moving. You raise your head to look at him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "I'm sorry if I woke you, baby. I have to sign this discharge paperwork." He explains. You look at the clock and see it's eleven. You slept for twelve hours. 

One of your favorite nurses comes in and gives you a lazy grin. "Morning sleeping beauty." She quips. You groan, gently climbing out of bed and stretching your aching muscles. "I'm sorry if sleeping in the bed caused any issues." You say with a shy smile. She shrugs her shoulders. "I didn't see anything." She giggles, bringing her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. "This is why you're my favorite." You tell her fondly.

A couple hours later, you and Bradley are on your way home. You pull into the driveway and place your car in park. You help him out of the passenger side and go to grab the bags. Being in the coma for three weeks means the worst of his injuries is over. He still has to do physical therapy and take it easy, but he's doing considerably better and should be back to work within a couple months. 

You turn around and see Bradley giving his Bronco an awkward hug. "I missed you so much." He whispers and you shake your head at his antics. "Jake came over every couple of days and drove it so the battery didn't die." You tell him. His head whips towards you. "You let hangman drive my pride and joy?" He asks with clear horror. 

You scoff. "You trust him to take care of me, but not your truck?" You question with a raised eyebrow. His arms drop to his sides and he admits defeat. "Touche."

"Let's get inside. Everyone is coming over for a bonfire later and we need to get ready." You remind him. 

The night is filled with laughter and loud music. Everyone swaps embarrassing stories and you take it all in, pressed firmly against Bradley's chest. You turn around and give your husband a sweet kiss, and he gives you a heart-stopping smile and wink. The next few months are going to be challenging, but as long as you have each other, you can get through anything.

#rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fluff #rooster angst #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #Bradley Bradshaw topgun #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun angst #top gun fluff

[unclewaynemunson]

The sequel to Nancy Wheeler's lesbian awakening has arrived :D

While Robin is out on her date with Vickie, Nancy is sitting alone in her room, using the excuse of doing homework to never get out of there again. She has a history book and her notebook on the desk in front of her, but can't even bring herself to read a single letter. The only thing she's able to do is to stare at the pages blindly, while her mind is completely elsewhere. She doesn't see any of the black-and-white pictures in the book in front of her. No, all she sees is color: Robin's magenta painted lips inching closer towards her; the rosy blush on Robin's cheeks; the sapphire blue of Robin's eyes; the bronze of Robin's freckles...

She sighs and drops her head in her hands. At least she finally understands why she got so unreasonably upset every time she thought about Robin and Vickie together. Turns out it had less to do with her failing to be a good ally for Robin and way more with, well, her wanting to be the one going on that date instead of Vickie. It was jealousy. And it's only gotten worse now that she's kissed Robin and has become conscious of her own feelings in this matter.

She never even thought being kissed could feel like that. With Jonathan, and before him with Steve, it had always felt like she was playing a part. It wasn't unpleasant, she could definitely enjoy it every now and then, but she had always been hyper-aware of the steps she needed to follow, the invisible rule book that told her not to be too needy, or too boring, or too predictable, or too unpredictable. With Robin, it hadn't been like that at all – or at least not once they'd gotten past the part of Nancy's rules and properly got lost in their kiss. It had been equal parts comfort and heat, soft and passionate, sweet and hungry... It had been thrilling, and it had stopped Nancy's brain like never happened before. She wasn't playing some part or doing things because she thought she was supposed to do them. She wasn't even thinking at all. She was simply drinking in Robin's taste and enjoying herself.

And now, she can't think of anything but kissing Robin, while Robin is out with another girl, possibly kissing her this very moment.

She's driving herself crazy sitting alone in her room with her thoughts, but it's not like she's got anywhere else to go tonight. Usually, she'd go to Robin whenever she felt like she was losing her mind, but for obvious reasons, that's off the table now. So she resorts to staring at the books in front of her again, failing miserably in yet another half-hearted attempt to focus on her homework.

And then the phone on her nightstand rings, putting her out of her misery with the hopes of literally any kind of distraction.

She picks it up before it can even ring a third time.

'Nance!'

The sound of Robin's husky voice saying her name makes her heart stumble in her chest.

'Thank God you're home. Can I come over?'

***

The doorbell rings four times in rapid succession. Nancy can clearly envision her father downstairs in his armchair, rolling his eyes from behind his newspaper. It makes her chuckle to herself while she rushes down the stairs.

'What's wrong?' Nancy asks as soon as she has swung the door open: Robin is looking... distressed is probably the right word for it. She's pale and has this worrying look in her eyes. 'Did things go wrong with Vickie?'

Robin's eyes flash over Nancy's shoulder and into the hall, where the door to the living room is open.

'Not here,' she says in a low voice. 'Can we talk in your room?'

Nancy leads the way up the stairs, and as soon as her bedroom door is closed behind them, she barely has to ask what happened for Robin to start talking, fast and rushed while pacing back and forth over the floor. Nancy goes to sit cross-legged on her bed while her eyes keep following Robin's movements like a cat, never once letting her gaze wander.

'So I was really looking forward to this date, right? I've liked Vickie for ages, our first date was pretty good, Vickie is awesome and hot and cute and pretty much everything a lesbian like me could wish for... I was really excited about where this was going! But I really, utterly, spectacularly messed this one up, Nance!' She continues before Nancy can even ask what happened, words pouring out of her mouth in rapid succession like she's simply letting her whole stream of consciousness spill over Nancy's carpet.

'She's just like me, alright? She just mirrors all my nervousness and anxiety right back to me, and that makes me even more nervous and anxious, and we kinda get into this cycle where we're both going crazy, and I couldn't help but think I need someone who can stop me and set me at ease with reason and logic and preferably some calmness. But anyway, that's not even the point here. We got through the night, and it was not like it was bad, you know, we still had a good time and it was nice and she looked very pretty so it was fine, you know. And then she walked me home and, um, we kissed.'

Finally, she lets a silence fall. Those last two words were uttered softly, with a blush on her cheeks, like it's something she should feel ashamed of.

Nancy now knows that the nauseous feeling rearing its head in her stomach has nothing to do with the fact that Robin is dating a girl. But this isn't about her, so she plasters on a fake smile.

'That's good news, right, Robbie?' she says.

'No, it's not!' Robin all but screams in frustration. 'Because I was doing it right, just like we practiced, I was following all the rules, but... but... I didn't feel anything! When we practiced, I felt a million things, Nance, I felt like I could implode because of all the things I was feeling – and with Vickie, nothing! There was just her mouth and it was wet and I kept overthinking about where I should put my hands because you didn't tell me the rules about that and I – God, Nance, I basically fled inside and smashed the door in her face! I just left her on my porch without a goodbye, I feel terrible about it! But I also don't want to kiss her again and – and – I don't know what to do!' She takes a deep breath, clearly on the verge of tears. 'I don't know what to do,' she repeats, this time in a softer voice.

Nancy pats on the duvet beside her, silently telling Robin to sit down, and Robin lets herself fall on Nancy's bed without much elegance. The movement makes Nancy bounce up and down on the mattress while she thinks about what to say.

'Can I tell you a secret?' Nancy asks her.

Robin nods, looking at her with an expectant gaze.

'I found out something, after our kissing lesson,' Nancy starts to say. Her heart is beating in her throat. 'I – I thought it was all about rules, about this kind of imaginary playbook that prescribes exactly how you should do those kind of things. But I was wrong. And I only found out about that when I kissed you. I taught you the wrong lesson. It's not about build-up, or strategy, or about who should lean in in which ways. It's about...' She pauses, takes a deep breath to push herself to go on. 'I only understood when I kissed you what it's about, Robin,' she confesses. She can't bear to look Robin in her eyes anymore and adjusts her gaze to the blanket underneath her, to her own hand absentmindedly playing with a loose thread in the crocheted fabric. 'I never understood that before, because I didn't feel it when I'd kiss a boy. That's what it's about: feeling things. Enjoying things. Having your heart speed up and your brain shut off and feeling like you want to keep kissing each other forever.'

'Nance.' The way Robin says her name is barely a whisper.

Nancy slowly lifts up her head to meet Robin's eyes: there's a shocked look in them as she stares at Nancy slightly open-mouthed.

'I think that's exactly the difference between when I kissed Vickie and when I kissed you.'

A warm hand curls around Nancy's, sending sparks all the way through her body – like no touch of a boy has ever done for her before.

Nancy can't possibly suppress the smile that's spreading over her face. A warm, giddy feeling shoots up from her stomach to her chest.

'Wanna try again, just to check?' she asks while squeezing Robin's hand.

Robin frowns. 'Try again? Do you mean kissing Vickie, or kissing you?'

Nancy feels her smile widen until it might just split her face in two. She leans forward, not waiting for Robin to take her own turn leaning, but directly resting her forehead against Robin's.

'You're an idiot, Robin Buckley,' she murmurs, right before she lets her lips find Robin's again.

Robin reacts immediately in a way that's nothing like their kissing lesson. It's not following any of the rules, and it awakens something almost primal in Nancy: it's teeth awkwardly clattering against each other, it's hungrily licking into each other's mouths, it's panting and smiling and everything at once.

It all feels so completely different from what kissing used to be like. No rules, no gameplay, no thinking. The only thing left is pure, unfiltered wanting. Wanting to inhale Robin whole, wanting to swallow her sounds, wanting to have their limbs entangled in every possible way, wanting to feel more of her bare skin against her own... It's so overwhelming it would scare Nancy if the wanting wasn't so strong, simply leaving no room for any other emotion.

When they finally break apart to get some fresh air in their lungs again, they're both panting heavily. Robin's chest is heaving, her lips are swollen and her hair is completely disheveled – and she has never looked more beautiful.

A low giggle escapes Robin's lips. 'Yeah, um, I think we should check some more,' she says, her voice breathy and so goddamn sexy. 'Just – just to make sure, y'know.'

'Good idea,' Nancy says with a nod before she leaps forward to press Robin down on the bed and climb on top of her, leaning down instead of forward to find her way back to those perfect lips.

Taglist: @robins-gay-suspenders @au79burger @agathaharkness-simp @notablog4242 @defnotarobot

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #(please duffers i am begging you to give nancy a lesbian awakening in s5) #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stranger things #fruity ficlet