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godihatethiswebsite · 4 months ago

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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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heartkaji · 5 months ago

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SNEAKY LINK ★ k. bakugo

bakugo should’ve been here thirty minutes ago.

it’s thirty minutes later & you’ve got snowflakes crawling up your throat. you exhale warm breaths through chapped lips & watch smoky condensate disappear into thick air. your nose is peach dappled & your cheeks are freezing.

bakugo should’ve been here an hour ago.

it’s one hour later & your tongue is frozen & your cheeks are blood drenched & drugstore lip balm feels dry against your lip. you wipe your nose & pretend the night isn’t freezing & hope to god you won’t wait forever.

“you’re still here ?”

bakugo comes in like a thief in the night. his baritone has your bones shivering, (or perhaps it’s the cold) & you look up at him with bleary eyes. katsuki bakugo looks warm. you can smell spiced latte in his breath & dark chocolate pricks at your nose. you sniffle a little & hope he doesn’t notice.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” he breathes. “had to help priscilla sort out the kids.”

it’s easy to forget pro-hero bakugo katsuki is a taken man with wife & kids. his ten fingers are always bare & calloused so it’s easy to pretend katsuki is yours. tonight however there’s snow sticking to your boot heels & you wish katsuki would stick his mouth shut too. you don’t want to hear her name. not tonight.

not any other night.

“right. when are you getting that divorce again ?”

the sound bakugo lets out is close to guttural. his eyes are everywhere but yours so you have to remind yourself that body language isn’t all it seems. he’s scratching at his nape & his adam’s apple drags up his throat but body language isn’t always as it seems. he never answers so you let the question die.

“are you ready to skate ?”

katsuki nods. for the first time tonight his eyes meet your own & all of a sudden the night’s a little warmer. he presses gloved fingers to your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. the burn of the leather is grueling.

“you’re freezing,”

“i wonder whose fault that is,” you mutter, but katsuki has a hearing sharper than icicles. he cups your cheeks in burning leather & worn out goat fabric. your cheeks are blood drenched & your lips are teeth bitten & even like this katsuki thinks you’re beautiful.

“don’t wait for me next time, okay ?”

“okay.”

katsuki leads you with an iron grip. his thumb brushes over your knuckles occasionally so you don’t have the heart to tell him his hold is bruising. your wrist is aching but the night is quiet so you choose to focus on other things : a meow in an alleyway. groans of dying trees. the feel of a ring wedged between gloved fingers.

oh.

you don’t dare to comment. katsuki never wears his wedding ring—at least, not around you. you tread through winter with gloveless hands so the promise ring on your right index gleams brighter than ever. katsuki brushes over it occasionally & you squeeze at your chest & try not to vomit. your vocal chords slosh against your throat like blood.

“we don’t have to go skating today.”

“too late, we’re already here.”

you rest on the bench with wobbling knees. oak wood splinters dig at your thighs but you suppose the pain is neccessary. katsuki’s eyes are trained on the lake. it’s frozen & a shade similar to blue bells but it only serves to remind you of katsuki’s wife. you’ve seen her once before & she had eyes as blue as starlight. you hope one day she’ll crash & burn like dead comets.

you wonder what katsuki is thinking about.

you’re about to call his name when he gets on one knee. your heart skips for a minute until he begins tugging off your shoe. he ties the ice skates with a firm knot & you resist the urge to thread a hand through his hair. heaven knows his honey-gold locks will sting your skin & bite you back.

he presses his lips to your knee, “you ready ?”

“i’m ready.”

pro hero bakugo katsuki is a professional at things beyond heroism. you’re a wobbling, stumbling mess & you haven’t even made it to the rink yet. your cheeks are cherry bruised. katsuki doesn’t comment & you’re not sure if you should be happy or sad because you don’t want to be called a fool but the silence is deafening. you grip his shoulders to stead yourself & katsuki hoists you up like a sack of fresh peaches.

“damn you, making me come out here when y’can’t even skate yourself.”

you smile. his mouth is sharp but his touch is gentle. his thumb glides against your lower back. “will you teach me, kats’ ?”

katsuki eyes you. he lets out a sound akin to a scoff but it might be more of a grumble. “too much of a hassle, i’d rather just carry you.”

you nod. he sighs.

bakugo is strong. he glides along the ice with your figure in his arms but he never stops to break a sweat. you want to ask him if his muscles are aching but the ice on your tongue hasn’t thawed off yet. bakugo is beautiful—occasionally he does a little spin on the rink just so you’ll giggle & clutch him a little tighter. you swear you saw him smile the third time you laughed out his name.

bakugo should’ve left thirty minutes ago.

thirty minutes later he’s still here by your side. the white chocolate mocha between your palms is burning but the cold stings at your fingertips the moment you let it go. you take two sips & offer katsuki the rest—he scoffs at you because aren’t you the one who said you needed a drink ? but takes the cup between his lips anyway. he takes two sips & presses his lips to your face. your nose is pink & your cheeks are burning.

bakugo should’ve left an hour ago.

it’s an hour later & he draws shapes on your palm through goat glove fingers. you’re back on oak-thorn bench but this time your thighs are over katsuki’s so the wood can’t pierce your skin. ‘you should’ve worn some leggings,’ he grumbles, but his thumb grazes your thighs in the shape of a starfish. you hope his touch will burn you forever.

bakugo is leaving now.

all good things must come to an end, you suppose, but tears stream down your face like new waters. katsuki rolls his eyes. he hates it when you get like this & he hates that he makes you get like this & he hates that—

“fucking hell, just get over here.”

you dive into his arms & for the third time tonight bakugo rolls his eyes. you’re shaking & hes not sure if it’s a shiver due to cold or a quaking due to tears. your knees are wobbly so he tightens his hold on your hips & prays your legs won’t give out. heaven knows his arms are already aching.

“hey, look at me.”

there’s mascara smeared across your cheeks & your lips are swollen purple. your nose is runny & crystal frozen & bakugo thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

“what are you crying for ?”

you’re crying even harder now so bakugo mentally slaps himself. “y/n, look at me.”

& you do. he cups your cheeks with gloved palms & kisses your nose, cheek, forehead. his mouth traces everywhere but your lips.

it’s always everywhere but your lips.

but you don’t complain, you never do. you don’t complain because in your head katsuki’s lips meet your own & your mouths bleed into each other’s forever. in your head, katsuki hugs you tight & shields you from the evening snow. in your head, katsuki is yours & you are his undoubtedly.

“same time next week ?”

not all dreams come true but with enough belief you know that yours will manifest. your chest is tight & you hope your heart won’t bleed forever.

“always. and next time, katsuki ?”

“what is it ?”

“don’t be an hour late.”

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argumentativantitheticaldream · 29 days ago

Text

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲

ੈ✩₊christmas at your old family home˚˚୨୧⋆

Warnings: age-gap, smut and handjob

Word Count: 7.2k

Under the twinkling string lights that were somehow still aglow, the path to my old holiday home glistened with an incandescent glow, blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. Towering evergreens flanked either side, their boughs sagging under the weight of frost, as though bowing in reverence to the season’s magic. I stopped to stare at the shimmering colors that reflected off the frosty ground, their soft hues painted the snow beautifully.

The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks, but it carried that unmistakable scent of pine and woodsmoke, a fragrance that wrapped around me like a scarf. Every crunch of my boots felt louder than it should, the sound sharp in the stillness. Yet it’s a sound I could remember clearer now, as though the years had rolled back in an instant.

The house appeared suddenly through the trees, as though it’d been waiting for my presence. Its roof was heavy with snow, the gables edged with glinting icicles. The front windows glistened softly, the warm light inside spilling onto the porch, onto the wreath hanging on the door. The red ribbon was a little frayed and the plastic firs had started to discolour but it was that same wreath from all those years ago.

Every step I took over the frost-laden ground seemed as though I was splitting the peace this house had sat in for years. I could almost hear the hum of voices from years ago, how my mother would call us in from the cold, the sound of wrapping paper tearing and the crackle of the fire. For a moment, I wasn’t stood at an abandoned house but I was outside of a home bustling with people. Laughter seemed to echo faintly, ghostly yet comforting, woven into the fabric of this place. I recalled snowball fights in the front yard, the smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, and the way the world always seemed simpler here. The memories are almost tangible, pressed against me like a familiar embrace.

The path, though dusted with snow, felt alive like an artery that led straight to the heart of my childhood, pulsing with the energy of holidays past. As I reached the porch, I hesitated, letting the moment linger. It felt as though the house had been waiting for me, timeless and tender.

I hesitated for a moment on the porch, my hand hovering over the doorknob. It felt almost sacred, standing here again, as though stepping inside might disturb the memories still lingering in the air. But the soft glow of the lights through the frosted windows and the faint hum of something–music?, drew me forward.

As the door creaked open, the familiar scent hit me first: pine, woodsmoke, and something faintly spiced, like mulled wine or cinnamon. The warmth of the room wrapped around me instantly, chasing away the chill clinging to my coat. I stepped inside, and there he was, my dad's best friend, Alex, standing near the fireplace, his broad shoulders backlit by the dancing flames.

He looked the same as I remembered, though a few fine lines had etched themselves around his eyes and mouth, giving him a rugged, almost weathered charm. His brown hair, still thick, caught the light, glinting with strands of silver that hadn’t been there before. And his eyes—deep and warm, the kind of brown that reminded me of autumn woods met mine, sparking with recognition and something unspoken.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low rumble, full of surprise and affection. “It’s been… what? Seven years?”

I managed a shy smile, brushing the snowflakes from my hair as I stepped fully into the room. “Eight,” I corrected softly, my voice small in the cozy expanse of the living room. The contrast between us struck me in that moment; he, tall and steady, every bit the grown man I’d remembered, and me, barely twenty and still finding my place in the world. I was sweet, I suppose, in the way people describe someone who hasn’t yet been hardened by life. Though we shared the same brown hair and eyes, he carried the weight of experience, and mine the soft light of youth.

Alex chuckled, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the years. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

I shrugged out of my coat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, though it was anything but unkind. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. He’d grown older, yes, but there was something deeper there, an enduring warmth, a steadiness that felt grounding that I hadn't noticed until now.

“Come on,” he said, stepping forward and reaching for my coat. “Let’s get you warmed up. You must be freezing out there.”

As he moved past me, his presence filled the space, familiar and comforting in a way that made the house feel even more alive. It was like stepping back in time, but with a strange, bittersweet edge because though nothing had truly changed, I had. I rubbed my hands together, trying to shake the chill from my fingers, even though the warmth of the room was already sinking into me. Alex motioned for me to sit by the fire, but I hesitated, still standing awkwardly in the center of the living room.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to show up while you were here,” I blurted, my voice tumbling out faster than I intended. “I just-” I gestured vaguely toward the door, my cheeks flushing under his steady gaze. “I wanted to visit the house. I didn’t know anyone would be here.”

Alex tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “Why would you think no one would be here? It’s Christmas. Of course someone’s here.”

I shrugged, biting my lip. “I don’t know… I thought maybe it’d just be empty. Like it used to be when we’d come up for the holidays, you know? I guess I just wanted to…” I trailed off, searching for the right words not finding them until he’d interrupted.

His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, understanding smile. “To remember,” he muttered, as though the words carried weight for him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I added suddenly. “I didn’t even know if the place would still look the same.” I hesitated, my eyes darting to the wreath on the door, the glow of the lights, the crackling fire.

Alex stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not intruding, sweetheart. It’s as much yours as it is mine.”

The warmth in his words caught me off guard, and I found myself swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him, unsure of what to say.

He broke the silence, his voice lightening with a hint of a teasing edge. “Besides, if anyone’s intruding, it’s probably me. I just came up here to get away for a few days, clear my head. Didn’t expect to have company.”

I laughed softly, the sound awkward but genuine. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Alex smiled, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer before he nodded toward the couch. “Well, since we’re both here, I might as well make the best of it. Sit down. Warm up. I’ll make some tea—unless you’re still a hot chocolate kind of girl?”

I felt my face flush again, this time with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. “Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” I admitted quietly, and he nodded, disappearing into the kitchen.

As I sat down on the worn couch, the memories seemed to wrap around me like an old quilt. I let my eyes wander over the room: the familiar beams of the ceiling, the photographs still on the mantel, the faint hum of Christmas music crackling from a vintage radio in the corner. This place hadn’t forgotten me, not even after all these years.

The kitchen was steeped in a quiet kind of warmth, the kind that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go. The air smelled of chocolate, rich and sweet, mingling faintly with the scent of aged wood and the faint musk of a house that had seen generations pass through its doors. I cradled the chipped mug in my hands, its warmth soothing my cold fingers. The faded floral pattern on its surface seemed to whisper of the past, of hands long gone that had held it just as I did now.

Across from me, Alex sat in the weathered stool that shifted under his weight. He held his mug close, letting the steam rise and curl around his face like an ephemeral veil.

“You’d have caught your death if you stayed out in that snow any longer, love,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with an easy familiarity. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on the crooked bookshelf, the worn rug, the faded curtains that swayed slightly in the draft from the window, I assumed he was avoiding my intrusive gaze.

I took a sip from my mug. The chocolate was thick and velvety, the perfect kind of sweet. It spread warmth through my chest, a feeling that wasn’t entirely from the drink.

For a while, we talked about everything and nothing, our voices mingling with the sound of the wind outside. The house seemed to breathe with us, its wooden bones creaking softly in response. I watched Alex’s hands as they wrapped around his mug, his fingers strong yet gentle, his nails short and clean. The way his thumb traced absent circles along the edge of the ceramic seemed almost hypnotic.

As I reached for my mug again, our hands brushed. Just a whisper of skin against skin, but it was enough to make the moment still. His fingers were warm, rougher than I’d expected, but gentle in a way that sent a ripple of something unspoken through me.

He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second. “Sorry,” he murmured, though his hand didn’t move right away.

“It’s fine,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavier than they should have, carrying a weight I couldn’t quite name.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled faintly in the corner, but everything else faded into the stillness between us. Then Alex pulled his hand away, his lips curving into a sheepish grin.

“Careful,” he said lightly, breaking the tension as he raised his mug again. “Wouldn’t want to spill and ruin your mother’s precious mugs.”

I smiled, though my heart was still beating faster than it should. “She’d never let me live it down.”

He laughed softly, the sound filling the room, but the echo of that brief touch lingered, quietly reshaping the space between us.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth seeping into the room and wrapping around us like a heavy quilt. I stretched out on the sofa, my legs tucked under me, while he sat at the other end, one arm resting along the backrest, the other draped casually over his lap. His presence filled the room effortlessly, a quiet confidence that seemed to settle into the old wooden beams and faded upholstery.

The bows on the back of my boots caught his eye as I shifted slightly, the ribbons brushing against the sofa cushions. Without saying a word, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the soft fabric.

“These are… sweet,” he said, his voice low, almost amused, as he hooked a finger around one of the loops and tugged gently.

I glanced over at him, catching the playful smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Sweet?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his hand still toying with the ribbon, the firelight catching the roughness of his knuckles. “Yeah. Like something a little girl would wear. But they suit you.”

I scoffed, though I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “You know, some people find them charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, his voice teasing but soft. He tugged at the bow again, looser this time, like he was testing the strength of the knot. His fingers lingered there, warm and deliberate, as though the act of untying it was more interesting than it should have been.

“Alex,” I warned, trying to sound light, though the closeness of his hand sent a shiver through me. “tying those bows took ages.”

His grin widened. “That so? Guess I’d better not ruin your handiwork, then.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. His fingers hovered over the ribbon, brushing lightly against the fabric, and I could feel every quiet pull of the room between us. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, the playful smile fading just slightly, replaced by something softer, quieter.

“I didn’t think you’d still wear things like this,” he said, almost to himself.

I shrugged, my voice a little more hesitant now. “I guess some things don’t change.”

“Not everything has to,” he murmured, letting the ribbon slip from his fingers before leaning back again, the firelight catching the thoughtful curve of his smile.

The ribbon fluttered back into place as he leaned into the sofa, his arm brushing the backrest as though claiming the space between us without thought. I adjusted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders to pool at my waist, though the fire’s heat was enough to keep the chill at bay.

He tilted his head to look at me, his gaze steady but warm. “Houses like this… they take on the weight of the people who leave them behind. It’s why I never stayed in one place long enough to feel that.” his tone shifted back to something firmer, though it still held that quiet intimacy that he seemed to demand.

I looked at him, his words hanging in the air. There was a quiet honesty in what he said, a crack in the carefully composed presence he always carried. “That’s not true, though,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “You come back to people, don’t you? That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

He glanced at me then, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let it through. “Touché,” he said, and for a moment, the tension eased, a soft laugh settling between us.

I leaned back again, letting the sofa creak beneath me. “I guess this place will always feel like home,” I said, turning my gaze to the fire. “Even if it’s not the same anymore.”

I felt his hand then, resting on the back of the sofa, just inches from my shoulder. It wasn’t intentional, not exactly, but I was suddenly aware of how little space there was between us. My breath caught slightly, though I tried to hide it, shifting to tuck my legs beneath me again.

The blanket slipped further, and without thinking, he reached out to adjust it, his fingers brushing against my arm. The touch was light, but it sent a ripple through me, one I knew he must have noticed.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, it was thick, heavy with all the words we weren’t saying. The fire crackled softly, the warmth of it pressing against my skin, but it was his presence that made my chest tighten.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “How some moments feel bigger than they should. Like this one. Sitting here with you.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I said, barely managing the word. “Funny.”

He turned to me then, his expression unreadable but his eyes searching mine, as though waiting for me to say something else or maybe as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words.

I hesitated, my eyes dropping to the ribbon he’d let fall loose on my boot. “Everything feels so different when you’re not a kid anymore. The way the house creaks, the way the fire sounds, it’s all the same, but it doesn’t feel the same.”

He nodded, leaning back just slightly, his arm still draped across the back of the sofa. “That’s growing up, I guess. You start to realize the world’s not as big as it felt when you were younger. The edges get sharper. Things feel… closer.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the house or us.

I glanced at him, his face illuminated by the firelight. There was something in the way he looked at me, something quiet and unspoken, as though he was trying to puzzle out the thoughts I couldn’t bring myself to say.

“Closer, huh?” I said, forcing a smile to keep my voice steady. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes flicked to mine, catching the faintest hint of mischief. “You have another way?”

I felt the corners of my mouth tug upward despite myself. “Maybe. But I’m not sure you’d like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, shifting slightly closer, just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. “I’m pretty open-minded.”

The words were light, teasing even, but the way he looked at me softened their edge. I bit my lip, unsure whether the warmth in my chest was from the fire or from him.

“Don’t test me,” I said, feigning a warning tone, though I couldn’t keep the smile from my voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though his gaze lingered, betraying the lie.

The silence that followed felt thicker this time, not awkward but charged, as though the room itself was holding its breath. I let my fingers trail along the edge of the blanket again, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to shake.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice dipping lower, enough to make my pulse quicken.

I glanced at him, meeting his eyes only briefly before looking away. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

The word hung between us, an invitation I wasn’t sure how to answer. I hesitated, letting my gaze drop to the ribbon again, its soft edges now slightly undone.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Doing what?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

“Deflecting,” he said simply, reaching out to brush his fingers against the ribbon again. This time, he tugged it loose entirely, the bow unraveling beneath his touch.

“Alex!” I protested, sitting up straighter.

He smirked, holding up the ribbon as though it were a prize. “Relax. I’ll tie it back, better than it was before.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though my heart betrayed me with its quickened beat. “You’d better. That bow took me ages.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning forward to take hold of the loose ends. His fingers worked deftly, surprisingly careful for hands that looked so strong.

I watched him, the firelight playing across his features, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “You’re awfully invested in this bow,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the crackle of the fire.

He glanced up at me then, his fingers stilling for just a moment. “Maybe it’s not about the bow.”

The words hit me harder than they should have, the weight of them settling in my chest. I held his gaze, my breath catching as the charged silence returned, this time sharper, more defined.

“Then what is it about?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually answer. But instead, he tied the ribbon neatly, his fingers brushing against the back of my boot as he leaned back with a quiet smile.

“Done,” he said softly, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still held something deeper. “Better than it was before.”

I stared at him, my chest tight with the weight of the moment. “What is it about, Alex?,” I said, though my voice wavered.

His smile deepened, his hand resting casually on the cushion between us. “Shh, darling, you’re disrupting the silence.”

The ribbon sat perfectly tied, a little neater than before, though I barely registered it. My focus was on him, on the easy way he leaned back, his arm still resting on the back of the sofa, his fingers so close they might as well have brushed my shoulder.

The firelight danced across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw, and for a moment, I wondered if he felt it too–the pull, the quiet gravity between us that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His tone was light, teasing, but there was something behind it, something softer.

I blinked, caught off guard, and quickly glanced away. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” he said with a quiet laugh, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Should I be flattered?”

I scoffed, though my cheeks burned. “Maybe I was just admiring your handiwork.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “The bow, huh?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the edge in my voice didn’t quite land. “It’s a very good bow.”

“Thanks, m’love” he said, leaning a little closer, the movement subtle but impossible to ignore. “I take pride in my work.”

The shift in the air was palpable. The teasing, the playful back-and-forth, it was still there, but now it felt like it was building toward something, like the words were just a way to stall whatever was about to happen next.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I murmured, my voice quieter now, almost unsure.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and glanced back up at him. The firelight reflected in his eyes, warm and steady, and for a moment, I felt completely unmoored, like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn’t name.

His voice split the silence, holding a sincere air of honesty. “Christmas doesn’t feel the same now, when I’m not spending it here with your family. When I’m not with you,”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, thick and heavy with words unsaid. I could feel my heart pounding, and I was sure he could hear it too, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whispered finally, my voice barely audible.

“Why not?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Because…” I hesitated, my breath catching as I searched for an answer. “Because it feels wrong.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly, but there was no humor in his expression. “Maybe it’s supposed to.”

His hand shifted then, moving from the back of the sofa to rest on the cushion between us. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it made my pulse race.

“Are you going to keep playing with that blanket,” he asked, his tone light again, though his eyes betrayed him, “or are you going to actually look at me?”

I froze, my fingers stilling on the fabric as I glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and for the first time, I realized how close he was, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, even with the fire blazing in the corner.

“I’m looking,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the fire’s crackle the only sound as his words settled between us. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—all I could do was watch him, my heart pounding as though it was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.

His calloused touch grazed the bows again, this time pulling my boots off with a gentleness that I’d not expected coming from him. He gently pulled at the hem of my sock and ushered me over with a slight nod of his head, his voice monotonous and sure. “Over here, darling.”

The space between us seemed to shrink with every heartbeat, the air heavier, charged with an electric tension that neither of us could ignore. I could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and warm, pulling me toward him. My breath caught as I shifted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders entirely now, exposing the softness of the moment in its most raw form. I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but something in the stillness between us, in the way he looked at me, something told me to move.

Without thinking, I shifted closer, just a little at first, then a little more, until my legs brushed against his. His body shifted instinctively, creating space, but his eyes never left mine, the quiet invitation undeniable.

I settled in slowly, my knees grazing his, my hands resting lightly on his chest for balance, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The sudden proximity, the closeness of his warmth, made my pulse quicken. It was like everything I’d been trying to hide, every silent question, was suddenly laid bare.

There was no hesitation in his gaze, only a softness, a kind of understanding that made my heart race faster than before. And before I could second-guess myself, I shifted again, this time fully into his lap, my legs gently draped over his, my body pressed flush against his chest. The warmth between us was almost overwhelming, but it was a comfort too.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, and I could hear his steady breathing, feel the way his chest rose and fell beneath my fingertips. My hands rested against his collarbone, the steady rhythm of his pulse under my palm grounding me.

“You’re still quiet,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, like he was trying to keep his own composure. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I leaned in just slightly, enough for my forehead to rest against his, the gentle heat of his skin against mine making everything else fade away. “Just… taking it all in,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “This moment. You.”

His hands moved then, slowly, carefully, like he was unsure of how much space to take up. One of his hands slid gently up my back, just grazing the skin beneath the hem of my sweater, the touch so light it made my breath catch.

“You feel so… real,” he said, his voice low, thick with meaning. “Like everything else is just noise, and you’re the only thing that's… real.”

I shivered slightly, the warmth of his words sinking into me, filling the space between us in ways I hadn’t expected. Slowly, carefully, I reached up, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the rough stubble beneath my fingertips grounding me in this strange, quiet moment.

“I feel it too,” I whispered, moving even closer, until I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moved to cradle the back of my neck, his thumb brushing softly over my skin, and I closed the small distance between us.

The kiss was slow at first, tender, like we were both trying to navigate the weight of everything that was unspoken between us. His lips were warm, the taste of him familiar, yet new in a way that sent a flutter through my chest. As we deepened the kiss, I felt him pull me closer, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with mine.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads still pressed together, I could feel the lingering warmth of him, the shared space between us now feeling like something undeniably real.

“Isn’t this wrong?” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Do you think it is?” he whispered back, his fingers brushing through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

I shake my head.

I shifted, pressing in a little more, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the solid strength of his body beneath my touch. His hands shifted too, grazing the sides of my face before gently cupping my jaw, his thumb lightly brushing over my lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty threading through it, as if he needed my affirmation before he let himself lean in further.

I nodded, a soft exhale escaping me, a breathless laugh at the back of my throat. “Certain,” I whispered. The words felt like an admission, like a truth I hadn’t known I was ready to speak until now.

Without another word, he closed the space between us again, his lips brushing mine once more. This time, the kiss was deeper, more insistent, as if we were both trying to capture something, to hold onto this fleeting connection before it slipped away. His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me in closer, until I could feel the length of him pressed against me, the warmth of his body completely surrounding me.

I didn’t pull away, didn’t hesitate. Instead, I shifted, moving so that I was straddling his lap, my hands curling around the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, as though we were two parts of something that had always been meant to fit together.

His breath hitched, and I could feel the heat rising between us, a soft tension hanging in the air as I traced my fingers along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips. He shuddered slightly at the touch, his hands moving to my back again, the warmth of them seeping through my clothes.

“You feel so right here,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of my ear as he spoke. The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I pressed in closer, my hands tightening around his neck.

“I know,” I breathed, the sound of my voice a soft gasp against his skin. “I don’t want this to stop.”

His lips found mine again, this kiss more urgent, more frantic, as if we were both desperately trying to keep hold of something that felt too perfect to let go of. My body responded instinctively, moving closer, pressing into him, and I could feel the way his pulse raced under my fingers.

His hands slid up my back, the heat of them spreading through my sweater, and I gasped softly, my body arching toward him in response. The moment felt suspended, as though time itself was holding its breath, waiting for us to take the next step, to move even closer.

Alex’s voice was soft, his hands found my hips and gripped them just enough to keep me steady in his lap. He gently guided my hips over his lap and a pit of warmth settled in my lower stomach, a familiar feeling that echoed through my entire body. His erection pushed against me, straining against the thin polyester of his trousers and it left me aching.

I was already gasping, each subtle shift of his body causing his trousers to rub against mine, sending waves of burning pleasure through my every nerve. The friction, every tiny contact, was enough to leave me breathless, my pulse quickening with each passing second.

“Alex, please-” I murmured against his skin, my voice barely a whisper but heavy with the weight of what I longed for. I tried so hard to maintain some semblance of control, but the need was growing, the desire coiling inside of me. I could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric of my clothes, like his very touch was igniting a fire within me. My hands clutched at his shirt, my nails lightly digging into his skin as if grounding myself, trying not to let the rush of feelings overtake me.

A reassuring nod brushed against my hair, the weight of his breath warm and steady. Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands slid down my sides, the sensation sending a soft ripple through me, each movement more intentional than the last. My breath caught as he paused at my hips, his fingertips grazing the gold embellishments of his belt before he quickly unbuckled the strip of leather and let it falter to the ground. I felt my chest tighten, and the world around us seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us in this fragile moment of suspended tension.

His hands moved lower, steady, calculated, as if he was savoring every inch of my skin he could touch. I could barely catch my breath, each moment feeling like an eternity, his body an undeniable magnet pulling me closer. My pulse raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Lift your hip, love.” His voice was muffled against my skin as he left kisses down my jaw but I still complied, lifting my hips from his lap.

He didn't waste a second, tugging down his trousers and boxers simultaneously, needing to free himself from the pressure and then his hands found me. The tenderness of his touch juxtaposed the way he’s just handled himself, his rough fingers trailed up my skin and under my skirt, finding my panties. He held my hips firmly and pushed up against me, his tip brushing the material of my underwear. It was achingly pleasurable and a reluctant whine spilled from my lips.

He was relentless as he spread his precum over the fabric and rubbed the lace over my clit only using his length. I bit down on my lip and his eyes caught mine. A wicked grin found his mouth and he nodded knowingly, slowly slidiing two fingers down from my navel to my clit, then pushing the fabric aside, spreading the wetness around which echoed through the confined space of the living room.

“So wet for me, love.” His voice was husky and drawled as if his sentence was one big word.

My thighs had started to tremble and his unwavering teasing had become overstimulating. “Alex,” I pleaded.

His face flashed with recognition and he gently rested his hardness against my entrance. “Relax, hm?” Alex muttered roughly. He used his hands that were secured with a white-knuckle grip on my hips to guide me onto him. He filled me perfectly but the initial stretch sent a gasp from my lips into the air, splitting the heavy silence.

“Perfect” He groaned through gritted teeth as he started to rock his hips deeper, slowly moving them back and forth. I could feel him as he twitched inside me, each brush of his tip against my walls coaxed a wanting sound from my lips. His grip tightened on my hips pulling me down onto him to meet every thrust, he pushed deeper, brushing my sweet spot that sent a harsh jolt of heat through me.

“Alex,” His name was all I could manage. It escaped me like a prayer, soft and trembling. He had this way of pushing me to the brink, only to pull back at the last second. His lips wandered down my neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving heat in their wake. When his fingers skimmed the curve of my collarbone, I felt the weight of it, like I was something fragile, something sacred. There was no rush, no frantic need. Just him, savoring every second, and me, unraveling beneath his touch.

I felt it tightening within me, an unbearable tension that coiled deeper with every passing second. It was relentless, like a spring wound too tight, each movement, each touch pushing me closer to the edge of something I couldn’t name but desperately craved. My breaths turned shallow, my chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm as his hands gripped me with a mix of certainty and care, as if he knew exactly how far he could push me before I unraveled.

It wasn’t just the physicality of it, it was the way he seemed to draw out every fragment of my will, leaving me completely at his mercy. My fingers dug into his shoulders. The tension spiraled tighter, hotter, until it consumed me completely.

A sound escaped me, half gasp, half plea, as my body betrayed any composure I had tried to keep. My back arched, pressing into him as though I could fuse us together. I was trembling in his lap, every nerve in my body alight, shaking with a release so complete it left me raw and vulnerable. I couldn’t stop the ragged breaths that tore through me, couldn’t hold back the way my fingers clung to him, desperate and unsteady. I felt exposed, seen in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And yet, in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was him; his presence, his hands grounding me, and the way he pulled me back from the brink as if I was the only thing he’d ever held.

"Are you okay, darling?" His voice came low and rough, scraped raw with exertion, matching the labored rhythm of his breathing. I barely had the strength to nod, but I did, my limbs heavy and slow as if they were no longer mine. He shifted beneath me, his movements deliberate but unhurried, almost tender. His hands, warm and slightly calloused, slid to my waist, guiding me off him with a care that felt surprising in its quiet gentleness.

And then I saw it, the way his hand replaced me, confident and practiced, fingers curling around himself with an ease that spoke of habit. The tension in his jaw, the subtle twitch in the muscle near his temple, betrayed his focus. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, the way his body moved in response to his own touch. I had never seen anyone so unguarded, so wholly caught in the grip of sensation.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I couldn’t look away. Something about it felt intimate in a way that surpassed words or actions, a glimpse into a vulnerability he didn’t bother to hide. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as his breathing quickened. The muscles in his abdomen tensed and released, his body arching slightly as if chasing something just out of reach.

When it came, the moment he unraveled, it was as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room. His breath hitched, his movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then he shuddered, the tension in him snapping like a coiled wire. He didn’t hide the sound he made, a raw, guttural exhale that felt more honest than anything he’d said tonight.

I watched him crumble, watched the way his chest rose and fell, his hand slackening as the last shreds of control bled away. He lay there, undone, as spent as I was, his eyes closed and his expression unreadable. A strange mix of awe and curiosity curled in my chest, like I’d just witnessed something private, something meant to stay hidden.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It felt charged, like the room itself hadn’t quite settled. And then his lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always watch that closely?” he murmured, voice still rough but tinged with something lighter now, something almost teasing.

I blinked, caught off guard, my cheeks warming as I realized how openly I’d been staring. “Only when it’s worth watching,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smile deepened, a flash of teeth now, as though he’d been waiting for exactly that answer.

By the time we’d both showered and cleaned up, the heat between us had softened into something quieter, something that lingered in the space between words. The bathroom had been a quiet exchange of towels and knowing glances, his smirk a little too satisfied, my blush a little too obvious. We didn’t say much, but the unspoken understanding was enough.

Now, we were in the living room, the fire crackling low in the hearth, filling the room with a golden warmth that made the world outside feel a thousand miles away. The snow still whispered against the windows, but it felt less intrusive now, like a soft rhythm playing counterpoint to the calm that had settled over us.

He was already stretched out on the sofa when I joined him, fresh from the shower and wrapped in one of his pullovers. It smelled like him, clean, faintly woody, and grounding in a way I couldn’t quite name. He’d pulled a blanket over himself, leaving just enough space for me to slide in beside him.

“You took your time,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer, as though the stillness of the room demanded it.

I rolled my eyes, settling in beside him, the blanket shifting to cover us both. “Some of us like to be thorough.”

“Mm,” he hummed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. His body was warm, solid, and I felt his fingers absently trace circles against my upper arm. It wasn’t intentional, I don’t think, just a natural extension of the closeness between us now.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The fire popped and crackled, and the weight of the day began to pull at me, softening the edges of my thoughts. I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me, steady and rhythmic, like a metronome drawing me closer to sleep.

“You’re being quiet again,” he murmured, his lips close enough to my ear that I felt the words more than heard them.

“Just... tired,” I admitted. “But in a good way.”

“Good,” he said simply, and I felt his hand shift, threading his fingers lightly through mine where they rested against his chest.

It was the kind of moment I’d always thought should feel contrived. But now, with him, it felt effortless. Real. The weight of his arm around me, the heat of his body, the occasional scrape of his stubble against my temple, it all made me feel safe. Like I could let the world fade out entirely and just stay here.

His voice broke through the quiet, low and tinged with a softness I hadn’t heard before. “I like this,” he said.

I tilted my head to look up at him, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. “What? Me being quiet for once?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. You. Here. With me.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. But then I didn’t need to. I shifted closer, tucking myself more securely against him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I like it too,” I whispered, the words muffled but no less true.

His hand stilled against my arm, resting there like a promise. And as the fire burned low and the storm outside softened into a distant memory, I let my eyes drift shut, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

a/n: Is it too early to post christmas stuff? Never! I wrote this rather late last night and fell asleep right before the end so if the last bit is quite rushed my sincerest apologies, I also think the start of the smutty part is quite arse because I didn't really know where it was going and then I kind of got into it. Also, I've forgotten if I've mentioned in the fic but Alex is meant to be your father's best friend and I can't remeber if I ever specified, it'd be really odd if I didn't. Anywho, hope you love it, enjoy!!! xxx

#alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #arctic monkeys #christmas #smut #black and white #xmas fic #christmas fic #alex turner arctic monkeys #the car era #excuse mistakes

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riaki · 1 year ago

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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 !

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celandeline · 11 months ago

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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.

#farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #saltburn #saltburn x reader #farleigh start smut

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dear-aubade · 3 days ago

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Tainted Prayers: Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

← PART ONE | PART THREE →

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

You were led down a long hallway with beige water-damaged walls. The tiles were freezing beneath your feet, each step bringing your toes closer and closer to becoming icicles. You shivered, pulling the sweatshirt closer around your neck to try and block out the cold.

There were two people leading you—one a man with close-cropped carrot hair and the other a woman with dark skin and hazelnut irises. They sort of looked like the eyes of the nice man from before, the one who’d collected you from the bus. You didn’t know where he’d gone. Soon after he’d led you inside he’d been summoned away for some sort of other task that needed attending to.

You clenched your hands to stop them from shaking. You’d heard of this place, of course. Everyone had. Silver Lake Asylum was supposed to be a home for the insane, the wild, those that weren’t human enough to function on their own. Those who had been kissed by the devil instead of blessed by God.

You didn’t think you were insane, but…well, crazy people never thought they were crazy, right? You’d been told you were. Aunt Bea had said so, and after that night….

The orange-haired man opened a metal door to your right and you winced at the high-pitched squeal the hinges let out.

You froze.

“Let’s go,” the man said, prodding you forward.

You nearly stumbled, shaking your head. “No, no I can’t, I—”

He pushed you forward again, this time into the room. Showers lined the walls with water-stained silver handholds; rust clung to some of the drains embedded in the ceramic tile floors.

Your vision started to blur with tears as you shook your head more violently. “Please don’t—I—”

Memories assaulted you, ones of you huddled and shivering beneath a frozen stream of water with purple lips, the smell of mold on porcelain making you gag…

You were suddenly shaken. Shocked out of your daze, you looked up to find the woman gripping your shoulders, her brow creased. When your gaze met hers her face relaxed.

“She’s fine,” she said to the man without looking at you. His nose was wrinkled as if disgusted by your tears.

“Let’s just…get her a bucket and washcloth or something instead,” he muttered. He seemed almost uncomfortable by your display. His boots were swift as he exited the room.

Twenty minutes later you were as clean as you could be without a proper shower, dressed in white scrubs with a brown-orange stain on the hem of one of the sleeves. Your toes were no longer frozen—you’d been given white socks with sticky texturing on the bottom to keep you from slipping.

Your room was bland. White walls, white floor, white sheets. There was a single chair in the corner of the room facing the bed, also white. There was no window and there were bars covering the light fixture—most likely to prevent any patients from breaking the glass bulb and using the jagged shards as a weapon, either against others or themselves.

Despite being warmer than before, you hadn’t stopped shivering. Was this supposed to be your new life? Never feeling the sunlight on your skin again? Never seeing the sky? Tremors wracked your body and you felt another wave of panic, followed by a smaller flare of self-disgust. You were pathetic. How many times had you broken down today? How many times had tears clouded your vision, had fear fuzzed your mind? How many times—

There was a quiet beep and your door opened. An unfamiliar man walked through (but then again, wasn’t everyone unfamiliar these days?).

He had strawberry blond hair that receded from a round, wrinkled forehead—wrinkles far too deep for someone middle-aged. His chin was pointed, his nose even more so.

The skin crinkled around his blue eyes as he gave you a friendly smile. “Well hello there,” he said, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicked.

You didn’t respond and your eyes followed him as he sat down in the white chair across from you. He was dressed in a simple button down and slacks.

He studied you for a moment before extending a hand. “I’m Bishop David, the head of this institution.”

You didn’t shake his hand.

Bishop David nodded as he pulled it back and gave an understanding smile. “I hope you’ve settled in alright, though I heard you gave Joseph and Maria some trouble at the showers.”

At this, you squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t like water,” you whispered.

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all have things that irk us, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond.

“Quiet, aren’t you?” He cocked his head and his eyes took on a strange look, as if he were trying to look through you. He clasped his hands. “You were brought here for a very serious reason, you know. Your aunt—she was a good woman.”

You looked down.

“And a good woman’s judgment should be trusted, shouldn’t it?” He leaned forward a bit.

He spoke your name.

You looked up.

“You’re unclean,” he said softly. “You’ve been touched by the devil, been shunned by God. Your aunt was wise to hand you over. You shouldn’t be ungrateful for your circumstances.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“We’re going to help you,” he said intently. “But to do that, you need to admit to yourself first that you are tainted. Your soul is evil. You must understand that.”

You didn’t say anything. Tears welled on your lashes.

Bishop David let out a small exhale and stood. “I expected denial, but none as strong as this. The devil is working hard on you.” He gave you a small smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to help.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Days passed. The asylum staff didn’t give you a calendar, nor did you ask for one. What was the point? You weren’t getting out of here anytime soon. You didn’t deserve to.

The routine was the same each day. In the morning you’d wake to a plate of cheese and bread set on your bedside table for breakfast. Lunch was beef jerky and crackers, and dinner was soup. At night the lights would shut off, leaving you in pitch blackness.

Nights were always the hardest. You couldn’t sleep, not when you could practically feel the darkness pressing in on you from all sides, like it was strangling you. You’d wrap yourself in your blanket and curl into a ball to try and hide, but how could you escape something that was everywhere all at once?

You could practically feel yourself wasting away; not just your body, but your mind as well. You had no one to talk to, nothing to do. The only time you saw the outside of your cell was when you were led to the restroom by an armed guard.

Today you were sat criss-cross on your thin mattress, picking at the crust of your bread, getting ready for another day of staring at the wall with empty eyes when you heard a small beep.

Your door opened a moment later and in stepped him.

He didn’t look any different than he did on the day he’d collected you from the bus. Square face, tired eyes, Roman nose. His beard was flecked with gray, same as his brown hair along the temples. He was dressed the same as he was before—black button down, black slacks, black shoes. The only thing that wasn’t dark was the white of his clerical collar.

“Mornin’,” he said in his deep, rumbling bass of a voice.

“Good morning,” you said softly. You watched as his dark silhouette moved to take a seat in the white chair, a spill of ink against paper.

He was holding a thick leather bound book in his hand. “You, uh, get settled in alright?”

You shrugged.

“Bishop David told me he came to see you. Said you were…on the quieter side.”

“I didn’t have anything to say to him.”

The man’s thick brow furrowed and he seemed to study you for a moment before he shook his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind. “Well, I’m Father Miller. I’m going to be helping you in your reformation.”

You gave him your name as well, but it was more for the sake of formality. Did this man really think he could help you? You were bad—you were unclean.

“What’s that?” You asked, nodding to the book in his hands.

“Oh, this? S’the Bible.”

Of course. You shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Are you going to read to me?”

Father Miller nodded. “Is—“

“Why?”

He cocked his head. “What d’you mean, ‘why?’ Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…” You fidgeted. “Do you really think it will help me?” What good would hearing such holy words do if you were already damned?

“Bishop David says it will, and I…I trust him.”

Your eyes flicked down as Father Miller’s large hands opened the book.

“S’this alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly so soft and honey sweet it made you want to hear it again. You nodded.

Father Miller’s eyes fell to the book in his hands.

And he began to read.

#bambi writes #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you

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pyrory · 9 months ago

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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

#toontown #toontown cold caller #toontown telemarketer #toontown name dropper #toontown glad hander #toontown mover & shaker #toontown two face #toontown mingler #toontown mr hollywood #art #artings #ttcc #toontown corporate clash #<- not specific to ttcc but they're based on the design conventions of ttcc so #the sellbot department is my fav ever <3 #its always been my fav. even when i was still playing ttr #so this was very fun for me i love these fellas

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makerofmadness · 5 days ago

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Aight so. As promised (by that I mean: as the poll willed) here is: me rambling about design choices and stuff in my AU 'cus I dunno if people will ever ask me about any of this otherwise. (link to the post with all the AU designs)

Shadow Milk

His dress's diamond pattern was meant to kinda evoke stars in a dark night sky

His monocle is tinted yellow. Thought that would be a good sort-of parallel to PV's blue eye

Driftwood came up with the moon design on the bow

His hairstyle and other parts of his design were inspired by the silhouette of his pre-beast self

The bit of his hair that juts out is also somewhat of a moon

The choice for bows was kinda just because I thought it fit with his personality. Ostentatious.

Pure Vanilla

I already explained his flower after being asked

He's a pierrot <3

His face makeup is supposed to give him a subtle "crying" look. And yeah he's wearing face paint, you can still see his dough color on his hands.

Yeah his sleeves are huge. Driftwood was the real one who designed him just with my input on ideas just to be clear, but I do hope stuff like that makes him look "smaller" in more than one sense.

The black pupil shapes are meant to be like that one shape that's all over CRK you know the one it's like 'nilla's soul jam but with a fourth round part

His messy hair is a reference to his blueberry yogurt academy design

Mystic Flour

I was originally thinking her sword would just be generic because I imagine she doesn't really use it but driftwood gave it a cool design which is infinitely more based. Flour still does not really use it she's more a healer/commander than a fighter so it's more I guess symbolic is what I'd call it

The scar over her eye I imagine came from her first encounter with the dark cacao kingdom's wilderness

The dragons are actually in her necklace I imagine

Her design went through a long and arduous process because it turns out flour's sprite is just really hard to edit when you need to do anything with her arms lol

Her hair bun design was taken from another "redeemed flour" design driftwood made once. She said that the hair bun is meant to look like a dumpling bun

her and Cacao's soul jam shapes being mixed up was. Admittedly an error XD but hey it looks good-

Dark Cacao

The reason his eyes are all weird is because I thought the idea of him crying so much his eyecing ran permanently by the time the tears dried just felt like "video game lore" like it's something you'd read about in one of the split-second loading screens in the game or in his story bio. It just kinda came to me naturally, it felt right with the design- probably because it also resembles icicles.

His whole "bloom of apathy" thing is based on sugar blooming in chocolate. Have you ever eaten chocolate with sugar blooms before? The texture is all powdery and sad and it ends up tasting like disappointment (I am speaking from experience).

The clouds over his head are like the ones associated with Mystic Flour. Reference to the saying about having a dark/black cloud hanging over your head. (Expecting the worst to come/bad things to happen, having a pessimistic and/or negative mindset, etc.)

I call his sword the Ivory Blade. Idk if he'd call it anything in particular, to be honest. probably never cared to name it.

The white of his outfit isn't an even split as you can see with both sleeves; it tears up over his heart.

Originally he was gonna have two scarves and thank God driftwood vetoed that and gave him a cape instead because the second scarf would have not translated well into the sprite (I was going for something that would have referenced the black and white dragons but it would have looked silly in practice). She said the cape was meant to give a "snuffed out by apathy" feeling and I think that it fit way better overall so this is a Thank You Driftwood moment XD

That being said: his wings do take their color direction from the dragons so they are still referenced in the end. (Fun fact; they're nonfunctional, he can't fly with those)

Burning Spice

He doesn't have much on in terms of golden accessories because I wanted to emphasize him being more "modest"/not caring as much about gold

His parashu color choice was inspired by this one image driftwood sent me. I don't know where this comes from in the game exactly but the colors just felt appropriate for this:

His crown is made of cheese btw. It's cut kinda hastily like it was a last-minute decision...

He's mostly just in fettuccine wraps 'cus he spends so much time fighting and doesn't really care as much as he should for his physical well-being.

Uh the rest of his "apparel" is actually also meant to be based on specific cheeses which... well I was the one who took over on this edit and I'm not as experienced with sprite editing as driftwood so it probably didn't come across so well but uh I can point to pepperjack and liptauer. I forget what I was inspired by for the crown though other than MAYBE reaper cheddar? It may just be a non-spicy cheese with bits of pepper added in, otherwise

His parashu being double-bladed was literally for no other reason than "I thought it would look cool" I can be silly sometimes too okay-

Golden Cheese

Yeah I think the demon resemblance with the wings and her crown's horns go without saying. Her wings are also supposed to have a look like torn cloth.

She wears even more gold jewelry than she used to. The idea is that she tries to cover herself in more gold to make up for her loss of radiance.

Yes, those are in fact ✨Cheese Tights✨ (I imagine they used to not be torn but probably got scuffed like that after enough rounds of destruction that it wasn't worth getting them fixed up)

You can still see where the Virtue of Change originally went on her body :3 She plans to use that spot for a certain other light once she gets it back...

Yeah there's a massive crack in her face (we're kinda inconsistent about the design of it but tbh the way it looks doesn't really matter so much as what it represents). And yeah her eye is all glitched-out. You know what they say about eyes being the window to the soul? The day she finally cracked, it showed through more ways than one.

Eternal Sugar

Yes, those are sugarberries. And yes sugarberries are real things Driftwood was the one who found that out and made the choice to include them in the design X3

They don't have the demon wings anymore, but the tail is still present.

That is in fact the Hollyberry Kingdom's crown that the Soul Jam is in.

Their lyre's design was inspired by that one guild relic violin

Hollyberry

I went with the "tiger" theme because tigers are associated with Dionysus (Greek God of wine-making, festivities and madness) while also being associated with things like strength and courage which are fitting attributes for Hollyberry Cookie as she is pre-fall from grace. Plus, they're big cats, and cats are perfect for Lazy creatures :3 /silly

Her hair is meant to be more like frosting than icing, hence the fluffier (or furrier) look.

The markings on her face are inspired by face stripe patterns on tiger's faces, as in I looked at actual pictures of tigers and saw that some had face stripes that looked vaguely like smiley faces and I wanted to take advantage of that.

I will fully admit that I traced the ears from chili pepper cookie's tiger-themed costume from ovenbreak :'3

Originally I was gonna give her a jacket but I'm not as good at sprite editing as driftwood so I had to cut it. I feel like her ending up with a simpler design is better overall in the end. (Driftwood ended up doing the shield patterns/details, the hair and the tail though so thank her for that I couldn't do those things X3)

She isn't wearing gloves. Her hands are just covered in white fur. I originally kinda wanted it to be a bit ambiguous but I've realized in terms of actually writing her I kinda have to lean into one or the other in terms of descriptions so I went with the borderline-paws option.

Her tail is just a bunch of upside-down hearts. I thought it would be neat to like very vaguely give her an angel-devil look like sugar had but in a way subtler way to make them parallel, so the upside down heart tail thing and giving her a halo was kinda a means to do that. (The halo's made of berry juice btw! No you cannot slurp it)

Her dress having the huge heart over it is does speak true to herself. She still has a big heart.

Removing a lot of the sharper-looking leaves was figuratively "declawing" her but the ones left and then added to her shield are for a reason. The ones on the bell on her dress make it look vaguely heart-shaped while on her shield they resemble upside-down hearts like the light of sloth. Wouldn't be Hollyberry Cookie without a bunch of hidden and not-so-hidden hearts on her design <3

#cookie run #cookie run au #immemorial interchange au #Crk au #cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #dark cacao cookie #mystic flour cookie #golden cheese cookie #burning spice cookie #hollyberry cookie #eternal sugar cookie #Fudging not sure if this is like. A good post to make or not like maybe I should have just gone for “actually explaining plot stuff” first #But like. I just wanted to ramble about all of this and I didn't know when else I'd get the opportunity or if anyone would have noticed thi #So like. Hope this is something to chew on X3 #Next posts besides ask answers if I get any are gonna be like. Character-centered don't worry about that-

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kzrosa-writes · 1 month ago

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3RD DAY OF ADVENT — DANCING IN THE SNOW

featuring childe ♡ likes, reblogs n follows are appreciated ! <3

prev day ♡ advent calendar masterlist

The rising sun peered over the horizon, the shining light attempting to tower over the steep, snowy peaks of Snezhnaya. The mountains stood tall and proud from a distance, the pristine-white blankets of snow coating the crests of the mountains and the land surrounding it. Reddish-orange rays of sunlight swirled in the sky with the indigo of the night. Jagged ice shards and crystal-like icicles glistened from the sun’s light as they hung from the frosted trees. Days like these were what Childe considered perfect for playing in the snow.

The two of you were walking along a snowy trail along the outskirts of Childe’s village, going deeper into the heart of Snezhnaya. It was one of his favourite things to do with you. Enjoying the beauty of nature alongside the pinnacle of human beauty, how can he ever resist such a thing? Sharing this walk with you also allowed him to sort out his thoughts and relax after a long mission from the Fatui. As long as he was beside you, he would slowly feel at peace.

With each step the two of you took along the path, the sound of snow crunching beneath your feet would echo into the wilderness. There was something so mesmerising about Snezhnaya that would always lure you back in. Chilling but beautiful, mysterious but breathtaking, it was almost as if you could find paradise here in this harsh, desolate winter wonderland. And with the love of your life by your side, it made everything feel complete.

The two of you decided to rest by a frozen lake, where you saw the morning haze stretching across the distant vista. Heaps of fluffy ivory snow covered the lands wherever you looked, the gentle yet brisk breeze caressing your skin. Childe stood behind you, wrapping his arms firmly around your shoulders. He let out a contented sigh before placing a soft kiss on your neck.

“There’s something about today that feels… different. Don’t you think so too, my love?” Childe asked as he nuzzled his face into your neck, messing up your scarf.

You smiled softly before shrugging with nonchalance, basking in his warmth. “I suppose it does feel a bit different… The land feels more enchanting today.”

Childe chuckled lightly before pulling away, turning you around to help you fix your scarf. His touch was warm and gentle, a familiar sensation that only he brought to you. He caressed your hair before pulling you into his arms. In that moment, it was just you and him, alone in the refuge of nature, wallowing in the splendour and glory of the frost. Nothing else mattered in that moment, only you and him.

As the sun continued to slowly rise into the sky, you and Childe laid on the snowy ground, holding each other closely. It was something the both of you loved to do dearly, especially after being away from each other for so long. Knowing that he’s back from his missions safe and unharmed… it was the best way to spend time with him.

“Darling… the sky is beautiful, isn’t it? Just like you.”

His sudden words caught you off guard. You turned your head to face him, your body snugly pressed together. You gently squeezed his hips, a playful grin on your lips. “It is pretty. I could stay here forever watching the sunrise with you.”

Childe chuckled softly before pulling you closer, holding you firmly in his arms. “Or maybe… We could appreciate the sunrise in a different way.”

You tilted your head to the side, curious about what he was suggesting. Seeing your confusion caused him to chuckle before giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“Will you dance with me in the splendour of the sunrise, my darling?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his proposal. You rubbed the back of your neck before smiling awkwardly. “Ajax… You know I can’t dance.”

“Then let me teach you.” He got up from the ground before gently pulling you up with him, an insouciant grin on his face.

You sighed in resignation before holding onto his hand as he spun you around. There was something so charming about him that you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no to him.

Childe placed a hand firmly on your shoulder as his other hand found its place on your side. With a small nod from you, he began to slowly move, careful not to step on you. Despite your struggles, you did your best to keep up with him. The gentle, frosty breeze of morning swept against your skin, a sweet caress as Childe spun you around. With each step the two of you took, you felt as if your worries and troubles had dissipated. Being in the presence of your lover in this majestic winter utopia was all you could ever want in life.

Soon enough, you found yourself dancing without his guidance, holding him closely as the sound of your footsteps and the crunching of snow resonated. Despite the desolation and harshness of the cold, you felt a flicker of warmth in your heart, twinkling and shining brightly. The cold meant nothing to you when Childe was around, for he was the only warmth and light you needed.

♡ masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules —

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otakugurl-11037 · 5 months ago

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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!

#vampire x reader #vampire x human #vampcore #vampire writing #writing #writers on tumblr #have a nice day

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 2 years ago

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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:)

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tongueofcat · 29 days ago

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Magic Lessons

Chapter Thirteen: Morning

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: Connor RK800/F!Human Reader

Tags: Innocent Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eventual Smut, Father-Son Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human)

Word Count: 6,782

Masterlist | Link to Ao3

Notes: Guess who’s back with the longest chapter (so far) that contains practically nothing?? Me!! It’s pure fluff, I’m so sorry. Also some like… set up for later, but nothing too serious. I think. Anyways, enjoy!

Morning is just dawning when you begin to wake; you can tell because dim light is filtering through your semi-sheer curtains beside your bed. The first thing you notice is your nose is freezing, so naturally you move to rub it. This motion is blocked by the second thing you realize: you’re being held. Connor’s arm is curled around your form and his face is nuzzled into your hair. You have no problem with this, but your nose is an icicle, so you try to move his arm. It won’t budge. You frown and come to the disappointing conclusion that you will have to wake your boyfriend. Is wake the right word? You aren’t entirely sure, to be honest.

“Connor…” You whisper, squeezing the arm you attempted to move earlier.

You can feel his muscles tense in his arm, then relax; his face stirs from atop your head, then lifts away. He squeezes you with the arm that’s draped over your body.

“Good morning…” Damn, even his voice sounds like he just woke up; it’s a delicious mix of his normal tone and soft huskiness. You feel your face heat up a little, but press on.

“My nose is cold.” You manage to turn your body around to look at him. His LED is cycling a calm blue as he blearily smiles down at you. Does he have some sort of sleepy morning protocol? Before you can ask that, however, he lifts his arm to gently rub at your nose with his hand.

His skin isn’t as warm as a human’s, but because it was in contact with you throughout the night and under the covers, it wasn’t exactly cold, either. You lift your own hand to join his, feeling more relief with the two of you working together.

“Alright, I think we’ve got it. Thank you for your assistance.” You giggle and he nods, smiling and retracting his hand. His arm falls gently across your waist and then he closes his eyes.m

“Um… are you still sleepy?” You ask, curious at his behavior: usually he’s very alert. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he does reward your question with a soft huff of amusement.

“I suppose you could translate my current state to being fatigued, yes,” Connor replies, voice soft and husky still, “I was not originally designed for the amount of stimuli that needs to be processed during sexual intercourse. A lot of data is created and it becomes overwhelming, but not in a negative way.”

Worry bubbles up in the pit of your stomach; it feels like a black hole is sucking the contents of your body into the abyss. Was Connor damaged in some way? He must notice your concern, for he leans in and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed.

“Your heart rate is elevated and you’re secreting trace amounts of cortisol… what’s wrong?” He murmurs, his cool breath serving to calm your nerves a little.

“Should we not have sex?” You ask gently. He shakes his head, and by doing so, rubs his forehead gently against yours.

“No. Unless you do not want to engage in sexual activities any further,” He sighs softly, adding, “I just need to find a more efficient way to process incoming stimuli during sexual intercourse. Perhaps I should look into more sophisticated software when it comes to sex… I just have the base programs that came with my installed sex organ.”

“So… you overwhelmed your processors last night? Because you were taking in too much information?” You ask, trying to confirm if you’re understanding him correctly.

He nods, “Yes. I did not go into full stasis until I was done organizing all the data that was created last night.”

“I could ask my friends at work who are androids, if you’d like?” You offer and he pulls away to look at you.

“That… might be a good start. I will check online and do some research as well.” Connor leans back into the pillows and his eyelashes flutter close. You smile down at him before sitting up and sliding out of bed.

You yawn and stretch, lifting your arms over your head and shaking the sleep off of you. The faux-wood laminate floor is cold, and you shiver as you pad over to your bathroom and flick on the light. You mindlessly go about your morning routine, only pausing to get a good look in the mirror when you’re brushing your teeth. There’s several hickeys on either side of your throat, serving almost as bookends for the now-healing swaths of bruises going down the column of your neck from the hostage assault. Good thing you didn’t need to go to work and just focus on recovery for a week… otherwise you’d be having a bitch of a time covering one of them in particular.

With your free hand you gingerly prod at one of the hickeys near the top of your throat, just a hair or two under your jawline. You anxiously poke at the reddish-purple mottled skin and hiss a little at its tenderness; you can even see teeth marks from Connor if you squint hard enough. It’s nothing you can’t handle, you just didn’t expect this sort of behavior from him. In fact, if you were completely honest with yourself, you liked it, even if it meant for roughly a week or so you’ll be dabbing concealer and foundation on your neck whenever you want to leave the apartment.

Then you hear your name, soft and sleepy from the main room. You pop your head out of the bathroom, “Yeah?”

“I am reasonably certain I am experiencing a bout of loneliness…” The android whines, still sounding gravely and tired. You snort and spit your toothpaste out and wash your toothbrush and return it to its charger. Then you turn off the bathroom light and walk back over to the bed, plopping down beside Connor’s resting form.

“Not that I don’t adore your company, Connor, but don’t you have to go to work?” You ask. He shakes his head into the pillow, eyes still closed.

“No. Well, not exactly. I am on call this weekend.” He explains. You perk up at this knowledge, “Oh, neat! I’m off this weekend as well — the entire week, actually! Except for, you know, college stuff.”

Connor pries open one eye to look up at you, “You don’t have work for a week?”

You nod, smiling sheepishly, “My manager gave me the week off to rest and recuperate. She even sent me some contact information of therapists in the area I can afford… which I should look at now.”

“That’s nice and very good for you. I am glad.” He closes his one open eye and you stand up to go searching for your phone. You find it on the coffee table within a few minutes and look through your notifications and messages.

The first message you see is from Diana. You press the message log tab with your thumb, willing it to open.

Diana (Snow): No worries. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

Diana (Snow): Do you still live in that apartment complex near downtown? I want to bring you some ukha - it’s like a fish stew.

Diana (Snow): I will not take no for an answer, Crybaby. Just tell me a good time and day to bring it over. Preferably give me a day in advance; I do not work miracles.

You smile at the messages and work on a reply

You: How does Monday sound? I don’t know your schedule, but maybe noonish? Does that work?

Then you go back to your messages to finally look at Dawn’s messages.

Dawn: Here’s the list of potential counselors that provide sliding-scale therapy in the downtown Detroit-area…

- Marina Mansoor: Clinical Social Worker/Therapist LMSW (she/her)

- Arthur Baird: Licensed Professional Counselor MEd, LPC (he/him)

- Augusta Blink-Wilde: Psychologist PhD (they/them)

Each name was followed by a link to their prospective page. With your current educational route being psychology with the aim to become a therapist, you were familiar with the degrees and titles behind their name and professions. You decide to go through the pages in order they were provided.

First was Marina Mansoor. The website lists her key specialities as: Trauma/PTSD, Stress, and Veterans. She’s only accepting online patients at the moment, which was perfectly fine. Your eyes gloss over the site, noting just how pretty she is: probably in her late 30s or early 40s with beautiful straight black hair, brown eyes, and flawless light brown skin. In her picture she’s offering up a gentle smile, which gives her points in the approachable category. You note this and continue to the next linked professional.

Arthur Baird was next. His picture is the first thing you notice: a pale, ruddy-cheeked plump man with hair so blonde it appears almost white, along with piercing blue-green eyes, circular prescription glasses, and a well-manicured beard. He reminds you slightly of Santa Claus, but you can’t tell exactly how old he is — he could be either in his late 30s or early 50s, you had no earthly idea. The website lists his key expertise as: Anxiety, Sexual Abuse, and Trauma/PTSD. He is accepting patients in person and online. He seems very sweet, but you continue on to the last person listed.

The last page is devoted to Augusta Blink-Wilde’s practice. They are the youngest-looking of the three so far, you note, just glancing at their bright-eyed and bushy-tailed picture makes you smile. They are in their early 30s at maximum. They have amberesque eyes, some sort of hazel, maybe; clear, smooth brown skin with a smattering of freckles, and textured hair that’s dyed a beautiful ombre purple-to-blue and styled in chunky box braids. Their speciality is listed as LGBTQIA2S+, Trauma/PTSD, and Self Esteem. They have a little quote underneath their picture: ‘dum spiro spero - while I breathe, I hope.’ You assume it’s Latin, and appreciate the sentiment it holds.

You spend a few moments considering your choices: all three take sliding-scale payments, all three specialize in Trauma/PTSD (which you would classify your situation to best represent), and they all seem nice enough. You bite your thumb in thought as you look over the pages some more.

“You know,” Connor murmurs, halfway into his pillow from the bed, ”The lieutenant has this turn of phrase: you are thinking too loud; I can hear your brain’s gears grinding from all the way over here. I used to think it was purely hyperbolic, but I swear I can hear them… the gears.”

You snort, turning off your phone and letting your arm fall to your side, still grasping it. You join him on the bed and run an affectionate hand through his hair, “If anyone has gears in their head, it’s you, dork.”

“We have been through this: I am not a dork; I am a highly socially adept individual,” He muses, obviously enjoying the physical attention of head scritches, “Also, I don’t have gears. My anatomy and physiology is more advanced than that.”

“Hmm, that’s just what I’d say if I had gears in my head, Connor. You’re not going to convince me so easily…” You smile, taking your hand away and moving to lay down beside him. It doesn’t take long for him to realize what you’re doing and accept your attempts at snuggles.

“I could append the part of my Administrator’s Manual that goes over my general anatomy, if you would like.” His head eases into the snuggling by resting his chin on your head. You sigh, the sound amused as you close your eyes and say, “No, Connor, I guess I’ll just have to believe you.”

“Good, I’m a valuable source on my own body…”

“Nerd…” You whisper, letting yourself relax and drift off.

…

You’re mildly awoken to a buzzing coming from around your middle. It’s annoying, so you grumble a little until it stops… only for it to start back up a few minutes later, fully waking you up. You groan softly, groping blindly at the source of your displeasure, eventually finding it and bringing it to be inspected by your judging eyes.

Oh, it’s just your phone. It lights up at your touch, it’s only been a couple of hours since you last checked the time. You unlock your phone and scan the updates: a lot of advertisements from apps, some social media notifications you’re going to continue to ignore, then a few text messages. You pull the first one up from Allison, which surprises you: you haven’t spoken to her since you found her unconscious in one of the VIP rooms at work looking like a puffed-up stress doll.

Allison (Candy): Hey, just got discharged from the hospital this morning. I heard he hurt you, too. How are you doing?

You frown; you should have messaged her first, shame on you. But, you’ve been distracted, so you’ll just have to make it up to her somehow.

You: Hey!! How are you? Are you in pain?

You: Don’t worry about me!! I’m fine and dandy. What are you doing?

You see the little typing bubble pop up and Allison responds fast.

Allison (Candy): Yeah, but they gave me the good shit. Had to have surgery on my face, which apparently they did immediately because the swelling wasn’t that bad. I can’t imagine it being worse from the pictures I saw, but I’m not a doctor. He fucked up my face… but the doctors are confident I’ll look normal, not disfigured or whatever. Which is a plus, I guess.

Allison (Candy): I’m just glad I’m alive. Last thing I remember before blacking out is thinking wow, I’m going to die at 23. Anyway, Mama Dawn gave me as much time off as I need for physical and mental recovery — maybe we could meet up and commiserate?

Allison (Candy): Or rather, if it’s ok, could you come visit me? I don’t want to be a walking source of entertainment for strangers… I’m staying with my parents, but they’re nice and supportive. I love them, haha, I’m so glad they’re here to take care of me.

You wonder if your parents would take you in if you were rendered ill or needed help recuperating from a physical ailment or even became disabled. You frown because you’re honestly unsure — your parents didn’t know what you did for a living for a reason: they would not support it in the slightest. Hell, they didn’t even support you going to college to become a therapist. You’re glad Allison has the support she needs, but feel bittersweet all the same.

You: I’m glad you have a good support system in your parents. I’m also glad you’re still with us! I can visit this week, what day and time would be good for you?

You exit the chat log and navigate to Hannah’s messages, composing a new text.

You: Hey, remember when you told me you were seeing someone and you were trying out some new program or something? The spicy program? Do you have a link to that…? I promise it’s for a good cause!

The chat ‘…’ bubble appears immediately, followed by a message from Hannah.

Hannah (Pearl): Yeah, sure!

Hannah (Pearl): Optimized Sexual Stimulation Delegation, or OSSD? Funny because OSSD also stands for Output Signal Switching Device, which is kind of what this prevents in androids… well, not exactly, but it’s close enough that I find it funny!

Hannah (Pearl): Wait, do you need it for an installed penis attachment or installed vagina attachment? I have the latter.

Hannah (Pearl): Also, why would you need it? Ooo, are you seeing an android? My preferred payment is dirty little details, Magic!

You groan, but respond all the same.

You: Fine. I’ll tell you, but I need the goods first. I need the one for androids with an installed penis attachment.

Hannah sends you a message back in record time.

Hannah (Pearl): I think I’m the one who gets to make the rules here, since I have the so-called ‘goods’ you require. Details or no spicy OSSD program for you!

You groan again, causing Connor to squeeze his hand on your hip, a wordless check-in with you. You nuzzle your forehead affectionately into his neck, soothing him before typing back.

You: This is entirely unfair and you know it!

You: Ugh, okay but I haven’t even told Seth/Sunset yet, really. He will have my head if I don’t tell him first…

Hannah wastes no time.

Hannah (Pearl): Then tell him!

You force yourself not to groan for the third time in a row and drag your metaphorical feet over to Seth’s chat log and type out the message.

You: Don’t freak out.

You: I’ve started dating the android we talked about.

Then you maneuver yourself back over to Hannah’s chat log.

You: Did it, are you happy?

You: I’m dating the android detective that was there the night Allison/Candy got assaulted and I was made a hostage. He’s really sweet… his name is Connor.

The chat bubble pops up so fast you stop typing out your next message.

Hannah (Pearl): You’re dating the Deviant Hunter????

The Deviant Hunter. Connor had referred to himself once as that at Pandora’s Box. Before you can respond, she adds.

Hannah (Pearl): Not that he goes by that anymore, but Magic he’s super infamous for that within android society. Most say he redeemed himself for his actions during the tail-end of the revolution, but some androids say he’s still a dog of the human police state since he works for the DPD.

You take in that information. Connor had previously confessed to sins against his people and humans before, when you first got intimate at the club in the VIP room. He seemed, at the time, really torn between what he wanted and what he thought he deserved because of his past. Connor’s soliloquy from that mind comes to the forefront of your mind:

‘I was created to inflict pain and manifest horror within the souls of my victims, the enemy of my creators. I was called the ’Deviant Hunter’… I’ve killed people, my own kind while I was an unthinking machine. I… am not sure I am able to properly please you; I am not sure I’m worthy of your touch, let alone your affection.’

Your brow creases in thought, letting his past words wash over you. He seemed so sad…

You snuggle closer into Connor, garnering a nuzzle to your head and another squeeze on your hip. You continue to text with Hannah.

You: He’s definitely not the Deviant Hunter anymore. Connor is sweet and incredibly empathetic. I think he regrets his past and is actively trying to atone for his actions.

Hannah responds within a minute.

Hannah (Pearl): Good. When I became deviant after escaping my owner, I was absolutely terrified of him finding me. Thankfully, I found shelter quickly and was able to wait it out until after the revolution.

The idea that Hannah had to endure all that, even if she was summarizing her experience down for you… made you feel absolutely awful. You wanted to know more, but ultimately decided now is not the time.

You: That’s awful. I’m glad you’re here with us and safe now. I promise, Connor isn’t scary once you meet him.

Then you get a pop-up message from Seth. You thumb at it and pull up his chat log.

Seth (Sunset): PARDON MOI? DATING? GIRL…

Seth (Sunset): Didn’t you just get frisky with this guy? Hasn’t it only been, like, a few days since y’all met?

Seth (Sunset): What’s the rush, sugar lumps?

You frown and stamp out a quick response.

You: I said not to freak out!

You: He asked me out and I said yes! Sorry at the speed at which my life story progresses?

You: Also the last bit is sarcasm.

Then you navigate back to Hannah’s page just in time for her to send a link.

Hannah (Pearl): I was able to find the installed penis version of the OSSD program files for download from an android-run online community. It’s where I downloaded the corresponding installed vagina one. Hopefully it is what you guys are looking for!

As you’re reading that, she then adds.

Hannah (Pearl): Sorry if I came across as rude. I’m sure he’s fine, but I cannot help the image my psyche has created of him. Knowing he’s kind and sweet does soften it, though…

You quickly reply.

You: Thank you, Hannah. I understand and appreciate you!

Then you send the link to Connor via text. Before popping back over to Seth.

Seth (Sunset): Whatever, girlie-pop. Just be safe.

You send him a heart emoji and lock your phone, letting it fall from your hands to rest on the small slice of mattress between you and Connor.

“Thank you for the OSSD download link. This appears to be what I need to run optimally during and after sexual intercourse.” He whispers into your scalp, his breath tickling you a little. He sounds much better, more awake now.

“You sound better.” You point out.

“Did I sound bad before?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head.

“No, you sounded sexy, honestly. Like a tired teddy bear.”

“How is that image you described sexy? Are you attracted to ursine stuffed toys?” Connor says.

“No! That’s stupid!” You blurt, causing him to laugh more.

“Sure. Have you eaten yet?” He asks and you shake your head against him, “We should feed you.”

“But I’m cozy!” You whine, pulling him flush against you. You snuggle into his neck and you can feel the vibrations of his laughter through his synthetic skin.

“Come on, I need to feed my human. I do not want you to become malnourished.” Your stomach feels like a bunch of butterflies are swarming around when he says ‘my human.’ You pull back to look at his face, and he opens his eyes to look at you in response to your moment. He smiles at you and you smile back.

“Maybe I can be convinced…” You divert your eyes from his and he breathes an amused breath through his nose.

“How can I convince you?” He leans in a little and you giggle.

“Guess!” You look back at him and he sighs fondly before closing the gap between the two of you. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and you make a happy, muffled sound of contentment. Then he pulls back and begins to sit up, stretching his arms and bending and unbending his fingers to recalibrate. You follow suit, sitting up beside him. He gets up first, plucking his briefs and trousers from the floor and pulling them on; he zips and buttons up, but ultimately decides to stay shirtless… which is distracting.

The skin of his neck is littered with little love bites, little blueish-purple marks. When he turns to make his way to the kitchen you can see the angry little nail scratches you’ve left behind, the same color as the hickeys. Okay, maybe he’s extremely distracting without a shirt on. You’re not going to complain though. Instead, you hop up and join him in the kitchen.

Connor moves to open your refrigerator, but then turns sheepishly to you, “May I look at what you have?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” You blink and nod. He smiles and turns back to the fridge, opening it and peering into its contents. He takes a quick scan of it, then closes the fridge, padding to the nearest cabinet and opening it. This continues with every drawer and the pantry closet. Then you watch him curiously from the entrance of the kitchen, his LED whirring yellow.

“Is there anything you would prefer for breakfast?” He finally asks and you shake your head and laugh gently, “No. Also, you don’t have to cook for me, Connor.”

He flashes you those puppy eyes, “But I would enjoy it…”

You sigh, “Jeez, alright then, Connor… but I’m helping, okay?”

“I am perfectly capable of cooking on my own, you know.” He chuckles, but you detect a hint of defensiveness in his voice. So you press, “Never said you couldn’t cook, but I am curious: how long have you been cooking, Connor?”

He frowns at you.

“Oh come on, tell me!” You smile sweetly at him. He rolls his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, and crosses his arms.

“Since December 2038. So, approximately as long as I’ve been active. I started cooking for the lieutenant to help with house chores and hope to improve his overall health.”

Oh, that’s precious. You smile sweetly at him, “That’s very sweet, Connor.”

“I care about the lieutenant. It seemed like the least I could do.” He offers you a lop-sided smile in response to your compliment.

“Alright then, Chef Connor, what’s on the menu, today?”

His smile brightens and he turns to the refrigerator.

“I was thinking of a standard American breakfast: eggs, bacon, and toast. Unless you want something sweeter as your main carbohydrate; we could make pancakes… you have the ingredients.”

“Ooh, pancakes! I haven’t had pancakes in a while…” You muse behind him, walking further into the kitchen to peek curiously from behind him, into the fridge as he opens it. You had just gone grocery shopping, so you’re pretty well-stocked.

“You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” He smirks at you and you pout, but keep your mouth shut. But then he turns back to the fridge and starts to pull out butter, the egg carton, the milk jug, and the package of thick-cut smoked bacon. He sets them down on the counter and you follow him around the kitchen like a duckling; Connor finds your skillet and places it on the stovetop. You watch as he turns on the archaic oven, letting the gas-light click three times before the flame fires up. He goes to the sink and washes his hands and returns to the counter after drying them on a paper towel.

He then opens the sealed package of bacon, cutting it with a pair of kitchen shears he finds in the utensil caddy by the stove. He glances back at you, as if he’s gauging something, before gingerly peeling a piece of bacon from within its packaging. The android makes fast work of adding a total of four strips of bacon to the already hot skillet; with each new addition there’s the start of a satisfying sizzle from the bacon. With a steeled focus, Connor watches over the bacon as they pan-fry in their own grease, taking care to flip them over when they are ready with a pair of tongs. You manage to peel your eyes away from the shirtless chef and retrieve a paper towel and plate, placing the paper towel on top of the plate and setting it beside the stove, near Connor.

“Thank you, that will help collect the grease.” He breathes, unable to stop himself from explaining the use of the equipment you provided him with. You snort and nod, “Yeah, that’s why I did it. It’s almost as if this isn’t my first rodeo.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he starts to transfer the cooked bacon strips to the plate. You take a big inhale through your nose and exhale dreamily: it smells wonderful in the apartment and it’s only going to get better. Connor looks down at the skillet and frowns.

“Do you have another pan? I would like to continue cooking, but I cannot dispose of the excess grease per city guidelines until it solidifies and can be scraped out and thrown away.”

“You can use the bacon grease to cook the eggs, too. Instead of using butter as a pan lube.” You grin and he raises an eyebrow.

“Pan lube. The usage isn’t incorrect per say, but I’m still somehow offended. Impressive.”

“Oh hush. Here, I’ll crack the eggs for you!” You turn your attention to the carton of eggs and pluck two out from the container, placing them in a bowl before returning the carton to the fridge. Then you take the eggs out of said bowl and tap each egg firmly on the edge of the counter. In one swift motion you dump the contents of both eggs in the bowl. You then toss the shells in the trash bin.

“Do you want them scrambled?” You ask. Connor smiles at you, his eyes crinkling fondly with the expression, “That depends: what is your preference?”

You flush, feeling dumb and manage to mumble, “Scrambled.”

“Good choice.” He moves around you, grabbing the milk jug and uncapping it, then he pours a very precise splash of milk into the eggs before returning the jug to the fridge. He retrieves a whisk from the utensil caddy and whips at the eggs, turning the yellow yolks and whites into a coherent mix. He salts and peppers the liquid before slowly pouring it into the skillet. The egg sizzles in the hot pan, almost immediately puffing up and cooking through. He takes a heat-safe rubber spatula from the utensil caddy and works the mixture around the greased pan.

“I think I’ll just have toast,” You say suddenly, previously mesmerized by your android boyfriend cooking shirtless for you, “I don’t really feel like cleaning up sticky syrupy shit… plus, I’m not sure I’m hungry enough for a stack of pancakes. Two slices of buttered cinnamon toast, though, now we’re talking.”

Connor doesn’t look away from his task, but speaks up, “If you are concerned with cleaning, I would be happy to handle dishes after you eat; I don’t mind it, I do the dishes at home for the lieutenant often. If I don’t he just puts all the dishes and silverware unwashed, caked with food matter, into the dishwasher…”

You shake your head, “I appreciate it, Connor, but no. I’m not going to let you make breakfast and clean up, too. That would be rude.”

Connor simply nods, accepting your answer. You pick up the bowl with egg residue and place it in the sink. Then you go to the closet pantry and proquire the foretold cinnamon bread loaf. You unwrap it and take out two pieces, plopping them in your toaster and pressing down on the trigger that starts the toasting process, before wrapping the bread up again and returning it to its home in the pantry. When you make your way back to Connor’s side he’s folding over the greasy paper towel on the bacon plate to plate the scrambled eggs. He scrapes them gently out of the pan before placing the skillet in the sink and pouring water on and into it. The pan hisses at the contact of cold water, steam rising to meet him briefly before it settles down. Once Connor is satisfied with the soaking pan, he moves to stand behind you before hugging you from behind. He rests his chin on your head.

You reach up to grasp onto his arms encircling you and begin to shift your weight from foot to foot, starting to sway the two of you as you both idly wait for the toast to finish. There’s a toothless smile plastered on your face; it’s been a while since you’ve been in such a domestic scenario with someone.

It feels nice.

Then the toast pops up and you squeeze his arms and he releases you without a word. Carefully, you take each slice of toast out and slather butter on each slice with a butter knife. Once the cinnamon toast is buttered to your standards, you put up the butter in the refrigerator and hold up the plate of food triumphantly.

“Behold! A joint-effort breakfast!”

Connor laughs and you set the plate down and busy yourself by pouring a glass of orange juice. Then you take your breakfast to the couch, since you don’t have an actual kitchen table you usually eat in front of the coffee table or on your bed. You sit and then realize you forgot a fork… you frown uselessly at your plate of delicious food.

“Forgetting something?” Connor asks, holding out a fork for you.

“Oh, my hero! Thank you.” You gladly accept the utensil and begin to dig into your meal. The android comes to sit beside you and leans back into the couch, resting his eyes. You glance over at him, concerned, “Still tired?”

He shakes his head, “I’m focusing on downloading the OSSD executable now.”

“Do you want the WiFi? Would that help?”

He opens an eye to look at you, “Yes, if you are offering. That might allow the download to finish faster.”

You relay your WiFi information to Connor and he takes it all in, his LED spinning a soft yellow as he plugs in the WiFi name and password. Then he smiles, “Thank you.”

You continue eating, savoring the fluffiness of the scrambled eggs and how the salt in pepper is actually inside the eggs, not just sprinkled on top. They’re also slightly creamier, probably due to the addition of a little bit of milk. Then you’re munching on bacon and watching Connor out of the corner of your eye. He seems so zen as he relaxes back into the couch, his arms splayed up on the top of the cushions, one arm even behind yourself. He breathes in and out evenly, LED spinning yellow as he does so. If you weren’t informed of what he was doing you would maybe guess mediation.

You finish your breakfast and set your plate down on the coffee table in front of you. You yawn and lay down on the couch, setting your head squarely in Connor’s lap, causing him to open his eyes and peer down at you.

“Are you comfortable down there?” He gives you a small, amused smile. You nod, closing your eyes, “Yup.” One of Connor’s hands lifts off the couch to stroke your head soothingly.

The two of you enjoy some quiet time, just appreciating each other’s company. You don’t exactly fall asleep, but your consciousness does drift through your week so far and what you’re going to be doing on your week off work as well as college assignments coming up. Then you hear your name and it eases you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” You haven't even opened your eyes yet.

“Your body heat is dropping. I suggest either getting more dressed or a blanket.” Connor’s voice comes from above and you giggle softly.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m not going to get hypothermia.”

“There is, in fact, a non-zero chance of it.” He quips and you groan, slowly getting up.

“You just want to watch me undress… then get dressed. Weird kink, Connor.” You mock grumble, getting up off the couch to pilfer through your closet. The android chuckles from the couch, “If caring about your wellbeing is a kink, then yes, I have that kink.”

“That’s not—“ You pull the green, chunky-knit sweater dress over your head and throw it into the hamper, “—what I said, and you know it!”

You look through your closet, standing there naked practically frigid in the cold air of your apartment. A shiver runs through you, coaxing you forward. You open the dresser that you’ve shoved in there, behind the hung clothing, and proceed to slip on a random pair of cotton panties. Then you force the old wooden thing to close before stepping back and selecting a black spaghetti-strap tank, a red hoodie and a pair of black leggings. Then you close your closet and begin to put your clothes on.

“Maybe you are onto something, I am invested in your outfit getting on your body.” Connor smirks from the couch. You roll your eyes and refuse to honor his silliness with a response. You hop into your leggings first, then put on the tank, before finally pulling the hoodie over your head.

You make a lackluster pose for Connor’s amusement, “Tada!”

He claps his hands for you four times, standing up and walking over to you. Mind you, he’s still shirtless and distracting as all get-out. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow at his yellow LED.

“What are you scheming?” You ask.

”Why do you assume that I am up to something?” Connor’s LED settles back to blue and he winks at you; your heart does a little somersault at that. He lets out an amused exhale through his nose before pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you around the middle fondly and you reciprocate the hug, snuggling your face into his synthetic skin.

“Today has been nice.” His voice comes from above you. You make a small sound of agreement at his sentiment.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just do nothing with someone you care about.” You pull away to look up at him and he looks down at you. His hair is still messy, tousled primarily from your sexual encounter last night; his eyes are warm and brown, crinkling with affection and he’s smiling serenely down at you. Wordlessly, the two of you lean forward, your foreheads pressing together affectionately.

You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath through your nose. You can feel Connor’s cool breathing fan over your lips before you let out your exhale through your mouth.

“I like you… a lot.” You find yourself saying. From your close proximity you can hear the soft movement of Connor’s mouth pulling up in a smile.

“I like you a lot, too.” He replies and now you’re smiling, too.

The two of you stay like that, holding each other in the middle of your studio apartment. It feels so nice to feel like this… but eventually you do pull back, but not before giving Connor a peck on his cheek. He smiles at that and releases you. You sit down on the edge of your bed, grabbing your phone and unlocking it. He joins you, looking curiously over your shoulder.

“Unsurprising, you are popular.” He points out, probably talking about the bubbles holding the amount of messages, emails, and notifications various apps have. You snort, shaking your head, “Not really… nosey!”

He chuckles. You look at your messages, most of it is promotional texts from a few brands you follow. You navigate back to the list of counselors in the downtown area. The three counselors had been in the back of your mind this morning… and the more you thought about it, Augusta Blink-Wilde stood out to you the most. They may be new in their practice, but you didn’t mind. You compose a new patient email, asking for an in-person appointment. You send the message off and lock your phone, leaning against Connor.

“Connor…” You whine, “I’m bored. Entertain me!”

He chuckles beside you, about to say something when his body freezes. You look up at him and his LED is spinning yellow. Then he relaxes and begins to speak, “Yes, lieutenant, I am still at her apartment. Oh, I apologize, I forgot to message you before going into stasis last night.”

Ah, he got a phone call. You snuggle into his side and let him focus.

“Like I stated, I meant to message you. I am sorry I caused you to worry about me, but I am fine. Uh, let me check…” Connor turns to you, looking a little sheepish, “Would you like to go to the dog park with the lieutenant, Sumo, and I?”

You perk up, interested, “Uh, sure! But, won’t it be muddy?”

“It is always muddy. Sumo gets a bath after playing.” He smiles back at you. You nod, “Sure, lemme grab my boots.”

“She said yes to joining us. We will not be long, I’ll call an automated cab. See you soon, lieutenant.” You hear the rest of Connor’s conversation. You snatch your black leather boots from beside the door and then rustle through your sock drawer for some thick boot socks. You sit on the couch as your android boyfriend plays ‘where are my clothes’ around your apartment, picking up each discarded article of clothing and putting it back on, sans the chest gun holster. He slides on his dress shoes as you’re tapping the tip of your boots to fill them snuggly. Then you both make your way to the door.

“I called a cab, it should be here in two minutes.” He slides on his blazer, glancing at you for confirmation that his actions were ok. You nod, “Sounds good! It’s puppy time!!”

He smiles warmly at you.

“Yes, puppy time.”

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