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ashasdiary · 4 months ago

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Vitamins

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

Synopsis: Husband!Nanami being super domestic, encouraging you to take vitamins, and taking care of you in all ways.

CW: pet names, going to the doctors, established relationship, smut — dirty talking, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, brief edging, breeding kink if you squint, pregnancy (MDNI) WC: 4.6k A/N: I’m not religious but I need him biblically.

“You’re not anaemic, but your iron levels were shown to be at 4, where we would like to see them at 6, so they’re low,” the doctor informs you.

You nod in acceptance and Nanami, sat beside you, leans in as he listens intently, elbows on his knees and hands joined together. He’d been the one who recommended you get your blood tested, so of course he was here to support.

“I’ll be prescribing you some iron tablets for that and hopefully we can see some results after a couple of months. Further, it was found that you were deficient in vitamin A, B12, and D. Your vitamin K levels looked to be normal, however,” the doctor goes on and you nod again.

“That’s good, honey. You were concerned about bruises and wound recovery but your vitamin K is fine. Right, doctor?” Nanami gazes at you before looking back to the doctor. You blush a little at the mention of bruises, a flashback of a couple nights ago popping up in your head.

His big hands, roaming your body, coming to rest on your hips and squeezing them tightly as he pulled you onto his cock desperately.

The doctor’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts immediately.

“Correct, vitamin K deficiency does increase risk of bleeding and bruising but the levels were healthy so nothing of concern there. I would recommend taking supplements for the time being for your vitamin A, B12 and D as well as your prescribed iron tablets. Overall, everything else was at healthy levels.”

You nod once again, “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be sure to stay on top of that.”

Nanami leans back and slides his arm around your shoulders before you both stand, taking the report and prescription note and leave the doctor’s office, bidding her goodbye.

You slip your hand into your husband’s as you walk through the hallway towards the exit. “I have something else you can stay on top of,” he whispers and bumps his hips with yours.

“Kento!” You whisper at him and lightly smack his firm bicep.

He lets out a chuckle at your reaction, getting so flustered so easily, “On a serious note, I’m glad that we know now how everything’s going with your vitamin intake. It’s definitely peace of mind,” he says as he guides you outside and towards the pharmacy next door.

“It is. I wouldn’t have really thought to pursue it myself but I’m grateful you suggested it,” you interlace your fingers through his as you feel gratitude for having him in your life. He’s so caring and also such an adult. Though you laugh about his seriousness sometimes, you’re also grateful that he’s so mindful of things like vitamin intake.

He ushers you to step inside the pharmacy first — as he always does, ever the gentleman — and you lead the way to the vitamin aisle. Stopping at one section of the many shelves, you peruse the array of vitamins before you, and Nanami is quick to pick one of each that you needed, up. “These have the highest milligrams, so they’ll be the most effective.”

“You’re right,” you nod, and you spot a little pill box, segmented for each day of the week. “Would it make me a total grandma if I got one of these?” You ask your husband, looking to him attentively.

“Not at all. They can certainly help with keeping a routine of…” a little smirk curls at the corner of his lips, lowering his voice to a hush, “staying on top of things.”

You try not to smile but you can’t help it so you pout instead to hide it, “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” You ask rhetorically and he laughs softly. You both grab the appropriate vitamin bottles and carry them to the counter where you also pick up your prescription iron tablets.

When you get home, you both wash up and change into your comfy home clothes and get started on making lunch together. You sauté some onions as the base of the soup you were making while he chops up some fresh herbs for a tasty couscous salad. “Can you pass me the chilli flakes, my love?”

He grabs the little spice container and steps over, holding it out for you. You try to take it but he holds onto it and dips his head to kiss your knuckles. It’s a small act but one that makes your heart flutter and your lips curl into a smile.

Once lunch is had and you’re cleaning up together, he finishes washing up while you put away the leftovers, dancing to the soft music you had playing.

“I could do with a nap right now,” you yawn, feeling full from lunch.

He lets out a small laugh, “You definitely need to take those vitamins, darling.“

“I know, I know, doctor’s orders. I will. But I also want to have a little siesta,” you tell him while he dries off his hands, “come nap with me for like 20 minutes. You know how effective it is for our bodies to have a nap midday?”

“I’m well aware, yes,” he smiles and lets you drag him into the bedroom where you crawl into the bed and hold up the comforter. You climb in together and you burrow yourself against him, pushing your leg between his, eyes fluttering shut.

He rubs your back gently as he settles down himself, fingers starting to trace lazy patterns across your back. “I love you so much, Ken,” you murmur, eyes still closed, “you’re so good to me. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I love you more, honey. You deserve the world, so I’m going to do my best to give it to you,” his soft voice and kind words makes your bottom lip tremble a bit.

“You do. I want to give you the world too,” you whisper.

“You are my world,” he affirms.

“Ugh, stop trying to out-romance me,” you whine quietly and you both laugh softly.

Sleep overcomes you and you have what was probably one of the top 5 best naps of your life. You wake up to find the sun setting slowly, creating a beautiful orange hue through the room. You stretch like a cat and roll over, finding Nanami sat up and reading a book about Malaysia.

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hi, Mr. Redbull,” you quip and he chuckles. You tap the book, “You want to go back again?”

“Yes, at some point, I would love that,” he nods and smiles to himself as he reminisces about your honeymoon together there, from which you’d returned 6 months ago. It was incredible there, a truly dreamy place which couldn’t be described as you’d have to see it in person to grasp the beauty.

“We’ll definitely visit again someday,” you promise and he hums in agreement.

“Maybe next time, we’ll have children to take there. I bet they’d love the beach,” he says casually, setting the book aside.

You’d talked about children plenty of times — the suggestion to get blood tests being a preparation for taking that step — but it was the softness of his suggestion, of taking your hypothetical children to one of his favourite places on the planet…it warmed your heart.

“Definitely. When we have children, we will absolutely take them to Malaysia.”

Later that evening, you find Nanami stood at the kitchen counter, carefully putting the vitamins into your new pill box.

You walk over and lean your elbows onto the counter as you watch him.

Once he’s satisfied that you have one of each vitamin in each segment, he closes it up. A thought clouds your mind and you bite your lip. “Baby, I think I need some more vitamin D,” you tell him with a serious face.

His brows furrow a little as he looks to you, “I put one vitamin D in each day, honey, that should be more than enough.”

You shake your head. “No, I definitely need more vitamin D,” you sigh exasperatedly and he watches you carefully.

“Sweetheart, you really don’t need more than one a day,” he explains gently. You almost break character to laugh but you manage to keep a straight face.

“But what if I want it multiple times a day?” You ask him, eyes glinting with mischief.

He catches on at this and his face relaxes, eyes becoming hooded, pulling you closer to him. “I see. You do know the risks of taking so much vitamin D, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll turn into the sun,” you muse and he lets out a laugh, lips ghosting over yours.

“You will certainly be glowing like the sun once I put a baby in you,” he murmurs and you feel a shiver go through your body, straight to your core.

“Ken…” you sigh softly, hands trailing up his big arms and grasping his triceps as he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. You hum against him as he crowds you against the counter, one hand planted on it and the other coming up to cup your jaw while his lips are locked with yours.

His thumb gently caresses your cheek, letting out a soft moan against you as you press your tongue against the seam of his lips and push your hips into his. “Hm…turn around, honey.”

Oh.

You feel your clit throb at the lowness of his voice, his direct order, and how your wetness pools at your core. You break the kiss and he immediately grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, revealing your bare breasts. He connects your lips briefly again, not being able to help himself from cupping your breast in his hand and teasing your nipple. Reluctantly, he breaks away and guides your hips to turn you around.

With you bent over the counter, he steps up behind you, his lips trailing over your cheek, down your jaw, and over your shoulder while his hands roam your body, thumbs hooking inside the waistband of your pants and underwear and slowly dragging them down, down, down.

You feel the air hitting your bare ass and thighs as he pushes your clothing off, letting the bunched fabric fall down the rest of the way from your knees.

He continues to kiss his way over your back, hands massaging your hips and up your sides to cup both your breasts. The feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin, and his lips tenderly pressing kisses down your back makes your insides tingle with electricity. “My pretty wife,” he hums as he kisses your lower back and crouches down on the floor behind you, sliding his hands down your sides and hips, over your outer thighs and finally coming to rest on your ass.

He grasps the flesh with a grunt, the sound making you clench. You can’t help but let out soft mewls at the feeling of his large, strong hands groping your ass, his hot lips blazing a trail of fire all the way down. You push your hips back against his hands and he hums appreciatively, spreading your ass and groaning deeply at the sight of the wetness waiting for him.

“S’this all for me, sweetheart?” He sighs, deciding not to waste another moment and plants his lips onto your lower ones. You let out a gasp at the suddenness of it, being thrown into the deep end, but this — his beautiful, skilled mouth on you — was absolutely not something you’d protest against.

“O-Oh! Y…mmm…yes, all for you, Ken,” you mewl as you hold onto the counter, feeling his hot tongue lap at your puffy folds. He drags his tongue up and down, gathering your juices and teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He fucking loves this. Loves having his face buried against you, eating you out from behind.

You find your hips rocking slowly on their own accord, back to meet his sinful tongue, when he sucks on your clit and pulls a lewd moan from you. “A-ah, mmh…” the sound of which makes his cock throb with need.

The man is a multitasker, you know this. While he’s busy pushing his tongue into your entrance, making you grip the counter tighter, you hear him fumbling with opening his pants. You turn your head to look back and are met with the delicious sight of him fisting his thick cock. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, honey,” he sighs before he’s pushing his tongue into you again. Your head falls forward as the pleasure takes over your body. He’s tongue fucking you like his life depends on it, groaning against you while he’s fucking his fist at the same time.

He buries his face against you with a low groan, squeezing his dick, darting his tongue in and out of you before he drags it up over your clit and licks a thick stripe along the cut of you.

Your legs quake a little at how he’s tending to your body so attentively, but you manage to keep yourself steady. He slides his free hand around you, his fingers locating your clit with expert precision within milliseconds. This action turns you on even more, the arousal rushing through your body and your pussy gushing with wetness because of how well he could map your body.

He notes the extra wetness on his tongue and he lets out a low hum of approval, slowly circling your throbbing clit with the pads of his fingers. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” He croons against you, taking his fingers away to wrap his lips on your clit and suck attentively. Your gasp and your back arches, one hand automatically going back to thread into his hair.

“Hhhh…mmph…” you keen, your ability to form proper sentences compromised from your husband’s ministrations on your body.

“Use your words for me, honey,” he smirks against you as he continues to devour you, lapping, sucking, fucking, and enjoying the delicious taste of you, inching you closer to the edge.

“Ken…” you whine, “I’m— I’m gonna cum...” You tug on his hair, mussing it up, pushing your hips against him desperately. He becomes sloppier then, and you pant, feeling the mess trickling down your inner thighs.

He fucks his tongue into you a few more times, and then suddenly the waves of pleasure wash over your body, overwhelming your senses. Your inner walls clench, wetness leaking from you, as you let out dirty moans of Kento’s name.

He jerks himself off at the sound of you, the feeling of you cumming, but he stops before he can reach his peak. His moans reverberate through you, the vibrations of them only adding to your pleasure; you lean over the counter, catching your breath as he laps your juices up eagerly, not sparing a drop.

When he’s cleaned you up with his tongue, he kisses his way back up your body, hands roaming over your shorter frame, coming to rest on the softness of your breasts. It’s like he can’t touch you enough, like he wants to touch you everywhere, all at once. You stand back up and lean into him, head falling onto his shoulder so you can kiss him. The feeling of his lips and tongue on your neglected ones sparks the fire in you once again, the butterflies in your tummy stirring to life.

He slowly turns you to face him while you share deep, long kisses. You grip the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up over his head, his arms lifting to accommodate the swift movement. Your arms slide around his waist and you cling to him as he holds you. “You’d better give me that vitamin D now,” you tell him with a warning tone.

He releases a soft chuckle, breaking away from you to stretch over the counter and grab your pill box, “They’re right here, hon.”

You flick his nipple in response and he feigns being hurt before both of you laugh. Your joined laughter quietens down however when you wrap your hand around his thick, leaking cock, and pump him slowly while you gaze into his eyes.

He’d been with you for years, married for half of one, but he knew that he’d never, ever, get tired of that salacious look that you gave him when you wanted him.

He wets his lips as he returns your longing gaze, and he lets out a quiet, “Fuck, sweetheart…” while you thumb his slit and tease the sensitive underside of his tip.

Your hand falls away when he crouches down a few inches and lifts you easily, placing you on the kitchen counter. You watch as his cock bobs up and down from this swift movement. Instantly, your legs fall open and you use the heels of your feet to pull him towards you; the need to have him inside you was becoming unbearable.

You felt the emptiness within you, the deep, carnal desire to have him fill you and stretch you out.

He crushes his lips against yours again, sighing, “You keep looking at me like that, baby, and I’ll cum too soon.”

You whimper against his lips, feeling him nudging the fat head of his cock along your folds, teasing your swollen bud before trailing down to your quivering entrance that was desperate to be filled.

His tongue tangles with yours, your hands gripping onto his broad shoulders as he presses his tip into you and slowly pushes his hips forward.

You bite on his lip, breath catching when he pushes past the ring of resistance. He doesn’t go far before he’s drawing his hips back and then thrusting into you again shallowly. A whine escapes you while he’s working you open on his delicious cock, taking his time to make sure you’re adjusted to his girth.

He rolls his hips steadily, dipping his head and wrapping his lips around the taut peak of your nipple, sucking eagerly. At this, your cunt greedily sucks him in more and he moans to your skin, fucking into you more, and then he slides all the way home, bottoming out inside your snug walls. Your face twists in pleasure, eyes rolling back in your head. He stays there for a moment, his pubic bone flush against yours.

“So damn perfect,” he murmurs, and your walls flutter around him in response. This earns a deep groan from him and he draws his hips back and starts to fuck into you harder.

You brows knit together and you inhale sharply as you feel the heavy drag of him inside you, how he pulls out so that only the fat head of him stays inside, and how he thrusts back into you completely, feeding you every inch of his delicious cock.

Your legs are locked around his hips but with each deep thrust from him, your mind becomes hazy and your legs loosen up a little. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he noses your neck and keeps a steady pace, the wet thump, thump, thump of his hips hitting yours filling the kitchen.

Your mouth falls open and your body becomes a little lax, your breaths coming out shakily as you focus on the pleasure coursing through your body while he impales you on his cock repeatedly. “Feels s-so…so good, baby…making me feel s-so good,” your voice comes out breathy and high pitched, to which his dick twitches while he’s fucking into you.

He’s thorough in his approach while you hold onto his neck for balance, and he’s stimulating every part of your beautiful body: lips locked, tongues tangled, fingers rolling your hard nipple between them, his other fingers teasing circles on your throbbing clit, and his cock stretching you out so delightfully that you can only let out pornographic moans.

You’re both panting against each other’s lips as he picks up the pace and thrusts into you faster, with abandon. He rests his forehead against yours, cheeks flushed. “God— I fucking love you… n’ I love fucking you…” his low voice, his words, they go straight to your cunt.

He takes his hands from your nipple and clit, sliding one arm under your waist as he bows over you more, the other hand gripping your hip in a bruising hold. “Ken…” you moan, “you’re gonna m…make me bruise…”

It’s not so much a protest but more a statement. “Damn right I am…you n’ I both know you love when I mark you up,” he husks, his lips connecting to your neck and sucking a dark mark onto your pulse point, bucking his hips into yours harder, eager to make you cum on his cock.

Your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts, a sight which he goes crazy for. He’s getting closer to the edge, his mind hazy from how your pussy is greedily sucking him in, enveloping him in your tight warmth every time he slides home.

You mewl, holding onto his shoulder as he ravages your cunt, letting out shaky breaths while you bring your gaze down to watch the sensuous way his cock would sink into your wet cunt over and over again. You both love watching because it adds to the pleasure, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge from it.

“Ken…” you moan, bringing your gaze to his at the same time he looks up to meet yours. He almost cums from that so far gone, cockdrunk look in your eyes, but he manages to keep it at bay for a little longer.

“Look so damn beautiful taking me like this, sweetheart,” he croons, “give it to me, baby. Cum for me.” A few more pounds of his hips and you’re pushed over the edge, like your body was waiting for his instruction.

You cry out when your orgasm hits you, walls pulsing so tightly around him that he slows down to feel every clench properly. Your legs quake, and you lock them higher up his hips as your body convulses from the strength of your orgasm.

Wetness coats his lower abdomen— he lives for getting messy with you like so— and he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release while he guides you through yours.

He grabs one of your legs and pushes it up, using it as leverage to fuck into your heat faster. “Cum in me, Ken…wanna make a baby with you,” you sigh, eyes hooded as he pounds into you.

He felt like an animal in that moment but your breathy voice, your words, the tight grip of your cunt on him suddenly all overwhelms his senses and he falls into the throes of bliss with a loud groan, crashing his lips to yours as he releases his hot ropes inside you, painting your walls white.

You cling to each other, sharing open mouthed, dirty kisses. Your plush walls milk him dry, and he stays inside you, your juices and his cum seeping out around him as you both catch your breaths.

“Wanna make a baby, huh…” he pecks your lips a few more times before gazing down at you properly.

“Mmhmm,” you hum and nod, kissing him again.

“Hm…we better get more practice in, then.”

You squeal when he picks you up all of a sudden, still inside you, and carries you into your bathroom, quickly turning on the water in the shower and stepping inside with you.

“Wh— Kent—oh!” You moan the second syllable of his name as he presses you up against the wall and starts to fuck into you again.

There was something so dirty, so sinful about how he was fucking his cum into you, how insatiable he was from the mere mention of getting you pregnant.

It’s like a switch had been flipped; you gasp when he takes your legs and pushes them up, pinning you by dangling your legs over the hinge of his arms and holding you in that bent position against the wall with his strong arms.

The water runs over both of your sweaty bodies, the small enclosure of the shower only accentuating his low grunts and the loud smacks of your hips colliding. He is truly animalistic, rutting his hips into yours, pounding into your cunt desperately, because nothing made him harder, nothing made him more feral for you than the idea of making a family with you.

You hadn’t had much time to come down from the high of your first orgasm — neither had he — so it’s not long again before another orgasm is creeping up on the both of you.

“I’m close, Ken, mm…” you clutch onto his broad frame, bringing your lips to his in a needy kiss.

“Me too, honey,” he pants against your lips, “cum with me.”

The base of his cock grazes your clit and his balls slap against your ass with each punishing thrust into you, and you let out a cry from the sudden intensity of the orgasm that overcomes you.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Kento’s voice is strained as he keeps fucking into you but his hips stutter because your pussy is gripping him so tightly he can’t even think straight.

Tears sting at your eyes because you’ve cum so hard, and when he sees this, he feels himself start to cum again. This time, he slows down, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he buries his face into your neck and releases his hot load into your waiting cunt.

“Honey…” he breathes out, and you run your nails gently over his muscled back, kissing his temple. “I love you so much,” he mumbles tiredly, spent, but knowing he couldn’t put you down yet because you wouldn’t be able to stand.

You cup his face in your hands as you sigh contently, and bring his face to yours to kiss him once again, “I love you more, you animal.”

He lets out a quiet laugh to your lips, “Can you blame me?”

It’s about 6 weeks later that you find yourself sat on the toilet, peeing on a couple of tests. There had been a noticeable change in your body, you felt with certainty that something was different. That and, of course, your period being late.

You finish peeing and clean up after putting the tests on the counter. You dry your hands and inhale a deep breath while you wait, peeking but not expecting anything because the time hadn’t finished yet.

But there it was. Two lines in BOLD, on the cheap one, and an affirmative ‘Pregnant’ on the other. You blink at the confirmation and let out a laugh; you’d heard about this before, how tests can show up quicker than expected if the pregnancy hormone is extremely high. He had knocked you up, alright.

You’re elated. His dream, your dream, of having a family, it was becoming reality. You slip out of the bathroom and into the living room, where he was reading.

“I think I need to get some other vitamins, my love,” you tell him as you sit next to him and slide your arms around his neck, kissing his shoulder over his shirt.

He brings his gaze to you. “But the doctor said that your levels for everything else were healthy, sweetheart…?”

He sees the way that your eyes sparkle and he relaxes a little. “Well…I think we need to revisit the doctor. I’m going to need some folic acid.”

He blinks at you; it clicks immediately. The joy that spreads across his expression is undeniable, “Honey…you’re…you’re pregnant?”

Read the sequel, Pumpkin, here <3

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 8 months ago

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Sano 'Mikey' Manjirou - "While You Count Sheep"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which while your boss naps away on the sofa in his office, you sneak in and take off some of his workload in secret as usual. Or; In which even after years of being the loyal secretary to the head of Bonten, "Mikey", you still find yourself taking on more work than necessary if only to let the man sleep a few more minutes.

💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭

The door opens with the near-silent click of the latch sliding back with the turn of the handle. [Name] pauses his movements after taking a single step inside the room; his keen ears picking up the sound of his boss sluggishly shifting about in his sleep. He keeps his body still even after the sound movement ceases; it would be a bother if he were caught. Once he was sure the sleeping man had fallen back into the vice grip of rem sleep, [Name] fully entered the room and softly shut the door behind him before directing his attention toward the large desk in the center of the room.

Letting out a quiet huff, he sat himself in the well-cushioned office chair and lowered its height; making sure to keep a mental note of its original position for when he eventually made his exit. He looked over the various collections of paperwork that held themselves together with paperclips in a medley of colors. The normal clutter that frequently occupied the desk was more organized than usual, which, while slightly reassuring, was also alarming. It was almost as if Mikey had done it on purpose to make it easier for him…

Although, the thought of the majorly depressed, nearly sleepless boss of his knowing about his secretive escapades wasn't all that off-putting now that he thought about it. Mikey was someone who had nearly a sixth sense for danger and [Name] doubted that he would allow himself to sleep when he was unaware of his surroundings. The man had more trust issues than he had seen in anybody in his entire lifetime, but he was sure that it was warranted, even if he had no idea of the snow-white-haired man's past.

[Name] shook his head as he moved on to the next collection of papers, already having completed three while he took an occasional glance at his boss's sleeping form.

Perhaps, after he had finished a good two-thirds of this paperwork, he would try his hand at finding another healthy recipe that Mikey would like. The panda-eyed man's health was another one of his priorities. Even if it was Sanzu who usually takes care of that, [Name] couldn't help but want to pitch in as well. He was, after all, the second closest person to the head of Bonten out of all of its executives and employees.

“Hm…”

The quiet slurred hum of the sleeping man to his left drew [Name]’s attention for a moment.

He quietly observed the thin man's relaxed expression with interest. Ghostly pale skin that seemed almost white at times, thin black brows that told of his original hair color, long black lashes that lay atop the apples of his cheeks and deep and heavy bags that hung under his eyes. The man resembled an apparition more than he did a human being.

[Name] huffed once again, eyes trailing back to the task at hand as he made a mental note to ask Sanzu to add Vitamin D supplements to Mikey's list of needed medications.

As he invested himself into ‘his’ work he only vaguely paid mind to the quickly retreating daylight outside the window and the sluggish but certainly not involuntary movements of the supposedly sleeping man in the corner of his eye. Six piles of paperwork turned into five. Five turned to four. Four to three and three to two; and that was enough for now.

[Name] turned his gaze to the clock that hung above the doorway; 02:37, about six or so hours had passed by in what seemed like seconds. He sighed as he quietly rolled the chair back and stood up; staving off the urge to stretch and pop his joints with the reminder that his boss was still asleep only a couple of feet from him.

His eyes landed on said man and met with a pair of half-lidded, sleepy, abyssal black eyes. He froze, not daring to make even an inch under the near-predatory gaze of the panda-eyed man. Mikey, still half asleep, only stared at him unblinkingly before training his vision on the significantly more organized desk.

“You're done now…?”

Mikey asked quietly, yet his voice seemed to drown out all of the noise of the outside traffic that poured in from the cracked window.

[Name] only nodded, slowly beginning to move again as he sensed no hostility. He pushed in the office chair and adjusted the height back with one, two, three, and a half pumps of the peddle.

“... tell Sanzu I want dorayaki.”

The snow-haired man spoke again, adjusting his position on the plush cushions of the sofa and sinking into a relaxed lying position again, the blanket pulled to his chin.

“I'll tell him. I'll see you when you need me again, Sir.”

[Name] replied, giving a respectful bow and moving to exit the room at a quick but still cautious pace.

As he gently pulled open the door, the quiet voice of Mikey caught his ears again, making him pause in movements.

“[Name]... ”

He turned his head back to look at his panda-eyed boss, his posture respectful even as the white-haired man wiped the dry bits of crust from the corners of his eyes. How the man who masterminded the movements of Bonten managed to be cute and intimidating at the same time completely baffled him.

“... thank you.”

Mikey muttered as he flicked his eye crust off somewhere across his room.

[Name] offered a small smile and nod as he exited Mikey's office, quietly closing the door behind him.

It seems that he had been discovered since the beginning. How fun.

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🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

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revasserium · 10 months ago

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waiting for winter (我期待的不是雪)

zayne; 1,616 words; fluff, pining, gn!reader, no "y/n", spoilers for lads ch.4, whipped!zayne

summary: he has never loved the winter

a/n: yes, this was inspired by that one chinese tiktok song. no, i will not elaborate.

He has never loved the winter.

But he remembers the first time he watched the snow fall reflected in your eyes — your cheeks kissed pink by the unforgiving wind, the sky a smear of white as the cold sunk into his bones. He remembers the silver bell ring of your laughter as you’d dragged him by the hand out to build a snowman, the look on your face when he’d remarked that your snowman’s nose was crooked because there were no carrots at the corner store so you’d had to make do with a potato instead.

“Look! It’s snowing!”

Zayne shakes himself into the present, glancing out of his office window at the cotton-soft flurries spinning by his windows. Across from him, you’re sitting with a muffler thrown haphazardly around your shoulders, watching the snow with an open, child-like wonder that makes his entire chest twist tight with —

He clears his throat.

“All the more reason for you to be careful — make sure to bundle up when you go outside,” he says, dropping his eyes back to your most recent health report.

You’re not sleeping enough, and your vitamin D levels are lower than he’d like. He’d hoped that becoming a Hunter would at least expose you to a decent amount of sun but then again, you had told him that Jenna’s been keeping tight reigns on you since the explosion.

“Yeah, yeah — I’ll be careful.”

He looks up, his eyes dark as he looks over the shape of you, fingers curled in your lap as you look up at him from beneath your lashes. He holds your gaze and fights to keep his expression neutral as you blush and look away, somehow reverting back to a much younger version of you — the memory of it superimposed upon the look of you now.

“You’re just as bossy as you were back then,” you say, sighing as you shrug up your shoulders like a scolded child.

Zayne scoffs, affording himself a small laugh, “Except I have a doctorate to back it up now, don’t I?”

You pout, pursing your lips. Zayne wonders, for the millionth time that day, how soft they might be beneath his own.

“I liked you better before you got your fancy creds,” you say, still pouting.

Zayne sighs, flicking off his tablet and putting it down on the table.

“Alright, what do you want?”

You blink up at him, eyes wide enough to convince anyone else of your innocence. But he knows better. He’s always known better.

“What do you mean?”

He ticks his tongue against his teeth and leans back in his chair, checking his watch.

“It’s almost lunchtime — c’mon.”

He pushes up from his desk and tugs his doctor’s coat from his shoulders, rolling them loose of the tightness that had gathered there all morning.

“Huh?”

He rounds his desk and tugs his winter coat from the back of the door, turning to fix you with a look.

“The noodle shop around the corner has your favorite as a lunch special.”

He counts down from five in his head — four, three, two —

“Really?” your face breaks into a grin wide enough to split your face. He chuckles.

“Yes, really. Are you coming?”

You stare for a second longer before leaping to your feet and bounding to his side. He reaches out to adjust your muffler, tying it tighter over the front of your chest, swatting your hand away when you try to loosen it.

“I’m going to choke!”

“Better that than for you to get sick again.”

He tugs open the door and watches you walk into the hallway, a bounce to your step that he hasn’t seen since you were both kids and he’d promised you he’d buy you sweets on the way home from school.

“How’re you so sure that the lunch specials gonna be my favorite?” you ask, pivoting on your heels and fixing him with a look, halfway down the white-washed hospital halls. Zayne takes his time buttoning up his own coat and locking his office door behind him.

“Because,” he says, voice steady as he strolls by you, glancing down with the shadow of a smile crimping his lips —

“I know you.”

* * *

He has never loved the winter.

But, he thinks as he watches you slurp down a bowl of wide-cut noodles, your cheeks flushed red with joy, he might just learn to love a winter like this.

You don’t question it when he reaches out to swipe at the corner of your mouth with this thumb, licking off the excess with a contemplative hm. But he revels in the way you swallow and blush and look away.

He wonders if you know.

He wonders if you know that you haunt him like the cold haunts him on the nights when he’s alone. He wonders if you see him the way he sees you, cast behind his eyelids like the frames of an old film whenever he closes his eyes, your smile more familiar to him than his own.

“Full?” he asks, watching as you wipe your mouth on a bit of napkin, lips stained red by the chili sauce.

“Mhm!” you nod, smiling up at him.

The noodle shop smells of chicken stock and green onions and the sharp dampness of snow on winter coats. You push the noodle bowl away and stare down at your hands.

“Are you — I mean… you have to go back to work, right?”

He can’t help but notice the note of reluctance in your voice, the way you look up at him as if hoping he’ll say no. He nods, folding his napkin into halves, and then forths. Outside, the sun is already falling toward the far horizon, casting everything in a goldenrod glow. Shadows fall long and sure along the pavement and Zayne doesn’t want to think about the endless hours of darkness ahead.

“Are you going home after this?” he asks, nodding stiffly to the waiter as he hands over his card, wordlessly pushing your hand away as you make a feeble attempt to try and snatch the receipt.

“I… was thinking about going to see a movie,” you say, thumbing at a stray thread along the edge of your coat. He watches you tug at it for a while before reaching out to take your hand in his.

“Go home,” he says, his voice level.

Your brow creases in a slight frown as you look up.

“But… I wanted to see —”

“We’ll see it this weekend,” he says, giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting go, thanking the waiter as he takes back his card and scribbles his signature on the receipt.

“We will?” you ask, blinking up at him as he stands up.

“Yes. It’s showing Saturday at 2:30 — we can get lunch before, or dinner after.”

He’s tugging on his coat when you reach up to loop his scarf around his neck, standing too close, so close he can smell the caramel milk and whipped cream of your skin. He fights down the shivers that threaten to shake down his spine as he goes still, waiting as you tuck his scarf securely around his neck.

“You never tie your scarf right,” you say, dropping back down onto your heels even as you shoulder on your own coat, cheeks dusted the most darling shade of pink Zayne has ever seen. As he watches you, he thinks it might just put the winter sun to shame.

He thinks he might thank you, or he might just bend down and kiss you — he’s uncertain all the way till you make it outside and you turn to smile up at him. And like this, with the dying sun caressing the edge of your cheek, the line of your jaw, you are nothing short of ethereal.

Zayne reaches forward, his thumb and forefinger catching your chin as he leans down.

Your gasp is little more than a hiccup of breath —

“Don’t be late,” he says, stopping mere inches from your lips, whispering the words against where your lips might be if he were a little more daring.

You hold perfectly still, your eyes round as you stare up at him, searching his face for… something — anything.

When he pulls back, he thinks you almost make to chase him. But you let his fingers drop from your skin and you tug at your muffler, toeing at the slushed-up snow on the sidewalk.

“Winter’s my favorite season, y’know,” you say. And Zayne doesn’t dare to hope. But he does — he watches you out of the corner of his eyes. Above you, all around you, the afternoon sun flickers and fades, a daytime aurora, like tendrils of some long-gone magic, coaxing willing believers toward their untimely doom.

“Hn,” he says, not trusting himself with more. He waits; you take a long breath before turning to look at him.

“You wanna know why?” you ask. And finally, finally he turns to you, his eyes catching your eyes — and in them, he sees the twisting colors of the sky reflected there, serpentine and sinuous. Ancient and inexorable. Reds and yellows, pinks and purples, bleeding into an endless, endless winter blue.

He wets his lips and swallows hard, “Why?”

You smile, and it is like the first glimmer of sun after an arctic winter’s night, and he can’t breathe for the sight of it.

“Because… it reminds me of you.”

lads requests r.... open lol

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rambling-at-midnight · 4 months ago

Note

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

#reader insert #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd

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dokries · 6 months ago

Text

pairing: lee jihoon (woozi) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 733

warnings: mentions of food, jihoon is said to be a barbie BECAUSE IT’S TRUE, passing remark about “killing” (as in it hurts to just sit and watch)

author note: in true @woozivrse fashion, this is unnamed. this was a birthday gift for them! we miss you blond long hair woozi 😞

masterlist

you sit slumped on the couch of your second home, your phone tossed to the side to watch your boyfriend work. jihoon, too engrossed in his music as usual, doesn’t notice your eyes on him from the corner of his studio.

soonyoung had ordered…whatever tigers eat, and was waiting outside for the delivery person to arrive after he saw that they were a minute away. this left you utterly bored, the hyperactive man being the only thing more entertaining than your phone–of course your boyfriend is as well, but he had been glued to his computer ever since you and soonyoung had crashed his studio earlier.

your eyes drift from jihoon’s hands moving on his keyboard, probably writing lyrics that suddenly pop into his head, to the back of his ears, reminding you of his vampire-like complexion. the boys had somehow convinced him to go to italy with them–read: forced him to go, with soonyoung and vernon apologizing for taking him from you for a week over the phone before they got on their flight. you could thank them for finally dragging him outside; your man needs more vitamin d.

however, your eyes linger on his newly dyed hair, tucked back from his face, the length already to his shoulders. you had laughed when hoshi said jihoon was your very own barbie, but thinking back on it, you realize he’s right. your little rice ball is multi-talented, and blond! literally barbie.

you need to braid his hair. it’s the only thing in your mind, and it’s killing you to just watch him.

you sigh, catching the attention of the man who plagues your thoughts way too often.

“oh, did young-ah leave to go get the food he ordered?” jihoon asks, turning his chair around to look at you, his brows still furrowed from looking at the big screen in front of him for the past few hours.

you nod before looking longingly at his hair, hoping he’ll notice your gaze.

nope.

he just looks at you questionably, causing you to sigh again. okay, maybe you just needed to be more direct.

“i–”

“do–”

you both start speaking over each other, and share a small smile before you gesture for jihoon to talk first.

he clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning red. “do you…do you want to braid my hair?”

his hesitancy makes your jaw drop open. your mind is filled with only two thoughts. one: he's so cute. two: what can’t your man do? is he a mind reader??

(when you ask him later, he says that soonyoung had brought up that you wanted to braid his hair when it’s longer a few months ago. that sneaky little–)

regaining your composure, you nod quietly, still in shock that jihoon of all people had suggested you braid his hair first.

you gesture for him to move to the space right under your spot on the couch, and as he walks over, you can’t help but feel giddy inside.

when he sits down and is comfortable, you stare at the back of his head, unsure of where to start. you’ve never braided your boyfriend’s hair before, so maybe just a simple braid would suffice…for now.

you separate jihoon’s hair into three sections and take them gently, slowly braiding it to make sure he’s not uncomfortable.

the soft sounds of both of your breathing is the only noise in the room as you finish, trying to include the entire length to compensate for the lack of a hair tie.

you pat jihoon’s head once before giggling to yourself and taking a picture of your handiwork to show him. you tell him to turn around, and hand your phone to him with eager eyes, tucking jihoon’s bangs behind his ears as he gives you a soft smile, and a nod of approval.

“this looks great,” jihoon says before placing a shy peck on your cheek, his own turning red.

“HEY GUYS, I THINK THE DELIVERY PERSON WAS FLIRTING WITH ME?? THEY ASKED TO CONFIRM MY NUMBER—” soonyoung starts, slamming the door open with the takeout container of his favorite chicken place in his hands before looking down at the two of you smiling at each other. “oh you guys are being lovey-dovey again. i’ll see myself out…nice hangout guys!” he winks before closing the door, leaving you and jihoon both red in the face.

#dokries works #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon fluff #lee jihoon imagines #lee jihoon scenarios #woozi x reader #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff

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marlynnofmany · 2 months ago

Text

I Know A Guy

The post office on this space station was close to the landing docks, nice and convenient, so several of us went to check our mail while Captain Sunlight met with the sister ship. Not all of the crew had mail drops set up, but I did; this station was a big hub that we stopped at with some regularity. Perfect for relaying the occasional news from home.

And care packages, as it turned out.

I opened the box with some curiosity, sitting on a bench while the others waited in line and the spaceport bustled around us. Inside I found multivitamins, a letter from my parents, a type of cereal that I’d loved as a kid, and a smaller box with a sun logo.

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Paint asked, trotting over with her own box clutched to her scaly orange chest.

“A lot of stuff,” I said in distraction, turning the sun box in search of words. No luck. I opened it to find a fist-sized yellow globe and a base with lots of buttons. And an instruction booklet, thankfully. “Oh, it’s a sun lamp!”

“It even looks like a little sun; how nice! Is it warm, or just bright?” Paint gave it an appreciative look while she opened her package.

“Not sure yet.” I skimmed the instructions and decided to leave that for later. “It’s thoughtful, though. I think my parents were concerned that I’m not getting enough Vitamin D up in space. And other vitamins.” I rattled the bottle.

“That’s a lot of vitamins.”

“Yup. And look, they found the discontinued cereal! I thought it was gone for good.” I carefully opened a corner and fished out a palmful of the maple syrup flavored crunchy goodness that I hadn’t had in years. It was just as tasty as I’d remembered.

Paint sniffed the air. “I don’t recognize that smell. What kind of food is it?”

“Breakfast food,” I said. “I think it’s wheat based, so it’s basically made from ground-up seeds, and flavored with sweet tree sap.”

“That’s … creative,” Paint said.

“Delicious, too. Most tree saps aren’t worth eating, but this one is.” I crunched another mouthful. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” was the prim answer that I’d fully expected. “But look what I got! Fancy heat stickers!” Paint held up a stack of vividly colored starburst shapes, fanned out like playing cards. “I’m going to see if Sunlight, Coals, and Eggskin want any.”

“Thoughtful of you,” I said, closing up the cereal. All four of the lizardy Heatseekers on our ship enjoyed warm things. The ambient temperature was always kept at a comfortable compromise for the various species onboard, but a handy little warm sticker that wouldn’t get in the way was bound to be appreciated.

“Oh, they’re even scented,” Paint said, rubbing one against her snout. “I’m going to have to order more of these.” She sorted through the stack, checking scents and color variations.

Mur and Zhee were still in line, stuck behind a Frillian who was shipping many things to many places, so I settled in to read the note from home while I waited. It was a nice update on the various goings-on of the extended family; all reasonably good news, nothing earth-shattering. Somebody got a scholarship, somebody had twins, somebody was doing well in a competitive bumper-ship derby league, and was incredibly excited about it. There was a lot of detail about that one. I got the impression that this particular second cousin had given everybody a rundown at a family gathering, so now they all knew more about the best types of shrapnel shielding than they probably wanted to. Sounded like the favorite was a human-made version, combining tech that other species had already come up with. The force field worked with the ship’s scanner to predict which parts of the shield would need the most power for a given impact. My cousin was a big fan.

The quiet slap of tentacles on the ground accompanied Mur. “Well that was a long wait,” he said. “But now I’m all set for media for the foreseeable future.” He held a data chip in one tentacle.

Zhee was right behind him, hissing in what sounded like joy instead of irritation for once. He set a box down between his bug feet, not waiting for a bench, and tore it open with his pincher arms. Inside was something that looked like another kind of data chip, and something with straps that I couldn’t begin to figure out.

“Excellent,” Zhee said. “The correct version, the highest quality, and Trrili does not get to listen to it, heathen that she is.”

It took me a second. “Oh, that’s music?” I thought back to the impassioned rant about Trrili’s incorrect opinions on traditional Mesmer leg-singing. I hoped Zhee played it quietly. “And is that — I want to say ‘headphones,’ but—”

“Personal speakers, yes,” Zhee said as he stuffed it all back in the box. “I will be able to listen to the glorious arias in privacy.”

Paint nodded. “Great idea.” She’d heard the leg-singing when I did, and probably wasn’t eager to hear the artful screeching again.

I was trying to guess whether Zhee would be offended if I asked where his ears were, since it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know. But the others were gathering up their things to head back to the ship, and I decided to put it off until later. Maybe I’d ask Eggskin the medic instead.

Something occurred to me as I put the letter back in the box. “Hey guys, pose for a second. I want to send my family a picture with some of my cool alien coworkers.”

The three of them agreed that they were awesome and worth photographing. (Their responses ranged from excited to confident to egotistical.) A few moments later, I had a fantastic group selfie to send with my letter back. Paint’s open-mouthed lizard smile was adorable; Mur stood tall on his blue-black tentacles; Zhee loomed over all of us with the lights shining off his purple exoskeleton; then there was me grinning in the front. I’d definitely be keeping a copy of this.

We made our way back to the ship where it was parked next to a similar lemon-shaped courier ship with folded solar sails. The two captains hadn’t gone inside yet, which made me wonder what they were discussing with such intense expressions.

As we approached, Captain Sunlight was saying, “I may know someone who can help us out, but I’d hate to give him the satisfaction.”

She broke off when Paint trotted up to give her a handful of heat stickers and to show off the blue-white one she herself was wearing. Apparently it smelled like a plant I’d never heard of.

“Thank you; that’s very thoughtful,” Captain Sunlight said. “Those sound like just the thing.” She picked out a green one and pasted it to her own chest, where it contrasted nicely with her yellow scales.

Zhee and Mur tromped into the ship. I lingered, curious. “Is all the ship business going all right?” I asked.

“For the moment,” the captain said as she stowed the rest of the stickers and the backing for that one in her belt pouch. “Just considering our options with some monetary considerations.”

Captain Kamm waved a tentacle. “Both ships are on the family plan for damage insurance, and the rates have made an unpleasant jump.”

I shifted the box to my other side. “Do we need to earn more money?”

“No, it will be all right.” Captain Sunlight shook her head. “I have a lead on a better deal. I just need to make a call or two.”

Captain Kamm ushered us all into our ship, wasting no time. Paint disappeared to share her heat stickers while the two captains adjourned to the lounge. I put my things away and hurried back. No one had told me to mind my own business, so I was going to listen in before writing a letter to send back home.

I was quick, but Captain Sunlight was quicker. She was just ending the holo call when I arrived. A green-scaled Heatseeker gazed earnestly from the projection, urging her to get back to him as soon as she could.

“If you can get better shields, I can promise you a savings of at least 15% compared to your current plan!”

“Yes, thank you,” Captain Sunlight said. “I’ll see what I can do. Say hi to the elders for me.”

He said he would, and she turned off the projection with another deep sigh. Captain Kamm sat next to her, weaving tentacles together thoughtfully.

Captain Sunlight tossed the communicator onto the table and sat back with folded arms. “Of course it couldn’t be that simple. He talks a good game at every gathering, but oh no: prerequisites.”

I sat down at the end of the couch, absently petting Telly who was curled up in the center. In proper cat fashion, she responded by stretching to take up even more space. I was thinking about what the captain had just said about shields.

I asked, “Does he need a certain kind in order to get us the better deal?”

Captain Sunlight waved a hand. “Just a higher degree of resistance to micrometeorites. The shielding we have is perfectly serviceable, but it’s apparently not enough for the good rates.”

“Would we need to overhaul everything, or would it be enough to layer another kind over what we have? Like, say, a kind that connects to the ship’s scanners?”

The captain gave me a look. “Do you have a specific type in mind?”

“Possibly,” I said. “Are you familiar with bumper-ship derbies?”

Captain Kamm twirled a tentacle. “That’s some of the human ‘adrenaline junkie’ nonsense, yes?”

“I think there are some Smashers and other races that really get into it as well, but yes,” I said. “The letter from home I just got mentioned the shielding they use.”

I explained what I knew while they listened intently. Paint came in to join us and sat on the other side of Telly, who took the extra attention as her due. By the time I was done talking, everyone in the room was looking optimistic.

“Go ahead and reach out,” Captain Sunlight said. “We don’t have to rush off anytime soon. With any luck, we can get all this settled at once.”

“Here’s hoping!” Captain Kamm said, touching four tentacle-tips together over her head in what looked like the Strongarm version of crossed fingers.

“I’ll see if I can route a call through to home now,” I said, getting up.

Telly meowed in protest at the movement, then crawled onto Paint’s lap and rubbed her head against the heat sticker, purring audibly. Paint looked delighted.

I left with a wave, hurrying off to my quarters with plans to make a phone call, potentially save the day, then set up the sun lamp for the benefit of a certain fuzzy little heat-lover as well as for my own sake.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

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thepixelelf · 8 months ago

Text

how to harvest sunshine

a continuing part for the couple from the only way to get a good sleep!

genres: established relationship, fluff!! pairing: reader x seokmin words: 475 (ik it's short and doesn't need header images but idk it's a part 2 😭😭 idk) warnings: none :] notes: this is for elv @seokmins day once again!! ((ignore that this is a little late pls ty ily <3))

Seokmin has been a little, itty bitty, teensy bit dishonest with his boss for the past eight days.

Yes, this city is beautiful. Yes, the views are incredible. Yes, he's very grateful for this opportunity, and for being especially chosen to join him on this business trip.

But truthfully, Seokmin wants to go home.

Not because the city isn't beautiful or the views aren't incredible or he isn't grateful, but because he really, really wants to see you.

"For the record," you say as you prop your phone on the counter so it captures your upper half and some of the sink. "I also haven't seen you in eight days. I miss you too."

With a sleepy smile, Seokmin watches you as you start to wash the dishes. He wishes he was there to help you out, but he's hours away -- by plane -- and stuck in this admittedly nice hotel room. "I could just get on a flight tomorrow. Leave early."

You chuckle. "I don't think that's the best idea."

"Didn't you just say you miss me?" he whines with a pout.

"Now now, don't be like that," you tease, wiping your hands dry on on a tea towel. "You told me you were excited to visit that famous pizza place tomorrow."

He beams. "Guilty."

"Ooh. Hold right there."

"Hm?" Seokmin tilts his head, confused.

"No, wait, put that smile back on." You reach over for your phone and pull it so he sees your face more up close.

He can't help but laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Harvesting sunshine," you say with a cheeky smile. "Screenshotting. I'm going through withdrawals."

"Withdrawals?"

You take another picture of him. "A vitamin D deficiency, at least. I haven't gotten to see my favourite smile in a week."

"Any tips on how to collect moonlight?"

Snapping one last screenshot, you put your phone back on the counter. "Hmm... not unless you do get on that plane tomorrow."

You shouldn't tempt him like that, he thinks. If he didn't know you were just being silly, he'd book the flight right now with your video call at the corner of his screen.

Seokmin shifts on the hotel bed, letting his head rest on the pillow and hiding his smile under the edge of the blanket. "Hey..." he drawls.

You put the last dish on the drying rack. "Yeah?"

"Remember how I asked you to marry me?"

Chuckling, you slide the ring you'd taken off while your hands were wet back onto your third finger. You wiggle your hand in front of the camera. "Yes, sunshine, I remember."

"Can we do that soon?"

You try to hide how wide your smile is by pressing your lips together between your teeth, and you cross your arms with a shrug while nodding towards the drying rack. "Can I get these dishes done first?"

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brucewaynehater101 · 6 months ago

Note

I think that prior to Tim being found out as a spider demon, only Cass had good thoughts about Spiders. And maybe Damian but in more of a "don't kill it, you put it in a cup and move it to the garden" kind of way. Dick *hates* them and Jason had a bad experience with Beast Boy using the form of a spider the size of a dinner plate to jump scare him when he was still Robin.

As for how he makes his silk, i once saw a design of a spider demon that had two black dots at the corners of its mouth and when it pressed a finger to the dots and pulled them away, a line of string was hanging between their finger and the dot. I think his thread looks like normal spider thread (including the size) but is durable enough that only a few strands can stop a charging Bane. It's possible for him to take the silk he produces and turn it into thread and from thread into fabric. The fabric moves and feels like high quality silk but is about twice as durable as Kevlar due to how strong his threads are.

The only reason all of the Bats aren't already decked out in full Tim Silk Gear is because of the sheer amount of time and energy it takes to make that much thread. If he uses all of his spare time to make thread and turn it into fabric as quickly as he can, he would only make 2 or 3 fabric napkins in a month. If he was only eating, sleeping, and making silk he could produce a single sheet about the size of a picnic blanket in the same amount of time. Not exactly a lot of fabric to work with. Plus there's the fact that his thread is very weak by the standards of his species due to a mixture of malnutrition, constant exhaustion, and frequent injuries.

However, most of his family does have at least one thing that he made with his thread for them. They have no idea what kind of fabric it is that Tim brings them things made of and when asked if he can get more, he simply shakes his head and says, "I wish I could, but farming to much of the material needed to make this stuff can seriously harm the type of creature that creates it. I'm keeping it vague so that you guys don't try to buy it yourselves. The person I get this from have been very, *very* heavily researched to make sure that it's done in a humane way. Basically anywhere else you find this stuff is almost garenteed to be horribly mistreating the creatures to force them to produce as much as physically possible. And I got my guys entire stock just to make this for you." This throughly covers his tracks and makes it so that the Bats won't consider trying to buy more silk from other sources. Most of the things he makes for them are small, like gloves or Domino Masks or at most an under shirt to give them an extra layer or protection. Cass's whole cowl is made of Tim's Silk.

As for what kind of malnutrition Tim has, the Bats already knew about that, sort of. John saw Bruce's new gloves and after feeling them asked where the fuck he got that much Jorogomo Silk and why it's such Shit Quality. When Bruce asked for him to elaborate, Constantine ran his hands over the gloves a few times while muttering to himself before sighing, "Malnutrition. Their silk is a direct reflection of their health. Whoever made this, they have *not* been eating well. Probably only just enough to survive and with no... well, you'd probably be glad to hear that the one who made your gloves hasn't been chowing down on an human flesh. But it's an important part of their diet. Yeah, this one seems to have been trying to use supplements for the shit it needs, but that'll never truly work. Like you can take all the vitamins tablets ya want, but unless you go out and soak in some sunshine every now and then you'll always be deficient in Vitamin D cause your body just won't process it. If I were you, I would get in contact with your seller and get them a deal with the local mourge. After all, you're from Gothem. I'm sure no one would notice if a few of the already dead disappeared."

That night Bruce had an uncomfortable conversation with Tim about how his seller might not be as good as he thought and what Mourges tended to "loose" bodies most often. Tim did start eating some from the already dead but he hates it. Not because hes eating people but because they've been dead for a while and only fresh bodies taste good.

As for Jack, he goes into a coma until Tim gets there and he uses some of his threads to make Jack his puppet. However, Tim doesn't have any practice with preserving the bodies of his puppets yet so after about a month, Jack is starting to fall apart a little so Tim sets up for him to be part of a car crash and makes a new puppet to be Uncle Eddie. The second puppet does last longer, but only about 2 and a half months and then Tim eats what's left of Uncle Eddie. Maybe one day he'll be able to make puppets that last for years like his mom did, but not just yet.

Also she isn't dead and does stay in contact. She just got bored of her life as Janet Drake and ditched her puppet, telling Tim "here's my new number and new name and the puppet of your father. Good luck kiddo." And Tim was like "YOURE THE BEST MOM" because really, by their standards she is. Most of his species are completely abandoned once they can walk, hide themselves, and produce silk. Most don't have any idea who their parent or parents are at all.

Ooh! The way you made his silk OP but then put in a very realistic limitation was cool as hell.

I'm also curious how the Bats would feel about Tim needing to consume human flesh. If Red Hood is still killing, it would he super cool of him to offer up some of the people he murders. Hopefully that will be a bit fresher and better tasting for Tim.

Also, would Alfred try to cook food for Tim's diet? Or would that be too much for Alfred to handle so he refuses to cook human flesh?

If Tim or someone else cooked that food (post-reveal), they probably would have to build an entire kitchen just for him. They wouldn't want to cross contaminate that since it could make the humans really really sick.

You mentioned that Tim doesn't hate consuming flesh. Does he have any reservations about it? Are there parts of his being that he hates for not being human enough?

At least Bruce doesn't seem to mind a creature consuming already dead people. Though, maybe Tim (pre-reveal) worries Bruce would mind if it was someone he knew.

I'm also hella curious where puppet Uncle Eddie comes from. Dead body? Bad guy Tim doesn't mind turning into a puppet?

Love Janet Drake. Maybe Tim could go visit her every once in a blue moon. If not, at least both of them seem happy and content with their relationship

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #spider tim #jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth

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yellowbunnydreams · 9 months ago

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Do you need some Vitamin D? (Incubus! William x Oblivious! F! Reader) [Part 1]

~Hi lovelies, I'm aware I have been a shitty author and disappeared for a long time, but I have been trying to get caught up with real life and honestly kinda hyper-fixated on minecraft for a week but I'm determined to write! I want to give you all the lovely things so here is an extremely belated Valentines Day fic about monstrous William Afton~

~Happy Valentines, Galentines, Pal-entines and fork-tines to you all! Today we're doing something a little bit silly and something very sweet in honour of the romantic day....A silly fic of monster William x oblivious reader, because let's face it, we all have at least one moment where flirting has gone straight over our heads and we missed the boat.~

@ruh--roh-raggy

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI. Fluff, age gap (Reader 20's - William Afton 40's(?)), teratophilia, meet-cute, punny pick-up lines, scenes of working out, minor porn-logic, ditzy! reader, could be classed as bimbo! reader?, size-difference, flirting, monster-lover, sexual innuendos, Monster! AU

William Afton ran his tongue over his teeth as he lost himself in thought once again. His silvery eyes watching you behind gold-framed aviators as you chatted with your co-workers, the blaring and beeping arcade lights casting colours against your skin in a way that made the older man suck a breath in through his teeth and click his tongue disapprovingly at himself. William had excellent control over himself both professionally and personally, there were plenty of times where his nature wanted to take hold of the reigns and control his actions but he rarely let them.

You were his little indulgence.

As the type of creature he was, it was hard to control obsessions and indulgences. Where did the lines cross? It had been years since he last let himself slip over the line and it had resulted in some unwanted agreements and commitments, a fact he was constantly reminded of whenever he received a letter from his thankfully former wife demanding reconciliation. She never knew the real him though, and William couldn't ever remember a person beside his best friend and his best friend's wife that had ever seen the real him. Just as he had seen the real them.

But as you turned and glanced at the older man leaning in the doorway into the 'employees only' corridor and gave him a little bright smile like always, he couldn't help his usually stern expression quirking at the corner of his mouth to return the smile slightly. You had that affect on the taller man, even if you were unaware of it or his perhaps less than selfless intentions behind it all.

You'd been working at Freddy Fazbear's pizza for just over two months, and in that time you'd made plenty of friends amongst the various members of staff. The cooks knew your break order and always happened to have an 'accidental' order of your favourite cheesy garlic sticks when you'd had a tough shift, people knew that they could rely on you to cover shifts when sick or that you actually knew where the first aid box was.

In general, people liked you, even if you were keenly aware of your one persistent flaw. You were...naïve, at times, and sometimes jokes and stories flew over your head whilst talking with other staff members. And sure, sometimes you'd had your female co-workers come up to you after some guy had talked to you and walked away looking dejected, only to be told they were flirting with you. But you weren't looking to change those things about yourself necessarily, and nobody ever said it was a bad thing that perhaps somebody who was interested in you would have to try a little harder to grab your attention.

"Afton's staring at you again." Your co-worker tutted, crossing her arms and making you look over towards him despite her hissed protests. Spotting the taller man with greying temples and those thin gold aviators that gave him a much more sophisticated look despite his yellow pin-stripe shirt that was a little baggy on his seemingly broad body. Giving him a friendly smile as he was indeed looking your way, seeing his usual frown twitch slightly as he nodded at you and shoved off from the wall, beginning to wander back into the halls of the pizzeria. "He's such a creep."

"He's not! Mr. Afton's lovely, maybe he's just shy?" You suggested, making the woman in front of you raise her eyebrow sceptically.

"Maybe if he was in high-school, he's a grown ass man, he should say something to you if he wants to say it!"

"Well, he and Mr. Emily do like to stand around and make sure everything is running smoothly. He's probably staring cause we're standing around." Shrugging your shoulders as your colleague shook her head and threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh.

"He's been staring at you for like....a month now? Anybody would think you were being sized up to be eaten or something. Or maybe he wants to fuck you." Wriggling her eyebrows suggestively, you smacked her arm and felt your cheeks heating up as you shook your head.

"Don't be silly! Or rude! Mr. Afton wouldn't think like that towards any of us, we're part of the Fazbear family!"

The young woman looked over at a couple of their co-workers sneaking kisses in the pass, with copious amounts of tongue like teenagers who had just discovered the concept of french-kiss and were delighted with the prospect. Shaking her own head as you wandered off to continue working, not wanting to disappoint your bosses.

"Yeah, perhaps a little more 'incestuous' than you realise though." Muttering under her breath as she trailed behind you, helping with the cleaning chores you both had to complete before the next dinner rush.

Meanwhile, William made his way into the offices at the back and made the man already inside jump slightly at his sudden entrance. His dark, short curls greying slightly and wearing an obnoxiously yellow shirt and brown slacks that made William's stomach turn slightly at how bright his friend was. Henry smiled at him from his desk and turned back to looking at the papers on his desk, allowing William to squeeze past and slip into his desk in the back.

The wooden top was cluttered with sheets of paper in neat stacks and animatronic parts in various spread states of disarray. Afton despised paperwork being out of place, but something that he deemed creative like his animatronics were fine to be in various messy states, art to him was supposed to be chaotic and messy. But his thoughts were distracted by that little smile you'd given him, running his thumb over his index nail repeatedly as he stared at his desk.

Henry noticed his silence and turned around in the swivel chair, facing his friend with a curiously raised eyebrow before scooting closer and forcing William to look up at the sound. Frown on his face as Henry broke out into a grin.

"You went out to look at that employee again didn't you?" Henry teased, making the taller man groan and rub his face under his glasses, jostling them from the comfortable position they had been in and forcing him to adjust them before he glared at Henry.

"None of your fuckin' business."

"Oh you did! And it our business! Do you think you might...pursue?" He asked, leaning on the edge of William's desk, making the other man sigh and shrug his broad shoulders as he averted his eyes back onto the projects on his desk.

"Been a while since I...Think I'm just an old bastard at this point." A slight smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Henry rolling his eyes, a huffing, snorting sound that William recognised as a more annoyed sound.

"Where did all your bravado go? Are you sure your previous wasn't a succubus or something? Sucked all the life out of you."

"Wouldn't that be fucking ironic. Must've been a vampire, drained me dry and not in the nice way either." Henry pulled a face and leaned over to smack William on the shoulder, the firm clap reminding William how strong Henry was despite his more slender frame and growing stomach from his wife's cooking.

Both men sat there for a moment before Henry sighed, running his fingers through his curls and shaking his head to dislodge the soft round ears from ontop of his head. Feeling his face getting slightly more full as his teeth pulled at his gums uncomfortably, blinking up at William who simply blinked back.

"Nearly new moon huh?"

"Yeah, it fucking sucks that I can't really leave the office or the house in case, but that's what I have my best friend and my wife for, huh?"

"Don't let your wife figure out they're separate titles." William chuckled, watching as Henry stretched his jaw and pawed at his face as he tried to encourage his more ursine features back into place.

"No way, I value my life and she will absolutely hand me my ass in silver bullets." Henry laughed and shook his head, looking back onto his own desk and spotting the poster for an upcoming event that made his face light up in an even brighter smile as he turned back to William. "You know what you should do?"

"What?"

"Ask her to the staff Valentine's staff-do!"

"Absolutely fucking not!"

"Come on, why?" He whined and William huffed, curling his lip up to reveal teeth a little too sharp to be human before he cleared his throat and cracked his neck, giving Henry a much more normal smile afterwards.

"It's so stupid, and plus, I need to refresh my skills, that takes time you know."

"Just go with what you've got! In fact, start today! Go out there and get flirting! If you don't have a date to that staff-do, I swear to god William, I'll bite you."

"Can't pass on the ursanthropy to me, Henry. But the thought of you biting me in any form is unpleasant." William sighed and stood up from his desk, watching Henry scooting back to his desk and rolling his eyes as he sighed.

Afton hated things like Valentine's Day, thought about all the overpriced flowers and chocolates that were out and about and the tacky foil decorations that would be used once and then ripped down within a day and never mentioned again. But Henry, annoyingly, was right about the fact that it was an opportune time to ask you out and flex his fingers with the charm a little.

It didn't take him long to find you, carrying piles of flat pizza boxes to make-up for takeout and humming slightly as you headed down the winding corridor, peeking over the top of the stack to see where you were going before a pair of hands reached out and took some of the boxes on the top.

"Let me get some of that for you, sweetheart." He chuckled, easily holding the boxes in his large hands and making you smile appreciatively, adjusting your grip on your own stack and feeling better that you could see where you were going and wouldn't run into anybody.

"Thanks Mr.Afton! I hope this isn't too much trouble." Watching as William shrugged and chewed over his lip, glancing over you briefly.

"It's no trouble, hey! Do you like raisins?" He asked suddenly, making you pause as you mulled over the question.

"I mean...I'm not keen?"

"Then how about a date?" William grinned from ear to ear, watching your expression gleefully as you blinked up at him.

"I mean..I might like them? Haven't tried raisins in years, I might have to try them again. Thanks for helping Mr. Afton!" You smiled, wandering through the corridor and towards the front of the restaurant once again, not aware of the flabbergasted look on her boss' face as he stared after you.

You weren't sure what had changed the next day when you came in for your shift, early as always and humming to yourself when you cleaned up. Henry Emily and William Afton came in through the front door, silence between them as you noticed that Henry had a pair of dark sunglasses on despite the early morning light and William had on a tight black t-shirt and jeans, looking more like a biker with a bit of a dad-bod going on. Blinking in surprise as neither of them were really dressed in the professional attire you were used to them being in.

"Good morning Mr. Emily, Mr. Afton!" You called out, causing both men to stop and turn their attention towards you. Afton looking at you with that stern expression he always had whilst Henry attempted a smile, although it fell quickly and settled back into a slightly pained look, causing your brow to furrow with concern.

"Ah, morning," your name was added quietly onto the end, Henry reaching up and rubbing his hand over his face. Secretly checking himself for any subtle transformations, William glancing at him from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to you. "How goes set-up?"

"Well Mr. Emily, although...are you okay? You look a little sick and tired today. Maybe you should be at home?" Voice laden with concern and head tilted slightly as you watched Henry, managing to miss William's slight smile at your concern for his friend. Henry shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"Ah, yeah just not been sleeping well. Not sweet enough dreams perhaps." Trying to put some humour back into his voice as William lit up and decided to try out another technique on you, feeling his face settling into a confident smirk once more as he looked you over. Somehow you made even the uniform look cute.

"Not like you, hey sweetheart? You're sweet and a dream." You turned to look at him as the much taller man spoke, the same blank expression on your face for a moment before you laughed and shook your head shyly, averting your gaze from his silvery eyes. Wondering if you had ever been so close to him, other than when he picked up the pizza boxes for you.

"You're too nice Mr. Afton, I really just try to be myself." Shaking your head and not noticing as Henry scowled at William from the side, shaking his own head and rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses. "Well, I better get back to work, please take care of yourself today Mr. Emily, and please look after him Mr. Afton." Giving each of the older men a smile before turning back to your duties and allowing them to move on. Still curious as to why they were dressed less formally.

Henry all but grabbed William and dragged the taller man into the back areas and to their cramped little office. Both men staring down as Henry took off his sunglasses and revealed his more yellowish green eyes, the pupils blown out as he struggled to keep himself full in check as the new moon was only a day away. Holding onto his friend's thick arms for a moment before crossing his against his chest, foot tapping impatiently as he had to look slightly up to see William's face.

"What the actual fuck was that?"

"What was what, Henry?" William asked coyly, smirking as the werebear before him huffed and growled in annoyance. Narrowing his eyes as Henry gestured back out towards the main floor where you were.

"THAT! Was that you flirting?"

"Yeah? Girls love that shit, just cause you get that whole 'mate' thing doesn't mean everybody does buddy." William rolled his eyes and crossed his own thicker arms across his broad chest, staring down at the smaller man as he shook his head. Henry running his fingers through his dark curls for a moment as an exasperated sigh escaped him.

"When did girls like that, the eighteen-hundreds?"

"Watch it, and it was the eighties as you well know."

"Either way, you're an old bastard."

"Shut the fuck up, Emily." William growled, his own teeth changing slightly as his lip curled and revealed sharper canines than before. His own monstrous nature leaking through his carefully held together image before Henry blinked and he was back to normal.

Both men headed off into the offices, Henry still shaking his head and glancing at William with a sense of disbelief. His friend was loosing his touch and honestly, he wasn't sure what he could do to rectify the situation without being blunt and to the point which would entirely ruin William's whole thing.

"You're possibly the world's worst incubus, William Afton." Henry muttered under his breath, making William snort and smirk in return as the office door opened and he allowed his features to shift slightly. Sharp teeth, flatter more squashed nose and nails sharper as greyish brown fur started to creep down the back of his neck and onto his forehead, mixing into where his salt and pepper hair normally was neatly swiped back.

"Says you, I'm just getting started." His features turning back to normal as he shook his head. Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders as the monster once against became the man.

Your phone buzzed on the bedspread as you sat eating cereal in bed and watching some true-crime programme that had come on when you turned on the TV. Almost missing the soft sound before you reached for it and tapped the screen with your thumb to light it up, pausing as you saw it was a text notification and heart pounding slightly as you saw the name attached to it.

William Afton.

Tapping it open, you wondered if perhaps he was asking you to cover the shift the next day, since you had a couple of days off. Although it was usually Henry who reached out and he never texted, always phoned since it was 'more professional'. He had looked sick earlier, so it wasn't out of the realms of possibility that he was handing over the responsibility to William to try and limit how much stuff Henry himself had to do. You paused as the text loaded after a moment and your eyes instantly landed on a photo of William.

It took you a moment to register. But it looked like it had been taken from around waist height and pointed up his body, his greying hair slicked back and wet like he'd just gotten out of the shower, those gold wire aviators catching the light but still able to see his grey eyes and his greying beard. His broad chest was covered in a tight purple shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the first three buttons undone and letting you see a touch of his dark chest hair that you somehow never realised you knew would be there.

Confused, you looked at the text that came afterwards, your eyes straying back up to the picture occasionally as you tried to figure out what on earth was going on.

'What do you think to the new shirt?' Still confused, you balanced the bowl of cereal on your lap before texting back, thinking on what to reply as you scanned the picture one more time before your fingers moved across the keyboard.

'It's a nice colour on you Mr. Afton. Did you mean to send this to me though?' Turning back to eating cereal and watching the TV for only a moment before your phone buzzed again and you looked at his name popping up on the screen once more, tapping on it to read as you chewed over your next mouthful.

'Shit, really sorry, this was meant for Henry. Thanks for your feedback though.' You tried for a moment to think how your name might end up next to Henry Emily's in his contacts but didn't think too hard about it, popping another spoonful into your mouth before texting back, wanting to reassure the older man that it was a simple mistake.

'It's no problem, I'm not doing anything at the moment anyway. Was just surprised that you texted me.'

A few minutes passed before your phone vibrated again, and you were welcome to the distraction since the programme had become kind of boring and predictable, it was clear who was the murderer and anything was better than the cliche music and dramatic cuts on the screen.

'Not doing anything? A young lady like you should be out and about! I'm curious as to what type of nothing you're up to now though.' The text made you laugh and shake your head, chuckling as you texted back quickly. You weren't sure what it was about the text exchange with William Afton, but it was enjoyable and you couldn't help the involuntary scroll up in the chain of texts to look at the photo again whilst you waited for his reply after your own.

'Sat in bed, eating cereal and watching TV. Really nothing exciting Mr. Afton. I can imagine your evening is more exciting than mine.'

'Well that rather depends on your definition of exciting. What would you be up to if you didn't have the cereal?' A strange question, but you shrugged and replied in the only way that came to mind. Totally unaware that William Afton was across town and laid in his own bed as soon as you mentioned being in yours, a small smirk on his face with one hand tucked up behind his head as he thought it was genius to potentially lure you into a salacious conversation.

'Get up and get cereal :p'

Your reply left his blinking at his screen and he turned his head to look at the floor length mirror across the room, seeing his more monstrous face staring back at him. Soft bunny ears folded back across his head and covered in a fine layer of salt and pepper fur. His large figure spread out across the bed, his clawed fingers running over his head and flatter face, nose twitching as his now pale purple eyes stared back behind his glasses. The bedding up to his waist hiding most of his transformations, tucking his knees up and curling up his lip to reveal his sharp teeth as his foot stamped in annoyance against the mattress. Crossing his arms around himself in a motion of comfort. The lagomorphic incubus was beginning to doubt his own abilities and he didn't like that.

What was it about you that resisted him so easily? He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought it might have something to do with the fact you had always seemed to have a few things...go over your head, to put it politely. Chewing on his lip as he looked at himself once again in the mirror before he closed his eyes and tapped his head back against the headboard, frustrated that it wasn't going exactly to plan.

Unaware of your boss' frustration, you gave up waiting for him to say something back, glancing at the clock and wondering if perhaps he had simply fallen asleep. But you had a small smile that he had talked to you for so long, and wondered if he had enjoyed the conversation too. Putting the dirty bowl on your nightstand to be cleaned up in the morning and sighing as you settled back into bed.

Scrolling back up, you couldn't help one last look at the picture he had sent, cheeks flushing with heat as you shook your head, tossing the device to one side as you rubbed your face. Wondering what on earth had gotten into you that you kept going back to look at your boss and admire the little features of his face.

#william afton #william afton x reader #springtrap #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #fnaf movie #springtrap x reader #william afton smut #william afton x you #fnaf x reader #monster au #monster william afton #monster henry emily #incubus

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vbs-kaitos-big-naturals · 2 months ago

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i think the main thing i hate about 'suicide units' in school health classes is how bad the advice is. like wtf??? no dont tell a persons parents theyre suicidal without the persons permission thats fucked up

instead of doing what school tells you, please follow these rules:

dont tell authority figures about someone's suicidal thoughts/sh unless you know theyre in active danger or they gave you permission. its a breach of privacy and trust, and it could put them in a bad spot if their parents are abusive.

please dont treat a suicidal person with pity/babying. its just plain demeaning. unless youre sure theyre okay with something else, treat them normally and just check in on them more.

and if YOURE suicidal, they dont even teach you how to deal with it or cope, they just give you 988/other hotline and send you on your way. its superficial care.

here are some ACTUAL tips if youre suicidal/struggling in anyway with mental illness:

if you cant do things the way youre supposed to, then cut corners. some is better than nothing.

the little things can make a difference. seeing your keychain always makes you feel a little better, so take that keychain everywhere. it wont fix everything, but a little bit of joy can go a long way.

find other people who are struggling like you. online spaces are a good start! however, if you feel like the environment is just making you feel negative and more depressed, you should leave to prevent further harm.

FIND THINGS YOU ENJOY. please. whether it be rhythm games, reading, drawing, hell, doing math equations, things that youre passionate about can be like a rock to support yourself when it gets bad. they make you feel better, they give you a purpose (though you dont need one to be worthy of life, remember that) and they give you something to connect to others with.

try to get some sunlight. vitamin D deficiency is awful and can cause serious depression, so letting the sun do its job can make you feel a little better. bonus points for either going outside or opening a window to get fresh air!

as soon as you can comfortably and safely do so, please try to go to a therapist to help you figure out how to cope with your symptoms. theyll still be there, but they can live alongside you instead of preventing you from living.

a lot of this stuff can be good for executive dysfunction too! if you need depression meals, a basic rule of thumb is to try and get all the food groups. if you only have instant noodles and some eggs, then make the instant noodles as cook the eggs in the broth. if you only have rice, peanuts, and some hot sauce, put those together. etc etc. there are tons of great resources out there too, ill probably reblog later with some.

most of all, of you seriously think youre at your wits end and might kill yourself after another issue, or maybe your parents yelled at you, or maybe you got laid off, whatever it is, call a hotline. things can be fixed, but if theyre fixed when youre gone, you wont be around to see how happy you could be :(

okay thats all. i hope i gave a few people better health education than school did. try to drink some water and maybe have a snack if you havent, and remember, i love you!!

(ps im not a licensed professional nor am i an expert, ive just been pretty depressed and suicidal for a long time, so this is speaking from mine and other's experience. if anyone else has something to say on it, i encourage sharing!! lets use our collective knowledge to defeat the pta mandated shallow health class)

#i speak #health class is superficiaaalllllllll 🎶#cw depression #cw sui mention #cw sh mention

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ofstarsandvibranium · 1 year ago

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Seven: Thursday

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Moon Boys x F!Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic, but now that you’re on a week’s vacation, your lives are going to take FULL advantage of your presence aka the Moon Boys keep you in bed for a whole week.

Warning: smut - semi-public, teasing (reader's a little bratty in this one), a little bit of dom/sub tones, grinding, p in v

Series Masterlist

You've finally allowed your loves to take you outside of your shared apartment.

"Just a few hours outside, honey. Get some vitamin D."

You smirked at Marc as he led you outside, "Oh, I think I've been getting more than enough D, Marc."

He playfully rolled his eyes at you as he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your temple, murmuring, "Behave."

"Or what? I'll get a spanking? Don't threaten me with a good time, Spector."

Marc groaned, "You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"

You shrugged, "This is what happens when you make me go outside instead, we could be inside going at it like rabbits. But whatever."

______________

Marc brought you to a new cafe that opened up a few blocks from the apartment. You'd seen it passing by at one point, but never had the time to check it out. Since you're not working for the week, this was the perfect opportunity.

He ordered himself a sandwich and you a panini and a strawberry cake. Your usual drink of choice, but with a flavored syrup that they had available.

You and Marc now sit in the back corner, away from the rest of the cafe patrons.

Marc watches as you sip your drinking, testing the flavors. You nod, approving of its taste, "I like it!" you slide your drink across to Marc and he takes a sip. He nods like you and murmurs, "Good."

You then take a bite out of your panini, giving the most sinful moan. Marc, sipping from his own drink, starts to loudly cough to cover your sounds.

Oh, she's going to be trouble today, it seems, Steven says to Marc.

You smirk at him while you chew your food and he frowns at you, "Baby?"

"Hm?"

"What're you doing?"

"Eating. This is a really good panini, hon. Try it," you hold it out to him and he shake his head, "I'm good."

With eyes like a hawk, Marc watches as you continue to eat your food. When you go to drink your beverage, you "accidentally" spill some on you. The liquid falling down your cleavage.

"Whoops!" You pull down your shirt a little more to show more of your breasts to Marc, "Silly me," you say as you wipe yourself down.

Marc sighs and runs a hand down his face, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching you, "Really? We're going to do this?"

I think you are, Marc, Steven snickers.

You 'innocently' bat your eyes at your love, "Doing what, hon? I'm just eating. Can't help it if I'm a bit clumsy."

"You're being a brat," he states.

You smirk at him, propping your arm on the table and resting your cheek against his hand, "What're you gonna do about it?"

If that's how you're gonna play, then two can play at that game. He smirks back and shrugs, "Nothin'." He goes to eat his sandwich and you pout a little, hoping to get a rise out of him.

Aw, she's so cute when she pouts!

Stop it, Steven. We're not falling for it! Marc mentally scolds his alter.

_______________

After brunch, you and Marc stepped onto the bus to take you further into the city where you two would walk around and maybe head into some shops.

The bus was surprisingly crowded for a weekday, so you and Marc were huddled into a corner. Marc's back to the wall of the bus, you standing in front of him. An idea popped into your head and you 'stumble' back against Marc. His hands go to your waist and he murmurs, "You okay?"

You smile over your shoulder, "Perfect." You don't step forward, rather you press yourself up more against Marc and start grinding on him a bit. You didn't want to make it obvious to the other passengers though.

Marc knew what you were doing. His nails digging into your waist and he leans forward, lips against your ear, "Princess, you better behave. I mean it, or you won't get anything at all today."

Maybe we can-

No, Steven.

You sigh in defeat and step forward to create some distance, but you're pulled back by Marc. He murmurs to you, "Oh no. You stay here, don't need everyone to see my hard on that you caused."

You giggle, but then gasp when Marc pinches your side.

_______________

Marc's arm is around your shoulders as you both walk down the streets of London. Tourists and locals alike pass you, minding their business or taking in the sights and sounds.

You then spot a boutique and you're pulling Marc inside before he can do anything.

"Wha-hm."

You smile at him, "I just want to look around," you say as you run your fingers along a scantily mannequin, red lace covering very little of it.

Marc clenches his jaw, "Sure you are."

He follows you around, not making any indication if he sees something he'd very much like to rip off you.

You rush over, picking up a black barely-there open cup crotchless teddy, "Do you think Steven would like this?"

Bloody hell. That's practically nothing. Steven says in Marc's head.

You grab another, a very strappy, open cup and crotchless teddy, "Can you see what he thinks of this one?"

Marc stares at you intently, eyes not blinking until suddenly he shakes his head and looks around, "Wha-oh."

You smile gleefully at Steven, "Hi, lovey." You place the sets onto a rack and wrap your arms around him, pressing your lips to his.

Steven pulls away and gives you a stern look, "Now, lovey, I know what you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything, Steven," you say nonchalantly, going back to the pieces you pulled, "I wasn't serious about this pieces, by the way. Maybe we can find something you do like."

Steven gulps and nods, "Y-Yeah, Sure, love."

He follows you around, either giving you a yes or a no on different items that catch your eye. You end up with a good amount, bringing them and Steven with you to the dressing room. He sits on the bench while you try each of them on.

You try on the most modest of the bunch, moving towards the more revealing ones. You did this on purpose, of course, hoping that, with each one, you'd rile Steven up more and more.

You knew you were successful too from the way that Steven's hands were covering his crotch. He was fidgeting in his seat.

"I think this one is it," you say, modeling the white floral teddy. It oozed a sense of innocence and sensuality.

"Bloody hell," Steven groans, wiping his now damp forehead.

You dressed back into your clothes, but before stepping out, you fall to your knees in front of Steven, hands running up his thighs, "Do you need help with that, Steven?" you nod to his crotch.

"We shouldn't, especially since Marc-"

"Marc's not in control right now. You are," your hands inch up towards the tent in Steven's pants, "So, I ask again, do you need help with that?"

Steven mindlessly nods and you immediately work on undoing his jeans, bringing him out of his boxers and pumping his length up and down.

"Fu-" you slap your hand over his mouth.

"Don't want to get caught, do we?" he shakes his head, "Good."

You continue to jerk him off and his chest heaves with every breath. You take off your own pants and underwear, straddling his lap. His eyes widen and you immediately say, "I think this will both help us, don't you think?"

You grind yourself down onto his length and Steven's head fall back, bumping against the wall of the fitting room. He immediately sits up and you bury your face in his neck, giggling, "Careful, lovey."

You move your hips, running your slit along Steven's length. Steven's biting his lip hard, keeping himself from moaning. He pulls you closer to him, mouth going to your shoulder so he can bite down.

You hiss at the pain, but you also find it pleasurable. You continue to move, teasing yourself and Steven as you start to have his cock nudge your entrance.

"Fuck me, Steven. Please? I need you so bad?" you whimper in his ear.

Steven looks to the mirror and see Marc shaking his head, disappointed in his alter's weak resolve.

Don't.

Steven immediately ignores Marc, taking himself in his hand and lowers you onto him.

You moan into his shirt, hoping the music playing within the store is loud enough to hide your sounds of pleasure.

You move slow against Steven, not wanting to make the room shake or creak to reveal what you two are doing.

"So beautiful, lovey. So sweet for thinking of me. Looked so gorgeous."

"Steven," you quietly whine his name.

"Marc's so upset with us," he says with a chuckle, "We're definitely in for it."

"Don't care. He was being mean," you say in pants, still riding Steven in a slow pace.

"If I recall, you were also being a cheeky thing, weren't you?"

You giggle, "Maybe."

"Shit, right there," Steven gasps, "Please tell me you're close?"

You nod, desperate for finally having some release since Marc had denied you earlier. You reach down, rubbing at your clit for more pleasure, "Fuck, yes. So close."

"That's it, lovey. Good girl. Give it to me," Steven begs, his hands gripping you like his life depended on it.

"Shit," you gasp, cumming as you continue to ride Steven.

"Right there, right there. Oh fuck, Y/N," Steven groans, cumming with you. You continue to move, helping you both through your orgasm.

Your movements still, leaving you and Steven breathing hard. You lean back to get a look at his face. It's damp and slightly red. Your chuckle and peck his lips.

You slowly climb off him, grabbing your pants and underwear, sliding them on.

You grab the last set you tried on and watch with a grin as Steven stands, tucking himself back in, and zipping up his pants.

He approaches you, hands grabbing your face and pressing a kiss to your lips with more love and less lust.

Against your lips, he murmurs, "Marc says you're in trouble."

You snicker, "Trouble is my middle name," you reply with a wink and step out of the fitting room to purchase your new set.

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon boys x reader #moon knight x reader #fem!reader #f!reader #smut

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chickenparm · 1 year ago

Text

doctor's note (Wriothesley/dfab!Reader)

banner by @lemonemlyn my sweet..... :^) you can see the full piece here!

AO3 Link

Wriothesley/Reader (afab genitals, no mentions of breasts) 2,170 Words - NSFW (Mild blood kink, P in V, semi-public in that someone could walk on in, Reader's a bit of a freak)

---

If you liked the Duke any less, this job would be significantly worse than it already is.

Long hours, untraditional pay, low vitamin D levels… Sure, you're allowed to leave, but then that comes with the caveat of being unable to return unless it's in handcuffs.

Maybe the Duke's handcuffs…

Sharply, you shake your head. No matter how many times you've done it, stitches still need at least some focus to keep them straight and even. Not to mention the patient has been chatting at you the entire time. You've done six without realizing it. They’re a little uneven, but seem fine to the untrained eye. They’ll do.

“Don’t move your arm too much, no heavy lifting. Do you need a note for the supervisors? You’ll be out of the coupons for whatever days you take off, but they won’t be able to use the absence against you during duty assignment.” You say, gathering your tools and carefully disposing of the sharps in the special little container that Sigewinne had recently provided.

Again, the patient says something or other, but even after trying to shake yourself free of your thoughts, somehow they wander back to the other day when you’d seen the Duke walk by and his coat has shifted just enough so you could get a nice eyeful of his-

“Give me a moment and I’ll get the note written up for you.”

You bite down hard enough on your tongue that you’re almost certain you’ll have to give yourself the same half-assed stitch job you just gave this foundry worker. Thankfully, he doesn’t bat an eye as you finish cleaning up and disposing of your gloves, then move to the desk to write out the same familiar, rehearsed lines detailing how long he could use it for.

The patient thanks you profusely, secretly tucking a few credit coupons into your palm as he takes the note. Healthcare is free down here in the Fortress, but some remnant of the overworld lingers in everyone and they feel some need to compensate you for your service.

Your pay comes out of the Fortress’ coffers, but that doesn’t stop you from pocketing them with a smile and a wave for him to get a move on. The next shift will be starting, and he’ll be expected to report there if he knows what’s good for him.

And then it’s quiet once more.

Or as quiet as Meropide can be. The production zone is always a faint noise in the distance during working hours, a constant clang-clang-clang of forged gears, consistent enough that it lets you fall into a rhythm of cleaning used tools, restocking supplies, looking over paperwork that’s filled with Sigewinne’s little doodles in the corner. Is that supposed to be the Duke…?

“Keeping busy?”

No, that’s the Duke.

You spin and nearly knock over the lantern on the table, blindly reaching to grab it before it can topple to the floor. At the bottom of the steps is the Duke, one hand wrapped around the railing while the other is pressed to his cheek. For a moment, he looks just as bewildered as you before he swiftly regains his bearings and pulls his hand away from his face.

Tacky threads of red stretch and snap across the short distance, and you realize that he’s bleeding. Again. For the third time this week.

Making a sound behind your teeth with your tongue, you cross the room to reach for his elbow and guide him to the bed that hasn’t been used yet today. The sheets are fresh enough to not smell like anything at all - almost the best you can get in Meropide. With any luck, by the time he’s finished here, they’ll be inundated with the smell of spices and black tea.

And if you’re quick enough, Sigewinne won’t even notice you’ve swapped the bedding out to be ferretted back to your quarters.

“What was it this time, your grace? Pankration ring? Breaking up a brawl over who got a better meal from the cafeteria?” You ask, pulling his hand away and gently grasping his chin to turn his head so you can see better in the light. With the light hitting its sharp angle, his jaw works back and forth for a moment before he shakes his head minutely.

And when you don’t say anything to encourage him to be a little more forthcoming, he finally says, “Do you think I should do something about the top shelving in my office? Seems a bit weak…”

“You didn’t.” You murmur in quiet disbelief, letting your hand slip a little from his chin. His clean hand grasps at your wrist as if to keep you there. “A book…?”

“One of the old accounting ledgers. With the metal binding.”

Another sound of disappointment behind your teeth as you take better note of his injury. It’s a clean one, all things considered. Shouldn’t need stitches, just a disinfecting and a bandage, you think. But something feels tense in the air, and your fingers slip from his chin as you try to diffuse it with, “I think I’ll need Sigewinne for this one, it looks bad. She’ll mix up some medicine for you to down-”

“Leave me to die.”

It’s delivered with such a straight tone that you’re caught off guard. A snort of amusement leaves you, and your hand raises to cover your mouth. Wriothesley isn’t quick enough to grab your wrist again before you leave a few oval smears of his blood on your cheek, thoughtless of the hand you were using.

Wriothesley’s hand is smudged with his blood as well, leaving little streaks on your wrist as he looks up at you from his seated position. Your weight shifts to your other foot, your knee brushes his, somehow you gravitate closer. Tea and spices and dull iron seeps into your senses, and for a moment you forget where you are, what you’re doing, and all that attention is shifted to who you’re with.

Wriothesley, Duke of Meropide, His Grace. His jaw tweaks again, the light catches the smallest rivulet of blood welling up in the bright red of his injury. The smears on your skin are rapidly cooling, and Wriothesley is so warm.

His tongue darts out, just for a moment, wetting his lip and catching the smallest bit of blood at the corner of his mouth. How does that flavor stack up against his tea, you wonder? Would he let you try? He’s never been a selfish man before now.

A low murmur leaves him, just barely forming the syllables of your name. If you were any weaker, you’d have dipped down to take what you have your eyes on - that flash of pink from his tongue, the burnt red, the warmth of his skin, everything and anything you could get your hands on before he banished you away.

But for all the things you want to take, something should be given in exchange. You don’t even get to make the offer before Wriothesley proves you very wrong. He can be selfish. It’s in the way his bloodied hand wraps around the back of your neck to pull you close, in the way his tongue pushes into your mouth and you’re treated to the taste he’d been savoring only a mere moment before.

Wriothesley takes everything down to the very sound of surprise that leaves your throat, his neck bobbing as he all but swallows it and exchanges for one of his own. The bead of blood on his jaw is smeared by your thumb as you grasp and push, enticing more as he hisses between each movement of his mouth on yours.

But then he grips harder against the nape of your neck, tugs at the front of your shirt until your balance is lost and you’re all but perched in his lap. Wriothesley accepts you with open arms, all but suffocating you with his scent, his breath across your cheek, his lips moving along your jaw and smearing your face further with the mess.

His skin is a pretty canvas for the stark red that turns darker as it cools and hardens and flakes away. Maybe yours is pretty as well, with how he sucks marks into your neck and digs his teeth in hard enough that little crescent shapes will show what you did here today.

Dirtied fingers weave into his hair and tug, and he groans against your skin before bucking his hips upward, grinding against you in a desperate bid for some kind of friction, some sort of reciprocity for you drawing that sound out of him. You’re a little selfish too, but he keeps sweetening the deal. In return, you press harder down against him, roll your hips until he detaches from your skin with a breathless sound of appreciation.

“Mmh… -time? What time is it?” Each syllable drags his teeth against your skin, and you have trouble comprehending anything at all until you’re able to piece some semblance of rationality together.

It’s threaded like beads on a string, loose and spaced out, but you gather enough of yourself to answer, “Thirty to twelve-”

“An hour, perfect.”

And then the bed groans and its springs squeal as you’re tossed down, trapped in by long limbs and a thick coat that cuts off the surrounding world. Wriothesley lavishes attention on your neck, your collarbone, his fingers working at buttons and clasps steadily. There’s more than enough time for you to dispute any of this, to mention that there isn’t really a door on the infirmary and anyone could walk in.

But you don’t, because nothing quite matters to you as much as this does. You don’t get paid enough to care otherwise.

Wriothesley pulls back, looks down at you as your gaze travels downward between you. A quiet laugh precedes, “Eyes up here. Don’t you think you’ve ogled me enough lately?”

Despite lying down, you’re not going to just take that accusation that way, so you shoot back, “Maybe if you didn’t make it so easy.”

“Cute. You think I just sit around in my office thinking of ways to be your eye candy?” He asks, hooking a hand beneath your knee and hitching it up to his waist, opening you enough that you can feel him against you. Hot, heavy, a pulse that might be his, might be yours.

And when you don’t answer, his laughter curls beneath your jaw, up around your ear as he leans in, “You’d be right, you know. Now look me in the eye… there you go.” And as if to emphasize himself further, he rocks forward, sliding into you with one, two, three little thrusts before he can bottom out. Before the sharp buckle of his belt digs into your stomach. Before you’re treated to the pretty sight of his eyes unfocusing, just for a moment.

And you don’t miss a second of it, even as your legs tighten around his hips and your mind grows fuzzy and thick. The Duke had made a simple request, and you’d be damned if you broke away from his gaze to even blink.

Wriothesley leans closer, drowns you once again in a thousand sensations from sight to scent to the incredibly full feeling of his cock driving into you with startling precision. Hour or no, Wriothesley fucks you like he’s only got moments remaining on his lifespan. Like his own thoughts have been just as consumed by you as yours have been with him.

Your eyes roll, his fingers curl around your chin, another murmured, “Eyes on me,” and when you comply, his thumb drags along your bottom lip. Instinctively, you open, letting him press the pad into your tastebuds and you’re given the metallic taste once more.

His thumb - cleaned, slick with your spit - slips out of your line of sight to press against you. The timing of his thrusts match the circling of his thumb, pushing and pushing and pushing at you until your cheek stings with how you bite down to hide your sounds of approval. No door, you remind yourself with dreamy thoughts. It barely holds substance in the wake of his smile almost turning into a grin.

It grows wobbly, the world growing less interesting to look at in the wake of his relentless pursuit of your release. Despite how much you’d like to drag this out, Wriothesley doesn’t seem interested in wasting any time on keeping you fucked open. Just for the moment, just long enough for you to dig into the sheets and a sound that’s near painful with how you fail to stifle it. Only long enough to leave darkness at the edge of your vision, and a warmth seeping out as he pulls away and presses another bloodied kiss to your lips.

Another kiss to the corner of your mouth, his tongue dragging along the skin of your cheek, his words heavy against your ear, “You gonna steal these sheets, too?”

#mind the a/n for content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley/reader #genshin #genshin impact #mdni #tw blood

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