Request Prompts

Request Prompts <3

REQUESTS-Closed. :)

Please read my request rules here before requesting.

Obviously these aren't required for requests, but I think it's fun to use them.

I've gathered these throughtout the internet, so if you see one you've written, let me know and I'll tag you!

Feel free to mix and match, change wording, or anything of the like!

Please make sure to be as specific as possible if you have a certain storyline you'd like me to follow.

Angst prompts:

"Leave. Leave right now."

"Can you just fuck off already?"

"I can't do this anymore. Not with you."

"Pack your shit and go. Get the hell out of my sight"

"You ruined everything."

"I'm going to leave now, before I say something I regret later."

"This wouldn't even be a problem if you didn't make one out of it"

"You were supposed to be my safe place. But all you've brought me is pain. How great is that?"

"If you hate me so much, kill me. Kill me already. It's not like I've got much to live for anyways."

"They told me not to trust you, but I didn't listen."

"You...why did it have to be you?!"

"You lied to me! Over and over again!"

"Hey...Hey...stay with me."

"Oh my...what did they do to you?"

"It's okay, its just me."

"I didn't know where else to go."

Fluff prompts:

"Flea markets don't carry fleas you know?"

"Are you serious? Your getting blood all over my carpet!"

"I am not wearing a dress/tie!"

"It's a Texas thing"

"Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that shit. It's getting annoying."

"What are we?" "A mess."

“I just woke up can you give me a minute before you start being weird.”

“It’s literally two am, shut up.”

"Let me be a mom for a second and tuck you in."

"If you can't sleep...we could have sex?"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to punch you."

"Please put your penis away."

"Why are you on the table?" - "Better view of my life." - "Where's the spider?" - "By the door."

"Shut up and get in the closet."

"Listen, I don't mind cuddling. But if you wake me up again I'll whoop your ass."

"I'm an insomniac, this is normal."

"Listen...I didn't know it was illegal."

"Stop messing with your IV."

"I'm pretty sure this place in haunted."

"Hold my hand you asshole"

"Did...Did you just bark at that guy?"

"Awww yay what a nice reunion! Now come fucking help me"

"We are not picking up the free chair" - "Why not!!?" - "Because that shit is 100% haunted."

"Why are you so mean to me?" - "You cannot take the child home."

"I love you so much I'm gonna bite you."

Song prompts:

If you want me to write a story based on a song, send me the link in the request. Please keep in mind, like with anything, I'm not going to force myself to write something if I'm not feeling it.

All the love-A.

does anyone wanna send me some mike requests? i’m feeling it rn (check my profile for my prompt list)

＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — IT'LL BE ALRIGHT (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).

#. synopsis! — mike is used to walking on eggshells, just waiting for another tragedy, and you really don’t want to be just another person who's let him down.

#. characters! — mike schmidt .

#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) , references to a verbal argument .

#. word count! — 1.8k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Mike is used to people leaving. They come and they go like stray cats who've found someone better to nab food off of, —leaving him with more ghosts in his life than he'd care to admit. At least these ones are metaphorical and melodramatic, though. His saving grace has been the fact that he chooses wisely who to introduce Abby to, just in case. She's been through enough, and she's so young that the absence of anyone would be duly noted. Not that it isn't when it comes to himself, it's just. . . He's learned how to live with loss. Maybe not effectively, but he does it, and for right now, that's probably as good as it's getting.

He's got more pressing matters to attend to. He always does. That's what he argued about with you, —what he fought tooth and nail to defend, even when you backed off. At the end of it, he knew he'd gone too far for no real reason. He wasn't arguing with you at that point, he was arguing with all the people that have left him starved for their affections and their care. The words he said to you were so far beyond your scope that it was almost pathetic to think about all the bullshit he unloaded on you like it was somehow your job to fix it, even when he knew it wasn't. So really, it's no wonder he's adding you to that list of people who've walked away.

For once, he truly deserved it. 

And now he's got to explain this to Abby. Because she likes you almost as much as he does, —almost being the operative word there. Mike sucks at a lot of things, and showing you he cares tends to be one of them, but he loves in his own ways. . . And now, he fears he'll have to do it from afar.

He sort of wishes Abby was the kind of kid he could bribe with ice cream for breakfast to break bad news to. It'd be easier to scoop her some off-brand Neopolitan and tell her she'd never see you again if that would help soften the blow. But it won't, and he knows that. He knows her too well to even try.

Still, he finds himself putting chocolate chips in her pancakes that morning in spite of himself.

When he places the plate in front of her, she narrows her eyes, as if to ask him what he's done so wrong. . . Asking what he's offering silent apologies for in the form of sweet pockets stolen away inside her favorite breakfast food. He opens the fridge in search of orange juice just to avoid her gaze.

Before she can even take a bite, he opens his mouth.

"Listen, Abby—"

She looks up at him with those big, doe eyes, and he probably would have cut himself off anyway if not for the knock on the front door. Mike mumbles for her to hold that thought, then goes to check who's outside.

And there you stand a little awkwardly on his doorstep, a brand new bottle of orange juice in your hand. Once again, it's like you've read his mind, and he's as sick of it as he is thankful for it, especially right now. Still, he can't turn you away.

"Morning," you say, almost hesitantly. "I brought juice. . ."

He tries to think of something to say, but hears the quick pitter-patter of Abby's feet fastly approaching. She calls your name so happily, and you smile at her.

"Good morning to you too," you laugh, returning the hug she gives you with no hesitation.

Mike just stares, as if he can't believe you're even here right now. If you're just here to grab the items of yours strewn about his house, he feels like the least you could have done was wait until Abby was asleep or something.

"Can I have some?" Abby asks, pointing to the orange juice in your hand.

"Yeah, that's what it's for," you smile, handing the bottle to her.

She scurries off to the kitchen to pour herself a glass.

"Mike," you say softly now that she's out of earshot, "can we—"

"I'll get your stuff together," he cuts you off.

Your jaw slacks.

"What?" Is the only thing you can manage to muster up in response.

"You could've done this at a different time," he snaps, trying to keep quiet so Abby doesn't hear. "It's gonna be ten times harder on her now for me to explain why you're not coming back."

You stare at him, trying not to cry. Out of all the things you expected to happen this morning, such a drastic change of heart on his part wasn't one of them.

"You. . . You're breaking up with me?" You question.

He pauses, a lot of the frustration dissipating from his features, replaced by genuine confusion.

"Didn't you already break up with me?" He asks.

Your brows knit together quizzically. 

"No? What are you even talking about, I never said I wanted to break up with you," you point out.

Sure, you didn’t say it. But most of the others had never said it either. It was like flipping a lightswitch. One minute they were there, and the next they weren’t. That's why he'd gotten so good at keeping his relationships at a distance, and he'd taken the biggest leap of faith in introducing you to his sister.

"Yesterday evening?" He says, but it sounds more like a question.

"We had an argument," you acknowledge. "It was stupid, and you hurt my feelings. I'm sure I hurt yours too. That doesn't mean I want us to be over."

Mike stares at you like he's not sure what to say, because he isn't. He's not used to someone caring enough to fight for him, and for what festers between himself and someone else. He's learned to let go before the thread pulls too tight, —before it wraps around his throat and slices through every defense he's built up for the sake of protecting himself, his heart, and the little girl that depends on him.

"Mike," you say softly, almost cautiously. "I care about you. One bad night doesn't change that. . . Not for me."

God, it was stupid. It was so stupid. You weren't even mad at him specifically, and you're fairly certain he wasn't really angry with you in particular either. Long days on both your parts collided like a warm front to a cold one, and the things both of you said in the wake of it were uttered through venom and gritted teeth. Sweeping generalizations, a lot of rolling eyes, some tears that were more about frustration than they were anything else. . . But you still loved him at the end of it, even as you found yourself walking home alone.

In fact, that walk was particularly sobering. The crisp chill of the autumn evening was enough to convince you that you'd rather be back at his place where he keeps an extra toothbrush for you in the bathroom and emptied out a drawer just so you could have a place to store some clothes. The sleep you got in the night that followed was shallow at best, restless enough to leave faint bags beneath your eyes by morning, and you were determined to make up any excuse in the book just to swing by.

So you went out and got some orange juice, knowing there wasn't any left in the fridge, and you stood outside his door for a while, working yourself up just to knock. You thought about all the things you'd need to apologize for, and you were ready to push aside your ego if it meant Mike could understand just how much you care, even when you're upset.

He swallows, just to give himself something to do while he prolongs his own response, because he's just not sure what to say. Somehow, a part of him is whispering that this would be easier if you just didn't give a fuck. . . If last evening was the end, and he could go back to finding comfort in silence again.

That's how it's always been. Someone leaves, and he copes, and then he files them away with the rest. But here you are, and Mike knows he can't bring himself to put you in with the others.

"Mike, I'm—"

"No, I am," he breathes, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry that I suck at being a boyfriend, but I don't know what I'm doing and all I can tell you is that I'm trying."

He feels the tension meld away from you, and it's then, before you even open your mouth to reply, that he starts to think everything is how it should be.

"You don't suck at it," you answer lightly. "I know you're trying, and that's genuinely all I could ask for, and I'm sorry about yesterday evening. I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."

"We both took shit out on each other," he corrects, ready and willing to share the blame.

"True enough," you acknowledge with a weary smile, finally pulling away from his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "When things go wrong, I. . . I've just learned how to slam on the breaks. If I stop things before they feel like they'll suffocate me, I can avoid them. But I love you, and I know I don't want to avoid that."

"This isn't a one way street," you remind him. "Relationships are hard, and sometimes things happen in a way that they shouldn't, but I'm here for you, and I want to be here for you. . . It's not contractual. One bad night doesn't take away all the times you've made me feel like the happiest person on the face of the planet, Mike."

He sniffles a little, then lets out a relieved sigh.

"Are you hungry?" He asks. "I can make you some pancakes. Chocolate chip."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Chocolate chip? Are you apologizing to Abby for something?"

God, a part of him hates that he's so obvious, but another part loves that you know him so well. It makes him feel even stupider for just assuming that you'd be willing to throw in the towel after one rough night.

"No, not really," he shakes his head. (Not anymore, at least.)

Mike glances toward the kitchen, just to make sure Abby's still preoccupied with her breakfast, then steals a quick kiss from your lips.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

You smile.

"Me too."

"And I love you," he adds.

Your smile widens.

"I love you too. Promise."

With that, he pulls you to the kitchen, and you sit down beside Abby at the table. She tells you that when breakfast is done with, she'd like to show you some new drawings she's done, and you nod, telling her you're excited to see them. And you are.

Mike stands at the stovetop, his back to the both of you, not bothering to bite back his grin. 

He feels his foot ease off the break.

tbh i think im an all of the above girl

can these bots GET OFF MY FUCKING DASH.

mike schmidt x his mcbling bimbo y2k bratty girlfriend 😊😊 (fnaf movie was set in 2000)

mike bends at the waist to chase after the rolling marker caps that slip off the precipice of the coffee table, sealing shut the plethora of drawing utensils that are on the brink of drying out. "is she coming over today?" abby inquires blindly, uncapping yet another marker to color in the triangle-shaped triangle that embodies a pink dress on your designated stick figure.

her elder brother sighs, gathering a number of six markers into his hand before dumping its contents into a woven basket beside the young girl. "wow, pushed off to the side, am i?" he pokes fun, referring to his own stick figure that is pushed off to the left to present you as the painting's main character. "good to know."

"you didn't answer my question." her tongue peeks out from between concentrated lips, and her grip on the plastic writing utensil tightens inside her tiny fist. "is she coming over?"

mike huffs, voyaging through the living room to retrieve various dishes to throw in the near-full dishwasher. "who else is gonna watch you? of course she's coming."

she pushes harder against the paper's surface, coloring in the dark forest green of the trees in the background of the image. "i'm going to work with you."

there's a knock at the door that interrupts mike's smart remark, and he tosses a plastic plate and its matching cup into the sink. when the wood swings open, you snap a bubble of bubblegum with your molars. "hi."

the velvet of your zip-up is soft against mike's palm when he slides a hand around your midriff, searing a kiss against the hollow of your jaw. "hi, dinner's on the stove."

"s'alright, i already ate." you wave off, kissing the corner of his lips. "are you almost done your night-shifts? thought that was our time together." you pout, and abby peaks over the saggy back of the couch to catch bits of the conversation.

she beams, nestling her chin in between the knuckles of her intertwined fingers. "are you coming to work with us too?"

your boyfriend groans, hand disappearing from your back. you snap your gum again, flashing a genuine smile at the young girl. "that's not gonna happen, peanut. i don't wanna sleep on sticky diner seats, babe."

abby groans, forehead falling into the back couch cushion. "why does everyone have to do what mike says?"

you plop down onto a free spot beside the girl, and mike runs a fatigued hand over his face, ready to jump in the car and take his scheduled nap at his new place of employment. "this one is out of mikey's domain, sweetheart," you purl, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table.

"mikey?" abby repeats, as if tasting the feel of the word on her tongue.

mike points a warning finger in your direction, and you hide your growing smile behind the top of colorful pages, earrings jangling with the effort. "call me that and you're staying here by yourself, you hear me? no more pretty babysitter."