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plutoswritingplanet · 10 days

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Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up.

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors. He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again.

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board.

There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently.

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one.

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail.

You have to be alive and in good condition.

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected.

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol.

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in.

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after.

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage.

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting.

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really.

It started with Old Lady Sal.

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen.

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf.

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland.

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over.

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can.

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion.

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly.

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck.

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero.

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame.

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid.

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake.

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door.

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother.

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise.

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words.

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain.

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul.

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together.

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you.

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers.

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later.

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead.

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface. The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands.

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions.

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight.

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table.

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys.

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently.

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones.

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression.

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants.

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers.

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again.

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones.

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders.

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff.

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too.

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package.

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck.

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days.

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen.

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin.

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner.

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave.

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs.

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you.

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly.

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance.

- You serious?

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up.

- Wait.

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue.

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe.

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily.

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin.

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes. If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender.

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins.

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

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l3monlem0n · 1 month

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Some Murder Drones Episode 7 screenshots I thought were interesting and my thoughts on them :>

SPOILER WARNING!!!! is spoilering

Nori, despite being a middle aged woman with a child, appears to be an Otaku or otherwise likes "edgy" and "scene" stuff, as well as listening to nightcore, very much like her daughter. Good for her tbh you're never too old to have fun

She also has a photo of Khan and what I can only assume is baby Uzi, though it appears to have blue eyes, but maybe it's just the lighting. Still very cute she has a pic of her husband

As well as all the previously mentioned Otaku stuff, she also drew herself as an anime character. She has a skinsona. Phenomenal (pos)

Nothing much here, just Uzi coughing up blood. Girl got the goop (gore) inside of her already

Lab Space. Apparently the Church was just down there and not even the humans know why. The canonicity of this is questionable; it could just be a joke

OT, as per google, stands for "Occupational Therapy". Makes sense for the context, and makes the bottom text funnier

"Fun Time To Universe Big Crunch: 87". The Big Crunch is a hypothetical way the Universe could end, where the universe folds on itself and shrinks into a single point. 87 "what" I don't know. If it's months, that 7 years and 3 months

Honestly the Murder Drones lore is super confusing. I think what this is trying to say is that every other Zombie Drone is doing poorly, (Except for Yeva), they are trying to reactivate 002 (Nori) via the USB. I'm not sure what this means. Maybe they only got the results they wanted from the two of them, and are trying again with Nori since she was the only other one that worked (also why they got Yeva when she failed; this may all be referring to how the episode opened up) Also, the date says SER. As revealed in the episode Cabin Fever, Copper-9 has months that Earth does not. SER most likely stands for Seramorris, the month revealed in that episode

Looks like the "bad event" wasn't the first one. Certainly was the last one though lol

Just a good pic of ghost/hologram V with the scary stuff. Might use this as a wallpaper

You can literally see the hole in his neck where N bit him in...

...And it's to the point his HEAD FALLS OFF. (including because I didn't notice the first time around)

Yup, the idea that Uzi became the Admin for N and V is completely true. I wonder what would've happened if she didn't, since Cyn didn't react whatsoever

friggin bug (very pos)

You would not believe how difficult it was to get a good pic of this (I'm using snipping tool lmao). Always a pleasure to see Uzi's doodles. Things her gun can do (upper right):

NOT judge her

Forced prom date (?)

Allows her to say she had friends before she frickin murdered them with sci-fi machinery

The cut off text at the bottom: Plan B: Normal gun + Shoot really fast

This is while Tessa is looking for something in the lockers. Claws, chains, magnets, Wings, and scribbled "HELP". Looks like the lockers were all specifically to hold the infected worker drones. Oof

We are in the future now baby. We have rererererereCAPTCHA. Funnily enough, it still couldn't stop a robot

There is a message board where someone who doesn't like robots is talking. They also are scared. Also no one else is using this system, which is unsurprising. "Ur aight ;)" Wait is the winky face intentional foreshadowing? Or unintentional?

We get the names of a bunch of other Worker Drones. Unfortunately for all 029 fans, her name was not visible. (also can someone tell me what "JWEB" could be short for?) And Yeva is said to have a patch. That may be the crucible thing idk

Cyn (which I will be calling this version Skyn [Skin + Cyn]) apparently took of the space suit just to give Doll the Withered Foxy jumpscare. Honestly really terrifying. If this photo was teased before release I think the fandom would've exploded

Just N being a good boy :3

The MDs, Cyn's pets. Nori refers to them as "Nerfed" so the "Entity" can ensure control, and says they were made to destroy other hosts. I don't know why Cyn would want them dead, but I'm not the loremaster here. YouTube line is there because I couldn't be bothered after the Railgun image

Probably already confirmed, but doubly confirmed that a symptom of the Solver is giving Drones organic insides. A Worker Drone body with a rib cage and guts. I wonder what would happen if the infection continued uninterrupted (also R.I.P. Doll I loved you :frown:)

I'm sure everyone noticed, but when Uzi tried to manipulate Tessa, the ERROR noticed appeared. Already hinting Tessa is not all she says she is

Apparently the Solver can create Black Hole Saws. Interesting development (Blackhole Blitz)

I know most people (I think) see this as a joke and N just being a bit of goofball. But honestly, I think he did it intentionally to shock Cynuzi and give Nori a chance. In the Pilot, he licked V's sword to surprise her too, which means he isn't unfamiliar with doing something weird and surprising for the advantage

Skyn eating Doll's core. R.I.P. Doll again. Seriously, was that Doll in Core Form like Nori was? Or was Nori a fringe case because she was "Exorcised" and this is just a regular core? Questions, questions. Also yeah the Solver also gives you a Core. Fun

This tag makes me think that this body is Cyn's actual body. Not longer a hologram, but her actual body from the mansion. The reason Tessa gave N, J, and V their names was because that was the first letter of their Serial Designation (she's very uncreative). However, Cyn's tag was slightly faded, which meant her SD couldn't be seen, so Tessa gave her the name "Cyn" after her P/N, even though the other 3 already have the same P/N as Cyn (Tessa, again, is very uncreative)...

...and for some reason, Cyn or the Solver, which ever theory you subscribe to, decided to wear Tessa as a skin suit for some twisted reason. It did help her with the Captcha. Also scary because this doesn't have the right proportions for an adult (unless Cyn really forced that skin on), which leads me to believe that this is a Younger Tessa, and she faked having an older voice. Maybe I shouldn't call her my wife... I'm sure Eldritch J is still available :^)

(Seriously, the eyes are burnt out, leaving two eye holes over the visor, so she gives herself two X eyes so it looks better. Also yeah we found out what that thing on the "It Came From Copper-9" poster came from. It really was Cyn or Skyn)

Just a frame of the final...frame... for coolness. I'm probably also going to use this for a background. Also, this is definitely Copper-9. You can see the ring and ringless moon together on the right. Uzi somehow got sent to orbit after falling in the meat hole

Well that was all for now. This series has consumed me entirely, body and soul, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodbye and goodnight

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wedonthaveawhile · 4 months

Text

Baby, it's cold outside.

Garreth Weasley x MC (18+ only)

MC finds herself in Garreth's apothecary on Christmas Eve, and testing lust potion is on the agenda.

Tags: NSFW, smut with plot, aged-up characters, oral sex male receiving, lust potion sex, one bed trope, voice kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, violence and gore.

AO3 // Wordcount: 5.5k

Muttering obscenities under her breath, the agitated witch half-hopped but mostly stumbled over another tomcat feasting on discarded street food. In the wake of Christmas, the tapering pavements of Hogsmeade were crammed with last-minute panic buyers laden with shopping bags.

One obstacle away from losing her footing on the mushy snow, she slipped into a familiar backstreet and pushed open the door to G.W. Potions.

The owner had his chin propped in a knotgrass-stained hand, scribbling in an overflowing notebook. Glancing up as the door chime announced her arrival, he broke into a wide smile.

"You're a lifesaver, you know that?"

“I know, I got your message,” Her eyes scanned the clusters of wax-sealed phials, the timber shelves much less packed than usual. "It sounded urgent, I believe your exact words were 'dire need’?"

"I might have been a little dramatic, I’m just running low on stock," Garreth admitted sheepishly. His mop of copper hair tumbled over his brow and he attempted to tame it with his cleanest hand. "I hope I haven’t disrupted your Christmas Eve? I wasn't sure if Friday was the last of your rounds."

"No, no you're fine. I was heading through to Gladrags for a delivery,” she lied.

She'd exchanged firm words with a few demanding clients who assumed she'd be available over the holidays but couldn't bring herself to impose the 'no-deliveries' rule on Garreth—a choice that felt counterproductive to the crush she'd been attempting to curb for months.

She justified it as a reciprocation of the kindness he’d shown her on previous deliveries—slipping tonics in her satchel whenever she offhandedly grumbled about a sleepless night with an orphaned thestral, or an inflamed laceration from a scrappy kneazle. He’d refuse payment, only asking she mark his map with shrubberies of ingredients she spotted while out raiding poacher camps.

She assumed this raised their relationship from business associates to something that resembled a friendship, and friends could bend the rules for each other without ulterior motives.

"Sorry, this time of year isn’t the best for shedding" she explained, sliding a folded cloth over the countertop. Pulling the edge back, she unveiled a modest bouquet of dense black fur. “Though Remi felt somewhat generous after I bribed him with the promise of coins.”

“So, you’re the middleman between me and a niffler?” His face lit up with one of those heart-stopping smiles, and she prayed that the twist in her gut wasn't reflected on her face. “What’s in it for you?”

"I figured having you owe me a favour couldn't hurt.”

"Favours are quickly becoming our preferred method of currency." He pivoted towards the excessive collection of potion stations, gathered beneath a 'staff only' sign swinging from a crooked nail. The cauldrons rattled on their supports, releasing densely packed bubbles that burst with trapped steam.

The witch slipped a finger in the weave of her scarf, easing it slightly to allow a breath of fresh air to caress her neck, “Are you rebranding as a sauna?”

"Sorry, I know it's sweltering back here," Garreth's eyes skimmed down the curve of her neck as she discarded the scrap of fabric. Stealthy enough, but stoking her hope nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his focus to transfer a trio of niffler hairs into his mortar, along with a few drops of mallowsweet oil. "Any guesses today?"

She inhaled the spiralling vapour rising from the cauldron as he wafted the fog in her direction—there was a botanic scent of mandrake, tangy undertones of mint, and berries.

Wiggenweld? ...No, wrong colour, but it’s definitely medicinal.

“What kind of health tonic needs fur?” She eyed him accusingly. "Is this a trick question again, one of your experiments?"

His eyebrows lifted faintly, and a wave of pride washed over her when appeared impressed with her deduction. "I’ve sold out, and the snowstorm wiped out most of the dittany. I'm trying to brew a healing potion without it. Hence the..." He motioned toward the array of vessels stacked on his workstation, covered in a thick layer of curdled gunge. "I've almost cracked it... I'm pretty sure."

"It's interesting that healing potions are so in demand when everyone's spending extended time with their families."

"If everyone's relatives are like mine, I’d say it makes sense." Garreth rolled up his garish crimson sleeves to cool down, inadvertently warming her up with his toned forearms. He was the only wizard in a hundred-mile radius who could wear such a hideous Christmas jumper and still manage to attract several double-takes from captivated passersby. "When I dominate my niece at Pictionary, I always end up with a black eye."

"How old is your niece?"

"Three."

He gnawed on the inside of his lip, restraining a grin the way he typically did when having made her laugh. “What about your family, will you need medical assistance over Christmas?"

The herbology cabinet groaned in protest as the pair leaned against it, "The odds are high, but only because I’m spending my Christmas with a teenage hippogriff. Someone's got to stay at the sanctuary, and I drew the short straw this year”.

"Well, aside from a few hours at my folks tomorrow, I'll be here restocking. I won't be open to the public, but if... you know, if you need anything..."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and tension coiled in her gut, shooting south at the thought of being alone with him in the locked store.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Yeah... of course," Garreth severed the eye contact, redirecting his attention to pick at the corroded hinges of the cabinet. "Sirona’s open over the holidays too."

“Oh... is she?”

He dove into a thorough breakdown of the Three Broomsticks festive menu. She nodded in amusement as he unnecessarily mimed the dimensions of the portions. She tucked away the knowledge that he worshipped turkey and cranberry burgers to the collection of other useless but endearing facts she'd gathered about him.

His cocktail of choice was red currant rum - She’d bumped into him on Halloween thoroughly intoxicated on the stuff. He’d feigned firing a toy arrow in her direction before proudly proclaiming he was Robin Hood, enunciating all the wrong words with the goofiest grin.

He outright denied being allergic to cats, inspecting the collar of each feline that decided to nap in a sunbeam on the steps of his shop, cooing their name before inevitably succumbing to three consecutive sneezes.

His family tree had long branches. On his opening weekend, she'd waded through a sea of proud redheads to reach the kiosk and hand over her business card.

"...Anyway, I wanted to mention it because, you know, if you’re alone for... well, not alone, but if you'll be around..."

Heat flared at the bottom of her spine, cautiously optimistic his rambling was veering toward an invitation.

A blast of glacial wind burst through the doorway as a customer wrenched it open. A light dusting of snow clung to his robes as he crossed the shop floor to the cabinet housing the erotic potions, taking a moment to tuck stray wisps of silvery hair into his hood.

Garreth's lips tightened into a taut line as he observed the elderly wizard pulling the entire supply of lust potion vials from the rack.

His thumb brushed his upper lip as he leaned in close, his elbow jostling her arm. "Do you reckon he takes them all in one go?"

"He'd orgasm from a pat on the head."

"Orgasm? My guy would be flung into the astral plane.”

She butted her forehead against his shoulder, struggling to transform her snort into an ill-concealed cough.

"I should get going, give you two some privacy."

"Attraction has to be in the fold for those potions to do their thing, and he's not my type," Garreth's eyes flitted to her lips, but the tinkling of thirteen phials skidding across the kiosk drew them away.

She reluctantly bundled back up into her scarf while Garreth seamlessly transitioned back into storekeeper mode.

"Have a great Christmas."

"You too, see you next time," he waved at her, turning his attention to the eager customer.

The witch spent her evening re-stitching the ruptured wound of an adolescent Hippogriff, the beast fluctuated between snapping at lacewing flies and charging aggressively toward its caretaker.

Collecting the fallen feathers from the creature's wings, she updated the ledger with the newfound stock, clucking her teeth disapprovingly at the sight of the diminishing list.

What did Garreth say was in short supply? Dittany?

During last week's Hippogriff rescue, she recalled noticing shrubs nestled in the mouth of a cave. It was a harsh winter, finances were stretched, and adding dittany to the stock during a surge in demand would ensure the creatures' comfort for the remaining winter months. Not to mention, it provided a convenient excuse to take Garreth up on his offer of dropping by.

After feeding the remaining beasts and wrapping them snug in warming charms she headed off to investigate.

Her destination wasn't far—a short ride up a shallow mountain. However, the wind thrashed against her broom. The bristles and handle careened in wildly opposing directions as she blundered through the dense forest, with a lumos scarcely penetrating two feet of the blistering snowstorm.

She sought refuge by the wreckage of a stone cottage, navigating through twisted roots and debris until she reached the cavern. Her nose wrinkled at the musty stench emanating from the path ahead, barely visible through a shroud of thick cobwebs. With a silent prayer that this was the right spot, she ignited the tangled web with a tap of her wand, the smouldering strands lit the passage and in the fleeting light, she saw a twitch in the shadows.

She’d barely uttered the Lumos incantation before a force erupted from the shadows, striking her face and propelling her into a bank of tightly packed snow. She desperately palmed the moisture flooding her vision, pale fingers smothering in the warmth of her blood. The forest whirled around her as she was hoisted into the air and slammed back to the ground.

She blindly blasted the acromantula into crumbling ruins with a frenzied swish of her wand. The arachnid recoiled from the thunderous blow, sprawling onto the ground before burrowing beneath the earth.

Scouring the terrain for any indication of the beast, a trail of crimson droplets stained the snow as she backed away, a ferocious blast of icy wind lashing at her throbbing wound.

Wiggenweld, I need wiggenweld.

The invasive thought tore through her mental image of the sanctuary farmhouse as she apparated.

Ploughing shoulder-first into a weathered door, the impact reverberated through her bones, pinging her brain around in her skull.

The skunky stench of wizzenweed curled into her nostrils, mingling with the sharp reek of spilt beer she'd stomped into and splattered up her ankles.

She swiped her hand across her eyes to smear away the blood and the harsh click of a lock snapped her back to reality—back to Hogsmeade.

Mellow candlelight exploded like a flashbang as a door creaked open, and a broad figure silhouetted against the orange glow said her name.

"Garreth?"

Humiliation struck her chest like a knife—a solid blow between her lungs. Tacky blood clung from her eyebrow to the corner of her mouth, pulling at her skin as she fought to articulate an explanation.

“What happened to you?”

"I'm so sorry, I tried apparating home, but the… it was a mistake. I needed wiggenweld… but the shortage, that’s what you told me, so I thought of you, and, I could've splinched…”

"Whoa, take a breath, you're talking a mile a minute.”

Garreth’s hands were firm on her shoulders as he steered her towards the counter and settled her on his chair. Flames from the brewing station twinkled in and out of focus as she tried to hone in on him dragging an extra stool across the floorboards, taking a seat in front of her.

"This doesn’t look like a hippogriff wound. Did someone do this to you?"

“N-no, no I was just being reckless… I did this to myself.”

She quivered as the crook of his warm finger tipped her chin up, assessing the cut with suspicious emerald eyes.

"I'm sorry," she momentarily forgot how to breathe as his thumb traced a slow path up her cheekbone. "I didn't mean to bother you. I probably have some healing tonic in a drawer at home..."

"Stop with the apologies, I told you to drop by if you needed anything, didn't I?"

A stack of flannels rested beside a simmering cauldron. He reached for one, tilting her face as he dabbed at the coagulated blood.

"It’s not as bad as it looks,” he declared, slinging the cloth over his shoulder. He scratched his forehead, a streak of crimson smearing across his freckles. "It's not too deep. If you'll let me, I could stitch some of the shallower parts back together?"

She nodded, fighting back a soft sound when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure to her throat to keep her steady. The flesh throbbed as the tip of his wand traced down the wound, his copper lashes fluttering with concentration.

It felt glaringly obvious she was intentionally avoiding eye contact. She studied the awkward, rigid dance of the misshapen reindeer on his jumper as a distraction, scattered patches of burnt fabric lay strewn in their path. Some splashes of the corrosive substance had scorched through completely, frayed fibers exposing freckles scattered across his breastbone like tiny constellations.

“You shouldn’t be wearing this.”

He quirked an eyebrow, "What would you prefer me in?”

Her complexion transitioned from deathly pale to a fiery red in seconds, "No, I just mean... the stains. They look like they’re irritating your skin," she said, reaching out instinctively. Her fingertip traced around an exposed patch of inflamed skin, causing Garreth to inhale sharply.

The atmosphere shifted. His dilated eyes locked onto hers as she glanced up and tension rippled between them, her freezing hand poised on his chest while he cradled her jaw.

Tender fingertips brushed aside strands of wet hair that clung to her cheek. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Spider," her voice barely rose above a whisper before she cleared her throat lightly. "Set its house on fire."

"Rescuing a beast?"

She responded with a noncommittal hum.

I flew up a mountain in a storm and set an acromantula on fire to find Dittany because you mentioned it briefly.

She'd be carrying that one to the grave. Or reserving the tale for their grandkids—hinging on whether the trauma scrambled her brain enough to ask him out for a drink on New Year's.

The hold on her lungs slackened as Garreth rose to his feet and fetched a trio of potions from a lofty shelf, "Murtlap essence for minor skin abrasions and it will stop you from bruising, a calming draught for shock, and this one’s for internal damage. You don't seem to have a concussion, but just in case." He arranged them on the desk alongside a clean glass before adding "They're not renowned for their flavour, you're better off taking them all at once."

With a weak expression of gratitude, she swallowed the amalgamated concoctions. The blend curdled on her tongue, flopping into her stomach like a sodden lump of wet cement.

Garreth chuckled at her attempt to conceal a grimace. "You should recover fairly quickly, but just in case, is there someone back home who can make sure you're taken care of tonight?"

"No, I run the sanctuary with a friend, but she's at her Gran's for Christmas," she fidgeted with the hem of her coat. If she had been seriously hurt, nobody would have had a clue where to find her, let alone bother looking. "It's just me.”

Garreth nodded, twirling his pestle in circles inside his mortar. She sensed his question might have been an indirect hint for her to leave.

Swallowing down her disappointment, she rose to her feet. "Well, thank you for coming to my rescue. I’ll—"

“You should stay here tonight,” he interrupted before she could finish her sentence, pivoting towards her with hands on his hips. "I just… I don't think you should be left alone after something like this."

"Here?” She stared at her mud-splattered work boots to try and conceal the blood swarming her cheeks. “Are we supposed to top and tail on your brewing station?"

"I live above the shop. You can take the bed, I sleep on the sofa most nights anyway – I can grab you some dry clothes too."

Her overactive imagination slashed through the depths of her mind leaving behind tattered shreds of unadulterated filth. Sleeping in his bed, swaddled in one of his knitted pullovers – was he trying to kill her?

"Didn't know you were such a night owl," she deflected, anxiously nibbling on her lip as the storm screamed past the window.

If he’d detected her brain being filthy, he wasn't letting on. Swinging open a cabinet door, he produced a bottle of billowing crimson liquor, suspending it between two fingers. "I got some red currant rum from a customer. Given that it's technically Christmas Day, perhaps we should celebrate?"

"Is it that late?" She craned her neck to check the time—twelve o’ twelve. "Was this whole white knight act just a way to lure me into keeping you company on Christmas?"

"Act? Come on now, are we just going to pretend you didn't think of me on your deathbed?"

The calming draught had worked too well, eclipsing any hint of shame she might have felt from that comment with the flicker of bad intentions in his eyes.

"You seem more than happy to receive me."

The cupboard beneath the potion station emitted a groan from its corroded joints as Garreth began searching for a pair of untarnished glasses. "What can I say? I have a thing for women covered in blood," he paused, peeking over the door, "I swear I’m not going to murder you, that joke came out wrong."

She laughed as he polished water spots from the vessels with his gaudy jumper and placed them next to his replenished stock—rows of incandescent fuchsia spiralling in heart-shaped containers.

"Luxtentia," she read aloud from the label, a scrap of parchment detailing the trial-and-error process tucked alongside it. "Did I catch you in the middle of trialling new potions?"

“Lust potion,” Garreth clarified, allowing the scarlet alcohol to flow liberally into their cups. "Believe me, you'd be noticing some side effects if I had been testing that."

Tugging at the loose threads of his words felt almost instinctual.

"...Attraction has to be in the fold for lust potions to work," she tilted her head innocently, quoting his earlier words, "Doesn’t it?"

Handing her a brimming glass of the berry-infused cocktail, Garreth took a sip of his own while studying her over the rim. "Did I say that?" He appeared wholly unruffled, and a twist of arousal lit her up at the fact.

"Word for word."

He tapped a finger against his drink thoughtfully, "Would it work both ways?"

She let the back of her head thump against the barren shelf, half-hoping the collision might knock some virtue into her. No such luck. "Do you want to take me upstairs and find out?"

His grin was blinding, and a delicious anticipation blasted into her. An unspoken dare hung in the air, both silently challenging the other to make a move. He gave in first, reaching out to collect two vials of the blushing potion and pressing them into her palm.

"Your move."

She feigned a thoughtful pause before digging her nails into the stoppers and pouring a vial into each of their beverages.

Raising his glass with a wild glint in his eyes, she tapped hers against it before they knocked back the entire drink in perfect unison.

Sparks charged down her oesophagus as she set down the glass, and her clothes clung to her skin like she'd been dunked in honey. Was that the potion? What an insufferable side effect —though the logic became apparent as the urge to strip away every layer waged war against a rapidly declining sigh of restraint.

“Do you feel anything?”

Garreth’s voice burrowed under her skin – Was it always that deep-rooted and husky? If his voice was making her wet, actual sex might ruin her.

His face swam when she glanced up at him, features swirling like the post outside Madam Snelling's Tress Emporium. She couldn’t feel anything except how her skin was so tight she might rip out of herself. “I… feel drunk.”

His hand crept towards her in excruciatingly slow motion, each passing second punctuated by a thousand splintering cracks of her heart against her ribcage.

The warmth of his fingers on her wrist seeped through her clothes and scattered like white-hot stars beneath her skin. In her mind's eye, she watched those fingers tugging at the roots of her hair, tightening around her throat, satisfying the desire swirling between her thighs – Oh, she was fucked.

"Look at me," Garreth crooned, oblivious to the fact that his words were licking at her like flames. He kept talking, something about a rose, but his words were swallowed by the ringing in her ears.

"What?" she asked, dumbfounded by the cascade of words pouring from his lips.

“Your cheeks are all rosy, are you warm?”

His voice. His fucking voice.

She thrust the heel of her palms into her eyes, but his scent clawed into her lungs— Mallowsweet and shrivelfig fruit, blending with the smokiness from the ever-burning stove. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to trace her tongue along his pulse until she could taste it too.

“Sweetheart?”

He had never said that before, only ever referring to her by name. When she cracked open her eyes, she saw that his were feral, locking onto her like a predator sizing up its prey. His pupils were blown out, the vibrant emerald engulfed by black.

Her uneasy laughter cut through the fog, hands instinctively reaching out until she found herself pulling him closer by the fabric of his sweater. "Garreth, what the hell is this?"

"I didn't know it was this... intense." His fingers pressed into the burning flesh of her cheeks, unsure whether they were pulling her closer or attempting to keep her at bay. Her tongue chased the pad of his thumb as he swept it across her parted lips. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

"Apparate us.”

His hands descended to her neck as he drew her to his lips.

A fierce tug deep in her belly wrenched her in every direction as they plummeted into a disorderly pit of tangled blankets. The overpowering scent of his bedroom had her in a chokehold. Her greedy attempt to inhale the air was cut off as he took her lips again, his thigh sliding between hers.

She scraped her nails through his gorgeous hair, tugging the locks at his nape to lick along the sheen of his throat. The salty tang of his restraint was the single most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The groan he let escape reverberated against her lips and she imagined him moaning like that against her ear, his hips grinding into hers.

“Fuck, do that again.”

“I knew it,” her breathy laugh dispersed across his skin as she gave the sleek strands another tug. “You like that?”

"You often think about what turns me on?"

He buried his face in the curve of her throat, seeking out her pulse point. The unexpected pleasure of his bite triggered a sultry whine—she’d never made that sound before, but the potion had flushed out any ounce of indignity. He sucked a bruise into her skin, grinning as she grasped at his clothes in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Take this off, please," she scrambled with the hem. His rock-hard arousal was digging into her stomach and the fabric barriers were driving her insane.

"Don’t bother begging," his words rumbled against her neck as they both shed the constraints of their clothes, "I'll give you everything." His voice was twitchy, cracking apart with lust. An eternity passed before fabric was dragged down her thighs and found a home somewhere in the mountain of blankets.

She could barely feel his fingers—just an explosive shockwave blasting across her body. His other hand gripped the base of her skull, coaxing her mouth open, telling her how wet she was.

"Hear how pretty you sound?"

He added another finger, and stars streaked across her vision as she arched into his touch. Her body responded on pure instinct, thrusting helplessly as he mimicked with his hand what she was almost delirious for.

"My mouth sounds better."

Coarse hairs tickled her skin as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his trousers with the hope that touching him back might appease the hunger.

He thrust into her palm with a needy gasp, and it knocked her breathing shallow. In an instant, she'd pushed him onto his back, running her tongue up the entire length of his swollen cock, before swirling around the head.

The man reclining under her was almost unrecognisable, his untamed hair spilling into his black, wild eyes. Unnatural, jerky shudders wracked through his chest.

Sticking out her tongue, Garreth responded with a primal snarl, seizing the invitation to take control.

"There you go, is that what you want?" he whispered, sliding himself between her lips.

Her eyes welled up at the imposing size of him gliding across her tongue, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was how he was gazing at her like she was the answer to everything—Water in the desert.

She took in as much of him as she could, her wrist twisting around what she couldn't. He was ramming into her too hard, but the potion smoothed out the rough edges, turning it passionate.

Gravelly snippets of praise were spilling from his mouth, and the ruined edge to his voice threatened to make her come from his words alone. A particularly greedy thrust pounded the back of her throat at the wrong angle, and she jerked back with a rasping cough.

In less than a second, she was caged under a warm body. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like this."

"Don't be sorry, make me take it."

"Fucking hell," he groaned, descending her body and parting her legs with his palms.

She latched onto his hair, pulling him towards her lips. "No, not your mouth, I need more."

She knew she was being demanding, he just wanted to reciprocate what she had done for him, but the distance between them felt like too much, and she needed it annihilated.

“You need it?"

He taunted her clit with the head of his dick. She didn't want to waste time, he could go down on her in round two because she was so turned on by him fucking her mouth that she was shaking.

He gently nudged at her entrance, and not a single discernible word occupied her mind. She relied on her needy whining to convey what words couldn't, her nails scraping against his broad shoulders as she desperately sought an anchor.

“I don’t think I can go slow.”

"I don't want slow."

The air was squeezed from her lungs as he sank into her, bottoming out with one stroke. An orgasm struck her instantly but being so overstimulated it scarcely penetrated the fog—just a fleeting flash of lightning between her thighs.

Garreth froze as the aftereffects pulsed around him, whimpers fracturing through his voice as he strained to remain still. "Do you need me to stop?"

"No," she squirmed in an attempt to coax his hips back into action. He twitched inside her, and she gasped, "I want more." Hardly had the words left her lips when he thrust into her with such force that it sent her eyes rolling back.

“Pull my hair again."

“Make me come again.”

The speed he set was almost inhuman as her nails clawed across his scalp and down his neck. She planted her heels on the mattress to gain some control and push back into him, but he grabbed the backs of her thighs, holding her in place—spreading her open under him.

"Is this what you wanted every time you pulled out an excuse to drop by?" His hips stuttered when he looked down at the point where they were connected. She was drenched, dripping with how badly she needed him. Taking a deep breath, he started meticulously inspecting the Gryffindor Quidditch flag above his headboard, resisting the urge to finish before her.

Her heart sped up at his words and she could hear herself producing feathery noises as he extracted pleasure from her, "What took you so long to give it to me?"

"You're too cute, made me nervous," he grinned, seizing her nipple in his teeth, and pulling on it until she whimpered. "Push into me, let me have you."

His restraint oscillated, the tender kisses on her neck escalating into gnawing at her throat. The persistent pounding of his hips matched the increasing intensity, delving into the deepest parts of her with each blissful drag of his cock.

"Moan for me, those beautiful sounds are driving me insane."

This wasn't the Christmas she expected: Garreth Weasley's fingers splayed across her throat, conjuring ethereal pleasure with every precise thrust of his hips.

“Garreth...”

“I know, sweetheart." He withdrew his hand from where he was holding her legs apart, using his thumb to trail a lopsided circle around her bundle of nerves. “Come on, give me one more.”

His voice thrust her over the edge and she felt every part of her orgasm splinter through her body.

"Where do you want me to come?" he asked desperately. She was still in the throes of ecstasy, shivering uncontrollably from the high of watching him falling apart. "Tell me.”

"Come inside me," she said hoarsely. Her body was exhausted and hypersensitive, the only reason she forced herself to stay conscious was to witness him unravel.

An aftershock pulsated around him, and he shoved his face into the crook of her neck as he released deep inside her. His fingers clamped onto her thighs so tightly they throbbed, but she was too drained to muster the strength to push them off.

He lazily circled his hips into hers, as if he couldn’t bear to stop. Interlocking their fingers, he planted kisses across her knuckles. The sweet gesture made her heart stutter, and as her head nestled into a soft pile of pillows, sleep quickly claimed her.

She had a hazy memory of stirring in the night with a heavy arm over her waist and knees nestled into the crook of hers. There was something hard and insistent digging into the small of her back and when she shifted to relieve the pressure, he had whined—fucking whined.

His lips navigated her skin until they found that sweet spot under her ear, and she arched back. He accepted the invitation and slid into her. Reaching around to grip his hair, she tugged hard enough for him to reciprocate the pressure with his teeth on her shoulder. Her chest thrummed against his palm as he held her tightly, murmuring sweet nothings while fucking her slowly. He was half-asleep, but he was himself.

The daylight streamed in, too bright, with flakes purring against the window as they cascaded from the skies. Garreth’s bedroom was snug, nothing more than a bed and a chaotic pile of thumbed potion books scattered across the floor. Rolling over, she discovered a mess of red hair protruding from the green blankets.

“Merry Christmaaaaas,” he groaned, his words muffled by the bedding.

"You should've woken me up and kicked me out. Don't you have plans?"

"Guess how many are over at my folks' for Christmas?" He emerged squinting. "Uncles, aunties, cousins, nephews, nieces, girlfriends, boyfriends— What’s the headcount?"

She flung an arm across her eyes, shrugging. His ability to nosedive straight into a conversation after just waking up baffled her. "Twenty-two?"

"Thirty-eight. They won't notice if one is late," he started kissing her, slow, sweet, and sinful. "And they won't notice if there's one more?"

She huffed out a laugh at his fearless invitation, "I can't gatecrash, the last thing I want to do on Christmas day is piss off thirty-eight Weasleys."

“My aunt Matilda will be more upset if I turn up alone for yet another year. It's your decision, but I'm impatient. Waiting a whole year to flaunt you doesn't sit right with me."

Definitely a far cry from the Christmas she had imagined.

“I’d love to.”

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copper-sands · 1 year

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cicadas

#sleep token #sleep token art #sleep token fanart #sleep token vessel #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #the quote is from Benjamin Banneker but i modified it a little to fit my vision #legit i saw it while researching for the HK crossover and it touched me. a lot #also my first time making a short comic so please be gentle and very niceys #eyestrain #bright colors #ask to tag #copper scribbles #copper-sands

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dreadwedge · 11 months

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The men who are searching my house are very impressed by my collection of legos. I can tell that the officers who are searching my home are extremely impressed by my large and well-organized collection of legos. The policemen who are ransacking my house (with warrant) keep getting distracted by my many shelves filled with Lego bricks, figures, and other parts, organized by shape and color. The cops are in my home looking for evidence with which to convict me of a certain crime but cannot help but gawk with amazement upon encountering my display room, which contains numerous Lego models of my own design. The fuzz are very careful not to disturb my elaborate lego constructions as they meticulously scan my clean garage for clues. The boys in blue involuntarily sigh at the sight of the 1:72 scale model of the very house in which we are standing, a near perfect replica, constructed entirely of Lego products. “She even has brick separators. That’s the real deal”, the detective murmurs as he shows me the crime scene photos, not even watching my face to see if my reaction is telling. The law marvels at a detailed diorama depicting a grisly murder quite similar to the one that they are currently investigating, only in miniature. The bastards are here for me and they didn’t even care about legos before today, but now they excitedly whistle and cheer as they compete to recognize various scenes from Star Wars and other pop culture properties rendered in carefully engineered plastic bricks in my living room. The bobbies are enamored with my Lego Fridge. I killed an evil man six months ago and buried his body in the park by moonlight. The Man is delighted by my Legoland memorabilia. The constables ask me what Lego sets I would recommend for beginners, as they think it might be a nice way to spend time with their daughters, whose birthdays are coming up. The coppers eagerly scribble the full web address of my blog on their arms. The police officers in my home have so very many questions about Bionicle lore, and I have all of the answers they seek. These men love my legos, and they love me. And they are very impressed.

#dreadwedge #skullduggery

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sen-ya · 1 month

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um hi hello I wrote a fic for the first time since I was like 16 and this is probably the first time I’ve ever put prose anywhere on the internet oops. I did a very scribbly comic abt this a few weeks ago and instead of finishing it I did this I guess.

Grounding Exercise

Summary:

The panic didn’t leave Law’s body, but he managed to slow his movements, grip tightly at his first mate’s sleeve. “Bepo?” he huffed. “Real?” The question hung heavy between them.

“Yes,” the word was dripping with sorrow, with apology. “Not dreaming. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Tattooed fingers curled deeper into Bepo’s sleeve. Law leaned forward into him, his body screaming in protest. He didn’t care. How could he? Here he was, alive amidst tragedy. “Again,” he hissed, vocalizing the thought. “Again?''

Warnings: suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 2589

When he woke, it was violent.

Law jerked upright in bed, black quickly reclaiming his vision as it all washed over him. Yes, his bones ached, and he could tell several were broken. Yes, he could taste a bit of copper in his mouth. And yes, he could hear a few sharp pops as he threw his weight forward. But the worst of his pains gripped at his chest, a squeeze not unlike when his heart had been abused outside of his body, in the hands of someone who took pleasure in hurting him.

“Where are they?” he breathed urgently.

Heavy hands guided him back to the bed amidst his thrashing. “Captain,” a familiar voice pleaded. “Captain, stay down. You’ll make your injuries worse.”

Slowly, the world came into focus. Not all of it, admittedly, but he tried to focus — to find an anchor. Bepo’s fuzzy face made a home in Law’s vision, the polar bear’s brows knitted together and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The panic didn’t leave Law’s body, but he managed to slow his movements, grip tightly at his first mate’s sleeve. “Bepo?” he huffed. “Real?” The question hung heavy between them.

“Yes,” the word was dripping with sorrow, with apology. “Not dreaming. I’m sorry, Captain.”

“No, no,” Bepo soothed. “The crew is strong. It won’t be like —“

“Yes it will, Bepo!” Law buried his forehead into the bear’s chest, the fact that he wasn’t in his usual orange jumpsuit somehow making it even worse. “I wasn’t strong enough, I let us get in over our head — damn it I did it again.” The declaration was venomous, his voice loud and sharp. Were his mind clearer, Law would have recognized that Bepo was a part of that crew, too. That as his captain — could he call himself that now that the Tang met its end? — he should be the one to insist on the safety of their nakama. He would have started crafting a plan, letting Bepo sniffle as he listened.

But in this moment his thoughts clouded. He felt small and cold and sick, like they were back on Swallow Island, before it would have been inappropriate for Law to lose himself in front of his dearest friend. “I’m a curse,” he shouted. He wasn’t sure when the tears started but now that the seal had broken it felt like they’d flow forever. “I doomed all of you, pretended for years that I hadn’t —“

“Stop it,” Bepo pulled Law into himself, his larger than life captain reduced to what he was — his brother. “You did everything. You always have.” His voice was steady and firm, a tone unusual for him. Somehow that only made it worse, yet Law melted into him, allowed himself to drown in his weakness. He cried, Bepo’s unfamiliar sweater soaking in the tears.

“How many times do I have to lose?” he wallowed, his voice barely audible. The mink only held him tighter in response, and slowly Law’s breaths started to steady. He began to smell the sterile tinge of the infirmary, to feel the way the fresh bandages clung to his skin, to hear —

“…Torao?” it was hesitant.

“I’m hearing things,” Law whispered. “How pathetic.”

A hand rested gently on his back and he tore himself from his brother’s hold, the sudden movement causing him to jerk in pain and fall down to the bed. As his vision unblurred he slowly made out a third figure in the room. Wait, had he even processed yet that they were inside somewhere? A familiar somewhere at that. It fell into place as Luffy’s face came into focus, the worry that had made a home there making him look so much unlike himself. Law’s eyes grew wide and the panic began to creep back in.

“Torao,” Luffy reached for him slowly this time, like he was approaching a scared animal.

“Get out,” the order was low, with no force behind it. The other two might have even missed it, it had been so quiet. But as Luffy’s hand drew closer and Law’s face pulled into an expression as feral as the spooked creature he was being addressed as, the command was undeniable. “Get out!”

Luffy recoiled as though he’d been hit. “You can’t be here,” Law continued, struggling to prop himself up. You can’t see me like this, bounced around his head.

“Captain,” Bepo protested. “It’s Straw Hat. He helped us, he — “

“I know who he is, and I know what I said,” was the growled response. I can’t handle your smile right now, was the echo.

“It’s his ship,” Bepo continued. “He can —“

“I’ll go.”

Everything was still for a moment. When the Straw Hat captain made his swift exit, the click of the door was only a whisper.

—

Law was insistent on treating himself. The only person he would acknowledge entering the infirmary was Bepo, and even that was scarce. The bite he’d shown when he awoke ebbed and flowed, sometimes the anger was the only thing left behind his golden eyes. Other times, most times, those eyes were dull, empty, surrendered.

He knew that his first mate must be hurting too, but Law couldn’t muster any empathy. He could hear muffled “sorry”s beyond the infirmary door, sniffles meant to be private in the corner of the room, worried muttering being exchanged. It was rare that the bear wandered much further than the hallway just outside. It was on one such rare occasion, three days after he’d come to, that the door swung open violently.

“That’s what I thought,” Luffy crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the tray full of food on the table at Law’s bedside. “Listen, I’m happy to keep eating your leftovers but if another plate comes back to the kitchen full I think Sanji’s gonna kick your ass.”

The declaration wasn’t even met with a glance.

“What’re you even doing in here,” Luffy continued, irritation clawing at his words. “I know you’re supposed to rest but even you don’t listen to that.”

Law stirred. “I’m a doctor,” was the muttered response. That’s all I am.

“Yeah, a doctor who’s always got somethin’ else to do,” Luffy huffed, throwing himself to sit at the foot of the bed. “You got plenty to do now.”

Law couldn’t argue. Not because he thought the other captain was right, per se, but more because arguing took an amount of gusto that he didn’t have at the moment. As that became evident to Luffy, the mounting anger melted from his face.

“You don’t have to grieve, Torao,” he soothed. “They aren’t gone.”

And there it was — a spark. Law’s chest burned as the words settled in. His features lit up with the only feeling they’d been able to find since he’d stopped crying a few days ago. So fierce was the look that Luffy recoiled in surprise.

“What do you know about grief, Straw Hat?” Law seethed. The other captain found some anger of his own at that, his mouth dropping open to protest. Law wouldn’t let him. “I was there when your brother died,” his voice was too steady for comfort. “That’s your body count. One. One person who’s gone. Did — did you know —“ he surged forward, ignoring the bolts of pain reminding him he was still tied to this mortal plane. “Did you know I had a little sister?” Luffy’s eyes grew wide, the anger not quite letting the shock override it.

“We took music lessons together every Wednesday evening. And when I got too wrapped up in my studies she’d come tell me I was boring. Sing with me, Lawli — she was so damn insistent.” Something bubbled in his chest at hearing the name Lawli out loud for the first time in sixteen years. “I loved her. And our parents loved the both of us. Did you know that, Straw Hat? That the first thing I was, was happy?”

The air was heavy in the infirmary, Luffy’s lips a tight line as he listened.

“The world government took my parents before disease could,” Law spit. “I left my sister to die by herself. Told her she’d be safe, that I’d be back — but instead she suffocated on smoke. Or burned. I’ve imagined both. Either way, she did it alone.” His voice dropped as he leaned in ever closer to the other captain. “On the day I escaped Flevence I angered whatever powers that be that marked me for death. And ever since then I’ve been followed, pretending that crossing the border was all I needed to do to escape it. Pretending not to be the harbinger that I am. Pretending to not notice that it seems I have nothing to outrun myself, that the worst thing that can happen is that I live.”

“You survive,” Luffy’s voice was gentle, a soft whisper against the rage he was faced with. His hand slipped forward, resting lightly on the tattooed fist clenched tightly before him. And this — this was not what Law expected.

Like Flevence, like Cora, like the Tang and like his crew — Law crumbled.

He was ten again, surrounded by flame and gunfire. Crying for his parents. Helpless. He was just a boy. A boy who wanted only one more time for his mother to wake him gently, far too early in the morning, and ask would he like to join her at the hospital today? A boy who wanted to read the most boring books with his father again and again, be corrected when he didn’t retain the information, have gummy bears positioned tactfully on the page to encourage him to read just one more paragraph. A boy who wanted to hear sour notes on the piano followed by the inevitable tug on his shirt — sing with me, Lawli. More than anything he wanted to sing with her.

“I never asked to survive.” It could have been a breeze, the admission was so scarce. “I don’t want to anymore.”

And at that Luffy’s calloused hand drifted up to brush tears from Law’s cheeks. When had he started to cry? “You have to.” Gentle, still so very gentle. “They’re counting on you. Not just your crew. Everyone you've grieved. Doflamingo’s brother. Your sister.” Law was sobbing now, thick tears bubbling out of him like waterfalls. His shoulders shook and he bit his lip, somehow through all of it still not wanting Luffy to hear him cry. “They still love you.”

That — that was too much. Whatever was left of the dam burst and Law fell into Luffy, who curled his arms around him protectively. Law knew the sounds were spilling out of him, but only by the vibration he felt in his throat. All he heard were soft whispers in his ear — these things aren’t your fault. You’re so easy to love, Torao. Thank you for living. Thank you.

—

The sea breeze was grounding.

His eyes closed, Law took stock of his senses. It smelled like salt. The wind was cool on his face. He heard the waves crash on the side of the Sunny as it sailed forward, always forward. He took a deep breath, let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry I shut down,” he admitted, eyes fixated on the water.

“It was long overdue,” Bepo dismissed.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“You’re right,” the mink hummed. “It makes it necessary.”

They looked out over the sea in a comfortable silence for a while, the two leaned on the ship’s railing.

“We’re chartered to Pirate Island,” Bepo offered eventually. “It’s the best lead. If Blackbeard wants your fruit he’s going to keep them as hostages.”

Law gave a firm nod.

“We’ll get ‘em back, Captain.”

Another nod.

“Well, I believe we will anyway,” Bepo sighed and sunk his head into his arms. “You don’t have to. I’ll believe for both of us.”

The corners of Law’s mouth twitched upwards at that. “You’re getting comfortable with that,” he mused. “Not listening to me.”

The younger was suddenly on alert. “I’m sorry!” he poured. There they were, Law thought, the tears he was entitled to after the week they’d had. “I had to. I had to. You’d die for less than our nakama. You’re always so…so…” The submissive pout took a turn towards a grimace. Had Law ever seen his brother like this? “Self destructive and stupid.” He decided, his eyes glued to his feet, tears soaking the fur around his eyes.

“Is that so?” The response was surprisingly steady given the way the words shook the captain.

“Yeah it’s so,” Bepo scoffed. He was on a roll now — for him at least. “How long will we have to show you we need you before you stop trying to leave us?”

“Bepo.” It was choked, Law’s throat felt dry.

“I know how you look when you want to disappear. Those feelings — they belong to you, I know that. You’re not gonna just…” he sighed. “Change. Get over it.” The last sentence was said in a mocking tone, the both of them understanding that Shachi didn’t always understand the nuances of certain ideations. “But if you get to want to die, I get to want you to live. And I get to be happy about it when you do. I’ll always be happy about it.” Only then did he lift his gaze, a fierce determination burning there. “I don’t care if you hate me for it. I’ll always give everything I’ve got to keep you here with us.”

Law did the only thing that felt right — he threw his arms around his brother in a show of affection far more blatant than he’d given out in a long time. “I could never hate you,” he kept his voice as steady as before, grateful the other couldn’t see the tears pooling in his eyes. He’d had his turn to cry. “I love you. I love you.”

Bepo squeezed him tight. “I love you too,” he cried. “We’re gonna get ‘em back. We’re gonna —“

“You’re right,” Law insisted. “We’ll get them back. And we’ll build a new ship. We’ll be okay.”

Bepo nuzzled into him like he had when they were children. Bepo had always been a crier growing up. Law had always let him, scolding Penguin and Shachi when they’d giggle. Don’t be jealous just because he knows how to have a feeling, he’d scoff. And Bepo would cry louder, eliciting even more boisterous laughs from their other brothers. Today, there was no laughing in response. As the breeze carried away the sniffles and sobs, Law patted his back.

Living for other people was never a sustainable option, he’d thought. Law wanted autonomy in his life where he could get it, and opportunities for that felt woefully few and far between. Here on the deck of the Sunny, even with his brain still swimming with ways to disappear, he supposed maybe he could learn to let those who cared about him keep him tethered here. They were real. As good an anchor as any. He closed his eyes — Bepo’s fur was soft, the sweater he had on clearly was borrowed from Franky since it smelled of oil and cola, and he could hear his cries begin to calm.

Possibly against his better judgement, Law decided he’d stay grounded.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece bepo #monkey d luffy #straw hat luffy #lawlu #but you don't have to read it that way tbh #tw: sucidal thoughts #nsfo #heart pirates

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lonesome-squire · 1 month

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Shaft of Faerun! Master of the viol and renowned adventurer currently looking for new party! he's my first and most used DnD character. love this dumbass<33

#the squire scribbles #shaft dnd #love u boo <333 #original character #dragonborn #copper dragonborn #bard #artists on tumblr #i really gotta make him some more outfits. this is more of a stand in/sleepwear

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katz-cradle · 1 year

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9/11 of the next gen knights ref sheets

Button “Copper Knight” Smith

“Copper Knight; The Invention; made from oil and cogs Copper Knight is a mechanical marvel! The most successful bot that's been given humanity, he’s known to be helpful despite being a bit of a dunce. But be warned this bot won't be afraid to break a few laws if you get on their bad side!”

20-ish ; Birthday is November 11th

Robot ; No Ethnicity

Parent/s; Tinker Knight

Pros: Very intelligent, Jolly / Cons: Oblivious, Needs oil to survive

#kitty scribbles #shovel knight #shovel knight art #next gen #fanchild #Shovel Knight; The Next Gen #Next Gen Knights #Next Gen Knights; Copper Knight #ref sheet #character ref sheet #tinker knight fanchild

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jaegersdevil · 8 months

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iced caramel macchiato - eren jaeger

Customer!Eren x Barista!Reader

summary: you have a run-in with eren; a man you hate from the moment you see him. w/c: 1.8k c/w: eren is a dickhead but we love him for it ok we are all in agreeance a/n: was debating if i should rewrite this for eren & i did. enjoy!! masterlist

Service had been slow. So terribly slow that you were sure your head would roll off your neck from the number of times you'd looked at the clock on the wall behind you. The copper hands of the round object ticked obnoxiously, making you rub your temple firmly.

Closing your eyes, you lolled your head back to stare at the grainy ceiling, praying that the bell above the glass front door would chime. When that didn't happen (shocker), you moved your head back to stare blankly at the door before you ran your hands over the brown apron on your hips, the fabric harsh against your fingers.

Antsy, you bent down to lean your head on your palm in a bored manner. You tilted your head as you watched the countless pedestrians walk past the coffee shop. Just one customer, please!

The light reflecting off the glass gave you a headache, but you refused to look away. In your state of utter boredom, anything would be exciting, even if that meant burning your corneas.

Your gaze had begun to blur when the glass door opened, and a man stalked in. He was mumbling low into his phone, telling someone named Connie that he didn’t know where Jean was. You silently cheered at the sight of a customer, pleased to be productive on the slow workday.

The man had half of his hair pulled into a bun in the middle of his head and looked borderline intimidating with his cold stare as he scanned the shop.

You were slightly concerned at the sound of him not knowing where someone was, thinking he would simply move off to the side to finish his call before ordering, but he didn’t. He walked up to the counter, eyes focused on the menu behind your head.

You seethed slightly at the blatant disrespect of the man. How were you supposed to catch someone’s order in between a string of conversations they’re having with someone else about something completely different? You never understood how someone could be so rude.

Nonetheless, the man stood there talking aimlessly before glancing down at you with an apathetic look. You furrowed your brows at him before your eyes flickered to the cash register. You picked at your nails before the man paused his phone call to order. But clearing his throat caught you off guard, and you lifted your eyes to meet the man’s hard stare.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”

Your eyebrows flew to your hairline as you stuttered. “W-What?”

The man huffed as he shifted his weight to his other foot and swapped his phone to his other ear simultaneously, his eyes wide with irritation. He waved his hand in front of your face as you stood in shock at his rudeness. The man rolled his eyes before speaking to the person on the phone again. You plucked a plastic cup from the stack and the Sharpie pen rolling on the counter, ready for his choice. However, you soon had a death grip on the cup as he continued to talk to the person on the line.

“A cold caramel, whatever.”

You caught what he mumbled before he continued whispering into his phone, grumbling bitterly to yourself that that wasn’t a drink. But, not wanting to have to interact with him any longer, you asked for his name.

“Eren.”

And with that, he dug into his pocket for a $5 note, threw it onto the counter, and stepped to the side, laughing into his device. You blinked in disbelief, holding the black Sharpie marker in your hand.

How can his demeanour shift so quickly?

Pulling yourself together, you scribbled quickly, ‘E-… Ethan’.

You cocked your head at the spelling but shrugged one shoulder, sliding it onto the metal bench beside you, and turning to grab the ingredients to make his sickly sweet drink.

When you called ‘Ethan’, the man either wasn’t paying attention or didn’t care because he took his drink and left, not even glancing at you, who had said the wrong name.

—

The next day’s rush was far more fast-paced. The chatter around the coffee shop made it nearly impossible to hear the customers' orders at the counter—but it was how you liked it. The more customers, the faster the day goes. And at this pace, you swore your shift was almost over.

As you finished taking the order of a young girl, your mood instantly dimmed when said girl moved to the side. With his head down, Eren stood before you, typing on his phone and murmuring his order. You couldn’t hear him. You tilted your head to the side as you huffed. The plain disrespect, again.

“Excuse me?” You said while leaning closer to him.

He glanced at you before sighing.

“A caramel cold, no cream,” His irritated expression made you stare blankly at him.

His bleak response earned a quick eyebrow raise from you, who struggled to understand his order but grabbed a cup anyway and scribbled ‘Egor’ on the side and a whole bunch of jargon on ‘caramel cold’. You assumed he meant the same drink as yesterday.

And as the same as yesterday, his hair was pulled back, leaving his forehead bare and the crease between his brows evident.

Why is he always so angry?

—

Over the next few weeks, you continually and deliberately got Eren’s name wrong. You had become quite creative with ridiculous nicknames when he ordered his boring ‘cold caramel’ drink and thought he deserved it from how rude he was to you. As much as you disliked the man, you found fun in getting his name wrong.

Edgar, Earl, Ren, and even Egg. At this point, you could yell ‘erection’, and he’d just accept it.

You had the luck of not running into him anywhere outside of the coffee shop, saving you the embarrassment of confessing why exactly you got his name wrong.

But you couldn’t help it. You hated it when people were distracted whilst they ordered, along with asshole men who waved their hands in front of your face when you were simply waiting for them to finish their call to tell you their order.

No matter how much you despised it, Eren never failed to walk into the shop without being on his phone. And he never once looked at you when he walked out with his drink, only sparing you a glance when ordering. You just didn’t understand this man!

—

It was Friday, and it was raining. The dark clouds hung in the sky like a bad smell, and you couldn’t shake the feeling in your gut. It was 15 minutes to closing time, and Eren hadn’t walked in today. A weird disappointment washed over you as you gazed out the glass door.

The bell chimed for the last time that day at 5:55 pm, and as you wrote down the abbreviations of a latte on the top of a white coffee lid, you were disappointed. It was subtle, but it was there. And you didn’t know why it sat at the bottom of your stomach for so long, but it wasn’t pleasant.

But as you went to close the register, the bell at the door rang. Your head shot up from looking at the numbers on the buttons, and you were met with Eren — no phone in sight. As much as you looked forward to writing down your new nickname for him, you were caught off guard at the new development.

Eren looked you straight in the eye and smiled. You were shocked, nearly dropping the black Sharpie hanging from your fingertips when he leaned on the counter. The cup in your hands was close to falling on the floor when he nodded towards it.

“Iced caramel macchiato. And get my name right this time.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, scrunching your nose in embarrassment. “So you did notice.”

The man hummed in confirmation before he reached over the register to snatch the cup from your grasp. “Of course I did, and I’m gonna show you how to spell it right.”

You quickly bit back the urge to comment that you knew how to spell his fucking name but patiently waited for him to return it.

He handed the cup back to you, holding it teasingly above your head before he dropped it onto the counter. You caught the cup before it rolled onto the floor, confused at the scribble of numbers on the cup instead of his name.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze and saw his mouth drawn into a large grin. Your features softened at the expression, and you gave him a soft, closed-lipped smile. You turned your head to look toward the menu behind you, the numbers next to the orders catching your attention.

“Are these all of the orders you want?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows while you looked back to the cup.

Oh.

Eren bit back a giggle and shook his head at your expression. “It’s my number.”

As shocked as you were, you managed to keep your grip on the cup despite it nearly falling from your hand again.

“W-Why?” You mumbled, body tingling at the thought of Eren even thinking about you that way.

Eren sighed. “Only the people I’m dating can call me Ren.”

And then he spun around and walked back towards the door. You were frozen as Eren threw a glance over his shoulder.

“This place closes in 5, right? I’ll wait outside while you finish, and we’ll get dinner together.”

His statement lingered even after he left. You still held the plastic cup in your hand as you stared at the spot he was last in. Your heartbeat was all you could hear when you finally blinked.

No… I can’t. He’s—

You shifted your eyes to the cup and the haphazard writing, and your heart skipped.

As soon as you stepped out of the shop, your apron in the bag that was on your shoulder, you spotted his figure leaning against the side of the bookshop next door—typing on his phone. You scoffed a laugh as you approached him.

Eren lifted his head at the sound of someone nearing and smiled when he saw you.

“Ready?” He asked, offering you his elbow. You rolled your eyes at his gesture, nodded and placed your hand on his bicep.

No matter what happened in the past, you were willing to see where this went… with Egor- I mean Eren.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #attack on titan x reader #eren jeager imagines #eren jeager x reader #eren yaeger imagine #eren yaeger x reader #attack on titan imagine #eren jaeger imagine #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x you #— ann writes!

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