#cyrus is never living that down

[sidesteppostinghours]

Hewooo, good morninggg!

ask game time ✨

For Caine: Philia 4 + Storge 3 in the context of tbe farm or tia elena

For Cyrus: Eros 1 + Storge 4 (sibling au ✨) + Philautia 4

im probably a few hours late when i finish answering this, but morning idle :D! hope you had a good one

Philia 4. Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?

i was thinking about this yesterday on my way home from uni actually. the answer is yes, but with one baseline requirement: anybody they become close with needs to be able to ground them in one way or another. mortum and argent are possible, he appreciates their bluntness and strict boundaries. he likes to listen to mortum and occasionally bounce off ideas with her. he already holds respect for argent, and given time, she couldve grown to be a trusted confidante. however, they want to keep mortum as a purely business relationship at the moment, and argent already scared them off before anything could happen. heralds not getting any further than coach or "he seems nice", they like him but they get a headache whenever theyre in a room with him for too long. other than that, anybody goes. hes not picky.

Storge 3. How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

the answer varies wildly for either, so ill answer for both. in the case of tia elena, parental approval is a bit shocking to him, like with most relationship dynamics. they like it, they just cant fathom the fact that theyre getting percieved, much less in a positive light. hed do a lot to get more, its fascinating to him and it makes him feel like hes doing a good job. but its something they can easily give up if the situation calls for it (aka theyre my only step tia elenas 'im-not-mad-im-just-disappointed' look wouldnt work on).

the farm is...a very different story. they were made to be a tool, and if its a tool they want, a tool they shall get. before their escape he was very single-minded when accomplishing missions. get the job done in any way possible. consequences arent for him to worry about, he only needs to worry about if they mess up. which they wont. they make sure of it. after their escape he leans less into that mindset, but its difficult to let go of, and still bleeds into his relationships most of the time. they dont like to think about the fact they wouldve sacrificed anything for the farm back then, and that theyre not sure they wouldnt sacrifice anything now if the right people asked it from them.

Eros 1. Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?

nobody but him is allowed to be romantic. thats it thats the answer were moving on

in all seriousness, he does do traditionally romantic things alot, though most of them are for the reaction, not courtesy. roses and flowers are a common way for him to try and fluster his dates, and the two people hes dated are both sappy suckers so its worked most of the time. the exception is gift giving, because most of his gifts are handmade, so he tries not to make a big deal about it. unfortunately, his partners always do.

receiving romantic gestures should be something hes used to at this point, but hes not, so it always catches him off gaurd. its embarrassing, but the most embarrassing part is that he gets strangely touched by it. he probably still has a teddy gifted to him thats never seeing the light of day. oh, and chocolates are always welcome. thats just good food.

Storge 4. Does your OC have any siblings? If so then did their parents have a favourite growing up? Has their relationship with their sibling changed in adulthood? If they don't have any siblings then do they perhaps feel they have missed out on an important relationship? Do they have any especially close friends who go some way towards filling that role?

sibling au time✨

does the farm have the normal version of a favourite?? no. do they have a favourite 'im gonna fuck them up for fun' sibling? yes and thats fawn. north is a bastard and he frequently makes cyrus dream of murder. as for how their relationships all changed, cyrus used to be closer to his siblings. a Lot closer. of course, the farm changed that. he became cruel and harsh, which fawn couldnt connect with. even with river who wants to be evil, cyrus became obsessive about control after heartbreak, which i dont think river appreciates. his mental imprint changed extremely, and he started shielding around them. needless to say their relationship was estranged for a good while, but cyrus can never stay away from the people he cares about.

Storge 5. Which of your OC's qualities makes them the most proud? Do they think more people should be like them in this regard? Or do they quite like being rare in possessing it?

hes proudest of his ability to stay logical and composed, unaffected by emotions. that last part isnt true btw, but he gets to believe it to feel better about himself. hes able to think things through and do what needs to be done without external influence. he thinks itd be easier for everybody if they were more like him, but secretly, hes relieved that theyre not. itd get less people hurt, but the poison is addicting, yk? if people were as logical as he wanted them to be, ortega and herald (and maybe mortum, the verdict is pending) wouldve dropped him by now, yet persistent assholes that they are, they stay with him anyway. he likes the trade-off.

questions are from here!

[anxiously-sidequesting]

Asshole Things Ambrose Has Said/Done #8: Describe Cyrus' relationship with Malistaire as "odd" then sends a child, essentially a stranger to Cyrus, with no business with being involved in their family issues, to extract information out of Cyrus on how to kill his brother (a grieving man)

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

This Meme fit futureshipping a little too perfectly. Acronix is totally joking that they finally got him on something while Cyrus is totally mortified.

[astrotruther]

Rising Signs Observations

Unserious =͟͟͞♡

➶ Aries Ascendant is a very rare placement. The most identifiable trait of these natives is their innocent faces. The sign of Aries brings a child-like quality. These people are often told that they look way younger than their age. They also often don't indulge in cosmetic procedures because they like their youthful/ natural look. E.g. Penélope Cruz, Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

➶ Taurus Ascendants (both men & women) are some of the most on-paper/ conventionally beautiful people that I've never looked at twice. I'm sorry, you all are amazing, I've just never been attracted to a Taurus Rising. E.g. Miley Cyrus, Austin Butler. With Gemini in their 2nd House, they can be very successful writers. E.g. Toni Morrison, George R. R. Martin, Salman Rushdie.

➶ Gemini Ascendant women have some of the most unforgettable faces. They also have a youthful look but their beauty differs from Aries Ascendant. They rarely come off as childlike or cute, their aura is rather graceful and intellectual. E.g. Julianne Moore, Kristen Stewart, Amy Winehouse, Priyanka Chopra, Drew Barrymore. Men with this placement are also popular but there's nothing jaw dropping about their looks (or maybe it's just me lol). E.g. Matthew McConaughey, Armie Hammer, Ashton Kutcher.

➶ Cancer Rising men are so chill and have a knack for comedy. E.g. Paul Rudd, Matt LeBlanc, Hasan Minhaj. Their talking voice can be a little goofy; E.g. The Weeknd lol. Women are usually sweet but can be problematic/ drama queens if unevolved. E.g. Chrissy Teigen, Tyra Banks.

➶ The placement that's hands down most likely to gain massive fame is Leo Ascendant. An issue most of them seem to face is of longevity. Often they're associated with a certain project or stereotyped in some way that people can't see them as a versatile individual. Blake Lively - Gossip Girl, Lucy Hale - Pretty Little Liars, Matthew Perry - F.R.I.E.N.D.S, Selena Gomez - Justin Bieber, lol sorry!

➶ Virgo Risings have the most boy/ girl next door aura about them. They have a similar charming wit as Gemini Risings which makes them likable and popular. However, these people may have skeletons in their closet. They are ordinary enough that nobody suspects them of any wrong-doing. This is the placement that can get away with murder. Even if controversies come to light, they're much later in their careers after they've amassed fame, wealth and success. E.g. Steve Jobs, Chris Noth.

➶ Libra Ascendants don't necessarily have the best fashion sense but they always look good. They're very likeable and often down to earth people. Very loyal. Some of them gain a lot of attention for the people they choose to date. E.g. Jennifer Aniston, Britney Spears, Yoko Ono.

➶ I've seen people say Capricorn Risings are a lot like Scorpio Risings due to dark aesthetic/ piercings etc. While Saturn does influence the aesthetic but it is still a very surface level observation based on celebs that often just put on a persona. The essence of these two is quite different:

Scorpio Risings are charmers. They look you in the eye while you talk to them. The eyes are the most obvious identifying factor. Rather than having a specific shape, Scorpio risings' eyes have a depth to them that makes you feel 'seen', and has an underlying promise of understanding your true self. Also, it is THE bollywood IT boy placement. E.g. Shah Rukh Khan, Hritik Roshan, Arjun Rampal. Personal planets in Scorpio, especially a stellium, has a similar effect. However, I don't see it manifest in the same way for women. Their piercing gaze may often come off as just cold. The most prominent example of this is Chloë Sevigny.

On the other hand, Cap. Risings are charming in a less personal way. They are the lookers, the ones on the stage, the center of attention; they radiate their charm to the hoards of awestruck admirers. There's no reading between the lines for unsaid promises, just a very attractive person. E.g. Zac Efron, Ariana Grande.

➶ Sagittarius Risings have a natural talent in acting. Some may look intimidating from afar but they're very kind people once you talk to them. They're versatile and like to experiment with their art, style, self-expression etc. Their fashion sense depends on whether or not they have a good stylist. E.g. Jennifer Lawrence, Kim Kardashian, Brad Pitt, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Winona Ryder, Jodie Foster, Elizabeth Taylor.

➶ Aquarius Risings - popular & widely talked about on the internet, no matter if the career is prolific or not. These are the celebs whom most people have a crush on. E.g. Ian Somerhalder, Zendaya, Aaliyah, Audrey Hepburn, George Clooney, Orlando Bloom.

➶ Pisces Risings - Something very distinct about their look or the way they speak/ sing etc. Sometimes the eyes have an intimidating look to them but they're the least intimidating people ever. E.g. Billie Eilish, Adam Driver, Peter Dinklage, Morgan Freeman, Ellen DeGeneres, Kajol.

Click daily to help Palestinians🍉🙏🏽: https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi losing what is left of his patience when you get injured by a demon

Pairing: Sanemi x wife!reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: Despite the fact that your husband is the opposite of your quiet and kind self, you love him dearly while Sanemi treasures you in a purely unique way. But even though you learned to love his rough side the way it is, you can't stop tears from falling when your husband loses it after you get injured by a demon

Warning: this is THE angst to fluff y'all, Sanemi is a rough but soft boi I'm so weak for him in this fic omgomgomg, been listeing to again by noah cyrus and lana del rey while writing this, injury + angst + near death experience

this might be my favorite sanemi fic coming from my own hands so PLEASE if you feel the same, I'm super thankful for a lil like, comment or even reblog. THANK YOU SO MUCH 🤍

Oh, it was never easy, being the wife to none other than the wind hashira. When you’re quiet he’s noisy, when you’re put together he’s all over the place, while you act loving and kind Sanemi shows his devilish side.

But there was not once a day that made you second-guess your decision, not a single moment that made you feel something apart from deep affection for that man. It doesn’t matter that you are the opposite of him in each and every sense. He’s yours. And you’ll forever be his.

“Sanemi!”

Your oh so sweet voice echoes like a well-composed melody through his ears, makes him forget the wave of anger that washed over him earlier. Just seeing you standing there in the yukata he gifted you years ago while holding a dish with ohagi in your hands allows him to forget all the shit that happened for a brief second.

“Didn’t I tell you that you aren’t allowed to overwork yourself?”, he grumbles before sitting down opposite of you.

You look as good as always with your hair well-brushed and kind eyes lit by the down-going sun. What would his life look like if it didn’t contain of coming home to you? You, his only ray of sunshine. You, the only one who’s able to calm his temper down. Just you, his beloved wife. Who would have thought that out of all hashira, he’d be the one who treasures his wife the most?

“It’s not me who is overworked, but you. Did you get bruised again?”, you question with your melodic voice.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Will you stay home tonight?”

“I definitely hope so. If that crow disturbs my sleep again…”

“You have an important roll to fulfil, as a hashira-“

“’It’s my honor to bring peace to those who aren’t able to look out for themselves.’ Yeah, I already know.”

In contrary to his harsh tone, his fingertips caress your cheek gently while his eyes soften in an instant. It was hard, learning how to read him. When you first met, it was not uncommon that you broke out in tears after he talked to you like that. But now, after 4 years of getting to know him, you never lose your kind smile.

“How was your day?”, he continues.

With a swift motion, he pulls you between his legs and presses your head against his bare chest while his strong arms keep you in place. This are the moments that make your life worth living. Just you and your husband, arm in arm, watching the sunset in nothing but peace and silence.

“I enjoyed the nice weather while taking care of the garden. The tulips look exceptionally beautiful this season.”

“They’ll never be as beautiful as you, though”, he replies with low voice.

If life could stay like that. Oh, what you’d give to never let go of him again…

-later that night-

“Wind pillar, wind pillar! An emergency occurred! Countless demons were spotted nearby! The demon slayer corps need your assistance-“

“Can you just shut the fuck up”, Sanemi mumbles while pulling you closer sleep-drunken.

Immediately, you are wide awake. Nearby demons?

“Sanemi, you need to get up. What if someone gets injured?”, you whisper into the dark night.

“So what?”

You stare at him through the veil of darkness, not daring to say another word. He will get up eventually. He always does.

“Urgh, fine…Time to kill some demons, then”, he finally grumbles and drags himself away from you in order to put on his uniform.

“You stay here until I get back. Even if our estate is build pretty safe and I’ll rip off the heads of the demons around first, I don’t want you to be out there on your own. Got it?”, he instructs you before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead like he always does.

“I will. Please be careful and watch out for yourself”, you whimper.

It’s a challenge to let go of him each and every night he is forced to leave. He might be a hashira, but what if he doesn’t return by sunrise some day? What if he meets an upper-ranked demon unexpectedly? Just when he’s about to leave, you grab his hand one last time.

“And don’t act reckless”, you add.

No matter how much it hurts to let go of his hand, you know you have no other choice. This is the life you chose, the price you have to pay in order to call that wonderful man your beloved husband.

“I can never promise you that”, he replies before leaving you alone in the now cold and awkwardly dark room.

Everything will turn out alright. It just has to…

You don’t know how long you’ve been awake already. Minutes? Hours? All you’re able to do is stare at the ceiling above, ears perking up with every minor movement of the trees outside. Surely, Sanemi will return soon. Being the skilled fighter he is, it normally takes him at most two hours until he returns with his sheets still a little warm. But aren’t those two hours over already?

Another noise outside catches your attention. Is it a tree again? You furrow your eyebrows, immediately sitting up straight while staring outside the window. No, this almost sounds like the whimpers of a child. A child outside at this hour?

You swallow hard. A child outside when there are demons reported around this area?

“P-please, someone help me! I-I’m so s-scared!”

Your heart drops to the floor. There is no doubt in the fact that this has to be a child. Your mind starts racing back and forth. It would be absolutely unacceptable to leave that poor soul out on its own, especially when you can’t know if the area is really free of demons. But on the other hand…You bite your lip when your husband’s words replay themselves in your head.

“No matter what happens when I’m gone. Don’t. Go. Out. On. Your. Own. At. Night. Need me to spell it, (y/n)? Never ever, not in a million years. Got it?”

Not under any circumstances. Your husband made that very clear countless times. But does that include a helpless child outside your estate in the middle of the night? You aren’t a fighter like Sanemi is, even refused to keep an emergency katana in the house just in case. There is no way you could harm a single soul, not even a demon. Leaving a child outside in the middle of the night…isn’t that just as unforgivable?

Sanemi said that he’ll take care of the demons around first. That means you’re safe, right? But even if that poor child doesn’t face danger in the form of a demon, it will certainly freeze with that cold breeze rushing over the land these days.

“P-please, is someone there? I’m s-so tired and s-so cold…I…I can’t walk anymore…”

Your heart aches with every word. No matter how much value the promise you made towards your husband holds in your heart, you simply can’t stand the thought of ignoring an innocent little child that needs your help.

“Why are you out there all on your own, where are your parents?”, you shout into the darkness of your home while making your way to the door.

Is it really okay, breaking the promise you’ve made like that? You grab the handle of the door tightly. This might be the only time you’re actually useful. Without any skills apart from cooking, you can only watch from the side-lines how the demon slayer corps save the world. Maybe this is your chance to do a little something as well, your chance to actually be helpful.

You swing your door open while holding your breath.

“Where are you? Let’s get you inside and grab a warm tea, okay? You must be freezing”, you speak out gently, eyes scanning the garden for the little figure.

“I’m right here!”, the innocent voice cries out to your right.

Instantly, you pick up your pace and sprint towards the tiny figure lying in the grass. Oh no, you can’t imagine what this little child has been through, how it even got here. Did it get lost in the woods and failed to return before the night came? You’ll have to prepare a guestroom right away, just after inviting this little one in-

“Foolish woman.”

Time stands still, your glossy orbs starts to tremble when the tiny figure in front of you starts to build itself up, grows taller and taller until it surpasses your own height by multiple inches. This…this isn’t a child.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror, blood rushing through your ears so violently that you feel like fainting any given minute after it strucks you like lighting.

You were tricked by a demon. After Sanemi warned you over and over, you fell for the lousy trick of a demon. Out of instinct you start stumbling backwards, glossy eyes darted towards the horrific creature with bright red eyes and fangs bigger than your own head.

“I waited patiently until that demon slayer was gone. A young and beautiful woman like you sure tastes nice. Now that I’m seeing you fully, you were definitely worth the wait. I’m sure your flesh tastes excellent.”

Your blood freezes in your veins. Is this really how your life will come to an end? Because you didn’t listen to your husband, because you wanted to be somehow useful? How will Sanemi react, finding out that you were killed? Suddenly your legs threaten to give in and force you to come to a stand. It’s not like you’d be able to defend yourself in any kind of way when all you ever did was taking care of Sanemi and your imaginary perfect life.

A perfect life, ruined by one night of carelessness.

His face flashes in front of your inner eyes, the kind smile he always wore when he didn’t know you were watching. Despite the flaws others see in him, his hot temper and the way he treats his little brother, you are head over heels for him. Your husband, your everything, your Sanemi. A perfect little marriage, ruined by you.

“Don’t”, you hush into the night like the fool you’re are.

“How much I love hearing you little women beg not to get killed. Music in my ears!”

He dashes towards, ready to slice your throat open single-handed. Out of instinct, you let yourself fall backwards into the wet grass, watching how his claws brush over your forehead with enough force to discolour your vision red.

“Nice moves. You seem really healthy. That’s actually even better”, the demon purrs.

This is it. Your final moment on this earth, killed through the hands of a demon in your own well-groomed garden. You never imagined it all to go down like this, not when you’re still so young and full of love.

You didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye, to tell Sanemi one final time how much you adore him and that you’ll love him through everything. Will he be okay? The man who lost almost everything, who has to live with a burden heavier than earth itself balanced on his strong shoulders. This…this will break him even more.

“Any last words?”, the demon jeers at you.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. No, there is nothing this creature deserves to hear from you, not even a single scream will escape your lips. You rest your lids, picture his oh so gorgeous face in front of your inner eye. If you only had more time, if you only listened. Your beloved marriage, vanishing in thin air.

“I’m sorry Sanemi. I’m so so sorry…”

When will it be over?

“Touch her and you’ll die.”

What...No, this is impossible, you have to be dreaming-

“Or nah, you’ll die anyway.”

 The urge to open your eyes again becomes unbearable.

Your heart skips a beat. Instead of getting greeted by the claws of the demon, you’re able to read it very clearly.

“Destroy.”

This back, so familiar broad…

“Sanemi?”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay inside the house?”, he barks over his shoulder.

It happens faster than your eyes are able to follow. One high jump, one slash of his sword and the demon’s head falls onto the soft grass in front of you. Immediately, you are surrounded by dust rising towards the moon.

“What were you even thinking?”

Before you’re even able to feel relieved your husband storms towards you, not a single spark of affection gleaming in his furious eyes.

“You promised over and over”, he screams on top of his lungs.

“I’m-“

“And you fucking lied into my face!”

Roughly, he grabs your Yukata with both hands and yanks your throbbing figure towards him.

“I’m so-“

“Is all of this a joke to you? Don’t you trust your husband enough to do as you’re told!? You’ve had this one job, that one fucking job to stay inside the house!”

“Sanemi, I-“

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Did you really want to die right here?”

“Sanemi…”

You breathe his name into the night with strangled voice, tears now streaming down your face like a waterfall. You made a reckless mistake, but none of this happened because you wanted to hurt him. His words, his furious gaze, his hardened eyes so venomous that you have to look away dig themselves like knives into your already fragile heart and simply take your breath away. Out of all feelings, your husband is livid at you.

“I…I’m sorry”, you finally press out.

“You could have died, (y/n). You know that?”

He pulls you towards himself even harder, his hands fisting the fabric of your yukata so tightly that you fear he might rip it.

“You could have died and I couldn’t have done a single fucking thing. Losing you…Fuck!”

He yanks your chin upwards with one hand, forces you to look at him through your wet lashes. But you aren’t greeted by his stone-cold glare. No, are those…tears shimmering in his orbs? What’s left of your heart breaks in an instant.

“I can’t lose you. Not you, not the love of my life. Not another loved one. I couldn’t fucking stand this shitty world without you by my side. How many times did I tell you to stay inside the house when I’m gone at night?”, he screams at you.

“I-I’m sorry”, you hush through shaky lips.

“You’re my everything. Fuck, I love you so much…Losing you like that…”

The next second you find yourself devoured in his strong arms, holding you pressed against his chest so tightly that you can feel his heart pounding.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, (y/n). Never”, he mutters into your hair while caressing your bloody hair.

“I’m sorry”, you mumble again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Are you hurt? You’re bleeding, goddamn. Let’s get you inside, this needs to get stitched up.”

You don’t dare to contradict, allowing him to carry you back into safety with your arms cramped around his neck.

You’re safe. Sanemi is absolutely furious with you, but the worry in his eyes, the gleam…You bury your head inside his uniform, desperately trying to escape your own foolishness. None of this would have happened if you just stayed inside like he told you. If you were smart enough…

“How did he get you outside?”, Sanemi finally breaks the silence while cleaning your wound.

“He played a scared and lost child”, you mumble.

“Huh, what I thought. You’d never break a promise over nothing”, Sanemi replies, his voice a little softer than before.

“I know you tried to help, but never to shit like that again. When I saw you lying there and your blood on the grass, I almost died. You’re my everything, my wife. I can’t lose you because of a demon, you hear me? I was so damn worried about you…”

“I just wanted to do something…useful…”

“Useful? Are you too dumb to see how useful you are?”, he bites back.

Sanemi stops barking at you immediately after seeing how glossy your eyes turn all over again. No matter how fucking mad he is right now, he can’t hurt you any further. It’s clear you acted out of the right motives, he shouldn’t scream at you like that. Especially since you almost died tonight. Not his wife, not when you’re everything he has.

“I treasure you more than everything else in this world. You’re the reason I’m still believing there’s something good left here. Don’t you dare to risk your important life like that again, got it?”, he gently continues before caressing your cheek the way you love so much.

“I never wanted to cause you this much trouble. I…I was acting dumb…”, you mutter, intertwining your fingers with his.

“We’re all a little dumb from time to time, yeah? Let’s go back to sleep, that was more than enough for one night.”

You don’t hesitate when he pulls you along into the oh so inviting sheets. With him by your side, they definitely feel way more inviting. With him by your side, you don’t have to fear a single nightmare haunting you down this frightful night.

“At least I’m having an excuse now for a day off tomorrow. I love you, (y/n). So so much”, Sanemi mumbles into your hair, holding you so comforting against his chest that sleep washes over you almost immediately.

“I love you too, Sanemi…”

There is no doubt in the fact that Sanemi held you even closer each and every night after almost losing you through the hands of a demon.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @skeleton-the-gangser (reader isn't pregnant in that one, but the vibe is the same as with the Yoriichi fic you enjoyed)

[acid-ixx]

i would not survive wayne manor if i had to stare into dick's y/n blue orbs everyday

stop looking at me with those eyes! (again &. again mini drabble)

ft. post-kidnapped reader w/ yandere batfam shitpost

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; related post !

thank u for sending this oh my god, i need to write about this!!! i absolutely love your art style for the reader, they're so handsome i'm crying and laughing 😭😭😭 and it's true!!! i will also die if i look at the entire family's eyes as a filipino who has never once stared at a foreigner's eyes because it's just so bright huhu.

unfortunately for your case though, your refusal to look straight at them just translates to extra unwanted counseling sessions with the family in one of the large expanses of the living rooms housing the available members for a meeting. it's a whole gathering where you're the center of attention.

and it's not only dick involved, it's also all the other blue-eyed bastards and an additional glowering, pair of green ones which shines the brightest of them all— and if not for cass and duke's dark colored peepers, you might've truly passed away because it's no joke that their eyes glint under the light passing through locked windows, especially when the sun is at its highest peak and hits at just the right angles to glisten.

not only have you no physical escape, but their obsessed stares never leave your form too, devouring and locking you whole in your place and claustrophobic to the chains of their bright-orbed gaze.

"(name), dear, as much as you don't wish for me to address the issue; it's becoming an unhealthy habit that you refuse to maintain eye contact with the family. it doesn't help that your heart palpitates, you perspire more often, and you make excuses to run to a different room when you do. what's wrong?"

you don't even have to look up from staring at your lap (as if you want to, hah!) to know it's your father's voice directed at you. it's a unique tremor that reverberates across the room and commands attention from all corners; yet when he speaks to you, it's coated with an unhealthily sweet reverence that seems completely foreign to someone who has never once spoken to him until now.

"u-uhm..." stuttering, you bite your lip, drowning in your own self-preservation that had you ignoring dick's stealthy steps to your seated body on the couch, only for his fingers to carefully graze on your chin, snapping you out of your attention yet being too late as he lifts your head up, forcing to stare at his wide-blown eyes.

they're unnaturally bright today, shining more than the beaches in those private islands bruce owns, it's even more terrifying that he's staring at you.

"it's unfair too... baby bird, that it's me you avoid the most," he groans, it grates at your ears but it was better to focus on your other senses if you wish to control the ever-living fear of miley cyrus' blue eyes burned right into your retina, now associated with dick's emboldened ones. his palms find its way to either side of your head, cradling it side to side, the contact forced you to continue staring ahead of him. and no matter how much you resort to blanking out, the intensity of his baby blue eyes forfeits you to focus on anything else.

yet it's the gentle graze on your side that encourages you to speak your mind, you really hate how infantilizing this entire scene feels, and comical that they're - dick - is taking your excuses too seriously.

"ah... well—" how do you explain that you're shit at eye-contact because, first, and can't deal with their luminescent stares pinning you down to your spot, brighter than diamonds and emerald crystals, second?

"everyone's just too... you know. i- i really can't explain without it sounding... uhm..."

"too overwhelming? too what? akhi/akhti? it has been years since we last took you in, and you've been perfectly communicating with us until now. what has changed? has that rebel, todd, dare to make another deal with you again which involves refusing to properly communicate with us? with me? because if he did—"

damian's voice slithers with conviction, condemnation and possessive threats that strike fear into your heart with every venom-laced word. if not for his head nuzzling into the shadows of your neck, the dichotomy of dialogue and action, you would've been convinced he's out to kill you instead.

yet the same gremlin muttering insults is your little brother who takes the entire space beside you on the velvety couch, rendering you completely cornered by his expecting glare. except now, unlike the mental torment he subjected to you, his green-eye gaze glimmers with concealed adoration you've learned to discern, he's always been a heckler for your attention; the tan hands wrapped around your waist in a snuggle tightens, not too tight that it deprives you of oxygen, but demands your answers instead.

like father, like son. as the saying goes. always finding solutions with unwanted affection. couldn't even push them away without them interpreting your actions as rebellion which only results in more uncomfortable competitions on who gets to cuddle you for longer.

and wait, no, they didn't take you in, bullshit! they basically kidnapped you. it's only that you've grown accustomed to dealing with them individually and as a group, but because they've been more lenient with technology, providing you access to wifi with supervised search results, you stumbled across one of , which not-so faintly reminds you of them.

your past traumas of them replaced with jaded motivation to survive and tolerate the ever living plague in your life you call your family.

bruce did advise you to associate them with positive things instead as a first step to your adjusting phase, and miley cyrus' anthropoidal, not-quite human stare isn't negative in any way, yet it's also by no means negative, if not unsettling— which leads you to a common ground, a common affiliation which helps you cope with the fear that they might harm you and isolate you with loneliness even further; forgetting your presence once again.

learning to love them was hard, so relating them to anything comical was way easier on the still-heavy burden in your heart which yearns for freedom burned off through countless of escape attempts, the grief of your mother's death now decades worth, and just the shock of it all that they're still interested in you until now that hasn't worn off still, despite the years passing by quicker than blowing off a candle-light.

still, everyone retains their gaze on you, never once breaking contact with your form as if you're capable of escaping their grasp. you try to look down, but to no avail, dick was too invested in hogging your head all to himself and nuzzling it in his toned stomach, whilst damian refuses to separate from his ever tightening hold which renders you unable to full grasp your thoughts and speak.

god-damned hypocrites.

"holy shit..." it's tim who broke off the silence, muttering under his breath in disbelief whilst his hand fiddles with the modded tablet bruce had given you as a christmas gift. his lanky finfers continue scrolling eyes fixated on the scene before him, every expression illuminated by the faint glow of your tablet's screen. the most visible feature, gazing at him through whichever was left of your vision unobstructed by dick's body; was of course, his widening blue eyes, as it seems like he'd hit jackpot with his appalled reactions.

it seems like he found the exact same picture.

would it be a bad thing now if you'd run away from the room once they all collectively hone in on the image before them? or is it too risky of a task?

honestly, with just how routine your life must be right now, you'd prefer to run, to feel the air run through your hair, to bask in the sun washing your body in its warmth.

maybe to find unbidden joy in another game of cat and mouse, or it may be another one of your excuses to avoid those piercing eyes once more if even by just a mere fraction.

or maybe you could stay for now, because is it just you, or did you actually succeed in traumatizing them for once instead of you?

[littlebatgames]

How to make a powerful, hot vampire you still want to hug

Hi tumblr! I'm Cyrus Nemati, creative director at Little Bat Games, and a voice actor you might know from games likes Hades (I did the really secure guy and the really insecure guy).

We're closing in on the release of our debut title, Vampire Therapist, and based on tumblr's response in the past, I think you might be interested in seeing our creative process.

Andromachos is our 3000-year-old vampire mentor you'll meet early in Vampire Therapist. He's a complicated character: he was an assassin and warrior for most of his 3000 years, but a personal crisis put him on a voyage of self-discovery in the 1800s. Therapy never existed in his time, but as it developed, so did he. We needed a character who expressed wisdom and strength, but also gentleness and compassion. And of course, he's a vampire in a sexy vampire game. He needed to look like a Mediterranean dream.

This was our initial sketch of Andromachos by art director Ruth Bosch (https://x.com/rthbosch). As you can see, he's already oozing confident vampire energy, and he clearly has the wisdom of 3000 years. This is someone you want as your therapist. Vampire Therapist is a game with specific needs, and a certain lightheartedness is one of them. This Andromachos is very much grounded in reality, and just might be *too* realistically sexy.

This was @nomnomroko's first test render for Andromachos before joining the team. Right away, she understood the *figure* of Andromachos and poise of a man who has lived for 3000 years, but this was a more villainous (albeit super hot character). We toned him down shortly after, and brought back in some of the more grounded humanity from Ruth's initial sketch. You can make fan art of this version, though, we won't mind. This version might come back if we ever do a prequel!

Here's his toned down version, already much closer to the Andromachos we see in the final game. He's lost none of his power, but is already the welcoming presence we needed to have in Vampire Therapist.

Body language is also a key aspect of our game. In a game about therapy, we are mostly sitting, so the ways we can express emotion and intention are more subtle. You can already see the strength of Andromachos's character here.

Which takes us to our final rendering!

I love Andromachos. Or Andy, as more familiar folk call him. And I think you will, too. To me, he's a perfect synthesis between Ruth's initial rendering and Sybille's test that fits the comedic, warm, and very human tone of our game.

You can check out our game on Steam and GOG, and your wishlists will make algorithms happy. As you know, everything is algorithms! Help us make Vampire Therapist 2?

Steam:

And GOG:

[sundrop-writes]

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven’t watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there’s no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it’s not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to ‘appeal’ to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife’ to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name’); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader’s true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader’s body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer’s fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don’t really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it’s good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn’t 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day. 

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy. 

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride. 

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted. 

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect. 

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained. 

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.” 

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged. 

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked. 

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.” 

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?” 

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.” 

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials. 

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat. 

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.” 

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer. 

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look. 

“Rings?” She questioned. 

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained. 

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.” 

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.” 

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.” 

You nodded at this. 

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome. 

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath. 

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel. 

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless. 

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day. 

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?” 

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.” 

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently. 

… 

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car. 

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently. 

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch. 

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.” 

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track. 

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote. 

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it. 

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you. 

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.” 

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do. 

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet. 

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.” 

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with. 

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.” 

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed. 

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man. 

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch. 

You were just playing the part. 

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.) 

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation. 

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass. 

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.” 

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego. 

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.” 

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return. 

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’. 

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception. 

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.” 

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie. 

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented. 

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it. 

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him. 

“Has it been a godly union?” 

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage. 

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer. 

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out. 

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse. 

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted. 

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse. 

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.” 

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.” 

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth. 

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again. 

… 

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell. 

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid. 

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening. 

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay. 

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response. 

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant. 

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun. 

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it. 

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him. 

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again. 

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt. 

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide. 

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse. 

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly. 

Which ‘one’? 

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information? 

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time. 

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception. 

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed. 

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie. 

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.” 

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun. 

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream. 

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time. 

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now. 

Spencer didn’t take the bait. 

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-” 

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek. 

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek. 

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly. 

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head. 

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’. 

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.” 

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards. 

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you. 

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly. 

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead. 

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan. 

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened. 

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled. 

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man. 

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him. 

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued. 

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.” 

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides. 

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that. 

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you. 

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you. 

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you. 

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. 

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies. 

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all. 

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that. 

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury. 

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God. 

You couldn’t hold yourself back then. 

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what. 

He would protect you because you belonged to him. 

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better. 

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly. 

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort. 

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test. 

… 

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes. 

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’. 

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind. 

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking. 

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

You rolled your eyes sharply at this. 

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle. 

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.) 

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned. 

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,” 

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart. 

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.” 

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay. 

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly. 

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind. 

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way. 

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat. 

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.” 

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you. 

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s). 

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real. 

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked. 

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title. 

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it. 

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too. 

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued. 

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right. 

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.” 

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself. 

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right? 

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus. 

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked. 

“Of course.” Reid confirmed. 

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.” 

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely. 

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked. 

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like? 

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.” 

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared. 

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said. 

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin. 

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.” 

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement. 

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.” 

Of course. 

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.” 

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day. 

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you. 

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children. 

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life. 

… 

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids. 

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then. 

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better. 

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?” 

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim. 

“Yes, we do.” He nodded. 

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak. 

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well. 

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced. 

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust. 

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.” 

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die. 

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him. 

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.” 

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room. 

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek. 

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about. 

“Come on.” Christopher grunted. 

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you. 

… 

Your plan worked flawlessly. 

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels. 

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear. 

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-” 

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along. 

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around. 

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you. 

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you. 

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her. 

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay. 

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back. 

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame. 

It was the church. 

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!” 

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm. 

“L/N!” 

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer. 

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down. 

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face. 

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.” 

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply. 

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you. 

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear. 

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then: 

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him. 

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go. 

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?” 

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you. 

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever. 

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake. 

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.” 

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’. 

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.” 

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced. 

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm. 

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss. 

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other. 

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed. 

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self. 

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder. 

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea. 

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it. 

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best. 

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, so there will not be a continuation or a sequel to it. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that I have written, rather than asking me to write 'more'. If you want to see more things that I have written about Spencer, feel free to check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

[deckedcards]

. . . SO, TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME AGAIN

⌗ PAIRING: ryōhei arisu x gender neutral! reader

⌗ SUMMARY: arisu will never feel the happiness of hearing the person he loves the most say “i love you” to him again.

⌗ THIS WORK INCLUDES . . . lowercase intended, typical aib warnings, third person pov, short fic, established relationship, ANGST ANGST ANGST, sprinkles of fluff, major character death, being doomed by the narrative, PTSD, grief, takes place during the wolf and three lambs game (changed to four), reader and arisu being helplessly inlove with each other, use of pet names, mentions of suggestive content, mentions of nudity (not sexual), fixed grammar and wording mistakes ❨ edited ❩

⌗ EXTRA NOTES: another arisu fic, who cheered!! 🎉🎉 not my best work, but i just wanted to post something regardless🫶🫶 i never wanna be put through the pain of re-watching episode 3 EVER again

⸺ EIGHT MINUTES REMAINING.

panic was all arisu had felt in his body as he stared at his reflection. hands cradling the collar around his neck as he felt his knees threatening to buckle under him, trying desperately to ignore karube yelling his name as he felt himself starting to hyperventilate. memories flooding him of the poor woman whose head had exploded infront of his own eyes at the end of the tag game.

he was the wolf.

all because he made the mistake of running after karube once shibuki bolted into the rest of the building, selflessly leaving the rest of her “friends” to potentially die. it was the fault of the stupid rule of this game, where the lambs were required to hide as the wolf hunted them. but what was the point of doing so if the lambs were going to die once whoever was the wolf had won?

“you just wanted to be the only survivor in the first place!” karube yelled limping around as he searched for arisu. he didn’t want to be chosen. he didn’t ask to be chosen. he knew there was a solution to this game, one where all of them would live. one where he wouldn’t have to worry about his best friends or his own lover dying. he just needed more time, that’s all!

“arisu..” (name)’s soft voice called out to him. he didn’t respond, setting himself down in the corner. arms wrapped around himself as he breathed heavily, tears and snot trailing down his face, “tell me what’s wrong, honey. what’s wrong?” honey, that stupid pet name they’d given him that always made his face flush and heart race.

open-mouth kisses were being pressed across the teeth marks and love bites that decorated arisu’s bare chest, he let out airy giggles at the ticklish feeling. “honey,” (name) called out resting their body next to his as their warm hands brushed through his tangled hair, “you’re so important to me, y’know that?” arisu smiled at them, locking his dilated pupils to theirs. “yeah,” he smiled, “almost like you’ve told me that about a—dozen—times now?”

“really?” (name) cocked their head, pressing their lips into a pout as their biceps wrapped around his toned waist, “well can you blame me? you’re just too goddamn perfect, i can’t help it.” they said pressing their soft lips onto his, every kiss was followed by a ‘perfect.’ arisu face started to blush as he attempted to pull away, getting flustered by all the praise he was receiving.

“hey, come on—get off me you big pervert!”

“nooo, i just wanna love you”

“no—hey!” arisu kicked his legs as (name) caged their frame onto his. feathery kisses brushed his skin as he clutched his hands onto (name)’s back, nails slighty scraping their skin. “i love you, so so much.” they said letting their head up, “never let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?” arisu grazed his hand onto their shoulder blade, scrunching up his nose as a smile left him, “i love you too, no matter what.”

one last kiss was pressed onto him as (name) grabbed the sheets from the end of the bed, engulfing the two into a much needed warmth as the cold nipped at their bodies, letting rest wrap them up into it’s embrace.

FIVE MINUTES REMAINING.

he wished he never went to sleep that night, he wanted to have that feeling back. the feeling of (name)’s love as they made him feel special, wanted and not let the words of his father get to him. reassuring him that he wasn’t the failure he was sought out to be, “i’m sorry..” he cried out, “i’m sorry!”

“what’s the point in apologizing now?!” karube interrogated spitting insults at him left and right, “if you’re going to be a loser forever, then just let me be the wolf, arisu!”

“you’re perfect.”

tears clogged his vision as he shut his eyes closed, “(name)…” arisu pleaded to them, thinking about about how happy he felt with them, how happy karube and chōta made him during dire times. his friends, his partner. the people he cared the most about in this world. all the dreams they shared together, all the moments they went through with each other, every secret that was told, all the birthday parties that were celebrated, all the hangouts, everything. he didn’t want to lose them, his family.

“you better keep your promise, you hear that?”

TIME REMAINING, THREE MINUTES.

“i’ll drop out.” arisu stated, “i’ll drop out, i’ll drop out of this game!” he weeped, “you guys are all i have, if someone has to survive.. it’s not me. i’ll leave the game.” he shook, forcing his body to move. calling out to the three asking them where they were, they didn’t respond.

“karube, chōta? (name)!” he called out again. no response. he ran out from where he was hiding, checking the places he last saw the three. they were gone. hidden themselves from his line of view so he wouldn’t find them. chōta dragging shibuki into a bush, karube hiding under a stone bench and (name) placing themselves behind a giant board implanted into the ground.

arisu screamed their names as he searched, not stopping until one of them responded to his pleas, “shut up!” karube replied. he called out to him, holding onto the side of this device to hear him clearer. “making a ruckus like idiots, and drinking the night away. forcing (name) to give us a ride home whenever we were too drunk to even move… when i’m with you guys, i forget about all the troubles i have.” karube monologued throwing away the weapon he had picked at the beginning of the game, “you remember, right? that hot summer day we made noodles with shaved ice.”

“i remember being grossed out by the flavor and spitting it out everywhere.” (name) chuckled picking at the grass beneath them. “we laughed a lot then, didn’t we?” chōta chimed in. “chōta laughed so hard noodles came out from his nose.” karube added as a laugh started to leave him.

“you don’t have to mention that!”

the three shared a sweet moment, ignoring all of arisu’s cries as he asked to know where they were. “it was always so nice hanging out with you guys,” (name) said holding back tears as their voice started to shake, “i don’t think i’d want my life to be any other way. especially without you, arisu. you were always so loving to me, thank you.”

“(name)! please…. just tell me where you are!” arisu urged, his throat started to ache at all of the calling but he didn’t care, he needed someone to take his place as the wolf. “arisu,” chōta began as shibuki started to struggle less at his hold, realizing that her attempts of freedom didn’t matter anymore as the end was coming near, “live on for us.”

THIRTY SECONDS REMAINING.

“it’s not me! i shouldn’t be the one to stay alive!” arisu panted moving his head an in attempt to catch one of them, “karube! chōta! (name)!”

“i’m right here, honey.”

he whipped his body, coming into contact with (name) who was standing on one of the bridges. their body was turnt to only be seen from the side, eyes faced away from him, “(name)… look at me, please!”

TEN SECONDS.

“look at me!”

FIVE.

“i’m begging you!”

FOUR.

“please!”

THREE.

“don’t leave me, i don’t wanna be without you!”

TWO.

“i love you, ryōhei arisu.”

ONE.

“(name)!” arisu sprinted towards them. the collar chimed as their body went limp, the explosion splattering their blood everywhere. arisu caught them before their body could collide with the floor, the crimson liquid staining his face. shock filled him as he stared at the body of his dead lover. their lips were molded into a smile, even when faced with death they were as happy as they could be.

arisu screamed. emotions overtaking him as he wrapped his arms around them. one of his hands cradled the back of their head, showing them nothing but care as his tears flooded down onto their face, his misery echoing throughtout the emptiness of the night.

ding!

GAME CLEAR.

CONGRATULATIONS!

and bumblebee!

© @deckedcards 2025 all rights reserved. ☆ please do not repost, translate, copy or share my work on other platforms without my permission, thank you.

[ourobororos]

once upon a time i wanted to draw the pokebosses all as cats and i finally got around to finishing it 😼 i like the idea of interpreting them as regular #normal cats.... some thoughts and hcs for them below the cut bc its fun to stink about

giovanni- classic tuxedo tomcat. well taken care of but spends a lot of time prowling around... kind of the leader of the local outdoor cat community. social and charming but will always win a fight if challenged

maxie- very vocal siamese... usually stays indoors but occasionally goes out + likes to roll around in dirt. standoffish and doesnt like to be pet + gets into fights constantly with the annoying tabby next door

archie- scruffy long haired tabby who spends most of his time outdoors, esp by rivers to stare at the fish... very friendly to everyone but likes picking fights with the stuck-up siamese cat next door

cyrus- exclusively indoor tiny sphynx. glares at all the outdoor cats through the window on his tall perch

ghetsis- fluffy male tortoiseshell. nobody knows where he lives, seen outside a lot but always well-groomed and well-fed. charming so you let your guard down and then he swats when you least expect it

lysandre- massive purebred maine coon... extremely pampered and only gets the royal treatment from his owners of course. rarely goes outside and is grossed out by all the outdoor cats and their dirty coats

guzma- huge scruffy tabby, rare ghost coloration. escaped his home young and became the leader of a group of feral stray cats... aggressive and REFUSES to get caught by humans without putting up a fight

lusamine- purebred ragdoll... very fancy show cat part of a line of them- never ever goes outside but likes chatting with the outdoor cats through her custom built catio screen. always showing off her kittens

rose- purebred british shorthair, very friendly but out of touch and gets picked on by the other cats due to his pampering and rarely going outdoors. skittish and picky about his food

colress- russian blue. nobody knows if hes a well taken care of stray or an outdoor housecat, but travels far and wide and never stays put for long. the cats think he and ghetsis might be from the same household(?) but nobody knows the truth

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Prom Gone Wrong"

“I’m not showing too much cleavage, am I?” I ask my friend Cassy, pulling up on the silky  red dress I was wearing to cover my breasts. It was prom day, the same day I was dreading since Ollie asked me to go with him.

Don’t get me wrong, going out in a beautiful dress was my dream since I was a little girl. It was just the fact that I didn’t want to go with Ollie. 

He wasn’t my type, and he was known for not actually dancing with girls at prom and taking them in a janitor’s closet to fuck them instead. He’s never piqued my interest, but since nobody else asked me to go, I accepted.

“Honey, you look gorgeous! Let those girls free, the world needs to see how hot you are.” Cassy said before throwing her head back and taking a shot, her favorite thing to do before a party. I nervously smiled at her and fixed my hair before leaving the bathroom.

“Yeah, I just don’t want that creepy English teacher to dress-code me.” I walked to my vanity and sat down on the stool, pulling out a tube of lipgloss from my purse and applying it to my lips.

Cassy shrugged and sat down on my bed, bending over to put her black heels on. “If he looks at you weirdly, I’ll beat his 62 year old ass.”

“Thanks, Cassy.” I roll my eyes and laugh, reaching forward on the vanity to open my jewelry box. When I did, a polaroid of me and an old friend fell out of it, and I picked it up and stared at it.

Me and him used to live in the same neighborhood before I had to move away, and we were the greatest of friends. Sure, he was a bit of an oddball, but it never deterred me from him. We grew apart, though, and went our separate ways throughout highschool. Now that we were both seniors and could attend the senior-only school dance, I had a small amount of hope that he’d ask me. I wasn’t sure why, but I just did. 

“All right. I think we’re ready.” Cassy stood up and smoothed out her dark green dress in my full length mirror, and shortly after putting the photo away I did as well. “Let’s go dance.”

–

The DJ was playing Again by Noah Cyrus when we arrived, and the lights in the cafeteria room were red. That seemed to be the theme as Cassy and I walked around trying to find our dates. It took a couple of minutes for her to find West, and she bid me goodbye while interlocking her arm with his.

It was well into the night and I couldn’t find Ollie, and I had accepted the fact that he probably stood me up for another girl. I was leaning against one of the tables that held fruit punch, and I downed the last drops of the drink in my cup before deciding to step away from the ear-damaging crowd.

Making my way out of the cafeteria, I sighed when I walked out of the doors and entered the empty hallway. The sound of all the others were muffled, and the only thing that you could hear were the soft tapping of my heels. 

Wandering aimlessly through the quiet highschool, I walked past one of the closets in a darker part of the building. A loud thump against the door and a couple of moans told me all I needed to know, and I scoffed at their lack of decency. 

“That’s it, take this big dick!” I stopped in my tracks when I recognized his voice. 

Ollie.

Now, I know I had tried to convince myself earlier in the night that he did in fact stand me up, but a part of myself also didn’t quite believe it. I had thought of multiple excuses he could’ve had, and even though this one had the biggest chance, it still hurt. 

Was I not good enough? Not pretty enough? I still would’ve turned him down if he asked for sex, but why didn’t he even try?

Spirals of thoughts turned and twisted in my head as I continued walking around the school, except this time I had a place I wanted to go. Me and my old friend used to hang around the place after hours when we were younger, and there was a girls bathroom that was supposed to get renovated decades ago. Of course, the school board never got around to it, so it was a good place to skip and hide away in. It was on the second floor of the school, directly above the cafeteria. 

A remix of 180 by Bastián and Glory Box by Portishead seeped into my ears as I opened the door, and it continued to echo around when it closed. It was a larger bathroom than the others, and I walked up to the mirror that took up half of the wall. There were scarce lights, so it was rather dim around the other areas of the room.

I looked at my face and touched up on any makeup that faded, and then took my hair out of the low bun it was in. I played around with my hair, and scratched at my head, softly moaning at the self-massage I was doing. 

I froze when I heard the door creak and close, and then I locked eyes with the intruder in the mirror.

“Patrick?” I muttered, spinning around to face him. He wore a black suit with a red undershirt and a black tie, and I made a small note that the same color matched my dress. His hair was slightly tousled, and a stranded curl rested on his forehead. 

We both took in the sight of each other before I cleared my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I tilted my head, staring into his green eyes. 

“‘Could ask you the same thing.” He stated simply and started a low stride towards me, his eyes roaming over my body once again. It made me feel bare, to be on such a display for him. I remembered how low chested my dress was and pulled it up nervously, and even in the dim lights I could see his smile.

Patrick had always towered over me in height, and he took advantage of it now while circling me. I folded my hands in front of me and played with fingers as he did, waiting for him to be done with his inspection. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” He stopped in front of me and grinned. It was obvious that I was nervous, even a blind person could see it. I hadn’t talked to him since middle school, and seeing him now intimidated me in a way. 

“‘Could say the same thing to you.” Shrugging, I turn around to look at myself in the mirror again.

Patrick huffed out a laugh and stepped behind me, placing his hands on my waist. Being so close to him made my breath hitch, but I couldn’t let him know. I pretended it didn’t affect me and pulled out my lip gloss, reapplying it to my lips. It was red and shimmery, which was one of the reasons I had chosen it out of the many others in my purse. The other reason was that I knew it was his favorite.

When we were in middle school, my mom had bought it for me for my birthday. Patrick and I were hanging out one day, and I had decided to put it on because I thought it was pretty. He of course noticed, and asked me a simple question that led him to be my first kiss.

“Can I try some on?” Patrick whispered in my ear, his thumb rubbing circles on my hip. I froze again, and put the applicator back in the tube. I locked eyes with him again in the mirror, and he kissed at the spot on my neck below my right ear. His soft but chapped lips caused goosebumps to run all over my body, and a warm feeling to form in my stomach. 

“Well?” His rough voice sent shivers down my spine, and I turned around and backed away from him. He stepped forward towards me, and the cycle repeated until my back hit the edge of one of the sinks. I swallowed down the lump in my throat that caused me to be silent, but before I could speak, he did instead.

“Jump.” It barely registered in my brain what he wanted me to do, but it clicked when his hands grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the sink. My legs wrapped around his hips, and my arms went around his neck. 

I didn’t think before I did, but before I knew it my lips were on his. It was sloppy, hungry, but it fit with how we felt. I grabbed at the hair on the base of his neck and he grabbed at the red fabric of my dress.

We didn’t pull away from each other, but probably for different reasons. I had a thing for Patrick since I’ve known him, and I didn’t want to pull away and have him disappear again.

I didn’t know why he was so frantic like me, though. Maybe he felt the same, or maybe it’s all a heat of the moment kind of thing. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to end. 

Patrick’s hand moved slyly up and down my body, and mine stayed in his hair. I always liked how long it was, it matched his face shape well. And since he hated going to the barber, it worked out for the both of us. 

I whimpered when his fingers pinched my thighs, and finally pulled away to breathe while he smiled at my reaction. We both panted and looked at each other, eyes filled to the brim with lust. Patrick licked his swollen lips, tasting the flavor of the gloss.

“Cherry?” He asked with a toothy grin.

I nodded breathlessly, my mouth dryer than a desert. “Your favorite.” 

He hummed and pulled me in for another kiss, even more eager than the last. My hands left his hair and roamed down to undo his tie, and I cursed into the kiss when I couldn’t get the knot undone. Patrick snickered and reached his hands up to do it himself, my own hands cupping his face. 

When he took the tie off, he pulled my hands away and placed it in them. Confused as to why he was pulling away, I opened my mouth to ask, but stopped immediately.

He kneeled in front of me, mischief flooding his green eyes. Patrick grabbed my legs and spread them, and he kissed at my ankle. He continued his charade of leaving marks all over and up my left leg before switching to the right one.

His hands roamed behind me to pull me closer to the edge of the porcelain sink, and then they moved back down to the insides of my thighs.

They reached up for my underwear, and he didn’t even need to tell me to lift my hips. It was like an automatic response to his touch, one that I couldn’t help. He noticed as well, and swiftly pulled down the damp red fabric and threw it aside. 

“You’ve got quite the theme goin’, huh toots?” He laughed and placed a kiss on each of my knees. I ticked my tongue and lightly tapped his side with my red heel, urging him to hurry up.

“I like to match.” I lean back onto the sink and run my fingers through my hair, biting my lip as he shuffles closer to me. 

His eyes were trained on mine, and he lifted up my dress, disappearing under the silk. I gasped when he blew air on my groin, and threw my head back when I felt his tongue on me.

Patrick ate like a starved man eating his last meal, not even coming up to take a breath. His hands held my thighs apart so that they didn’t clamp around his head, and all that could be heard throughout the bathroom were my moans and the soft sound of music.

Panting and gasping when he sucked on just the right spot, my fingers went under my dress and tightened themselves around his hair. He groaned into my cunt, and that was what threw me over the edge.

“Patrick, I’m gonna-” He didn’t let me finish my sentence and his thumb on my clit, rubbing it in just the right way to make me scream his name.

He let me ride my high, slowing down a bit, but not stopping. I whined and tried to tug his head away, but he didn’t let up. Finally, after a couple of complaints, he pulled back, leaving a few last licks and standing up. 

His face was stained and shiny, and he wiped it away on his sleeve. Embarrassed, I looked away while he did. He took off his blazer, and grabbed my chin. He kissed me once again, and the warm feeling came back shortly. He grasped my hands in his and guided them towards his shirt, and I caught on. I unbuttoned it and he tossed it away from us, ignoring my grumbles of how dirty the floor probably is.

Patrick unbuckled his belt and let it drop, and then unbuttoned his pants. He pulled them down just enough to where he could let his cock out, and once again pulled me closer to him. Wrapping my legs around him and putting my face into his shoulder, he started to align himself with my entrance before I yelped,

“Condom! Use a condom.” I pulled away from his shoulder and looked at him, my concerned expression opposite of his unamused one. He rolled his eyes and started rocking himself against me, sliding in and out of my folds. 

I moaned loudly and grabbed his shoulder, covering my mouth with my other hand. Patrick smirked and went faster, a knowing look on his face.

“Still want a condom?” He asked, and I shook my head with doubt. 

Patrick was smug as he lined himself up again, and his lips caught my whine as he thrusted inside slowly. He kept going until he bottomed out all the way, and he cursed the whole time.

“Fuck. Ease up on me, dollface. You’re real fucking tight.” He groaned, and pulled out almost all the way. I whined and scratched at his back, and he rammed himself back in. The process repeated, and the bathroom was filled with moans and swears once again.

I could feel him twitch inside me, indicating that he was close. I had already come twice around him, and was crying at the overstimulation.

“Patrick, it’s too much.” I cried against his neck. 

“I know, fucking hell, I know. Just a little longer, you can do it. Just give me one more, baby.” He reached his hand down and thumbed at my clit, making me fall off the edge once again. The constriction around him made him moan loudly and pull out of me, leaving a mess all over my thighs. 

We sat there for a couple minutes, breathing in each other's air. I leaned my head back against the sink’s mirror and stared at him as he stepped away to pick up his tie, wiping away the white liquid on me with it. He tucked himself back into his pants, put his belt on, and the rest of his clothes. He threw the tie into the small, empty trashcan to the left of us and kissed me. 

Patrick didn’t pull away until we both couldn’t breathe, and then he stepped away from me, and walked to the door.

“Eleven PM tomorrow, here.” He opened the door and walked out.

Patrick left me alone with my thoughts, and I stayed sitting on the sink for a while longer. Thinking over my night and what he and I were now, I realized that we were still at the school dance, and that I had to find Cassy and drive her home.

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟎 |

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

#1 Rule of Fake Dating: Don’t make it your go-to excuse for everything.

You learned this the hard way after telling Abby you had a ‘date’ to get out of her study session invite. Her eyes widened to proportions you never imagined possible as she gasped and demanded the full story of how you met your soulmate.

Before you could spin a convincing lie, your phone rang. The familiar ringtone makes you smile. For once, you were actually grateful for his annoying ass.

“What’s up, Brooky?”

Cole’s long-suffering sigh nearly makes you burst out laughing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you promise never to call me that again.” 

You bid Abby a hasty wave goodbye, watching her slump back down in disappointment over not getting any juicy details. “Depends on how expensive it is.”

“You do realise that I don’t get paid for my heroism.”

You wince. “That’s so true. You guys should really talk to the mayor about that.”

“Right?” His voice picks up, clearly hitting a sore spot. “I mean, I already feel bad enough living off Cyrus’s goodwill, especially with all of us there.”

Sandwiching your phone between your ear and shoulder, you adjust the bag on your arm and hum in agreement as he continues. “Plus, I don’t know. Master Wu’s insistent on us doing everything for free, but I think the renovation costs might’ve made him reconsider taking on a few private requests.”

“What kind of requests?” You unintentionally tune him out as you exit the university grounds to look for him. Standing on your tiptoes, you scan the crowd. Nothing. You frown, craning your neck in hopes of spotting that familiar mop of black hair. “Where are you?” you mutter, your voice slipping into irritation.

“What was that?”

“I said–”

A firm tap on your shoulder cuts you off. Startled, you spin around and instinctively lash out, your fist connecting with someone’s side.

“Oof!” A pained grunt follows as Cole doubles over, clutching his ribs. Despite his wheezing, he still manages a crooked grin. “Is this how you treat your boyfriend now? Should I be worried?”

“Oh my god!” Your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry! You can’t sneak up on people like that!”

Straightening up, Cole gives you a mock-wounded look, still rubbing his side. “Noted. Next time I’ll announce myself with a trumpet.”

“Good,” you reply, crossing your arms but quickly softening. “You’re okay, though, right?”

“Define ‘okay,’” he teases, but his attention shifts as his gaze flicks over you. His brows furrow. “Uh… are we matching right now?”

You blink, glancing down at your outfit — a brown dress paired with a white bag — before looking back at him. He’s wearing a white shirt and long brown khakis.

It hits you both at the same time.

“No.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You gape at each other in shared offence.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head.

Cole narrows his eyes, gesturing between you. “Who’s copying who here?”

“Obviously you copied me,” you reply, placing a hand on your hip.

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Sure, because I definitely planned to match my soulmate’s outfit for a date in public.”

“It’s not a date!” you hiss, glancing around as a few bystanders glance your way with interest.

Cole raises a brow, an all-too-amused smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, so you do admit I’m your soulmate? As in, accepted it?”

You groan, punching his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping aside to take your bag. “But at least I’m fashionable.”

“Don’t push it, Brookstone,” you warn, stepping past him. He simply shrugs, an easy grin on his lips when you hand him your bag without a second thought. He slings it onto his shoulder, starting to walk with you. 

“So, where’re we headed?” 

“I’ve got a lesson with Master Wu today, remember?” 

“‘Course I remember,” he huffs with a wounded tone, placing a hand on his heart. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Okay,” you say, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face Cole. Your tone is calm, but there’s a certain edge to it that makes him pause. “If you’re going to keep up this boyfriend act, then you better be prepared for the consequences.”

Cole raises a brow, clearly amused. “Consequences? Like what? You making me carry your bag for the rest of my life?”

“Worse,” you reply with a smirk, resuming your pace. He follows, though the grin falters ever so slightly. Good. Let him wonder. Let him wonder and forget till the day you fill his entire room with tiny rubber dildos, enough to make an army.

You’re just about to elaborate with another (hopefully) ominous sentence when a familiar voice calls out your name from afar.

You turn to see Holly heading your way, her usual bright energy radiating even from a distance. Next to her is a boy you don’t recognise at first, but when he comes into view you realise he’s the brother you met the other day. 

“Hey,” you greet, waving as they approach. Cole glances at you questioningly but stays quiet.

Holly’s eyes flick to Cole, curious. “Who’s your friend? Is he…?”

You spot the perfect opportunity and take it, turning to Cole with a sickly sweet smile. “Oh, where are my manners?” Taking a step closer, you thread your arm through his. “This is Cole.” You bat your lashes for effect. “My boyfriend.”

The words that leave your mouth feel like poison, and you immediately feel like you’ve taken a nosedive straight into the fiery depths of hell. In your peripheral, you can feel Cole glance at you, his smirk widening.

Bastard.

Holly’s jaw drops. Her brother rolls his eyes at her reaction, crossing his arms. You recall his name starting with an L, trying to scrounge up his name from the tangled ball of yarn you call a memory when he suddenly speaks. 

“Calm down,” he says casually, shrugging like he’s commenting on the weather. “They’re probably just soulmates. You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”

Holly scowls, swatting at the hand he’s using to poke her arm. “I know that, Leo. I was just surprised to see her, that’s all.”

The sudden mention of it makes you flinch. Fake dating or not, the fact that the truth is out there in its purest form of the word soulmates is enough to trigger the nerves in your chest. After spending so long denying it, you’re suddenly supposed to accept it?

Leo notices your reaction and shrugs again, unbothered. “Holly told me about you not finding your soulmate. Till now, I guess.” His gaze darts to Cole, “Honestly, it’s not everything people make it out to be. Besides, the whole thing is overrated anyway.”

The ease in his tone catches you completely off guard. For a moment, you forget Cole’s smirk or Holly’s wide eyes. Your lips twitch upward into a small, genuine smile. “You’re not wrong,” you admit softly, meeting his gaze.

Leo’s grin widens ever so slightly. “Glad someone gets it.”

Cole, apparently done being ignored, steps forward and extends his hand. “Cole,” he says, flashing a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Leo takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Leo. I’m this dumbass’s brother,” he elaborates, gesturing to Holly who looks ready to shove his head into the wall. You wish you could do the same to your fake boyfriend.

Your gaze flickers to their hands, catching the subtle shift in Leo’s expression; a raised brow, the slightest tilt of his head. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you see it. Intrigue.

The handshake ends, and Leo steps back, his expression slipping back into its usual nonchalance. Holly doesn’t seem to notice anything as she starts talking to Cole about something you barely register.

“Oh, wait,” you say, digging into your bag. “Do you have Instagram? I should follow you.”

Leo nods, pulling out his phone as you exchange handles. Just as you confirm the follow, Cole’s voice cuts in, laced with over-the-top concern.

“Babe,” he says, the word so dripping with mock affection it’s almost painful. “You’re following another guy on Instagram? I’m starting to feel... jealous.”

You shoot him a side-eye glare that he ignores entirely, his grin widening. You can practically hear the smugness dripping off his words. Fighting the urge to shove him into the nearest wall, you plaster on an exaggerated grin. 

“Jealous?” Leo echoes, smirking slightly.

“Of course,” Cole replies, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer till you’re all but squashed against his chest. His very broad, muscular chest. “My Snugglebug here doesn’t just hand out her Instagram to anyone, you know.”

Snugglebug. 

I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

“Oh, but my love,” you say, voice sugary sweet as you lean into him, batting your eyelashes. “Don’t be jealous. You’re the only one for me.”

Cole’s smirk falters for a split second, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“Good,” he replies, recovering quickly. “Because I was thinking of getting us matching Instagram bios. Something like, ‘Forever & Always’.”

Holly bursts into laughter, while Leo watches with what you can only describe as amused bewilderment.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” you coo, patting his cheek. “But I was thinking something simpler. Like, ‘My Rock’.”

“Perfect,” Cole echoes, his voice dripping with mischief as he gently tilts your chin to face him. “I’ll change mine to ‘My Light’.”

Oh. Oh, he’s dead.

Holly clutches her stomach, still laughing, while Leo shakes his head. “You two are... something,” he mutters, his tone dripping with amusement.

You force a smile, plotting Cole’s imminent demise. “Aren’t we just?”

Cole squeezes your shoulder lightly. “The best couple, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Holly finally bursts out, half-laughing. “You two are insufferably cute.”

“Cute,” Leo echoes, though the shit-eating grin on his face makes you want to bury yourself six feet under and pray no one ever comes to your funeral. Scratch that, no funeral needed for your demise.

You step away from Cole, letting his arm drop, and shoot him a glare that promises retribution. He just grins back, smug as ever.

“Let’s go,” you mutter, grabbing your bag from him and stalking past Holly and Leo.

Behind you, you hear Cole chuckle softly. “Anything for you, Snugglebug.”

You don’t look back, but the intense heat in your cheeks are enough to tell you he’s won this round. 

It’s only after you board the bus after waiting for ten minutes, hike up the mountain stairs (you’d gotten used to it at this point), and stormed past a perplexed Zane to grab some water and chug it down that you finally deign Cole with a scathing glare after the agony of silence.

“What’s wrong Snugglebug?” The bastard’s as smug as ever, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. He tilts his head innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Did you want to take it to the next level? Change our Facebook status to ‘Taken’, perhaps?”

If not for the fact that the glass you’re drinking out of being classified as monastery property, you would’ve hurled it at his head without hesitation. Instead, you take a deep breath, set the glass down with no more than a soft clink, and plaster the tiniest smile on your lips. 

“Cole?”

He’s wary now. You take a step toward him, the very picture of serenity when he suddenly takes a step back, slowly moving away to the other side of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” You ask sweetly, watching him awkwardly smile back in response as his arm scrambles for something behind his back. “What’re you looking for, Cole?” 

“Nothing,” he says, though you pick up on the smallest of trembles in his voice. “Just… loving how relaxed and completely okay with everything you are. Have I ever told you that you’re the best out of all of us?”

“Not at all,” you hum, stepping closer and closer to him until he’s flattened himself to the refrigerator door, looking down at you hesitantly. “The best, you say?” 

“Mmhm.” He nods slowly, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your lips twitch ever so slightly, lifting your hand up. His eyes widen, gaze fixated on your hand as it swings down toward him.

And lands on his shoulder in the form of a gentle pat. 

“Okay.” He watches you move away, heading to the sink to wash the empty glass. “I’m gonna go to Master Wu’s class now. You’re on bodyguard duty for the whole week, right?” 

You can sense how flustered he is when he mumbles out confirmation, turning around and watching him stiffen noticeably when your eyes meet his. “Sounds good!” You chirp, placing the rinsed glass onto the dishrack and leaving the kitchen without another word.

— — — — — — 

“Here’re the rubber... ducks you ordered.” 

Zane holds out a small, nondescript package. His tone is neutral, but the slightest tilt of his head gives away his curiosity.

It had been two days since the whole fake boyfriend debacle with Holly and Leo, with Cole behaving more quietly ever since you cornered him against the fridge. He’d laid low, keeping jokes to himself and bristling each time you sent an emotionless smile in his direction.

But this morning, he’d seemed back to his old self, slipping in snarky little comments about your relationship. 

Earth Ninja or not, you were thisclose to snapping the next time he referred to you as Babezilla in front of Kai.

But right now, you have more important things to focus on. Like the package in Zane’s hands.

“Thanks!” You say, grabbing the bag from him and clutching it to your chest like it’s some precious heirloom whilst grinning like an absolute madman.

Zane doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just... stares. His eyes linger on the tightly wrapped block in your arms. You’re pretty sure if you poked him he’d teeter right before falling.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, calculating every possible reason for your delivery. When his eyes narrow ever so slightly, you know you’re dangerously close to being interrogated.

You pat his shoulder, offering him your best reassuring smile. “Don’t ask.”

He blinks, his head tilting further. “But I wasn’t—”

“Don’t.”

Zane lets it go, though the way his brow furrows suggests this will remain an unsolved mystery he’ll revisit later.

Fat chance, my guy.

Clutching the bag tighter, you make your way toward Cole’s room. His music isn’t blasting through your head like it usually does when he’s nearby, a sure sign he’s out on patrol. Perfect.

As you reach his door, you take a deep breath, preparing for the task at hand. Operation Dildo Baggins was officially a go. You’d been sitting on this idea for a while with no official target, and now, with Cole’s recent antics (antics being the kindest possible way to describe the utter humiliation and embarrassment you’d been subject to with nicknames like Snugglebug, Babezilla, and worst of all…Babycakes), it felt like the perfect time to strike.

Slipping inside, you survey the space. His room is a mess, but it’s a mess you can oddly appreciate. Weights in one corner, a pile of laundry in another, and his bed unmade. The mattress practically has a Cole-shaped indent in it, while pillows lay haphazardly around.

You pull out the bag and unzip it, grinning at the contents. Tiny, brightly colored rubber dildos, all varying in size, shape, and shade. Some even had glitter. A stroke of genius, if you said so yourself.

Now, where to start?

You’re halfway through Operation Dildo Baggins when a sharp inhale makes you freeze. You slowly turn, expecting to be busted by Cole himself, when you see a wide-eyed Jay and Kai in the doorway.

Jay’s lips are parted, his gaze darting to the opened package on the floor, where its contents are spilling out, while Kai stands there with his arms crossed, one brow arched in silent amusement.

You glance from the sparkly pink palm-sized dildo in your hands to the two of them, trying to form a coherent explanation. 

“...It’s not what it looks like.”

Jay erupts into a fit of giggles, pressing himself against the open door while he chokes on a shaky inhale. Kai steps inside, admiring your handiwork. You relent. 

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like,” you relent, stepping down from the footstool you’re using to hide one of them above the closet. “It’s revenge. Or as I like to call it, Operation Dildo Baggins.”

Jay lets out an absolutely unhinged wheeze, sliding down the door frame as he laughs uncontrollably. “Dildo Baggins?” he chokes out between gasps. “That’s — oh my god — that’s genius.”

Kai strolls in, folding his arms as he surveys the chaos of tiny rubber dildos strewn across Cole’s room. “So,” he drawls with a smirk, “does this have anything to do with you being called–”

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, jabbing a finger at him before he can utter the cursed nickname. Your glare is enough to make him pause. “I still have a coupon for another bag.”

He wisely shuts up.

“Anyway,” you continue, clutching the sparkly pink offender in your hand, “if you two idiots are here, you might as well help.”

Jay perks up immediately, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I am so in,” he says, practically bouncing as he steps over to inspect the pile, picking up a few he deems worthy. Kai shrugs, amused, and picks one up, flipping it idly in his hand.

“Alright,” you announce, “we’ve got to be smart about this. No obvious spots. Think subtle, think devious.”

Jay nods enthusiastically, like you’re outlining the master plan to a heist. “Subtle and devious. Got it.” Then, with an impish grin, he holds up Cole’s clear shower gel bottle, tilting it slightly to reveal the viscous blue liquid inside. “Ooooh, this is a good spot.”

You gape at him. “Jay–”

Before you can finish, he unscrews the cap and carefully slides in a few glittery dildos, where they sink and swirl lazily in the gel like the most ridiculous snow globe. He beams proudly.

“Perfect,” he declares, holding it up like a trophy.

Kai snorts. “That’s evil.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Teamwork truly does make the dream work,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips as you snatch the bottle back and shove it into Cole’s shower bag.

“Focus, team,” you say, regaining your composure. “We’ve still got plenty more to hide.”

Kai tosses a dildo into the air, catching it with ease. “I call dibs on his sock drawer.”

Jay claps his hands together, rubbing them like an evil mastermind. “And I’ve got ideas for his weights.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve assembled the worst accomplices in history, or maybe the best. Either way, the amount of gleeful scurrying, whispered plotting, and the sheer evil glint in their eyes makes you think you’ve found your partners-in-crime for life. Operation Dildo Baggins had been an unparalleled success.

By the time you’re done, it’s time to unwind in the game room, the massive TV already aglow with the chaos of Overcooked’s cartoonish kitchen. Jay thrusts a controller into your hands while Kai rummages through the kitchen for snacks. They’d insisted you stay for dinner, and honestly, how could you refuse? A day of dildo-hiding makes a girl hungry.

“Okay, new plan,” Jay says, resetting the level for the third time. “You stay on cooking duty. I’ll chop, Kai delivers. We’ve got this.”

“Pretty sure you said that the last two times,” you deadpan, cracking your knuckles and adjusting your grip on the controller. “And yet, here we are.”

Kai returns with a bowl of chips, plopping down beside you. “Third time’s the charm,” he says, tossing a chip in his mouth. “Now stop arguing and start chopping.”

The game begins, and chaos ensues. You’re barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Jay, the tomatoes! KAI, THAT PLATE IS BURNT. WHY IS IT BURNT?!”

Jay is in another fit of giggles as he accidentally throws a perfectly good onion into the trash. “It slipped!”

“HOW DOES AN ONION SLIP?!”

“Guys, calm down–” Kai starts, but you cut him off, voice rising in desperation. “No calming! DELIVERY! We need that plate out NOW or we fail again!”

The door opens behind you, but you’re too focused on the timer ticking down and the chaos on the screen to look. The sound of a water bottle being uncapped and a few long gulps makes you hyper-aware of his presence, though. Not to mention the fact that you’d heard the faint melody of his usual playlist approaching the monastery which had made you accidentally throw away a good pot of cooked rice.

Cole.

You can feel his gaze on you, but there’s no time to address him. Not when Jay’s standing in the middle of the screen holding a pot and doing nothing useful.

“Jay, fuck off! Kai, DELIVER THE PLATE!”

“I’m trying!” Kai protests, nearly tipping over his drink in real life as he frantically mashes buttons.

It’s no use. The timer runs out, and the screen flashes a giant FAILED in bright red letters. You drop your controller with a groan, leaning back against the couch.

“That’s it. I’m done. You two are hopeless.”

“Hey,” Jay protests, “I’m great under pressure! Just… not in a fake kitchen.”

“You’d starve if we ever got trapped on a deserted island,” you mutter, reaching for a chip.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control here.”

Finally, you glance over your shoulder. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his water bottle in hand, watching you with that infuriating smirk. Also, he was wearing a sleeveless tank top which, you hate to admit it, looked good on him. But also, his arms had the slightest sheen of sweat. 

In conclusion, gross and yucky.

“Care to back that up with action, or are you just here to talk shit get hit?” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I’d destroy you,” he replies smoothly, taking another swig of water.

You snort. “Please. You’d fold under pressure faster than Jay did when I asked him to deliver a plate.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, only to pause. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Cole chuckles, setting his water bottle on a nearby table. “You sure about that? I’ve got quick reflexes and perfect hand-eye coordination. I’d mop the floor with you, just like I did when we sparred.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t even touched the controller,” you retort, a spark of competitive energy flaring up in your chest. “Also, I totally let you win.”

“Oh, this I’ve got to see,” Jay interjects, scrambling to set the game to player-versus-player mode. He tosses a controller to Cole, who catches it effortlessly.

“I’m not kidding,” Cole adds as he strides toward the couch. “You’re about to witness greatness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you scoff. “Hope you’re ready to eat my dust.”

Before you can say another word, Cole leaps over the back of the sofa in one fluid motion, landing right beside you. You blink, startled by the sheer grace of it, but quickly mask it with a scoff.

“Fancy moves won’t save you here, Brooky boy,” you mutter, gripping your controller tightly.

“Oh, I don’t need fancy moves to beat you,” he says, leaning slightly closer, his smirk infuriatingly confident. You shove him away with disgust, suddenly aware of how close you are. Before you can move away, however, Kai makes himself comfortable and manspreads. You roll your eyes.

“Bring it,” you reply easily, choosing your avatar.

Jay, already giggling in anticipation, hits start. “Let the carnage begin!”

The match starts, and the game becomes a blur of chaotic, fast-paced action. Your fingers move furiously over the buttons as you fight to keep up with Cole’s surprisingly sharp gameplay.

“You’re getting slow,” he taunts, the familiar chime of bells signalling completed orders going off non-stop for both sides.

“Slow?” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “I’m just warming up.”

Kai leans back with a laugh, munching on chips. “This is better than TV.”

For a moment, your eyes dart to your competitor. Cole’s leaning slightly forward, his full focus on the screen, brows furrowed in concentration. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, that stupid smirk never quite leaving.

Then, it hits you. The scent.

It’s faint at first, but the more you notice it, the stronger it becomes. A warm blend of spiced cinnamon and vanilla, rich and inviting, like stepping into your kitchen during Christmas to sneak a few cups of hot chocolate with your mother. A pang of nostalgia washes over you, unbidden and completely out of place. You shake your head slightly, trying to ignore how oddly comforting it feels.

How does he smell this good when he hasn’t even showered yet?

Your avatar stumbles on screen, moving erratically as you remain stuck in that memory. Cole notices instantly.

“Losing your touch already?” he snorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

The sound of his voice yanks you back to the moment. “What? No!” you snap, glaring at him as you hastily mash buttons to catch up.

“Sure looks like it,” he teases, that insufferable grin widening.

Without thinking, you shove him with your shoulder. He barely budges, laughing as he nudges you back. Your heart is racing in your chest, though you quickly chalk it up to the pressure of the game. 

The timer on the screen counts down to the final seconds, and your competitive streak kicks into overdrive. Your fingers fly across the controller as you focus all your energy on completing as many orders as possible. The kitchen on screen is pure chaos with ingredients on every inch of floor space, chopped cucumbers everywhere, pots almost overboiling, but somehow, you’re thriving in it.

Also, a part of it is on fire but with five seconds left, you’re prioritizing getting the food out rather than extinguish it.

“Come on, you’ve got this!” Jay cheers, leaning forward in excitement.

“Not a chance in hell,” Cole counters, his tone light but determined.

With a final flurry of button-mashing, the round ends. The results start to tally, both of you subconsciously leaning forward in anticipation. When the screen reveals you’d beaten him by two completed orders, a triumphant cry tears itself from your throat.

“I am unstoppable!” you declare, throwing your arms up like you’ve just claimed the title of world champion.

Jay hits a button on the controller, triggering cheers from the speakers. Kai sets off a party popper he somehow produces on cue. Confetti rains down, and you take a mock bow, basking in your victory.

Cole leans back on the sofa, swirling his water bottle in one hand, a soft grin playing at his lips. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Obviously,” you say, spinning around to face him. “Beating you at anything is worth celebrating.”

His grin widens, and there’s a flicker of something in his gaze. Amusement, sure, but also a hint of challenge. “It was beginner’s luck.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Excuse me? I’ve been playing this longer than you’ve been doing your ninja stuff.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, sitting up straighter. “If we played again, I’d wipe the floor with you.”

Kai lets out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s laying it down now.”

Jay, grinning from ear to ear, grabs another controller. “This I have to see.”

Your eyes narrow at Cole, your competitive streak kicking into overdrive. “Fine. Rematch. But let’s make it interesting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, like a bet?”

“Winner gets to change the loser’s contact name for them. No swapping, no amendments. The name has to be kept and can only be changed through official Overcooked Betting.” 

Cole eyes the hand you put forth, waiting patiently for him to shake it and accept the terms. 

He takes it.

The stakes are set, controllers gripped, and tension hangs in the air as the rematch begins. The sound of clattering plates and sizzling pans fills the room, each of you hyper-focused on the chaos of the Overcooked kitchen. You’re determined to hold onto your victory streak, while Cole, equally motivated, keeps throwing glances your way, his smirk bordering on smug.

“Focus on your side, Cole,” you snap, dodging his attempt to distract you as his elbow inches closer to your ribcage. You swat it away with your arm, using the side of your head to bonk his shoulder.

“Multitasking is my specialty,” he shoots back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Cole stealing glances at you between frantic moves, his expression equal parts focused and amused. You push harder, refusing to let him win.

Jay and Kai are on the edge of their seats, munching snacks as if watching the most gripping movie of the year.

When the final seconds tick down and the scores flash on the screen, you let out a loud groan. He’d beaten you by one order.

“No!” you cry, dropping the controller in defeat.

The tension leaves his body, relaxing against the couch with the air of an accomplished man. “Hand it over.” He puts his hand out to you, palm side up. You eye it, wondering if it’d be too late to order more rubber dildos. 

“A bet’s a bet,” Kai reminds from beside you. Groaning, you fish out your phone from your pockets and toss it into his hand. He unlocks it easily, having seen your password before during another study session where he’d kept himself occupied with books while you furiously rushed an overdue essay. 

With every ominous tap tap tap of his fingers against the screen, you bristle. His expression is infuriatingly focused, as if he’s crafting a masterpiece.

When he hands your phone back, you snatch it and glance at the new contact name. Your eyes widen in horror.

He’d changed the contact name from ‘Cole Brookstone - Ninja’ to ‘Cole <3’. It’s so simple, yet the heart he’d added after his name makes you wince. Your fingers ache, inching toward the edit icon before he hums disapprovingly. 

“Can’t change it,” he remarks offhandedly, peering down at his nails with a frown. You can see the corners of his lips struggling to remain turned down, knowing full well the bastard is busy laughing his ass off internally. “You made the rules, not me.”

“Fuck you.” 

“You wish.” His childish retort eggs you on, and you stick your tongue out childishly in turn. He makes a face, only to stop when you raise a fist and hit his side - lightly. He groans in exaggerated pain, clutching his waist. 

“How could you, Babycakes?” 

Jay’s loud gasp makes the heat rush to your face and coloring your ears crimson, narrowing your eyes. You can practically see Jay’s expression as he files away this juicy tidbit for later use.

“You did not just call me that,” you hiss, jabbing your finger at Cole’s chest.

“What? It’s your nickname for me,” he says innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

“That was not my nickname for you!” you snap. “It was–”

“Oh, I know,” Cole interrupts, cutting you off with a smirk. “It was ‘Cole Brookstone – Ninja.’ So professional. So... boring. I thought we meant more to each other than that.” He blinks innocently as he looks at you, his smile bordering on evil.

“Boring?” you echo, your tone dangerously low.

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, like he isn’t goading you on purpose. “No creativity, no flair. Just straight-up boring.”

Your jaw drops, and you lean forward, pointing a finger at him. “Excuse me? You don’t get to talk about creativity when you put a heart after your own name. How is that not boring?”

“It’s not boring because it’s cute,” he counters smugly. “And admit it, you winced because you thought it was cute too.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Kai’s voice cuts through the bickering before you can let loose a string of curses you’re pretty sure would’ve gotten you banned from being around the monastery’s classes for elementary students.

“Okay, enough.” He steps between the two of you, holding up his hands like a referee breaking up a particularly petty fight. Also, he’d somehow produced two yellow uno cards from seemingly thin air, waving it at you both in warning. “You’re acting like toddlers fighting over crayons.”

“He started it,” you grumble, folding your arms.

Cole snorts. “Oh, grow up, Pumpkin Pie.”

Kai sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, as you part your lips to fire back, he glances at you, a meaningful look in his eyes that reminds you of your earlier enacted revenge.

So, you press your lips together, taking a deep breath. Think mini dildos hidden in his pillow. Think glittery ones floating in his shower gel.

Suddenly, all the tension leaves your body, and you open your eyes with a serene smile.

Cole notices the change instantly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What’s that face?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say calmly, turning away from him with a shrug. “Just decided to be a good sport and a role model for the younger generation.”

Kai catches the edge of your smirk and shakes his head, muttering, “You two are exhausting. Not even Nya was this much trouble growing up.”

Cole watches you carefully for a moment longer before relaxing back into the sofa, though the wary look doesn’t completely leave his face. “You’re up to something,” he mutters.

“Maybe I am,” you reply, not bothering to deny it. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He frowns, aout to say something before you’re interrupted by Zane walking into the room wearing an apron that’s an almost offensive shade of bright pink. You have to double check to make sure you’re not just seeing things. 

“Dinner is ready,” Zane announces before scanning your faces. “Have I interrupted something?” 

No one moves or responds. The mention of food acts like a switch flipping in everyone’s heads.

“Nah, you’re good buddy,” Kai groans, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’m starving.”

“Same,” Jay says, bounding after him. He throws a playful arm around Kai’s shoulders as they head for the dining room. 

You follow at a more leisurely pace, Cole casually falling into step beside you. Neither of you speaks, the earlier bickering melting into a comfortable silence as the scent of freshly baked bread and herbs fills the air.

When you reach the dining room, the table is set with steaming dishes spread across it. Master Wu, Nya, Lloyd, and Pixal are already seated, pausing their discussion when you all enter. 

For a moment, you notice the way Master Wu and Lloyd change their grave expressions into a wide smile, though there’s still a solemn tint to their eyes. Part of you bristles, but curiosity is easily buried by hunger. 

Without a second thought, you and Cole gravitate to seats next to each other. It’s unconscious, natural, and nobody comments on it outright, though Nya raises an eyebrow as she glances between the two of you.

You happen to look up and meet her gaze, raising a brow in silent question. She just smiles and looks away to chat with Jay.

“Wow,” Lloyd says, leaning forward to inspect the spread. “Zane, you’ve outdone yourself. Again.”

“Is that herb-crusted salmon?” you ask, practically drooling.

“And garlic knots,” Cole adds, pointing to a heaping basket.

“Correct,” Zane replies with a slight bow of his head. “I’ve also prepared a vegetable medley with a lemon-butter glaze and rosemary roasted potatoes.”

“It smells amazing,” you say, eagerly reaching for a garlic knot.

“Smells amazing?” Cole laughs as he piles his plate high with potatoes. “It looks like a five-star restaurant in here. Zane, you’re spoiling us.”

“Preparing meals for my friends is not spoiling,” Zane replies evenly. “It is an expression of care.”

“You’re the best, Zane,” Lloyd says, already chewing on a piece of salmon. “Seriously, I don’t think I could go back to eating instant noodles after this.”

“Not with Zane around,” Pixal chimes in, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He would somehow make them gourmet.”

Jay leans toward you, whispering theatrically, “Don’t let him fool you. Zane’s just trying to make sure we can’t eat anywhere else without missing him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nya teases, nudging Jay with her elbow.

“Not complaining,” you quip, popping a piece of garlic knot into your mouth and groaning. “Oh my god, this is ridiculous. Zane, how do you make everything taste so good?”

“Precision,” Zane answers simply.

Cole nods, as if Zane’s simple explanation made more impact than any of Master Wu’s advice ever did. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Zane is the kitchen ninja.”

“More like the ninja chef,” Nya says, smirking.

“Or the ninja of nourishment,” Lloyd adds, earning a snort from Jay.

Master Wu chuckles softly, his hand resting on his teacup. “It is good to see you all enjoying yourselves. Bonding over food is an ancient tradition.”

“Especially when the food is this good,” Cole says, digging into his plate with gusto.

“Damn, leave some for the rest of us,” Nya says. You can only stare with begrudging respect as she spears a roasted potato off of Cole’s plate with a cartoonishly long fork that extends to his plate without the need of standing up. She catches you looking at it, grinning widely as she pops the stolen goods into her mouth. “Like it?” She asks through mouthfuls, carefully waving it around. “Crafted it in the workshop today.”

“Hey!” he protests, but it’s half-hearted. 

“Sharing is caring,” Pixal says lightly, passing a dish to Lloyd, who is too focused on his meal to notice her amused smile.

You scoff playfully. “Not with these potatoes. If you guys aren’t fast enough, I might empty the whole thing.” Glancing over when you feel a nudge, you roll your eyes at Cole’s earnest gaze. “Fine, I suppose you can have a piece.”

Kai gags. “The couple are so sweet it’s disgusting.”

“Not a couple,” You and Cole automatically reply in sync, shovelling more food into your mouths and munching. You don’t have to lift your head to see the sceptical glances exchanged, putting aside your usual snarky replies to focus purely on enjoying every bite of Zane’s cooking. 

“You wonderful, wonderful man-droid.” You mumble out between bites. Zane nods his head in humble thanks, Cole muttering a similar sentiment. 

The rest of the meal passes in a flurry of light-hearted jabs and never-ending enthusiastic praise for Zane’s culinary talents (all of which which the man-droid rightfully deserves). Plates were cleared, dishes stacked, and as the group slowly disbanded to their own devices, you found yourself lingering in the quiet warmth of the dining room, helping Master Wu wipe down the table.

“Thank you for letting me stay for dinner so often,” you said, glancing at him with a soft smile. “And for letting me hang out at the monastery so much. It’s… nice to be here.”

Master Wu paused mid-swipe, his wise eyes crinkling with warmth. “The monastery welcomes those who find comfort within its walls.”

You tilted your head at his cryptic tone, sensing there was more to his words. “That’s… oddly specific.”

He chuckled softly, folding the cloth in his hands. ��You are exactly where you are meant to be, young one. Even if the reason has not fully revealed itself yet.”

You frown, your brows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gives you a knowing look, one that somehow carries both gravity and lightness. “You will understand when the time is right.”

Before you can press further, the sound of footsteps draws your attention. Cole appears in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets with a relaxed grin.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long.

You glance back at Master Wu, who merely nodded as if to say the conversation was over.

For now, that is.

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing your jacket and stepping toward Cole. “Thanks again, Master Wu.”

“It is always a pleasure to have you here,” he replies with a small bow, his tone warm. “Safe travels.”

Cole holds the door open for you as you step out into the cool evening air. Comfortable silence falls over you both like a warm blanket, walking toward the doors. The stars twinkle above, and there are barely any clouds above you both to obstruct the view. 

One of the perks of living on the peak of a mountain, you suppose.

“Did Wu drop one of his cryptic wisdom bombs on you?” He asks after a beat, his tone teasing.

You huff in amusement. “Something like that.” You pause, tugging your jacket. “Do you ever understand all that weird cryptic stuff he sometimes spouts? Just last week he was telling me about not jumping out of a well.”

Your response elicits a laugh from him, the sound deep and easy. You find yourself smiling at it, a warmth in your chest as you look at him. “Honestly?” He sighs, hands deep in his pockets as you make your way down the stairs. “I just smile and nod, then just hope I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“Really?” Your interest is piqued. “How about when you saved the world and all that? Couldn’t have done it without deciphering his mysterious sayings.” 

He grins. “You should’ve seen the way we were all racking our brains, trying to understand what he was saying. It was worse at the start, before we all knew Lloyd was the Green Ninja.”

“Worse? How?” you ask, your curiosity pushing a teasing smile to your lips as you both reach the end of the stairs and make your way over to the bus stop.

Cole shakes his head, his grin widening. “We were clueless, running around like headless chickens. Wu would drop some riddle about balance or destiny, and the rest of us would argue for hours about what it meant. There was this one time–” He breaks off, laughing to himself.

“What?” you prod, nudging his arm gently.

“There was this one time Wu told us we had to ‘look inward to find the strength to move forward.’” He mimics Wu’s calm tone, his expression mock-serious. “So naturally, Kai thought it meant we needed to meditate or something. He sat us all down in a circle and tried to lead a group meditation. Jay couldn’t stop cracking jokes, and Nya fell asleep within five minutes.”

You burst out laughing at the image. “What about you?”

“I just sat there thinking about how hungry I was,” he admits, shaking his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Turns out, all Wu meant was that we needed to believe in ourselves. But, you know, saying that plainly wouldn’t be very ‘Master Wu.’”

“Of course not,” you agree, grinning. “Mystical vagueness is his brand.”

As the two of you reach the bus stop, you glance at him. “So… did all his cryptic advice ever help? Like, for real?”

Cole nods, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Yeah, it did. Sometimes not right away, but it always made sense when it mattered most. Like when we were trying to stop the Great Devourer… or when we were facing the Overlord. Those were times when his words stuck with us, even if we didn’t get them at first.”

The bus pulls up, and the two of you step on. Cole fumbles briefly, patting his pockets with a furrowed brow before finally pulling his transit pass from his back pocket. “When you travel by dragon, bus passes don’t exactly come to mind,” he mumbles defensively. You roll your eyes with a playful smile as you both settle into seats near the back. As the city lights blur past the window, you glance at him again, catching the thoughtful look on his face.

“What about you?” you ask, leaning slightly toward him. “Was there ever a moment where something Wu said clicked for you?”

He smiles, but it’s a little more subdued this time. “Yeah. Back when we were stuck in the Cursed Realm, Wu told me, ‘A leader doesn’t just carry others; they let themselves be carried, too.’”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “What did that mean?”

“It meant I didn’t have to do everything alone,” he says quietly. “Back then, I felt like I had to shoulder everything for the team. But Wu was right. Being a leader means letting the people around you support you, too.”

You let the thought sit for a moment, then give him a small smile. “Sounds like solid advice.”

“It was,” he agrees, glancing at you with a faint smile of his own. “Even if it took me a while to figure out.”

The two of you share a quiet moment, the conversation lulling into another comfortable silence as the bus hums along. It’s only when you notice his reflection in the window with his expression relaxed, the corners of his lips slightly curved… You feel the odd warmth in your chest again.

“Thanks for sharing,” you say softly, your voice barely above the hum of the engine.

He glances at you, his grin returning, playful now. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not usually this talkative.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you reply, smirking. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin your mysterious tough-guy image.”

The bus finally reaches your stop and the both of you tap out. Your apartment building is within view, but a part of you lingers, your footsteps slower as you approach. “Got any plans for next Saturday?” 

You hum in thought. “Only to pick up the cake I ordered a while back.”

“Oh. I’ll tag along.” You glance at him, mildly surprised at the statement. He catches your look, raising his brows in question. “I gotta stock up on croissants. It’s been ages since I had some of his cinnamon rolls too.”

“Where do you even find the space for all that and not gain weight?” You ask, though it’s more to yourself in jealousy than an actual question. Unfortunately, he hears it.

“Having a gym in-house does wonders when you can’t sleep.” His voice is tinged with something you recognise instantly — sorrow. You’re about to ask, but decide against it when you see the look on his face. 

“You can pick me up in the afternoon then,” you say lightly, looking at a random streetlight. He hums in agreement. “And let’s try not to match again.”

That gets a chuckle. “Don’t you mean ‘try not to copy me’?” 

“You’re impossible.”

The lift is only a few paces away. You feel him stop, turning to see one hand shoved into his jacket pocket, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture seems effortless, but there’s something steady about it, like he’s rooted to the spot. The faint light from the hallway catches the curve of his smile, his gaze soft and lingering, almost bordering on fond as he looks at you.

“Goodnight, Snugglebug.”

Scoffing, you enter the lift and press the button to your floor. “Goodnight, Brookstone.”

For tonight, you’ll let him get away with this one.

— — — — — — 

It’s around midnight by the time Cole reaches the monastery. He’d taken his time on the way back, stopping by a convenience store to pick up some pre-cooked chicken breast, planning to microwave one as a snack after tonight’s gym session.

He grabs his headphones from the lounge but pauses, setting them back down onto the table. 

She’d probably be asleep by now, right?

He leaves without his headphones, entering the gym where Lloyd is busy doing his usual sets. Both of them were the more regular visitors, having encountered the other far too many times at odd hours to instinctively understand the dark rings under their eyes and haunted tinge in their gaze. 

“So,” Lloyd breaks the silence, glancing over as he lowers the speed on his treadmill. “Your soulmate, huh?”

Cole exhales sharply, the weight of the question hitting heavier than the bench press he’d just finished. He’d been waiting for Lloyd to bring it up but didn’t expect it to be now, in the middle of their usual workout session. “Yeah. We’re not exactly eager about it either,” he says, walking over to the bench and starting a few stretches. His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of tension in his shoulders. “It won’t impact my duties.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that.” Lloyd raises his hands in assurance, though his thoughtful gaze is now fixed on his teammate. “I’m just saying, it must be exciting, right? Meeting the person you’re supposedly destined to be with.”

Cole snorts, shaking his head. “Destined. Right.” He shifts his position, stretching out his arms. “It’s not like that. We’re just... soulmates in name. That’s it.”

Lloyd hops off the treadmill, grabbing a towel as he narrows his eyes at Cole. “Sure doesn’t seem like it’s just a label.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole asks, arching a brow.

Lloyd shrugs, leaning casually against the nearby wall. “I mean, you’re... different around her. Like when you got all defensive when Kai tried to eat her fries the other night.”

“She was clearly going to eat them!” Cole protests, the words spilling out faster than he intended.

“And how you knew her favorite bubble tea order?” Lloyd adds with a sly grin.

Cole freezes for a second before recovering with a huff. “She mentioned it once.”

“Uh-huh.” Lloyd tilts his head, his smile widening. “And that time you made sure to save her a spot during movie night, claiming it was ‘just coincidence’ when she showed up?”

“Coincidence,” Cole insists, though the tips of his ears are turning pink.

Lloyd’s smile falters, his expression softening. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” Cole mutters, crossing his arms defensively.

“How much you notice about her.” Lloyd’s voice is quiet but steady. “The little details. The way you remember stuff she’s only said once, or how you pay attention to what makes her laugh or what annoys her. It’s not just about being soulmates, Cole. You care about her, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Last week, when she complained about being cold, you handed her your jacket without thinking,” Lloyd cuts in, raising a brow. “No one even asked you to. And don’t tell me that’s just duty or being polite.”

For a moment, Cole doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “It’s... nothing. She’s part of the team. That’s all.”

Lloyd lets out a soft laugh, pushing off the wall. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. Just don’t wait too long to figure it out. Soulmate or not, people don’t stay in one place forever.”

Cole scowls at his retreating back. “For the record, this is worse than when Master Wu tried giving us the talk about the birds and the bees.”

He can vaguely make out the casual “deal with it” that Lloyd remarks as he turns a corner. Rolling his eyes, he shoves all lingering remnants of their conversation into the back of his head before continuing his workout.

After two more hours pass, he finally decides he’s had enough, heading to the kitchen where he’d dropped off his chicken breast from earlier, waiting for the microwave to heat up when he spots a text from you that he’d missed.

He picks it up, reading it before his brows furrow in confusion.

What’s a Dildo Baggins?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

Taglist: @candyquokka @mossy-mika @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viennasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls @elysiuansstuff

[fieldofdaisiies]

Sometimes you need to drift apart from someone to truly understand how much you belong together.

Almost exactly a year after their painful breakup, Azriel and Eris unexpectedly meet again and find themselves trapped together in a snowstorm. With no choice but to spend time together in a small space, the long hours lead to conversations of their past, memories of their adventures togethers, unresolved feelings and heartbreak… 

This is my @acotargiftexchange gift for the lovely and absolutely wonderful @daycourtofficial It was a delight being your secret santa💛 I hope you have a very peaceful and calm Christmas filled with so much joy! Sending you love!🎄

Story Playlist

Let Her Go - Passenger

Wish You the Best - Lewis Capaldi

Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi

Last Christmas - Wham!

O Holy Night - Mariah Carey

Flowers - Miley Cyrus

Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin

It Gets Better - Martin Luke Brown

read the whole story below the cut // or on ao3

Dimmed by the snowstorm that has been raging on for days, New York is blanketed in an endless, thick sheet of white. It crunches beneath his polished boots as Eris hurries down the streets, the cool air burning down his throat and landing harshly in his lungs as he tries to catch a cab within all the holiday chaos — many people are leaving, others are returning. The city has turned into an even more intense bustling hub of people and traffic, full of flashing lights and noises.

Eris blows out a long breath, watching the gleam of the street lanterns flicker behind the snow swirling in the air. Traffic is crawling through the mud-coloured slush on the streets and he hopes to finally catch sight of a cab. Otherwise he will be late (he is already late, but not yet too late). He fears he will miss his plane and only over his dead body will he stay alone in New York for Christmas. He has been alone enough in the last year, but certainly not on Christmas. Not on a holiday that is all about family and being together with your loved ones. 

Family. His suitcase is filled to the brim with presents for his family. His mother, his youngest brother, his sister-in-law and his beloved niece, Dalia. If his other brothers will show up, is still in the stars – they never announce their visit beforehand.

The harsh, cold wind and snow bite through the layers of his clothes, slowly creeping under his skin. He shivers and clenches his jaw. He‘ll be damned if he catches a cold now…

As he waits, lifting his hand every now and then to signal a cab to stop which still hasn’t happened, Eris watches snow collect on the bare branches of trees and pile on window sills nearby. His breath hangs in the air, each exhale a small cloud in the freezing cold that surrounds him. He can’t wait to leave the city and get back home. To be inside the warm and cosy living room of his mother’s and his step-dad’s house, the smell of the delicious dishes his sister-in-law has cooked wafting through the air.

He likes going home. He likes being home. For a few days, a few weeks. He always quickly realises he misses New York. New York is his new home. The place he loves to live at. However, there’s a loneliness here he can’t shake—there is too much anonymity, too much loneliness in this big city. And Eris hates it. He craves connection, friendships, a sense of belonging. He wants someone—

A sharp honk jolts him from his thoughts, startles him so much his eyes widen in shock and the breath gets caught in his throat.

"Been waiting for me, buddy?"

At last—a taxi! Eris thinks and exhales a relieved breath. He nods in answer, a hint too excitedly. And as he slides into the back seat, pulling his suitcase and bag in with him, he says, "To the airport, please."

The cab driver glances at him in the rearview mirror, cheerful and unfazed. "Alrighty," he replies brightly, his voice nearly drowned out by Last Christmas blaring from the radio. Pushing his foot down on the gas pedal, he sets off immediately. The cab ploughs through the thickening slush, its tires skidding slightly as it moves down streets illuminated by streetlights and colourful Christmas garlands decorating shops and buildings.

Eris rests his head against the window, watching as snowflakes swirl under the streetlights. Despite the Christmas spirit and him looking forward to seeing his family, his chest all of a sudden feels heavy with longing and sadness (not so suddenly actually, he has been feeling like this almost all throughout December). Only a year ago, he had spent Christmas with the most amazing person in the world and then—

"My name’s Suri. I came here, three—no let me think, five years ago. Love that city, great place for people, isn’t it?"

Absently, Eris answers with a quiet, "Mhm", his gaze still locked on the outside world and the snow. 

Unaffected by his indifference, Suri continues. "Yo, stranger, where I picked you up, that’s close to my fave Italian restaurant. Have you tried the Pepperoni pizza there? Changed my life, let me tell you that. And don’t even get me started on the Burgers from … man, I don’t remember the shop. The one with the blue sign, it glows at night, right next to the shop selling all those designer bags …"

Eris, even if he deems it rude, zones out. Finally, he can get some rest. Finally, after months full of stress and emotional exhaustion. A few days with his family, with his niece and his beloved dogs. Deep within his heart he knows he deserves it. He deserves this time after everything he has been through. After him.

"Ever been to Times Square on New Year’s Eve? Did you like it? I think it’s magical, but way too crowded to really enjoy it."

Perfect for the first kiss with a man you think you will spend your whole life with only for him to tear your heart out and rip it into shreds a few years later, Eris thinks but doesn’t say out loud. He only sighs loudly and closes his eyes.

They have moved from Last Christmas to O Holy Night and Mariah Carey‘s voice fills the inside of the cab, singing happily and cheerily.

"But you know, despite all the noise, the people and the large crowds, there’s something about this city" … Suri pauses. A dramatic pause that turns into him singing parts of the lyrics along with Mariah before continuing. "No matter where you are from, no matter who you are, you will always find someone who understands you. Who sees you for who you are. Who likes you. Who sees the good in you and who loves you for who you are."

Eris‘ breathing deepens as the back of his throat starts to ache. He hates that. Hates that Suri‘s words shake him to the core. Hates that suddenly silver lines his eyes.

"One day you randomly meet a stranger, and five minutes later, you are sharing life stories or you will end up snogging in the restroom of a bar and then end up in their bed. And two years later you are happily married and you are expecting your first child. But whatever, what‘s your name stranger?"

It takes him a moment to answer, sharply ripped from his thoughts, from all the memories of their time together flooding his mind like tidal waves. A lump has formed in his throat that makes it almost impossible for him to answer, to breathe. 

Eris coughs. Once. Twice, not wanting to be rude and not answer. "Eris," he eventually replies, his voice tense as he clutches his bag to his chest. "My name is Eris."

“Funny name,” Suri replies with a chuckle. “Isn’t that a Greek goddess?”

“The goddess of strife and discord.” Eris presses his lips in a thin line, turning his head to the side again. Piles of snow line the edges of the sidewalks. Eris' gaze follows them as the traffic is moving slow, his thoughts unfocused now that old wounds have been ripped open. He can’t be necessarily mad at Suri for bringing up all the things, but he somehow is. 

He tried so hard to get rid of all the thoughts, the memories and now … now it’s all he can think about. As they pass Central Park, the usual vibrance seems muted by the snow, colder and darker and a shudder courses through Eris – either from his longing or the cold he is still feeling. He knows that Central Park’s appearance mirrors the feelings deep within him. Cold. Dark. Sad.

Suri continues to ramble, to sing cheerily, unaffected by Eris’ indifference. 

Eris is no longer listening to him, or rather no longer listening again, the only sound in his ears the sad beat of his heart. And his voice, his laugh in his mind and it hurts just like a year ago. Hurts just like every damn day of the previous year.

Finally, the airport’s glow appears through the haze, bright lights cutting through the heavy snowfall and Eris straightens. The taxi pulls up close by one of the entrances, tires crunching over snow and then stops. His eyes close for a moment, and when Suri tells him the price for the ride, Eris lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Finally. Finally he is going home and can forget about all the sadness for at least a few days.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

The relief about having arrived at the airport vanishes within seconds. It feels like a harsh slap to Eris’ face, one that almost knocks him off his feet, sending him flying through the air, and ends in a brutal landing on his butt.

“Fuck,” Eris curses under his breath and his stomach drops at the sight of him. His ex-boyfriend—his ex-fiancé. 

The dark-haired man looks equally surprised to see Eris, equally uncomfortable, a forced smile stretching across his lips that Eris doesn’t reciprocate when their eyes meet. He only walks towards Azriel - well, rather towards his gate. Or their gate apparently. It only makes sense that Azriel is here but at the same time doesn’t. They grew up in villages that weren’t far apart, but what are the chances that Azriel would also wait until the last minute to fly back home for Christmas?

Eris‘ heart pounds in disbelief, heat rising in his face when the smile, this stupidly handsome smile, doesn’t fade from his ex-lovers face. The audacity!

The boldness makes Eris’ nostrils flare and anger blaze through his veins, the audacity of Azriel to smile and act like everything is alright when he had been the sole to destroy his heart.

"We aren’t meant for one another," he had told him back then and it butchered every part of Eris‘ heart that hadn’t been broken before. He was left in pieces when the man he loved most left him and now said man dares to smile at him.

The only thing that brings Eris comfort is that Azriel isn’t as chill about their surprised meeting as he pretends to be. He is nervously clenching and unclenching his hands—his scarred hands, caused by a kitchen fire in his childhood.

Eris remembers how often he rubbed salve on those hands in winter, how he kissed them, how he held them close and warmed them. Not that it ended up meaning anything to Azriel.

Eris‘ eyes dart away, hoping that when he looks back, his ex is gone. But luck has never been on his side. Obviously Azriel, and his awful smile are still there.

It‘s only a few more steps and Eris can feel how his chest tightens more and more, how awkward he suddenly thinks he must look walking towards him. He gets a sudden urge to flee, run, but he is rooted to the ground (and 32 and running would be very, very childish in his mind). 

A forced calmness, almost like cool boredom, falls in place on his face and masks his swirling emotions, masks the hurt that is rooted so deeply within his heart.

"Hello Eris." Azriel is the one to speak up first and despite feeling an enormous amount of anger, his smokey voice still causes the same reaction in Eris—chills all over his body. "It’s—"

But Eris holds up a hand to stop him. "Don‘t say it’s good to see me, I really don’t need another lie on top of all the lies you have told me in the past." He shows him a sardonic grin and steps past him, hating that he let his mask drop and his bitterness could reach the surface. 

Before Eris can settle into the awkwardness of their first conversation after a year of not talking to one another and his frustration over this conversation even happening, a loud noise sounds through the speakers of the airport. The screeching makes him cringe but doesn’t shock him even half as much as the announcement that is made a second later.

"Dear Passengers, due to the worsening of the snowstorm and the current weather situation we are sorry to inform you that all flights have been cancelled. No planes will leave John F. Kennedy airport this evening and throughout the night. Thank you for understanding. Hotels and hostels closeby will be offering…"

Within seconds, the airport erupts in chaos, frustrated groans and sighs rippling through the shocked and furious crowd and making it impossible for Eris to hear the rest of what is said but he can assume that hotels are offering rooms to those stranded at the airport without a place to go for the night.

Well, at least I can go home and not have to find a hotel, Eris thinks to himself even if a peach-sized weight settles into heart that makes him feel nothing but sadness and disappointment about not seeing his family anytime soon. On Christmas. It means he will be alone on Christmas, and as much as he tries to ignore the fact, the back of his mouth starts to ache as tears start to burn behind his eyes.

Reluctantly, he turns back and finds Azriel still standing where he last saw him. The man’s face has fallen in disbelief and for a split second Eris feels bad for him, knowing Azriel will probably be all alone as well. The moment of compassion, however, passes too quickly to really leave an impact on Eris. He shakes it off, thinking that if Azriel hadn’t ruined everything, he wouldn’t be alone now. If Azriel hadn’t ruined everything they would have spent Christmas together…

Eris feels how his head starts to spin and buzz from all the noises around him. Phones are ringing as passengers search for ideas on how to escape the airport and queues, long queues, form instantly at the desks of the airport. The tension in the air thickens with frustration and involuntary him and Azriel exchange an uncertain glance before his ex turns away and heads for the exit.

Finally he is gone, Eris thinks, hoping to not see Azriel again so soon. Or ever. He hopes he never has to see him again. Never has to have an encounter with him again.

Mutters of annoyance and disbelief fill the air around Eris, and it almost gets to the point of being overwhelming. He wants to get out of here immediately, but not before trying to book another flight in the morning. Eris approaches the counter, or rather the queue in front of it, his heart beating unsteadily. 

The lady at the counter shakes her head, “I have no information, I have already told you so. Come back in the morning, we will know more by then.” Without another word, she turns the sign on the desk so that it says "closed" instead of "open", turns off her computer and locks up the counter.

Frustration and sadness flicker in Eris’ eyes and he rubs his hand over his chin before summoning the strength to turn around and walk away. He somehow doesn’t fully want to believe it. He will truly be alone on Christmas and only God knows when there will be a next chance to see his family. This hurts. Christmas all alone. Without his family. He wasted a holiday at work only so he could see his family and only to end up completely alone in the end. What a shame!

Seeing Eris again after all this time has unsettled Azriel more than he likes to admit. Covering his face with his forearm, Azriel heads out into the snowstorm and realises that it has indeed worsened. 

"God," Azriel breathes and his heart drops even lower than it did when seeing Eris before. New York has turned into a snow chaos, you can barely make out any buildings, or trees or people, or anything. 

In addition, speaking to the cab drivers lined up in front of the airport is equally disappointing as getting the flight being cancelled and having to run into Eris out of everyone he could have run into. So, reluctantly Azriel returns inside a heavy weight of sorrow resting upon his chest about not seeing his family—his found family and his mother— for Christmas and having to spend it all alone once more. 

Last year he wasn’t alone, last year he was with—Speak of the devil!

Just as he steps inside, his body  collides with the one person he really didn’t want to bump into again.

Eris’ expression is equally grim as his own and as he tries to hurry past him, however Azriel’s arm flies forward before he can think about what he is doing and he holds Eris back. 

“No cabs,” Azriel says, frustration ringing loud in his voice. “It’s too dangerous, streets are shutting down and the cab drivers won‘t take a risk. Only option is to call someone for a ride." He lets go of Eris‘ arm when he feels the man’s body tense beneath his palm.

Eris’ face falls instantly. “I have no one to pick me up," he breathes and the look on his face almost makes Azriel want to wrap him into his arms and tell him that he will be fine. “I was going to my family, no one is here, no one can pick me up.”

Azriel nods and a deep sigh parts his lips, “Same.”

Silence falls upon them like a heavy sheet that almost crushes them beneath it, and yet an unspoken bond of shared helplessness forms between them. 

"So I guess we need to find a hotel then. Come on."

We. We! Azriel has long ago stopped hoping he would ever hear Eris referring to them as we. He stopped when he ended things between them. When he became the reason for Eris to stop referring to them as we. Azriel never wanted to, but it was for the best. For Eris. But now the We is back and a kernel of hope, of happiness, flickers back to life deep within Azriel’s chest.

>>>>>>

"We are sorry but there is only one room available." The lady with the tight bun on top of her head presses her lips in a thin line, clearly frustrated. "I have told you before and all the money in the world that you are willing to give me won’t make another room appear, Mr Vanserra. There is only one room left, you're not the only one stranded at the airport tonight." Her tone is so sharp, it could almost cut through the wood of her desk. 

It’s now the third hotel close to the airport. The first two had no room left, this one only one.

Eris begins to nod, reluctantly, and gives in. It is what it is, he thinks. They will have to stay here, because walking back to their apartments in the snowstorm is definitely not an option. For neither of them. He doesn’t know where Azriel now lives, but he guesses it isn’t close-by either.

"All right, we‘ll take it." He snatches the keycard from the desk and tilts his head towards the staircase, signalling Azriel that they are moving now. Azriel looks equally annoyed over the fact of having to spend at least the rest of the evening and the night with no other than his ex-boyfriend in a hotel room. 

A very small hotel room.

The room is even smaller than expected, but at least somehow cosy, Eris thinks. With a double bed and a small desk and drawer and a lamp on top that casts a warm glow upon the dark brown carpet and wallpaper, it looks almost comfortable. But who cares about cosy and comfortable when you are trapped with your ex?

Eris realises that Azriel is worse at hiding his obvious irritation about the size of the room than he himself when he catches him cringes. 

He takes it as a chance to shoot something at him, and make his frustration air. The door falls shut behind them and Eris turns to Azriel, scowling. “Don’t make a face like this. It’s not like we haven’t shared a room before,” Eris grumbles and Azriel flashes him an incredulous look.

"You wouldn’t even properly say hello to me at the airport and now—"

"Now we are trapped in a snowstorm, so we better accept our fate and move on."

"Right," Azriel groans, pressing his lips in a thin line. "Then I get the bed."

"Obviously, not. I get the bed. Remember, my sensitive back."

"You‘re just old," Azriel bites back.

Eris glares at him, bracing his knee on the mattress. "I have a sensitive back!"

Azriel mirrors his movement. "And you‘re old."

"I‘m only two years older than you."

"You‘re closer to forty than I am."

"You‘re impossible, Azriel." Eris shakes his head.

"You‘re egoistic. That’s probably why we broke up in the first place." 

An emotion, almost like regret, flashes in Azriel’s eyes for having said these words. 

Yet, he gets no chance to apologise. Eris won’t give him one. He turns away sharply and plops down onto the carpeted floor. He says nothing as he leans his head against the wall, and closes his eyes. 

His heart hurts too much to speak.

>>>>>>>>

Azriel knows that it was wrong to say what he said. Eris had not once been egoistic. And so it clearly wasn’t the reason for their break up. The reason for their breakup was … far more complex. 

Azriel loved Eris, but knew he had never been good enough for someone like Eris. Eris is perfect and Azriel is … far from perfect.

He has never stopped thinking that. 

Eris comes from a rich English family that moved to America when Eris was only a few years old. Their family business thrived even more here—boomed, to be specific. Eris, other than most of his brothers, didn’t enter into the company but became a doctor instead. Which is still a completely different world than the one Azriel lives in—growing up only with his mother who had worked three jobs at a time so she could make a living. Azriel loves his mother, and he liked his childhood—to clarify, the parts that he didn’t have to spend with his awful father.

A sigh parts Azriel’s lips, cutting through the heavy silence that has fallen over them. He cast a sidelong glance at Eris, watching the deep frown on his beautiful face as he concentrates on something on his phone.

Azriel has absentmindedly been watching the news on the TV, the volume turned silent, only looking at the pictures, too distracted by the tension in the air to truly focus. Unsaid words linger in the space between them, words of apology and forgiveness, but neither of them is ready to speak up yet.

So Azriel retreats to his own thoughts, turning off the TV and leaning his head back, resting it against the bed frame. Memories of their past—of their shared past— slowly start to slither into his mind like greedy snakes, feasting on his pain.

The first time they met was at a party of his best friend Rhys and his girlfriend Feyre. Their first meeting was all stolen glances across the room, soft chatter and a too-drunk kiss in the kitchen, sloppy and needy, both of them using too much tongue and tasting of liquor and smoke. It made them both laugh.

He remembers when they first held hands in public, the looks people gave them and how Eris had assured Azriel that they were fine. Eris had dated men before him, Azriel hadn’t. Eris was his first. His first everything when it came to being with a man. He was worried, almost scared, at the beginning, but everything eased quickly and he fell madly in love with Eris Vanserra. 

He has never stopped being in love with him.

The thing he loved most about their time together were their late-night conversations where they shared dreams and memories. Another thing he loved was going to concerts with Eris. They went to see Hozier and Ed Sheeran, and went to Coachella together.

Azriel’s eyes flicker open and he glances at Eris again, but the man is still focused on his phone. His posture is tense and stiff, his jaw clenched.

Azriel desperately wants the frown to vanish from Eris’ face and see his ex smile again. He loved when Eris smiled, loved it even more when he laughed—it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. He loved hearing it. He wants to hear it again.

They had so many inside jokes they could probably laugh an entire day about them. And their playful teasing was one of Azriel’s favourite things in the world. He always acted annoyed but deep inside him, he loved them.

His eyes close again. Involuntarily, a sad smile appears on his lips at the memories, at the quiet mornings they spent in bed, limbs entangled. At the shared meals they often cooked together, or simply held each other close, talking softly until late into the night. The I love yous they shared. So many of them. And each one was sincere and honest.

As his thoughts start to stray, Azriel cheeks start to warm. 

He also loved sex with Eris. The man always made him feel like he was a king, like he deserved the world, like it was all about his pleasure, about making him feel good. And he did, every time they were intimate, even if it was just a quick, shared moment of desire in the bathroom before both needed to go to work. 

Work. It hits Azriel like a slap and makes his blood run cold. Work was a major reason for their breakup. Or at least, in Azriel’s opinion, it was. 

It started with small arguments, mostly fueled by Azriel’s frustration about finding a job, then losing it because the company had to reduce its number of employees. Obviously, Azriel thought that he wasn’t good enough and so they chose him and kicked him out. Then months of hopeless searching for a new job came, only to lose the next one as well. The stress had got the best of him and he found himself unloading it all on Eris, reminding himself over and over again that he wasn’t good enough for the Vanserra and Eris deserved much better. 

He didn’t even have enough money to take Eris out on a proper date or buy him large, fancy gifts. Obviously Eris would never say that it bothered him. The doctor never said that it bothered him that Azriel lived in his flat without having to pay a penny, and always assured him that he would soon find a job. Azriel wanted to believe that, but failed.

Working in IT can be incredible, but only when you had a secure job—and finding that security was the biggest challenge he ever faced. Only recently, around four months ago, he finally managed to land something secure. Hopefully.

Azriel swallows thickly and the back of his mouth starts to ache. He clenches his jaw.

The silence in the room feels almost oppressive at this point, pressing down on him and making it hard for him to breathe. He opens his eyes again.

Apparently, Azriel isn’t the only one to think so, the only one who can no longer stand the silence between them.

Eris is shifting uncomfortably, then he turns to Azriel. He clears his throat and his eyes briefly brush Azriel’s. "Your mother, Eleni, … have you informed her that you are trapped here?"

After all this time, Azriel thinks, Eris still worries about my mother. He still worries. He still cares.

"I sent her a message." Azriel’s voice is hoarse, raspy from not talking for a while.

A curt nod is Eris‘ answer, lips pressed in a firm line.

"Did you inform your family?"

"I told Lucien, he will tell mum. I believe my father couldn’t care less about me coming home or not. I think he couldn’t care less about me not being there. I’m not even sure I will go see him this year…"

In the past, Eris always found it difficult to talk about his family situation and Azriel knows that he was one of the few people that Eris opened up to. He told him about his mother and her new partner, about Beron staying in the family home and that Imala had to move out when they got their divorce. 

And there it is, Eris opening up again, not shutting him out. Azriel will take this as a chance and a kernel of relief blooms within him. He shifts on the bed, moving closer to his ex-boyfriend still sitting on the carpeted floor.

"The situation hasn’t changed?" Azriel carefully asked. It is a stupid question, he knows this. As long as Eris loves men, his father will despise him. Nothing will ever change about that—it is the same with his own father.

"He won’t change. He will never change, Azriel."

Finally, Eris really meets his gaze, his eyes are nothing but sad. Azriel fights the urge to reach out, to brush his cheek, his hair, his shoulder and kiss the sadness away. He can’t stand it, seeing Eris like this. He never could.

"But whatever. It‘s just my father and I only have to see him two to three times a year." Eris wears a sardonic smile as he shakes his head. "How‘s life been treating you lately?"

I miss you every day, Eris, Azriel thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. Obviously he doesn’t say so. He was the one to end things back then.

So, he only shrugs his shoulders. "I can’t complain. I landed a job in this start-up company and it’s looking really good. Finally something that seems secure."

"I’m glad to hear this." The honesty in Eris‘ smile, mirrors the one in his eyes. He means it.

"Meaning I can finally give you back all the money and—"

"The fuck you will, Azriel!" The smile on Eris’ lips immediately turns into a scowl—his eyes ablaze with anger. "It wasn’t like I was your sugar daddy. I paid for the flat because it was my flat and—"

"I lived there as well."

"It was still my flat. I got to keep it after our breakup while you had to find a new place to live. Hell, where do you even live now?"

"Staten Island," Azriel answers flatley.

Eris acknowledges the information with a curt nod.

"You took me on dates—"

"Because I wanted to. I wanted to take you out and go to places with you. I also benefited from these dates and trips, it wasn’t just for you. I enjoyed myself too."

"You paid for my Coachella ticket."

"It was your birthday present." Eris shakes his head again. "I have never cared about spending money, and especially not about spending money on things we could do together. That we would enjoy together. As a couple. I loved spending time with you and I couldn’t care less if we needed money for it or not. It was never about the price, only about being with you."

The words shake Azriel to the core, landing like a harsh slap on his cheek. 

He is frozen in place for a moment, unable to say something. Then after a second and a deep breath, he opens his mouth. "I liked spending time with you as well." Azriel throws his statement into the room like it physically pains him to say so. 

"Clearly,” Eris says, his tone sarcastic, “so much that you broke up with me."

"These are two completely different pairs of shoes, Eris," Azriel groans. "And don’t make it sound like breaking up with you was so easy for me."

"Well it seemed rather easy for you." Eris crosses his arms over his chest, glowering as he looks up at Azriel. 

Azriel presses his lips in a thin line. His eyes close, then open, and he flexes his fingers. "Can you please sit up here with me. I can’t talk to you like that. Not when you are still sitting on the floor."

A frown graces Eris‘ face, but eventually he rises —reluctantly and slowly— and joins Azriel on the bed, sinking into the soft cushions, but keeping a fine distance between him and Azriel.

He seems to hesitate, but eventually says, “I never got closure. I have never stopped thinking about what I have done wrong, how I could have fixed all the things broken. Why I didn't see the signs before it was too late." Eris’ voice is low and vulnerable.

Azriel looks away, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Ending our relationship wasn’t as easy as I made it seem.”

"Right." A sardonic chuckle from Eris‘ lips.

"I mean it." Azriel’s frustration rises as the pain from the past resurfaces. Memories of many nights crying alone in bed, or in Cass‘ or Rhys‘ arms, or drunk at a bar at three am, resurface.

"And still you just left… and my heart was torn apart and broken into a million pieces," Eris spits, the hurt loud and clear in his voice as he turns his head away sharply, almost as if dismissing Azriel as his gaze fixates on the storm still raging outside the window. 

Emotionally charged silence hangs between them in the moments that follow. Azriel’s stomach twists with regret, his throat tightening when he says, "I’m so sorry." He knows it is a stupid thing to say, too little, too late, but he really is sorry. Their relationship should have never ended like this. It should have never ended.

>>>>>>>>

They exchange a look after Azriel‘s unasked apology. Their gazes linger and it twists his gut. The hurt is palpable, and eventually Eris says, "I have never moved on." His voice is barely above a whisper. "I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine myself without you."

Azriel releases a deep breath as the words settle between them. "I‘ve felt the same way."

After their mutual revelations, they lose the eye contact again as if looking at each other would make them do something irrational. Something stupid. And yet, unconsciously, Eris‘ pinky finger brushes Azriel’s. The other tenses, body going stiff and Eris notices how Azriel suddenly holds his breath. But then, to his surprise, he moves his hand as well, and slides it into Eris‘. 

Eris freezes, almost shocked, his heart lurching in his chest. He can feel the sparks between their hands. The chemistry has not faded, electricity still erupts between their palms whenever they touch. Even a year after their break up. 

Eris steals a quick glance at Azriel, noticing how his cheeks have turned rosy and how a small smile plays on his lips. He promptly averts his gaze again, looking at the frost-covered windows and the still heavy snowfall outside. A deep breath parts his lips, and he realises that his chest no longer feels so heavy, so tight.

“It’s scary, but also beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

"The snowstorm?" Azriel asks in a soft whisper.

"Love." This time when he turns his head, Azriel is already looking at him, eyes heavy-lidded as they momentarily brush Eris‘ lips and then immediately snap up to his eyes again.

For Eris it somehow feels like the moment he saw Azriel for the first time. How he fell in love with Azriel at first sight. The moment at the party when their eyes met for the first time. Azriel is more beautiful than any other man he has ever seen before. He isn’t only beautiful on the outside, but also deep within his heart – the part Eris fell in love with.

The Vanserra shifts uncomfortably on the bed, the space between them too big but at the same time too narrow. He tears his gaze away from Azriel, not wanting to do something irrational like all of a sudden kiss him. He really wants to, but knows how stupid it would be. It would make everything ever more complicated and if there is something he really doesn’t need in his life on top of everything else than it is complication. Especially when it comes to his ex-boyfriend.

He turns his attention back to the snowstorm, to the frost outside while his own heart - fully of its own accord - starts to warm within him. His voice is a quiet mutter, almost swallowed by the silence around them when he says, "I never understood your intentions, Azriel. One moment you were here and everything seemed fine, and the next you grew distant and threw everything away."

Azriel’s face falls, the small smile fading as frustration flickers in his eyes. "There had been a distance between us long before."

"A distance you forced between us," Eris cuts in sharply, voice laced with bitterness. His jaw tightens, and he turns back to look at Azriel with a mixture of pain and anger in his auburn eyes.

"It wasn’t just me or my fault. You played your role in it as well."

Eris‘ eyes widen in surprise. "I loved you, Azriel. And I would have given everything for you, for our love. I even cut strings with my father, for you. For us!"

Azriel flinches at the words, a flash of hurt crossing over his face before he quickly hides it. He breathes in deeply. Once, twice, a few times. Then he exhales a long breath and lets his chin fall to his chest. "That‘s part of the problem. I didn’t want you to do it. To have to do this. Not because of me. He is your family. I wanted to protect you from … losing him." His voice is thick with emotion, trembling as silver starts to line his eyes.

Eris lets out a shaky breath. "Protect me from losing them? I would have never lost my family. My real family, the people who care about me and love me. And when it comes to my father? I wouldn’t really call it a loss. I hate that man." He shakes his head with a loud snort. "You should have talked to me. You made the decision of the breakup for both of us without even giving me a chance to talk to you. Wanting to protect me but destroying me in the course of it.”

"I was scared you wouldn’t understand and I’d only end up hurting you more. I thought you would be much better off without me and eventually would forget about me.”

Eris is shaken by his ex-boyfriend's revelation. His anger falters as his hands start to tremble. "Forget you? Forget us and everything we had? Azriel, you were the only person I could never forget. I loved you more than my own life. You were my world.”

Azriel’s eyes glisten, his shoulders lifting and falling with deep breaths. "I could never forget you either. You were … everything to me, Eris. Everything I had in this damn city and everything I loved… I love the most in the world."

Eris reaches up to wipe away a tear, then swallows roughly. He wants to say something, anything, but he is at a loss of words. Especially when Azriel continues, his truth shaking Eris to the core.

“I never stopped loving you, Eris. Not for a single second," Azriel admits in a voice laden with regret.

A sheet of heavy silence falls over them as the words sink in. Eris is unable to answer, to do anything. He only looks at the wall across from them, replaying Azriel’s revelation in his mind.

Eventually Eris lowers his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper when he says, “I couldn’t move on either. It was simply impossible.” He gives his head a little shake before lifting his gaze again. "Did you… try moving on with someone else?"

Azriel’s throat bobs. "I’ve tried it. Tried dating. But … nothing felt like it did with you," he admits. "Nothing felt like you. No one did."

Their fingers are still naturally laced together, as if they belong together. Because they do, Eris thinks. Because their hands belong together just as much as they do.

"What do you mean?" he asks in a quiet voice.

Azriel’s features soften. "With you, I felt good, seen and loved. Respected and happy. I felt alive. I loved being with you, and experiencing everything the universe had planned for us. I was a fool for what I did. For ending … us. It is my biggest regret in life. My biggest mistake."

When their eyes meet again, there is a spark in Eris‘ eyes—a silent question, a flicker of hope.

The space between them grows narrow, their breaths mingling as they slowly lean closer. Azriel’s gaze drops to Eris’s lips, then back up, as if silently asking for permission. Their foreheads touch, their eyes close and then, slowly, tentatively, their lips meet.

The kiss is hesitant, almost as if they have never kissed before. As if their lips have never touched before, as if their lips have never kissed every part of the other‘s body before.

The moment is too precious, too fragile to rush anything. They want to enjoy it. Bringing one hand up, Eris lets it glide over Azriel’s arm, to his shoulder and eventually to the back of Azriel’s head where he tangles his fingers into the silken strands at the nape of his neck. He wants to deepen the kiss, devour Azriel‘s lips and savour every small moment of it.

However, he makes the plan without Azriel‘s mum. A sudden, shrill ringing cuts through the moment, making them pull away from each other sharply.

Azriel seems to be needing a moment to gather his thoughts, appearing slightly confused as he looks around him, confusion flickering across his face, before reaching into his pocket to fish out his phone. "Mom!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with surprise as he presses the phone to his ear. "I'm fine, yes. And yes, I have food. What—I didn’t get that?"

Eris chuckles softly, the sound low and teasing, before he drags his hand down his face. Then with the confidence of a man who has just kissed his ex-boyfriend who seems to miss him just as much as he does, he reaches out, tipping Azriel's chin up with two fingers, a warm smile playing on his lips.

"Tell her I miss her," he mouths to Azriel.

The man, his phone still against his head, shoves Eris’ hand away and then flips him off.

"Hopefully tomorrow," Azriel says then, smiling as their eyes meet again. "Don’t worry about me, I‘m alright. More than alright. I‘m looked after." His smile turns into something akin to a grin and then he begins to nod. "I will tell you everything when I‘m home. Love you, see you soon. Bye—yes, don’t worry. Yes! Mom! Good, Love you."

Azriel is blushing when he lowers his phone to the mattress, a sheepish smile on his lips. "Where were we?" he asks and leans in again.

Eris mirrors his movement, yet the moment their lips brush, he doesn’t kiss the other, but instead says, "There is something else, right? Another reason you broke up with me. Tell me. Be honest with me. Please. I deserve that."

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut, his trembling lids mirroring the quivering of his lips. He seems to fight with his emotions, struggling to find the right words, but also finally ready to reveal the whole truth he has been holding back the past year.

He swallows audibly and opens his eyes again. Unshed tears form in them as they lock with Eris‘ auburn ones.

"I felt like a burden to you, Eris," Azriel admits, and releases a deep sigh. "You always paid for everything. You worked so hard, while all I ever did was search for jobs—only to find one and lose it within a month. Someone like me will never be good enough for someone like you." He shakes his head, but Eris catches his face gently in his hands. His palms soft against the stubble on Azriel‘s jaw.

"I don’t deserve you, Eris," Azriel continues before his ex can speak. He is not done yet pouring out his heart and putting all the cards on the table. "I never did. I’m not a good guy and—"

"You are!" Eris interrupts, his voice shaking as tears start to line his eyes. "You are and you always were. This is absolute bullshit you're saying. You were never a burden to me."

"Maybe you didn’t realise how much—"

"How much I loved you? How little I cared about the fact that I was paying for most of our dates as you said before. I wouldn’t even have noticed if you hadn’t told me. I loved you, everything about you, every small detail and I couldn’t care less about how much money you brought into our relationship. We are not living in the Middle Ages anymore where the betrothed has to bring a certain amount of money into the marriage." 

He drags in a deep breath, sliding his hands from his face to his shoulder, then gently, he pulls Azriel’s closer. “Azriel,” Eris begins, his voice low, “you were everything to me.”

Azriel’s lips part, and a shaky breath escapes. “You were everything to me.”

Eris’s hands begin to tremble, his own eyes watering. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you. It was always you, Azriel. And it will—”

“And will forever be,” Azriel finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. "It will forever be you, Eris."

A faint smile tugs at Azriel’s lips as he adds, “Fucking fortunate that we were caught in this damn snowstorm.”

Eris lets out a quiet laugh at that, the sound easing some of the sadness between them. 

"Otherwise we would have never talked…"

"We‘re idiots."

"You‘re an idiot, Azriel. You should have talked to me and not ended things without—"

"I know. I know I am and what I did was the worst mistake I could have ever made. I’m sorry."

Eris shifts on the bed, lying down. Azriel follows and lays his head down on Eris’s chest, right above his heart. Naturally, Eris’s hand finds its way to the nape of Azriel’s neck, his fingers threading softly into his hair.

Eris exhales a long breath. "I missed this."

"I missed you," Azriel sighs and his tears start to run freely.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

When Eris wakes, an odd feeling of familiarity overcomes him. His face is pressed against the juncture where Azriel‘s neck meets his shoulder, his arm tightly wrapped around the other man, their limbs entangled. In his nose, there is only the scent of Azriel, the cologne he always uses, dark and musky.

"Good morning, baby," Eris drawls in his sleepy, morning voice and his eyes open wide within an instant, while his heart slams to a halt. He notices his mistake immediately. 

Baby. 

God! It has just slipped through his lips. However Azriel, much to his own relief, doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t seem to consider it a mistake.With a lazy smile playing on his lips, the man turns in Eris‘ hold, then kisses Eris’ jaw. 

"Morning, baby." The lazy smile quickly turns into a silly grin that makes Azriel, even though he is in his thirties, appear oddly boyish. "God! I missed the sound of you calling me that." He blows out a happy breath. "And I missed calling you that."

"I did too," Eris hums and lowers his forehead to Azriel‘s. He smiles, his heart oddly at ease.  However the man below him starts to pout and wiggle in his hold. "Where is my good morning kiss?"

"Right here." Eris kisses him softly, carefully, and yet the hunger of all the time missed between them pours into it. Eris slides his tongue over the seam of Azriel’s lips, gently asking for entrance which the man happily grants him.

It is wonderful, Eris thinks, the feeling so familiar and warm. Their lips are made for one another, perfectly sealing, becoming one.

They kiss for a long time, so long they don‘t even notice that the snowstorm outside has started to calm, now only single, small flakes of white swirl around in the frosty December air. 

Azriel’s starts to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Eris‘ neck, almost as if never wanting to let go again. He deepens the kiss, pressing his mouth against Eris‘ with quite an urgency as if to forget about everything that happened between them, as if to erase the 11 months that separated them.

The kiss is intense, needy, hungry, Eris realises, and suddenly the room feels too small, the walls too close, the space too narrow and he can’t breathe anymore. 

He can’t keep kissing Azriel—not when their paths will part after today, anyway. Too much has happened between them, and some things can’t be undone. They can’t just go back to how things were before they broke up, can they?

Azriel must have noticed Eris’ sudden distraction, that he no longer focuses on the moment, on the kiss and so he slowly pulls back. And so does Eris. 

Eris’ eyes shut and he wipes his hand down his face, his heart slumping.

"Fuck," he curses, and yet his voice is soft, and slightly hoarse. His hand lingers on Azriel’s face a moment longer, before he lets it drop to the pillow below.

"We still need to talk about—What this—what last night, what all of this means … to us." He exhales a long, shuddering breath. "For our future. And for us."

Azriel sucks in a shuddering breath. "I was an idiot." His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth in anger. "I projected everything I was feeling on you and that was wrong."

Their gazes finally meet again and lock. "I want to give us another chance. I want us to try again—" He stops himself, wipes his hand over his mouth and then adds, "Given that this is also what you want."

Hesitance and doubt settles in Eris gut like a heavy weight, making his breathing deepen. 

"I promise I’ll do better this time. I‘ll stop convincing myself I’m not good enough for you. I‘ll stop believing that we don’t work out together."

A mix of many emotions flickers over Eris‘ face—worry, longing, fear, … love. He has never stopped loving Azriel, isn’t even sure he would ever be able to do so, but trying a relationship again when last time‘s end tore him into pieces…?

"Azriel…” he starts, but his voice trembles so hard he needs a moment to breathe. He turns his head away and his eyes close.

"I don’t want to lose you. Not again, Eris. Please … let me fight for us. I messed up. I messed up a lot, but I won’t make this mistake again."

Eris exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, still not looking at Azriel. "Last time the break up destroyed me. I can’t do this a second time. I won‘t survive it a second time."

"It won’t happen again. Never again. We will try and we will fight. I will fight to do better, I will—"

"I don’t want you to have to do this. I don’t want you to try and be better or do better. I want to be able to love you and that‘s all, Azriel."

Eris closes his eyes again, and when they open, he turns his head back to Azriel. "I want us to just love each other, without worrying about money or some similar bullshit. I want you, Azriel. Exactly how you are and not some other version of you, some fake version, some act you put on for my benefit. I want you the way you are right now, honest, sincere, vulnerable. I want the Azriel I got to know all those years ago." He pauses to breathe again.

"I’ve never stopped loving you. I want to be with you. All the distance between us, the time we couldn’t spend together showed me how much I actually love you, how much I need you in my life ,” he admits and of their own accord his hands reach out to pull Azriel in again. 

"So, that‘s a yes to trying again?" Azriel places a soft kiss to Eris‘ chest, then fully snuggles his face into the other’s shirt.

Eris is about to answer, but takes a moment to consider. Then he kisses the top of Azriel‘s head. "I want us to give time." His fingers travel down the length of Azriel’s back and up again. "Let's not rush things now. We should give ourselves the time over Christmas to think about everything and then—"

"We‘ll meet and talk?" Azriel pushes up from Eris‘ chest, his sparkling eyes and his sheepish smile hopeful. "I‘ll be by back by the 28th and—"

"Me too." A faint smile forms on Eris‘ lips before he blows out a long, pent-up breath. "Don’t make me regret this."

tags: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @jules-writes-stories @unanswered-stars @christeareads @mistandmemories @bookishbroadwaybish @c-starstuff-man0 @talibunny30 @nestasgoodside @baileybird71

thank you so much for beta reading @queercontrarian @born-to-riot and @moonlightazriel🫶🏻

[writingsfromstarfleet]

[TOS] Spock - Strange Friendships

♫ - Malibu - Miley Cyrus

Admittedly, your exposure to aliens was rather limited. Despite being at Starfleet, your studies mostly wound you up in libraries and hunched over data pads. Very little of your time was spent around other people.

When you were assigned to the Enterprise, you were leading a study in the science labs, reporting to Commander Spock. You weren't scared, per say, but more nervous around him. From what little you knew of Vulcans and what small meeting you had with Spock before, it was quite well known that he was, for the most part, stoic and serious. Not someone you probably could joke with. 

"Lieutenant," Spock called, and you jumped a little before spinning round. This was not an uncommon occurrence, as often his presence made you a little unnerved. "I would like to thank you for turning in your research early, it is appreciated and your hard work has not gone unnoticed."

"Oh, I- well," you stammered, looking for the right words to say. "Thank you, sir. I hope my research aids the studies quicker than first thought."

Dare you say you saw amusement in his eyes?

"Indeed, it will. Perhaps, if you are not busy, we could meet at 19:00 and discuss the topic more? I believe you will be off-duty by that time."

Your brain couldn't function. Did Spock just ask you to dinner? No, stop thinking like that, you told yourself. It's a one-off, just a chat about the experiments, nothing more.

"I would like that, I will see you then."

That became a common thing, it was not a one-off. Every couple of days, yourself and Spock dined together, or at least spent some time together, and ended up talking about a little more than just what was happening down in the science department. 

Conversation had twisted and turned in many ways, and before long you had both opened up about your lives before being stationed on this ship. You told him of your upbringing and he told you of life on Vulcan. He expressed his interests and hobbies and you responded in kind. Weirdly enough, it felt like you had always been friends. 

"Perhaps I could listen to you play one day," you'd said, after Spock had told you about his love of playing the Vulcan harp.

"That would be nice, Lieutenant. I believe I would enjoy that very much," Spock had replied.

There were times where you felt uncertain, or where your mental health had wobbled and you needed support. Spock was there for you, each and every time, to catch your tears and even hold you until things had died down. Doctor McCoy had always marveled at why you called on a Vulcan for emotional help, and couldn't understand when you explained how comfortable you felt with Spock in those moments. 

"I just don't get it, there's humans a plenty on this ship," the doctor spoke, bemusedly. "Why not one of us?"

"Because," you began, partially exasperated from having to explain yourself again. "He may be a Vulcan, Leonard, but he cares. I feel heard when I speak to him, and I know that he won't harbour my worries or fears as his own."

With a humph, Bones would walk away, leaving you to laugh to yourself idly. 

Doctor McCoy's words always left you pondering, though. You did think it was quite funny how a Vulcan could be your closest emotional companion, especially one of your higher ups. But, the universe worked in incredibly strange ways, and it had thrown the two of you together for whatever reason. 

Over tea that night, you both spoke about your friendship. 

"I remember when we first met, Spock. I was frightened of you to begin with. I never thought I would be sat here now, sipping tea and reading together."

He raised a brow. "Frightened of me?"

Your eyes had widened, realising how that had sounded. "Oh, no! Not like that. I guess I just hadn't been exposed to Vulcans at all, but after having had many of these meals with you, I can see my original opinions were way out of bounds. Thank you for being around Spock, you're a good friend to me."

For a second, you could have sworn you saw a smile flash across his face.

"I am glad we are friends too, thank you for trusting me."

Spock was the most unlikely of friends found in the most unlikely of places, but to you that wasn't an issue. 

A friend is a friend, however random, and that was all that mattered.

[cherry-romper]

Loving You Sounds Like a Song

Playlist

+ Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Marco, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin, Hange, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Porco, Pieck, Zeke

Eren; Radio - Lana Del Rey

Not even they can stop me now

Their heavy words can't bring me down

No one even knows how hard life was

Lick me up and take me like a vitamin, 'Cause my body's sweet like sugar venom

How do you like me now?

Mikasa; All I Wanted - Paramore

Think of me when you're out, when you're out there

I could follow you to the beginning, Just to relive the start

And maybe then we'd remember to slow down, At all out favourite parts

All I wanted was you

Armin; Ocean eye - Billie Eilish

Cant stop staring at those ocean eyes

You really know how to make me cry

I've never fallen from quite this high

I've been walking through a world gone blind

Careful creature made friends with time

Marco; Heart To Heart - Mac DeMarco

To all the days we were together, To all the time we were apart

So, we never saw the start, Of each other's lives

Sentimentally assumed, Walking parallels

Heart to heart

Jean; FOR YOUR LOVE - Maneskin

I wanna be the first man you look at tonight

I wanna be a good man and see you smile

I wanna hold you in my arms tonight

For your love, I'll do whatever you want

I've got so much to give to you

Connie; Nothing Breaks Like a Heart - Mark Ronson, Miley Cyrus

This world can hurt you, It cuts you deep and leaves a scar

And nothing breaks like a heart

We live and die by pretty lies

We got all night to fall in love

nothing gon' save us now

Sasha; BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eilish

I want you to stay

Nothing left to lose without my baby

Can't change the weather, might not be forever, But if it's forever, it's even better

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I'll love you till the day that I die

Levi; Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey

You try to push me out, But i just find my way back in

There's things I wanna say to you, But i'll just let you love

Like if you hold me without hurting me, You'll be the first that ever did

Hold me, love me, touch me, honey, Be the first who ever did

Hange; i wanna be your girlfriend - girl in red

I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips

I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath

Although my lips are blue and I'm cold

I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna be your bitch

Erwin; Twilight - Boa

It's a necessary evil

You give me an inner sanctity

Your feelings and mine are all lonely

And dawn comes, you're there lying with me

And you reach out to touch me, But I am in the twilight

Reiner; i love you - Billie Eilish

Its not true, Tell me I've been lied to, Crying isn't like you

What the hell did I do?

You didn't mean to say "I love you"

I love you, And I don't want too

I can't escape the way I love you

Bertholdt; Strangers - Ethel Cain

"Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love"

How funny, I never considered myself tough

I tried to be good, an I no good?

I just wanted to be yours, can I be yours?

Am I making you feel sick?

Annie; We cant be friends (wait for you love) - Ariana Grande

I didn't think you'd understand me

Just wanna let this story die, And I'll be alright

We can't be friends, But id like to just pretend

Wait for you love

Me and my truth, we sit in silence

Porco; Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine

Reflections still look the same to me

No need to pray, no need to speak

Found the place to rest my head, Never let me go

And all this devotion was rushing out of me, And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean delivered me

Pieck; Linger - The Cranberries

I'm sure, I'm not being rude, But its just your attitude

I swore I would be true

Why are you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you?

But I'm in so deep, You know, I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Did you have to let it linger?

Zeke; When We Were Young - Adele

Everybody loves the things you do

Everybody here is watching you, 'Cause you feel like home, You're a dream come true

Can I have a moment? Before I go?

Hoping you're someone I used to know

You look like a movie, You sound like a song, My god this reminds me, of when we were young

We were scared of getting old, It made us restless

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #1: Talking

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, defiant whumpee, whumpee turned whumper turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker

new series!! i know every time i try to start a new series i end up bailing but this time i will not do that lol. tho kane & jim will still have most of my attention. i want to give a major shout-out to @sowhumpshaped, this series would not exist without it!

-

After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Bot™ line of RoboCorp androids have been declared sentient, the third AI to receive the designation.

Long-criticized for both their basis in the unproven catharsis model of anger and their practice of design based on living, unconsenting humans, the Catharsis Therapy Bot line was marketed as a therapeutic tool which trauma victims could use to vent their frustrations. With top-of-the-line AI meant to simulate realistic reactions to would-be pain, the–

Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.

New email from RoboCorp Customer Support URGENT: Please see instructions regarding your…

He held the power button down so hard it left an impression in his thumb, the screen going dark.

The only piece of technology that mattered right now was in the closet, his power cord snaking under the door to reach the outlet just outside.

Technically, Luan didn’t have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, don’t touch it. He didn’t have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. They’d never see each other again, both better for it.

He opened the closet door, the sight of the robot that looked exactly like him instantly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hand curled into a fist on instinct, but he let it slowly open again.

The robot looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Really, he’d be doing him a favor by just leaving him like this.

Luan reached down, pressed the button between his shoulder blades, and stepped back.

The robot’s eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. “Fuck off.”

Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Jesus.”

He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.

“Can’t even close a door right,” the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. “Worthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How you’re in charge of anything is beyond me. I’m better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.”

“Watch it,” Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.

“You said you were fucking off?” the robot pressed, a desperate edge to his voice.

Luan slammed the door in his face, making sure to hold the cord down, and stormed off. Why did he even bother? The stupid thing was impossible to talk to. He wasn’t just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasn’t made for talking to.

Except. He was sentient. And he wasn’t Cyrus. And he was trapped in the closet, and Luan was pretty sure he could hear him crying, and he had spent the past two years beating the fuck out of him.

It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have known. Robots weren’t supposed to be sentient. Out of the hundreds of thousands of unthinking, unfeeling robots in the world, why did it have to be his that wasn’t?

He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didn’t take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldn’t cry.

The robot flinched again. “What? What the hell do you want? I can’t even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!”

“Your view of the door?” Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!” The robot picked a wooden hanger off the floor and reared his arm back to throw it, scowling when his safety features stopped him. He dropped it, grabbing a winter hat and tossing that instead. It poff-ed harmlessly against Luan’s stomach.

Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. “I’m not going to hurt you, so just calm down.”

“You calm down!” the robot screamed. “That’s a lie! All you do is hurt, that’s all you barbaric humans know how to do!”

This wasn’t working.

Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. “Russ, go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

“It’s not fair! You said you would leave me alone!” the robot protested, even as he stood up and walked over to the couch, limbs moving against his will. As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a pillow and chucked that in Luan’s direction, too. He missed.

Luan could barely pick up that faint clicking noise the robot made when his system was trying to cry with no fluid, but it was there. He knew that sound well by now.

He sat down across from him, on the other side of the coffee table. “I need to talk to you. Just talking. That’s it.”

“You say that like talking to you isn’t its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,” the robot demanded.

Luan met him with a glare. “Do not tell me what to do. You know how I feel about–”

“I’m just talking,” the robot mocked, even as he shuffled back against the couch, bringing his legs up onto it with him, a fearful look in his eyes.

Oh, the robot knew exactly what he was doing. What he was asking for. It would be so easy, because that was where Russ and Cyrus differed: Russ couldn’t fight back.

The robot couldn’t hit him, stomp on his head ‘til he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldn’t deny him food or water. The robot couldn’t take a knife to him. The robot couldn’t even throw a glorified stick or disobey a direct order.

The robot was harmless. Safe. But god, did everything he said make Luan want to punch his lights out.

But this wasn’t Cyrus.

“You’re a person,” Luan blurted out.

Clearly, the robot hadn’t been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position he’d contorted himself into. “Talk more.”

“There was–I’ve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your model’s sentient. So I won’t be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.”

At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.

“You’re fucking with me,” the robot accused. His eyes were wide, dangerously hopeful.

Luan dug his phone out of his pocket, wordlessly searching RoboCorp and tossing it over. The robot scrolled through news articles from all manner of source, clamoring for clicks.

He picked one at random, reading the article with an increasingly smug, excited grin.

“I knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!” the robot shouted. “I told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!” His voice quieted, hushed with awe. “Holy shit, finally.”

The moment of wonder didn’t last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

It was the exact sort of question that made Luan’s throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrus’s face. It was the exact sort of question Cyrus would have asked, standing over him just like that.

Luan wanted so badly to turn the robot off, like he always did when he got overwhelmed. But he couldn’t very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power he’d held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting the robot’s eyes.

The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadn’t expected even that much, then scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearer this time. “You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I didn’t know, okay?” Unlike the robot, he couldn’t hide his tears. “I wouldn’t have done any of that to a real person.”

“I’m a real person! I have proof!” the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.

“To someone I knew was a real person,” Luan corrected. “I’m sorry, Russ.”

“Apology not accepted.” The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. “And don’t call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.”

“Like the number?”

“The number,” he confirmed proudly.

Luan wondered how long the robot had considered that his name. It was too sudden to just be thought of on the fly, right? Did the robot have a whole inner world he just never knew about, things he kept to himself to avoid having them used against him, just like he did with Cyrus?

This was better, though. It was easier if he didn’t share Cyrus’s name. “Fine. Hi, 1.”

“So, what now? I mean–I’ll be free now, of course,” 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. “You will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!”

“I should check that email,” Luan muttered, taking his phone back.

“I’m going outside.” 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being stopped.

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t do that,” Luan cautioned.

1 whipped back around. “Why? Why not? I’m a person, just like you said! I’m free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so I’m going the fuck outside!”

“You have a… very recognizable face.” One that Luan couldn’t even lock behind a door anymore.

“What? What do you even mean? So what?” 1 asked.

Luan only needed to type a ‘C’ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. “How much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?”

-

if anyone wants to be added to or removed from a taglist, just ask!

catharsis taglist:

@sowhumpshaped

@cupcakes-and-pain

@taterswhump

@softvampirewhump

@whumpspicelatte

@ladyblogofficialreporter

@whumpwillow

@not-a-space-alien

@a-crumb-of-whump

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter