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siriusleee · 6 months

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ii. sage green

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.5K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to desperately thank @gazs-blue-hat, @lethargicluv, and @victoria-writes-sometimes for proofreading this for me when I was in an exhaustion field brain melt. If you'd like to help wake me up, my Ko-Fi is always open for commissions and donations. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

At first, you think it’s the sun warming the attic enough to be stifling, to wake you up from the heat pulling the air from the room.

But your nose catches up with the rest of your brain when the acrid smell of fire catches your senses. You’re awake in an instant, shooting up from your spot. Blind panic overtakes you first; your hands scrambling in the darkness for something . Instinct has you reaching out for a fire extinguisher, for a way out of the room, fingers scrambling against the splintery wood before the rest of you catches up with the situation. It takes almost a second too long before your brain finally processes that there is no fire extinguisher, nothing to do but try to escape.

You scramble to tug your boots on, shoving your thermal blanket into your pack at the same time. Slinging it across your back, you fumble for your bow and arrow pouch; your fingers pull against the rope you’d tied to keep the attic door shut, and in the darkness, you can’t undo it.

The blind panic starts to rage inside of you. Smoke is filtering faster through the cracks in the flooring, obscuring what little you could already see in the moonlight filtering in through the little attic window.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, repeating it louder as your fingers slip against the rope. “Fuck.”

When the hint of flames shows themself at the edges of the attic door, you abandon the attempts to pull the rope off. You pick your way across the attic, lungs screaming as the oxygen is pulled into the fire. The little window overlooking the back garden shatters easily under the weight of your bow slamming into it. But as you watch the glass shards tumble onto the roof, you know that even if you could slice yourself to bits and not attract the Biters, you would never fit through the window. Gulping down the fresh air, you try to hold it in your lungs as long as possible before you’re forced to turn back to the rest of the smoke-filled attic.

Your feet stumble against what you can’t see - you have to pull the rope away from the door. The only other option is to -

The floor falls from beneath your feet. Rotted drywall and insulation rain down with you; your back slams into something solid, a sharp pain shooting through your spine and rib cage. The blaze from the hallway illuminates the sage walls; as you try to catch your breath around the lack of oxygen and the pain spitting through you, you realize that you’ve crashed into the empty nursery.

From the first floor, just loud enough to be heard over the fire, the groans of the Biters come to you around the ringing in your ear. Struggling to breathe around the smoke and moldy insulation that fill your mouth, you scramble to your feet. The taste of iron coats your mouth; through the dirty window, you see a group of Biters congregating on the front porch of the little house.

Whatever human instinct has forced you to survive these past 5 years takes over; you push through the half broken bedroom door and stumble directly into a Biter.

There was a saying - it slams into your brain as you watch the burning mass roll towards you - that whenever soldiers go to war and their adrenaline starts to pump, explosions turn into little “poofs” and gunshots no more than a “pop.” You wonder if it was the adrenaline that turned the Biter’s unearthly wailing into a soft whisper as it flails on the landing, hand reaching for your ankle.

Without thinking, you kick out; the flames bite at your boots, at the skin that shows above the leather. The bottom landing is ablaze, the floor beneath you buckles; the house groans with the weight of the fire and the Biters groan and wail in hunger. Any minute the entire place is going to crumble down into a pile of burning bodies and dust and take you with it.

You stumble past the burning Biter, shoving it away with the end of your bow so that it falls down the steps. Feet heavy and lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen, you punch your way into the other bedroom. Without thinking, you throw yourself through the half open window.

The ground races up to meet you; you try to catch your feet beneath you, but you collapse into darkness instead.

The ringing in your ears is thunderous; the hands that pull at you try to rip you apart. In the darkness, you feel yourself slam into something hard and cold, feel hands slap at the fabric covering your legs. You try to lift yourself, to swing at the force but your body won’t do what your brain is telling you and you wonder if you’ve already been bitten and this eternal blackness is just the beginning of the end.

The ground pulls from underneath you and vaguely you realize that you’re moving. The growling of an ATV cuts through the darkness you’re hovering in along with the feeling of cold metal biting into your back. Your sight is the last sense to come - the sun trying to break through the horizon just barely illuminates the hulking figure driving the ATV - fuzzy at first and then coming into sharp focus.

You thrash out, becoming keenly aware of ropes wrapped around your ankles and feet. You teeter dangerously on the back of the ATV as you roll. In the corner of your eye, you can see the entire village ablaze, the howls of the Biters nearly drowned out by the crackling of the flames. One large hand reaches back to grip the front of your shirt and pulls you back before you can fall off. Too scared to fall off of the back, you lay still.

Like a deer, dressed and ready for slaughter, you ride on the back of the ATV until the flames of the village are gone, and the forest swallows the two of you up. Heart in your throat, you wonder if finally, the body snatchers had gotten to you.

You struggle against the rope binding your hands together. If you can get your hands free, you can fight against him - you’d rather be subject to the Biters, to starvation, than end up the dinner of a savage from the woods.

But the struggle is for nothing: there’s a blinding pain crawling up your legs, and you’re distinctively aware of a pain in your side that you think might be a broken rib. The inside of your mouth and throat are covered in the thick taste of ash and burning Biter and iron. Your soot lined lungs can barely pull in a breath - there’s just not enough strength for you to break free.

The sound of the ATV changes to a lower purr and the vehicle jerks as the driver downshifts. You nearly tumble off the back, but your kidnapper’s hand reaches back around and grips your shirt again.

He doesn’t let you go until the ATV cruises to a stop beside a felled tree, propped up against a second fallen tree, ivy and moss trailing down from where the two meet. When he shifts in his seat to turn the ATV off, you see your bow and pack on the front of the ATV behind a dusty red gas canister and a rifle.

You can’t tell if it’s the angle you’re laying at or if the guy is just huge; there’s not a chance in hell you can fight him off - especially not with the pain that’s radiating through you as the adrenaline wears off.

But it kickstarts again when he turns to you - his eyes are dark in the shadows cast by his mask. A graying skull stares down at you, and you know he’s going to take you to a body farm, that you are fodder beneath his gaze.

He reaches towards you; you jerk back, heart in your throat. The little animalistic part of your brain that’s kept you alive for so many years takes over; you thrash away from him, rolling off of the ATV and slamming into the ground. Your teeth clack, pinching your tongue in between, and fresh blood blooms in your mouth.

“Stop it,” he growls out, peering at you over the edge of the ATV, annoyance written into the wrinkles around his eyes.

You wiggle away from him in the dirt, but this time you don’t escape his hands as he grips the front of your filthy shirt and hauls you upright.

You don’t know what to do, so you spit on him. Saliva and blood spray across his faded black jacket; he doesn’t let you go, and doesn’t even seem phased by your actions. Instead, he drops you down onto your feet; you teeter, struggling to stand with the rope wrapped around your ankles; he keeps one steady hand on your elbow to keep you from falling.

“That make you feel better?” He asks, voice rough and low. You keep your mouth shut; if he’s going to take you to a body farm, he’s not going to get you to talk or beg.

“What were you doing there?”

The silence stretches through the forest; the man breathes heavy through his nose, the sound muffled by the black fabric and skull. This close you can’t tell if it’s real or fake, but you don’t want to find out.

“Are you one of them?”

“One of who?” The question escapes you before you can stop it. But once it’s gone, you realize the ball is in his court - the only bit of power you had was your silence, and you gave it away.

“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

You chew on the possibilities, but you have to admit that if you don’t answer he may just leave you tied up here for the Biters to find.

“I’m moving north, to where it’s too cold for them during the winter.”

It’s not a good enough answer; he squeezes your elbow. Beneath his fingers, the joints rub together, and you can’t help the yelp you let out.

“I was staying the night there! My group has stayed there for years on our way through.”

“Where’s the rest of your group?”

It’s iron and pennies to say it.

“They’re all gone; I’ve been on my own for the past year.”

He must believe something written on your face because his grip on your elbow loosens. Slowly, he reaches down to tug on the ropes binding your ankles and then your wrists until they fall loose. He keeps one hand on you as he drags you over to the ATV.

“You’re not going to let me go?” Your voice rises in pitch with each word.

“Dunno who you might run back to.”

He shoves your pack in your arms. Beneath it is another pack, this one dark black and dusty. He slings it onto himself, along with your bow and arrow carrier. The rifle also comes off of the ATV and over his other shoulder. He never lets go of the grip on your arm, pulling you around painfully as he moves.

“Go move the ivy out of the way,” he says, shoving you towards the two fallen trees. You eye the rifle on his back - it would drop you before you could get ten feet. So you follow his directions, pulling back the ivy. Behind it is a cut out in the hill, a dark pit, and for a moment you think he’s going to push you in. But then, without a sign of a struggle, he pushes the ATV into the hole and you realize it’s a hiding spot.

He pushes you out of the way, rearranging the plant life until it again looks like just two trees toppled onto each other. With a smooth, practiced motion, the rifle slides into his hands, and he gestures toward the open forest with it.

“Start walking.”

You don’t know how far the two of you walk; the cold starts to seep through the thinning material of your boots, and with each step the burns and bruises you acquired during the house fire grow more painful - the sharp pinch in your rib makes it hard to breath, but you don’t want to show a sign of weakness. If he thinks you’re not eatable, he might just shoot you where you stand.

But you know that if your feet are beneath you, you have a chance of running free.

The horizon grows gray with the threat of snow; some flurries that must have fallen in the nighttime cling to the highest branches of the tree. It isn’t until your feet are numb, and you can’t feel your pinky toes that you finally ask the question that’s been nagging at you for hours.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“You can just slaughter me now if you think I’m going to let you take me to that farm.”

His footsteps don’t falter behind you, but when he speaks you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’m not going to eat you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The trees start to grow thicker around the two of you, the snow growing heavier on the limbs until finally, it starts to dust the ground. Your whole body is numb at this point, and whatever has been keeping you together is starting to fall apart. Your tongue is dry and fuzzy, stomach empty. You think for a second that he might be trying to walk you to death, that he might find some sort of pleasure in watching you break down as you walk.

The rough edges of a cabin peek out at you from the trees and snow. The barrel of his rifle digs into your back, pushing you towards the cabin. You stumble over your boots, nearly tripping from the weight of your pack and empty stomach. Your kidnapper herds you towards the door, pushing you out of the way to unlock it with a key tucked beneath his jacket until he can shove you inside.

Inside it’s dark and dusty; your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness when the door finally shuts behind you, trapping you in the place with your kidnapper. A thread of fear tries to go through you at the thought of what he might be doing to you in the dark, but you’re too exhausted for your heart to beat faster.

He leaves you standing there to fumble with something in front of you. A moment later his face is illuminated by an oil lamp blazing to life. It illuminates just enough of the room that you can see a small fireplace and little couch on the opposite sides and a little kitchenette you’re standing in.

You stand awkwardly as he shuffles around the room, shrugging his pack off, lighting another oil lamp, but never dropping his rifle.

He turns towards you, gun held loosely in his hand and studies you over the top of his mask.

“What’s your name?”

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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inkblot-mirror · 6 months

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Pomefiore Dorm Headcanons:

-Lights out at 9pm. Period.

-Like Diasomnia, which is also an on old castle, Pomefiore has many hidden nooks and shortcuts and passageways, all of which Rook discovered and committed to memory the first day he transferred. It’s also how he gets around the place so quickly and pops up most unexpectedly, still giving even older students a scare.

-Students quickly learn not to sneak junk food and other forbidden snacks and stuff into their rooms because Vil always. Finds. Out. (It’s Rook—nothing ever gets past him)

-As Epel demonstrated, a common punishment in the dorm is cleaning: washing and wiping all the windows by hand, dusting the vases, sweeping the rugs and mopping the hallways and making sure everything is absolutely spotless. Without magic (it’s to build character ofc).

-The beautiful gardens and apple orchards outside are perfect for afternoon tea. Vil has, on more than one occasion, hosted a photoshoot in the gardens.

-Said apples in the orchards are also cursed to make whoever eats them violently ill. As a result the garden remains picturesque and pretty.

-Peacocks roam freely outside. They are surprisingly aggressive to outsiders.

-Entire dorm smells like fancy flowers and floral perfume.

-While not an official club on campus, but some Pomefiore students have made their own fashion design club. They hold fashion shows, showcasing their own creations every so often and Vil always attends.

-Has a potions lab in the basement where the housewarden duel is held.

-Mandatory ballroom dancing lessons! Pomefiore has three ballrooms in total.

-There’s a big white grand piano in the lounge that no one is allowed to play.

-Decently insulated, not too hot or cold, since both are bad for your skin.

-Lot and lots of stairs! Also easy to get lost in.

-Vil (and Rook) had to teach all the first years how to put their dorm uniform on properly.

- Lots of movie nights in the lounge. If one of Vil’s movies are being played, he expects full critique (and praise) afterwards.

-Vil is more accommodating towards beastman students with wings, tails, fur, and or ears that need more specialized care or attention.

-Kitchen is stocked only with healthy snacks and artesian bottled water.

——————

Scarabia Dorm Headcanons:

-So. Many. Parties. Parties to kick off the start of the school year, parties at the end of the week, parties to celebrate end of the semester, parties for the sake of partying.

-Second to Octavinelle, the dorm has lots of musically inclined students. One can hear lots of musical instruments being played day and night, such as the sitar, flute, oud, tamborine, or drum.

-Merfolk students like to cool off in the oasis or the courtyard fountain. This environment isn’t exactly the best for them… good thing there aren’t alot of them in Scarabia in the first place.

-Sand everywhere!!!!!! Even with magic, sand still finds a way to slip in. I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.

-Occasionally there are powerful sandstorms outside.

-Even rarer is when it rains (without use of Kalim’s UM)—when it does, everyone dashes outside to dance and sing in the rain with joy (everyone minus Jamil)

-Dorm is home to Kalim’s menagerie of exotic wild animals allowed to roam freely: tigers, monkeys, camels, parrots, etc…

-They’re all tame (mostly), but you can still occasionally see Jamil and a student or two wrangling a monkey or chasing after a runaway pony.

-It’s nearly bug free for the most part (thanks Jamil!) but you can still find the lone scorpion or snake hiding in the corners.

-First thing new students are taught is to always always always double check and empty your shoes and clothes first before putting them on.

-Entire dorm smells of incense and spices and exotic perfumes. It’s very heavy on the senses.

-Very dry and hot as one would expect! Its gets chillier at night, but not by much.

-Students help out Jamil with the cooking. It’s a communal event, and recipes and stories are often swapped.

-Before Kalim, Scarabia was a pretty studious and academic dorm. Now they have a reputation as the party animals of NRC and curious students from other dorms like to sneak into their many parties or banquets. Not like Kalim minds: the more, the merrier!

-DONT TOUCH JAMIL’s SPICES!

#twst oc #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #pomefiore #scarabia #my hcs #my headcanons

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hyugaruma · 6 months

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House Party (Nakagoshi x Reader)

♡

re: you have a bit of a crush on your friend…

me and my headcanon that nakaoka would have an average businessman older brother

♡

The reverberations of the deep bass shuttered the old, wooden infrastructure of the house, frames creaking as if in protest. The music was too loud to decipher what song was playing; you had to wonder if the neighbors wouldn’t have something to say about it. When Nakaoka went around inviting a bunch of Oya High’s first- and second-years to a party over the weekend, you hadn’t expected to find yourself crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in a traditional Japanese minka house of all places.

“It’s my older brother’s,” Nakaoka explained when you’d first arrived. “He’s a businessman.”

Now, you found yourself hovering at the edge of the room, trying your best to slink as far into the shadows and away from the drunk, dancing crowds as possible. When Nakaoka had mentioned the party to you, you were expecting something small, likely consisting of Nakaoka and Nakagoshi’s closest Oya goons. But this far exceeded your expectations. There was a fair number of women there too, which came as a surprise to you because it seemed that the brawlers of Oya High were far more interested in fighting than courting. Nakagoshi, of course, had been the one to talk you into going to Nakaoka’s “little” party. Otherwise, you would have been perfectly content spending your Saturday night catching up on your shows and snacking on junk food in the comfort of your home. But no, “It’ll be fun,” Nakagoshi had sworn to you. And now, said male was nowhere to be found, and you were left alone hiding at the fray of the party. You could’ve strangled him.

In desperate need for some personal space, you squeezed your way through the crowd of partygoers, somehow managing to navigate yourself out onto the veranda. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the bodies inside the home. However, it seemed a plethora of other people had had the same idea as you; the backyard was nearly just as noisy as inside. A group of guys took turns batting a baseball into the wooden fence surrounding the garden, guffawing loudly at every thunk it made. Scads of people milled about on the porch, swaying to the beat of the music echoing from beyond the walls. Several of them toked on cigarettes, plumes of smoke suffocating the air. Just on the lawn was a table where another group was playing an alcohol party game that seemingly had no discernible rules from which you could tell. Somebody bumped your shoulder as they squeezed past you to join the others on the lawn. You huffed, and contemplated just heading home to your pajamas and bed.

Just as the thought tempted you, you felt an arm snake its way over your shoulders. You turned to see that damned smiling face, if only it wasn’t so charming. Nakagoshi.

“Come out here for the fresh air?” He asked.

You squinted your eyes at him. You had half the mind of telling him off for making you think this was some sort of “small” get-together, but you couldn’t. You never could, not with that smile he’d send your way. “Something like that,” you replied, eyes scanning over the people spread out over the backyard. “It’s not really much better, though.”

Another drunken body knocked into yours as they ambled down the veranda. As you tried to glare after the guy who had just bumped you, your eyes caught a couple making out, dimly illuminated by the porch lights. Your eyes widened, and you averted them.

Nakagoshi turned to look, catching sight of what you had noticed. He chuckled at your fluster, giving you a little shake with his hand on your shoulder. You tried to nudge him off, but he didn’t budge. “Come on,” he said. “I think the front is a little quieter.”

You and Nakagoshi weaved your way through the throngs of people inside, making it back outside to the front porch this time. You both took a seat on the porch ledge. You pulled your knees to your chest to insulate against the cool, breezy evening air. Nakagoshi let his legs dangle off the edge, leaning back with one hand supporting him from behind. Spring crickets just barely made themselves heard over the sound of the party music, like they decided to play along. You let out a deep breath, finally able to relax amidst the frenzy of the night.

Nakagoshi eyed you from the corner of his eye. “I really did think it’d be something small.” He tugged awkwardly at the headband secured around his head. You could tell by his tone that he felt bad. You and Nakagoshi were close; he knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t your typical scene. Though, knowing that, you weren’t quite sure why he decided to convince you to attend the party in the first place.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not so bad. Just a bit overwhelming.”

“Think he just got a bit overexcited knowing he had his brother’s place to himself for the whole weekend.” Nakagoshi leaned his shoulder against the support beam he sat next to, turning his body slightly to face you.

You gave a small smile. “Sounds like him.” A lightning bug floated lazily just past your nose, and you watched it as it flickered off into the distance. The music playing from inside abruptly changed to the next song, and you wondered if somebody complained about what was playing.

Nakagoshi stretched his legs out in front of him, looking around to scout out any people hanging around the front porch. The few that had been milling about when you two first walked out had seemingly headed back inside to regroup with the party. It was just the two of you now. Nakagoshi cleared his throat, trying to be casual but clearly failing with the way you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing,” he laughed, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Just clearing my throat.”

“You can go back inside to the party,” you offered. You felt bad that you pulled him away from his fun Saturday night. Nakagoshi’s friends were probably looking for him right about now. “I really don’t mind. I came, I saw you. I’ll probably head home soon.”

His response came instantly. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assured him. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun. I don’t want to be a killjoy.”

Nakagoshi pulled a knee up and rested his arm on it. He had a serious look on his face as he studied you. You could feel your cheeks growing hot with the way he looked so intensely at you. You wondered if it was obvious how he made you feel. It felt obvious, at least, all the little internal and external reactions you had at anything he said or did. Maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t feel the same. That thought made your stomach twist. It wasn’t like you wanted to risk your friendship with him by outing your feelings.

“You’re not a killjoy,” he finally responded after what seemed like some consideration. “I asked you to come because I wanted to spend time with you.”

You felt your heart jump at his words. You stuffed those thoughts and feelings back down. “I just don’t think I’m as fun as your other friends.”

Nakagoshi laughed. You couldn’t help but to admire the way his face crinkled when he laughed, that boyish attraction that seemed to alight his features. It felt magnetic, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned forward ever so slightly towards him. It was like you needed to be closer to him. You swallowed hard. Again, Nakagoshi didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on you. Maybe it was better that way.

“You’re joking?” He pushed his hand through his messy hair, just for it to flop back down over his headband again. “They’re not half as fun to be around than you are.”

“You’re joking,” your brows knitted together disbelievingly at his words. “They like to go out and fight and drink and make music and do things. I like to… stay at home. I’m boring.”

Nakagoshi snorted and rolled his eyes. This time it was his turn to lean in towards you. You felt nervousness creeping up your spine. Your body almost leaned back in panicked response, but you held steady, soaking in any amount of closeness you could get to him. God, if only he knew how crazy he drove you. Damn him. “I don’t think you have any idea…” he said, a challenging smirk hinting at his lips. His eyes looked dark, even in the glow of the moonlight. Your eyes flickered to his lips for all but half a second. All you could think about was kissing him. He plopped a heavy hand on top of your head. “Not any idea about yourself, do you?”

You were taken aback. “Huh? What does that mean?”

“I mean,” he emphasized, pulling his hand back and giving you a grin worth damning. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You think I try so hard to hang out with you all the time, because, what? Because you’re boring?” Nakagoshi shook his head. “I asked you to come because I wanted to see you. Because I like hanging out with you—“

Before he could even finish his sentence, your lips were on his. It happened so fast it took you a second to realize it had happened. And it was over quicker than it started as you pulled yourself away. Nakagoshi’s eyed widened, but yours were wider.

“Oh shit,” you muttered. You could feel your cheeks were on fire. You had really, truly fucked it now. “I’m so sorry,” you started, feeling the words tumbling abashedly from your lips. “I didn’t mean to do that and I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking and then the stuff you were saying and before I even knew it I just kissed you and, oh fuck, I’m really, really—“

Nakagoshi quickly cut you off by grabbing your face gently between his hands and pulling you back again, this time him initiating the way your lips oh-so-perfectly melded together. You felt your heart swell with all the emotions you had tried so hard to hold back. He was kissing you, Nakagoshi was kissing you. If it was a dream you would have been satisfied with never waking up. But, it wasn’t. And you realized that you should probably kiss him back. Your hands snaked up to grip his black t-shirt like it was the only thing that could tether you to this reality. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, leaning tenderly into the hand which cupped your cheek. His lips were soft, chapped, sweet, everything you had imagined they’d be. You could’ve gotten drunk through kissing him alone.

Your noses faintly grazed each other as you both pulled back. The distance in which you held was small, but felt monumental in comparison to what you had just shared. His eyes were lidded and glossy, like he could’ve kissed you again… And he did kiss you again. Once. Twice. Three more times, like he, too, couldn’t reach his fill of you. You could feel your heart pound with each kiss, and you briefly wondered if it was possible to keel over from too much bliss.

He finally pulled back, really pulled back this time, much to your dismay. Then, he was sending that damn smile your way again. You smacked him lightly on the chest.

“What was that for?” He laughed.

“You—,” you didn’t even know what to say. “You know why!”

“You kissed me first,” he jokingly defended. “Gotta admit, kind of surprised me.”

You let out a huff of a breath, crossing your arms over your chest in mock indignation. Not that you could have been mad about anything in that moment. You felt like you were soaring above the clouds. But it’s not like you were going to let that get to his head. “Surprised myself.”

“I liked it though.”

“Shut up…”

Without warning, Nakagoshi slung a lazy arm over your shoulders and pulled you against his side. “We should do that again sometime. Like next weekend? What do you say, how ‘bout a ‘boring’ weekend next week? Your place?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the way you leaned into his side. A small smile ticked at your lips. “Sounds like my kind of weekend.”

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breannasfluff · 6 months

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Winter Interlude - 1

All of the boys are familiar with snow. After so many adventures and eras, it’s a given to be equipped to deal with the cold.

Yet there’s something different about waking to find a layer of white softening the landscape, while inside a cozy house.

Ravio must have risen early and stoked a roaring fire. The heat of it fills the rooms and halls through a series of cleverly enchanted pipes. Given the nature of bowerbirds, built for tropical temperatures rather than cold, it makes sense.

The nest is warm and cozy as Legend wakes, despite the lack of Ravio in it. Through the nestroom window, he can see the mound of white on the sill, reflecting sunlight. Snow.

At his side, Hyrule burrows into him without going anywhere. Wild is draped around Hyrule, his larger wing acting as a blanket over the brown thrasher. Legend’s wings may be bigger than the traveler’s, but his thinner feathers don’t have the same insulation.

The bowerbird shifts to stretch and Hyrule gives a small grumble, rolling in search of a better pillow.

Wild automatically lets his flockmate curl into him, giving a sleepy chirp of comfort. One eye slowly blinks open to peer at Legend, who gives a reassuring coo. Settled, the magpie goes back to sleep.

Legend extracts himself from the nest and finds a change of clothes. Here at home, he can pull on loose, warm pants and a slouchy, open-back sweater. It ties at the base of his spine, but he leaves the straps swinging free. The sweater stays on—barely.

The comfortable heat of the nestroom isn’t lost as he steps into the hallway and heads toward the kitchen and living room.

He pauses by the fire, radiating heat where it’s built into the bricks, and watches Ravio for a moment.

His flockmate trills to himself as he putters around the kitchen, pulling out cups and setting out tea. There’s a pot of coffee steeping to the side. From the breadbox comes a variety of pastries and rolls for the table, laid out buffet style.

Meat buns steam juice as Ravio pulls them from the oven to put on the table. There are rolls with shiny beetle carapaces decorating the top to appeal to Four and Wild. A fish mousse from the fridge for the seabirds. A jar of cream—fresh, given the frothy yellow at the top. Apples are front and center on the table, but so are a multitude of other fruits. Cheeses and jams are tucked throughout it all.

The air is heavy with the scent of hot food and fresh coffee, underlaid with the sweet smell of wood smoke from the fire. Beneath Legend’s feet, even the tiles are warm to the touch.

Ravio slides plates on the end of the table and looks up as his bowerbird counterpart pads in.

Good morning, he trills, forgoing words.

Morning, heart-of-mine, Legend answers. His cheeks still pink with the indicator call, but both birds proudly wear each other’s feathers.

“Look outside,” Ravio says and joins Legend as he moves to the kitchen window.

Snow covers the landscape; a foot at least, and more still drifts down. The garden is hidden, as is the lawn; smoothed over by the blanket of white. There are no sharp edges, only curving slopes with shadows of blue and grey.

The morning sun, still rising, sparkles off all of it. The few trees in the backyard are laced with ice and dusted in snow.

“It’s beautiful,” Legend breathes.

Beside him, Ravio hums and reaches under his feathers to grab the errant ties of his shirt. “It is. I’ve got a lovely breakfast spread for the flock and more to heat up when everyone is ready. Eggs and bacon to start, unless they need something else?

Legend shakes his head, still taking in the pristine landscape. “It looks and smells wonderful, Rav. They’ll love it.”

Ravio finishes off the shirt tie and leans into his side. Their wings bump as the bowerbird presses a soft kiss to Legend’s cheek. “Love you,” he whispers to the ear tilted his way.

Even the beauty of the winter landscape won’t draw Legend away from his flockmate. His hands find Ravio’s waist, fingers sliding under his shirt to stroke soft, plush skin.

Legend pulls the merchant into his chest and, despite being similar heights, Ravio is languid enough to melt and look up at him. The vet traces the faint freckles on his face and the flecks of purple in his eyes. The small, slightly upturned nose—like a bunny, he said once. Sweet pink lips, just slightly parted.

Well, if he’s going to look like temptation, there’s no reason for Legend to hold back on kissing him.

Read the rest here!

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myouthouse · 1 year

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dunsterhouseblogs · 9 months

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colderdrafts · 9 months

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19: Spill it all out

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. First Previous Next

When entering Amren’s home, you’re struck by the slightly stale but warm air inside, walls well insulated to store heat.

A small entrance leads you into the living room, neatly decorated in earth colors and old, heavy furniture, most of them seemingly sized up a little bit from what you’re used to. A small fire place, completely vacant of ash that would suggest it's use, sits in a corner next to a very broad and soft-looking black couch. Sparingly decorating the walls are framed canvases with imagery of nature. A fine layer of dust coats the windowsills, signs of a home vacant for some time.

"I inherited this house from my grandmother. She got it a few years after the Assembly, but died herself only a few months later. She told my family she would pass it on to only me, and made sure her will would state so," Amren says, watching you look around. He joins your side, eyes somewhat dim. "I suppose she knew I would need the space."

“Sorry for your loss,” you say. “It’s a nice house.”

Clonk.

A sudden hollow sound rings out from somewhere deep within the walls. You look at Amren quizzically, somewhat on alert, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered.

“Old house, old pipes,” he says simply. “You get used to it.”

You look over to the kitchen, a fairly standard modernized outfitted, which is a slight contrast to the rest of the old house. A small hallway leading from the living room connects to, supposedly, the bedroom and bathroom, and a staircase going down to the basement. Out the window you spot a back garden that is fairly well kept, and a small shed.

"What’s that for?" you ask, nodding to the small structure outside.

"I take care of prey in there," Amren replies. He slithers over toward the kitchen, gesturing at the couch. "Sit down."

You snort, making your way over there. "Oh please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable," you translate for him.

He ignores you.

Five minutes later you're on top of a soft pillow on the couch with a cup of warm tea, almost bursting with anticipation.

"So.." you trail off as Amren reluctantly settles down next to you, balancing his own cup. He’s seemingly trying his best to become one with the fabric behind him.

Still, he cuts you off, getting right to the point. "I'm assuming you have questions of what transpired outside?"

"So many!"

He groans, and folds his tail as if bracing for impact. He scowls at you. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"You were getting married?!" you blurt at once.

“Yes."

"And you stopped it?"

"Yes."

"Because of family drama?"

Amren frowns. "Yes and no. Us eloping was supposed to solve an old business feud by legally connecting our families. I realized me being miserable for the rest of my life wouldn't solve anything, and called it off."

He pauses for a moment, reliving the memories. He grimaces. "I was the only ‘suitable’ suitor left. So they gave me a choice. Either I go through with it, or I'm out of the family picture. I think I surprised them when I chose the latter."

"Yikes. What a terrible thing to do to you kid," you say. "And - Mavis, was it?"

His grip on his tea mug tightens slightly. "Still firmly believes if we just follow through, things will change. Evidently my father agrees with her, otherwise he wouldn't be talking to 'the competition'. As she said, it doesn't matter we utterly despise one another, even without the feud.

"But I wouldn't throw my life away for that, so I went out on my own. Started working security at the company, and settled here. I don't know why I didn't move further away from them. It felt - wrong. To leave the house," Amren sighs, idly running a hand over the arm of the couch. "But that means they know where I am, and regularly comes by to taunt me. It's.. infuriating."

He pauses again, but you remain tactfully quiet. He more than anything look like he needs to get this off his chest. It's like a dam has broke, and you just happen to be the floating piece of driftwood to hold on to.

Encouraged by the patient attention, Amren continues: "Each time I leave the company I don't know if I'll catch the scent of either one of my parents or Mavis the second I stand in front of my own house. I always have to prepare for another argument, another shaming, another fight. I'm always defending myself. They're keeping me on edge on purpose. Probably hoping, one day, I'll break."

He looks at you again, suddenly exhausted. "I was .. sincerely hoping to spare you from running into them. They're not dangerous, but, now that Mavis has seen you, no doubt caught my scent on you -" he rubs his face, frustrated. "She might try to rope you into this mess too."

He glances over, scanning your face for your reaction.

"Well," you offer. "Then we're just in each other's messes, aren't we? Seems fair."

He cogs an eyebrow. "Fair?"

"I got you involved with an insane coyote. It's only fair I deal with it, if this Mavis tries to get at me."

Amren tilts his head at you. "I thought you said there's no point in fairness and '50/50 transactional business of exchanging favors' in these sorts of things?"

Huh. He remembered that.

You mull it over. "Well, since we're obviously not friends I'd say the rule doesn't apply," you nod sagely.

"Duly noted, Tiny," Amren says, nodding with you. He flicks his tongue. "I'll let you fight Mavis."

You bark a laugh. "Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know when you want to trade again, things have been very exciting since we started this shop."

Amren leans away from you a bit. "And - the other thing?"

"Other thing?"

"What Mavis said," he falters, trying to find the words. "You told her you already knew. So I'm assuming you're aware. But I suppose I haven't exactly done the best job at hiding it."

"Oh," you realize. "She said that you're 'feral'?"

It strikes a cord with him as he cringes. He quietly nods.

"Yeah, I have no idea what that means. I just told her that to piss her off," you admit with a shrug.

"To piss her off-" he breathes. He stares at you for a few seconds. Then his stoic expression cracks as he starts laughing.

You just watch him for a second, enjoying the sight. It's so rare he does so, especially so genuinely. It's raspy and infectious, sharp teeth on full display and uncaring who sees them.

"I mean, it was kind of satisfying, but why is it so funny?" you grin, relieved your antics has taken some tension off this serious conversation.

"Just - you, Tiny. Just-" he snickers, gathering himself.

"I really like it when you laugh," you tell him.

That makes him pause.

"What? You have a nice laugh. It's nice to see you loosen up a little," you elaborate.

"..I see," he says.

Feeling brave, you tap at his forehead playfully. "I do wonder how many other emotions you've got hiding in there, that you're too stubborn to show me."

He averts his gaze, and carefully reaches up, using a knuckle to gently move your hand out of his face. "I know you do. That's why I should tell you this. Despite her horrendous outing just then, Mavis was right. Since we're .. business partners, I should explain."

"’Business partners’?" you repeat. You send him a teasing smile. "Elise was right. It's literally impossible to make friends with you."

"Do you want to know or not?" he growls impatiently.

You delicately fold your hands in your lap and look at him expectantly. Amren sighs.

"A more official term is ‘aggression induced shutdown’," he begins, doing air quotations. His face falls. "Feral is the slang for it, I suppose. I inherited the condition from my mother. Think of it as a conflict between survival instincts and rational thought. Too much emotion, too much stress at once, and instincts win," he explains.

It’s not entirely surprising Amren’s got a word for whatever he's dealing with, given what you’ve seen so far. You're not unfamiliar with heightened aggression in particular mons, either - you've got the nightmares to prove it - but this is the first you've heard of there being an actual condition.

"That night in the forest, where you stopped me from crushing the coyote? That's what it looks like," Amren continues. "There’s a reason the authorities are aware of my abilities. Sometimes, I just - lose it."

You recall the malicious look on his face, the beastly snarling, the pure unadulterated rage - the revolting sound of Mira's bones snapping is a noise that can still be played on repeat in your mind, stuck like an ad jingle.

You try once again to make it fit with your current Mr. Grumpy sitting next to you, avoiding your eye and uncomfortably flicking the tip his tail. They're two completely separate people.

"You were defending us because we were in danger," you reason. "Everyone responds to danger in different ways. If anything would set anyone off-"

He shakes his head. "You don't understand. This is not mere fight or flight. I lose all cognitive function momentarily. I do not recognize who's dangerous and who's not, completely blind to remorse. If you hadn't stopped me, I would have crushed her, most likely killed her," he says, dead serious. He lets the silence hang for a little while, considering his next words carefully. As if debating whether to say anything other at all. "If you hadn't stopped me - I'm afraid I might not have snapped out of it killing only her."

You swallow, the implication quite clear. "But I did stop you," you add.

Amren nods. "You did. And as I said. I won't forget that."

The familiar pit in your stomach churns as his words settle with you. It seems that at least some of its previous anxieties about Amren proved to be correct. But having a medical condition is one thing, where actively wishing you harm is another. So far, Amren has only proved to you that he wants anything but the latter.

It doesn't excuse his previous behavior, but it does help explain it.

"This is why you insisted on always being on your own, isn't it?" you ask. "You're scared you'll end up hurting somebody."

"I have, before," he admits quietly. "But I'm older now. I've practiced, and learned to maintain a clear head on a day to day basis so I can deal with the common stressors of life. There's medicine to help if it gets harder - but it's not always enough. In certain circumstances - there's not really anything I can do to control it. So I do my best to avoid getting under those circumstances."

You nod, taking the information in. "You avoid it by not socializing?"

"Partially. Elise has been - well. Elise. She could handle my condition if it ever came to it. But no, I've always preferred the peacefulness of solitude, and trying to keep it that way. And it worked. No one ever bothered me. Except you," he says, exasperated, though there's no malice in it. Resigned, accepting of his fate. "Infuriating, stubborn, annoying you."

You puff your chest out proudly. "I know, I'm pretty good, right?"

"You're like a small wooden splinter that has wedged itself underneath my scales, and now I can't get it out," he sneers.

"You're welcome!" you grin. "Anything else I should know about this shutdown thing?"

He considers you for a moment. "No. No, I believe that was all."

"Well, good to know what's actually going on with you," you nod. "Thanks for telling me all this. And - I'm sorry you've been carrying all of this around on your own. It couldn't have been easy."

"Don't waste your energy pitying me," he says. "This is my own issue. I don't want it to affect you any more than it already has."

"Well, so far it hasn't been doing much else than keeping me alive," you shrug. "That's one effect I will not be complaining about."

Amren squints at you, quietly letting you know the comment was not appreciated. "I will give you this warning once. Do not look for it. I'm not myself when it happens, and if I ever - I could never -"

You pat his hand reassuringly, giving him the grace of not having to finish that sentence. "Sorry, that wasn't what I meant. I won't joke around with it again. But hey, nothing is going to happen. I've helped you out once, I can do it again if necessary, right?"

He doesn't look convinced. "Let's just try not to get to that point. I'd advice we split up but -"

"Nope," you cut him off. "Ain't happening."

He snorts. "I’m aware."

He looks relieved and a little tired, the kind of contended emotion that comes after sharing something you've held onto for a while. You're glad you got to be the one to help him with that - it would appear you have a common history in carrying things you shouldn't.

At least he's practicing doing things differently by talking about it now. That’s something.

"Wasn't that nice?" you ask.

Amren casts a wary glance at you. "What?"

"Sharing your troubles?"

He huffs, leans back, closes his eyes and gives in to the exhaustion. "Absolutely not."

Around the afternoon you text Marcus for an update. You receive shortly after a court promise that ‘things are in motion’ and to ‘sit tight’ for now.

You frown, staring at the borderline order in slight annoyance. Sitting like a duck, more like. It's probably foolish to trust him with this, he's a shady stranger who just happened to have motives that align with your own - does he have a moral compass that matches that ambition?

You’ll have to put your faith in Irwin’s uncanny ability to connect with people, like he’s simply capable of seeing anyone’s heart at full display. If he's given Marcus the time of day, perhaps there is something good to his character.

Amren is meanwhile pacing back and forth in front of the window to the garden, phone at his ear, his face blank. He's trying to reach Elise to keep her in the loop too.

He frowns as the phone once again goes to voicemail, the dull automated voice ringing through the room and casually informing him Elise is indisposed at the moment.

He closes the call, and turns to you.

"She didn't mention anything of her brother visiting, did she?" he asks, putting the phone down on the table. The tip of his tail curls around the leg of it.

You shake your head no. "Not as far as I recall. But maybe she's just busy with something and not around her phone? She's a powerful lady. Whatever she's doing, I'm sure she's fine."

Amren nods, but you get the feeling it’s more to reassure you than actually agreeing. "She is."

You lean back down on the couch. It is odd she's been gone all day – she would at least have left a message if she was going somewhere, wouldn’t she? You feel slightly guilty for leaving her behind - but, on the other hand, if she's out of this mess doing something different, perhaps that's actually safer for her.

The less people involved in your problems the better. Especially considering the current dangerous plan set in motion. It's bad enough you have to rely on Amren's powerful ability for this to work, considering his reservations using it. And still, he's agreed to do so for your sake. Hell, you're in his home right now. He took charge of this situation, and you just let him.

"I hope this plan works, and Marcus knows what he's doing," you say, hesitant.

"Worst case, nothing comes out of it, and we'll have to think of something different," Amren says. "In any case, someone intruding my home will not be here for long without me picking up on their presence. We'll both be safe here."

"If it doesn't, do you think helping us out will have consequences for Marcus, too?" you wonder.

"Don't worry about the slime, Tiny. If he's affiliated with traffickers, he's not worth the effort," Amren grunts, waving it off.

You eye him. "I get you don't trust him, I don't either. But I got the sense he's not really there voluntarily? Like, maybe he's in as tight a spot as we are?"

"Perhaps. But his actions are his own," Amren argues. "We will put our minds to this plan for now, because he's on the inside, and we don't have any other options. But because of that position, we shouldn't do more than that."

"Irwin cares about him," you note. "So I'll expel my right to be 'cruel' a little."

Amren flicks his tongue at you. “I’ll be cruel enough for both of us, then."

He turns and heads toward the hallway, apparently done with the conversation.

"Good talk, bud," you call after him.

Amren looks over as if only just remembering your presence. "I'm going to check on my rocks while we're waiting for news," he says.

You blink. "Rocks? Oh, right! Can I see?"

You don't wait for a response, getting up to follow him. He eyes you walking up behind him, but doesn't comment.

Amren leads you down to the basement, opening a heavy wooden door with creaking hinges at the foot of the stairs. The space inside leaves you pleasantly surprised.

The basement is a square room hosting a large collection of different gemstones and rocks sitting atop multiple shelves hanging on the walls. The light down here almost makes it look like they’re glowing, dousing the otherwise bland gray walls of the basement space with all manner of colors.

In a corner you spot a piece of machinery almost looking like a barrel atop of a spinning device, in a corner and equipped with what looks to be a timer.

The door Amren’s held open for you closes with a dull thud as he slithers in fully, going toward the device.

He opens a lid, and pulls out something from it, dusts off some excess gravel, and absentmindedly throws it to you, eyes still on the device. You fumble, but manage to catch it – in your hands is a newly polished amethyst. You run your fingers over the surface of the purple rock, marveling at how smooth it is.

"Amren this is really neat," you tell him, observing the pretty surroundings. "You really did all of these yourself?"

He nods, but doesn't reply.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yes. Fine," he says. "It just didn't occur to me that someone else might find all of this interesting."

You chuckle. "You've been dealing with me blabbering and pulling you left and right, and now you're worried I wont take the time to look at what you're interested in? Also, rocks are cool, so there's that."

He nods again. "That they are."

"How does it work?" you ask.

Amren starts casually explaining about roughness and hardness scales of different gems and minerals, which he prefers, and what he does to each of them. Apparently he makes a little on the side by selling specific things he creates to small shops in town, but it's a hobby he's been at for a few years.

It brings a little smile to your face to see Mr. Grumpy finally speak more than one sentence at a time.

He stops a little later, realizing he's been talking for a few minutes. "You made me monologue."

"I'm a sly dog," you shrug, and hand the amethyst back to him.

He shakes his head. "Keep it. They’re supposedly good for anxiety."

"Psh, who said anything about being anxious?" you joke, but pocket the thing regardless. "It's not like we're in a very unsafe situation, and I'm being hunted for sport."

Amren turns to put up the other amethysts to their correct place on the shelves. He glances toward the ceiling momentarily, as if listening for unfamiliar footsteps, flicking his tongue. Evidently finding nothing, he settles back down. "At least not currently," he mutters.

He watches the gentle glints of the surrounding gems for a moment. “I'm mostly kidding when I say amethyst are good for anxiety, but did you know some people believe gemstones hold magic on their own accord?"

"I'm familiar with the concept," you nod.

"If they do, it’s not something you can manipulate, so it has never been proven. If you want a gem to actually be magic, you have to actively put the energy in them.” He eyes you. "I have been thinking a bit. What did the coyote mean when she said you hums respond to magic differently? I've never heard of such a thing, but I suppose it makes sense. Since before the Assembly, you had no access to it, did you?"

You shake your head no. "Not as far as I know. Before the Assembly, I guess a lot of us believed in it, but no one's ever heard of anyone doing things like what for example Mrs. Hansen can do."

"What does she do?" Amren asks, curious. "I wasn’t aware she practiced."

"Well - she's fae, isn't she?" you deflect, perhaps a little faster than necessary. "She made the clovers and all."

Amren suspiciously squints at you, expression silently but sternly telling you to fess up. "Gnomes enchant clovers. You know this too.”

You concede, and reluctantly explain to him your estimations that she somehow magicked a golden clover into your backpack. And that you used it. And that nothing happened when you did.

Amren stares at you, and you mentally prepare yourself for the drama that's about to unfold. "Why didn't you tell me!"

You groan. "Because I knew you'd react like that."

"You should have let me know the second you found it. They're sensitive! You need to choose your words very carefully when you make the wish,” he urges. “Word for word, what did you say to it?"

You repeat it as it is. "I wish for luck to save my friend."

Amren stutters. "Tiny, that's way too vague. 'Friend' could be anyone you share a positive relation with. 'Luck' can come in any shape or form. You need to be specific with these things!"

"I know!" you growl at him. "I know it was stupid. Don't you think I'm regretting wasting a clear shot at helping my friend without you rubbing it in my face?"

"I'm not rubbing it in-" he huffs, readjusting himself. "No. I don't want to turn it into an argument."

"Really? That's a pleasant surprise," you grunt.

He glares at you, crossing his arms defensively. "And you know why that is now, so I don't particularly understand why you're reprimanding me for it. I'm trying to prevent anyone from getting hurt."

You don’t buy it. "So instead of hurting people on accident, you just hurt them on purpose? How does that make any sense?"

He takes a breath to argue, but halts himself, seemingly trying to cool his temper. He breathes out whatever quip was on his tongue instead. "It's in a way that I can control," he asserts.

You sigh, recognizing the effort he's putting in to keeping his cool. Perhaps you’d do well to return the favor. You slowly walk forward to put your hand on his arm, and he silently uncrosses them to let you.

"I guess I understand where you're coming from," you give. “I know I should have told you about the clover. I got too excited to have it, I guess. Thought it could solve everything instantly, got caught up in the moment.”

".. they can be tempting," he says. He follows your hand with his eyes, so you reach up to poke his cheek to get him to focus on you.

"We are probably going to hurt each other sometimes," you tell him, as gently as you can. "We already have. That's just how it is when you spend time with other people, sometimes on accident. When it happens you communicate, and figure it out."

He sighs, leans down to your eye level and stares at you. "We can't exactly communicate our way out of it if you're dead, Tiny."

You stare back. You won't be intimidated that easily. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Push like that. It’s not good for anyone, least of all you."

"It's the ugly truth, isn't it?" he mumbles, his voice turning softer. He still hasn't pulled away from your grip on his arm, and he keeps the proximity. "I'm trying to prevent the inevitable outcome of all of this."

"What makes you think that's the only outcome possible?” you ask. “We’ve been stuck like glue since the conference through multiple dangerous situations together, and nothing has happened.”

His eyes glance over the still raw and delicate skin slowly forming over the wounds on your cheek and arm. “You've got the scars to prove that it has.”

“It would have been a lot worse than a little scarring if you hadn’t been there,” you counter.

He can’t exactly fight that argument, and he doesn’t try. Instead, he looks to where your hand meets the scales on his lower arm. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Touch,” he elaborates. “Put your hands on people around you and just hold it there. I understand embracing for comfort, but what does this achieve?”

You take your hand back. “It’s – I don’t really know. I don’t really think about it. Sorry if it’s uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. Well, not when it’s you, for some reason. I enjoy your warmth.”

“..you do?”

“Yes? Obviously I would. I can't regulate temperature myself, I rely on outside sources to manage the cold. You spared me a lot of pain that night in the forest.”

“Oh," you say. "And here I was, worrying I overstepped every single boundary you had. I thought you intended to keep me at an arms reach forever because of it.”

His brow furrows. “Keep you at – what? Why would I do that? I thought you only shared your warmth out of necessity. I didn’t think you’d - want to do that.”

“Well, I did try to tell you,” you mutter.

He gives you a weird look. “When?”

You cringe, preparing for the most pitiful admission of your life. “At Elise’s house. After Mira called.”

He looks even more baffled, but then it looks like a puzzle piece clicks into place in his mind.

“Oh,” he says, voice low, eyes widening. The tip of his tail flicks slightly. “I though you were worried about-”

You interrupt him with a groan. “Goodness, no, I wasn’t thinking about the cold. I was thinking about feeling safe in that moment!”

“Safe?” he repeats, astonished. “You feel - I had no idea – why didn’t you just say so? This wouldn’t have been an issue at all then!”

“Because you haven’t said anything either!” you argue. “How should I know what you wanted?”

“Well, maybe you could have figured that out if you had just asked,” he huffs.

“So could you!”

“I didn’t ask because you didn’t correct me back then!”

“I didn’t correct you, because I thought it meant you didn’t actually like having me close!”

He looks completely bewildered. “Tiny, what the devils are you talking about? I go completely out of my mind whenever you’re not close.”

You just stare at him for a bit, and it seemingly dawns on him what he just said, though he doesn’t try to steel it or make turns. His stubbornness may not allow him to back down on his word.

“I thought that was very obvious,” he mumbles after a beat.

“Honestly, Amren? Around 80% of the time I’m not even sure if you want me around. You’re not exactly a friendly open book.”

“I. Know!” he sneers, punctuating each word. “So allow me to make it redundantly clear.”

He leans down into your space again with a scornful expression. You can feel you heart-rate picking up as he does so, though quickly reassured by the fact that this is just Amren. You've grown quite familiar with his unseemly behavior by now.

“You have lodged yourself to my senses, and now your absence feels wrong. Your presence is reassuring, and it calms me," he all but seethes. "So no, Tiny, I don’t particularly mind if you wish to use me as a place to rest. And I am flabbergasted you haven’t been able to see that.”

He speaks with an exasperated resignation, glaring like he’s blaming you for this. The audacity, causing the fact he may consider your proximity as something to be wanted.

You stare into the golden sheen, slightly intimidated by the borderline antagonism daring you to argue the statement.

“Did you know your eyes are really pretty?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He deflates like a balloon from utter bafflement, gawking like you’ve grown a second head. “My – what?”

“Eyes. Pretty,” you repeat, determined to finally get this out of your system. No backing down now. It’s about time he knew. “The whole golden thing. It’s very nice to look at.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before you start spluttering. Amren just keeps staring at you.

“It’s so stupid!" you groan, hiding your face in your hands. "You're such an ass! I can't believe how dumb you are! How dumb we both are."

You feel cool hands carefully grasping your shoulders, and dare peek out through your fingers. When you do, your heart skips a beat.

Amren is actually genuinely smiling at you, all ragged teeth, soft eyes and unused laugh lines. You can feel your face warming as you take in the rare sight, almost stunned.

“What?” Amren inquires after a beat, and you realize that, once again, you’re staring.

“It’s not just your eyes, you know,” you clue him in. You offer him a careful smile back. “Your joy’s real pretty too.”

And, of course, Amren’s expression evaporates, turning oddly blank. Then he leans in to push his face against your shoulder.

You put your arms around him in turn, putting one foot back to support the sudden weight pressing against you. His cold hands ghost over your shoulder blades and settles around your back.

“Woah, you alright?” you ask, slightly concerned. It’s unlike him to suddenly seek you out like this.

“Peachy,” he grumbles, raspy voice muffled by your shirt.

You try to pull back to look at him, but he doesn’t let you, stubbornly keeping his hold. And you realize this isn’t exhaustion. This is hiding.

You have just managed to fluster this antisocial living sledgehammer. Someone give you a fucking medal.

“Amren. Are you blushing?” you ask. You just can’t help yourself.

He growls, and suddenly his intimidating grip strength increases as he yanks you upwards, easily pulling you off the ground and into the air, balancing on his tail. Your legs dangle uselessly off the ground, and you can’t tell if this is affection or a threat.

“I’ll take that as yes,” you laugh, holding onto him for dear life. “Okay – okay, sorry, I'm sorry! Put me down, please?”

Amren mutters something akin to a curse under his breath, and coils his tail to sit back more comfortably and better support your weight. He graciously allows you to sit on it as well, keeping his arms around you.

“What did you do to me?” he hisses against your neck.

“Pissed you off a lot?” you offer, sportively patting him on the back.

He snorts. “You have no idea.”

"Nothing tonight. I'll update you tomorrow."

You almost growl in response to the curt text Marcus just sent you.

You're sitting on the couch, the bright light of the phone screen in your bleary eyes, the contrast of the dark living room increasing the strain on your eyes. You look at the time. It's around midnight. Amren went to his bedroom about half an hour ago, while you stayed up in case of any late night news.

Well, you got them, as unhelpful as ever. Couldn't Marcus at least clue you in on what he's actually doing? Who he's talking to?

You glance at Irwin's phone at your side, the halfway peeled and faded frog sticker quietly smiling at you, and feel a rush of determination. Whoever is coming for you, they'll sing to the heavens with answers once you get your hands on them.

For now, it seems you're due for some rest. You leave Irwin’s phone to charge on the kitchen counter, and make your way to Amren's bedroom to indulge.

You pause momentarily in front of the door. He said it’s fine, right? It should be. You try to ignore the feeling of your heart rate suddenly picking up, your hands slightly clammy.

..Maybe you should you knock?

You shake off the cold feet, and grab the handle. Fuck it. He can tell you to piss off if he wants, you can handle whatever he throws at you. You slowly push the door open.

Entering Amren’s bedroom is like stepping into a warm void. You can barely make out furniture in here from the minuscule light source of the hallway (a single desk and some book cases?), but you hurry inside and close it behind you, lest you trigger Amren’s light sensitivity. Even if you have no idea where he is in here.

Navigating the pure darkness is an ordeal all on it’s own, especially when feeling like you’re being watched. You stand there in the dark for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do next.

A cold hand suddenly grasps your wrist, and you suck in a startled breath.

“Come here already,” Amren grumbles, and deftly yanks you to him.

You all but fall onto him, feeling the smooth scales of his tail settling under your legs, letting him pull you into his chest.

“-it’s alright?” Amren asks, perhaps noting the startle and thinking better of his actions. He halts his motion to let you better settle against him.

“Yeah.” You breathe out the anxiety, maneuvering around to lean against him better. You find his chest, and rest your head there. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He leans back, taking you with him, and you can feel his tail shift, partially settling over your back while your front is pressed against his torso.

He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Still warm,” he comments idly. You can feel his muscles relax.

The feel of his cool skin against yours and the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, the pressure of him all around you like a cool, weighted blanket. In the quiet darkness, the only thing you can sense is his presence. Your shut your eyes, feeling the stress in your body melt.

Quietly, softly, grasped tight, you fall into a much needed sleep.

Clonk.

A sudden sound interrupts your peaceful slumber, eyes shooting open.

The dark room lies quiet save for the sound of Amren calmly breathing right next to you, still tangled around you. He’s still out cold. You don’t think you’ve slept for long.

Seems like a pipe is settling somewhere in the house, and had the gall to wake you. You contain the urge to groan in annoyance to not disturb your business partner just yet.

But while you’d give anything to stay put and go right back to sleep, it seems the tea has run through your system. You’ve got other needs to take care of in the bathroom. Since you’re awake anyway-

You find it's even more difficult to de-entangle yourself from Amren while he's still adamant on sleeping. You gingerly stretch and try to sit up, and he hisses at you, clearly not happy with the disturbance.

"Would you rather I piss on the floor, numbnuts?" you grunt back at him, still bleary.

"Hrmph," he replies, and finally uncoils a bit. You can just barely make out his silhouette, laying down flat on his back with his arms to the side so you can slip out of his grip.

You roll off of him, purposely putting weight on him to be a nuisance, though unfortunately he doesn't really seem to register it, much less be bothered by it. Your troll deftly outmaneuvered by Amren's sheer mass, you get to your feet.

He stays right where you left him, arms spread wide on his back, like the space you just occupied is either still there, or simply awaiting your return.

"You look like a venus fly trap," you comment.

"’suppose that makes you the fly," Amren counters groggily.

You ignore him, and head to the bathroom.

Once finished, you're staring at yourself in the sink mirror while washing hands. You observe yourself, squinting in the harsh bathroom lights, investigating the delicate new skin from the cut on your cheek, the heavy bags under your eyes – since when have you started looking this weary? It's not unlike the way you used to look, back when things were a lot scarier in your life.

Now things are getting scary yet again, and with its return comes your constant vigilance.

Still, tonight's been one of the best sleeps you've had since Irwin vanished, and it's not even a full nights rest. You manage a small smile at yourself, thinking how ridiculous it is you could have had this all along, if only both you and Amren weren't completely incompetent communicators. Thankfully, you won't have to deal with that anymore.

Clonk.

Drip.

Something wet lands on your shoulder. You shake it off, startled.

On the floor lies a small drop of a gooey blueish substance.

You quickly take a step back, alarmed, staring at the little puddle.

Another drop follows it, landing on top of the first one – upon colliding, something akin to small tendrils suddenly appear from it, dragging across the floor. The thing is moving.

"The fuck-?" you utter, and look up.

A large mass of teal goo is writhing in between the pipes running across the ceiling, slowly emerging tendrils squirming around in the spaces between them. You're about to take a breath and call for help, when the mass drops, and everything comes crashing down on top of you all at once.

#colderwriting #it's a long one this time strap on in #TGA #naga x reader #monster x reader #monster lover #monster romance #gender neutral reader #naga #exophilia #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend

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