#she may not have either? but god might as well have
Note
Omg record of ragnarok, where have you been oh my lord when I’ve been needing some of it abdvducudhrdbxu! But if I may can I ask for Buddha ( how much I love him is just unreal dhtgrhdudh ) and Poseidon where god(dess) reader is fighting but gets badly hurt in the fight?
Record of Ragnarok
Reacting to you getting badly injured in a battle
Characters: Poseidon, Buddha
Notes: Thank you so much for this request! (My love for Buddha is similarly unreal.)
Poseidon
Resting your weapon down, you stare your opponent dead in the eyes. Defeating a mere human would be easy work for a god like you. You worked hard to be the best, just as your family is. When the tournament was officially on its way, you knew what you had to do. Humans are selfish creatures that can never reach perfection no matter how hard they try, not like a god can.
The human who stands before you is a young woman, a marksman with a stetson hat you already knocked clean off her head as soon as that bell rang. She tried with all her might to get a good shot at you, but a gun is no match for divine power.
The match has been going on for about ten minutes. You begrudgingly have to admit that despite her shots not reaching you, she did manage to dodge all of your swings towards her. You're building up a sweat and you reach up to wipe the offending substance.
As you look up, you find Poseidon watching the match with his usual blank expression. It was well known he didn't acknowledge anyone who didn't reach the pinnacle of perfection. And even then, perfection is already expected of gods so there was no need for him to give them praise either. Despite this, you're determined to make the icy sea look at you.
You turn back to the human and snort as she unites with her Valkyrie. "Honestly, why don't you just give up?" You could nearly laugh at her enraged expression. She once again cocks her gun at you.
"I'll even spare you a painful dea-" Your words are cut off by a bullet piercing through your flesh, slicing through several organs before shooting out of your back. Your hands shake and you look down with wide, dazed eyes to find a sizable hole in your stomach.
Even with Völundr, a human should not be this strong. A human shouldn't be able to make a god bleed. And yet, blood fills your mouth and you're forced to cough it out.
"Vile...filthy...disgusting human!" You bellow out before raising your weapon high. Quickly tired of playing games, you slice and hack at the human. You use your divine abilities to show the human just exactly what kind of advantage a god has over her. She tried her best to defend herself, her bullets grazing your arms and legs, but ultimately she's no match for your prowess. With one last swing from your weapon, the human stumbles and falls to the ground in several pieces.
A crescendoing roar erupts from the crowd on the god's side. It's nothing compared to best pounding in your head as you try to stumble your way to the gigantic doors. Your ferocity towards the human overshadowed the pain you felt at the unnatural hole in your stomach, and now you're feeling it at full force.
A couple medics rush over to try and hold you steady but you shove them off. You could hardly call yourself a worthy god if you weren't able to walk off after your match. Your body did not seem to agree with your ideals since you soon collapse to the ground and your consciousness fades.
You wake up in a room full of stone. The light shining through the windows makes you squint your eyes. The pain in your abdomen makes you not want to move an inch and you groan quietly to yourself. You didn't leave the battle unscathed as you expected. Even worse, you passed out in front of everyone and had to be carried out. You would never be like your esteemed family. You would never be deemed worthy of being looked upon.
***
You sigh and reach your hand down to touch the bandages wrapped around you. A large hand grips your wrist.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you enjoy the prospect of bleeding out all over the table." Poseidon says. His eyes, of course, are not on you but rather on the window above your head. Your own eyes widen and you freeze in place, trying to conjure up some words to say to him. If he notices your hesitation, he doesn't say anything as he moves your hand back to your side.
"What are you...doing here?" You manage to say. Poseidon hums to himself for a moment and taps a steady beat on the head rest of the table.
"Some gods feel we should have sympathy for the humans. That maker should help their creation." Poseidon's finger pauses and he meets your gaze. "You don't think that way, do you?"
Seeing his blueish-gray murky eyes on your own makes you take pause. You don't understand it at all. You made yourself look like a weakling and yet he's still looking at you. Despite the intimidation in his gaze, you find that you can't look away.
You shake your head at his question that was said more like a statement. Humans needed to fend for themselves, as they're doing now.
"Good. I'm glad there's at least one god around here who has some sense." He remarks. You feel slightly embarrassed by the blooming in your chest caused by his praise. You try to sit up on the table, clutching your abdomen as it aches terribly. Poseidon's frown deepens as he holds you still with one hand.
"Didn't you hear what I said? Troublesome..." He lets out a deep sigh before moving you back down on the table, forcefully but not unkindly.
"Thank you...for coming here." You tell him. Poseidon hums again and turns to walk out of the infirmary. He pauses for a moment at the doorway.
"You did good." He leaves you with that and you wonder if you might see him again.
Buddha
You wait just inside the hall that stands before the wide doors, anticipating the moment Heimdall would call your name. You should be completely confident and ready to fight for the gods but you hesitated to even bring yourself out of your quarters.
You knew you would have to go to battle, just as your parents expected, rather demanded of you. Second thoughts are foreign to gods; they usually do what they feel at that split second. But something in your consciousness told you that this isn't right. Contrary to your family's beliefs, you did not believe humans were completely weak, selfish creatures. They definitely make some bad decisions at times but they also make good, inventive, and empathetic ones. They're entirely complex and you couldn't find a solid reason to want to fight one of the humans you've tried so hard to help for centuries.
Your parents, well-admired gods themselves, drove it into you that you had to do what was right for the gods and to disregard any pathetic feelings you had for humans. You tried to do as they said, but their hold on you was shaken when Buddha declared that he would fight for the humans. Everyone knew he was the kind of god that did whatever the hell he wanted, but it was still surprising that any god would stick their neck out for the fate of humans.
But who else would do such a reckless yet altruistic thing besides him? You haven't seen him often since you live in different realms but the few times that the various gods have come together, you have admired him from afar. He didn't listen to anyone or anything but himself and you wish you had that kind of courage.
You begin to hear Heimdall announce your entrance and the doors slowly open. You force yourself to walk out on steady feet. You hear the gods cheering for their soon to be champion. Some of the humans boo in disgust or shake their head in anger, but the emotion that strikes you the most is fear. It's bursting out of the eyes of many and their worst case scenario would be closer to confirmed if you fight against them today. You hate that look and resolve to replace it with more peaceful feelings.
"Fighting for the gods is-" Heimdall shouts but stops at your tapping on his shoulder.
"About that..." You whisper the rest of your intentions into his ear before taking a step back. Heimdall's hands quiver on the Gjallarhorn and he screeches, 'Not again!'
"It looks like our competitor for the gods will be switching over to the humans side! Oooh, management isn't gonna like this..." Heimdall clutches his head as if he has a major migraine. There's only a seconds pause before the crowd starts yelling. The gods' side is naturally furious at your betrayal while the humans are excited to have a god fighting for them.
Your eyes glance over to the stands and you immediately find your parents disapproving faces. They are surely going to have a word with you after this, if they could anyways assuming you survive battling another god. You try to peel your eyes away from them, and find yourself drawn over to the guffawing god who has his head thrown back in glee.Buddha stands back up, meeting your gaze and sending you a wink. Before you can figure out how to respond to him, your opponent steps out into the arena.
The god that slithers before you is lean but extremely tall. He must be over 20 feet tall and he grins maliciously at you with all sharp teeth. You don't waste any time and begin attacking the other god. He slips out of the way easily, though some of your hits manage to hurt him as he scurries away. His bites sink into your limbs but you try not to let it phase you too much. You respond by striking harder and faster.
Just as you think you have the upper hand, the other gods' silver staff comes to life and you can't move out of the way in time before its jaws clamp down on your entire leg. It rolls you around like an alligator, teeth sinking in past the bone. You cry out in pain and as it tries to twist you again, you shove your fingers under its jaw and painstakingly pry it open. You succeed in pulling it open enough to slip your leg out but it leaves your fingers a mangled mess.
You curse and drag yourself a few inches away, trying to bring yourself to stand up despite the immense pain. Your betrayal would be all for nothing if you died here. Your opponent cackles and lunges towards your position. You throw yourself out of the way and use the momentum to thrust your weapon forward, cutting him down where he stands. He howls and shakily tries to grab at you but the strikes keep coming and don't stop until he's a bloodied puddle on the ground.
You inhale sharply, stumbling back until your legs fall out from underneath you. As your body hits the ground, the humans cheer in delight for your victory. Most of the gods grumble and talk amongst themselves. You let out a few shaky laughs, feeling more delirious as blood leaks out of your leg. The medics take hold of your nearly limp body and you end up passing out in their arms.
Images of your family rebuking you and casting you out flash in your mind as you sleep. You thought you made the right decision and yet you can't help but think about what your parents will say.
You slowly stir and can still feel the throbbing pain in one of your legs and your hand, only a little less intense. You sigh and ease your way up to sit on the table, only to come face to face with Buddha.
"Want one?" He grins and offers you a sucker. Before you can respond, he lightly flings the stick at you and you luckily grab it before it smacks you in the face. You mumble a 'thanks' and start opening the wrapper.
"Who would've thought? The child of warriors, fighting for the humans." Buddha teases and you look down at your bandaged hand.
"I'm not sure that was the right thing to do." You confess. He leans his arm down on the table so that you can smell the sweet scent of his candy.
"Really now? Tell me then, how do you feel?" Buddha asks and you look at him in confusion.
"Besides the searing pain in my leg? I guess..." You take a moment to introspect. While you are worried about your family's reactions, you also take pleasure in the rising security in humanity's fate. "...content, but also troubled." You ignore Buddha's 'blegh' at your last word.
"Leaving humans to defend their own fate is what my parents want." You add.
"Is that what you want?"
"It doesn't matter what I want-"
"If that's the case, you wouldn't have gotten your leg chewed up for them." Buddha says as he takes your non-injured hand and pops the sucker in your mouth for you. "You're fighting for what you believe in, no one else. That's a good thing."
You nod slowly. You aren't sure that you can immediately come to terms with that but it's certainly something to think about.
"Take it easy. You worked hard." Buddha says before strolling off towards the door. He turns back for a moment, striking blue eyes looking at you from above his glasses. "See ya around."
#record of ragnarok#ror#record of ragnarok x reader#ror x reader#ror poseidon x reader#ror buddha x reader#ror poseidon#ror buddha#x reader
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I'll never be able to take the theory that Vincent is Sephiroth's real father seriously cuz I cannot stress enough how important I think it is to the plot that Vincent wanted to fuck Lucrecia and did not get to.
#once again i jest but now i have to actually talk about it#like. okay we have no proof of any actual timeline for the dirge flashbacks other than. it was at least 30 years ago#so who knows how long they were at the manor. could have been weeks before The Incident. or months. or maybe a full year! who knows#but to me a timeline of like. they fucked and like a week later vincent found The Evidence and lucercia had her little breakdown#AND THEN EXTREMELY QUICKLY SHE AGREED TO THE EXPERIMENT AND IT COULD GO ONE OF TWO WAYS#1. she knew she was pregnant and thats why she agreed to the experiment cuz there was already a usable subject#and therefore she must have fucked hojo like a week after she fucked vincent AND THATS STUPID FAST FOR THESE EVENTS#or 2. she didnt know. agreed to the experiment. fucked hojo. and therefore thought seph was hojo's and NOT vincent's#AND BY THE WAY. i dont even actually believe hojo fucked either!!! cuz theyre both scientists so why wouldnt they think IVF was the best way#okay. well.... hojo is canonically a fucked up little freak. so. he might have taken the opportunity to... get in there.#also when did ivf even start being a thing? cuz that may play a factor into this if nomura even considered that#well either way lets just unfortunately assume hojo got in there#ITS STILL AN ODDLY FAST TIMELINE#also. fuck man doesnt lucrecia have a later line in dirge where she actually says shes in love with hojo? or something along those lines#IMPLYING ITS BEEN AWHILE SINCE SHE HAD THE FALLING OUT WITH VINCENT. YOU WOULDNT FUCK THE GUY AFTER ALL THAT SHIT#AND WHILE CLAIMING TO LOVE/CURRENTLY FALLING IN LOVE WITH HOJO!!!! LIKE CMON MAN!!!! SHE SUCKS BUT SHES NOT THAT KIND OF A MESS#i dont think vincent would fuck her until they sorted out their issues anyway and that CLEARLY didnt happen.#its VITAL that that did not happen!!!!#its just. if vincent and lucrecia fucked. everything would have had to happen EXTREMELY fast within like a 2 week timespan#and im just talking about up to when vincent learns shes partaking in the experiment. it was probably another week or two until vincent died#SO. logically it must have been like#fall in love->learn about the gimoire incident->refuse to speak to vincent->get obsessed with hojo->fall in love(?)#and then thats where i think its ambiguous on did the experiment become an idea before or after seph started to exist?#like chicken or the egg ya know. experiment idea or sephiroth zygote?#that feels fucked up to say. im so fucking sorry to seph to talk about this. yeah sorry i have to debate who fucked your mom bro#god imagine telling him that. like not even as a reveal thing cuz he knows who his father is. just like as a sick joke. your mom joke.#NO OH M Y GOD I HAVE A QUESTION NOW#in accordance to him having a photo of lucrecia in ever crisis. after he reads that jenova is an ancient (incorrect btw)#does he think that picture is still her? what about when he takes jenova's body from the lab????#oh my god 30 tag limit. FUCK. i need like a rant blog for all this vincent talk now. my brain is going a mile a minute
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so my manager told me i need to start going into the office three days a week
#becca.txt#i told him i didn't want to and he straight up said he didn't either but the company is adamant on three days a week for everyone#no permanent exceptions are being given out#it doesn't make sense for me as a video and site editor to be in an office full of sales people working a nine to five#thank god i have a really nice manager who's flexible on arrival and departure times - as long as i deliver my stuff he doesn't really care#but he did say to keep in mind what everyone else may say because it might give a bad perception if i leave early all the time#i don't even know what to do my commute to work is ass#a bus and two trains from where i live but it is what it is i guess#i'll have made three years at this job in august and i've only been to the office twice - on two consecutive days so pretty much just once#and my manager's the only one on my team working out of that office everyone else is working out of our boston office#so i won't have any friends#update on that coworker - she was fired and given a very nice severance package#i understand her frustrations but the more time i spent correcting her work the more i understood my manager's side too#it was a messy situation all around but she's a lot happier now that she's gone#well anyway yeah i don't know what i'm going to do in an office for like six or seven hours a day#nobody at my job knows how little time it takes me to do my job - like if i work two hours a day that's a lot#the work i do is important but it certainly does not take me a lot of time to do - it took the last person doing this ages#but i have the power#so it doesn't take long#i don't know what i'm gonna do when my manager realizes he's paying me to take naps and dick around on the internet all day#return to office won't start until may 1 so i have a little time to sort everything out#wish me luck y'all
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How’d they react to you cuddling into his side randomly one day and then falling asleep…
Dan Heng/Imbibitor Lunae: stiff as a fucking bored and holding his breath as if that was going to wake you up.
He acts as though every little sound has been amplified to the max and will constantly shift his eyes towards you, almost as though he were expecting any sort of signs of disturbance within your once peaceful slumber.
It was so bad he has to look away from you to hide his burning face because he figured out that he might actually begin to enjoy this, enjoy the idea of you actively choosing him to sleep against. God his heart was going apeshit at the dies that you’d might like his company enough to be in a state of vulnerability with him.
His dragon noddle self (Imbibitor Lunae) is fucking delirious with the idea of his ‘mate’ sleeping against him. So much so that if his tail were visible now, it’d be wagging at a hundred miles an hour to the point it’s just a blur.
He secretly hates how it betrays his innermost thoughts to anyone nearby.
Blade: thinks there’s something genuinely wrong with you if you were willing to fall asleep next to him of all people.
Yet in the same breath he acts as your personal guard dog as you slept, keeping people from coming too close for comfort and or making loud, obnoxious noise with just a smile glare thrown their way.
He gets called soft but he honestly doesn’t give a flying fuck.
He acts like he wants to shove you away from him but the moment someone suggests moving you upon seeing how much he apparently ‘hates’ it, and all of a sudden Blade is holding you further again him and telling the person to fuck off under his breath.
He’s so hypocritical but no one dares say that to his face, especially not when he’s holding you against him protectively and glaring at anyone or anything that breathed or moved wrong. Yet when you’re awake, he’ll act like he did no such thing and go about his day like normal.
Argenti: takes this as an opportunity to gaze upon your beauty up close.
In his opinion you didn’t need beauty sleep because you were already as radiant as a freshly blossomed flower, but if you say you need it then who was he -your chivalrous knight- to argue against it.
Some people may think it’s weird that he’s looking at you so intently as you slept but Argenti always had a response at the ready, for he’d tell them that they’ve just never witnessed a beauty in it’s most natural form, to the point that it makes you utterly breathless and unable to look away.
He traces your every feature with his eyes and finds himself adding more onto the list of reasons of why he finds you so appealing, and in more ways than one.
Eye bags? Beautiful.
Stretch marks? Stunning.
Acne/acne scaring? Heavens have blessed you with your own set of unique constellations within your skin.
Argenti is addicted to looking at you while you are awake and it’s no different when you’re asleep either. He just loves that you trusted him enough to witness you like this and he’ll never take advantage of that. Ever.
Welt Yang: he takes care of you as you sleep soundly against his side.
He makes sure you are comfortable and undisturbed as you slept against his side, for seeing you look so at peace and free from all of your daily stresses only proved to warm his already soft heart.
He makes sure march 7th isn’t nearby, as much as he cares for that bubble gum pink haired girl like she was his own child, she was notoriously well known for her easily excitable nature; which wasn’t something you’d need when catching up on much needed sleep.
He’s already draping a blanket over you as we speak and shifting your position to a more comfortable one so that you wouldn’t wake up with a crick in your neck and irritability.
He’ll probably either carry you to bed or join you in your nap by lying himself down on the couch and pulling you up to his chest and holding you there.
It’s such a cute moment and march has photo proof that it happened. Multiple of them.
However papa Welt has a few questions in regard to your sleeping schedule if you were easily able to sleep against his side without issue. He loves you dearly but please for the love of god take better care of yourself or he fucking will.
This is a threat but then again you’d probably wouldn’t mind it if Welt took care of you….honestly same.
#hsr blade x you#hsr blade x reader#hsr x you#hsr imagines#hsr imagine#hsr x reader#blade imagine#blade imagines#blade x reader#welt yang imagine#welt yang imagines#welt yang x reader#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#Dan heng imagine#Dan heng imagines#argenti x reader#argenti x you#Argenti imagine#Argenti imagines#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#Honkai star rail imagine#Honkai star rail imagines#honkai star rail fluff#hsr fluff#hsr fanfic#hsr fic#hsr x y/n
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Mercury Aspects and Sense of Humor
Aspects to your Mercury (as well as its sign and house placement) say a lot about your sense of humor: how you're funny and what you find funny. If you have many varying aspects to Mercury, you express your humor in many different ways. You also might just be ridiculously funny.
Sun conjunct Mercury: The Funny Guy (or Gal). These people identify with their humor so they seek a lot of validation for being funny. This can make them a constant Joker. "Why so serious?" they ask. "Because everything isn't a damn joke!" you may reply. But, they like taking the piss out of everything and everyone, themselves included. This can be a source of insecurity, too, though. They may feel as if they are always being laughed at, not with, even when it's not convenient.
Moon-Mercury aspects: Naturally funny. Seriously, some of the most hilarious people you'll ever meet (I might be a little biased as I have the sextile 😁). Humor is their intuitive response, so they react in very funny ways, sometimes unintentionally. VERY quick-witted. Needs to feel free to joke/laugh or engage with witty people to feel comfortable. The soul of a comedian. Can use humor to heal or comfort others. Either laughs off/through their feelings or do NOT laugh at them when they're having an emotional moment or they will hurt you.
Mercury conjunct Venus: Pleasing humor. Wins people over through jokes and laughter. May be fond of "corny" humor because it's very inoffensive, wholesome and oddly charming. Can make the worst puns or lamest jokes sound hilarious. Sometimes, people laugh with them just because they like them so much, not because of the joke itself. Observers may think, "Um, calm down, he/she isn't that funny." Very common with their love interests or people they date. Easily falls for very witty individuals.
Mercury-Mars aspects: Potty mouths. Vulgar humor that only they can get away with. If people are rubbed the wrong way, it only amuses them more. An expert at making sex jokes or telling hilarious stories about their sex lives. Funny people of their preferred sex(es) turn them on. Savagely skilled at sassy comebacks that will shut the other person up. Legendary roast sessions or reads. Can go on very funny rants whenever they are pissed off or worked up.
Mercury-Jupiter aspects: The clown. Big and broad humor. Loves being a silly goose. Doesn't care if you find it funny or not. It's hilarious to them! Most likely to have an unstoppable laughing fit over something stupid. Will fail the "try not to laugh" challenge. They can't hold it in! Their humor is like sunshine on a cloudy day. Like to uplift people with jokes. Even their laughter is like a healing medicine. Possibly has a distinct laugh and a huge one, at that.
Mercury-Saturn aspects: Dry wit. The absolute masters of sarcasm. It's like their second (or native) language. People sometimes don't know when they're joking and take them seriously. On the flip side, they get really annoyed when people make a joke out of something that they're taking seriously. Sophisticated humor. If American, they might really love British humor and comedians. Making jokes out of difficult situations but in a cynical or "I hate my life" way. Only gets funnier as they get older. Takes things less seriously with age and learns to use humor as a coping strategy.
Mercury-Uranus aspects: Offbeat humor. Other people sometimes don't "get" their humor. Can feel alienated in that way until they meet a fellow weirdo who laughs at the same things they do. Then, it's like "Thank God! I've found my people!" Super-quick, when it comes to telling jokes, comebacks, or getting the joke. Will laugh at things that go over other people's heads. Comedic genius: brilliant bits or wild one-liners. Might get off on controversial jokes or laughing at things they know they shouldn't. Frequently guilty of knee-jerk laughter in inappropriate moments.
Mercury-Neptune aspects: A chameleon-like wit. Can be dry, goofy, odd, offensive or wholesome in their humor, depending on the environment/audience. May write very funny screenplays or novels or be a great comedic actor. The hilarious main character of their own ongoing movie. Tells a lot of jokes to themselves, in their head or in private. Most likely to laugh out loud in public at an internal joke and look a bit crazy. Cracks themselves up. May imagine cracking others up or getting caught up in wacky situations.
Mercury-Pluto aspects: Dark comedy. "Wow, that was fucked up. Funny but fucked up." Might tell themselves that or be told that by others. Can keep some jokes to themselves because other people couldn't handle them. May think they're just joking around but destroys someone psychologically and triggers their trauma with a single quip. Sometimes, though, that's the intention. Mean streak may come out via humor in a way that horrifies them or they regret later. Or they just own it. SHADE, okay? More shade than a oak tree. It's giving Real Housewives or Tiffany Pollard. "Hilarious reality show villain" energy.
#mercury in astrology#mercury aspects#mercury astrology#sun conjunct mercury#mercury conjunct venus#mercury mars aspects#moon mercury aspects#mercury jupiter aspects#mercury saturn aspects#mercury uranus aspects#mercury neptune aspects#mercury pluto aspects#astrology#astrology observations
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Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning
I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.
Let's take a look:
Gem Glow
"Awesome! What are these things?"
Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.
Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:
The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.
The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-
Laser Light Canon
"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."
Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.
At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.
And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...
"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"
And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.
"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"
Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.
I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.
Cheeseburger Backpack
So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)
Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."
"Yeah... they can't all be winners."
This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-
Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.
Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.
Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.
Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:
This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.
Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.
Together Breakfast
"What's the matter, Steven?"
"I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..."
"Oh, that's nice..."
Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.
Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.
I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.
The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.
If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?
These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'
"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"
And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.
"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"
Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.
__
So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.
One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.
Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.
Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.
Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.
In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'
Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.
When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.
In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.
But they don't care.
Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.
With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.
And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...
No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.
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five more minutes: Dick Grayson x fem!reader
I'm (not) sorry, but that smug face fits right into this fanfiction!!
request/summary: Dick getting clingy when the reader needs to go somewhere
A/N: so, I think I'm back? Two weeks break and I'm getting into the swing of things again, so please go easy on me with this story......
***
When she wakes up in the morning something seems off almost instantly.
It only takes a second to realise that said thing took the form of Dick Grayson, her beloved boyfriend, the man by day and the fearless vigilante by night. The protector of Gotham and its people.
Well, if only the people could see him now.
Sleeping in a weird position with the imprint of the pillow on his cheek, messy hair and some dried saliva in the corner of his mouth.
He so cute and adorable like that. Y/N does the quick scan of his face and body in the search for any injuries he might have obtained during the patrol but her heart rests easy when she noticed him being all in one piece with no blood or stiches. Either it was a quiet and peaceful night or he already took care of himself. Her bets are the latter, but since it’s work day she doesn’t really have any time to wait until he wakes up to blame him for not being careful.
As quiet and swift as she can, Y/N tries to move out of bed, but since Dick’s senses are heightened she doesn’t really get far, when his arms wraps around her, keeping her in place.
“Dick……” she mutters
“Mhmmmm……” he mumbles into the pillow
“Come on, I have get up!”
“no you don’t.”
“I gotta get to work!”
“I’m the only work you need……” he grins, still half-asleep, but so full of himself and she almost rolls her eyes at the joke
“God, please stop…. I need to earn money you know? Not all of us have a billionaire daddy!”
“You’re dating the billionaire oldest son, isn’t that enough?”
She wonders for a moment. On a second thought maybe it is. Dick seems to use that heartbeat of hesitation, shifting his body weight on her, pinning her to bed, his eyes still closed, but this little shit knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Dick!” she gasps feeling all those muscles crush her “shit!
“I like it when you call my name in such a desperate words. Do it just one more time and the neighbours will hate you forever.” He chuckles and his makes her skin tingle.
You’re heavy…..” she squirms trying to break free, but it’s no use. “You brought it on yourself….” The girl mutters poking on his ribs in the place where he’s extremely sensitive because of an old injury.
“Hey!” he yells, trying to defend himself and letting go off her in the process.
Y/N is quick to jump out of bed and rush towards her wardrobe, grabbing her jeans and t-shirt and struggling to put them on.
“Not so fast!” Dick tears her clothes from her hands and holds them high out of reach.
“Not fair Grayson!”
“You called me fat.”
“I called you heavy!’
“Same thing!”
“It’s not….. You know what, fine. I’ll just wear something else….” She shrugs and runs towards the drawer, but before she could reach it Dick grabs her from behind and holds her tight to him
“Dick…….” She whines stretching out just to grab something to wear. Anything.
“I know. I’m irresistible.”
“A pain in the ass is what you are!”
“I can make you breakfast….” He tempts
“You’re not Jason, Dick. Making me breakfast means putting cereals In the bowl and poring some milk over it in your dictionary. Cold milk. And that is only if I bought both cereals and milk.”
“did you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Can’t you see how hard I’m trying? Just for you. Come on, you are like an employee of the month. Or even a year. Stay…..” he kisses her neck playfully “you can call in sick.”
“I used all my sick days because of you.”
“How about casual leave?”
“and what may be the emergency?” she sighs in defeat, her body going limp as she drops the fighting knowing well enough she won’t win it. “Clingy boyfriend?”
“You called me boyfriend!” he grins again and she facepalms herself.
“We’ve been together for a year Dick. Why do you seem surprised?”
“I could never get bored with hearing that word from you. Makes me proud that you’re mine.”
“trying to sweet talk me? Won’t work. By the way, you are soooooo cheesy Grayson.”
“And?” he asks
“ And? What and?” at this point Y/N is confused, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns to meet his gaze
“And you love me?” he insist, spinning her around in his arms so that he can get easy access to her kissable face.
“Yeah…..” she smiles dreamily “yeah, I do love you, you idiot” she trails with a love sick puppy expression. But it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stay and be you babysi…..ah! Put me down!” she yells suddenly feeling her body lift of the ground without her knowledge or will. “Put me down Grayson! What are you……?! Damn it…!”
Dick does not listen or does not get impressed by her poor attempts to break free. He’s Nightwing. He’s got so many ways to immobilise the opponent. Or, in this case, lover.
“Dick I swear I am going to kick your ass if you don’t….!” the threat dies on her lips as he throws her onto the mattress and kisses her softly shutting her up in the process.
“Stay?” he pouts looking at her with those pretty doe eyes “Pretty please?”
“You act like a five year old!”
“A five year old that wants you. A five year old that misses you…”
“I’ll be back, you know……” she brush the strand of hair from his face. She’s already gone but still tries to keep the appearances.
“Yeah, at 6 p.m. or later. It’s almost the time when I get ready for my night shift…… Please…..”he whines nuzzling his nose over her neck “stay…..”
“please…..” she mimics his whining, caressing his cheek “let me go……”
“But I need you…….” He hide his face in her belly and his hair tickle
“Why do you always need me when I am supposed to go to work?’
“It’s a terrible and uncontrollable disease…..” he laughs
“Is there a cure?” she laughs back
“I can think of something….” He closes the gap between them, nibbling on her bottom lip. “and it may be working…. But I;m not sure. Need some more testing” he repeats his action. “Mhm, yes, it’s definitely working… You don’t want me to be sick, do you?”
“Not really. You are whiny and attention seeker when you are sick.”
“I am not!” he shouts in denial “ok, maybe I am. A little. But come on, you can stay some more time with me……”
“How long, dickie?” she smiles at him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“five more minutes?”
“ok. Five more minutes. She sighs deeply, letting go of any of her objections, letting Dick lay beside her and act like a big spoon, while holding her tight to his chest and caressing her sides and belly.
“You’re not letting me go, are you?” she whispers closing her eyes and getting lost in his touch.
“Never.”
And she’s pretty sure she can live with that.
#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#dick grayson x oc#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#nightwing x y/n#nightwing x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson fanfiction#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson fic#nightwing fanfiction#nightwing imagine#nightwing fluff#dc x reader#dc fluff#fluff
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR NINETEEN
in which everything changes.
→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni
→ wc: 7.7k+
→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
◁ previous part, next part▷
19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00
DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts
NANCE: Why do you say that?
DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line.
BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?
DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.
NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them.
ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude?
BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy?
DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY.
DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.
BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly.
NANCE: Was that all you heard?
DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?
ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.
BIRDIE: what he said.
JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals?
HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM
It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return.
You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew.
Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch.
Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again.
Fuck him.
At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead.
Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.
Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part.
It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch.
No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours.
You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out.
You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you.
He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year.
“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.
You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.
And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?”
Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right.
“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?”
Because I’m certainly not out here.
“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!”
By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands?
You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint.
“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue.
Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?”
No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that.
“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”
You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub.
And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable.
Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-
The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.”
Why were you both being so fucking awkward?
“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before.
Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower.
“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?”
Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog.
“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes.
A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly.
There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length.
It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”
Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?”
“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.”
A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it.
You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”
“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?”
“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.”
“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.”
“Same thing.”
“It definitely isn’t.”
You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones.
“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him.
Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear.
It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead.
“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?”
“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”
More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities.
Time. Time was not on your side.
“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.”
“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers.
“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?”
He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”
“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”
“You sound so excited.”
He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.
So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied?
And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years.
“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’”
“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately.
“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him.
“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes.
This conversation is going surprisingly well.
“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?”
He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message.
He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies.
“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder.
“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut.
The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.
You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours.
“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?”
Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.”
His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.
Uncle? Why uncle?
“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced.
Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent.
Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.”
There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with.
But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?”
You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips.
Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you.
You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation.
“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?”
“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?”
A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again?
You laugh along with his joke instead.
“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?”
You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him.
He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”
“Well, that’s just weird.”
You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.
Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.
“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.”
“Figured as much.”
“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.”
Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?”
You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours.
Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.
“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.
His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.”
Right. Stupid.
Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.
“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.”
So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous.
“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.
“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.”
Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”
His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.
“I was.”
“And were you successful?”
How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you.
“I wasn’t.”
One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.
And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him.
“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.
“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.
“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.
It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.
You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours.
“Please what, sweetheart?”
You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear.
“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.”
You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.
And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?”
Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.
When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.
He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted.
“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you.
His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely.
You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements.
“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.”
Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening.
“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin.
You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper.
You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten.
His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes.
Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his.
You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.”
If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone.
You just nod.
With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you.
If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing.
Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own.
This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.
“You.”
There’s no other way to put it. You just want him.
He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet.
Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent.
He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt.
For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was.
His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing.
“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”
“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it.
It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs.
You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced.
When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall.
The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.”
Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close.
Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation.
Baby, princess, sweetheart.
You’ll take whatever you can get from him.
“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?”
He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours.
“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.”
He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his.
It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet.
You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun.
You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage.
All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity.
It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes.
“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.”
He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened.
“Okay.”
Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though.
“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything.
It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.”
Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air.
You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now.
It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike.
Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps.
You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.
Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this.
You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light.
You have him. You know him.
It’s enough.
Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise.
He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you.
This changes everything.
When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true.
Everything, everything, changes.
Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual.
—
You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out.
Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it.
It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side.
He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.
“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”
Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took?
Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?
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#my writing#twenty four hours#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x you#hehe was right
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JINGLE BELL COCK !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. p in v, uncle/niece incest, somno
notes. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! this is very messy and rushed i haven’t been able to write properly lately so forgive me for the repetitiveness and clunkiness!! ignore typos as always :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated !!! this is reallyyy sloppy and I’m embarrassed so I may go back and delete and rewrite in a few days time 😭
tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.
“Woah,” Leon's knees almost buckle when you barrel into him, “Pumpkin, wow,” He takes you in, settles his hands on your hips, and it might be inappropriate ‘cause your mother glares at him over your shoulder. What did she want him to do? Grab your ass? Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. Just doesn’t wanna get put on a list of some kind. “You’re so big now.”
“Yeah?” Your cheeks split with a sweet smile, “I missed you, uncle.”
“God, you’re so big I can’t believe it,” He gives you a once over, he’d like to catcall you to show you how he feels, Leon refrains from doing so. “I remember when you were a kid, always sat in my lap ‘n said you wanted to marry me.”
“Awww,” A gloved hand comes to pat his cheek, you take the tip of the fabric between your teeth, taking it off finger by finger, “I can do that again if you’d really like, uncle.” Your nails scratch his scruffy chin, press your finger into the divot he hates so much, then you stare right at it. Don’t look at that, god. Totally messed him over. Shit fucked up his golden ratio.
“What're you lookin’ at, pumpkin?” He shifts from foot to foot, moves his flight bag from one shoulder to the other.
“Just never seen you with a beard,” You shrug, beaming at him once more. Okay, not the chin then, thank fuck. “It’s cute, uncle, makes you look older.” Leon doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, though he feels his spinal disk shrink with each passing second.
You turn on your heels when his sister-in-law, fine as ever, says your name, “We should go before she gets pissy.” You tell him cheekily, taking his hand in yours, and you’re so big now he can’t believe it. A whole lot of tit, hip, and your ass ain’t too shabby either. Leon’s justification is that he’s only a man, can't help himself when he sees a pretty girl, even if said girl is his niece. He’s an honest guy, gotta give his brother props for marrying such a smokeshow, even more credit for knocking her up. ‘Cause she popped out an even hotter girl, younger, brighter, and your tits sit prettier.
Their family stands on crumbling foundations, when he’s around his brother, Leon’s five seconds away from blowing his brains out at any given moment. He doesn’t know why people question his suicidal tendencies, he’s more than willing to show them. Snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the path leading up to the front door. The layer of glossy red paint has chipped away to reveal the mahogany beneath. It’s been that long, huh?
“I’m in college now, I have my licence and everything, uncle, I wanted to visit you in D.C. but I couldn’t get ahold of you,” You chatter to him, tugging at your laces and propping your shoes up on the shelf near the door, make the move to grab his suitcase, but Leon swiftly moves it aside. “I can carry it, I’m a big girl now.”
“No, you’re not,” Leon frowns, to him you’re a baby. An undeveloped prefrontal cortex and a soft spot on the top of your head. Yeah, you got a rack now, sure, he wants to fuck you now - doesn’t change a thing.
“Okay, well did you bring me a present?” You trail after him, and you really are still a baby.
“Yeah, you’re my favourite girl, I bought you lots.” He’s not sure if you’ll like it. Colouring books, dolls, plastic jewellery. He’s a bit of an idiot. Didn’t think about how long it’s been.
“Can I open them now?” You seat yourself next to him on the couch, knee bumping his.
“Later, pumpkin, I promise.”
“I want to transfer to Washington.” Wine trickles over the edge of your cup, Leon soaks it up with a napkin, dabs at your face when a rivulet dribbles down your chin.
His brother’s knocked out in their dad’s old armchair, it’s beyond saving, but he’s cheap. Your mom retired to bed a while back, they argued over something trivial, a cheeseboard or some shit, and with that it leaves the two of you.
“Yeah? You got friends out there or what?”
“No, but you’re there, uncle.” You grin, batting your lashes so pretty he gets without popping a viagra or two. Three. He needs three minimum. “I could come stay with you, right?”
Fuck no, under no circumstance should he be allowed within fifty feet of you. And here Leon is, bumping knees, brushing fingers like you’re lovesick teens on a first date. That’s just not right, is it? He’s a decrepit old man on his way to getting a senior bus pass, and he’s your uncle and all. Can’t really go around popping boners over family members.
“I work too much.” Leon says coolly, sweat dripping from his temple, drumming his fingers against the table. “Hey, you wanna open your presents?”
“Yes!” You nod with wild enthusiasm, like a bobblehead, cute ones you keep on the dashboard. Leon would love to take you home with him, display you on the mantle like a China doll, show you off like some rare artefact. Just can’t, he’d end up doing something awful, peeking in on you showering— or worse he’d start sleepwalking, get into your room- “Go get them then, uncle.”
The paper is pink, the shade you used to adore as a young girl, the colour you’ve since painted over in your room. He got that professionally wrapped, big bow on it and all. Leon’s not good at making things look pretty. It’s easier to assemble a gun than it is to wrap presents. Your name is scrawled on the tag in cursive writing that belongs to none other than Claire, she insisted on doing so, felt inclined after seeing his chicken-scratch.
“It’s for me, you shouldn’t have, uncle!” You snatch it out of his hands, Jesus, had more manners when you were a kid. Once you tear through the paper, you blink down at the plastic princess costume jewellery. Clip-on earrings, fluffy mules that are much too tiny, the whole lot. “Oh, wow, well, it sure is nice.”
“Pumpkin,” Leon starts, “It slipped my mind that you’re a big girl now, I wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” You placate him with your smile, “I’m just glad you’re here.” Cheesy, still makes him swoon.
“We can go shopping ‘fore I go back, I’ll buy you whatever, yeah?”
“I don’t need that,” You shake your head, eyes flitting from his lower half then to his lips. He’s making shit up in his head now. It’s late, Leon should go to sleep, doesn’t wanna start kissing on you and end up in court. “Oh, you’re going already?”
“I’m tired, pumpkin.” My dick is so hard it’s cutting off all blood flow to my brain, my pants are squeezing it so tight I’m gonna contract sepsis and that shit will fall straight off, I don’t want my dick to fall off, pumpkin, hope you can understand my reasoning. Leon hopes you can see the desperation in his eyes, that you can see the sentiment he’s trying to get across.
The bed creaks with his weight, and it’s the same dusty, bed-bug ridden shit his brother’s had for years. He jerks off, blows his load on his stomach, too worn out to clean it up. Falls asleep with his hand down his pants. Then Leon starts having wet dreams like he’s twenty-one again, of your petal lips, of your hands on his dick, your tits, how your thighs look when you sit. Warmth engulfs his cock, and it’s so real, he’s so sure you’re right there, sucking him off like a good girl. You’re cute like a sex doll, and it’s unfair that he has to put on this uncle act. Used to come natural to him when you were a kid, but it’s just different.
Only when Leon lifts his hand does he come into contact with skin, with hair, and a human. At first, he thinks it’s the dog, one of the three. Then he feels small hands parting his thighs further, the familiarity of your smile warming his skin.
“Pumpkin.” Leon rasps, and it’s not quite warning, just a tone that says keep going, but this is fucked up, doesn’t mean I don’t want it though. He thanks you for making the first move.
You pull off with a wet pop, kissing along his Apollo’s belt. “I want to come to D.C. and stay with you,” You say between fervid kisses, “I want to be with you, uncle, you’re handsome and I like you.” Your confession is feverish, he wonders if you realise the weight of your words. Can’t go around telling lonely old men that you like ‘em.
“I’m your uncle, pumpkin.” Leon states simply, ‘cause he’s an adult and he’s collected, but you can keep pumping his dick like that, he really don’t mind.
“No one would know,” You kiss the sticky tip, pre smeared over your lips like lip gloss, tongue poking out to taste him, dipping into his leaky slit. “I could be your girlfriend.” Leon doesn’t even know you, he knows the little girl you once were.
Leon’s too old for that shit. Girlfriend boyfriend talk. “I’m too old to be dating, pumpkin.” He cradles the back of your head with his calloused hand, guides you to base of his shaft, your tongue tracing the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.
“Yeah, but you’re not too old to marry me, are you?” You’re a clever girl, giving him a cheeky smile as you sit up and clamber into his lap.
“What’s gotten into you, pumpkin?” Don’t stop, pumpkin. Same thing. He hopes his dick says enough, standing proud as you lift your hips, wet hole stretching to accommodate his fat tip. Leon can’t see your face, but he shuts his eyes and thinks about it, how your lips would part so pretty, and you’d toss your head back, sweat making your skin all shiny.
“I just really like you, uncle.” One way ticket out of this shitty town, away from his shitry brother, away from your narc bitch of a mom, free food, free housing - Leon understands your motive. Truly, he does, and he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. If you pretend to love then it matters all the same.
“Okay, then sit on it, pumpkin.” Leon urges, firm hands finding purchase on your hips, forcing you down on his cock till you take all of him to the hilt. The head bumps your cervix, and Leon is in love with you. Thank fuck he came back home, thank god, thank Claire for pushing him to the point of booking a flight. “You wanna marry me?”
“I told you, didn’t I? Promised I was gonna marry you when I was a kid.” You press your tits flush to his chest, lips ghosting Leon’s. “I wanna marry you so bad, uncle, you’re all I want.” And Leon can’t help himself, doesn’t mean to let go so early, the coils of heat in his belly turn searing, and he empties himself into you with a groan. The quiet noise of disappointing you let out as his cock softens inside of you is adorable.
“You gotta get used to that if you marry me, I’m old now.” He strokes your head, holds you tight, refuses to let go now that he’s got you.
“I can deal with it, uncle, as long as I get to be your wife.”
#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut
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okayy but miguel with a black cat! reader….she js likes pushing his buttons and flirting with with him and literally does anything and everything to get a reaction out of him…aaannd if it was anyone else who tried joking around with miguel he would claw their face off 0_0
A/N: Oooh that would be interesting~. I’m gonna just write a Headcanon for now, but I will definitely write a one shot later on. I also didn’t know if you meant in personality only or if she’s his dimensions Black Cat (the antihero/villain) so I just wrote her as a Spiderperson with a black cat personality.
Miguel with a Black Cat Reader🐈⬛
So I’m gonna head canon that Miguel’s own personality is more of a mixture of a black cat and protective Doberman.
When he isn’t stressed out about keeping the spider-verse together and not on the very of a aneurism, he can actually be a flirting bastard as well, so don’t expect to flirt with him and get nothing in return.
But that side of him comes out like 20% or the time since…ya know, ya boy is stressed.
So when they are in front of other people, Miguel would be annoyed with the snide remarks you would make to try and ruffle his feathers, but he wouldn’t yell at you unless it’s a particularly in appropriate time to make him riled up.
The flirting would probably fair a little better as Miguel will try to act annoyed with your lingering caresses and the way your voice seem to purr at him. But, depending on your relationship, he would react in different ways.
If you were just a colleague, he would brush you off and snap at you for being so dishonorable for a spider-person.
If you were his friend, he would roll his eyes and probably throw a snide remark about you needed to get back to work. He’ll secretly find it amusing and might throw a remark back on good days.
If you are his crush or s/o, he would act the same way in public, his eyes constantly rolling as he acts annoyed with you. But a little tinge of a blush will appear if you purr out particular nicknames or remind him of certain private moments between you too.
Sometimes he’ll surprise you on particularly good days and tease you back. He knows he’s good looking and uses it as a weapon to get you flustered.
“What’s a matter, bonito gato?” He whispers as his mischievous eyes shine down at you. Your back shivers as his large forearm rest inches above your head, his burgundy eyes shining red from the monitors next to you as he traps you in. His chest acting as a barrier from your escape as his hand cups your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me when I’m talking to you, Cariño.”
If he catches you giving this treatment to some of the other spidermen, expect one of two reactions.
1) He’s gonna give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day and finally snap at you when he feels particularly annoyed by it. It’s not that he wants to yell, but the memory of someone else touching and flirting with his little spider causes him to think he’s losing the only person he has.
After an argument, he’ll calm down and apologize. Depending on how long y’all have been together, he will open up about some of his insecurities and fears of losing you.
2) He’s gonna give you the silent treatment the rest of the day until you two can get somewhere more private. He’s gonna remind you why he’s YOUR spiderman~ 😘
If anyone else tried to flirt with him or ruffle his feathers like you do, may God help their souls because Miguel ain’t having it.
He’s fiercely loyal, so if you guys are in a relationship and this happens, he’s gonna get mad and snap at them for being a disrespectful friend to you (because let’s be real, 90% of the Spider Society are friends because majority of them are Peter Parker Variants) and will probably threaten them with either losing their spot in the society. Or if they being particularly pushy, he’ll let his talons do the threatening.
He can also just open a portal and send them out of there is he finds them annoying.
He only really lets Jessica and Peter B mess with him because it’s more like they are messing with him about his reactions to you. Peter B definitely caught Miguel’s blushing face in a couple of pics of Mayday with you over his shoulder whispering in his ear.
I believe the nickname you would have would be either “Kitty” or “Bonito Gato” because your skill set maybe more reminiscent of Black Cat (the villain) and because Miguel says you are just as annoying as a cat. He still loves you though.💕
A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I always love when you guys message me and please feel free to send more! 🤍💕
#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara x reader#spiderman fanfiction#spiderman#spiderman fandom#spiderman 2099#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x reader#headcanon#fanfic
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dreams
OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader
summary - majority of your dreams seem to manifest in the real world somehow, so when you have one about your crush and your best friend...things get a little out of control.
warnings - heavy angst (im sorry), hurt to comfort
a/n: when i started writing for this fandom i PROMISED myself i would not make it all angst and no fun, but oh well :))))) idek where this idea came from, i need help
You woke up from a nap with the sickening urge to empty your stomach overboard. Nausea reared its ugly head, and before you could even try to tame the feeling, you were sprinting to the side of the ship to empty your stomach.
What exactly was the cause?
This would sound insanely ridiculous, and to you it really was, but you had a weird dream. And it didn't sit well with you. Most of the dreams you had often became a reality, albeit with slight changes. There were some that didn't, but almost all of them came true eventually or manifested in a similar way at some point.
And that's probably the reason you couldn't stop yourself from vomiting obscenely before your stunned - and confused - crew.
"(Name), are you okay?" Nami asked worriedly, coming over to you.
You flinched away from her, increasing her confusion, before turning and running off to the bathroom. She exchanged looks with the others who were out on deck - Usopp and Luffy - before shrugging it off and going back to mapping the ship's course.
The truth was, you had a completely unexpected yet maddening dream while napping, one that you prayed to any god who would listen would not come true. You had dreamed of Zoro - the man you had the biggest crush on - and Nami, which may seem an odd coupling and probably was but you couldn't control your dreams. Much like how you couldn't control how you felt about it, despite it only being a fictional idea your mind concocted.
You went straight to yours and Nami's room after cleaning yourself up, setting up the divider that separated your section from hers so you wouldn't have to deal with seeing her if she came in. Your behaviour was unfair to her, since you knew she would never do anything like that, nor did she have any romantic interest in Zoro. In fact, she barely had any interest in the swordsman at all. But according to your dream, that might change.
You curled up on your bed, pulling the blanket right up over your head to shield yourself from the real world. The familiar feeling of something wet running down your cheek informed you that you had started crying, but you couldn't care less. You couldn't move. You didn't have the energy to move, much less bring your hand up to wipe your tears away. So you just lay there, curled up in a foetal position, trying - and miserably failing - to get your mind off it.
A while later, a knock at your door caused you to jerk up in your bed, before you groaned and flopped back down.
"Go away!"
"Nami said you're sick," came Sanji's voice, "So I made you some soup. Please open the door."
You breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't either of the two people you were currently trying to avoid. Slowly dragging yourself out of bed, you had to make even more effort to get yourself to the door. Forgetting that you had just been crying, you opened it and let the cook in, confused when his expression immediately grew alarmed.
"(Name), why are you crying??" He immediately set the soup down and pulled you into a comforting hug - one that seemed to be much warmer than usual right now.
"I-I'm fine," you mumbled into his shoulder, "Just not well."
He nodded, falling for your excuse, before pulling away to hand you the soup, "Here, this should help. If you need more, or if you need anything else, just let me know." He smiled at you, before leaving you alone once again.
You sat back down on your bed and ate the soup - because who can say no to Sanji's cooking, even if you're not really in the mood to eat? And it did help, the warmth helping to settle your queasy stomach and alleviate the nausea if only a little bit. Minutes after you finished it, there was another knock and you frowned, wondering who it was now.
You didn't answer, in fear of it being Zoro.
Just the thought of Zoro had you replaying that dream all over again, and before you could stop yourself or at least soften the sound, sobs were wracking your body and you were burying your face in your hands, crying into their warmth.
The door opened and a familiar set of heavy footsteps reached your ears before the bed dipped beside you. Your entire body froze up, tensing at the arrival of the green-haired swordsman. Your sobs fell silent, hiccups replacing them as you stilled and tried your best to quell your sadness - still keeping your face hidden.
"What happened?" Came that usually-comforting deep voice you loved so much, but that now caused your nausea to return. "What's wrong, (Name)?"
"Please go away," you found yourself speaking, not wanting to push him away but knowing you'd feel even more ridiculous if he found out how you felt about him while you were recounting a silly dream.
"No."
Usually the swordsman would leave without a word if you asked for space, or if you told him to go away, but this time he could see you were absolutely not okay and you needed someone. Luffy wouldn't be a good idea, Usopp wouldn't know what to do, and you seemed to be avoiding Nami. And he sure as hell did not want that stupid cook anywhere near you right now, in fear of him comforting you so well that the swordsman would lose you to him entirely.
You didn't respond to that, so Zoro brought his hands up to slowly and gently peel yours away from your face. You let him, shocking yourself, and the sight of your bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face caused his heart to constrict painfully.
"Tell me what's wrong."
He held your hands in his own, not wanting to let go. He had waited so long to be able to hold them, and he was glad for this excuse to. But he was heartbroken seeing you so upset and apparently sick over something he didn't know about yet. He gently squeezed your hands, silently encouraging you to speak. He wasn't good with words, but if comfort was what you needed he would do and say whatever he could to make your pain go away.
"It's you and Nami."
He stiffened. He didn't know what that meant, but just hearing he was part of the reason you were so upset made his heart sink.
"What did we do?"
"It's...um...it's silly," you replied quietly, voice low but pain still evident. "It doesn't matter." You tried pulling your hands away, but Zoro only gripped them tighter.
"It does, if it's making you this upset."
Reluctantly, you relayed to him what you had dreamed about, voice cracking halfway through as more tears fell. You felt even sillier saying it to someone else, especially him, and avoided making eye-contact throughout the entire explanation. When you finished, you shot him a small, brief glance - only to do a double take when you saw the absolutely horrified and disgusted look on his face.
"Me and the thief?" He questioned, distaste clear in his tone. "You've got to be kidding me." He sighed, sneakily shifting closer to you on the bed. "That can't be possible."
"But-"
"Some of your dreams don't come true," he reminded you, "This is definitely one of those. You want to know how I know?"
You nodded slowly, biting your lip.
You did not expect his next words.
"Because I already dream about doing that with you."
Your jaw dropped. If you were like Luffy, it would have probably dropped all the way to the floor, you were so stunned by his confession. Your formerly slowed heartbeat picked up speed again, heat filling your cheeks as you processed his words.
"Me?"
"Mhm. Only you. Been a recurring dream, actually."
As you stuttered out an incomplete sentence and then stammered through some nonsense, Zoro leaned in slowly and pressed his lips against yours, locking you in a slow but sweet kiss. His lips were warm and soft, inviting you to lean into him and return the kiss. The affectionate gesture had butterflies blooming in your stomach.
"I'm sorry," you whispered once you remembered how to speak.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling you into a warm, comforting and secure embrace.
You sat like that quietly for a while, Zoro rubbing soothing circles onto your back while you clung to him, face buried in his neck. He kissed the top of your head every few minutes, in between mumbling sweet words of comfort into your ear - mainly "you're beautiful" and "i'm yours" because he didn't know what else to say. But it was enough for you.
Eventually, he spoke up.
"You should clear things up with Nami. She's upset because you're not talking to her."
"I know...later."
He chuckled and tightened his grip on you, keeping you warm and increasingly happy in his strong arms. He didn't intend on letting go, but that was good because you didn't want him to.
BONUS:
"STUPID MOSSHEAD!"
Loud banging and clanging jerked you awake the morning after your confessions, the sound of Sanji's loud exclamation having woken you - but not Zoro - up. He probably had woken up the others as well.
You tried to get up to see what was wrong, but Zoro refused to let go. He was still sleeping, but his arms wound around you even tighter, pulling you back against him. You sighed, knowing you could ask someone else later anyway.
Nami poked her head around the divider and smirked, "He's upset that Zoro finally confessed and ruined his chance to woo you."
You laughed at that, "Give him an hour, max. Then he'll try to woo you."
She groaned, "I'm already dreading it."
The two of you laughed, and it felt good to be back on speaking terms with her. Even though, strictly speaking, you hadn't had a reason not to be in the first place. But oh well.
The power of dreams...
#one piece#opla#one piece live action#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#opla zoro#opla x reader#zoro x you#opla zoro x reader#op#opla zoro x you
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Crimson Crown (Pt. 5)
Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader
Special thanks to @pinkiemme for this amazing cover ❤️✨
WARNINGS: Mentions of poisoning, awkward flirting, privacy invasion, mentions of character's death. Unresolved sexual tension, Unrequited sexual tension.
Summary: As danger looms in the horizon, a new objective is set in mind.
A/N: Didn't feel that well, so poured myself into this thingy ~ Hope your like ✨
Prince Gabriel approached today, I must say, there was something odd about his apology. Not in the disingenuous way but rather a more sudden and brazen one. The kind of way that leaves you confused.
He apologized, yet I wouldn't like to encounter his drunken self ever again.
Miguel blinked to read the next paragraph.
Odd things keep happening. The king has requested my presence today, Unexpected as it was, he is awaiting for me. I won't deny I dread this little encounter, hopefully this meeting brings me a little peace.
Everything seems to be happening at such speed is quite absurd.
He flipped the page with a sigh.
I've met the king where he instructed. And once more he manages to surprise me in such way I am... aghast. I'm still debating if it's a good thing or more of his political side taking over.
He said I was no stranger. He acknowledged me! I know this might sound preposterous even, but I'm glad we can settle for something more than strangers that occasionally have lunch together.
His words convinced me that he cares deeply for his people. Never in my life I've met someone that shares my vision for my future kingdom. It pleases me deeply. He is wise and I'm glad I am able to have such visionary on my side.
Oh...
He blinked as his mouth gave a shaky and surprised breath. His heart stirred in a pleasant feeling. It was odd and that terrified him. His heart was trying to settle a beat according to an specific emotion, but all of them mutinied and sent his brain into a brief override.
"Are you done invading her privacy?"
Miguel glared at a mirthful Jessica.
"This is the only way I can get some direct information."
"About yourself?" Her brow quirked with a little deadpan.
"The kingdom."
"Oh yes, the kingdom, of course."
Miguel rolled his eyes with a shake of his head and resumed his reading.
I was awaken today by the clashing of swords. The king was practicing some sword fighting with his brother. And now I can understand why he is called The Red King, or The Dragon's Claws in Onerim.
That was definitely a new nickname.
He wielded a sword in each hand. His technique is unique, precise and so deadly if one would be a tyro in the arts of combat. Even though it was a practice he didn't held back.
I cannot describe the feeling he... stirred within me. May God forgive me for such volatile imagination.
His lips curved in a smirk.
"Flip the page."
Jessica's voice made his eyes snap up at her. She was away in her spot.
"You'll get extra patrol."
"Ohh, what did you read?"
"Si si, ya. Cállate, me interrumpes." (Shut up, you're interrupting me)
The power the king holds in his garden is... beyond me. How could he just accept things without looking into it? A bit reckless considering mostly of the plants he owes are either poisonous or quite medicinal. There is no in between.
Peter seemed concerned for the safety of the people that take care of the gardens, must admit his reaction was laughable.
But to my horror, tragedy attacked. There were many injured, but the king concerned me the most. I know his men are dear to him, but he shouldn't neglect himself. Not when he had a deep wound that could end up in a serious infection.
He allowed me to help him. He gave me a chance to prove him how worthy I could be. Hope my efforts didn't go unnoticed.
They didn't. How could he forget about your doting fingers working on him with such expertise, he barely felt any pain. He flipped the page.
Was I too straightforward when I said I admired him? He seemed uncomfortable even told me to see someone else as a role model. He's quite hard to read sometimes.
He's always frowning or scowling. Should I stop trying to approach? Even if we know our duties, I wouldn't want to be at odds with him.
But right now, my mind wanders to my father. He is ill, and I must visit him. Hopefully the king will understand.
Miguel exhaled. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed his face. Once again the questions assaulted his mind, yet wandered towards your family.
So far they seemed good and they were keeping the promise. The economy kept thriving and so far none had complained of any trouble in the West Passage.
He put the diary back in it's place and left your room. The lovely smell of rich violets had been long gone. You had left a day ago. Nothing had changed except his inner turmoil regarding your safety.
Not that he didn't trust his men. Peter was more than efficient, Gwen was capable despite being young, just like Hobie. And Webslinger was more than seasoned. You'd be alright. You had to.
He left your room with Jessica tailing behind him.
"One day you'd have to tell her that you've been reading her diary."
"Probably she'd end up poisoning me."
"And you'd die a happy man."
Jessica chuckled as he was about to protest.
"Do you miss her already?"
His shoulders tensed and slicked his hair back.
"How is the east frontier gateway doing?"
"Holding up as it should"
He nodded, "Any complains?"
"Negative. The mutinies have been controlled and the leader has been arrested." Jessica rolled her shoulders to ease some tension, "It's the second mutiny regarding a rebellion we've encountered this month."
"Do you think it's a pattern?"
"It better not. Rebellions although used for higher causes, always bring second hand intentions. With enough fire and ignorant people, it can be dangerous."
His nose flared, frustration simmering in his heart.
"Sometimes I do wonder if I'm doing a good job as a king."
"You can't keep everyone happy, Miguel."
"I know. Still I'm doing everything I can yet it's never enough it seems."
"It won't be for those who aren't satisfied. You're a good ruler. And if this keeps happening, we'll handle it. Like we always do."
"Thanks."
"Besides, you have the Princess now. You said she shared your ideals, hold onto that."
"Might as well invite her for a hearing in a council."
"Don't listen to those old people, they are nothing but square thinkers."
"As long as their interests aren't threatened, the princess will be alright."
"We gotta see her temper as well. Oh! can you imagine her being like you? The scandal!"
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am. You're worried about something else that isn't the kingdom for once."
"She said we're acquaintances."
"Better than strangers or people that see eachother as something convenient. Does it bothers you being only that with her?"
"It's not that. Wouldn't want to be on her bad side either. You know I don't trust easily."
"You're still seeing if you can trust her?"
"Of course. That's why I read her diary. Her thoughts are truthful."
"Whatever works out for you, I guess. As long as you remain truthful."
----
Your carriage stopped in the outside of the castle. Your mother and Lucille already awaiting. Peter opened the door for you as you stepped out.
Lucille rushed to hug you.
"I've missed you so much!"
The queen joined in a heartfelt reunion. Peter and the rest followed you inside.
"My dear. You have... no idea how much I missed you."
The queen gave you a kiss on the forehead and a hug.
"How is father?"
"Stable. Come."
Peter stood behind you, paying a keen ear to the conversation.
"What happened?"
"A poisoning attempt."
Your hands covered your mouth and the queen squeezed your shoulders.
"And by none other than his beloved mistress. That wretched whore poisoned him once he refused her whims."
Your jaw tightened upon hearing the things that came out her mouth. Another reason to abhorre them. Not only they had meddled with your parent's marriage, but now one had tried to kill him.
Peter saw you tense, now having a wider perspective on why you were so upset regarding them. Understandably so.
"Tell me she is dead."
Peter blinked at your words.
"I assure you this ain't the first attempt she tries. Remember when he suddenly fell ill by an everlasting raving? The whore had diluted datura and henbane on his drink."
"As much as I'd love to handle her treatment personally, I shall go to see the king. Lucille, Peter please come with me."
Peter gave the rest a sign call to remain put as he followed. You were on your element, and it showed as you gave turns around the castle, like muscle memory.
Lucille separated to go to a lab-like room as you walked to the king's chambers.
Guards saluted you as you entered. Heart sinking at the sight. Your father laid on bed, pale due sickness, lips devoid of color, eyebags dark and sagging thanks to the little sleep.
"Oh no. no. Please leave!" You dad whined but you held his hand soothingly
"How could you ask such thing when you're fighting for your life?"
"Who is this man?"
"Commander Peter B. Parker. From Arachne."
"You've already gotten married?"
"No. Not yet."
You soaked a rag on the water next to him as the damage was assessed.
"From all the things you could've done, was to anger a woman that is power-hungry."
"Please, child-"
"You know how that... Sarina is."
"She's just angered, but she will come to me. I know so. This is just a quarrel -"
"Father."
Your voice was stern, laced with anger, yet you kept wiping his sweat.
"I'll have her executed for murder attempt."
The king groaned and sobbed.
"In my time, none went above me. And look how things have changed, ser!" Your dad looked at Peter, trying to get him to reason with you. He just gave an awkward smile.
"It's beyond me how can you keep defending such... woman after everything she has done to you. You might tolerate it. But I do not."
You stood and went to the little medical station that was left either by Lucille or another doctor. Hands ground some herbs as Lucille brought a pot of boiling water.
" You don't know her like I do."
"Oh, my apologies dear father, but anyone that attempt to kill me in the name of love must surely be a lovely person"
Peter just remained watching, until you called him while stirring a goblet with a steamy green concoction.
"Hold the king." You instructed as he blinked stupidly.
"Beg... your pardon, your majesty?"
"Please hold the king's hands. I will give him his medicine."
"If you dare to touch me, I will have-!"
"You barely can keep your own head up, father. Stop it."
Peter sighed and held the king's hands firmly. His skin cold, clammy and waxy. Your father whined like a child as you made him swallow the potion, green and thick drops of the brew rolled down his chin. His face contorted in a repulsed one at the strong and sour taste.
"Thanks, Peter."
The Commander stepped away and let you work. You seemed used to your father's antics at this point, and so was Lucille.
"Now, if you excuse me, I must talk to the queen."
"Your mother refuses to talk to me, child."
You rolled your eyes.
"Understandably so. You can't expect people that love you be happy for such repetitive behavior. Much less with someone that brings suffering. You're lucky if she doesn't makes you watch that woman's execution."
"Sarina has done nothing but to bring joy to my life!"
Sighing you shook your head.
"My God... why men must think with their groin?! How can you so blind, father? You've hurt my mother with your little childish affairs." You took a deep breath, "You're a king. An old one, mind you. Behave like one."
Your voice laced with anger. A warning tone.
-----
As day passed, Miguel poured himself into work. The reports of Rhino sure had decreased, the villain so far knew to keep a low profile, which was odd. It was against the rouge's nature to be so quiet and cunning, unless someone else was with him. And that meant trouble.
Sighing for the millionth time, Miguel plopped on his chair. One that had to be custom made for him, and then, slicked his hair back. Sometimes he wanted to pull his hair out due the strain he was constantly facing, and other times he really wanted to just punch something or someone.
He was sure that if that desperation would be a human or something tangible, he'd not only punch it, but would try to make it through the same suffering it was making him endure. His heart beat faster and he clutched at his chest. A few deep breaths was enough to ease his irregular beatings.
He closed his eyes and relaxed his body. His fingers rubbed on his aching eyes. He had been sleeping less and less, to the point of having random yet unwilling naps and waking up tired and sore.
His neck popped as his spine cracked back into place and grunted like a rusty machine. His mind tried to empty itself, gravitating towards your soft and warm fingers on his aching skin. It was the closest someone has ever been touching him in a non threatening way.
Your fingers felt like silk sliding down his upper body, A gentle caress from the wind, a soothing touch in aching bones. Balm to his bleeding body.
Soft caresses on his face and hair turned real, palpable even. Like if his thoughts were taking shape and were now massaging his scalp with such softness it made him groan. He was surely losing his mind, but the touch was so soothing and slumber inducing that he remained still, slowly melting into the caresses. They reminded of yours.
Had you returned already?
His nose was filled in with a scent he wished to have long forgotten eons ago. His eyes frowned as the too real dream now delivered fluttering kisses up and down his neck. His scent strong in myrrh and herbs.
"Hello there." The feminine voice snapped his eyes open and sigh.
"Leave."
"But you seemed to be enjoying it, Miggy."
Dana's voice purred into his ear which he quickly shook off with a disgruntled sigh.
"I said leave." He nearly growled and that made her stop, only to kneel before him, spreading his legs, her hands roaming over his clothed inner thighs.
"I've seen your new toy. Even though she is quite the looker, it makes me wonder. For how long you'll play until you break her?"
Miguel's eyes darted to her as she placed little kisses on his hands. He quickly removed them off her lips, annoyed, earning him a giggle.
" I know you. You like playing rough until your toys can no longer amuse you. But I'm still here, Miguel."
Her fingers roamed his injured arm gently, but even so, Miguel winced. Her touch felt soiling yours.
"Did she heal you, my love? How sweet of her to keep you in good shape for me." Her hand hovered over his groin but he quickly grabbed her by the wrist. "How long has it been since we had some pillow talk?"
"How brave of you to prowl when she is gone."
"I am generous to spare her a bad time, by seeing me coming out of your chambers. Isn't that nice of me?"
"¿A poco si?" (Are you?) His face went blank
"Oh, Miguel. You mockery has turned soft. Just like you. I wonder if it's by that little witch influence."
"Witch?"
"I'd be careful around her. She knows too much." She sat on his lap.
He quirked an eyebrow without amusement. Stoic as ever.
"Follow your own advices, querida."
Dana widened her eyes slightly as she seized him with an undignified stare.
"You wouldn't allow her to do so such thing."
He shrugged and pushed her off his body gently, a cue for her to move but completely missed it.
"Who knows? I might feel bored and in dire need of amusement one day if you keep testing my patience. I said leave."
Dana stood with anger as he growled.
"We are on the verge of war and you suddenly start being all moronic and stupid over a pair of pretty eyes. She has been washing your brain! "
"The prettiest I've seen, indeed." He taunted.
"You are mine. And I do not share. Much less with a witch! For all I know she could've already poisoned your drinks!"
Miguel gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes and approached her.
"Is that so?" Her lips smirked as she bit her lips. Miguel took her by the chin.
"You don't like sharing?"
Dana shook her head and gasped as Miguel cornered her to wall, hand still gripping her chin. A grip that turned borderline painful as he kept squeezing.
"Tell me, dear Dana." The octave lower tone he pronounced dear made her gulp, "Do you see a ring on your finger?"
"She doesn't have one either."
"Yet. The difference between you and her is that she will. You won't." He spat. His smile long gone as he scrutinized her face. "We share a vision. You and I? A bed many months ago."
Dana growled but yelped as Miguel patted her cheek a bit too roughly.
"You don't love her" She taunted with a smirk, trying to swallow the painful stabs his words provoked her.
"What makes you think I love you instead?"
Something dern slithered in Dana's eyes.
"I am not in the mood for your stupid games and hysterics. Not now, not today, nor ever. Entiendes? Stay away from her and my affairs." (Understand?)
Dana stole a kiss, leaving a little wound in his lips in the process, a desperate way to mark him. Miguel snarled and took her by her arm then shoved her out of his chambers, slamming the door in her face. Rejecting her completely.
Little did Miguel know on taking Jessica's warning words at heart.
A scorned woman holds such wrath even you must learn to be wary of.
Dana left, her thinking gears turning and moving. Miguel would learn, whether he liked it or not. He was hers. She licked his blood off her tongue.
-----
"I apologize you had to witness that. My father... Is like a child once he gets bedridden.
"Do not fret over it, your highness. I've seen and done worse than that."
You chuckled as you walked through the gardens, checking on your roses and herbs.
"I always forget to ask you, ser Peter... Has the king been always this serious?"
"Even as a kid, yeah. His father trained us together."
Nodding your fetched a basket and then asked for boiling water to one of the nearby servants.
"Was he as ruthless and bloodthirsty as people say?"
"Ruthless, yes. He is when it comes to protect the kingdom and people he holds dear."
"But?"
"There is no buts, Princess. It is as it is."
"He loved the slaughter then?"
"Not to that point, but he wouldn't hesitate in ending someone's life if it was a threat. As little as it seemed to be."
You nodded and pulled two black roses along some berries to then put it on a kettle.
"What has changed?"
"He got tired of the bloodshed. And so Arachne. So we strive for the peace, wars leave nothing but destruction and broken families in their wake. "
"But?"
"We won't hesitate to wield our swords again if we are called for duty."
Nodding, you poured a cup for yourself and another for Peter.
"Sit." You instructed as you added honey to your tea, "We grow these for our women. In Theleria, fertility rites are quite sacred."
Peter eyed the simmering flower, the hot blend slowly turning into a subtle red-ish hue.
"But for men, it's just another drink for energy boosting" You smiled, "Thelerians are avid tea drinkers."
"Not my business to prey in, but... You're to kill that woman?"
"The Queen is. Can't pry away that from my mother. My people found out she is mingled with King Fisk's men. And thanks to her influence on my father, my kingdom just lost a couple more lands to him."
The tea's flavor blooming so sweetly in your mouth. A stark contrast in the sourness of your words.
"I don't like mistresses for that exact motive. Sure, love can be displayed with them, since royals get together to secure territory, legacies and the like, nothing more nothing less."
A sigh.
"I truly wouldn't want for the king of Arachne to fall under the same curse we have."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Some of our past kings have had a fair share of mistresses. And all of them have had a favorite that for some reason, turn out to be calamities."
Another sip of your tea, "I'm aware that such position influences greatly in a king's judgement. Sadly our past kings thought with their groin." Your eyes stared off at your drink, "And little by little they engaged in wars that costed our kingdom greatly."
"King Miguel is wise enough to not fall under such things."
"Not to underestimate his reasoning, but these women are cunning. You don't see them coming until is too late."
"Princess. I promise you, it's not the case with the king. Please, don't waver your faith in him."
"I will trust your word, ser."
Peter nodded with a solemn nod.
"How... -"
"Will the Queen dispose of her?"
Shrugging you finished your tea
"That is up to her. One would think that my mother would enjoy this, be satisfied even, but little do people know is that she is in pain."
"Pain?"
"Indeed. She never managed to get my father's love entirely, as it was an arranged marriage as well. And after my brother's passing it turned worst. My father's behavior I mean."
Peter sipped his now warm tea, for his surprise it was mellow and sweet tasting.
"He shut himself off from everyone. My mother specially. But with that woman, he seemed a different man. Even I was a fool to believe their supposed romance."
You ate a little candied flower before speaking again, trying to sweeten your mouth after the acrid words.
"It's not easy for her to get rid of my father's source of... twisted joy. But her treason to this kingdom weighs more than a heartache."
"If you were in this position-"
"I am, somehow, ser. And I hope I never meet them."
Peter's lips pursed and nodded
"Would you proceed like your mother?"
"No. I'd step away. There is no business for me to do in that situation. Can't get in between two people that seek eachother."
"I see"
"Why?"
"Just thinking. What if it's a one sided thing?"
"I'd need you to be more specific on that, ser."
"What if the king doesn't partake anymore in such activities, but the other... part, seeks him?"
"Still. Why would he keep them around to begin with, if he has no intention of such activities?"
You sighed once more, "It's more complicated than that, ser. I know that King Miguel has had concubines or mistresses before. But it's confusing."
"Confusing?"
"I'm not one to be authoritarian, and I know it's tradition for you and the rest of the continent. But in my kingdom, mistresses are... heavily frowned upon."
"May I ask why?"
"We value, respect and cherish those whom we decide to share our lives with. Adding someone else in the picture would not only make our partner feel unworthy."
You wet your lips after much talking, "But rejected even, a clear 'I do not need you nor want you'. My father was the fourth king in following such wretched customs."
"Do you feel disrespected, your highness?" Peter tried carefully, and your eyes casted down.
"I'd be a liar if I say I don't, even though prince Gabriel apologized. But customs are customs, I suppose."
Peter could only sigh, disheartened. Naturally he'd had to inform back to Miguel, however your words had opened a new perspective to him. He could now understand why you were so upset about how everything displayed.
Still, the drunk habits of prince Gabriel weren't appreciated.
"Wander the city, have some fun while you're here. I am to remain whitin the castle anyways. Must prepare my father's medical dosage and then I'll have some tea with Lucille."
You stood and left, cutting him short before he could reply.
-----
In the end, the execution of Sarina was a quick beheading, once the king had enough color on his cheeks, you were set to go. With a heavy heart you said your goodbyes to Lucille and your mother, who you had shared the past events.
"If he keeps causing you pain, return. We'll find a better solution. I will not tolerate you to end up like me."
She had said, comforting you at her best. Gwen, Hobie and Webslinger had toured the city with the help of Lucille. They carried some souvenirs back at work. You on the other hand, had been keeping your attention at your needlework all your way back to Arachne.
It took you two days to arrive, three and a half to stay and another one and half day to arrive. A whole week.
The scenery had changed, the might and grandeur welcomed you with open arms once more. Calling you, demanding your presence at the castle as red eyes settled on the window, watching from the horizon at the door, expecting; preying.
His eyes lit up with keen interest as your carriage stopped within the porch. Peter helped you out, Gwen and Hobie followed you as Webslinger returned to his post.
Peter arrived minutes later, a turgid expression painted in his face. Miguel didn't know if to feel worried or even more distressed.
"Report."
"Hello to you too, pal. Glad to see your sour face again."
Miguel exhaled deeply, begging for patience to heavens.
"Hello, please report."
"What happened to your lip?"
Miguel's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
"Then I am not speaking."
"Ah que la chin-... Mira, Parker no estoy para juegos." (Fuckin sh... Look, I'm not in the mood.)
"Neither am I. So you better speak up. What happened?"
"Dana happened. Alright? Now fucking speak."
"You absolute cheater"
Miguel's eyes widened in anger at his words.
"Whatch your fucking tone, Parker."
"I give two flying ducks who you are right now. You slept with your mistress again? While the princess was gone?"
"Funny for you to think I have the time for that. I didn't. She barged in my chambers, told her to fuck off and she bit me instead."
It was Peter's turn for his eyes to widen as Miguel spat his words angrily, nearly seething.
"You should definitely put that rabid dog down. Why do you keep her around if you aren't engaging?"
"Because..." Miguel sighed, " Because I know what that...pinche zorra is capable of." (Fucking whore)
"Kill her then."
"No."
Peter deadpanned, "You've killed for less. You've killed other mistresses before!"
"No. Still, is not easy to get rid of someone like her. You think I don't want her out of this place?"
Peter sighed and removed his gauntlets.
"Everyone warned you about her."
"You act as if you weren't young and stupid."
"I told you, Jessica told you, even your mother that didn't like anyone warned you about her."
"I was nineteen! I had just been crowned."
"And now you see the consequences of spoiling a pet too much."
Sighing, both friend's fumes dissipated, Peter face grew somber as Miguel pinched the bridge of her nose.
"She feels disrespected."
"Who?"
"My hen."
Miguel quirked an eyebrow to him, confused.
"The princess! She explained a bit of her customs and yeah, it makes sense for her to be upset about Gabriel calling her a concubine."
"She's still upset about it?"
"Rightfully so."
Peter explained the conversation he had with you. The king's health, the motive of said illness, the execution; Lucille and your customs. As Peter spoke Miguel's face changed into many emotions. Confusion, anger, discomfit and a hint of sadness.
"That's pretty much about it."
Miguel chewed at the insides of his cheek and gave an exhausted groan.
"No puedo más. I... No puedo."
Miguel wanted to rip his hair out, or scream until his voice was raw. Instead he stood.
"I'll be right back. Tell Jessica to bring in a new dose."
The king left his office, he'd receive the reports later, his steps guided him to your chambers. he entered albeit unannounced.
"My goodness!" You squealed and quickly secured the robe that laid loosely on your shoulders and legs, around your body. Cheeks flaring.
Miguel turned around to give you some privacy while picking his palm with his nails.
"My apologies, Princesa."
Smooth and supple skin was engraved into his mind. He cleared his throat.
"It's... It's fine. Didn't expect your visit. I am dressed."
A shame.
A little part of his brain screamed as he glared at none in particular for such thought. He turned around and you were fumbling with some things inside a little wooden box.
Your face lit up, when pulling out a piece of fabric with an intricate embroidery design. It was Arachne's and Theleria's emblem, woven together in the richest threads colors he had imported.
You stepped closer and offered it to him.
"A gift for you. I cannot express my gratitude enough for allowing me to see my family again, my lord."
"You did this?"
The fabric felt soft on his calloused ones, he was marveled. He'd never had enough time to indulge his own desires and hobbies as they were long gone forgotten and replaced by countless hours of work.
"In my spare time. Been planning on making this for quite a while. And now that I've finally finished it, it's yours."
You placed the thing on his hand and smiled
"Do you like it?"
"I do" He smiled gently, "Thanks. You're quite skilled in this."
"Thank you, ser."
A pregnant pause fell upon you both. Eyes squinting at the broken flesh of his bottom lip. Your fingers examinated it gently. It was a bold move considering you had only touched him once before, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Are you alright?"
A sudden adrenaline rush came to him. His mouth went dry at the sudden proximity you had created between the both. You couldn't help it, the healer in you always took over whenever seeing a wound.
"I injured myself." He lied and his mouth felt dirty, his heart gave a doleful beat as you frowned in concern.
"If stressed, lavender will relax you. Would you like me to prepare some for you?"
"It's alright. Just a stupid injury."
"I differ, but this one isn't that bad."
"Is the king better?" He quickly segued between topics and nodded with a smile at his question.
"He is. My mother and Lucille took a great care of him. I just added the finishing touches to his health."
"What about the Queen?"
"Oh? She is alright. Thanks for asking."
"Do you miss them?"
"Dearly. But my duties remain here. They will be fine."
"I'm glad you made it back. Unscathed I mean."
"Thank you."
Again, he cleared his throat at the uncomfortable silence.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, your highness?"
"I'd like to introduce you to the council soon, we'll have a meeting someday this week. I'd like for you to attend."
"Oh? Sounds like I should prepare myself."
"You'll do just fine."
"Even though I am scared, I will be there. I'll take it as another chance to learn from your kingdom."
Your eagerness about something new always made his eyes soften.
"I will let you rest, Princesa."
He took your hand and kissed the back of your palm. Your cheeks burned again.
"Have a good night."
"You too, my lord."
As Miguel left, his hands caressed and scrutinized the fabric. Your dedication shown in the pristine weave. A red skull spider like symbol surrounded by a wreath of roses.
A symbol of your future union. And now it was all his. He was glad you were home unscathed, that you saw your family and friends. But Peter's words had caused such effect on him that humbled him right away.
He wasn't aware of your customs, never really took the time to take a look on it. Which costed him a big time of his trust. He had disrespected you without knowing, and it was all up to him to fix it properly.
The thought of Dana touching him made him feel greatly repulsed. Touches that he once got lost in, were now selfish yanks and pulls that suffocated and irked him. Contrary to yours, that not only healed, but treated him with respect.
You didn't pressured him into things. You understood his motives, and how his time was used. But still, after reading your diary, he knew he also had to make an effort to keep you included and not sought after just when the conditions demanded your presence.
Exhaustion finally took a grip on him, he just removed his armoring and clothes, too quanked to even remove his shoes, limbs too heavy to keep moving. The bed under him creaked by his weight and for once in a long while, Miguel followed Jessica's advice and went to sleep early. No bad dreams nor ill heartbeats hunted him.
-------
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#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#royal au#king miguel#Crimson Crown#dana d'angelo#jessica drew#peter b parker#t writes✨
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Heyyyy hope you’re doing well!!
Please can you imagine Leon (re6) loosing his shit because they kidnapped his girlfriend and he’s like trying everything to get her back? Imagine him crying as soon as he gets to hug her again!😭
I'm fine as long as I have a laptop connected to the internet and food)
In fact, this is one of my favorite plot tropes, when someone is kidnapped, and the main character is ready to burn the whole world to the ground, but to find an expensive person.
Leon, despite his moral principles, I think he could have made many sacrifices. In particular, he would definitely lose his temper if he grabbed onto any thread to find his beloved. At least he didn't stand on ceremony with Patrizio.
Thus, there will be little left of the scoundrel who kidnapped his girlfriend.
Something constantly happens to the poor girl of Leon (either she runs away from him, or she is stolen from him). Sorry, I just love their relationship and Leon, who is ready to kill for his loved ones :D
I still know shit English, but enjoy it if you're interested.
Please read with extreme caution! There are mentions of physical violence, kidnapping and a maniac!Yandere
Leon is a little paranoid when it comes to protecting his loved ones, so most likely he will insert some tracking device into your phone or earrings to be sure that his beloved is safe.
He tries not to violate personal boundaries, but understands that his beloved is in potential danger in relation to him. Therefore, you are under additional invisible protection.
All you need to know is that Leon is not abusing his position as a federal agent. There is no surveillance on you, it's just that if something happens, he wants to have time to prevent it before the irreparable happens (or he goes on a binge again).
His heart sinks at the thought that he may lose you for some reason. Any encroachment into your personal space by outsiders who create discomfort for you make Leon enter the defender mode (aggressive if necessary). You should be safe.
Since Leon is known to a minimum of people about Leon's love interest, the risk is minimal that you will be harmed. At least Leon considered the threat from various corporations and bioterrorists. He didn't even think about the fact that there is some bastard stealing your things.
It was some little things: pencils, hair bands, a pocket mirror, lip gloss. Yes, you said something to him about it, but maybe you just dropped them out of your backpack?
He was calm exactly until you became too nervous. It seemed that you were afraid of something and called him a couple of times with a request to meet on the way home. Leon is not one of those who will refuse, but your behavior worries him.
And when you were walking home, Leon felt your painful grip on his arm.
His main priority is your well-being. "So tell me, pretty girl, what's going on with you?" Don't think I haven't noticed this nervousness.
He will be wary when he hears that someone is following you and dragging your things. Of course you could have lost them yourself, but the chiffon scarf that Leon gave you was the last straw. In addition, you showed him the abnormal love notes that someone constantly threw into your purse.
Outwardly, it did not affect him in any way, but the stingy "I'll deal with it" means a lot. The anxiety level has increased and Leon is worried that some kind of psycho might hurt you.
He often calls and asks if everything is in order and when you need to be picked up from college. However, when you don't answer the phone, everything dies inside him.
The moment he realizes that you have been taken away, a monster wakes up in him, which can bring down hell on your abductor.
His emotional state constantly fluctuates from constant fear for your lives bordering on panic to Ustanak whose task is to find you and finish off the son of a bitch who dared to take you away from him.
"No god will help this son of a bitch when I find him."
It's sad that you lost your phone on the day of the abduction and did not put on earrings. But a nice little bracelet will save you.
are a fucking goddess.
When you wake up, of course, you will be scared. However, you will try to intimidate the criminal by saying that he is so obsessed with you in vain. "Seriously, my boyfriend will come after me and gut you" You don't think Leon will kill anyone at all, so maybe your words don't sound too confident when the kidnapper's hand is stroking your head.
Do you panic when a fucking psycho says it's some kind of date? No one here hears your screams, you can't run away because you're handcuffed. You can't even go to the toilet on your own only under his control, and this causes you a deep psychological trauma. He brings you a fucking lilac, weaving thin twigs into your hair.
"Why me?" - This is the only question that is spinning in your head when you are hysterically pulling out purple flowers, throwing them away from you. - "Am I going to die here?"
You literally go crazy from the smell of dampness and lilac. Constantly shout Leon's name as if he can hear you and immediately breaking into a loud cry, banging on the walls and the locked door.
You're clearly getting claustrophobic.
While you're suffering, Leon is trying to track the fucking signal on one of your trinkets, but he's afraid that you left that day without any jewelry at all.
Claire is definitely one of those people who can talk some sense into Leon while he's looking for you. Considering that the bug gives a bad signal (or maybe your bracelet was damaged due to the fact that you constantly pull it from nerves) from the basement and your location is difficult to track, Leon has already yelled at Chris
You feel like a frog in formalin or even some kind of toy when your abductor brings you clean clothes, which you throw back to him. It's risky to make him angry like that and you really regret it when brute force is used to force you to change clothes.
Yes, then they "take care" of you, but you are already a cornered mouse. The purple marks on your skin and the marks from the handcuffs are now a reminder of who is in charge here.
And you hate that bastard more and more. Unfortunately, you have absolutely nothing to even hit him with. The food that he brings you in plastic dishes, as well as cutlery. You try not to eat, fearing that he might have mixed something in there, but you are forced by force.
It's been three days, and Leon hasn't found you. You feel like you're starting to go crazy until you hear a muffled noise from somewhere above.
All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants
All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants
Has anyone ever told you that you are not the luckiest person?
You tried to attack from behind when they stopped stroking you. It was risky and you failed because the kidnapper reacted before you swung to strike.
You were very painfully punished, left lying on the damp floor in a terrible state, all in tears and without an evening meal.
It's been four terrible days in your life. All because you fiddled with your bracelet too much, which turned out to be thrown away quite far from the place where you were, forcing Leon to go on a false trail.
You felt terrible. It didn't take long to break you. You no longer hoped to see daylight or your loved ones, so you crawled into the farthest corner curled up in a ball and cried.
Having lost track of time due to another fit of hysteria, you did not want to pay attention to the opening door and hurried steps in your direction.
Preferring not to pay attention to your enemy, you became even more hysterical when he tried to turn you around to face him, affectionately calling you "angel".
That's what infuriated you. But when you opened your eyes in another attempt to attack, you froze in disbelief at your own eyes. Have you already gone crazy in this place? So fast, or was Leon really in front of you?
His light blue eyes were dark. Not as bright as usual, but maybe it's because of the lighting… Strong hands carefully examined your body for the number of bruises.
You looked away in the direction of the open door - your freedom, but you felt Leon's fingers gently tracing over your split lips.
You've never seen such quiet hatred before. You were shivering from the cold, feeling that tears were still flowing down your cheeks, and tried to snuggle up to Leon in search of protection and warmth.
But Leon himself pressed you to him, slightly lifting up his T-shirt, checking for underwear. You flinched, and then you heard a single question when you grabbed his back with both hands, pressing your head against his chest.
"That son of a bitch…" - Leon gritted his teeth, still looking at your stolen things on the floor. - "I'll kill him"
The fuse clicked.
Leon took off his jacket, putting it on you (with great difficulty, because you did not want to interrupt close contact with him), and then easily picked up in his arms, like a small child, carrying out of this basement. You closed your eyes just to not see anything else. Leon's scent worked better than any strong sedative, and you wanted him not to let you go anymore.
So small. Defenseless. Bruised all over. He will kiss you on the temple, looking at the sprawled bastard with such a look that it will be clear how it will end. Leon will hand you over to Claire, despite your growing hysteria over the loss of hugs, and do what he has planned.
It's going to be pretty bloody. He expressed some regret about Patricio, but Leon will never forgive someone who hurt you, leaving a scar on your soul. So he'll empty the whole clip on him.
Because of this, he will have some problems, but you are the priority. You will undergo a full examination at the hospital, where Leon will be reassured (partially) that your violence ended with beatings. In general, there are no physical injuries, but both Leon and Claire understand what condition you will be in.
He will take care of you. Try to do everything so that you don't remember that four-day nightmare. He will find a good therapist, but if your brain decided to erase these memories on its own, a kind of protective reaction to stress, then it will even calm him down.
Leon understands the reason for your detached behavior. He is glad that you are not afraid to let him near you, thereby subconsciously making him your shield. he's ready to be one before you start trusting people again.
No one heard it, but Leon was really crying quietly when it was over. You were sleeping after taking a sedative dose, and he was sitting in the bathtub thinking only that he could not save you faster.
He won't touch you once again for fear of triggering some kind of trigger, but in your head it is Leon the hero savior. Therefore, if you are looking for protection in him, then it's even good, because this is how he hopes to redeem himself before you.
In the end, you are faced with dissociative amnesia. You realize that something terrible has happened, but you have a lapse in memory. Leon will be the one who will start distracting you from your memories by persuading you not to remember. He really considers it a gift of fate and will go out of his way so that you don't touch this moment of life at all, leaving him behind a black curtain.
And yet one day he burst into tears clutching to his chest. While you sleep next to him feeling completely safe, Leon will need to hug you tightly and come up with better ways to protect you. He feels guilty that he did not save you and this feeling of guilt will gnaw at him for a long time.
"I'm sorry… sweetheart, I'm so sorry… - what you hear in your sleep. - "Never again…no one will hurt you. Never."You don't remember a damn thing, but you're scared because Leon is crying kissing the top of your head.
He won't let anyone else take you away.
#leon scott kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x you#leon x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon scott kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#resident evil#re#reader#resident evil headcanons#leon kennedy headcanons#headcanon#yandere resident evil
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All We Do Not Say
Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕
There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down.
In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again.
At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning.
But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.
Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging– an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others.
Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep.
Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.
It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone.
It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.
That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark.
Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people.
No trees, no light. No sky.
Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them.
He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness.
On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.
Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday.
He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else.
Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before.
Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep.
It starts the same way every time.
Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself.
He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light.
Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet.
A voice comes to him out of the darkness.
“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.”
“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.
“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection.
“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.”
She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes.
It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.
Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest.
Perhaps, he thinks, another never has.
“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.
“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.”
There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him.
Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.”
“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”
“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.”
It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking.
She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible.
“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.”
“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”
Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”
“If you’ll allow me.”
Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct.
“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.”
“Like this?”
“Like that.”
The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned.
He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch.
Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved.
Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin.
The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…
“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.”
She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his.
Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?
Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance.
“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.”
“Do you want me to stay up with you?”
Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always.
He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”
“And how long is that?”
“As long as I’m able to concentrate.”
He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold.
A focus worth holding, at last.
“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says.
“None at all.”
Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.
Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.
For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this.
“Thank you, Gale.”
Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.
#gale x tav#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#gale romance#gale x reader#gale x ofc#baldur's gate 3#bg3#gale dekarios fanfic#gale fanfic#morena dekarios#bg3 fanfiction#gale bg3#my writing#gale x fem! tav#I hope you love it bc it was a joy to write#I am such a sucker for soft stories#gale fluff#fluff#bg3 fic#gale my beloved#gale dekarios fic
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hey hey, was wondering if you could do a headcannon for jason and dick when their s/o is sick cause im sick as hell rn and need some comfort <3
I hope you get better anon and I also hope that this gives you something to chuckle at in the meantime.
Jason:
He’s like a mother hen when your sick and it wouldn’t been funny…had you not been sick and forcibly bed bound by him.
‘Jason.’ You groaned. ‘I’m dying.’
Jason looks at you blankly. ‘Hi dying I’m Jason, now take your god damn medicine.’
He takes your recovery more seriously and makes sure that you take your medicine on time when they were needed. And if you were to make things difficult for yourself, he will straddle you if needs be just for you to take medicine that you were upset wasn’t grape flavoured…
Will tuck the blankets right under your chin if you’re feeling cold and if you were still feeling cold, he’ll offer you one of his warmer hoodies to wear in hopes that they’d stop.
He honestly can’t either you sometimes but has to remember that he loves you and that he’d stick by you no matter what, even if you do act like an outraged child when sick.
God sake do not ask him to get you ice cream when you’re sick, he will forbade you from eating that crap. You’re meant to be getting better, not worse.
He even makes you a nice warm soup amongst other foods to help you during your recovery process also.
Jason may seem strict in his methods in taking care of you but he means well and will apologise if he thinks he’s been a bit too much of a dick by sitting bedside and holding your hand, kissing it every so often.
‘I’m sorry if it seems like I’m being harsh chipmunk, I’m only trying to help.’ He’d say.
‘If you’re being sorry for being a dick, then it’s only fair that I say sorry for acting so childish when you’re only trying to help. And I really appreciate you for everything you’ve done for me.’ You’d reply as you both let out a chuckle before you allowed Jason to take care of you without any complaints to be made.
You get better by the end of the week and Jason spoils you by letting you have all the ice cream you could dream of, but please for his sake don’t eat it too fast and get brain freeze.
Dick:
Will let you eat ice cream because how can he say no to your sad, sick face.
Even when sick Dick spoils the hell out of you.
Does not make the situation any better in all honesty.
He’ll probably take more offence that you were sick than yourself as he takes your temperature and tutting.
‘38°?’ Dick says as he looks down at the thermometer and muttering under his breath, ‘Not good.’
You only look at him blankly before sniffling as you cling to your plush frog, unamused. ‘I hate you.’
He’d might even get Hayley to help ‘heal’ you by just letter her be her cutest self and not currently crushing your legs, seeing as how she’s not a little blue pup anymore. she’s yours and Dick’s baby however and you didn’t care because seeing her try to nurse you back to health with her licking never failed to put a smile on your face.
‘Thank you sweetheart Im beginning to feel much better.’ You say as Hayley continued aggressively licking your arms, hands and face.
If you were to tell dick you were cold/still cold, his immediate response was the cuddle you but when you stop him to remind him that your sick, he only shrugs and probably boasts that he’s got great immunity before cuddling you. (Lies utter lies)
Let’s be honest he probably ends up getting sick after you start to recover and demands for you to repay him for taking care of you.
dick is okay at making food but might mutter ‘this isn’t the way it looked when Alfred made it’ under his breath while making you some simple soup before consulting Hayley, who only whimpers and shies away from it.
‘Take out it is then.’ He’d say and tries to take credit for it once it comes, but you see through the bullshit but we’re too sick to say anything about it.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagines#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd fic#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#nightwing x y/n#nightwing x you#nightwing fluff#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader
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Together. / Mike Schimdt
Authors Note : So I just happened to watch the FNAF movie and my god it was so good, with a hint of good Lore in it. Also the cast was perfect and ever since watching it, I had a thought of writing a quick one shot for Mike and Y/N. Where Y/N suffers from hallucination and has the same symptoms but a different kind of illness than Abby's. Suggesting that they see also the kids but also the man who's being everything, not only controlling them and their life styles, resulting in a lack of sleep pattern and tons of trauma.
Enjoy!
Ps : Pls don't repost or copy and paste my works. Everything is written by me, and also note that English isn't my first mother language, so I apologize in advance if there is any grammar errors. I tried my very best.
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From one call to another, Mike encountered an unending stream of repetitive "nos" and polite rejections for the position he sought. It dawned on him that he might be the source of the issue, especially after the peculiar "incident" that may have left a stranger somewhat shaken. A few days post-dismissal, someone finally directed him to visit the office of Steve Raglan, a man he had never met before. Today presented the perfect opportunity. Mr. Raglan fit the mold of a man from a bygone era, with his distinctive round glasses and traditional attire. Michael's growing apprehension made him wonder if venturing into this place had been a poor decision all along.
A hushed pause enveloped the room as Mr. Raglan perused Mike's professional background with casual interest. "Well, Mike..." He paused in the midst of his sentence, stealing a quick, appraising glance in his direction. Mike responded nonchalantly. "Yes?" His voice, however, lacked the self-assuredness he longed to convey.
"Care for some coffee?" Steve's inquiry was succinct yet brimming with anticipation as he strolled toward his coffee machine. Mike hesitated, then replied, "Um... No, thank you. I'd rather get this done quick." Deep down, Mike yearned for a stable job, one that would enable him to look after his sister, Abby, and perhaps even sway their aunt to grant them custody.
Steve sensed the growing impatience in his client, who was eager to learn what the future had in store. "You know," Steve remarked, returning to his chair, his voice now tinged with excitement – a side effect, Mike presumed, of his coffee intake. "I recognize this place. It's a place where someone like you would give anything for the job..." A spark of curiosity ignited within Mike as he leaned closer to Mr. Reglan, raising an intrigued brow. "And," Mike inquired. "what makes this place so special?" Steve paused briefly, carefully choosing his words. "Well, you see..."
Mike found himself utterly perplexed by the revelation before him. The location had not only been abandoned since the '80s but also, the job requirements were far from aligning with his original intentions. The compensation was dismal, and he couldn't help but suspect that perhaps none of the previous security guards had been paid properly either. Or not paid at all. It involved a shift he had no expertise in and had no intention of pursuing, particularly after having to bail on his babysitter to bring Abby with him. It was an unequivocal "No." He declared firmly, convinced that this man was even more cynical than he was.
"Are you absolutely certain? Your resume suggests you're more than capable for the position." Mr. Raglan made one final attempt to persuade, his features softening subtly from their earlier rigidity. However, Mike shook his head once more, resolute in his decision. He muttered briefly about the job being the primary source of his conflict, preventing him from seeing Abby or ensuring she had a decent meal, not to mention avoiding losing custody to his aunt. With determination, he rose from his chair, ready to leave the office. Just as Mike was about to exit, Steve handed him his business card, his demeanor marked by a slight pout, swiftly followed by a confident smile. "Just in case, take this," he suggested. Mike, though hesitating for a moment, accepted the card out of politeness and left the office without a word.
After his meeting with Mr. Raglan, Mike's quest for the ideal job seemed to come to an unfortunate conclusion. None of the places he had contacted before his appointment with the advisor, and none since, had offered him any promising prospects. He was beginning to contemplate that maybe accepting the night shift at this particular place was the most feasible option for now. If nothing else, it would provide him with a source of income, and the busy night hours might keep his mind occupied. What enticed him even more was the prospect of being his own boss, with no co-workers to influence his ever-present paranoia. This thought made him more determined than ever to give it a try.
On that very same day, as Abby engrossed herself in her beloved TV shows, Mike settled in to tackle his usual paperwork. It was a task he wasn't particularly fond of, especially considering how the bills seemed to climb higher with each passing month. Even though they were essentially the same, being currently unemployed gave him the impression that each payment had somehow inflated. Just as he was wrapping up his tax payments, a business card slipped through the paperwork, piquing his curiosity and triggering an unexpected flashback.
He hesitated for a moment, contemplating the significance of the card, and then made an impulsive decision. Michael picked up the card and dialed Mr. Reglan's number.
Silence greeted Mike on the other end of the line, as if Mr. Raglan had anticipated the need to give him some space before speaking. "Hello, Mr. Raglan, it's Mike." He began, slightly perplexed. Oddly enough, he could almost sense the man's smile from the other end of the call. It was a whimsical, knowing smile, as if the company had despaired of finding anyone willing to take on the position. Advising Mr. Raglan to take anyone who had agreed upon the offer. "The man who doesn’t do night shifts..."
“How may I help you?”
He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep gulp. Ultimately, if he hoped to secure some much-needed income by the end of the month, Mike felt he had no choice but to go for it. With trepidation, he inquired about the availability of the job position. Mr. Raglan's response was swift and affirmative, exuding a sense of warmth toward the young man's inquiry. Encouraged by this, Mr. Raglan asked, "So, from the seemingly random question, can I assume you are accepting to be the Night Guard? Is that correct?"
“Yes.” Mike firmly agreed.
“Well!” Mr. Raglan exclaimed with a beam smile written on his features. “Now let me explain you everything you need to know…”
Mike's first night turned out to be anything but simple, despite his initial expectations. Although he had assumed it would be a straightforward affair, the reality hit him when he arrived at the Pizzeria. Mr. Raglan had painted an enticing picture, but the reality was far from appealing. The exterior of the place was drab, with a sign in disrepair, and an entrance that appeared older than Mike himself. The eerie atmosphere left him questioning the wisdom of his decision to accept the job. However, the need for money was a compelling motivator, so he soldiered on.
As he stepped into the building, he recalled being informed that the technology was outdated yet operational, suggesting that someone had been there before him to maintain it. Regardless, as long as their shifts didn't overlap, it was a situation he could live with. However, as he prepared to settle into his office, a profound sense of isolation crept over him. Or perhaps it was a feeling he had merely convinced himself of.
On that very night, Mr. Raglan had called for a check-in, a practice that you found rather unsettling. It only served to worsen your already fragile sleep schedule as the weeks passed. What made it even more distressing were the persistent, haunting visions of them replaying in your mind – flashbacks of their appearances at the restaurant and even inside your own home. But what set your anxiety spiraling was the presence of an eerie figure intertwined with these visions. This haunting scenario ultimately drove you to seek medical attention at the hospital due to severe sleep deprivation. After that harrowing incident, it's safe to say that your eyes would seldom close.
You had also received a rather cryptic warning to keep an eye on the new night security guard, as if your job wasn't demanding enough on its own. Strangely enough, you had never laid eyes on the big boss, nor had any idea what he even looked like. All you knew was that he had a penchant for privacy and seemed to have great faith in Mr. Raglan's knack for providing these kinds of employment opportunities.
As you cruised through the town, dressed in your security guard uniform, you made a pit stop at the convenience store. There, you grabbed some instant coffee and a few snacks to keep yourself alert during your night shift. It wasn't as if you desperately needed them, but considering the unpredictable behavior of the animatronics, especially on the new security guard’s very first day, you opted to stay on high alert. After all, it had been who knew how long since you'd managed to keep your sanity intact while enduring the trials of this dismal place.
You had casually mentioned to Vanessa that you had a few errands to run. She appeared as exhausted as you, both of you affected by the recent ordeal involving the security guard. You couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy, always caught in the middle of chaos and associated with the color purple. It seemed absurd that something so innocuous could be the root of all these problems, but you quickly dismissed such thoughts. After paying the cashier and expressing your gratitude, you left the store behind.
Mike's night was surprisingly going well, and he mused, "It's not as bad as I thought." Despite his seemingly confident tone, he remained alert and cautious. While you had explicitly advised Vanessa not to come and check on you, yet she did precisely the opposite. Mike suddenly became aware that he was not alone. Could it be a burglar? He had been sternly warned against letting any strangers in, and he was determined to follow that advice. However, Vanessa's impressive familiarity with the Pizzeria allowed her to slip in through an alternate entrance, demonstrating her knowledge of the place. Leading Mike into desperate urgent major. Finding the burglar.
Meeting Vanessa had caught him off guard, and he was momentarily taken aback by her unexpected presence. Vanessa, however, took the initiative to speak on his behalf. "You must be the new security guard," she observed. Mike, still trying to process who this woman was, offered a hesitant nod, prompting a chuckle from Vanessa at his reaction. "I'm Vanessa," she introduced herself, her tone light. "Security guard by day, and assistant by night."
"Assistant?" Mike scrutinized her, contemplating whether he should call the big boss to confirm her role. However, Vanessa reassured him, saying. "No need to. The big boss called Y/N to fix Foxy's lair."
"Y/N?" Mike inquired, skepticism evident in his voice. "And why should I take your word for it without any proof?" He stayed close to the camera footage and swiftly switched to the next camera, which was focused on Foxy's area. Everything appeared to be in pristine condition, suggesting the entire place had been left deserted. "And who is this... Y/N?"
Vanessa pointed at the screen displaying the main entrance, where you were standing, clearly aware of the camera above. You cheekily flipped your finger at the camera, leaving Mike torn between the belief that Vanessa was indeed present or that the security guard was merely doing his job, and she wasn't there at all.
"I informed them that I wouldn't be around, but they are rather fragile. They are being advised to be checked on during their shift." Vanessa explained. "While I focus on the animatronics to avoid raising any suspicion, I suggest you go and check on them.”
The instructions were unmistakable, and Mike had little choice but to comply. "But... what if the boss finds out I'm not at my station?" He voiced his concern. Vanessa couldn't help but chuckle softly, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. "Don't fret. He's already aware." She reassured him, her expression tinged with a hint of guilt.
"Great," Mike muttered with an eye roll as he returned to monitoring the main entrance. He couldn't help but steal a glance at your figure, noticing how cold you seemed on this early fall night. He could practically see you shouting on the other line, "Hey, jerk! Let me in, it's freezing out here!" Even though he couldn't hear your words, he could tell from the expression on your face. In response, he finally granted you access, and you muttered with relief. "About time..." just before stepping inside.
As you stepped inside, the interior of the place made you acutely aware of your luck, albeit in an eerie way. It was undeniably creepy, yet you had an inexplicable sense of safety and even felt oddly welcomed. Foxy, known to be the most terrifying and historically the meanest of them all, somehow found solace in your presence. You could have sworn that at times, his eyes seemed to lower, watching as you tended to him. It was as though he had a hidden identity, not quite ready to reveal his true nature, you suspected.
As you wandered through the Pizzeria, Mike couldn't help but notice your diminutive figure amidst all the towering animatronics. He found it difficult to fathom how someone so petite could be employed in this establishment. He murmured his thoughts to Vanessa, nudging her gently. "Maybe we—" He began, but she quickly interrupted, saying, "Not now."
As you finished repairing Bonnie, the big boss tasked you with fixing Foxy, who had been acting strangely. It struck you as odd because Foxy typically only reacted to potential intruders. He preferred targeting moving objects over those playing hide and seek until they got too close. You made your way up to his lair, pulled back the curtains, and revealed his silhouette. "Seems like someone's been naughty lately..." Your voice usually provided comfort, but today it had an odd tone. "Have you...met the new guard?" You found it rather absurd to be talking to a robotic entity, particularly one as poorly and cheaply programmed as you had discovered. If there was one thing you wanted to tell the big boss, assuming you ever met them, it was to consider upgrading the gear if they ever thought of opening another Pizzeria.
On the other end, Mike observed you with a watchful eye. It didn't take long before you began repairing Foxy's arm and his body started to glitch unexpectedly. "Weird... I thought—" Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud and startling BANG. Foxy's eyes were now fixed on you, but they were different from what you were used to. They were red and filled with anger, just like in your recurring nightmares. In that harrowing moment, you froze in place, uncertain of what to do next. "Y/N!" Vanessa's voice came through the walkie-talkie, but you couldn't hear it. Everything around you felt vacant, as if you were about to become Foxy's last meal of the night... or so you feared.
An arm swiftly reached out and pulled you close to its owner. Mike clutched you tightly, and a sense of terror and dread washed over both of you. It was Mike who managed to break free from the grip and make a dash for the monitor room, but just as he got there, Bonnie arrived, blocking his path. "Damn it," he cursed, frantically scanning for an alternate route. You, from your vantage point, weakly directed him, "The first aid room...to the right."
Without uttering a word of thanks, which, given the gravity of the situation, seemed secondary to getting you to safety, Mike finally brought you to the emergency room. It was a room that had seen far too much use, but oddly enough, everything seemed to return to normal once you arrived. The animatronics had moved elsewhere, and for some reason, they couldn't access the area. This brought a sense of relief to Mike. He carefully placed your body on a rather shabby bunk bed and softly murmured, "Here..." You remained in a state of shock, your eyes wide as if your body had been frozen in place. "Hey," He attempted to reassure you, "you're safe now. Vanessa should... Great job, Mike, real smooth." He berated himself inwardly for his awkward choice of words.
Upon hearing Vanessa's presence, you lifted your head abruptly, your eyes brimming with tears you were trying to hold back. Just when you thought of her, she appeared, precisely knowing where to find you. You felt a mixture of relief and concern as she leaned in to inspect you for any wounds or scratches, cupping your face and keeping her gaze locked on you. "Has they had any water?" Mike, who was present to assist, appeared increasingly nervous this time. Being new to this place, he didn't know everything either. "Where... Where is it?" He stammered, quickly searching the room. Vanessa pointed in the direction, her eyes never leaving you. "The first storage room to the left."
"Y/N, look at me." Vanessa implored, his voice filled with unease. "The man doesn't exist. He's not here... He's a fictional—"
Nervously, Mike handed the water bottle to Vanessa, who then offered it to you. This time, you shook your head vigorously, tears streaming down your face. "No! I saw him. Foxy spoke his name to me! It can't just be in my dreams!" You pleaded, desperate to convince them, despite your previous breakdowns being labeled as delusional by past doctors. As you shook your head, you realized that Mike was beside you. You clung to his arm, causing him to gulp nervously, just a little. "You have to believe me... Please..."
Mike found it hard to believe, even though you had clearly experienced a breakdown in that moment. While it was entirely understandable, he tried to do the same thing Vanessa did. "Perhaps you should just take a moment to breathe." He suggested. "Whenever I'm in a state of panic, my doctor advises me to take deep breaths." You observed him closely and countered. "And does your doctor say you're insane?"
Insane…
As undeniable as the truth was, it struck Mike that perhaps you were right. Everything seemed so peculiar when it came to Abby and Y/N's imaginary friends, especially with Vanessa working so hard to conceal her friend's breakdowns. "You know... now that you mention it..." Mike began, leaning in to discuss it further. Vanessa attempted to nudge him away, but you allowed him to continue. But he stopped. And by locking eyes with each other, you both knew something was wrong with this place. So in response, you leaned in and wrapped yourself in his arm. There was something about him that felt like home. You felt protected and, for once, someone truly understood you.
On the other hand, Mike comforted you with a few soothing rubs on your back. He glanced at Vanessa, who seemed to share the relief but carried a heavy load of guilt inside, which she wasn't ready to disclose to either Mike or you. “Shh… I got you.” He said, with a soothing voice that remembered it as your older brother. Not letting it go he continued. “We are going to get through all of this together… Y/N.”
“Together…”
In the distance, Abby observed the trio with Foxy's humanoid presence beside her. Foxy, who felt a deep sense of guilt for what he had done to them just hours ago, hesitated to intervene to bring Y/N back to him. However, as he watched Mike and you, he felt a strong urge to protect you, jealousy even you were a mother figure for everyone, but especially Foxy. Abby noticed his face changing into hatred until she halted him with a reassuring smile. "There's no need," Abby whispered. "They have found someone... Someone who truly cares for them. Someone who will love and protect them."
Foxy silently observed the scene unfolding before his eyes, and as he heard Abby's words, he felt a sense of relief welling up within him. Watching it all happen, Foxy came to realize that Abby was indeed right. Y/N had found someone they could genuinely rely on, someone with whom she could openly express their feelings..
Fin.
#mike schmidt#josh hutcherson#fnaf#fnaf movie#mike schmidt x reader#micheal afton#micheal afton x reader#william afton#vanessa fnaf#vanessa monroe#fnaf imagines#fnaf bonnie#fnaf freddy#fnaf chica#fnaf foxy#fnaf security breach#fnaf fanfic#x reader#fandom fanfic#fluff#josh hutcherson fnaf#josh hutcherson x reader
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