#i just feel like i had a pretty regular routine going for some months there

[actualtoad]

this has been such a weird last couple weeks of school though

[yurmomsawh0r]

•°His Perfect Little Wife °• - p2

You and Nanami’s relationship has been a little difficult during your pregnancy and one turn of events has you ready to divorce him. But Nanami would never let you leave. You were his wife and he’d never let you go.

@delightfulmoonbanana @i-killed-a-prostutute @muzanswaifu @ebonydumbslut

Sorry it took super long! I’m pregnant with a toddler and it’s super hard to have energy to write anything, but I’m definitely coming back on here because YALL, I have soooo many ideas in my notes for tumblr and oof I can’t wait to drop them! But I hope you enjoy part 2 it’s different from part 1 because I kinda had to make it a small story but anyways enjoy 😊 💙

Prompt idea by @ebonydumbslut

“ I’m literally fina write a whole plot feel free to just take parts from it but I’m thinking For his perfect wife maybe yandere and Angst like since y/n pregnant she hasn’t been at her best with waking up on time doing things for her husband hasn’t felt like having sex so her husband hires a maid and y/n can tell that she is trying to take her husband away being to Close and saying things like “ofc I will make you food if you were my husband with how hard you work I would make sure you didn’t even have to ask he doesn’t see it but y/n does he’s also been a little distant and hasn’t been able to see her much because when he comes home y/Ns sleep y/n know this and stays up untill he’s home and by the time she gets all pretty for him she walks down stairs to see her husband and the made doing something that looks inappropriate (yk how In the movies someone walks in at the wrong time and it looks wrong) anyways she runs to her room and he goes after her to tell her it’s not what it looks like and y/n is getting ready to go to her moms house or something she tells him that he can have the maid and she’s going to leave and this is we’re the yandere starts he tells her she can’t and what about there baby and whatever else you want he makes y/n feel bad and she stays then he shows her how much he loves her by yk having sex’s loud to the maid hears everything while there having sex he tells her how she knows that she can’t leave because she needs him she’s to much of a dumb slut to do anything without him all she’s good at is being his perfect little wife y/n falls into this brain washing and promises she will never leave and that she’s his and will always be you could also put some fluff in there sorry for how long this is I Basically could have made the book for you😭”

CW - Yandere-ish, Manipulation, mentions of cheating, pregnant reader, penetration, pregnant sex, cursing, pet names, mentions of a divorce

Part 1 here

–

Nanami was frustrated to say the least. Between working extra hard and keeping your need’s satisfied, he definitely had his hands full. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he typed away on his computer. It was going on another late night and he had many things to get done. It always felt like he’d never have another second for himself or for you.

A knock on the door had an oh - so, very tired Nanami shifting in irritation. “What?” Came his groggy, stress filled voice. A subordinate of his walks through the door. A file in his hand. “Sorry sir. I just wanted to drop off my report you requested.”

“Place it in the black tray.”

The man did what he was told, quickly placing it in the tray and making his way out of the office.

Nanami glanced at the clock and seen that is was going on 1 am in the morning, making a sigh leave him. He knew you’d be in bed by now. You both couldn’t seem to catch a break. Nanami thought about the conversation you both had about hiring a housekeeper. You were about 4 months pregnant and you’ve grown quite a lot. It was getting hard for you to keep up your regular routine.

Nanami has even taken it upon himself to be home more to help out, but it was definitely putting him back, which resulted in him having many late nights and causing him to be way more irritated than normal. Anytime you both found a moment to yourselves, you would be to tired to do anything. You slept way more than you normally would these days, which he didn’t mind. It wasn’t your fault you ended up pregnant.

It was decided, he would take it upon himself and hire a housekeeper as soon as possible once he was able to cut back his work load.

~*~

It’s been about 3 weeks since the new maid started working for you both. She had tremendously been a big help around the house keeping things tidy and organized. Although you’ve had more help around the house, you still haven’t been able to see your husband for a while. The times you both did run into each other, he would always seem irritated with you. You knew work has been hard since he’s been catching up, so you decided to suck it up and do the things he normally liked.

“Oh! I see you cooked dinner Martha!” You honestly weren’t surprised. The past week she had been taking over in the kitchen before you even had a chance. “It was no problem. I understand that you’ve been tired lately.”

Although that was true, you usually pushed yourself to cook dinner for your husband but you haven’t been able to because she always did. It kind of bothered you, but you decided to try and be grateful for all the help.

“Well thank you, I can prepare the plates for dinner, as well as Nanami’s lunch for tomorrow. You can take the rest of the day off.”

“Oh no need ma’am. I already prepared his lunch as well as his plate for dinner.” She spoke. This was another thing that bothered you. She always took it upon herself to do more than she needed. You even seen that she left a note on his lunch one time. It was a small “Have a great day at work.” But you felt as though she crossed a boundary. This was your husband, not hers. Leaving notes wasn’t in her job description.

Before you could say anything else, the front door opened and in walked your husband. You went to greet him as usual. Helping him remove his coat and hanging it up for him. “Hi honey! How was work.”

He only grunted. “It was work.” Was all he said and brushed passed you, not a single glance your way. Not even a small forehead kiss as he usually did. An ache in your heart throbbed through your body.

In the kitchen, you could hear Martha speaking to him. As you went to peak, you seen her placing his plate in front of him and pouring him a glass of wine.

You couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt you to see the small act, but it did. Your own sensitive emotions plus being pregnant didn’t help, the tears started to flow. You turned on your heels and made your way to your shared bedroom skipping dinner that night.

Weeks had passed and still nothing had changed, well except you did. You weren’t yourself. You had completely stop doing your house work and just left it to the maid since, she took it upon herself to do everything. So you just rested in bed most of your days falling asleep when ever he felt like it.

You haven’t seen your husband for most days. By the time he came home you were already in bed passed out.

Martha had also been getting a little too close to your husband for your liking but Nanami didn’t seem to care to stop her advances so you assumed that maybe your were making things up, but you couldn’t help but think about all the little smart remarks she took it upon herself to say.

“Wow, you’re such a hard working man, if you were my husband I’d be sure to reward you everyday.”

“Would you like me to give you a massage sir?”

Maybe she was being nice? Maybe you were reading into it a little too hard. Either way Nanami didn’t seem to mind her forwardness so maybe you shouldn’t either.

Having enough of your pity party, you finally decided that it was time to put an effort in getting your husband’s attention again.

That night you got yourself all clean and dolled up in one of his favorite lingerie pieces and one of his t-shirts. He loved seeing you in his clothing. He always told you it made him feel like the best man in the world seeing his woman comfortable in his attire. It was almost 1 in the morning, the usual time he had gotten home. You had waited all night, despite being so tired, to see him. Lights shown through the curtains and the sound of a motor vehicle pulling into the drive way shook away any traces of sleep you had in you.

This was it! Tonight’s the night you and your husband rekindled.

~*~

Nanami walked through the door tired as ever. He was finally done with playing catch up and attending hour long business meetings for the month. He’s finally be able to catch a break. He felt as though he had be in a trans working and powering through his long streak, and finally he would be able to settle down for a while.

He made his way to the kitchen to look for something to eat. I was a little after 1 so he knew you’d be sleeping.

When he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see Martha standing there in nothing but a small tank top and shorts to short for her size.

“Oh! Nanami, I didn’t think you’d be home just yet. Are you hungry?” Nanami only grunted and moved passed her and headed towards the fridge.

“Would you like wine with your meal sir?” The sultry tone of her voice rung in his ears. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment before shrugging it off. “No thank you, not tonight.”

He told her with a monotonous tone. He grabbed his plate that was left in the fridge and placed it in the microwave to warm.

“Alright, I’ll just put this back then.” She had a smile on her face as she strut her way towards the wine holder that was just behind where Nanami was standing.

Just inches away from him, she had stumbled, almost dropping the bottle in the process. Nanami kept forward, grasping her in his arms just as he was able to fall, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck as if they were lovers about to ignite in a night of passion.

She giggled, pulling him closer. “I’m sorry, I’m such a klutz! It’s a good thing a big strong man like you were here to catch me! You’re just like a knight in shinning armor. And my knight deserves a kiss for saving me.”

As she tried pulling him closer, Nanami started to pull away, but it was too late. A small gasp had them both frozen.

“Oh! My lady! I didn’t think you’d be up.”

There you stood from your stop in the kitchen, watching as your maid and husband were about to share such a passionate kiss. It brought tears to your eyes seeing how good they looked together.

You knew you hadn’t been up to par in taking care of yourself as well as him, but you didn’t think he’d cheat on you for such a small inconvenience.

“Wait! Y/n-“ He called out to you but you just turned and ran to your bedroom to grab everything you needed to leave.

Nanami dropped Martha letting her fall to the floor leaving her in pain as he chased after you.

Once he made it to your shared room, he saw that you were packing a suit case with everything valuable and important to you.

“It’s not what it looked like y/n” he tries to reason with you but you didn’t listen. “I don’t care Nami, it’s not like I haven’t noticed we haven’t been the same in a while. Especially since she got here.”

“What do you mean? I know I’ve been busy, but I’d never do something like that to you. I love you.”

“You don’t love me. If you did you wouldn’t have been all up on her. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done.”

This caused Nanami to freeze. His voice dropped, a menacing tone sounded in his voice. “What do you mean you’re done?”

It sent a chill up your spine but you remained strong. “It means I’m done. I want a divorce. I can’t do this anymore. My own husband doesn’t even want to look at me, let alone act like I exist.”

You finished packing whatever you could and zipped it up, but Nanami was faster than you. He grabbed your luggage and threw it aside, shattering your vanity. “What is your problem! I don’t understand why you are so upset. Go be with your fucking mistress!” You yelled.

“I’m fucking upset because my wife is trying to leave me over a misunderstanding!” He cornered you. His pupils dark and expression angry. It was look you never wanted towards you.

He broke out into a laugh that boomed into the room. “You can’t fucking leave me y/n. You can’t break up our perfect little family that’s just getting started.” His hands slid up the sides of your waist pulling you closer to him.

“I take good care of you and I always will. No matter what. You are mine and I’d never let you go. I need you here with me little one. I don’t know what I’d do if you decided to break up our perfect little life.”

A flood of memories flew through your head. Even images of the future that you thought were to come. You felt a little guilty for trying to leave instead of making things work, but you couldn’t help but think about him being with another woman.

“How long have you been messing with Martha.”

Rage sparked in his eyes as he punched a hole in the wall by your head making your scream. He gripped your chin tightly and forced you to meet his gaze.

“I’ve never touched that fucking woman! She fell and I caught her, nothing more. Do you understand?” When you didn’t respond, he sighed.

“My love. My perfect little bunny, must I show you just how much you mean to me? Shall I show you that nobody can make you feel the things you do for me? Hmm? Must I show you one of the many reason that you love me?”

“Must I remind you who you belong too!?”

~*~

You couldn’t think straight. You really couldn’t think at all. The only thing filling your senses was your husbands dick penetrating you so hard and deep. Your face was wet with tears and saliva that pooled onto the pillow as he drilled into you from behind.

“Ahh, you feel so good little one.” He grunted in your ear. Nanami gripped your neck and pounded deliciously into you. The feeling of your juices getting him going.

It had been too long since you both last had sex and he was going to make it last as long as possible.

“And you’d thought I’d let you leave? With my baby in your womb? You’d thought I’d let another man have you? No, I’d kill anyone who thought they would have a chance.”

Your body shook as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn’t let up, he just fucked you harder through it. “P-please Nami!”

But your please fell on deaf ears. “No, not until you learn that you can never leave me. You’re mine y/n. You’re nothing but my little dumb slut, my perfect little wife.” He licked up your tears grinding deeper into you.

“Say it! Say that your mine and that you will never leave me! Say that you’ll stay and be my perfect little housewife forever.”

You could feel him going deeper and deeper, skin slapping against each other in perfect rhythm. It was too much, you couldn’t even get a word out. You were moaning so loud and the bed was banging against the wall you were sure it would break. You were also sure Martha could hear everything.

“I’m waiting my little bunny.” Nanami’s voice warmed you. You gushed around his cock even more at his power over you.

He was dominating you. Showing you that you were indeed his. Nobody would make your body feel the way he did. Nobody ever could.

Just as another orgasm ripped through you, you wailed “y-yessss Naaamiiii, yessss i-im yours!”

“You’re my what?” He pressed his shaft into the opening of your cervix making you yelp. “IM YOUR DUMB SLUT DADDY!”

He moaned as he felt you squirt on him. Your essence pooling on the sheets. “Uhhh, that’s it! Let daddy have it all!”

His thrust started to get choppy as he reached his own peak. Spilling all of himself into you. Telling you how much he loved you. How he would never let you go. Ever.

As you both came down, he pulled you into his arms, gently caressing your face and smothering you with gentle kisses. You were exhausted. Falling in and out of sleep with a dazed but satisfied look on your face.

“Fire her.” Was all you could muster up. Nanami laughed and kissed your soft lips.

“Your wish is my command my lady. It always will be.”

You both laid there in each others embraces.

“But don’t think I’m done with you my love. You have awoken a part of me by just telling me your going to leave me. I need to make sure that never happens again.”

His perfect little wife, forever and always.

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | JOINT SCHEDULE

request. : Hey can you do some more ice hockey player James imagines? I love them sm! —@prongsbandit

sum. : you booked the university's ice rink to practice your routine for an upcoming competition but so did the university's ice hockey team, whose captain screwed up the timings

g. : fluff ; modern au ; ice hockey player james ; figure skater reader ; shy reader ; university au ; jock james potter ; supportive figure skating coach ; supportive hockey team

length : 1.6k

In preparation for an upcoming figure skating competition, you were dedicated to getting in as much practice as possible. Thankfully, you were able to book the university ice rink for two months in the lead up to the competition. Your regular practice sessions were every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday for five in the late afternoon until seven. It was a bit excessive but you wanted to win. Many of your friends view you as someone sweet and docile but also hard working and quite the perfectionist. What they don’t realise is how competitive you can be behind the scenes. Everytime you cancel plans, you usually excuse yourself with the ‘I’m busy’ reasoning that your close friends readily accept, believing that you were working through papers and research articles for uni classes when, in actuality, you were spending time in the rink. 

Today, you had brought with you your portable stereo to go through the routine with the music over and over again, gradually perfecting the appearance of your more grandiose moves as well as the sequence of your steps on the ice. It felt good being at this stage of your development, the entirety of your routine has been choreographed already and had been revised by your coach, who suggested some minor changes but approved it overall — you knew what you were doing, it was just the case of perfecting things now, something you were talented at and even enjoyed. 

The main focus for today’s session was the polishing of the big jumps and ambitious spins of your routine. It was a little tiresome and you don’t believe you’d be able to cover all of them for this session but you never really expected to in the first place. Your only saving grace was that you had some time to apply light makeup earlier in celebration for the new figure skating set you were gifted by your parents. It was an all black set that paired a sleek skort with a long sleeved turtle neck top that had lacing to decorate the open back and thumb holes in the sleeves as the hem reached half way up your palms. You liked feeling pretty in practices, it always helped to encourage your self-confidence so there was always a little spike in your performance. The praises of your supervising coach was all you needed to confirm this fact. 

“Brilliant, my girl! Again!” Vera sang her high praises from the stands and helped you control the music whenever you wanted to repeat a particular part of the choreo. For this routine, you had settled for something more elegant and based the choreography around the ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ by Tchaikovsky. The soundtrack made you miss the time you did ballet until you were fifteen before eventually falling in love with figure skating. A lot of your routines tend to be based around the elegance of ballet in addition to the complicated turns, spins and jumps that encompassed figure skating; your coach, Vera, loved how you were able to combine both sports in such a seamless way. 

The music kept playing even after you had repeated the skid spiral so you naturally flowed into rehearsing more of your choreo, allowing muscle memory and the music to guide you over the ice as you subconsciously waited for Vera to pause the music and ask you to repeat something that didn’t look quite right. Polishing up the routine was filled with more critiques than any stage of creating your final performance so your anticipation for Vera to pause the music, repeat a move and provide additional tips lingered in the back of your mind as you flawlessly spiralled into one of your most difficult spins — a one-handed beillman. 

“Beautiful Beautiful!” Vera praised, clapping as you gradually spun out of the position before abandoning the routine and grinning widely to yourself, proud and giddy for finally nailing the transition and spin. 

“Vera!” you shout across the ice and over the music, cheering with your fists raised to the air in victory, “I did it!” It was then when you realised that Vera’s clapping was accompanied with an entire audience of applause and your panicked eyes fell upon a grinning hockey player standing beside your coach, behind them was a team of hockey players, some whistling and whooping in between their applause. 

As you tried to catch your breath and suppress your bashfulness, you gathered that Vera had neglected to reply to the soundtrack to discuss something with the hockey player, and so, it seems that the entire hockey team just saw a glimpse of your routine. Eventually, Vera paused the music and motioned you over, looking to discuss something. 

“Wh-what’s wrong?” you ask upon reaching the sidelines, fiddling with the hem of your sleeves as you avoided the hockey player’s eyes. He was dressed in most of his equipment, only missing his headgear, and was sporting the dopiest grin on his face. “It appears as though the university hockey team had booked the rink to practise for a match happening early next week, however, there was some miscommunication over the timings and schedules,” you furrow your brows as Vera explains the situation before shyly glancing up at the hockey player beside her, who had unruly dark curls and glimmering hazel eyes behind a pair of cute glasses. It seems your simple acknowledgement of him was enough to prompt his self introduction. 

“I’m James,” he reaches out his gloved hand for you to shake, quickly taking it back to rip of his glove off before reaching to shake your hand once again, “James Potter, Captain of the Hockey team,” behind him the rest of the hockey players wave at you, some with friendly grins and others sporting a mischievous smirk as they regard their captain’s behaviour around you, “Vera explained that you were practising for a competition and also booked the rink in advance but since you got here early, we’ll put the decision to you,”

You raised a brow and tilted your head slightly, prompting him to continue, “make a decision on what?”

“On whether to kick us out and continue your practice or finish your practice early and allow us to have the rink for drills exercises and plays,” James finished, grinning at you with no malice and insinuating that he wouldn’t hold any ill-will over either outcome. 

“Oh!” your cheeks heat up under his warm voice, amiable manner, pretty eyes and charming dimples and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment before eventually shaking your head and giving him your resolve, “I’d be happy to give you the rink, I’ve covered a lot of ground already so I don’t mind,” James’s smile reaches his eyes once more and he nods. 

“You heard the lady boys, what do we say?” he shouts back to his team, his voice commanding attention and is as firm as his build, encouraging an ensemble of ‘thank you’s to sound from behind him, “Thank you very much,” James finishes and nods to his boys, signalling them to set up the rink and get ready for practice while you also take the time to shake off your nerves and walk off the ice, where James greets you once more.

“I hope you have a good and productive practice,” you wish him and offer a warm smile, your heart finally settled down to a semi-heightened beat. He’s really quite handsome…you think to yourself but quickly look away to, again, keep from staring too long. 

“Thank you and thanks again for letting us have the rink,” James takes your hand and lifts your knuckles to his lips — an act of gratitude that has a dangerous heat creeping up your neck to occupy your cheeks once more, “you’re very beautiful on the ice, by the way. I’m sure you’ll smash it at the competition, your competitors don’t stand a chance,” the two of you share pleasantries and more smiles before you finally make your way to the locker rooms to change with a straighter back and a lighter heart. 

What an encounter. 

“She practises every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday from 5 to 7pm,” Vera says out of nowhere as she approaches James, who stares off to where you had disappeared. 

“I’m sorry?” 

A stone cold look crosses over Vera’s face, “avoid those times at all costs,” she warns, her russian accent suddenly thick and intimidating, “my student doesn’t need any distractions,” the statement makes James raise a brow in question, “her competition is on the 14th November, held in the city community rink, and it starts at noon, don’t be late,”

Suffice to say, James wasn’t late to your competition, in fact,  he was early and he brought the entire hockey team with him to support you. You won second place but felt like a gold medalist when the hockey team hollered the loudest for you at the awarding ceremony and lifted you onto their shoulders with the congratulatory flowers James brought you in your arms and your silver medal around your neck.  To return the favour, you attended their next hockey game and made sure to shout the loudest whenever their team scored and eventually when their team won the match.

“When do you think our captain’s finally gonna grow some balls and ask out his ice skating ballerina?” Sirius whispers to his taller brunette friend.

“Let them take their time,” Remus replies, the two staring as James throws his arm over your shoulders and you wrap your own around the back of his waist, “everyone already thinks their dating anyway so they’ll get it eventually,”

“Wait! So they’re not actually dating yet?” Peter asks with a surprised face as the other two laugh, “But I swear I saw them kissing by the locker rooms before the game earlier!”

a/n : i know nothing about ice skating or ice hockey but i tried my best! i'm sorry if this is not very realistic. i also hope that the request was fulfilled to a satisfactory standard despite the long wait, i'm really sorry for that by the way (┳Д┳) nevertheless, i tried my best and i hope this made you happy, darling, thank you for the cute request (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

navi.

taglist : @ghostgardn @fredweasleysjumper @rosalyn-s @melinajenkins @astonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @sageskisses444 @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist/diver!ghost x selkie!soap au Thoughts

marine biologist ghost who, whenever he has spare time, will go diving with some colleagues to collect trash from the ocean—because maybe it doesn’t make a huge, immediate impact, but it still means something is being done.

then one day while diving, ghost is accompanied by a seal. at first it only observes, and ghost is plenty happy to admire from afar, but then the seal is cozying up to him. it latches onto his leg, nudges him with its snout—even directs ghost and his group to trash that’s otherwise pretty well hidden, wedged beneath coral and rocks and sand.

it saddens ghost, just a little, when the sky starts getting dark and they have to head back. he doesn’t want to abandon his new friend—it’s rare they have wildlife hang around for this long—but unfortunately it’s not safe to wait any longer before going home.

but then the next time they’re able to go diving, the seal is there again. it plays at the same routine, helping out and goofing around, sticking dutifully by ghost’s side even when there’s others along with him. and time after time, it’s the same thing. no matter where the group is, the seal somehow always finds him. they end up lending it the nickname soap, after the odd amount of empty bottles of cleaning products the seal seems to locate for them.

it’s maybe a few months later that soap doesn’t show up, and it’s an instant cause for concern; there’s no reason soap should be missing. they’re in a similar area that the seal likely frequents, there’s no reason for soap to have moved or be huddled away with other seals to have pups.

the group worries, but there’s nothing they can do but theorize and assume as they carry out their regular chore. it’s only a once-off, by this point. maybe soap just didn’t feel like coming out to play just this one time.

but it happens again and again. soap doesn’t appear once, and it has the group of scientists worried sick. but without a tracker, or even a real idea of where soap might frequent when he’s not helping the group, there’s nothing they can do.

they return to shore later than usual one night. it’s completely dark by the time they dock, and ghost waves everyone ahead to go home because they’re all tired, he can manage clean-up by himself.

ghost is just about finished packing up when he sees the figure at the end of the dock. the marina is like a ghost town otherwise, nothing but the sound of turning waves and boats gentle bumping up against the port. ghost approaches slowly, not knowing what other business one could possibly have at the water this late.

“you lost, mate?” ghost wonders cautiously.

the figure steps closer, silver moonlight revealing some of his features. the man looks about ghost’s age, maybe younger—only it’s hard to tell with the haggard look on his face, as he nervously wrings his fingers and avoids ghost’s gaze.

“i’m… sorry i haven’t been around,” he apologizes, and ghost frowns. “someone… someone took my coat.”

ghost’s brow furrows. “i don’t… your coat? i’m not sure i underst—“

“my coat,” the man affirms. “i need it to swim. which is why i haven’t been able to help lately.”

not certain how it’s possible, ghost grows even more confused. he doesn’t get it—a coat to swim? being able to help? nothing makes sense.

“you’ve lost me,” ghost says, shaking his head. “wish i could help, but—“

as ghost tries to push past, the man seizes his arm. he peers up at ghost pleadingly, and while ghost had wanted to conclude the man was drunk or high or something—he hesitates, seeing that look.

“have you ever heard of selkies?” the man asks, an edge of desperation in his voice.

ghost shrugs. “sure i have.” he’s hardly well-versed in mythical creatures, but he knows the gist.

the man doesn’t say anything—just continues to look at ghost with those sad eyes, a plea for understanding like an explanation couldn’t be spoken aloud. so ghost thinks on it a moment.

the coat, the inability to swim without it. not helping out and not being there starting to sound like a reference to soap. to the seal.

ghost’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline in disbelief.

“you’re not really saying you’re soap, are you?”

maybe-soap frowns. “who’s that?”

right. “i mean the seal that’s been following our diving trips,” ghost clarifies. “and you’re saying… because your coat is gone—“

“taken,” soap corrects, “i couldn’t go. i wanted to find you, but i didn’t know how, and… and…”

soap looks frazzled, like his brain has disconnected from his mouth and hands in empty gestures in words trying to convey what he’s thinking.

ghost tentatively sets his crate of gear on the wooden planks of the dock before placing his hands on either one of soap’s shoulders. maybe the story isn’t all there, and maybe there’s still doubt in ghost’s head about any of it being the truth—but ultimately, ghost believes the man. believes it’s soap.

slowly, ghost says, “calm down, and tell me how i can help. we’ll get your coat back, yeah?”

soap offers him a shy, watery smile—but a smile nonetheless. he nods and begins to tell ghost everything.

it doesn’t take long before they’re hatching a plan to win back soap’s freedom.

[elliesmainhoe]

Ellie Williams Headcanons : RichOlderWoman!Ellie

I got this as an ask but Tumblr ate it 😱 so here you go anon.

Okay Okay. So, first things first, from day one Ellie was always adamant when saying that you were NEVER her sugar baby.

you were just her controversially young girlfriend who she liked to spoil and have perched on her lap during boring business meetings.

speaking of SPOLING-

she regularly takes you on trips to expensive high end malls which exclusively house designer brands and WILL buy you anything you look at as long as you hold her hand while you both walk around.

but CEO Ellie Williams is a busy woman, and doesn't always have a long enough interval between meetings to keep you company.

in those cases she simply kisses you cheek and forehead before handing you a small black card and saying "give me a show of everything you buy when I get home, hm?"

arthritis may be fast approaching but those hips do not slow

(jk she's only in her late thirties, and you know for a fact the extent of working out she does keeps her joints in check)

in fact she gives the best strap game. the experience and the variety of expensive toys and the regular gym routine = 🤩

always her arm candy

every once in a while after lovingly gazing at you for a little too long, looking at your soft supple thighs, pink lipstick coated lips and shiny hair cascading beautifully from your head. she feels insecure?

it's an odd feeling.

an unfamiliar feeling.

but Ellie is mature, it's one thing you admire about herand she knows that a problem won't be resolved unless she talks to you.

so she does, and as soon as the voices of concern fall from her lips, you soon put those thoughts to rest <333

she does the same to you!!

it was a normal day, you woke up to a cup of coffee on your bed side, a small pastry from your favorite bakery, a credit card and a note which read:

"Good Morning my love, I completely forgot about the early morning meeting I had today. I got you some pastries as an apology, I'm sorry we can't go shopping today like we planned, but here's my card and the driver can take you to the mall.

Love you pretty girl, Ellie x"

•••••••

it was a while later when Joel, your driver, pulled up outside the office building, you thanked him swiftly and walked quickly towards the automatic doors of 'Williams Enterprises Headquarters', expensive jimmy choo heels clicking against the concrete entrance. The security guard, Bob, nodded his head in greeting and you returned the gesture with a smile.

The receptionist was... different. the usual blonde haired girl was replaced by a middle aged woman with greying hair, deep set wrinkles imbedded in pale skin. "Hi what can I do for you today?" a high squeaky voice came from her mouth. a tone of voice you knew from years of retail work and customer service, you winced instinctively.

"Hi, I'm here to see Miss Williams." you reply, fingers tightening on the strap of the mulberry purse Ellie had gifted you for your 2nd anniversary a few months passed.

"hmmm. I don't see you on the schedule, do you have an appointment?" she smiled, the fakeness clear and tone of voice irritated.

"oh, uhm no. I'm her girlfriend" silence. the fake smile plastered on the woman's face falling, as she looked over behind her to a colleague who nodded in confirmation of the story you had given her.

"sorry if this is intrusive kid, but aren't you a little young." she spoke, and chewed a piece of him you hadn't noticed before rather obnoxiously. "I mean I can tell you're..." her eyes scanned your frame "reaping the benefits."

"I mean, god I can't blame you" she continued " if I had the looks and youth I once did I would happily suck off anyone for chanel. Now tell me doll, how much surgery has Mrs. Williams paid for you to have done, surely those tits aren't real?"

you quickly brushed past her, ignoring the intrusive questions and stepped into the elevator, pressing the floor Ellie's office resided on.

the site of you immediately brought a smile onto your girlfriend's previously pinched and visibly frustrated face. "Hi pretty girl,", she pushed out her chair from behind her desk, patting her thigh for you to sit on. "Hi Els." the frown you couldn't quite erase from your features furrowed your brows in a way Ellie couldn't ignore.

"What happened baby? you upset with me for leaving earlier?" she asked softly, adjusting you on her lap and kissing your temple. "nah it's not that- I just-" your hands instinctively began playing with Ellie's fingers, twisting the ring on her index finger slowly. "the new lady, in reception. she said something-" you sighed. "and I just can't shake it."

"do you think that, I'm a burden? that the fact I'm so young means I'm leeching off you? I don't want to do that Ells. I like dresses and bags and makeup and you give that to me because you can, but I just- if you ever don't want to buy me stuff, please tell me Ells, I don't want to take and take and take when you don't want me to."

a soft chuckle shook Ellie's chest "pretty girl, look at me. The reason I work is to spoil you, the reason I go to these bullshit meetings with these stuckup assholes is to give you and me a life where money is no object. I love you sweet girl" she kissed your plush lips, the tension seemingly draining out of your body at the touch.

"now, which receptionist said that?"

•••••••••

A/N: cute little hc and drabble to get me back into the swing of things.

[lackinglevi]

yandere!coworker when you’re out sick

cw: yandere behavior, stalking, mention of kidnapping, mentions of being sick, mention of murder.

a/n: first time actually finishing something and posting it, i have no idea how to start doing this shit.

yandere!coworker . . . who just can’t help but wonder if you won’t bother coming into work today when he catches a glimpse of your heavy panting and a chilled towel placed on your pretty forehead from the camera he managed to discreetly place in the aquarium facing your bed, which is just below the window-the exact one he’s learned to expertly open and shut hundreds of times by now without so much as an offbeat breath from your sleeping form.

yandere!coworker . . . who is already hyperventilating at the thought of not being able to see the way your hips move side-to-side while walking up to greet those disgusting customers who recognize-like him-just how intoxicating you are and hope for the chance to get the cute girl’s number. he’s replaying the incident from a couple days ago in his head like a loop. you squeamishly made your way over to him from across the room that night when you knew you wouldn’t be able to get the annoying regular who insists he can "treat you right" off your tail. he’s got it handled really! he’s glad you can trust him to deal with these pesky animals. a princess like you needs to be taken care of, you just need.…him (even if you don’t see that yet), not some greasy-fingered 40-something clinging to the hem of your shorts like a child. you don’t even notice the news headline proclaiming his tragic "suicide" the following week!

yandere!coworker . . .  who wonders if he should call out from work and bring you some warm soup? would it be too weird if he showed up on your doorstep? maybe just leaving a small note that reads, "feel better my love&lt;;3 you look divine in your sleep" beside the steaming pot of chicken noodle soup and leaving it at your doorstep would suffice. crouched down on the neighbor's front lawn to ensure you got your meal, he can’t help but notice the way you still look stunning as your limping form appeared behind the keypad-locked door (he’s made sure to get the code just in case you need his help!), the ruffles on your pajama shorts just barely exposing the color of your underwear, you went with red that day. my favorite color, he thought, whether or not you made that choice knowingly, it already had a tent forming in his pants and he took mental note to snatch the pair you had on now, the next morning.

yandere!coworker . . . who can’t handle knowing whether or not your extremely high fever has gone down and spends the entirety of his lunch break monitoring you from the dozens of hidden cameras he’s managed to put in your home during his little "visits." from the way your breath quickens, to the way you mumble silly nothings in your sleep, he’s entranced (but still keeping a worried face). he records everything, not only in his mind, but on his spare flash drive while being squeezed into the bathroom stall. a so-called private moment, to be replayed only by him later on. he can’t help but think about how good he’s going to treat you the next time you’re sick. . . because you’ll be with him! his own wellbeing is of no concern to him, but just think of how much easier it would be to know you were around him 24/7. it’s much less stressful for him to know you’ll always be nearby instead of staying up for nights on end peeled behind bright monitors in a poorly lit room, which is what his routine consisted of for the past couple of months. 

yandere!coworker . . . who once he manages to get your nails to stop clawing at his arms and reassures you that you’re only in his basement for your own health (which he’s lined up with all your favorites and everything you may need down there), swears no one knows how to treat their darling better than he does, even if he’s just the dead-eyed coworker that manages to scare off most of the new customers and seems to be around you just a little too much. he can be more than your coworker. . . you'll see that soon!

wc: 711

[lexithwrites]

lexith writes | @jegulus-microfic | 6th feb - murder 861 words

James was used to blood now. He still hated the smell, the hot, wet metallic that made his nose sting and his eyes water, but he was used to it. Coming home and having that familiar scent wafting through the flat didn’t make him pause, didn’t make his skin crawl or his stomach lurch. It was just normal.

When Regulus had first explained it all to him he had thought he was mad. Not Regulus, but himself. Maybe he had lost it? Had he just imagined a boyfriend and now he was a monster? Maybe…stranger things had happened. But then Regulus showed him, and he realized he wasn’t making it up. This was reality and it was a reality he could choose to leave, or choose to stay in. 

It was an easy choice. 

“Love?” He called softly, shutting and locking the door and putting down his backpack. There was some muffled movement from down the hall and he noticed the crack in the bathroom door where light was spilling out. At least it wasn’t their bedroom again. James had hated that. “Regulus? Do you need anything?” 

“No.” A sharp reply came and James couldn’t help but bite his lip when his boyfriend's voice came back strangled. Like he had something in his mouth that he hadn’t yet swallowed. 

“Okay. I’m gonna make dinner, alright?” No response, so James went into the kitchen and started dinner.

Normal. This was normal now, he reminded himself. 

Regulus’ feeding routine was the same every month. He tried to act like a regular person everyday. He ate food, drank water and sometimes alcohol. He went to parties and to his work and he smiled and laughed like everybody else, but sometimes, when he could no longer take it, he snapped.

That’s when it happened.

It was never a good person, or a nice person. He told James they were bad people, and he believed him. He knew Regulus well enough to trust he wouldn’t harm an innocent person, that he had to seek people out specifically for this. That had to mean something, right? It was murder but…maybe taking these kinds of people out was for the greater good.

That’s what James told himself, anyway. 

An hour passed before Regulus walked in, fresh out of the shower and looking beautiful. James had made himself some risotto his mother had once shown him, and was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in front of him. He smiled when Regulus came in and reached for his hand. No blood. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Can…later can you help me…” Regulus looked away. 

“Of course. You know I always will.” James wondered how heavy this person was going to be. Last time they’d been pretty skinny which meant clean up was a lot more straightforward. Regulus did have to try and pin them down after all, they couldn’t be that much bigger than him.

Regulus, instead of sitting in the opposite seat at the table, moved to curl into James’ lap, shoving his face into his neck and inhaling. James wasn’t scared of that anymore, knowing that he was the last person Regulus would ever turn on. He’d probably harm himself before doing that.

“I know you hate it. But you have to do it.”

“I should be eating animals.” He sniffled.

“We tried that and it wasn’t enough. It made you sick, love.”

“I’m already sick.” 

James pulled back and cupped his face. “You are not sick.” His voice was firm but comforting. He needed Regulus to believe this. He spiraled after feeding but he always needed to be brought back to the surface. James couldn’t lose him. “You have to survive just like everyone else.”

“But it’s wrong.” Regulus’ eyes were getting wet with tears. 

“I don’t think it’s wrong.” James said. “But I know it’s hard.” He leaned a little closer so their noses bumped. “I love you, Regulus. More than anything. I’m gonna help you, okay? Whatever I need to do. If you need me to start—”

A hiss bubbled in Regulus’ chest and James swallowed. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t. Promise.” Regulus sunk against him again. 

“It's just…blood is so good.” He sighed, fingers trailing over James’ pulse point. He smirked. This part was a little plus, the feeling afterwards. The high, the lust. Not that they needed it to sleep together, definitely not, but the sex was always a little more…animalistic. And James often ended up with some shoulder bites he could admire later on. 

“I wouldn’t know.” James said, looking into Regulus’ eyes. “But I could.”

“Jamie.” He warned.

“I mean it. Then we could both do this together, properly. You get scared you’ll hurt me but love, you could never hurt me. Especially if I’m like you.” James closed his eyes and he felt a kiss over each eye. 

“It hurts. To change.” Regulus whispered.

“It wouldn’t. Not from you.” James captured his lips in a kiss and then picked Regulus up. “All you make me feel is love.”

Regulus smiled, and James saw the small glint of his fangs. His beautiful, beautiful fangs.

[wwandaslover]

New Romantics

previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: taylor swift x fem reader

warnings: angst with comfort

a/n: i’m sorry this chapter is kinda rushed, i’ve just been forgetting to add more chapters and i’ve been really busy lately. also it might be a while before the next chapter comes out because i’m working on some other stuff atm.

waking up next to taylor had become your regular routine, you two had been dating for months now and you were as happy as could be. you two rarely fought, and when you did, it quickly blew over.

you could feel yourself falling more and more in love with her but after the past 3 blissful months of dating, you began feeling a pit in your stomach every time you remembered you two were only together in secret.

anytime you and her were seen out in public you acted like friends because taylor was still not out of the closet, and it was weighing on you heavily. in the past month it had become pretty much all you could think about when you were with taylor, so of course you distanced yourself.

you began staying at your place more often than you’d go to taylor’s, you stopped having doing anything beyond a quick kiss, you didn’t contribute much to conversations, and you mostly just focused on reading and writing.

taylor had noticed your change in behavior instantly but she didn’t want to push you into talking about it out of fear you’d be upset at her.

neither you or taylor brought it up, until one night. you were over at taylor’s for the first time in two weeks, taylor was sitting on the couch in her living room while you were in her kitchen making popcorn for the two of you to share while you watched a movie.

taylor anxiously bit her bottom lip, wanting to break the silence that seemed to last evermore between the two of you. you finished making popcorn and sat down on the couch next to taylor who was fidgeting with her hands.

“what’s wrong taylor?”

your voice was tired and quiet but you still cared and she could tell but it just brought tears to her eyes faster and she buried her face in her hands as she let out a string of broken sobs. you quickly set the popcorn down and wrapped your arm around her, pressing soft kisses to her head.

taylor continued to cry, unable to stop the tears that ran down her cheeks. “taylor, please tell me what’s wrong.” you spoke softly and pleadingly. she hesitantly looked up at you, hot tears still rolling down her cheeks.

she hoarsely whispered to you “do you still love me?” you instantly felt your heart drop, you never thought about how your behavior would affect taylor. you hugged her tightly which she instantly returned and you repeatedly whispered “im so sorry” and “i love you” against the skin of her shoulder.

taylor sniffled and whispered back “it’s okay, baby. i love you too.” after what felt like forever, she pulled away from the hug. “why have you been so distant?” her voice was soft but showed she was very obviously, but reasonably, still upset.

you sighed defeatedly before speaking, “i dont like us being a secret.” she looked down for a moment before returning her gaze to your weary eyes.

“we don’t have to be a secret anymore, i just want to be with you. i dont care if people know.”

you stared at taylor in slight disbelief, you didn’t think it would be that simple. you felt completely stupid for not saying anything until then, and you frustratedly sighed while you began blaming yourself subconsciously.

taylor could tell what you were thinking, so she wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you onto her lap. she kept her arms around your waist while you straddled her, you wrapped your arms around her neck and also buried your face in her neck.

your overthinking slowly came to a halt as taylor gently rubbed your back and whispered sweet phrases to you. you pulled your face out of her neck and kissed her, you two held it for a few seconds before pulling away and smiling.

you and taylor spent the rest of the night cuddling and watching movies together.

the next day you and taylor went out together, you walked down the sidewalk holding hands and talking. multiple paparazzi photographers had spotted the two of you and took pictures of you together.

you and her went to starbucks and got some coffee, sharing a kiss after you had complimented taylor which had multiple photos taken of and then almost all of taylor’s fans were going crazy over it.

it wasn’t as bad as taylor thought it would be, especially since she was just happy she was dating you.

This is discontinued 👎

[godesssiri]

10 Thrifting tips the thrilling continuation

I am a dedicated thrifter and I have done a few thrifting tips posts, things to look for, how to find the best stuff. I had an excellent day thrifting today and decided it was a good day to polish up a draft I had and post it. So read more for tips to get the goodies.

If you buy fairly plain wooden furniture, it doesn’t take a whole lot of expertise to refinish it. You can get a cheap palm sander for less than 50 bucks, and a small tin of furniture wax goes a long, long, loooong way. Or you can get Danish oil if you want a satin finish or Teak oil for a gloss finish. Don’t let Youtube videos make you believe you have to test out 10 zillion different coloured stains unless you are aiming for a very specific look. Just make sure you slap something nourishing on the wood after you’ve sanded it. Also remember that whatever product you use; multiple light coats will come out better than one thick coat. There’s a huge amount of satisfaction in looking at a gorgeous chunk of wood you’ve bought back to life.

French milled/triple milled soap. Old ladies like to give soap as gifts and people tend to stick it in their drawer to scent their clothes and never actually use it, eventually they have a clean out and this unused soap goes to the thrift store still in it’s original paper wrapping. This soap is expensive. This soap is fantastic. The milling process creates a very different product than the bars you get at the supermarket. It doesn’t go goopy and melty even if you leave it sitting in a puddle in your shower, it’s not as drying to your skin, the scent stays on your skin for longer. These bars last for months, it’s well worth picking them up if you like the scent.

Blue Willow. Would you like to have a nice set of china but don’t want to drop a lot of money on something that might look dated in 10 years? Collect blue willow from thrift stores. Blue willow has been around for hundreds of years and it’s going to be around for hundreds more. It can be slotted in to almost any home style, classical, boho, maximalist, scandi, etc, etc. Because it’s been around for so long pretty much every manufacturer has done it, so you find it really often at thrift stores and it’s easy to pick up a couple of plates here and a serving bowl there. Also, because so many companies have done it over such a long period it’s possible to pick up modern dishwasher safe dinner plates that you can use alongside a lovely 100-year-old antique gravy boat.

Gifts. Never feel ashamed of buying gifts from thrift stores. The perfect vintage item is way more meaningful than any amount of new stuff. And if you’re buying for someone who doesn’t like vintage; if something looks new and undamaged how is the recipient going to know that it’s not new?

Get yourself a thrifting routine. You’re gonna find the best stuff if you go often so don’t just randomly go every now and then. People who say they never find anything are the ones who only call into a thrift store every couple of months and expect something amazing to just drop into their lap. Set a day once a week, or every other week or once a month, but make a commitment to go on a regular basis.

If you see something that you think you like but you’re not 100% sure, as long as you can afford it and have a place for it, get the thing. Take it home, live with it. Maybe you’ll decide you don’t really like it and take it back to the thrift store and consider the price you paid a charitable donation. But sometimes you bring something home that you kinda like and end up absolutely loving it. Some of my favourite things in my house are things I wasn’t completely sure about when I was in the thrift store. There’s nothing worse than the regret of leaving something behind because you weren’t sure about it, then deciding actually I do want that thing, but it’s gone, and you’ll never find another quite like it.

If possible, go with someone who knows your likes/tastes. It’s amazing the number of times I’ve been in a thrift store with my mother or best friend, and they’ve found something I love that I hadn’t even noticed. Plus they’ll be dirty rotten enablers and encourage you to buy the thing that you love but you’re not sure you can justify to yourself.

There are a bunch of Youtubers who do thrift flips. If there’s some décor item that’s in all the stores at the moment and you love it, but can’t justify spending money on it, then it might be worth looking up to see if anyone has done a thrift flip and can give you a tutorial on how to turn a thrifted item into the hot décor items of your dreams.

Keep the cycle going. If you have stuff in your home that you no longer use/love, then donate it. If you’ve traded up and found something better but your original thing still has life in it, donate. Even if you originally bought something from a thrift store no one is gonna be mad if you send it right on back (unless you’ve used it to death, and it really should be heading for landfill).

Don’t put yourself in a box. Don’t refuse to get something because it’s not ‘your style’. What is ‘your style’? Things that you love, that make you happy. Do you love this thing? Does it make you smile? Then it’s your style. Honestly style is something that evolves organically, that grows and expands as we’re exposed to new things. If you try to follow a certain style rigidly then you’ll end up with a home that looks boring and cookie-cutter. Throw in something unexpected that speaks to you. Then throw in another of those things and another and another and pretty soon you’ll end up with a home that actually is your style – maybe you just don’t know what your style really is yet. I think of myself as very confident in my style, but I’m constantly stumbling across new things that I didn’t know I needed in my life.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[atinystaypixie]

can u do ony cheatin on his gf w y/n nd his gf walk in 🗣️

Baby anything for you. Ilysm😙💜 sowwy this took so long I was so conflicted on where to set it and how to do this😭

MDNI!! 18+

WC: 1.6k+, pstt not proofread

CW: Cheating (don't do it. That's how you get shot😠)

🎵I can't say his name 'cause he be cheatin' (I love you, baby)

Yeah, and I'm the reason 🎵 (my honest reaction to this)

She was such a a sweet lady. Bright smile, positive attitude, never frowning. She greeted you every morning, offered you the desserts she would bake, even helped you bring in groceries when needed. She would tell you how her boyfriend enjoyed them and thought you would some too because she made so many.

But the tall, handsome man staying with her cancels her out. Her kindness didn't matter when his dick was being this kind to your pussy. You had never felt this pleasure until you met the kind woman's boyfriend. Her smile was sweet but his smile was making your thighs clench. He caused a heat to rise in the moment he locked eyes with you a few seconds too long.

She treated him well. The bake goods she offered you were often ones she made for him but went overboard and would have too many. "Onyankopon loves these but I made too many and thought you would like some while they are fresh." The beaming smile and cute basket she had while at your door would warm the hearts of anyone.

"I can see why your boyfriend loves them. They smell delicious." She never picked up on how you went around saying his name.

She was a good woman, but Ony couldn't focus on that when he could only think about your walls squeezing around him. You enticed him, stuck to his brain, made his dick only hard for you. He's just a man. What was he supposed to do when his dick picked better than his brain? The moment he saw you he could only think about fucking you till you saw stars. It wasn't like his girlfriend was anything short of a beautiful body, but your body…your body made him think sinful thoughts. Thoughts that shouldn't even occur when he has a loyal, beautiful girlfriend that he lives with.

You wish you could feel bad about going behind your sweet neighbors across the hall back but you can't. Not when you count the seconds after she leaves to run across the hall to the door Ony left unlocked for you. He already had it planned because this wasn't the first time you've entered his apartment in your skimpy tank top and shorts that had your ass hanging out. This was a routine that had been going on for months. It wasn't your fault she worked day shift and Ony worked night. You were just doing her a favor and keeping her man happy while she went to work.

Ony appreciated the favor you were doing his girlfriend the most. The moment you walk through the door his hands are on you. There is no need for a hello, not when the best greetings came from the unfaithful kiss you two shared. Your tongues swirling each other's, his large hands squeezing and gripping your ass, your hands running up his chest to wrap around his shoulders, the airy moans. If anyone saw you they would think you were lovers who had been separated for centuries and happy to be back together.

"Damn, baby. Feel like it's been forever." The dark skinned male speaks as he picks you up by your thighs and carries you to the kitchen island. "Let me see that pretty face." He's biting at his bottom lip adoring the face of the woman who turned him into a cheater. Taking his hands, he starts caressing your thighs.

You can feel heat rising to your face as you look at him. "Ony, I was just over here yesterday and you saw me before you went in for your shift last night. Don't play." You laugh at him. His girlfriend didn't need to know you never said his name because you were well acquaintanced with his name, except it was the version of his name that a regular neighbor wouldn't know.

"Too many hours passed by. I missed you." His hands travel higher on your thighs and he leans into you. "Missed this pretty pussy too." His voice is deep and sends shocks straight to your cunt.

"Then show me." You didn't have to tell him twice. He pulls you so that you are laying down on the kitchen island with your legs around his shoulders. He pulls your shorts to the side already knowing you aren't wearing panties. You both were always ready for each other in easy access clothing. His tongue licks a heavy stripe up your slit and stops at your clit to kiss it. Ony is holding eye contact with you as he slowly releases a spit from his mouth letting it leak past your clit down your pussy. The sight causes a soft moan to come from you. His spit mixing with your arousal.

He takes his thumb and follows the trail before spreading your mixture around making a mess between your thighs. Ony likes when your whole pussy is shining from the mix of your essence and his spit. It makes you even more enjoyable to eat. He then spreads your folds and gets to work. The way he swivels his tongue from your entrance to your clit has you gripping his head. He never leaves an inch of your cunt un-licked.

When he latches onto your clit, he pushes two fingers inside of you. It doesn't matter how many times you take his unloyal dick, you always need to be stretched for him. You have tried to play a big girl and do it without the prep but you only ended up crying like a whore as you tried to bounce up and down on his thick length.

Between the flick of his tongue and the movement of his fingers inside of you, you feel your orgasm approaching quickly. "Cum on Daddy's tongue, baby." The way he's talking into your pussy only adds to your pleasure. Your hips are pushing into his face and your eyes are locked shut. Your breathing is picking up and you feel your stomach tightening. "Ony. Ony!" The chanting of his name has him smirking and dragging his fingers inside of you rougher, hitting spots that make your back arch.

A shaky moan escapes you as the tightness in your stomach releases. Your juices being caught by Ony's awaiting tongue, coating his taste buds. "There you go. Good girl. Good girl." His thumb rubs your clit working you through the high he just gave you. He pulls you up by your waist and presses his lips to yours letting you taste yourself from him.

You whine into the kiss, "mmm fuck me, daddy." The handsome man flashes his pearly whites and chuckles. He takes your shorts and slides them off one leg leaving them to hang on one of your ankles. You didn't notice but at some point he slid his own sweats down. He hooks your legs around his shoulders and teased your entrance with his tip.

"You want me in you, baby?"

"Yes. Please, daddy." He holds your head making you hold eye contact with him as he slowly guides himself into you. You shouldn't be this intimate when you don't belong to each other, but damn does it feel good. Your mouth hangs open as you feel every inch and every throb of him. You pussy opening to allow his dick into your deepest parts. There's a deep rumble rising from his chest when he fully finds his forbidden home in you.

The slow pull out of you has your voice going high before it's cut off from him slamming back into you. He's fucking you like he loves you. Slowly dragging himself out before pushing back in with a disrespectful force. You being folded in half and the eye contact is only melting your brain more. Your thoughts are blank, the only thing up there is the man fucking you on the kitchen island in the apartment he shared with his loving girlfriend.

Ony picks up his pace, his mushroom tip hitting your gspot repeatedly. Sweat collecting in both of your hairlines as your face to face moaning out from the pleasure you only find in one another. His legs are getting weaker from the wetness of your walls that won't stop milking him. He picks you up and sits on the kitchen floor with you. You start grinding your hips into him not wanting to lose a second of the feeling of his dick moving inside of you. Ony starts pushing you back and forth. Your bodies disconnect just to come back to each other with a loud smack each time. You can't control your moans, they're echoing through the apartment that you know you don't belong in.

"Ony! Fuck, I'm cumming! I'm gonna-"

"Hold it. I'm almost there." He cuts you off feeling his dick twitching inside of you. He's fucking you on his dick so hard your moans won't even fully come out. Stuck between breathy whines and clouds cries. "Do it, baby. Cum on my dick, pretty girl"

He doesn't have to tell you twice. Your eyes squeeze shut, body clings to his, and thighs shakes as your juices splash on his stomach. You can feel his thick cum coating your walls. Your eyes open and close as they flash white, making you look possessed.

"Onyyyy!!" Your voices rings out.

It's loud, so loud you didn't hear when the door opened. Between the slowing slaps of skin and your moans combined with Ony you didn't hear the sound of the soft footsteps approaching you, the only sound that registered was the scream she let out.

"OH MY GOD! ONY WHAT THE FUCK!" The first time she heard you say her boyfriend's name was in a drawn out moan as she caught him cumming balls deep in you.

This was going to be interesting to explain. You couldn't care though, your post orgasm haze was too great as your body was still clinging to the cheating man who couldn't be bothered to pull out of you

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

OMG! Y'all don't understand how conflicted I was about this. It still turned out kinda bleh but like ITS BEEN ON MY MIND SINCE MY BABY SENT THIS IN😭

ENOJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist

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Taglist: @444ghosty @un-lawliet @witchbybirth @tophamhat-kyo @nobianna

[cafeacademia]

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Spencer's favourite cafe closes, he finds a new place to visit for his morning coffee ritual only he stumbles across a cafe that is home to another regular who just so happens to like playing chess. And just maybe he makes a move, on the board and the pretty girl that plays chess.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None, just soft fluff. Small mention of slight injury, but it's nothing bad. Reader is soft and sweet and shy, some worry and concern towards the end but it's a pretty pure fic

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: Approx 2.2k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello, it has been a loooong time! Please let me know what you think of this, feedback is super appreciated! I had a lot of fun writing this and I've been sitting on this idea for MONTHS, feck knows why it took me so long to write it 😅 anyway, it's here now, enjoy!

Spencer was not best pleased. The cafe he usually visited on his way to work, at lunch times and then after work had shut down, seemingly overnight. There had been no suggestion of it happening and when he had visited just the previous day, business was doing as well as usual, which for a central area, it was packed. But now the door was locked, lights off and paper signs were plastered over the windows with capital letters reading CLOSED DOWN, NO LONGER IN BUSINESS.

Where was Spencer supposed to get coffee now? Of course, there was the Starbucks at the end of the road on the corner, but their coffee was not quite right for his taste. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice his daily coffee ritual with vending machine coffee either. Spencer would have rather just drink mildly tepid milk over the acidic vending machine coffee that had punctual notes of cardboard and was far too watered down to even resemble coffee.

Okay, so maybe he’d become a bit of a coffee snob. Though, Spencer wasn’t sure that snob was really the right word here. In any case, not just any cafe would do. It wasn’t just the coffee he was looking for. He needed a cafe that felt nice to sit in, that felt nice to read while he was in the queue and if he had time, to sit in a corner and read and people watch.

But as he wandered a bit further away from work, Spencer reached the end corner of the road. He’d never been this way before. It was always straight from the subway to the cafe and then straight up the street to work. Peering around the corner, he saw a little sign in the shape of a coffee cup. Outside were a couple of covered wooden market stalls and from where he stood, it looked like they were crammed tightly with books.

With a quick glance at his watch, Spencer decided he had plenty of time to check it out and he was thankful that he’d been too much into his audiobook that morning to realise that he had left far too early for work.

Taking quick strides down the street, it began to rain as he made his way towards the cafe. The clouds darkened and with impeccable timing, Spencer made it underneath the cafe awning just in time before the rain came down in torrential sheets. The coffee shop was open and as he pulled the door to enter, he was suddenly pulled into the warm comforting vibe of the cafe. Oh, this is perfect, thought Spencer. There were quite a few customers, but everyone was quiet and going about their morning routines, drinking coffee and reading newspapers, books and enjoying the cafe. It was heavy on the book theme and there were shelves of used books everywhere in the shop. There was a sign above the largest bookshelf that read, take a book and leave a note in it for the next reader.

There were large, yellow lights strung along the far brick wall and it gave the most wonderful cosy feeling as Spencer took it all in. “Good morning sir, would you like to order anything?” There was an older man behind the counter. He had the most fantastic beard and it looked like he kept it in great condition, just like the cafe he worked in. Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen such a well kept and well loved cafe before. “Uh, hi. Can I get a cappuccino please?” He asked as he approached the counter, giving the guy a tight lipped smile and as he reached into the inner breast pocket of his coat. “Sure, anything else?” He asked. “A croissant please.” And Spencer handed him the money as he looked around.

Spencer noticed as he was waiting for his coffee that behind him was a girl sitting at a table fairly close to him. She was beautiful. She had her hair tucked behind her ear as she concentrated hard on something. Spencer looked down at her table and realised that in front of her was a very small travel chess set and she was playing against herself. For a moment, while the sounds of the coffee grinder filled the shop, Spencer observed her, watched as she made a couple of moves.

It was interesting, he thought as he watched her. But as he did, he saw a good opening for a move on her board and he wondered if she’d take it. She’d paused her movements for a moment and Spencer thought she must have been thinking hard about her next move, but when he cast a quick glance up, he realised that she was looking right back at him with a rather curious little smile on her lips. In a sudden spark of confidence, Spencer stepped over to her table. “Sorry to interrupt your game, it’s very compelling, but you see if you make this move,” Spencer said, reaching out for the piece and when he saw that she was watching him with great interest, he proceeded. “You’re set to win the game after your opponent’s next move.” He said, moving the piece and watching as the smile on her face grew.

“Hm, interesting.” She spoke quietly. “I would have done this, though.” She said softly, undoing his move and immediately winning the game using a move that Spencer remembered seeing in one of the chess handbooks he’d read through before but never actually seen in practice. “Impressive.” Spencer nodded. “Thank you for letting me try, you’re good.” He said, turning away when the barista told him that his coffee was ready. “Thank you.” She replied. Spencer was eager to stay and chat to the pretty chess girl, but one quick glance at his watch told him that Hotch was going to have him if he lingered in the cafe for much longer. With a quick smile at her, he rushed off with his coffee and his croissant, hoping that his pastry wouldn’t get too soaked in the pouring rain as he rushed down the street to work.

The next day came and Spencer headed down to the same cafe. He wasn’t sure that he would see the pretty chess girl again, but as he entered the coffee shop, she was there, just like yesterday and it was almost as if she hadn’t moved at all. She sat at the same table with the same drink and the same book at the side of her with the same chess set. The only difference was the position of the pieces on the board and the clothes she wore.

“Hello, can I take your order?” The barista greeted him. Spencer ordered and the sound of his voice caught the girl’s attention. Looking up from her chess game she watched him. Almost like she was waiting for him to notice her. Just when she was about to make her next move, Spencer turned around after dropping some extra change from his wallet onto the counter as a tip. “Do you have time for a move again?” She asked, almost timidly. “I think I have time for one or two.” Spencer beamed at her, stepping towards her table and observing her board before he made his first move. “What’s your name?” He asked while he watched her make her move. She waited until she had moved her knight before she replied with her name. Her voice was soft and quiet. It made him feel warm and cosy and he wanted to listen to her more. She sounded sweet, oh he had an innate urge to tell her she was pretty. But Spencer resisted. “And what about you?” She asked. “Spencer.” He replied. “It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled, making his next move on the board. “It’s nice to meet you too, Spencer.” She mirrored his smile and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that warm and soft before. The way she said his name, so sweet and soft in her voice, sent butterflies through him.

“Is this your new morning stop?” She asked softly. “Yep, just down the road from work.” He told her. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Spencer.” She smiled up at him, meeting his eyes and he grinned back at her. “See you tomorrow.” He nodded before turning away to collect his coffee and walking away.

There was no denying in the days that followed that Spencer had a new air about him. “What’s got you all smitten Reid? You’ve been coming into work with a huge smile the last few days.” Morgan made the observation first. “Oh it’s nothing.” Spencer said, waving it off. “Mhm, nothing.” Morgan teased in a sarcastic tone. “Something nice about changing coffee shops, y’know?” Spencer told him. “You’re weird, kid.”

Spencer continued his routine of visiting the cafe every morning, making one or two moves on her chess board, exchanging some nice conversation with her before grabbing his coffee and heading off to work. This went on for over a week until his routine was disrupted with a case in another state and Spencer suddenly disappeared from her routine.

She had gotten used to him coming in and playing chess with her. She thought the first time that he didn’t show up that he just hadn’t had the time that day. But when he didn’t show up several days running, she thought that maybe Spencer had found a different cafe to go to or maybe he didn’t enjoy their conversation as much as she thought he did.

There was something about Spencer that drew her to him. He was sweet and kind and quiet like her. He was good at chess too and he was very handsome. His hair was pretty, his face even prettier. She found herself almost breathless at the thought of him. But she worried he might not come back to the little cafe again.

A week passed. A few more days went by and then suddenly, one morning in the pouring rain, just like the first day he had come into the cafe, Spencer stepped into the coffee shop. He was a bit damp from the run between the subway and the cafe, but still just as pretty. She looked up at him as he walked in, curious at his quick entrance and then concerned when she noticed the cuts along his eyebrow and cheek on one side of his face.

Spencer didn’t even need to order, the barista knew what Spencer wanted and went about making his usual order. “You’re back.” She spoke softly. “I am, I’m sorry I disappeared. I wanted to tell you but it was quite sudden.” He sighed. “What happened? Why are you hurt?” She asked. Spencer chewed on his lip for a moment, mulling over what to tell her. He looked at his watch. He had more than enough time today, he wasn’t due for the post case briefing for another forty minutes. Taking his coffee from the barista, he pulled the seat out opposite the girl and sat down. “I’m an FBI agent, I had to go to a different state to work on a case.” He explained quietly. “Oh.” Was all she replied with and Spencer thought for a moment that it had scared her to know that detail of his life. “Oh, well that makes so much more sense.” She smiled, giggling softly. “No wonder you are always in a rush.” She teased.

A comfortable silence formed and she watched him with soft, kind eyes. “Does it hurt?” She asked. “A little, I’ve had worse though.” He reassured her and she only smiled in response. She didn’t want to imagine the worse he had endured. “I’m glad you’re okay.” It was almost a whisper. “I was worried.” Her voice dropped and it had almost been inaudible. “You were worried?” Spencer asked. She nodded softly. “I’m right here and I have more time today, we can play a full game, if you want to?” Spencer asked. “I’d like that.” She nodded, tears coming to her eyes and Spencer realised just how important he’d become to her, as much as she had become to him too.

“You know what? I’ll make you a deal” Spencer said quietly. “What’s that?” “If I win this, I get to ask you anything. If you win, you get to ask me anything you want.” Spencer proposed. She thought on it for a moment and then finally agreed with a nod and a smirk. “Deal.”

They played, sipping coffee between moves until they were at the last part of the game. She looked like she might win, but before Spencer took his final move, he took one last look at her possible moves and realised he could use something he’d never done before against her. Pulling the move she had shown him on their very first meeting, Spencer looked up at her, smiled and said, “checkmate.” “Oh, well played mister Reid.” She giggled. “So, what will your question be?” She asked. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before looking over at her with a soft smile.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asked. “I’d like nothing more.” She replied. “Now, tell me more about that job of yours.” “You gotta win a question.” He reminded her playfully. “I can beat you in five turns.” She boasted, raising laughter out of Spencer. “You’re on.” 

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐟 @/𝐭𝐞𝐚-𝐚𝐭-𝐭𝐡𝐞-𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝, 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞.

[fandangotales]

Captor Xiao: Introduction

…

GN! Reader

Warnings: Unhealthy attachment, obsessive tendencies, descriptions of depression, dark content.

Please do not read if you think this will have a negative affect on your mental health. If you are experiencing any of these behaviors/habits yourself, please seek out support.

There’s a loud crash, as Xiao’s keyboard slams into his desk. He had just got sniped… again. He hissed in annoyance, closing out of the game. He just wasn’t able to focus as usual, and instead his mind was running rampant with thoughts and images of you.

He groans, laying down on his bed, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. The only light came shown from his computer monitor, as it flickered randomly.

Earlier, he had watched another one of your streams, and some of your random content on YouTube. Gods, he loved you so much. Just seeing those videos, or even just hearing your voice was enough to drag him out of the worst of moods… which was quite the feat these days.

You usually streamed once a week, and he honestly didn’t know what he would do without those regular updates. It was almost like a set schedule… every Friday night, you’d stream for a minimum of 2 hours. Such an event had repeated for the last 2 months, much to his delight. At this point, Xiao couldn’t imagine going without those weekly updates. Sure, he could watch some contemplations, or rewatch one of your recorded streams. But it really wasn’t the same the second time… not when he had memorized every single word that came out of your pretty lips.

Maybe his… interest in you was getting a little overboard. Although, he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when you had done so much for him and his current self. You could be compared to a sweet dream… utterly perfect and uplifting in every form. And for Xiao, whose life had been filled with so many struggles, he found it incredibly difficult to break away from that sweet dream. He never wanted to let you go… because if he did, he would simply return to that… terrible sense of misery that seemed to accompany him even in the happiest of moments.

With you… he didn’t feel the overwhelming pressure that usually accompanies his mind. And sometimes, he would pretend you were there with him, if only to help him do the simplest of tasks. Getting out of bed at a reasonable hour, or taking care of himself was instantly made much easier, if he would take the time to imagine you there with him, with one of your typical comments.

“Wake up, silly goose. It’s literally 11am!” You’d say, with your ever-present smile.

Or sometimes,

“Come on, you can do it. Take a shower… it’ll only take 20 minutes, max. It’s not so bad. If you do that… you can eat some of the almond tofu left over in the fridge!”

Maybe it wasn’t the most normal thing to imagine, but if it helped? He wasn’t complaining.

Xiao buried his face in the single pillow on his bed, letting out a sigh. Just seeing you was enough to make him smile… the soft tone of your voice and the way you’d always dress up for your streams… it was truly a sight to see. You were divine… gracing him with your time and company, if only through the screen of his computer monitor. This way, he was allowed to bask in your presence, even if he was a nobody. Even if he didn’t deserve the smallest bit of attention from you.

His computer made a soft sound, indicating that he had an unread notification. He instantly clicked on it, after he saw the typical greeting from your twitch channel.

“Hi everyone!

I’m so sorry to announce this, but I’ll be taking a 3 week break due to some personal reasons. Please don’t worry about me, as everything is completely fine. I just need some time to take a break from my usual routine, as I’ve been feeling tired and worn out as of late. Thank you for your understanding, and I’ll be seeing you all after three weeks.

Love you all, and stay safe…”

.

.

.

.

N

.

.

.

No….

.

.

It’s as if his mood had completely dropped to rock bottom. Forget his previous excitement; forget his previous happiness at seeing one of your announcements. It all was crushed the moment he read those words.

3 weeks.

You couldn’t be serious. 3 weeks? Three whole weeks. It was already hard enough… waiting for 6 days between your regular weekly streams.

The day after the stream would be the easiest, as he would be thinking back to everything that you said throughout the day. It was fresh in his memory… your comforting presence fresh in his mind.

The day after that, the initial happiness began to fizzle away. Still there… but it was much less potent than the day before.

Halfway through the week, it’s almost as if he hadn’t even seen you. Those were always the hardest days… the days were he was thrust back into the familiar feeling of loneliness. It was a heavy feeling, weighing down on him as he tried to sleep. He struggled to even relax… as the negative feelings would always overwhelm him to the point where he didn’t even have the energy to get out of bed. At that point, it seemed like there was no point of anything. No point of taking care of himself. No point in eating. No point… of simply existing. There was no point, if he was without you.

The two days before the stream, his mood switched to one of anxious anticipation. He knew you’d be online… in 2 days. If he could just hold out until then, he’d be able to see you again!

The very day before the stream, Xiao didn’t even sleep. He couldn’t forgive himself if he missed even one second of your content, or one second of your intro screen. It was like a religious ritual… one that he followed perfectly as if he was your devoted worshipper.

2 hours before the stream, he was biting his nails. The anticipation was killing him.

1 hour… he was grabbing another cup of coffee. He was exhausted, but it was worth it if he was able to see you.

30 minutes… he tapped his leg, as he shifted in his gaming chair. Usually your intro screen was on by now… what was happening? Was something wrong? Did you…

Can…

Cancel?

This couldn’t be… not after he put so much effort into staying awake just for you. His breathing got heavier, as he started going into a full blown panic attack. You… you were avoiding him? What did he do…? He’s sorry… he must’ve disappointed you… he’s so worthless… sorry…

he’s sorry…

15 minutes later, the familiar waiting screen appeared on, with a little note apologizing for the late start. He breathed a sigh of relief, as his previous mood completely evaporated at the sight.

You were just late… everything was ok. What a benevolent streamer you were, offering a little apology just for him. He sighed, smiling slightly. You always were the sweetest…

When the stream started, his expression changed to one of pure elation. Seeing you… seeing this new content, hearing about your day… it was the best thing that has happened to him since your last stream. He eagerly watched the stream, replying to your little comments as if you were talking to him and him alone.

You think the “Crimson Witch of Flames” domain is terrible? Xiao agrees, because the Lavawalker set is useless. (He doesn’t even know what artifacts are… he just heard you complain about that set in particular)

You pulled Nahida in a recent banner? Xiao doesn’t even play Genshin Impact, but he’s already looking into this character so that he can better understand your favorite game. He really doesn’t need to understand the whole story line of the game… but if it helps him connect with you in that way, then he’ll gladly look into it. Even if it means watching hours of videos, and spending hours on the Genshin Impact Wiki.

He’s just that devoted… willing to do that… willing to do… anything for you.

.

.

.

.

One week was doable. A struggle, but he could always power through.

But…

Three weeks?

His apartment was silent, except for an occasional sob, as he curled into a small ball on the floor of his room.

The teal LED lights shown down on his pale body, as it was shook on the floor.

The only other sounds in that apartment was the quiet hum of his PC fans, and the occasional startup sound of the air conditioner.

He was alone.

Again.

Again.

Again, he’s alone.

…he needed you.

[ladyclwriter]

Morpheus imagine

Enchanted

Summary: you only had a glance of Morpheus, and even months by, you never found the right word to describe how you felt when saw him. Another encounter made it clear. The word is; enchanted.

Period drama scenery, gn!reader, my bad attempt at mystery and bored royalty. yes, they dance in a ball

You never saw a man like him.

The pale skin, long dark hair, could be common among the men, but he had something.

His skin wasn't only pale; it was moon-ish. His eyes and hair weren't dark, but indeed, the night sky. He walked like a crow flowing through rainy clouds, voice felt like thunder and a cold breeze.

It took months to think about the right word to describe Morpheus — the way you felt when first put your eyes on him.

“Majesty, you owe me something” his voice reverberates on the walls. It was a long while since you went to the throne room, sitting bored by the side of your father's huge chair. The deep voice made everyone jump, some surprised, some scared.

“Pardon?” the king said under a heavy beard.

“An astonishing ball. Yet, if I recall it well, we had a deal” obviously, such a secret one that none of them were going to mention in a public place. “Complete your part”

As you gave him a side eye, dad's sweat was pretty visible on his temples, face lightened up by close candles. He didn't dare to look away from the mysterious being, yet, he didn't hold the man's deep stare. “Not here. Not now”

“What better time could one find?” steps echoed as approaching slowly, looking like a predator. Like a feline.

“Once we were completely alone, out of the castle. That was the deal” his voice trembled, as one, two feet started climbing stairs to the throne. You never saw your father like this. Vulnerable, terribly scared, shaking. “I swear I-”

“Now.” a command.

For a second, something in the air changed. Oxygen damped, candles burned less brightly, shadows seemed to dance tall on the stone walls. That was the exact moment your brain felt like pure mist and fog. The moment you tried to find one single word to describe; describe what it was, or the way you felt. The word you were looking for ever since that night.

Whatever it was that your father promised to the mysterious man, was delivered five minutes later. And with the same subtleness he came, he went away. The main lesson a royal child has is to never ask when you feel you don't have to. So you did.

Duties and compromises changes, people come and go, skies pouring down and burning sun, tides flowed and the wind went cold and warm. You faced your routine, days passed, an unbearable wait for someone you little by little were forgetting about. His voice faded away from your mind, but that feeling never went away.

What was that feeling?

Which word could describe it?

A doubt that kept knocking on your head. Not a regular question, but one that reverberated through your heart. How could someone you never saw before mark your... Your soul? That's the word? He complicated things. How could the heir of your kingdom forget words and be so easily confused about your own feelings?

Time was your best ally on this. When months helped you to get comfortable with your questions and doubts and feelings, another ball happened — nor the first, nor the last. This afternoon, you didn't made a single effort to dance with your boring courtship suitors, sitting on your high chair, watching people in puffy outfits dancing, only to be surprised by a silhouette.

You never walked so fast before. Rushing through stairs, people that saw you all your life and just had a glance of your face, dancing arms and feet that almost hit you, and cotton and silk waving around, you found him.

Walking with his black coat like a crow flowing through rainy clouds. Hair as dark as the night sky. And...

“That was a long run” voice like thunder and a cold breeze. ”Should I consider my honor to be the cause?”

It all hit you again. The feeling, the un-named one. It made you shiver, heart pump strongly and loud on your ears. Butterflies on your stomach could be mistaken by arrows flying around. Yet, your smile was uncontrollably wide.

“Yes. I mean...” shyness and realization came at the same time. You bowed formally, presenting yourself like you always do so. “... And you are?” you asked, and only that was already not-so-formal.

The man smirks, also bowing down. Gracious, like a dark swan, closing eyes. “I've had many names and titles, your highness”

That wasn't the first time you heard that, and “Which one will you offer me?” was an automatic question.

“Morpheus. Lord” you laughed childishly at the disorder. But, just bowed down again, tilting your head a bit to a side.

“I am plea-”

No. That's not the word. It's not that feeling. You stayed there, head downwards, slowly loosing yourself on thoughts as the torture of last months came back at you.

He understood exactly what you were going through — a god confuses poor humans very often. You only broke out of your insights when realized the man broke the distance, now, mere centimeters away from you.

“No need to be formal, I'm not here as a noble. I'm just here” with no reason or explanation I could tell openly. “So do you, if I'm correct?”

Not that you didn't have tasks on balls, but in some kind of way, that was exactly how you felt the whole afternoon. Just there, like a piece of decoration, observing by not wanting to be there but having to. So you agreed with a sly smile.

The conversation died right there, as the musicians shifted the rhythm to a slow waltz. Wasting no time, a prince approached you with a deep bow. “Would your Highness delight me with this dance?”

You couldn't hide the “no” on your face, even if your arm was mechanically moving to accept. Fortunately, a god knows best, and Morpheus was very eager to make a mortal happy that night. “Beg your pardon, but the first dance will be mine”, the prince had the same puzzled face as you, and both had no time to process as the other man took your hand, leading you towards the middle of the room.

Almost instantly, every couple of dancers made room to the two of you in the middle, a big circle of stars and moon painted on the floor. You both bowed down, and started a well-known choreography. Soon, everyone was dancing again, respecting the circle space.

The slow song gave you time to catch every single detail you could. His eyes, lips, nose, the way his hair was arranged and how he gave you little smiles from time to time.

You have been all your life on this; dancing around with a lot of people on chic balls, but in some kind of way, he made it all... Different.

You were aware of every single spot his hands touched; back, waist, arm and hand, burning with lingering contact. And that feeling came again. The un-named one. Haunting the bottom of your stomach, resurrecting every butterfly, just to kill again. But you were so, so happy — and that was not the right word to describe —, everything was just sparkling and flawless.

“I shall ask forgiveness, your Highness. You didn't looked willing to dance, yet I brought you here” he said softly over the music, looking directly in your eyes.

You couldn't say anything. Now, close enough to pay attention to his face, all you could do was admire. Swirling around was a torture, turning away from him, a nightmare. All you wanted to do was stare. Yet, at one specific turn, you saw your father. Even distant, with a worried and terrified face. So did yours shift too. “I would like an answer about this doubt I have, Lord Morpheus”

“As you wish” he said politely, matching your serious tone.

“What was my father's debt? What was the deal, exactly?”

The man pondered, switching looks between your eyes. “One couldn't tell the king's secrets, your Highness. But I assure our partnership is done for good” and it wasn't a lie.

You raised an eyebrow by the lack of information, so tried one more question. “And what was the thing he gave you?”

“A paper. A statement” he swirled you, the song getting a little bit faster.

“About?” the steps of the dance required you getting further now, having to speak a little louder.

“Property” the man said simply, not minding to fill your curiosity. “A property that is on my possession now”

Something about it made you shiver. The ambient felt colder, even if now you were panting with a faster rhythm. When you got closer again, you asked, “And what did you gave to my father? Money, I assume”

“Money is not something you give, Your Highness. And buying things around isn't my way of action” you could never picture someone speaking so carelessly about finances before, even if so vaguely. “I gave him what he dreamed the most”

“In exchange of a property? How large must it be, I imagine” you laughed, not believing his words. Yet, the man stayed serious, not a single emotion on his face.

As you danced and realized he wouldn't give you any more informations, you tried to lighten the mood. “Are you from across the sea? I didn't saw you around, and I travel a lot on democratic missions”

He smiled, making your whole brain melt for seconds. “I fear I'm not. But I'm not from this piece of earth, either” you would totally agree, as he looked so ethereally beautiful.

“So you live in the clouds?” a joke that at some way didn't felt like one, even if you both chuckled.

“At a certain way, yes” your laugh quickly died, as you realized he was actually serious. Just as when you thought about questioning, the music ended. “Shall I have the gift of your company for a walk, your Highness?”

You would never deny.

Walking side by side, arms crossed, every eye on the room was directed towards the unknown man taking the Heir to the garden. The king's eyes couldn't hide it; he was desperate, for a reason you couldn't picture. Yet, you wouldn't dare to get away from Morpheus. You needed to take the maximum of the time you had with him.

When passing by double doors, the night wasn't cold. No draft swayed the trees, nor the bushes leaves. Flowers scents only could be smelled as you walked by their side, even the most exotic ones didn't filled the air. You two stopped by a small river, far away from the people and noises. Both took some time with the sweet silence; not a sound other than muffled music.

Your arms were touching, that small physical contact alone made you smile like a child. One second or another, you catched his eyes on you. He never tried to drift away or disguise, sometimes even smiling, which made fireworks in your heart. When a little duck started swimming on the lake, and you both laughed at the babies behind her, he took your hand. The smile on your face faded rapidly as serious he was.

“I have to go” Morpheus said lowly, mouth close to your ear as he tilted his head, the deep voice reverberating through your body. “My duty awaits.”

You couldn't help your eyebrows arching, expression almost pained. “Can't you stay for a little bit longer?” you whispered, not knowing the reason.

“I'm sorry, your Highness” he truly seemed like, staring into your soul with his night sky eyes, cold hand squeezing yours. “This won't be our last encounter. I promise the next one will last longer”

You wished to stay with him forever. In that moment, with the shy moonlight on his moon-ish skin, your feelings came all over again. The desire to hold him and never let go took you for a second, only for you to blink and exhale it out. Gathering yourself, with nothing else to say, you took two steps away. He bowed down, a hand on his chest.

“Farewell, Lord Morpheus” you also bowed, closing eyes as to make sure you were strong enough to say these words.

“Enjoy the night, your Highness” he knew you wouldn't. Turning towards a path that wouldn't lead back to the castle, the man started walking.

Watching his back, despair and anxiety started to grow up. Your eyes filled with tears knowing the waiting torture would be back to your days. So, words squeezing your throat, you said loudly; “Morpheus!”

Stopping his pace, he turned to you gracefully. Like a crow flowing through rainy clouds. His face showed no expression, yet, his eyes were expectantly.

“I...”

The feeling. The un-named one. You tried to remember everything you felt with him. He made everything feel like... Like... Magic.

Magic? It was... I was...

As you became more and more anxious, almost freaking out, the man one more time bowed down. This time, so gracefully that you caught yourself hypnotized. “I was enchanted to meet you, your Highness” voice like thunder and a cold breeze.

You froze completely. That's it. That's the word.

Morpheus turned again, a smile on his face as he walked away.

Realization hit you, and everything made sense inside your heart. At the throne room, when your brain was pure mist and fog; “It was enchanting to meet you” the whisper came out delicately from your lips, hanging in the air powerless as your enchanter vanished from your view.

Did Morpheus put a spell on the reader? What did the king gave to him? 👀

Bc of this I've been the whole day with this song on mind. May Oneiros bless us with Speak Now Taylor's Version 🙏

A heart and a reblog helps me a lot! And I totally need your comments, please give me your opinions. I'm always insecure about the way my oneshots turns out.

I have other Morpheus imagines, check'em out on my masterlist. Would you like to be in the taglist of my next Sandman works? Let me know!

Thank you so much for reading, love ya 💕

[marinlupin]

Remus and his braces

disclaimer i have braces i wear everyday so this will be inspired by it, but obviously everyone is different. but this isn’t technically also sorry if it doesn’t sound british i am in fact an american.

“I don’t know are these even really needed?”

“Yes.” James, Sirius, and Peter say in unison as Remus sits on the edge of his bed getting ready.

Remus sighs as he slips the left one on setting it in place tightening the velcro. It feels weird having them on, extra support he’s not used to having he doesn’t understand how braces can help him.

“They don’t look that bad Moony.” Sirius says eyes scanning him making him feel more vulnerable than usual. “They’re going to help especially since the full moon’s in a couple days.

“Won’t people notice? I mean it’ll become a pattern.”

“Mate, I think you’re just overthinking it. You’ll get used to them and if people do start asking questions we’ll come up with a cover.” Peter assures him.

Remus just swallows and nods not knowing what to say.

some time later

He feels very vulnerable, like everyone is looking at him all the time and he has to be constantly be reminded by James or Sirius that it is in fact just his mind being afraid.

Although the braces are helping a lot more than Remus wants to admit, he doesn’t feel like he’s gonna fall all the time, he’s not limping as much, and the pain has lessened dramatically. Its not like the braces are super noticeable because they’re black and Remus doesn’t necessarily wear bright close, but he feels like they’re screaming to look at him and it’s annoying.

Sirius hasn’t needed to carry his textbooks like normal, but he eventually did when Remus just felt exhausted because yes, the braces help, but they don’t get rid of every problem.

He’s also overly aware.

Remus saw a boy staring at him for way longer than he would like and on a regular day he wouldn’t deem to care, or maybe he wouldn’t even notice. Instead of sinking into his chair like he wanted he snapped.

“What are you looking at?” His voice was firm with irritation.

“N- Nothing, sorry Lupin.” The boy busied himself with his work while trying not to squirm, but miserably failing.

“Moony!” James hissed quietly under his breath you can’t snap at people like that!”

He felt a pang of guilt rise through him, but quickly pushed it down with a heavy sigh. He knows he needs to let up, but Remus can’t help it, he doesn’t like the way he needs these braces now, that it got so bad that everyone that knows his secret was pushing him to do it. That it would be good for him, but Remus didn’t want even more accommodations than he already had.

But as the weeks went on he gradually felt less conscious of himself, the braces becoming a daily routine to the point he doesn’t even think about it as he goes on with his day. Peter told him it actually made him look pretty cool, though he couldn’t exactly see what Peter saw it made him feel less abnormal.

Yes Remus still needs help, but with the braces it genuinely helps him feel less shitty those times during the month with the moon.

[pedrito-friskito]

the domestication of steven grant rogers - a study in red, white, and blue

summary: when Steve came out of the ice, you were one of the first people he met outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., and quickly became the only thing that made sense to him.

warning: smut, fluff, my heartache over steve rogers, explicit sex, canon-typical violence

a/n: I wrote this last year (DAMN) in honour of my favourite star-spangled man with a plan’s bday, and since it’s been a whole year and I haven’t posted a steve fic on here yet, here ya go!

| main masterlist | ao3 |

2012

Steve Rogers has gone to the same cafe every day, sat at the same table, drank the same black coffee, since he came out of the ice. When the weather’s nice, he takes the table in the middle, with the clear view of the clock above Grand Central Station. If not, then the one just inside the cafe, right beside the front door. Sitting at the table, he fills journals with notes about what he’s learned, general musings, sketches in the corners of the pages.

He’s spent every night sifting through the files S.H.I.E.LD. provided him with, catching up on some of what he’s missed. His head spins over something new every day, and so he’s kept up some sort of routine. Same cafe, same table, same coffee. Something, anything to keep him tied to the earth, make him feel some sort of normalcy once more.

He learns the staff rotation of the cafe pretty quickly. During the week, there’s an older woman named Dolores who brings him his order without a word. She introduced herself the first day he went to the cafe, quickly understood Steve wasn’t one to talk, and kept the coffee coming. On the weekends, a tall, lanky guy named Eric who doesn’t have the same social radar Dolores does, and will talk Steve’s ear off for an hour before finally leaving him in peace.

And then, a few months into his routine, something changes, and it throws him through a loop.

He shows up Monday morning, a fresh journal tucked under his arm and a perfectly sunny day ahead of him. He takes his normal table outside, cranes his neck towards the cafe entrance, but instead of Dolores’s familiar figure, he sees you.

And damn it all if you don’t take his breath away.

He catches himself. His feelings for Peggy Carter are still fresh, the thought of what they could have had if he had survived hanging around the back of his head like an unwelcome shadow. He knows she moved on, that she married, had kids and built a life with her husband, and he can’t fault her for it. Knowing what he does, he’s glad, in a way, that she did, that she didn’t let the loss of him get in her way. Peggy’s still alive, he knows. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to go visit her in Washington, not yet. 

You walk towards his table, steaming cup of coffee balanced on the tray in your hand, an easy smile on his face. Y/N your name tag reads, and he commits it to memory. There’s a uniform for the cafe, a light yellow button up and a black skirt, and you wear it well, the shirt tied up at your waist, red chucks on your feet, hair piled atop your head in a messy bun. The skirt clings to your curves in a way that has Steve stifling the blush that creeps up the back of his neck, and his mouth goes dry when you come to stop in front of him, lifting the coffee cup from his tray and setting it in front of him.

“You must be Steve,” you say, and your voice is melodic in a way that makes Steve want to ask you a million questions, if only to hear you talk more. In an instant, he’s hooked.

He’s staring, he realizes after a moment, his mouth apparently forgetting how to stay shut and his palms going sweaty. “I…uh…yes.”

The smile you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Dolores told me about you. You were her favourite regular. She told me to take good care of you.”

“What happened to her?”

You spin the tray once in your hand and then tuck it under your arm, pulling an order pad from the apron around your waist. “She retired. Her and her husband are moving to Florida, right on the beach.”

“Sounds peaceful,” he says.

You hum in agreement. “It does, doesn’t it? But I’ve got her shifts now, so you’ll have to settle for me instead.” Across the tables, towards the cafe entrance, someone calls your name, and your head turns toward it. Steve is still staring. “I gotta go, but let me know if you need anything, okay? Table’s yours as long as you want.”

He watches you go, until you’ve disappeared into the cafe once more, and an elderly man at the table beside him pipes up, leaning back over his chair. “Ask for her number, you moron.”

Steve spends the rest of the day hunched over his journal, pencil in hand, sketching. He’s never been great at faces, but you make enough appearances outside that he gets all the angles he needs. You catch him staring a few times, winking when his gaze meets yours, and he blushes every time.

The sketch is rough, and the paper is filled with a few different versions, but it’s still your face. He’s pretty pleased with himself, and tears the page from the journal. He scribbles a note beneath his sketches, and leaves the page folded beneath his empty coffee cup, a ten dollar bill along with it.

See you tomorrow.

+

When Dolores announced her retirement, and your boss at the cafe asked if you were willing to pick up the extra shifts, you were more than happy to oblige. You were bouncing between two jobs, the cafe at Grand Central, and some retail shop on Broadway, but you liked the cafe better. The atmosphere was nicer, the pay was better, and people tended to tip heavier when they were in a hurry to catch a train.

So you said yes, altered your schedule, and gave your two weeks at the other place. Dolores gave you the rundown of her day-to-day, when she’d come in, what she’d get done before the cafe opened. She also filled you in on all of her regulars; where they sat, their orders, how long they usually stayed. She had it down to a science, nearly, and supplied you with detailed notes in a tiny red book. 

Steve was the latest entry on the list, his details specific enough: table in the middle (outside unless it’s raining - right by the door if it is), black coffee (keep it coming), he’ll stay as long as he needs, handsome.

The last word was underlined three times, so hard the mark had scratched through the page, and it made you laugh.

She was right, he was handsome. However, she’d failed to mention who he was, though part of you wondered if she knew.

Captain America. 

Captain America was now one of your regulars. Captain America had spent the day drawing sketches of you from his spot outside, and had left you the evidence with a promise scrawled along the bottom of the page: See you tomorrow.

You certainly hoped so.

The history was common knowledge. You’d read the books in high school, listened to the lectures in the history elective you’d taken in college. You knew the story, at least what was shared with the public: the experiment that had turned him into the super-soldier he still was, all the lives he’d saved crashing a plane carrying enough explosives to level the state. They’d searched the world over for his body, but if they’d ever found him, you didn’t know about it.

Until you stepped out of the cafe with a black coffee on your tray and realized you were delivering it to Captain America himself. He’s just as handsome in real life as he’d been in the photographs you’d seen, maybe even more so. The same floppy blonde hair, combed to the side in true forties fashion, piercing baby blues that would make the ocean jealous, broad shoulders that were definitely something to write home about. He was…Captain America. Steve Rogers.

Your interaction had gone smoothly enough, and you’d kept an eye on him through your shift. You didn’t press him; he looked…spooked, in a way, like a deer in the headlights, and you didn’t want to make it worse. He didn’t once move from his table, only asked for a refill after you pressed him, and spent most of the day hunched over his journal. Towards the end of your shift, you’d stepped outside to find his seat empty, and gone to clear the table, only to find a folded piece of paper beneath his empty cup, with a ten dollar bill.

It was you. He’d drawn you. Over and over again.

It occurs to you that in another circumstance, maybe you’d maybe find it creepy, but the detail is so good that you find it almost…endearing? He even managed to sketch the clover-shaped necklace at your throat, a gift from your parents when you graduated.

You put the paper in your purse, hang up your apron, and head out of the cafe. The night shift has arrived, and you bid everyone a goodnight before stepping outside.

And straight into Steve Rogers’s chest.

“Oh!” you cry out, startled and nearly tripping over your own shoes. Steve catches your wrist easily, his grip warm and his skin soft on yours. “I thought you went home.”

“I did,” he replies, “did some thinking, decided to come back and ask if you’d like to have dinner with me?” His voice hitches at the end with the question, and you can feel a grin pulling at your mouth. He starts talking again before you can answer, dropping your wrist and taking a step back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and staring down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, if that’s too forward, I just…well, you’re very nice. And beautiful, and I…” He trails off, finally looking back up at you. “I am not very good at this.”

You wave him off. “No such thing. I like the forwardness. Dinner sounds great.” You look down at your shirt, stained with coffee from a rogue pot and your skirt dusted with flour from the pastries you’d helped bake earlier in the day. “But if we’re going to go to a restaurant, I need to change first.”

“Of course,” Steve says, gesturing with a hand in a way that makes you giggle. “I should have just asked for your phone number, like a normal person, made plans for another day when you haven’t been on your feet for eight hours.”

He pauses for a breath, but then opens his mouth to keep talking, and you lift a quick hand, pressing your finger to his lips. There’s something so endearing about him, you can’t get past it. The whole man-out-of-time thing is working, not to mention those blue eyes make you want to roll over and die. “Steve,” you say, laughing, “it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you drop your hand. “It’s been a long time since I asked a dame on a date.”

You scoff a laugh. “Dame?”

He blushes. “Sorry. Girl. Woman?”

He’s got you laughing again, and you shake your head at him. “I live a few blocks over. I’ll change, and then we can go to this little Italian place on the other side of the park.”

Steve doesn’t say anything more, but just nods. He offers you his elbow, bending slightly, and you slip your hand into the crook of his arm and lead him away from the cafe.

+

Half an hour later, Steve is standing outside your apartment building, leaning against the fence on the sidewalk. You’d asked if he wanted to come up with you, but he’d declined. Was that appropriate now? To be alone in an apartment with a girl you barely know? Woman? Dame? His head is spinning, but he’s hooked onto one thing: you said yes. If he’s honest, it’s the best thing that’s happened to him since he came out of the ice.

The door opens again and you step outside, yanking it shut behind you, and for the second time that day, you take his breath away. Gone is the coffee-stained uniform, replaced with dark pants that cling to you, and a white top made of flowing material that makes Steve think of fairies from stories he read a long time ago. 

You’re beautiful, and he’s struck by it. Again.

“Ready?” you ask, your lips painted a deep pink colour. He wants to kiss you. Is that appropriate? Damn it.

“Uh, yes,” he replies, and offers you his elbow once more.

He lets you lead as you walk through the streets of the city. It’s familiar to him in a strange way; the streets themselves haven’t changed much from what he remembers, but the buildings that line either side are completely different in some places, identical to his memory in others.

You both talk as you walk. You more than him, but you don’t seem to mind. He asks more about you. Did you grow up in the city? No, you’re from the South originally, but your parents had moved a lot when you were a teenager and you’d ended up in New York for school. Any siblings? Only child. What did you go to school for? You were a history major in Columbia, graduated a few years back with a minor in creative writing as well.

Learning what you studied answers his next question, the one he’s been dying to ask. “So you know who I am.”

You pause, seemingly choosing your words before you reply. “I do. The second World War was one of my focuses in senior year. I wrote my final thesis paper on Allied experimentation.”

Steve’s brows lift. “Impressive. I might know a thing or two about that.”

The easy smile returns to your face, and Steve’s gut clenches when you bite your bottom lip gently. “Your name came up once or twice. I did a lot of research, and I’ll tell you, I don’t usually know my dates this well before meeting them.” 

“I’m assuming you don’t usually date men from your history books.”

Something changes in your expression then, you brows pulling down. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know. What happened to you. I mean, if you want to, then I’m all ears. It must be…shocking, I don’t know.” You pause, put your hand on his arm, stopping you both. You’re in the middle of Central Park now, the streetlights just starting to come on. “Are you okay?”

Steve balks for a second at your question. The truth of it is no, he’s not okay. 

It’s been a strange few months to say the least, and he doesn’t know the last time someone asked him if he was okay. They’ve poked and prodded him enough to know he’s healthy, but save for Fury, few have had the courage to speak to him, let alone look him in the eye. Most people he’s encountered in public have either resorted to whispers behind their hands, or snapping pictures from afar.

And yet here you are. 

“I’m fine,” is what comes out of his mouth instead, hands clenching into fists at his sides and continuing on down the pathway. After a moment, he feels your hand around his wrist, your skin warm against his. He lets you unfurl his fingers, and your hand slips into his.

“I could try and help, if you’d like,” you offer, double-stepping to get a little closer to him. “Answer whatever questions you have, try and catch you up on the world. I know my history pretty well, and I’m a master of reality television.”

His brow lifts. “You’d do that? I’ve got a lot of questions. Lot of stupid ones, probably. Like, what’s a selfie?”

You let out a laugh, and Steve’s gut twists. Your laugh is just as pretty as your face, and he wants to drown in it, wants to hear it again as soon as it stops.

“Come here,” you say, your grip tightening on his hand and pulling him closer to you. You angle yourself in front of him, pulling something rectangular and metallic out of your pocket. Your finger swipes across a blank screen, illuminating it, and it takes Steve to realize that it’s a phone. The screen is covered in tiny icons of all different colours, and you press down on one. A moment later, the screen changes, and he can see the two of you reflected back on the screen.

You hold the phone at an arm’s length, reaching back with one hand to pull at his shoulder. He crouches slightly, positions his face close to yours.

“Now, smile!”

You press a button on the screen, there’s a strange sound from the phone, and you pull it close to you again, swiping at the screen again and pulling up the photograph. It’s the two of you, a beaming smile on your face, a toothy grin on Steve’s. He’s in awe, shocked that you can see the picture right away.

The confusion must be clear as day on his face, because you slip the phone back into your pocket and take his hand again. “Okay, maybe we need to start a little smaller. Do you have a cell phone?”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him some sort of phone when they’d released him into the world, with a quick tutorial on how to use it. He still didn’t totally understand it, but he didn’t have anyone to talk to, so he hadn’t investigated it further.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the silver flip phone, and hands it to you. You flip it open, start tapping away at the keypad, and then hand it back to him. “There. Now you have my number. Number two on your speed dial.”

“My what?”

“Press the two,” you say around a smile, “and it’ll call me.”

“Huh.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and takes your hand again. “It’s a start,” you say, lifting a shoulder.

You go a few more steps before he asks another question. “What about the internet?”

“Oh.” You blow out a breath, shaking your head. “Food first, Captain. Then we can get into that.”

+

Dinner is lovely, and Steve Rogers is nothing short of a gentleman.

You sit out on the terrace, the whole patio covered in little twinkly lights that are cliche as anything, but still put a smile on your face. The food is delicious, as it always is, and the expression on Steve’s face when he tries your gnocchi keeps the smile in place. You share a bottle of wine, and he’s quick to offer you his jacket when he catches you shivering at the slight chill in the air.

He has a lot of questions, but you didn’t expect anything less, and you’d meant it when you offered your help. The internet probably takes the longest time to explain - and admittedly, there are parts of it you still don’t understand - but he has a decent grasp by the end of it.

By the time dinner and dessert are done, you’ve covered the important parts of 2012, best that you can think of. You’re sure you’re missing something, and you can tell by Steve’s expression that he has more questions, but you’re both tired with the information overload, yawning around your wine glasses when the waiter brings the check.

You reach for your wallet, but Steve waves you off, pulling a surprisingly thick money clip from his pocket and pulling out enough bills to cover the check and a decent tip. “Apparently whatever money I had back in the forties just sat in the bank collecting interest for seventy years,” he tells you, tucking the clip away. “I’d buy you breakfast too, if you’d let me.”

Your brows raise. There’s an innuendo there, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but to say your mind hasn’t wandered in that direction a few times over the course of the evening would be a lie. “I start work at eight,” you reply, “but before that, I’m all yours. If you’re willing to get up that early.”

The waiter returns to collect the cash, thanks Steve for the tip, and he waits for the waiter to disappear before responding, leaning his elbows onto the table. “I slept for seventy years, Y/N. I’ve had my fill. Besides, I’d rather spend my time with a beautiful girl than dreaming of a life that isn’t mine anymore.”

The words are both sincere and sad, and it pulls at something in your chest. Before you can think any better of it, you lean forward, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Your fingers curl in the fabric, thumb pressing against a button, and you bend across the table, your lips meeting Steve’s in a sweet kiss that tastes like wine and tiramisu.

When you pull back, he’s flushed as anything, and you sink back into your seat slowly. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, chewing your lip, “if that was too forward.”

His gaze goes far off for a moment, and then focuses on you again. “I like the forwardness.”

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” you ask.

He swallows hard. “…yes.”

You nod, reaching for your wineglass and draining it to it’s dregs. “Not bad.”

Steve just starts to laugh, a low chuckle that shakes his shoulders. His laugh is infectious, and it’s half a second before you’re following suit, laughing along with him. After a second, he gets to his feet, offers you his hand, and leads you off the patio and back towards the park. You’re both quieter on the way back, full of food and wine and information.

All too soon, you’re standing outside your apartment again. You give him back his jacket, thank him for dinner, and ask Steve if he wants to come up for a cup of coffee, but he politely declines. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

You nod. “Pick me up at six thirty?”

“It’s a date,” he replies, and you go to turn away, stepping up towards the door that leads into your apartment. He reaches for your wrist before you can reach for the door, and spins you backwards, your feet slipping on the step. You all but fall into his arms, and he catches you easily, his arms around your waist, yours around your shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur, and this time, he’s the one that kisses you.

It’s different than the soft kiss you’d shared at the restaurant, which was quick and gentle and over before it had even begun. This is much different, his lips moulding against yours in a way that has your toes curling in your shoes, your fingers twisting in the fabric at his collar. Your bodies press together, heat sparking deep in you, and you can feel his palm pressed against the small of your back.

He makes a noise when your teeth glance across his bottom lip, and you pull back, nearly stumbling out of his grip. He follows you up the step, crowding you into the corner beside the doorway, his arms finding your waist once more. You fist both hands in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, your mouth on his. It’s…intoxicating.

You pull away before he does, and Steve’s lips are a perfect shade of pink, his cheeks flushed in a way that makes you want to kiss him some more. “Are you sure you don’t want to come upstairs?”

He chuckles again, and takes a step back, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I should go home. To my apartment. Where I live.” There’s a pause, and he leans forward, kissing your lips once more before pulling back again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile, the taste of him still on your mouth. “Goodnight, Steve.”

You watch as he heads down the sidewalk, waiting until his figure completely disappears from view before you head inside yourself.

+

Steve doesn’t get much sleep. Not that he’s really been getting any; since he came out of the ice, it’s like everything is constantly on high alert, and his body doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stop.

And then there’s you. You, who have completely turned the world on it’s head, before he could even recover from the first flip. You, with your pretty eyes and your voice like a song he’s never heard before, but somehow known all his life. With your laugh and your questions and answers. He could have sat on that patio forever, listening to you talk, watching you move.

It’s a miracle he didn’t stand outside your apartment and kiss you until the sun came up.

He spends the night as he normally does, sifting through the piles of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, flipping through his journals. He finds himself sketching faces; Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, the Howling Commandos. Faces he remembers, faces he’ll never see again.

But then, just as he had at the cafe, he draws you.

The sketches are different than what he’d drawn earlier in the day. You’d worn your hair down to the restaurant, the ends curling around your shoulders. He’d wanted to run his fingers through it, and cursed himself for not doing so when he kissed you outside your apartment.

By the time the sun comes up, his pencils are dulled and one of his journals is full. He changes quickly, swapping his button up for a white t-shirt and his leather jacket. Is it awful that part of him hopes it’s cold outside, just so he can see you wearing his jacket again?

The subway is bustling for six in the morning, and he hangs around the doorway, waiting for his stop with his hands stuffed in his pocket, foot tapping impatiently.

Bucky would give him hell, to see him all doe-eyed and anxious over a girl like this, but things are different now. Everything is different now.

You step onto the sidewalk as he’s approaching your building, dressed in your cafe uniform once again, a denim jacket tucked under your arm. You spot him quickly, stepping off the porch and heading for him. Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands, not sure how to greet you, but you beat him to the punch, a beaming smile on your face as your hand settles on his chest and you lean up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning,” you murmur, and when you pull back, he can see your eyes are a little droopy with sleep, that infectious smile still on you lips. Your hair is tied up again, a stray strand curling around your cheek, and before Steve can stop himself, he reaches up and tucks it behind your ear.

“Morning,” he replies, then offers you his elbow. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, your hand slipping into the crook of his arm. He lets you lead again, and to his surprise, you don’t take him to a restaurant, instead to a bagel cart a few blocks down from Central Park. You order two everything bagels, bacon and cheddar cheese, and two coffees, one black, one with cream and sugar. He reaches for his money clip again but this time it’s you waving him off. “Put it away,” you say over your shoulder. “I got this one.”

Bagels and coffee in hand, you lead him through the park, down a few pathways he hasn’t ventured through yet, and come upon a mostly empty stretch with benches lining either side. You take the closest one, sitting down, tucking one leg up underneath you. Steve sits down beside you, and you hand him his bagel and coffee.

You eat in silence for a while, but Steve can’t help the groan that escapes him when he takes a bite of the bagel. You let out a little giggle, smiling at him around yours. “They’re good, huh? Best bagel in the city, I swear.”

“I think this is the best bagel I’ve ever had.” His knee knocks against yours. “Although, the company definitely makes it better.”

Your eyes light up in a way that makes his heart leap in his chest. “Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?”

Surprising both you and himself, Steve leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. You make a little startled noise that makes him smile against your mouth, and you taste mostly of coffee. A little bit like bagel, but he doesn’t mind. 

For a moment, he thinks, everything else can wait. It can all wait. For a moment, just a moment, he just wants to be this. He just wants to sit on this bench and kiss a beautiful girl until he forgets his own name.

It can all wait.

He’s been so tired. He’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t fix. The kind of tired that seventy years in limbo couldn’t fix. The man out of time, the super soldier, the good man. And he’s trying. He’s trying so hard, trying to feel like he has a place in this world that chewed him up nearly a century ago and spit him back out into a future he doesn’t understand.

And then there’s you. Bright-eyed and gorgeous and somehow knowing just the right things to say. He talks to you, and he feels…light. Like maybe things won’t be so bad. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care.

So he sits on that bench beside you, one hand cupping your cheek, keeping your face tilted towards his, and kisses you until the coffee goes cold.

+

The weeks that follow are the same routine for Steve, only you have now implanted yourself into his daily life. And he’s grateful for it.

He still goes to the cafe everyday, you always waiting with a fresh cup at his table. You even put a little reserved sign on it, so no one else will snag it from him. Most nights, he has dinner with you, exploring the different restaurants New York City has to offer. Your favourite places, mostly, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

You’re off work from the cafe on the Fridays and Saturdays, and those days are for adventures, you decide. The Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Guggenheim, everywhere. You have to physically drag him into a Yankees game, but Steve doesn’t really mind it that much - especially when the two of you get caught on the jumbo-tron and you plant one on him.

You help him find a boxing gym, and Steve’s quick to get a membership. He’ll spend a few hours everyday there, practicing his kicks and punches until you’re off the clock or his body is too tired to carry on. It takes his mind off of everything, off the sneaking feeling he’s been having lately that something is coming, but he can’t put his finger on what it is.

His phone starts to ring more often. You always call him when you’re grocery shopping, talking his ear off while browsing the produce. You show him how to text, and it takes some getting used to, but he gets the hang of it pretty quickly.

There’s a number he doesn’t recognize that keeps calling as well, but those calls he declines without a second thought.

Whatever it is, it can wait. It can all wait.

Things between the two of you…escalate. He’d be a fool to try and deny his attraction to you, and there’s more than a few nights spent at your apartment that you end up straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, the two of you breathing the same air. He’s quickly become addicted to the feeling of your body in his grip. Your hips fill his hands perfectly, and more than once he’s slipped a hand up the back of your shirt, feeling the notches of your spine. It’s heat and longing and seventy years creeping up on him in an instant.

He wants to. There’s no question about that. On more than one occasion, he’s…taken care of himself once he got home from your apartment, images of you flashing through his mind. He’s not shocked at how quickly he finds a release, but he also wishes you were there to share it with him.

But Steve Rogers is a gentleman, through and through.

Nearly a month into your romance - is that what he’s supposed to call it? - Steve finds himself alone one Friday night. A few of your girlfriends from college had dragged you out to a bar to celebrate somebody’s birthday. You’d extended an invitation, but he’d declined. He wasn’t there…not yet.

However, when his phone rings at three in the morning, and he sees your name flashing on the screen, he answers in an instant. “Y/N?”

“Can you come get me?” Steve can barely make out your voice over the loud music in the background. You’re practically shouting into the phone, and repeat your request. “Please?”

“Where are you?”

You rattle off a street name, telling him you’ll text him directions once you hang up. He’s out of bed the moment you hang up, changing quickly and heading out the door without a second thought. He stops in the 24-hour bodega around the corner from his building, and the clerk gives him quicker directions than the mess you’d texted to him as he was leaving.

Twenty minutes later, he’s jogging up to the front of a club, a large man standing by the door, neon lights flashing and painting pictures on the sidewalk. He spots you, leaning against the window, teetering on heels that look sharp enough to kill a man. You have your face in your hands, and you’re swaying slightly. As he steps up to you, the large man by the door lifts a hand. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up, and your face is streaked with makeup, black smudges beneath your eyes. “Steve.” You turn to the man. “It’s okay. I know him.”

The man gives Steve a look, but lowers his hand. You step towards him, teetering like a newborn deer, and Steve grabs your elbows, keeping you steady and leading you away from the building.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Your arms wrap through his, fingers tightening around his forearms.

“My friends are assholes,” you say, and your voice is so sad that he just wants to hug you.

Before he gets the chance to, you wrench yourself out of his grip, and empty your stomach into the trash can beside you. Steve flinches, but reaches for you, pulling your hair back and keeping it out of the puke. It takes a while - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone throw up that much, not even when Bucky dragged him on the roller coaster at Coney Island - but when you’re done, you stumble back away from the garbage can, and Steve pulls a tissue from his pocket, offering it to you. You wipe your mouth, smearing your lipstick in the process, and before you can say - or do - anything else, he scoops you into his arms, heels and all, and starts walking back in the direction of his apartment.

He has to stop once a few blocks in, you scrambling down from his arms to toss your cookies once more into a trash can. After that, he picks you up again, and you settle against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

Someone is walking out of his building as you two approach, and blessedly holds the door open so Steve can carry you straight up. It takes a little bit of manoeuvring to get his keys out of his pocket while you’re nearly comatose in his arms, but he manages. He nudges the door shut with his foot, flicking the lock before carrying you into his bedroom.

You mumble something unintelligible as he sets you on the bed, rubbing a hand across your face as you do. Steve just chuckles to himself, and reaches for your feet, undoing the multiple buckles on each of your shoes and pulling them off your feet. He sets them on the ground at the foot of his bed, but then freezes. You’re sweaty, your dress stained with what he assumes is alcohol (thankfully no vomit), and while the dress is pretty, he can only imagine it’s not the most comfortable thing.

As he’s sitting there contemplating what he should do next, if it’s appropriate to change you out of your dress or not, you sit up, mumbling again and smudging the makeup under your eyes further. Steve just watches as you shimmy off the end of the bed, grab the hem of your dress in both hands and yank it up over your head.

He definitely doesn’t miss the black lace panties and matching bra, and needless to say has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he crosses the room, reaching into his closet for a t-shirt and tossing it onto the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Hm?” you mumble in response, but see the t-shirt on the bed and reach for it. He heads for the door, but out of the corner of his eye, sees you hold the shirt to your nose, inhaling heavily and breathing out his name. He all but sprints for the kitchen, pours you a glass of water, then retreats.

He doesn’t expect to find you sitting in the middle of his bed, your bare legs crossed beneath you, and his compass in your hands.

Your eyes go wide when you see him in the doorway, looking back at him like a little kid that got caught with her hands in the cookie jar. But you make no move to put the compass away, and say, “She’s very pretty.”

Steve inhales. “She is.”

“Peggy Carter,” you say, and his brows lift. “Right?”

“Right.”

“She’s very pretty,” you say again, your voice hitching a little. You snap the compass closed, and put it back in it’s place on his night stand. Your eyes meet his after a moment, and there’s something in them that makes his chest go tight. “I really like you, Steve.”

He steps towards the bed, hands you the glass of water, and then sinks onto the edge of the mattress. You sip the water, and he toys with his hands, staring down at his knotted fingers. “I really like you, too.” You give him one of your signature beaming smiles, and down the rest of the water. You reach for his hands, fingers twining easily between his. “Wanna tell me what happened at the bar?”

You just lift a shoulder, but your eyes go glassy. “I told you. My friends are assholes. They’re not even good friends, not really.” You shake your head. “I should have just spent the night with you, like we usually do. You’re a much better friend than they are.”

“Friend?” Steve asks. Somehow, the words feel like a punch to his stomach. “Is that what I am?”

Your brows shoot up, and you cover your mouth with your hands. “No! I didn’t…shit. I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…” You groan, push your palms against your eyes and lean back on the bed. “I just meant I have a better time with you than anyone else. That’s all.” After a moment, you move your hands from your face and your eyes lock with his. “You’re not just my friend, Steve. I don’t know what we are, but you’re not just my friend.”

“I don’t know either,” he agrees, feeling the tightness in his gut ease, “but I know I like you. And…how I feel about you, I can’t just be your friend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, if I wasn’t still kind of drunk, and hadn’t thrown up in front of you less than ten minutes ago, I’d probably have sex with you right now.”

“What?” He swears his heart skips a beat, and instantly his cheeks are on fire.

You, on the other hand, dissolve into giggles which quickly turn into a yawn you can barely stifle. Steve stands, trying his best to ignore the zap of heat that your words sent straight to his core, and goes to get you another glass of water. When he returns, you’re curled up on your side, your head on his pillow, eyes shut.

He sets the water on the nightstand beside the compass, goes to get a damp cloth from his bathroom, and then perches beside you, moving you gently and wiping the makeup from your face as best as he can. You don’t open your eyes, sound asleep in his grasp, eyelids fluttering as you dream.

Once he’s done, he goes to leave the room, content to sleep on the couch and give you some privacy, but before he can even get off the edge of the bed, your hand curls in the front of his shirt. “Stay.”

So he does, toeing off his shoes and settling on the bed beside you. You adjust yourself against him, one arm slinging across his waist, your head on his chest. The ends of your hair tickle his nose, but he doesn’t mind. He runs his fingers through it over and over, listening to the steady in and out of your breathing, and finds himself falling asleep with you.

+

You wake the next morning feeling surprisingly okay, despite the copious amounts of alcohol your so-called friends had shoved at you all night. You suspect your multiple puking sessions and all the water Steve had given you aided you some, and your head throbs slightly, but it’s not unbearable.

It’s early, the clock on the nightstand reading half past six, and your mind starts to race as you realize where exactly you are. And that you’re alone.

You’re sprawled in the bed, still in Steve’s t-shirt, pillow bunched beneath your head. Stretching your back and hearing a symphony of cracks and pops as your body moves, you reach for the empty space beside you, the whole bed still smelling of Steve. Your hand lifts to the pillow, and your fingers brush paper, spotting a note with your name scrawled across the front.

It’s a sketch of you, your hair tumbled across the pillow, arm slung around your face, peaceful and asleep, and below, Steve’s familiar chicken scratch.

Gone to the gym for a bit. Will return with bagels and coffee. There’s aspirin on the nightstand, and a towel for you in the bathroom. - Steve xo

You can’t hide the grin that breaks across your face, nor could you stop it. You smooth your hand over the note, fold it back up carefully, and set it on the nightstand, swiping the two aspirin and the glass of water waiting for you.

Sitting up, you toss back the aspirin and chase it with water, rubbing sleep from your eyes and peering around the room. Steve had brought you straight to the bedroom last night, and you hadn’t seen much of it before you’d passed out.

The bedroom is basic, his closet filled with neatly hung clothes and all the furniture matching. There’s a small stack of books on the dresser, and you recognize a few titles. The Hobbit. To Kill a Mockingbird. Fahrenheit 451. There’s a pile of papers beside the books, file folders all stamped with a strange logo you don’t recognize, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in big red letters across the top.

You leave those well enough alone, and head for the bathroom.

It’s hard, not having your shampoo and conditioner like you do at your own place, but the hot water is exactly what you need, and the pine-scented body wash is good enough. It smells like Steve, and you inhale deeply, letting the steam fill the bathroom.

The apartment is still empty when you’re done, and you pad around the rest of the space, curiosity getting the better of you. The living room is sparse, and the kitchen even more so, both rooms filled with the basics - a sofa and television, dishes and mugs and a coffee maker that looks like it’s seen better days -  but something in the corner of the living room catches your eye, tucked behind the small table and chairs.

It’s an army uniform. You recognize it; your grandfather had been a WWII vet, and you’d seen the old pictures of him and your grandmother on their wedding day, him in his dress uniform and her in a white dress.

There’s a number of badges on the lapel, most of which you don’t know the meaning of, but you recognize the Purple Heart, awarded to soldiers wounded or killed while serving in the military.

Your fingers are hovering over the badges, and a voice from behind you makes you flinch. “It’s on loan from the Smithsonian, apparently,” Steve says, and you whirl to find him standing behind you, a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees balanced atop one another in his other. You take them from him quickly, setting them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He drops the bag beside them, shrugging out of his jacket, and you watch him carefully. There’s something about the expression on his face, something in his tone that has you on edge. Then he takes a step towards you, reaching for your wrist. “I gotta tell you something.”

Your brow furrows, and you pull him towards the sofa, sinking down onto it and settling close to him. He holds your hand between both of his, and your free hand goes to his shoulder, then his face, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Steve, it’s okay,” you murmur, and there’s a slight waver in your voice, but you hope he doesn’t notice. “You can tell me anything.”

“I have to leave,” he tells you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. “I have to go, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. I don’t want to leave you, but…” He won’t meet your eyes, his gaze hard and far away. “But I have to do this.”

Slowly, you nod. “Does this have anything to do with those files in your bedroom?”

His brows raise, and he finally looks at you. “You didn’t…?”

“Read them? No. I know better than to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and his gaze goes far off again. You’re both quiet for a long while, and right when you feel that swell of anxiety starting to crest, he opens his mouth. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what…this is, between us, and I know I don’t want it to stop. But I won’t ask you to wait for me.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you tell him, shaking your head slightly, “and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

You crack a smile, and reach for his chin, turning his head and cutting him off with a soft kiss. “Go save the world, Cap,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

+

He takes you back to your apartment in the late afternoon, after you’ve eaten your bagels and spent some time kissing on his couch. Steve feels bad, having no other clothes to offer you except a grey sweatshirt, and almost laughs when you pull your dress back on and the sweater overtop. It’s comically large, the hem touching the tops of your thighs, but to put it simply, you look adorable. More so than usual.

He wasn’t sure what you’d say at the news of his departure, but he hadn’t been anticipating the kind words and gentle touches. He’s grateful for them. Grateful for you. For all of you. You’ve made things feel…normal in a way he hasn’t experienced since coming out of the ice. Things feel clearer, more concise, like a fog has been lifted. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he’s ready for it. He has you.

He’s falling for you, he thinks suddenly, you falling into step beside him in the sidewalk, one hand threaded through his. He’s falling for you hard.

If anything, it only motivates him further. Work with S.H.I.E.L.D., get the Tesseract back, do his duty.

And then come back to you.

You ask him if he wants to come up with you, but he declines. Fury had called him shortly after he’d walked out of the gym, confirming that he was actually onboard or not. When Steve had said yes, Fury had informed him there would be a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at his apartment to pick him up later in the evening.

“I should…pack, I guess,” he says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wish I could tell you more, but I-”

You press a finger to his lips, standing a step above him outside your apartment. “Don’t. Just tell me what I need to know, and promise me something.” You don’t move your finger from his mouth, so he nods. “Keep yourself safe.”

There’s a glimmer of tears in your eyes, and it makes Steve’s chest ache. “I will,” he says against your fingers, and you throw your arms around his neck a second later, pulling him to you. “I promise.”

“And don’t get yourself killed,” you mumble in his ear, your voice a little thick, “cuz that would really suck.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, but hugs you back tightly, pressing his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scent is a strange mix of his body wash, coffee, and something he has no name for, but it intoxicates him all the same. He waits for you to pull back slightly, then reaches for your face with one hand, his lips finding yours easily in a sweet kiss.

It’s a good few minutes before either of you break away, but Steve is the first. He needs to go home, needs to get ready, needs to disentangle himself from you before he changes his mind and stays with you instead.

+

The days that follow blow past you in a blur. You work double shifts, keep yourself busy at the cafe, mainly to keep yourself from worrying about Steve.

Your phone is too quiet, and you understand it, you do, but you wish you knew that he was okay.

You find yourself mulling over what happened between you and Steve, both of you admitting that you felt…something for the other, but still not entirely sure what it was, what it meant.

It’s insane, in the grand scheme of things. Captain America carried you home drunk from a club, made sure you were okay, made sure you drank enough water and left aspirin by the bed for you. Captain America kissed you goodbye.

The nights are spent on the couch, wrapped in the sweatshirt Steve had given you, your bed suddenly feeling too empty. True, you’d only spent one night together. You hadn’t slept in the same bed until that night, and yes, you’d woken up a little heavy-headed, but the truth of it was it was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. Steve makes you feel…safe. Content.

Happy.

The cafe is busy, even without your favourite regular taking up the middle table, and the steady stream of patrons keeps you distracted enough.

You’re standing inside the cafe when the bright beam of blue erupts from the top of Stark Tower, and you stumble through the doors as every head in the vicinity turns in it’s direction. The portal opens in the sky a moment later, and when the monsters start pouring through, people start to scream.

There’s a strange whoosh overhead, and then the explosions begin. Stone and brick are thrown through the air, the patio furniture outside the cafe turning into twisted heaps of metal in an instant. People start running, yelling, screaming as they push past you. Debris scrapes at your bare arms and legs, and you rush back towards the cafe, darting inside as one of your co-workers holds the door opened for the panicked public running inside.

“What are those things?” someone asks, and you shake your head in disbelief. This can’t be happening…

…can it?

+

The moment they land in the city, Steve’s mind drifts to you. He’s worried, and can only pray you’re somewhere safe, that you finished work and went home before the hole in the sky appeared.

You’ve been in the back of his mind the entire time, from the moment he set foot on the Quinjet. Agent Coulson was kind, and the conversation kept him focused on the task at hand. The debriefings and meetings were tolerable, even when Stark gave him a hard time, but Steve knew what needed to be done, so he did it.

He fights his way through the streets, through the ugly alien creatures and piles of debris. Anytime he catches a glimpse of someone running past, someone with your hair colour or about your height, his head turns and he has to see if it’s you or not. It gets him hit a few times, and he has to focus harder, a little voice repeating in the back of his mind that you’re fine, you’re alive, you’re safe.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you’re not.

When Clint tells him the Chitauri have cornered civilians in the bank on Madison, he rushes in that direction, his heart sinking into his boots when he sees that the cafe has been reduced to a pile of rubble outside Grand Central.

Steve sprints inside, brandishing the shield, and when he tosses one of the Chitauri over the railing of the upper floor, he sees you in the crowd below. Relief washes through him, despite it all. You’re alive. A little dirty, your uniform streaked with dirt and your face smudged with dust. He can see a few marks on your cheeks and arms, but you’re alive.

The bomb the Chitauri had detonated goes off, and he’s blown backward, the shield taking most of the impact, and he sees the look on your face go from happy to terrified in a split second.

He’s thrown through the window, and collapses hard onto an already-crushed policy cruiser, groaning as the metal creaks beneath him. Cops swarm forwards, trying to get to the civilians inside, and Steve struggles to his feet, turning to head back inside. He has to get to you. He needs to get you somewhere safe.

“Steve!” he hears, and his head turns in the direction of your voice, seeing you sprinting from the bank, pushing past people as you run for him.

He catches you with a quiet oomph when you launch yourself at him, your arms going around his neck. He’s got the shield in one hand, you in the other.

“Are you okay?” you cry, breathless, pulling back only to take his face in your hands, your thumbs swiping across his dirty cheeks, eyes darting across him, trying to find any injuries. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

He wishes he had an easy answer for you, and God only knows he can’t explain the whole thing to you right there on the street. “It doesn’t matter right now,” he tells you, his arm still holding you against him. “I want you to go to my apartment, okay? It’s far enough away that you should be safe there. You can get in through the fire escape. If the fighting gets closer, you leave, but if it doesn’t, you stay and wait for me to come get you. Understood?”

There are tears in your eyes, fears he knows he can’t ease right now, and you nod. “Understood.”

He kisses you hard, holding you as close as he possibly can before he sets you back on your feet. You almost don’t let go of him, and he has to give you a little nudge. You lean up on your toes and kiss him again before turning on your heel and sprinting down the road, dodging debris and heading in the direction of his apartment building.

There’s a wolf-whistle in his earpiece, and Stark’s smug tone. “She’s very pretty, Cap. Shoulda known you had something sweet waiting for you in the city.”

Steve rolls his eyes, readjusts the shield in his grip, and heads back into the fray. “Let’s finish this.”

+

The noise stops about an hour after you reach Steve’s apartment.

You’d gotten in through the fire escape, just like he’d said, squeezing your way in through an unlocked window. You’d landed on the floor in a heap, and just stayed in place, your eyes glued to the window, watching carefully in case anything came close.

You’re still shaking, your limbs caked in dirt and dust and your left ankle aching something fierce. You suspect it’ll be a while before the shaking stops, and your nerves don’t cease, your gut clenched hard, until, nearly four hours after that, there’s a careful knock at the door.

You rush for it, flicking the locks and yanking the door open to see a very tired-looking Steve Rogers on the other side. He’s still in his uniform, the shield held in one hand, a white plastic takeout bag in the other. His face is as dirty as you feel, and his hair is sweat-soaked, hanging over his forehead in a way that’s frustratingly endearing. You could have died - he could have died - and your first thought it how cute he looks.

“Left my keys in my other pants,” he jokes, stepping over the threshold. He hands you the bag. “Brought you some food.”

It’s the adrenaline, you think, and you set the bag down carefully, then take the shield from Steve’s hand and lean it against the wall beside the door. The door is shut, the locks slid back into place, and then you take his hand, pulling him down the hallway and into the bathroom without a word.

He’s just watching you, his brow slightly furrowed as he watches you move towards the tub, cranking the water on and moving the shower curtain into place.

Then you start undoing the buttons of your shirt, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening slightly as he finally catches on.

“Oh. Oh.”

Your shirt hits the ground, skirt, socks, and shoes joining the pile a moment later. Steve flushes red when you step towards him, clad only in your underwear, and reach for his belt. It takes some time and a bit of manoeuvring to figure out all the clasps and buttons keeping the uniform in place, but you manage, and soon enough, he’s just as naked as you are, only wearing a pair of tight black boxers that leave little to the imagination.

You’d turned the water hot, and there’s steam filling the bathroom. You’re still silent as you give him a quick once over, concern filling you when you see the series of bruises and marks that travel from his left hip and up around his rib cage. It looks painful, but as you look at it, you can almost see the bruises starting to fade, the super soldier healing from the inside out.

Steve catches the worry in your features, and his hand lifts to your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, and his thumb swipes across your skin. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Your heart is rioting in your chest, and you just nod. Your brain is still processing everything that’s happened, and the only thing that seems to make sense is the man standing in front of you.

Still without a word, you step out of his reach, moving the shower curtain and stepping inside, still in your underwear. Steve follows, reaching for your waist as he crowds up behind you. You both hiss at the temperature, Steve reaching around to adjust it slightly before you both step under the spray. You reach for a washcloth and his body wash, lathering the cloth and then reaching up, dragging it slowly across his chest, cleaning the dirt and blood from his skin.

He just watches as you do, and you feel both his hands settling on your hips, fingers twisting in the wet fabric covering you. Once you’ve cleaned him as thoroughly as you can, he takes the cloth from you, and it’s your turn. Then he moves onto your hair, and you return the favour.

You both move slow and languid, the hot water making both of you feel infinitely better, easing sore muscles and tense bodies. Steve barely takes his hands off of you, and the water is still hot when he crowds you against the tile, one hand slipping up your back, and puts his mouth on yours.

It’s a desperate kiss, an oh god we almost died kiss, and you can’t get enough, your hands plunging into his wet hair, holding him as close as you can. It’s not long before he’s hiking your leg around his hip, his body rolling against yours, pulling a noise from your throat that makes you both blush.

He pulls at your underwear, and the wet fabric slides down your hips a little awkwardly, pooling at your feet. His head dips, mouth skimming along the swell of your breast, and you make that noise again, unable to hold it back. Your bra is slipping from your shoulders, and you groan when you feel Steve’s fingers along the inside of your thigh.

“Do you want this?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head and staring you dead in the eye. “Do you want me?”

You nod, enthusiastic. “I do.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and husky, and it sends a zip of electricity through you.

You kiss him hard, your hips canting towards his hand, gasping when his fingers brush against your core. “I’m sure.”

He captures your lips again, his kiss searing it’s way into your brain, and then reaches around you to shut the water off.

+

Steve carries you to his bedroom, both of you dripping water the whole way, but he doesn’t care.

When he lays you out on his bed, almost completely nude except for the bra that’s leaving little to his imagination at this point, he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world.

He’s not a virgin - God knows Bucky had called in a favour or two and made sure he wasn’t back in the forties - and the attention he’d received after he’d debuted as Captain America had been enthusiastic. There’d been a few dames back then, a sweet redhead who’d caught his attention and held it for a while.

And then, of course, there was Peggy. Not that they’d…fondue-d, but the notion still stands.

You, however, are uncharted territory. An island he wants to explore every inch of. He wants to know how your body reacts, where he should touch, kiss, bite. Wants to feel every part of you, memorize it until he’s an expert on you.

He hovers over you on the bed, plants an elbow beside your head and finds your lips again. Your hands are soft along his jaw, your skin still damp under his touch, and his free hand skirts along your body, travelling over your ribs and down over your hip. The pads of his fingers skim the silky-soft skin at the inside of your thigh, and when he brushes over your core, finds you wet and ready, every instinct he has seems to heighten.

Your back bows off the bed when he pushes one finger inside, crooking it just so as you moan into his mouth. One becomes two, and one of your hands falls from his face and reaches for his waist, pushing the wet boxers over his hip, fingers dipping past the elastic and closing around him.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by a woman, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come on the spot when your hand strokes him, your thumb swiping over his tip. You swallow each other’s moans, your other hand going to his waist to push his boxers down further. He thrusts his fingers once, twice, three times more before you’re gasping his name, your lips parted in a perfect o.

“Steve, please,” you whisper out.

He detaches himself from you long enough to kick his boxers off the rest of the way, and while he’s gone, you rid yourself of your bra, tossing it to the side and scrambling a little further up the bed. He follows, stretches out beside you, and you reach for his hip, pulling him back on top of you easily. Your hands skim up and down his ribs, your nails catching on his skin every so often, and he drops his face into  the crook of your neck, lips closing around his pulse.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says suddenly, pulling back, and you let out a quiet giggle, your hands tightening at his sides.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’m on the pill.”

He nods once. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m sure,” you whisper, pulling him back down to you and kissing him hard.

Your legs widen around his hips, your body rolling against his as he ruts against you. He feels flushed and out of breath and everything is almost too much, but it feels so good he can’t stop. Your mouth moves along his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin, and he thrusts into you, sliding home, and it’s like the world stops for a moment. There’s only you, your breath against his ear and your skin against his. Your nails digging in ever so slightly, keeping him grounded to the earth, and your low gasp when he starts to move, pulls out almost all the way and then slides in again. “Oh god.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, and he reaches up with one hand, using the headboard as leverage. His other hand plants itself beside your head, and he groans out, eyes almost rolling back when you clench around him.

With each slam of his hips, there’s a coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter, and he feels your hands slide down his back, one grabbing a handful of his ass, the other pressing against the dip at the base of spine. He’s losing his mind, losing himself in you. “You feel so good,” he manages to say, unable to hold it back.

You moan, your head tipping back against the pillow, and then a second later, you’re reaching for his shoulders, tipping him sideways and rolling until you’re on top of him. He’s still inside you, and the new angle makes his jaw drop, his vision going nearly white when you plant your hands on his chest and grind your hips against his.

He thrusts up into you, and it catches you off guard. You collapse against his chest, your hair a curtain around the two of you and his arms go around your waist, holding you tight against him. His name stutters from your mouth, your eyes screwing shut, your hands flexing wide on the mattress on either side of him. “Oh god,” you say again, your voice hitching. “Steve, please.”

He can’t stop, won’t stop moving, and plants his feet, giving himself more leverage as you move against him. You gasp again, a moan following quickly after, and he knows you’re there because he can feel it. Your whole body goes tight in his grip, your insides clenching around his cock, and his own pleasure only grows. You go limp a second later, and he still can’t stop, the coil going completely taut before his entire body floods with warmth, hands tightening on you before his grip goes slack. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and you both heave out a breath.

It’s a long moment before either of you says anything, and you’re the first to speak, propping your head up on your hand and looking down at him. “We should have done that a long time ago.”

Steve chuckles, one hand trailing it’s way up and down your spine. Your skin is still damp, from the shower and with sweat, and his fingers catch slightly. “Guess an alien invasion is all it took,” he replies, laughing.

You purse your lips at him, shaking your head. “Remember what I said before, about you only telling me what I need to know?”

He nods. “I remember.”

“I think I need more than that.” He opens his mouth to say more, but you put a finger to his lips. “Not now. Now, I just want to lie here, and be happy you’re alive.”

+

A few days later, Steve has business in Central Park. You’ve been at his apartment since the invasion, barely getting out of bed - except for food and water - trapped in a perfect bubble of love-making and heavy petting. You don’t want to leave the bubble, but Steve also informs you that he has something planned once his business is finished with, and you find yourself stopping at your own apartment to pack an overnight bag before getting on the back of his motorcycle and heading for Central Park.

He’d filled you in, for the most part. The story had taken a while to process, and parts of it still made no sense to you, but Steve had done his best. You had some common ground, something that made no sense to either of you.

You hang back as Steve approaches the rest of the group that had saved the city - the Avengers. Their faces had been all over the news since the day of the Battle, and you already know who Tony Stark is.

Some words are exchanged, Stark saying something to Steve before gesturing to you. Steve turns to look at you, gives you a broad grin, and you lift your hand to wave. Tony waves back.

There’s a bright blue cube - Steve had called it the Tesseract - given to the man you know to be Thor. Then there’s a flash of rainbow-hued light, and Thor and Loki - who you now know orchestrated the attack on the city - disappear.

Steve says his goodbyes, then jogs back to where you are, still sitting on his motorcycle. He doesn’t say anything at first, but takes your face in his hands and kisses you softly. “You ready?” he asks when he pulls away, a giant grin on his face and a slight flush to his cheeks. You nod in response, and he swings his leg over the bike, kicking the stand up. You scoot closer on the seat, putting your arms around his middle.

The engine revs and you bury your face in the back of his leather jacket. The bike zooms forward, and you disappear down the road, holding on as tight as you can.

—————

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[rustcleaver]

It Falters On The Horizon (Chapter 1)

Fnaf Eclipse x gn reader, 6k words

(it/they/he pronouns are used for Eclipse)

If any of you have an ao3 invite I could use, I would be deeply grateful <3

Waking up for work on a Tuesday morning isn’t all that bad if you like your job. It doesn’t even need to be particularly glamorous; anything that doesn’t make you want to crumple to the floor like a tinfoil ball by the end of your shift is a win. And anything beats retail. So you’re pretty satisfied with your decent pay (and flexible hours) at the Fazbear Entertainment™ Mega Pizzaplex©. You even get to google conspiracy theories on company time, it’s great.

Your alarm rings, and you feel at least half the joints in your spine crack as you sit up to turn it off. It takes a minute of flailing like an indignant carp before you’re able to roll out of bed and onto your feet. You grab your Fazwatch© (patent pending) from its little charging station and its screen buzzes to life. A few practiced button-taps show you the day’s schedule. All the tours are at the regular times, showing the same schedule as it did last night. Maybe you don’t need to check it as often as you do, but management has made last-minute changes before, and it’s pretty fair to assume it will happen again. For some reason or another, the tour times will sometimes get moved around or cancelled on the day-of. After a month on the job, you’re comfortable enough in your routine to give a tour on 5-minute’s notice. (You had to last Friday. That was a new low, even for Faz-management.) But everything looks fine today, so you shouldn’t have to whip out The Ol’ Fazbear Entertainment Approved Apology Spiel for any poor customers who might miss the sudden change in their tour times. 

You once bet $50 that management will try to move a tour to some time in the past. The staff bot that cleans at your end of Rockstar Row is often the recipient of your quips, and it only stopped sweeping for a second to acknowledge your comment. You still aren’t sure if it knows what money is, and you probably don’t have 50 bucks to spare, anyway. You guys can probably just call it even. Besides, you think it found the joke funny (it made a single ‘ha’ sound), so that’s probably all that matters.

You used to be surprised by the number of people you can find in the pizzaplex at the asscrack of dawn, but the magic of the place (and the meticulously crafted ads on kids’ youtube) always attracts a small crowd. Weekdays are pretty quiet in the mornings, but there’s always someone visiting the pizzaplex. It’s a lavish place that probably pays more money for the monthly electricity than you will ever see in your life, but you’re sure the company can afford it easily with the number of guests they get. With how stupidly overpriced some of the stuff is here, you’re sure those guys have plenty of funds to spare. You really don’t get why management will always cut corners and be so cheap, then turn around and drop hundreds of thousands on some shiny new robot. Fickle, those guys.

Anyways, back to your own work:

Thankfully, it’s never too busy back at Rockstar Row during the day when the animatronics are performing or going to private birthday parties. You can hear their music if you listen for it, but all the festivities are distant enough that they don’t disturb you. The voices, cheers, and catchy tunes blend together in a gentle hum-drone of white noise. You keep saying that you’re gonna watch a performance one of these days, but you want to go at a time when you won’t get lost in a sea of pre-teens and their exhausted parents, so you keep putting it off. Usually, none of said pre-teens or parents are hanging around Rockstar Row when you prepare for the day, so you can have your peace of mind as you clock in. You can even whistle a bit of copyrighted music while dusting off the ol’ display cases without getting a single disapproving email from management. Throughout the day, you give a couple of tours down the Row to tell the history and legends of the old Fazbear pizzerias, throwing in some popular conspiracy theories and horror stories for spice. There’s plenty of time in between the tours of this makeshift museum when you usually just sit around in case anybody needs directions or something. All-in-all, it’s a pretty nice job. And you’re pretty darn good at it, too. Nobody knows how to redirect a customer to somebody who actually knows how to help with whatever wild shit happened to their kid quite like you do.

Sometimes, Rockstar Row gets kinda crowded at the end of the day when the animatronics are doing meet-n-greets in their rooms. There aren’t any museum tours at this time (thank Faz), so you get to sit down at your little desk area and watch how these vibrant characters and their equally dazzling personalities capture the attention of the crowds. They’re real pros at what they do; you can’t help but smile at their acts, even from a distance. 

There have been a few times when there wasn’t anyone waiting in line to chat with one of the animatronics, so Freddy or Roxy will sometimes come over to say hi when you wave to them. You’ve been hoping to introduce yourself to Monty and Chica, but their rooms aren’t really visible from your corner of Rockstar Row (and you don’t want to intrude when anyone’s busy), so you’re limited to the other two at the moment. Freddy is very popular and very busy, he is the titular character after all, so you’ve probably spoken to Roxy the most. She once expressed gratitude that she doesn’t have to maintain her usual act and energy when she talks with you. It was a pretty serious and vulnerable comment, so you wanted to respond in a positive and encouraging manner. The somewhat goofy thumbs-up that you gave her (clearly not the expected response) made her laugh so hard that Freddy came over, concerned that her voicebox was glitching out. The memory makes you smile as you clock in for the day.

---

On this morning, this perfectly average Tuesday morning, you do a double-take at one of the display cases. Empty. It definitely isn’t supposed to be, so you walk over to take a look at it. You stop a couple of inches away from the glass and squint at it like this is some optical illusion. Yep, definitely empty, no amount of rubber-necking or suspicious glances appear to be changing that. Also, it looks like the top panel has been unceremoniously smashed in. In fact, it took you a perfectly normal amount of time to notice that the whole upper half of the glass box is shattered. Yes. And, like the awe-inspiring detective you are, you start looking around on the floor. You know, just in case the old Chica arm had hopped out of its display case and was lying around somewhere. Okay, so maybe it’s a little hard to wake up on a Tuesday no matter what your job is. 

You’re almost surprised that management didn’t tell you about the missing exhibits before your shift, but then you remember how low they keep setting the bar. They probably didn’t know, or didn’t care. You move to check the rest of the displays yourself and see that an original Fredbear top hat has also disappeared. This horrible loss is enough to properly wake you up. That was your favorite exhibit. It was a nice little hat that will be sorely missed. You take a minute to grieve the tragic loss before you see your good pal (the staff bot who you might owe $50 to someday) vacuuming around the golden Roxy statue. You jog over to it and give a little wave.

“Hey! How’s it going?” You say. It turns off the vacuum and looks over at you. It blinks twice and gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Happy to hear it! Doesn’t look like you got covered in soda like last week, so that’s good. Hey, if that ever happens again, you can come to me if you need a hand with cleaning it off. I’m getting pretty good with those chem wipes. Also, two of the exhibits are missing: the Chica arm and the old top hat. Do you know anything about that?” You ask, remembering your original mission mid-sentence and pointing at the crime scene. In response, the staff bot looks at the ground for a minute, then tilts its head quizzically. It turns to look down the hallway and makes a little ping sound at a nearby security bot. The security bot comes over and the two of them look at each other silently for a minute. Robot-to-robot conversation, robot-to-robot communication. The security bot looks briefly at the floor like the staff bot did, then the two resume their telepathic chat. You begin to wonder if you should ask again later when they both turn to look at you. The security bot beeps a few times. 

“...Did you see anything suspicious around the displays recently?” You offer, guessing at what the security bot is trying to communicate. It shakes its head in response. 

“Can you check the security camera footage from last night?” It nodds this time. 

“Great! So, do you see anything..?” You wait a moment. Maybe the security bot didn’t hear you? It keeps looking at you but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. Your fazwatch buzzes on your wrist, and you read the screen, confused.

REQUESTING SECURITY CLEARANCE ...

...

APPROVED

UPDATED SECURITY CLEARANCE FOR: DAYCARE ENTRANCE

Ok. Well, that’s something. But the daycare has been closed for long before you even got hired, and you doubt that whoever stole the two displays would have any reason to put them there. (Our great detective has deemed this a case of larceny, deducing that there iss a thief afoot.)

“The daycare? You want me to go to the old daycare..?” You ask. The security bot nods. 

“Shouldn’t I go to the security office for this sort of thing?” It doesn’t respond. Your fazwatch opens the pizzaplex map and begins charting a course for the daycare. There’s your answer, you suppose. The security bot begins rolling back to its post and you shout a quick thank-you. Turning back to your dear friend and colleague, staff bot, you shrug.

“Well, the security bots probably know a lot better than I do. I’ve got about an hour, so I’m gonna go check it out. Wish me luck!” You give it a dramatic little salute. It blinks in acknowledgment and goes right back to vacuuming.

---

It always bothered you that “Floor 1” isn’t always the first floor of a building. Sometimes, it’s literally the second floor. You are reminded of this tragedy as you take the elevator down to the “Ground Level” and step out onto the balcony. (Note that even the “Ground Level” has two levels. Fazbear Entertainment really dropped the ball on this one.) You shuffle out of the elevator, leaving room for the family passing by while checking your faz-map. It says that you just have to go left. And there it is, a large pair of doors labeled “Superstar Daycare Pick-Up”. You’ve never had to go inside, but it still shocks you that you never noticed the entrance before. The lights above the door are off and all the paint is faded, so it’s admittedly hard to spot. You hesitate for a second, just standing there, staring at the door handle. You get the sense that you aren’t supposed to be here, like you’re a child about to get caught doing something that you were told not to. Reminding yourself that you were literally told to come here, you try to shake the feeling. As weird as this whole thing is, you’re pretty curious to see whatever the security bot has sent you to find. Besides, if this yields nothing, you can just stop by the security office and ask somebody else for help. You finally turn the handle and step through the door.

Here you find a large, poorly lit, and lifeless area. There are only a few posters on the walls, lit by bands of neon light. Some are of the band, but you notice several that depict a sun figure and a moon figure. These advertise some “Sundrop” and “Moondrop” candies. You find it weird for the Fazbear advertisement team (faz-vertisement, if you will) to come up with new characters just to promote some candy that you’ve never even heard of. Weird when they will typically do whatever they can to “show the audience our beloved cast of Fazbear Ent. characters that you know and love” (reuse the same old clipart of the animatronics for most ads because, collectively, they do not give a single damn). But here are two characters you have never seen before. Something entirely new. A sun and a moon. 

You walk over to the posters and note the layer of dust clinging to them. The sun and moon look very similar in design and are clearly each other’s counterparts. You’re the museum guide, the person who probably knows the most about the pizzaplex’s history, and yet you’ve never heard anything about these two characters. Maybe these were just a part of the daycare’s shtick since the entrance also has a sun and moon on it? You decide to grab a couple of these posters as potential stand-ins for the missing exhibits. Even if you don’t need the interim replacements, you’ll definitely want to look into these characters later. 

You pass a little fountain surrounded by the world’s jankiest fake palm trees on the way to the end of the hall. It’s impossible not to marvel at the dichotomy of how cheap or extravagant Fazbear Entertainment can be. There are some lights around the fountain’s edge, but the water isn’t running, just lying quietly at the basin. Your footsteps echo over the checkered PVC floor tiles and the poor lighting doesn’t let you see the ceiling. It looks like it might go on infinitely. This room feels too big. You grip your phone a little tighter. 

You eventually come to a big, metal shutter door with a little panel to the right. Using your sleeve, you wipe the dust off the screen. After a few taps, it begins to boot up and update. You are presented with a few options, and “Open Daycare Entrance [A]” immediately catches your eye. You press the button and it makes a little ping sound.

 AUTHENTICATING CLEARANCE, PLEASE WAIT… 

Your watch buzzes, and you flinch at it, startled. It shows a loading wheel for just a second before the panel beeps again. 

STAND CLEAR OF SHUTTERS UNTIL FULLY OPEN 

And the metal doors begin to rise. Inside, you spot a golden statue of the sun and moon figures. So they have 3D designs, too. That’s a little too much effort for a couple of candies. This thing looks just as glamorous as the statues of the band members out in Rockstar Row. Impressed, you take a photo and begin walking around this little entrance area filled with chairs. There is a thick net that hangs in front of you with a railing that leaves room for a rainbow slide. The sign above it says “Slide Into Fun!” and points at the opening. Hm. No thanks. 

You lean against the railing and look into the massive space beyond the net. There are a bunch of play structures and a massive river of a ball pit that you can barely make out in the dark. You see a small balcony to your right, on the only wall where there is no netting. It is the only place inside that is properly lit, gleaming in the spotlight, but it doesn’t look like there’s any way to get up to it. Over on the left, you think you see a desk. It’s right next to some large wooden doors, and you’re glad to see a normal entrance so you won’t have to use the slide. It could be fun, don’t get me wrong, but thoughts of dashcon ricochet around your brain as you envision the ball pit at the end. You choose to think about something else. Like your mission! Yes. You’re here to… well, you’re not really sure. Find whatever the security bot wants you to find, I guess. It’s darker in this area, feeling even more abandoned than the fountain area before. You can’t really see, but you doubt that the (potential) thief would choose to stick around in the building, so you don’t think that’s what you’re looking for here. There’s no one else in the entrance area, so you’ll have to go inside the daycare to see if there’s anyone you can talk to. Maybe there’s a security bot who guards the place, and maybe it knows what happened. So, to get inside, you’ll have to make your way down some stairs and circle around the walled-in (netted-in?) daycare area to get to those doors.

Said doors feel a lot taller when you’re right in front of them. It’s a little intimidating, to be honest. From here, you can see the corners of the mechanisms that open the door, and you’re glad that the doorknobs about 20 feet up are just ornamental. This does, unfortunately, leave you with no idea of how to actually open the doors. The thought of flailing about to grab those doorknobs gives you a laugh, at least. For lack of a better idea, you knock on the door. 

“Anybody here? Knock knock.” You say to yourself, trying to come up with a plan to get in. You most certainly don’t expect a reply.

“Who’s there?” Rings a response in a muffled, robotic voice. This makes you jump like a cat. There really is something in there, and it’s definitely not a security bot. But that doesn’t sound like the voice of anybody in the band; it has a completely different intonation and almost rumbles at the end of its words. Each of the glamrocks has a distinctive voice, and this doesn’t match any of them. And, above all else, it just set you up for a knock-knock joke. Now this is serious. It’s one thing to meet a mystery robot in an abandoned area of a technologically-unmatched pizzaplex, but it’s something else to get the perfect set-up for a real bad pun. You’re gonna have to think hard about this one, pull out all the stops. You could use the ol’ classic “Boo-who” but that’s too basic, too predictable. There’s one about yodeling, but you don’t remember how the second part goes, so you’ll have to improvise a bit.

You settle with a “Wa.” 

A few clicks resound behind those doors. You take a small step away from whatever they came from.  

Your mysterious interlocutor responds after a moment, sounding genuinely curious: 

“Wa who?” 

“Mario, is that you?” You offer, hoping that your improvised punch-line makes sense. After a second, a hearty chuckle echoes from inside the daycare. There’s a rumble as the doors before you start to swing open (which makes you jump again, but this time it feels more like the frantic wiggle of a disgruntled worm than the hop of a cat). The doors open slowly, making you wait a moment before gingerly taking a step inside and looking around. 

The darkness is almost complete in here, and the air feels heavy. There is a particularly dark area around the play structure right in front of you, casting even more shadows around itself. Within that darkness, you see a wavering, orange glow. Two pinpricks of light loom above you, shining down from this structure. You realize that this must be your new “friend.”

“I’ve never heard that one before,” It muses, “but I don’t think it’s legally advisable for any Fazbear Entertainment staff to mention Mario by name. Copyright infringement is against the rules.”

You realize that the glowing orange points are a pair of eyes. Eyes that are firmly locked on you during the slow tilt of its head. There are some other glowing areas around them, but they’re dim enough that you can’t make out their shapes.

“Ah, right. Definitely wouldn’t want to cause a lawsuit.” Your voice doesn’t even echo in this cavernous space. You are suddenly made very aware that you’re completely alone with this thing. In the dark. Pretty far away from anyone. Spooky, but you’re being so brave about it. 

The eyes before you do a whirling clockwise spin while the entire patch of orange glow moves rhythmically downwards. You hear something land gently on the floor with the rattle of a bell, crouching to absorb the impact. Those eyes are still on you, and you don’t think they’ve blinked at all. You are aware of how difficult it would be to evacuate this area. Deeply aware.

“Can’t have any guests overhearing the unlicensed use of another company’s character, now can we? Well, we’re alone in here, so I suppose I could let it slide…” The voice gives a dramatic hum as the stranger stands up, eyes rising to a height that towers over you.

“And I did like the joke... Alright, we can overlook this one. But you should be more careful, you know. I’m sure it would be a terrible hassle if Nintendo tried to sue the company again.” There’s a creak of metal and plastic as the figure seems to lean to the left, chuckling to itself. A few bells ring from the light source as its shoulders bounce with the laugh. Then, you hear a gasp.

“Oh- Now where are my manners? This is no way to welcome our new guest!” It speaks with a completely different energy, standing upright again. 

“Do forgive me, and allow me to introduce myself properly!” There’s a tap-tap-tap of steps as those luminous eyes get closer. You shuffle backward and tense at the sudden approach, arms raised defensively. This thing sounds kind enough, but hearing a massive metallic creature approach you from the dark and seeing nothing but its glowing eyes is pretty fucking scary.

Seeing your reaction, it comes to a stop. Now that it’s closer, you can see its eyes flash with a concerned look that darts around your face before landing nervously on the ground. It almost looks like it’s deflating, the way the lights seem to shrink in on themselves. You hear quiet, rapid taps from where you imagined its hands might be held, fidgeting.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry! Did I frighten you? Goodness- that’s no good, no good at all-” It keeps stumbling over its terse apologies, slowly backing away. Its body language makes it seem so much smaller than you, even though this colossal silhouette is obviously anything but. Those eyes are squinted in what might be the start of panic, or dejection. Oh great. We gave the poor robot anxiety.

“No, no, it’s fine- I just got a little, uh... Surprised because I can’t really see what’s happening and I don’t know what-” You’re cut off by the sound of a whack sound coming from the animatronic’s face. You realize it just facepalmed. 

“Of course! Oh, how silly of me, how ridiculous! I can’t very well introduce myself if you can’t even see me, now can I? Here- Give me just a moment-” It turns and disappears into the daycare, its muttering growing distant. You notice that, despite the bells you heard before, it was nearly silent as it left. After a moment of wondering if you should be worried, a click reverberates from above as the lights buzz to life. This causes you to squint for a minute, feeling just as blind as when you were in the dark. You blink until your eyes adjust and look into the now-illuminated daycare. The entire space looks much more inviting in the light; everything popping with color and life. Now, you can finally get a good look at the animatronic who’s approaching, more sheepishly this time. 

It’s easy to tell that they're at least 8 feet tall, even though they bow their head to appear less intimidating. It folds its hands together in the same way that an old lady might when she’s saying something sweet, except this colossal robot has four arms to work with. Double the gesture, double the sentiment, I guess. You think those fingertips might be pointed, but you’re choosing not to look too close. Its face is round with a crescent shape on the inside and two rows of triangles on the outside. You get the impression of one of those sun/moon theater masks: one that might be happy on one side, then sad on the other. There’s a large nightcap sitting at an angle on its head; the end of it rests on his shoulder and sways slightly with each step. All of the robot’s clothing look soft and flowy, giving it a very gentle and elegant appearance. Whatever plastic its face is made of, it’s clearly malleable, allowing the animatronic to make minute shifts in its expression for a precise demonstration of emotions. You have to admit, whoever designed the animatronics here is some kind of genius.

“There. Let me try one more time.” It sighs with an apologetic smile.

The half-sun, half-moon character stops before you and gives a dignified bow, the motion smooth and practiced.

“My name is Eclipse, I am the caretaker of the Superstar Daycare. It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome, and sorry again for the poor first impression.” They address you. Their smile is so genuine that you can’t help but mirror it as you return the greeting, introducing yourself in turn. 

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home! Here, allow me to get you a seat-” They respond, visibly straightening up now that they know that there’s no hard feelings. You know that they literally glow, but they still seem so radiant with their rejuvenated spirit. That smile of theirs definitely got wider, and they move with a skip in their steps. They pull up two of the few adult-sized chairs and set them by a small, plastic table. It stands by one of the chairs and gestures for you to sit, intending to push in your chair for you. It’s pointedly gentle with this, too, even speaking slightly quieter because you were closer. You have to admit, this Eclipse is quite a charming host, and a fascinating character. After you are seated, they sit in their own chair and rest their upper pair of arms on the table between you, tapping their fingers rhythmically. The anxiety from before is gone, but an excited energy still dances behind those eyes.

“We don’t get a lot of guests, so it truly is an honor! Is there anything I can help you with, my dear guest?” He asks, tilting his head a little. 

“Yes, actually,” You begin, “I’m the tour guide for the museum area along Rockstar Row, and two of the exhibits disappeared last night. The cases were broken, so it looks like they might have been stolen. I tried to ask one of the nearby security bots about it, and it sent me here to learn more.” You point at your faz-watch and Eclipse looks truly enraptured by your every word.

“I see! Terribly sorry to hear about the exhibits, but that does explain a thing or two. I just got a request to authorize someone’s security clearance to come in here. I didn’t know what it could possibly be for, but I guess that must have been you!” 

“Yeah! Though I still don’t get why they wanted me to come here. Especially when there’s a dedicated security office for this sort of thing.” You admit. Eclipse chuckles at that and rests its chin in one of its hands, its eyes narrowing with a cheeky flaire.

“If I had to guess, that would be because I’m the head of security, here at the Pizzaplex.” His grin seems to widen at your surprise. He titters briefly before continuing, each laugh lighter than the flutter of a moth’s wing.

“Yes, funny how the head of security isn’t in the security office, isn’t it? Well, there’s rarely anything that requires my input down there. Though, I wonder why they didn’t just show you the camera footage when you asked, even if you aren’t security personnel-” He trails off, closing his eyes for a moment. His brows furrow and his smile slips for just a moment.

“Ah. So that’s why… But surely it would have…” They go quiet for a little longer, eyes flickering about beneath their eyelids. They hum quizzically as they open their eyes and look back at you with an unreadable expression.

“It looks like there are no recordings from the Rockstar Row’s security cameras from last night… But I’m certain I was able to see through them at the time, and I didn’t receive any kind of notifications about them malfunctioning later… That’s…” It gives a defeated laugh.

“It looks like I’ll have to investigate a bit more thoroughly, then.” They conclude, shrugging with their second pair of arms. 

“Well then! I’ll be in contact if I find anything, but you should go get ready for today’s tours.” He waves a hand and you feel your faz-watch buzz in response. On the screen, you see a message from Eclipse that just says “Hello :)” from a messaging app that management occasionally contacts you with. On the time above the notification, you can see that there are only 10 minutes until the first tour starts. Oh shit. You need to get moving. Eclipse springs to his feet and motions you to the door with a flourish of all four arms. 

“Feel free to message me if you need anything else, we’re always happy to help. It’s truly been lovely meeting you, and good luck with today’s tours!” They conclude with a showman’s poise. You thank them as you hurry out the door, to the stairs. Before leaving the daycare, you turn to give the grand play area one last glance, hoping to wave to Eclipse on the way out. You aren’t able to spot them, just a metal cable unfurling from the ceiling, falling to a point behind one of the play structures. Then, the lights go out, leaving you in a little hollow of light around the golden sun and moon statue. It’s a bit sad that you couldn’t say another goodbye, but you decide you’ll make up for it when you aren’t possibly running late for work. You are very grateful for the reminder, but you’re certain you never told them when the first tour was starting.

- - -

You return to Rockstar Row with 7 minutes to spare. Thankfully, your favorite staff bot has been kind enough to clean up the broken glass around the missing exhibits while you were gone. You make a mental note to thank them later, then make a physical note to place by the exhibits: 

“This exhibit is temporarily absent for routine maintenance and repairs” You write with your best handwriting and hope that it sounds official enough that the guests won’t interrogate you about it. You are so caught up in thinking about excuses you can give people or where you might find a temporary replacement that you don’t notice the heavy footsteps that stop right behind you.

“Hey, heads up. Somebody’s gonna walk right into ya if you’re spacing out in the middle of the walkway.” A voice snaps you out of it. You turn to see a pair of nonchalant, red eyes looking down at you over a pair of star-shaped shades. The legendary Montgomery Gator himself stands in front of you, with one hand on his hip and his head tilted like he’s somewhere between casual and completely uninterested. 

“Right, yeah. Didn’t mean to get in your way, sorry.” You take a step back, out of the way, shaking your head once to clear your mind like an etch-a-sketch. 

“Don’t sweat it.” Monty adjusts his sunglasses. You expect the animatronic to keep walking, but he’s still looking at you, so you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, you’re the museum guide, right? Not that you can call this handful of trinkets much of a museum... I heard you got hired a while back, but I never got the chance to see for myself. So, I’m Monty.” It seems he’s landed on casual over disinterested as he holds out his hand for a handshake. You return it, both of you giving a firm couple of shakes and feeling some mutual respect for it. It isn’t every day that someone returns a nice, solid handshake with the same amount of gusto. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you! I was trying to find the time to properly introduce myself, but this works, too. And yeah, we lost two exhibits last night, so the museum’s looking even more sparse than usual. Not really sure how I’m going to fill the tour time I usually spend on those, but I’ve only got 5 minutes to figure it out.” You say, shaking your head and shrugging in exaggerated defeat.

“Yeah, I noticed the empty cases. That’s tough. Someone should probably remove the broken glass, though; some kid’s gonna get hurt on that. So, did somebody steal ‘em?” He asks. He’s nonchalant about it, but he seems genuinely interested. Maybe there’s a secret passion for gossip and drama under that rough exterior... Or maybe he’s just concerned for everyone’s safety. Either way, his eyes are still locked on you.

“That’s what it seems like, but I’m not sure. I asked around and nobody seems to know what happened- the staff bots were even saying that they can’t access the security footage from last night… Well, I’m sure this incident has already been reported or logged in whatever system, so it’s probably out of my hands. Still, I’m gonna ask around for any signs of a break-in. Oh, speaking of, did you see anything weird last night?” You realize just how little you know about the situation as you recount everything, it’s all so odd. Monty immediately shrugs and shakes his head at your question, which is only a little disappointing. 

“Nope, I did a little patrolling around the atrium last night, but I spent most of my free time playin’ the bass.” He says, making air guitar motions for emphasis. Suddenly, he flashes a playful smile, then gives you a suspicious side-eye.

“Hey, you think I’m a suspect or something? This is startin’ to feel like an interrogation- I do have an alibi if you’re not convinced by my testimony, detective.” He makes sure to bitterly enunciate every syllable of the word. If he wasn’t smiling, you might think he was being serious, but you play along.

“Hmm, I really can’t rule it out… Anyone could be the perp- even me! No one suspects the detective, after all!” You dramatically wiggle your fingers at him, to which he feigns a shocked gasp. It’s incredible how these guys can make such realistic breath sounds with their voiceboxes. 

“We should’a known it was you, you connivin’ little punk!” He really hams up the act, pointing at you and everything. You laugh a couple times, internally commending his dedication to the bit. Even though you just met, he’s joking around with you like you’re old friends. It’s nice to be treated like you’re a cool dude without having to prove anything, and Monty immediately gives you that respect. You appreciate it.

“Seriously though: I don’t think you could wear the tophat with that mohawk of yours, and god knows what you would even need an old Chica arm for. So, I think you’re off the hook for now.” You gaze off towards your desk and the exhibits nearby it. There appears to be a small crowd gathering over there. You’re wondering what that’s all about when it strikes you.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be late for the tour.” You say, deadpan. After a beat, you start running over to your desk, dodging a kid. You don’t turn around, but you briefly look over your shoulder to say goodbye.

“See ya later, alligator!” Which works doubly well because he really is an alligator. You catch an amused Monty in the corner of your eye, and it seems like he gets the joke when he barks a single laugh.

“In a while, crocodile!” He shouts after you.