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gf2bellamy · 16 days ago

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ice cream — steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: dustin catches steve staring at you content warnings: robin complaining about steve, eating ice cream , robin being worried about getting in trouble with the boss, mention of the russians in s3 a/n: its 12:33 am and im craving ice cream

The pastel-colored lights of Scoops Ahoy reflected off the gleaming glass display case, casting a soft glow on the rows of creamy, colorful ice cream.

You stood frozen, eyes darting between the array of flavors in front of you. There were simply too many choices, each one more tasty than the last.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice broke your trance, and her hand waved dramatically in front of your face.

You blinked, turning to meet your best friend's amused expression. “Can I try them all?” you asked, your tone hopeful as you gestured at the lineup of ice cream.

Robin raised an eyebrow, her skepticism written all over her face. Before she could answer, you added quickly, “…For free?”

Her expression shifted instantly to one of mock disapproval. “Seriously?” she deadpanned.

“Come on,” you pleaded. “You’re my friend. My best friend, might I add.”

Robin narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms over her uniform. She wasn’t buying it, and you knew it.

“I’m immune to that face,” she said flatly, tilting her head in defiance.

“What face?” you asked innocently, though you knew exactly what she meant. You batted your lashes and offered her your best puppy-dog eyes, the very look that had gotten you out of trouble countless times before.

“That one,” Robin said, pointing at your exaggerated pout. “And for your information , it only works on Steve, not me.”

“Not fair,” you muttered, leaning against the counter.

“Life isn’t fair,” Robin quipped with a smirk before glancing over her shoulder. “Speaking of Steve…”

Your head snapped up, following her gaze. Sure enough, there he was, strolling out from the backroom with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his striped Scoops Ahoy hat slightly crooked.

His hair—perfect as always— and his easy smile sent a warmth rushing to your cheeks.

“Did someone say my name?” Steve asked, leaning casually against the counter next to Robin. His hazel eyes flicked between the two of you, curiosity glinting in them.

“She wants to try every flavor for free,” Robin announced, throwing you under the bus without hesitation.

Steve turned to you, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really? Every flavor?”

You shrugged sheepishly. “I mean, is it really that crazy?”

“It is,” Robin interjected. “Don’t let her drag you into this, Harrington.”

But Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his grin softening. “I don’t know,” he said, pretending to consider it. “She does make a pretty good case.”

“Steve!” Robin groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “You can’t just—”

Steve interrupted, turning back to you. “How can I say no to that face?”

You bit back a laugh as Robin slapped her forehead dramatically.

“Fine,” she muttered, giving in. “But if the boss finds out, I’m not taking the blame.”

Steve winked at you before grabbing a scoop. “So, where do we start?”

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting at a corner table with an impressive assortment of ice cream cups scattered before you.

Each one held a different flavor you’d been determined to try, the vibrant colors starting to swirl together as some began to melt.

Steve had taken his break just to sit with you, a cup of chocolate chip ice cream in hand.

His iconic Scoops Ahoy hat now rested on the table, and he was lazily licking his spoon.

“I thought you’d be sick of ice cream by now,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at you as he stared at the 5 empty cups of ice cream you've tried by now.

“Never,” you replied with exaggerated sigh, diving into a fresh cup of vanilla. You took a bite and practically sighed. “Oh, I love this one.”

Steve chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as he leaned back in his chair. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in that signature, boyish smile of his. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously charming,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him before taking another spoonful.

Before Steve could respond, the door to Scoops Ahoy burst open with a dramatic clang.

You both turned just in time to see Dustin barreling toward the table, a wild grin on his face and his backpack half-unzipped as it bounced on his shoulders.

Steve groaned, already bracing himself. “Here we go.”

Dustin slid into the seat beside you with all the grace of a hurricane, snatching one of the untouched ice cream cups from your collection without missing a beat.

“Hello.” he said, as though it were perfectly normal to show up unannounced and start helping himself.

“Uh, hi?” you replied, watching in disbelief as he dug in.

Steve raised a brow, leaning forward. “You know, you could at least ask before stealing someone else’s ice cream.”

Dustin waved him off with his spoon. “Oh, please. You’re not gonna eat all these. Besides, I’ve got important news.”

You exchanged a look with Steve, both of you silently debating whether or not to press him for details.

After all, with Dustin, “important news” could mean anything from a world-ending crisis to finding a cool rock in the woods.

“What kind of news?” you finally asked, your curiosity winning.

Dustin glanced around conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “It’s about the Russians.”

You and Steve groaned simultaneously, already knowing where this was headed.

“Dustin,” Steve began, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just—”

“No, no, no,” Dustin interrupted, leaning closer. “This is real. I’ve got proof this time!”

Steve shot you a look that said, Here we go again, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Have fun. I’m gonna go get more vanilla ice cream,” you announced, standing up and casually pushing Dustin off the seat.

“Hey!” Dustin protested, barely landing on his feet. “Rude much?”

You rolled your eyes at his whining and walked back toward the counter, leaving Steve and Dustin alone at the table.

As you approached Robin, she didn’t even wait for you to speak before starting in on her own tirade. “Finally! Your boyfriend here has been taking the longest break ever, and the boss is going to flip if he finds out.”

“He’s not my—” you began to protest, but Robin waved you off with a knowing smirk.

Meanwhile, back at the booth, Steve watched you from a distance, a soft smile creeping onto his face as you chatted animatedly with Robin.

You leaned against the counter, your laughter carrying faintly through the air, and Steve couldn’t help but let his gaze linger.

“You’re staring at her,” Dustin said matter-of-factly, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“What?” Steve snapped out of his daze, quickly turning to look at Dustin.

“You. Were. Staring,” Dustin repeated, drawing out each word.

“No, I wasn’t.” Steve shook his head, his cheeks faintly pink.

“Yeah, you were,” Dustin countered, undeterred. “You had that "in love Harrington face" you always get around her.”

“I don’t have a ‘in love Harrington face,’” Steve shot back, crossing his arms defensively.

“Denial isn’t a good look on you,” Dustin quipped before taking another bite of ice cream.

Steve groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can you just eat your ice cream and stop talking?”

“Sure. Right after you admit you—”

Before Dustin could finish, you returned to the table, holding a fresh cup of vanilla ice cream and raising a curious eyebrow at the tense energy between them. “What are you two arguing about now?”

Dustin’s face lit up as if he’d been handed a golden opportunity. “Oh, nothing. Just that Steve here was staring at you like a lovesick puppy.”

Steve’s eyes widened in pure panic. “I was not!”

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to hold back a laugh as you looked between the two of them. “Oh really?” you asked, your tone teasing.

“Don’t listen to him,” Steve said quickly, glaring at Dustin. “He’s just being annoying. Like always.”

Dustin leaned back with a smug grin. “Sure, Steve. Whatever you say.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you slid back into your seat. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you said, looking directly at Steve, “I don’t mind if you were staring.”

Steve froze, completely caught off guard, while Dustin giggled like he’d just won a bet.

“Okay, that’s it,” Steve muttered, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into Dustin’s mouth to shut him up.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction

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burreauxsworld · 4 months ago

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Ours To Keep (2) | Joe Burrow

Angst/Fluff

Summary: Joe doesn’t have the best reaction to your news, and it causes some tension between the two of you.

••••••

You stared at Joe in confusion as he laughed.

“Good one, Y/N” he says, still laughing. “But if you’re going to play a prank on me, at least come up with a better joke” he adds as he calms down. “Joe, I’m not joking” you tell him quietly. “The acting was seriously top tier. How have you never shown that to me before? I mean the tears looked so real-“

“Joe I’m not kidding. I’m not trying to play a prank on you” you cut him off. “I’ve been nauseous all week, my boobs are incredibly sore, and I missed my period over a week ago” you explain, and he lets out a sigh. “There’s no possible way you could be pregnant. You’re on birth control. You have that thing in your arm” he reminds you, smiling again. “I think you’re being paranoid” he says causing you to scoff.

“Joe, this is serious-“

“You’re not pregnant. You sound crazy” he says pulling back from you. “Have I been working you too hard? Maybe it’s stress. Take the rest of the day off-“

“That doesn’t explain the positive pregnancy test on my bathroom counter” you argue starting to get aggravated. “I’ve been ignoring it for weeks. Hoping maybe I was a little bit crazy. But we weren’t exactly the most careful-“

“So you’re turning this around on me?” Joe asks, his jaw clenched. “No, I’m not-“

“That’s how it sounds. You were irresponsible and now you’re paying the price for it and taking it out on me” he spits with his eyes full of anger. “Last time I checked it takes two people for something like this to happen. I didn’t have sex with myself” you retort and he scoffs. “How could you let this happen? Do you know how much shit this is going to cause? I don’t need this right now. I have to go back to practice, and to be honest I’m not sure I even want you here right now. You’re dismissed for the day” Joe walked out of the office leaving you stunned.

You knew he might not have the best reaction but you didn’t think it would be like this. Joe has never spoken to you that way, even when he was at his worst. With tears in your eyes, you gathered your bag and slowly began to make your way toward the parking lot.

You had a lot of things running through your head, but one rash thought lingered and it made you sick to your stomach. It was going to be a long night.

•••

Later that night, you’re sitting on your couch with your laptop open in your lap. You decided to throw yourself into work, and Joe had a foundation event coming up that Robin asked you to help organize. Even mad at him you couldn’t let this go undone. His foundation was one of the most important things to him, and you kept telling yourself you were more so doing this for his parents. You’re about halfway through editing the announcement picture that would eventually be posted to the foundations instagram, when you heard a knock at your door.

Furrowing your brows, and setting your laptop on the glass coffee table, you walked over to the door and looked through the peep-hole. Your heart lurched at the sight of him. You open the door, and the two of you stare at each other for about a minute.

“You’re not here to throw me down the stairs, are you?” You ask, half joking.

Joe rolls his eyes, “can I come in?”

You move to the side and let him into your home. He kicks his shoes off, knowing you don’t like shoes on your light colored carpet. “What’s up? Why’d you stop by?” You ask, a sigh escaping your lips. You know exactly why he’s here, but you wanted to see what he had to say for himself. “I went home today after practice and had some time to think. The way I treated you was wrong and just absolutely disgusting” he says, stepping toward you, and you take a step back.

“I deserve that.” He says running his hand through his hair. “I never should have blamed you for this. This is just as much my fault, if not more. You did your part being safe, I’m the one that decided not to use condoms. That’s on me. I want you to know how sorry I am about today,” Joe says. You guys never breaking eye contact.

“You’re probably terrified, and I didn’t make it any easier-“

“That’s for sure.” You mutter. “Joe, I never meant for this to happen. And I’ve done a lot of thinking myself. I’m going to keep this baby. I’m not asking you for any help, I’m not asking you for any money. I’m fully prepared to do this by myself. I’ve started looking for another job-“

“Hang on a second-“

“You can sign your rights away. We don’t even have to tell anyone that the baby is yours. You’ll have no ties to it” you ramble, and he shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” He states, his voice firm. “This is my kid, Y/N. Not just something I can pretend doesn’t exist. I want to do this with you, if you’ll let me” he pleads, reaching out to grab your hand.

“You really hurt me today, Joe.” You told him. “You made me feel like I ruined your life”

“I know, and I regret everything I said to you. I can’t even put into words how sorry I am. You didn’t ruin my life. Neither one of us could have anticipated this happening” he assures you. “I am so so sorry” he says, pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. “I’m still very upset with you. It’s going to take some time to fully forgive you” you tell him, and he frowns, but he understands.

“I have a doctors appointment in the morning, if you’d like to come” you offer. “It’s just to confirm everything and get a due date and all that fun stuff”

“I’ll drive and buy you breakfast” he says, looking down at you. “Speaking of food, I’m starving” you groan, and he lets out a laugh. “Alright, I guess I’ll feed you” he jokes, making his way to your kitchen. “Ooh, can you make that pasta that I like? I’m pretty sure I have all of the ingredients” you ask with pleading eyes.

“Yes, I can make you the pasta. Pick a movie, and shut that laptop. Work is over for the day” he orders.

“Sir, yes, sir”

��••

The Next Day

“Well congratulations, Y/N. You are indeed pregnant,” the doctor says, entering the room after your test results finally come back. “Both the urine and blood test came back positive. Judging by the numbers on your results it’s looking like you’re around 8 or 9 weeks pregnant, that’s around 2 months and a week.. Which would make your due date sometime in February, but we can’t be sure until we do an ultrasound” the doctor explains.

“The next course of action is going to be removing your nexplanon and doing an ultrasound” she explains.

You look over at Joe, who’s listening intently. He hasn’t said much since the two of you got here, but you’re giving him time. He wants to be involved, but he processes things a different way. You respect that.

“We can schedule the ultrasound for about a week from now. I don’t have any available ultrasound techs today. So I have a list of appointments, and you can choose what works best for you and your schedule. All of them are on Monday. There’s a 9am, 10am, 12pm, 3pm, and 4pm-“

“We can do Monday at 9am” Joe says, and you look over at him. “You have practice on Monday” you remind him. He shrugs. “We only watch film for the first two hours on Monday, you know that. They’ll be fine without me for an hour” he assures you. “We’ll do Monday at 9am” you tell the doctor, knowing Joe wasn’t going to let up.

“Perfect. Stop at the front desk to check out on your way back out. See you Monday. Congratulations, again” she smiles as she leaves the room. You look back over at Joe. “You okay?” You ask, and he nods. “I’m good. Now let’s go get you guys some breakfast,” he says, and a warm feeling spreads through your chest. You slip your hand in his and he leads you out of the room.

•••

“What can I get you guys to drink?”

“I’ll take a coffee with extra cream and sugar” you say, and Joe protests. “You can’t have coffee. Caffeine isn’t good for the baby” he says, and you shoot him a glare that’s strong enough to cut. The waitress looks between the two of you hesitantly. . “I can have a little bit of caffeine,” you argue, and look back at waitress. “Ignore him. I’ll have a coffee” you say with a smile. It’s Joe’s turn to roll his eyes, as he orders a water for himself.

Once the waitress walks away, you kick Joe’s shin under the table. “You’re not going to be one of those overprotective fathers who dictates what I eat, drink, and do. I’m an adult. I can handle myself”

He lets out a sigh, knowing not to argue because your hormones are high right now. “Please do your research before acting like a control freak. I can have up to 200 grams of caffeine a day,” you tell him, and he sighs. “I just want to keep the two of you safe,” he admits, and you start to feel bad for going off on him.

“I appreciate that, Joey, but we’re good. We can handle a little bit of caffeine” you assure him, a slight smile on your face. The waitress returns with your drinks, and the proceeds to ask if you’re ready to order your food. “Can I have two over medium eggs, with hash browns, and toast?” The waitress writes down your order, Joe looks confused, but orders his blueberry pancakes and the waitress goes to put the order in.

“You hate eggs,” Joe comments.

“The baby wants them.”

Joe laughs, tossing his head back. “What the baby wants, the baby gets”

~~~~~~~

Ahhh our guys won yesterday!! I’m so proud of them :)

#joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow smut

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23victoria · 2 months ago

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gingerbread cookies!

pairings: 𝓯1 𝓰𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

word count: 3.8𝓴

synopsis: 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓼

authors note: 𝓭𝓪𝔂 1 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓼! 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂! 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼, 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓼𝓴𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭!!

𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽?! CLICK HERE!

F1 MASTERLIST F1 CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST

Lewis

The kitchen is already buzzing with excitement. Lia’s tiny voice fills the room as she sits on the counter, clapping her flour-covered hands while her big brother Leo drags a chair to the counter so he can reach the mixing bowl. Lewis stands next to you, grinning from ear to ear, his apron slightly already dusted with flour. You’re armed with a rolling pin and a smile, ready to face the inevitable chaos of baking gingerbread cookies for the first time as a family.

“Alright, team,” Lewis says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s make some gingerbread magic happen.”

“Cookies, Daddy!” Lia cheers, throwing her arms in the air. The sudden movement sends a puff of flour into the air, and both you and Lewis cough, laughing as the powder settles.

“Cookies, yes, princess,” he says, scooping her up and planting a kiss on her flour-speckled cheek. She giggles and squirms, and he sets her back down on the counter. “But first, we have to mix the dough. Leo, you ready to be my sous-chef?”

Leo’s chest puffs up with pride. “Yes, Dad! I’m ready.”

You hand him the wooden spoon, and he gets to work mixing the dry ingredients. You and Lewis guide him, taking turns measuring out the cinnamon, ginger, and cloves while Lia alternates between sneaking handfuls of flour and trying to “help” by stirring.

“Lia, no eating the flour,” you say gently, pulling her flour-covered fingers out of her mouth. “It doesn’t taste good yet.”

She pouts dramatically, her big brown eyes shining with mischief. “But I’m hungry, Mommy!”

“You’ll get cookies soon,” Lewis assures her, ruffling her curly hair. “But first, we have to make the dough.”

The dough comes together quickly, though not without a few mishaps. Lia accidentally dumps too much sugar into the bowl, prompting a quick rescue mission from you and Leo. Lewis adds a bit too much molasses, which makes the dough stickier than it should be. But the laughter and teamwork make up for any imperfections.

When it’s time to roll out the dough, you dust the counter with flour and hand Lia a miniature rolling pin. She takes her job very seriously, rolling the dough with all her might, even if it’s uneven and full of tiny fingerprints.

“Look, Mommy! I’m a chef!” she announces proudly.

“You’re the best chef,” you reply, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Meanwhile, Leo focuses intently on cutting out shapes with the cookie cutters. He’s careful and precise, his tongue poking out in concentration as he presses a star-shaped cutter into the dough.

“Good job, buddy,” Lewis says, giving him a fist bump. “That’s a perfect star.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Leo says, beaming.

Of course, it’s not long before things start to spiral into delightful chaos. Lia, bored with rolling dough, begins decorating her face with flour, creating what she calls a “gingerbread mask.” Leo accidentally knocks over the bowl of sprinkles, sending colorful candies skittering across the floor. And Lewis, in his attempt to “help,” manages to get icing on his nose and eyebrows.

“You’re supposed to decorate the cookies, not yourself,” you tease, laughing as you wipe a smear of icing off his cheek.

“I’m just setting the vibe,” he quips, leaning in to kiss you. Before his lips can meet yours, Lia interrupts with a loud, “Ewwww, Mommy and Daddy are kissing!”

You and Lewis laugh, pulling apart but not before he winks at you. “We’ll finish that later,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.

Finally, the cookies are ready to go into the oven. You let Leo and Lia take turns placing the tray in with Lewis supervising closely.

As the cookies bake, the smell of ginger and cinnamon fills the kitchen, making everyone’s mouth water. You’re wiping down the counter when Lia tugs on your sleeve.

“Mommy, can we make hot chocolate?” she asks sweetly, her flour-covered face tilted up at you.

“Of course we can,” you say, lifting her off the counter and setting her on the floor. “Let’s get the mugs.”

By the time the cookies are ready, the four of you are sitting at the table, sipping hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. The cookies, though slightly misshapen, are delicious, and Leo takes great pride in pointing out which ones he decorated.

“This one’s mine,” he says, holding up a star-shaped cookie covered in lopsided icing. “And that one’s Lia’s.”

“It’s so pretty,” Lia says, clapping her hands. “Just like me!”

Lewis bursts out laughing. “You’re not wrong, princess.”

As the evening winds down, you survey the mess in the kitchen: flour on the counters, sprinkles on the floor, and sticky fingerprints everywhere. But the sound of your children’s laughter and the sight of their frosting-smeared faces make it all worth it.

“We’re definitely doing this again next year,” Lewis says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” you agree, leaning into him.

The kids, now on a sugar high, start a game of tag around the table, their giggles echoing through the house.

Charles

The twins are perched on either side of the kitchen island, their little hands eager to dive into the pile of cookie cutters and bowls of colorful icing. Jules, ever the perfectionist, carefully lines up the cutters, his brow furrowed in concentration. Alessandro, on the other hand, is already elbow-deep in the flour, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Papa, is it like this?" Jules asks, holding up a perfectly shaped gingerbread man. Charles leans over, his green eyes sparkling with pride. "C'est parfait, Jules! You’re a natural."

You’re busy rolling out another sheet of dough when Alessandro lets out a frustrated huff. "Mine broke!" he exclaims, holding up a decapitated gingerbread man. Tears threaten to spill as he glares at the dough.

Before you or Charles can intervene, Jules slides his own gingerbread man over to his twin. "Here, Ale. You can have mine. I’ll make another one," he says softly, his tone filled with understanding.

The gesture melts your heart. Charles places a hand on your back, his expression a mix of pride and tenderness as he watches his sons. "They’re good boys," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Alessandro sniffs, accepting the cookie with a shy smile. "Thanks, Jules. You’re the best brother."

The rest of the baking session goes smoothly, with Alessandro taking his time to mimic Jules’ careful technique. The boys work together to decorate their cookies, laughing as they sneak tastes of icing and sprinkles. Charles manages to snap a few candid photos, capturing the flour-streaked faces and genuine smiles that light up the room.

When the cookies are finally done, the twins proudly present their creations to you and Charles. "Look, Mama! Papa!" they say in unison, holding up their plates of colorful gingerbread men.

"Magnificent!" Charles declares, pulling the boys into a bear hug. "You two are master bakers."

You smile, wrapping your arms around your little family, your heart has never felt fuller.

Carlos

The kitchen is a whirlwind of chaos and laughter as your three little ones dive into the gingerbread-making process. Ruby, your five-year-old, takes charge immediately, carefully measuring out ingredients with her tongue poking out in concentration. Marco, who is four, is more interested in sneaking tastes of the dough, while Roman, your three-year-old, is determined to use every single cookie cutter at once.

"Mama, can I do the sprinkles now?" Ruby asks, holding up a shaker of red and green sprinkles. Before you can answer, Marco bumps into her, causing the shaker to topple over and coat the counter in a glittering mess.

"Marco!" Ruby scolds, her lower lip trembling as she surveys the ruined sprinkles.

"Sorry!" Marco says quickly, his big brown eyes wide with guilt. Roman, sensing the tension, toddles over to Ruby and wraps his little arms around her waist. "Don’t be sad, Ruby. We help," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Marco nods earnestly, grabbing a dishcloth. "I’ll clean it up, Ruby!"

You exchange a look with Carlos, who is watching the scene unfold with a soft smile. "Our little team," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

With Ruby’s spirits lifted, the three kids work together to fix the mess. Marco carefully wipes up the spilled sprinkles while Roman hands Ruby a new shaker. "Here, Ruby. You do it better," he says, his tiny voice full of sincerity.

Carlos crouches down to help Ruby and Marco roll out the dough again, his hands guiding theirs as they press the cutters into the soft surface. Roman, meanwhile, has discovered the joy of throwing flour into the air, creating a fine white mist that settles over everyone.

"Roman!" Carlos exclaims, laughing as he tries to stop the little boy. But Roman is too quick, and soon even Carlos’ dark hair is dusted with flour.

By the time the cookies are finally baked and decorated, the kitchen looks like a tornado has passed through. But as you sit on the floor with Carlos and the kids, nibbling on warm gingerbread and sharing stories, the mess feels like a small price to pay for such a perfect family moment.

Max

The kitchen feels extra cozy as little Mia, your three-year-old daughter, toddles up to the counter on her step stool. She clutches a rolling pin almost as big as her, her tiny tongue peeking out in concentration.

"Dada, I’m making a big cookie!" Mia announces, pressing down on the dough with all her strength. Max chuckles, standing beside her. "A big cookie for a big girl, right?"

You’re sifting flour when Mia suddenly sneezes. A puff of flour rises into the air, landing on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes go wide in surprise before she bursts into a fit of giggles.

"Dada! I’m white!" she exclaims, pointing to her face. Max grins and taps her nose with his finger, adding another smudge of flour. "Now you look like a snowman!"

"Mama, I’m a snowman!" Mia declares, holding out her arms for you to see. You laugh, wiping your hands on a towel before leaning in to kiss her floury cheek. "The cutest snowman I’ve ever seen."

As Mia works on her giant cookie, Max decides to get creative. He scoops a bit of icing and dabs it on your nose, earning a playful glare from you. "Max!"

"What? It’s Christmas spirit!" he says innocently, though his mischievous grin gives him away.

Before long, the kitchen turns into a playful battlefield. Mia joins in, flinging tiny handfuls of flour at both you and Max. Her giggles echo through the room as Max lifts her up, spinning her around to evade your “retaliation” with a handful of sprinkles.

When the cookies are finally in the oven, the three of you are covered head to toe in flour, sprinkles, and icing. Mia sits on Max’s lap at the kitchen table, munching on a leftover piece of dough. "Dada, can we eat the cookies now?" she asks, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Soon, angel," Max says, brushing a strand of flour-dusted hair out of her face. "First, they have to bake."

As you all wait, you take a moment to snap a photo of your messy but happy little family. The kitchen might need serious cleaning, but the memories made within its walls are priceless. Once the cookies are out of the oven, cooled, and decorated with Mia’s enthusiastic smears of icing and an overload of sprinkles, she proudly holds up her "big cookie."

"Look, Mama! Dada! My cookie is so pretty!" she beams, her little chest puffed out with pride.

"It’s the best cookie I’ve ever seen," Max says earnestly, leaning down to kiss her cheek. You nod in agreement, wrapping an arm around both of them.

"Absolutely. This one’s going in the family hall of fame," you tease, already planning to snap another picture. The three of you sit down to enjoy the sweet treats together, your hearts full despite the flour-coated chaos surrounding you.

Lando

The kitchen is a whirlwind of flour, sugar, and laughter as you and Lando attempt to make gingerbread cookies with your four-year-old daughter, Celeste. Standing on her little stool by the counter, she’s already covered in flour from head to toe, her tiny hands eagerly grabbing at the cookie cutters. Lando leans close to her, his face alight with a mixture of amusement and pure adoration.

“Alright, baby,” Lando says, handing her a star-shaped cutter. “Press it down nice and hard, just like this.” He demonstrates with a gingerbread man cutter, and Celeste mimics him with all the determination of a toddler on a mission.

“I did it!” she announces proudly, holding up her slightly lopsided star. Her big green eyes shine as she turns to you for approval.

“That’s perfect, baby girl,” you say, brushing a bit of flour off her nose. “You’re a natural baker.”

Celeste beams, and Lando’s grin widens as he grabs another piece of dough. “She takes after me,” he teases, earning an eye roll from you. “What can I say? Talent runs in the family.”

“Oh, does it?” you reply, arching a brow as you sprinkle a little flour onto his cheek. Lando gasps dramatically, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it into the air like confetti. Celeste squeals with laughter, clapping her hands and sending a puff of flour everywhere.

“Lando!” you scold, though you’re laughing too.

“What? She started it,” he says, pointing at Celeste, who giggles even harder.

When the cookies are finally in the oven, the three of you sit at the table with bowls of icing and sprinkles. Lando takes one look at the little tray of cookies and shakes his head. “I think these might be the most... abstract gingerbread cookies ever made.”

Celeste holds up a cookie she’s decorated with three blobs of icing and a pile of red sprinkles. “It’s a snowman!” she says proudly.

Lando’s face softens, and he nods. “The best snowman I’ve ever seen,” he says, leaning over to kiss her flour-dusted cheek.

You watch as Celeste happily eats her cookie, her tiny teeth nibbling away at the edges. Lando’s eyes never leave her, his expression so full of love it makes your heart ache. “She’s perfect,” he murmurs, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

As Celeste finishes her cookie, Lando scoops her up into his arms, spinning her around until she’s giggling uncontrollably. He plants kisses all over her face, making her squeal and squirm. “Daddy, stop! It tickles!”

“Never!” Lando declares, holding her close and laughing along with her.

By the end of the evening, the kitchen is a complete mess, but you wouldn’t trade the chaos for anything. With Celeste snuggled up between you and Lando on the couch, her tiny hand clutching a gingerbread star, you feel like the luckiest family in the world.

Oscar

The kitchen is calm but buzzing with a quiet excitement as your twins, four-year-old Odessa and Ocean, stand on their step stools by the counter. Odessa’s brows are furrowed in deep concentration as she carefully presses a gingerbread man cutter into the rolled-out dough. Ocean, on the other hand, is humming a Christmas tune, sprinkling flour on her side of the counter with as much flair as possible.

"Mommy, look! Mine has arms this time!" Odessa says proudly, holding up her perfectly shaped cookie. You smile and nod, brushing a bit of flour from her cheek.

"Great job, honeybun! You’re getting really good at this."

Oscar, standing nearby with a mixing bowl in hand, chuckles softly. "'s precision is unmatched," he says, ruffling Odessa’s dark brown curls before turning to Ocean. "And Ocean, are you making snow angels or cookies?"

Ocean giggles, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Both!" she declares, throwing a puff of flour into the air. It lands on her hair, turning her into a mini snow queen.

Oscar shakes his head, amused, and places the bowl down to help. "Alright, let’s focus on the cookies before we lose the rest of the flour," he says, guiding Ocean’s tiny hands to press a star cutter into the dough.

"Daddy, do you like stars or trees better?" Ocean asks, glancing up at him.

Oscar pretends to think for a moment. "Hmm, I think I like stars better because they remind me of you and Odessa—my two brightest stars."

Odessa rolls her eyes in good-natured embarrassment. "Papa, that’s so cheesy."

You laugh, nudging Odessa gently. "Sometimes cheesy is good, honey."

As the cookies bake in the oven, the four of you sit at the table, readying bowls of icing and sprinkles for decorating. Odessa picks up a piping bag, her little hands steady as she carefully outlines her gingerbread man’s shirt. Ocean, meanwhile, goes for an avant-garde approach, covering her cookie with every color of icing she can reach.

"Ocean, your gingerbread man looks like a rainbow exploded on him," Odessa comments, tilting her head as she examines her work.

"It’s called art," Ocean replies with a dramatic flip of her flour-dusted hair.

Oscar hides a grin behind his hand, leaning over to whisper to you. "She’s got your sass."

You laugh softly, watching your little ones pour their hearts into their creations. When the cookies are finally finished, Odessa presents her gingerbread man with a proud grin. "Look, Daddy, it’s you!"

Oscar inspects the cookie’s neat icing tie and buttoned shirt, his eyes crinkling with delight. "Wow, Odessa. You’ve made me look very handsome."

"And this one’s Mommy!" Ocean chimes in, holding up a colorful cookie that’s practically drowning in sprinkles.

You gasp playfully. "Ocean, I’ve never looked better."

The evening ends with all four of you sitting on the couch, enjoying your gingerbread creations and a Christmas movie playing softly in the background. Odessa leans against Oscar’s side, and Ocean cuddles in your lap, both happily munching on their cookies. As the glow of the Christmas tree lights flickers across the room, you catch Oscar’s eye. He smiles at you, the warmth in his gaze saying everything words can’t.

The kitchen may be clean now, the flour swept away and the cookie cutters put back in their drawers, but the memory of this perfect family moment will linger long after the last crumb is gone.

Sebastian

The kitchen is lively with chatter as Sebastian stands at the counter, helping your children, Tommy, Jamie, and Ambria, shape gingerbread cookies. Jamie, determined to make the perfect reindeer, furrows his brows in concentration while Ambria giggles, sprinkling flour onto the table—and accidentally onto Sebastian’s hair.

"Ambria," Sebastian says in mock seriousness, brushing flour off his curls, "are you trying to turn me into a snowman?"

Ambria bursts into laughter. "You’d make the best snowman, Papa!" she declares, tossing another puff of flour into the air. Jamie snickers, but his focus remains on his dough.

"Alright, alright," you interject, smiling as you place a tray of freshly shaped cookies onto the counter. "Let’s save some flour for the actual baking, shall we?"

Sebastian grins at you, his green eyes sparkling. "They’re creative, what can I say?"

The oven hums as the first batch of cookies bakes, filling the air with the warm, spiced scent of gingerbread. Jamie and Ambria lean against the counter, eagerly watching the timer count down.

"Papa," Jamie says, glancing up at Sebastian, "why do we always make gingerbread cookies at Christmas?"

Sebastian kneels to Jamie’s level, his hands resting on his son’s flour-dusted shoulders. "Because it’s a tradition," he explains gently. "It’s something we do together as a family, so that every Christmas, we can remember these moments."

Ambria tilts her head thoughtfully. "Like a memory we can eat?"

Sebastian chuckles, pulling her into a hug. "Exactly, my little philosopher."

When the cookies are done, the decorating begins. Ambria meticulously decorates each cookie with colorful icing and sprinkles, while Jamie opts for a simpler approach, carefully outlining each one. Sebastian joins in, creating a gingerbread version of each family member.

"This one’s Mama," he says, holding up a cookie with icing hair that matches yours. "Beautiful, just like the real thing."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Seb."

Later, as the cookies cool, the four of you sit around the Christmas tree with mugs of hot chocolate, the lights casting a soft glow around the room. Ambria snuggles into Sebastian’s side, her head resting on his shoulder, while Jamie leans against your arm, holding a gingerbread cookie shaped like a snowman.

"These are the best cookies we’ve ever made," Ambria declares, her voice sleepy but content.

Sebastian smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. "That’s because we made them together," he says softly, his gaze meeting yours.

In that moment, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the scent of gingerbread, you realize that these simple traditions, messy, flour-filled, and full of love, are what make the holidays truly magical.

Jenson

Your home is filled with the chaos and warmth only a family of seven can create. The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity as your five children—eleven-year-old Orion, nine-year-old Brandon, eight-year-old Killian, four-year-old Isabella, and one-year-old Luna—all take their positions around the counter. Jenson stands at the center, his sleeves rolled up and a mischievous grin on his face, ready to lead the troops.

“Alright, everyone,” Jenson announces, clapping his hands. “We’re making gingerbread cookies. Team Button, are you ready?”

“Yes!” Orion and Brandon shout, already reaching for the flour and rolling pins. Killian grabs a handful of cookie cutters, examining them with the precision of a race engineer. Isabella bounces on her stool, her excitement contagious as she claps her flour-dusted hands. Luna, perched safely in her highchair, babbles happily, smacking her little fists against the tray.

You laugh, standing back for a moment to watch the organized chaos unfold. “This is either going to be amazing or a complete disaster,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter.

Jenson winks at you. “It’ll be both,” he replies confidently.

Orion, the eldest and self-appointed leader of the kids, takes charge of measuring the ingredients. “Dad, do we really need this much cinnamon?” he asks, holding up the spice jar.

Jenson pretends to think deeply. “Hmm, cinnamon makes everything better, so maybe add just a little more.”

Brandon nudges Orion with a smirk. “He just wants an excuse to eat more cookies.”

Killian, meanwhile, has commandeered the cookie cutters and is lining them up in a perfect row. “We need a reindeer, a star, and a Christmas tree,” he declares. “And maybe a race car, if we can make one.”

“A race car?” Jenson grins, his eyes lighting up. “That’s my boy.”

Isabella, not to be outdone, grabs a rolling pin and starts flattening the dough with all her might. “I’m making the biggest cookie ever!” she announces, her tiny hands working with determination. You step in to help guide her efforts, laughing as she sticks her tongue out in concentration.

As the dough begins to take shape, Luna decides she’s had enough of just watching. She smacks her tray again, this time sending a puff of flour into the air.

“Luna wants to help too,” you say, lifting her out of the highchair and handing her a soft piece of dough to squish in her tiny fists. She giggles, smearing it across her cheeks like war paint.

“She’s starting her own cookie war,” Jenson jokes, snapping a picture on his phone.

Once the cookies are cut and placed on baking sheets, the decorating begins. Orion and Brandon focus on intricate designs, their competitive streaks coming out as they try to outdo each other. Killian, ever the perfectionist, takes his time with each cookie, ensuring every sprinkle is in its rightful place. Isabella opts for a more abstract approach, piling on as much icing and candy as possible. Luna, of course, eats more sprinkles than she applies, her little face sticky with sugar.

“Look at this one,” Jenson says, holding up a gingerbread man with a green icing bow tie. “This is Uncle Lewis. What do you think?”

The kids burst into laughter. “He needs sunglasses!” Orion suggests, grabbing black icing to add the finishing touch.

When the cookies are finally done and cooling on the racks, the kitchen looks like a snowstorm of flour and sugar has hit it. Jenson surveys the mess with a chuckle. “Well, we might need a pit crew to clean this up.”

“I’ll help, Dad,” Brandon volunteers, grabbing a dishcloth.

“Me too!” Killian chimes in, his perfectionist tendencies extending to tidying up.

As the cleaning begins, you notice Isabella carefully placing her cookies on a plate. “These are for Santa,” she explains, her voice serious. “He needs the best ones.”

“And these are for us,” Orion says, holding up a tray. “Because we’re the best cookie makers in the world.”

Jenson wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you watch your children’s teamwork and laughter. “We did good, didn’t we?” he murmurs.

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah, we really did.”

That night, after the kids are tucked into bed, you and Jenson sit by the Christmas tree, sharing a plate of gingerbread cookies and a quiet moment together. The chaos of the day lingers in the best way, filling your heart with warmth and love.

“Same time next year?” Jenson asks, a playful glint in his eye.

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “Definitely.”

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽! ❥☽ @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon-blog @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @jimcarreyfann42 @oliviah-25 @bbwzrld @goldenroutledge @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @flowerpetalk @paucubarsisimp @its-elias-world @magixpracticality @poppyflower-22 @pear-1206

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choochooboss · 3 months ago

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Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2

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snowballseal · 3 months ago

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Them as supernatural creatures (LaDS)

Summary: This is my take on what supernatural creature each guy would be. They're pretty long, and either a fic where reader discovers what they are or a domestic moment they share together.

Rafayel - kitsune

Zayne - vampire

Xavier - guardian angel

Sylus - demon

Word Count: all roughly 1500 words

Note: These honestly came out soooo much longer than I expected. I might add a fic for Caleb, cause honestly, I'm really warming up to him. What supernatural creature should he be?

I'll probably come back and edit later, so let me know if you catch any mistakes!

---

Rafayel / Kitsune

“Rafayel…” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?! They deserved it,” Rafayel defends himself as he flops down onto the couch.

“That doesn’t mean you can screw with people whenever you want,” you chastise softly and sit next to him, “You’re supposed to keep your identity a secret.”

Rafayel gives you a pout. Letting out a dramatic huff, he falls over into your lap, stretching out lazily instead of giving you any kind of response. You bite back a laugh, his weight pressing you into the couch, effectively trapping you as he makes himself comfortable. It takes everything in you to not give in to his usual cute tactics, the concern gripping your chest not quite letting go.

“Seriously, Raffie, it could be dangerous,” you continue, worry seeping into your voice.

“It’s fiiine,” he sighs, ocean eyes glinting up at you with amusement, “You worry too much, cutie. You wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t told you.”

“Still-”

“Nope, no more worrying,” he cuts you off quickly, reaching up to pinch both your cheek with a teasing, cheshire grin, “Miss Bodyguard is off duty now. This spirit wants his girlfriend to cuddle with him.”

Swatting at his hands, you can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Sometimes it still surprises you how care-free he is, like nothing could ever touch him. Which maybe he’s right. And you know he’s never going to stop his antics. Still, you worry. It’s a part of your nature, wanting to protect people, especially the ones you love, especially him.

But Rafayel is persistent, coaxing you to relax with playful touches and banter. He knows exactly how to unwind you, and how to rile you up, every button, every nerve. You feel almost powerless to resist, to hold onto your lingering doubts. And it’s not even his powers, it’s just Rafayel, your Rafayel.

And of course you give in. With a weak sigh, you settle into the couch, your fingers finding their way into his curls to calm what’s left of your frazzled nerves. Rafayel hums, low and content, his eyes flickering shut as he arches up into your touch like a cat.

“Do you want to stop hiding your ears?” You ask quietly, something warm and tender winding through your ribs.

Rafayel lets out another low rumble, eyes opening a fraction to look up at you suspiciously, “You know, sometimes I wonder if you like my ears more than you like me. That wouldn’t be true, now would it, cutie?”

“Of course not,” you tease, ruffling his hair, “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Mhm, sure.” A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, because of course he knows that you do truly love him for him, but the fox does love his games.

It’s almost unnoticeable, the way he dismisses his transformation magic. Every time you can’t help but watch, fully enraptured by the change. A pair of soft ears flicker up from his hair, as if they were simply hiding in his curls the whole time. And his tails. You blink, and suddenly they appear, fluffy and plush, the same color as his hair. They curl around you, as if seeking out your warmth, the same way Rafayel turns to nuzzle into your stomach. The spirit gives a happy rumble when you rub his ears, pressing impossibly closer.

“You have no idea how irritating it is to hide them all the time.” His voice comes out muffled by your sweater, his ears flicking back before pressing to your fingers again. “I imagine it’s how you humans feel when you wear itchy clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” you agree, “I’m glad you don’t have to hide them around me anymore.”

“You’re the first human I’ve allowed to see my true form in a long time, ya know.”

Your heart flutters a little at that. It’s a fact you’re well aware of, and one you try to never take for granted. It had taken a long time for Rafayel to share this with you.

Ever since you met in the park, you knew something was different about him. He was beautiful, after all. More beautiful than you thought a person could be. And there was always something about his smile, something that set you on edge but also drew you in. The mischievous glint in his eyes never wavering, the almost unnatural grace he moves with, even the way he talks, as if he remembers times long gone by.

It all clicked when he finally told you. When he showed you his true form. A fox spirit. Everything made complete sense, but also no sense at all in that moment. First, you couldn’t comprehend it. Wanderers, yes, those you could wrap your head around. Mystical fox spirits? No. No, that took a few days to really settle in.

Still, it was Rafayel. It was always Rafayel. And the moment he came to you after those few days of distance, tentative and quiet in a way you had never witnessed from the artist, you made your decision.

A life without him wasn’t possible. Not for you. Not with how you had fallen in love with him.

“So, tell me again why you tricked those guys into thinking a bear was chasing them?” You ask, tone fond as you continue to rub the soft fur on his ears.

Rafayel huffs, rolling on his back to meet your gaze more easily. The swirling colors of his eyes gleam with that familiar mischief, his canines flashing sharply in a dangerous grin, “They were hunting for sport, so I showed them what it’s like to be hunted.”

He really is scary sometimes, you think to yourself, biting back a smile.

“I’m sure they’ll think twice about hunting in your woods again.”

“They better,” he snips, “If I catch them again I’ll send a real bear after them.”

“I’m sure the forest thinks you’re quite a good guardian, mister fox spirit,” you tease, ruffling his hair fondly.

Rafayel suddenly shifts, and in the blink of an eye he’s leaning over you, his arms braced against the couch on either side of your head. You freeze, eyes going wide as you look up at him, pulse racing in your ears. The fox spirit leans down, nose brushing yours, that same dangerous smile pulling at his lips.

“And what do you think, miss hunter?” He asks, breath warm against your lips.

A lump forms in your throat, making it hard to speak, to even breathe with him this close. And Rafayel can tell, his eyes narrowing with amusement. He lifts one hand, fingers tracing delicately along your cheek so you feel the faint edge of his claws.

“What? Fox got your tongue?” He all but taunts, leaning closer. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips, his grin widening. “I could show you what that really feels like if you want.”

…

Heat flares across your cheeks. You gape at him, shock mixing with embarrassment mixing with something you don’t want to admit to. Did he just say what you think he did?

Rafayel keeps his cool facade for only a few more seconds before he cracks, bursting into a fit of laughter. You stare at him, blinking wildly, brain slowly catching up with it all. And then you’re shoving him.

“Rafayel!” You squeak, and he only laughs harder, which in turn, makes you more flustered. “You’re such a- I can’t believe you! God, you’re insufferable.”

The artist catches your hands when you go to hit him again, his ocean eyes crinkling along the edges. Snickering softly, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your angry pout.

“Sorry, my bride,” he hums unapologetically against your lips, pressing a scattering of chaste kisses along your pink cheeks. “It felt like the best way to change the subject.”

“My lover is such a sadist,” you grumble, trying to turn away from him. It’s difficult to keep pouting when he showers you in such soft affection. “My poor heart can’t take this, you know.”

Rafayel cups your face, drawing you back to face him so he can press another kiss to your lips, this one tender and gentle and slow. And just like before, you’re powerless to resist him. Your fingers brush against his neck as you return the kiss, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you. Everything about him is so addicting, so enthralling, like you could get lost and never find your way out. It almost scares you, how much you’re willing to lose for this man.

Eventually Rafayel draws away, if only to let you catch your breath, still teasing you, “Now do you forgive me, cutie?”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh, pretending to be appeased. Your fingers trail innocently up into his hair, until you’re close enough to give his fluffy ear a playful pinch. Rafayel squawks and pulls away, giving you the most dramatic look of betrayal. Grinning, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Okay, now I definitely do.”

Rafayel whines, reaching up to rub his ear, “Who’s the sadist now?”

“Watch it, or I might just pull your tail.”

“Okay, okay, we’re even…Now can we cuddle?”

---

Zayne / Vampire

You’ve known Zayne practically your whole life. Well, all of your life that you can remember, at least. He’s always been something constant, if not distant at times. And while you never assumed you knew everything about the doctor, you thought you knew more than most.

That is, until you wander into his office one day to find him passed out on the floor.

“Zayne?” You freeze in the doorway to his office, eyes blowing wide.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t show a single sign of life. Fear sinks deep into your bones, wraps around your lungs like a noose. And then your legs are moving. Your shoes desperately try to grip the tile as you dash across the room, panic dulling the throb in your knees as you drop to the ground beside him.

Pulse. You need to check his pulse. And his breathing.

Hands shaking, you press your fingers below his jaw, only to inhale sharply at the shock of how cold his skin is. Like ice. Too cold. No one should be this cold. And you can’t find a pulse. You skim your fingers down his neck, looking, looking, but still nothing.

Leaning over the still doctor, you press your ear to his chest and wait. Your lungs start to ache from how you desperately hold your breath, but it’s nothing compared to the terror gripping your heart. Because you hear nothing. Nothing at all.

You draw back, lips parting, ready to call out for someone, anyone.

Until a hand clamps firmly over your mouth.

A surprised scream escapes you, muffled by cold fingers, as you find yourself flipped, a hand holding the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the ground. Chest heaving, you draw a fist back, ready to fight back against your attacker, only to freeze when your eyes meet a pair of hazel ones.

Zayne.

Relief washes over you. Quickly followed by confusion. You quickly push his hand away, brow knitting together.

“What the hell, Zayne?” You bark, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

The doctor quickly backs away, resting back on his haunches. You take a moment to look him over, worry still clinging to your bones. He’s pale, somehow more pale than usual at least. Dark shadows rest under his eyes, which appear almost bleary as he gazes back at you. He looks exhausted.

Dead, even.

“You weren’t breathing,” you whisper, getting to your knees so you can check his temperature again. “Your heart wasn’t beating. I checked. What happened? How are you awake right now?”

Zayne grimaces, flinching away from your touch, and you freeze.

A deafening silence fills the office. It’s an odd stand-off, you staring him down, confusion burning behind your gaze, while he does everything he can to avoid it. For a split second, though, you see something you’ve never seen in the doctor. Uncertainty.

“Zayne?” You call again, voice going soft, “Talk to me. Please.”

Zayne hesitates, seemingly debating in his head before he speaks, his voice a low rasp, “I apologize for scaring you. That must have been startling to walk in on.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, slowly making your way closer to him, “I’m more concerned about you right now. You were dead. At least, I thought you were. So what happened?”

Another beat of silence.

“I must have lost consciousness from exhaustion. I haven’t slept much the past few days,” he tries, but even to your ears, it sounds like a weak excuse.

“Zayne, your heart wasn’t beating. You-” You press a hand to his chest, perhaps to prove a point, perhaps to knock some sense into him. To do something.

Except his heart still isn’t beating.

You're paralyzed. Eyes locked on his chest. Confusion creeps over you, like tendrils of ice spreading through your chest. Sharp. Suffocating. This isn’t right. This can’t be real. It can’t.

Zayne lets out another sigh, this one resigned and tired. Like he’s finally given up. His cold fingers gently cover yours. He draws your hand away from his chest, though he never lets go of it.

“I suppose there’s no hiding it anymore,” he murmurs, voice stiff, like how he speaks when he’s working. “Come, let’s sit on the couch. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

You don’t say a word as he helps you to your feet. You can’t. Your tongue feels like a dead weight in your mouth. And even if you could talk, you don’t know what you would say. A million questions rush through your head, so blurred that you can’t pick out a single one, except-

“What are you?”

It echoes in your head raucously as you take a tentative seat on the couch. Zayne’s lips press into a tight line, and he clears his throat.

“That depends. There are many names for my condition.” His leg bounces ever so slightly as he continues, eyes still not meeting yours. “Though I suppose the most common term is vampirism.”

Vampirism.

You blink.

And blink and blink.

Vampire. He’s a vampire.

A vampire?

“Those aren’t real,” you immediately breathe out, mind racing.

A humorless smile pulls at the doctor’s lips, “I assure you, it is. I’ve suffered from the symptoms for as long as I can remember.”

A vampire. He’s a vampire. Your childhood best friend is a vampire.

“How did I not notice?” You all but squeak, examining him with this new information.

Sure, he’s pale, but Zayne’s always been pale. And it’s not like he avoids the sun. Aren’t vampires supposed to be weak to the sun or something? Plus, he’s aging, isn’t he? A million new questions race through your mind.

“Wait, do you have fangs?!”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re touching his face, basically making him open his mouth. Zayne startles, brow raising at your brazenness, but he does nothing to stop you. At first, his teeth look normal, the only thing worth noting being the excellent care he’s given them. But then you notice it. His canines seem to sharpen, just a touch longer than they should be.

And that’s all the proof you need.

“You’re a vampire,” you breathe, fingers settling along his jaw.

Zayne watches you carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction. Horror. Fear. Anger. All of those would be appropriate. But you don’t show any of them. Instead, you look at him with a mixture of disbelief and…curiosity?

Brow knitting together, Zayne reaches up to touch your wrist, just to check your pulse to make sure you haven’t gone into some sort of shock. Your pulse is steady though, if not a little accelerated.

“You’re not…frightened? Of me?” He asks slowly, confusion gleaming in the depths of his eyes.

You shake your head, a smile threatening to break out across your features, “No, Zayne, I’m not scared of you. I probably should be, but hey, I fight wanderers for a living. Do I have a lot of questions? Yes. But if you’ve really been like this since we were young, that means you’re not going to suddenly do something to me now, right?”

Your lack of concern should be worrying, but Zayne finds the tension is his shoulders slowly dripping away. Of course you would surprise him like this. You’ve always been too trusting, in his opinion, though he’s not about to correct you now.

“So, do you drink blood? I’m guessing you don’t hurt people, considering how strictly you follow your oath.” Head tilting, you give him a questioning look, eyes wide and almost innocent in their curiosity. “So where do you get it from? Blood bags? I’ve read that in a few books. Or animals? I’ve read that, too. How accurate are all those stories?”

“I could answer your questions if you slow down,” Zayne murmurs, fighting an amused smile. “I assure you, we have plenty of time.”

You flush, biting off the rest of your questions. Right. You’re not really giving him an opportunity to answer, are you? So where do you start?

“What is your first question?” The doctor prompts, thumb brushing calmly over your pulse.

“Hmm. The blood question. Do you have to drink it?”

“Yes,” he answers, though his voice rings with distaste, “I have to consume some form of blood every few months to keep my senses about me. I’ve perhaps waited too long this time.”

“Do you need some right now?” You press, brow furrowing.

Zayne hesitates. His lips pinch together again, a sign you recognize.

“No.”

“Liar. That’s why you passed out,” you accuse, though you keep your voice somewhat gentle.

He says nothing for a long moment, a mixture of guilt and discomfort crossing his features. Sighing softly, you give his cheek a light pinch.

“Zaaayne.”

“I’ve tolerated longer periods than this between feedings,” he murmurs, trying to sound dismissive, though you can hear the exhaustion creeping back into his voice, “My body must simply be enduring higher levels of stress due to the season. As long as I rest more, I’ll be fine until my next supply arrives.”

“Oooor,” you hum, hesitating only a moment before you offer, “You can draw some of my blood. Just enough to get you through till then. We know it’s clean since you always run so many tests on it, so that shouldn’t be a concern right?”

Zayne blinks in surprise. Even if you were taking this all well, he certainly wasn’t expecting you to make such an offer. But you meet his gaze, unwavering, expectant, mind already made up.

If his heart were beating, he’s sure it would stutter.

While he hates his condition, hates what he has to do to appease it, he can’t deny that the smell of your blood has always been tempting to him. Cloyingly sweet, like the sweetest dessert.

He should say no. He should just endure, as he always has.

But the determination in your eyes makes him waver. And Zayne is a weak man when it comes to anything related to you.

“It’s not advisable…” He starts, jaw tightening.

You perk up, not actually expecting him to consider it. It was a crazy idea after all, but you want to help. You hate the idea of him suffering by choice when you can do something about it.

“But…?”

“But I am not completely opposed to the idea,” he concedes, almost looking ashamed.

“Good,” you chirp, a smile lighting up your face as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Then let’s get to work, doctor.”

God, you would be the death of him.

Well, if he were fully alive, that is.

---

Xavier / Angel

“How is it that you seem to find danger wherever you go?” Xavier murmurs, voice as even as ever, yet cradling a hint of exasperation.

Biting back a smile, you keep your attention focused on his fingers. They work with a practiced precision to bandage the laceration on your arm, adept from the years of dressing your wounds. It has become a near weekly occurrence because of your work. Getting hurt is an unfortunate side effect of being a hunter.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so reckless if I didn’t have such a sweet angel to take care of me afterwards,” you hum, tone bordering on teasing.

Xavier’s ears flush a soft pink, his wings ruffling in some kind of indignation, which only makes your smile stretch wider. He’s always so easy to fluster, and his wings give him away every time. It makes you want to tease him even more, but when you go to do exactly that, all that escapes you is a low hiss when he swipes a pad of alcohol across another of your cuts.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing tenderly along your knuckles.

“S’okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath, “Just stings. I hate the shallow ones more than the actual cuts, you know?”

Xavier gives a low hum, neither agreeing or disagreeing. You’re sure he would prefer you avoid all physical injury, but that is an argument the angel lost a long time ago, not long after you first met. And what a day that was.

Xavier came into your life in a flash of light. Literally.

You remember the day with quite a bit fondness despite how horrible it was. Everything had gone wrong that day. Exams were kicking your butt, as was training for the Association. To say you were down in the dumps was an understatement, which is why you had been out in the woods, trying to enjoy a bit of silence.

That is, of course, when a wanderer decided to appear.

You did your best to handle it, but you were still just in training at the time, and it was clear you were outmatched. Things would have taken a turn for the worse if Xavier hadn’t shown up.

All you really remember is seeing a blinding light, almost like a flashbang, and then there he was. Ethereal, face set with stone-cold focus, hair silvery white like a star, but most striking were the large wings stretching from his shoulders, impossibly white, the edge of each feather glinting like a knife. With a flourish of his sword, he clashed with the wanderer, killing it in seconds.

In that moment, you were convinced you were dead. That made a lot more sense than what you were seeing, after all - an angel. Sure, he didn’t have the halo, but what else could he be? And how could you be seeing an angel if you weren’t dead?

It took him kneeling down in front of you, eyes sharp with concern as he scanned your entire body for injuries, for you to realize you were, in fact, not dead. And that’s when the questions started.

“Who are you?”

“What are you?

“Where did you come from?”

Xavier being Xavier, he danced around each answer. And you being you, you didn’t relent until you got the answers you wanted.

Not only is he an angel, he’s a guardian angel, and you’ve become his charge. And since he revealed himself to you, he can’t go back to his realm without getting in serious trouble.

That’s how you ended up here, with an angel as your roommate. What else were you supposed to do with him? The man was like a lost puppy with wings. Sure, he can take down a wanderer like it’s nothing, but ask him to work a toaster and he’ll sit there for about an hour just staring at the thing. You couldn’t leave him to fend for himself.

And it was the best decision of your life, really. Not only has he become your best friend, but maybe something more.

“I do wish you would stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger,” Xavier rumbles suddenly, pouting a little bit as he examines your now bandaged hand.

“It’s not unnecessary,” you chime softly, slipping your hand from his to poke his cheek playfully. Satisfaction curls in your chest at the blush that spreads across his beautiful features, his pout only growing cuter. “If I don’t put myself in danger, then other people will, and then innocent people can get hurt.”

“Being so selfless could get you killed,” he sighs, rising to his feet, wings flaring behind him.

Your eyes follow him, steady and warm, head craning up to hold his gaze, “I’m perfectly capable of staying alive, Xavier. And if I’m ever in trouble, I know you’ll be there to help me.”

The angel huffs. You’re not wrong, as much as he’d like to argue. What was once just a job to him, a responsibility, is now something more, something carved deep into his soul. Every fiber of his being longs to keep you safe, even if it means breaking every rule he once followed. Even if it means he must fall some day.

Ignoring that thought, Xavier settles onto the bed next to you, letting out a heavy sigh as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His hair brushes your neck, soft and ticklish, drawing a light giggle from you as you curl your arms around his shoulders.

“You really shouldn’t worry so much, starlight.”

“You make it incredibly difficult not to,” he grumbles, voice low and muffled, “I just want to keep you safe…”

“Hmm, such a sweet angel,” you hum and card your fingers through the feathers at the base of his wings.

Xavier holds back a shiver, his body arching into your delicate touch. His wings have always been sensitive, especially when you’re the one touching them. You don’t miss the way his blush spreads down his neck, or the way his wings instinctively curl around you, as if they can block out the rest of the world, as if to make a space just for the two of you. The smile that pulls at your lips is overwhelmingly fond, just like your touch.

You love the feeling of his feathers under your fingers. At first glance, they look almost sharp, but they’re surprisingly soft, downy and warm to the touch. Without thinking, you trail your fingers along the curve of his wing and fix any out of place feathers with the utmost of care. Xavier lets out another, shaky sigh, his eyes flickering shut.

It’s a soft moment. Everything else is muted, the only sound being that of your steady breath and his lazy, content hums. Xavier nuzzles even closer to you, his body impossibly warm, his weight too much for you to support. A giggle escapes you as you lean back onto the bed, the angel settling on top of you without an ounce of shame in his expression.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder if you’re actually a cat disguised as an angel, “ you tease, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips. He leans into your palm without hesitation.

“Being a cat wouldn’t be so bad,” he murmurs, as if he’s given the idea some thought before. “I’d get to sleep all day and eat whenever I want instead of chasing a certain, reckless hunter around.”

He nips at your finger lightly, but your smile doesn’t waver.

“I think you’d get bored eventually.”

“Is that so?”

“Yah. I think you enjoy chasing me around, you just don’t want to admit it,” you chirp, tilting your head innocently, “And you’d miss me horribly, don’t you think?”

Xavier hums, turning his face to nuzzle into your palm. His lips brush your skin, a whisper of some kind of promise, making your heart flutter unevenly.

“I suppose I would…and would you miss me?” His eyes flicker back to you, narrowed, an undeniable spark of affection kindled in their blue depths.

You both know the answer.

“I’d miss you more than anything, angel.” Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Then, I guess I’ll have to stay by your side.”

“You better.”

“Of course, my lady.”

---

Sylus / Demon

“What does your real form look like?”

You perch on the edge of his bed, feet kicking in the air as you watch Sylus get ready for whatever meeting he’s about to go to. Something to do with one of the other head crime bosses in the N109 Zone, you’re sure. One certainly down on their luck and looking to make a deal.

Sylus glances at you through the mirror, long fingers slowing as he fixes his cufflinks. His eyes bore into you, glinting with something violent, something vicious and bloody that should unsettle you to your core, but you don’t flinch, you don’t even blink.

Such a brave kitten, the demon thinks, amusement curling his lips.

“Curious, sweetie?”

The smile he gives you is sharp, too sharp, and your skin prickles with an instinctive kind of unease. It’s something you’ve grown used to, the way your body reacts to him. Like a lamb cornered by a wolf, everything screaming at you to run, yet you chose to stay cornered. Choose to trust the teeth pressing so gently to your throat, violence and desire so perfectly restrained to keep you safe.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you chime, head tilting ever so slightly. “I just…want to understand you better, you know?”

Sylus hums and turns his focus back to straightening his cuffs, “Is that so? Aren’t you scared of what I might look like?”

“No.” Your answer is quick, unwavering, and Sylus perks a brow.

A brave kitten indeed. He’s almost impressed. The rumors about him are none too kind, and yet here you are, seeking the truth. Without knowing what the truth means.

Giving himself one last look in the mirror, the demon turns to you. He studies you for a long moment, gaze dark, pensive, intense in a way that makes your breath hitch. His eyes darken, something predatory glinting in their cardinal depths. You look at him so innocently, as if you’re not staring down the devil himself, as if you know he’d never hurt you. It makes him want to ruin you, to see that pretty blush stain your skin all over, just to curb the morbid desire burning in his chest.

But you are right, he’d never hurt you. You’re too pure, too good. So he lets himself be soft, to the best of his ability at least.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he murmurs eventually.

His shoes barely make a noise as he slowly approaches you. Each step is measured, confident, like he always is, and each step makes your heart flutter a little more. You’re all but holding your breath as Sylus comes to stand in front of you. His fingers, calloused and rough from a life of violence, graze your jaw so tenderly, drawing your face up to his.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sweetie?” He asks, voice almost taunting, though his features remain soft, unassuming.

Still unwavering in your decision, you nod, “I want to know you, Sylus. All of you.”

He holds your gaze for another long moment, as if he’s trying to read your soul. Which he very well could be, you realize. But when you look into his eyes, what you see isn’t his usual smug composure. Instead, you see a flicker in hesitation. Uncertainty. And it makes your heart ache.

Lifting a hand, you carefully cover the one Sylus holds against your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his touch, a gentle smile pulling at your lips, “You won’t scare me away, Sylus. I promise.”

So perceptive. Sylus gives a low chuckle, shaking his head, “You really aren’t like most humans, sweetheart. Most wouldn’t want to know me even in this form.”

“Well that’s their loss,” you hum, eyes crinkling up at him, “But that means I get you all to myself, so I can’t feel too bad for them.”

“My, what a selfish little kitten I have.” His thumb brushes lovingly over your cheek as his expression turns more serious. “If you want to see my true form, all you have to do is ask. Your desires are mine to fulfill, and I will do so with pleasure.”

“I want to see it, Sylus,” you repeat, “I want to see you.”

“Alright.” He draws back, that wicked smile returning, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, kitten.”

You watch, enraptured, as he rolls his shoulders, tendrils of dark smoke curling around his body. It envelopes him completely and the air in the room grows tense, fizzling with a static that has the hair on your arms standing on end. The lights flicker, plunging the room in darkness for a split second.

And when they come back on, you have to swallow down a gasp.

Because there he is. You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting. You had heard the rumors, the whispers about the monster that haunts the N109 Zone, but this somehow seems different from everything you’ve heard.

Smoldering eyes, sharp and cat-like now, stare you down with an apprehensive gleam. A pair of dark horns curl from his silvery hair. Veins of the same color curl around his neck and down his forearms like webs, the skin of his hands bleeding pitch black. His fingers look more like claws, glinting dangerously in the dim light of the room. Your eyes catch on the tail waving behind him, the spade-tip just as sharp. And the wings. They unfurl slightly, ink-like feathers brushing the floor.

What’s most shocking though, is his size. He stands almost a foot taller, his already imposing stature now threatening. The air shivers around his form, and you can feel that familiar, foreboding sensation creeping up your spine.

But the only thought running through your head is that he’s beautiful. Beautiful like a storm. Devastating and destructive, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. And you just want to be closer.

“Are you scared, kitten?” His voice rumbles with an almost imperceptible dissonance, a hint of concern beneath his tone.

You blink, gaze snapping back up to his, “No, of course not, Sy.”

The tension seems to fall away from his shoulders at that, but he still doesn’t dare move, like he’s still worried you might run away. So you, in a bout of confidence, push off the bed and walk right up to him. Sylus watches you carefully, expression reserved.

“Can I?” You ask, keeping your tone soft as you brush your fingers against the back of his hand. You look up at him questioningly, and Sylus relents, allowing you to take his hand in yours. Your touch is unbearably soft and curious, trailing along the dark tendrils marking his skin. “Does any of it hurt? To change, I mean. Are you comfortable in this form?”

“I used to spend more time in this form,” he hums, tail flicking back and forth, “but to do business in the N109 Zone, one must be able to live in the shadows without being noticed. This form did not benefit me, so I took the form of a human to…blend in, one might say. Humans are more willing to make a deal when they believe they’re on equal ground.”

“That makes sense, but it didn’t answer my question.” You pout, tapping his hand. “Does it hurt to switch between the two?”

A small grin pulls at Sylus’ lips, revealing a sharp set of fangs, his eyes narrowing in amusement, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t.”

“Good.” You nod and brush your thumb over his knuckles. “Then I want you to take whatever form you’re more comfortable in when it’s just the two of you.”

Surprise flickers across his face, barely noticeable, but you catch it. Sylus covers it up quickly, his smile turning mischievous, “I didn’t expect you to be so comfortable with this. Does my kitten have a soft spot for monsters?”

“Maybe,” you hum, stretching up to curl your hands around his neck despite how much taller he is than you now.

Sylus relents once more, leaning down so you don’t have to balance on the tips of your toes, even though he finds it quite cute. His hands rest tentatively against your waist, his fingers nearly interlinking at the small of your back. The size difference makes you bite the inside of your cheek, heat creeping up your neck.

Pushing the thought away, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, humming happily, “You’re not a monster, though. I think you actually look quite…charming like this.”

The demon huffs out a laugh, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ll be whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

“You make me happy, Sylus.”

“Well then, I suppose this arrangement will benefit us both greatly.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips, “I suppose it will.”

---

I felt most of my choices were pretty expected, but let me know if you guys think they'd be other supernatural creatures! And Happy almost Halloween!

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stevieschrodinger · 6 months ago

Text

Part One Part Seven

“Hey Buddy, you got dressed.”

“Dessed,” Eddie plucks at the sleeve of the pullover, then rubs his arms, copying what Steve did to show what he meant by cold, Eddie even does a fair approximation of Steve's, ‘brrrrrr,’ sound. “Good?

Steve can see from here that the inside of his closet is a disaster; Eddie must have pulled things down while he was hunting for something to wear. Steve figures he can fix it later.

“Yeah, really good. Come on, lets make a grocery list.”

“Go-ser-eee list?”

“Yeah, all the things you like.”

Eddie follows Steve carefully down the stairs, and Steve is pretty sure he can say good bye to the sweater the second Eddie goes outside; at the very least the bottom part will be dragged along the floor everywhere Eddie goes.

Eddie pulls himself onto a seat at the breakfast nook while Steve gets a pad and a pen, “right. What would you like?”

Eddie leans forward so he can see better as Steve writes – Steve’s already listing stuff like milk and bread and coffee and cereal. “Celery. Cucumber. Peas. Apple. Grape. Pear. Many pear,” he’s watching closely, waiting while Steve writes out each word after Eddie says them.

Eddie leans an arm over the table, pointing at where Steve has just written, ‘pear’, “many,” he insists, “many pear.”

Steve crosses out ‘pear’ and writes ‘many pear’ instead, “that okay?” Steve’s sure Eddie can't read what hes writing, but he does understand the concept of ‘many pear’ being two words and not one, which means he’s grasping this whole thing really, really fast.

“Paper,” Eddie adds.

“Okay, got it. More paper.”

“Okay. Stee go out?”

“Yeah, I need to go to work, and I’ll bring the groceries home with me.”

“Go-ser-ee in work?”

“No...I have to go to work to earn money to buy groceries,” Eddie stares at Steve blankly, “wait here.” Steve comes back with his wallet, and fishes out a few dollar bills and puts them on the table, “So I go to work, and earn money,” Steve slides the dollars closer.

Eddie touches the corner of one of the notes, “one.”

“That’s right Buddy, that’s the number one. This is a one dollar bill.”

“One dollar bill.” Eddie repeats dutifully.

“So I take this,” Steve points to the bill, “to the store, and I can get an apple.”

Eddie frowns at the money, “one dollar bill in work Stee...one dollar bill in store...Stee apple?”

“Yeah, yeah buddy.”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie in work? Eddidie one dollar bill pear.”

Steve snorts a laugh at the thought of Eddie in a Family Video vest, probably shouting, ‘no,’ and, ‘bad,’ at customers who put the tapes back wrong. Steve’s pretty sure the general public could break even Eddie’s spirit.

“No buddy, you have to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“Safe,” Eddie points in the vague direction of down the hall; Steve understands what he means, Steve does the same thing to illustrate to Eddie that he’s going out, “not safe?”

“That’s right.”

“Stee not safe?” Eddie cocks his head, frowning spectacularly.

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs to himself. “Okay. Okay Buddy, out,” Steve points, “safe for me, not safe for you.”

“Why?”

And oh Steve is really starting to loath the ‘why?’

“Because...you’re different buddy,” Steve sticks a leg out and points to it, then points to Eddie’s tail where the end is curled on the floor.

Eddie frowns, but doesn’t push it any further.

Eddie’s inside when Steve gets home, and Steve’s kind of glad, it’s definitely chillier now than it was a couple of weeks ago. Eddie might have his tent, but Steve has no idea what kind of temperatures are tolerable for Eddie; he must be pretty fucking sturdy to live in the Upside Down, but still. Steve has no clue if Eddie’s just mimicking him, because Steve has told Eddie it’s cold. He doesn’t even know if Eddie feels temperature like a human. Still, he probably wouldn't be voluntarily wearing the sweater if it was making him too warm.

Eddie’s laid out on the lounge floor, his book open, surrounded by colored pencils. It looks like he’s making an attempt at drawing some sort of tree, surrounded by grass and sky. It’s not terrible; Steve can even tell pretty much what it’s supposed to be, at least.

Steve's got to tell Dustin that Eddie can definitely see color just fine.

“Hey Buddy, you want to help put your things away?”

“Eddidie help,” Eddie follows Steve into the kitchen, “idge door. Idge. Cold in idge. Pear in. Grape in. Celery in.” Eddie chatters the whole time he unpacks the paper grocery bag, narrating everything he’s doing. He eats a pear when he’s done.

“I got you more notebooks, too.”

“Paper?”

“Yeah Buddy, as much as you want.”

Steve dumps a can of spaghetti into a pot on the stove, then turns as he hears a loud scraping noise; Eddie pushing a chair across the kitchen.

“Hang on,” Steve gets it for him, moving it to the side of the stove. Eddie climbs up, sitting on his tail to make himself tall enough to watch Steve making toast and grating cheese.

“You want to try?” Steve offers the wooden spoon to Eddie.

Eddie frowns at it, “warm?”

“Many warm. Hot. Here,” Steve blows on the spoon for a moment.

Eddie leans forward and licks it. Eddie pulls an assessing face, and then finally volunteers, “good bad.”

“Yeah. I get you buddy.”

Eddie turns on the TV when they go into the lounge, Steve sits on the couch to eat, “I think the kids are coming over tomorrow. They’re coming over to watch movies.” Eddie tilts his head, “TV. The kids are coming to watch TV.”

“Max. El. Dust bin. Lu-cas. Mike. Will.”

“You got it buddy, the kids.”

“Kids. Mongrels.”

Steve laughs so hard his toast nearly slides off his plate.

Mike shoves a bag in Steve’s hands as he passes him in the doorway, “Nancy told me to bring this over for Eddie. It’s all Holly’s old stuff.”

Steve looks inside the bag and finds a couple of kids coloring books; neither of them used at all. A handwriting book, the kind where you trace the letters and numbers before doing it yourself. A very basic math book, probably for really little kids, but on the first page is a picture of four plus four, represented with two groups of four apples. Steve’s confident Eddie will like that. There’s a couple of other things, and Steve’s sure it’ll all be useful. It’s actually a great idea. One of the books has pictures of clocks, and the digital time; Steve really should teach Eddie to tell the time. Maybe he could get him a little battery clock for his tent.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Yeah whatever,” Mike grumbles, already making popcorn and generally just helping himself to Steve’s shit.

Steve sits in the middle of the couch, El to one side of him, deliberately keeping an empty space on the other. All the other kids are sprawled out on the floor, eating red vines and dipping into bowls of popcorn. Eddie’s watching from the kitchen doorway; he’s clearly still uncertain about the kids.

They’re all lying quiet though, engrossed in the film. It’s probably half way through when Eddie finally risks it; Steve pats the couch cushion to encourage Eddie up next to him. Eddie does.

Usually he sits like a person, the end of his tail laid on the floor like feet would be, but tonight he pulls it up and curls it under him, all protected.

El leans forward, whispering over Steve, “hi Eddie.”

Eddie nods, volunteers back an uncertain, “hi El,” and then promptly hides his face in Steve’s shoulder.

As Steve suspected, the front six inches of the yellow pull over are worn and filthy, marred with grass stains.

Steve leaves him there for a little while, and waits until curiosity gets the better of Eddie. Steve offers him some popcorn; it’s buttered and salty, and Steve’s a solid ninety percent sure Eddie won’t like it. He’s right. He watches Eddie chew with his mouth open, a look of absolute disgust on his face, for a solid thirty seconds before Eddie finally swallows.

Steve leaves El with the popcorn and goes and gets them a beer to share, it’s the least he can do.

Eddie’s interest in the film seems to waver, depending on what grabs his attention the most. He seems to be watching the kids for...well. Eddie probably thinks of them as loud and erratic; it wouldn’t surprise Steve if Eddie had interpreted them as danger. Even if Eddie’s getting braver, that feeling clearly hasn’t gone all the way away just yet.

Steve feels him twitch, on high alert, every time one of the kids shifts.

Steve offers him a red vine; Eddie sniffs it but crinkles his nose up in disgust.

They decide to put on another movie; when all the kids get up to forage and grab drinks and go for toilet breaks, Steve thinks for a moment that Eddie might make a break for it. He sinks down further into the couch cushions instead; pressing close to Steve.

He doesn’t leave though, and the kids, mercifully, practically ignore Eddie. Lucas says ‘hi’, and Eddie answers, which Steve takes as a massive win.

One of the kids drops something in the sink; it clatters loudly, Eddie sitting up straight, whole body on high alert and turned towards the doorway, one arm flung back protectively over Steve's chest.

“It’s alright buddy, don’t worry. It’s just the kids. They’re noisy sometimes,” Eddie does lower himself again at that, and when he finally looks at Steve, Steve offers his hand. Eddie takes it. The webbing stops their fingers linking together all the way, but the contact has the desired effect and seems to reassure Eddie that there’s no danger, and he’s more relaxed by the time all the kids come back in.

They start the next movie, Eddie nestled right up against Steve, their joined hands resting on his thigh.

Part Nine

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #pre steddie #mermeddie #mermaid eddie #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson #creature #getting together

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dduane · 18 days ago

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Process for the new DEEP WIZARDRY International Edition cover

(rolls up sleeves) Right. Writing work (and recurring health issues) have repeatedly pushed these pieces of work to one side for the last year and a half. Time to take a brief break from ongoing work in other universes to rectify that.

Here's the template that I'm building on: the international edition cover for So You Want To Be A Wizard. (Available only outside North America, if you're wondering what makes it international. These paperbacks use the New Millennium Edition texts—except for the international edition of Games Wizards Play [when it comes out later this year], which was written to fit into the NME timeline to begin with, and will go into its international editions with that text.)

The cover concept's straightforward. Relatively dark, desaturated backgrounds: one glowy (or somewhat glowy) thing in the foreground, in a color that pops, or in lighting that makes it stand out.

For Deep Wizardry, things get slightly complicated by the fact that so much business happens underwater. But there are some things we can work with there. A scene in which two pivotal characters square off seems like a fair bet.

So: background first. Underwater lighting...

The sea floor: sand.

Sunlight from above the water.

But naturally that's not how the bottom would look, because there are ripples on the surface...

And naturally the sea bottom isn't going to be featureless, so we need some weeds and rocks.

The distribution's not ideal on these, but that comes under "fine tuning." That can happen over the weekend.

Now for the main attractions. Nita...

...and Ed. (ETA: There are some scale issues here. Properly speaking, Ed'rashtekaresket is significantly bigger, in comparison with Nita, than he's being framed in this shot. But Nita had to be big enough to actually show on the cover... So some liberties inevitably get taken.)

Now, while this is all promising enough so far, there's a bit of a problem. Nita's not terribly visible at this point. So, time to engage in some visual jiggerypokery that will both help with that problem and do something to hint at the connection between these two.

IIRC, Nita was wearing a wizardly forcefield in this scene to provide her with air and other necessities. So let's exploit that.

In the render, I can apply to her figure what in Daz Studio parlance is called a "geoshell": a kind of skintight digital overskin to which special effects can be applied: such as light emission. (And Nita's hair will get one too.) Since everything else in the scene is cool-colored, this light is going to need to be warmer, in (at the very least) a golden range. (Or rosy. May be playing with that for a bit.)

...But obviously we can't leave her looking like that. So what I get to do now is lose the rest of the scene and render Nita separately, in the same position but with different, less blued-out lighting...

...then add her figure back into the scene, over the geoshelled version (which can be clone-brushed out later).

...So when we slot that imagery into the paperback cover template, after some tweaking, this is what we get.

...Still some things to correct or refine here. (Such as the main body of back cover text, as I haven't written the new copy yet. And the quotes may want tweaking: the NYTimes review [which the WaPo picked up] had some lines that might work better.) Colors, composition, etc etc, can all use some final touches. But I think we're most of the way there.

With any kind of luck, this edition will be available online in paperback and ebook formats for the non-North American audience this time next week. (I'm still considering whether I want to offer hardcovers on these as well.)

(sigh) Now I want some tea. And then, tomorrow maybe, on to the int'l edition of High Wizardry...

ETA 2: off @softness-and-shattering's question:

If I may ask, is it not your publishers job to do this work? Is this a continuation of the thing where authors now seem to be expected to do their own marketing too, or are you doing the new millenium editions 'on your own' or similar?

I'm doing them on my own. While there are numerous foreign-language editions of the original YW books, the only publisher to use the NME texts so far (for books 1-3) has been Lumen éditions in France, and I'm not clear whether those editions are still in print.

Whatever their status, that still leaves me with a lot of countries where I can publish. And if that job's going to get done—lacking other publishers' interest, which my agents would handle—It falls to me to take the work forward. Such are the wonders of our age that I no longer have to wait for a publisher to turn up. And should something suddenly happen for publishers to get interested (like a TV series or whatever) then i can easily withdraw my own editions and let my agents do deals with them.

Meanwhile, why (as we say) leave money on the table? There are other English-speaking countries on the planet where the YW books can be marketed (and more countries still where—when there's cash to spare to hire the necessary creative talent—translations might not do too badly). So I might as well get on with it! I've got groceries to buy and bills to pay like everybody else... :)

(And just pausing here to point at the page pinned to the top of my feed. If you want to help with those groceries, there's a good place to start: the ebook bundles are still at their pre-holiday sale prices! ...Unless you're in the UK. [I'm so sorry about Brexit, folks, but there's nothing I can do about that...])

#Young Wizards #Young Wizards meta #digital art #Daz Studio #digital art process #Deep Wizardry

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 months ago

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Deja Vu -Oneshot

Word count: 2845

“Do you remember Y/N?” Steve asked offhandedly one day.

Bucky scoffed. “Of course I do,” he replied.

Steve hummed and smiled softly. “I miss her. She was real sweet.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed.

Y/N Y/L/N had been Bucky and Steve’s childhood friend. She didn’t always join them on their escapades, but she was a constant in their lives. She had been two years older than them and had taken on an older sister and at times motherly role to them, but as they got older the dynamic shifted. She was extremely protective of them both. Steve in a brotherly sense, and Bucky in a best friend way. As they neared their late teen years Bucky’s feelings toward her changed from friendship to romantic, but he had never pursued her. It just didn’t feel like the right time, he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between the three of them, and then eventually war broke out. On his last night before he was due to ship out, he had gotten home from dancing and found Y/N on his stoop.

“Hey doll,” he greeted her, then saw her crying and frowned. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She wiped her tears away and smiled sadly at him. “I need you to promise me something that’s impossible, and I know it’s unfair of me to ask for it, but I’m going to.”

“Anything,” he said, taking her hands in his.

“Come home,” she whispered, her lips quivering as she fought back more tears. “Come back. And if you can’t, fight like hell trying, you hear me?”

Bucky’s eyes started to fill with tears. Looking at his best friend, who had grown from a chubby, spunky little girl to a voluptuous, caring, fierce woman, he was overcome by the realization that this might be the last time he ever saw her. He pulled her into a hug, holding her tight as her hands clutched at the back of his uniform. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll come home, and if I can’t, I’ll die trying. I…I love you doll.”

“I love you, Bucky,” she said.

They pulled apart and stared at each other for a moment, then Y/N stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. It took him by surprise, and he barely had a moment to close his eyes and kiss her back before she pulled away. She gave him a quick smile, then pulled out of his embrace and swiftly turned and walked down the street back to her house. He watched her walk away, his eyes wide and his lips tingling from the kiss.

He never saw her again after that. For all she knew he and Steve had died in the war. And maybe it was better that way, thinking they died rather than knowing all the pain and suffering they endured later. But he never forgot her, even after all the brainwashing and the torture. Bucky only wished that they had more time, one more chance to do it right.

***

Bucky was walking along the booths of a vintage market fair, he and Steve perusing the old books, trinkets, clothes, cars, and everything that they would have seen growing up. Steve had picked up an old toy car that looked astonishingly like one he had as a child, and Bucky was going through a stack of records. He still enjoyed listening to older music, primarily from the 30s and 40s, but was looking for some things from the 50s and 60s to add to his growing collection. He pulled a couple of records out, examining them, when someone held out a record in front of his face.

“Looking for some good old rock and roll?”

Bucky nearly choked as his head whipped around and looked at the woman next to him. Her voice sounded familiar, and when he looked at her his eyes bulged and his mouth fell open. The same colored hair, though styled more modernly, the same face, the same voluptuous body, the same kind smile. It couldn’t be.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice coming out in a reverent hush.

She frowned. “Um…how do you know my name?”

He frowned, blinking and shaking his head, sure that he was seeing things. “You, y-you’re…I–”

“Hey Buck, what’s this…Y/N?” Steve asked, just as surprised as Bucky, staring at her in disbelief.

“Okay, uh, this is creepy,” Y/N said, her frown deepening and taking a step back.

“No, no no wait, I’m sorry,” Steve spoke first, putting his hands up in surrender. “You just look like someone we used to know a long time ago. Like…almost exactly like her.”

Her face relaxed and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, ha, yeah I get that a lot,” she said. “I’m named after my great grandmother, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, and I inherited her face, too.” She looked at both of them more intently, then her eyes widened. “Wait…oh my god, Steve Rogers?” she asked, looking star struck. “Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky silently reveled in hearing her say his name. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We uh, we knew her.”

“I know!” Y/N said, smiling widely. “She wrote about both of you in her journal! Oh my god, this is insane,” she laughed. “My mom is gonna die when I tell her I met you guys. It’s so nice to meet you.” She extended her hand and Steve shook it with a wide grin, then Bucky shook her hand, still looking at her in awe.

“I’m sorry to stare, I’m just…a bit in shock right now,” Bucky said, chuckling at himself. “You literally are the spitting image of her.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” she asked. “I was just reading her journal this morning. She really loved you guys, I hope you know that.”

Steve smiled kindly and nodded, while Bucky looked down. “She was something special,” Steve said. “Like the big sister I never had.”

They all continued talking for a while, walking down the market together and looking at odd bits and pieces. It was getting late and Y/N looked at her phone.

“Ugh, I gotta get going. Dinner plans. But it was awesome to meet you both,” she said. “Would it be weird if I asked for a hug?”

“Not at all,” Steve laughed, then leaned down and hugged her for a moment. When she pulled away she looked at Bucky. He nodded and leaned down, hugging her tight. She gave the same great hugs that her great grandmother gave, and he took a deep breath, subtly getting a whiff of her perfume that smelled just like her, too.

She seemed to let him hold her a little longer than Steve, sensing that he needed that hug. When she started to pull away he reluctantly let her go, giving her a sad smile. “It was great to meet you,” he said quietly.

Y/N watched him for a moment before glancing at Steve, who was pretending not to watch them. “Could I, uh, get your number?” she asked, giving him a hopeful look. “And maybe, you know, I could show you some old photos we have, and her journal, if you’re interested?”

Bucky’s heart soared at the offer to see her again. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

They exchanged information, and said goodbye to each other before she walked away and Bucky turned to Steve, who was giving him a knowing look.

“Think you’ll have a chance this time, pal?”

“Fuck off,” Bucky said, shoving Steve’s shoulder. But inside, he secretly hoped that maybe, in a weird way, he would.

***

“Dr. Strange?” Bucky called out as he stepped into the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Dr. Strange appeared on the floor above, peering down at Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Bucky walked up the stairs and shook his hand. “I’m sorry to just come by unannounced, but I have a question that I don’t know who else would actually know the answer to without giving me some big religious speech.”

Dr. Strange chuckled. “Well color me intrigued. What’s your question?”

Bucky inhaled deeply. “Is reincarnation real?”

Dr. Strange smiled. “Hm, that is a great question. One that many have philosophized and agonized over for centuries. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I knew someone back in the day that I was close with, before the war. She died a long time ago, but two weeks ago I saw her at a vintage market. She looks just like her, sounds just like her, acts a lot like her. Turns out it’s her great granddaughter. They even share the same name!” he said, rubbing his face harshly. “I can’t…I can’t get her out of my head. It’s driving me crazy. How is this possible?”

Dr. Strange nodded, considering his words. “I can’t give you a definitive yes or no answer. What I can say is that sometimes, when a soul or the universe has unfinished business, patterns can repeat themselves to try and mend what’s been interrupted or broken. If this girl is almost the exact embodiment of your friend from days gone by, then there must be a reason she’s here in some form again.” Bucky nodded, then Dr. Strange shrugged. “Or it could just be amazing genes in the family. A crazy coincidence.”

“Could be,” Bucky mused. “Thanks.”

***

A year later Bucky and Y/N were hanging out on a Friday night, watching a movie at her apartment. They had gotten really close since they met at the vintage market. He had come to her mom’s place a week after they met where she showed him her great grandmother Y/N’s photos and journals, and he learned all about what had happened after he and Steve had left. She had eventually married a returned soldier who was an engineer, and they had three children, one of which was Y/N’s grandfather. She had always had a soft spot for Steve and Bucky, telling stories of her time with them when they were kids to her children as the story of Captain America and the Howling Commandos became legend.

After that she had become a regular part of his life, and as much as Steve was a part of their outings, she and Bucky had become close friends and spent a lot of one-on-one time together. Steve could tell that the feelings Bucky had been fighting when they were kids were coming back for this girl, and he kept encouraging him to do something about it, but Bucky was once again afraid.

“I’m just saying, you’d be hard pressed to find a really good rom com nowadays,” Y/N said, turning to face him more on the sofa, their attention pulled away from the movie playing on the TV. “Like what happened? Bring back the yearning men! The pining love! The passion!”

Bucky laughed at her impassioned speech. “I have to agree. The ones you’ve been showing me compared to what’s out now? Not even close.”

“Exactly!” Y/N said, clapping her hands. “It drives me nuts! Where’s a man like that,” she pointed at the screen as Bill Pullman leaned against Sandra Bullock, “in my life?”

Bucky’s heart ached at that statement. He wanted to be that man for her. “He’s right here, pretty girl,” he smirked, trying to joke about it as he gestured to himself.

Y/N giggled at him, covering her face as she blushed. “Ugh, I know. Just make the move, Barnes, yeesh,” she said, playing into the joke and arching an eyebrow at him.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. The joke was suddenly becoming too real. They stared at each other for a long moment, then he leaned in closer, arching his eyebrow in challenge. “Like…leaning?” he asked quietly, watching her reaction.

Her eyes widened, her eyes blinking rapidly as her gaze flicked across his face. “That’s a good start,” she breathed.

“Yeah?” He raised his hand and cupped the side of her face, his thumb smoothing over her plump cheek. He leaned forward just a little more, nuzzling her nose with his own and his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back.

Right as he angled his face, his lips with centimeters of hers, she inhaled sharply and pulled away. “I’m not her, Bucky,” she said, shutting her eyes and hanging her head.

“What?” he asked, frowning at the sudden change in her demeanor.

Y/N leaned away, shrinking back into the corner of the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes shut. “I see the way you look at me, like you can’t believe she’s back after all this time, like you have a second chance to be with her. I may look just like her, and share her name, but I’m not my great grandmother. I can’t…won’t replace some fantasy version of her you have in your memory.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, Y/N, that’s not how I feel at all.” She shook her head and held herself tighter. “You’re right, when I first saw you I thought I was having some weird out of body experience. I even went and talked to Dr. Strange about reincarnation.” She smiled bitterly, opening her eyes but keeping her gaze looking away. “But I know you’re not her. And as much as I loved her, and cherished her friendship, she’s not you.” Her gaze slowly moved back to him. “In a lot of ways you’re just like her. But she didn’t swear like a sailor and say the dirtiest innuendos while looking ridiculously innocent.” She smiled, looking a little embarrassed but happier. “She was fiercely protective of Steve like he was her brother, like you are, but she never put him in his place like you do. You’re not afraid to sass him back.” She rolled her eyes, biting back a wide smile at the thought of how many times she and Steve got into teasing fights, where she would feed off of Bucky’s jabs until Steve would glare at them both and sulk about them making fun of him.

Bucky scooted close to her again, pulling her to face him. “You might have her face, but she never looked at me the way you do,” he said quietly. “She may have loved me in some way, cared about me, but I was never as close to her as I am with you. Remember that time I called you doll, then quickly corrected?” She lightly frowned then nodded. “Because it felt wrong. I used to call her, and most girls back then, doll. But you’re not doll. You’re Y/N. You’re my Y/N. My pretty girl.” He leaned forward, nuzzling her nose again and then kissing it, her eyelids, her forehead and down both her cheeks as his hands held her under her jaw, his fingers tickling her neck and behind her ears softly. “You’re not my second chance at her. You’re my second chance at love in my very long, complicated mess of a life. I want you, not her memory. Just you.”

Y/N eyelids fluttered as he kissed near her mouth, then looked at him earnestly. “I want you, too,” she whispered.

He smiled softly, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough just as you are, that I wanted some idealized version of you.”

She sighed, nuzzling his nose back. “It’s hard when I’ve been constantly compared to her my whole life.”

Bucky moved closer, hugging her as best as he could. “Just because you’re similar doesn’t mean you’re the same. You are you, and I love you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Love?”

“Love,” he nodded, knowing he was saying it too early. “Will you give me a chance to prove it, pretty girl?”

She watched him for a moment, looking him over like she was trying to make sure he meant what he was saying. When she was satisfied her smile returned, wide and bubbly, and she giggled that soft, breathy giggle that he loved. “Yeah,” she said, then leaned in and kissed him.

Bucky kissed her back, slowly, taking his time to feel and enjoy it. It was definitely different from his last kiss from almost 90 years ago, but in the best way. She was insistent, intentional, her lips pressing firmly against his, like she was taking her time to enjoy it as well. Her hands lifted to grip his wrists near her face, and his hold on her face tightened as he angled his face to kiss her deeper, harder, more hungrily. His chest felt like it was fizzling with his excitement, his head fuzzy as metaphorical fireworks went off in his mind. This was better. So much better. Like unfinished business being settled.

Y/N slightly pulled away, staring at his lips then glancing up at him. “Please tell me that wasn’t like deja vu for you?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “No pretty girl. You’re one in a million.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot

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darkbluekies · 7 months ago

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Silas, Dr Kry & King Edmund drabbles: rainy day activities

Yandere!mafia, yandere!doctor & yandere!king (x fem) x reader

Warnings: mentions of punishments, violence, poisoning

Silas:

Silas gets a confused look from his second in command.

"This is insanity", he mumbles.

"Meh, relax a bit, won't you?" Silas asks and removes his shirt, throwing it at him. "It's just rain."

You're already out in the rain, lying down on the grass in an 'X'-shape. Silas walks out into the backyard and lies down beside you. He enjoys hearing your free, little giggles.

"You're such a child, you know that, right?" Silas smirks and looks at you.

"I haven't felt rain for a long time", you say and frown, feeling your heart sink. "I can't actually remember when ... when I felt it last. I just want to feel it again."

You've been spending quite some time in the basement these last weeks. If only you could behave. Partly why you were allowed to go outside in the rain, despite the threat of becoming sick, might just be some guilt. Hearing you giggle makes everything worth it. And seeing through your wet clothes is a bonus.

"If you get sick I'm never letting you out again", he says and pulls you into his embrace, pulling you up on his chest.

If anyone is getting sick, it's him without a shirt, you think but keep your thoughts to yourself. No need to go back to the basement now that you've finally escaped it.

You notice someone in the window. Silas follows your eyes and turns to his second in command in the door opening. he's holding Silas's shirt while crossing his arms over his chest.

"Could you tell those horny fuckers in the window to stop staring at my spouse before I go in and deal with it myself?" Silas asks coldly.

His second in command returns inside. Silas hugs you closer, kissing your wet forehead.

"You're shivering", he says after a while and pulls you even closer, hoping to warm you with his body heat. "Are you cold?"

"It's starting to become a bit chilly", you admit.

Silas stands up with you in his arms, smiling.

"Then let's go inside and have a warm bath", he says. "Afterwards we can cozy up in bed and watch a movie. I'm not done with you yet."

(Husband) Dr Kry:

You hear the front door open, close and lock. Two minutes later, he's up in the bedroom. You don't give him any attention.

"I'm back", he smiles and sits down on the side of the bed, taking your hand. "I know that you have been feeling a bit down lately, and this weather isn't helping ..." He looks towards the raindrops on the window, "... so I thought that I would get you something to cheer you up."

You lift your eyes from the bed and look at him. His smile widens, light blue eyes softening. He stands up and holds out his hand. You stare up at him in confusion.

"Do you want to come see?" he asks and adds, as if he can read your hesitant thoughts: "It's okay. Will you come?"

You nod and take his hand, using it to pull yourself up from the bed. Your knees give up as you put weight on them and black spots dance through your sight. He catches you and wraps his arm around your waist, helping you downstairs.

There are a few plastic boxes on the dining room table. Kry sits you down on a chair before sittign down on a chair in front of you. You let your eyes wander over the colorful beads, the stretchy thread,

"I thought that we could make some necklaces and some bracelets", Dr Kry smiles. "Does that interest you? We can play some music too."

You nod. He puts on some calm jazz tunes on a loud speaker and the two of you start to thread beads. Dr Kry makes something himself, to your surprise. You never thought that he would join in on an activity like this.

Outside the window, the rain keeps pouring. Sitting in the kitchen, making jewlery makes you forget everything. Forgetting the rain, the pain in your body and what Dr Kry has done. You can pretend that you are a normal couple, doing normal couple activities.

You make two bracelets. One white and one blue. Dr Kry makes one in blue and red. Without saying anything, you shoot the blue bracelet over the table, towards the blonde man. He looks up from his hands, at the bracelet, and then at you.

"What's this?" he asks and picks up the blue bracelet. "Did you make this for me?"

You nod and shrug nonchalantly, trying to make it look like you don't care, because the reason why you did a bracelet for him scares you. Why did you make him a bracelet?

Dr Kry smiles and places the bracelet over his wrist. His sparkly blue eyes admires it fondly.

"Thank you", he says.

He seems to hesitate for a moment before standing up, walking around the table to you. One hand resting on your cheek, turning your face gently upwards to meet his bending down and meeting your lips.

King Edmund

Rain makes him clingy. It gives him an excuse to ditch all his work and cuddle up with you in bed.

You're laying on your back and Edmund is scattered over the bed, hugging your waist and leaning his head on your stomach, as if you were nothing more than a bodypillow. When you try to get up, he tightens his arms and whines in protest.

"If you try to get up, then God help me for what i will do", he mumbles, voice getting muffled in your blanket.

"But I have to-", you start.

"No. You don't have to do anything. Stay."

You have no other choice than to accept that you will have to stay in bed all day with Edmund's muscular arms wrapped around your body like a straightjacket.

"Play with my hair", Edmund mumbles and when you don't reply he forcefully grabs your hand and buries it into his black hair. "I said play with it."

You scratch at his scalp carefully. You can feel him physically relaxing against your body. Like a cat. His head rests against your stomach, lisiting to your body's sounds.

"Your majesty, the guards need-", a voice says.

The warmth disappears as Edmund's head shoots up, his icy cold eyes glaring at the maid in the door opening. He climbs over you, grabs the glass on the bedside table and throws it towards the door, missing the woman's head with mere centimeters.

"Bother me again and I'll make sure it hits you next time", he growls

The woman hurries out and shuts the door behind her. Edmund scoffs and lays down with his head on your stomach again, wrapping his arms around your body, making himself comfortable. He could have hit that poor woman if he wanted to.

"Don't give me that look", he mumbles without opening his eyes, as if he could read your thoughts. "I didn't hit her with it, did I? Exactly."

The rain keeps pouring outside the window. You're not getting out of here until the sky is clear.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere doctor #king yandere

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milkoomi · 14 days ago

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semester success. ᥫ᭡

[ 3 chapter mini series ] | chapter one

in this series, i’m going to teach you all my helpful tips and tricks on how to succeed in the new semester in just 3 quick chapters! get ready to take notes, we’re diving right in!

chapter two — MASTERING NOTE-TAKING

in the last chapter, we talked about the first week and how to prepare for it! now, we’re going to get real into it and talk about one of the most important skills that can help increase your level of success throughout the semester: taking notes.

class is in session …

୨ৎ — physical or digital

let’s first decide how we’re going to take notes. if you’re the classic/traditional type, a notebook & some pens/pencils & highlighters are the way to go! but if you’re feeling a bit more modernized, grab your laptop and/or tablet!

i personally use my ipad to take notes! i know lots of people who use Notion, create digital documents for their notes, utilize GoodNotes/Notably, and i use this app called CollaNote (more on this later)! if you’re note-taking digitally, find an app or format that works best for you! you can play around with the different apps and tools on your device! digital note-taking also allows for more creativity, in my opinion, but i’ve seen loads of students get really creative with traditional styled notes!

digital note-taking inspo:

i highly recommend this post by @glowettee if you want a quick, but detailed list of how to get set up for digital note-taking!

physical note-taking inspo:

୨ৎ — note-taking methods

there’s lots of ways to take notes! that’s the beauty of note-taking, there’s no one right way of doing so or any wrong way of doing so! there’s a variety of ways to take notes, so find and play around with what works best for you!

different methods:

quick notes - the unaesthetic version

you’ll see lots of people say that they rewrite their notes, and i’m one of those people! i typically don’t take notes during lectures (mainly because my ADD doesn’t allow me to lol) but when i’m actually able to take some notes, my in-class writing is just plain bullet points and words scrambled onto my page.

i see “quick notes” as a way of making sure you get all the key points from the lecture without the stress of writing everything else down.

here’s how:

don’t focus on writing every single thing down! this will make you lose track of what the professor might be saying in addition to what’s in the textbook/lecture slides.

focus on the key points! keep an ear out for your professor and if they say something like “this will be on the exam” or “this is really important to know”. those are the things that need to be written down!

remember: you can always go back and rewrite your notes! having just the key points written down will help you 1. stay focused during class and 2. be prepared for what to focus on during your studies.

don’t worry about your notes looking bland or messy, again, you can go back and rewrite your notes to make it look nice and add additional information! this “quick notes” method is for people who are like me and struggle with taking notes during lectures!

** tina’s tip: record the lecture! if you’re able to have your phone out or if your computer/tablet has a recording feature, use it to record the lecture so that when you do go back to rewrite your notes you don’t forget any other important points!

mind-mapping - an organized flow chart

how it works:

start with your central idea or main topic you want to focus on! have this be the center of your mind-map.

when info regarding this topic starts to come up, write them down and connect that additional information with the central idea using lines and arrows.

get creative! use different colors and add images or symbols!

mind-maps are a great way to organize and visualize the information you need to do into a creative diagram! this is a great method for those visual learners!

boxing method - compartmentalizing notes

this method is another great one for visual learners as it allows you to create a chart for yourself and all that you’re learning in class!

how it works:

start by dividing up your page so that you have different boxes set out for you!

include headings/titles for each box and have them relate to each topic you’re learning.

in those boxes, write down key points from each topic and include any and all information as you can!

you can also connect the boxes with lines and arrows to see how all that information flows together and relates to one another!

i suggest going onto @nenelonomh ‘s blog and reviewing her study corner where there’s a section dedicated to different note-taking methods! as well as other helpful academic advice!

୨ৎ — record your lectures

i mentioned this earlier, but i just want to reiterate this point! recording lectures will help you so much with note-taking as it allows you to go back to what was said in class and continue taking notes that way. it’s extremely helpful especially when your teacher/professor is a fast talker and you can’t keep up with note-taking in class!

୨ৎ — color coding

an easy way to make your notes more appealing to you is by color coding everything! feel free to pick your favorite colors and use those!

what to color code:

key points

important vocab/terms

connecting topics

additional notes from your teacher/professor

୨ৎ — CollaNote

i promise this is entirely unsponsored, but i do love this app! it’s completely free (with in-app purchases if you want to unlock other templates)!

it comes with a variety of free tools, pen styles, highlighters, colors for those writing tools (which are also entirely customizable!), page templates, recording feature, and so much more that i can’t fully remember off the top of my head!

it also allows you to organize everything into folders which is really, really nice! organization of your notes is also super important when it comes to note-taking! so let’s get into organization!

୨ৎ — note organization

if you’re taking notes in the traditional way, make sure you have designated notebooks for each class. if you’re using a binder that includes all of your classes, make sure you have those divider tabs to prevent from any of your notes integrating with your other ones!

for digital notes, make sure you have folders or an organized list of links for each of your courses! it’s important that your files are titled accordingly so that there’s less confusion when you need to go back to any of your notes!

going back to note-taking methods, make sure when you’re writing your notes that you stay consistent with your organization!

write your topics in chronological order

create sections for different bits of information

color code

you don’t want your notes to be a jumbled mess! not having some kind of organization system can lead to confusion while studying or unclear information on the topics you’re learning.

before you’re dismissed …

note-taking, as i mentioned at the beginning, is one of the most important skills to have while in school. you want to make sure you have effective notes that will help you understand the material and help you study for upcoming quizzes/exams! just imagine yourself as the main character in a show or movie and think of yourself as this studious and amazing person while taking notes and sitting through lectures! romanticize your academic career!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

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