#i have notes and i have lists and i have drawings like everywhere

[socksandbuttons]

anyway beware more swap au nonsense

I desperately need to talk about it but its just where am i beginning here

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。this feeling inside of me— | gojo satoru

wc: 1.5k

summary: you make gojo realize that this twisty-pop!-y feeling in his stomach might just be jealousy. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, mild jealousy, mentions of some of the students, lots of stifled laughs and held back grins!, mostly fluff really, gojo just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling! 

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (this one), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (the next part), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine <-you are here -> 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace?

Gojo’s been… hovering lately.

He hangs around you a lot more than usual, following your footsteps around your apartment as if he didn’t just spend the night and stay in bed with you all morning. 

You’d think that’d stop at work, but nope. 

For someone who hates sitting still, Gojo’s spending an awful lot of time doing nothing while watching you rifle through folders and documents you’re meant to type away. He sits by the chair in front of his desk, feet propped up and fingers tapping on the wooden surface enough to push you just to the point of going a little crazy. 

Tap.

You could have sworn you’ve read this line already. 

Tap.

This paragraph feels entirely too familiar at this point. 

Tap—

“Satoru,” you sigh, smile half-annoyed-half-guilty as you switch your attention to the man in front of you, “do you have extra work to finish today?” 

You’re trying to ask kindly, after all, Gojo rarely chooses to sit by the paperwork he’s been assigned to do (even though he doesn’t really do any of it because it’s mostly left to you). 

He stops tapping, moving to rest his cheek on one hand as he flashes you a grin so lovesick you think it’s infectious—the corners of your lips are curling up too. 

“Just working on spending more time with you.” 

Of course he says something like this; the most powerful man in jujutsu society transformed into the ever-charming sweet-talker that being your lover brings. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckle—the look on your face a reflection of his. As annoyed as you are that he’s distracting you, you’re endeared. 

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” 

Today is his day-off after all. 

He hums, eyes set on you with cerulean sincerity, “It’s boring without you, though.” 

Strands of white fall to kiss his eyelashes and you reach forward to brush them off—his hair is getting longer now, you note. No doubt he’s going to ask you to accompany him for a haircut soon. 

His nose scrunches under the space your fingers hover over and you draw them back, “Clingy.”

—which he’s always been, but even moreso lately. You don’t know where all of it is coming from, how it’s even possible for him to be clingier than normal, but the past weeks have definitely shown you that he is more than capable. 

Gojo loves grocery runs, but only when he’s able to wander around the breakfast and candy section while you go through the long list of essentials and ingredients that need stocking up on. 

Not last week though. 

Instead of beelining straight towards his usual spot, he stayed right where you were, pushing the cart whenever you needed him to and reaching up on the top shelf for things you’d normally have to ask some other kind sir to get to. He stays close to you, body draping over yours as you line up for the checkout queue—long limbs, long torso, long everything engulfing you.

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru, but the days after that find him following you everywhere—picking you up after pottery with Megumi (as if you can’t make it back home alone), insisting on doing a taste test on cooking lessons with Inumaki, and even joining you on that afternoon yoga class you reserved for (initially) just you and Yuuji. 

You wonder what’s causing this, why he’s acting this way lately.

“Well, I have to be or else Yuuji might really steal you away from me.” he jokes, elbows propped on the table as he rests his chin on clasped hands. 

You know that he isn’t actually threatened by Yuuji—just that he wants more attention from you, some that you give to the pink-haired boy too eagerly and so easily. 

Still, it’s weird whatever he’s feeling right now, a bundle of unrest bubbling in his stomach these days. He isn’t familiar with it, doesn’t really know what to call it, just that he knows when it hits—like knots waiting to pop at any minute.  

You stand up from your seat to make your way to him, glancing at the clock across the room; you suppose there’s no point trying to squeeze in any more work for the last 20 minutes before you’re set to clock out. 

Gojo pats his thigh, as if beckoning you to sit; he manspreads like crazy but you think it makes sense for moments when he wants to hold you like this. 

Once you position yourself on his lap, he snakes an arm around your waist as you sling yours around the back of his neck, landing a soft peck at the tip of his nose. The hand resting on your hip rubs gently. 

“Is that comment still bothering you?” you ask, scratching the short buzzed hair of his undercut. 

You catch his eyes then, sky blue with a troubled sea.

Now that he thinks about it, it probably did start with the videos. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of many accolades: the strongest, a lone child prodigy, the best teacher (self-proclaimed); at some point he was also the world’s saving grace, and you’d think after that he’d decide to lay low for a bit, have a change of pace—but no.

The man you love has also, apparently, become a social media heartthrob after garnering attention for vlogging your dates. For the memories, he had said, but of course, it’s never just that when he’s as pretty–if not prettier–than the models you see on magazines and billboard posters. The video goes viral and suddenly you’re made very aware of just how coveted he is across all generations. 

He feels the first pop! in his stomach when he finds the comment under a 10-minute video of your day out in the park. He blacked out, he’s sure, but some loser said something about how you were so hot and completely out of his league.

As if he doesn’t know that already, but it’s how confident user ManInATux69 typed that you should just leave Gojo and be with him instead. That one stung a bit; maybe even got to his head, and it’s ridiculous because it really is just some faceless person on the internet. 

But maybe that’s really how this feeling started. 

“Of course not,” he pouts, eyes avoiding yours as he looks to the side, brows furrowed.

You stifle a giggle as you wait, biting the insides of your cheek as you stare at him. A mental countdown until—

“Maybe a bit.” he mumbles after a few blinks, pout deepening as he turns to you. He always comes around to tell you the truth, without fail. 

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru. Your Satoru.

“You wanna tell me how you’re feeling exactly?” 

If there’s one word Gojo will use to describe you, it will always be lovely. You have always been so gentle, so kind, never pushing, always asking lightly. 

You’ve sat through all his non-answers, so he thinks it’s just right, fair, that he gladly offers up his heart to you, now nestled into the palm of your hands as he lays all these feelings down, bare, intended just for you. 

He takes your free hand and places it right at his center, the space between his chest and abdomen. It’s warm as his hand dwarfs yours, forming it into a fist and twisting it into his skin. 

“Feels like a knot first,” he begins, before jerking your hand slightly as if to emulate a pop!, “then it pops.” 

And you think, that for all he sees and knows, it’s ironic that he can describe a feeling so vividly yet not know what it’s called—what it could possibly mean or be. 

“Do you think you’re jealous, Satoru?” you ask, smiling, fighting back a giggle (again), tone teasing. 

Hm, he thinks, is that what this is? 

Jealousy? 

He stares at you, lips parted slightly as you watch it register to him slowly. 

“Would explain why you’ve been hovering,” you chuckle, stroking small circles with your thumb. 

“I have not been hovering.” he snaps out of it, almost offended. 

You give him a look, eyebrow raised and mouth set in a smirk as if to say: really?

He relents, taking your hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Maybe a little.” 

Kisses are dotted along your knuckles, his eyes closed as if to ground him. You’ve known Gojo for so long that you can tell when he’s still figuring out how to say whatever it is he wants to—and your heart warms at the fact that this side to him is one he only entrusts to you. 

“There’s no competition, you know,” you whisper, the sky opening back to you, “I love you.” 

Your words are weighted, meant for him to hold and keep in the parts of him that doubt what he means to you. And it might sound a bit silly, to be this affected over a comment from some nobody, but you don’t want to leave any room for uncertainty—for your inaction to once again feed into his insecurity. 

He hums, soft vibrations flowing through his lips still pressed against your hand. Red is starting to bloom across his cheeks to his nose, and he mumbles, “Just want to be sure I’m good to you.”

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the second part will be a bit darker, more serious, but will discuss more of where the feelings stem from in the first place! 

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!! 

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[junkworldusa]

HI I love my copy of Junkworld btw!! Thank you!!

Idk I might have asked you this before or someone else may have but I was wondering if you would talk some about your art practice like. Routine and the like? I think I remember you doing Lynda Barry exercises?

Well either way thank you!!!!

Oliver!!! Yes!!! I'm so glad!

I have to preface this by saying that I don't even work on art every day, much less comics. Last October I picked up knitting on a whim and spent all my free time making hats while listening to an audiobook of Moby-Dick. I made a lino print for the first time while sending out JW #1, fell in love with it, and have spent the last month or so carving and printing and experimenting. I go on painting jags, collage jags, writing jags, and I have two (2) guitars that are sitting in the corner patiently waiting for asteroid Kiana to circle back to them. I've been this way my whole life, and I am trying to work with it and not against it. HOWEVER. There is a hardcore Type A perfectionist inside me that wants nothing but consistency. This part of me abhors the flightiness, the mutations, the bouts of melancholy -- if there must be a Quest, it cries, let it be towards a singular Goal!!!!

For recovering perfectionists there really is no better teacher than Lynda Barry. She has a list of materials, she has dozens of exercises, she has you set time limits. According to her books she is quite a strict teacher in-class, demanding a lot of time, effort, care, and attention. All of this is wonderful. She boxes you in and sets you free.

"Making Comics" is the essential text. My favorite exercise is Monster Jam.

Here are a few of mine, all done left-handed to minimize the influence of the Type A chatter who lives in my brain. I have dozens and dozens of pages of these monsters. Barry recommends this specific process a lot: lay down the lines under pressure before your brain can catch up, then add color/patterns/details, under no pressure at all, while watching/listening to something you like.

There are several iterations after this - you draw their parents, an older sibling, a lover. Then you go back to the beginning and draw, in 6 panels, the story of their life. It somehow always presents itself.

As valuable as they are, I don't use these exercises to actually make comics nowadays. I use them to loosen up and activate that aforementioned feeling. Most of my comics come from doodles or notes scribbled down in a tiny notebook I carry everywhere. The process of making a longform comic is something I have bashed my head against for YEARS, and now involves divination, random image generation, a deck of Nancy cards, a lightbox, and a ton of panels chopped up and spread out on the floor so I can move them around. This is why I still only work in grids!

[gatheringbones]

[“As computer programs determine how many patients can be profitably squeezed into a day, doctors become tools. Then the actual machines march triumphantly into the wards.

Nurses are now separated from patients by computers on wheels that roll everywhere with them: their bossy robot taskmasters. When you first see a nurse, she or he will likely have eyes on the screen rather than on you. This has dreadful consequences for your treatment, since you become a checklist rather than a person. If you are having a problem unrelated to what is on the screen, some nurses will have a hard time gathering themselves and paying attention. For example, after my first liver procedure my liver drain was improperly attached. This was a serious problem that was easily reparable. Yet although I tried for four days to draw attention to it, I could not get through. It was not on the lists. And so I had a second liver procedure.

When I read my own medical record, I was struck by how often doctors wrote what was convenient rather than what was true. It’s hard to blame them: they are locked in a terrible record-keeping system that sucks away their time and our money. When doctors enter their records, their hands are guided by the possible entries in the digital system, which are arranged to maximize revenue. The electronic medical record offers none of the research benefits that we might expect from its name; it is electronic in the same sense that a credit card reader or an ATM is electronic. It is of little help in assembling data that might be useful for doctors and patients.

During the coronavirus pandemic, doctors could not use it to communicate about symptoms and treatments. As one doctor explained, “Notes are used to bill, determine level of service, and document it rather than their intended purpose, which was to convey our observations, assessment, and plan. Our important work has been co-opted by billing.” Doctors hate all of this.

Doctors of an older generation say that things were better in their time—and, what is more worthy of note, younger doctors agree with them. Doctors feel crushed by their many masters and miss the authority that they used to enjoy, or that they anticipated that they would enjoy when they decided to go to medical school. Young people go to medical school for good reasons, then find their sense of mission exploited by their bosses. Pressured to see as many patients as possible, they come to feel like cogs in a machine. Hassled constantly by companies that seek to pry open every aspect of medical practice for profit, they find it hard to remember the nobility of their calling. Tormented by electronic records that take as much time as patient care, and tortured by mandatory cell phones that draw them away from thinking, they lose their ability to concentrate and communicate. When doctors are disempowered, we do not learn what we need to be healthy and free.”]

timothy snyder, from our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary, 2020

[lexumpysfunland]

After looking at all the Narrators I got I kinda had to pick from all of them- I'm sorry if your Narrator isn't on the list of those I've drawn ;-;

besides that, I had to make sketches for all of those I've drawn : D

Start with @bugenthusiast0 's Narrator... better have the notif to see it because your Narrator looks adorable... I want to hug him

Next, have @finnleywiththesillys 's fun Narrator.

Next, we have @jestie-bestie , they look so nice??? I want to enjoy some tea with them!

Next, it's @employee052 turn, I made him look disgusted x'D he probably is disgusted to know I'm drawing him-

Next... probably the one that started my obsession with TSP really- it's @squarratorsideblog Virus Narrator... I mean... can you blame me for loving this guy? Just look at him!? will probably draw him again

next is @aiberry I find his design really cool- yes, I put something in his screen as a 'placeholder' kind of... forgive me for doing that ;-;

Next is @mariade11art . I really like the way he looks! so for me, it's a win! also... can I hug him?

Next is @lazy-b1rdy . he looks really cute~ I don't know if I'll give him back though /j

Next is @coralkrill 's Narrator. he looks adorable, I do want to hug this silly guy~

Next, we have... @ihazmunchies91 ... can I say how WONDERFUL he is? looks evil and I love that- I love him may draw him in the future again

Next is @semisocialporcupine . I can say that now that I saw how he looked in human form I can die happy.

Then it's @xandyprojects 's turn with a very interesting design I admit! it reminded me of Garnet from Steven Universe... somehow? but anyway, I like it!

and we finish with @juaneloriginal ! the fluffy Narrator that I see everywhere. he is cute though so yeah he deserves it...

and it's all I did... I kinda need a break for a bit since I have a fun headache coming hahah

but for all those who discovered a Narrator or just a new artist you like, go give these people some love! they all deserve it !!

thank you everyone for giving me your designs so I can draw them! I hope you all like it ;-;

I want to say sorry for those I wasn't able to draw... they're all really cool and if I had more motivation I would've drawn them. but hey I'll probably do that again so maybe next time!

on that note, I'll ... try to get some rest maybe... even if I feel like Walter is going to be jealous because I haven't drawn him today /j

[ghouljams]

completely and utterly in love with your proffesor!au. What if there was a big conference and dr.love and ghost were stuck together all weekend. like there hotel rooms are next to each other and love is presenting a paper and she's actually nervous for once so ghost has to reassure her. and then that night at the hotel bar he's all jealous when a guy hits on her and they stumble home together. . . <3 <3 <3

And there was only one hotel... Yeah I love having Ghost be a stalker and a hero for Love. He's insane, he's staking his claim and immediately taking it back. They're both delusional.

It's pure circumstance when conference schedules overlap. Usually it's the sort of thing that only happens with close disciplines, but every once in a while someone writes a paper or a book and it gets picked up by the wrong researchers. This happens to Ghost a lot. It's why he took his book out of print. Everyone is so fascinated by death, the damn thing gets picked up by every wannabe philosopher and pretentious literature student with something to prove to their parents. He hates talking at conferences, doesn't even glance over the guest list when he gets the invitation, just checks the city and whether they're paying for his trip.

He just needs a weekend away from Love and her damn- her damn everything. Ever since the ride home, the baby thing, it's impossible to get her out of his mind. It was hard enough when she was just flirting, but now... Ghost is dying. He can't be around that woman when he's imagining a life he's sure she'd balk at. So he goes to the stupid conference, they're paying him to so he may as well take the free trip and see about finding some tail to get his mind off everything.

He notes the pink suitcase set outside the room next to him when he checks into his little hotel room, and only hopes his neighbor isn't noisy. It's really only when he actually checks in with the conference organizers that he notices the other presenters listed. Love's name sits neatly at the top of a talk on ancient pagan marriage rights. Ghost feels his heart race, his blood running hot at the idea of such close quarters for the weekend. He just has to avoid her for three days.

That turns out to be harder than he would have thought. Not only is the woman sleeping next to him(through a wall), but she seems to pop up everywhere. She's even in the front row of his lecture, listening intently and taking notes. It would have been easier if she was just sitting there, why does she have to be so damn interested in his work? It's worse still seeing her at the hotel bar, laughing and chatting away with other anthropologists. Ghost can't stand it. He settles himself at one end of the bar, nestles himself in the corner with his bourbon and watches her.

How can she have such a glow about her? She's got so much energy, smiling and engaging with the people that seem to flock to her like it's nothing. Even at his best Ghost isn't that sort of people person. Watching Love is like watching an entirely different species. She's stunning, drawing all the light in the room, her fingers tight on the rim of her cocktail, shielding it from- hm. Ghost tips his head, narrows his eyes to watch the way her brows twitch, the insincere smile when the man she's talking to slips his hand over her hip. She laughs at something, glances at the bartender with a distant look, Ghost throws the rest of his bourbon back and pushes off the barstool, tugging his mask up.

It's always when the people she actually wants to talk to have gone to bed that Love wonders if she should have turned in early too. Technically it's the hotel bar, but that doesn't stop random people from enjoying the atmosphere. The same way a conference doesn't fill a hotel. There are plenty of random businessmen and families on vacation, and plenty of people hanging around the bar making her life more stressful. Love cringes inwardly at the hand on her hip, and tries to get the bartenders attention to close out. The wannabe American Psycho makes the mistake of leaning closer when she turns her head, whispering in her ear in a way Love is sure he thinks she'll find charming.

Really the feel of his breath on her neck makes her want to punch him. Personal space would be nice. You push the guy away, out of your bubble, open your mouth to tell him to fuck off when you're stopped. Thick fingers curl under your chin, gentle but firm when they turn your head.

"There you are, love," Ghost hums, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he rubs his thumb over your parted lips. Your eyes widen a little in surprise.

"Simon," you say his name like you're not sure how to finish the sentence. Somewhere between the liquor and the way he looks at you, you're starting to feel very warm.

Simon settles his free hand on the bar between you and the pickup artist, leaning his weight, shifting his broad body between the two of you, forcing room for himself. Your hip is released to avoid being clipped by Simon's presence. You scoot back on your stool and his grip drops from your jaw to your thigh. His thick fingers squeeze your leg, digging into the soft flesh like they belong there. You aren't too proud to admit you wish they did. The warmth of Simon's body radiates off of him, the black cloth over his mouth making his eyes stand out. He's pretty like this, looking at you like he could eat you alive, like he'd do it for the rest of his life.

"Is 'e botherin' you sweet'eart?" He asks, and you bite your teeth into your lip at the line, tamping down your smile. You think Simon was going for that, the way he tips his head and squeezes your thigh a little tighter, there's a smile in his eyes.

"We're a little busy here buddy," your nearly forgotten neighbor chimes in. Simon rolls his shoulders, glances back over his shoulder with a glare.

"Now you're not." Simon tells him.

"Says who?" The guy retorts, attempting to lean around Simon to bring you back into his orbit, "Do you know this guy?" He asks you.

"He's-" You start, and Simon cuts you off.

"Says 'er boyfriend, now piss off," Simon turns his attention back to you, your face frozen in shock, "unless you want me to take care of 'im." You shake your head quickly, trying to find the right expression for when the unwanted guest finally takes Simon's advice.

"Listen man-"

"You startin' to piss me off, you know that?" Simon growls, turning to give the man his full attention. There's a clatter as he scrambles off the stool, now faced with the full height and muscle of your favorite philosophy professor. You hook your fingers into one of Simon's belt loops just to keep him from going anywhere, not too eager to see who would swoop in to take over the now vacant chair if he left.

He raises his arm, glancing under it to spot your hold. Simon wraps his hand around yours, pulling it off his belt and settling it on the bar. He turns back to you, covers your hand with his own to hold it against the lacquered wood.

"Thank you," you smile at him, shooing the heat that rises hopeful in your chest at the fake boyfriend bit. Simon's thumb rubs against your wrist, something impassable in his gaze. You look away, try again to flag down the bartender, "Let me by you a drink."

"It's on me," He tells you quickly, his voice low and shivering over your skin, "I'll close you out and walk you back to your room."

"You don't have to do that," You rush to tell him, you're starting to find Simon is too kind for the airs he puts on, too soft hearted for you to be this stuck on him, "I don't think that guy will come back or try anything."

"I don't 'ave to," Simon agrees, raising two fingers and catching the bartender's attention immediately, "I want to."

"Oh," you say, a little dumbly, smiling to yourself, "ok."

"What're boyfriends for?" Simon's eyes crinkle at the edges as he sets his card on the bar. You laugh a little, enjoying the joke even if it makes your heart squeeze just a bit too tight in your chest. Just a joke, you think, a convenient out to get away from a creep.

Ghost hums, his eyes sliding down over Love's body as she twists to finish her drink. Just for tonight. She can be his just for tonight.

[floq]

Meet the Artist

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a meet the artist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Important Tags:

Masterpost

art tag | redbubble | ko-fi

commissions

[image ID under the cut]

[image ID: Meet the artist meme of tumblr user floq. At the center of the image there's a drawing of myself in real life, this is a tall and slender femme presenting person with pale skin and shoulder length brown hair styled as a messy bob, they wear a pair of round glasses and their head is slightly tilted to the left. They wear a long black skirt paired with an oversized striped gray and black sweatshirt; they are wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, fishnets tights and combat boots. Behind this drawing of myself there's a drawing of my sona, which is a femme looking shadow creature with multiple eyes, shaggy shoulder length hair and white colored arms, they are waving at the viewer with their left hand.

There are multiple items in the scene that have different facts about myself. On the left side, from top to bottom we have:

a "Hello, my name is" sticker with the name "Florencia Quiroz" and the pronouns "They/she" written on it along side with three doodles of ghosts.

a yellow sticky note that lists my instagram @floq_art and my tumblr @floq.

a green and black birthday cake with candles that say "20" and my birthday (october 21st, 2003) written on it.

a burgundy heart that reads "I like... gothic music and subculture, horror media, coffee" as bullet points.

a drawing of my cat Romeo.

a drawing of character Danny Phantom from the show of the same name surrounded by green ghosts. next to the drawing says "Fav show: Danny Phantom".

On the right side, from top to bottom we have:

a drawing of the non-binary flag, a drawing of the asexual flag and a drawing of the autism infinity symbol.

doodles of eyes.

a drawing of my Sony WH-1000XM4 which I wear everywhere.

drawings of three different album covers from the artists Siousxie and the Banshees, The Cure and Gorillaz (the albums are: The Best Of... Siouxsie and the Banshees, Disintegration and Demon Days). below the albums it's written "my music taste".

doodles of two black bats.

drawing of the chilean flag with the words "I'm from:" written above.

Everything on scene is up against a plain olive green background. End of ID]

[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 6: "The White Whale"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 4k

a/n: This installment is entirely in Matt's POV! Probably one of the only ones in this series that will be. As I was writing I knew I needed to do a last minute title change to this installment, too, because it went in a different direction. Hopefully what you learn from this installment only makes everything in this series hurt so much more. There are end notes on this, too because I feel like you'll need it. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

“This place isn’t so bad,” Foggy mused.

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s head turned, clearly taking in the view of the dive bar around them. It smelled pungently of must and mildew and clearly there had been a good bit of alcohol spilled and left to dry along the floors, but otherwise it was alright here. At least it wasn’t too loud. The classic rock music playing over the speakers wasn’t blaring like the pop music playing in most bars he’d gone to always was. It never failed to give him a headache and make him duck out early.

“Well it’s not that loud, at least,” Matt replied.

Foggy nudged Matt’s arm with his elbow sharply. Matt could hear the pull of Foggy’s muscles drawing his mouth into a smile. He wished he could work himself up into even a sliver of that excitement for tonight.

“Come on,” Foggy pressed. “It’s the first night in a while that we’ve gotten out and have been able to do something that doesn’t involve paperwork. And we’re getting the three amigos back together again! Smile, dammit!”

Matt’s focus dropped towards the table, his hand tightening around the neck of his bottle of beer. He hadn’t had a chance to see you in weeks, and it had been weeks before that, too. Landman and Zack had managed to keep him and Foggy plenty busy since the three of you had graduated a few months back. And he was happy to finally see you again–that is, he would’ve been if it actually was going to be just the three of you tonight. But no, you were bringing a boyfriend . The first one you’d actually ever had since Matt had known you. 

And it had made him sick to his stomach thinking about it all day today.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” was all he could muster in response.

He drew his beer to his lips, taking a long pull. He was hoping to get at least a buzz going before the two of you showed up. He didn’t want to be sober having to listen to the way your body reacted to your boyfriend all night.

The truth of it was, Matt wanted you. And he’d wanted you since he first met you.

No, actually, that wasn’t accurate, either.

Matt had wanted you for an entire semester before he’d ever actually met you in the library. He had first encountered you on campus in the late evening. He’d overheard someone trip on the sidewalk farther up ahead of him, spilling their books and their papers everywhere. They’d quietly cursed to themselves as they knelt down to collect their things. Matt could tell they’d been close to tears, too. He figured they’d been having a bad day already as they quietly fumed to themselves while others just passed them by on the sidewalk, leaving them to pick up their scattered belongings alone.

But then you’d stumbled upon them, stepping off to the side and crouching down to help them pick up the mess without hesitation. You’d sounded sweet and gentle when you’d greeted them, offering them some kind words and a warm smile that Matt thought he could almost feel as he eavesdropped. He’d oddly found himself affected by you, taking a moment to pause on the side of the sidewalk, pretending he was checking a voicemail on his phone as he tuned into your interaction. He had felt like a creep but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. 

And then he'd been fascinated by you afterwards, your voice and the scent of you plaguing his mind. He'd spent weeks trying to run across you on campus again. He'd lied and told Fog he'd actually bumped into you that night since he was unable to tell him how he'd really stumbled on you. His heightened senses were a secret even to Foggy. But then he and Foggy had often talked about you afterwards–the pair of them had spent all semester referring to you as Matt's White Whale. He'd been relentlessly searching for you around campus whenever he wasn’t busy with his studies or on a date. But then he'd discovered you around the science buildings right before the beginning of winter break. Unfortunately you’d managed to disappear during those few weeks before the next semester started, Matt being unable to pick up on you again.

He'd then spent all of winter break telling Fog how he'd planned to linger around that building when classes resumed, hoping to catch your voice again–or in reality, the scent of your pheromones and the beat of your heart. He was certain he’d recognize both of them. Him and Fog had spent many a night throwing back beers and coming up with many amusing and ridiculous schemes of how Matt might actually have a chance to meet you. 

When classes did resume that following semester, Matt had often frequented the science building in his free moments. And even though Matt had still gone out and enjoyed the attention of other women during that time–something that had been quite a thrilling contrast from his life before college, considering he’d come fresh from St. Agnes–he couldn’t seem to shake you from his mind. Many times he caught himself wondering where he could take you on a date, or what your favorite food might be. He desperately wanted to know what subject you studied. He wanted to know your name and how your voice sounded when you finally said his. He wondered what music you liked and what your shampoo would smell like if he ever had the chance to press his nose into your hair. 

And then one fateful day when he’d been at the library working on research for a class, he’d caught the scent of you unexpectedly. His mouth had gone dry and his mind had momentarily gone blank in surprise. You were there. In the library. With him.

It had sounded like you were on your phone and making your way towards him. Matt had panicked, unsure in the moment how to actually catch your attention and strike up a conversation. In his haste to make sure his chance hadn’t disappeared on him, he’d abruptly stepped out of the aisle he was in, arms laden with books, and accidentally miscalculated how far away you were. You’d ran right into him and startled him in return, causing him to drop his books on the ground and your toe. He felt awful when he’d heard you shout but then he couldn’t resist the laugh at your strange outburst. 

But when you’d actually looked at who you’d run into, Matt had instantly picked up on all the telltale signs of your physical attraction to him. The increase in your pheromones had driven him crazy and his nerves completely disappeared, that confidence he had with every other young woman he’d flirted with on campus quickly taking over. 

He thought he’d had you that day. It seemed a sure thing when he’d asked for your number and you’d given it to him. But then he invited you over to his dorm a few days later on Saturday night. He had every intention to take you out on a date and bring you back to an empty dorm room–if he was lucky enough and you’d wanted that. Because God he had certainly been thinking about you in very sinful ways over those few days. His thoughts had been driving him wild and he desperately hoped sex with you would help ease those persistent and nagging desires. If he could just experience it, maybe you wouldn’t be clouding his damn senses and taking up so much space in his thoughts. Though he worried if he got a taste he’d just want more, like you were some sort of drug to him.

But you’d shown up early that night, and Matt hadn’t technically called it a date. He’d asked for you to ‘hang out’, which admittedly was what he always called it. Usually the women he spent time with knew what he meant, but you’d shown up early and Foggy hadn’t left yet. He’d inevitably introduced the pair of you, hoping to segue into you and him leaving–but you and Foggy had instantly hit it off.

You’d both bonded over a Red Hot Chili Peppers song Foggy was playing, apparently it being both of yours’ favorite song by them. And then that turned into a long discussion about music and the bands you’d both seen, which had led to jokes being shared. Your laughter had sounded amazing to Matt’s ears, but he’d sat there on the end of his bed dumbfounded. You and Fog had almost identical interests. You so quickly warmed up to him. And he could read your body’s reaction that night–you were eliciting all of the signs of attraction.

To Foggy. 

While Matt was just sitting there on his bed, you were beside Foggy displaying every sign to Matt that you were interested in Foggy . Not him. 

It had crushed him. All of those weeks of trying to find you, all of those nights of you plaguing his mind, and you liked Foggy . He hadn't even told Fog you were the White Whale ahead of time, hoping not to jinx things, but in the end things had wound up going awry for Matt anyway. 

He’d tried to remain hopeful that he’d gotten it wrong, but then the pair of you began Saturday nights as a weekly thing. Both of you were always texting after that. And you always seemed so eager to come over to see him. Always spending so much time with him. And every time you showed up, you’d be giving off every damn clue that you were attracted to him. It only took a couple of weeks before Matt gave up and went back to what he’d been doing–sleeping around. He couldn’t have you, so he figured he’d have whoever else he could. And when Foggy had asked him about his White Whale again, he’d sadly told him it hadn’t worked out. He’d never mentioned the White Whale again.

Though it was always strange to Matt that you’d never done anything more with Foggy. Anytime Matt hadn’t been around for the Saturday nights the pair of you spent together and he had occasionally popped back in, you often reacted like he’d interrupted something, your body going into overdrive. But you were always studying or hanging out, never anything more.

It didn’t make sense until he’d finally gotten something like an answer out of you that one night he’d upset you at the bar. He’d had a brief moment of hope when he heard your body reacting as you were looking at him, wondering if it was actually him you were reacting to like that first time in the library. He’d somehow hoped in that moment that he’d gotten everything all wrong, that it was him that you somehow liked all this time, and in his haste to say the right thing, he’d said the wrong thing.  Especially with that stupid comment about being your wingman. And he’d really upset you to the point that you’d left the bar early near tears. He wanted to chase after you but he had no reason to realistically do so–he wasn’t supposed to be able to know you were crying as you walked back to your dorm, but he did. So when Foggy had spotted Marci, he’d been thrilled to have an excuse to leave, dodging some woman who’d tried to sleep with him before hurrying after you.

But then you’d broke his heart again because you were upset over Fog. He couldn’t deny it after you’d admitted to only being seen as a friend by the person you had feelings for and then breaking down crying on him. Because Matt had been too thoughtless with his words and told you Foggy was chatting with Marci–the girl you both knew he’d been talking about recently. Why else would you have started crying? If you’d had feelings for him he was certain you’d have said something then and there with how he’d been trying to talk you up all night. Telling you any guy would be lucky to take you on a date–which obviously included him.

That night had cemented it for him. You were in love with Foggy. As much as Matt hated seeing how hurt you were sitting in the friend zone with him, he selfishly didn’t want to bring it to Foggy’s attention because he knew it would absolutely kill him to watch Foggy with you . The one he could never get out of his head. He did his best to ignore it as the months and years went by, intentionally trying to ignore whatever your body was doing because it hurt too fucking much to listen to it.

When Elektra had come into his life, she’d certainly been the first one to come close enough to shaking you from his mind. He’d fallen for her fast and hard, especially when she saw every single dark part about him and still never turned him away. She saw him for everything he was–including his heightened senses that neither you nor Fog had any clue about–and she loved him for it. Or, he thought she had. And even she had pointed out how crazy you seemed about Foggy. How you were attached to his hip like a lovesick puppy she’d said. How you always spent all your time with him. Her words only further cemented it in his mind that he would never have you. Not as anything more than his best friend.

That knowledge broke him twice as hard when Elektra left. Because you’d been there for him, encouraging him. Being the absolutely wonderful, beautiful person you were. He didn’t deserve it, either. He’d been an asshole to you when he’d been with Elektra. He was still being an asshole to you when he continued to keep his mouth shut to Fog about your feelings–because he was selfish and never wanted to see you with him. Instead he’d eventually gone back to burying himself in a different girl when he had the chance, especially the closer it had gotten to graduation. He was afraid he’d lose you after the three of you graduated from Columbia, the dark thought constantly lingering in his mind. 

He’d almost kissed you that night, too. That night it was just you and him cuddled together on his bed after graduation. The last night in your dorms. He’d been overcome with the urge to just tell you everything and kiss you, but then he’d caught the feeling of your panic when he’d so carefully cradled your face in the palm of his hand, desperate to finally feel your lips on his. To hear you tell him you cared for him, too. But all he’d felt was your fear in that moment instead. You must’ve realized he was about to say something, that he’d been about to possibly kiss you, and you panicked at the thought of it. Because Foggy was asleep in the bed across from both of you and you loved him . So he’d bit the words back and said the first thing that came to his mind instead of what he really wanted to. And it fucking killed him to do so.

Now, here you all were getting together months later, and you were bringing your boyfriend. Clearly you’d tried to move on from Fog, but that didn’t make things hurt any less for Matt. He hadn’t moved on from you. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be able to at this rate. And he certainly tried–he’d fucked a few interns at Landman and Zack, but none of them made him forget how it felt to wake up beside you that morning he had after Elektra had left him.

“Oh hey, I think that’s them!” Foggy said excitedly.

His words drew Matt back to this miserable moment, the sound of Foggy’s hand waving the pair of you over only deepening the frown on his face. He didn’t want this asshole here with his arm around you. Probably kissing you in front of him. He wanted to be the one doing that. Not this random guy who’d recently popped into your life and didn’t know you like Matt did. It felt wrong .

“Hey guys!” your cheery voice greeted the pair of them.

Matt quickly did his best to tune out the sound of your body and ignore the faint scent of your arousal that abruptly hit him when you’d reached the table. His hand tightened around his bottle of beer again. Your boyfriend’s scent was mixed with yours and it didn’t sit right with Matt. It pissed him off, actually. For some reason he really wanted to hit this guy.

Foggy greeted you brightly with your name and then he felt your eyes land on him expectantly. The smile noticeably faltered on your face, he could hear it in the way your muscles shifted. Raising his head from the table, he forced a smile onto his mouth and greeted you with your name in return. 

“Guys this is Liam,” you said, introducing your boyfriend.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Foggy exclaimed, reaching out a hand. “I’m Foggy.”

Liam reached out, accepting the handshake in return. Matt ground his teeth together as he listened to the interaction.

“I’ve heard so many stories about you both,” Liam was saying, his attention turning to Matt as Foggy released his hand. “You must be Matt, right?”

Matt knew Liam was extending a hand out towards him, he heard the air shift in front of him when he did. He also knew it was usually the polite thing to do to at least extend his own hand out when he introduced himself, allowing the other person to reach out and shake his hand. But he didn’t want to shake Liam’s hand. He didn’t want to be his friend. He didn’t want him here .

“Yeah, that’s me,” Matt replied.

He heard the way Liam’s hand awkwardly lowered back to his side after a few uncomfortable seconds. He could practically feel the three sets of eyes on him. That had been rude, but he didn’t care.

“How about I get us a drink?” Liam asked, turning to you.

“Sure, that’d be great!” you responded. “A beer would be good.”

When Liam leaned towards you and kissed you, Matt thought he was going to break the beer bottle with how hard he was gripping the neck of it. He even caught the light tap to your ass before he’d sauntered off to the bar, wishing he could’ve been as oblivious to that as Foggy was. Or to the way it’d made you blush.

“You seem happy,” Foggy said, reaching across the table and playfully slapping your shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

“Good!” you answered, your tone bright. “The job’s gotten a lot better now that the stress of being the newbie is past. How’ve you guys been? How’s the internship going? Still busy?”

Foggy blew out an exaggerated breath. “ Exhausting . We’ve been drowning in paperwork and menial tasks, but there’s apparently two positions opening up in a few months and I think Matt and I are in line for it.”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, your attention turning towards Matt. “That’s awesome! You guys deserve it!”

Matt’s heart might have skipped a beat at the sound of your excitement for them. He noticed your eyes lingering on him. Probably because he was being uncharacteristically silent tonight. And rude.

“So how’d you meet Liam? How long have you both been together?” Foggy asked, bringing his beer to his mouth for a drink.

Matt could tell you’d nervously ducked your head at the question, tucking some hair behind your ear. It was cute. You were cute. He wished you acted like that when asked about him instead of Liam .

“Just a couple of weeks,” you admitted. “It’s still new. I actually met him at a coffee shop–or, technically outside of it. We sort of grabbed each others’ drinks on accident. He was the one who’d noticed, I was just hurrying to get back home for work. He’d had to chase me down a block.” 

You laughed and the sound was like a knife to Matt’s heart. You liked this guy. And that fucking hurt.

“He was sweet and had some terrible jokes,” you continued. “For some reason he asked me out to dinner and then, well–” you shrugged, “–here we are now.” 

You cleared your throat, your attention nervously darting to Foggy and then back to himself before you ducked your head again. Matt’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses curiously, wondering what that had been about until you spoke again.

“So uh, are you two seeing anyone?” you asked.

Your tone was pitched higher than usual and Matt instantly guessed the reasoning. His eyes closed behind his glasses, his heart further sinking in his chest.

You still liked Foggy, didn’t you? He’d never have a chance with you.

“Well it turns out Marci is actually interning at Landman and Zack, too,” Foggy replied. “But uh, she still isn’t too interested in being serious. But I’m working on her!”

Your attention shifted to him, your heart having sped up at Foggy’s words. Probably upset because he was still pursuing Marci instead of you. He could sympathize with your heartache.

“And…what about you, Matt?” you asked, voice suddenly quieter.

He focused on you standing directly across from him at the table. You were gripping it firmly in both of your hands, your heart still beating a little faster after Foggy’s admission. He swallowed hard, trying to hide his emotions behind his glasses. 

Still hopelessly in love with you.

“Ever the bachelor,” he said with a tense smile. “You know me.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond, but Liam had appeared at your side, cutting you off. He handed you your beer and you’d smiled when he’d kissed you on the cheek. Matt’s attention dropped back down on the table, his jaw clenched yet again. This was going to be a long night, he could already tell. 

Maybe he could find an excuse to head out early. Claim he wasn’t feeling well or something. There was something he was thinking about doing tonight, something he’d recently picked up. The thought of it was sounding better and better the lower Liam slid his hand down your back. And it’d certainly be a better outlet beating an asshole who truly deserved it than your boyfriend. Plus if Foggy wasn’t at the apartment, well, then it’d be all the easier for him to slip in and out. Though he really needed to focus on getting his own place soon so he could keep his nightly activities private. He certainly couldn’t tell either of you what he got up to in the evenings. Maybe he’d just use the excuse to Fog that he needed his own place to bring women back to without having to constantly worry about a roommate. He’d surely buy that line. He already thought he was often out sleeping around as it was.

For the next half hour, Matt quietly drank down his beer, barely adding much to the conversation unless you or Foggy had directly acknowledged him. Shortly after he’d finished his drink, he’d made up an excuse about a bad headache. Despite the boisterous round of protests from you and Foggy, he’d departed the bar and made his way back to the apartment. When he’d gotten there, he’d wasted no time quickly dressing in the all black outfit he kept hidden in the false bottom of his father’s steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. Pulling the fabric of a mask over the majority of his face, he slipped out of his bedroom window, landing on the fire escape almost soundlessly. And then he was off scouring the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, ready to loose the anger he’d kept inside of himself tonight on someone who truly deserved it.

[END NOTES--which are always on my AO3 fics and give more insight & I figured some of you might want it for this installment]

Reader has a boyfriend in here! And we find out Matt has had feelings for Reader long before that interaction at the library. And he's been repeatedly misinterpreting her body to think that it's Foggy she's reacting to instead of him (even if he's aware of the physical attraction she has to him), especially with the knowledge that she has feelings for a friend. Doesn't help that Elektra intentionally fed him lies to further push that idea into his mind. Not to mention, Reader does panic when Matt is about to kiss her on graduation night, and Matt completely misreads the reasoning behind her body's reaction. And these idiots both keep saying that they're each other's 'friend' repeatedly. Plus it probably doesn't help that Matt intentionally tries to ignore her body so he doesn't have to hear it reacting to Fog (when really its him). And clearly Reader is often misinterpreting Matt's reactions to things (and he's also hiding it).

There you have it folks. They're both hopelessly in love with each other and have been for years. But no one is opening their damn mouth. Now Reader is dating someone else.

Oh, and Matt is now becoming the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, if you didn't catch that. But Foggy thinks he's out sleeping around. And therefore Reader probably does, too.

[dino-boyo-agere]

Tipps for little ones that are prone to accidents!!

(Obvious cw! for diaper mention)

mainly regarding No. 2 since that's what I deal with pretty much every day.

Which padding might be best?

Finding the right diaper for regular, or even everyday use can be difficult.

Since I regularly go potty normally, I often have to open and close my diapers. I find hook & loop tapes are the most durable option for this.

Pull ups are also easy for that, but they tend to get saggy and they fray really easily, so I'm not a big fan of them.

Cloth back diapers aren't crinkly, so they are more subtle than others.

The thickness of a diaper is not important when you only go number 2 in them, since they don't have to "absorb" liquid, just hold the other stuff, so you can go as thin - and therefore subtle - as you'd like.

Medical diapers are much more affordable than cute ones, but they are also boring.. Drawing on your diapers or putting stickers on them can be a great solution, aswell as a fun crafting project.

How to possibly prevent accidents?

Prevention is not always possible, but those tricks help me sometimes.

Be careful what you eat/ drink. Knowing what dietary constrictions you have and upholding them can be vital. Try avoiding possible triggers for IBS, food intolerances, etc. Especially when you'll be out and about, where having an accident could feel especially upsetting.

Try and figure out the "schedule" of your bowel movements, most people have to go at certain times and in certain intervals after eating. Figuring out your schedule if possible can help you prevent accidents by going to the toilet at the right time precautionary. Finding out your schedule can be done by writing down every time you use the restroom, especially after eating/ drinking, so also note the times of that! Do so for at least one moth to try and figure out a clear pattern.

What do when you had an accident in public?

Having an accident in public can feel upsetting and humiliating, I often get really self-conscious and sad if it happens.. But I have some Tipps that help me deal.

Firstly, here is a tiny tutorial for the cleanest way to "fold" a dirty diaper, to prevent any leaking.

I always carry little diaper bags with me, that I previously filled with a "smell killing powder". → these powders can be bought online or in stores, they are advertised as scent killers, odour eliminating Powder or garbage / diaper bin deodorizing powder. (I use "Geruchs Vernichter" by Dr. Becher) !! don't put the powder in a diaper while/ before wearing it, it's really harmful to the skin !!

The diaper bags are just little plastic bags, there are options to get ones that aren't see through, if you're super self-conscious. Another option is to wrap the bag (or diaper in it) in toilet paper to disguise it. The bags themselves are also available scented!

Carrying air freshener or deodorant may also help you, when you're in a public bathroom and feel self-conscious about the smell.

A fresh diaper, aswell as wet wipes and disposable gloves are also always in my travel bag.

Make a list of positive affirmations & take it with you everywhere.

It's not your fault, you're not broken, you're not icky, you are so valid & these accidents don't change anything about that!! <3

What to wear?

If your shy about wearing diapers, the right clothes may give you comfort.

Baggy clothes to hide them are a great option.

I found hoodies that are long enough to cover up the back areas especially comforting.

Baggy pants in general are great to hide your padding, just make sure to wear a belt so they don't slip of!

I always wear a tugged in shirt or a onesie, so there is no peeking of the diaper when I lean forward.

Wearing a short leggings/ underwear over your diaper might give you a feeling of safety aswell.

That's all I can think of right now, I might update this later though. Everyone is free to add their own tips, tricks or remarks aswell!!

I want you to know that there is nothing sameful or icky about having to wear diapers or simply choosing to wear them for comfort. There is nothing weird about it and you are not broken or less worthy of love for wearing/ needing padding.

You are strong, you got this and I'm so very proud of you for taking care of yourself!

Stay safe, kiddo!

[acourtofmenandthirst]

Closed Until Further Notice

Oh my god this was WAY longer than anticipated and I wasn't planning on making it like spicy, but it's been a while so I threw some at the very end ;) this is Eris x Cafe Owner ! Reader / trope, it was very cute so I hope I captured the idea well enough for the anon who requested it!

Word Count: 10.3K

Warnings: Cursing, Smut

Eris wouldn’t say he frequented the small towns scattered throughout the Autumn Courts, nothing more than a yearly visit or two, normally just for an inspection called upon by his father. He usually came on horseback, flanked by his soldiers in their shining armor, and strolled through the town for a quick survey. He nodded politely, quick to make his way through the town without disturbing any of the residents. No matter how nice he was, how civil and respectful he was, they still cowered from him - hid in their homes and shut their shop doors when he passed through.

But there was one town, nestled just past the forest in the valley of the mountains right before the Winter Court, that Eris took his time visiting. That’s exactly what it was, in fact: a visit, not an inspection - no surveillance, no prying. He traveled there alone, winnowing to the outskirts of the village, taking his time walking down the main street. Stores and homes littered the dirt road, nearly frozen solid from the Winter wind that blew across the border; he walked along the stone sidewalk, past the brick houses and the shops built up from the redwood trees. 

At the center of the town stood the bakery, a hand painted sign that spelled it out in fine script. The chalkboard was propped open on the walkway, the specials written in swirly cursive. Eris bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smile that crawled up his lips, eyeing the Topfenstrudel you’d written no doubt early this morning - probably before he’d even woken up. You’d listed a few teas below it, fruit sauces, and spices to pair it with. 

Eris wouldn’t admit to it, but he’d patroned it more than the other little towns. It started once a year, just like everywhere else, but turned quarterly - monthly, even - after he visited your bakery. Small and tucked away, next to a butcher’s shop on one side and a bookstore on the other, your cafe was lined with tables and plush chairs, golden faelights and fresh flowers strewn across the space. 

He slipped through the door quickly, trying not to let out the heat from the small fire in the hearth beside the counter. “Good morning,” you called from the back kitchen, not visible from the doorway. “I’ll be with you in a minute!” Eris hummed in response, throwing a tiny ring of fire at the dimming flame. He noted the heat immediately, a welcome shiver down his spine at the feeling. He shook off the cold, shoving his hands in his pockets and pacing a few steps around the cafe. 

He had half a mind to bring you flowers this time - though, he’d been telling himself that the past three visits. His mother had clipped some hydrangeas from her garden, had them laid out along the long table in her drawing room. He should have just swiped a few, winnowed out before she would even notice, but he thought against it, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or think he was trying something. 

Not that he wasn’t, necessarily - he should - gods, he wanted to. But the only thing you knew about him was that he was the High Lord’s son, he didn’t want to accept your advances because you felt like you had to. 

You popped around the corner, stopping in front of the counter wiping your hands on your apron. Your mouth opened and shut quickly, eyes wide at the sight of him. But he didn’t miss the blush that crawled up your cheeks, the small flustered smile when his fiery gaze met yours. “Oh - I didn’t - sorry to keep you waiting,” you said, shaking your head slightly. 

Eris smiled and relaxed his shoulders. “I wasn’t, don’t worry.” He’d counted down each minute - all forty-four thousand of them - until he saw you again. 

“You’re early,” you replied, pressing your hands against the counter, shuffling the random pile of papers before you.

He shrugged, eyes falling to the counter, watching how you moved the papers, each scrawled with a different recipe or note, and pushed them to the side. “Long day ahead - I wanted to make sure I got the strudel before you ran out.” 

The High Lord’s son typically came closer to closing, when just a few customers lingered around. Some ducked out quickly, afraid of the tall male’s presence; others stayed, tucked away in the dimly lit corners of the cafe, watching the handsome male from just over the rim of their coffee up. He usually ordered a tea - something chamomile or tisane - along with a pastry or two, and always tried the daily special. 

But you opened at six in the morning, and Eris strolled in just three minutes past. 

“Then what else can I get for you, Eris?” He almost melted on the spot - his name dripped like honey off your lips. You’d exchanged names and gotten past formalities a few months ago, when you’d started greeting him more like a friend than the High Lord’s son. 

He figured he’d never get anywhere with you if he kept lingering around the bakery before closing, when your neighbors sat watching his every move. 

“I’ll have a coffee, please.” You quirked a brow at the male, surprised at the change in order, though you supposed it was too early for a sleepy tea. 

You watched him ruffle around in his pocket for some change, the heavy gold coins shaking in his hand. He dipped his head to count the money, you watched the red locks of hair fall over his brow. You tipped your head back to look up at him, watch the fire’s shadows dance over his carved cheekbones, kissing his straight nose. 

You were able to see him clearly in the morning light; you could count the freckles across his cheeks, and oh how you longed to. He looked so different at night, when the sun was gone and the only light came from the red fire and amber faelights, as well as his glowing eyes. “And how do you take your coffee?” You watched his throat work, his eyes roam over your features. 

Eris pressed his tongue behind his teeth. “How you take yours.” 

“Milk and sugar?” You hummed, raising your brow, smiling at the male. While he savored the sweets you served him, you would have assumed he went for the more bitter taste. 

To be fair, he did. He just wanted to know how you liked yours, should he ever have the chance to make it for you himself. 

Preferentially in his bed. 

And nude. 

“Milk and sugar,” he replied with a small nod but a broad smile. 

Your eyes flitted between him and the mess on the counter in front of you - yet his red eyes never left yours, his gaze burning into you. You couldn’t help but blush, the heat emitted from his body calling to you, for you to throw yourself into him and feel his arms around you. The chill from the Winter Court was strong that morning, you’d wanted nothing more than to linger around the warm ovens all morning. But the cafe felt warmer, like it always did when he visited; you weren’t sure if it was his fire powers or just him. 

How much you wanted to touch him. 

“Coming right up.” You offered him a smile before trotting off to the kitchen, setting the grounds up over the set of mugs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Your voice carried quietly from the back kitchen, just audible above the cracking fire. Eris’s eyes swiped around the cafe, over the small tables and iron chairs, never having seen the shop empty before. But he took a seat against the window, the seats shrouded with pillows with stacks of books adorning the tabletop. Your scent lingered across the space, bright and fruity with a hint of cinnamon. 

He tried not to stare at the counter across the shop, watch and wait for you to appear in the doorway to return. Eris tried to busy himself, glancing at each of the plants hanging from baskets, the flowers that he tried to remember, the sound of his mother reciting each name in the back of his mind. 

You piled the mugs and plates on a small wooden tray and made your way back to the tiny dining area, weaving through the tables to meet him in the corner. His thick brows raised in surprise as he noticed the amount of goodies on the tray, scrambling to stand and take it from you. But you shooed him off, setting everything down between you and ushering him to sit when you took the seat across from him. 

You never thought you’d meet a member of Autumn royalty, let alone one that fretted over you carrying a small try and who stood whenever you entered the room. 

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said, quietly, almost unsure of how the word was supposed to sound - like it was foreign. But your pointed ears flexed, unable to miss the small sentiment, no matter how unusual it tasted on his tongue, he was trying. 

“You’re welcome, Eris,” you replied simply, handing him a mug, taking the matching one for yourself. There were a couple strudels on a plate, paired with a bowl of fruit, and some macaroons, a couple pumpkin tarts fresh from the oven on the side. 

He noticed how you pulled your strudel in half, how your shoulders shrugged slightly when you tasted it, the warm dough relaxing the cold chill that stiffened your spine. You couldn’t help but watch his hands work before you, pulling apart his pastry, just as you did, how he picked up the coffee cup loosely in those long fingers, pale knuckles and veins lining his big hands. You cradled your own mug in both hands, half needing the warmth from the side of the cup, the other half needing the grasp on reality, keeping you grounded - keeping your mind from wandering too far. 

His gaze washed over you, watching as you zoned out, staring into the space between you. “Were you here early this morning?” 

You blinked once, twice, trying to pull your eyes away from the male’s hands. “Yeah.” You huffed a laugh, sipping from the much needed coffee. “I start baking at four - got here at three though.” You eyed the pastry he’d picked up. “These were a bit more difficult than what I usually try for.”

“It’s excellent,” he said, taking a bite of the flaky pastry. “Very much worth the extra time, in my opinion.”

“I’m glad you came today.” Eris’s red eyes sparkled at your words, he felt the fire roar through his veins and crawl up his cheeks. 

Me too. He ached; wanted to find out everything about you, about your life, what you liked and what you didn’t, your family, what made you tick, what made you smile, how you tasted, how you’d look in his bed, on his lap. 

But before the male could even think of a response, the door swung open, followed by a gust of wind. Your eyes shot to the door immediately, assessing who came in, interrupting (what Eris believed to be, at least) a pleasant conversation. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Aldrich,” you greeted the old female, bundled up in her coat and wrapped in what looked like two scarves. Your eyes dropped to Eris once more as you pushed yourself from the table, sauntering off to the counter to serve her. 

But Eris decided to only wait a few moments longer, downing the rest of his coffee and finishing the treats on the table before stacking the bowls and plates. He ran his hands over the sides of his corduroy pants, unsure of whether to bring them to you in the kitchen, whether he should even go out of his way to say goodbye. He felt the Fae female staring at him, too afraid to say anything, but watching his every move. So he buttoned his jacket, preparing to leave before anyone else could come to the cafe to study him. 

He turned to the female, offering his a polite bow of his head in greeting, which she returned with a small curtsey. “Bye Eris,” you called, poking your head around the corner from the kitchen, arms working to tie a white apron around your waist. 

His eyes found yours, sparkling in the morning light that shines from the front windows. “Bye (Y/N), thanks again.” He offered you a smile before he ducked out the short front door. 

Eris felt Mrs. Aldrich’s eyes move back and forth between the two of you. 

_________________________

The next time he came by, it was still just as cold and just as early. He tried to take his time walking to the shop, but he couldn’t slow himself down - his hands itched, flexing at his sides, simmering with heat that poured out of him. The pocket watch in the front of his jacket told him he was a few minutes early, so he lingered along the cobblestones, kicking at the loose rocks on the sidewalk. 

The lights in the cafe were on, but the specials sign was missing and the Closed sign hung across the green door. He chewed on his bottom lip, shoving his hands inside his pockets and turning on his heel. He thought maybe he should just leave, not wait around like a creep, and solicit the peaceful town. 

“Eris?” 

The male’s head lifted as he turned over his shoulder, meeting your soft smile. He lifted a hand to run through his messy red hair, pushing it away from his eyes. “Hey (Y/N), good morning,” he stumbled over his words, too focused on his racing heart - beating almost as rapidly as the first day he saw you. 

You held the door open with your foot - the tip of your brown boot covered in flour, as the hem of your skirt was - and moved to pull the chalkboard through the door. The High Lord’s son pulled it from your hands, grabbing it easily with on and moving it as though it weighed nothing. He fixed it up on the sidewalk before turning to you with a smile. “Apricot sachertorte?”

You beamed at him, proud of your newest sweet treat, and propped your hands on your hips. You almost didn’t notice the Winter Court chill seeping through your clothes. You felt the heat he emitted, centuries of fire burning through him, drawing you to him. “You like chocolate, no?”

Eris ushered you inside, noting your missing coat when his eyes drew up and down your body. The dress you wore was thin, tight. Dusted with ingredients and a messy apron. He swallowed, forced some air into his lungs, and forced himself to not stare when you led him inside. “I have a certain weakness when it comes to chocolate.” And you. 

He rolled his eyes inwardly at himself - how his father would have killed him for even making a joke about having a terminal flaw. But he’d developed enough of a friendship that he’d actually made you laugh, and it was a sound he’d say nearly anything to hear it again. 

“Perfect then, take a seat and I’ll get some coffee for us.” Eris sighed in sweet relief, thanking you for saving him from having to ask you to sit with him again. 

You were quick to return with two mugs and two plates, one exceptionally large slice of the torte accompanied by a smaller one. He was quick to help you, settling into the table across from the fireplace. You’d hummed when you sat down, relaxing into the iron chair, and the male couldn’t help but wonder if it was the first time you’d sat down all morning. You drank your coffee like it came from the Mother herself, savoring the rich taste. “This is probably the fourth cup I’ve had this morning.” 

Eris wasn’t surprised. He was in the same boat himself, actually. He hadn’t been able to sleep all last night, not with the anticipation of seeing you. He’d forced his night owl of a brother to spar with him, tire himself out wielding the heavy steel sword. He’d fussed over battle plans and boring court papers. When that didn’t work, he’d even found himself in the kitchen, attempting what was intended to be a galette. When that didn’t work out, he gave up and laid in bed for a few more hours. He was tired, sure, but couldn’t fall asleep. 

“You ought to take a day off, sleep in,” he replied, taking a bite of the layered chocolate cake. Gods, if that was the last meal he’d eat, he’d be beyond satisfied. 

You shrugged, finger tracing the rim of your cup. “I could… but I just love it too much - even if I have to wake up early for it.” Eris nodded along. “Besides, what if you came by the shop and I was closed?”

He shifted in his chair, trying to settle the burn in his chest. “You’re right - ” he tried to play it off casually. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without your pastries.” Another job well done, he cursed himself. 

You smiled sweetly, propping your elbow up on the table and resting your head against your knuckles. “So tell me, Eris. What’s on today’s agenda? I can hardly believe you came all this way just for coffee and chocolate.” 

Oh how wrong you were. He’d go to the ends of Prythian just to spend one moment with you. 

“Taking care of some errands for my father,” he began, not interested in divulging too much. You understood, and simply nodded along, taking whatever he’d be willing to give out. “I have a meeting in the Winter Court.” 

“Ah, just a stop along the way, then.” He wasn’t sure if he heard faint disappointment laced in your voice, or if it was just what he’d been hoping to hear. 

“Well - yes, but…” It was one of those rare moments where Eris didn’t know what to say. “But I wish I could come more - I don’t want to bother you. I know a lot of your customers are uneasy when I stop by - ”

You cut him off, sitting straight in your chair. “You’re not - I love when you visit, Eris.” You fought against all your instincts to reach across the table and grab his hand. 

It was his turn to blush. Maybe he was overheating, what with all the layers and sitting in front of the fire. Or perhaps it was your bright eyes staring at him, burning into him, starting straight into the depths of his soul. “I wish I could stay longer, I’d like to - ”

But that godsdamned door opened again, a group of Fae walked in, conversation abruptly stopping when they noticed the fiery-haired male sitting at the table across from you. Eris stood in one swift motion, abandoning his fork and empty plate behind him. He noticed the young female that walked in, orange hair wild around her ears, starting straight at you, wiggling her eyebrows. 

When he tossed a look over his shoulder at you, he saw your pink cheeks, chin tucked close to your chest. “Your highness,” one of the males began, bowing to Eris.

His friend smacked him in the chest, grimacing at his friend’s actions. “Shut up.”

Another female interrupted all of them, smiling broadly at Eris. “Good morning, sir,” she said sweetly, dipping slightly in greeting. 

Eris had never felt more awkward in his life. He’d been trained in court politics, to lead armies, to host High Lord meetings on behalf of his father, to speak in front of hundreds of Fae. But never to talk with teenage Fae. 

“Good morning,” he replied as politely as he could, shifting his weight from foot to foot. But he recalled his courtier training, standing tall and holding his chin high. 

He got a small confidence boost though, as the other males tilted their heads back to look up at him, and cowered a few steps backward. And although Eris was normally cocky enough to have loved to inflict that kind of response on others, it wasn’t what he should be displaying in front of a female he was trying to impress. 

“I have to be getting on my way, (Y/N),” he finished, turning back to look at you. “Thanks for the coffee.” He smirked, watching as you glared at your friend - the one whose eyes kept flitting between you and the High Lord’s son. 

Your attention was drawn back to Eris and he threw a wink your way before he left the cafe.  

_________________________

He winnowed back just after the sun had set, when the chill from the mountains was visible in each breath he took. Eris appeared right in front of your shop door, where the lights were dimmed and the sign on the door read Closed. 

Fuck, he’d cursed himself, fifteen minutes late. He’d rushed back as fast as he could, after having spent the day in the Winter Court, useless meetings with Kallias and his staff. Eris had nearly run out of the meeting room, winnowing before he’d even left the table and made it close to the door. 

But you’d spotted him, the brown wool coat and dark red hair from the window. You almost skipped to the door, something between a hop and a half-jog, making your way to the door before he’d off and disappeared again. “Eris, wait!” You’d called, unlocking the door and poking your head through. 

He smiled when he turned around, meeting you in the doorway. You held a broom in your hand, obviously close to leaving for the evening. No matter how tired you were, there was no doubt in his mind that you’d had a busy day, you still greeted him with a cheery smile. 

“I just wanted to,” he began, digging his hand through his pocket and pulling out a handful of gold coins. “For this morning.” 

You shook your head, but took his wrist in your hand, pulling him through the door. Your fingers sparked when you felt his warm skin against yours. “You visiting is quite enough - ”

Eris groaned, wishing you’d held onto him for just a little bit longer. “I don’t need special treatment.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t be nice to you anymore, Eris?”

He smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim faelight. “Are you being nice to me or being nice to my family?” 

He watched you tut, giving him an indiscreet up and down. It almost made him nervous. “Just you.” And Eris smiled at that, his own selfishness getting the best of him, but glad you had invited him in. “I like when you visit. You don’t do it enough.” 

You’d set the broom against the table, hands clasped in front of you trying your damnedest not to look like a giddy child in a candy shop. Eris glowed, watching your movements, daring to see how much else you’d reveal to him. 

Eris was too busy staring at you, committing every feature of yours to memory, to respond. “How about some tea?” You asked, already making your way to the kitchen. 

“Please,” he nearly sighed, and no matter how happy and excited he was to be back at your bakery, he was still beat from a day of Winter Court bullshit. 

You disappeared only momentarily, returning just after you’d set the kettle over the stovetop, with two mugs in hand. You set them on the table by the window, the seats both cushioned with freshly fluffed pillows. Eris joined you, eyeing the loose tea leaves at the bottom of the cups, a mixture of chamomile flowers, linden leaves, and peppermint. 

He smiled gratefully, seeing your body relax once you’d slid into the chair across from him. “You like it here?” Eris couldn’t help but ask. You seemed to work yourself into exhaustion, rising before the sun, staying past dusk, holed away in the quaint cafe. It was a small town, too far from the other Autumn villages to easily visit - though, he supposed there would be plenty of adventure in the woods beyond and the mountains between Winter. That ought to be dangerous, especially given the fact that if Beron found out about his subjects crossing the border, he’d outright banish or kill them. 

You smiled back at the High Lord’s son, him looking equally as tired as you must have. Light purple lined the tops of his cheekbones, starkly contrasting his otherwise luminous pale skin. His brows were taught, pulled together as if really contemplating your answer - or perhaps overthinking his question. He’d forgotten his coat on the back of his chair, a dark blazer underneath. His eyes glowed, his red irises burning brighter as the light from the windows faded.

“I do,” you hummed, content with your little date. 

But the screeching of the kettle interrupted you, and right as you placed your hands on the table to push yourself up, Eris stopped you. “Let me, please.” Before you could even respond, he was already on his feet, rushing off into the back kitchen to pull the kettle off.

He returned with the kettle in one hand and a bottle of honey in the other. He poured your cup first and then his, setting the hot water to the side. Surely, should you let him stay long enough, it would be easy enough for him to reheat later. 

“You were saying?” He continued, eyes locked on the mug before him, dropping in a swirl of honey to his tea. 

You bit your lip, pushing your mug closer to him. His eyes flitted up to you once before he repeated the action. “I like it here. It’s small - I know all of my customers by now. All of their names, their orders, it’s like a little family.” 

Eris nodded along, leaning back in his chair. “No problems with the Winter Court?” 

You rolled your eyes. I have more problems with the current court, if we were being honest. “It’s cold,” you replied. “It’s quiet. But far away enough that we aren’t…” You bit your tongue. “Not that there’s anything wrong with - ”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Eris replied, not shocked with your response. “I understand.”

Just like any other Fae on the continent, he reminded himself: scared of his father. He wasn’t surprised, this would be the perfect town to escape Beron’s tight holds. It wasn’t close enough that he kept it under his nose, monitoring the town and the villagers. It wasn’t particularly useful to him - no major crops or orchards, maybe lumber from the redwoods, but there were far closer regions he could busy himself with. 

But he saw how quickly your brows raised and cheeks turned red at your comment. It was almost as if you’d forgotten he was the High Lord’s son up until that moment. 

Eris was ashamed to carry the Vanserra name. 

He finished off his tea, suddenly uncomfortable with keeping you so late. Maybe the reason you were so nice to him was because of who his father was. You were hosting him out of formality, not friendship or desire - you were probably afraid he’d go running back to the Forest House with your name at the top of his list. 

You reached a hand out to him, watching his lips turn into a frown and his brows narrow as he lost himself in thought. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“If there is anyone who gets it, (Y/N), believe me - I do.” He took a long sip from the mug in his hand, set it down silently, and pushed himself from the seat. His hands fumbled over his coat, swinging it over his shoulders and fastening it shut. “I don’t want to keep you any longer - I’ve intruded quite enough.” He turned to the door, to avoid watching you awkwardly scramble to your feet. The sky was dark, the only light along the street was the glow from the faelights in the windows of the houses along the way. He turned back on his heel to face you, staring up at him, bewildered. “Can I at least walk you home?”

You pressed your lips together, clasping your hands in front of you. “I live upstairs, actually.”

“Ah.” It was all that came from him, which left the male cursing himself once more. Fucking idiot. “Well thank you again, (Y/N).” Back to formalities, back to square one. 

You nodded once more, watching as he turned to the door. As he reached for the handle, you stopped him, grabbing his other hand. His skin was burning hot and sent sparks into you. “You’re welcome anytime here, Eris.” You waited until he turned around, fully acknowledging your words. “And not just because of who your father is.” 

Eris nodded, albeit a bit numbly, as you sent his mind reeling the moment he felt your fingers grasp his. Should I do it?

He wanted to kiss you so badly. So badly that his fingers itched to grab you and pull you against him. You batted your eyelashes at him, all innocent as if you had no idea what you were doing. Maybe you weren’t doing anything - no signals, no invitation to kiss you, love you, fuck you. 

It was all in his head, it had to be. 

He couldn’t compromise your innocence, not when he’d already been seen alone in the cafe with you twice in one day. He could only imagine what the other Fae were thinking, how he’d either besmirched your reputation or created a scandal in the small town. 

“Then I’ll be sure to return more often.” With that, he gave your fingers a squeeze and turned - forcing every fiber of his being not to take you with him. 

_________________________

Eris couldn’t sleep again. Gods, he felt ill. 

He was clammy all over - absolutely disgusting. He’d forced himself from bed and into the bath, letting the cold water wash over him and take away whatever it was he was feeling. His heart was racing out of his chest, his breathing was jagged - it was unlike any other fever he’d had. 

And then he felt it, laying in the cold water of the porcelain tub. It felt like a rubber band snapped against his ribcage. It winded him, had him lurching forward and clutching his chest. He figured the copper taste in his mouth was a figment of his imagination, being no stranger to the taste of blood. Maybe he bit his tongue when he felt the snap, it had his heart lurching upwards into his scarred throat. 

Eris’s fingers gripped the edge of the cold bathtub - he felt the water turning hotter by the second. He couldn’t control the heat that emitted from his body, the simmering flames smothered in his palms. 

That was it.

That was it. 

He wasn’t dying - not if you could call being utterly grossly in love dying. 

His heart hammered in his chest and the fire roared through his veins. It felt like he was suffocating, sure, but it felt good. His hands were shaking, and he knew the only cure would be to have you in them. You were the one who could teach him how to breathe again.

He huffed a long shaky breath, leaning back in the tub until his back touched the now warm ceramic. Curls of steam began to dance on the surface of the water that seemed to be rippling in time with his heartbeat. 

Eris shut his eyes, trying his damndest to clear his head, to calm the fuck down. But all he saw was you, the flour that dusted your cheek, the apron wrapped so tight around your waist he wished it were his hands. He thought of your cheeks, rosy and red from the ovens, your plump lips sipping on tea, how sweet you looked drinking your milky coffee. Then he remembered the shape of your brow, how it quirked downwards when you’d mentioned his father, how you gnawed on that bottom lip of yours when he’d been in such a rush to leave. 

But it didn’t matter what you thought of his father, of the whole damned Autumn Court itself. He’d get on his knees before you to beg, plead for you to understand - it’s not his fault, it’s not him. 

So that’s what he set off to do. 

He pushed himself from the near boiling water, haphazardly drying himself off as he skitted to the wardrobe. He flung it open, opting for a casual pair of brown trousers and a white linen shirt. He ought to be prepared to do a lot of begging, spending the whole morning on his knees begging for you to accept him as a mate, begging for a taste. 

_________________________

It was only seven hours since you’d seen Eris, the whole time you’d spent thinking of him and replaying your latest conversation. It was very much the same after each time you’d seen him, spending the evening tossing and turning, picturing his red hair and soft smile, the freckles over his cheeks and that little scar under his eye. You imagined what it would be like to hold him in your arms, laying on top of you, suffocating you in the best way; you pictured what it’d be like for him to hold you, laying behind you, arms wrapped fully around you, holding you against his chest. 

But you laid in bed alone, staring at the clock until the golden hands ticked to three o’clock. 

You pushed the covers from yourself, shivering at the cold that swept through your bones. You’d gotten better at fighting that fight, the urge to stay in bed and revel in your warmth instead of forcing yourself downstairs at such an early hour. The warm ovens called to you, but you’d have to overcome the chill of the nearly Winter air and the cold hardwood floor. 

You wondered if it would be warmer with Eris there. As if the male just naturally heated every room he walked into - 

No. 

You shook your head, trying to rid the thoughts of the Autumn heir from your mind. You’d only distract yourself. You knew the visit yesterday would have to last you for the rest of the month. You could only begin to count down the days until you anticipated his return. 

So instead, you shuffled down the stairs, pulling open your recipe book and setting out a few bowls. You hadn’t decided the day before what you were making yet - not like you usually did. Your mind had been much too occupied. You settled on figuring it out later, just starting with something simple and figuring out a custard later. With flour dusting the counter, you rolled out some dough, working it until it was so thin that it was almost transparent. A simple croissant surely would do, you’d thought. Maybe you could use up some of the pumpkin or raspberries…

You’d gone rifling around for inspiration when you felt a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the cold of the early morning, nor the chill from the produce cooler. No - it was the hard knock on the door, rattling the closed sign against the wooden frame. 

You bit your lip, debating wiping out all the Faelights - that no doubt alerted whoever was outside that you were in. But you had no choice, as the knock sounded again, softer this time, but still enough to prove your visitor’s determination to talk to you. 

Not once in your centuries of owning the cafe had you had a morning visitor. Nobody had ever shown up before opening, especially not at three in the godsdamned morning.

All you could do was grab your stone rolling pin from the counter, holding it between your two shaky hands as you trotted quietly to the door. But as you stepped around the counter and wove through the tables, you’d spotten a tuft of red hair through the window. 

Red hair, pale skin, long coat, the smell of firewood and burnt sage. 

Your heart stuttered, pure shock replaced with utter bewilderment. Your throat tightened, nervous as to what he may be visiting for - what you may have said that offended him. Then you sighed, dropping your head to stare at the thick cotton dress you wore, the wool sock on your feet. Fuck, you huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of your face. The Mother could not have prepared you less. 

All you could do was pull the door open, holding the rolling pin behind your back. 

And when the door swung open, the cold coming in immediately, Eris’s eyes were blown wide. The red around his dilated pupils glowing against the dark of night. Gods you were so fucking beautiful. His gaze roamed over your messy hair, the loose dress that hung over your shoulders, the cozy looking socks on your feet. 

“Hey,” he said, quieter than intended. He cleared his throat, stepping closer, arms tightly pressed behind his back. “Sorry to - interrupt.” He couldn’t stop - his eyes were roaming, frantically moving between yours, trying not to wander over your body, his mind was reeling, heart was pounding out of his chest. His cheeks were flushed, breathing ragged - the bond was fucking with him. Absolutely fucking with him - he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to stand in front of you much longer without having to get his hands on you. “I regretted leaving so abruptly last night. I stayed late and should have at least helped you clean up.”

You smiled. He was so serious. Those red eyebrows were raised, mouth parted, almost frowning at the corners - so distraught. “Don’t make a fuss about it - I just like your company.” I miss when you’re not here. I miss your visits. 

I missed you. 

The corner of his mouth turned up, gaze softening at your apparent forgiveness. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you. He moved his arm from behind his back, holding up a bundle of blue-ish hydrangeas - the flowers he hadn’t stopped thinking about bringing you. 

It wasn’t inconspicuous, like he hoped it would be. His mother caught on immediately, asking him why he kept inquiring about her flowers, what she’d pulled from the garden. Who are you bringing them for? He’d rolled his eyes at her, scoffing. I’m not bringing them to anyone, mother. I can’t show interest in the garden? So he’d been deterred from bringing them. He didn’t want to draw attention to it - to you - especially not from his father or courtiers. 

Until that night - until he had the perfect opportunity, when everyone was asleep, to snatch them from the table and winnow straight to you.

Your eyes fell to the bunch of flowers, jaw dropped, unable to speak. What did you say? What does one say to the High Lord’s son who brings you flowers. He brought you flowers. You simply couldn’t find the words. But when you looked back up at him, having to tilt your head upwards to meet his gaze, he looked so scared - unsure if you’d accept them, as if he’d made some horrible mistake. 

And you couldn’t help but laugh, having to bite your lip to stop yourself. You didn’t take the flowers, you took his hand, that warm, blazing hot hand, and pulled him inside. “Well, no point in letting all the heat out.” And as if on cure, he lit up, warmth erupting from him, his chest radiating heat into your hand and arm. “Thank you, Eris, I… don’t even know what to say.” You pulled your fingers away from his, taking the bunch of flowers in your free hand.

But you had to place the rolling pin down, having to set it on the table closest to the door. His brows rose. “Preparing for battle, I see.” He surveyed the white stone, nodding his head in approval when he heard the clang of the marble against the iron table. 

You huffed a breathy laugh, ushering him inside and placing them in one of the empty vases from the bookshelf in the corner. You’d set it up on the counter, where everyone would be able to see the beautiful flowers Eris had brought for you. “I was hoping,” he began from behind you, hands shoved into his pants pockets, boot kicking at the thick grout between the stones on the floor. “You might let me help you this morning.”

You turned on your heel, spinning around so fast that you’d nearly startled the normally steadfast male. “You want to help me?”

He nodded. “I’m not very useful - I wouldn’t say I’m the best baker.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I used to help my mother bake apple pie but - ” he finished with a shrug, laughing through his own awkwardness. 

You couldn’t stop your smile. “Of course you can, Eris.” 

And truth be told, the male wasn’t bad. He’d kneaded the dough, he’d prepared the raspberry filling, and even mixed some fresh whipped cream. He’d followed all your instructions and even prepared you a cup of tea in the meantime, while you worked on your own dough at the opposite side of the counter. 

You’d spent far too long watching his hands knead the soft pastry, his long fingers and large knuckles flexing as he pushed the dough around. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt, forearms working with each move. You couldn’t help but notice the few missed buttons at the top of his shirt, pale collar bones peeking out. You’d made out some ridges over his skin, down his neck and tucked away underneath the fabric of his shirt. You couldn’t get a good look at it, not with the dimmed lights and loose shirt. 

He made light conversation, asking about the town, who your favorite patrons were. You’d asked him similar questions, how he likes fencing and polo, he’d indulged you in some childhood stories of wrestling his brothers in the Autumn rain - how they’d tracked mud through the entirety of the Forest House. When it came to his parents, though, the topic was off limits, as he’d scoffed and asked about your parents instead. 

By then, the hours had easily slipped past you - the pastries cooling after their bout in the ovens. Eris leaned against the counter, watching as you sliced the baked pumpkin you held in front of you, scooping the soft contents into a bowl to begin your filling mixture. 

His eyes watched your hands work, unable to meet your eyes, afraid of your response. “I have a confession.” 

You looked up only momentarily, not a stutter in the whisk as you continued mixing. “Confess away,” you replied softly, heart suddenly lurching into your chest. 

He swallowed thickly, but raised his gaze to your face - your focused look - as you stared back down at the bowl. “I - last night after I left - there was a…” He trailed off, sucking in a deep breath. “I felt the…” Eris’s throat was closing. His heart was beating so fast, so hard, that he thought it would break all of his ribs. “I believe we’re mates, (Y/N).”

Your breath caught in your throat, suddenly all air evaded you and your heart seemed to stop. Mates? Mates? Gods, you knew you liked Eris - who wouldn’t? The male was beautiful and tall and kind and -

You swallowed hard. To hide your shaking hands, you continued working on the pastries. You kept you eyes sole trained on the table in front of you, fearful that if you looked up, if you saw those red eyes before you, that you’d surely crumble away in a fit of tears, laughter - you weren’t quite sure.

You were elated.

So fucking elated, in fact, that you didn’t know what to do.

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t make a move - not an eyebrow raise, not a quirk of your lips, nothing. “I know we don’t really know each other - I’ve wanted to stay longer, believe me.” The male rambled on, filling the silence you’d offered. “I just felt this thing last night after I left and it’s been eating me away since and I already knew that I cared for you so much and you’re so - fuck, so godsdamned beautiful but I - ”

You straightened, pulling your shoulders back and dropping the whisk. “It’s okay, Eris.”

His eyes widened. “It’s okay?” What the fuck did that mean?

You’d turned to grab a pastry off the rack - the one you’d kneaded, the one that turned out so much flakier and taller than his. “It’s okay.” You smiled, though, but didn’t falter in your movements, continuing to assemble what looked like a dessert sandwich. 

He stared incredulously at you. “Did you… hear what I said?” 

And so you laughed, a light giggle that had Eris reeling. You pushed over the pumpkin Mille-Feuille, nodding at him as he stared at it like it was otherworldly. “You told me one time you liked the pumpkin turnovers because it was your favorite Autumn Court fruit.”

The male was bug-eyed. “This is for me?”

You nodded.

“Just for me?”

Again, with a smile, you nodded. 

Eris looked between you and the fluffy pastry. “For me?” He raised a hand and gestured between the two of you. 

“Yes, Eris. I made you a pumpkin pastry. For you.” His cheeks tinged pink, but let out a breathy sigh of relief. You added for clarification: “Not on the menu.”

Gods, yes. It was the only thought running through his mind. 

“And even in all that rambling, you haven’t asked me to be your mate,” you continued, voice raised an octave, teasing the poor nervous male. He opened his mouth to interrupt - to ask - but you cut him off. “I would love to be, Eris Vanserra.”

And while his heart rate didn’t slow down, he calmed, shoulders relaxed and eyes shut in relaxation. His hands fell to the treat before him, staring at the perfect little pastry. He could finally breathe again - as if in the past three minutes he’d been stilled, lungs, hands, and mind unable to work properly. 

But Eris dug in anyway, picking up the soft treat like it was the most delicate thing in the world. He took a big bite, holding his free hand underneath, catching all the flakes that broke off, saving every bite. He chewed slowly, licking his lips to savor the pumpkin flavor and the light pastry. His eyes fell to yours, wide and wanting, watching you like a hawk.

You didn’t dare move, frozen in place as the male ate. 

As the bond solidified.

As he became your mate.

By the time he’d finished, his breathing was ragged and he had to press his hands against the counter to keep his balance. You watched his chest rise and fall, the linen shirt loose on his frame but hugged his broad shoulders. Those red eyes burned into yours, as though waiting for you to make the first move. 

Or waiting for your permission. 

So you took a step backward, pushing yourself from where you’d been nearly clinging onto the counter, where it was holding you upright. And as soon as you’d freed yourself from the confines of the countertop, he’d pounced. Eris felt like leaping across the counter and pulling you into his arms. Instead, which might have cost his last ounce of decency, he’d taken the few long strides towards you and grabbed you. 

To be fair, he was as tender as he could have been, what with his heart beating up into his throat and his lungs burning, winding his arms around your back, fingers gripping the cotton that hung loose on your frame. His head dipped, immediately catching your lips with his. You were quick to follow his lead, throwing your arms around his neck and rising on your tiptoes to meet him. 

Gods, he was warm - it was all that you could think of. His heat spread into you, the physical heat, but also those internal flames, the warmth that formed in the center of your chest as the bond built itself between the two of you. Sparks sizzled between you, and you were sure you felt them when your lips met in a fiery kiss. 

Your fingers threaded through your hair as his hands roamed your back. He tasted like cinnamon, like the pumpkin from your mating food, the burnt sage that mirrored in his scent, that filled the cafe as soon as he walked through the door. 

“I don’t know anything about you,” you breathed, a soft sigh against his lips as his mouth skimmed your bottom lip, over your chin, down across your jaw. 

He released something half crossed between a moan and a sigh. “We have time to talk about me,” he whispered against your ear, biting at your soft flesh. “Later.” His lips ran over your cheek again, and he left a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Much, much later.” 

You hummed in response, pressing yourself to his front again, chest, stomachs, legs - all of it. Eris groaned, sinking down on his knees, stopping when he was eye level with you. His red irises burned with an eternal flame, burned into you with the promise of forever. He wrapped his arms fully around your waist, his elbows at your ribs and knees on either side of your legs. He tilted his head forward, only until your lips met, noses brushing against each other. 

Your lips parted on instinct alone, the breath pulled from your lungs when his lips met yours - so soft, barely meeting at all. You could have cried, screamed, grabbed his hair and pulled him further against you. But all he gave you was a touch, so close your eyelashes nearly tangled. His mouth brushed yours again and you snapped - arms linked around him still, pulling him against you. “Upstairs?” You asked, fully against his mouth, the word muffled between your lips and heavy breaths. 

He shook his head, still not breaking the kiss. His hands ran down the small of your back and over your ass, cupping the back of your thighs and pulling you upwards, setting you on the counter in front of him. Eris let his fingers find the hem of your nightgown, trailing over the skin of your bare flesh. You were burning hot, like you ran a fever at his touch. In the cold air, his touch sent shivers down your spine. 

“I can’t wait, (Y/N).” His lips barely left yours. “I have to have you now.”

“Then get on with it,” you mewled, taking his hands in yours and dragging them up your thighs, under the gown. “I’ve been waiting far too long for this, Eris.” 

You leveled his gaze - it struck quite the nerve with him, he never thought he’d succumb to an ethereal being like you, especially not to one he got to call his mate. 

As his hands roamed under your gown, your own explored his chest, running over the lean muscle and pulling at the buttons. You’d pulled them apart one by one, eyes shut and mouth being devoured by Eris. He seemed to pay no mind, working his way to your hips, squeezing at your thighs. You opened the shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, breaking away from him momentarily. 

And Eris felt it, felt it through the fresh bond between you. He felt your heart stutter, felt the shock that flooded your system. 

His heart stopped, lungs held his air hostage. 

And then you’d felt it - the utter disgust and shame that rang through him.

So you raised your hands, holding his jaw in your palms, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone - over the other faint scar that laced his skin. You weren’t sure what to say - if you should say anything at all. But he’d already noticed your surprise. That’s all it was - surprise, not in the hardened male before you, but at that any one male could endure that much pure trauma. You were not disgusted with your mate, not horrified at the scaring.

You we’re just… “What happened to you, my love?”

And he blinked a few times, turning his head in your hands and raising his own hands, holding your wrists in his palms. His throat worked, his mind rolling over the proper response. You moved your hands, dropping them down his cheeks, fingertips grazing the marred skin on his neck, the slashes over his collarbones and down the puckered skin of his chest. His hands remained on yours the whole time, feeling you work your way down his body. 

My love. It made the fire inside of him burn brighter. He imagined you’d felt it too, felt the initial draw toward him like he did to you - even before you were mates. 

“That’s a story for another time.” He whispered, gazing down at you from under his eyelashes. “If you’ll still have me.”

You were almost shocked to hear that - to hear him question your desire to be with him just based on his scars. You wouldn’t expect such doubt from him. So all you could do was sit up a little taller, pull you down to your lips and offer him the most reassuring kiss of his life. 

He made quick work of your dress, unbuttoning the small row of buttons behind your back. You shimmied the dress from under you, where you’d been sitting on the soft fabric, and let Eris bunch it up and drag it up over your sides and arms. He slid it off quickly, discarding it in a pile along with his shirt. His eyes and hands roamed over you, exploring the curves and ridges of your body. 

Your cheeks reddened, so exposed before the male you’d barely known, but longed for him to touch you. You’d thought of this moment many times, during those sleepless nights, some of which ended up leaving you with your hand between your legs. 

Eris felt your blush through the bond, he felt your outright attraction, the desperation you had. And he knew he mirrored it through the bond, too. It’s what made you pull him back into you, until he stepped right up against the counter and the front of those trousers were pressed against your undergarment. He ground against you, unable to hold in the urge as the ferocity flooded his veins, the bond finally taking hold of him now that he had you laid out in front of him. 

You moaned at the feeling, his hardened cock a tent in his pants, slotting perfectly between your lips. He moved up and down, gliding against the warm heat from your pussy, the smooth fabrics only aiding in his desperation - your too. Gods, you could have come from that alone should he only have kept going. 

But the male wasn’t having it. He kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his pants, shucking both along your kitchen floor, discarded for what he hoped would be the next few days. 

Eris’s cock bounced up against his stomach as he neared you, the precum gathered on the tip mixing into the fine pale hairs that trickled down his bellybutton to the base of his cock. Eris wouldn’t even touch himself, deciding it would be fucking ethereal, should you reach out and grab him. 

And, luckily, you did, holding your hand out for him to step back into position. Your hand wrapped around his dick, fully hard and standing proud. You’d surely need two hands to work him properly, perhaps even your mouth, too. His skin was warm in your palm, hot and ready to combust as you ran your hand up and down, offering him a small squeeze as you neared the base, your thumb rubbing the tip when it slid up.

You couldn’t hold out much longer, either. You’d pressed him up right against your pussy as he just did, leaning back on your other elbow so you could further spread your hips. You held his cock with your other hand still, pressing it into your pussy. Eris began to rock, back and forth, back and forth, wincing at how wet your pussy sounded. His cock glided along your cunt effortlessly.

He braced a hand on the counter, on either side of you, and held his hips back. He let you continue to rub his dick as he leaned in close for a chaste kiss. He rubbed his nose against your ear, hot air stirring around you. “Are you going to let me fuck you, my love?” 

You moaned - you’d heard many tales of the trickster male’s wicked tongue, but hadn’t been granted the opportunity to hear him use it around you. You were very much looking forward to exploring that side of him. 

Gone was the chamomile drinking, flower giving High Lord’s son. This was Eris, hot and heady and ready.

His one hand moved over to hold yours, moving your fingers to grab his cock and angle it into you. You gasped as the head nudged your folds, pushing only the tiniest bit in. You clenched around nothing, as he rocked back and forth, the head moving against your entrance but not in. “Will you let me mate you? Fill you up? Claim you?”

“Gods, yes,” you moaned, trying to move off the counter even closer to him, to inch his dick farther into you. “Please, Eris. My mate - ” 

You were cut off with a harsh gasp, Eris sunk halfway in as you rambled on. “Oh my gods - please.” 

He moved slowly, warming you up to his length. “Still so much more for you,” he murmured, holding your hand against your lower stomach. He pressed it softly into you, around your soft flesh, so you could feel him enter in you as he pushed his cock all the way, bottoming out.

He held there for a moment, reveling in how you squeezed your walls around him. It was unlike anything he felt before. The roaring in his chest from the bond fed straight into his cock - willing him to drive into you over and over and over. 

But as much as he wanted to hold himself back, he found himself moving faster and faster, hitting farther inside of you with each stroke. Your moans spurred him on - your gasps, your prayers to the Mother - to him. 

Your hands fell around you, gripping anything you could find, looking to anchor yourself on something, anything. 

“You feel so good, (Y/N).” He huffed, breathing becoming ragged as he fucked into you. “I can’t believe I’ve waited this long for you.”

His cock stretched you, the familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach already causing you to clench around him. “You have me, Eris, fuck.” He grabbed your hips, holding you still, driving into you harder. “Please, more, Eris.” 

So he rutted into you, Eris hooked his knee onto the counter, pushing himself up, joining you on the floury surface. Your arms splayed out, knocking over bowls and eggs, ingredients falling to the floor and clinging to your sweaty skin. He hooked his knees around either side of your hips, positioning himself directly above you, driving straight down into your wet pussy. 

He groaned - an estranged deep noise coming from the male’s throat. His one hand was positioned beside your head, holding himself above you - though, you wouldn’t care if that male suffocated you, if he laid all the weight he’d been holding all his life onto you - the other came to cradle your cheek, holding your jaw with his thumb brushed against your chin. Your breathing mixed with Eris’s, your shared air, heat, love. You sighed, feeling his cock drive deep into you, hit the deep spot inside of you - he stretched you, seeped into you, molded into you. 

He fucked you so hard that you felt yourself moving, inching closer to the edge of the counter. Your hair fell first, starting to fall over your shoulders and off the counter. But Eris held your head, cradled you as you neared the edge, feeling your stomach coil at the rhythmic pounding in your pussy. 

Eris didn’t stop until you came, until your fingernails dug into his biceps and you screamed his name. He followed behind you quickly, his hips snapping into yours until he painted you white, with his cum that marked the bond. He claimed you as his, and silently thanked the Mother for her blessing. 

His bright eyes washed over you, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, lips swollen and bruised from his kisses, crying out for him. He watched how our brows knitted together, your skin was flushed with a pink blush. He committed everything to memory, the heave of your chest, the sweat across your collarbone, your throat working to gasp air. 

He pulled out of you, dastardly watching the mix of both of your cum slide out of your pussy. He longed to feel it, to drag his finger up your sweet cunt, to lick it up. He knelt above you, pushing himself off the counter and grabbing your hips, pulling you centered on the tabletop. You huffed a sigh, arms limp and covered in flour at your sides. 

His warm fingers caressed your hips, your thighs, the muscles burning from being spread so wide. You dragged a hand over his arm, up his shoulder until you met the back of his neck. Your fingers brushed through the back of his red curls. “We made quite the mess.” You were tired, sounded so breathless - it nearly made Eris’s knees wobble. 

He laughed, though, a hearty chuckle, quite proud of his creation. He surveyed the messy kitchen, in no shape to bake, to serve anything made from or around the mess that had become evidence of your mating bond. But after pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, the male was off, walked those long legs to the counter and scribbled down a note on a piece of scrap paper beside your recipe book. 

Even his handwriting was beautiful. “Closed until further notice.” 

He rushed back to you, scooping you in his arms, holding you tightly against him, even as you broke out into a fit of giggles.

“Now you can show me this upstairs I’ve heard so much about.” And you knew right then that you’d be riding the high of your mating frenzy until Eris had learned every inch of you.

[pricescigar]

Albert Wesker NSFW HC's

Note: I've been such a simp for Albert Wesker lately, the brainrot is taking over me at this point... And I decided to make this! Even if I'm supposed to he asleep right about now...

No gender specified, for everyone to enjoy!

18+ ONLY NO MINORS ALLOWED

CW: NSFW stuff, blood

Photo taken by me

Wesker has many pet names for you; Doll, Sweetheart, Love, Baby, Darling, Cutie, Sweetie. Ect, the list goes on.

He loves seeing you wearing his shirts, he actually doesn't mind if you steal them from him. Especially if you wear nothing underneath...

Despite him being a busy man, he's quite experienced man in bed, there are different forms of experiments after all... He's a man full of tricks.

Wesker has a major daddy kink, there's something about having power over you turns him on majorly.

He loves being in control, thanks to his ego, and also because he loves seeing you underneath him.

The first time you wasn't too sure about calling him daddy but giving it a go, you loved it.

"Fuck... That's it, I'm your daddy."

He loves depriving you and making you beg for more, seeing you so overestimated from sex or foreplay satisfy him.

He loves spanking your arse during sex making sure his hand print is left there for him to see. And well, smacking it in general.

Wesker always begs for you to dig your nails into his back, he loves the pain and sensation that comes with it. Even if you draw out a little bit of blood.

He loves Roleplaying with you, something about the build up of it before you two have sex already makes him hard.

Your favourite roleplays to do is Doctor and Paitient.

"My little Patient..."

He still kept his lab coat for fun times in the bedroom, he loves seeing you wearing his labcoat while he fucks you. You're his little patient after all.

Please sit on his face, he doesn't care if he can't breathe just sit on him for God's sake.

One of his favourite punishments to give you is when you masturbate while he watches, depriving you and making you beg for him.

He loves licking your cum and swallowing it, tasting all of your sweet juices. Knowing how good you taste.

You two have a safe word just in case if things go too far, which Is; Raccoon (Referring to Raccoon City)

Occasionally he loves to do Sex in public too, sometimes in alley way or in secluded places like the forest... Sometimes at the beach.

The after care is a bliss, he'd kiss everywhere where he accidentally hurt you caressed your body, clean you and hold you close.

"Was I a little too rough? I'm sorry... I'll make it all better."

He'd always run you baths too if you ever want one with him, and the two of you would relax in the bath before going to bed.

When you're finally in bed heed wrap his arms around you, caressing your waist, back and shoulders before kissing your body ever so gently before falling asleep.

Favourite sex positions:

As basic missionary is— It's still one of his favourites, he loves towering over you... Legs over his waist and pinning your arms over his head.

Doggy another classic one— He prefers doing this when you're hunched over his desk or anywhere else for a quickie.

Mating press— His go to for having sex with you, albeit uncomfortable as well but it's the best way to hit all of those sweet spots.

Having sex against a mirror— One way to fully turn him on, seeing how overestimated you look, barely paying any attention and your mind foggy with all the pleasures.

The 69 — One he does occasionally but there are many other ways he would give you oral pleasure.

Cowgirl — As much ss he loves being dominant, he loves seeing you ride him from time to time.

Face off— He loves being close to you, and with this position it drives him wild anyways.

The Chairman— Another fan favourite of his, the perfect angle to hit your G-spot repeatedly and to pleasure you in all other places.

The OM — Almost the same as The face off position, any excuse to have you close to his body.

Kinks he has:

Daddy kink (Power imbalance)

Bondage (Tie, Belt, ropes, cuffs, anything really)

Blind folds

Gagging (Cloths or and actual gag)

Spanking

Praise Kinks

Roleplay

Knife play (To cut your clothes off)

Choaking

Licking, biting

Hair pulling

Masturbation (Watching you pleasure yourself)

Rough sex / soft sex

Clothed sex

Masochism (Blood kink)

Urobouros (He loves using his tentacles on you, mainly to tie you up)

[ssailormoonn]

Visit | L Lawliet

MASTERLIST ┊death note master list

WC;2.9k┊!MDNI! ┊TW; Voyeurism? Slight cock warming, quick sex, bottom L (Still the dominant power) - Top reader (the submissive), P-I-V, light thigh riding, unprotected sex, pregnancy reveal

SYPNOSIS; {Y/N} takes a visit to see L at the hotel with the task force members present because she couldn't wait any longer to see the man, she has some special news to tell him. Although, he already knows.  Cover name; {C/n} | True name ; {Y/n} {Lawliet}

The soft, ambient hum of the hotel's grand reception area envelops me as I stride confidently through the abundant space. The polished, marble tiles beneath my Mary Jane heels seem to create rhythmic clicks the further I walk, never missing a beat, my steps at the same pace.

Clad in a red slip dress that gracefully hugs my form, its silky fabric shifting sensuously with every movement. The dress, with its subtle, elegant shimmer, hints at both sophistication and a hint of allure. It drapes effortlessly a few inches above my knees, swaying with each step, drawing the eye with a subtle flirtation.

A leather coat, dark and supple, wraps around my shoulders like a protective shroud. Its rich scent mingles with the faint fragrance of my favorite perfume, more like L's favourite perfume, he prefers sweet-scented perfumes and I have found the perfect sweet vanilla perfume that I hope he likes compared to the other ones. The coat's collar frames my face, adding a touch of mystique to my appearance, while its sleek design implies both power and sensuality.

As I approach the reception desk, I can't help but notice the curious glances from other guests.

"If it's no trouble," I say, my voice carrying a tone of polite assertiveness, "I would like to get a key card for room 258."

As I speak, my {e/c} eyes lock onto hers, the intensity of my gaze reflecting my self-assuredness. I notice the subtle widening of her eyes, a fleeting reaction that suggests she might have momentarily misjudged me, perhaps assuming I was going to be a nuisance.

My request is delivered with a poised confidence that leaves no room for doubt, dispelling any misconceptions and ensuring that my intention is clear. "Um. I need you to confirm your relationship with the occupant first before I hand over the card. If you don't mind of course!"

"I'm the occupant's wife," I saw with a smile teasing its way onto my face, "I'd like the key card now."

"Yes, of course."

The elevator ride was surprisingly short and quick, considering Mr. Watari had arranged the hotel room to be on a relatively high floor. The floors seemed to glide past as the elevator ascended, and the soft, ambient music playing in the background added a touch of serenity to the journey.

The distinctive beep of the elevator signaled my arrival at the designated floor, and the doors slid open with a whisper of sound. Stepping out, I found myself in a well-lit corridor adorned with tasteful artwork and plush carpeting. I began scanning each door for the room number I sought.

My footsteps were hushed by the luxurious carpeting as I moved gracefully down the corridor. It didn't take long before I spotted the number I was looking for. Room 258. My destination was right in front of me, and I couldn't help but appreciate the attention to detail and opulence that characterised this hotel.

I slide my key card through the scan and it lets out a solemn beep as I crack open the door it seems I had not alarmed anyone to come and see who was coming through, although, they probably had cameras stationed everywhere. 

As I burst into the room, I'm immediately met with the sight of several men in sharp suits, undoubtedly the members of the task force who have been tirelessly working on the Kira case. Their presence adds a layer of gravity to the room, emphasising the importance of the mission at hand. Do I care? No.

My {e/c} eyes quickly scan the room, and I spot a solitary figure at the very end. It's L, perched on a chair, indulging in a slice of cake. 

Without hesitation, I slip off my jacket and make my way toward L's seat, my footsteps quick but controlled. In the process, I toss my leather coat to one of the task force members, who gasps in surprise at my unexpected and swift action. The room falls briefly into a stunned hush, the abruptness of my entrance leaving an indelible impression. 

I turn my head to address the young man who's speaking muttered something, noting his light brown hair and honey-colored eyes. This must be Kira, the one they've been pursuing so relentlessly.

"You can't just come in here and run over to Ryuzaki, we don't even know who you are," He says.

As the young man with light brown hair and honey eyes holds the back of my dress, I feel his firm grip preventing me from moving any closer to L. 

With a momentary pause, I assess the situation, understanding the need to establish trust and credibility with the task force before I can approach L further as they obviously do not know who I am. I let out a sigh.

"L, did you not tell them who I am?" I say crossing my arms, "I feel offended. And you, Kira. Are you holding me back because you want something from me? I didn't say yes. You can't shove tea down someone's throat if they don't reply or say no."

"My son is not Kira," A man peaks up.

"What are you talking about," Kira replies.

"She speaks about consent in the context of tea," L says while chewing on his strawberry cake, "Anyways, {C/n}, what are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come until the investigation is over."

"I missed you," I say, "I'm sure you knew that."

"I did."

"So, that leads me to come back to you," I say slapping Kira's hand off the grip on my dress.

"It doesn't matter, you aren't safe here," L says sternly, "Leave."

"I don't think I've heard Ryuzaki so...." Another member of the task force says this time in a younger voice.

"No," I say childishly.

"You are not safe here, {C/n}" He says through another spoonful of cake, and my mouth drops.

"Kira!" I say pointing back at the light brown-haired teen, "Doesn't my name! So who cares!"

"I care, now leave."

"No."

L's annoyance becomes palpable as he lets out an exasperated sigh. He places his plate, which once held a slice of cake, onto the table in front of him, and the clank it makes upon contact with the surface resonates throughout the room. His frustration at the disruption is evident, and it seems he's eager to address the situation and clarify the reason for my sudden appearance.

"Could everyone leave." L's command is authoritative, and the members of the task force obediently comply, exiting the room, and leaving us alone.

With the others gone, L remains in his seat, not making any move to approach me. It's clear that he's feeling a sense of unease, a rare vulnerability that he allows only in my presence. The facade he wears in front of the world drops, and he knows he can be more himself when we're alone together. This unspoken connection between us is a testament to the unique dynamic of our relationship and the trust we share.

I walk confidently in front of L, taking a motherly stance with my hands on my hips as I peer down at him. His gaze remains downcast, and he slowly places his feet on the floor, unfolding from his characteristic egg-shaped sitting position.

As I stand before him, a few moments pass, and then I feel his hands gently rest on my waist. My heart quickens, and I shiver at the intimate contact. L buries his head into my dress-clad stomach, seeking comfort and closeness.

As I wrap my arms around L, pulling him in closer, he responds by encircling me with his own arms, drawing me near. My fingers gently trail through his obsidian hair, and I feel a soft groan escape his lips in response to the sensation. His hands tighten around my waist, and I can't help but chuckle at his endearing reaction, knowing that even in the midst of the most challenging cases, he still wants to have my affection no matter what protests he makes.

"You've been acting moodier lately." L's observation about my moodiness doesn't go unnoticed, and I frown in response, not quite ready to share the news or discuss my feelings.

"Whatever."

L doesn't press the matter further. Instead, he gently pulls away from our close embrace, leaning back into the chair. He pats his lap, and I understand his unspoken invitation. Without hesitation, I eagerly sit on top of L, straddling him, finding comfort and solace in the unique connection we share. It's in these moments of intimacy that we can find solace and support amidst the challenges of the Kira case.

"I missed you," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion as tears welled up in my eyes. The weight of our separation had been unbearable, and now, in this moment of reunion, all I wanted was to hold him close and feel his presence once again.

"I know you did," L says, his voice filled with warmth and understanding as he wraps his arms around my waist. The weight of our separation is unbearable, and in this moment of reunion, all I want is to hold him close and feel his presence once again.

"Why am I crying?" I manage to say, my voice trembling with emotion, tears welling up in my eyes.

"You must be stressed about something, what is it?" L asks, his concern evident in his eyes. His words carry the longing, emptiness, and joy of seeing me.

The truth is, the rawness of our separation has left me emotionally vulnerable. The longing to be with L, to feel his touch and hear his comforting words, has taken a toll on my emotional well-being. It's a natural response to crave that deep connection, to feel the warmth and love that L brings into my life. The day I found out about this... It was Near's intuition that mentioned it, I didn't even think of a possibility that it happened.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, and finally manage to say, "It's just the weight of missing you, L. It's been unbearable and something else."

L's eyes soften, and he pulls me even closer, his embrace providing a sense of solace and comfort. We may have been physically apart, but our bond has remained strong, bridging the distance between us.

"Take your time," he whispers, his voice filled with understanding. "I'm here for you now, and I'll always be. Let yourself feel, and know that I'm here to hold you through it all."

And at that moment, as I let myself surrender to the overwhelming emotions, I realise that the power of our connection transcends physical presence. It is in the tenderness of L's embrace, the reassurance in his voice, and the unconditional love we share that I find solace, healing, and a sense of home.

My whispered words carry a sense of longing and urgency as I address L. I reach out and gently drag the collar of his white tee to the side, exposing a patch of his skin, and press my lips against it. L's response is a soft sigh, his reaction to my touch evident.

"I want you," I murmur, my voice filled with desire and need. "It's been too long, and I can't... I can't function without you."

Our connection goes beyond the professional, and the intensity of our bond is underscored by the intimate moments we share, especially in the midst of such a high-stakes case.

"You're not well, are you sure you don't want to tell me anything before we continue?" He asks in a soft tone rubbing the back of my head as I continue to trail kisses around his neck.

"After," I say desperately, "Please, after. Want you now."

"Whatever you want, love."

I shift myself so I'm perfectly aligned to where his bulge is proding beneath the fabric of his jeans and I grind myself down on him causing a breathy sigh to leave my throat at the relieving action. His grip turns to hold my hips before dragging his hands up to my waist, bunching up the silken fabric to my waist and I whimper when he plays with the hem of my underwear.

"You really are that needy, love," He whispers against the shell of my ear and I bury my head in the crook of his neck.

"Stop," I mumble against his skin to stop the teasing as it's making a deep flush rise against my cheeks.

I feel his two skilled fingers drag my underwear to the side and drag them down my slit causing me to let out a moan at the feeling. "So wet already," He comments and I disregard the comment as I whimper in response instead of answering.

His two fingers slide in my heat and I nibble on the flesh of his neck and L groans in response. I grind myself down on them causing a string of moans to leave my mouth. He curls his fingers and I grind myself back and forth against his long digits. I felt a coil in my stomach tighten and my whimpers became louder.

"Ngh, L," I whimper out as I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, "'M gonna- gonna cum."

"You're doing so good for me," He praises, "Come, {Y/n}."

My juices spill over his fingers, I let out an exasperated sigh and arch my back into him. "Do you want more, my love?" He questions with a soft voice and I hurriedly nod in reply.

I fumble to get the zip to his pants down and I let out a whine as I struggle, L rubs the back of my neck to calm me down as I am being very needy in wanting him, to show me that he isn't going anywhere.

I finally unbuttoned and put down the zipper, he lifted his hips to help me pull down the fabric to his knees and I saw the growing bulge beneath his underwear, my mouth watered at the sight as I couldn't wait to have him inside me rearranging my insides. I pull down the fabric of his boxers and his length springs out and hits his stomach that was covered with his white shirt, L lets out a hiss at the action.

I hold the base of his length and give it a light squeeze while a breathy moan leaves his mouth as I trace the veins on the underside of his cock with my thumb. My hand travels up and down his dick rubbing the strings of pre-come that leaks from him, the moans continue to slip out of L's mouth.

I drag my body up once more while aligning myself with him and draping his swollen tip against my folds. A moan leaves my throat and a hiss respectively leaves his own. I sink myself down on his length and we both hold onto each other tightly. I messily pressed my lips against his and the ecstasy within my body continued to grow as the pleasure grew.

In a moment of unspoken desire and passion, I lean in closer to L, my intent clear in my eyes. Our lips meet in a messy kiss, and the world around us seems to fade away. My heart races, and a cascade of emotions courses through me as I press my lips firmly against his. The taste of the moment lingers on our tongues as move my hips against his. 

His cock hits that soft gummy place within my walls making me whimper against the kiss with L's groans reciprocating the pleasure. His hands massage my waist as he helps me carry his weight as I ride him.

"Hah~," I moan pulling away from his mouth as I feel him guiding my hips faster I bury my head within his neck and I nibble on the flesh causing L to tilt his head back at the sensation. I then realised that I had left a mark and that he'd have to cover the red splotch up but that didn't matter. I was so close to coming that my whole body felt weak underneath his warm touch.

I started to chant his name in desperation of wanting to come and I felt his hand press against my lower abdomen making me let out a high-pitched whine as the pleasure coursed through me even higher. "Come on, you can do it," L reassures me, "Come for me, love."

I let the coil in my stomach release and I felt L's own come spill within me that carried a moan from him. I let myself slump against him with his cock still sitting within my gummy walls. Nuzzling myself closer to him he wraps his arms around me. "What did you want to tell me?" He questions delicately against the shell of my ear making me shiver.

"I was visiting the orphanage because the kids missed me and Near asked me something..."

"Yes, love? What was that?"

"You probably already know but I took a test only because the poor baby Near was worried about me," I say remembering how embarrassed Near looked when he asked if I was pregnant, "It came back positive..."

"I already knew that you were pregnant, love. It was just a moment of time before you realised yourself," L says rubbing the back of my head reassuringly.

"You're not mad, are you?"

"I could never be mad at you, my love."

Do not steal, copy, modify, etc

Reblogs and likes are appreciated

MASTERLIST ┊death note master list

[kissingghouls]

If You Remember This Tomorrow

Phantom Ghoul x GN! Reader - Fluff, Tipsy Kissing, 1700 words

Heard a song, had an idea, wrote some fluff. I don't even know. Thank you to @ramblingoak because you're always so dang supportive. 💜

fic list // ao3 // Little Ghost (pt2) // A Late Night Call (pt3)

The room is loud, almost unbearably so. There are bodies everywhere, some paired off and some not, but all of them are illuminated by lights that flash in a wonderful rainbow of pretty colors. The dancefloor is full, and you feel as though you’re floating after that last drink that tasted more like red than anything else.

A smile spreads over your face as Swiss sways a little too excitedly and stumbles over his dance partner. None of this is new, not even the multi-ghoul falling over his own feet. He barks out a hearty laugh from his new spot on the floor, his whole body shaking. Somehow, he manages to get back to his feet without spilling a drop of his drink. It’s an impressive feat that earns him a kiss on the cheek as a prize before the pair spins off together to get better acquainted.

The success of the Ghost project meant that a good portion of the Ministry was on tour more often than not anymore. While the Ministry parties had always been wild, the more recent homecoming celebrations left most of the congregation with little to no memory of the night before.

A thick fog rolls over the floor, that sickly sweet smell of chemical syrup pumped out from the machines filling the air. Phantom materializes in it, a vapor turned solid shape that now blocks your path. You bounce off him, unsteady and unable to correct your course in your current state. He grabs your elbow, keeping you upright and off the ground with a soft smile. His teeth have a red tint to them, much like your own, but it’s too bright and too loud to make out what he’s saying.

He leans in to repeat himself, his grip a little tighter on your arm. He smells like strawberries and some kind of alcohol. But under the top notes of what you guessed was the last drink he had was the soft smell of a cologne so nice you wanted to bury your face in it.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time with the newly summoned ghoul—time was a luxury neither one of you had. But the pull had been there from the beginning, ever since he clawed his way out of the Pit and locked eyes with you. It’s a dance, one with several complicated steps and neither one of you had felt compelled to lead.

He says something else, words that taste like fruit punch and candy. You grin lazily and pat his shoulder, allowing yourself the first intended contact from you to him. His breath hitches, grip tightening once more. He’s so close now you can feel the heat of his skin through his clothes. A uniform you dare to imagine, for a split-second, rumpled in a pile on your floor.

It’s clumsy at first and your teeth clash together more than your lips, but the two of you are in such a stupor that you don’t stop. His hand moves to your back, pressing you close as he adjusts and kisses you properly. Behind you someone whistles—most likely Dew or Cumulus—but it doesn’t distract the ghoul from the task. He brings a hand to the side of your face, fingers splayed over your cheek and neck as he pulls the breath from your lungs.

You grab handfuls of his collar and break away, keeping your forehead pressured to his as you struggle for air. Kissing him is like drowning and you want nothing more than to be underwater again.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles against your lips. He draws a line over your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and moves in again.

The next kiss is dizzying, knees buckling under the pressure and the flick of his tongue. He keeps you upright with a firm hand on your back and the one on your face slides into your hair. He tugs lightly, a smile hidden between you as you let out the tiniest moan.

Someone clears their throat nearby and the pair of you split apart like you’ve been caught behind the bleachers at a school dance. Papa offers Phantom an almost fatherly smile and pats him on the shoulder. He suggests the two of you get some air to avoid the cluster of ghouls watching nearby.  Phantom is flustered, a pink tinge highlighting his cheeks as he stares back at his captive audience. Mountain and Rain each give him a thumbs up paired with toothy grins.

Your own cheeks heat up as you realize at some point you had been the topic of discussion between the ghouls. Some lonely night had passed between them on the road, maybe on the bus or in some dingy greenroom, and you were the reason he asked for advice from the others. The revelation makes you feel too warm in your clothes, a blush now spreading over your entire body.

You press your face against his shoulder, hiding a shy smile. He slides his hand down your arm, fingers brushing as the lace with yours. He asks if you would like to go with him and yes is the only word you know for a moment.

You don’t miss the smile on his face when the two of you start moving toward the exit, hand in hand.

“Wait!”

Sunshine, ever the perpetual dealer of chaos, approaches carrying two large cups filled with that same red drink that now tastes like Phantom’s kiss. She drops a wink in your direction that is the opposite of subtle and tells you both to have fun before sending you away.

Outside the night is unseasonably cool, a rare break from the heat of summer and the abbey’s sweltering ballroom. You both close your eyes, enjoying the gentle breeze that blows over the grounds. It’s quiet as the wind stills. No one else has made their way out from the party yet. In a few hours the lawn will be filled with your friends and his, but for now it’s just you and Phantom and maybe a curious spirit or two.

You sip carefully from your cups as you walk, the red dye staining your lips and teeth. It doesn’t matter to either of you anymore.

Phantom trips over a gnarled tree root, his drink spilling sticky red liquid over his fingers as he drops to the ground. You can’t help but laugh, the alcohol in your system doing you no favors. He pouts beneath you and wipes his wet hand across your thigh, smearing juice and dirt into your clothes. As you move to help him up, you catch the same root with your own feet and land in the grass next to him in a fit of giggles.

“You ok?” he asks through his own laughter, smiling wide when you nod. He settles on the lawn propped up on an elbow as he watches you.

The minutes pass, the pair of you splitting the remainder of your drink as you sit together in the grass. It’s a clear, beautiful night—a lot like the night he was summoned and pulled from the ground by Papa himself. You smile at the thought, the memory now a tiny movie in your head.

“I think I’m stuck,” he tells you and sinks into the ground a little more.

You shuffle closer, the space between you reduced to maybe half an inch. He drapes an arm over your waist, closing the gap even more with a soft sigh.

“You’re nice to look at,” he admits happily, a small hiccup breaking the sentence.

“Am I?”

“Mmhmm. There’s a word for it up here—I can’t remember it now, but in the Pit we’d say,” he pauses for a moment and brings his mouth to your ear before making a noise that sounds like a dryer full of gravel. “There’s not a word for word translation, but it’s close.”

You do your best to imitate the noise, giggling at his surprised face.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he teases, clutching a hand to his chest in fake shock.

You laugh harder at his stupid joke than you mean to, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“No,” you finally manage as you dare to reach for his waist. “Kissed you with it, though.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says thoughtfully. “We should do that again.”

“We could. Or you can tell me more about how I’m nice to look at.”

He buries his face in the space between your neck and shoulder with a tiny whine. “Words are hard, ok?”

“So you’re not going to kiss—mmph!”

He catches your lips in another slow, passionate kiss that leaves you lightheaded. Your legs tangle as he pins you against the soft ground and you can’t think of anywhere you’d rather be. He tastes like heaven or maybe hell, syrupy sweet from whatever the ghouls had put in those cups.

He sounds smug as he mumbles something about being right to want to kiss you again, not quite pulling away enough to be fully understood. It doesn’t matter because you’re both smiling, completely drunk on fruit punch and each other.

Minutes become hours, but Phantom keeps you warm through the night. You talk about everything as you slowly sober up. He tells you about his time on the road, stories about mischief and misbehaved ghouls and the thousands of happy faces that he’s seen. You explain what he missed while he was away, like the time the hell hound puppies escaped their crates and dug up part of Primo’s garden and the day Cowbell fell into the fountain.

The two of you rest against a tree—the same one with the root that had taken you both down. In the comfortable quiet you fall asleep on his shoulder, his arm draped around you to keep you close. When his eyes begin to feel too heavy, he presses a kiss into your hair and rests his head on yours.

It won’t be long before your friends find you and tease you while you all nurse hangovers and swear never to drink that much again. There will be stories about what you missed and who came searching for you, who fell in the pool and who taught Papa the latest dance. You’ll listen to all of it while Phantom holds your hand and you will know you were right where you were supposed to be.

[surfinminho]

Day 21- Double penetration w/seungmin

⤷ warnings: anal, sub!seungmin, fisting mentioned, implied second round

⤷ word count: 468

⤷Taglist : @greysweaters-blog @hannie-bees @ashydoinwhat @chansbabygirlsstuff @hiddlestandom @stanskzsstuff @mal-lunar-28 @leeracha @linos-kitten @bonateukna @ihrtlix @conwunder @jazzyluuv

⤷ permanent taglist: @iadorethemskz @iluvseungie

*please dm me if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.*

You weren't opposed to trying anything in bed. Especially if seungmin suggested it. So when you guys are talking about stuff, you ask him about what he's into but you don't get a response.

"Come on just tell me!" You try to make him feel like hes welcomed to say anything on his mind (he is).

"Nuh uh" he plays it off, throwing his head back covering his eyes.

"Okay let me guess" you take out your phone and search up a random list of kinks and bedroom activities.

"Let's see, knife play, bondage, double penetration" you look up after every word to see his reaction. His ears turn red at the last two words, eyes widening.

"You want to be fucked with 2 dildos? Is that it" you smile to yourself, keeping a mental note of this conversation.

"Ah- yes no maybe? I don't know" his voice starts to quiet down at the end sentence.

"It's okay, just tell me and I'll do whatever you ask me to" you move yourself to wear you're fully facing seungmin, encouraging him to talk.

"I want to be fucked with 2 dildos." His face flushes red, knowing if he didn't tell you what he wanted you wouldn't have done it.

"Good job"

And that's how you guys ended up in this position, with alot of lube used

"wanna take two? You already have one cock in you." You lean over, drizzling lube on your hand and his rim.

"Want more, another one please" he says, back arching to adjust to the feeling of your strap in him.

You push your fingers into his rim, stretching him out more than he already is.

"Think you can take it?" You rub up and down his back, drawing random shapes.

"Y-yes" you grab the smaller dildo you took out, dripping lube onto the tip.

You press the tip against his hole, not moving.

"i-in please." He pushes his out at for you trying to get you to put in the dildo already.

He trys to complain again but you push the tip in, holding his hips still.

"Stay still, I'm not trying to hurt you now" you continue to inch it into him stopping when you reach the middle.

"t-too much, so full" his cock is pulsing against his stomach, precum smearing everywhere.

"Want all of it baby? Could probably fit my whole fist in you. You'd like that? Mommy fisting you?" You gently push the rest of the dildo in, moving to always hit his prostate.

"Mommy! I-I can't so-" letting out a moan, pearly white liquid dripping down his stomach to his thighs. Some landing on the bed.

You try to pull out but he stops you

"N-no! make me cum again. Wanna cum again please"

[netherworldpost]

SHOP NEWS NO DATES BUT PROGRESS IS BEING MADE

The Netherworld Post Office back office, handling private client work, did not have it's expected slow season. Which is good! Production testing is very expensive!

But also I worked myself ill, which was a bad idea!

I'll be fine in a few days.

Or depending on when you read this soon-to-be-pinned everywhere post, I'm fine now!

Over the last several months, I looked at the hard question "hey why aren't we open on the public side?" and it hit me:

Instead of following through with the plan, I was sneakily trying to re-create Evil Supply Co.

Side note: If that name is familiar, but this doesn't make sense, then the short answer:

@evilsupplyco closed in Summer 2019.

I am Atticus of Evil Supply Co. Hi!

I got into a traffic accident, the ensuing next few years Covid wrecked the world, life has been intense :)

The Netherworld Post crew is the same crew behind Evil Supply Co. and we changed/are changing the name because the new shop is going to be spooky-mail-focused as opposed to experimenting with... spooky... everything.

In September or so, just before our back office busy season started, I realized I had been saying "I'm going to focus on what we do best -- greeting cards -- and everything else is secondary."

I. Uh. Kept adding things anyway. To the... list. And making. New. Lists.

(gulp)

(learn from me, don't do that)

So in the depths of Intense Client Work and then laying on a couch for several days to allow my drawing arm to heal and my brain to slow down, I realized I had been violating what I set out to do:

Make a really fun, very inexpensive, greeting card company that sells the occasional zine, and has lots of useful downloads. Some pay-if-you-want (free if you don't), some a few dollars.

...this image... hurts my feelings... because it was this is what was happening to me.

I've learned a lot in the last several months --

I'm going to recover fully.

Send all the files lingering to test print one last time.

Then when they come back, the shop opens.

A handful of weeks at most.

I wanted to launch with DOZENS of greeting cards and A HUNDRED downloads and THIRTY ZINES and and and and and and and and --

-- and we're going to launch with about 10 greeting cards, probably 5 or 6 downloads, and zines will wait while we add more greeting cards and downloads etc.

I am admittedly REALLY EMBARRASSED to be preparing a shop launch SO SMALL after SO LONG.

(I'll get over it. We'll add new stuff regularly forever.)

mailing list: netherworldpost.com

Sign up! If you're already on it, the tech witches auto-sort to ensure you're not being bombarded with a million emails.

(Actual conversation with the crew. I wanted to draw all of this out and my producer Fang was like "hey why don't you instead use that time to work on the actual drawing list instead" and I was like "great idea thank you")

one last time, mailing list: netherworldpost.com

[malice-ov-mercy]

Weed and Pussy

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Ivy)

Content Warnings: 18+!, smoking (weed), oral (female receiving), fingering, handjob, protected (p in v) sex, squirting

A/N: I saw that picture and it gave me brain worms. Didn’t plan for this to be an OC, but it just kinda happened, so I hope that’s cool with everyone. I also kinda got carried away, and the smoking aspect of the fic kinda got lost. Apologies. Also, you know what they say about Rain.

Word count: 3.6k

Tag list: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @concretenoah @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @an-insane-day @lyschko666

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

————————————

Will Ramos Masterlist

————————————

Will stared at the file horrified. Something went wrong during recording and it sounded awful. Panic washed over him as he played it back again. He didn’t have time to re-record. He was already behind on posting it and this was the fifth time already he’s recorded. This was the best take Will had done. There was no way he could do better.

Feeling defeated, he reached for his phone and sighed when he saw the time. It wasn’t super late, but late enough that he felt bad for asking for help.

Will: Hate to bother you, but I need some help with a song file. Can I come over?

He would understand if she said no. He would probably say no himself, but he needed this fixed yesterday.

Ivy: sure! give me five and then head this way!

————

Luckily for Will, Ivy lived conveniently close. He was at her aptly Christmas decorated house in no time. The decor was simple, but conveyed enough of the holiday spirit. Shimmering multi-colored lights lined her driveway and pathway to her door. He saw no lights on in her house. If that already didn’t have him worried, the fact he knocked three times and received no response definitely concerned him. He was about to knock for a fourth time but the door swung open.

“Hi! Sorry! I was… occupied.” Ivy greeted him with a shy smile. Her freckled face was flushed a soft shade of pink.

She stepped aside and gestured for Will to come in. The house was dark, the only light coming from various nightlights and salt lamps she had scattered around everywhere.

“So what’s wrong with your file?” She asked, walking away from him.

Will followed her, taking note of her clothing—or lack thereof, really. She wore a deep, wine red satin nightie. He could see her back freely and the soft sprinkling of freckles that covered it. The color looked amazing on her. He nearly walked right into her when she stopped at her office door.

“Will?”

He swore to everything her eyes were maroon and not brown. His eyes scanned over the front of her nightie. Black lace lined the seams and edges.

“Earth to Will. Hello?” Her voice was light and soft. She snapped her fingers in his face.

Will’s face warmed when he realized he was staring. “Uh, well it’s real gritty and distorted. There’s random peaking and it just sounds real bad. Like, the worst thing I’ve ever recorded.”

Ivy hummed. “Well let me see what I’m working with.”

Will shrugged off his bag and searched for his laptop and the flash drive with the song. He set the items down on her desk, then turned to her.

“Do you mind if I smoke? This shit has stressed me all day.”

She smiled brightly at him. “As long as you share.”

————

“Oh Will, honey, what did you do?”

She scooted closer to her desk, her bare pussy grinding—knowingly or unknowingly, he couldn’t be sure— along his thigh. Will clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the armrest. The tent forming in his pants was growing and he couldn’t adjust to mask it without drawing her attention. He took a long drag of his joint, holding in the smoke until it burned his throat and lungs.

He needed to not think about her exposed, warm cunt dampening the fabric of his sweats. Or how badly he wanted to bounce his leg and watch her come undone. Will’s eyes wandered to the open back of her nightie, the deep red wine color complimenting her complexion wonderfully. He wondered how soft her skin would be under his lips and if he’d be able to taste the flowers he smelled from her body wash.

The frustrated huff she let out broke him from his thoughts. Will erupted into a coughing fit when she adjusted again on his thigh, perching herself on his knee. He’d forgotten all about the hit he took and choked on the smoke trapped in his lungs. Even through the material of his sweats, he felt her lips slightly spread and more of her arousal stain.

She turned her head to glance back at him, taking the joint with a concerned expression.

“Are you okay?”

Will nodded, still coughing up both of his lungs. She watched him struggle to catch his breath. When he finally stopped, he took a big gulp of air and wiped his watery eyes.

“Would you like some water?” She squeezed his other knee with her hand.

“Yes.” The simple reply hurt his throat. His voice was hoarse and rough.

Ivy stood with a small smile then disappeared behind him. Will inhaled a deep, steadying breath, sputtering a few more quick coughs. His eyes fell to the wet spot on his knee. A tiny trail of her slick was left behind. Without thinking, Will reached to touch it. He gently stroked his fingers over the spot as his mind spiraled.

Why wasn’t she wearing underwear? Why was she wet? How wet was she? What does she taste like? How does she feel?

The last thought made his dick twitch. He suddenly remembered his aching erection and cursed. Hastily, Will shoved a hand in his pants, letting out a pained hiss as he ran his fingers—the same ones with the lingering arousal—over the head. Precum had started dribbling. He quickly swiped it away and bit his bottom lip to contain the noise that threatened to escape. Will struggled to somewhat comfortably hide his erection. It was still noticeable, but less so than the tent he was pitching.

“I don’t know what you did,” Ivy’s voice carried into her office, startling Will.

She handed him an unopened bottle then grabbed the still burning joint from the tray. Will hyper focused on the way her lips closed around it and the rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled deeply. Her long lashes reminded him of butterflies as her eyes fluttered shut. Ivy leaned her head back, hair cascading past her shoulders in fiery waves. Will watched her muscles and body loosen as she exhaled.

“But it’s going to take a while to try and save it.” Smoke delicately lingered between her lips. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

That definitely wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Will deflated, but happily took the joint from Ivy. He tried not to think about the trace of mint she left behind and how badly he wanted to taste it on her breath. He couldn’t be all that disappointed though. Ivy was always a great company.

She took the joint from him again and took a seat once more on Will’s thigh, turning her attention back to the computer. He leaned forward and propped his arm on the desk, resting his chin in his hand. He tried to ignore the feeling of her still bare and wet pussy.

“Despite how fucked the recording is, you did a great job, Will.”

Her sincere, bright smile made his heart jump to his throat.

“Sleep Token suits your voice so well, it’s incredible.”

The praise made his heart swell. “Thanks.”

She took another hit then set the joint back in the tray. Smoke stuck to her lips. Will desperately wanted to capture it between his.

He watched her work intently. She was so focused. He noticed the way her brows crinkled when something didn’t work, the cute way her lips pursed when she was deep in thought. She reached for the joint again and took another long drag, letting it settle deep in her chest before exhaling. Will grabbed it from her and copied her.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you or anything, but,” Will turned his head and exhaled. “Are you… Is there a reason you’re not wearing underwear?”

A delicate flush of pink tinted her freckled cheeks.

“I was…” Ivy bit her lip. “I was getting ready for bed when you texted and you got here much quicker than I expected.”

“Oh.” Will felt his own cheeks heat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! I can… worry about that when I fix this.”

Maybe it was the weed in his system or maybe he was thinking with the wrong head, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out—

“I could help you with that.”

Ivy whipped her head to the side to stare at him, brows raised. Will immediately tried to backtrack his statement.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean— that was meant to be an inside thought.”

“Well,” her voice trailed off. “If you're offering.”

Ivy slowly stood. Will looked at her utterly flabbergasted.

“Are you sure? I don’t—“

She turned her back to him and bent over her desk, her satin nightie rising up over her ass, allowing him to see just how wet her pussy was. Will felt his cock throb.

“I’m sure, Will.”

He sank to his knees. His hands tenderly caressed up her calves to her thighs. Her skin was as soft and smooth as her satin nightie, but warm under his gentle touch. Freckles were sprinkled everywhere on her legs. Some even found they’re way to her butt. Will ghosted his lips across the prominent moles he saw, awarding each one a soft, feather light kiss. Goosebumps spread over Ivy’s skin, contrasting the delicate softness. He scooted closer to her, coaxing her legs apart with a gentle pat.

Will kissed a path to her center, leaving a trail of hot breath and lip shaped wet marks between her thighs. He closed his mouth around her pussy, encasing her entirely between his lips. He groaned, low and loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as her warmth and taste graced his tongue. A breathless, light moan escaped Ivy. He slid his hands up to her plump ass and gave a firm squeeze.

Ivy pushed back, another soft sound coming from her as he buried his face further into her cunt. Will took his time, savoring the flavor of her arousal and letting himself get lost. His mouth, chin, and nose were coated in her. He experimentally poked her entrance with his tongue, then quickly dipped the tip inside a few times.

“Oh my god, Will.” She moaned.

The pleasurable sound of his name made his hard cock twitch. He moved his tongue to her clit, lightly lapping and flicking the swollen sensitive bud, and was instantly rewarded with more whiny whimpers. Every erotic noise Ivy made shot straight to his dick, making his erection ache. Will moaned into her as he sucked her clit between his lips.

“Fuck,” Ivy cried out. She reached behind her, seeking something to grab. She couldn’t grab his hair, so she settled for his hand and intertwined their fingers.

Will wished he could see her face. He wanted to see her gorgeous face contorted in ecstasy. He wanted to see her maroon-like eyes boring into his, piercing his heart and staking her claim to it.

“Will…”

He hummed. Ivy mimicked the sound.

“I’m close.”

His ravenous appetite grew, eager to give her what she needed. Will devoured her pussy, like a starving wild animal. With his free hand, he kneaded Ivy’s ass, his short nails creating crescent moons in her flesh.

Ivy’s whines grew in pitch and volume the closer she got. Will chased after her climax with her, his own sounds mixing with hers. He was sure to leave little bruises on her ass with the grip he had.

In unashamed desperation, Will nuzzled impossibly more into her soaking cunt. He needed her to unravel like he needed air. His tongue relentlessly worked. He made an audible and deliberate show of enjoying his meal. Ivy’s hold on his hand tightened, then her body seized and shuddered, followed by a delicate curse and cry of his name.

Will groaned, greedily lapping her through her orgasm. He was dazed and lost in her pussy, completely consumed in her and forgetting how to breathe. He simply couldn’t get enough. He needed her to cum again. Will wanted his face saturated.

He groaned loudly as he quickly flicked her clit. He moved his head side to side, earning a delightful moan from Ivy. Will feasted on her, like a feral, rabid beast. Nothing mattered to him except the intensity of Ivy’s quaking body as a second orgasm tore through her. His eyes fell shut as her cunt released over his mouth and covered his face. Her legs almost gave out, but he was quick to steady her.

He would have happily kept his mouth glued to her pussy and gave her another climax, but the gentle call of his name and weak tug on his arm broke him from his trance.

Ivy heaved a heavy breath. Will sat back on his legs and admired the glistening mess between her thighs. His cock started to hurt because of how hard and turned on he was. He didn’t expect anything in return, but he needed some kind of relief soon or he would fucking combust.

Slowly, Will stood up, his knees cracking and popping in protest. Ivy pushed herself up and flipped her body around so she was facing him. She leaned back on her arms, a content, satisfied smile plastered across her face.

Fuck she was hot.

“Can I—“ his voice cracked. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Instead of answering, Ivy reached for his hips and pulled him close. She then hopped up on her desk.

“What do you need to go to the bathroom for, hm?”

Will’s mind went blank as she teasingly slipped her fingers into the waistband of his sweats and boxers. Ivy tugged his bottoms down enough to free his aching cock. He sighed, relieved at no longer being constrained. Ivy swiped her thumb over the tip of his dick.

Will slammed a hand down on the desk, accidentally slamming the keyboard. He didn’t expect to be so hypersensitive.

“Oh, sensitive are we?” Ivy husked in his ear.

She twisted her hand along his shaft as she stroked, pulling an elongated, desperate and choked whine from his lungs. Will forgot how to breathe all over again. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip. His fingers flexed on the keys. The recording started playing, only now it sounded perfect. There was no distortion or odd peaking. Pristine vocals and instrumentals void of any mistakes. Whatever Will did by smacking the keyboard seemed to fix the issue.

“Seems you’ve fixed your song.” Ivy ran her thumb over his leaking head. “Sounds great, but—“

The cut off of her sentence prompted Will to look at her. Lust and desire drenched her maroon colored eyes, pouring from them in buckets. The light emitting from the computer screen cast an angelic glow around her. Her hypnotic gaze turned him into putty. She smirked as his dick throbbed in her hand. Ivy lowered her head slightly, making sure to keep the intensity of their stare. Her clementine colored locks softly framed her shoulders. She opened her mouth. His eyes flicked to her tongue and he wondered how it would feel around his dick.

Will watched drool pool in her mouth and dribble over her chin. His cock twitched as droplets of her saliva landed on his head— and then a glob of spit. Ivy spread her spit all around his aching dick and tightened her grip around him. A pathetic, whiny, needy and embarrassing sound left his mouth.

“I think you sound better like this.”

The sensation of her slickened touch almost made him bust immediately—which would have been infinitely more embarrassing than the noise he just made. He wanted her to keep jerking him, but he craved to be inside her more than anything.

“Ivy,” Will’s voice trembled. Another whine fluttered between his lips as she pumped a little faster.

“Hm? What is it?”

He reached for her hand and stopped her movements. She unwrapped her fingers. Disappointment briefly flashed in her eyes. The second verse of Rain cut through the silence of the room.

“I—“ He took a steadying breath, “I want—“

No, I need, he thought.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

Fuck.

The pet name nearly turned his brain to mush. How exactly could he tell her he wanted to fuck her senseless, that he wanted to be buried so deep inside her pussy, he’d need to be surgically removed?

“I need to fuck you.”

His own words and firm tone surprised him. Ivy swiped her tongue over her bottom lip. She tore her eyes away from him, looking to a drawer of her desk. Will took a small step back to allow her to rummage through and find what he assumed would be a condom. He immediately returned to his previous spot when she found one.

Ivy ripped open the foil packaging with her teeth and then grabbed his dick, giving a few slow, long strokes before unrolling the latex down his shaft. She scooted closer to the edge of her desk and positioned his dick to her entrance.

“Wait—“ Will said suddenly, reaching down between them. “I’m dying to feel you.”

He teased her entrance with his middle digit, gently and softly circling it with the pad of his finger. “Can I?”

“Please.”

Will slipped his finger in with ease. He didn’t plan to finger her for long, but he wanted to feel her unprotected, feel how warm and wet she was—and maybe just to tease.

Slowly, he pumped in and out. A pleasant humming rumbled in Ivy’s chest. He went knuckle deep and stopped to curl his finger. He wasn’t sure if he could reach her spot, but he was damned determined to try.

He angled his wrist, using the movement and pressure to sink slightly deeper and curled his finger again. Ivy choked a whine and her body jerked. Her walls throbbed as he pressed the spongy tissue again. Will built a steady pace, working her cunt nice and slow. Ivy’s body melted in his hand with every thrust and delectable curl. Any word she tried to speak muddled together in a dazed, breathless moan. This isn’t how he wanted her to come undone though.

Much to Ivy’s brief dismay, Will removed his finger. He brought it to his lips and stared down the red headed wonder in front of him as he licked it clean.

“I could taste you forever.”

Ivy threw her arms over Will’s shoulders and crashed their lips together. Her hands threaded in his hair and tugged gently. Will wrapped an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer. He grabbed his dick and took the opportunity to finally slide his achingly hard cock in her dripping pussy. Her moan got lost between their lips.

Will gave her a moment to adjust before moving. His first few thrusts were slow and deep. He wished he could feel her in all of her aroused and wet glory. She felt incredible gripping his finger. He could only imagine how fucking mind blowing her cunt would feel strangling and choking his bare cock.

The wet, squelching sound of her cunt drowned out the still playing song in the background. Will focused only that disgustingly erotic sound and the dizzying heat of Ivy’s breath on his lips. Words escaped her again. Nothing but moans and heavy panting came from her.

She hooked her legs around him. Will lifted her off the desk and cradled her close to his body, thrusting hard and deep. Ivy flexed her fingers, incessantly tugging his hair at the root. Each harsh tug made him groan and pound harder into her cunt. The sharp smack of skin against skin drowned out the music playing, the song being long forgotten.

“Fuck!” Ivy yelled. “Right there, Will.”

He loved hearing his name from her pretty mouth. Will slipped his hands inside the back of her nightie, pressing her body closer to his. The whine and strain in her voice urged him to work faster. He picked up his pace. A barrage of choked moans filled the air around him. He didn’t want to come before her, but he feared he might.

Ivy untangled a hand from his hair and reached for her clit. She mewled, arching her body more into his. Her beautiful, unhinged sounds echoed on a loop in his brain. Will could have gotten off to just the sound alone.

“Will, I’m so close.”

His hips snapped ruthlessly, her shrill and loud cries providing him with a deep, carnal desire. He sank his teeth in the crook of her neck, sucking a dark bruise on her delicate skin.

“Oh GOD. WILL—“ Ivy all but screamed.

She clung to him, wrapping her arms so tightly around his back he could hardly breathe. Her hands found their way back to his hair and she pulled roughly as her orgasm violently tore through her body. Ivy trembled involuntarily in his hold. Will felt her release saturate them both.

The slick, wet sound of her thoroughly fucked cunt drove him mad and over his own edge. He barely managed to hold them up upright as his own orgasm came crashing around him. His hands slid higher up Ivy’s back, one resting in the middle and the other gripping her soft orange hair at the base of her skull. He clung to her, much like she did to him.

His ears started to ring and a strained whimper escaped him. He unloaded in the condom, cumming so hard that it was almost painful, and with such force that he momentarily worried he broke through the latex. He didn’t think he’d ever stop spilling semen. Each pulse and throb of his dick made him whine.

With jellified legs, Will stumbled forward and carefully sat Ivy back on her desk. He tried to take a step back, but Ivy kept him close. She pressed their foreheads together. Weed and pussy were heavy on their breaths. Ivy sweetly pecked his lips.

“You should fuck up your recordings more often.” Ivy said breathlessly.

Will chuckled then gave her a proper kiss.

“Don’t tempt me.”