#trigger warning: Creepy dreams

[mechanicalbowtye]

read the scratch upd8. little too close to home

[sunsetcupid]

GIRL, SO CONFUSING! ; OP81 + LN4.

synopsis: A combination of a fic and SMAU (Social Media Alternate Universe), following new F1 teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris. . . and Oscar’s childhood best friend, Y/N L/N.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Use of swear words in English; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Depiction of a love triangle and polyamorous relationship (MMF)

a message from the author: My first hybrid post! I really love this idea – Landoscar is one of my favorite driver pairings – and I hope you all do as well 🥰 This took me forever to make, but I think it’s worth it.

yourusername: Summer went away, still, the yearning stays ☀️

tagged oscarpiastri

comments 2.1k

user1 How are you real??? You’re so beautiful

user2 This belongs on a postcard, fr 💌

user3 HAHAHA Oscar

user4 Hair tut when?

user5 Model, muse, icon, legend

oscarpiastri Thanks for including me 😁

user6 You look absolutely devious

comments 8.3k

user7 NO WAYYYY

user8 Is this how I find this out?

user9 Oscar is my GOAT 🐐

user10 Future WDC incoming. . .

user11 Poor Lando, he’s going to get demolished

user12 I’m excited to see this pairing!

user13 They’re complete opposites, it will be funny to see how this works out 😅

When Oscar didn’t think you were paying attention, he loved to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears. You had a bad habit of having loose curls flying around, which is why you straightened your hair to an inch of its life almost every day. Oscar had been pestering you about this habit of yours for weeks now, bribing you with sweets and threatening to steal the iron. He said that your bright red hair reminded him of blood, of the invisible bond the two of you shared. You waved him off, calling him creepy, but secretly? You found it kind of poetic.

We’ve known each other since we were six. When would I lie to you? If your hair looked bad, I’d tell you.

You hated letting him win. The few arguments the two of you had never been resolved by direct confrontations. For Oscar, it was a nightmare: he was an introvert, through and through. Even if you were angry, it didn’t mean you were going to cross his boundaries. Instead, your arguments had been settled like icebreakers. A silly joke cracked by either one of you, and the tension dissolved. Neither one of you had ever conceded, but maybe it would be worth it this time.

Because Oscar Piastri, your best mate since childhood, had reached his insurmountable dream of entering Formula 1. He had signed with McLaren – a mid level team, but one with massive potential. The one thing that he could never stop talking about and spent ages fighting for, had finally happened. 

So, yeah. You were willing to make some sacrifices to make Oscar happy. Never let it be said you didn’t do anything for him.

When you had found out, the notification from the official Formula 1 Instagram page appearing on your phone, you had screamed so loudly your mother had rushed into your bedroom, clutching her heart like she’d suffered a heart attack. “OSCAR MADE IT INTO FORMULA ONE!” you shrieked, tears flowing down your face. You were deliriously overwhelmed.

“Oh my God, I thought somebody killed you!” Your mum had scolded you. “Tell Oscar I said congratulations. That’s amazing. But don’t do that again to me, you understand, Y/N?”

You nodded, immediately going to the text chain for Oscar and typing up a series of messages to him. It was incredible how fast the trajectory of someone’s life could change for the better. 

In the blink of an eye, your best friend was suddenly thrust into the public sphere. Now, he wasn’t just yours to admire, to love, to keep. He was everyone’s.

And suddenly, his newfound fame didn’t seem so wonderful anymore.

In the twenty years that spanned your life, you never believed that you would fall for the “sexy” British accent trap. Lots of the girls in your year – when you were at school – adored it, swooning over actors’ voices in the cinema, but personally? It wasn’t something you were fond of. You rather liked Oscar’s Australian accent: clipped, quiet. Familiar.

But then you met Lando Norris.

You were at McLaren Headquarters in Woking, touring alongside Oscar. You hadn’t asked to join him – your company and consoling presence was just an unspoken rule, especially when Oscar was forced out of his comfort zone. The building and grounds were sprawling, with a sleek modern design and blinding white lights. The raw power and the faded glory emanating from within disoriented you. You couldn’t believe that you were here, walking through halls haunted by the memories of legends.

The Brit was two years older, and a veteran in Formula 1. He was waiting for the three of you in a meeting room, and didn’t wait for the tour guide (a young woman named Shelley) to introduce himself. Lando was cocky and sure of himself, cracking jokes like it paid the bills. He was the complete opposite of Oscar, and typically, you avoided men who were outgoing. 

Yet. . . something about Lando lured you in.

When Oscar was in the garage, getting to know the pit crew, you stayed behind, telling him you were tired – which was the truth. Lando waited with you, pretending like he was relaxing, scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“So. . .” he finally said, looking up from the glowing screen. “Can you believe it?”

You shrugged, as casually as you could muster. “Not really, no.”

“I’m sure Oscar is thrilled,” Lando continued. You could tell he was pushing for details, eager to know more details about his new teammate. Oscar hadn’t revealed many things about himself, one of the many reasons why you were so loyal to him. He would die before telling anyone else the secrets you told him.

You looked down at your hands, unsure of what to respond. Lando was being nice, but you felt like there was something else he wanted to know. You decided to be courteous, in case your gut was overanalyzing the situation. It did have the tendency to do that. “Yeah. In his own way.”

Lando cocked his head, searching your face for clues. “Not a very emotional guy?”

“He is, but only when he gets to know the other person. It takes time.” You swallowed, plastering on a bright smile. “He’ll warm up to you, don’t worry.”

“OK.” Lando hummed appreciatively. “Turn up the charm. I can do that.”

You chuckled, imagining Oscar’s reaction to Lando’s nearly insufferable charisma. It would be absolutely hilarious to witness it. Poor Osc.“Mhm. Good luck.”

“Thanks!” Lando grinned, obviously not detecting the sarcasm lacing your words. Then, in a serious tone, he questioned, “Could I potentially. . . have your number? I understand if not.”

“Of course,” you answered, after a beat. “Here’s my phone. You can put in your contact details here.”

A few moments later, Oscar returned to the meeting room, immediately standing by your side like a protective guard dog. You could feel the tension radiating from him, as if he were aware that you’d given Lando your cell number. “How was everything?” you asked, twisting around to look at him.

“Great,” he said, staring at Lando with a shrewd expression. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, rising from your seat. “Just about.”

“Thanks for tagging along,” Oscar said calmly, but you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it jealousy? 

You had no idea, but you were sure that it was a matter of time. Not even Oscar could keep his cards hidden for too long.

oscarpiastri replied to the Snap

Interesting song choice 🤔

You had never kept a secret before from Oscar. It wasn’t something the two of you did. You knew each other like the back of your hand, and sometimes, you really did question whether he was psychic, so there was no point to it.

Except. . . now you were hiding the biggest bombshell ever from him. OK, maybe not the largest scandal ever, but it would hurt Oscar when he found out. Which is why you were sure to act as normally as possible, so he couldn’t sniff it out.

Because you were talking to Lando Norris, his teammate, behind his back.

And you were falling for him. Hard.

He was witty. Smarter than you’d first thought, with a tongue that could send heat sparking through your skin with only a few words. So what if he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch when it came to geography or maths? Lando had a sweet, genuine soul.

He resembled Oscar in that way – trying to conceal the vulnerability that you admired so much. Everyone thought that F1 drivers had an ego, believing they were invincible. Lando disputed that, whole-heartedly, and you adored him for it.

Meanwhile, Oscar was extremely hostile to Lando. You had never seen him so distraught before, resisting cordiality despite all your efforts. It gave you an extra reason to be guarded; if he found out, there was no doubt that he would seek revenge on the track.

You couldn’t risk it.

Especially since you knew – if it came down to it – you could not choose between the two of them.

Time skip (March 2023)

f1 And that’s a wrap! Bahrain Grand Prix, the opener for the 2023 season, is completed! Astounding performance by Red Bull’s Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez.

comments 27.3k

user14 Du Du Du Max Verstappen

user15 I can already tell this season’s going to be Verstappen domination

user16 Lwk want him to dominate me

user17 Mega

redbullracing 🎉🎉

user18 Awesome start to the season!

It had been six months since you had met Lando Norris for the first time. Six months, you had been harboring a crush on Oscar’s teammate.

Six months, and you still hadn’t told Oscar.

Your heart was torn in two; part of you wanted to stay loyal to Oscar. You’d known him for ages, and you felt like dating his teammate was a betrayal.

After you confided in your mum, she had gotten so frustrated with the situation that she forbade you from talking about it anymore.

“Either do something, or don’t complain,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

But was more complicated than it seemed.

Because the memory of that December night was still imprinted in your mind, as if it had only transpired mere days ago. Your family had gone on a trip with Oscar’s, heading to Byron Bay for a nice summer getaway. It was almost ten p.m., and you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, if it hadn’t been for the bonfire Oscar had set up. It crackled merrily, illuminating the dark stretch of sand you were lounging on.

You were talking to Oscar, mindlessly passing the time, waiting until your parents shooed you off to bed. And then, without any warning, Oscar had kissed you, cutting you off in the middle of your sentence. You couldn’t remember now what you were talking about. The only thing your brain could comprehend was Oscar’s lips on yours. He was chaste, gentle, but when you pulled yourself closer to him, he had deepened it, ferociously clinging to you like you were his saving grace.

Oscar didn’t mention it ever again, and sometimes, you truly believed you had imagined it.

Now, three years later, you waited outside of Oscar’s driver’s room, still unsure of where you stood with him.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever know.

f1gossip Rumors are making the rounds that McLaren driver Lando Norris is dating Y/N L/N — yes, Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend! What’s the verdict? Could there be some truth to this?

tagged yourusername, landonorris, oscarpiastri

comments 136

user19 This seems like a plot to a book ��

user20 Oh, how I wish I were Y/N L/N

user21 Two hot eligible bachelors pining over her. . . 💔

user22 I like Lando, but Oscar suits her much better

user23 What in the ever loving rom-com is happening right now at McLaren?

user24 Yeah, no. Stick to the racing PLEASE.

user25 The papaya boys are fighting 😡

“We’re going to tell Oscar about us.”

Lando’s head tilted to the side as he absorbed your words. “What do you mean?”

You tapped your foot impatiently. “You heard me. I want to tell Oscar that we’ve been. . .You know. Talking.”

“And we’re suddenly not worried he’s going to kill me on track?”

You bit your lip. “I hate keeping secrets.”

Lando huffed, irritated. “But you don’t care that I could die?”

With an aggrieved sigh, you looked at Lando, silently imploring him to just shut up and go along with your plan. The plan that you’d quickly assembled after caving to the immense pressure of the secret you were keeping from Oscar. “Please don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s hard not to be! He’s terrifying! Like a silent serial killer. Do you have it out for me?” Lando followed you as you headed to the kitchen, brewing yourself a cup of mint tea to soothe your stomach. “Are you being serious?”

“He’s going to be here any minute now,” you murmured under your breath. “So. . .It’s a bit too late to back out now.”

Lando gasped. “Any minute now?” he repeated, disbelieving. “No fucking way.”

“Look, I know you’re nervous, but you need to calm down.” You stepped closer to Lando, cradling his face in the palm of your hands.

He tugged himself free of your grip. “Nervous is the understatement of the year.”

The doorbell rang, and Lando yelped. You rolled your eyes, walking back to the living room to unlock the door and let Oscar in. 

“Is everything OK?” he immediately questioned. 

You nodded, mouth going dry. “Yep,” you managed.

“You’re pale. What’s going on?” Oscar narrowed his eyes, scanning you for the reason why you were acting so strangely. “You texted me, saying there was something urgent you needed to talk to me about. So? What is it?”

You gave him a shaky smile. “Um, yeah. About that. So. . .”

“Aw, come on. Spit it out, Y/N.”

You lowered your head, avoiding eye contact. “Lando, come out of the kitchen.”

Lando edged himself out of his hiding space, ears blazing red. “Hey, mate. How are you doing?”

Oscar looked at you, then at Lando, absolutely dumbfounded. You could see the cogs in his mind whirring as he made sense of the situation. “I knew it,” he said, realization dawning on his face. “I knew you were together. Fuck.”

You glanced over at Lando, who was just as confused as you were. “Pardon?”

“This isn’t the right thing to say. I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to.” Oscar paused, fumbling for the proper words. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you for what feels like an eternity, and I can’t watch you date my teammate without wanting you for myself.”

A small gasp left your mouth. “What?” you whispered.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have.” Oscar closed the gap between the two of you. “Call me selfish, but I want you too.”

Lando scoffed. “So, we’re going to share her or something?”

You blushed. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind.”

Oscar blinked, then smiled broadly. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

yourusername, oscarpiastri, and landonorris So maybe the rumors were, in fact, true. . .? 🤭

comments 7.2k

user26 I predicted it.

user27 Knew it since day one as well. There was just no way it wouldn’t happen. Y/N’s too hot.

user28 Girlboss 💖

user29 That’s my icon

user30 Now that’s a throuple I’d like to join

user31 AWWWW 🥹

mclaren Our papaya boys

user32 Oscar finally confessed. No freaking way

user33 Yeah, is the world ending? 😲

user34 Y/N is winning at life

user35 I 100% support this. They’re iconic.

Credits: Dividers — @saradika-graphics; Photos — Pinterest

[zomquette]

Let Em' Dream

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader

Genre: Protective Daryl / established relationship / Angst & Comfort / Survival Tension / Flirty Banter

Warnings: Language, tense power dynamics, creepy men (Claimers, ew), implied past trauma, protective behavior, mild violence, emotional vulnerability, implied sexy vibes but no smut.

Summary: You and Daryl joined the Claimers for safety. That safety came with a price. Leers, comments, tension you can cut with a knife. But you’re not weak—and you’re not alone. Daryl’s love language might be grunts and glares, but when it comes to keeping you safe, he’s louder than words.

Era: Post-Prison / Pre-Terminus

Long-ass Author’s Note: I really wanted to write a fic involving the Claimers because… well, no one really does. And when they do, it’s often the same tired formula: the reader is heavily objectified, used as a plot device to elevate the male character or trigger protective instincts. That kind of storytelling not only feels lazy but can be genuinely harmful. It reduces women to props for drama and reinforces the idea that being mistreated is somehow part of the fantasy. That’s not what I wanted here.

I know—it’s just a fic. A silly little story. But even in these kinds of spaces, the way we write about objectification and misogyny matters. I didn’t want to center the reader’s value in how much pain she could endure or how much she needed saving. I wanted her to be capable, complex, angry, soft, and human. And yeah, I couldn’t resist adding a bit of fluff at the end too. Sue me.

On a more personal note, this fic hit close to home. The kind of treatment the reader faces here—subtle, persistent, exhausting—is something I (and so many other women and girls) know all too well. It’s isolating. It makes you second-guess your own instincts. And sometimes, you forget that it’s not your fault. I wish someone had told me that earlier. So if you’re reading this and any of it resonates—please know you’re not alone. None of this is okay, and it never was.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Hope you enjoy. :)

**************************************************************

It was the kind of cold that settled in your teeth. Dry air, dry land. Smoke from a cooking fire clung to your jacket like something alive, and every step crunched like bone underfoot.

You stayed close to the tree line while Daryl walked ahead, crossbow slung low on his back, posture half-feral. The others trailed nearby—Joe, Len, Billy, and whatever stragglers they'd picked up since the last camp. The Claimers. They called themselves that with pride, like they weren't just scavengers with vocabulary.

They weren’t so bad at first. Talkative. Friendly. The kind of friendliness that came with teeth.

You and Daryl joined up a few days ago. Not by choice - not really. You needed the strength in numbers if you guys wanted to sleep at night without two eyes open. It was simply smarter to travel in groups, or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. The rules were simple: don’t take what’s been claimed, and don’t walk away.

That last one was never spoken aloud. But you could feel it, like being circled by wolves that hadn’t decided whether to bare their teeth. This was only temporary. This first chance we get we are hightailing it and we never see these assfucks again. You could only dream of that moment for now.

The nights were the worst. You always woke up before sunrise, not from noise, but from the quiet. The wrong kind. Like someone holding their breath near your ear.

You felt eyes on you. Not Daryl’s. His, you were used to. His gaze was steady, grounding, always followed by the warmth of his palm finding yours under the blanket.

No, the others were different.

Joe had a habit of watching too long and saying too little when it came to you. Always quiet, always smiling, always sitting just close enough to be noticed. Len, on the other hand, didn't hide his thoughts. He'd whistle when you walked by, crack jokes about "needing a good woman to stick around." The worst was Billy, who once asked if Daryl "shared well."

You laughed it off, quickly stepping in front of Daryl so he wouldn't tear the guy's eyes out. Sure, that would be fun to watch, but two against eight weren't odds you would gamble on. Besides, you knew that was what they wanted; to see you snap - that would be like stepping into a trap. And at this rate, Daryl would be at his breaking point sooner or later.

But every word, every look, chipped away at your reserve. You started wearing Daryl's clothes over your own, stopped washing your hair so often, and kept your gun closer than usual. You felt like you were betraying yourself, smothering who you were to appease others. This wasn't you; cowering under others' stares while you shrug your hood over your face. No, you would think let em' dream while you strutted by them, swaying your hips like Shakira. And if someone did decide to be dumb and mouth off, you would show them why that was dumb - no need for scary boyfriend Daryl to shoo them away. Maybe everything really was weighing down on you; the loss of the prison, of Hershel, of your group, of… Beth. Maybe that person was left behind at the prison, and here you were left trying to scramble for the pieces, rithing at how vulnerable you felt… it made you sick with fury.

And Daryl felt it, too.

He noticed the change in you. The way your body tensed when someone said your name. The way you touched his arm a second longer when someone else was near. He didn’t need you to say it out loud. He didn’t need to see it happen. He knew, and it twisted something in him.

He wasn’t used to this—to feeling this much. He didn’t always have the words for it, didn’t even always understand it himself. But when it came to you, it showed up in the way he watched. The way he kept near and his eyes stayed on the backs of men too long, like he was calculating angles.

He knew you could handle yourself. Had seen it. Trusted it. That wasn’t why he hovered. It was because his body didn’t know how not to. Because loving you made his instincts loud, louder than they’d ever been. Protection wasn’t a comment on your strength. It was a confession of his. That he couldn’t bear to lose the one thing that made this hell of a world feel like something worth enduring.

The air of your camp for the night had the taste of rust and smoke, thick with campfire. A good place as any - being in the woods was better than out in the open on the road. You excused yourself quietly, weaving through the abandoned, rusty cars that some of the guys had settled into, and stepped over the metal wiresu descended into the woods for some privacy surrounding the makeshift camp, which created a perimeter as yo. Daryl watched you go with a look that said everything—be quick, be careful, be back. 

You felt him before you heard him. Len.

The crunch of leaves behind you was too heavy, definitely intentional. You slowed after a few minutes of walking, every nerve on alert, gaze sweeping the shadows. It was a full moon tonight, silver light catching on the blade at your belt. At least you weren't caught with your pants down. 

“Didn’t think we were doin’ shifts,” you called out flatly, not turning around.

He chuckled behind you, smug and slow. “Just makin’ sure a lady like yourself doesn’t get turned around. It’s dangerous out here.”

You turned. Not startled. Not shaken. Just done. So done with this bullshit. The apocalypse was so effective in wiping out most of the population, why couldn't it have included the entitled pricks like shit-for-brains here?

Len had his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like he owned the night air itself. You stood your ground, arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip.

“You got about three seconds to turn around and walk back to camp," you said, voice cold. "Or I start making souvenirs outta your fingers."

He smiled, eyebrows raising, taking a step closer.

"Oooh," he drawled. "Small thing talks a big game."

"You'd be surprised what a small thing like me can do with such a small tool,” you shot back, taking out your knife to admire it. “Course you know all about that, don't ya, Lenny?”

“C’mon now,” he said, mock-wounded. “We've been travelling companions together, ain’t we? Breakin’ bread, sharin’ fire. That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

“Oh sure. It means i havent slit your throat yet,” you replied, flashing your dazzling smile and twirling your knife.

He didn’t laugh this time.

You saw it then—the flicker of frustration. The way men like him hate being reminded they’re not owed anything. Especially not you.

He moved fast, hand going to your arm.

Your knife was faster. Your leg shot out and swept his leg from under him when it came into contact with the back of his, making him take a knee. It happened so fast, he went from reaching for your arm to now kneeling with you behind him. Oh, and the small tool you mentioned earlier was now pressed against his neck so harshly it was like you were going to peel his skin off like a potato.

“Try that again,” you say quietly into his ears, sending shivers down his spine. “I dare you.”

He blinked, neck taut against the blade, and for the first time, Len looked small.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” he muttered.

“No?” you snapped, voice going slightly higher, effectively taunting him with the situation he was in. A chick has you by the throat, gonna cry bitch boy? “Well then, don’t go sniffin’ where you’re not wanted. I ain't a prize, and I sure as hell ain’t yours.”

You pressed the knife just enough to nick the skin, drawing some blood. A sweet reminder for later.

Then you stepped back, shoving him into the dirt to tower above him.

“And you can go ahead and tell your little buddies that, too. You want someone to own get a damn dog.”

Len didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just lay there, butt hurt trying to process what just happened, lips thin, pride in tatters.

You walked away first, and you didn’t look back. And for the first time in a while, when turning in for the night, you didn't feel like you had something weighing on your chest.

______________________________________________________

The car creaked gently as the wind rocked it. Daryl’s arms had settled heavily around your shoulders, spooning you in the backseat, one hand tracing slow lines along your arm. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t peaceful either. It hovered, like both of you were trying to name something you’d carried too long.

You shifted against him, voice barely above the hum of cicadas. “It’s weird, y’know? The world ended, and for a while… men weren’t the main problem anymore. Just walkers. Just hunger. Then suddenly, it’s back. That same old look. The kind that makes your skin crawl.” 

Your eyes glued to the car ceiling, lost in thought. Part of you didn't wanna say these things to him. Wouldn't it just make him sad? It was one thing to feel completely helpless as a woman in a disgustingly testosterone environment; the last thing you needed was a pity party. But that wasn't how Daryl worked. “Makes you think… maybe it’s better to be hungry than desirable.” 

He didn’t speak right away. Just rubbed his thumb along your arm, like he could erase the tension coiled there.

“You think you’re past it,” you added, voice so quiet it was just short of a whisper. “Then someone stares too long, or gets too close, and it’s like muscle memory. You always watch for it, and the moment you catch on, everything just stops. And you think ‘how the fuck am i gonna get out of here?’ and that feeling hasnt left since we got stuck with these assholes”

Daryl didn’t need you to explain it — he’d already seen it in the way you were always on edge around the Claimers. And still, hearing it cracked something in him. It was one thing to know you were tense — it was another to know you were expecting it. Bracing for it like it was routine. You had to prepare yourself for the way men looked at you. The idea that those bastards had you scanning exits, holding your breath — that they got to live in your mind rent-free like that — it made him sick. You were the best thing in this goddamn world. Tough, loyal, quick as hell, and his — which he still had trouble wrapping his head around half the time. And still, they had the audacity to think about you like that. To make you feel like something to be claimed. He didn’t know how to carry that — didn’t know how to fix it — but he’d be damned if he let you carry it alone.

“Merle used to say somethin’,” he said finally, breaking the heavy silence. “Said, ‘Ain’t nobody gonna care for you but me.’ Like… that was supposed to be enough. Like givin’ a damn made you weak.”

You turned your body to look up at him slowly, your brow furrowed.

“I believed him,” Daryl admitted. “For a long time, I did. Thought the only way to survive was keepin’ your distance. Keepin’ everybody out.”

His hand moved from your arm to your back, warm and steady.

“But you… You make me wanna stay close. Make me wanna care. And I ain’t scared of that no more. Not if it means ya feel safe… Not if it means I can carry some of that for you.”

Your throat went tight—not because you were afraid, but because it was the first time in a long time that someone wanted to share the weight.

You leaned into him, letting your forehead find it’s place in the crook of his neck.

“I gotcha,” he murmured, rubbing your back. “Long as I’m breathin’, ain’t nobody layin’ a hand on ya.”

You huffed a soft laugh against his skin. “Kinda melodramatic, Dixon. ‘Ain’t nobody touchin ma woman ya hear?!’.” you mocked in a hushed voice, face scrunching exactly like his signature scowl.

He grunted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… you bring it outta me.” 

He hugged you tighter, his arms closing around your frame and locking you to him in the most wonderful way and kissed your head as he nuzzled into your hair. 

______________________________________________________

The morning air was crisp, tinged with dew and the fading smoke of last night’s fire. You wandered down to the creek with a change of clothes tucked under your arm and sleep still clinging to your bones. It was rare to be alone these days, but you needed a moment. The water was cold, biting at your fingers as you crouched by the edge and scrubbed the grime from your skin. You let out a slow breath, staring at your reflection. Jeez, I look like a Tim Burton character.

Behind you, Daryl lingered.

He was meant to be back at camp, but he stayed just a few metres away by a tree, crossbow slung on his shoulder, eyes never leaving your form. Watching, but not invading. There was a quiet reverence in the way he kept his distance. Not because he thought you needed protecting, but because he needed to know he was there if things went sideways.

And things almost did.

Two of the Claimers had peeled away from the group. They tiptoed away from them and made their way towards the creek. Towards you. Their faces dropped instantly when instead of finding you, they found a irratable redneck. One of them let out a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, and Daryl’s stance shifted.

“You best turn around,” he said before they got too close.

The two men froze. One of them — a lanky guy with a toothpick — tried to play it off with a smirk.

“We ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he said, face blank.

“Didn’t ask what you were doin’. I said turn around.”

The tension stretched thin as fishing wire.

The bigger of the two men — the one with the beer-can crush of a face — squared his shoulders like he thought he had something to prove. “You always this twitchy, Dixon? She’s just takin’ a bath.”

Daryl stepped forward. “And you’re just about ready to take bolt to the ass. So, unless you wanna get an extra hole, I suggest you walk.”

That did it. They backed off, muttering curses under their breath, but Daryl didn’t move until the last boot crunched out of sight.

You walked back over, hair dripping and a towel hanging off your shoulder, oblivious to the tension that had just slunk off into the trees.

Daryl was leaned against a tree like he’d been relaxing the whole damn time — one foot crossed over the other, arms folded, face like stone.

“Everything alright?” you chirped, side-eyeing him as you wrung water from your ends.

“Uh huh,” he said, nodding once. “Just enjoyin’ the view.”

You paused. “…The creek?”

He smirked, eyes skating over your figure. “Among other things.”

You narrowed your eyes, smiling as you stalked towards him. “That right?”

“Mhmm,” he muttered, straightening up. “Nature’s real pretty this time of mornin’.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, shaking your head. Then — crack — you snapped the towel against his thigh with a mischievous grin.

He jerked back. “The hell, woman?!”

“That’s for being a creep,” you laughed, already backing up.

He lunged like he might chase you, but you squealed and darted ahead. “Don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish-” he hollered after you, boots thudding in pursuit.

You glanced back with a grin. “Baby, I finish everything I start. You of all people should know that”

“Don’t go bringin’ that up unless you’re plannin’ on finishin’ somethin’ right now.”  He closed in on you, shoulders now relaxed. “cmon, I'm hungry for breakfast.” He motioned for you to walk beside him, playfully patting your ass to move, which of course earned him a scowl from you. "You better be talking about game, Dixon. I ain't servin' up anything else." You looked over to him to see his face, now sporting a cunning smile, and that look in his eyes which you only saw when you guys were alone. You dropped your head in disbelief, a big smile growing on your face as you whipped him with your towel again. "keep dreamin' Dixon."

The earlier tension was now forgotten, or at least tucked behind the sly grin he wore only for you.

**************************************************************

Let me know what you think 🥴🤭

[lavandulawrites]

I heard you wanted asks… ._.

Dan Heng being weird and stalkery and such… maybe even grabbing darling with his tail if they were to get too close to learning about his habits…

Coiling Love

Yandere Dan Heng x reader

Yandere Dan Heng is such a interesting concept I wish to dive into further<3 (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: obsession, stalking, Dan Heng takes pictures of reader without reader knowing, stealing of personal belongings, manipulation, possessiveness, Dan Heng lets his draconic instincts take control, Dan Heng is creepy (he is only in love your honour)

Word count: 884

You were a fascinating human being. You were kind and beautiful and always put others first. Dan Heng had never been one for relationships, he never had the time nor had he found the right person. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t fantasies about his weeding.

You made him think that maybe love was possible for him too.

His feelings was so foreign. He decided he should follow you so he could keep a close eye on you. Your innocent nature reminded him of a helpless bunny and that triggered something deep within his very soul. His blue eyes bored into your form as you went about your daily life. When it was time for the Nameless to depart from your planet he managed to persuade you to join them. Dan Heng promised you a life of adventure and experience you would never forget. You were easy to convince.

Your bedroom was right besides the Archive which was to Dan Heng’s joy. He often found himself resting his head against the cool wall that separated your rooms. He wondered what you were doing and if maybe, just maybe you were thinking about him too. His dreams consisted of you and only you. His good dreams were filled with you and your beautiful laughter and his nightmares were filled of your pained screams and your petrified eyes.

He longed for your touch and every time your hands brushed against each others when you were preparing breakfast in the eating car, he found his heart bursting out of his chest. His face however remained as stoic as ever before, except for the little smile that tugged on his lips. When he returned to his room after your hand has brushed against him in an attempt at reaching the butter, he kissed the skin on the back of his hand with closed hands. Oh, how he wished it was your hand instead.

The dark haired man asked March if she could teach him how to take good pictures with a camera which she happy agreed to. With his camera in his hand he snapped pictures of you without your knowledge. He had bought a camera with smith buttons aka it didn’t make any sound when taking pictures.

He hid the many pictures he had taken underneath his bed and other places he knew no one would ever find them.

He always accompanied you on outings and always remained close by. If he noticed someone who was too close to you, he would step in. Who would dare defy the man who had just saved their planet?

It was when you had returned to the Express after a mission that you stumbled upon the open door to his room. You normally didn’t stick your nose in others business, but something urged you to go inside.

When you stepped inside the room littered with various screens and blue screened floors your eye caught a book sticking out from underneath the brown haired man’s bed. It was as if someone had tried to hide it, but were in a hurry.

You crutched beside the bed as you lifted the book up carefully. The cover was rather plain and sea green in colour. It had a ringed spine of silver. You opened it carefully, curious of its contents.

What met you were pages filled with entries of your daily routines, ranging from what you eat to how many times you blinked when you watched a movie with March and Stelle.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you flipped through the pages. He had taken multiple photos of both you and your belongings. He had even gotten his hands on pictures of your university graduation. Your eyes feel to his pillow where you could see the sleeve of the purple shirt that you had been looking for. “What…”

A pair of arms wrapped around your form as hot breath canned against your neck. “You weren’t supposed to see that…” his voice gentle.

“Dan Heng what is this…?” your voice shaking as your eyes raked between the shirt and the book that were still in your hand.

“Just my archive of you. Nothing to worry about” he chuckled slightly as if trying to lighten the situation.

Something strong and chilly wrapped around your midriff in a tight embrace. You looked down and was met with the sight of a scaly tail.

“It’s normal for us Vidyadhara to keep track of our beloved. I suppose it’s time I finally make my feelings for you known” he used his hand to gently turn your head so you could see his face. His handsome features soft as he looked at you with love you only thought existed in fairytales.

“I love you [Name] and I have for a long time” he smiled. Long fingers stroked your cheek gently.

“And I intend to spend the eternity with you. Us Vidyadhara have a strong sense of protection, so I promise you that I will never let you go. I know this is sudden, but I promise I will protect you and make you happy” his cerulean eyes glittered with love and devotion.

Dan Heng had never been the one to lie, and you knew for certain he meant every word he said. You were his for eternity.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability. 

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning. 

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations. 

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays. 

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret. 

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards. 

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival. 

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains. 

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter? 

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet. 

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation. 

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship. 

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup. 

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear. 

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device. 

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.” 

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine. 

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned. 

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age. 

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs. 

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn. 

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally. 

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter. 

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind. 

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life. 

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown. 

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care. 

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst. 

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts. 

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall. 

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries. 

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him. 

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess. 

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system. 

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important. 

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock. 

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart. 

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions. 

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame. 

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness. 

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it. 

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once. 

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left. 

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react? 

How did she react? 

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?! 

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[v3nusxsky]

Reader who was already obsessed with Regina hen she was queen and subcontiously that obsession stayed with her after the curse. I mean, bordiline creep behaviour soemtimes. Regina finds out and remembers them from the enchanted forest- they used to sit outside the castle garden and watch Regina walk about- and decides to have kinky kinky sex with this little stalker...

Enchanted by you 18+

*authors note~ second Kinktober fic for my lovely queen🥰 this time will be filling this square for role play and/or power play*

Trigger warnings~ power play/slight role play (but it’s okay bc she’s a queen in cannon sooo), sensory deprivation (blindfolds), bondage, oral sex, your majesty (Regina), alludes to reader being a creep in the name of attraction, magical strap on (reader receives), praise/degrading kink, slight overstimulation

Prompt ~ see ask^^^^^^

Covers this bingo square

Your routine as a simple farmers daughter. Until you saw her. It was purely accidental. Heading back along the broader to the forest from delivering eggs from the farm was where you first laid eyes on the regal woman. Her pure onyx coloured horses guiding her grand carriage past you effortlessly. That’s when you caught the first glance of the queen. It’s all it should’ve been really. A simple glance. Until it was more.

Every day you’d find a way to escape to the castle. No one needed to know. She didn’t even know you existed. Why would she? A stunning example of a woman and a farmers daughter quickly becoming an old maid. No one noticed you and for the first time you were now glad for it. It made it easier to sit just outside of the castle gardens completely unnoticed by the guards as you continued to drink in every step the queen took, memorise every detail of her tight dresses and even going as far to commit the images and sounds of her voice to memory. One glance wasn’t meant to lead to this. You knew it was creepy, the poor woman didn’t know you were watching her so intently every day or how you fantasised about her every night beneath the darkness of your room.

A vivid memory of what you thought to be a dream lead you here. Every day. You’d start in granny’s cafe, trail behind her as she strutted towards the office for a full day of being mayor. After finishing working at the near by high school library you’d catch a glimpse of her heading home to Henry. Her son. Yet you never noted a husband. Before waiting in the shadows as she readied herself for bed before retreating to your own home under the cover of darkness to repeat the same routines.

The day the spell lifted it was purely instinctual for you seek the evil queen out. And there she was in her usual attire back at her own family crypt. You’d seen her visit many times over the years, mayor mills stood in her queen attire, a deep burgundy dress decorated with black delicate lacy trim and a train only worthy of a queen. Her makeup sporting the dark Smokey eye that you didn’t realise you’d missed all these years. Looking the exact same as you recall all those years ago. Content to watch from afar until she pounced.

Within an instant her purple smoke wrapped itself around your form, skilfully tying you with deep purple silks and removing any clothing you had on. Anyone stupid enough to stalk the queen would be punished. “Oh, look at you. All tied up and ready to be punished.” In the dimly lit room you should’ve felt fear, embarrassment or well shame yet all you could do is drink in the sight of the women before you. As regal as ever the evil queen scanned over your form as everything clicked into place. Her little stalker.

“Hm what a naughty little stalker you’ve been. Following me for years thinking I would let you get away with it. Hiding in the shadows like a desperate little whore” the raven haired queen husked taking calculated steps towards you, never once losing your eye contact. You aren’t yourself, that’s your excuse. She knows. Of course she knew. She’s the evil queen. Yet you still can’t help but try to gain some control here, “i’ve been very bad. i think i need to be punished. “

“You have the nerve to stalk me, to act like nothing more than a bitch in heat desperately trying to gain my attention and then demand what I will do with you?” Her words were accompanied with a flick of her wrist causing a blindfold to be snuggly situated around your head covering your eyes, “do I need to gag you too? Or will you be a good little play toy and learn your place?”

“I’ll be good your majesty” you mumbled thoughtfully, after years of watching her it was clear you are on thin ice here. Perhaps this was what you needed. Her to use and abuse you so your own selfish carnal need to be around her would leave. It wasn’t uncommon for the queen to bed many a people in her time of reign, men and women alike had come and gone through her chambers. And well, this had to be a dream. “Oh a cleaver play thing I have” she praised in thought before taking measured steps to reach your bound body and drag it into position. From there she made short work of her dress and exposing her warm core to the room. “Kneel” she commanded, smirking as your body fell willingly into position, “be a dear and make your queen cum and cum hard or I’ll lock you up somewhere no one would even dream of finding a pathetic stalker like you.”

Without needing to be told twice you immediately found your way to her dripping cunt and began to kiss lick and suck every inch of her. You’d imagined tasting her many times before but nothing compared to the real thing. Addicting. No wonder you’ve been after her for so long. Not being able to see the pleasure you were bestowing on her was irritating at best, but then again you didn’t need to. You’d seen her naked body many times over the years in Storybrook. Watching her change or just fresh out of the shower lotioning her smooth gorgeous skin was forever burnt into your memory.

“Such a good slut making her queen feel so good” Regina mewled at a particularly harsh suck to her sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to hum against her soaked folds, arms struggling against the magical silks binding your arms. “Oh does the pathetic whore want to touch her queen?” She teased noticing your squirming, “such a slut for your queen I bet you’d let me keep you forever, personal sex doll for me to use. You’d be the perfect choice wouldnt you?”

When she came, you’d never been more grateful for your attention to detail. Learning quickly what she wanted and her body’s silent cues causing a gush of sweetness to reward your hard effort. It didn’t matter you were uncomfortable, that your tongue had long since grown tired and your knees numb because she may as well be your own personal brand of drug. A sharp tug at your hair demanding you move causing you to mumble in your submissive gaze “Reality is even better than my dreams.”

Your words caught the queen off guard for a second before she murmured a spell to herself to produce a magically enchanted stap on, “silly girl, whores like you need a good fucking to set you back on the right path. Maybe you’ll learn to ask rather than watch like a creep.” Her words stung, you couldn’t help the desire to see her all the time, to know her routines and what she looked like underneath her clothes. It’s really her fault for being too damn sexy. Sex on legs as you called her in private. Due to your sight being taken away, you stumbled as Regina rose to her full height to bend you over the desk you just ate her out on. Hips being slammed onto her desk as she grew impatient, “behave little girl or I’ll leave you here like this, a good for nothing slut for anyone to use. Pathetic.”

Without giving you time to even consider her words you felt the head of a faux cock pressing against your slit, “your majesty! I can’t. I’ve never” you whimpered pitifully. “Oh so filthy pathetic and a virgin? Even more reason to make you mine” she decided out loud and you knew there was no point in pretending you didn’t want her to be your first. “Hold still dear, it hurts more if you move” was her only warning, a moment of tenderness showing how poorly the king had treated her to the trained eye, before she slowly pressed her hips into yours. The toy slipping into your soaking cunt, stretching you out in ways you never knew it could.

“Oh fuck Regina!” You cried out dazed at the full feeling she’d given you. A harsh smack to your right ass cheek and a harsh reminder of you losing your place, “it’s your majesty bitch” before starting to slip out of your pussy only to slam back in, moaning at the feel of your virgin walls suffocating her shaft. “Mine.” She growled “sweet filthy stalker. All mine.”

“All yours majesty! Please please more” you whined taking her now brutal thrusts as pain morphed into white hot pleasure, “want to be yours. Make me yours.” As if the woman needed encouragement. You were hers. Now and forever. “Silly girl, I’m never letting you leave. Ever” she moaned before moving her lips to kiss your shoulder sweetly. Instinctively you leaned your head to the side, allowing her access to your smooth neck as you took everything she had to give. Only when the queen sunk her teeth into to junction between your neck and shoulder did you finally let go, covering the magical shaft in your warm cum, inner walls milking it dry as she tries to prolong your orgasm. “Mine” is all she offers as she slips from your abused core and releases the magical ties.

Laying there on her floor, little room she often hides out in to be alone with her magical books, away from home you hazily rake your eyes over your wife. “Mm so sex on legs” you mumble as she works to magically clean up and change her outfit. “I take it you liked that darling?” Liked would be an understatement, you mentioned before how much you loved her outfits and well the role play was her idea to try out. “Mm Gina so good” you whimpered feeling her magic dress you in a loose shirt, “snuggle?”

If you’d told anyone. That mayor mills, the evil queen was a snuggler no one would believe you. Then again no one in the enchanted forest believed you when you said all those daily visits to the castle would make her notice you. Her sweet little stalker, saviour of her heart, a simple farmers daughter.

Word count~ 1868

[meadowfics]

can you do a fic where we are the younger sister of dae ho..??? (i love your tumblr btw

yes!!

thank you so much for reading <3 I hope you enjoy this :)

trigger warnings: the games, lol

growing up as the youngest in a big family, you were always the baby of the group.

your four older sisters and daeho were looking out for you all of the time, though he was the one who spoiled you the most.

he had a soft spot for you, always slipping you extra snacks or covering for you when you messed up on grades or chores that your parents made you do.

obviously, you were supposed to be the little brother for daeho according to your father, but oh well.

at least your father got one boy.

when you got older, you wanted to prove yourself, to step out of the shadow of your older siblings.

you had a dream, a business idea you were sure would change your life.

however, dreams don’t always happen the way you hope.

your business failed, leaving you drowning in debt, struggling to stay stable.

at first, you tried to handle it on your own, too ashamed to reach out to your family.

you hadn’t spoken to daeho in years.

last you heard, he was doing well, working at a nice restaurant.

he thought you had moved to france, like you've originally planned and have a new life, but fate had other plans.

desperate, you took the offer from a strange man in a suit, thinking it was your only shot at fixing everything.

just like that, you were thrown into the nightmare of the games.

the first game, red light, green light, shook you to your core.

the sound of gunfire, the bodies hitting the ground...

you barely made it out alive.

your heart was still racing when you stepped into the crowd of surviving players, trying to catch your breath.

suddenly, just over there by that creepy doll... you saw him.

standing among the players, just as shaken as you, was daeho.

your big brother. the one who used to hold your hand when you were scared, who used to ruffle your hair and call you his little troublemaker.

now, his face was pale, eyes wide in disbelief.

he looked older now.

your brother's hair was longer, he looked more tired than ever.

“y/n…?”

daeho's voice barely made it past his lips, but you heard it.

the moment his eyes locked onto yours, the horror in them mirrored your own.

you shook your head, stepping back as if that would change reality.

“no… no way,”

you whispered, your stomach twisting.

he wasn’t supposed to be here.

he was supposed to be safe.

you were supposed to be the failure, not him.

daeho moved toward you instantly, grabbing your shoulders like he needed to make sure you were real.

“what the hell are you doing here?”

his voice broke, raw with emotion.

you could barely answer. your throat felt tight, your chest aching.

“i could ask you the same thing,”

you muttered, forcing out a bitter laugh.

he was supposed to be doing well.

you had convinced yourself that at least one of your siblings was okay.

now, standing in this hell together, you realized how wrong you were.

daeho was quick to pull you into a tight embrace, one that you didn’t realize you needed until you felt his arms around you.

it wasn’t comforting, not really, nothing about this place could be, but it reminded you of home, your childhood of safety, even if those things felt impossibly far away now.

“we’re getting out of this,”

he muttered against your hair.

“our sisters will kill us if they find out that we were here, we need to leave.”

you looked around at the masked guards, the other terrified players, and the blood still staining the ground from the first game.

all you could think was: this place doesn’t let people go.

however, you just held onto your brother, the only familiar thing in this hell.

[trinittyy]

fic recs

just a little assortment of my favorite works to keep track of them and also show love to the respective writers.

note - a majority, if not all, of the following works contain dark content that some could find triggering. tread carefully.

divider by @firefly-graphics

toxic affection - @love-toxin

warnings: harassment, bullying, some violence, forced relationship

pairing: yandere!bakugou x reader

literally unashamed to say that BNHA fanfiction is what brought me to Tumblr

but this was one of the first I found and it's epic

what's your escape - @gotnofucks

warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, non-con

pairing: dark!sherlock holmes x reader

the man is disastrously down bad for the poor reader

she was so witty and clever but in the end, he got what he wanted in the most satisfying way

infatuation - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor - masterlist

warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, non-con

pairing: dark!clark kent x reader

poor girl didn't have a clue or a chance in the world to escape this man

sidenote: I can't add Roo to the recs without mentioning just how talented she is. She was the first proper introduction to dark fics in the Marvel fandom and I've been hooked ever since. The amount of detail and dedication that goes into her work is noticeable and she's a talent that deserves recognition. It's one thing to make me like a fic or two of my favorite Marvel men but another to have me thirst over shit I didn't think I'd like.

naughty ransom holiday tales - @jtargaryen18

warnings: kidnapping, non-con, dub-con

pairing: dark!ransom drysdale x reader

guilty pleasure series

hate to love ransom but I can't help it

what the king has - @sincerelythedarkside

warnings: dub-con, character death

pairing: soft!dark steve rogers x reader

royal au

love me a good jealous steve

plot twist shocked the shit outta me

smut was out of this fucking world

love bites - @cherienymphe - masterlist

warnings: character death, jealousy, non-con

pairing: dark!steve rogers x reader, peter parker x reader

modern vampire au (what's not to love there)

this actually made me cry like a bitch

ongoing series

sidenote: Seeing as Cherie will be on this list many times, I have to say it's difficult not to add every piece of work on this list because while some writers have a magnum opus, everything she writes is a work of art. Her range and the backstory she puts in her characters make each story feel like a movie I just can't get enough of. Will forever love her writing.

kryptonite - @cherienymphe

warnings: non-con, obsession

pairing: dark!bruce wayne x reader

the build-up and tension gave me actual chills

trailer park babydoll - @mypoisonedvine

warnings: dub-con, infidelity, age gap

pairing: wayne munson x reader

guilty pleasure fic

absolute filthy smut

wrath of the dragon - @straywords

warnings: non-con, chasing

pairing: dark!daemon targaryen x reader

yet another down bad man

overdue - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

warnings: creepy curtis, non-con, obsessive behavior

pairing: dark!curtis everett x reader

there's little to nothing i love more than a good ole broody man with attachment issues

anxious - @syntheticavenger

warnings: stalking, kidnapping

pairing: dark!peter parker x reader

tasm peter

cutest in a way lol little fic

the dream that got away - @dotieeee

there's not nearly enough dark fics ft my fave peter so I love this one

warnings: dub-con, non-con, manipulation, controlling behavior, obsession

pairing: dark!morpheus x oc!mera

probably the first dark fic about morpheus

each chapter was a masterpiece

and i still haven't seen the show lol

thanks for the invite - @syntheticavenger

warnings: non-con, bitchy friend behavior, implied drugging (i think), oral (f receiving), slight bondage

pairing: dark!lloyd hansen x reader

a funny little unhinged lloyd fic

rsvp - @syntheticavenger

warnings: dub-con, hide and seek, exasperated bodyguard, exhibitionism (a bit)

sequel to the fic listed above

lloyd is still unhinged and reader is still suffering

[mabsolgirl]

Ok here's the rest of [this] that I promised

Meet the Red Phoenix

Once again, inspired by @aydentew3102's Gardenview AU since I took this more as an art challenge than anything concrete. If you're seeing this you're free to use/tweak them as you see fit tho!

I used the Hardmode toons for this! More info on Hardmore [here]

[Theme song just because]

Bios under cut

TRIGGER WARNING: Amber has a giant centipede

Deo has two sides to him. One is calculated and cold, dead set on researching the Twisteds he collects and study how they tick. The other side is a persona, a sadistic narrator to live redroom like showings he occasionally does of his experiments to entertain the dark and likeminded. He once worked with a research group on the Twisteds but his experiments grew darker until he was kicked out. He continued even after being fired, this time on his own accord. As his body became broken due to handling the beasts he gradually replaced and upgraded what was lost and continued until he no longer resembled what he used to be. His studies lead him to the Ouroboros to which he asked for knowledge. Now with the Red Phoenix, The Scientist can continue his experiments to a sadistic degree.

Fun Fact! He and Phobeomai are close. The dark toon is the only one he'll let intrude on his experiments and even help him on occasion.

A fashion model who lost her fame after an accident left her face scared. Amber Resinite always hated her ability to summon multi-legged creepy crawlies. They disgusted her. Her hate spiraled after loosing her job, eventually leading her to make a deal with the Ouroboros. She asked for beauty; and the Twisted serpent gave her the ability to mutate and fuse the bugs she summons and even fuse them to herself (or maybe she always had it in her). Now with a newfound perspective on her ability, Entoderma struts her way with the Red Phoenix and mercilessly strikes down anyone pathetic enough to stand in her way.

Fun Fact! Entoderma is a narcissist. She has a holler-than-thou attitude and constantly degrades others, including her summons and even her own team.

"... staring backwards with eyes that glowed with fire. His mouth was full of teeth in a white row, fearful and daunting..."

Lurking in the shadows cast in the night stalks a toon of otherworldly origin. A reaper of torment and fear. To the Red Phoenix is where he is known by his true name, Void Everison, but those outside the group have come to fear him by the name "Phobeomai". No one knows where he came from. Not even the Red Phoenix. He just appeared out of the darkness one day to spreads his terrifying visions and illusions upon the mortal and living. To turn dreams into nightmares and invoke panic into all. He joined the Red Phoenix for that reason, to spread panic and fear; seemingly getting nothing from the Ouroboros in return.

While Phobeomai has never directly harmed, he has used his abilities to lure people into traps set by other members of the Red Phoenix (he never targets children).

Fun Fact! He adopted one of Hissyfit's surviving kittens and named the chiapet Eris. He claims he "saw the darkness within it". Phobeomai is a surprisingly good pet owner.

Fungi Agaric is different among his peers in the Red Phoenix. He's not as obvious as a threat and with his friendly facade it's easy to overlook how dangerous he really is. Even the simple title he gave himself, Verna, is meant to deceive to those who don't know the origin. Unlike the others, Verna is a slow killer who deals out substances of his own design to effectively get toons and humans alike to walk into the clutches of the Ouroboros. He will even outright poison someone or their loved one(s) to force them to do what he wants; and when he wants you gone? He'll make sure it's a slow way out.

Verna's deal with the Ouroboros gave him access to her venom and he was able to concoct a poison that, when mixed with seeds, grows plants vegetation inside the infected. He knows the cure but keeps it safeguarded.

Fun Fact! He doesn't like the big mushroom cap on his head since it makes some normal things like sleeping and getting dressed much harder.

Chia was a stray who died while trying to protect her kittens from other canine-like toons, the incident being enough to turn her into a Twisted. However, she was discovered by the Red Phoenix during this process and the group decided to use the chiapet for their own gain, keeping the savage creature as a "pet" and giving her the name "Hissyfit". She's an natural hunter and excels in it when in darkness. Hissyfit can even copy voices and phrases she's heard before and use them to lower her prey's guard (she has no idea what she's saying, only that they work). She's often bled out to mellow her out slightly, as a source of power, and occasionally as a way to make her stronger. It's only a matter of time before Hissyfit becomes too much for the Red Phoenix to handle.

Fun Fact! Hissyfit is big enough to swallow a toon whole if she tried hard enough.

A Twisted so colossal and old she has become something else entirely. Dubbing herself "The Ouroboros", she dwells somewhere dark and unknown; the Red Phoenix serving as her sheepdogs to herd pray to her in return for power. While she is very intelligent and can even communicate, this hasn't made her any less of a threat. In fact it has made her more dangerous as she enjoys the thrill of watching others fall and squirm. She possesses a highly toxic venom with the strange side effect of making anything killed by it more fertile and nutritious to plants if they grow on the corpse.

Fun Fact! She's always watching.

"that fucker is green" -my sister who then proceeded to recite the entirety of Stayed Gone but replaced various words with green

[thebeesareback]

I just finished the audio book for Donna Tartt's novel The Secret History, so naturally I had to have a lil scroll to see what everyone thought on Tumblr. To add to the discourse: (spoilers, obviously)

Also trigger warning: incest, abuse, murder, alcoholism

Why is Tumblr so in love with Henry Winter?! He murders the farmer, Bunny, and possibly tries to kill Charles. He's manipulative and may well try to make Richard take the fall (har har) for Bunny's death. In the garden scene, he admits to being a psychopath/sociopath. Oh, and he's unbelievably pretentious

Also, why are there so many cute pictures of the twins hanging out? Their relationship was strained, incestuous, co-dependent, abusive. The whole uwu thing baffles me

Richard has a very obvious foot fetish and nobody is talking about it

The novel is quite funny, and I wish more people picked up on that. Most of the humour comes from Francis - the pinz nez stays ON during sex; no, Bunny's parents weren't very upset when one of their grandchildren ruined Francis' scarf, they were preoccupied by their missing son; and there's a throwaway line where the art students eat sushi with paintbrushes instead of chopsticks. I also liked when the twins panicked after Bunny's murder and decided to start repotting tulips

The farmer is referred to by name twice. Once in a newspaper, once by Bunny. Strange to think that he's the person in the squad who might actually have a conscience. Incidentally, Milo, the golden retriever who finds Bunny's body, has his name mentioned more frequently.

Richard is a smelly, badly dressed misanthrope. As is Henry, and Charles towards the end. Francis, Camilla and Hampden itself provide the (admittedly gorgeous) dark academia aesthetic, but if you want to end that dream, remember how terrible everything would have smelled. I guess the difference between appearance and reality is a pretty big theme

Julian is very creepy, obviously, but I was surprised that he wasn't more involved in the plot. He seems like exactly the sort of person to start a cult. I'd also like to know if he and Henry were in a sexual relationship, because we see them kiss once and then it's never mentioned again

Foreshadowing is done EXCELLENTLY through the book. There were a few characters who were described as ghostly at the start, and I THINK they're the ones who survive. Also, Tartt loves her pathetic fallacy (not phallusy).

Time is very strange. If you bothered to plot out all of the events, I don't think it quite makes sense. Term starts in September, say Richard joins Julian's classes in early October? That means all the picnics, the Sunday walks with Bunny, the trips to Francis' house, all happen over about five weeks, leading to the 12th November when Charles, Henry and Francis kill the farmer. Unreliable narrator, I guess

A lot of things about Richard's character make more sense when you realise the abuse he grew up experiencing and witnessing. Poor Ms Papen. Odd that Richard's parents don't visit him when he's in hospital

Funny that everyone is surprised when the twins' incest comes out. Like, they had an orgy at the start of the baccanal. Call me a prude, but I wouldn't attend an orgy with a family member

I would go for girls' night with Judy Poovey

Also, the book was published in 1992. Does anyone know when Prince Charles and Camila Parker Bowles went public with their relationship? Seems like an unbelievable coincidence otherwise

If anyone has an actual criteria for identifying alcohol abuse/alcoholism, please lmk if any of the main six characters AREN'T alcoholics. I'm pretty sure I got liver cirrhosis and lung cancer just from reading this book

[mxdarling]

[“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” / “you’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: idia bought a new multiplayer game, and he wants to play it with his player one, you.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 2.3k (2334)

ೃ⁀➷: reference/Inspiration: playlist

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] JDJDKD MORE IDIA CONTENT WOOHOOO this was supposed to be his belated birthday gift from me but uhh cough cough writer block hit me like a bitch soo.. didn't finish before new years, and it's now like- 4 months late??? anyways, thank you anon for requesting idia with dialogue #3 and #7!! my last yandere idia work had him a little creepy so i made him cute this time loll i hope it's to your satisfaction anon!

[warnings:] lowercase, yandere behavior, more fluff than yandere, established relationship, reader is a gamer, cuddling, kisses, reader is ticklish, poor explanation of game mechanics, mentions of fear for judgement, reader is portrayed as a crybaby, one paragraph mentions idia being a creep, game is a rip-off of minecraft (fantasy version), toxic teammates.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. i don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. if you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, i am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

IDIA SHROUD seemed to be in a good mood today, at least according to what you've seen so far. probably because his latest purchase is the cause of his being in such an upbeat mood. not that you're complaining; it was rather cute seeing him all excited and giddy when he found a new game to play. it's like a whole new, different side of him comes out whenever he starts to ramble about the features of the game and why he should absolutely play it right now. of course, as his player one, you're automatically going to be the first person he's going to play with. not that you mind, really. playing with idia was always a fun experience; it reminded you a lot of how you would spend your free time back in your world.

(those days of laziness, those days of unproductivity where you did nothing but lay down on your bed and do nothing—no school work to do, no club activities to do, no studying for an upcoming exam—just pure idleness. then when you're bored, you could just use your phone, PC, or iPad to entertain you as the day goes by, playing nonstop until late hours in the evening. god, you miss those days.)

you often wondered what genre of video games this new world had to offer. you knew that it wouldn't be so different from your own world, but you weren't sure just how many of your friends were affiliated with gaming entertainment. out of fear that judgement would be placed upon you if you shared this interest of yours, your love for video games has been hidden—so to find someone else (with that someone else being idia) that likes video games and is very well versed in them is a dream come true. it was a long process to get him to play with you, let alone consider you a friend and not try to avoid you every 2 seconds—still, it was a feat you were proud of because now you get to experience many, many different sides of idia that you would have never known 9 months ago.

(you once heard idia curse like at least twenty times in one breathe when one of his teammates was being shitty and a prick, he sounded so angry and scary that you backed into a corner to avoid getting burnt by his scorching, bright red hair that grew the more angrier he got. the only reason he stopped was when he heard quiet sobs in the corner of his room and turned around away from his computer to see you huddled in the corner of his room. quickly he went over there, completely abandoning his game and comforting you. he hates seeing his cute prefect cry, especially because of him, he's not the great at comforting but when he hugged you so tightly, your quiet sobs turned into silence. right then and there he swore to never be the reason you're crying and when you do, he'll be right there with you.)

you are currently cross-sitting in his very comfy bed, watching as idia set up two controllers and plugged in the PCs to turn them on (you're still surprised he's got more than 2 PCs, which, if you really think about it, his family background makes it make sense). after waiting for the PCs to turn on, he then connects the controllers to the PCs and opens up the game on both screens. you would insist on helping him set up, but due to you literally being isekai'd into this unknown world of twisted wonderland, you aren't too familiar with many things besides the whole magic stuff—plus, you aren't too keen on breaking any of idia's stuff because of your lack of knowledge on how to do technology.

(technology in general is so extremely confusing, you would argue wholeheartedly all day and all night, and idia would agree with you and low-key flex on how knowledgeable he is in the field of technology, just to impress you and show how reliable he is. secretly, he likes it when he's useful to you.)

"sorry! it took a while to set up..." in slightly shaking hands, he hands over the controller to you while holding the other in his free hand. he looked rather nervous when he faced you to give the controller, like he's worried he wasted your time waiting for him. it reminded you of a puppy looking up to its owner apologetically when they did something wrong, so cute, you thought, adorable even, you added.

"haha! it's okay! you didn't take that long anyway." you gave him a reassuring look, a soft smile, and bright eyes, showing him that you weren't bothered by having to wait a bit as he set up for you two to play.

both screens show the in-game loading screen, and the bar quickly fills up due to the fast internet speed (one you're quite envious of). slowly it fades to the starting screen, where a big text is bouncing 'tap to start' in both of your faces. Idia presses to start immediately, wanting to get into gameplay as fast as he can while you take a moment to admire the visual aspects and effects of the game in silent awe. you always had a thing for the visual stuff that was shown in-game. by slowly pressing the button on your control, you enter the game and begin a fantastical journey with idia.

“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that!” he says worriedly as he watches you damage your avatar's HP bar this early in gameplay. usually he gets really annoyed when he plays with noobs and normies; they stink at comprehending basic knowledge, do dumb things in-game, ask too many questions, and ruin the whole gameplay experience for him. 'ugh, how annoying.' is his usual reaction to such—of course he wouldn't think of that towards you! never ever would he ever think this way towards you; even if you do things noobs and normies usually do, he can't bring himself to be annoyed—you were too cute in his eyes. he would never admit this to your face, though, and he still gets red just at the thought of him thinking you are cute. It's true though; don't get him wrong, but... the embarrassment that comes with thinking about these thoughts is just too much for his poor little heart! honestly, he's for sure that one day you'll be the death of him, does he care though? not really; in fact, he would probably love that.

(he blushes so hard whenever he thinks of you in his clothes; it's the way your natural scent clings onto his shirts, the way his shirts made you even cuter than you already are—one of the only reasons he doesn't wash his clothes immediately because he wants to savor your smell to memory. he's a creep, yes, but he's one devoted creep.)

"whoops! sorry didn't see that, haha..." nervously laughing at your mistake, you eat whatever consumable you have in your inventory to try and restore as much health as you lost. as your avatar munches on the food in its hand, from the corner of your screen, you can see idia's avatar walking towards you. once it's near enough to your avatar, you can see the animation of a bunch of items being dropped and your inventory picking up due to the proximity between the items and your avatar. you opened your inventory, curious about what he just gave you since it looked like quite a lot of items, and confused about why he was giving you so many items in the first place. your eyes widen in shock as the items he's given you are one stack of steak, every weapon in-game (sword, axe, pickaxe, shovel, hoe), but in steel, and a full set of steel armor.

your mouth continues to gape open as you put on the armor set on your avatar. how did he get so much stuff this fast? it hasn't even been an hour yet! "where.. did you get so much stuff!?" you ask naively, following idia around as you don't want to get lost, die, and lose all your stuff. "stole half of those from villages, some from mining, and a few from trading" he says so casually as he continues to walk in an unknown direction, like this was a regular thing for him, not to mention this was a hard difficulty! he's playing this game like it's not easy mode! "could've gotten more if it weren't for those stingy mobs..." furrowing his eyebrows, he let out a small huff of frustration, pressing slightly harder on the buttons on his controller, not noticing how your mouth dropped down even further at his passing comment. as she presses on, walking in an unknown direction, you're hit with the hundredth reminder that he's on a whole other level than you when it comes to gaming.

three hours in, and you guys decided to play on public servers, where you'll get to play different game modes other than the usual story and survival modes. once the two of you picked a game to play, the room quickly filled with laughter, shouting, incoherent grumbling, screams of terror, and many more in between. you two decided to save a team game as last since idia wasn't enthusiastic about playing together with other players because he just wanted to play with you, and there was an underlying fear that you would encounter toxic teammates. but since you were practically begging him to just try it at least once, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas.

it was fun, he supposed. it wasn't as annoying or infuriating as he thought it would be, but he still had to keep up not making really snarky remarks when certain players were interacting with you. he'd hate to have you see such a mean, ugly, and disgusting side of him. other than that, it was an okay experience. he thinks it would've been better if it was just him and you on a team; wouldn't it be kind of romantic? you and him against everyone else?

then what he feared most would happen actually happened. suddenly some fucking jerk is screaming insults at you for not being good enough, and before that teammate got two more words in, he exploded on them. curses upon curses spit out his mouth in rapid speed, and the voices of that said teammate slowly but surely die down as their ego and pride go down with them. in the midst of anger and chaos between him and the teammate, you could feel tears building up inside you; everything around you started to blur, and the sounds that filled your ears were starting to get tuned out. you couldn't even hear that idia stopped screaming curses, turned off both PCs, and went to take the controller from your hand, lift you up into his lap, and slowly wrap his arms around you.

once he had you fully in his grasp, he tightened his grip, making sure not to let you get away from him. he wasn't good at words, especially when trying to comfort someone, but seeing you cry was making him cry too. he did, after all, swear to always be with you when you cry. raising one of his hands, he placed it at the back of your head and gently pushed towards his neck. then his hand went down to rub your back, up and down, up and down, at a slow pace. letting you cry it all out in peace while also letting you know he's there with you.

a few minutes have passed, and your sobs have gone silent. your eyes have become droopy and sleepy, and it feels almost impossible to keep them open. suddenly, a hand lifts your chin, and you feel a pair of lips come into contact with your forehead. it wasn't like a quick kiss; no, the kiss lasted for at least a few seconds before pulling away. even then, upon pulling away, you feel another kiss on your cheek, this time a little quicker than the forehead kiss. then another kiss on your other cheek, then another on your nose, another on your jawline, another on your earlobes, and finally, his lips hovered over your own lips.

you could feel the hesitation when he let out a nervous breath; the thought of your lips on his always sends him into an electrifying and drunken daze. he can't think straight when he's this close to you, but even then, it gives him an unusual feeling of contentment and confidence. the luck he has to be able to snag such an adorable, cute, amazing, and beautiful person like you in his life. he almost can't believe it. swallowing his own nervousness for your comfort, he presses against your soft lips delicately. soon after making physical contact with your lips, he feels a smile form on your face—a small smile, yet it was enough for him. any smile from you is enough for him, because seeing you happy is the best view he could ever lay his eyes on.

feeling out of breath, he's the first to let go but also the first to frown at the loss of touch. i want to stay like this forever, he thought as he watched you emit a giggle after the kiss. fire burns brightly in his heart, and he starts to wonder if you being the death of him will really come true. his cheeks burn that ever-warm red that he knows you've seen many, many times before, but he can't help it. when you pull him into a world through rose-tinted glasses, no way could he be immune to such an effect.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[imtryingbuck]

Unchained Melody

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: yns a ghost and Bucky falls in love

Word count: 5,257

Warnings: in this the blip never happened why? because I said so. swearing. ghost reader. death by fire. tiny mention of cheating, not reader or bucky. tiny mention of drugs, not reader or bucky. tiny mention of domestic abuse and child abuse. Me just making shit up, enjoy.

A/N: posting this in celebration of hitting 1k followers, I love you all🤍

Masterlist

You first saw him three years ago, shiny silver arm with a red star on the bicep shoulder length wavy hair - that you knew just had to be soft - you had watched as the team greeted him with smiles and his response? To look at them like they had just kicked his puppy. Walking at the side of Steve as you both showed him to his room, it was basic and dull not like the others your favourite belonging to Wanda, you was telling him all the things he could do with it - picking out a colour theme, that if he moved the desk over to the sid-

“I like it”

You looked at him like he had three heads on his shoulders. The room was bare and empty how could he have liked it?

As the days turned to weeks you stayed close to him, at first you told yourself it was just to help him settle in but the more times you spent with the man you grew a teeny tiny connection with him, even if he did ignore you all the time.

“So Bucky I was thinking maybe we could go to the gym and then get someth-hey where are you going? Rude.”

In a very non creepy way you liked to watch him sleep, his frown lines faded, the little twitches in his nose always made you smile, his soft snores filling your senses. Again it was done in a very non creepy way! But watching Bucky sleep brought you peace knowing he was oka-

“Bucky Bucky it’s just a nightmare it’s okay, shit, Steve! Goddamn Bucky please wake up! Steve Sam anyone!” You screamed in absolute panic the first time he had a nightmare.

“It’s okay Buck it’s just a bad dream”

“Yeah no shit Steve I’ve been shouting you for the last five minutes-hey don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to yo-you know Bucky I absolutely hate it when people shut doors on me when I’m talki-oh you’re asleep, oh okay night night I guess”

Over time the nightmares faded, he became more comfortable around everyone. Happier even.

The first time you saw him naked you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You had walked into his bedroom - he was fresh out of the shower his hair dropping little droplets onto his broad soft back, he took his towel away from his hips in one swift motion causing your brain to fry up.

“I’m huh sor-Jesus Bucky you’re hu-shit I shouldn’t be seeing this, sor-I’m gonna go”

Leaving once again but not before taking one more cheeky look.

That went on for six months until one day you went to his room to check up on him noticing he wasn’t there you went to the gym, not there. Kitchen, not there. Briefing room, not there. You saw Tony walking past so you asked him but he didn’t tell you. You asked Sam, no reply. You asked Nat but she just carried on texting on her phone. So you went to find Steve but just like with Bucky you was coming up empty.

“He’s probably ventured outside finally” you told yourself as you waited for him in his room.

And you kept on waiting, and waiting and waiting.

It had been two and a half years since you last saw him. Nobody around you even talked about him despite you always asking them where he had gone or if he was okay.

It was like he was never there in the first place.

Steve ran past you as you was taking your daily stroll through the corridors, normally you would have followed him but since you had fell out with him you continued you stroll.

You did your first lap and were walking back towards the kitchen when you heard a familiar voice.

“-I’m okay, they got rid of my trigger words”

“I’m glad pal, you seem a lot happier. How was Wakanda?”

“It was good had my own little hut and had some goats” he chuckles, Steve joining in.

You did have to agree with Steve, Bucky looked happier. Healthier.

“Bucky” you whispered. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked away from Steve to over to where you were standing.

The two of you stare at each other, you not daring to move and him just looking at you that was until Steve broke the spell between you two.

“Buck? You alright?”

“I-um yeah” his eyes go to Steve and then back to the woman who was standing there. His eyebrows burrow in confusion as she wasn’t there anymore. “Hey Steve is there another person now a part of the team?”

“No why?”

“So who was that woman then?”

“What woman?” Steve asks as he turns around to look what Bucky was staring at.

Bucky then describes you and waits for Steve to answer.

“Buck there’s no one here fitting that description…” 

“Oh.”

“Are you alright pal?”

“Yeah, no I’m fine” He forces a smile.

For the first time in 15 years someone’s finally seen and heard you, going through all these years with no communication with anyone or having someone look at you and not through you had gotten easier as time went on. The first two years were extremely difficult and painful. You couldn’t understand why the construction crew was ignoring you and not listening to your pleading.

A year into the development of the huge building that was Stark Tower and now better known as Avengers Tower the building came to a halt when one of the workers screamed ‘we’ve found a body’, like everyone else you ran over to investigate. The burnt skeleton remains were taken away and two weeks later you heard the crew talking about the body-

“Apparently her name was Y/n L/n, died in the fire last year” Bobby the foreman said.

You laughed “that’s wrong because I’m right here guys” waving your hands around.

But nobody batted an eye or flinched when you jumped in front of them.

That’s when it dawned on you that you were dead.

You remember the day that you got your memories back from your death and it was all thanks to the bad guys who had attacked the tower.

*5 years ago*

The alarms were going off, bright red lights flashing, people were screaming and you was trying to calm them down. Helping Bruce and Nat lead people to safety, away from the destruction. The three of you and those that you was rescuing go down the stairs and Nat opened the door to the ground floor before she slammed it shut again.

“Nat we need to go” Bruce says with panic.

“We-we can’t go that way” she explains.

You knew why, you saw it as she opened the door.

The burning flames were pounding on the door that was stopping it from getting to any of you.

“Bruce we’ve got to go back up!”

Nobody batted an eye as you stumbled back and slid down the wall. Nobody batted an eye as you pulled on your hair muttering something that even you didn’t know under your breath.

They left you behind as you was transported back to 10 years prior.

*10 years before that*

You was sitting in your apartment, knees to your chest, trying to concentrate on what the couple on the screen was saying.

The raised voices coming from your fathers room we’re getting louder and louder as he argued with his girlfriend Lyra, her accusing him of cheating on her which made you laugh since you caught her having sex in the laundry room with the drug dealer that lived two floors up. Since she had no money for his supplies she had to pay in other ways.

Flinching when you heard the sound of skin hitting skin and closing your eyes tightly when you heard Lyra scream out. Your father always had a temper especially when he was drinking and since he had been laid off from the factory, drinking was all he did. A small vile part of you was happy that Lyra was around as it meant he no longer hit you, the abuse you suffered from the hands of your father started a week after your mother left him for another man, leaving you behind. 

Lyra came running out of the bedroom with tears streaming down her cheeks as the welt was already forming, your father soon following holding two lit candles in his hands he threw the first one and the next.

The next thing you knew was that the apartment you had grown up in was in flames. You was rooted in fear at not only the fire but as Lyra screaming at you to leave despite her being attacked by your father.

The fire had spread quickly throughout the apartment complex, screams and chaos all around you. You kept going down the stairs until you found yourself in the basement, with no idea of why you was down there, you tried to turn back but the flames pushed you further and further into the normally cold room.

*back to the present*

It scared you that now after 15 years you’ve been a ghost for that someone can now finally see you, it made you smile that it was Bucky that could but the question of why? Why now played on your mind.

Not even the medium who Tony brought in after heard “ghostly noises” couldn’t see or hear you, the “ghostly noises” that Tony heard was just Natasha and Bruce having sex in his lab, you promised the pair you wouldn’t say anything so you didn’t.

So you did the most rational thing. Avoided him.

Which lasted for two weeks until Bucky came onto your territory.

Minding your own business your eyes squinting at the sound of the door opening, hearing Steve’s voice you didn’t think anything of it.

“I’m telling you Buck this is the best place to hide presents, no one ever comes down here” it was true, the last time someone came down here was two agents who was trying to have sex and you wasn’t going to have that. People coming into your home and trying to do the nasty, absolutely not! So you started messing with the pipes and banging objects, causing them to stop and the woman getting scared, she ended up running away leaving the man who started calling her nasty names. He became your enemy. Not like you could actually do anything to him but the statement still stood. 

“If you say so punk”.

“I do say so.”

“Here grab these so I can get the rest”

With Steve leaving it was just you and Bucky in the basement now.

“Oh, hi I didn’t see you there” Bucky says.

“Yo-you can actually see me?”

“Yes…why aren’t I suppose to?”

“No”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a ghost”

Both of his eyebrows shoot up and he starts laughing “of course you are”

“No I actually am.”

“Yeah yeah, is this a prank that the spider kid has put you up to?”

“His name is Peter and no it’s not a pra-“

“Hey Buck who are you talking to?” Steve asks as he comes back in with more gift bags.

“Her” Bucky points over to where you stand.

“Bucky there’s no one there…”

“See I told you!” You say with your arms crossed.

“B-but”

“Look he can’t see me, even if I do this” You moved away from the wall and jumped in front of Steve who of course looks straight through you. “You’re the only one for some reason”.

Bucky pales, “but how?”

“Buck?”

“I-I need to go”

Both you and Steve watch him run up the steps and away from you.

“You know Steve, I didn’t expect him to have that kind of reac-oh yeah no its fine to leave it wasn’t like I was finished talking.”

For three weeks you kept you kept yourself isolated in the basement not knowing what it meant now that someone could see and hear you even if it was just Bucky.

Over the past 12 or 13 years you kept yourself to a routine but since Bucky had ruined that for you, you kept yourself occupied - okay you was going slightly insane.

Not realising that the door had come open you was completely unaware that Bucky was standing there watching you-

“Okay so the first order of business is that we need to take out the bad men who call themselves “The trash” in order to succeed we need strong men and women who will lay down their lif-“

You’re cut off by a laugh; you turn and see Bucky who winces at your screams.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Were you talking to the mops and buckets?” He asks ignoring your question.

“That’s completely unrelated. What are you doing here?”

“You was weren’t you, hey don’t stop on my account you’ve got to finish your speech or they’ll leave”

“Yo-you’re making fun of me. Stop it” you mumble

“No I’m not, I’m just saying carry on with talking to the mops-oh is that a broom?”

“L-leave now please”

“Aw come on I’m only joking”

“I don’t find it funny, now leave”

He watches as you turn your back to him as you bring your hand up to your face, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Hey doll I’m sorry, I-I was trying to joke with you but it wasn’t funny I’m sorry”

“Whatever just leave”

Bucky listens and complies but as he reaches the top step he turns round and walks back down to you.

“D-doll I really am sorry. I just wanted to talk to you, I’ve been looking around for you and I figured I’d find you here”

“Y-you’ve been looking for me? Why?”

“Well I wanted to ask you some questions” he rubs the back of his neck with his left hand.

“Your arm…”

“Huh? Oh yeah it was a gift from Shuri, do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty” you say with a slight blush.

“Thank you” he too blushes.

“You said you had some questions?”

“Yeah, is it okay if I sit?” Pointing to an old couch that Tony had brought down many years ago.

“Of course”

Watching him sit on the dusty old thing brought a slight smile to your face.

“Are you going to sit?”

“Yep” taking the seat on the end and on the edge.

“So, you’re a ghost?”

“Yep”

“So, you’re dead?”

“Yep”

“When?”

“15 years ago”

“How?”

“Fire”

“Where?”

“Here”

“What?”

“My apartment complex was here before the tower was”

“Oh”

“Yep”

A semi uncomfortable silence fell between you two. He shifted and rubbed his hands on his thighs whilst you twiddled your thumbs.

Bucky broke the silence “how long have you been around us all?”

“Since more and more people came to the tower”

“Oh.”

“Yep”

Silence fell once again but this time lasted a good 20 minutes. 20 slow and painful minutes.

“H-how come you’re not in like heaven or hell?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Isn’t there any other ghosts you could ask?”

“There’s been a few over the years but none of them ever had any answers for me”

“May-maybe you need to do something or have something done to move you on?” Bucky shrugs.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. How did the fire start do you know?”

“My father” when he gave you a questioning yet shocked look you explained everything that you remembered that day.

“I’m so sorry ghosty”

“Ghosty?” You burst out laughing. 

“Yeah well I don’t know your name so…ghosty”

“Y/n”

Watching as his lips form your name sent imaginary chills down your spine.

“Y/n, I like it, did your dad go prison?”

“No why?”

“Maybe that’s why you’re still stuck here. I can help y-“

“But I don’t want to move on.” Cutting him off.

“Why?”

“Because then that means I’ll be dead”

“But doll, you are”

Standing up so you can pace around the small area “I know that but if I move on it will mean I’m dead dead you know?”

“But why? You’ve spent that past 15 years with no one seeing or hearing you. You really want to do another 15?”

“And another 15 after that if it means I get to be around people and I don’t have to be alone, I don’t want to be just gone and Bucky I’m not hurting anyone I swear!” You shouted at him, your last words more quieter, more like a whimper.

Finally admitting it to someone else hurt, admitting that you would rather keep being ignored and never seen by anyone ever again was better than being alone and dead. And yes whilst you was technically alone it wasn’t the same, you got to be around people, listened to their jokes or stories, listened to their complaints or worries. You was happy to continue to be a shoulder for them to cry on even if they didn’t know you was there or couldn’t hear you words of encouragement and advice.

And it was true what you had said to him, you wasn’t hurting anyone. You couldn’t even imagine of causing another person any form of pain, even when you was alive.

“Dol-no Y/n come back!”

Bucky was angry with himself. The first time he got to speak to her properly, he ruined it. The pain in her voice when she told him she didn’t want to be alone tugged on his heart.

He went to the basement at least eight times a day to apologise but she was never there. He knew that if anyone was walking down the corridor leading to the basement they’d be able to hear him talking to himself.

He walked with purpose down the corridor to Sam’s room, knocking on the door he grew impatient at how long it was taking Sam to answer, it had only been 5 seconds.

“What’s up Buck?”

“One I told you not to call me that. Two I need the computer thing”

“It’s called a laptop Buck”

“Don’t call me that. And can I have it”

“Sure you can Buck let me go and grab it for you Buck”

“I’m going to kill you in a minute”

“Of course you are Buck, here” Sam laughs giving him the laptop before shutting the door in his face.

Going back into his bedroom he goes on the internet just like Peter had showed him, he first typed in ‘Stark Tower fire’ coming up with all different things. Then he typed in ‘before Stark Tower fire’ which had only confused him more. Trying one more time he typed ‘Stark Tower apartment fire’ bingo!

Clicking on the first link showed him the apartment before the fire, during and after. He learned that the complex housed lower income families, that the fire was deemed as an accident due to faulty electrical systems.

Scrolling down further he stopped. The photo of you that he assumed was from school was there, the girl in the photo smiling back to him and next to it read ‘Y/n L/n died in apartment fire one week away from her 21st birthday. Her body has yet to be found’ and just a little bit further down was another link that read ‘Y/n L/n was found 1 year after the tragedy of the fire’ clicking on it he read more, how the construction crew had found her and how scientists confirmed that it was the body of Y/n’s. A photo was underneath the headline that showed the crew, Bucky had to do a double take when he saw you. Sitting on the floor looking out of frame with what Bucky thought was tears on your face.

Taking the laptop with him he ran to Steve’s room, rapidly knocking until the blonde answered.

“Buck? What’s wrong?” Steve says whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Walking straight past his friend he goes to sit on the bed “come here and look”

Listening Steve sits next to him “when was this?”

“14 years ago but look, there’s that girl I described to you” pointing and looking up at Steve who scrunched up his eyebrows.

“Buck I can’t see anything…”

“Pretty girl on the ground looks like she’s crying”

“Bucky are you alright? You’ve not been the same since you came back from Wakanda. I can ask King T’Challa if you can go ba-“

“Steve listen okay this girl she’s dead. She died 15 years ago and I can see her, I’m the only one that can and I don’t know why bu-but I never saw her before until I came back-“

“Buck slow dow-“

“-but I ruined it between us and now I can’t see her anywhere I keep looking I do Stevie but she won’t appear no matter how much I beg her too an-and I think she hates me”

“Bucky please slow down! Tell me everything but slowly”

So he does.

Steve sits there dumbfounded by what his best friend is telling him, and the craziest part of it was is that he believes every word coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, let’s try and think of a plan together”

And they do.

The next day Bucky makes his way back to the basement when he hears your voice softly seeping underneath the door his heart skips.

“-I’m not sure” silence “maybe I should let him help me so I can move on” more silence “I’m just scared though”

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?”

“Hi um who are you talking to?”

“Just myself, so I came to a conclusion that I want you to help me move on. I’m ready and it’s time”

Bucky notices that there’s a slight hesitation in your words and he spots the way you gulp at the end of your sentence. “Well I have a better idea, I did a lot of research last night and I found out that you don’t have a headstone so I tho-“

“I don’t have a headstone?” You whisper.

It’s now his turn to gulp “No doll, it’s an unmarked grave but I know exactly where it is, where you are” He rephrases.

“Why? Why don’t I have one?”

Oh he hates it. He hates how small you sound; he doesn’t like how you’re twisting your fingers together. “I-I’m not sure doll” That was a lie.

Neither of your parents wanted to spend money on a funeral or a proper burial for you, so it was up to the county to do it.

“Is-is that why am not dead-dead?”

“I’m not sure, it might be… but listen I’m going to get you a headstone - a real nice one, and if-if you want you’ll always be able to go there and Y/n please don’t think I want you to leave because I don’t okay, I really don’t I just want you to find peace”

“I-you don’t have to do that Bucky, it’s a lot of money and I’m not worth a single penny”

Now his heart cracks. “Don’t say that, you’re worth it don’t worry” he smiles which doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay honestly I think there’s more of an easier, less expensive way to get rid of me. All we have to do is think”

“Y/n-“

“Come on we need to think”

“Doll there’s no need to think about anything, I’ve already gone through with my plan.”

“What?”

“The headstones being made as we speak and Steve’s getting everyone on board.”

The way your eyes bulge out would have made him laugh but he wills himself not to.

“Wh-what’s going on?”

“Sit and I’ll tell you” he smiles as both of you sit on the couch. 

On the other side of the compound the rest of the team sit with amusement written over their faces as Steve tell them about Bucky and his ghost friend.

“You two have lost the plot” Sam laughs.

“Would you two be able to be put into an old people’s home?” Nat wonders out loud.

“Probably as they’re both over 100” Tony retorts to Nat.

“Guys I’m being serious” Steve says with his hands on his hips.

“Wait when did you say the fire was?” Tony asks him.

“15 years ago”

“I remember that, there was only one person that died - many were injured weren’t there?”

“Yeah. Y/n was the unfortunate one”

“And she’s been here ever since?”

“Yes”

“So she knows us?”

“Yes. Look let me ring Bucky and get him to bring her up here and we’ll ask questions that no one else would know apart from her and see if she was around at that time”

The team nods so that’s exactly what he does.

“Doll we’re needed upstairs, the team don’t exactly believe me or Steve so they’re going to ask questions and see if you was there or not, is that okay with you?”

“Okay”

The both of you head upstairs and for some reason you’re nervous, something that you’ve never been when around any of them.

“So Barnes, Rogers here tells us that you can see ghosts?” Tony starts.

“Ghost. Just one” he answers. “Okay ask your questions”

“Where exactly are we looking?” Sam now asks.

Bucky gestures to where you stand and obviously all they see is nothing.

“Okay, I’ll play along. Little ghost was you there when I created my iron man suit?”

“She said no”

“Was it you who made ghostly noises?”

Bucky struggles not to laugh “she said no”

“Wait why are you laughing?”

“Because she told me who it was and umm Tony they weren’t ghostly noises”

“What were they then?”

“Sounds of pleasure” Bucky says as he winks at Bruce.

The team start laughing at Bruce’s bright red cheeks and when they notice Nat sinking further into her chair their laughs becomes louder.

“Okay okay I want to ask the ghost something next” Sam laughs.

“Her name is Y/n”

“Okay Y/n what’s my nightly routine?”

“I’m not saying that!” - “No Y/n” - “please don’t make me say it!” - “godsake fine! Sam your nightly routine is you have a shower, brush your teeth, you do 50 push ups whilst na-naked and then -I think I’m going to be sick- you wank off before going to sleep”

“Ah yes! I believe them, Hi Y/n”

“She says hi”

The questions continued for well over an hour, the team finally believing that she was-

“Holy fucking shit!” Tony shouts.

“What? Oh”

“Fuck”

Bucky looked at Y/n who was staring at him with a confused expression which he just shrugs his shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, guys what’s up?”

“W-we can fucking see her!” Sam shouts.

“What?”

“We can see her Barnes!”

It was true. They could all see you.

“H-how?” You stumble out, after all these years of being invisible and being unheard from everyone around you and all its took is for everyone to believe that you actually exist.

“I-we don’t know. This is crazy even for me” Tony says.

“You can hear me?”

“Yes sweetheart”

Months went by, you was now able to leave the compound by visiting the cemetery. You was there alongside the Avengers when your headstone was placed, each member placed a rose on the grave all giving you a small smile.

It took you some time to get use to being seen and heard, no more conversations with yourself as someone was always around to answer.

Yours and Bucky’s friendship grew, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. And unknown to you he had a crush on you too. It hurt both of you because you knew it wouldn’t be able to work for the two of you with the main reason being that you were dead.

It was the anniversary of your death Bucky and Steve were on a mission which Bucky wasn’t happy about. You was walking down the corridor when Wanda ran out of her room shouting your name.

“Jesus Christ Wanda don’t do that again!” You scolded, still not use to the whole they could see you now thing.

“Sorry” she chuckled.

“It’s fine what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, its just-its better if I show you”

Frowning you followed her back to her room. “Wanda what’s going on?”

“So I’ve been working on something, for you-“

“For me?”

“Yes and I think I’ve managed to figure out a way to bring you back to life”

Blinking once, twice, you burst out laughing.

“Wanda that’s impossible”

“Not really…just come over here and let’s see if it works and if it doesn’t I’ll try again okay”

Doing as she says you stand in the middle of her room eyebrows raising as her fingers start to glow.

Nothing happens.

“H-how do you feel?” She asks hopefully.

“The same way I’ve felt for the past 15 years Wand, dead.”

Sighing in defeat “I’m so sorry Y/n I’ll keep try-“. Her words are cut off by a deep growl.

“W-what was that?” You stutter out.

“FRIDAY how many heartbeats are in my room?”

“Two Miss Maximoff”

“Who’s?”

“Yours and Miss Y/n’s”

“Catch” Wanda says as a book comes flying at you.

Wanda and you stand there facing each other with wide eyes. You caught the book.

“Oh my god. Wan-Wanda it worked”

After both screaming and crying your taken down to Bruce’s lab where your examined and blood, yes blood, was drawn.

Nobody could believe it and neither could you either but somehow Wanda brought you back to the land of the living.

Everyone promised not to say anything to Bucky as you wanted to surprise him.

A week later on your birthday Bucky and Steve came back from a successful mission. In that week Nat and Sam had to go and do three food shops as you kept eating everything. What can I say you’d been dead for 15 years.

You and the team was waiting on the hanger for them to exit the quinjet. Steve was out first shortly followed by a very tired Bucky but as soon as his eyes found yours he smiled hugely.

“Hey Y/n I’ve miss-“

You cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck. Bucky stiffened at first not believing it was really happening then he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling your further in.

“H-how?”

“Wanda”

“Oh”

After Tony coughed making the pair of you pull apart you - mainly Wanda - explained everything to the two super soldiers. Bucky refusing to let go of you completely. Steve smiled and gave you a small hug.

Much later that night you and Bucky was sitting on his bed with his arm around you when he abruptly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“There’s ten minutes left of your birthday so we’re going to dance”

You watched with an amused smile as he turned the stereo on.

“I got Peter to do this when we was watching the telly earlier” he smiled.

Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers started playing through the speakers.

“Y-you remembered?”

“Of course I did doll, it’s your favourite song how would I forget”

Slow dancing in the middle of Bucky’s room with your favourite song playing in the background on your birthday made this the best birthday you ever had.

“I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to me”

Bucky sings just as his lips touch yours.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama

[yanderes-galore]

Hello! May I request a Yandere Romantic Concept for Princess Cadence from My Little Pony please?

I struggle making her dark so I hope I do better than I did with her Alphabet on this. She's not married to Shining Armor in this.

Yandere! Princess Cadance Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Clingy behavior, Imprisonment, Isolation, Delusional behavior, Toxic relationship, Kidnapping, Mental deterioration, Love spell, Forced marriage, Forced relationship.

Cadance is often associated with love when we see her.

Her introductory episode was her wedding, of course.

She's even considered a guardian of the Crystal Heart.

Safe to say she's a princess who seems to know a thing or two when it comes to love.

So what if we do something... darker?

What if Cadance meets somepony who invokes a... stronger feeling within her?

It's... strange for her, at first.

When she first sees you, the alicorn pauses.

It's like her heart nearly stops when she comes across you.

She doesn't get it... what makes you so special to her?

This begins her obsession, a darkness creeping ever so slowly into her heart.

Cadance could stalk you, in fact her intrigue makes her follow you a bit.

Although the princess is quick to catch herself and decide that she doesn't need to do something so creepy.

Instead, Cadance would make it a goal to become close to her new obsession.

Your bond starts relatively normal.

In fact, isn't it an honor to speak with a princess?

Cadance is similar to the other princesses (Celestia and Luna primarily) in the sense of being condescending and manipulative.

She's subtle with her obsession and it's hard for ponies to believe your concerns when she's so nice.

The Princess of Love treating her beloved poorly...?

Unheard of.

What makes her different than the other princesses is probably her obsession with not only you... but the concept of love.

She feels that this is normal, that she needs her partner.

She's dreamed of getting married since she was a filly.

So while Celestia may like the power dynamic, or Luna just hates being alone, Cadance wants to create a family in some way and fixates on the thought of getting married.

Her obsession really is love at first sight.

In her eyes and heart, that is.

Cadance acts like her heart or mind is being influenced by a darker force.

The idea of her love not reciprocating doesn't come to mind for her.

As her obsession goes on she gets so caught up in the idea of you two being meant to be.

Out of all the princesses, Cadance is the pony who most believes in soulmates.

When she locks eyes with you, her mind decides you're meant to be.

Her obsessive behavior is definitely delusional, fully believing fate will guide you together no matter what.

If it doesn't...?

Well... she just has to rush a few things, doesn't she?

I can see Cadance slowly becoming more and more unhinged as her obsession goes on.

At this point, who cares if she's being creepy?

She's allowed to be... you're soulmates, after all...!

She isn't willing to give up that thought.

She keeps track of your every move, perhaps using magic to monitor you.

Eventually she'll snap like most yanderes do.

Especially if she feels another pony is getting closer than they should be.

Imagine if one day when you go to bed at night... you wake up in a bed not your own.

No, instead of being home, you're in a crystal cage.

Before you can scream, a figure shifts in the shadows.

You look up to see Cadance standing over you, a grin on her face and her eyes bloodshot.

"Finally, love...! I was really getting impatient."

This doesn't look like Cadance anymore.

The princess you once knew and adored now has twitching eyes as though she hasn't been sleeping.

Before she kidnaps you, Cadance had been in her castle.

You had met her only a few times, but to her it felt like you were closer.

You just assumed the friendly princess was busy.

Which was partially true.

Busy preparing for you.

Cadance becomes a crazed husk of the princess you once knew.

She originally wanted to take things slow with her obsession... but she doesn't think she can wait anymore.

Against your will you'd be prepared for a wedding with an alicorn you barely know.

Although, fight too much and Cadance may be forced to act.

Cadance doesn't care how she gets her little soulmate.

Be you stuck in a cage, a love spell, or breaking your mind in...

She'll have you in the end.

She has enough lucidity to apologize when putting a love spell on you before you get to the vows.

After that...? Well... you'll get married.

She wants it to be perfect.

While your mind is in a haze, she's preparing crystal decorations that sparkle in the light.

Your fate was sealed long before you even reached the altar.

No pony questions her judgment, be that out of respect or fear is unknown.

She thinks you look so lovely in your wedding attire.

She just knows you two will be a perfect family, especially since you're not fighting anymore.

Cadance is a yandere deep in her delusional fantasies of love... so deep in fact...

She won't realize she's hurting you by forcing you into a role you have no clue about.

"We're soulmates...! I just know you'll see things my way eventually, love...!"

[kitteacloud]

Some sketches for my Coraline AU I'm writing!!! Will I ever finish it?? Idk it's up in the air lol but I've planned most of it out. And like in Gotham Fashion it's definitely gonna be more horror/gore like than the OG

I'll add some vague parts I've written below!!! Warning for gore/horror and other triggers like that. Tw/ not edited lol.

'Tim stared down at the opened box. Surely this wasn't right? Why would his parents gift him a doll. A doll that looked like him? 

He picked it up by the arm. The clothes were his favorite outfit. Including the yellow coat he wore whenever he wasn't sneaking around the rooftops. He poked it's cheek. Kinda creepy that the doll had button eyes. He shrugged and put it to the side. Obviously his parents were trying. No matter how bad they did. It was the thought that counted. '

'Tim shot after the mouse, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Fuck. If his mother knew they had mice- it ran down the corridor, scampering into the east Wing. He sprinted down the corridor, sliding and catching himself as the mouse turned the sharp corner. He stumbled but managed to catch back up to it. Diving into the room after it. Then- Tim grinned as it ducked behind the little door he had found. Perfect. 

He crept up to the door, pulling off his jacket and preparing to throw the it over the mouse. His fingers curled round the corners of the door then he yanked, throwing his jacket to the floor. But-

Tim stared at the tunnel. What- 

He rubbed his eyes. Blinked then-

“What?” He hissed, staring bewealdered at the tunnel that was not going away. There was a squeak at the end of it and curiousity won out over any logical thoughts. He dropped to his knees and began to crawl through it. Tim glanced back but the doorway stayed open. Okay, this was wild. Maybe he was dreaming? No- he hadn't even layed down. 

He came to the end of the tunnel and gingerly stood up. Tim had to take a double look as the room was exactly the same as the one he had came from. Just, more lived in? There was some extra furniture, a large wardrobe that was a dark purple, with a desk and chair to match. And the room was lit in a low light. Something was tugging at the edge of his consciousness but the smell of something delicious chased it away. Tim blinked and found himself heading towards the smell. The hallway was just as strange. It was Drake manor that was for sure just, brighter? There was more photos on the walls of him growing up. Which- strange? He didn't realize his parents had those. 

He quietly tip toed downstairs, dodging the third step like usual. A humming reached his ears. A song he didn't recognise. But the voice- 

He entered the kitchen and froze. His mother had her back to him but she was cooking from the looks of it. Which wasn't right. She never cooked, especially not for him. But then, then she turned.

“You're not my mother. “ he stated, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide how his hands were shaking. The woman chuckled and padded over to him, a soft smile on her lips. 

“I'm your other mother silly.”

“Other…  mother? “ she nodded and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead before pulling away. He had to actively force himself not to chase the feeling and leant back from her. 

“Yes Timothy, your other mother. Everyone has one.” Tim narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to interrogate her but his ‘mother’ cut him off with a wave of her hand. A familiar motion that had him standimg to attention automatically. “Now, can you go fetch your father. He should be in his office.” Tim nodded slowly and mechanically began walking out of the kitchen. Sending one last glance to those button eyes.'

The pain was agonising, it tore through his eyelid and into his eyeball, but there was an intense tugging deep in his chest, it felt like he was being torn apart. Being pulled apart slowly. Her hand over his mouth slipped slightly and he screamed again as the needle tore through his eye, a bloody thread being pulled through him. It was blurry but he could see how mother took a long lick? Sniff of him, her skin looking more full and her eyes were full of life when beforehand they had been dull.

The needle came down quicker, a sadistic grin on her face, hungry, gleeful. Then- she was thrown off of him, the thread snapping as both she and the needle slammed into the manor door. Tim scrambled to his feet, staring at Mother as a large cat was scratching and tearing into her. The mother's screams were angry as she swiped out at it. Hands grabbed his arms and Tim was about to scream but he regonised the face. Jason, not mothers jason. His Jason, blue eyes and all, was pulling him away from the scene, dragging him towards the drake manor.

“Jason?”

"Tim..." Jason breathed, gancing back at his face in horror. No... looking at the button on his eye. A bloody thread still hangin from it.'

[impish-baby]

Mayhaps a ghost caregiver,,,

Ghost caregiver headcanons - 🩶🪦

(trigger warnings: mentions of sickness and throwing up, general creepiness, ghosts!!)

🪦 - reader being a young adult living on their own for the first time, our ghost tutting at how incompetent you seem to be. Honestly... you call yourself grown? Oh well, they have missed having a little one to care for, and you seem to need all the help you can get!

🩶 - it's always so so cold in your apartment, it feels like you're surrounded in ice. management says there's nothing wrong with the heating and you couldn't afford to repair it anyway if something was, so you have to settle for bundling yourself under a mountain of blankets (that somehow manage to be perfectly tucked in while you're asleep)

🪦- they love watching you rest.. you just look so peaceful! How can they resist admiring their precious baby... Somebody has to be there to soothe any bad dreams away anyway. Sometimes you swear there's someone humming to you and singing under their breath, but you're back asleep before you can wake up enough to see if it's real (glacial hands smoothing your hair out of your face, a goodnight kiss against your forehead that sucks all the warmth from your body..)

🩶 - they do little things around the house and to make sure you're properly cared for. Moving any medication you might need to a more obvious place with a glass of water next to it, your bed mysteriously being made even though you're sure you left it a mess this morning... don't fret, dearest, they're here for you!

🪦- if anyone is over for more than a few hours, they'll find themselves abruptly ill. Coughing and wheezing, needing to find the nearest trash can or toilet to dryheave into. It's... black, a gross tar like substance. Even after they've left your home, they're plagued with horrific nightmares. It's not a surprise when no one wants to visit after a while..

🩶 - the spirit is so deeply sorry that you're alone, darling, but they only want what's best for you! Your little friends don't know how much care you really need, how much of a defenseless child you are, they're bad influences! Worry not, there's always a creeping shadow to keep you company

(a/n: also considering a haunted doll... probably more of a playmate than a proper caregiver though)

[death-ofpeace-ofmind]

Noah Sebastian (YOU!AU) x Reader: Chapter III

Trigger Warnings: Stalking, possessive obsession, emotional manipulation, explicit references to sex (non-graphic but disturbing context), toxic relationship dynamics, mental instability.

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Banner by: @xmads-omensx

Divider by: @silent-stories

Taglist: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lil-garbitch @blade-dressed-in-red @fadingintothegrey @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @heyyoplayer @klutzy-kay24 @chey-h @collidewiththesav @supersquirrel1996 @shayeanna-ashlie @xmads-omensx @miwomens @fallinoutoforbit @lacy1986 @pipidoll @ami--gami @astronoids @bloody-spades @renegadebirch @miwomens @dontwantthemoney @saythatuwill @runningincircl3s

Chapter III: Behind Glass

Noah’s POV

There’s a bar off Sunset you love, the kind of place that doesn’t card too hard and plays shoegaze loud enough to drown out regret. You go there when you’re anxious, or when you feel too much. You don’t post about it often, but I’ve been watching. Waiting. Not in a creepy way, okay, maybe in a little bit of a creepy way, but you invited me in, Y/N.

You just didn’t know it.

Our Third Meeting, Y/N.

I time my arrival. Not too early. Not too desperate.

You’re already two drinks in when I see you. You’re standing by the jukebox, swaying slightly, eyes a little glassy. You look like a dream that’s had the color sucked out of it. There’s lipstick smudged on your glass and tension in your shoulders. I want to wrap you in something soft and never let you break again.

But you’re not alone.

Andy’s here.

Of course he is. Like a fucking bloodstain that won’t wash out.

He’s leaning against the bar with that smug, vacant expression, like he owns the room. Like he still owns you. He brushes your hair behind your ear with the familiarity of someone who’s ruined you before. You laugh, but it’s hollow, Y/N. I know the difference. I hear it in your voice.

I sit in the far corner, in the shadow where the neon signs flicker and die. I sip a warm whiskey and watch as his fingers graze your back, sliding lower than they should. You don’t stop him. Why don’t you stop him?

He whispers something in your ear, and you nod. Slow. Uncertain. But you go with him. You always do.

You live four blocks away, but he takes you there in his piece-of-shit car like it’s some grand gesture. I follow on foot. Rain starts to spit on the sidewalk, painting everything with static. It doesn’t matter. I’ve followed you through worse.

I stop across the street from your apartment and tuck myself behind a fence of hedges. Your window lights up like a stage, curtain half-drawn. He never closes it fully. He doesn’t deserve your privacy.

And that’s when it starts.

You’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your throat, his hands sliding up your shirt like he’s entitled to you. You don’t push him away. You’re not resisting. But you’re not present either.

You look like you’re watching yourself from somewhere else. Like your body’s going through the motions, but your soul is out in the street with me.

My hands curl into fists as I watch him take what isn’t his.

You gasp when he pushes you onto the couch. I close my eyes, but the sounds still come. Muffled moans, skin on skin, the creak of furniture and the ache of disappointment. You don’t sound satisfied. You sound like someone trying to remember how to feel.

I stare through the rain-specked glass as he finishes. Quick. Selfish.

He kisses your shoulder and turns away.

You sit up. Hug your knees. Your face is unreadable.

I know you’re wondering why it still feels so empty.

I know you think maybe something’s wrong with you.

But it’s not.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

He doesn’t see you, Y/N.

He doesn’t stay when the lights are off and the songs won’t come and your hands won’t stop shaking.

But I would.

I will.

You fall asleep beside him, but I can tell you’re not really sleeping. You twitch. Toss. Pull the blanket tighter around your frame like it might protect you from something bigger than the cold.

I stay for hours. Until the light in your window dims. Until Andy stirs and rolls over, muttering something in his sleep. Until the street grows quiet enough to hear your breath through the glass.

You never close the curtain.

You never shut me out.

Not really.

I walk home in the dark, soaked to the bone but burning from the inside. The rain can’t wash it away. The taste. The image of you beneath him, disconnected. Hollow.

It’s okay, Y/N.

He’s just a chapter. A mistake.

And we all make mistakes.

But I won’t let you keep making this one.

Not anymore.