#his hair is supposed to look like icicles

[that-rat--bastard]

Oh yeah I'm drawing tarot cards btw. They will definitely not be posted in order

I've got many thoughts on this one but i think ill explode if I have to work on it any longer so

[chirp09]

New life isn't even out yet, yet the brainrot has already begun..........

[sacklerscumrag]

Metalhead Next Door

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Notes: hello :) i got the sudden urge to write for eddie munson today for some reason lol

i'm apologizing in advance for how bad it probably is. please keep in mind that i havent written anything in a long time, let alone for eddie

but if you do read it for whatever reason, thank you i love you im giving you a big kiss rn <3

Warnings: neighbors to lovers, jealous!reader, pining, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 1.4K

A loud rumble from a run-down truck rang outside your trailer window, jolting you from sleep. The book you abandoned some hours ago slid off your chest as you sat on the bed to peek outside. Snow continued to fall and hardened on the window sill from earlier that morning, each flake a silent whisper against the palm of your hand as you held it out in the icy air. Metal music blared through the familiar window across from yours, drawing your attention toward the warm glow coming from inside. An overpowering scent of weed lingered between the two trailers—something you'd found comfort in within the last couple of months of living next door to the Munsons. Of course, you'd heard the rumors where Eddie was concerned, and you'd have to be blind not to see how people treated him around here. Everyone ignored him, wrote him off as a freak while telling the tale of the long-haired devil-worshiping drug dealer to anyone who would listen. But after almost a year of living next to Eddie, you realized that couldn't be further from the truth.

The first night, Eddie crept up on your front porch when you weren't looking, making himself comfortable on the wooden staircase, offering whatever joint he was nursing—all leather jacket and wild hair with a grin that could warm you to your core if you let yourself admire him for a little too long. Since then, you'd meet Eddie outside once everyone had gone to bed and let his wild D&D stories carry you through the night. The world around you seemed to soften around Eddie, swallowed up by the relentless comfort of his presence. Even when he was gone, one last tiny blaze of warmth and light continuously flickered in your chest for him.

The night air was crisp, making you cling to your blanket that much tighter as you curled up in bed. You nearly jumped when you heard a thump against your bedroom window, a snowball crumbling as another landed against the window pane.

"You're not gonna make me wait out here until I freeze, are you?" Eddie's voice trickled in from outside, making you smile before quickly opening the window and letting him climb in. "It's fucking freezing out there. Hey, sweetheart." Your heart warmed at the nickname as he brushed past you, flopped down on your mattress, and picked up your abandoned book. His hair looked like he'd run his hand through it far too many times today; the snow still crunched as he crossed one boot over another as scattered icicles clung to his jacket's leather and denim patches.

"Well, it's no D&D book, but-." Eddie teased before you cut him off by snatching the book, placing it on your bedside table, and settling beside him. He smirked, clearly pleased with himself for getting to you so quickly.

"So what's new with you, Munson?" You said as you sank next to him, sneaking glances whenever he wasn't looking.

"Same shit, different day. I learned a new Metallica song last week, gonna play it at our gig."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll play it for you sometime." You smiled at that. "Oh shit, I was supposed to call Dustin." Eddie dramatically sat up on your bed and sighed.

"Dustin? Was it important?"

"Yeah, sort of; he's been trying to set me up with this girl. Or was it Steve setting me up? All I know is I went out with her last week, and now I gotta be at Family Video tomorrow at 6 to pick out a movie for whatever the fuck a double date movie night is." Your heart sank. Eddie was being set up; he was dating someone. And it wasn't you. Figures. He would never see you as more than a friend; all you ever did was hang out and talk about D&D; he could do that with any of his other friends. This shouldn't surprise you, but that didn't make it sting any less than it did.

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie noticed your silence amidst his rambling. You were seemingly lost in your thoughts as you toyed with your fingers. Something had shifted; your warm presence from just a minute ago felt frigid and distant.

"Yeah." You wiped the tears welling in your eyes and stood from the bed, suddenly needing to put as much distance between you as possible. "Just tired, I'm just gonna go to bed." The mere thought of Eddie snuggling up on a couch with some girl made your chest feel like it would cave in any second. You quickly turned toward your window to open it, unable to face him without fear of bursting into tears.

"Sweetheart, if I did something to piss you off, I'm sorry."

"You didn't just please…I want to go to bed." Your tone was firmer than Eddie had ever heard from you. He should go, head out through the window, and call it a night. But he couldn't. "Please." Your voice slightly cracked, and with it, a piece of Eddie's heart at the realization. When you managed to turn around, his chest was inches from your face, tenderness filling those big, brown, beautiful eyes darting back at you. His ring-clad hand cupped your cheek, skimming over your skin delicately like you would break under his touch.

Before you knew it, your mouth was on his. Your arms around his neck; he tasted like cigarettes and mint from the gum he anxiously chewed before you came in. It was intoxicating. Chills spread across your skin when his hands slid across your waist, pressing you closer to him. It didn't take long for Eddie's need for you to become apparent with feverish hands pushing you back until the desk bumped against your ass; Eddie tapped your thigh to signal you to sit on the hard surface, standing in between your legs and trailing his lips down to your neck and chest. Your hands tangled in his curls, breathing in as much of him as possible before he pulled away slightly.

"Eddie." You paused, studying his face for a moment; face flushed, hair tussled, and lips swollen and pink from your own; he was perfect. "I'm sorry. I should've told you how I felt, I-. Eddie's lips interrupted you with a searing but brief kiss as he spoke against your lips.

"Don't you dare apologize. I've been waiting so fucking long for this." A smile spread across your face, and relief flooded your chest. You tugged on his vest to draw him back to your lips as his hands began to knead your thighs, core clenching at the feeling. Whimpers escaped you from just his lips on your skin. His mouth worked its way along your neck, lifting your shirt and continuing to work his way down until he was kneeling before you.

"Can I?" You nodded as Eddie's ring-clad fingers hooked onto your shorts, pulling them off and discarding them on the floor along with your underwear. He hooked one leg over his shoulder and kissed the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "God, you have no idea how bad I've needed to taste you." Your breath hitched when you felt his tongue begin expertly working along your folds, then back toward your clit. It wasn't long before he slipped a finger inside you, then another. The chill of his rings pressing on your most sensitive spots as he plunged them in and out of you had you arching your back and squeezing your thighs tighter around Eddie. Your chest heaved; every whimper and moan that escaped was like music to his ears. Eddie consumed you like a man starved; it was like the more pleasure he drew from you, the more he wanted. He couldn't get enough. He teased your clit between his lips and began to suck hard. Eddie's movements were relentless. Your eyes screwed shut, and your core tightened until it snapped. Eddie's hand dug into the flesh of your hips to hold you in place as you squirmed against him until you were practically pushing him away. He could see the blissed look on your face as he stood and wrapped your legs around his waist, carrying you over to bed. Once you were settled, Eddie stepped toward the still-open window.

"Don't go," you whispered; a pang of fear hit you. Eddie smirked to himself before shutting the window securely, throwing his jacket on your nightstand, and crawling in beside you.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

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

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[riaki]

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[celandeline]

Okay this is my first time asking for a one shot so I hope this makes sense. Okay how about Farleigh and reader aren’t close friends but they are close like behind closed door (if you know what I mean) and like reader is sensitive. So one day Farleigh makes a joke about her without noticing she is there and like hurts her feelings. Like does that make sense obviously you can ignore this if you want. But you if you could write about the part where he is apologizing to her (smut will be great honestly), but you do whatever you want.

sorry this took so long - i promise i'm working through all the lovely asks you guys sent me, it's just taking a minute (school and shit, you know)

anyways!

I'm Sorry (In Not So Many Words)

Farleigh Start is a lot of things. At first glance, a stuck up bitch, but that’s only the first of many layers. He’s wicked smart when it comes to literary analysis, can write an argumentative essay like nobody’s business, and breezes through books faster than anybody else you know. He’s funny in a bitchy kind of way that’s distinctly American and not to everyone's taste, but definitely to yours. He’s fashionable to a fault - a bit of a diva, truly - but on more than one occasion has held your hair back so you can vomit vodka into the toilet. He always has enough weed or coke or acid tabs to share and always has extra room in his dorm for you to crash if you’re too high to get home. He’s mean and nice at the same time, and to most people, it’s confusing. But not to you. 

To anyone else, you’re friends. Barely friends, even, connected only by the fact that Felix and Annabel are kind-of-sort-of a thing. You would have never have even met him if Annabel hadn’t dragged you into Felix’s circle, but you’re glad that you did. It’s fun, finding excuses to get each other alone, patting concealer over hickeys you’re not ‘supposed’ to have. And he’s nicer behind closed doors, when he’s not putting on a show for his cousin. You might even go as far as to say that he’s sweet, when it's the two of you alone. Of course, you’d never tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you, either. 

So when you overhear Felix ask Farleigh if he’d ever consider going out with you to double date with him and Annabel and he laughs, an icicle shoots through your heart. It’s condescending, his laugh; it’s you’re kidding and I would never and you can’t be serious all at the same time, and it shoots through you like a bullet. 

You don’t show up to Kings Arms even though Annabel texts you that that’s where everyone is, instead holing up in your room, the sound of Farleigh’s laughter banging around in your head. You don’t know what the truth is. Has he just been leading you on this whole time? Pretending to like you for… what? It can’t be sex, he can get that with other people, it can’t be drugs, he always supplies them, it can’t be money either… but the way he laughed, like it was so ludicrous that he would ever consider going on an actual date - a double date, even, which is really only half a date - with you. And to think that you liked him. Even just as a friend. Maybe you were wrong to think that his bitchiness was a front - maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you were wrong to think that he was anything else. Maybe-

A gentle knock at your dorm door interrupts your spiraling, and you get up from your bed, padding across the room to look out the peephole, and find a familiar puff of curls. You’re opening the door before you can really think about if you want to see him right now, just out of habit. 

Farleigh smiles at you, and breezes into your room like nothing’s wrong. “Did I leave my grinder in here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, closing the door and retreating back to your bed, watching him sort through the things on your desk, looking for the little blue grinder he keeps with the rest of his weed supplies. He sorts through your things like they’re his - and if you’re being honest, some of them are. Over the course of the semester, the line between what’s yours and what’s his has blurred significantly. 

He turns around at the sound of your voice, peering down at you. “What’s wrong with you?” It’s teasing and sympathetic at the same time. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “I’m just not feeling well.”

He squints, moving from the desk to sit down on the bed next to you. “Uh huh.”

You’re really not in the mood for him right now. “Fuck off.” Why should you give him the time of day when he was so rude behind your back? You don’t really want to tell him off to his face - he’s quick as a whip in an argument, you’ve seen it firsthand - but you really, really, don’t want to see him right now. 

He laughs, sharp and surprised. “Wow.” He says. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “What, what?” You mock him. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t really care - it was childish of him to laugh. 

He rolls his eyes back at you. “What’s your problem?” He asks. “You were perfectly fine earlier, did I say something?”

“Obviously.” You say.

He waits for you to keep going, but you don’t. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I heard you and Felix.” You snap. “Is the idea of actually going on a date with me in public, with other people, that fucking funny?”

His face shifts into something you don’t recognize. “I-”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, you should just say so.” You keep going. “I thought that we were actually, I don’t know, friends, at least. Call me crazy but I felt like I actually knew you, and actually liked you.” You laugh. “I just-” You pause. “Nevermind. I guess I was stupid for thinking that it went both ways. I guess I shouldn’t have, I mean, I was watching you do this same shit to other people, I don’t know why I thought I would be different-”

“I wasn’t laughing at the idea of going out with you, I was laughing because there’s no way in hell I would ever go on a double date with Felix and Annabel. They’re fucking insufferable as is.” He interrupts you, placing a hand on your cheek and turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “Did you really think I was laughing at you?”

“I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if I didn’t think you were.” You say, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. “But-”

“I’ll take you out.” He says it casually, thumbing over your cheekbone. “Just us. We can go get dinner at that new place by the pubs. If you want.”

All of the anger and doubt that had been piling up on your chest is suddenly lifted. “That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He says, grinning, his hand still caressing the side of your face. His fingers trail down the side of your neck and then he’s cradling your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours - softly, gently. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ in fewer words, but you know him well enough to read it as an apology. 

You kiss him back, pouring your sorry back into him. You shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that he was laughing at you, you should have had more faith in the fact that companionship is a two way street - he seeks you out as much as you do him. It’s mutual, and in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that. Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you smile against his lips when he sighs into the kiss. 

He pulls away so that his lips are just brushing yours. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You say, leaning back as he gently pushes you down on the mattress. “It was really my fault, I misunderstood-” 

He noses down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as your back hits the mattress. His curls tickle your skin as he works down your collarbone, rucking up your shirt so that he can kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes as he does. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as he kisses over the skin. “Farleigh-”

“What?” It’s teasing and playful as he sits back on his heels to thumb at the waistband of your pants. He drops his voice slightly. “Can I?”

You nod, and he dips his fingers below your waistband, gently pulling your pants down to your ankles. You kick them off the rest of the way as he leans back down over you, holding your eyes with his as he noses between your thighs. You suck in a breath as his tongue makes contact with your skin, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your tip your head back against the mattress as he starts to work his mouth over you. He knows how to use his tongue - there’s a reason there’s a rumor about him sucking teachers off - and he puts it to work right away, diving in like he’s hungry for it. 

“Oh fuck-” You wind your fingers into his curls, tugging at the root. He moans into your skin, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. It’s good - it’s always good with him. That’s another thing about Farleigh - you can always trust him to actually get you off. Unlike most of the other guys you’ve been with.

But you feel a little guilty that he thinks he has to make it up to you, when you were the one who didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. If anything, you should be sucking him off. Tugging more insistently at his hair, you pull him up to latch your lips together in a kiss, licking yourself off his skin. He pants against your lips. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You say. That way it’s even, that way, you’re both getting to enjoy yourselves. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He shucks his trousers and boxers down in one motion, kicking them down the bed. He’s already hard - but he usually is, after burying his head between your thighs - and you don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke him a few times, watching his face change into that almost pained look he gets when you fuck him.

You line him up, brushing his skin against yours, and watch as his eyelids drop to half mast as he pushes in. The stretch just borders on the edge of too much, but the groan he lets out distracts you from the sting. He always sounds so pretty when you’re like this, tangled up in the sheets of your too-small dorm room bed. You wind a hand into his hair and pull him down into the crook of your neck so that you can nip at his earlobe as he starts that slow, delicious grind you’ve come to associate with him. 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, gently biting over a hickey that he left only a couple days before, refreshing the mark as he muffles a groan. You trail your lips down the shell of his ear until you find his neck again, doing the same. His hips stutter into yours as you suck at the tender skin of his neck, and you smile. Even though he’s on top, he’s still putty in your hands - or mouth, really.

“Farleigh.” You whisper against the mark you just left.

“Mm, what?” He nips at your collarbone.

“Switch with me.” You say. “Let me on top.”

He laughs, a breathy thing that borders on a whine. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you-”

“Which is why you should let me on top.” You say. 

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you-”

“Please?”

His hips stutter against yours again, and that's how you know you’ve got him. He pulls you tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and rolls across the mattress until he’s flat on his back and you’re straddling him without ever pulling out. Sitting up, you take in the sight of him, pupils blown wide, lips still slick with spit, a blooming mark peeking out from behind his ear, and plant your hands on his chest for leverage as you start to bounce. 

He grins, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that forces its way out of his chest as you work yourself up and down his cock, his hands finding their place on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You purposefully scratch your fingernails down his chest to watch him squirm, and he uses his grip on your hips to fuck up into you, to watch you falter. It’s a fun game that you play, who can make the other keen and whine more, made even more fun by the fact that more often than not, you win. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Farleigh rasps, his grip tightening as he takes over your bouncing for you. You let him move you at his own pace, able to tell just by the way he whines that he’s close. He throws his head back and you watch his stomach tighten as he lets out a long groan. His whole body tenses, and then stills. You wait for his eyes to flutter open before you start bouncing again. 

He gasps, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips. “Shit-”

“I’m almost there.” You say, watching his face as the coil tightens in your gut. 

“Take your time.” He says, panting. “I’m good.”

He always says that, but you know it’s only a matter of time before it’s too much and he starts to grit his teeth. You know what it’s like - you’ve been on the other end before, already came but Farleigh’s still fucking, the drag growing more overstimulating the longer it goes on. So you bounce faster, focusing on the way he looks underneath you, debauched and panting, eyes half lidded as he watches you go up and down, sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck. God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Ah-” 

You shake apart on top of him, and he catches you as you slump down onto his chest, arms wrapping around your middle. You nose into the crook of his neck with a sigh, contentment washing over you. “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being stupid. Thinking you were laughing at me. Sulking about it.” You say, pressing a kiss to the warmth of his skin. 

“‘M sorry for making you think I was laughing at you.” He says. 

You sigh. “We’re good?”

“We’re good.” He says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

What Does Kaz Brekker do when you cry?

If it’s because you’re injured:

Kaz struggles to comfort because he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel comforted and therefore is terribly inexperienced at giving it.

Especially when you are in pain. What is he to do? What is he to say?

Well, he knows when you get mad about things you either like to brood by yourself or you come sit in his office and rant. Why is it that you come to his office?

Is it because everyone else is somehow busier than he is and can’t be bothered to listen to you? That idea upsets him because he knows his crows and he know they’d never do that to you and live to see another day.

Could it possibly be the proximity to him? Does his presence help you sort things out?

That sounds good. So he pulls up a chair and sits at your bedside if only to be near you. This seems to work a little.

As Nina works on cleaning a cut, you’re struggling to bite back whimpers and groans. He can clearly read the pain in your eyes and the set of your jaw.

Later, when it’s just you and him, he reads quietly as you nap. He’s slouched in the chair, one hand prodding his temple. Then you stir.

You seem to gasp a bit, and then you’re crying. Why are you crying? You clutch at your side where the wound is. And then it clicks. You need some pain medication.

Kaz administers it himself, making sure to give you the proper dosage. He can’t really touch you, but you may feel the drag of the leather tips of his gloves along your cheek as he ticks away strands of hair.

Injuries are difficult because he cannot remove the pain with just his words. It isn’t something you can talk through but rather something a hug and a kiss might help which he can’t give you.

If it’s because he’s upset you:

Apologies are rough for this man. I picture two instances: when he finds you crying, and when you cry in front of him.

Say you have an argument and Kaz says some very unkind things in the Dirtyhands fashion.

If you simply exit his office and leave him to consider his outburst, Kaz feels himself wither. He knows you are now very mad. He’s experienced with people being angry with him, they usually want to kill him and maybe you do which poses many problems for him. But he doesn’t know how to quell anger.

So he sits and schemes for an excruciatingly long time. Too long.

Because when he finally figures something out and leaves his office to attend to you, you’re crying. And he has to redo all his plans.

When you turn to him with watery eyes he just can’t—WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO!?!!!

It’s awkward because the two of you just stand there looking at each other.

Kaz tries to speak. He really does. But he’s no good at this. So he comes to another set of decisions. Pull himself together enough to give physical comfort or suck up his pride and apologize.

He musters up some courage and peace of mind, and steps closer. His gloved hands cup your cheeks and he thumbs away a few tears. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “Didn’t mean to make you so upset.”

Now if you start crying in his office, Kaz just wants to bury himself six feet under. Talk about instant regret. He goes pale as an icicle and starts to sweat.

He slaps himself internally and finds his way out of his desk chair and in front of you. His hands are on your shoulders and he’s budding you look at him. This actually goes a little better than the other instance because he has to work on the fly and doesn’t have time to over complicate things.

He just wants you to stop crying because he hates the idea that he’s made you upset enough to cry.

When he finally chokes out an apology it sounds half-assed but I’m actuality it’s the best he can do because he’s panicking and doesn’t know what to do about anything.

Miscellaneous:

Regardless of the reason that you’re crying, the outcome is the same. You’re met with an awkward and unsure Kaz Brekker.

In his heart he knows that he’s not doing this right and that he’s not comforting you how he should be. But there’s the small matter of his touching issue and his inexperience.

Kaz has never been face to face with difficulties regarding his weakness as often as he has been with you. He wants to do the things that normal people do but alas, he’s not normal.

So while you’re upset, know that he really does care and that he’s trying his best. Kaz would do anything for you within the proper time frame. He will find a way to make things better for you regardless of the situation.

Side Note:

I imagine that Kaz has made himself cry because he made you cry. He just feels so terribly awful about the whole experience and worries that he hasn’t helped.

He’s so overcome that when he catches a moment by himself, he might shed a few tears out of fear and shame.

[pyrory]

sellbot cog redesigns!!!! :D thought process + extra design deets under the cut! (waning: its very long LOL)

cold caller: loosely based off of their tto trading card! rotary phone because uhhh. duh they call people, big pointy nose resembles icicle, elongated eyes / eye scopes? idk lol resemble allan. the shape of the receiver is supposed to resemble earmuffs almost? + little teefies

telemarketer: this is probably the most. vague design LOL but they're an auto-dialing machine! specifically based off of the one from the simpsons coz it.. felt fitting idk. i definitely took some liberties but they have a speaker mouth, an indicator bulb for a nose, and the cassette portion is their eye ^_^

name dropper: this was one of the harder names to translate into a design since it doesnt have any ties to any physical items / ideas? so i ended up just building upon their base design. the glasses and bun give them an uptight secretary vibe + gave them more droopy features such as a longer nose and hoop earrings to replace the old ones

glad hander: not much to say about this one. HAND!!!!! my original redesign for this had their eyes on their palm while the fingers sat on top but. idk. it felt more fitting for their hand to be in a fist while the eyes were on the fingers. it makes their middle finger look like a nose

mover & shaker: shaker -> salt & pepper shakers. ez pz. the lids look like little hats too

two face: this was a little tricky coz i like the double face look they originally had. but double talker already has that model and i think it fits them much more than it does two face. i cycled through a few different ideas but eventually ended up with this, inspired by the mayor from the nightmare before christmas & the way his head operates :P

mingler: nothing changed. literally perfect. mingler is peak cog design. just tweaked their colors and gave them a stronger head + hair shape that stands out against the others

mr. hollywood: same with name dropper & mingler, they have a vague name thats hard to interpret BUT the og design was already so good there wasn't much to change Anyways. i was subconsciously inspired by Something while designing them but i dont know what, i guess 50s celebrities? also inspired by ernesto de la cruz from coco!

as a general rule of thumb: i stuck to the same color palette for all of these designs (except for the blue in cold caller & two face. obviously) in order to communicate the fact that they're from the same department. for the more human cogs i tried to separate different parts of the head using color & lines (forehead, cheekbones, chin, nose, etc) in order to give them a subtle robotic look but you can't really see it lol... i tried to keep their GENERAL head shapes but some of them wandered a little far

+ i actually made palettes for all of the cog departments to work on if i ever want to make more redesigns! i'll stick them here since they're on topic

[astrothegalaxy]

I finished an L x N fanfic

If anyone wants to read then just click read more

Here are the cover images (two by @wafflebombe)

In the middle of Copper 9, a vast wasteland of snow and no oxygen, and nuclear wasted buildings, left behind from years of human establishment, there was a drone. Specifically, a dissassembly drone. Even more specificially, he had an extremely cat-like build, almost resembling a leopard. He also had long hair that almost qualified as fur, tall and sharp ears, and a long spiked tail that almost looked like a vine. This dissassembly drone looked excited and giddy as much a drone could be.

His name was L, and he was preparing something very special. Something so grand it required candlelight and many delicious, gourmet treats. Atleast, as gourmet as something made of oil could be. He considered himself a decent oil cook though. Not great or anything, just decent, alright, average, that sort of thing.

Continuing, L made the entire thing look as perfect as possible. Every single inch had to be perfect. It took many tries, considering how clunky and huge his body was. Many times, he was angry at himself, but this happened often, so he was able to cope. Slowly, and slowly, every little thing came together like one giant puzzle with L getting less and less furstrated, and progressively more satisfied. Even the tiniest candlelight and the smallest ding of plates.

It was perfect. It was ready to him. He could present it to his beloved...he thought he could, anyway. Unfortunately, like with all things that happened to him, there was a circumstantial catch. Something to ruin it all. Nearby, there was crunching of small, heeled steps in the snow.

He couldn't present it because the worst person ever had to have caught him in this so-called act. It was J, his annoying sister who could only be called, well...an asshole. Her catching this was NOT great.

"What are you doing..." J looked suspicious. This looked like some damned candlelight dinner! And, her intuition was NEVER wrong. EVER.

L jumped back like the cat he was, which looked rather silly due to his size. "Uhm...well...it is not your perogative. It is mine. You do not need to be informed of this..." He had a tendency to use long, uncommon words, but was interrupted in the process of explaining.

"Would you stop putting out all of that corporate jargon nonsense you do and tell me what's going on?!" J's tone was getting louder and more frustrated by the second. She had a feeling of what this was, but she had to be sure before putting out her famous corporal punishment. That was the company policy.

L was starting to visibly panic. "Nothing...just...just a reward for myself...I suppose...! Just me. Only me." He immediately knew he sounded too deseprate to be convincing. The repeitition of it being himself was not compelling in tone. He could feel his voice verbally shaking, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He knew that J was atleast half aware of what he was doing, and every time she caught him in the act of something like this, his heart shattered in fear. The punishments just slowly got worse and worse over time, all because L wanted to be nice to someone.

"Two dishes? Candles?! All for yourself?! YOU?! And, boy, I thought you hated every bit of your own self, or so I've overheard.

I don't trust it. Give me something...well, ACTUALLY believeable for something this grand?" J was closer and closer to her goal of prying the truth from his cold, dead, fur. It definitely helped that L looked more nervous, and was quivering more than an icicle on a warm day.

"I...I am..telling the truth...I do not even...have a single drone to share this with..." He tried his hardest to lie, though he wasn't a great liar at all. If it didn't work, well, he was probably dead.

Suddenly, J firmly gripped L's wrist.

"Tell me. The truth." Doing this was a mistake on her end. Why?

It immediately activated L's fight or flight mode, the one thing people feared him for, and the only reason he even still had a job in the first place. His visor turned into a singular X shape instead of two sperate eyes and his fur stood on end. J immediately knew what this was.

"Becoming defensive now, are we?" Despite clearly being in direct danger, she wanted to make witty comments anyway. That was not the smartest move, as, well, L literally couldn't comprehend her in this state. He took a huge bite out of her arm to get it to let go.

"ROBO JESUS EVERLOVING CHRIST-" J retracted her arm, stepping back. Meanwhile, L was already scrambling away on all fours in his feral state, the entire area he had planned being a mess now.

"That fool. That goddamned brainless fool. Can't believe he'd try to trick someone as smart as me.

He'll get what's coming though. You don't bite your boss." J mumbled to herself, and walked off.

Meanwhile, L was scrambling to find a hiding spot. He just couldn't be out in the open like this. Anything and everyone could hurt him. Atleast, in his animalistic mind, it was that way. Something hurt him so everything could. That was the simple animal logic he operated on now. Eventually, he found a corner, which he quickly scrambled into in a panic. He was growling, yowling, and pouncing at all the little bugs so loudly, that if someone were there, their own thoughts would be silent. He was heaving and panting out of genuinely anxiety and fear, like any little thing could make him explode at this moment.

"L! L? L!!!" There was a dissassembly drone nearby calling out his name. That drone was rather short and, well, normal, wearing a coat and bearing an average physique. L heard his name, and got even more anxious in a cat-like manner, the noise scaring him from how sudden it was. His yowl was extremely audible.

The drone nearby rushed as close as he could to the yowl, as he seemed to recognise it. It was N, someone actually extremely tolerable compared to J. More than tolerable in fact, but not in this state. He slowly, slowly approached L.

"Oh, L, what happened..." He spoke in the softest voice he could while seaming as non-threatening as possible. Even then, L hissed, trying to make the supposed threat go away. Every drone looked the same to him as J. Every drone WAS J in his eyes.

"It's...it's okay..." N slowly approached L, being sure not to make any sudden movements. He just growled as a warning, but was less ready to attack. L sniffed the air, recognising the scent just a pinch, and calmed down, his fur settling. He was still in his fight or flight mode, though.

"See? Yeah, buddy, I told you..." Soon, he fully approached L, without him expressing a shred of doubt about the interaction or fear. N put his hands up to L's face in a calm manner, slowly letting L get used to the touch again. It looked like N had done this many times before, and indeed he had.

"Doesn't that feel better, buddyyy?" He was calling L friendly nicknames, despite him being unable to process them. L was purring, his cheeks being in N's hands. He still had no mental capacity to communicate in this state, but he was starting to calm down. N started to caress L's face with his thumbs, an attempt to really calm him down and prevent him from going feral again in the moment. It worked a crazy amount, because L sunk deeper into N's hands, nuzzling them, slowly leaning into N himself, almost pouncing on him in a playful way. His X eyes were gone at this moment, so it was now him in the concious. N could tell even without looking at L's visor because of the small little chuckles and giggles he was doing in joy. He didn't even realize what was happening, thinking he had just woken up from an odd nap or sleep. N looked overjoyed here as well.

But, then L realized why he was here. Why he was in such a location. Specifically, why he was hunched in the ship cabin in the corpse spire. Its familiarity all whirled back to him in one fell swoop. He only came here for one reason.

When he had gone feral and needed a place to hide. He started to worry, his ears going flat on his head, and his chest starting to heave up and down like a balloon. He couldn't remember what happened, but he knew it was bad. He just knew. There were no other possibilities but hurt.

N noticed his distress. "L, what happened? You good? Or-"

L interrupted him with a sudden, extremely frantic question.

"Did I hurt you?"

He looked frightened, terrified by the answer. Almost like he was just anticipating a yes, or just anything negative in this context. Nothing good could come out of it, he was sure.

N immediately understood what that panic was about. "No, no, L, I'm fine! See?" He put his arms up, lifting his sleeves a bit to show no scars, scratches, or bites.

"You...you could have healed yourself before I became sane again." L couldn't believe it. His doubt was too thick and strong for him to see clearly. "N, please, please tell the truth. I do not want you to lie just to make me feel like less of a monster than I am." He sounded distressed, like he was stuck in an endless hole of misery and self-loathing. The room started to feel small and claustrophobic to him. He just had to be by himself to dwell on the possible things he had done. His breath was getting slower, but it was heavier and heavier with each breath, starting to tremble. Anyone with decent vision could see what was about to happen to him.

"No, no- L I wouldn't! If you did something like that I'd tell the truth!" N wasn't...entirely sure on this one, but he knew L didn't hurt him this time. He just stumbled upon L in the corner, trembling, immediately sensing what had happened. That was it. L had not bitten or scratched.

"...

...did...did I hurt anyone else? A single other drone? Even one?" L was still so doubtful. Even if it wasn't N he had hurt, there had to be someone else. His voice started to sound broken.

"I...don't know. I just found you here. Your mouth did sort of have oil...but it wasn't too bad." N did want to be honest in regards to that. He was an awful liar, just like L.

That was a mistake.

L started to weep, retreating back to his corner in the claustrophobic cabin. No wonder his breath was so slow and heavy, and his voice was breaking. He started to mumble something that not even N could hear properly, aside from a few words that sounded the same. It was almost a meaningless jumble, until you listened close. He was just repeating his sorries to himself in a quickened manner. Tears were dripping onto the ground, and L was clawing at his own head out of desperation, guilt, and hatred. He couldn't be seen like this, with how disgusting he was.

He felt something warm graze him. It was N.

"It isn't your fault." He reassured L, pulling the hair out of his face.

"LIAR!" L called out in a desperate fit, pushing N back. He was the one who bit, the one who ate. Whatever he did under that state. It was him and only him who was at fault. He wept harder, burying his face further, knowing that all he was was a monster. A heartless, hurtful monster. He could barely calm down, and was trembling and shaking like a leaf.

"I..." N tried to find the right words to say. "...that's not you. You were just...scared and uh, unable to think. It's okay." He knew whatever L turned into, that wasn't him. That was not him. It was some external factor that looked like him, or something kinda stupid like that. He just was bad at putting things into proper words, and things that made sense.

"That is...deranged..." L couldn't believe what he was trying to suggest. That was him and him ONLY. He could still sense the taste of raw oil in his mouth, and almost gagged.

"Well, uh, do you remember anything from it?" N tried to put reason into this to the best of his ability. "Do you?"

"N...no..." L couldn't remember a single thing. Whatever caused the oil in his mouth was a mystery. Well, he knew it was something violent, as that's the only way you could get oil. But, the specifics were unclear.

"See? You weren't awake, or whatever the proper word it is. I'm trying, I'm trying..." N reassured him. He didn't want to sound foolish or dumb in front of the one he loved. He wasn't afraid to do so, of course, but it was a bit embarassing.

"...concious...well, well I am...sorry. I am so sorry." L felt an intense sense of guilt, and a need to apologize. He just looked miserable.

"I'm not mad. There's no need to apologize. You didn't do anything. I promise." N, once again, pushed the fur out of L's face, coming closer to him in the small corner that he found so much comfort, yet hatred in. His fur felt quite soft, like an oversized pillow. Admittedly, it did need a good brushing. He clearly didn't take care of it often.

"You...you were not the one I hurt..." L still felt so shameful. The oil taste stung in his mouth and lingered. It was torturous.

"Well, do you remember anything beforehand?" N tried to see if there was anything he could think of. There possibly could be an actual person he hurt that caused this fight or flight response.

"Ehm, I do recall J..." He immediately realized. He bit his own boss. His own sister. He started to panic. "I BIT J. I HURT HER. THIS IS HER OIL. HER BLOOD."

N tried to get him to calm down again. "No, no, it's okay! It's okay! She...definitely did something to start it! It's okay! You're NOT doing anything wrong!"

L nearly passed out, collapsing fully on the floor. N was flabbergasted at the sudden thud, and the sight of him nearly being unconcious.

"Agh...my head is pounding..." L was panicking too much for his own good. The stress was reaching to his bodily functions and systems, and they were starting to slow down. N rarely saw him like this, and it definitely added a layer of hurt to whatever was happening. "I am truly a mistake." Unfortunately, his systems slowed down too much, to the point where he was going back into his spiral, but without the tears. He laid there without any more words, until N spoke up.

"No, no again, it's okay. You're not a mistake."

L was done. He couldn't believe N was so resilient. There had to be something in his brain making him feel this way. Someone. That couldn't be what his genuine thoughts were.

"N, please. I am simply a ticking time bomb. You're in mortal danger around me. I was made wrongly, and now I hurt others." L couldn't see a single positive in that.

"Oh, L...it's alright, it's not your fault, I've dealt with worse. Don't worry." N knew this was true. L wasn't the worst thing. Far from it, in fact. He was a joy to be around, even if his emotions could get intense.

"W-worse..? What in Copper 9 could be worse than...me? An awful, gross, malfunction of a dissassembly drone." L couldn't believe what he was hearing. N had to have some screws loose, some misplaced parts, something wrong.

"...Your sister. She's done worse. Hurt me worse than you ever could. She does it willingly." N used the best example he knew.

"But...I'm not the one in trouble here! You are!

I don't hate you for something you can't control. I don't. I just can't.

That isn't you, it's something else entirely. I know it." He was referring to the thing he said earlier. He KNEW it was true. He KNEW it wasn't L. L would never.

"How can you know something that is just a conspiracy theory? Something you cannot prove because the evidence disproving it is right in front of you?

I am a monster, N. An iredeemable monster. Everyone hates me and they are terrified of my presence, even the other dissassembly drones. I would not blame you if you were too.

You deserve to have freedom to make concious choices, so go on then. Leave. I am not stopping you. You do not deserve to be stuck with something like me." L couldn't even call himself someone. He wasn't deserving of that title. He was barely a person, if he was one at all. He couldn't even look at N anymore without shame in himself.

"L...I could never..." N was so worried at this point. He had never heard such doubtful words from somebody. Less doubtful, more sure that something negative would happen. It's like L always expected the worst, which wouldn't be far off from the truth.

"What is stopping you? What in the world is stopping you from making a sane decision like this one? Why do you not wish to stop interacting with me? Why have you not run off yet?" L had to know. He had to know what was so off about N. He had a hunch, but he couldn't be sure. He needed evidence.

"Because...because...well...

I can't get myself to do that! That's horrible! Someone as nice as you doesn't deserve ANY of that!" N wouldn't leave someone by themself like that. Especially not somone as hated by J as he was. Who else would L have, if not him?

"Out of all of the foolish decisions J has called you out for, this is the one I truly do not get in any sense of the word. Why do you not feel an urge to leave me in the snow?" L still poked and prodded. He felt worthless, but clearly N felt different. But...why?

"You don't deserve that. Again. Like I said.

You're nice to me. Nobody's ever shown me as much kindness as you. I can't help but do the same because it feels right. It just feels like anything else would be wrong.

I...really do care for you. More than any drone in Copper 9. The universe, even.

I love you, L."

"B-but...but I do not understand...I..." L could sense himself blushing. He felt so...cared for, when he didn't deserve it. So adored, when he was the opposite of adorable.

Loved, when he was anything but loving.

"I don't either." N chuckled for a second, putting his hand on L's, hoping it would calm him down. And, indeed it did, for his alarmed and anxious eyes turned into caring, sweet, and calm eyes. He finally sat up, his systems not slowing him down enough for him to be unable to move anymore. He gripped his large hand around N's small one, and you could hear him start to purr, his tail swishing in a curved move. That was a sign of a happy, content cat.

"Awww, you're purring!" N giggled a bit, him blushing too. It was extremely cute when L did something catlike without being in his feral state. Those were shows of genuine affection and love.

"I love you too, N. No, I adore you. No matter what, please do not ever forget that.

And, well, thank you for treating me like a person. An individual. Thank you."

He sounded so genuinely grateful and content. He pulled N closer with his tail, which made him able to sense every vibration from L's purrs. It was quite soothing, surprisingly, for how big his size was. L couldn't help but start nuzzling into N again, being so happy he was here in general. These moments where they were alone were always special and beautiful.

N giggled at the nuzzles, being happy that L was finally feeling better, at the very least. He even did a couple chin scratches, knowing L liked that. Maybe that was a bit too much, though, as L started to laugh like crazy at that. "How...niiiice..." was cut off by the many laughs and giggles L was doing. They both were showering eachother in so much affection, it was astonishing. L quickly stood up, nearly leaping, and held N in a firm grip.

"P-put me down!" N was still giggling though. L obliged and put N on the ground, though he was still standing, burying himself in L in general. He didn't want to let go, ever...

L did a step.

Then another.

He took both of N's hands.

He was...dancing...?

Was he?

"Uhm...L? What in the world are you doing???" N was genuinely confused.

"Uhm. I do not. Know?" Even L was confused. He just felt some sort of...rhythm in his steps. N just went along with it.

Neither of them knew how to dance. Well, L did, but his big body made it a bit difficult, especially considering his cat-like legs. It was very awkward. Eventually, they just gave up and sat down.

"That was fun, ehehe!" N giggled a small bit.

"Yeah, especially with you...

...d...dear..." L stammered a ton trying to get this one, cute little nickname out.

"Awww...DEAR?!" N was flabbergasted, blushing for his life, even!

"Sorry, sorry, that was uhm, a mistaaaaake-" L was so embarassed at what he did.

"Can, uh, can I do something dumb too, if it makes you feel any betterrrr orrr?" N was probably considering the worst thing ever, atleast for his standards. He was nervous as ever.

"Sure...sure..."

He gave L the tiniest kiss ever. The smallest one. It was barely a peck. And yet, he was so nervous he was shaking. "WHAT HAVE I DONE."

L chuckled at this. "My god, N, you are so adorable..." He gave his own kiss in return, but it was...less nervous. He was more confident.

N short circuited at this. "I- WH- WHAAAAT-"

"I...I do not know why I did that..."

Both of them were blushing intensely.

[otakugurl-11037]

A Quick Female!Y/N x Vampire Thingy I Made.

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Ey, before you read, there's biting, close proximity, mentions of violence, and blood. There's also some teasing too, but nothing too serious. Happy reading! (This is my first writing post, let's go!)

Over 900 words.

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The side of the mattress sunk down, awakening me from my slumber. I open my eyes to see him, leaning over me, one knee in the bed we would be sharing. His long blonde hair acted like a curtain as his unnaturally red eyes just pierced into my soul.

“You…” he grumbled before taking a sharp inhale. He’s undead, so I’m not sure where that oxygen is going.

“Go back to sleep.”

I quickly nod and turn to the side, closing my eyes as well. For a while, nothing happens. 

Is he…waiting for me to fall asleep?

Unsurprisingly, having a pair of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head isn’t helping me sleep at all. In fact, it’s just making me nervous.

I’m about to turn back to tell him to quit staring at me, then in a shocking revelation, he embraced me from behind, his leg resting atop mine and his lips are approximal to the back of my neck.

“Hey-”

“I told you to go back to sleep, didn’t I?”

“It’s not like I can, with how close you are,” I snap back.

He sighs, already annoyed.

“We’re in a twin-sized bed, little girl. How on Earth am I supposed to not be close to you?”

“Fair point.” 

I chose to not bring up the fact that he’s spooning me, as I like the slight warmth his body gives off. Somehow, unlike the others, he doesn’t have a cold body. Maybe he sits around the furnace all day to replicate human warmth.

He suddenly moves forward, snarling a little bit. I felt his fangs graze my throat before going back.

“God, why do you smell so good? I hate it.”

“Can you not think about eating me right now??”

“That’s difficult to do, little girl,” he growled. “It’s like starving a human then telling him to turn away from the feast that’s been prepared right in front of him.”

“Or maybe you could try drinking from the blood pouches we’ve prepped before we got here!”

“I don’t want those subpar blood pouches. Besides, I shouldn’t drink those if I even wanted to, those are for emergencies, remember?”

Right, I told him that those were for dire situations…

“Fine, go ahead. Drink up. But don’t mess up the sheets, I like these.”

He pivoted his leg and moved backwards, taking me with him. As soon as I blink, he’s on top, his hands securing my wrists to the bed. I look up at him and his glow-in-the-dark bloodthirsty eyes.

“I’ll try not to. But no promises,” he said in a semiwhisper before he leaned down to feel my neck with his lips.

Everytime he did that, it made me jolt cause it tickled a bit. I try to hold still so he won’t yell at me, though. His fangs pierced my throat--ironically, his fangs were as cold as icicles in Alaska. As the stinging sensation of the bite intensifies, I began to hear him swallow my essence as if it were a fine wine that he brewed himself. Imagining him working in a winery helped me distract myself from the slight pain his bite brought.

As quick as he started, he released his hold and sat up. Some of my blood ended up slightly below his lip and without breaking eye contact, he licked it away. My face rose in heat for whatever ungodly reason and I look away, finding solace in the moonlight seeping through the window in the other room.

He grabbed my chin and redirected my gaze to him.

“Why are you blushing?” His eyebrow went up as he questioned me.

OH GOD NO.

“You-you remember when you told me that people who get bitten are prone to feeling a strange warm feeling once the vampire withdraws? That’s what’s going on, now I’ll go back to sleep like you asked,” I said quickly, trying to dodge the situation.

I try to lay back, but his hold tightened, forcing me to stay in that position.

“Yes, while it is true that humans might feel warm after a vampire bite, they typically don’t turn into a tomato with the outrageous blush on your face.” A smirk appears on his face, which is completely foreign to me. I never once saw him smile or experience any sort of joy. I mean, except when he’s drinking his enemies dry.

“Little girl,” he said deviously, as if he’s plotting something with this newfound information. “Tell me why are you blushing this instant.”

“I plead the fifth,” I said, looking toward the moonlight once more.

“Little girl…” he repeats as if he’s about to scold a child. “I will torment you if you don’t tell me, so I suggest that you tell me.”

I figure that I shouldn’t test a vampire who used to extort people for information, so with a nervous breath, I open my mouth and…

“Okay, fine…! I kinda liked seeing that licking motion you did, are you happy now?”

He laughs, throwing his head back in amusement. Even his laugh is filled to the brim with superiority.

“Oh,” he giggled, looking back down at me. “How I love discovering your weaknesses. I thought you would’ve been more stubborn, considering that I wanted to know something so utterly embarrassing.”

He lies back down, bringing me in for a cuddle.

“But yes, I’m happy now, little girl. Now go back to sleep.”

(～￣▽￣)～ You made it to the end, yay!

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

The Sacrifice Douma x Reader prologue

Ugh this gif is just mwah chefs kiss.

Pairing: Douma x reader (you)

Summary: You are a sacrifice for Douma

Warnings: Mentions of injury and physical abuse, reader is a slave.

****************************************************.You lied there shaking like a leaf on a stormy day. The burlap pulled over your head obscured any sight, only thin streams of moonlight shown through the scratchy material.

With your vision basically lost your other senses we’re heightened. You could smell the freshly fallen rain. Although you didn’t need your nose to tell you that, the droplets had soaked your clothes throughouly.

Crickets chirping and the occasional owl kept your surroundings from being completely silent. A small blessing. You’ve always hated silence.

The rope around your wrists burned. You could only imagine how they looked.

You willed yourself to stop the tears but they always came anyway. No matter how many times you’ve been in the same situation and told yourself tears wouldn’t solve anything, they still came.

Although this time you suppose you really did have a reason to cry, being sacrificed to a demon wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence .

It all happened so suddenly. One moment you were scrubbing the floors and the next you heard the thundering steps of your master. He yanked you up, muttered something about finally getting rid of you and tied you to the back of his horse.

You figured if he was getting rid of you you didn’t need to fear him for much longer so you braved asking him where he was taking you. Usually if you were being sold off, you were taken to the market or someone would come by to peruse the “merchandise”. So you had a bad feeling.

Eventually when you pissed him off enough with your questions he clicked his heel and forced the horse to go faster which resulted in you being dragged like a rag doll through the rough terrain.

Finally he stopped, laughed at your sorry injured state and told you you were being sacrificed to appease the demon lord of the land.

Something about a deal between the villages and so on. Unfortunately you couldn’t quite catch everything as your head was ringing.

Sometime later he dismounted, threw you to the ground and tied your rope to a tree.

“Finally I’m able to rid myself of you. Always causing me trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong heh, I was merciful too you but you best not behave that way with the Demon Lord, he’ll end you in seconds… heh although he’ll probably kill you anyway soon. So long slave”

Merciful? Were beatings merciful?

Hoof beats softly disappeared and was soon replaced with gentle rain drops. How ironic, you’ve always loved the rain but now each drop felt like a sharp icicle was being driven into your skin.

How long were you going to be here? You’d probably freeze to death soon. Although maybe that was the Better alternative than being eaten by the Demon Lord.

In all your years you’ve somehow managed to stay alive. The hope that one day you’d be free kept you going. No matter how much pain you endured you never were close to death, not really. But now?

Was this how your pitiful life was going to end? Being dinner for some monster?

The tears you she’d had caused a pounding headache. Your whole body was aching and surely bruised and bleeding. And you were shivering cold.

“Oh dear what have we here?”

A stab of panic rose in my chest. Fully alert I tensed at the new voice.

“I was sure I told that man to bring you unscathed”

You heard the crunching of grass get louder.

“You’re alive aren’t you?” The voice, somehow airy and melodic, like a lullaby was just a few feet from you.

You were too afraid to speak, could you play dead?

A rush of panic surged through you as the material that had been obstructing your vision for hours was pulled away.

You should’ve closed your eyes.. you really should have.. because nothing could’ve prepared you for the piercing gaze you were met with.

An unsettling smile, hair that seemed to gleam in the moonless night, and those eyes…

Predatory

Like little balls of every fire were trapped inside glass orbs. If you weren’t so terrified you might have called them beautiful.

“Ah so you are alive, although I must say my dear you look like death”

You might’ve laughed had you not fainted right then and there.

Part 1

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Lemme know what you guys think:)

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝

Summary: Spencer and Reader are up late wrapping last minute presents and sharing secrets. Content Warning: 16+: Pregnancy, parenthood, tame bedroom dirty talk Word Count: 2.1K Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader Christmas Fic Masterlist

Santa, Baby

The house, decorated with homemade Christmas garland and toddler made Christmas ornaments, was uncommonly quiet. A hush fell over the small, yet cozy Cape Cod as snow piled in a picturesque blanket on the yard. A week old snow-family stood lopsided out on the front yard, welcoming the falling snow. Spencer’s quiet slumber and warmth threatened to lull Y/N to sleep. She hesitantly flipped over her half of the sheets, regretting that she neglected to wrap the plethora of presents bought for their kids.

Still sleeping deeply, Spencer’s hands glided across the warm flannel sheets, seeking out any part of Y/N he could reach. He hummed blissfully when his hands found Y/N’s waist. He slipped under the pajama shirt and his cold hands were icicles against her bare skin.

“Spence,” she groaned, watching intently as Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, “Go back to sleep. You’re exhausted and–”

“And I’m going to come wrap presents with you.” Spencer injected. He smiled softly in the dark. His kind eyes melted whatever resolve she clung onto. “Come on, I wanna help. Besides, someone’s got to help you eat the cookies.”

Y/N smiled, knowing well enough that she already decided to give into Spencer the second he fluttered his eyes open. “Come on then. I’ll let you come if you finish off that spiked cider with me. There’s two glasses and a plate of sugar cookies that have our names on it.”

She leaned across the bed, kneeling into the mattress, and knotted her fingers in Spencer’s hair. He welcomed the touch, placing his hands on her forearms. Spencer’s hair was messy with her fingers running through it, but he didn’t care to fix it. Instead, he allowed himself to melt into the solace that fell between them. He felt her cool, peppermint breath tingle his lips as she made her way across his jaw and down toward his collarbone.

“You know,” Spencer started, a playful smile materializing on his well-kissed lips, “At the rate you’re going we’ll never make it downstairs.” He looked almost proud of himself, with Y/N straddling his waist and his delicately strong hands bracing her hips. Smiling knowingly, Y/N leaned forward, nipping Spencer’s ear. She planted kisses against his soft skin, taking note – and great pleasure, when he groaned at her ministrations.

“You know,” she said, mimicking Spencer’s coy tone just moments before, “At the rate we’re going, we’ll have to find ourselves another stocking for next Christmas.”

She didn’t need to look at Spencer to know that he was blushy fiercely. To think that the thought of having another baby with her, while they already had two sleeping soundly the next room over, made him blush was almost too much for Y/N to handle. She stood up, feet on the ground as she planted herself between Spencer’s legs.

“Does that excite you, Spence?” She whispered in his ear, her voice so low and so sweet that it made his skin crawl with anticipation. Y/N’s mouth found him in the dark, yet again. She nipped at his lower lip, catching it in between her teeth and tugging expertly as he moaned into her mouth. As fast as it all started, riddled with sleeplessness and marred by procrastination, Y/N left him. Spencer was cold, missing the warmth of her body pressed into his and did the only reasonable, logical thing: followed his wife.

He heard her first. She stirred in the kitchen, making more sound than she intended as she heated up something on the stovetop. Spencer watched from the living room, the pile of unwrapped toys and gifts kept him company.

Spencer, from his childhood to early adult life, never had a reason to like Christmas. It never felt like a true white Christmas in Las Vegas, anyway. He supposed that the lack of snow and chill was the least of his worries growing up, as was having a cheery Christmas. But Spencer, much older, much wiser was a dad. And as a father, he’ll be damned if his children don’t get the best Christmases ever.

Lost in thought, Spencer hardly noticed when Y/N sat beside him. He felt the couch sink in, alerting him that someone was next to him. He turned facing Y/N in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Spencer always loved the way she looked, but there was something about the way the multicolor Christmas lights twinkled in the reflection of her eyes that made his wife particularly stunning.

“You look worried.” Y/N noticed, handing Spencer a cup of steaming spiked cider. The spices and heat tickled Spencer’s nose and warmed his hands as he grasped it.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Just thinking.” He hoped that it would be smooth enough to not have to go deeper into what was turning the cogs in his mind. Even though he tried to stop it, Spencer’s mind kept replaying. Even though it was just seconds earlier, his mind was a kaleidoscope of flashbacks of her body writhing under his and echoes of her teasing him, whispering into his ear taunting him with what they both know they desperately want.

“I can tell,” Y/N teased, sipping the hot cider, “Well, we do have a lot of presents to wrap. And it’s still early so we can put on one of those overly competitive baking shows and just vent. You’ll go to town wrapping Auggie’s clothbound set of Chronicles of Narnia and I’ll just listen to you, love.”

A smile, although fraught and shy, tugged at Spencer’s lips. Y/N had an uncanny ability to put him at ease. He looked at her, from across the steaming spiral of cider, through the multicolored, candy-coded haze of Christmas lights and kissed her cheek.

“Sounds like a plan.” He said, whispering against her cheek. He kissed the corner of her mouth, which hid a smile of her own.

Y/N handed Spencer the scissors and roll of Christmas themed wrapping paper. Carefully, Spencer laid out the present, a toddler’s toy cash register set with play money, on the coffee table.

“Watch the drinks, Spence!” Y/N said, nudging Spencer as she tucked her feet under her knees and brought her drink to her lips. “I’ve been home with a 6 year old and a 3 year old all week. You’ll be making me another one if you spill this.” She warned with a teasing glare.

Spencer nodded, sipping the hot drink from his own cup and holding it in his hands. He felt the warmth of the cider slide down his throat and land in the pit of his stomach. He watched silently as Y/N wrapped the remaining presents. He felt himself slip away again, mind stolen from the moment by the worry that placed itself front and center of his thoughts.

A tentative worry plagued Spencer’s face as he threw Y/N a cautioned look. “Is it hard on you? I mean, God, that’s a stupid question. I’m gone a lot, I know it’s hard on you without you having to tell me. I just mean, if we were to have more…”

“You want to have more kids, Spence?” Y/N asked, eyes open wide, despite the hefty amount of booze that once filled her drink.

“Yeah, I mean...” Spencer stammered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just. I know it was dirty talk, or whatever,” he blushed, reliving the thrill that flooded his system earlier, “I just think we make really neat kids. And you’re such a good mom. And I love being a dad. I know it’s a lot, on you in particular. But I’ll scale back at work. I’ll get a new job if you want. It might be nice to be home more for August and Ellie and you, regardless of what happens or doesn’t happen.” Spencer said, looking at Y/N’s eyes, searching for something lost in the lines that crowd her face.

“Spence,” Y/N said, eyes tearing involuntarily as Spencer’s hands came to rest on her kneecap, “I don’t know how you do it, love, but you always know exactly what to say. I wanted to wait till tomorrow. I had this whole thing planned. It’s kind of stupid in hindsight, but you would have thought it was cute.”

“Tell me what?” Spencer dared, eyes frantically watching as Y/N rummaged into her basket of yarn, “Y/N.”

“Spencer Reid.” She said, taking his hands into her hands with such care and love Spencer would have thought he was built of something fragile and precious. “You’re the absolute love of my life. I think I know you better than you know yourself sometimes, but for this,” her voice choked a little, hitched on the words that tumbled out without care or grace, “I’ll admit for this, I was a little scared. Three kids…is hard. It’s a lot of work, but there’s no one. Not a single other soul on this planet or any of the universes I’d rather be doing this with.”

Spencer sat there, hot mug of cider still in hand, watching in awe as his wife placed a small box in his lap. Carefully, tentatively Spencer laid the cup down on the coffee table and shot a look full of love for his wife toward her.

“Is this what I think it is?” Spencer asked. His fingers delicately gripped the red satin ribbon and tugged it apart.

“Just open it, Spence!” Y/N whispered-screamed. She watched with worry and excitement casting brilliant and stunning shadows on her face.

Spencer pulled off the lid and revealed the contents of the package. He was stunned. He licked his lips, a wave of disbelief washed over him as he registered exactly what the little plastic test with two pink lines.

“Is this…is this real?” Spencer questioned. He was hesitant, still conditioned to face good things that happened to him with both an err of caution and disbelief. “We’re having….you’re pregnant?”

The Christmas tree lights danced in the background like tropes of multicolored ballerinas on pointe shoes cascading their twinkling light against the cream colored wall as a backdrop. Her face, perpetually angelic, crinkled at her eyes and mouth and nose with a potent mixture of happiness and love. Her laugh was what broke Spencer’s resolve. He felt a thud of weight against his body and the air knocked out of him as Y/N launched herself into his arms.

He held her gently, unable to whisper how happy…how genuinely happy he felt in the moment. Spencer’s eyes leaked tears that fell against Y/N’s shoulders. He could smell the cinnamon and maple syrup against her breath as he kissed her. It was a soft kiss, the kind of kiss that happened all the time between them.

“So the cider,” Spencer started, worry and confusion plaguing Spencer’s face, “I’m guessing your’s wasn’t spiked.” Y/N laughed, careful to keep the noise at a low volume as Spencer held her in his arms. His hand rested on her lower abdomen as wonder and care filled his eyes.

“No, neither was yours. You’re too much of a lightweight to tell something so important while tipsy.” Y/N explained. “But um, this is a happy thing right for you too?”

Spencer grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing the place where she wore her wedding ring during the day. He traveled down her hand and kissed each individual knuckle. Spencer turned Y/N’s palm over, pecking and peppering kisses against her skin.

“Sleeping upstairs,” Spencer started, “are two people of three I love most in this world. And now you’re telling me there’s going to be a fourth. I can’t tell you Y/N how happy that makes me.”

Spencer’s heart swelled with pride as Y/N’s teary face interrupted the spiral of his mind. “Oh baby,” she whispered, leaning forward and planting kisses on Spencer’s neck, “I’m so happy you’re happy. I was worried.”

Spencer tucked a strand of his hair into his ear and kissed her temple. “Happy news, bad news, everything in between we are in this together, sweetheart.” Spencer reminded her. “You know you’re the love of my life right? Anything you do will make me just about the happiest man alive.”

“You are such a sap,” Y/N said teasingly, although the smile plastered to her face told a completely different story. “But you better know you make me ridiculously happy, my love.”

Spencer sank into the couch, comforted by the news that filled his heart with love and chest with pride. He rubbed shapes into Y/N's side as they whispered about what was to come. Eventually, silence. fell upon them as as their heartbeats melded into one.

TAGLIST

@reidsbookclub @reidslovely @coldbrewat3am @fightingdragonswithwho @hotchandspencearedilfs @sadgirlml @goldentournesol @spencerslibrary @foxy-eva @paperbackprettyboy @reidselle @alexxavicry @justlivinginadaydream @tragiclilb @reidsmilf @givemeth @reidslibrarybook @mrs-dr-reid @spencerreidsmommy @spencer-reid-wonderland @radiant-reid

[circle-with-me]

‘tis the damn season - part 2

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Genevieve/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, angst, hurt - no comfort, brief mentions of child abuse, panic attacks, mentions of death/dying, brief mentions of violence/threats of violence, Will Ramos is stubborn as hell.

Word Count: 3.3k

Taglist: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @midnight-eternals @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy

If you would like to be added to my tag list for this series or my other work, please click here.

Author’s note: There’s a lot more Will in this part and I promise there will be even more in future parts. Also, this one is probably going to hurt because it hurt me while I wrote it. Soooo…. Sorry 😬 Enjoy 😊

Will’s POV

The snow crunches beneath Will’s feet as he heads towards the cafe. That morning, he woke up with a sore throat and decided he’d grab some hot tea before practice that morning. He couldn’t afford to lose his voice now. Lorna was going on tour next month and they had a lot of kinks to work out with their set.

Leaving the cafe, Will heads in the direction of the warehouse. Traffic in front of the cafe was absurd. He could walk down the opposite way to a slower intersection, cut across and then walk back up. The only problem was that it would take him past the park.

He avoided the park as much as he could

“Man, it’s been eight years. Get over it.” he says out loud to himself.

As he walks past the park, he sees the gazebo. There was a light dusting of snow on the roof and the stairs. Christmas garlands were attached to each railing. Icicle lights were hanging from the top railings and Christmas wreaths were adorning each post.

It looked like something out of a Christmas card.

Will walks up the steps and stands in the middle of the structure. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come here. It looked the same but had a fresh coat of paint. A moment of panic sets in as he sets his tea down and steps onto the railing. Hoisting himself up he stands on his tiptoes to look into the rafters.

The entirety of the area had been painted white. Fuck, where is it? He couldn’t see it. It had been forever but he knew it was on this side. He couldn’t see it. His heart sank. It was gone. He started to lower himself down but something caught his eye off to the side. A faint etching into the wood that he would have missed if he hadn’t turned just so.

“W <3’s V 4eva”

Will let out the breath he was holding; a sharp pain shooting through his chest. It was a pain he hadn’t felt in a long time. The feeling struck him so hard it made his knees weak and he had to hold on to the post next to him to keep from falling off the railing.

It should have been a meaningless little thing. He had made that mark when he was a teenager, barely sixteen. Thirteen years later and he can still remember every moment of that day. How she smelled of cinnamon and cherries. The way her dark red hair fell in waves and would get tangled in the buttons of her coat. How red her nose and cheeks got from the cold. Her green eyes sparkling as she looked at the Christmas lights.

God dammit, he hated this time of year.

Will arrives at the warehouse to see Moke and Austin standing outside.

“Get here when you can, brother.” Moke exclaims, grinning.

“Fuck are you talking about, dude? I’m early as always.” Will responds.

“Practice was supposed to start 20 minutes ago, dumbass.” Austin pipes in.

Will checks his phone and he in fact was not early at all. His detour took a little longer than he thought. He looks up sheepishly and both guys burst out laughing.

“Sorry, guys.”

Adam slaps him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, man. Adam and Andrew are inside arguing about guitar stuff.”

“That’s why we’re out here.” Moke adds. “If I had to hear them fight like an old married couple for one more second I was going to shove Archey’s drumsticks in my ears.”

Will laughs loudly as they dramatically act out the guitarists argument.

Initially, he doesn’t see the woman with long dark red hair pass by but he notices her stop suddenly. For a split second he figures that she’s lost but then it hits him. The scent of cinnamon and cherries.

The scent is all-consuming. It fills his nostrils and in a millisecond seven years of memories flash before his eyes. She turns around slowly, making eye contact with him and he’s sure he’s fucking dreaming because it can’t be her.

“Shit.” he hears her say and that’s her voice. How is she here? Why is she here? After all this time..

He calls after her and she doesn’t stop. In fact, she picks up her pace. So, he takes off after her.

“Will! Where the fuck are you going?” Austin yells at his friend as he takes off running but it was no use. Will was on a mission.

Will continues to call after her and she refuses to stop. He feels dizzy, nauseated, and desperate because if he can just get a hand on her. Just touch her so he can know she’s real and he’s not crazy.

“Goddammit, Genevieve, stop!” Finally catching up with her, he grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him.

They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. He wonders what’s going through her mind. He can’t seem to gather his thoughts because he’s still trying to grasp onto the fact that she’s actually here in front of him.

Somehow, she was even more beautiful than the last time he saw her.

The last time he saw her.

Will recalls the moment she left and the shooting pain in his chest returns. Anger rushes through him and without thinking, his grip on her arm tightens. Tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes and she shifts uncomfortably. Realization settles in and he lets go, internally chastising himself. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been gone. He knows better.

He glances at her again and even though the tears are still there he can tell she’s not panicking anymore. Her tears are for an entirely different reason. The moment is so overwhelming he can nearly feel his own forming but being the stubborn man that he is, he blinks them away. Will is not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she still has that much of an effect on him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” she states matter-of-factly.

Will laughs humorlessly. “Seriously? After all these years, that’s all I get?”

Gen narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest.

“Right, because ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ is so much better?”

“I think I have every right to be frustrated, Viv.”

“Don’t call me that.” she says firmly.

Will raises his eyebrows. “And what exactly am I supposed to call you?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Will, I’d prefer it if we just didn’t interact at all. I’m only here because I wasn’t given a choice and I plan to leave as soon as possible.”

A mixture of anger and desperation rises in him again. He wasn’t expecting her to jump into his arms but he didn’t think she’d blow him off like this. He needed something. More than this. He didn’t know how she could just pretend like this moment meant nothing to her when it meant everything to him.

Would he actually admit to that, though? Of course not.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Always in such a hurry to leave. Of course, I'm not surprised. It’s your favorite thing to do.”

This time, Gen laughs, but it’s the coldest laugh Will has ever heard. She steps closer to him and their faces are so close they are almost touching. Her perfume fills his nostrils again and he wishes he could start their conversation over. Tell her he was sorry for everything and kiss her breathless but it was too late. He ruined everything, once again.

All because of his goddamn pride.

“As much as I would love to stand here all day and rehash old wounds, Ramos, I have better things to do. Like bury my piece of shit father, for starters.”

Will doesn’t even get a chance to speak before she’s walking away from him. She never looks back at him for a moment but he watches her until her figure disappears.

Gen’s POV

Gen walks until the tears falling down her face begin to burn and her lungs start to hurt from the cold air. She was two blocks from the lawyer’s office but she couldn’t move anymore. She stops and sits on a bench in front of a random store in an attempt to collect herself.

She scrubs her shaking hands over her face and tries to control her breathing. She’s barely been back home for a few hours and she already ran into him. She hated being from such a small town.

“Always in such a hurry to leave… it’s your favorite thing to do.”

Will’s voice echoes on repeat in her mind until her head begins to pound. He knows damn well why I left. Gen thinks to herself. Who the fuck is he to throw that in my face?

Through the years she must have rehearsed their first conversation upon reuniting a hundred times. It was never something she expected to actually happen, but she was always preparing for shit like that. She knew it would be overwhelming and emotional but when she imagined it, she always handled it in a calm and practical manner.

Clearly, it’s much different when the person who broke your heart is standing right in front of you. It didn’t stop her from regretting the way she reacted. The way he grabbed her and the emotional whiplash from their sudden reunion had her adrenaline pumping. Agitation and being defensive were her go-to responses.

Gen knew that he didn’t intend to grab her like that. He knew better. It was embarrassing that it still affected her the way that it did.

Gen sighs shakily and checks her phone. She had five minutes to be at Mr. Shaw’s office. Her pity party would have to wait until later.

“Ms. Castillo, I’m Nathan Shaw. Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.” The man extends his hand to Gen and she accepts it. He was younger than she expected, late thirties at the oldest. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back and his eyes were a piercing blue. When he flashes a smile at her, she concludes that feature alone wins a lot of his cases.

“It’s Taylor, actually. I told your secretary that on the phone yesterday. Anna, I believe?”

He glances down at the paper. “Oh, yes! She’s written it right here. My apologies, Ms. Taylor. Or is it Mrs?”

Gen has to bite back a laugh. “No, sir. It’s definitely still Ms.” She holds up her left hand to show him her bare ring finger.

Mr. Shaw smiles softly. “Very good, Ms. Taylor.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “If you don’t mind. How did you find me? My father and I haven’t spoken in years.”

“He had your phone number and address listed for us to call in the event of his death.”

Gen pauses for a moment, unsure how she feels that he actually had her address this whole time. “It’s just that… I changed my name and my contact information years ago, so that he couldn’t find me. I just don’t understand how he even had that information to give to you.”

Mr. Shaw looks at her over his glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. He flips back to the front page of the packet in front of him and turns it around to where Gen can look at it. She scoots up to the end of her chair to get a better look as he points to a particular paragraph.

I, Gabriel Fernando Castillo, am a widower. I was married to Margaret Anaïs Taylor Castillo on September 13, 1993, who died on August 9, 2007. We had one child, Genevieve Gabriela Castillo, who was born on August 11, 1994.

Genevieve Gabriela Castillo. Her eyes read the one line over and over again. God, she despises that name.

“What are you showing me this for, Mr. Shaw?” she asks, pointedly.

An amused look spreads across his face. “Ms. Taylor, with all due respect, if you wanted to change your name so your father couldn’t find you.” He pauses for a moment, considering his next statement carefully. “Your mother’s maiden name maybe wasn’t the best choice.”

Three hours, one panic attack, and a lot of kleenex later, Gen’s appointment with Nathan Shaw was finished.

Gabriel left her everything. His house. His car. An oddly large sum of money that was left in his bank accounts that she didn’t dare question its origin. Before she changed her name and number for good, he had called her relentlessly asking for money. No doubt having drunk it all up.

According to Mr. Shaw, that was what killed him. His liver failed and he chose to waste away at home instead of in the hospital waiting for an organ transplant. Mr. Shaw warned her that the house wasn’t in the best shape since he spent the last several months bedridden and would rarely let anyone in. He assured her, however, that “the mess” from his death had been cleaned up so she wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Oh, right. If it wasn’t enough for her to inherit her childhood home that held enough traumatic memories for a lifetime, it’s now potentially haunted by the ghost of her father? Nope. Nothing to worry about at all. She didn’t even believe in ghosts, but if anyone would come back to haunt her, that fucker would.

Considering her options, she decided to sell the house and the car. They were of no use to her. The money in Gabriel’s accounts would go towards whatever repairs were needed to make the house sellable and the rest she’d donate to charity.

Gen didn’t need him or his money. Dead or not she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking she did.

So, now, it would appear that her whirlwind trip home would be much longer than anticipated. The realization of which caused her panic attack. Mr. Shaw’s sweet secretary, Anna, came rushing in his office with kleenex and water to help. Once she calmed down, Gen told Anna whatever Mr. Shaw was paying her wasn’t enough. Anna just smiled sweetly and headed back to her desk.

Another hour and a half later, the funeral arrangements had been made. The visitation would be Sunday at noon with the funeral immediately afterwards. A four hour affair where Gen would have to smile and pretend to care as people she hadn’t seen in years told her how wonderful her father was and how they can’t believe she’s been gone so long.

She felt nauseous already.

She took a deep breath, cracking her neck and massaging her jaw in an attempt to ease the tension from the day. She was in desperate need of food and a shower. She decided to head to her hotel, order takeout, and call it a night. She couldn’t bring herself to go to Gabriel’s house tonight. She would go tomorrow when she was rested and her head was clear.

As Gen laid in bed, she reflected on her day. Now that it was over, it all felt like a fever dream. She thought of Will’s face. The way it shifted from frustration to guilt when she told him why she was there. She had called him Ramos. She only called him that when she was mad and he hated it. She knew that, though, and said it on purpose.

She did it for the exact same reason he took a jab at her for leaving. There’s an ache in her. An ache caused by all the years of pain from her mother dying, her father drinking to cope with the loss and the abuse that followed afterwards. Will became her escape. He was always there to protect and comfort her.

One night, Will nearly beat her father unconscious after he had broken Gen’s ribs again for not cleaning the dishes the way he liked them. He was only seventeen at the time. Gabriel was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to put himself at risk of an investigation, so he didn’t say anything. After that night, the physical abuse stopped but the psychological abuse became worse. Will promised Gen that as soon as she turned eighteen, he was moving her in with him.

The day of her eighteenth birthday, Will moved her into his apartment. He had saved for months and managed to get one just a few weeks before her birthday. It was small and they barely had any furniture, but she didn’t care. Gabriel tracked her down and tried causing a scene but Will told him if he came near her or touched her again he’d make sure he didn’t wake up that time.

Gen was finally able to heal. She felt safe and secure at home for the first time in five years. They were both working and making enough to pay their bills with a little extra. She started college. For once, everything was going well.

The only problem was that she hated Westwood. It was too small for her and despite the memories she made with Will, it was filled with too many bad ones. She wanted out. She had a degree and had developed a strong skill set in music as an audio technician at the small recording studio she worked at and wanted to pursue a career as a recording engineer.

The owner of the studio had connections all over the country and was able to get her a job in New York. Gen was ecstatic and ran home to Will to tell him the good news. He had been supportive of her dream and told her he’d go anywhere for her.

However, when she told him it was finally happening, his face dropped. A silence fell between them that she had never experienced in all of the years they had been together. He stood from his seat on the couch, looked at her firmly, and told her no.

No? What did he mean “no”?

He meant no. She wasn’t going. He wasn’t going. They weren’t going.

Will’s reason was that she could do the same job in New Jersey that she could in New York. She argued that, while true, New York would give her a lot more opportunities to work with different artists and producers. Not to mention a lot more money.

He continued to refuse. Telling Gen it was a waste of time and attempting to educate her on how expensive New York is but it just came out as condescending. She explained how much extra she would be making and it may be hard at first but it would be worth it in the end.

When that didn’t work, he tried to explain that he had finally become comfortable with his band and didn’t want to mess that up by leaving. He also mentioned his family was in Westwood and they couldn’t just abandon them. She called him selfish and pointed out that New York was less than two hours by train. Not across the fucking country.

Gen was distraught and confused. Where was this coming from? This was not the Will she had known for so long. He had never tried to hold her back or tell her she couldn’t do anything. If she didn’t know any better, he almost seemed desperate to keep her in Westwood with him. But why?

After hours of arguing, he became silent again. He stood in front of the glass door that led out to their patio and just stared into the darkness. After what seemed like forever, he raked his hand through his curls and exhaled harshly like he had to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

“I love you, Vivvy… but you’re not going to make it in New York. You’re good at what you do but they’ll eat you alive up there. You’re not going and that’s final.”

Part Three

[lemonadecandy]

Meeting Zhongli [Part 11]

Game: Genshin Impact

About: Zhongli x fem!reader

Note : The premise is that 'you' get transported into the game and journey through Teyvat along with the traveler. This is a reinterpretation of the Liyue Archon Quests. Hope you enjoy~

Warning: Mentions of violence, slight profanity.

I had failed to come up with any conclusions on the geo archon’s behavior. The quests had caused us to relentlessly run around Liyue, then in the off-time, my mind would wander elsewhere, trying to enjoy the semblance of peace I had attained in the last few days. 

And now, I find myself facing him once more. But he had ended up keeping to my  request  of ignorance. I suppose I wasn’t too surprised, he was still being  courteous  to me. Maybe it was because of all the time that had gone by, but the awkward tension between us had subsided to a large degree. I didn’t feel like I was hyperventilating with fear every second he was close to me. 

“La lala la~!”, the traveler concluded her song. It hadn’t been much, but I was surprised to find out that Lumine’s voice was unexpectedly melodious. Perhaps because of her status as a warrior, she tends to speak in a stern tone. Now that she had softened it into a gentler one, it was strangely soothing to listen to.

But just as I had anticipated, instead of a beautifully blooming Glaze Lily, what we found were whopper-flowers. I had already taken a step back with caution and hence was spared from the sudden burst of icicles that jutted out of the ground. My companions quickly dodged the assault as well. “What happened? These flowers are jumping!”, Paimon screeched as she frantically flew around. “Is it because we sang a song from Mondstadt, and they don’t understand because they are from Liyue? Quick, traveler!”

At her command, Lumine jumped in front of one of it and impaled it with her geo construct. 

Just as she managed to finish one off, the other popped out right next to her, shrouding her in an icy mist. But with a few slick maneuvers, the second one was down as well. I silently let out a sigh of relief as the enemy slowly withered to dust. Even though I have gotten used to the constant violence that I encounter in this world, I still can’t stop myself from palpitating in shock. I really need to learn how to maintain my cool, especially in front of such ‘measly’ enemies. 

And just as I had loosened up my tense nerves I was suddenly pulled to the side.  That’s right! There were supposed to be three! Two whopper-flowers are too easy of a challenge. 

“Y/n!” The geo archon called out to me as he pushed me to stand behind him. Reacting to Zhongli’s movements, Lumine swiftly swooped to finish the job. 

“Eek!”, Paimon yelped, pulling onto my hair as she too sought protection behind the shield created by the archon.

After checking for any other whopper-flowers in our vicinity, the traveler rushed towards me. “Haven’t I told you to  always  stay by my side?”, she frowned.

I let out a guilty laugh as I looked away from the gaze of the trio. Their worry made me a little uncomfortable. “That  always  ends with  me  getting in your way and  you  getting injured.”

“Me better than you.”, she huffed as she glanced at my forearm. Following her gaze, I realized that it was bleeding. The wound wasn’t severe in any regard, it seemed like one of the icicles had ended up grazing me.  I suppose it isn’t that bad because of… him.

Peeking a glance at Zhongli, I begrudgingly mumbled, “Thank you.”

“No need…”, he indecisively stared at me with a long pause but ultimately ended up saying nothing.

Feeling awkward and confused by his actions I cleared my throat as I tried to get back on track, “So… what about the glaze lilies?”

And just as those words came out, Ganyu made her entrance. 

══════════════════

Having finally completed all the preparations for the Rite of Parting, we started making our way back to Liyue Harbour. I glanced at the setting sun whose heat was slowly waning in intensity. I wanted to feel relief that this arduous quest was finally coming to an end, but I knew what was yet to come.  A dragon versus a harbinger, heck even a god.  I sighed in mellow.  I suppose I have already fought a ‘god’ once. 

I timidly glanced at Zhongli who was walking behind us, only to catch him looking at me as well. He had constantly been peering at me.  Did he find something to be suspicious about…?  But just like every other time I fought him, he only looked away, avoiding any deliberation.

And right as I turned my head forward, he called out to me. “Y/n, wait.”

I skeptically turned around and noticed his hand that hovered in the air, uncertain if he should grab my shoulder. But he quickly put it away as I had already responded to him. “Just say it… You are freaking me out with your hesitation. Did you change your mind?”, I cocked my head sideways in annoyance. At this point battling Childe beats staying around his confusing moods. “Want to kill me now?”

“No. I am not a mindless killer Y/n. As we agreed, as long as you don’t take action against this nation, I will not do ‘anything���.  Despite  what your status regarding that possible danger, maybe.”, he spoke with a certain intensity. I couldn’t quite place the expression on his face.

“I see… Then what is it?”, I looked back towards Lumine and Paimon, who were not too far away, but still out of hearing range. They were too busy talking about food to realize that the two of us had hung back. “And hurry up.”

Nodding at my words he suddenly started rummaging around his pocket dimension with determination. Finding what he was looking for, Zhongli pulled out what seemed like a feather. It was a regal yellow, almost golden, but the ends were deep brown. The tip of the shaft had been inserted onto what looked like a traditional Liyue ornament. If I wasn’t wrong, it looked similar to the badge that the Millelith wore, only that this specimen looked a bit old-fashioned. Zhongli extended his hand towards me, motioning me to take it.

“This is an old artifact crafted by the adepti. It is imbued with some of my own power, letting anyone who correctly activated it, receive its protection. The feather is only one part of a set of five that have already been lost to time.”  Wait a minute— I know where I have seen this!  “I am afraid it isn’t as powerful without its counterparts, but it should still help. I may not have your gift of foresight, but I am an adequate judge of my actions to realize that you this can be of help…, especially in the  near  future.”

I slightly gasped with realization as I understood the connotations of his words.  Is he talking about Childe…?  Eyeing the ‘artifact’ in his hand, a sudden recollection hit my mind.  Tenacity of the Millelith , that’s what the set was called, right?  That  will certainly be helpful.

But instead of taking the help, I was offered I took a step back as I glanced at Zhongli cautiously.  Why is he doing this? I don’t understand. I don’t understand him.

Reacting to my response, Zhongli quickly tried to explain, “I understand that you don’t want anything to do with me. But perhaps  I  know better than anyone how vulnerable  you  can be during combat.”

“I don’t see how that’s supposed to make me  want  that feather.”, I scoffed in offense.

“I do not mean to belittle you. I… Please… take this.”, he took a step toward me. “We shall probably never cross paths again. Consider this a sign to commemorate the goodwill found through our contract.”

Goodwill? Seriously?  I let out a sigh of frustration as his words sunk in. I don’t think I am ever going to get used to his behavior, I suppose that’s expected…  he isn’t human.   Despite my pride desperately revolting, I accepted the artifact. I had promised myself a long time ago that to protect myself, I would do anything, it was a  contract  I had made with myself. Back when I was in the deepest pits of despair, when I was on the brink of death.  That’s right… anything goes.  But surprisingly as I accepted Morax’s gift I didn’t feel as bad as I thought I would.

Zhongli’s eyes seemed kind, just like when we had drinks at the dock, or when he comforted me near the statue of the seven. I didn’t understand him or his actions, but he felt  reassuring . As if truly  believed  me and didn’t think I was some freak of nature. Maybe that’s because  he isn’t human.  Supernatural must be the norm. I sighed as memories of similar kindness flittered through my mind.

“Psst! Hey! Whatever you are thinking— don’t do it!”, an energetic voice called out to me from somewhere beyond the iron bars of the prison.

Broken out of my daze of hopelessness, I weakly looked around, terrified that the flame user was back already. “Here! In front of you.”, the voice called out to me once more.

I squinted my eyes trying to make out the figure in the darkness, and sure enough there stood a boy in his teens right outside the prison bars. “Who are you..?”, I asked cautiously. ‘What are the knights pulling this time?!’ I couldn’t make out any details other than his height and form.

“I happened to hear what you have been claiming about Dvalin, I want to know more~!”, he spoke, entirely ignoring my question. ‘Don’t tell me…’

“Listen, boy, you shouldn’t be here, if the knights find you… it won’t be pretty. Whatever you heard were just silly rumors…”, I sighed realizing the situation. “…just some ‘crazy’ ramblings of a ‘crazy’ woman—”

“They aren’t crazy… I believe you.”, the boy instantly replied. I squinted once more, feeling an overwhelming sense of familiarity in his voice. And as if to quench my growing curiosity, he stepped forward into the dim light of the lone lamp near my cell. “If I set you free~, will you answer my plea~?”

“You—“, my eyes widened in recognition. “Venti?!”

“Oh~? We have never met, and yet… you know my name?”

“What are you doing here?”, I questioned the anemo archon, still trying to process the appearance of yet another familiar persona.

“I am here to break you out, only if you allow me the bout~”, he nonchalantly rhymed as he pulled out some keys from his pockets, keys that most likely matched the lock on my cage.

Dazed by the sudden occurrence of ‘good luck', I questioned the boy in a mumble, “W-why?”

“Like I said, I believe you. And I also want to help Dvalin, I trust that you understand the correlation?”, the archon held out the keys towards me from between the rods, as if beckoning me to a challenge. “So? Do you want to help me… and ‘yourself’?”, his eyes glinted with strange curiosity.

And the god had ended up staying true to his words, he not only freed me from that prison but also from my mind’s crestfallen melancholy. It had been the first time I realized that I didn’t have to just die. I could fight back, I could push through, I could go back home, no, I will go back home. Never had I expected the archons of Teyvat to sympathize with me more than the humans. A slight smile crept onto my lips as I sharply inhaled to ready myself. The commotion and panic that had struck Liyue Harbour was already apparent, the Millelith were scurrying about in agitation. The main show of the archon quest had only yet begun. 

Banner art by Qing on Twitter.

[let-me-be-an-egg-toast]

redesigns your PLA (irida, ingo, arezu)

genuinely sorry to arezu fans

Why I redesigned them/unhinged angry misspelling rant/commentary (dont read further/skip this post if u don't wanna see my absolutely disrespectfully takes fr)

Read all of this in a joking and unserious manner, or basically take with a grain of salt

Now before I start this absolute rage rant, I shall say

GAME FREAK.

GAME

FREAK

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST

WHO THE FUCK WAS YOUR CHARACTER DESIGNER FOR PLA???

DID YALL JUST GIVE UP ON MOST OF THE CHARACTERS?? BECAUSE YALL RLLY JUST SLAPPED AN OBI BELT, HOODIE, AND/OR KIMONO TOP PART ON CHARACTERS AND CALLED IT A FUCKING DAY

ONLY A FEW MADE IT OUT ALIVE, and no VOLO WASNT ONE OF THEM

CHSRACTER DESIGNS R LITERALLY SUPPOSED TO COMMUNICATE TO US HOW OUR CHARACTER IS LIKE + THE WORLD AROUND THEM

YOU ALREADY FUCKED THE LATTER PART UP BECAUSE 1800s

EIGHT 👏 TEEN 👏 HUNDREDS 👏

And then look at what clothing we have.

Time to officially get into the designs, part 1.

Irida

.

..

WOW. REALLY? REALLY??? WELL I DDINT FUCKING KNOW THAT. YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE I WAS BUSY THIKING IRIDA'S APPEARANCE MEANT SHE WAS IN WARMER AREAS

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST WITH THAT HOT PINK, BLUE TUBE BRACE/ANKLETS, AND SHORTS I WOULDVE THOUGHT SHE WAS A SUMMER GIRL FROM MODERN TIMES

THE BELT DIDNT EVEN SAVE HER ASS, IT MADE HER A LITTLE UNIQUE BUT IT DIDNT SAVE HER ASS

so I made her iridescent

Like a pearl, y'know? Cuz....pearl clan...pearl clan leader...

her pink is gonna be a little more desaturated + faded, also some lighter pink, some hints of purple, also the fact white and silver is now gonna dominate and her hair is platinum blonde

I made her side hairs spiky to mimic glaceon's ear things, also made irida's headdress a spiky thing cuz icicles yk and the bracelets are now thinner and metal

Also FUR. FUR. INSULATION.

I want irida to willingly wear some hypothermia-inducing clothes because maybe she wants to truly feel the cold or some shit but ofc have insulation in order to tell the audience she belongs in cooler climates YK YK???

I do think as a clan leader who's literally living near the mountaintops and cold areas she deserves to at least have some calloused hands or scars

I tried to keep her young look, but because I'm absolutely shit at drawing anything young, she looks a bit older, so sorry folks. Ik the looking older thing might be good but I thought it was interesting if I kept her youth to contrast her personality and role

Also don't mind that weird thing on her obi belt it's gonna be where the symbol of the Pearl Clan is now

me when I think I've finally calmed down, but my rage gets back up, because I have no chill

SCREAMS

DONT YOU LOVE HOW THE MOST IRONIC THING EVER IS THAT THE PIECES OF CLOTHING FROM THE MODERN ERA MAKING THE LOOK OLD FITTING BUT THE CLOTHES OF THE PAST MAKES IT LOOK MODERN?

CRYING

THEY GAVE MY BOY A GLORIFIED HOODIE AND CALLED IT A DAY

WHAT IS BRO DOING WITH SLACKS AND DRESS SHOES IN THE FREAKING MOUNTAINS???

THAT SHITS GONNA RIP UP/SCRATCH IMMEDIATELY BRO

I GET YOURE CONNECTED TO THESE PIECES OF CLOTHING BUT DEAR ARCEUS INGO HOLY SHIT

sighs

so I gave him an actual kimono which he tied up the ends like what irida did, and gave him more fitting clothing

that's for the mountains

Also he wears the belt outside of his coat because I personally think he does NOT want to go anywhere WITHOUT his coat no matter how hot it is so he ties to him using the belt

He only has fur cuffs because I also think he didn't let anyone massively change his coat because ofc it's precious to him

Also I made the white parts of his coat dirtier and grey because I tried putting fur on it and it looked like shit

Something something the white of emmet being forgotten and lost and the new white of ingo's design being given by the pearl clan

out of the three he's actually the better design, which isn't really a high bar to pass but still, that shit underclothing needed to GO

...

Do you ever just

Look at a character

And you immediately know it's a "discreetly sexualized" design?

Yeah

And this was before I saw the character concept sheet

OH MY GOD BRUH

JUST A GLORIFIED HOODIE AND LEGGINGS AND MODERN ASS BOOTS

SHE COULD FIT IN THE MODERN WORLD AND YOU WOULD HAVE NO IDEA

SAY IM WRONG - SAY IM FUCKING WRONG

GAME FREAK

GAME 👏 FREAK 👏

THE FUCKING 1800S MY GUY

and the fact I didn't even get anything about her actual personality from her looks? Like she looks smug?? AND THEN I FIND OUT ABOUT WHAT SHES ACTUALLY LIKE??

IDC IF U WANTED A TWIST GAME FREAK (SINCE U LOVE THOSE SO MUCH) DO IT RIGHT

MAKE HER LOOK CONFIDENT SMUG, NOT SLIGHTLY SULTRY SMUG

HONESTLY IDC IF SHES KINDA DISCREETLY SEXUALIZED, SHES SUPPOSED TO BE CANONICALLY ATTRACTIVE AFTER ALL - DO IT RIGHT

MAKE HER LOOK LIKE SHES FROM THE OLDEN TIMES, NOT MODERN ERA

SIGHS

Hayst (filipino)

ik I posed her like shit but basically

I kept the mars hair, but added more tufts to try and connect her to liligant

Her red hair is also gonna contrast the green tones of her new clothing (the symbol is now at the back), and she's gonna be a little more tomboyish, and she's gonna look all confident smirk to cover up how she actually feels

Anyways that's it I just might re-pose Arezu later but if you made it this far have a pinap berry for being able to go through my pathetic rant

THANKS FOR READING!

[aurumacadicus]

Steve/Tony Dragonriders AU

Waffled back and forth on where to go with this so much lmao. Anyway! Dragons with feathers <3

Steve rides a blue. He's used to the frosts they blow, how he has to bat icicles down from around the pen before he can get to the stall door. He's used to having to bundle up in wool and furs to guard against the chill from his dragon's scales. He's used to flying through clouds full of snow ready to fall. It's peaceful, even. He does his best thinking up there. The blues are big, built for power. Broad shouldered, broad winged. Claws as big as Steve's torso. Wings with thick feathers along the membranes to guard against the cold. They're not aggressive, really, which is probably for the best--their favorite prey are moose, and elk, and orcas. Polar bears, sometimes, if they find one that's sickly or old. Steve feels like they're the only ones that understand him, some days. After the war... well, there aren't a lot of blue war birds left. They were some of the most dangerous, for sheer size and power, and the ice they brought with them. They'd been targeted to the point that the other armies had banded together to be cannon fodder simply so the last battle blues wouldn't be shot down. The riders of the fallen dragons... he didn't like to think about how many he'd lost.

It's not often that his people venture down into the valley from the mountains, but something about the summer solstice makes even the dragons energetic, feathers spreading, heads going back to trumpet pure joy. Besides, the valley folk know how to party--good food, good wine, and incredible wares for sale at the markets and fairs. Steve isn't really looking for anything, flying down more for tradition than to actually participate. His dragon likes to show off, at least during solstice, and there are absolutely crowds that come specifically to see the blues parade down the lane to the mating grounds. Steve supposes he can understand; the blues are bigger than the reds common in the valley at least by half, sometimes double. He likes to see the awe on the little kids' faces as a dragon with feet bigger than they are plodding by, pudgy little fingers pointing up at the crests on their wide heads; the way even adults tip their heads back, eyes wide, marveling at the sheer size of them. Still, there's something about the smaller dragons, built for speed and maneuverability over power, darting in between the blues' long, slow steps and letting out little trumpets (or, for the even smaller ones, comical little toots). There's always a red one that tries and display for Steve's blue, and if it wasn't so earnest, it would be funny, a third of the blue's size but still desperately trying to show off its feathers in a mating display it might find suitable. Steve sort of wishes the other dragon's rider would put a stop to it, if only to temper its disappointment when Steve's blue returns to the mountains with him, mateless as always.

Tony is pulling his hair out over his stupid dragon. They're a decorated pair, one of the few cannon fodder reds that volunteered for multiple altercations. His dragon could have the pick of any other color it wanted. Except the blues. There was nothing against it, technically. It was just that so few blues had survived the war that there was an active push to have blues breed amongst themselves, to the point that even the blues that paraded during solstice typically didn't do much but watch as the other dragons displayed for each other. And yet. His dragon. His highly decorated, sought-after red. His precious, stupid baby would only display for Steve Rogers' blue. And Steve Rogers' blue is never going to display back, because Steve Rogers hates them. Or. Well. Steve Rogers hates him. He probably doesn't hate Tony's dragon at all. Rogers had always bitched at him about his multiple enlistments for cannon fodder, how it wasn't fair to his dragon to be put on the front lines every single time, how even if Tony had a death wish, it was no reason to put his dragon in constant danger, there was a reason that the volunteers were done in cycles. Tony couldn't really see the difference, since Steve was taking his dragon out every time with the expectation of being shot down, but he'd never said so. It would only give Steve another reason to bitch him out. He just wishes he could drag his red out of the parade to stop bothering Steve's blue sometimes. It's embarrassing at this point. But it's sort of the expectation that the riders of the mated pair stay together as well until the possible eggs are fledged, and while it's obvious that Steve's blue has no interest in Tony's red, he's mortified at the idea of Steve knowing it's his red that keeps trying. He'd probably have nothing nice to say about it.

Miraculously, this year, when the red displays at Steve's blue... Steve's blue displays back. Steve is just glad he's not the only one so stunned his jaw dropped. The cheering crowd has gone silent, gawking, and even the little red seems gobsmacked, if the way it stares at the blue's vibrating silver feathers instead of vibrating its own gold back. It'll be comical, he thinks vaguely, as the red seems to jump in shock before beginning the aggressive dance reds are known for to scare off any potential interlopers. In the future, when the shock wears off, Steve will find it funny. But now, he's mostly just relieved that his blue is apparently still interested in breeding. He'd always wondered. It had spurned even other blues these past years, to the point that people wondered if it was too traumatized from the war to breed. Apparently it just needed time. He looks around to find the red's rider. They're normally close by, just to keep an eye out and stop any fights. He's not surprised to find someone booking it away from the parade lines and goes to follow. It's probably going to be the talk of solstice, that the most reticent blue had finally deigned to mate, and with a red besides. He doesn't blame the rider for not wanting to be around for the ribbing that will no doubt follow, especially since it's been years that his red has been trying to curry favor with Steve's blue. Steve sort of expects that the guy will stop once he gets out of the crowds, but he doesn't, and it turns less into following to him actually chasing him down. He doesn't understand why. It's an honor, to be one of that year's breeding pairs. He finally catches up far enough he can catch the guy's wrist, drag him to a stop. "Hey!" Then the guy turns, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and Steve drops his arm as if it burned him, shocked. "Stark?" Tony looks wounded for a moment, then turns and continues running, disappearing between the stalls without looking back.

Getting a moment with Tony is a struggle. He's as famous among his people as Steve is, and there's always a crowd around him. This time, though, the people clamoring for him aren't asking for war stories or if they can touch the armors from the war; now they're asking if he's moving to the mountains, or staying in the valleys, and which dragon he thinks will bear the clutch. Tony looks harassed and anxious as he mutters 'I don't know.' Steve wants to know the answers, though. Maybe not who bears the clutch, but where they'll stay for the duration of the clutch, the hatching, the fledgling. It's a lot to prepare for. He would rather know what Tony expects now so he can work out how the next few years are going to go. "I don't know," Tony finally bursts out when Steve corners him one night. "I didn't think you wanted me around. Figured you'd just tell me when you guys were leaving." "You're its rider," Steve says, confused. "We should be discussing it." "Your dragon's a blue," Tony argues. "Blues always get their ways. But I can't go to the mountains, so. You'll have to go without me." Steve stares at the scarring on Tony's face, along his arm. It had never occurred to him that Tony couldn't join him in the mountains because of the injuries he'd sustained that had gotten him forcibly retired from service. So he starts setting up to move to the valley.