#CHIRP error fix

[ikofibanini]

Mastering CHIRP: The Ultimate Guide to Programming Your Amateur Radio Like a Pro

If you’re an amateur radio operator looking for a faster, easier way to program your radio, CHIRP is the game-changing software you need. Whether you’re managing emergency frequencies, repeater channels, or simplex contacts, CHIRP radio programming simplifies the process for radios like Baofeng UV-5R, Yaesu FT-60R, Kenwood TH-F6A, and dozens more This ultimate guide to CHIRP software will walk…

[downbad4sylus]

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Stargazing

(part two, part three, and part four)

synopsis: Being a Princess never suited you, your spirit too wild to be contained within the life of a royal. But one fateful night, your penchant for adventure goes awry and you find yourself in enemy territory facing down a mysterious man with an interesting secret.

content: king!sylus x princess!reader; use of Y/N; slow burn; kidnapping sort of; brief mention of war; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: here’s part one to the new series!!! not sure how long this will end up being so we’ll see where it takes us lol. thanks to all who joined the taglist, if anyone is interested in being added, that post is linked here. enjoy <3

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Nothing spoke to your restless soul more than the sound of birds chirping on a cloudless day. You craved the soft kiss of the spring breeze on your cheeks. The squish of soil beneath the soles of your feet with the scent of last night’s rainfall wafting through your nose.

But you couldn’t experience any of these simple delights, not yet at least.

Your father, the King of Linkon, demanded your presence at tonight’s welcome feast.

A knock on your bedchamber door tore you from your daydreams.

“Princess Y/N! Are you dressed? It’s time to go downstairs!”

You groaned, forcing yourself away from the window, your slippered feet dragging along the floor as you made your way to the door.

Just one more day, you reminded yourself.

One more day and you would perform your greatest trick, escaping the castle to explore the unfamiliar city.

The King of Linkon was currently engaged in a rather vicious war with the neighboring country of Onychinus. As the King’s only daughter, and thus heir to the throne, you had spent the last few years sequestered in various castles and estates at the behest of your father. You knew he was doing it protect you, to protect the future of Linkon, but you had never been one to remain idle. Adventure called to you like a siren’s song, one you were helpless to resist, especially when you found yourself under explicit instruction to stay put. So, through grueling hours of trial and error, you mastered the art of escaping from whatever home you lived in. You were aware of the risks, aware of how dangerous it was to roam around as heir to an entire country equipped with nothing but your thirst for excitement, and you didn’t care. You never wanted to rule anything, never asked to be a princess, and you did everything in your power to live a life free of the responsibility of a future ruler.

Tonight, however, you held no such power.

You followed sullenly behind the servant who knocked on your door, your shoulders slumping with each step closer to the massive dining hall. The last thing you wanted was to entertain the “esteemed” guests awaiting you. The nobles from the region your father had whisked you away to—located right next to the border of Onychinus—were putting on this feast to welcome their ruler and his only daughter. Talk of war strategies or current affairs were among your least favorite topics of conversation and would undoubtedly be the forefront of this feast. But you were expected to sit pretty beside your father, a smile on your face, and participate as if you cared.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Dread sank like a stone in your gut as boisterous laughter echoed into the corridor signaling what you had to look forward to within the dining hall.

“Ah! There is my lovely daughter!” your father announced, rising from his seat at the head of the obnoxiously large feast table. Everyone quickly followed suit, bowing as you entered. “Come sit at my side my darling Y/N.”

Fixing a smile onto your face, you closed the distance between you and your father, taking your rightful place at his side. One day you would stand where he stood, he liked to remind you, so it was best to keep you as close to him as possible.

You loved your father, you really did. He treated you well, loved you fiercely, it wasn’t his fault this unwanted fate befell you. You had no siblings, and your mother died from illness when you were very young. Rather than marry another, your father remained steadfast in his love for his late wife, refusing to wed anyone who wasn’t her. So it had just been the two of you for years, the only family either of you had to rely on, but that also meant you had no one to pass along the title of heir.

“Please, everyone sit and let us commence this feast in earnest,” your father declared, sinking into his chair.

You sat beside him, snatching up a goblet of what you hoped was wine, needing the sweet embrace of alcohol to get you through this meal. The goblet clinked against your teeth as you brought it to your lips a little too enthusiastically and a wave of relief washed over you as the taste of wine spread across your tongue.

“Thank the gods,” you whispered under your breath.

“What was that darling?” your father questioned despite the noble to his left talking his ear off. Ever aware of you he was, a trait you would find endearing if it wasn’t so stifling.

“Nothing Father,” you assured with a tight smile.

He hummed noncommittally and returned his attention to the noble.

The delicious food and wine were what allowed you to make it out relatively unscathed from the feast. You played your part well, just as you always did, engaging with those who made conversation, keeping quiet when it best suited you, and flashing that deceivingly innocent smile when the men started to suspect there might be a little bit more going on in that pretty head of yours.

There was a skip in your step as you returned to your bedchamber, grateful to finally be away from all the chaos. Servants helped you bathe and dress for bed, leaving you in peace for the rest of the night.

As soon as the door snicked shut, you threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Tomorrow couldn’t wait, you wanted to go exploring tonight.

It certainly wasn’t the first time you slipped out past sunset. Sometimes the scenery was more beautiful at night, the moon and stars illuminating the land in a way the sun could only dream of.

You changed out of your bedclothes and into a dress better suited for nighttime adventures. Then without an ounce of hesitation, you were climbing out the window and scaling the side of the castle walls.

Learning the guards’ shifts was like second nature for you at this point, so you snuck out of the castle limits and into the city proper with ease. You aimed for the flower field you’d spied from your window your upon arrival, confident it was the prime spot for stargazing.

You could hardly hold back excited giggles as the field came into view, the night sky above already one of the most dazzling sights you’d ever seen.

What a life you could live were you not a princess, you thought as you collapsed amidst the flowers. Stargazing every night, exploring the world during the day, just endless possibilities for adventure.

You sighed.

Many times throughout the years you’d entertained the thought of running away but leaving your father alone was what always stopped you. You couldn’t hurt him like that, not when he’d done nothing to deserve it. You’d be a good daughter, a worthy princess, and fulfill your birthright, even if it tore you apart to do so.

A shooting star flashed across the sky.

You closed your eyes and made a wish.

I wish I could escape the life of a princess.

A twig snapped to your left.

You jolted upright, expecting to find a wild animal prowling in the field only to be met with two men wearing black masks and leather armor.

Heart pounding in your chest, you stared the two men down and they stared back, frozen where they stood.

Then you were moving, on your feet and sprinting through the flowers.

“Shit,” one of them swore before heavy footfalls started pursuing you.

Shit was right. This was exactly why your father kept you locked inside. The threat of being taken, of having unspeakable things done to you, of being ransomed with no guarantee for your life. You knew the risks, had several close calls, but none as close as this.

The men were right on your heels, and suddenly your face was becoming well acquainted with the dirt.

One of them had tackled you. Was forcing your hands behind your back and tying them with rope.

“Let me go!” you demanded, squirming beneath the man’s weight to avail.

“No can do Miss Trespasser,” the man said. “You crossed the border into Onychinus’s lands and now you’ll pay the price for it.”

What? You had no idea this now cursed flower field was past the border, had never so much as checked a map before venturing out.

Shit. You were in some deep shit.

The man wrenched you to your feet and tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of flour.

“Where are you taking me?” you questioned.

The man looped an arm around your legs, keeping them locked tight against his body to prevent you from kicking. “Boss-man will want to know why such a pretty face was caught within his lands.”

Boss…man?

You flailed despite being restrained. “I don’t care about this boss of yours! Take me to your king, I wish to speak to your king immediately!”

Both men laughed in a way that sounded as though they were one person but neither bothered to reply as they brought you toward this boss-man.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Curious stares followed you from the moment you entered the war camp still thrown over the man’s shoulder. The man you realized, along with his accomplice, likely soldiers from this sprawling army.

You didn’t know the enemy was posted so close to the border, the walk here only taking about thirty minutes. What exactly was your father planning in coming here so close to the fighting? What was he thinking bringing you along?

You were set on your feet in front of a rather large tent, at least compared to the hundred others surrounding it. The man nudged you forward, causing you to stumble through the flap and into the warmth.

The moment you lifted your head, you locked eyes with the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Perfectly disheveled white hair. An amused tilt of full lips. A face made of sharp lines. And those eyes. Striking red eyes that looked more like gems than anything.

Who was this beautiful man before you?

His gaze shifted to the men behind you. “Do you two even know what kind of trouble you’ve brought to my doorstep?”

His voice, deep and sultry, caressed your skin and you had to hold back a shiver from the sound alone. But you weren’t naive enough to think this man wasn’t the most dangerous person in the room, perhaps in the entire army beyond these flimsy walls. He exuded the quiet confidence that came with a seasoned fighter. A man who knew the power he held in the palm of his hand. You were both terrified and intrigued by this man.

“We watched her cross the border, Boss,” the second man explained. “Rules say we bring anyone of interest to you for questioning.”

He raised a single brow. “What was she doing?”

“Uh, she was—”

“I was stargazing,” you supplied, holding your chin high.

“Stargazing,” he repeated, amusement dancing in those red eyes as they regarded you.

You were pretty sure he was a general, likely the general of this army. It was the only explanation that made sense based off the very little information you had.

“Did you know you were crossing into my lands, Princess?”

Every muscle in your body tensed.

He knew.

He knew exactly who you were.

Shit.

You sucked in a deep breath and steeled your nerves. “Well,” you huffed, “since you know who I am then let’s skip the formalities. I wish to speak with your king regarding my safe return to my father.”

He said nothing which was far more unnerving than outright refusing your request. His striking eyes roved over you, drinking in every inch. The shiver you’d been suppressing was powerless against his fierce gaze.

You struggled against your restraints, ropes tugging at the skin of your wrists. “I demand to be brought to your king!”

The general’s red eyes gleamed as his lips curled into a menacing grin. “You’re looking at him, Princess.”

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taglist: @imnikki @tenleecth10 @hxneybeeuwu @sylus-crow @dissociativewriter @psychedelic--spaceman @zhongtar @ivoryclive @heartandeye @crowroses13 @blorbohunter @nikkikawaguchi @eugenekori @xanxann01 @tinyweebsstuff @haydeesgarden @kryberrub @wifunozomi @lazypostfandomer

[viaisms]

twenty questions

summary: penelope accidentally mentions that someone has a crush on you, she can't say who it is but you make it into a game so she can :) warnings: spencer reid x bau!reader, gn reader, mentions of drinking wine, pg-13 language, talk of bugs?? its a nickname,,, lots of use of pet names lol, fluff, no mention of y/n yeehaw, pining, you're completely oblivious about how much spencer wants you, not proofread </3 authors note: first fic!! i haven't officially written a fic in. gosh, years?? since the pandemmy :( i really want to get back into writing, so have this little blurb that i thought of! by all means i am here for any constructive criticism you may have<3 wc: 2.7k

The clatter of fingertips tapping against a keyboard filled the dimly lit BAU office. You sit at your desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen as you scroll through reports, cross-referencing case files and taking notes. The quiet hum of the building has long since settled into a lull; you barely realize how deeply you've fallen into your work,

The distant ticking of a clock finally breaks your trance, but it wasn't until you feel the hairs arise on the back of your neck that you become fully aware. You slowly blink with a quiet groan, glancing at the time at the bottom of your screen.

10:58 PM. Shit.

You align your fingertips atop of your keyboard, the soft clatter filling the office once more before you hear the all-too familiar voice.

"Babes, what are you still doing here?!"

You turn and see nobody else but Garcia, finally emitting from her bat-cave. Her arms cross against her chest, a disappointed hum coming from her pressed lips. "You, my love, should be at home in a nice hot bath with a glass of wine."

Your lips splay a lazy smirk as you lean back in your chair, stretching your body with a quiet groan. "I was just about to wrap up, Pen, I promise..." You assure your colleague, feeling the strain of staring at a screen all day every time that you blink.

"Good deal my beautiful bug," Penelope chirps as her arms drop to her side. She's just as tired as you are, having spent all of her day digging through databases to find information on a potential UnSub. Her heals click as she goes to turn away, walking back towards her office.

"You know, you have to get your beauty sleep for your lover boy in the mor..." Her once confident words grow timid as she begins to trail off.

Penelope's breath catches in her throat as she realizes the words that so effortlessly flew off her tongue, her blood running cold at her grave error. Spencer is going to kill her.

"My what?" Your eyes narrow, scoffing in a confused manner.

She stills, yet she doesn't turn to you.

"Nothing! I... I didn't say anything..." She mutters with a nervous stammer of your name, the rhythmic clicking of her heels continuing as she speeds to her office.

You stand, the wheels of your office chair sliding out from under you as you feel a weakness in both of your legs. You stretch once more, trying to think of when the last time you even stood was.

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her hand is resting on the cold, slick material of the doorknob that has the potential to separate her from this deep abyss that she just dug herself into. Instead, she stills for another moment before turning to you once more.

Penelope has to think of a lie, and quick.

"Obviously... I was talking about Morgan!"

There is a reason why she does what she does for a living, and is rarely out on the field with the rest of the crew unless her technical skills are needed.

Your eyes squint with a tentative hum. You don't believe Garcia, not for a second.

"You do know I'm a profiler..." A grumble of amusement comes from your chest at Penelope's attempt.

"Right..." She murmurs, her voice quiet as she breaks your gaze. She's mentally kicking herself for blabbing, such a rookie mistake in the game of workplace gossip.

Your eyebrows raise as you await Garcia's confession. However, she stays strong, not uttering another peep from her velvet-painted lips.

"So...?" You sing after a beat of silence, stars of hope glistening in the pools of your eyes.

With a whine, Penelope's shoulders drop.

"Look... I love you, sweetness, I do..." Her lips droop into a frown. Penelope's eyes greet your own somberly with a shake of her own head. "But I promised I wouldn't tell..."

You feel a weight of disappointment on your chest, and with a sigh, you decide to drop it. Penelope sees the way the sparkle in your eye begins to dim, eliciting a whine from her barely audible to your own ears.

"But!" She chirps, trying to share some of her own light with you. Penelope shouldn't be doing this, and she knows it. However, she is far too nurturing to let a beautiful smile like yours falter for even a second. "If you guess it... it's not technically me telling you, right?"

"You know? I like the way your mind thinks," You hum, reveling in the fact that you got your way. "Twenty questions?" The cold sensation of the faux-leather hits you as you sit back in your chair.

The corner of Penelope's lips twitch upwards as a combination of guilt and excitement course through her veins. "You know I love a good game, hit me..." She murmurs, her voice self-assured as she pulls a chair from a nearby desk, her legs crossing as she sits next to you.

"Okay..." You mutter with a shaky sigh. The pounding of your heart fills your entire body, your stomach slightly cramping with nerves. "Is it someone I know?"

"Uh, duh?"

Your eyes flutter shut, raking through potential victims that fell for whatever love trap you didn't even intent on setting. "Male or female?"

"Acht! That's not part of the rules my curious friend and you know it," Her dark eyes narrow as she playfully scolds her colleague. "I'm totally counting it though, eighteen more questions..."

With pressed lips, you weigh out the obvious individuals who are least likely to be a contender. Penelope sees how deep you are in thought, and she can't help herself but quietly scoff.

How can you not know it's Spencer? She thinks to herself. Everyone around the office sees it -- everyone but you, apparently. As you think, her mind wanders to about two months prior, where Spencer came to her for love advice. Penelope, being herself, already knew he was fawning over you. She picked up on it the moment the genius somehow grew more awkward every time he were to speak to you.

However, also being herself, she refused to give him any sound advice until he spilled who the lucky contender was; which just so happened to be you.

The sound of your voice pulls her out of her own mind.

"Do I see them often?"

The corners of her lips prop upwards, almost tauntingly. "Very," she affirms.

Someone you see very often... you mentally walk through your day-to-day routine, retracing every step no matter how minuscule. You awake every morning to nobody in your apartment but your cat, besides the occasional sleepover with a friend every now and again. You ready yourself for work alone, your first stop in the morning being the local coffee shop down the street...

"Ooh! Is it someone from the coffee shop?" You chirp, your heart beginning to race at the idea of an unspoken stranger admiring your beauty from afar. Individuals you see there on a day-to-day basis flood your mind, although it completely falls empty for the exception of one person; a barista behind the counter, roughly your age who is not bad looking in the slightest.

"That would be a negative..." Her red-painted lips press together, a slight pang of disappointment hitting you in the gut that it wasn't the barista.

"Darn..." You tut, your mind trying to silently place the pieces of the puzzle together. Someone you know, someone you see often, not someone from the coffee shop...

Penelope can't believe how oblivious you are. How do you not pick up on the fact that Spencer follows you around the office like a lost puppy? Or the fact that when the two of you are on the field together, he insists you go with him or vice versa because he feels the need to protect you?

"No way that it's a colleague?" Your brows stitch together, your head slanting as you throw the inconceivable idea into the open.

Penelope's head slightly tilts downwards as she gazes at you through the top of her frames. She flashes you a sly, almost flirtatious grin at your not-so-far-fetched theory.

"And if it is?"

The feeling of your heart hammering in your heart is felt throughout your entire body, your cheeks warming as you feel blood rush to your brain.

"Who?!" You exclaim, completely forgoing the rules to the game. This narrows your options to about seven. Your hands fumble with the cotton on the hem of your shirt as you narrow your options down even further, a shuttering breath falling from your lips.

"How do you not know?!" Penelope is quick to match your energy, an actual pain shooting through her chest at your own naivety. Her brows raise as her eyes widen, her fists balling as she folds herself back from blurting it out.

Your lips part as you're about to exclaim something quick and witty back to your colleague when it hits you. Like a fish gulping for water, you feel the soft skin of your lips quickly snap shut.

The memories hit you all at once: the mornings you're in a rush and you forget your coffee - Reid excusing himself for a moment with a muttered excuse before returning with it minutes later, the nights you return home from a case and he offers to spend time with you because it pains you being alone after what you saw, the countless facts he will ramble to you on the plane because damn it, you're the only one that actually listens to him.

"Oh my god, Reid?" Your jaw drops as you gasp, your arms numbing as your nerves shoot past the roof and to the stratosphere.

With a relieved sigh, Penelope's palms slap against her thighs, planting her leg down onto the floor with her other one. "Finally!" She groans, almost feeling a sense of comfort that you know and the weird tension around the office while the two are around would soon come to an end.

"Since when?!" Your heart ticks against your chest so hard that you can hear it in your ears. Never in a million years would you assume it would be Spencer that would be silently pining over you. Reid?!

"Since like... forever, buttercup!" Penelope giggles. She can see the dots being connected in the pretty little brain of yours, and god, she loves it. Her voice softens, a warm, almost maternal intent behind them. "We really should be getting home..." She groans, her gaze flicking to the clock on the wall. "Since you two are totes madly in love already, let me know when one of you decides to make the move, okay?"

With a roll of your eyes, the back of your hand ever so gently strikes the side of Garcia's arm. She notices the way blush speckles across your face, a knowing grin playing against her own. You can't ignore the way your chest fuzzes over at the thought of Spencer feeling about you the way you feel about him, it makes your stomach ache with desire; you don't know if you love or hate the sensation.

"Goodnight, Garcia..." A mix between a chuckle and a sigh of contentment is emitted from you. She mumbles a quick 'good night' with a quick, playful wink before standing from her chair, returning it to its original home.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The next morning you're in a hurry to get to work, oversleeping by a long shot as it took you forever to wind down last night due to your wandering thoughts.

You get to your desk with merely minutes to spare, a tired, overwhelmed groan falling from your lips as you place your bag in your desk and splay your jacket against the back of your chair.

"Long night last night, agent?"

You don't even have to look up to know who it is... your body freezes for a moment, not sure if you're prepared to deal with this; not yet, anyways.

With a soft sigh, your gaze is lifted and immediately greeted with Spencer's. His large, curious and caring stare. His hazel eyes almost bare into your own, causing a tingle to run down your spine. You try to ignore the butterflies that patter within the walls of your stomach, yet they're hard to confine.

"Yeah... I'm fine, Reid," You nod, your lips tentatively pressing together. "Just didn't sleep worth the damn last night... just... thinking about the case..." You trail, the sound of your voice growing softer and quieter like a beautiful decrescendo.

His lips part for just a moment, an inaudible 'ah' coming from him before giving you an understanding nod.

"I figured... Garcia told me you were here late last night and I kind of... presumed this may happen," He muses with an awkward chuckle. "Which is why... I brought you this..."

Reid's tall frame trails away from your desk for a moment, which draws out a soft hum from you as you tap your fingertips against the smooth, cool material of your desk.

His long stride is quick to return, your heart almost leaping out of your throat as he sees what's within his long, slender fingers.

Your favorite coffee.

You accept the gesture, your stomach doing flips as you take the cup within the confines of your own grasp. You mumble something quick and playful, telling Spencer that he is your favorite person in the world right now for such a small action.

The feeling of someone else watching you is burned into the back of your skull, a sensation churning in your gut that you can't shake. Your gaze flicks over to the side, in which you're immediately greeted by Garcia.

She not-so-subtly flashes two thumbs up at you, her nails painted a shade of dark purple. "Go get 'em!" She mouths in approval, your gaze quickly turning over to the male in front of you in attempt to hide Penelope's matchmaking attempt.

"Hey... do you um... maybe want to get coffee at this place together sometime?" You attempt to thickly swallow down your nerves, trying to soothe the heartbeat creeping out of your chest.

Spencer is silent a moment, his lips twitching upwards in a sign of approval at your suggestion. You see the thoughts shifting through his mind, the rates of his blinks increasing in a sense of disbelief that you're actually asking him this.

"I-- um... yeah! Let's do tomorrow before work? If... you're okay getting up that early, if not we can totally do a different time, perhaps--"

"Tomorrow it is..." You cut him off, something you rarely do. He nods in agreement, a quiet 'tomorrow' mumbled from his lips as he attempts to conceal his excitement.

You’re not sure how to shake off the butterflies in your stomach, but Spencer’s shy smile is enough to make you feel warm all over. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment linger. Before you can say anything else, Garcia’s voice breaks through your thoughts, louder than life.

"You two better not cancel on me! I want details!" she teases from across the room, flashing a mischievous grin your way. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

Spencer, now fully aware of the matchmaker’s antics, lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair, looking even more flustered than before.

You meet his gaze again, a new kind of tension settling between you—a mix of nerves, excitement, and something deeper that you’re not ready to name just yet. You take a breath, feeling that the next chapter of whatever this is has already started, and it’s thrilling.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you murmur, unable to stop the grin that’s threatening to split your face. Spencer nods, his smile small but genuine, as he turns to head to his desk.

As he walks away, you catch a glimpse of Garcia again, this time with an exaggerated wink. You shake your head, but you can’t suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting, to say the least.

And maybe... just maybe, things are finally falling into place.

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[rhyrhy]

──★To Whom It may concern

Mistress! Reader × Higher up! Abby Anderson

CONTAINS: age gap • Cheating • slight Power Imbalance • mutual obsession • Ellie ft • draft.

NOTES: idk my period wrote this evil piece of work

— Click clack, click clack.

Heels hitting the tiled flooring. At 7:59 a.m., every day. A sound that wouldn’t normally be disruptive—not in an office full of bodies.

But to her?

That sound meant work wouldn’t be so drab. A new motivation to finish a boring project, a repeated email, the dull activities of being at a company so long it had meshed itself with your identity.

Bright fluorescent lighting hitting the shiny countertops, reflecting one figure all too familiar to you.

The blonde, glancing up through her glasses from the file in hand, scanning over today’s carefully crafted outfit. She—Abby—never understood why you dressed the way you did.

In a fitted blouse that drove her nuts. The fabric outlining places she imagined her hands exploring.

Did you know what you were doing? Did you want her attention? And if so, why didn’t you look in her—direction?

The trail of perfume you left wafted behind you during the cross of the floor, where you’d sit pretty at a desk facing away from her. Then it was over. The show. Until break, where you’d continue to be blissfully unaware of the hungry eyes that tracked your every move.

Each roll of your sleeves, each bite of your pen, the lip marks left on straws after you set your morning beverage down.

Alluring wasn’t the word. No, you had her completely entranced.

Exactly where you wanted her. So how could so much change in only a few weeks?

It all started with her birthday.

“Big three-eight, huh, Anderson?”

“Said like you’re not right behind me,” Abby shot back, adjusting the too-small party hat someone had forced on her head.

“Welcome to the grown folks’ club.”

“Said no adult ever—happy birthday, Abby,” another coworker chirped, clapping far too loud for 8 a.m.

The phrase echoed around her all day—from every coworker, to the balloon hovering above the basket nestled beside her monitor.

“Happy 38th Birthday, Abby.”

Everyone said it— Except you. Not yet. Granted, you didn’t acknowledge her—or anyone, really—unless your computer ran some error you couldn’t fix. And what business does a twenty-something secretary have with her? Married. Two degrees laced across her name. A title that held weight—Creative Director at Buzzcut Media. A salary that kept her fed, comfortable, unreachable.

You had nothing in common. So she shouldn’t care. She should look away. But she didn’t. It was thrilling to think that if she ever dared to waltz outside the moral lines she’d drawn years ago— You might just bite. Might let her have a taste of something new. But for now, Abbigail Anderson, Creative Director, forced a practiced smile to the people gathered around her desk.

“Thank you, Jannie,” she muttered, as a coworker dropped another glittery card onto her keyboard “And everyone else.”

“Oh wow, very grown up. For sure,” another voice chimed in—cool, extremely amused.

It belonged to the only person in the building who could get away with mocking her: Ellie Williams. Partners in crime, some said. Just good coworkers, they’d claim. But what happened off the clock stayed that way. Building trust. And that stupid handshake Abby always said she hated.

“Can’t let me look ridiculous for one day?” She simply shook her head.

“Knock yourself out,” Ellie replied smoothly. “Just don’t expect me not to take pictures.”

As the small side hug lingered, Ellie caught her friend’s gaze. Those blue, wandering eyes were already drifting across the floor through the glass walls—

To a woman she had no business watching.

With a gentle nudge to Abby’s side, The kind that said keep staring like that and someone’s gonna think you forgot you’re married. Only to be played it off with a cough and a half-smile.

Over time, you caught on. Watching the same eyes that watched you.

The office swarmed in its usual, mild chaos—group emails, morning chatter, balloon tape squeaking on glass walls. You watched from your desk. Quietly. Ellie grinned from a few chairs down, party hat lopsided on her head.

“And You’re officially ancient, by the way.”

Abby shot her a look over her glasses. “You’re three years behind me. Watch it.”

But she didn’t look annoyed. She looked, tired.The kind of tired that comes from too many expectations and too little air. And maybe that’s why you stood. Small gift in hand. Your own little moment. Just for her. You didn’t walk to Ellie, Didn’t linger near the group.

You stopped at Abby’s desk. Waited until she looked up.

“Happy birthday,” you said, setting it down carefully. “Didn’t think you were the balloon type.”

Her eyes flicked from the gift to your face, and lingered.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

But she didn’t push it away either. And when your fingers brushed—just slightly—against hers as she reached for the box, She didn’t flinch.

So yes, Abby Anderson was married when you met her.

Still is. Unhappily, or so she claims. You, on the other hand, were just Stationed at the front desk, with a white smile and a laugh that made her forget she had a mortgage. That desk was right outside her office, Which made everything so easy And so much worse. You weren’t naïve. Not completely. But you didn’t push either. You just asked if she needed help with the printer. Brought her coffee without being asked. Complimented her shirts—then her voice—then her hands on days her ring was left on her bedside table.

She told herself it wouldn’t go beyond that.

Until it did.

Now you’re in her apartment. Not hers and her wife’s. A “work crash pad” she uses when she’s too tired to drive back across the city. That’s what she told you the first night she asked if you wanted to split a bottle of wine. Just wine, nothing wrong with company.

But now it’s 3:22 a.m.

And you’re half-asleep on her chest, cheek pressed to skin that still smells like expensive soap and the ghost of her perfume. Her hand’s on your waist. Still. She hasn’t moved in minutes.

But her eyes are open.

Your shirt’s hanging off your shoulders. One arm slung across her stomach like you belong there. Meanwhile Abby’s already thinking of what excuse she’ll use this time— What lie will keep the guilt at bay for just one more morning.

She whispers your name once. Barely audible, Her voice is raw, She turns her head just enough to look at you. Her eyes trace the outline of your hair against her chest. You don’t respond.

“You awake?” Her hand glides along your hip, slow. She watches the movement, like it isn’t hers. Like she’s outside her own body. Her fingers linger on the bare skin, and she lets out a breath.

“M’ Sleeping.” You mumble into her skin, trying not to sound bitter. Trying to keep the ache in your chest from crawling up your throat.

She lets out a quiet laugh—more air than sound—trailing her fingers up your spine. “Liar.”

She doesn’t stop touching you. Her hand moves like she’s reading you in braille.

“Yeah…Because if I get up… you’ll leave.”You groan, burying yourself closer into her. The weight of your words digging somewhere it shouldn’t.

She goes still. Her hand flattens against your back.

“Don’t worry.” She says it too gently, and it only pisses you off more. She presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your shoulder. She’s trying to fix it with skin, like she always does. She shifts beneath you, tangling her legs with yours. Her hand finds your chin, turning your face to hers.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

You blink at her. “No? You’re gonna stay tonight?” You push a few strands from your face and lean into her, letting yourself want it for a second.

She hums in confirmation, thumb brushing along your collarbone. That tired little smile you hate loving pulls at her lips.

“Yeah… I’m gonna stay.”

She moves again, pulling you into her lap. Her hand cradles the back of your neck, pulling your face closer.

“Is that what you want?”

You nod, barely. “Yes. That’s what I want…”

You trace lazy shapes into her skin. She shivers under your touch. Her eyes flutter shut like she’s trying to burn it into her memory. Her hands slide down your thighs. “Good,” she murmurs, brushing her lips along your jaw.

You hum in response, arms draping around her neck. You let your weight rest fully against her. You want to melt. You want her to hold it all together for once. Her arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to her chest.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers. “God… you’re so fucking beautiful.” She whispers it like a confession. Her lips press to your neck. Soft. Like she thinks gentleness will make it less wrong.

You laugh, tired. “Mhm? Beautiful enough to let me have you yet?”

You sigh, and the moment cracks. Her laugh is breathy but oddly guarded. Her grip on your waist tightens, and when her forehead touches yours, her face shifts. Something quiet and guilty takes its place.

“You can have me right now,” she murmurs, voice barely a breath. “Just like this.” As her teeth nipping at your ear.

You whisper her name. “Abs…” “That’s not what I mean.” You sigh, leaning into her neck. You know what she’s doing. Again. Always.

She’s quiet for a long time. Her fingers twitch against your thighs. When she finally speaks, her voice is tight.

“Babe…” She breathes against your cheek. “Not now. Alright? Just… not now.”

She notices. She always does. But she doesn’t know what to do with it. Her hand rests on your back, warm and careful, like she’s afraid to spook you. You stay still. Breathing slow. Your cheek on her chest. Listening to the way her heart skips when the silence stretches too long.

She swallows thickly. “I know you hate this,” she murmurs. “I hate it too.” You don’t answer. She tilts her head, cheek pressed into your hair. Her breath ghosts your scalp. “I just need more time. Okay?”

Your voice, when it finally comes, is flat. “You’ve had time.”

“I know. I know I have.” She’s nodding like it’ll make her words land easier. “I just… it’s not that simple.”

“No. It is,” you say, lifting your head slightly. “You just don’t like what that means.”

Her lips part like she wants to argue. But nothing comes out. You lie back down again—not because the answer was good enough, but because if you keep looking at her, you’ll cry. And you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry over a woman who won’t choose you.

Her hand starts to move again. Up your back. Down your arm. Like she can touch the tension out of you.

“I just need more time,” she whispers again, more desperate this time.

You nod slowly against her collarbone. But the nod doesn’t mean okay. It means I heard you.

It means I’m still here, even though I shouldn’t be.

[burrowlvrr]

— ANXIOUS VICTORY, joe burrow.

PAIRING: Joe Burrow 𝔁 Black!Wife!Reader

GENRE: Husband & Dad Joe

SUMMARY: In which — Y/N has her mind set on attending Joe's game with their three year old twins, Hudson and Elijah, but Joe has his worries due to her blossoming pregnancy.

NOTE: Fair warning, this is kind of long because I enjoy reading long stories/imagines. Feedback is appreciated as well as your support. I apologize for any spelling errors or mistakes. Feel free to send me more ideas and suggestions, enjoy!

UNIVERSE: Tenderhearts & Touchdowns!

The Burrow home was warm, dimly lit, and smelled of tomato sauce. Joe and Y/N's three year old twins, Hudson and Elijah, were sprawled out on their living room rug, scribbling away in their new Paw Patrol coloring books. Y/N was washing a few more dishes as she waited for the garlic bread in the oven, and Joe was setting the table as he usually did to help his wife. He had just placed the twins' booster seats on their plush dining chairs as the oven began to beep — indicating that it was time for him to rush to the kitchen, so he could get the bread out of the oven before Y/N. He entered the kitchen just in time, seeing his wife bent over sliding an oven mitt on her hand.

"No, ma'am." He spoke, placing his right hand on the small of her back. "I'll do it."

Y/N straightened her back, smiling at the blonde man as she slid the oven mitt off of her hand. "I'm perfectly capable of grabbing a pan of breadsticks, honey." She said, earning a small chuckle from her husband.

"I know, mama." He took the oven mitt from her, moving it onto his much larger hand. "I just wanna make sure you don't strain yourself too much." The volume of his voice descended as he bent over, and quickly opened the oven before removing the fresh breadsticks from it. Y/N couldn't help but blush from how considerate her husband was, how he always had been. He was the exact same level of protective when she was pregnant with Hudson and Elijah, only he was much more anxious because they were the first pregnancy.

"I'll fix all of our plates." He placed the pan on the counter, throwing the oven mitt to the side. "You go grab the monsters. The food'll be on the table when you get back." He finished, placing a quick kiss to her forehead before she turned and exited the kitchen.

Waddling into the dimly lit living room, she slowly crouched down to her children's level. "Hi, mama." Hudson chirped. "Hey, mommy!" Elijah cheesed, both of them looking up from their coloring books for the first time in over ten minutes.

"Hey, champs." She ran a hand over their unruly blonde curls, "Are you guys hungry? Daddy is getting your favorite ready."

Their little blue eyes immediately widened in excitement, lifting up from their stomachs to their feet. "Sketti?" He showed his bright teeth as he looked at his mother, Elijah put a hand on his head, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

"Ugh! We always have sketti, guys!" Y/N giggled at Hudson's excitement and Elijah's annoyance before nodding her head. "Yeah. Sorry, buddy. Sketti is really good and easy for mommy to make." Elijah crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk, giving his mother a knowing look.

"We have to clean up our mess before we eat, though. Okay?" Y/N said, her boys seemingly standing at attention now.

They nodded their heads. "Yes, ma'am!" They chirped, plopping down to their knees. Hudson grabbed their coloring books and neatly stacked them on the table, while Elijah quickly threw their crayons into a large pencil box. He closed the lid before Hudson threw their coloring books on top, grabbing it and sliding it on the table next to their long couch. "All done!" Y/N smiled brightly at her boys, feeling her heart swell with joy knowing how well her and Joe had been raising their boys.

She took her time to rise to her feet, being mindful of her big belly. Once she stood up straight, her boys reached out for her hand and began leading her into the dining room. Joe's face lit up seeing his favorite people, the twins released their mother's hand before running to their father's side instead. "Hey, dudes!" Joe smiled, placing the final plate down on the table and engulfing his sons into a tight hug. "You guys ready to eat?"

Y/N smiled as the boys vigorously nodded their heads. Joe placed them in their booster seats one at a time, where they immediately picked up their small forks and shoveled noodles into their mouths. Joe pulled his wife's chair out as usual, rubbing her shoulder gently once she sat down. "Thank you." She said, placing her napkin on her thigh.

The dining room was consumed by the quiet. The only noise being the scraping of forks on the plates, and the exaggerated slurping sound from the twins eating their dinner. Dinner always went this way, the first few minutes are quiet, then once Y/N starts slowly becoming full she breaks the silence. She finished chewing her garlic bread, wiping her mouth with her napkin before placing it down on the table. Her eyes sparked with enthusiasm, "Guess what, honey? The boys and I were thinking of coming to your game this weekend!"

Joe with a mouthful of spaghetti noodles, glanced over at their lively toddlers, and couldn't help but feel a wave of concern. "You sure about that, babe? The game can get pretty chaotic, especially with the boys being so energetic, and, well, you being pregnant." He said, his tone laced with concern as he spoke.

His wife only smiled, her eyes reflecting her determination. "I know it might be a lot, but they love watching you play, and I want them to experience that excitement. Plus, the baby can hear the crowd cheering, right?" She suggested. She was right, if they went, it would be her and the twins' first game in a while due to her pregnancy's waves of sickness. She had been feeling great all week, and had been itching to see Joe in action on the field.

Joe sighed as he placed his fork down, torn between wanting his family there and worrying about their well-being. "I just don't want it to be too much for you." He looked at his wife, "The stadium can get pretty loud, and the boys are two big bundles of energy."

Look, Y/N was pregnant, almost a week past her five month mark. Her belly wasn't huge, but it most definitely wasn't little either. She had been sick for most of the pregnancy so far, and sometimes between the pain it was fairly easy for her to become aggravated. Joe was very understanding in those times, and was always sweet to her no matter her attitude. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I appreciate your concern, Joe, but we can handle it."

Hudson, completely oblivious to the conversation, was busy playing with his food. While Elijah was occasionally mimicking the cheers of a football crowd. As the dinner conversation continued, Joe could sense Y/N's irritation slowly rising even though she was doing pretty well at containing it. "I don't know, babe. Can I just think about it a bit more?" He asked genuinely, looking toward his wife with brooding eyes.

She forced a small smile as she huffed out her nose, "Yeah, sure." She replied, standing from her seat and gathering her plate and silverware. "I think I'm gonna take a bubble bath. Can you put the boys to bed?"

Joe nodded, eyeing his wife's body language as she walked into the kitchen to put her dishes away. She came back into the dining room, placing a kiss on Hudson and Elijah's tomato splattered cheeks before making her way up the stairs. She didn't look at Joe again, letting him know that she truly was irritated with him now and he would have to smooth things over before bed.

He looked toward his twins with a smile, "You full?"

★

Y/N took her time in the bathtub. She felt guilty about leaving dinner abruptly, but she knew Joe would come around, even if it took just a little bit of time. Although she didn't feel up for a conversation right now, she wished Joe would come upstairs already because she hated being upset with him. That was really the only downside of her pregnancy, she was always so emotional and found herself getting irritated with her husband much easier. She finally decided to step out of the bathtub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her body.

Joe figured Y/N wanted to be alone for a bit longer, so once he had the boys sound asleep in their race car shaped beds, he went back downstairs and cleaned up the mess left behind by dinner. Y/N had just slipped out of the bathroom, when Joe quietly shut the door to their shared bedroom. He almost winced as he watched his wife walk right past him, grabbing some clothes before going back into their bathroom.

He sat down at the foot of their bed, thinking about how he should approach his wife on the soft topic. Once he had an idea, he untucked their sheets, set his alarms and turned on their bedside lamp. Trading his sweater and jeans for a pair of sweatpants, he made his way over to the bathroom door. He hesitated for a moment, before lifting his hand to softly knock on the door. "Y/N, can I come in, please?"

He heard a faint response, slowly opening the door to find his wife standing at the sink, applying a lotion to her under eyes. He took a moment to examine her features, a look of frustration and hurt was on her face. "I didn't mean to upset you and I'm sorry if it came across in the wrong way." Joe began, his voice filled with remorse. "I just worry about you guys at the game."

Y/N turned to face Joe, seeing the look of guilt and worry on his face. "I know, I just feel like you don't want us there or something." She tried to hush the last part of her sentence, but Joe heard her loud and clear. He could tell by the way her bottom lip began to puff out, she was slowly getting closer to a breakdown. He instantly brought his hands to her cheeks, running his thumbs over her under eyes. "I thought we were supposed to share these moments as a f—family." She stuttered, and her vision blurred from the tears that began to burn her eyes. Her pregnancy was effecting her emotions more than ever right now, and that alone was irritating her more than Joe.

"That's the last thing that I want." Joe said, "I'm just really worried, that's all." Y/N nodded her head, feeling a wave of defeat wash over her body. She nodded her head slowly, as she reached up to remove Joe's hands from her face. "Okay, honey."

Joe felt so guilty, hesitated before he decided to speak up again. He reached Y/N's hand before she could grab the door knob, "Hold up, you gotta let me finish." He said, causing his wife to look up at him with tired eyes. "Maybe it's just my nerves talking. I want you and the boys there more than anything. You just gotta promise me you'll take it easy, okay? Don't go all wifey-bear if I get sacked and scream so loud you lose your voice." Her eyes instantly lit up, she stood up straight to adjust her slouching shoulders.

"You know I can't promise that, Joey." She joked, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I won't do too much screaming, I don't wanna scare my boys just yet." Joe could see how her mood had already changed, a warm smile of his own forming on his face.

"I'll bring them some ear protection, and I'll even keep your parents on speed dial if I need anything." She reassured his worries, a wave of relief washing over his features as he swept a few stray curls from her forehead. He rested his hand on her cheek, looking into her eyes lovingly. "Okay, mama." He whispered, licking his lips as his eyes grazed over her whole face.

Y/N noticed the way he wet his bottom lip, "Just gonna keep starin' at me, or are you gonna kiss me?" She teased, looking up at her much taller husband. Joe didn't think twice before placing a soft kiss to his wife's lips, pulling away much quicker than she wanted him to. He peeled back with a smirk, leaning over her shoulder to open to bathroom door. "Let's get some sleep."

He helped her into their large bed, throwing the blankets over her, she instantly pulled them up to her chin. Joe made his way to his respective side of the bed, sliding in the sheets beside his wife, who mindlessly scooted closer to him and laid her head on his chest. "I'm sorry for blowing that whole thing out of proportion." She apologized, tracing shapes onto her husband's chest.

Joe shook his head, rubbing circles on her shoulder. "You have nothing to apologize for, Y/N. Just because you're pregnant, doesn't mean you can't make your own decisions. I failed to recognize that. I'm sorry, baby." Joe apologized right back, causing his wife to look up at him with a remorseful expression on her face.

"It's alright, Joey. I get that you were just worried." She responded, moving her ring clad hand to his cheek, rubbing the stubble that he knew she loved so much. "I promise you, Hudson and Elijah are gonna have so much fun, it'll all be so worth it." Joe smiled warmly, thinking of the smile that will never leave their faces once they're at the game. It's not like it would be their first game, it'll just be their first one since their mom found out she was pregnant with their younger sibling.

"I know." Joe replied, watching as his wife's eyes clearly began to get heavier to hold open. He grabbed her hand from his cheek, moving it to his lips before kissing her palm. "Goodnight, mama. I love you."

"Goodnight, Joey. I love you more."

★

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as the Bengals star quarterback prepared for the upcoming game. A subtle layer of worry masked his usual game-day focus, even after the conversations he'd had with his wife a few nights before. His five month pregnant wife, Y/N, and their wildly energetic three year old boys, Hudson and Elijah, were attending the game tonight.

Joe paced nervously around the locker room, glancing at his phone for any updates. The last time Y/N had texted him was the let him know they were getting snacks first, seeing as she didn't want to be up and around much during the game. He couldn't shake the concern about any potential challenges of having his family amidst the excitement of a football game.

"Everything okay, Joe?" Tee Higgins inquired, noticing the furrowed brow. He chewed a piece of bubblegum harshly, cocking his head to the side to look at his quarterback.

"Yeah, just a bit worried. Y/N's pregnant and the boys can be quite the handful. I want them to enjoy the game, but it's chaotic out there." Joe admitted.

His teammate, understanding the delicate balance between family and the intensity of the game, offered a reassuring nod. "They'll be fine. Your family is strong, just like you, man."

Just then, their coach gathered all their attention and Joe quickly thanked Tee for his understanding before grabbing his helmet.

As game time approached, Joe couldn't help but steal glances at the stands. When he spotted Y/N, her baby bump noticeable, with Hudson and Elijah, wide-eyed with excitement, a mix of anxiety and joy flooded their emotions. They both wore some ear protection that looked like it could weigh their head down if they leaned to one side, he smiled seeing his wife's hand raise in the air to give him an excited wave.

Y/N watched the whole game on the edge of her seat, occasionally standing up despite her best efforts to stay seated — trying her best to follow Joe's safety requests. Hudson's smile never fell, he was screaming louder than anyone in their section for his father. Elijah clapped in excitement, looking over at his mother and pointing to his father every three or so minutes. They had been to a few games before, but they were a little older and had a better understanding of the sport. They were already talking about playing it once they started school next year.

Y/N clapped her hands loudly as halftime finally approached, she knew Joe would be over there soon. Not even ten minutes later, her blue eyed husband was standing in front of them on the sidelines. "Hey, you guys okay?" he greeted, a touch of concern in his eyes.

"We're doing great, honey. And so are you." Y/N smiled, reaching her hand down to touch Joe's. Joe smiled widely, relieved to know that his family was enjoying themselves. Hudson and Elijah, both bouncing with enthusiasm, chimed in, "Daddy, did you see us? We waved at you!"

Joe's worry melted into a grin. "I saw, guys!" He reached up high to touch both of his son's heads. "That's awesome. Just make sure you're having fun, okay? And both of you be good for mama!"

Due to his coach's demands, Joe had to jog to the locker room after their interaction. Y/N, Hudson and Elijah waved him goodbye and took their seats until the second half.

As the game progressed, Joe felt a newfound motivation fueled by the presence of his family. Y/N, attuned to his emotions, whispered words of encouragement, both calming and inspiring. Meanwhile, Hudson and Elijah's cheers echoed through the stadium, each one a source of pride for his quarterback father. The Bengals came out on top, the game ending with a touchdown made by a pass from Joe. After the game, Y/N grabbed all of their belongings and both of her sons hands, being careful as they went up and down steps. They stood outside the locker room as she'd done since her and Joe began dating in college, both her and her boys bouncing with anticipation for the man to come out to them.

Once he emerged from the locker room, he swung his bag to his back, took Hudson onto his hip and hugged his wife with one arm around her neck. Y/N held Elijah on her hip as well. "You guys made this win even sweeter. Thanks for being here." he said, genuine gratitude in his eyes.

Y/N hugged him tightly, "We wouldn't miss it for the world. We're your biggest fans, no matter the chaos." She raised a hand to rank through his blonde hair, tears prickling in her eyes. They weren't tears of sadness or fear, just tears of pure happiness.

As they left the stadium, the Burrow family walked hand in hand, the worries of the game day transformed into a cherished memory. In that moment, Joe realized that having his wife and sons by his side added a layer of joy and support that went beyond the triumphs on the field. They were a team, weathering the excitement and challenges together, creating a bond that extended far beyond the football game.

[that-one-anxious-mango]

the neighborhood uncle. (1)

summary: after almost a year and some change of being the neighborhood children's nominated uncle, terry believes that it is high time to give the children an aunt.

pairing: terry richmond x dallas dubois (oc!)

content: fluff, allusions to nsfw acts, language, cuteness, slight angst if you squint, allusions to childhood trauma, mentions of death and mortuary practices.

note: this takes place in the 4evermore universe and the pair have been together officially almost two years during the events of this imagine.

a/n: evening! I hope everyone is fairing well during these...interesting times. I wrote this imagine the other day in almost one sitting after being inspired by a Instagram reel I seen yesterday morning. so please enjoy.

though I did edit this today, four hours post op from wisdom teeth removal surgery, so if there are grammatical errors…my bad. 😬

p.s: please feel free to comment, like, reblog, or send a letter with any rambles, questions, and more. I low-key need entertainment for the next few days in this bed y’all. 🥹

taglist: @zillasvilla , @slowly-blue-coffee, @kumkaniudaku , @lovedlover , @wonderlustwrites , @theogbadbitch , @enticingmelanin

For as sturdy and stoic as most onlookers took Terry Richmond to be due to the constant resting neutrality to his face, hardened physique by way of years training in the physical disciplines of the martial arts and US Marine corp, his somewhat reserved speech, and that overall demeanor that screamed 'I'm not for the fuck shit'.

There was always one group of beings who still have never deterred from dwelling in his presence. Those beings are children.

For whatever reason ever since his adolescence, young children had always had an unexplainable draw to Terry. And maybe it had been the eldest sibling energy he exuded or how somewhat mature he’d seemed from an early time in his life due to unfortunate traumas occurring before he was old enough to properly process them, leaving him no choice but to both accelerate parts of his growth and unknowingly stunt some of it as well. At points robbing himself of parts of his childhood. Blind.

But it was also part of the reason why it was so easy for him to attain his high school community service hours through tutoring younger students in math and science based subjects, and also why he had the prowess to continually lead himself and his underclassmen teammates to numerous victories on the court.

It was just unexplainably easy for him to get along with these beings. And why wouldn't it be. Children were honest, humorous, and most of all pure within intentions. All things Terry found himself striving to constantly be everyday.

And while children seemed to adore Terry to moon and beyond the stars, as quiet as it was kept, he too secretly adored them back. Never minding the company of a young soul to be a companion to his elder one.

Something that proved to still ring true on a random cool Sunday afternoon almost two years ago, as he was kneeled on the ground tending to the still growing patch of ivory begonias in the front yard of his new inherited home.

He'd been outside for quite some time working at pulling the aggravating weeds and sneaking dandelions away from his uncle's legacy when he felt the presence appear behind him.

Face already preparing to fix with a scowl at who could be interrupting this sacred time, he found his features immediately softening at the sight of the little tawny girl in front of him with her lavender glasses and barrette sealed pigtails hanging past her ear, perched on her little purple bike as she stared at him in curiosity.

He'd recognized her as Laila, the daughter of his down the way neighbor Deja McAdams, a widowed single mother and Liberian for one of the local middle schools. She’d also been classmates with Dallas in high school.

" Well hello there. " He offered a somber smile, taking a moment to reach over and wipe his hands of the dirt on them.

" Hi." She chirped.

Looking around at the slightly sparse sidewalks, he attempted to locate a sign of her mother or one of her elder brothers he could recall seeing a few times before turning back to her, " Say young lady. Where are your people? It's not good to be wandering around by yourself. Not safe."

" I wasn't by myself." She replied, pointing further down the street, " I was riding bikes with my brothers. But they left me cause' I couldn't keep up on a count I can't use my pedals."

Frowning and taking another look at the bike, he asked, " Why aren't you using your pedals? You know how to ride it, right?”

The young girl nodded before explaining, " Yes. Pedals don't work."

" I see." Terry hummed, slowly standing up to his full height and almost laughing when seen the expression of wonder appear on her little face, " You mind if I take a look at it?”

This earned him another nod as she carefully allowed him to turn the bike over and inspect it until he found the problem of her cracked bottom bracket as the culprit.

With a purposely dramatic deep sigh as he stood up, he watched the anticipation rise on her face, " Well?”

" Well. I think I might be able to fix this for you." He started, already piecing together what tools he needed grab from his kit for the job, " But only on two conditions."

" What? " She scrunched up, ready to hear his price.

" One, if I fix this you have to promise me that you won't be wandering alone again without your brothers or mama watching you, alright? If they leave you again, go home and tell your mama." He instructed and watched her nod.

" And two, you have to promise me that the next time you stop here for a visit, you won't ride your bike on Mr. Terry's freshly cut grass, okay." He motioned to the small tire marks that had begun to form on the ground.

" Oh! " She offered a sheepish smile, " Sorry!"

" Hey. That's alright. No big deal...this time." He playfully raised an eyebrow ensuing small giggles from his little hopeful dealmaker, " But does that mean we have a deal?"

"Mmmm..." The first grader paused to mimic a moment of thought like she'd seen in the movies she watched, before sticking out her hand, " Deal."

" Okay." He laughed, making sure to gently shake hers back, " Got our selves a deal then. Now show me where your mama is so I can explain to her what I'm about to do to your bike." He instructed, picking up the bike and following a chattering Laila all the way to her home.

From there visits from young Laila became frequent, whether to inquire about Mr. Terry fixing and upgrading something on her bike, using him as a willing audience for all of her pageant practice while he diligently carried on his yardwork, and eventually to sometimes say hello to the pretty funeral lady that sat with him somedays on his porch and offered sweet snacks.

It wasn't long before the other neighborhood children would hear from the jabbering princess all about Laila’s newly minted Uncle Terry, the Mr. Incredible like man who supplied big boy strength, laughter, and occasional baked goods he sourced from Dallas.

Soon they all found themselves gravitating to the house with the pretty white flowers by its mailbox. With Terry welcoming each and every one just the same until it fully evolved into Terry stepping into his role as everybody’s neighborhood uncle for the last year and some change.

To which he accepted, providing as much love, tender, discipline, and guidance as he could possibly give them. 

And just like that Terry found his porch quickly becoming a safe space for any and every child who stepped foot into the space that Terry had once worked tirelessly to restore alongside some of his colleagues when he decided to move in and refurbish the home his uncle had left him.

And whether haircuts were being given to a little head sitting on the stoop in the evening, helping with homework after school on the steps, refereeing street football games in front of the house, young voices gathering to debate who could take who across a multiverse of Anime shows, and even holding a small ted talk one evening to show some of the young boys how to brush their hair and tie a durag by the southern standard. Terry thoroughly enjoyed having little laughs, curious questions, and cheer around his house that helped him on those days when he felt the memories stuck in the walls and floorboards would consume him.

But it didn’t stop there, since the early summer had started Terry had attended…

Four spelling bees. 

Eleven basketball and soccer games combined. 

Two track meets.

Two school graduations. 

One state science fair. 

And even a Little Miss Peach Blossom pageant to watch little Laila participate. 

With Dallas accompanying him to witness the 6’3 ex-marine quietly cheer and whop with a large glittering sign in hand, amongst the sea of mainly older middle age women, with almost the same ferocity he would at a Hawk’s game. 

Though, she also unfortunately got to witness the display he’d later put on for her on the way home after Laila had taken home second place with a smile and a courteous polite wave just the way they’d practiced on his porch many times before, much to Terry’s disgruntlement. 

“ That’s okay, baby girl. Chin up.” He had patted her on the back while carrying her tired form through the venue’s parking lot for her mother, “ You were the prettiest little peach up there. Proud of you.” He affirmed the sleepy princess, before buckling her in, seeing them off, and then proceeding to throw a fit to his girlfriend in his truck. 

 “ That little girl who won had uppers in her kitten heels, baby! I saw it! And her tutu wasn’t all that. Couldn’t even do the full four step duchess twirl in it the right way anyway.” Terry huffed, peeling out of the parking lot, “ It’s step, twirl, blow a kiss, then regal wave!” 

“ That little girl blew a kiss first, then stepped, waved, and twirled. It’s wrong! Her routine was sloppy and her mama helped her with her question portion. Mouthing shit to her.” Terry fumed, while Dallas did her best to suppress her laughter at her boyfriend’s surprising investment and growing miniature tantrum that rivaled that of some of the actual toddlers they’d seen that day.

“ I told Deja , I think we should outta’ dispute this whole thing.” He shook his head, “ I wanna know how high up this shit goes.”

And at that statement Dallas decided to finally intervene, “ Terry, it was a beauty pageant for 3 to 10 year old's in the conference center of a Marriott, babe. Where the grand prize winner got $200 and a meal at the Cheesecake Factory.” She reached over to place a calming hand on his thigh, “ It’s not that serious, even Deja said so.”

Still that wasn’t enough to settle him, “  Dallas I don’t give a damn.” He fussed, “ That money could go in her college fund and you know that baby deserves her twenty five dollar spaghetti and piece of cold ass cheesecake.”

“ But that’s okay.” He nodded, tapping his steering wheel like Denzel in Training Day, “ We’ll be back for that crown. Believe that.” 

And with all that combined, it didn’t come as a surprise to Dallas when loud knocks began on the pecan colored door while she brushed her teeth. Hurriedly she went and swung it open to find ten young kids, big and small alike, rallied on her boyfriend’s porch at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, eager to collect their favorite person.

“ Well Good Mornin’ everyone.” Dallas chirped, adjusting the white silk bonnet higher on her forehead, “ How are all of you today?” 

A chorus of “ Morning Miss Dubois”, mixed with a couple “ Hi Miss Funeral Lady” and follow up responses of collective a “ Good” came from every which way, sending her into a fit of giggles at the adorable group of children in front of her. 

“ That’s awesome, you guys. Well what can I do for you brood of little mighty people this morning?” A promise ringed hand finding a home on her hip. " And unfortunately before anyone asks, I don't quite have any treats today. Sorry, maybe next weekend."

The comment sending a wave of temporary pouts and mumbles of disapproval through the crowd until a voice rose above to bring them back to a focus.

“ We’re looking for Uncle Terry, ma’am.” One of the eldest, Morty, stepped forward, “ He’s supposed to be taking all of us in his truck to the basketball court this mornin’ for practice.” 

“ We were also promised snacks!” Another voice in the back added among the mutters of agreeance as Dallas could recall large assorted Powerade packs and chip boxes on the backseat floor of his truck.

“ Oh I see.” She nodded, glancing at each individual little face, that all held the same excitement, “ Well, he’s just getting up right now. He got home a little later than usual from work last night and was tired, so he slept in a little bit. But let me go grab him real quick so he can give y’all your rundown for the day. Stay right here.”

She had coached them, before walking toward the back end of the house to go and awaken her lightly snoring boyfriend. 

“ Bubs.” She lightly shook his shoulder, leaning down to place a kiss to his sleep line marked face.

Damn he was sleeping good. 

“ Bubba.” Her shakes increased in force, “ Baby you gotta' get up.” Still her attempts were met with minimal noise or movement, meaning she had to up the ante.

Deciding to begin nipping at what skin the large forest green blanket didn’t cover, she had just made it to his neck when he decided to roll onto his back, instincts having him reach out and wrap his arms around the young mortician to guide her on his chest to hold her close.

“ Mmm.” He hummed, “ Baby I love you. But I need five more minutes before I’m cognizant enough to rock your world, girl.”

“ Oh my—” She huffed, taking in his smug sleepy smile, “ I didn’t wake you up for that, sir.” 

Her fingers began to lightly play with the gold chain that sat idly on his bare chest, “ I woke you up because there are about ten kids on your front porch, all dressed up in their little basketball gear, asking for you.”

At this information, internally Terry groaned from fatigue, but on the outside his soft smile grew a couple more inches wide at the thought of his little group of miniature humans looking for him.

“ What time is it? “ The question escaping with a yawn. 

“ A quarter to eleven.”

“ Damn.” He sighed, reaching for his phone to confirm her statement. A picture of Dallas smiling big on a playground swing appeared behind the correct white numbers on the screen, “ You let me sleep this late?” 

“ You were tired.” She reasoned, pushing her face into the crook of his neck inhaling in his natural musk, “ You did almost ten hours in the hot ass Georgia sun on that site yesterday. You needed the rest.” 

“ Mmm.” He hummed, running his hands up and down the grooves of her back, “ Still am.”

“ I know, Bubs. But—”

B A N G  B A N G  B A N G! 

The loud and erratic pounds against the door were soon accompanied by distant loud but small voices beginning to fill with impatience.

“ C’mon you gotta' get up. They’re getting antsy cause I told them you were already up, so you gotta' hustle. Your disciples await you.” She teased, leaning up, amused at the frown on his face,“ What?!” 

“ Don’t say it like that, baby. Like I’m forming a cult of the neighborhood youth.” 

“ No, maybe not that.” Dallas got up to her feet, moving around to collect her things, “ But they do worship the ground you walk on. You know that. “ 

“ And for why. I don’t know. I’m just regular ole’ me.” He shrugged clambering to his feet to stretch out his long and tired limbs. “ Nothing special.”

Reaching on the floor for his wife beater he’d discarded from himself at some point in the night from overheating, he casually walked by a bent over Dallas, administering a firm tap to her backside as he exited the room as his form of a proper “Good Morning.” 

Trudging through the hall to the front door, he took a deep breath before swinging it open and being met with the instant chaos that ensued when too many overly hyper voices began to speak all at once about a hundred different things. 

“ Aye’ whoa whoa whoa.” He held up both hands, “ Wait a minute now.’ Y’all are too amped up and some people around here are still trying to enjoy sleeping in. So let’s be mindful of that.” His laugh came out in a deeper register as the remnants of sleep still lingered in his voice.

“ Everybody take a deep breath, one.” He instructed, watching as each kid took in a deep breath to hold for thirty seconds, “ Then let’s exhale, two.” 

“ Repeat, one more time. And inhale, one.” 

“ And exhale, two.” He said, watching the now settled down bunch carefully.

“ Okay. Now. Good Mornin’ y’all. Y’all sleep good? Ready to put some work in on the court?” 

“ Yeah! “ They answered in unison, with Jamison Kimber being the one to point out,“ Told us you’d be ready at eleven. It’s…Eric what time it is?” 

He asked his peer who carried the digital Pokémon watch on his wrist, “ It’s 11:14.” Eric informed, pushing up his matching classes on his nose. 

“ Yeah. Which means you’re late.” Jamison pointed out, ensuing a string of after comments that made Terry grin with how goofy and entertaining they were at attempting to be disgruntled.

“ I know. My fault. My fault. My fault. Add some push ups on for my lateness once we hit the court.” He said, sticking to his own rule he’d previously set for them. 

“ I woke up late. And I still need some time to get ready. So while I’m doing that, why don’t y’all step in the front yard and start some stretches and warm ups for 45. Then I’ll be ready to roll, alright.” 

Looking toward the only girl in the brigade, whose game was better than most of her male peers surrounding her, Terry pointed in her direction.“ Goose is gonna be the caller and timer.” 

“ So listen to her, alright. Because if I come back out and Goose tells me someone gave her a hard time we’ll have to cancel and try this again next week.”

“ Can everyone dig that?” He called out.

“ WITH A SHOVEL! ” They all gleefully responded. 

 Terry flashed all 32 of his teeth at the brood of children who quickly threw down their bags before racing to form a line in the front yard and begin their light stretches as told. 

Dallas watched him shut the loud screen door behind him and he stop in his tracks when he spotted her standing there looking at him with a wide dopey smile on her face. 

Eyebrows raised with a nervous smile, he questioned her appearance, “ What?” 

“ Nothing.” She grinned, shaking her head and throwing up her hands in playful defense, “ Just admiring how good Uncle Terry is with the neighborhood kids. They really do adore you, babe.” She walked over, wrapping her arms around her his waist and leaning up for a sweet peck to his cheek that he happily reciprocated with about four more of his own. 

“ I adore them too. Most days.” He added, “ When they’re not being mouthy, fighting each other, or all smelling like a fresh onion patch. They aight’.”  

“ It’s a couple of them though, whose parents I’ve been meaning to ask for permission to have a conversation about hygiene with their kids. Because with the hotter it keeps outside…Ouueeee.”  Terry goofed, shaking his head. “ Cannot have my truck smelling like a damn farm all summer.” 

“ Well I’m sure they’d be okay with it. It takes a village, babe.” Dallas said resting her head against his chest just as Terry’s eyes caught where all her bags sat packed and ready to go.

“ You leaving? “ His pout instantaneous, not bothering to hide the natural little hint of disappointment in his voice at the prospect of his favorite girl leaving him. 

Because if he had his way, she would never go. A thought that reminded him that he soon needed to reignite an important shelved conversation between the two of them.

“ Yeah.” She sighed, “ I’m gonna go a head’ and mosey on home. Need to get started on my list for the day.”

“ Gotta' feed Grimmey and then get started on some paperwork in my home office for the Grangier case before I head into the hospital later to assist on an autopsy.” 

“ Oh? That sounds interesting. What, no bodies for you at the home today?” His hand, unconsciously softly kneading parts of her backside.  

She shook her head pulling away from his embrace, “ Nope, we got two new ones yesterday but Macy is gonna embalm them this morning. She should actually already be done with the first one by now and starting on the second, which is why I offered to be an assistant at the hospital. For the hours.” 

“ Right. And how long will that take?” 

“Uh…for a whole procedure…It’s about four hours give or take. It’s a family requested one so we might run a bit over. But we’re starting at two. So I should be done and home showering by seven thirty.” She zipped the top of her Vera Bradley duffel closed. “Why? You need something?” 

“ Nothing too crazy.” He shrugged, “ Was just hoping you’d be open to spending the night again. Mainly so I can return the favor from last night.” 

With the favor being that after hearing how agitated and tired he was in the middle of a rather grueling work day on site managing a new build that wasn’t quite coming along right through a brief phone call exchanged on her lunch, Dallas had shown up extra early to his house before he got home with a refreshed  ‘spend a night bag’ from her previous visit. 

And supplies purchased from the local grocer, which included food that turned into a meal that delighted Terry’s senses the second he dragged his poor aching body through the front door. 

As well as herbs and bubble bath that she mixed together with some epsom salt he already had lying around. So that after she fed him his nice home cooked meal of Mississippi pot roast, through much sleepy negotiations with the testy bear she had managed to coax him into a bath for him to marinate in her mixture while she washed the day off his body.

Then to seal the deal she had guided him to the bed and moisturized him down while searching for and massaging any sore muscles or strained ligaments. And finally, after that it wasn’t much else to do but to clothe the sleepy giant and lay him down for a well deserved rest. 

“ Bubba, you don’t have to do all that just because I did.” Dallas reminded him, “ I didn’t do all that cause I was expecting anything in return, I did it because I love you.” She affirmed, unknowingly sending waves of warm bubbly feelings shooting through his chest when the three letter phrase he could never get tired of her saying met his ears. 

“ I know that, baby.” He smirked, taking in the absolute blessing he found his girlfriend to be, “ But that still won’t sway me away from doing the same for you. You deserve it.”

And deserve it she did. Because for as hard as Terry felt he worked to keep his family’s business running smoothly, he believed that he watched Dallas work almost ten times as hard with her being a young black female owner of a generational critically acclaimed and highly lucrative mortuary business that has three locations spanning between two states. All whilst also keeping her autopsy assistant certification active at the hospital and constantly traveling to attend a plethora of different black business expos and other conferences who sought her attendance.

But what always seemed to amaze him the most was that with everything she constantly handled on a day to day basis, it was somehow like she never missed a beat in her personal life. Always managing to be a stable presence in the lives of her loved ones, including Terry’s. Which constantly made him proud at how effortlessly she kept it all together in her Manolo Blahnik heels that no other person in existence could ever dare imagine to try and fill.

My Mrs. Incredible. He thought.

“ Terry…if I come over that’ll make three nights in a row.” She pointed out, “ I dunnoooo.” She dragged, collecting her bags. 

Immediately his previous smile downturned into a slight scowl at her hesitation, “ And…” 

“ And…people talk, Terry.” Dallas sighed, “ It’s already not a good look that I stay here overnight anyway and vice versa when you’re at my place.” 

“ I just don’t want anyone thinking we’re getting ready to shack up with one another is all.” She confessed, nervously swaying where she stood. 

“ And by shack up, you mean us, together.” He motioned between you two, “ Happy and learning how to get comfortable sharing space a with each other for the next forever.”

His comment triggered an eyeroll, “ Terry. You know how I feel about us living together before we’re married, babe. I just don’t feel comfortable with that.” 

“ Oh?” His eyebrows raised toward the ceiling as he said, “ Well say less. Cause we can go right up to city hall first thing Monday morning. Don’t take nothin’ to obtain some paperwork.”

“ Terry!” She chided.

“ Boo! “ He fired back. “ C’mon now. I need you to remember that the only reason you’re not walking around her with a new ring on your finger is because YOU wanted to wait. And I’m doing my best to respect that. But you know had it been up to me, we would've been biblically bound to each other a year ago.”

Still she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest, “ No, that’s not just it. And you know it’s not just me, Terrance. Because you and I both know one of the main reasons is that you and I both know I deserve a better proposal than what you offered me that night out of fear and adrenaline fueled guilt.”

“ Each of us deserves that much at this point.” She concluded.

With her point being one that the two of them could easily agree on. With parts of Terry still regretting his feverish and rash attempt at a proposal on the night of their reconciliation almost two and a half years ago.

Though, it was in the past now, and all Terry could do now was move along with his new plans of the proposal of her dreams, just the way they deserved.

But until then, he’d focused on getting to the bottom of her real reasoning for not wanting to combine households. Because he’d had enough practice at this point to spot a pretty little pageant answer when it was presented to him, and he just knew in his gut that there was something Dallas wasn’t providing.

“ I know, Precious. And I hear you.” He affirmed her with a smile before returning to the original topic at hand, “ But, baby . What is it really though? Huh? Because it can’t be the premarital sex part.” He mused, mind beginning conjure up theories.

“ Because if that’s the case, then I hate to tell you, baby. But we’re way past that point. As evidenced by the way you let me bend you over my bathroom sink the night before last and slow stroke you in the mirror after WE got out of the shower together.”

“ Terrance.” She gasped, going to lightly slap his chest, “ There are children out—

“ Bonnet on and all as I remember.” His laughter cut her off, catching her hand and kissing it before pulling her into him once more. 

“ Terry.” She whined, “ You need to stop playin’ and go get ready before they all appear at the door again. But this time with intent to jump you for wasting time. Those tiny fists will hurt too.”

“ And you need to stop avoiding this conversation.” He quipped, offering her a sincere look and silently hoping to convey just how serious he took the matter.

“ Plus they’ll be alright. Even if that happens you can mend me up tonight after dinner while we have a discussion about your real qualms about our respective living situations possibly becoming one.” He followed up. 

“ Boy! There is no other damn qualm—mmm.” The words passing her lips were cut short when he dipped his head to attach his there instead. Opting for a steamy and silencing smooch.

“ Sweet lips. Taste so good.” He pulled back, “ I’ll get another taste when you get here at 7:30, Precious, alright?” 

When she didn’t say anything and instead continued to glare up at him angrily pouting, his hand made its way to her ass, giving her a timid smack of encouragement, “ Dallas...” He softly sang, head dipping to now place a kiss to her cheek while muttering, “ You know wanna lay in my arms tonight. Nowhere else you’d wanna be, girl.”

Oh, on the contrary.

She could have easily thought of a thousand and one other places she could think of being tonight rather than humid and hot ass Georgia. Yet it was true, she still couldn’t imagine any of these places feeling as good or being more appealing than the warm embrace of her Bubba.

Which is why her mouth found itself surrendering and releasing the words for her agreement just the way he’d wanted.

“ Good.” The smug smile sat on his face, the polar opposite of Dallas’s begrudged frown, “ I look forward to you coming home to me.”

His words doing well to somewhat chip at her attempts of putting up a shallow, almost dry wall, between them in this matter.

“ On second thought give me another kiss goodbye before I watch your fine ass walk out this door to hold me over while I haul these damn kids around all day.” He groaned.

“ Good Grief, Terrance. Go shower. Now!”

[ziggymars]

mirror, mirror (18+) - cl.16

Charles Leclerc x Reader

winner from this poll

warning(s): sentences that would have gotten me lobotomized in the 1900s, terribly translated Italian AND French, established relationship, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv, cream pie, horn dog charles and awful writing probably, please don’t hate me im intimidated by the f1 fandom even though i am in it ..... also i didn't proofread the whole thing please forgive any errors, they will probably be fixed soon. minors pls DNI.

word count: 3.7k+

A/N: mama an inchident behind you ! I know I was going to post this like a month ago, but I'm going through it sis AND my computer ate the original so I had to rewrite this oop. i'm very sorry to everyone who was expecting timo, the mexico city gp had me feral so you get this monstrosity. don’t hesitate to send any dirty thoughts you have about charles, perhaps inspiration will strike and i will give you the gift of sinful prose. i'm nervous to post this but i'm going to anyways xoxo zigs

The first thing you usually hear that is a clear indication that Charles is home, is the purr of his engine pulling into the driveway. A sound that had quickly become one of your favorites. A cacophony that drove your neighbors completely mad, music to your ears. Next came the jingling of his keys, echoing in the foyer. Which was very clear to you from where you stood. Today you were faced in front of a ginormous mirror. It had just gotten delivered but the installation guys wouldn't be able to make it until next week; so now it was placed, halfhazardly, against the wall in the living room. Definitely not where it was supposed to go. It looked kind of nice there regardless, reflecting the warm glow of lights in your shared home.

You glanced over at the clock, a familiar anticipation bubbling inside of you. He had mentioned an interview with Max earlier, and you could only imagine how it had gone. The door creaked open, and you turned your head -- a warm smile spread across your face at the sight of him. There he was, looking so effortlessly handsome as he always does. "Honey, I'm home!" He chirped, once again, as he always did. Charles strode to where you stood, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment as his eyes fell on the mirror. "Wow, um.... that's huge," he said with a raised brow, astonishment clear on his features. He continued walking towards it and ran a finger along the ornate frame, your eyes following it the entire time "I didn't expect it to be this big."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his observations, you had thought the same thing when it came. "Neither did I." You said as you followed closer to him to wrap an arm around his side, head on his shoulder. "What do you think?" You asked, "I think it will look really nice in the stairway. Installation guys can't make it until next week though.”

Charles mirrored you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He tilted his head to the side as he studied his reflection and then he began to study yours. "I think it will look really amazing once it's put up. For now it takes up a lot of space, no? I guess that's alright." He said, the last part mostly to himself.

For a moment, you both stood there, caught in the sight of your reflection. There was something intimate about it, even if both of you were fully clothed. It captured your visage but also the energy in the room; remnants of shared memories and love. An idea came to him that made all of his cares about its current placement fly out the window.

"Do you want to try it out?" Charles asked suddenly, catching you off guard. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't you want to see how we look together?"

A warm flush spread across your cheeks and you ripped your eyes from his reflection to look at him for real as you asked "Together?"

"Of course. You know what I mean." He laughed and turned his gaze to look at you too, the intensity making your heart skip just a beat. "Please. Let me play with you, il mio cuore."

Your shoulders brushed as you turned to face him, your mouth opening to protest. You had two Cornish hen's in the oven that you desperately did not want to burn. It wouldn't have been the first time you nearly started a fire because of Charles' obsession with pleasing you. It was a protest that he didn't even let escape your mind before he was placing a finger over your lips to silence you. "Just turn it off, if you're worried about dinner." He knew without you even having to say it, he could smell the aroma from the kitchen. And while it did smell really, really good -- the pull to explore this mirror’s capabilities was too strong for him. Too strong to miss this opportunity.

You gave a playful roll of your eyes before you kissed the finger pressed to your lips, a sigh of “Fine.” slipping through the space around it.

Too excited to wait even a moment longer, he gives your ass a light spank, saying "Hurry along." The commanding tone sending a shiver down your spine and a skip in your step as you did as he told; scampering to the kitchen to turn the oven off. It took you no time and even less to get back to him.

"Good girl." He purred and then pulled you closer to him by the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, maneuvering your body until you were both facing the mirror. Charles towered over you, his torso brushing against your shoulder blades. He ran one hand across your collarbone and then down your clothed stomach. "This will be fun, I promise."

"I don't doubt that," you breathed, goosebumps starting to rise in the wake of his fingertips as your eyes closed, "it's just a bit awkward, watching myself."

"No.." Charles cooed, his fingers gliding back to where they came from, tracing along the swell of your breast, the feeling of it causing him to take a sharp inhale. "You're beautiful, please, look at you."

When they found their way to your nipples, which were already pert under his touch, your eyes finally fluttered open. A soft, almost indiscernible grunt leaving your already parted lips. "You're so excited already, and I've barely touched you." He said, a cocky grin slipping to his lips as he pinched at one of them absentmindedly. You let out a quiet yelp and your back can't help but arch into the touch, "More, please." coming from your lips.

Nearly every time he heard you say that, he would oblige. Right now was one of those times. Charles slid his hand down, slipping it under your shirt; fingertips gliding across your flesh, "So soft." He remarked, his voice becoming more thick the closer his hand got to cupping around your breast. Where he kneaded, his fingers melding to your skin deliciously. You gave off another soft grunt, your thighs wriggling in an attempt to rub them together. "Oh, feeling needy today?"

You were tempted to roll your eyes but decided against it, not wanting to thwart any chances of getting what you now desperately wanted. He took notice of your self restraint so he rewarded you by snaking his hand down and into the hem of your spandex shorts, the ones he loved so much. Charles was met immediately with the feel of your already slick folds. "No underwear, mon lapinou?" (my bunny).

All you could do was nod your head and look at his reflection with a pleading look as the pad of his middle finger circled in the slick you produced. "Use your words." His voice was a gentle coo urging you on.

"No underwear." You confirmed with a shaky voice "Please, Charles, you're driving me crazy."

"You drive me crazy all the time," he said "perhaps this is payback." The same smirk glued to his lips from before as he moved his finger up and down gently against your clit. "Fine," he huffed "I'll give you what you want though." It was partly for you, but also selfish reasons. He was eager to watch the show you were about to provide for no one but him; the thought of it intoxicating him relentlessly.

Without another word, he's tugging your shorts down and allowing you to step out of them before he dramatically, and honestly, a bit comically threw them to the side. Not giving a single care to where they went, tunnel visioned on nothing but making full use of the mirror.

Next, Charles started to pull the leather arm chair that was skewed beside the couch to sit in front of the mirror; patting his legs with a look to you. “Take off your shirt and come sit on my lap.”

Finally finding courage and clarity through swirling vestiges of lust, you purred a simple "Yes, papà."

Something you didn't call him often. Something you saved in your back pocket for when you really wanted to rile him up. A special treat, for a very special man.

One "Oh, Gesù Cristo." (Jesus Christ) and you knew it had worked. Perfect.

Charles' pupils blow wide and stuck to your hands that were now removing the last remaining piece of clothing. Your eyes, however, were settled on the wet patch that had formed on his shirt, almost the very instant that you had called him the name he loved so much. "Do you like what you see, papà?" You asked, metaphorically poking the sleeping bear.

"Love what I see," he said, beckoning you closer "but I'd love to see what you look like with my fingers inside you a little bit more, come here. Please." Near the end of the sentence, his voice was almost a whine. Giving away just how much he wanted to feel your body against his. You weren't cruel, and to be fair you wanted this just as bad as he did. So you were doing as you were told for the second time this evening. You clambered to settle in his lap and he was quick to adjust your legs. Spreading them impossibly wide with rough hands, your breath already beginning to bait at the implication alone.

Then Charles did something that left your cheeks burning; he spread apart your folds. His mouth fell open as he gazed at the sight in the mirror, admiring your beauty. “Look at that," he swooned, "so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.”

Feeling sheepish from being so exposed, you tried to turn your head and bury it inside the crook of his neck but there was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen. With his other hand he grabbed your chin, not hard enough to actually hurt you but hard enough to make you look; forcing your gaze to where his fingers held open his prize. "See? What did papà say?" He said, his tone scolding yet still warm "So pretty."

Your hips wriggled in his lap, a futile attempt to grind back against the now achingly hard length that was flush against his stomach. Trying to urge him on, to do anything else besides continue to wordlessly look at you like he was going to swallow you whole.

"I'm speaking to you, mon lapinou." Charles tsked, his index finger now circling around your entrance, "don't be rude."

Realizing you didn't have another option, you couldn’t be shy now that you had opened this can of worms with one simple name, you managed to parrot him “So pretty.” Followed by a choked and begging “Please, touch me.”

“Good girl.” He cooed, simple and sweet before he was plunging one finger into your depths; a soft, languid moan falling from your lips. If your vision had been any more clouded, you might have missed the way his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound alone.

Charles’ grip tightened on your chin, keeping your focus steady to where he was now slowly, but surely drawing his finger out, and then back in at an excruciatingly slow pace. Enough to give you what you want but not getting ahead of himself just yet. His eyes dipped closed for only a moment as he leaned forward to pepper gentle kisses to your shoulder. When his eyes open he had to still all of his movements for a moment, genuinely fearing he might cum in his pants at the very sight of you perched in his lap. Your lips parted, legs spread, arousal dripping down his wrist. It was enough to make him weak.

You let out needy whines, hips bucking against his hand, urging him silently. Charles chuckled and obliged, slowly pumping a second digit into your tight heat. “That’s it, ma belle. Let me make you feel good.” He purred, his accent becoming more evident the more he lost himself in the sight. He watched, ever intently, entranced by the way you fell apart under his touch — filthy, breathless moans tumbling from your lips like a leaky faucet.

Charles’ deft fingers continued their filthy dance, pumping in and out of your dripping core, his thumb coming to circle your throbbing clit. Your breaths come in short and labored gasps, chest heaving as you started to lean back against him, pleasure washing over your body. Your hips began to stutter and he made the executive decision to remove his other hand from your chin so he could use it to press them back down against him — spreading your thighs even further. “Oh fuck!” You gasped, a choked moan as he was able to pump his fingers even deeper. Your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, head falling back to his shoulder. He tilted his own to capture your lips in a searing kiss, tongue immediately dipping into your warm mouth to taste your sweetness.

Charles fingers continued to work, curling them just right. He stroked against the sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars. A loud and wanton mewl is ripped through your throat, forcing you to pull away from the kiss so you could throw your head back against his shoulder. Obscene wet sounds filled the room as he began to finger-fuck you even harder, reveling in the way your smooth walls fluttered around him. Finally, you manage to pick your head up from his shoulder so you can look into the mirror. Blood rushes down between your thighs as the scene before you comes to view.

A third finger came to play and you were a goner. He reveled in the way your smooth, velvety walls pulsed around him. You became a whimpering mess, your mouth falling open as he met your gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark and you could see he was holding himself back from just shoving you onto the floor and fucking you into oblivion. It made your eyes roll back, a slow moan of “Charles!” accompanying it.

“You’re close, I can tell.” He says, his voice course but somehow also boastful; knowing he’s the one who knows how to make you come undone like this, writhing in his lap like a first rate whore. One of the ways he can tell is now, how your moans grow even louder, higher pitched. Your hips started to buck against his hand frantically as you babbled “Yes, yes, yes!” over and over in his ear.

“That’s it, amore.” Charles encouraged you, voice husky in your ear. He gritted his teeth, “Cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on, that’s it.”

It was enough for you, it was always enough for you. To hear him commanding you to cum. Like a sleeper agent only activated by a carefully constructed phrase. So with a loud and keening cry, your entire body seized. Thighs clamping around Charles’ wrist, a gush of liquid splashing against his hand and soaking his fingers. It dripped down the leather chair and onto the floor. His eyes widened in shock — you had never done that before. Charles could practically feel his chest swell with pride, satisfied smirk etched on his face. The puddle on the floor in front of you serving as a physical reminder to him of just how well he had done.

Somehow he managed to keep himself composed, grunting as he continued to pump his fingers, coaxing every wave of your orgasm. “Jesus, fuck! Baby!” He growled in appreciation, never ceasing his fingers movements until you were collapsing back, breathlessly, against his chest.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips. You could only watch, mesmerized, when he sucked them clean. A deep moan rose from his throat that reverberated around his fingers. “Delicious,” he said, pulling them from his mouth with a satisfied hum. Charles can barely even hold himself back now, his cock straining against fabric as he stared at the ethereally erotic display before him. You panted, legs shaking from the orgasm he had given you. "Enough of that, mon cherie. I need to be inside of you."

He doesn't give you any time to respond before he is standing, and in one swift motion bending you over the side of the chair. Your face is pressed into the cool leather, your gaze stuck on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. You didn't mind it being stuck there now, the aftershocks of how good he had made you feel helped your guard come down. And now all you could do was stare at him in the mirror, Charles missed it because he was quick to push both his pants and boxers down, settling himself behind you. You arched your back further and wiggled your hips, a giggle escaping as you presented your glistening pussy for him. He let out a low groan, hands roaming over your ass and up your back. "Fuuuck, look at that." Charles said, taking a moment to admire the view, slowly stroking himself a few times.

Positioning himself behind you, finally, he rubs the tip of his cock across your slick folds, teasing at your entrance. And then without warning, he sheathes himself fully inside of you with one powerful thrust. A long and low moan escapes both of your lips, a sweet symphony of soprano and tenor. Your hands grip onto the leather arm of the chair, trying to ground yourself into reality.

But it's hard. Really hard. Especially when he starts to set a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Setting a primal pace that leaves the both of you gasping in pleasure. His pelvis slaps forward against your ass with each and every powerful thrust -- each one driving you forward just a little bit more. Your eyes are half-lidded now, heavy with lust. But you will them to stay open. You can see everything in the mirror. The ecstacy etched in your furrowed brows, the bounce of your ass with every jolt of his hips, and his muscles flexing subtly as he fucked into you at a relentless pace. Hands down the hottest thing you had ever been privy to witness.

Another thing you're keen to notice is the way he's so focused on not losing himself. For a man so ready to fuck you in front of a mirror, it sure seemed like he couldn't handle it anymore. Evident by the way his head was thrown back, curses of your name tumbling from his lips over and over. Your eyes begin to roll, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the knowledge that you were the one who made this usually so confident and domineering man feel like this.

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, his head comes back forward, his hands gripping tightly onto your ass now. "You like this, non?" It comes out with a quiet grunt "You like when I fuck you like this?"

When you're not answering as quickly as he'd like, he's suddenly bringing one hand down to slap against your ass harshly. You let out a yelp that turns into a pathetically pleasured whine, "Yes, Charles! Feels so good!"

Charles rubs his hand along where it had previously struck, soothing the angry flesh. "Good girl," he cooed through gritted teeth "milking this cock so good." One of his hands abandons its grip on your ass to reach and rub tight circles against your clit. It sends cascading shockwaves of bliss pulsing through your bones. Determined to make you cum again, he says "Come on, baby. Cum all over this cock," Charles can feel you tightening around him, your moans growing more insistent and drawn out "I want to feel you." He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

He leans forward and loops an arm under you to palm at one of your breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers as he pounds into you. The new angle allowing him to hit that spot inside of you. His thrusts grow even more erratic, teeth grazing the sensitive skin against your neck -- rapidly chasing his own release. The thought of him cumming, the look on his face, it was too much. You cried out his name and your walls rhythmically pulsed around his cock as you came for the second time this evening. It was his Achilles' heel. Charles' snapped his hips one final time, burying himself deep as he possibly could. There was a long and low grunt that bellowed from his throat as he emptied himself inside of you, both arms wrapping around your middle to hold you close to him.

There was a long moment where the both of you just stayed like that. Your heart rates coming back to normal, still joined together. "You are incredible. The sounds you make, how you take me..." Charles' praises you softly, his thumb running along your swollen lower lip "c'est magnifique. I love you." He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before he pulls out, slow and careful. Watching as his release trickles from you, a wolfish grin spreads across his lips, but you're momentarily displeased. A whimper bubbles from your lips, wishing he could just stay inside of you forever.

You unfurled your body from it's position across the chair, trying to keep your thighs clamped together as best as you could, "I love you, too."

Before you can even blink, Charles is by your side, giving you his arm so he could walk you to the bathroom. He was sweet like that. Always making sure that he took the best care of you after he had done sacrilegious things to your body.

Together, you made your way down the hallway. Albeit, you had to practically waddle to ensure you didn't spill on the floors you had just so meticulously cleaned hours before.

"Maybe we could just keep the mirror there?" He looked over at you to suggest, cheeky grin in tow. Amusing suggestion from someone who just said that it was taking up too much space.

You laughed and then grimaced, your hand flying between your legs "Please, don't make me laugh right now, Charles."

[cmdrfupa]

After Hours

Far too cold and clinical for a place that stocks fresh fruit and warm bread.

There are only a handful of other shoppers left: one woman comparing labels on oat milk, a man in a wrinkled shirt wandering aimlessly near the cereal aisle. No one looks up when Nanami walks in. He prefers it that way.

He pulls a folded shopping list from his coat pocket. The handwriting is neat, concise. He keeps it on paper out of habit, not necessity.

-Eggs. -Yogurt. -Soba noodles. - Bread. -Baby spinach. -Lemons. -Coffee (whole bean). -Toothpaste. -Something sweet (optional).

The front shopping cart wheel squeaks on his first turn. He considers swapping it, but doesn’t. There’s no one around to be bothered by the sound, and he won’t be here long.

The aisles are orderly enough, though a few things are out of place. He eyes a lone box of instant curry nestled among the pasta sauces, a child’s mitten abandoned beside a stack of tangerines. Nanami notes them absently. He doesn’t fix them. It isn’t his job.

At the produce section, he inspects the spinach like he’s weighing an argument. Some of the small bunches were too far gone to try and salvage. Some just slightly wilted on the leaves edge. Still salvageable. It goes into a reusable bag, not the flimsy plastic ones provided. He’s not sentimental, but he is particular.

The bakery counter is closed, lights dimmed and display case empty. But on the clearance rack near the end of the aisle, a three pack of kouign-amann sits in a plastic container. He shifted his weight, looking at the tips of his shoes before looking at the price sticker on the container.

30% marked down due to “damage”. He hesitates. And not because of the state of the sweets.

He told himself no sweets this week. But rules, like hours, sometimes bend.

He places it in the cart without looking directly at it, as if doing so would make it harder to justify.

When he reaches the coffee aisle, he takes longer. He runs his fingers along the bags of beans like one might trace the spines of books in a quiet library. Dark roast, low acidity, ethically sourced. He’s memorized the labels by now. Still, he reads each one again.

A soft announcement plays overhead, reminding shoppers that the store will close in fifteen minutes. He glances at his watch. He’ll be out in ten.

The self-checkout machines were mostly empty, save for one humming stubbornly at the far end, flashing a red light while a teenager in an apron tapped at its screen with visible boredom.

Nanami chose the furthest terminal, not out of preference, but habit.

He wheeled his basket to the terminal carefully. Each item was scanned with practiced precision, placed in the repurposed paper bag according to weight and fragility. Lemons on the bottom. Bread on top. coffee slid in sideways, tucked just so between two containers of plain yogurt. Not because he particularly enjoyed yogurt—but it helped him with hitting protein and calcium, was healthy, predictable in flavor, kept well, and helped regulate his bowel movements.

‘I’ll buy some peaches from the fresh market this weekend to pair with it.’

He went to grab the soba noodles. As he swept them across the scanner, it misread the barcode. He didn’t sigh. He simply tried again, adjusting the angle, then again—until it beeped with compliance. He moved on.

"Please place the item in the bagging area," the machine chirped.

He had.

A brief pause. Then: "Unexpected item in the bagging area."

Nanami stared at the screen for a beat longer than usual.

It wasn’t anger. He didn’t feel anger. Just… the cumulative weight of small inefficiencies.

A store attendant noticed and began to approach, but Nanami waved a hand along side a nod—a duo’d, understated motion that communicated I’ve handled it without so much as a glance. He adjusted the placement of the baked good. The error disappeared. He continued scanning.

When the machine asked if he had any coupons, he pressed No without hesitation. He typed in his cellphone number so the digital coupons could automatically deduct from his purchase instead.

His total came to less than expected even with the baked good. He paid in exact change, a relic of preference rather than necessity, and folded the receipt once before slipping it into his coat.

He did not take a bag. His own was already full, the shape of it well-balanced as he lifted it into the crook of his arm.

Behind him, the machine chirped a cheerful Thank you for shopping with us!

He didn’t respond.

Outside, the air is cooler. A breeze lifts the hem of his coat. The bag digs into the crook of his arm, heavier on one side from the loose lemons and toothpaste multipack.

---

The drive home is short. Eight minutes, if the lights favor him. Eleven, if they don't.

Tonight, they're indifferent. Two reds, one green. A flicker of yellow he chooses not to test. He waits. The engine idles with a low hum, headlights carving out a hollow path on empty streets.

His hands rest on the wheel at ten and two. Always. Not out of fear as he was a good driver, cautious without being hesitant—but because order has always helped him think.

He doesn’t listen to much music. Doesn’t need the noise. He once tried jazz, then ambient piano. They made him feel as though he should be feeling something, and that expectation was more exhausting than the silence. So he settled for NPR. Monotone voices and up to date topics. Acceptable car noise.

At a left turn, he signals even though there’s no one behind him. It’s not for anyone else. It’s just the rule.

He parks in his usual spot, parallel to the curb in front of his building. The streetlight above flickers once. He watches it, then grabs his grocery bag, evenly balancing it as he walks to the front door.

His apartment is clean. Not sterile. but intentionally minimal.

Shoes off at the door. Coat on the hook. Keys in the ceramic dish on the entry table.

He unpacks the groceries in silence:

Lemons in the hanging fruit hammock. Spinach into the fridge. The crisper drawer, right side. Eggs beside the butter. Yogurt on the top shelf to the left next to his milk alternatives. Soba in the dry goods pantry. Coffee beans next to his coffee grinder on the far corner of the counter. Toothpaste in the bathroom drawer, beneath the extras. Everything has a place.

The kouign-amann sat alone on the counter, its plastic container a soft crinkle in the quiet.

He stares at it for a moment.

‘You didn’t need them.’

The thought isn’t harsh. Just… matter-of-fact. Like reading a label.

But there’s another voice, quieter, less disciplined. One that sounds suspiciously like a colleague he never sees anymore. ‘You also don’t need a glass of whiskey yet you aren’t matter of fact on that. What’s the point of working yourself to death if you don’t enjoy the little things?’

He opens the container. The pastry is imperfect. Slightly smushed on one side, the caramelized sugar clinging to the ridges unevenly. Still, he can tell it’ll be good. Flaky. Rich. Brief. A sweet treat.

He puts it on a plate. Doesn’t warm it up. He’ll have it with a glass of cold milk, the way he did as a child, before his father taught him that indulgence should be discreet, if not rare.

And after his mother taught him that indulgences are mini celebrations for making through a tough day.

‘It has been a tough day.’

He doesn’t sit. Just leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely as he takes the first bite.

The sugar sticks to his teeth. The butter melts on his tongue.

He chews slowly.

You didn’t need it, he thinks again.

But he swallows, takes another bite, sighing at the small hint of delight it brought him.

“You needed it. You’ll survive, Kento.” He breaks his own silence with his low voice.

He taps his toes on the granite floor as he takes the last bite of his kouign-amann, washing it down with the bit of milk he had left before dusting crumbs off the counter and into the waiting trash receptacle at the edge of his island.

-----

He washed the plate and glass immediately.

No dishes left in the sink. No excuses in the morning. The water runs warm over his hands. He dries them on the cloth towel hanging by the sink and folds it back neatly.

The bathroom light is soft, almost golden. A small luxury: warm bulbs. The mirror reflects him in half-shadow as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves before he prepped for his shower.

Mildly scented soap, a balm for immediately after to avoid dry skin, blonde specific shampoo to help with the hair dullness he’s noticed the last few months.

‘At least its working. Makes the grays blend better.’

A plain, navy sleep shirt and gray sweatpants awaited him. No logos. No fuss.

He starts with flossing, then rinsing with mouthwash, and ended off with brushing his teeth with practiced, exact strokes.

Skincare is quick, unsentimental. Foam cleanser, glycolic acid, alcohol free tonger, hyaluronic acid, then a thin film of moisturizer rubbed in with his ring fingers after it has all absorbed into his skin. He wasn’t one for vanity. But he was one for maintenance. Like oiling a blade.

The bedroom smells faintly of clean linen and the faint citrus of whatever detergent he buys in bulk. The bed is already turned down. He does it in the morning, One less step between him and rest.

He sets his alarm to six am though he rarely needs it to wake up.

Then he reaches for his book: Red Rising by Pierce Brown. 30 minutes to read.

He’s too into the plot and that almost went out the window.

His phone is placed face-down on the nightstand. No doomscrolling. No headlines. No excuses. But tonight, he lets his thumb hover just a moment longer before locking the screen. Making sure to have his phone on do not disturb.

A notification glows softly. Its from you:

Goodnight Kento! can’t wait for our date tomorrow. Sent just now.

He reads it twice. Not because he didn’t understand the first time, but because it’s rare. The feeling of anticipation, without the dread. Company, without exhaustion.

His thumb taps out a reply, short but sincere.

Kento: Rest well. I’m looking forward to it, too. See you tomorrow.

He watches the screen dim and turns his phone down on the nightstand.

The room is quiet.

But his thoughts, just this once, are quieter than usual. Still present. Still layered.

Things he didn’t say. Things he saw today that he’ll pretend not to remember tomorrow. But softened by something else.

The idea that tomorrow around this same time, he’ll be out at a late night movie on a rooftop rather than being tucked in.

‘It’s a good change. A great one.’

Not hope, exactly. Something older. Quieter. Like the memory of warmth, long after the fire’s gone out.

He lies back, pulling the blanket over himself in a single motion. And when he closes his eyes, sleep finds him a little faster.

[hahjsshnanans772]

SHEDLETSKY TICKLE HEADCANONS PLEEEEASE? 🙏🙏🙏

it’s shedletskying time! Peak! Oh my stomach hurts aghhh yells in pain

//

GENERAL ;

- 75% Ler | 25% Lee, he’s more of a ler then lee, but hes still stupid ticklish

- like taph, he uses his evil wings against people.. he also talons.. not as sharp as taphs claws tho. He’s sad about it.

- also has other bird features…. Hint hint,,,,, tail and bird sounds….

- literally everyone is his main lee or ler, nobody gets left out around here

—

LEE ;

- TICKLISH TUMMY!!!! and most importantly… TICKLISH WINGS!!!! YES!!! CHEERS!!!!!!

- can NOT stand tummy tickles, it makes him so hysterical that you think hes getting slaughtered

- his face and back wings are also stupidly ticklish, tries super hard to claim wings aren’t ticklish and they shouldn’t bother. But Taph #calls him out on his lies

- has a secret spot just below the arch of his foot that makes him BUCK. Builderman learned that the hard way

- squirms and bucks like crazy, wayy more crazy then builderman or taph, his energy has to be wasted in one way or another!

- annoys everyone from time to time. Which results in him getting absolutely tickled. Which he hates (loves)

- doesn’t mind what tickles he gets, rough or soft works perfectly for him

- coos and chirps like crazy, possibly the most unquiet person when tickled, his tail also flaps up and down

- adores cuddles as his chosen aftercare. makes his ler cuddle him for like. Long multiple hours

—

LER ;

- yeah. You already know where this is going

- EVIL. FUCKING EVIL DUDE. the most annoying man ever

- builderman is his main lee, shedletsky ADORES his giggles and reactions. Oh who knew the robot man was ticklish

- pulls his lees into evil hugs and traps them with his wings, tickle hugs are peak I say. Peak

- likes to gently skitter his fingers/talons up and down his lee’s sides. Just to see which one crack the easiest. He’s still attempting to test chances sides. But the boy will not let him

- nibbles and blows raspberries. Noob hates him. 007n7 hates him. Literally everyone hates this man for his nibbles. Scary

- will and has picked feathers off his wings for certain lees. But only does it if the lee wants it. Which is surprisingly builderman and 007n7

- laughs along with his lee. The most unserious but most chaotic ler imaginable

- cuddles, cuddles, and more cuddles, makes sure his lee is 100% okay after he’s done tickling them.

//

yeahhh thats about it. sorry I fucking dumped your request for like two and a half weeks. Bye why is my autocorrect telling me to correct something. Shut up I am not listening to you.

Anyways birdman shedletsky is canon. Who confirmed it? Me. Requests are also open so come and scream in my face if you want art or headcanons

edited because I forgot to add the other 5% for the ler percentage.. this is what happens when your brain is actively rotting. Also fixed a grammatical error somewhere I forgot

[kelsunnie]

What Isn't Said (Deltarune Kris X Reader)

FINALLY!! the speaker trio is here nd theyr ready to dance :3 as promised, here is chapter 6 in all its glory and i hope u guys enjoy :3 OH YEA IF THERE ARE ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS LEMME KNOW I DID NOT PROOFREAD THIS SO IM EXPECTING LIKE A LOT OF ERRORS

Chapter 6: Cyber Battle!

Three pathways extend before you, with one blocked off by some unknown force. You observe the space around you—two oval-headed figures stand beside the sealed path, brown boxes fixed in front of them like makeshift tables or booths. You guessed they were some kind of merchant or something. Across from them, you spot two of the pink figures you’ve grown familiar with: one dressed in a sharp suit and the other one sporting a neon green visor hat.

You approach the nearest one, wanting to initiate conversation, until—

“I want to go back to the city, but the way is blocked…” The one wearing a tuxedo spoke, shoulders slumped in dramatic disappointment, “I’m no country boy! Let me out of Cyber Field!”

“Okay, not you, then,” you mutter, slowly backing away and pretending you had absolutely no association with them.

Just nearby, the one donning the neon green visor hat adds, “I heard there’s a rebel team resisting Queen… so far all I found are overpriced bagels…”

Exactly how overpriced? You thought to yourself, glancing towards both the oval-headed figures. Surely they’re not that expensive, right? I don’t think the concept of inflation works around here.

“Yo,” the vendor, clad in what seemed to be a blue hat and beige gloves, snickered, eyes (or  speakers? You never knew.) travelling between the group, “it’s hard work being Queen’s minion, ain’t it? Why don’t you take a break and grab a snack? Ultra seedy CD Bagels, only $400 each!” 

You blinked. “Okay, they weren’t kidding with the price. For only 1 bagel? Hard pass,” you waved your hand, rejecting the offer. 

“I’d kill for one right now, though,” Susie muttered, practically drooling at the thought of gobbling said overpriced bagels. 

“Huh?!” You turned toward her with a raised brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“C’mon,” the vendor leaned forward on their box-stand, voice dipped in faux wisdom, “you can’t survive off the air she breathes! Believe me, I’ve tried!” 

“What?” Your eyes whiplashed at the vendor’s face, genuinely confused at their sentence.

“What?” Kris echoed flatly, furrowed their brows, disbelief apparent on their usually-stoic face.

“What?” Susie, in her bagel-stuffed mouth, was appalled at the vendor’s words.

“Excuse me?” Ralsei asked gently, ever the polite one, though his face said what everyone else was thinking.

“... what?” the vendor replied, looking just as confused as the rest of you, as if you had said something weird. 

You stepped back slowly, “I think we’ve had enough bagel discourse for one day.”

The four of you approach the other vendor on your left, silently praying that their goods aren't as overpriced as the other.

“Want to buy a bagel? Only $80,” the other speaker-like vendor with green, metallic skin, and yellow irises offered, voice buzzing.

“K_K, no! It’s 400! 400!” the one who offered $400 for a bagel stammered, visibly panicking. “Got it,” the green-skinned one chirped, “Want to buy 400 bagels? Only $80.”

You blinked, “Guys, guys, guys,” you start, hands raised to get the attention of the group, “we could carry a hundred each.”

Susie thought for a second, and nodded her head, a smirk apparent on her face, “Fair enough for me.” 

“Can we even carry 100 of them?” Ralsei tilted his head, hesitant at the suggestion.

“Time to find out.” Susie stretches her arms, as if preparing for the 100 bagels she’s about to carry, “I’ve trained my whole life for this moment.”

You turned to the green one, dubbed as K_K according to the other vendor, with a confident grin, “We’d like 400 bagels, please!”

“Are you crazy?! You guys can’t carry that many,” the other vendor squawked.

“Awe…” You slouched dramatically, feigning sadness.

Susie shrugged, “Meh. Worth a shot.” 

As you dramatically dragged your feet, walking away from the sweet, sweet deal of 400 bagels, the four of you made your way down the path ahead. In front of you was yet another rhythm-based projectile-filled path that you knew all too well, with yet another path extending from your left. But instead of going straight in the danger zone, Instinctively, you moved closer to Kris, expecting them to head straight into the danger zone like always, ready to guide them if needed. But to your surprise, Kris veered left instead, their steps calm and deliberate. What unfolded before you was a welcome change: an open platform overlooking Cyber City in all its electrifying glory. The skyline was a maze of glowing towers and vibrant Ferris wheels, their lights spinning gently like lullabies in motion. Standing nearby was a peculiar figure with a computer mouse for a head, their silhouette framed by the soft hum of the city behind them.

Kris walked up to the mouse-headed figure, footsteps quiet against the cool metal beneath them. The moment they got close, the figure perked up and spoke without looking at them, “I’m the Hacker. I’m going after the blue checksmarks.”

You tilted your head, “The what now?”

The Hacker gestured vaguely toward the field ahead, still not facing you, “Find [3] in the Cyber Field ahead, and I’ll join your [City]. You just look like the kind of folks who have a [Cool City].” 

Susie blinked. “Okay, did that guy just talk in brackets?”

Kris gives Hacker a thumbs up, agreeing to their request.

“Um, okay, dude,” You shrugged, “let’s get those checkmarks, or something…”

With Kris bidding Hacker good-bye, you all finally walk towards the short danger-filled zone. Kris led with quiet determination, and after witnessing how recklessly they handled projectile areas before, you stayed alert, ready to dodge—or maybe even yank them back if needed.

Along the way, Susie spotted a chest. Stomping over, she popped it open with little ceremony, and pulled out yet another Glow Wrist, a blue checkmark blinked into existence above the chest with a soft chime.

“Ugh, another one of these?” she muttered, then tossed it over her shoulder without looking.

You caught it with ease, slipping it onto your free wrist, “Thanks, Susie,” you said with a grin, admiring your now glow-wrist-decorated arms. You raised them proudly for everyone to see. “A few more and I’ll be literally glowing.” 

Ralsei offered a patient smile, while Susie groaned audibly, “Please stop.” 

You smirked. “Aww, don’t be jealous. You’ll get your glow-up one day.”

“God damnit—”

Finally free from the parkour-esque path and from your puns and antics, Susie moves ahead, as Ralsei follows to ‘help stray Susie away from the innocent’, or whatever it was he said. You and Kris follow them from behind, walking in a more comfortable silence. Up ahead, yet another puzzle blocks the path. A familiar screen looms to your left, the bright letters on display spelling out the required solution: AGREE2ALL.

“Wait, is this another puzzle?” Susie groaned, already stepping back, “You do it.”

“I have faith in you, Kris!” Ralsei chimed in brightly.

“Don’t be stupid or something,” you added dryly, already preparing yourself to relax on the ground.

“... whatever,” Kris resentfully moved ahead toward the AGREE2ALL puzzle, eyeing the lettered panels.

In the midst of waiting for Kris to finish the puzzle, your eyes wandered—eventually landing on Ralsei. His little green hat sat slightly crooked on his fluffy head, the tip leaning a bit too far to the side.

“Can I?”  you asked softly, gesturing to the hat.

“Sure!” Ralsei beamed, in all his adorable glory, as he tilted his head toward you without hesitation. As he leaned closer, you carefully adjusted the hat, straightening the brim and gently patting it down. His wool brushed against your fingers, the warmth and softness of his fur oddly comforted you.

“There,” you said with a small smile, “back to maximum cuteness.” 

You found yourself adjusting—gently, but consciously, easing your way into differentiating Ralsei from Asriel. Their voices, their warmth, even the way they smiled held uncanny similarities, but you reminded yourself that Ralsei was not your brother. He was someone new. Someone gentle and kind in his own right, not just a shadow of the past. Even something as small as helping Ralsei adjust his hat helped, focusing on the little differences: the way Ralsei spoke with quiet certainty, the way he blushed so easily, the way he looked at your group like you were already home.

It grounded you. Reminded you that this was here, now, and that maybe, you could still let yourself care.

“Oh! Th.. Thank you…!” He smiled sweetly, shy but grateful. For a second, it was easy to forget how strange and tense everything had been. Just you, your friends, and a little green hat.

I’d go to war for that smile, you gushed internally, your heart doing a quiet little flip.

The sound of the puzzle solving echoed with a mechanical click, making all of you look up as the path ahead lit up. Kris turned around silently, waiting. 

“You Typed: Agree 2 All,” the screen’s speakers echo, startling you all, “Thank You For Agreeing 2 This Peon Release Form.”

Queen’s face was now displayed on the monitor, her usual smirk plastered across the screen, “Now You Are All Legally My Minions. And I Can Use Your Likeness For Funny Statues.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind that,” you whistle, crossing your arms, “as long as I look cool.”

“What if we just… don’t do what you say?” Susie challenged, baring her teeth slightly.

“In That Case I Would Be Forced To Use Another Guy Probably,” Queen replied flatly.

Susie blinked, “Uh, better get started on that, then.”

“Okay But I’m Still Going To Use Your Likeness,” Queen added nonchalantly.

“I’m expecting 100% accuracy!” You shouted, pointing at the screen, “if I see even one uneven eyebrow, I’m suing.” 

Queen blinked. “Noted.” The screen flickered off with a dramatic power-down noise, the silence that followed almost comedic. 

“Nice,” Susie muttered, already stretching her arms. “Let’s get moving before she comes back with a copyright contract.”

Finding no new path to head to, the group headed back the way they came. The metallic floor hummed beneath your feet, pulsing with each step like a quiet warning. You naturally fell into step beside Kris, subtly shifting to guide them away from the same set of falling projectiles lining the path. 

“I can go by myself,” Kris grumbled under their breath, barely meeting your eyes.

You let out a dry chuckle. “Sure you can,” you replied, tone light but teasing, “because walking face-first into danger has worked out so well for you.” 

Kris scoffed but didn’t move away. Their silence said more than their words ever could. 

Behind you, Susie muttered something about how you two bicker like an old married couple. Ralsei, ever the peacekeeper, quietly tried to change the subject, but the warmth of the moment lingered—just enough to take the edge off the tension, if only for a little while.

The group arrived in the same room from before, though now the once-sealed path stood wide open, glowing faintly with digital light. With Kris taking the lead, the group stepped forward—only to find not one, but three of the same spinning teacup platforms waiting beyond.

You hummed, “So… which one?”

Before anyone could answer, a familiar, mischievous voice echoed from near the first teacup, “Heh, good luck figuring out which ride to take!” 

Your head turned sharply to the source of the voice. Standing there with a grin too wide for comfort was the same scamming vendor from earlier, arms crossed and clearly enjoying himself.

“... Let’s just try the first one,” you muttered, brushing past him with narrowed eyes. 

Ignoring whatever shady advice he might’ve offered, you walked up to the first teacup platform and settled in on one of the teacups, with the other three following through. 

“Ralsei! Over here!” you called out, waving your hand enthusiastically to catch his attention. The gentle thrum of the machinery beneath you only added to the rush of anticipation in your chest, “you can ride with me!” 

Ralsei perked up at your invitation, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. “O-Okay!” he responded, scurrying over with his scarf trailing behind him. He carefully climbed in beside you, his movements tentative but trusting. 

“Wow, you didn’t even hesitate,” Susie teased from her own teacup, already leaning back with her arms crossed behind her head. “Didn’t know you two were getting cozy.” 

“I-it’s not like that!” Ralsei flustered, adjusting his hat quickly as his cheeks warmed with a faint pink. 

You snorted softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Ignore her. We’ve got the best seat, anyway.” 

Kris, ever quiet, glanced at the group before stepping wordlessly into the last teacup. The vendor gave a final, smug wave from the edge of the platform just as the mechanism began to hum louder, the teacups trembling with kinetic energy. And then, with a sudden jolt, the ride began. 

The ride ended in less than a minute—just a short spin, barely enough time for Susie to even grumble about the lack of thrill. Beyond the landing platform was another puzzle. Letters scattered across the floor, glimmering with strange digital light.

“…GIASFELFEBREHBER?” you read aloud, blinking slowly. “Yeah, not doing that.” 

Kris stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had no idea what they were doing. They stepped on a few buttons, the lights blinking red every time Kris stepped on the wrong letter.

“Kris, it’s ok, we can just go back down or something,” 

Another attempt. Still wrong. A pause followed, long and silent. The group stood awkwardly, watching Kris stare at the board like it had personally insulted them. 

“Susie, go help Kris,”

“WHY ME?!”

Then—without warning—Kris suddenly moved with sharp precision. The letters lit up in rapid sequence: GIASFELFEBREHBER. A satisfying chime echoed, followed by another blue checkmark blinking from the monitor.

“Okay… how did you even—?” 

Before anyone could voice their theories, Kris silently turned on their heel and made their way back to the teacup platform. The rest of you exchanged glances, then followed without a word. You all boarded the elevator again, the teacup ride descending with a soft mechanical hum, returning you to the familiar metallic pathway below. Without hesitation, the group moved to the second teacup elevator. It rose steadily, the structure swaying just enough to make you grip the edge. At the top, you stepped onto a small, isolated platform where another chest waited.

Susie pounced on it first. “Mine—!” 

She flipped it open. Empty. 

“Dude,” she scowled, hands on her hips, “are you kidding me?”

You tried not to laugh, but the chuckle slipped out anyway. “Hey,” you pointed at the glowing symbol above the chest, “checkmark.”

Susie glanced up, then groaned, “At least it’s the last checkmark,” 

With all three checkmarks secured, the group made your way back to Hacker. 

“Wow, I’m the Hacker and you found all 3 checkmarks!” the strange mouse-headed figure beamed, “maybe our cyber paths will cyber cross once more in Queen’s Mansion.”

“… Hopefully with fewer puzzles,” you muttered under your breath.

“In the meantime, let me show you the power of the blue checkmarks…” 

With a dramatic flourish, the three glowing symbols swirled into the air, gathering at a single point in the sky. A rising chime echoed as they ascended, then—

BOOM! The power of the checkmarks was… a digital fireworks display of each of your faces, one by one, pixelated and obnoxiously animated across the sky.

“I regret doing this,” Kris deadpanned, squinting at their own face exploding in glittery pixels.

“Now everyone knows we’re cool.” Susie grinned, arms crossed proudly.

“This is better than whatever Queen has planned,” you chuckled, admiring your overly-animated pixel firework with a hum.

Waving a hand to Hacker, you made your way back to the three teacup platform room, hopping onto the third teacup platform, bracing yourselves as it started to move again—creaking, rattling, and shaking just a little more violently than the others. Arriving at the top, the four you reach a dead end, but not before Kris walks to the edge, with all of you following behind them. The platform groaned and shuddered again—then slowly, it began to move forward, carrying you all deeper into the unknown. The platform rolled forward with a mechanical whirr, your group swaying slightly with the motion. Just then, a familiar floating DJ set zipped after you—its rider scrambling to keep balance. The moment the platform jerked to a stop, the figure tumbled out, landing face-first with a loud thud.

“D-dead end…!” he shouted, quickly picking himself up and dusting off his coat.

Susie stepped forward, arms crossed, “Alright, what’s the deal, twerp!”

You squinted, “I’ve seen you, like, thrice now. Are you our stalker?”

The figure pointed at Susie and you, seemingly offended by what you both said, “Who’s a twerp?! The name’s Sweet! And I’m nobody’s stalker!”

Ralsei blinked, “Oh, like ‘suite’?”

Susie pondered, “Oh, like… sweets?”

Sweet looked like he might actually explode from the group’s words, “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the Sweet Cap’ n Cakes?!”

“Nope.”

“Um, doesn’t ring a bell...” Ralsei added, scratching the back of his head.

“G.. guess our act’s still a bit underground…” Sweet rubbed the back of his head, “Sweet Cap’ n Cakes! Not only are we Cyber Field’s BEST musical trio…”

“We’re also the last resistance against the big bad Queen and all her crew!” Sweet huffed, “And that starts with resisting YOU!”

“Wha—We didn’t do anything!” you protest.

“What?! We’re fighting Queen, too!” Susie threw her hands up.

“Nuh-uh-uh! Cap’n saw you help her kidnap some girl!” Sweet points an accusing look at you, “Hey! Hey, Cap!”

A figure drops from above, “We won’t let anyone lay a finger on madamoizels…” The figure named Cap, who was just the same scamming vendor you spoke to before, struck a pose, “Except us!”

“That’s not the point, Cap’n!”

You leaned in, blinking, “Where did you come from?!”

Cap shrugged, “It’s like half the point. 60%? 55…”

“We’re rebels, not players!” Sweet declared.

“We’re rebels that play,” Cap’n added with jazz hands. “We don’t play!! We don’t play!!” Sweet shouted, visibly vibrating from frustration.

“That’s it! K_K, get over here!”

Out of literally nowhere, K_K dropped from above with a stylish spin.

“K_K, are we players?!”

K_K stood in silence. The air was tense. Then— 

“I’m a CD player.” K_K plays a fun, groovy beat while dancing, with their head moving side to side.

Everyone just… stared, the music echoing as you and the rest of the group quietly turned around, slowly walking away.

“Wait! They’re getting away!” Sweet’s voice cracked as he pointed a shaky finger at your retreating group.

“Sweet, chill,” Cap’n said, arms crossed, grooving a little in place, “there’ll be other bad guys!”

“No, this is our chance!” Sweet puffed out his chest, determination flaring in his pixelated eyes, “Are you ready!? Let’s fight!!”

“... K_K.” Cap’n said calmly.

“Yeah?” K_K was already half-swaying.

“Play some battle music!” 

“OK!” K_K hit a button on his forehead. A funky synth beat dropped instantly, heavy bass rattling the floor.

“Hey, this is a nice song!” you shout mid-bop. 

The tension in the air loosens ever so slightly as the beat drops harder. It was clear the fight wasn’t about violence—it was about style, movement, energy.

Kris points at Sweet, catching the group’s attention, “Dance.”

You raised an eyebrow at their words, “Okay, weird command, but the music fits so,” shrugging your shoulders, you quickly stretch your limbs, relaxing your muscles as you move your body, grooving to the beat of the music, feeling the thump in your heart echo in your ears out of excitement.

Susie followed through with no hesitation, moving her arms in an up and down motion and slamming her foot rhythmically. Ralsei nervously bobs his head, as he shuffles his feet to the beat. And Kris… 

“Why do you have to be like this?” You giggle. Kris was doing a dance you both knew all too well. They put their arms together, kicking both feet in sync with the sound—it was the kind of dance you and Kris would overuse when playing your favorite online game, using it solely to poke fun at other players. You shook your head in disbelief, feeling a sense of pride and relief at seeing your childhood friend honor a silly little memory that only the two of you shared.

Whilst dancing with Sweet, a music note floats around you all, making the experience seem magical and funky. But when one of these projectiles hit Kris in the stomach, they dropped and fell face flat on the smooth surface of the floor, a thunk sound echoing as soon as they made contact with the cold, metal ground. 

“Are these attacks?!” You quickly swerved away from an incoming music note attack, heart beating rapidly at the sudden danger incoming.

Susie followed through with your dodges, moving away from the music notes as much as she could. 

You run up to Kris, swiftly making your way to them as you yell out their name, “Kris,” you grab their arm, avoiding the incoming attack, “focus already.”

Kris looked at you as if saying I’m trying, crimson eyes boring into the back of your head out of frustration. They begrudgingly move side to side, clumsy in their steps as they attempt to avoid the projectiles, like they had no spatial awareness. Their clumsiness concerned you, opting to get close to them as you guide them to a safer path, “you drive me insane, dude.”

“It’s not working, they’re still attacking!” Susie, through her mid-dance, observed the Sweet Cap’n Cakes trio, with only Sweet dancing as Cap and K_K prepared their attacks. 

“Perhaps if we can get them all to dance, we can win?” Ralsei suggested.

“All of them dancing…” you thought for a second, an imaginary lightbulb appearing at the top of your head as soon as you connected the dots, “That’s it! Let’s dance with them one by one! Susie, you’re with K_K. Ralsei, you’re with Cap!”

“I was waiting for the option to do that!” Kris shouted, frustration ringing in their voice. 

You looked at Kris with a confused expression, furrowing your eyebrows in concern, “Option? What are you talking about?”

You watched as Kris stayed silent, eyes flicking to something behind you. You followed their gaze for a split second, confused when you saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was like they were reading something invisible. 

You let out a nervous laugh, waving your hand dismissively, “You’re talking about this like it’s in some game or something. Just use your brain, it’s not that hard!”

“What the fuck—” 

Quickly, you grab Kris’ hands, a smile plastered on your face as you bob your head to the beat, “Come oooon, casanova, let’s dance with Sweet!” 

Kris blinked, but didn’t resist.

You look to Kris, expression softening for a moment, “Hey, for the record, I’m keeping your comment from earlier to heart. I heard you,” you murmured, voice quieter now over the thumping rhythm, “... but it was kind of my fault for being pushy. Sorry, Kris.”

“... As long as you know,” they said simply. You smiled, “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s dance!”

With that, the battle shifted from dodging attacks to moving in sync. The music swelled. All of you danced—twirling, sliding, jumping. Even Ralsei got into it, timidly bopping side to side. Susie slammed the ground with her foot to the beat like it owed her money. And Kris? Well… Kris danced in that same oddly specific way you remembered. Somehow, it worked.

“Feel the beat!” 

“Watch my moves!” 

“Dance, dance!!”

“Hey, losers! Wrap it up! Battle’s over!” Susie barked with a sharp grin.

“Over?” Sweet blinked, “In other-type words… We lost!?”

“Does that mean we can be friends?” K_K tilted his head hopefully.

“K_K! No!” Cap’n protested, looking exasperated.

“Fighting’s not really my style anyways…” K_K mumbled.

“Yeah, because you’re a coward!” Cap snapped, though it lacked real bite.

Sweet let out a laugh, “I mean, it was fun dancing, but…” 

Cap reassured Sweet, patting him on the back, “Sweet. Don’t worry. I think our dancing beat them.”

“Beat them…?”

“Yeah, all mercy-like.”

“See, when we danced with them, it convinced them we’re cool.” 

“Now they’re on our side?”

“Yes.”

“Hey! You four!” Sweet suddenly pointed dramatically, “welcome to the good side!”

“WE ARE the good side!” Susie shot back, exasperated.

Ralsei sweatdropped, adjusting his scarf with a sheepish chuckle, “Just go with it, Susie…”

“Happy to be here!” You throw a thumbs up to the trio, earning the same thumbs up from Sweet.

“Let’s ronday-voo at our Junk Shop.” Sweet declared proudly, “We jammed the door shut, but we’ll kick it open!”

“Alright everyone, let’s go!” With that, Sweet and Cap jump off to their DJ-mobile that seemingly appeared from nowhere, landing perfectly, with K_K following through except landing on their heads as they hover away slowly.

“... Do you guys think we can do that?” you asked, mostly joking, but a small part of you curious.

“As long as I get to step on your head,” Susie put her hand on your head, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“No thanks,” you said flatly, ducking out of her grip with a side step. 

You all head down to the only path forward. A long descent waited ahead, the platform rattled as it rose up, silent and still, anticipating your return trip. Susie and Ralsei shared a glance before stepping forward together as you and Kris stayed behind for a beat.

“Hey, so,” you started casually, hands behind your back, “why didn’t you attack them?”

Kris didn’t look at you, but you felt the shift in their posture, “What’s it to you?” they muttered.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light, though your curiosity itched at the back of your throat, “Y’know, you attacked the cat-looking ones and the wire people earlier,” you pointed out, eyes keeping check on Kris to see any changes in behaviour or answer, “what changed your mind?”

A pause. Then—

“... need them alive,” their answer 

“That sounds so bad,” you stare at them in disbelief at their words, “you hear yourself, right, Krissy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Kris grumbled, the speaker-like echo in their voice seemingly disappearing.

"Haha, would you have preferred 'casanova'?" You jest.

Kris shot you a look, prompting you to tease them further.

“Okaaay,” you smiled, “.. Krispy.”

“You annoy me,” they said, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at their lips, barely within your eyesight but their voice having a hint of mirth reassured you that Kris didn’t really mean what they said, “... and where did that even come from?”

“A little payback for all of those pranks you did before,” you nudged their arm, “and I’m a little hungry. I bet you are, too.”

“... Whatever,” Kris muttered again, turning their head away—but not fast enough to hide the faint blush on their cheeks. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, relieved. They looked okay. Sounded okay. That was enough.

Without another word, Kris held out their hand again, waiting—silently, expectantly—for yours to meet it. You let out a quiet chuckle at the gesture, your heart softening, before slipping your fingers into theirs. Together, hand in hand, the two of you slid down the rail, laughter and wind trailing behind you.

[19blackbutterfly97-blog]

Twisted Bonds - Part 8

Word Count: 3,359

Warnings: dub-con, fingering(f Rec), dirty talk(English&Russian), cursing, A/B/O dynamics

A.N.: Ngl, I think this is the best smut & smut related scene I've ever written! Anything in Russian with a * next to is translated at the end. I used Google translate so I apologize if anything is wrong. Feel free to correct me! Thank you guys again for the likes& reblogs!!!!

Divider by @k1ssyoursister (my first time using dividers if I tagged wrong please let me know! Thank you!!)

Twisted Bonds Masterlist

As promised, by Monday morning Tony had fixed Alice's computer and gifted her a second monitor for the inconvenience. She was overly pleased with the new set up and immersed herself in her programs. Gentle forest sounds filter in the room from her Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Her fingers tap along the keyboard to the rhythm of crickets chirping in the background. As usual, a pretzel stick is nestled between her teeth. The treat lost its salty flavor a while ago but the fixation forces her to leave it in place. It's early enough in the morning that everyone else is still sleeping. For once Alice is alone and in her element.

Her eyes are trained on a data report on one monitor. It's focus is the different alien species that the Avengers, Asgardians and Guardians of the Galaxy have come into contact with. It's a long list, even when she filtered out the non-hostile species. On the second monitor is a program designed to predict and pinpoint where an invasion could start. Ultron didn't work out the way Tony hoped it would. He at some point admitted there were flaws in its programming but with the recent threat looming on the world he was willing to put up with the possibility of human error. That's where Alice came in.

This is what she's trained for. Long, tedious work; the cases that require a careful eye and full attention. For Alice it's bliss, something to drown out the rest of the world while simultaneously being helpful. Something high stakes like this only makes her double down her efforts to figure out who, when and where.

The ominous threat arrived almost two months ago: EARTH BELONGS TO US.

It was an off world message that made even the usually stone faced Bucky falter for a moment. Nobody liked the idea of a hostile group landing on the planet and taking over. During her briefing Alice fought hard against her initial instincts to cower and hide. It was impressive to say the least when she latched onto the assignment and got to work.

The office door cracking open made Alice peek between the monitors to see who was up this early. A small smile pulled at her lips when she saw a very familiar metal arm reach through the door and flick on the scent blocker sat next to the door. It was well known that the scents of the pack could be distracting to Alice so she usually had it on during the day but she didn't bother with it when she snuck down earlier. Her heart swooned at the action; it's a subtle gesture that shows the super soldier cares. She snickered to herself when the door clicked shut again, leaving her to work in peace.

It's something she's noticed about Bucky. He doesn't show his heart to anyone and he doesn't vocalize his feelings. Bucky has a kaleidoscope personality. Beautiful shapes and colors that are ever changing depending on the person he's with. To most people he's a slate grey case but to those closest to him, he's a myriad of rainbows. Light refractions of his true self bouncing around prisms. Alice was one of the lucky few to get a peek at it. She often wonders if he's showing her parts of himself from the forties, before Hydra and the rest of the world shoved him into darkness and forgot about him.

Alice yawns and reaches for her coffee mug and checks the time, frowning when she finds the cup empty and that it's already eight. She knows most of the team is already awake and knowing her luck, so is Yelena. The sisters have been avoiding each other since their spat Saturday morning after Tony's party. Mostly because instead of giving Bucky his shirt back Alice kept it. The red Henley is nestled perfectly in her bed underneath a mound of pillows. It's the closest Alice has ever gotten to building a nest, let alone accepting anything from an Alpha. Yelena doesn't know but she's highly perceptive and Alice is a terrible liar. Alice knows they'll have to make up at some point because they now have to work together but they're not there yet.

Alice huffs a little and stands up, reaching her hands up to the ceiling to stretch out before grabbing her mug and walking out of her office. It's Sam's turn to cook and she'd never chance missing out on his eggs. It's silly but Sam makes scrambled eggs Gordon Ramsey style and they're perfect every time.

"Good morning everyone!" Alice chirps happily as she walks in the kitchen and beelines to make another cup of coffee.

Bucky hides a smile and slides over the vanilla caramel creamer, it’s her favorite and he knows it. "Hey, babydoll. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, thanks." Alice smiles and reaches to take the creamer, her face dropping when Steve grabs it instead.

"What time did you get up?"

"Uh... Three."

"How many of these have you already had?"

Alice rolls her eyes. "This would be my second."

"You need some water."

Bucky growls a little and snatches the carton from Steve and hands it back to Alice. "She's fine.” The men glare at each other for a moment while Alice looks between them, holding her breath. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a blunt spoon and everyone feels it. After a few more tense moments Alice’s scent sours which causes both of them to step back. An Omega in distress wasn’t what any of them wanted.

“Alright, eggs Gordon style and a big ass bottle of hot sauce for our favorite analyst!” Sam announced, trying to ease the stress in the room. It’s not working but “E” for effort, right? Alice goes shy again and slips past the Alphas who’re still in a silent stand off, abandoning her creamer and coffee mug on the counter. She takes the plate from Sam and moves to sit at the table between Nat and Clint. The group sits around the table, briefly forgetting their breakfasts while watching them.

It’s a joke with everyone that Bucky is the bionic staring machine. If looks could kill, his body count would be in the thousands. Steve has never been on the receiving end of his best friends glare so this is a new experience for him. A lot of things have tried to come between them but an Omega was never part of that equation. At least not until now.

Now, Bucky’s hidden territorial tendencies were pushing to the surface and he didn’t care that he was lowly growling at his best friend and pack lead. All he cared about was that Alice was taken care of.

“Gooood morning, drama club! Who’s got the brain cell today?” Tony laughs as he walks in and grabs a plate from Sam. “Whoa, who pissed off the super soldiers?”

“They did it to each other.” Nat says.

“Ah, of course. Let me guess, the little one fainted?” He chuckles around a bite of eggs.

Alice rolls her eyes and pours some hot sauce on her eggs and takes a bite. She didn't mind Tony but she did mind his now incessant teasing about the situation. It's been an ongoing theme in the tower since the party.

“Oh, for fucks sake. This again?” Yelena scoffs and pushes her way between the Alphas who've barely looked away from each other to this point. “Knock it off. You're both acting like knotheads. You're going to scare her and make her useless the rest of the day.” She grumbles and pushes them away before finishing making Alice's coffee.

“Hey! I resent that remark!” Alice protests.

“Please, you're a scaredy cat and such a bad liar. Here, drink.” Yelena shoves the mug in her hands and plops down next to Nat. “How's the research coming?”

Alice smiles a little and sips her drink. “Fine I guess. I was able to filter out and categorize the species that are most likely to attack us but I can't pinpoint exactly who sent the message. It's still decrypting.”

“So, basically, you have nothing?” Clint asks.

“I have more than you guys did two weeks ago.”

“Touché.”

“Don't you mean douché?” Tony chuckles, the others groan and roll their eyes except for Natasha who laughs along.

“How's training going?” Clint asks, steering the conversation back on track.

“We're not talking about training right now.” Bucky interjects, moving to stand behind Alice's chair like a dark, brooding shadow. “We need the intel more than we need another body on the field.”

“Weren't you the one that insisted she learned basic self defense?”

“I was and she did. So, now she can focus on whatever she needs to.”

For a moment Alice beams with pride as she checks an alert on her phone. Her face drops almost as fast as the fork in her hand. “Fuck! No, damnit Tony! Your computers are shit!” She hollers as she hops up and runs down the hall towards her office, leaving behind her breakfast. The team watches her for a moment before everyone except Bucky and Steve burst out laughing.

Steve rolls his eyes while Bucky stalked over to collect her plate and coffee. “She didn't even eat.” He grumbles before following her.

“Did he just-?” Wanda asks no one in particular.

“An Alpha doing Alpha things.” Nat chuckles, earning a glare from Steve. He had grown attached to Alice and suddenly found himself aggravated that Bucky was not only taking care of her, he was also receiving her attention. He of course just didn't know to what extent yet.

-

Again, Alice found herself sitting at her desk, nervously munching on a pretzel stick as she tries to retrieve the data her programs had retrieved earlier in the morning. She's thoroughly distracted and engrossed in her work, grumbling to herself as she digs through the encrypted files she managed to save before everything crashed. She's in a concentrated daze as she works, blocking out the rest of the world outside of her little office.

Bucky smirked and leaned against the doorframe, simply watching her for a moment. He could smell her stress and anxiety and the primal part of his brain wanted nothing more than to soothe her. He wasn't sure where exactly they stood with each other yet, while he liked Alice way more than he ever expected, he didn't want to move too fast and scare her. So far, the only people she seems to be comfortable with are Tony, Steve and Sam… and that's mostly just arguing with them. It wouldn't be the same with Bucky. Admittedly, he didn't want it to be.

Bucky wanted to play the long game. He wanted Alice as a Mate not just a play thing. He didn't want her pissed off or scared or in this case, anxious. Though this specific Omega being anxious had a certain… alluring quality. His eyes focused on the salty treat between her lips. My girl has an oral fixation, I’ll have to help with that sometime. He thinks to himself, feeling his knot come alive.

“That's not breakfast, Lil Bit.” He finally says, pushing off the door frame and setting the plate of eggs on the corner of her desk.

“As of right now it is.” She mumbles around the pretzel, not even sparing him a glance. Her brows furrow in frustration and annoyance as she forces the computer to restart.

Bucky grumbles a little and rounds the desk to stand behind her. He has no idea what he’s looking at while she clicks through menus upon the device’s start up but she’s close again which is all he wanted. Well and for Alice to finish her breakfast which judging by the soured hints on annoyance and frustration in her scent meant that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon unless he made her. Bucky isn’t above playing mind games or pulling the Alpha card to get her to listen to him. He leans over her, his face in line with her own. His scent gland exposed and oozing leather and oil, invading Alice’s senses just enough to earn a glance. “Wanted to make sure you had your coffee.” He says, smirking at her.

“Thank you.” She breathes out, turning her head just enough to look at him.

He does the same, stormy eyes locking on and holding her attention. “You’re welcome, Lil Bit. I couldn’t let Steve win this one.” He says, wondering if she caught the double meaning to his statement. Bucky takes a few moments to hold her hostage in his unyielding stare, breathing in as much of her essence as he could. She just smelled like home to him and god did he want to feel at home again. “You gotta eat something.”

“I will in a minute.” She answers, her eyes flicking to his lips.

He shakes his head. “Now baby.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Her answer begets a low, throaty growl from him which sends a shiver down her spine and a fresh gush of slick to pool between her legs. He takes notice instantly, his eyes darken as he reaches a hand up to ghost over her collar bone. “Either you eat or I do.” He mutters as his hand lowers, still not touching but Alice can still feel the heat of his skin through her thin sweater.

“I- I have work to do.”

“No, you’re waiting for the computer to start up again.”

“Still part of my job description.”

“Yes, but,” his hand hovers at her stomach for a moment. “The computer doesn’t need attention. You do.”

“No I don’t.” She whines and tilts her head back to look at him.

“Is that so? My pretty girl doesn’t need any attention at all?” He taunts, his warm hands still ghosting over her but still not touching.

“No, I don’t… and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, are you now?”

Alice squeaks out a yes and turns her head back to the computer, satisfied that it’s actually doing its job right now. “Well, would you look at that? Maybe I’m better at this IT thing than Stark.” She says with a little smirk, thinking that she’s getting out of everything else right now but of course Bucky has other plans.

He smirks as well and lets his hand finally drift down to touch her. The warm weight of his hand sits just over her pelvis. “Wrong answer, ‘Mega.”

Alice’s breath hitches and she tilts her head back with a dumbfounded, lustful look that she’s trying and failing to conceal. Her no-nonsense mask is cracked and they both know it. “D-don’t call me that.” She says in a weak voice.

“That’s what you’re concerned about right now?” She nods her head. “So damn cute, malyshka*.” He mutters, dipping his head to a line down her cheek to her neck.

Alice purrs at the contact but still resists. “Bucky… We can’t, not here.”

“Why not? It’s your office. Nobody’s coming in here, and even if somebody did decide to go across the hall they can’t smell us thanks to your lovely scent blocker device.”

“You have something against my blocker?”

“Only that I can’t smell you when I’m training, especially when I know you’re in here. Drives me nuts.”

“So your solution to that problem is what?”

Bucky smirks and leaves a wet, open mouthed kiss on her scent gland before his hand dives under the waistband of her pajama pants. His fingers expertly find her core and he starts tracing her bundle of nerves. The somewhat sudden intrusion causes Alice’s breath to hitch and her hands fly up to his arm, clinging to the muscles as if it’s the only thing keeping her in the chair. Another wave of slick pools gushes from her as her head tilts back. “Bucky…”

“Tell me to stop, malyshka.”

“No! Don’t please!” She whines and slowly starts to grind her hips against his hand.

Bucky lets out a dark, taunting chuckle and doubles his efforts. “Eto moya devushka*. You’re so worked up already.” He taunts, his hot breath fanning over her flushed skin.

Alice wines again in response. Her mind clouded with lust had already forgotten whatever assignment she’d given herself for the morning. Everything about this was all consuming for her. His touch, his scent, the dirty words in Russian growled in her ear.

Bucky himself could share the sentiment, lost in the lustful abyss formed in the little office. Her whimpers and moans played on repeat, bouncing off the walls, posing as a soundtrack to further his obsession. He knows that sex won’t fix his head, won’t make him feel complete, but the way she looks and sounds when he slips a finger in her heat could almost be enough to make him forget. Even if it’s for a little while. This is his Mate and he’s certain that it won’t take much convincing to get Alice on board with the idea. The image of this Omega, his Omega in his nest, surrounded by his scent, bearing his mark and eventually round with his pups is almost enough for him to pop his knot in the confines of his jeans. He’s hyper-focused on every inch of Alice. The way her lips part, letting out moans and soft spoken pleas, her brows pinch together as he edges her, even the small bead of sweat trailing down the valley of her breasts. She’s so close and he knows it but he’s a bit too much of a sadist to just let her have it. This is about her pleasure of course but he needs to know where her boundaries are. He wants to test her limits, find out what makes her tick. What’ll push her over the edge and beyond.

“Bucky please.” She whines again, louder this time.

Bucky smirks and sucks a hickey on her scent gland before pulling his face away just enough to look at it. A satisfied growl rips through his chest as his left hand comes up to wrap around her throat. He’s not using enough pressure to do anything, he just lets the cool metal rest against her heated skin. “Konchi dlya menya, krasotka.* C’mon Omega, I know you can do it.”

His voice is low and gravelly in Alice’s ear. Her body shakes as he adds another finger and doubles his efforts. His fingers curling and scissoring at a brutal pace, a squelching sound mingles with her moans as she finally breaks loose. Her head flings back against his shoulder as she lets out a loud, nearly pornographic moan. “Alpha!” Her orgasm ripping through her body harsh enough to blur her vision as her walls flutter around his fingers.

Bucky watches her with stars in his eyes, again analyzing every piece of her and filing the information away for later. His fingers slow but continue working her through it. “Takaya khoroshaya devochka. Takoy ideal'nyy dlya menya.* My pretty Omega.” He mutters, leaving soft kisses over her skin and slowly pulls his fingers out of her. He brings them to his mouth and makes a show of lapping up her juices, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. “Fuck… you taste so fuckin’ good, malyshka.”

Alice blushes, slumped back in her chair, watching him. She’s tuned into everything he says and does now. For once her mind is quiet from the usual static of her internal monologue screaming at her about the millions of things she has to do. All that matters right now is the Alpha in front of her and the quietness of her brain that his pleasure brought on. She’s tuned in but zoned out when he kneels down in front of her and says something. She’s not sure what it is until his right arm extends to his side and he snaps a couple times. “Talk to me, baby. You okay?”

Alice nods and flashes a subtle smile. “Mhm, just feel really, really good.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Was that the first time you’ve ever…?”

“Hm? No, just… not to sound cliche or anything but it was the best one.”

That makes a prideful, cocky grin spread wide on Bucky’s face. “Oh, honey… If you thought that was good then we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

*1: Malyshka- Baby/Babygirl.

*2: Eto moya devushka- That’s my girl.

*3: Konchi dlya menya, krasotka- cum for me, pretty girl.

*4: Takaya khoroshaya devochka. Takoy ideal'nyy dlya menya.- Such a good girl. So perfect for me.

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Pomefiore

Male reader

TW: yandere behavior, memory erasing, poisoning, implied Grim death

Genre: yandere

Here's the link for my other Dimensions: Twisted Wonderland Overblots works.

The story will take place in Germany, the one from the original “Snow White And Seven Dwarfs” that the Pomefiore dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Snow White.

I'm sorry if this seems a bit rushed, I was really struggling with this one for some reason. I had to delete the original post cause it had some formatting errors, but everything is fixed now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you wake up, you feel stiff and uncomfortable, your muscles aching a bit as you try to sit up and stretch.  You let out a yawn and stretch your arms over your head before you gaze around the bedroom.  You don’t remember falling asleep here, but the room is very small and the ceiling is unusually low to the point you can barely sit up without your head grazing the roof.  You move to stand up, but find it near impossible due to the size of the room, so you decide to leave from the equally short door frame.  Once outside the room, you head down the stairs to a much larger and spacious living room.  The ceiling is still a bit low, but you can fully stand up and stretch properly.  You let out a relieved groan as you stretch all the sleepiness from your body and you have to pull your shirt down to avoid it from exposing your stomach.  You look down at your outfit to find a off-white colored poet blouse and dark brown pants.  Both are covered with sewn on patches to cover holes and stains.  You don’t remember going to sleep wearing this outfit, but you actually remember going to sleep at all.

“How curious,” you think to yourself as you try your hardest to recall your last memory.

You come up with nothing, almost getting a headache in the process.  You shake off the curiosity that eats away at you and just decide to figure out where you are now.  You don’t recognize your surroundings, the small cabin seeming odd and unfamiliar.  Maybe going outside to see the exterior would help.  You open the front door and step outside to be greeted with soft light filtering through the tall trees that surround the cabin.  There are birds chirping in the distance and many woodland creatures greet you as you wander around a bit.  The atmosphere is so serene and peaceful that you don’t really notice that the birds have stopped singing until you hear a twig snap behind you.  You whip around to see a black feather plume disappear behind a bush.

“Hello?” you call out hesitantly.

The bush rustles a bit before a blonde-haired man bursts free from the foliage.  You let out a startled yelp as he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug and lifts you a bit off the ground as he rambles in French.

“What!?  Who are you?” you exclaim as you struggle to free yourself from the stranger’s embrace.

“Little Trickster, do not be silly,” he tells you as he settles you back onto the ground, his hands still resting on your shoulders.  “I cannot believe you managed to wander all the way out here.  Were you perhaps looking for me?”

Although he says it playfully, you don’t miss how his eyes shift uneasily around the area, as if expecting you to make a run for it.

“What?  No.  Who are you?” you demand as you carefully hold his wrists and remove them from your shoulders.

The man’s smile drops, turning into a concerned frown, “Has the Trickster forgot who he is?  My, what a funny prank.  But come along, Vil is waiting for you.”

He’s about to take your arm and start leading you somewhere, but you rip your hand out of his and take steps away from him.  His expression looks hurt, but his eyes are like hawks and glare at you.

“I will not ask again, but who are you?  I woke up here without any of my memories.  Do you know me?” you ask more forcibly, putting more distance between yourself and the blonde man.

“So this is not one of your pranks?” he questions, a look of confusion on his face as he tries to decide if you’re lying or not.

“No…at least I don't think so?” you add as he continues to scrutinize you.

“Alright, I believe you,” he tells you after a quick pause before bowing and giving an introduction.  “I am Rook Hunt, the Queen’s favored hunter.  You are Snow White, the Queen’s favorite prince.”

“Snow White?” you mutter to yourself, the name sounding familiar but not your own.

“Yes, and if we do not hurry back to the castle, the Queen will throw a fit,” Rook explains as he tentatively hooks his arm with yours and starts slowly walking through the woods.

The soft lighting guides you through the forested area, some woodland creatures looking over at you curiously but instantly running away when they notice Rook walking beside you.  The woods soon part and you can see a cliff over a lake in the distance.  Nestled at the edge of the cliff is a medieval castle that is white in color with a brick red roof, the stacked spires looked neat and organized.  Rook leads you to a tan horse with a black mane and tail tied to a nearby tree.  Rook unties the rope and stands behind you and before you get a chance to protest, he’s lifting you up and placing you on the saddle.  Rook easily mounts the stallion behind you and lightly kicks the horse’s sides.  The horse starts walking, Rook steering it through the trees and up the hill toward the castle that looms over you.

Once you’ve arrived at the top of the hill and the castle gates opened up, Rook dismounts before helping you down.  The horse gets passed on to a stablehand while Rook ushers you toward the main doors.  The doors are opened by decorated guards and reveal a lavish hallway covered with a deep purple carpet and gold ornaments.  You’re in awe as you walk down, looking all around, trying to absorb all the details.  Rook seems uninterested, probably having seen this hallway a thousand times as he urges you to hurry.  Down the long hallway is another pair of golden doors, with guards standing in the corners.  Rook nods at them before they open the doors, the shiny interior blinding you for a moment.  Once you blink the light out of your eyes, you can see ceiling to floor windows letting the afternoon sunlight in.  The windows are draped with curtains of the same deep purple color as the carpet and are covered in golden tassels and prints.  Once you manage to pull your eyes away from the pretty curtains, you see a prettier man sitting atop a golden and spiky-looking throne in the center of the room.  He’s dressed in a dark purple and black dress with a tight golden corset around his waist and a golden crown that resembles a peacock tail (Vil is in his overblot outfit).  The throne is elevated by a few steps, so he looks down at you both as Rook pulls you closer, his right eye glowing a dark purple.

“Your Highness, you won’t believe where I found our Little Trickster,” Rook sounds cheerful, not seeming to grasp the cold atmosphere.

“Snow White, what did you think you were doing?” the Queen speaks, his voice sounding both dainty and stern.

“Ummm, I don’t know?” you say, sounding more like a question.

“It’s horrible, Vil.  He doesn’t remember anything!” Rook wails, dramatically grabbing you and pouting.

Vil doesn’t let surprise register on his face, but his eyes seem to light up in joy, “That’s peculiar.  Hmmm…come up.”

You take a few hesitant steps closer to Vil, standing at the foot of the steps that led up to his elevated platform.  He gestures you closer until you're standing right in front of him, letting out a startled noise as he pulls you onto his lap.  He grabs your chin, turning your head to the right and to the left, scrutinizing your entire face.  He mutters to himself as he pokes certain spots on your face, his sharp manicured nails scraping along your skin.

“You seem relatively unharmed.  Where did Rook find you, darling?” Vil questions as he drops his hand from your face to hold your hand.

“I-I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully.  “I just woke up in this small cabin and Rook found me wandering around in the surrounding forest.”

Vil’s eyes narrow and he has a silent conversation with Rook with just their shifty eyes.  Rook bows to Vil before leaving the throne room, filling you with worry and dread to be left alone with the Queen.

“Well, you’re absolutely filthy, so we’ll have to get you bathed and dressed,” Vil tells you as he rings a small bell that rests on the table beside his throne.

You watch as another person comes through the main doors, but this time it's a petite boy with light purple hair.  He seems a bit pissed to be disturbed from wherever he came from, but he gives Vil a small bow before looking at you, his bad mood seeming to evaporate.

“Epel, would you be a dear and take Snow White to his room and help him freshen up,” Vil orders, looking at the boy expectantly.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Epel bows again before motioning for you to follow him.

You look back at Vil and he gives you an encouraging smile, something telling you that the fondness behind it is not his normal behavior.  You stand up from Vil’s lap and you walk down the stairs to stand next to Epel, the boy grabbing your hand and leading you out of the throne room.

“Where have you been?!  You know better than to run off like that!” the boy scolds you as he drags you father into the castles, walking down a hall with large windows looking into a courtyard garden.  “What were you thinking?!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite remember,” you sheepishly respond, almost knocking into him when he stops walking.

“What are you, daft?  How could you not remember?” Epel huffs, letting go of your arm to cross his arms across his chest with a disappointed glare.

You nervously rub the nape of your neck as the smaller boy continues to scowl, “Well, I’ve lost my memories.  I don’t remember anything from my past.  My earliest memory is waking up in a cabin in the woods and Rook finding me.”

Epel’s rough attitude seems to melt as you tell your story before just sighing and taking your hand again, “Geez, you need to stop getting yourself in trouble.  It’s dangerous out there, but I’ll help you try and recover your memories.”

“Thank you,” you smile at Epel as you two finish climbing up a flight of stairs and he stops in front of a door.

He uses the golden handles to push the door open to reveal a luxurious bedroom with a king sized bed.  The decorations are in that same dark purple color with golden accents.  The windows have the drapes pulled back and you can see off into the forest that seems to go on forever.  Epel has to snap you out of your awe by taking your hand and leading you over to another pair of doors that open into the bathroom.  The bathroom is more bright, with white tiles and a small staircase that has a tub nestled in the middle of it (I don’t know how to describe it, the tub is like the ones you’d see in fantasy movies or like the ones in The Arcana).  As Epel runs the water, you awkwardly wait for him.  Will he stay here while you bathe?  Can you close the curtains so nobody can watch you even though you're on the second story?

“I’ll let you get washed up.  The shampoo and conditioner are there and the body wash is over here.  You can use this towel to dry off later.  I’ll just wait outside, knock if you need me,” Epel tells you before swiftly exiting.

Well, that answered some of your questions.  Now in privacy, you take off the outfit you were wearing and gently lay them aside before slipping into the tub.  Vil said you were filthy, but luckily for you the water didn’t go brown as you washed your hair and scrubbed your body.  You drained the water before exiting the tub and dried off with a fluffy and warm towel before coming to the realization that you don’t have any fresh clothing.  You contemplated putting on the clothing you just took off, but they somehow disappeared while you were bathing.  You find a soft robe next to the sink and quickly put it on before cracking the door open a bit to call to Epel.

“Hey, Epel?  Do you have any clothing I could borrow?” you call out.

“Darling, come on out if you’re done.  We’ll get you dressed out here,” Vil’s voice responds instead.

You peek your whole head out to see all three males waiting for you.  Rook had pulled out the vanity chair and Vil stood with a hairbrush in his hand.  Epel was standing near the wardrobe, looking through the different outfits inside before taking a few out and resting them on a chair.

“Come on, I’ll brush your hair and apply your makeup,” Vil says, gesturing for you to come sit in the chair.

Thankful that the robe went down to your knees, you shyly walk over and sit down, sinking in the soft cushion.  Vil combs through your hair, making sure to gently work through knots and not pull your hair too much.  He arranges your hair in your usual hairstyle, but he makes sure it looks flawless and perfect.  Satisfied, he pulls open the different vanity drawers to reveal enough makeup to fill a store.  He pulls out the basics and applies a little on your face with brushes and sponges.

“You’re perfect already, but I’m just going to accentuate your beauty,” Vil tells you as he applies some lip gloss to your lips before using the tube on his own lips.

After a few more touches he nods before stepping back and helping you to your feet.  He brings you over to Epel who has your outfit prepared and helps you put it on.  By the end of it, your face is red and you're flustered from all the close attention you’re getting from the boys.  You look over in the mirror to find yourself wearing a dark blue shirt that has puff sleeves at the wrists with a white collar along with a short red cape attached to the collar of the shirt and a pair of pastel yellow pants.

“You look marvelous, Little Trickster!” Rook exclaims, giving you a round of applause.

“Indeed you do, but one final detail is missing," Vil comments before gently taking your hand and slipping one of his many rings onto your finger.

You look down at the golden piece of metal and take in the symbol that is placed where the gem usually is : a shield depicting an apple being stabbed by a knife with a crown on top of the shield. It's beautiful, the evening light causing it to shine and sparkle.

Vil smiles as you adore his ring and you look up at him, eyes shining at you say thank you.

"Anytime, darling," Vil pats your head before looking out the window at the setting sun. "And just on time, it’s dinner time."

You loop your arm through his and he leads the group out of the room and down a hallway.  Eventually you find yourself in a large dining room, the long table in the middle set for four people.  Vil guides you to the right side of the head chair and Rook sits in the seat across from you while Epel sits next to you.  Vil settles himself into the head chair before clapping his hands.  The doors behind him open as servants start to bring out the plates.  Once they set the plate in front of you, you’re a bit disappointed to see a small piece of meat and a tiny side of vegetables drizzled with sauce.  Vil and Rook start to eat, but Epel looks absolutely horrified that this is all there is for dinner.  He sends you a disgusted look and you just shrug before digging in, savoring the flavorful and tender meat.  The vegetables taste fresh and are lightly seasoned to perfection.  Although the portion was a bit small, you feel satisfied with the meal and sigh constantly.

“Compliments to the chef,” Rook states before clapping his hands and the dishes get swept away by the servants.

“It’s getting late, and you all need your beauty sleep,” Vil says as he stands up.  “Snow White, we can do some skincare in my room before you go to sleep.  I need to remind you of the strict schedule we uphold here.”

You look outside the windows just to see the sun barely starting to set.  Maybe time moves differently here if 7:00 PM is considered late.  Vil walks over to your chair and helps you stand up before starting to lead you away from the dining room.  You walk back to the area where your room is, but he walks into the one next to yours.  The golden door has an engraving with Vil’s name on it, and he even has a special key to open his bedroom door.  Just as you’re about to enter, Rook runs up behind you with Epel in tow.

“Wait Roi de Poison!  I need to talk to you about something,” Rook calls out.

Rook stops in front of you two, and gives Vil a meaningful look, “Privately.”

“Snow, wait inside for me, this shouldn’t take too long,” Vil tells you as he gently pushes you toward his door before turning around and walking away with Rook.

“I hope everything is okay,” you murmur.

“I heard that there was an intruder in the castle.  But it should be nothing to worry about, Rook is the best shot in all of Germany,” Epel reassures before pulling something out of his pocket.  “Here, in case you get hungry later.”

Epel passes you a small container that smells strongly of apples.

“Thank you,” you tell him before quickly hiding it in your clothing.  “I should get inside before Vil gets back.”

“Yeah, just let me know if you need anything.  My room is just down the hall,” Epel tells you before disappearing down the hallway.

You smile as you enter the room, finding the inside excessively decorated.  It’s pretty similar to your room, but it’s just larger.  You take a seat on the plush sofa, patiently waiting for Vil to return.  You let your eyes wander over to his neatly organized vanity table and his folded bed.  Everything in the room is perfectly placed, just like the man who lives in it.  Now having some time to yourself, you can fully comprehend your situation.  You don’t really know who you are, but these people have willingly taken you into their family.  It fills you with a warm feeling knowing that you have such caring friends who will help you in your time of need.  You jump when Vil barges into the room, but he quickly apologizes when he sees that he startled you.

“Sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he composes himself as he glides over to you.

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you stand and join him at his vanity.

He sits down on the seat before pulling you to sit on his lap.  He starts explaining the skincare routine he wants you to maintain while pulling bottles and containers out of the vanity drawers.  He pats, smears, and dabs different serums and lotions onto your face before doing the same to himself.  To finish it off, he layers a face mask onto your face and forces you to lay on the bed with him to wait for your skin to soak in the mask’s benefits.  You can feel your eyes grow heavy, but you don’t even get a chance to tell Vil before you pass out, mentally and physically exhausted from the day.

~

The soft sunlight filtering from the gauzy curtains awakens you in the morning.  You don’t feel the face mask on your face anymore so Vil must have taken it off for you last night.  Speaking about Vil, you find the male cuddled up to your side, holding onto your waist.  He looks beautiful even in his slumber even though he has hair curlers tangled in his blonde locks and an eye cover on.  He still looks asleep, but it doesn’t take him long to stir as you attempt to escape his embrace.  He groans as he reaches for you and grumpily gropes at the empty space you left behind.  When he can’t find you, he lifts up his eye mask to see you trying to creep out of his room.

“Darling, where are you going?  It’s too early for this, my alarm hasn’t even gone off yet,” Vil complains.

As if on cue, the alarm by his bed starts ringing.  Vil sighs before turning it off and getting out of bed.  He approaches you and leads you to his bathroom, which is almost as big as his room.

“Shouldn’t I go back to my room?” you ask as he grabs a spare toothbrush from a drawer for you to use.

“No, it’s fine.  We used to have sleepovers all the time,” he tells you as he hands you the prepared toothbrush with a dab of toothpaste on top of it.

You both take your time in brushing your teeths and Vil even helps you wash your face and apply some skincare.  Once the whole ordeal of getting ready is over, Vil gives you an outfit similar to what you wore yesterday and guides you out of his room.  You jump as you run right into Rook, the man appearing to have been waiting in front of the door for quite a bit of time.

“Good morning, Little Trickster!” Rook exclaims before addressing Vil a small bow and a “Your Highness”.  “I have so much planned for us today!”

“Will Epel and Vil be joining us?” you ask as Rook grasps your hands and starts to walk away from Vil’s room.

“Unfortunately it will just be you and Epel with Rook today, I have work I need to do.  I am a Queen afterall,” Vil tells you before kissing your forehead and walking the opposite direction.

You wave goodbye to the Queen as you head down another hallway, finding Epel waiting at the bottom of the staircase.  He offers you a good morning and joins you on your other side.  The three of you engage in pleasant conversation that easily transitions from topic to topic as you exit the palace and start to wander around the garden.  You find yourself laughing and chatting among these boys who were mere strangers yesterday.  Your little trio pauses at a wooden gate in a stone wall, which is covered in a thin layer of green vines.  Rook produces a key from his pockets and sends you a mysterious wink before unlocking the door for you all to pass through.  Inside the wall are rows and rows of apple trees all bearing ripe fruits, all being an assortment of colors, ranging from reds to greens to yellows.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Epel asks you.  “This is my favorite part of the castle.”

You can only nod in awe before you’re brought back to the present when Epel passes you a wooden bucket.  He gives you a quick rundown on how to pick the best apples and Rook proposes a friendly competition on who can fill their basket the fastest.

“You two are going down,” you claim before running down a row of trees, laughing as Epel and Rook taunt you.

You grab at the fresh fruit hanging on the low branches and in record time, your basket is filled.  As you start to race back, you hear some muttering nearby.  Thinking it’s Rook or Epel, you decide to sneak up on him.

“Blah, that one’s sour,” the voice exclaims as a green apple rolls out from behind a tree.

“Boo!” you yell as you jump from behind the tree.

Instead of the blonde archer or the petite boy, you’re shocked to find a small gray cat startled by your little prank.  The blue flames in his ears flare up a bit as he jumps like a scared cat.  He’s about to scold you, but when he gets a good look at your shocked face, recognition washes over his expression.

“Human!  It’s you!” the cat cheers as he quickly climbs up your leg and sits on your shoulder.  “Now we can finally escape.  Do you know how hard it is to dodge Rook’s arrows?”

“What!?  Who are you?” you question as you struggle to shake the feline off.

“Human, what is the meaning of this?  Did you hit your head or something?” Grim asks as his claws dig into your shoulder.  “Y/N, snap out of it!  We have work to do!”

You pause, the name triggering something within you.  Suddenly, you remember it all: the overblots, your school, and the friends you have to save.  You accidentally fell through the Pomfiore mirror during the mass overblot event.  You aren’t Snow White, you’re Y/N and you need to get out of here.

“Y/N?” Grim calls out of you, bringing you back to reality.

“Grim?” you respond.  “I-I have my memories back.  That was weird.”

“Yeah, it was.  I thought you were going to leave me all alone to save the world by myself,” he huffs.

“Like I would let you have all the fun,” you remark, smiling at your familiar.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks, getting comfortable on your shoulder.

“I need to meet up with Rook and Epel and get out of this orchid first.  Maybe we can escape in the dead of night?  I’m pretty familiar with the layout of the castle now,” you offer.

“That should work.  So I’ll meet you at the palace door around midnight, human?” Grim smirks.

“Of course,” you grin before dropping Grim off your shoulder and grabbing your apple basket.

You carefully weave your way back to the entrance of the orchid while Grim goes off to lay low for a while.

“What took you so long, slowpoke?” Epel laughs as you enter the small clearing.

Both of Epel’s and Rook’s baskets are filled to the brim with apples, but a few of Rook’s have arrows sticking out of them.

“Sorry, I got lost,” you quickly lie as you place your basket by their piles.

“It’s okay, these orchids go on for miles,” Epel reassures.  “But since I got back first, I won!”

“It’s not fair, you were raised on a farm,” Rook laments as he sighs dramatically.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter cause now we have a bunch of nice apples to enjoy,” you tell them both before picking one up and wiping it on your clothing to clean it.

You’re about to bite into it before it’s quickly snatched from your grasp by Epel.

“Bad apple,” he explains as he shows you the other side to find a large bruise damaging the skin.

As an apology, Epel grabs one from his own basket and tosses you the plump fruit.  You grin as you clean it and bite into the fruit.  The juice instantly floods your mouth and starts to dribble out of the sides.  The flesh is crunchy and crisp, making that deliciously crunching noise.  Epel takes a seat on the grass, pulling out a small pocket knife before starting to carve into the bruised apple.  Rook takes a seat next to Epel, fiddling with some of his arrows, straightening the feathers and sharpening the tips.  Rook gestures for you to join them so you take a seat and rest your head on Rook’s lap, carefully finishing your apple.  You spend the rest of the morning gazing at the sky, pointing out shapes in the clouds while Rook’s fingers raked through your hair.  Just when you’re able to fall asleep, Epel shows you what he’s been working on.  Sitting up, you gently take the carved apple he had been working so hard on.

“Is that me?” you smile as you examine the intricate details in the apple.

Epel’s face erupts in a red blush and he averts his gaze as he nods.

“It looks just like you,” Rook comments as he looks over your shoulder.

“I love it,” you reassure Epel.  “I’ll keep it for as long as I can.”

Epel smiles at your comment before standing up and offering you his hand.

“I think it's nearly lunchtime, we should start heading back inside,” Epel tells you as he grabs his basket of apples.

You nod and lean down to grab yours as well.  Rook moves to do the same but he seems to perk up and looks over to the orchid.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Rook says, distracted with something in the distance.

Epel just shrugs as he grabs at your hands.  You can’t help but feel worried that Grim might be in danger, but he’s a smart cat and you can’t blow your cover.  You spare one more glance over your shoulder as the wooden door closes behind you.  You follow Epel back into the palace and hand over the baskets to some servants before entering the dining room.  You find Vil sitting at the head of the table again and you take the same seat you did last night.

“Did you have fun today, Snow White?” Vil asks as he flips through some documents he has laid out in front of him.

“I really enjoyed myself.  We got a bunch of apples and maybe I can make some dessert later with it.  What do you think about an apple pie?” you tell Vil, trying to mislead him.

Vil hums in agreement before signing the papers and having some servants take them away just as lunch arrives.  The lunch consists of tea sandwiches and pastries coupled with different flavors of hot tea.  Vil points out a few of his favorite flavors for you to try and even helps you mix in an “appropriate” amount of sugar and cream to make it “healthy”.  Lunch is nearly over when a servant speed walks into the dining room and whispers something into Vil’s ear.  Vil has no visible reaction, but his eyes hold a dangerous glint.

“I’ve just received wonderful news,” Vil says before taking a sip of his tea, his lips pulled into a polite smile.  “Rook has taken care of a little pest of ours who has been running a muck around my castle.”

Your heart clenches, this can’t be about Grim.  You barely register the servants taking the lunch dishes away until the doors of the dining room slam open again.  Rook walks into the room, a large smile on his face and a little skip in his step.  He doesn’t have his bow and arrow, but if you squint there does seem to be some dark smudges on his outfit.

“Snow White, you should be grateful that we have such a good hunter here to protect us all,” Vil tells you as Rook hands him an apple and Epel passes over his carving knife.  “What should we say to Rook?”

You watch as Vil starts to cut the red fruit into even slices as Rook looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you Rook for protecting us,” you murmur, fear and dread washing over you.

“Aw, it was nothing.  Anything to keep you safe, Little Trickster,” Rook grins as he takes his seat.

“Here,” Vil stabs a slice of the apple and holds the knife in your direction.

You carefully take the fruit off the sharp blade before biting into it.  It’s still juicy, but it seems sweeter than the one you ate earlier and has a weird aftertaste.

“Rook, would you like to tell Snow White what you caught today,” Vil sets down the knife and rests his chin on his hands as he looks over at you.

“Of course, You Highness,” Rook seems too excited.  “I found this little cat running around the palace.  He was very difficult to track, but nothing escapes me.”

“What did you do to him?” you have to tread carefully, maybe they don’t know that you were trying to escape.

“I disposed of him as I saw fit,” Rook’s smile took on a creepy energy.  “But he did tell me all about your little plan.”

“What plan?” you ask, thinking maybe you can play dumb.

“Don’t do that.  You planned on escaping and leaving us behind,” Vil states.

So far Epel had been quiet during the entire conversation as he soaked in all the new information, but at the mention of you trying to leave he stands up.

“You were trying to leave us?  After everything we’ve done for you?” he glares at you.

“You haven’t done anything for me!  You’ve imprisoned me here and wiped my memories!” you retort, standing up as well.

Suddenly you feel dizzy, but you brush it off as you standing up too quickly.  But the feeling persists until you have to hold onto the table for support.

“That’s where you’re wrong.  We didn’t take your memory away the first time, but we won’t allow you to remember a second time,” Vil gives you a soft smile.

You don’t even get a chance to ask what the hell he’s talking about as the world spins and you collapse onto the floor.

~

“I think he’s waking up,” a soft voice exclaims, rousing you from your sleep.

You groan, your body feeling icky and a dull ache in all of your muscles.

“Don’t push yourself too much, you were very sick,” Epel’s face comes into view as he helps you sit up.

Epel props you up against another warm body and you lean your head back to see Vil smiling down at you.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice raspy and your throat dry.

Rook, who had been sitting at the end of the bed, holds a glass of water to your mouth and helps you take slow sips of the refreshing liquid.

“I’m afraid that someone had tried to poison you, darling,” Vil sighs, disappointment on his face.  “Luckily for you I was able to make the antidote and Rook was able to catch the criminal.”

“Do not fear Little Trickster, I took care of them.  They shouldn’t be a problem any more,” the hunter says with glee.

“Thank you.  I’m sorry I gave you all a scare,” you tell them, your throat feeling much better.

You get this deep feeling that this is all wrong, that something isn’t quite right, but how could these men be suspicious when they nursed you back to health.  You should be grateful, not afraid.  You just sigh contently as you lean back into Vil’s warm embrace.

“Don’t be, we’re just glad you’re alright,” Vil smiles.  “After all, you’re the apple of our eyes.”

[morgan-va]

Chapter 29: Remembering. (Serial Designation V x reader)

Masterlist

TW: Descriptions of pain and suffering

Back in her room, Uzi spins her chair around, a satisfied chuckle escaping her as N and V begin to stir. It worked. She actually got their memories back.

V, always the quickest to act, barely takes a second before her hand snaps into a chainsaw, the jagged edge revving to life as she growls. "What the hell, Uzi?! What gives you the right to snoop through our heads?"

She stops mid-threat, her optics flicking to the side. Uzi follows her gaze and freezes. Techie is still wired into the computer, slumped in the chair, motionless. Dimmed optics flicker with scrolling text.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP|||||________________________________ 7%

Uzi’s stomach drops. No. No, no, no. This shouldn’t be possible, Techie should have woken up, just like N and V. 

Unless...

No. That’s impossible. The only way anyone could be locked inside like this is if… they were inside their own memory simulation as well.

Her breath hitches. That human—the one N called Techie. There’s no way, right?

She snaps her head toward N and V. “Explain. Now. Who the hell was that technician?”

N shifts as his newfound memories resurface, "I know! That technician was—"

“An old friend,” V interrupts, her voice unusually subdued. Her optics don’t meet Uzi’s. "From before... everything happened."

V exhales sharply, glancing at Techie's lifeless form. "I wasn’t sure at first, but as I’ve spent time with them, I realized... That drone sitting in front of us? That’s that human."

Uzi’s eyes widen as V’s words sink in. Her voice rises into a near-shout. “And you didn’t think to mention that before I sent them into a memoryscape with that eldritch freakshow?!”

V doesn’t hesitate. Her chainsaw revs louder, the jagged blade stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. “Oh, I don’t know,” she growls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because you ambushed us and jammed yourself into our heads before I had the chance?”

Uzi swallows hard, glaring at V even as she leans back slightly from the weapon. “Fine. You make a good point.”

“Damn right, I do.” V lowers her weapon, but her glare remains sharp. “Now fix it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Uzi spins back to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she desperately tries to regain control. Code floods the screen, scrolling too fast for her to process.

“Come on, come on…” she mutters, sweat beading on her forehead. Every second that bar inches forward, Techie’s chances of waking up shrink.

She grits her teeth and keeps typing. She has to fix this.

Light floods your vision. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead, and the scent of hot metal and solder fills your nose. 

A workbench stretches out in front of you, scattered with tools, wires, and diagnostic equipment. Right. Your final exam—robotics training. You’ve spent weeks preparing for this, and now you’re almost done.

The test was simple in theory: repair a malfunctioning worker drone suffering from an assortment of mechanical and software issues. Simple. But under pressure? Not so much.

You tighten the last screw into place, sealing the drone’s back panel before setting the screwdriver down with a shaky breath. This should be it. You double-check the wiring, hoping you’ve done everything right. There’s only one way to find out.

Your finger hovers over the power button for a split second before pressing down.

The drone’s optics flicker to life. A soft whir fills the air as it boots up, standing upright before turning to face you.

“Hello!” it chirps, its voice light and pleasant.

Success.

A grin breaks across your face. You did it.

Your professor strides over, their sharp gaze scanning the drone as they run through a quick diagnostic check. They lift the drone’s arms, test its mobility, and check the interface for any lingering errors. After a moment, they nod in approval.

"Everything seems to be in perfect working order," they say, turning to you with an approving smile. "Excellent job. You pass with flying colors."

Relief washes over you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding in thanks as a few of your classmates glance over. Some are still deep in their own work, muttering under their breath as they struggle with their drones. Others shoot you brief looks—some impressed, others indifferent.

Not wanting to linger, you quietly gather your things. The exam is over for you, and there’s no point in sticking around. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way toward the door.

Just as your fingers brush against the handle, a loud clatter echoes through the room.

You turn on instinct. One of your classmates has just powered their drone on, and while it seems to function for the most part, something is clearly wrong. Its speech module is glitching, causing it to stutter and garble its words in a mess of static and half-formed syllables.

The student groans in frustration, their expression twisting into anger. "Ugh, stupid thing—"

Before anyone can stop them, they shove the drone off the table.

It crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Without thinking, you rush over, grabbing the student by the arm and spinning them around. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" you snap, anger flaring in your chest. "You can’t just treat them like that!"

The student sneers at you, yanking their arm free. "Calm down. It’s just a hunk of metal," they scoff, rolling their eyes. "Besides, what do you care? You act like they’re people or something."

You clench your fists, heart pounding.

They laugh, shaking their head before shooting you a look of disgust.

"You really are a freak."

That phrase echoes in your mind as everything around you fades away—"You really are a freak."

Over and over again, through the black void.

You open your eyes, the soft sheets of your bed comforting as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. Today’s the day—you’ll be heading out of town for your new job. Some technician gig for a rich family out in the swamp. You’ve been looking for something like this for months, and the offer came out of nowhere, just like that! You didn’t even apply for anything—just created a profile through the JCJenson website, but you hadn’t had a chance to actually browse any listings.

You guess someone’s looking out for you after all.

Rising from bed, you stretch, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before turning your attention to packing. You double-check your suitcase, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Clothes, tools, personal items—it’s all here. Just as you’re about to close it, something small and round slips out from between your neatly folded shirts, rolling across the wooden floor with a soft clink.

You bend down, reaching for it. A small, smoky blue gemstone rests against the floorboards, catching the morning light. You pick it up, running your thumb over the smooth surface.

You’ve had this stone since you were a kid. It doesn’t hold any deep sentimental value—not really. You don’t even remember where you got it. But for some reason, you’ve always kept it close. A good luck charm, maybe. You can’t imagine ever parting with it.

You slip it back into your pocket, sighing in relief before zipping up your suitcase. Time to go.

You pick up your suitcase, gripping the handle tightly as you take a deep breath. It’s time.

With a steadying exhale, you step forward and open the door.

Only to find… nothing.

The hallway outside your room is gone, replaced by an endless, yawning void. Before you can react, the ground beneath you vanishes, and you plummet into the vast nothingness, the weightless sensation sending your stomach into your throat. You try to scream, but no sound escapes. Darkness swallows you whole.

You’re late.

You slept in.

Late for your first day of work at the Elliott’s.

How is this possible??

You throw the covers off and scramble out of bed, heart pounding as you yank on your clothes in a panic. Of all the ways to start this job, this is the worst. You barely have time to double-check yourself in the mirror before bolting out of your small basement room and up the stairs—

SMACK.

You collide with someone and nearly fall over, barely managing to steady yourself as they hit the ground.

A maid drone.

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry—!” You quickly reach down and help her up, eyes wide with guilt. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—”

She dusts herself off, looking a little flustered but otherwise fine. “Oh, um, no, it’s okay! I-I was actually coming to wake you up.”

Wait.

You blink at her, confusion momentarily replacing your panic.

“My shift starts in—” You check your watch, only for your stomach to drop as you realize your mistake.

You read the time wrong.

You aren’t late.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Oh. Wow. Uh, sorry about that. Guess I freaked out over nothing.”

The maid drone giggles softly, her posture still a little stiff. “It’s alright. I was kind of worried you’d sleep through your alarm. I was the first one you met yesterday, remember? My name’s V.”

V.

You pause.

Something about that name stirs something deep in your mind, like an old song you can’t quite remember the lyrics to. It lingers on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

But then V smiles at you—timid, polite, a little awkward.

And the strange feeling slips away.

You smile at her. “That’s really considerate of you, especially since we only just met.”

V’s posture stiffens slightly, her eyes flickering as she glances away. “Oh, um… it’s not a big deal or anything.” She fidgets, adjusting her maid uniform. “I mean, if you’re late, it affects the rest of us, too. It’s just in our best interest to check up on each other.”

You chuckle. “Still, I appreciate it. Really.”

Her gaze flickers back to you, uncertainty melting into something softer. “...Well, you’re welcome, then.”

You nod, adjusting your clothes. “I’m looking forward to working with you and everyone else.”

V’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’d be happy to show you around, introduce you to the others.”

“That’d be great.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you take a step forward—

—but the world around you begins to melt.

Colors blur, shapes distort, the floor beneath your feet ceases to exist.

You don’t even have time to react before the memory crumbles away entirely.

You walk over and take the clipboard from V, scanning the list. It was surprisingly thorough—she’d noted everything from loose doorknobs to fading paint along the baseboards.

You smile at her, “I really appreciate your help with all of this, V. I don’t think I could get through it without you.”

She stiffens, her fingers twitching as she looks away. “I-it’s no problem, I don’t mind. Really.”

You chuckle and, on impulse, pat her head.

Error: Unexpected Affection Detected.

You show V how to make pancakes, guiding her as she stirs the batter. She nods eagerly, then accidentally mixes too fast—sending batter flying across the kitchen. Some splatters onto both of you. There’s a moment of stunned silence before you burst out laughing, V quickly following suit.

“Not too fast,” you place your hand lightly over hers to help steady her grip. “You don’t want to splash it everywhere.”

She freezes at the contact for a moment, her optics brightening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Got it,” she murmurs.

The two of you sit side by side in front of a large window, gazing out at the endless night sky. The soft ambience of the mansion fills the silence, the glow of the stars reflecting in her optics. Your shoulders brush, and static electricity crackles between you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur.

V glances at you, her expression unreadable—until a faint blush dusts her face.

“It is,” she says softly.

You lie in bed, your fingers intertwined with V’s as she reads to you. Her voice is steady, soothing, filling the quiet room with a warmth you can’t quite describe. The world outside doesn’t matter. Here, in this moment, you feel safe.

Warmth pools in your chest, unfamiliar yet comforting. Is this… love?

And then, just like everything else, these memories fade away.

You open your eyes as pain wracks your body. Agony is all you can fathom. Your gaze darts around the room, but you can’t move. You’re strapped to some kind of table, hooked up to a mess of wires and devices. The room around you is dimly lit, a run-down laboratory, cold and unfamiliar. You can’t even begin to question where you are—the pain is overwhelming, searing through every nerve like fire. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever experienced.

You force yourself to look down, instantly regretting it. A gaping wound mars your chest, torn open where that eldritch beast’s tendril had impaled you. The sight alone makes your head spin. How are you still alive? No—why are you still alive? Every attempted breath sends agony lancing through what remains of your ribs, and you open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Then, the door creaks open.

Your stomach drops as Cyn steps inside. She’s in her worker drone form, as if mocking you with her small, unassuming frame—like she hadn’t just torn your world apart. She tilts her head, smiling as she watches you struggle. “Cordial greeting. I see you are awake. Perhaps human medical technology isn’t useless after all.”

Something shifts behind her. Your eyes widen in horror as a slick, black tendril slithers from her back, lazily extending toward a console beside you. It presses a few buttons with unsettling precision, making the monitors flicker. Another tendril whips off to the side, dragging a gurney into view, carrying a powered-off worker drone, its lifeless body still on the cold metal cart.

Wires snake out from the machinery beside you, latching onto the drone like some grotesque experiment. You can only watch in silent agony, unable to move, unable to voice the fear clawing at your throat. Cyn steps closer, her neon-yellow optics gleaming with sick delight as one of her tendrils picks up a thick cable. At the end of it is a long, wickedly sharp needle.

She holds it up, almost playfully, before leaning in.

“Hold still. I do believe this has never been attempted, until now. Giggle.”

You try to resist, but some unseen force clamps down on you, stopping even the slightest movement of your head. Your body betrays you, locked in place as panic claws at your mind. You can only watch, helpless, as the tendril moves the needle behind your skull—out of sight, but not out of mind.

Cyn tilts her head, watching you with amusement. “Don’t worry. I am not finished with you. And you won’t remember any of this. Well, hopefully.” She lets out a small giggle, her gaze gleaming like a predator playing with its food. “Human minds are so much more fickle than drones.”

You barely have time to process her words before searing agony erupts through your skull. The needle drives deep, and a sensation like a lightning strike surges through your entire body. Every nerve ignites, every fiber of your being screams in protest as darkness swallows your vision. But the nightmare doesn’t end there.

Because while you may no longer see, you can still feel.

Pain unlike anything imaginable overtakes you as something indescribable is wrenched from your very core. Your mind—your self—is being torn away from the brain that has been yours since the moment you came into existence. You are being ripped from your own body. Thought ceases, coherence shatters, and all that remains is raw, unbearable agony.

And then, just as suddenly as it began—everything stops.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||__ 94%

Uzi’s fingers fly across the keyboard, desperation fueling her rapid inputs as she fights against the process. Lines of code blur together as she forces command after command, trying anything to halt the inevitable. But the counter ticks up to 95%, unfazed by her efforts.

V’s patience shatters. She steps forward, optics burning with frustration. “That’s it. Send me in. Like you did with us.”

Uzi doesn’t even look up, still typing. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you’re still inside when the process finishes, you’ll be erased too.” Uzi’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it. “And as great as that might be,” she adds with biting sarcasm, “something tells me N won’t like that.”

V’s claws shoot out in a blur, stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. Her optics bore into the worker drone’s, raw with something Uzi doesn’t expect—desperation. “Let me try.”

For once, Uzi is speechless. She stares at V, weighing the risk, the sheer insanity of what she’s about to allow.

She exhales sharply and yanks a cable from the terminal, holding it out. “Fine. Plug yourself in.”

You sit in the void of your memories, a vast and endless darkness stretching infinitely around you. Faint echoes of experiences drift at the edges of your perception—things you know you've lived through, but they remain just out of reach, impossible to grasp. It’s all slipping away, unraveling like loose threads in a tapestry you can’t seem to hold together.

You blink, text appearing in your field of view once again:

 A-S Backup Process Enabled.

Purging Incriminating Data

:)

A soft giggle cuts through the silence.

Cyn stands before you, a cruel smile curling her lips as she takes in your broken state. You stare up at her, defeated. There’s nothing left to fight for. Nothing left at all.

She snaps her fingers.

V appears beside her—tall, imposing, her claws gleaming under an unseen light. Her fanged grin is sharp and cold, lacking any warmth.

“A shame my experiment failed,” Cyn muses, tilting her head. “You were quite intriguing to watch.”

V’s claws extend with a metallic shink, her optics narrowing as she sizes you up.

Cyn continues, her voice chillingly indifferent. “I pitied V enough to give you a chance, to be a tool for me just like her, but it’s clear you belong with everyone else—as part of me, the Solver of the Absolute Fabric.”

V lunges.

Her claws clamp around your throat, pinning you to the ground as she looms over you, fangs bared. You don’t fight. You don’t struggle. You don’t even flinch. You’re done.

But then—

V hesitates.

The pressure around your neck loosens. Instead of tearing into you, she lets go, pulling you back to your feet. Her claws retract as she gazes into your eyes, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“As fun as it would be to kill you,” she drawls, smirking, “I think that’d be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

You blink. Confusion stirs in the emptiness of your mind. “What…? Why aren’t you—”

V groans, rubbing her temple. “You’ll get it in a minute.”

Without warning, she raises her arm, her hand shifting into a gun. She fires.

Cyn shatters in a burst of pixels.

Before you can even react, V grabs you by the shoulders, her expression urgent. “Listen to me—you need to snap out of it.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words not quite sinking in.

“You’re inside your own head,” she presses on. “Cyn’s rewriting you. She’s trying to make you forget everything.”

You try to respond, to ask her what she means, but she shakes her head. “No time for that.” Her grip tightens. “You have to remember. Remember me. Remember Uzi. Remember what’s happening in the real world!”

The void trembles. Cracks split through the darkness, revealing blinding white light beneath. The world around you begins to shatter, pixel by pixel.

V’s optics widen in alarm. “No, no, no—stay with me!”

Panicked, she grabs you by the arms and yanks you into a hug, holding you tight. “Come on,” she pleads, her voice almost breaking. “You have to remember—”

The pixels overtake you both.

V gasps as she is suddenly yanked from the simulation, the world around her dissolving into nothing. She flips around, fury already building in her chest—only to see N standing there, holding the cable that had connected her.

Her optics widen in horror. “What did you do?” she screams, her voice raw with disbelief.

She spins back toward Techie, still slumped in their chair, their optics flickering with a new message.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULDISK CLEANUP COMPLETE||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 100%

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Uzi stares at the screen, then at Techie’s motionless form. Her shoulders tremble, her expression caught between disbelief and devastation. She  failed.

N shifts, gripping the cable tightly as if he can somehow undo what he just did. “V, I—I couldn’t let you get erased too,” he stammers, barely above a whisper. “Losing both of you would just be… too much.”

V barely hears him. She is already at Techie’s side, dropping to her knees as the weight of it all crashes down. Her fingers dig into their arms as she shakes them, harder and harder, desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out. “Not again. Not again!”

And then, Techie’s system reboots.

Their optics flicker, the dull glow returning as their head tilts slightly.

“Hello,” they say, their voice eerily neutral. “Are you my new coworkers?”

Silence.

Uzi and N don’t move. V can only stare.

Because she knows. They all know.

Techie is gone. Completely erased.

V sits back, her arms falling limply to her sides as she gazes at the drone before her—not them, just an empty shell, stripped of everything that made them Techie. All that remains is the default programming of a Worker Drone.

How ironic.

All the destruction she has wrought, all the pain she has caused—and this is how the universe chooses to punish her. Not with fire, not with death, but with loss. Loss of something she only just got back.

N had forgotten his past. But she never had. She remembered everything. She knows exactly what she has done. And yet…

Here she is.

With a slow, weary exhale, she rises to her feet.

She takes one last look at the drone sitting before her, their optics scanning the room in vague curiosity.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Cyn will win. She always wins.

She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it against their cheek. A tiny crackle of static sparks between them.

The moment their metal touches, Techie’s visor glitches, their entire body shuddering violently.

V steps back in shock as the drone collapses, crashing to the floor in a twitching heap.

Even in her last act of comfort, she’s managed to kill something. How tragically ironic.

Your optics flutter open as your systems jolt back to life, rebooting in a rush of energy. The world around you sharpens into focus, bright and overwhelming, as everything comes flooding back at once. It’s disorienting—the sheer weight of your memories crashing over you like a tidal wave. You try to sit up, your joints stiff and unresponsive at first, but you push through the discomfort. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings.

Uzi and N are standing in front of you, their expressions twisted in confusion, eyes locked onto you as if they’re unsure whether to believe what they’re seeing. You glance past them, spotting V in the corner of the room. She isn’t looking at you. Instead, she stares off into space, her posture stiff, her face unreadable. 

You turn back to Uzi, your voice hoarse and unsteady as you manage to speak. “Uzi? What… what the hell did you do to me?”

The reaction is immediate. Uzi’s eyes go wide, her whole body tensing. She sucks in a sharp breath, realization dawning in an instant—you remember her. Her shock is evident, but before she can respond, something else happens.

V moves.

Before you can react, she is suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and lifting you off the ground. The intensity in her yellow optics burns into you as she stares, searching your face with a desperate kind of urgency. “Techie?!” Her voice is sharp, demanding, almost frantic. She scans your expression as if looking for a glitch, for some kind of mistake.

Your body tenses at the sudden force, and you struggle slightly in her grip, groaning in protest. “Yes! It’s me! Please put me down.”

For once, she listens. She sets you down on your feet, a significant improvement over her usual habit of just dropping you. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stay upright, adjusting to the sensation of simply being again.

V wastes no time. “Do you remember everything?” she asks, and something in her tone makes your systems freeze for a second.

Everything.

The word echoes in your mind, and suddenly, it all hits.

Your life—your entire life—rushes back to you in an instant, slamming into your consciousness with the force of a collapsing building. It’s overwhelming, the sheer amount of it, so much that it feels like your head might split open from the sheer pressure. Your time as a drone, your time as a human, all of it returns in a flood, every emotion, every experience, every loss, every joy. The weight of an entire existence, something you hadn’t even fathomed regaining, comes crashing down with relentless intensity.

You stagger slightly, your fingers twitching as you try to process the sudden influx of knowledge. It’s too much all at once, the past and present colliding in a way that makes your head spin. Every moment, every decision, every version of yourself that you thought was lost—it’s all here. You’re here.

And you have no idea what to do with it.

Your voice catches in your throat, your entire system struggling to process the sheer weight of what’s just returned to you. You force out a breath, trying to steady yourself, but even that feels like too much. "I... I remember..." The words are shaky, barely more than a whisper. "I remember everything..."

Your optics flicker slightly as a name slips from your mouth. "Cyn..."

At that, Uzi's entire posture shifts. Her expression tightens, and a look of realization flashes across her face. It’s like she had momentarily forgotten why any of this was happening—why they had gone through all of this in the first place. But now, with that single name spoken aloud, it all comes rushing back.

"Nope," Uzi says, cutting off whatever breakdown you’re about to have. "We’re putting the 'my entire life is a lie' crisis on hold. We need to leave. Now."

You barely have time to react before a glow ignites around her hand. That same energy surges outward, wrapping around you before you can so much as blink. The room distorts, reality twisting and folding in on itself, the world around you shattering like a fractured mirror. The force nearly knocks you off your feet as everything warps.

Then—nothing.

Except cold.

Your optics adjust to the sudden change in lighting, and you realize you’re no longer inside. The facility, the walls, the floor—all of it is gone. Instead, you're standing outside, the frozen wasteland of Copper-9 stretching out in every direction. Ice crunches beneath your feet, the wind biting against your frame. The brutal cold is nothing new, but the suddenness of it leaves you reeling.

You barely have time to process what just happened before you see them.

Standing in front of you, unmistakable even through the swirling snow, is Doll. Next to her is J—her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. And beside them...

A woman.

You don’t recognize her. She’s clad in a space suit, her helmet obscuring most of her features, but there’s no doubt about it, she’s human.

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could make sense of this. Your eyes dart to the nametag on her chest.

Tessa.

What the actual hell is happening?

[jennay]

Under The Stars

Request: hi! could i possibly request a best friends to lovers one shot with noah - sort of like, both of them were too scared to say how they felt? i was thinking the reader has been friends with noah and ruffilo since they were teenagers and she now works with the band as a guitar tech or something :') thank you!

Master List

An: I changed the setting where the confessions happen. I hope you love it. It's mushy!

If you want to be tagged in future Noah things let me know 🖤

If you have any requests feel free to send them!

You relaxed in the back of your 'new' truck, a battered old pickup your dad had given you as a hand-me-down. The metal was scratched and dented, and the paint was peeling off in places, but you loved it anyway. Noah and Nick, your two best friends, lay beside you on the soft blankets you had spread over the truck bed.

You felt their warmth and comfort as you gazed at the sky, watching the stars sparkle and fade. The night air was cool and crisp, and you heard the crickets chirping in the distance. You adored nights like this when their company made your teenage years more bearable.

"Look!" Noah exclaimed, pointing to the sky. "Shooting star."

"You have to make a wish!" You say, following the trail of the star with your eyes.

Nick leaned his head on your shoulder, snuggling closer to you. "Yeah, Noah, you saw it first! make the wish!”

You nodded in agreement, "He's right."

Noah smiled brightly and tilted his head to look at the two of you. His eyes were shining with mischief and curiosity. "I wish-" He started to say, but you quickly put your hand over his mouth, stopping him from speaking. "Don't say it out loud or it won't come true!" You warned him, laughing. You felt him mumble something under your hand and wondered what he wished for but didn't ask because you wanted all of Noah's dreams to come true.

The present:

You spring into action the moment you see Jolly turn around and look at the cord of his guitar. Something was wrong.

You had feared the day that this would happen but hoped it would never come. You wished it wasn't today.

Noah was already losing his patience with the crowd that kept brawling through the night, and the amount of technical difficulties that plagued the show made you feel like a lousy worker.

You sprint over to Jolly while Noah once again pauses the concert to lecture the crowd about their behavior. You're almost grateful for the disruption of the crowd. It buys you a few more minutes to figure out a solution to the problem.

You kneel down at the amp, searching for the problem, and you grab the cord, following it back to the guitar that Jolly is holding. His eyes widened, and he searched your face for answers.

You stick your pointer finger up as if telling him one minute, giving him hope that you've got this under control. You stand up, unplug the wire from his guitar, and race over to the chest. Lucky for you, only the cord needed to be replaced. You knew there was probably a bigger issue with Jolly's connection to his guitar, but right now, you couldn't fix that problem in the middle of the show.

You give Jolly a thumbs-up, and he gives a nod, mouthing thank you as you jog off the stage.

You hoped that would hold up until the show was over. You didn't believe in god but were now praying for a better outcome. You didn't want to disappoint the guys; they already had many issues tonight.

You sit on the side of the stage close to Jolly, just in case anything else happens. You were relieved when the band was no longer stopping for technical errors.

After the show, you meet up with guys backstage, giving them high-fives and admiration for their work.

You were so proud of them for all their badassery.

You walk them back to the bus, listening to them talk about the show. You hear Noah talking about the crowd, and he wonders out loud if they're doing something causing the actions. He's frustrated because this isn't the first time but hopes it will be the last.

You all rush into the bus, and Noah flops down on the couch. You sit beside him while the other three prepare to hit the town for the night.

When Ruffilo reappears in front of you, he has a sneaky smile on his face, "You're coming out with us right?" He asks you.

You shake your head and shut your eyes, "I'm really tired and going to pass out on this couch. This is my spot." You joke. "Now go, have fun. Drink for me." You say, waving them off.

As the others leave, you sit up straight, groaning, when you feel Noah's eyes on you. You know he's looking at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, which always makes your heart skip a beat.

You pretend to be annoyed and turn to face him. "What?" You ask, trying to sound casual.

Noah shrugs. "I have an idea." He stands up, walks to his bunk, and grabs one of the small blankets off his bed. He then hurried over to the small fridge tucked under the cabinet next to you.

"Do you have a sweater?" You shake your head, "What are you up to?"

"Go get one of Nick's sweaters, I saw one on his bunk. It's chilly outside." He grins warmly at you.

You raise an eyebrow, "Are you trying to get me drunk and steal Nick's clothes?"

He chuckles, "Maybe. Is that a problem?"

You roll your eyes, but you can't help but smile. You get up, doing as he says, and snatch the black zip-up hoodie he was referring to.

You walk back to Noah, who gives you the bottle of wine and slings the blanket over his shoulder.

He rummages through the small kitchenette, finding two coffee cups. "Guess this will do." He says with a shrug. "Let's go!"

You playfully roll your eyes, "Can you fill me in on what's happening?" You say, following him out the door.

You feel a cold breeze hit your face, and you shiver, wishing you had a thicker jacket. The sky is dark with glittering stars, and you can't help but stare up at the sky. You've always loved the night sky, the way it makes you feel small and infinite at the same time.

"We're going to go sip some wine and look at the stars, just like the old days. We haven't done that in ages." He says, flashing you a smile.

You feel your heart race again, remembering all the times you spent together under the stars, talking, laughing, dreaming.

He wraps his arm around you and leads you to an area that isn't too far from the bus but feels natural due to the trees surrounding the area. You smell the fresh pine and earthy soil and feel a sense of peace.

Noah lays the blanket down and smooths out any wrinkles. You take off your shoes and step on them, sitting down, "Hurry up. I'm cold and I could really use your body heat right now." You tease.

You don't mind the cold but love the excuse to cuddle with him.

"Is that all I'm good for?" He says, sitting next to you. He lifts his arm and lets you snuggle into his side.

You feel his warmth and his heartbeat, and you sigh contentedly. You breathe in his scent, a mix of sweat, cologne, and something uniquely him. You feel his lips press against your hair, and you smile.

"Hand me the wine."

You reach beside you and grab the bottle, handing it to Noah. You hear the top pop off, and he begins pouring the wine into the coffee cups. You take a sip, and your face scrunches at the bitter taste, pulling away from Noah. You give him a look of disgust, and Noah laughs at your reaction.

"Who drinks this shit?" You take another drink, hoping your taste buds will become more accustomed to the taste.

You don't care about the wine; you just want to spend quality time with him, away from the tour's chaos and stress.

You lean back on your hands, gazing at Noah with admiration. He's too busy pouring more wine; you watch the red liquid flow like blood.

At this moment, you're convinced something else is going on with him. He seemed nervous and fidgety, his eyes darting like a trapped animal.

You break the short silence by leaning forward and reaching out to touch his hair. Your fingers linger at his neck as you say, "I like your hair when it gets longer." You admit while stroking the wild strands.

Noah smiles down at you, his brown irises soft and kind, "Why do you think I haven't cut it again?" He asks with a nervous laugh.

You feel your cheeks heat up, and you look away. "You're growing it out for me?" You say, half-joking, half-hoping.

"Yes, I am." He says, his voice serious. "Because I want you to find me attractive." The words slip out of his mouth, and he freezes. His eyes widen, shocked by his own words.

Noah had only ever told Nick about his secret, and he always told him it was a crush that would fade over time. He practically begged Noah not to tell you. Nick feared it would ruin your friendships and didn't want to be the middleman if something happened.

"You what?" You say, stunned.

He exhales, biting his lip. "You know what I wished for all those years ago when we were kids in the back of your truck with Nick?" He looks at you, his expression hopeful and nervous. He gently grabs your hand in his.

You feel nervous at his touch. Noah didn't act this way, not around you. "You're not supposed to tell me your wishes." You smile weakly.

"I have to." He says desperately. "I've tried not saying anything and it still didn't come true." He lifts your chin, making you look into his eyes. He wants you to hear him loud and clear. " I wished for you to fall in love with me, to look at me the way you look at the stars."

You feel excitement in your chest, and want him to know you've wished for the same thing. You wrap your arms around his neck, and whisper in his ear. “You don’t have to wish anymore. I love you too.”

He smiles widely, and pulls you closer to him, his hands cup your face as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. You feel his warm breath on your skin, and his tongue gently teasing your mouth. You hear his soft moan, and his heartbeat pounding in sync with yours.

You pull back, gasping for air, and look into his eyes. You see the same spark that ignited your kiss, the same desire that matched yours.

You smile and whisper, “I'll gladly make your wish come true.”

Tags: Tags: @thisbicc @yumikitten @lma1986 @chemicallady @niicoleleigh

[ghosthoard]

Weekly LU Fic Rec

my summary: Just because Hyrule has a magic healing spell doesn't mean he knows what the humerus bone is. Warriors thinks he should. Warriors takes Hyrule as his medical student.

vibes: cute, funny, wholesome, brother bonding

Actual summary:

“I need to try this on a broken bone,” Hyrule says, near breathlessly. “Whenever I heal my own bones they come out kinda wonky.” "They what,” Warriors says, smile turning strained. Hyrule takes one of the man’s hands and presses it to his tunic, feeling the slightly misshapen ribs underneath that Hyrule hadn’t really known how to fix. He’d figured out the concept of setting bones pretty early on - through messy trial and error - but ribs were confusing in that regard. “Ooh, Nayru.” “It’s a miracle that you’re alive,” Twilight informs him. “Thank you,” Hyrule chirps.

Fairy magic isn’t meant to be used by Hylians, even if Hyrule’s somehow gotten the grasp of it. He’s also become the Chain’s healer and is unhappy about it. Warriors steps in to help.