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colderdrafts · 1 year ago

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How about a oneshot of reader baking something for Morgan?(since you ‏wrote they has a sweet tooth) It will be so cute-

and about morgan appearance in the chapter..I will be having a heart attack right there 💀

Thanks for the prompt and patience! (and sorry for the scare..? :) )

A lil UV AU drabble under the cut. Enjoy <3

Sugar isn't easy to come by in these lands.

Unfortunately for you, that means weeks of surviving on whatever rations you manage to scavenge from the surrounding vegetation (after asking your 'custodian' what's safe to eat), prey animals that walk the plains or, rarely, food items made by other common-folk.

The latter being whenever you actually manage to initiate a trade with someone bold enough to test Morgan's patience.

Today is your lucky day, however.

You've found shelter in the woods - the little hut you found has seemingly been abandoned for quite some time, neglected and overrun with vines and the roof threatening to collapse in places. It's a single room, but it does sport an actual fireplace with a cooking station and an oven - which is what gave you the idea to make your own treat in the first place. And it happens to lie close to a small town.

It took some coercion, but you eventually managed to convince a begrudging Morgan you should make yourselves known to its residents. Despite the wary stares and wide berth that always meets you, wherever the two of you decide to go.

But here you are now, having finally made contact with a common-folk who actually delves in the wares you need, and you've offered her up a great trade of animal skins in return for her services. You even manage to strike up a polite conversation, asking about the going-ons in this area.

You sense a bit of strain from your conversational partner, however. The owl-like creature has had her eyes fixed on you the entire exchange, no doubt avoiding the searing gaze of your ‘body-guard’. They’re standing right behind you, chittering quietly from time to time.

"Morgan, whatever you’re doing, knock it off," you growl back at them lowly, once the patron turns to find your wares. "You're scaring her. I don't want this to lose this shop, too."

"Just letting her know she should trade fairly," Morgan hums.

You ignore the sensation of the hairs on their pedipalps ghosting across the back of your shirt. "Then use your words. You're being rude."

"I'm being careful."

The patron returns, and you halt your whispering argument in favor of sending her a reassuring smile. Her yellow eyes flicker from you to Morgan's face hovering somewhere above yours, and she doesn't return it.

The owl hands you a bag containing a mixture of ingredients you'd need for a simple pastry.

"Perfect, thank you," you smile. "Morgan, hand her the skins, please."

Morgan chuckles at your politeness, keenly aware it's for the owl's comfort more-so than an actual regard for manners toward them. They swiftly lean over where you stand, front legs on either side of you, dangling the skins in front of the owl's face. Their joints creak uncomfortably as they move.

"Go ahead," they grin in that terrible hissing voice they utilize at times, mandibles snapping together. "Take them."

The owl startles, plumage puffed out as she stares, wide-eyed. She snatches the skin out of Morgan's claws, and promptly closes the window to her shop shut with a loud clack.

You suppress an exasperated groan.

"How rude," Morgan comments, casually picking a speck of dust off your shoulder. "What did you call it? Customer service? Well, it isn't here. We shouldn't shop here either."

"You-!" you turn and lightly shove at them. "I am trying to secure a source of supply here! Why did you do that?"

Morgan moves with you, and leans into your hands on their hip. "I don't like her."

"You don't like anyone."

They lean down to press their forehead against yours gently. "Is that so?"

You look them in the eye sternly, refusing to acknowledge the way any tension slowly seeps out of your limbs at their proximity. "You know that doesn't count."

"I think it does," they smile at you.

You’re about to tell them off, but your retort is cut short. Morgan suddenly turns away to take in the surroundings, alarmed, and stepping a little closer to you. A small group of common-folk who had been looking your way hurriedly goes back to their business.

Morgan frowns, tense and staring at them. You rest your hand on their waist and stay close to their side.

"Trouble?" you ask lowly, looking the same way.

There's nothing too inconspicuous about the way the common-folk scurry around to your eye. Mostly you get the sense they're just scared.

"Maybe not. Maybe not yet," Morgan chitters, softly nudging you with a front leg. "But we should go."

You wouldn't put it past them that this is just a way for them to get out of the argument and of town. After all, they thoroughly dislike having to socialize with common-folk for any reason.

But you’ve seen Morgan tense up like this before. Usually they have a knack for picking up on danger, and getting you out of the way before it even arrives. A subtle shift in the air, someone breathing a little to fast, an anticipatory flick of a tail - it doesn't take much to set the sensitive hairs on their body off.

Guess it cannot be helped. At least you got what you came here for.

You start walking away simultaneously, an unspoken agreement, Morgan stepping in perfect sync with your movements. Common-folk go out of their way to make room for you as you silently pass them by, and you can't decide if your should keep your head down, or try to look them in the eye.

"Why did you want all of these items?" Morgan asks after your return to your hide for the night. They’re calmly watching you unload the ingredients, inspecting a stick of butter like they’ve never seen one before. "If you wanted bread we could just grab some."

"It’s not for bread. And that's not the point," you reply, pulling out an old wooden bowl from a mangled cupboard. You dust it off with your sleeve. "I'm tired of just taking stuff. I want to create something."

"Don't you create plenty already?" Morgan asks, nodding at the satchel you discarded at the house entrance.

"I want to create something to eat that has good taste,” you clarify. “Potions and herb mixtures don't count."

"Many things seem to 'not count' with you today," Morgan notes, humored. "How do you keep track?"

"You don't get it."

"You haven’t explained it to me, dear."

You scowl at them. "Can you just let me do this? Please?"

Morgan smiles, and walks over to push their face against your cheek. You have to restrain yourself from an urge to reach up and trace your fingers over their skin.

"I would never stand in the way of your creativity," they hum in your ear, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder. The hairs on the back of your neck stands on end. "Go ahead. I'm very eager to see what you're up to."

They leave you to it, purposely trailing their hand over your arm as they pass you by. They grab hold of the ceiling with their legs, and easily pull themself up. Seems they intend keep busy with their project of securing webbing on the more fragile places of the roof.

You shake off the ghost of their touch, and get to work mixing ingredients.

Without a recipe or measuring units of any kind you go a little by eye and gut-feeling, hoping it'll be enough to make something vaguely edible. You do eventually manage to put together something that could resemble a reasonable dough, feeling a little proud of yourself.

You take some time learning to adjust temperature with fire rather than electricity, settling the sparse pastries inside like a delicate treasure. You watch it like a hawk, much to Morgans amusement, judging from the way they pause their work to stare at you.

A few minutes later a sweet scent wafts through the air, and suddenly you feel presence behind you.

Morgans settles down heavily, casually pulling you to them with their pedipalps, ignoring your somewhat startled squirming.

"What are you actually creating?" they ask, wrapping their arms around your torso in a silent attempt to calm you. You look up at them, watching the gentle shine of the flames reflecting in their four eyes. "I like this smell."

"Simple pastries," you reply, giving up to relax into their warmth. You can't really do anything else. "They're a little bland, but they're sweet and the recipe doesn't require much. I'll take what I can get here."

Morgan purrs. “I didn't know you knew how to make sweet things?"

"Well, there's hasn't been much option to use my culinary expertise," you mutter. "We're always on the run from somewhere."

"Trust me, sentry, we're not the ones running," Morgan jests. They rest their chin on the top of your head. "But if you like this, we could look for some more options for your.. culnaly, things."

"Culinary."

"Culinary," they repeat.

"And I didn't know you liked anything other than meat and the occasional fruit," you continue.

"Fruits are sweet as well," Morgan shrugs. "I do enjoy the taste."

"I guess they are,” you give, softly running your nails through the space between their fingers. “Well, lucky for you, I made two."

Morgan hums in delight, squeezing you gently. "You went through all this trouble, and even thought about making one for me, did you? You’re so kind."

Of course they’d let that get to their head. You realize what you’re doing, and drop your hand again. "Don't think too hard on it."

"Oh, I will treasure it forever."

"Of course."

The pastries turn out better than you'd feared, albeit a little singed at the corners, and the middle a little more soggy than you'd like. Seems there's still some temperature management issues to keep track of.

They're edible and sweet, though. A welcome change from the usual field-ration level of taste you've grown used to. You share them with Morgan in silence, subtly noting the odd domesticity of the situation. It’s calmer here. It feels nice to just do something so simple.

Even if it’s with them.

"I quite like these. You did so well," Morgan praises, finishing it off with a rapid bite. They’re seated next to you at the fireplace, a leg curled around where you’re sitting. They eye you curiously. "I wonder what other talents you might be hiding from me."

"I haven't been hiding anything,” you argue, swallowing the rest of your own pastry. “But if you want me to be able to do this again, we'll have to aim for places to rest where there's an oven like this one. Or at least stay put for more than a day at a time."

Morgan glances at you. They have that calm look on their face again, like they always do when they believe it’s time to be patient.

"This again, sentry?" they inquire. The little strings under your skin tightens ever so slightly. “It’s better to keep on the move for us.”

"Morgan. I’m exhausted,” you tell them.

And you are. The non-stop moving about because of Morgan’s paranoia has not been easy. This hut is a wreck, but it’s a roof and a bed, and not a suspended cocoon dangling in trees or beneath the edge of a cliff. Hell, you can cook here. This mangled and abandoned structure in the middle of the woods is the most homely thing you’ve experienced since you got here.

"And I have offered to carry you when you’re tired,” Morgan reminds you, softly nudging your side. “I don't understand why you won't let me."

"I bet you don't,” you grumble. How to explain you just don’t want to depend on them more than you’re already forced to? “It’s not just my body. My mind’s tired too. Is it so bad if I have a little normalcy and a thoughts of home?"

They frown momentarily, confused. It may be news to them that there are different ways to feel exhaustion. Or, perhaps they just can’t comprehend why your actual home is something even worth mentioning anymore. Do you truly still believe this is merely temporary? Silly you.

It evens out however, as they take the look on your face for sadness. They reach a hand out to cup your chin, their usual intense stare softening.

"So that’s what this was all about,” they sigh, trailing their hands over your arms in a comforting gesture. “Of course you can. I won't stop you. But I will also not stop making sure we're safe.”

“Safe, Morgan?” you repeat. “We’re basically fugitives for simply existing. I don’t think anything we ever do is going to be safe.”

An uncomfortable chitter escapes them, and suddenly there’s a claw carefully curling around your thigh as Morgan uses their leg to pull you to them. They settle around you, legs folding around where you’re sitting, and arms around your shoulders. You freeze in place.

“That’s exactly the reason we’re always moving. This world is out to kill us both, and we need to find a place where it can’t,” they whisper softly. Their warmth stubbornly burrows under your skin to chase out the tension. “But trust me, sentry. As long as I’m around, you’re the safest creature walking these lands.”

It wasn’t exactly what you meant, as Morgan themself is not exactly ‘safe’ for you either. But there are at least some truth to those words. You are currently sitting in the arms of a member species of the most dangerous predator of this world. And the way their warm energy rolls off of them and gently seeps into your bones is almost enough to make you believe their words.

You breathe out, deciding today is not the day to fight them on this either. Not that you’d get anywhere at another time. You settle back with your legs over theirs, relaxing at the deep purring sound that escapes them.

Morgan rests their chin on the top of your head. “Thanks for the sweets.”

#colderwriting #UV #UV AU #About Morgan #enter 'give me some sugar' joke here #monster x reader #drider x reader #drider #gender neutral reader #monster romance

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