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serpentandlily · 5 months

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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny V - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: angst, attempted SA, misogynistic language/beliefs, drugging (if you'd like more in depth warnings, feel free to dm me)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

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Part V

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“One of the stableboys told me he spotted Lady Genevieve and Lord Vaughn sneaking out of the party together last week,” Willow said in a whisper as Ivy gasped in disbelief.

You glanced up at them from where you were sitting at the table in Eris’s common room, sewing a hole shut on the skirt you had worn out to the woods with him yesterday. Your kiss had gotten…heated and your skirt had caught on a piece of bark on the tree Eris had you pressed against and ripped. Just thinking of it made your cheeks turn pink.

“And that’s scandalous, why?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at your handmaidens. They had insisted they repair your skirt for you but sewing was one of the skills you had actually acquired during your family’s time in poverty. Who else would’ve made sure Feyre’s hunting clothes stayed intact?

“Well because Lady Genevieve is engaged to his brother, of course!” Ivy exclaimed.

You opened your mouth to reply but a knock on the door made you pause. The three of you glanced at each other. Eris had mentioned he would be traveling to a nearby town for some business and wouldn’t return until morning. He advised you to stay inside with your handmaidens and take dinner in your room until his return.

Ivy rose and made her way to the door, pulling it open to reveal one of Eris’s brothers. He placed a pale hand on the doorframe and gave her a charming, but unsettling, grin. His hair was longer than Eris’s, his stature a bit shorter and far bulkier than the refined quality your mate had.

Ivy curtsied. “Lord Reid, how may I assist you?”

“I’m here to escort my brother’s mate to dinner,” he purred. “Since he is unable to do so himself.”

You stood, placing the skirt on the table as you glanced at Willow with uncertainty. Ivy’s pretty face paled.

“B-but Lord Eris requested that Lady Archeron have dinner in his quarters tonight,” she stuttered out.

The grin slipped from Reid’s face, a more threatening look taking over. “Are you denying me my request, nymph?”

He spat out the last word like a curse, making you flinch on your friend’s behalf. You had to bite your tongue from saying anything back knowing you’d likely just anger him further.

Ivy bowed her head. “Of course not, my Lord.”

You crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and nudging her back. “Thank you, Ivy, I’ll take it from here.”

That charming grin was back on Reid’s face as he looked down at you, but the look in his eyes made your legs shake. He held out his elbow like a proper escort and you had no choice but to take it, letting him pull you out of Eris’s chambers.

“Talk back to me again and I’ll have you whipped in the courtyard in front of everyone else,” Reid spat at Ivy. You gave her an alarmed look, but she shook her head at you discreetly—a warning to stay quiet. You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

Reid finally began to guide you down the corridor and you tried to keep your breathing under control, not wanting him to know how scared you were. Finnegan had been nothing like this, had not had that cruelty lingering in his eyes.

“Has Eris returned?” You asked, swallowing harshly. “Is that why my presence is needed at dinner tonight?”

Reid looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, as if daring you to say more. You glanced away, not wanting him to see it as a challenge. You knew how females were regarded here. But you also wanted to know why you were being dragged down to the main dining area.

“Are you not a part of this family now?” Reid remarked, his tone questioning but the sharpness of his words didn’t escape you.

“Of course, my Lord,” you breathed, still staring at the floor. He hummed in response and continued to lead you down corridor after corridor until you made it to the formal dining room.

You glanced up as you entered, taking note of who was present that you knew amongst the sea of strangers. The High Lord and his Lady, of course, as well as Finnegan and Eris’s other brother, Liam. Finn shot Reid a questioning look that went ignored while Liam sat with his eyes kept straight ahead of him. It was remarkable how alike they all looked, though none could match the beauty that Eris possessed.

The Lady of Autumn, Seraphina, kept her eyes locked on the table—seated next to Beron who sat at the head of the table. Reid escorted you to the seat next to her, pulling out the large wooden chair for you. A feast was laid out on the table before you, empty plates set in front of each seat. A few other Lords and Ladies wandered in, taking seats at the other end of the table. You listened to their idle chit chat, clenching your skirt in your fists.

“Why have you brought her here?” Finn hissed at Reid as the male took the seat next to him. “Eris is still in Pinecrest.”

Reid shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure she felt included in our family. Lighten up, little brother.”

Finn shot him a glare but Beron clanked his fork against his glass, drawing everyone’s attention. You half listened to his small speech, but focused mainly on trying to lessen the pounding of your heart. You felt so out of place, so alone here at this big table. No family. No mate. Just strangers all around you. Strangers with nefarious reputations.

Dinner began once Seraphina plated Beron his food and he took the first bite. It was like a breath of relief was let out amongst the fae at the table, their conversations picking back up. You sipped on your wine, trying not to draw attention to yourself but Reid had other plans, it seemed.

“Have you lot had the pleasure of meeting Eris’s mate yet?” He asked, leaning back in his chair as he spoke to some Lords and Ladies. “This is her. Little thing, isn’t she? She is sister to the cursebreaker.”

You felt the gazes of them on you as your cheeks turned pink. One of the ladies looked you up and down with a haughty look that made her face quite unpleasant to look at.

“Are the rumors true?” She asked, her voice filled with faux innocence. “Were you truly a human before all of this?”

“Indeed, she was,” Reid answered before you could even open your mouth.

“How ghastly,” the female sneered, placing a hand to her chest as if she were clutching her pearls. “The Mother must’ve found it within her heart to give out some charity to those lesser the day she mated you with Lord Eris.”

Your face grew hot at her hateful words. You wished the floor would open up and suck you in whole just to get away from this table. But to your surprise, someone came to your defense.

“Watch how you speak, Genevieve,” Finn spat. “She is soon to take the Vanserra name and if you insult her again, you'll find yourself in the position of all the others who dared to insult our family.”

By the way Genevieve’s face paled, you could only imagine the punishment those people had faced. But hearing the familiar name caused a smile to blossom on your face. You cleared your throat and sat up.

“Genevieve, is it?” You asked, blinking at her with wide, innocent eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Lady, or rather how much you enjoy parties.”

Your eyes darted to the male sitting next to her. The male who looked so similar to the one gripping her hand in his. When you looked back at Genevieve, her face had paled even more. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she focused her gaze on her plate before her.

Reid leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “So the kitten has some claws after all.”

You wanted to roll your eyes but instead, bit your lip again to prevent you from saying something that wouldn’t be taken well. Reid leaned further into your space, causing you to press against the back of your chair with raised eyebrows. He grabbed the dish of potatoes next to you before finally seating himself correctly in his chair.

You frowned when you noticed a second dish of potatoes on his other side, closer to him, but shook it off. He was trying to rattle you—that much was obvious.

You nibbled on your dinner, not having an appetite while seated around these faeries. You sipped on your wine, cringing a bit as the bitter liquid slid down your throat. The wine in the Night Court was far sweeter than the wine here, it seemed.

The longer the dinner went on, the hotter the room seemed to be getting. Was it because so many fire wielding fae sat here or was this room just particularly stuffy? You fanned at your face as discreetly as you could.

Sweat began to dribble down the back of your neck, your skin tingling at the sensation. You clenched your skirt in your fists, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. The Lady of Autumn glanced at you, taking note of your reddening cheeks and behavior.

“Are you alright, dear?” Her voice was soft, quiet, and full of concern. It was the first time you’d heard her speak.

“It’s just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” You replied, fanning your face again. Gods, you were so hot. It was unbearable.

The Lady of Autumn’s nostrils flared and her eyes went wide. She placed the back of her hand against your forehead, making a noise of displeasure before pulling it away. She waved a hand towards the servants who were milling about. Ivy and Willow darted forward from where they stood against the wall behind you.

“Lady Archeron isn’t feeling well,” she whispered to your handmaidens. “Please escort her back to her chambers for the night.”

Both of your handmaidens sniffed before their faces paled. Ivy held out a hand to you. “Come, my Lady, let us take you to your room.”

You grabbed her hand like it was a lifeline. You nearly groaned at the feeling of her skin against yours. They ushered you out of the dining hall, hurrying you down the corridor.

“Something’s wrong,” you moaned, pitifully. Your skin was on fire now. An ache was forming in the lower part of your stomach. Like an unrelenting itch that needed to be scratched.

“I think someone has slipped you a breeding tonic,” Willow hissed under her breath. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed.

“A what?!” You exclaimed but Ivy hushed you. You spoke in a whisper, thinking of how they had sniffed you, “How do you know that? Could you smell it in my drink or food?”

“No, my Lady,” Ivy said, hesitantly. “But your scent…it’s…Well, it’s changed.”

“My scent? But…oh.” If your face wasn’t already red, you were sure it’d be now. Gods, they could…smell you—your awakening arousal. You were mortified. “But who would do that?”

“I don’t know.” Willow frowned. “It’s more important we get you to your chambers before any male scents you.”

“Why? What…what does a breeding tonic do?”

Your two handmaidens exchanged a look before Ivy answered, “Well, my Lady, it—well it's supposed to make a female more…willing when she’s in her marriage bed.”

Your skin was itching, flushed red from all the heat you felt. You tugged at the collar of your dress. It was agonizing. “How long is this supposed to last?”

“Just a few hours,” Willow said in a soft, comforting tone. “It’s not like most males need any more than a few minutes”

“Willow,” Ivy scolded. “Now is not the time for those kinds of remarks!”

You could hardly pay attention to their conversation, your mouth drying up as the effects of the tonic worsened—causing a violent need to be touched in places you’d never been. “What will happen if a male scents me now?”

The two girls exchanged another look. “I’m afraid some males in this court have problems with their…restraint, my Lady. And your smell right now is rather enticing, for lack of a better word. It's best not to test them when it comes to these kinds of things.”

All the color left your face.

Willow let out a noise of distress. “Which is why we should move faster—”

“Well, what do we have here?” The three of you froze in your tracks as you nearly ran into a group of three guards coming around the corner—all dressed in armor with Beron’s seal imprinted on the center of their chests. Fuck, it was a group of the High Lord’s personal guards. “Ah, it's the little bitch mated to our High Lord’s son.”

Your face turned bright red.

“Watch your mouth,” Willow snapped.

The guard backhanded her before you could even blink, causing her to crumble to the floor. Ivy gasped and rushed forward, kneeling next to her. Before you could follow her, one of the guards grabbed you by the upper arm, yanking you away from your two handmaidens.

“What are you doing? Let me go! You can’t just hit—”

“Shut up,” the guard growled in your ear. Your eyes shot to Ivy who was helping Willow off the floor, the other girl holding her reddening cheek.

“Talk like that to me again and I’ll do worse,” the head guard snarled at Willow. “Now get lost. You’ve been relieved of your duties, ladies. We can escort the girl back to her room.”

You tried to pull your arm free, your heart pounding in your chest. Willow and Ivy looked inclined to protest, but then they both took a step away, sending you an apologetic look. You knew there was nothing they could do in this situation that didn’t put them in risk but maybe if they left, they could go get help. You tried to convey that message with your eyes and Ivy gave you a small dip of the head, like she understood.

As the guard began to pull you away from them, she mouthed something to you: ‘The bond.’

Understanding her message, you started to tug on the glowing gold thread in your chest, panicking as you were dragged away. The guards were snickering with each other. “Do you smell that? I think the girls in heat, Captain. Maybe we can take her downstairs for some…fun before anything else.”

You desperately tried to yank yourself free but the guard’s grip on your arm only tightened to the point of pain. “Let me go, you sick bastards!”

The guard that had been identified as the Captain chuckled. “Good idea. I think she needs to be taught a lesson on how to properly treat a male, don’t you think?”

The guards laughed with their agreement and you went feral trying to break away. “If you touch me, I swear to the Gods I’ll tell Eris! He’ll kill you!”

The guards only laughed harder. “Lord Eris won’t believe you over us, girl. Keep screaming though. I do love it when they fight back.”

You were pulled down a stone stairwell, into a lower level of the Forest House. You screamed and fought against the guards, but with three of them and only one of you…it was hopeless. You tugged and tugged on the mating bond, not really sure how it worked but hoped you had gotten Eris’s attention and that he was on his way back.

Tears poured down your cheeks and they tossed you in what seemed to be a large storage room. Crates full of goods, barrels of wine, and shelves filled with supplies crowded the room. The Captain slammed the door shut behind him as you were scuttling to stand up. You backed away from them, your eyes darting around for anything you might be able to use as a weapon—not that you had much training.

One of the guards lunged for you and you swiftly kicked him in the groin, sending him to his knees. “You stupid bitch!”

Using the commotion as a distraction, you took off running down the shelves, trying to keep them at a distance. But one of them was much faster, grabbing you by the collar of your dress. You let out a cry as your dress ripped down the back and you fell to your hands and knees, your chin smashing against the floor. You tasted blood in your mouth as the guard grabbed your foot and started to drag you back to him but you quickly flipped onto your back and kicked him right in the nose with your other foot, hearing a satisfying crunch.

He let out a curse, blood pouring from his nose, and you scrambled to start running away again, holding your tattered dress up. You spotted a door at the end of the room and sprinted towards it, throwing it open and darting through it before slamming it shut behind you.

You skidded to a stop once you realized the door had only led to a broom closet. Fuck, you had backed yourself into a corner. You covered your mouth with a hand, stifling your sobs as you heard footsteps pounding your way. With nowhere to go, you backed away to the wall, facing the door. You had no option but to try and fight your way out of this.

The door to the closet slammed open and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of a body against yours. But after a moment of silence passed, you slowly opened your eyes. They widened as they took in the guard standing in the middle of the closet, his eyes darting around the small space, passing over you several times.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled.

“Stop wasting time,” one of the other guards shouted from outside. “Pull her out of there so we can have our fun.”

“She’s not…She’s not in here!”

“What do you mean she’s not in there?” One of the other guards shouldered his way into the closet, pushing the other male out. “What—I saw her run in here! We all did. Where the hell did she go?”

“Does she know how to winnow?”

You stood frozen as the two guards discussed your whereabouts. How could they not see you? You were literally standing right in front of them! You looked down at your body and almost gasped when you didn’t see any part of yourself. What the hell? What….what was happening? You could still feel the ground under your feet, still feel the wall at your back. You tried holding up a hand but nothing—you couldn’t even see your own hand!

“She wouldn’t be able to winnow unless she could break through the wards down here,” the other guard grumbled. “Wards set up by the High Lord, himself. There’s no way a former human could do that.”

You could feel yourself panicking even more now because what was happening to you?

“What the fuck is going on down here?!”

The voice of your mate caused a sob of relief to leave your mouth and it seemed whatever magic you had been using sputtered out, causing the two guards to whip their heads towards you. You sank to the ground, still clutching your tattered dress, kohl marking the tear tracks down your cheeks.

“Lord Eris, it’s not what it looks like—”

The Captain let out a spine-chilling scream before a snap was heard and a thump of a body hitting the ground. You pulled your knees to your chest, crying out for Eris. The two guards in the closet with you whirled around as Eris stalked towards them. They held up their palms, beginning to plead, but the feral rage on your mate’s face shut them up. You’d never seen Eris look so unhinged. His normally styled hair was in disarray, his cuffs rolled up to his elbow.

His heavy boots slammed against the floor until he was right in front of them. Eris’s amber eyes darted to you for a second and flames erupted from the edges of his body. Your eyes widened in shock. His eyes fell back on the guards, his anger causing fire to even dance in his irises.

“Lord Eris, we can explain!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eris snarled before two whips made entirely of fire were summoned in his hands. He lashed them at the guards and they latched around their necks before he pulled them to their knees with it. Both of the guards started choking, trying to pull at the whips now strangling them but only burnt their hands to a crisp.

“Imagine my surprise when I felt my mate’s terror down our bond while in negotiations with the Lords in Pinecrest,” Eris growled, wrapping the whip around his hand and yanking it tighter, forcing the guards’ faces to smash against the floor. “Only to show up and have her two handmaidens tell me three of my father’s guards were dragging her—my mate—down here to force themselves on her. Consider yourselves lucky she’s still sitting here because this death will be a mercy compared to the one I had planned for the three of you.”

The guards started to screech in agonizing pain. Blood began to bubble out of their ears, eyes and mouth and it took you a second to comprehend that Eris was burning them to death from the inside out, boiling their blood. You whimpered, slapping a hand over your mouth and nose as the smell of burning human flesh spread through the small space. You squeezed your eyes shut at the horror happening before you.

When the two guards finally slumped all the way to the ground, their eyes cold with death, Eris stepped over them and gently picked you up off the ground, cradling you to his chest. You clutched his shirt in your hands, crying as the adrenaline you had been fighting through wore off.

“It’s okay, little bunny,” Eris murmured in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

“I tried…I tried—”

You were sobbing with a flood of emotions.

“I know, I know,” he hushed you, “you did good, little bunny. You did good holding them off until I got here.”

You were vaguely aware of him carrying you out of the basement and back up the stairs. The gasps of Ivy and Willow met your ears as he emerged with you in his arms.

“Is she okay?”

“She is now,” Eris replied, his voice still filled with anger. “I’ve got it from here. Thank you, ladies, please retire to your rooms. I’ll make sure you face no repercussions from this.”

“Take care of her, my Lord,” you heard Willow say before two footsteps started fading away.

You kept your face buried in your mate’s chest until you were finally back in his chambers. Eris carried you into the bathroom before seating you on the counter. He took your face in his hand, twisting and turning it, examining you for injuries. He grabbed a small towel and wetted it, before beginning to clean the smears of makeup from your face. You sat still for him, still reeling from your shock.

Eris’s touch was so delicate as he wiped your face, the cold water soothing your hot skin. A few minutes of silence passed as you watched him focus intently on his task, small flames still dancing in his eyes from his anger.

“You came for me,” you whispered as he dabbed your cheek with the cloth.

“Of course I did. I always will,” he murmured back. “I’m so sorry I wasn't here, bunny. I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”

His jaw ticked and he set the cloth down before placing a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing your tears away. “It is. It is my fault you are in this situation. I’m so sorry that the Gods have cursed you with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You nuzzled your head into his hand. You stared up into his eyes, now noticing how dilated his pupils were—the amber color almost gone. His hand that wasn’t on your cheek was gripping the counter so hard, cracks were appearing on its surface. You suddenly remembered what started all of this. The damn breeding tonic someone had slipped you during dinner.

The breeding tonic that still had your skin on fire, still had desire pooling between your legs. And now that Eris was here, standing so close to you…His scent of crackling embers and warm cinnamon enveloped you with his own heat. Your arousal spiked, your eyes dipping to his lips. The need to kiss him, to be touched by him, was barrelling its way through you.

You lurched forward and smashed your lips against his. Eris sucked in a breath and kissed you back with the same vigor until he came to his senses and pulled away from you, causing you to whine in displeasure.

“Someone drugged you, bunny,” he grimaced. “I can’t…I won’t take advantage of you while you're still under its effects.”

“Eris, please,” you begged, clenching your thighs together as the need to be touched grew and grew. “It hurts.”

A small whine came from the back of his throat and you watched him fight against himself. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back down to kiss him again. You sighed as your lips made contact with his and he kissed you back with the same hunger. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours.

Eris’s hardening cock nudged at the place between your thighs that was throbbing with desire and you gasped. With your lips parted, he slipped his tongue in your mouth, groaning at the taste of you, deepening the kiss and utterly consuming you.

Eris kissed and kissed you—only letting up to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. You tossed your head back with a moan, granting him more access. You needed every inch of skin to be touched by him. By his fingers. By his lips. You ached, feeling terribly empty inside. His hand slipped under your skirt, gripping your thigh.

But you could tell he was still restraining himself.

Your own hands fell on his shirt, starting to undo his buttons.“Eris,” you groaned as he sucked on the delicate skin on your neck. “Tell me what to do. I’ve…I’ve never—”

You wished you had kept your mouth shut because Eris stopped for a second, his lips hovering over your skin. "What do you mean, you’ve never, bunny? You've never what? Never had sex?”

You nodded your head, biting your lip.

“Fuck,” Eris groaned against your neck before sliding his nose up the column of your throat, inhaling deeply. “I’ll make it so good for you, baby. I promise.”

You whimpered as his words, your fists clenching his shirt. But to your dismay, Eris merely pecked you on the lips before gently taking your hands and slowly ripping them off of him.

“But not like this, bunny,” he murmured. “Not while you're drugged. Not after what happened today.”

“Eris, please.”

Any embarrassment you might’ve felt for begging simply did not exist when you felt so incredibly heated, needing him so much. Eris let out a long breath and took a step away from you, dodging your arms that tried to pull him back in.

“Not like this, bunny,” he repeated. “Take a cold bath, okay? It’ll help you feel better. The tonic should wear off soon. I’ll be waiting for you out there.”

“No, Eris, please—”

But he quickly left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You jumped off the counter and tried to open the door, but he must’ve used magic to lock it from the outside. You let out a whine, trying to tug it open to no avail. Your forehead dropped against the wood and you sighed.

Fine, you’d take a stupid cold bath.

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You sat in the cold water until your skin pruned and the effects of the tunic left your body. You rose from the bath, wrapping yourself in a towel. You noticed a pile of clothes waiting for you on the counter—a night gown and some underwear. You quickly slipped them on before finally leaving the bathroom.

You froze in the doorway at the sight of Eris lounging on his bed, shirtless and twirling a dagger in his hand. He looked at you with a smirk and your cheeks turned bright red. Partly because he looked absolutely ravishing laying there with his toned chest and abs on display and partly because you were mortified by your behavior.

“Don’t look so embarrassed, bunny,” he teased, setting the dagger down on his nightstand and patting the bed next to him. “Come here.”

You shyly slid on the bed next to him, letting him take you in his arms. You let out a small breath, resting your head on his chest. It felt so right being here, in his embrace. Safe and perfect. Like his arms were the home you’d been looking for all your life. The mating bond sang in your chest.

“Do you feel better?”

You nodded, wordlessly. He muttered out a “good” before he started stroking your hair. You closed your eyes and melted into his arms. Tonight had been so scary. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened to you if Eris hadn’t come in time to stop the guards.

“I’m going to find out who drugged you,” Eris murmured. “And they’re going to pay for it.”

“Eris, something…happened when I was down there with those guards,” you whispered, running your finger in swirling patterns on his chest. “When I was in the broom closet, it was like they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t see myself, either. It was like I had gone invisible.”

Eris hummed in thought. “Your sisters got powers from the cauldron, did they not? Did you get the same?”

“No, I mean, I’ve never been able to do anything other than the basic stuff all High Fae can do,” you answered. “I’ve never shown any other sorts of power. I don’t think the Cauldron gifted me anything like it did with Elain. And I certainly didn’t try to steal from it like Nesta did.”

“Yesterday, in the forest, you said something about me looking right at you and not seeing you,” Eris brought up. “I disregarded it at the time but…bunny, maybe the Cauldron did gift you something.”

“You think it gifted me something? Like what? The power of invisibility? I’ve never even heard of that!”

You hated that it made sense. Hated that, of course, the sister who had felt left behind, felt stuck in the background, unseen, would be gifted the power of invisibility.

“Maybe it’s now finally emerging. Do you remember anything from that day?”

You shook your head. “I remember being tossed into the Cauldron. I remember…I remember how it felt to be torn apart and put back together. But I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember how I got out of the Cauldron or how I got to the Night Court afterwards.”

“And you’ve never asked your sisters about it?”

“I did ask Feyre once she returned. But she told me I was unconscious when the Cauldron tipped me out and that Mor winnowed all three of us out that day.”

“You know, after you left the meeting,” Eris remarked,

“Tamlin mentioned that you never came out of the Cauldron.”

“What? But that makes no sense! Why would he say that?”

“There’s something Rhysand and Feyre are hiding. Wouldn’t be the first time the Night Court kept information from someone—especially Rhysand.”

You placed your chin on his chest, staring up at him with a small glare. “I know you don’t have a great relationship with my family, but my sister would not lie to me.”

Eris raised an eyebrow, not looking convinced. “Maybe even your sister doesn’t know. Maybe Rhysand is lying to her, too. That kind of power…a lot of people would want to have someone like you in their court, bunny.”

“He wouldn’t lie. Not to Feyre.”

You couldn’t help but defend your family. Eris seemed to let it go for now, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll figure it out, bunny.”

You laid your head back down on his chest with a sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“What really happened with Mor that day in the forest, Eris? I need to know. I need to know before…before this can happen. I need to know why my family hates you so much.”

Eris let out a long breath. “I knew this would come up eventually. I’ll tell you, bunny, but you have to understand something. You got a taste of some of the horrors of this court tonight. Things I’ve been trying to put a stop to and change my whole life. But I can only do so much without my father suspecting me of being a traitor. And he’s not above killing any of his own sons.”

The idea of Beron killing Eris caused both fear and rage to build up inside of you. Your grip on your mate tightened as you frowned. Eris ran his hand up and down your arm in a soothing motion.

“When my father and Mor’s father forced a marriage alliance on the two of us, it was, in part, a test for me on my father’s behalf. I was young and not as careful as I should’ve been and I think he could see the rebellious attitude in me. I think he thought I’d stop at nothing to somehow make them rescind the alliance proposal.”

“You didn’t want to marry Mor?”

“Gods, no,” Eris snorted. “And Keir is just as bad as my father. The thought of those two falling into a partnership…Anyways, my father forced me to make a bargain with him. See, he thought I’d fuck it up by trying to bed her before we were properly married. Which, of course, I wouldn’t have. But I played along, not wanting him to think of other things I might do. And he knew my one weakness at the time. My Mother. He made me bargain that I would not lay a single finger on her before we were wed and if I did, he would out my mother for an affair she had and punish her with death.”

You gasped and sat up to look at him. “Eris, that’s awful!”

“I thought so too,” Eris chuckled, mirthlessly. “So that day Keir dumped Mor in the forest, beaten to near death, I knew if I touched her the bargain would alert my father and though I doubt that would’ve counted in his eyes, he still would’ve taken her and some who knows what. I couldn’t alert anyone about her either because the guards that were with me that day were my father’s personal ones. They watched my every move and reported them back to my father. I had to make a choice, one that haunts me to this day.”

“The choice to keep your mother safe,” you said. “And to not let your father know that Mor was there, in your court?”

He nodded his head. “Yes. I lingered in the area long enough to catch sight of that Illyrian brute’s shadows and knew he’d come sniffing around for her. So I made sure the guards were far away so he could slip in and out without them alerting my father.”

“And all these years,” you said, sadly, “All these years no one knew the truth of why you made that decision. No one except you and your father?”

“The Night Court’s hasn’t always had an outstanding reputation, bunny,” Eris replied. “I didn’t know if I could trust them. And when I realized they already decided I was as much of a monster as my father, I had little interest in convincing them otherwise.”

“But Eris, you deserve better than that—”

“No, bunny, I don’t,” Eris sighed. “I’ve done a lot of bad things. I can only hope that things might change when my father is no longer on the Autumn throne.”

You linked your fingers with his, grasping his hand. “As long as it’s you sitting on it, Eris, I think they will. You are not what people think you are. You are not a monster.”

“I don’t care what everyone thinks. I don’t care if I’m the villain in their stories,” Eris said. “I only care that I’m not the monster in yours.”

You folded your arms on his chest, plopping your chin on the back of your hands to stare up at him.

“You’re no monster to me. You’re my sly fox,” you teased.

Eris gave you his signature fox-like grin that caused butterflies to flutter around in your stomach. Your heart beat to the same rhythm of the mating’s bond soft melody. You could hear his beating too.

“And you are still my dumb, little bunny.”

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

a/n: I don't normally like making characters virgins but I felt like it fit this character in particular. Hope you liked this part!!

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*If you asked to be on the taglist and you don't see your username, tumblr wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :(

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x you #acotar x reader #eris fanfic #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra x reader

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irndad · 4 months

Note

hii dollface, would u write smtg abt hotch being jealous?

like he's trying to hide it from making the team notices when he saw some officer flirting with r?

no pressure in writing, lovey. change it however u want or ignore it if u dont feel like writing it (i completely understands u 🤍)

my love this has lived in my brain so relentlessly <3 i hope you love it!!!! thank you for requesting!! wc: 1.7k

It is incredibly easy to like her.

She’s charismatic in a way that’s almost universally appealing, and he’s memorized the shape of her wide grin. She smiles with her whole face, and Aaron hasn’t really spent too much time trying to make people smile. He’s had success in some ways, but when she smiles at him there’s something in his chest that burns in achingly lovely way.

At first, he had assumed her kindness was a way to win him over. In her first week, she had noticed there was a rip in his tie (which he’s not sure how could even happen) and she’d whipped out a pocket sewing kit, repairing it.

He tries not to think about the fact that she’s beautiful. She is, though, in spirit and in appearance. He’s an expert in controlled presentation, but to some extent she must know that’s he’s fond of her.

When they’d first met (which he can still picture in his minds’ eye- her oversized sweater tucked into her tailored pants, the purple lipstick adorning her beautiful smile) he’d tried to keep his distance. It’s easy to romanticize her, and being her friend felt a little impossible when seeing her as more felt so inevitable.

This plan did not go well, and Aaron had officially tossed it when one day, the babysitter for Jack fell through when he was halfway around the world. She’d picked him up from school and tended to him, and Aaron had come home to a blanket fort on his kitchen floor, and a happy little boy who wanted her to come over every day.

So it's a little hard to ignore how much he adores her.

She doesn’t normally want to come out to the scene and they usually don’t require it, but they’re going out to a place she spent most of her twenties, and she knew people in the local PD, so Aaron had asked her to come.

She’d done so without complaint, although he knows she doesn’t sleep well on the jet. No one knows where the nicer pillows and blankets came from, and Aaron would prefer it that way.

Anyway.

The bullpen of this department is chaotic and a certain caretaking is living at the edge of Aaron’s consciousness, a protective desire to keep her from the loudness and violence that she’s typically protected from.

He’s still thinking this, when he hears her voice over the chaotic hum of the department.

“Oh my god, Logan!”

Her voice is joyful, and when Aaron turns to see who she’s looking at, it’s an agent. He can tell that he’s not a police officer for many reasons- the fact that he’s got a long, shaggy haircut and a 5 o clock shadow and a leather jacket on his shoulders. The local police would be too strict, and he must be some kind of different authority to be allowed to be here.

He hears the stranger call her name back, and they hug.

It’s a quick thing, but imbued with deep fondness. Aaron’s not sure he’s ever hugged her for more than a second- just a congratulations when his commendation came in. She’d smelled like roses.

Now, she’s hugging Logan.

“Hotch,” she says, a smile still in her voice, “This is Logan! We went to graduate school together. He’s brilliant, I can’t believe he’s down here.”

Her voice is seeped in admiration, and Aaron feels an ugly amount of what can only be described as jealousy.

“Great to meet you. You’re the unit chief, yeah?”

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he offers the man a curt nod, “Have you met the team?”

He goes through the motions of introducing him to the team- he greets Reid with a warm smile and tells him that he’s read his papers. Logan compliments Emily’s shirt, and Morgan’s watch.

He’s incredibly charismatic.

Is Aaron charismatic? He doesn’t think so. His team, who probably adore him as much as anyone could, still note that he can be harsh, prickly. He never smiles, he knows. He lacks expressiveness. Logan is all fluid movement and easy conversation, and when he takes the jacket off, Aaron sees a great deal of tattoos on his forearm, his sweater sleeves slid up.

He’d smile for her.

What should be a good thing, but hurts- Logan is an excellent consultant profiler. He’s thoughtful and helpful and she has an easy rapport with him. Aaron- he’s so bad at talking to women.

She makes Aaron feel like he’s good at it though. When they drive together, the conversation is easy and feels nice. It’s like sunbathing, basking in the light of her attention and intention.

With the help of the man that Aaron has decided he hates, the case is finished up quickly.

He can’t shake the thought they’ve probably dated. It’s not his business- this crush, although this word feels inadequate for the intensity of the way she makes him feel. It’s a private thing he’s never going to act on- he’s older and her superior, and besides- 9 stab wounds and a lifetime worth of issues is a million times less appealing than someone like Logan. Young, exuberant probably not too afraid to ask for what he wants.

“Drink tonight?” Logan asks the team, and a chorus of yes’s and please’s echo through the emptying bullpen.

“Raincheck,” she says to Logan, “I’ll see you next time I’m in town, yeah?” She beams at him, hugging him in a quick-but-too-long-for-Aaron’s-taste motion, and the string in Aaron’s chest that feels like it’s been pulled all week threatens to pull him under.

After everyone files out, she offers to help him fill out paperwork in his office. It’s just like her, so kind and sweet. Spending her free time filling out reports to make his workload go easier.

About a half hour of amenable silence passes, before Aaron chooses to speak.

“So, you and Logan.”

“He’s great, right?”

Regrettably, Aaron agrees.

“He seems very kind.”

“Yeah, he and his fiancee are really fun. They travel all over, kite-board and do tons of adventure stuff, he’s pretty awesome.”

A moment passes.

It’s like a balloon losing air, the feeling of relief taking the place of panic.

“I thought you two were romantically involved.” He doesn’t know how to verbalize things casually. If he lets it up, he might do something dangerous like tell her that he wants to be someone who romances her, wants to be the person who kisses her after dates and holds an umbrella over her head when she’s caught in the rain. He wants to be what she comes homes to, and it’s a confession living in the back of his throat, threatening to escape at every moment.

She sucks in a harsh breath, and he wonders if it’s a misstep to have told her- it’s not a confession, really. It sounds like one though- why would he care? What makes it his business?

“Not that that’s relevant to me,” he stammers, “You’re free to engage with whoever you’d like-“

“I know, Hotch.” She doesn’t grace him with his first name, but her voice is fond and warm, her doe eyes meeting his. He likes it, he decides.

“I’m not seeing him,” she continues, her body shifting to face him, “I think he’s a little…casual for me.”

He thinks of Logan’s leather jacket and unshaven face, rugged appearance and compares it to how he presents himself- clean cut and sharp lines, his suits tailed to fit him like a glove.

“You prefer something a little more…dignified?” He hears himself say with more confidence then he feels- her implication is clear, but he wonders if he’s mishearing it.

She tips her head back and he hears her lovely laugh ring through the air like something sacred, and he waits to hear her response.

“I don’t know, I just know that I’ve been liking this guy for a while,” she muses, looking down at her fingernails, “But he hasn’t seemed to pick up on any of my hints.”

On one of his braver days, he’d told her that he liked that purple lipstick. He hasn’t seen her without it since. She’d always been so kind to everyone that it was hard to notice when her treatment towards him was special, but he thinks it might be. How quick she offers to help with Jack- gives away a Saturday evening to spend with him, even though she sees too much of his face at work.

Her friend from grad school offered to get drinks, and she’s here, telling him what she looks for in a guy.

He tries to be logical about the whole thing, but it’s a bit hard- she’s funny and warm and Aaron loves being around her- loves her company enough to maybe ask for more of it.

“If this ‘guy’ did like you,” he murmurs, intentionally not meeting her gaze, the precision of which is boring a hole into the side of his head, “How would he go about that?”

He’s not sure what the point of being coy is now, but he can’t seem to stop. He does look down to her and meet her eyes.

“I think I’d probably corner him,” she says breathlessly. They’re quite close together, now. He wonders if she likes his aftershave. She tugs a hundred through her hair, a nervous but incredibly attractive gesture, “Y’know, if everyone we worked with went to get drinks, and it was just us. If he was amenable to that.”

“If he was amenable to that.”

A rush of emotion licks up his spine- it’s fun, flirting with her. The creep of warmth on her cheek, how her fingers are brushing hers.

“I think he might be.”

Purple lipstick, rose perfume mixing with the scent of expensive aftershave- he thinks he might be able to kiss her, now. He’s never been good at knowing when to take the jump, but this is something he can do. He can let her know that he wants it.

She reads him well enough, it turns out, and she kisses him. It’s a surprise and he is so rusty at this and yet- his hand stand on the small of her back, pulling her in and he can feel her lovely smile against him. She’s warm and joyful and she’d kissed him, and all he could do was lean in-

“I think he might be too.” She says, significantly less color on her lips, and more on his, he imagines.

She doesn’t have to wonder, though. When Aaron kisses her again, he decides- he will make her incredibly certain of his affections.

1K notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot.

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street.

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all.

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart.

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding.

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is -

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you.

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again.

But you can’t.

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers.

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance.

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him?

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence.

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time.

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain.

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader

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hanasnx · 1 month

Text

WITHHOLDING SEX — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: unfinished wip that im never gonna finish. WARNINGS: unfinished wip ノ fem reader ノ stripper reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ logan gets smacked for saying some dumb shit ノ degradation ノ outdated and lame anti-sex work rhetoric ノ toxic behavior

“You’re such a jerk, Logan.” you used to say, a little giggle to your voice as you scoldingly pat LOGAN HOWLETT’s broad chest, letting him back you into a dark corner at your club and buy a personal dance. He’d wave that fat wad of cash in front of your nose with that knowing look you’d come to crave, and you’d flirtingly comply. You’d even let him get cheeky with it, copping a feel up your thigh while in the privacy of a backroom. Just so you’d bat his callused hand away with a toying, “Ah-ah!” And he’d tilt his big head at you and push out his hips while you finished up your dance.

Months of playing with one another, led to his impatience getting the better of him. Late at night, asking you—a stripper—what you were doing later. He’s got this way about him that you watch so carefully. All he had to do was stare at you through those furrowed brows and jut his chin when he popped the question, and you obediently blurted out, “Maybe if you’re lucky: you.”

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t some one night stand. Booty calls turned to dates, turned to moving in together, turned to partnership. Not that you believe yourself to be a challenge, but you’ve never met a guy that could seduce you at your job, and you certainly never expected to shack up with him. Logan made it easy at first, always forward with you, putting up with your “diva attitude” as he likes to call it, driving you to and from work because he doesn’t trust the clients that hang out around the building when girls are just trying to get home. You fell hard, and you fell fast.

But lately, things have been different. Logan’s always been bull-headed—and a bit of a pig—but it never seemed to be as big of a problem as it is now. As much as you can love those traits of his, they get in the way of communication, and your own spite and stubbornness doesn’t soothe anything. You fight more than ever, you argue more than you have actual conversations. If you’re not fighting, you’re not talking, and he’s sleeping on the couch. Butting heads is not new, but now they’re not as easily solved without the shade of rose-colored glasses.

“Nah, baby, ‘cause a stripper like you was easy.” The prideful and malicious words struck you right to your core, whirling around to face Logan who’d been hounding after you. It’s written all over his firm countenance, he said it to hurt you, and he knew it succeeded—from the very first petname spat so facetiously. Your hand flies before you realize what’s happening, whipping across his cheek so hard it resounds throughout the room. It was a stupid move, ache pulsing hot through your palm from the contact, and chances are it’s worse for you than him.

Your voice burns from this latest yelling match, and you exacerbate it. “You’re such a jerk, Logan!” The dumbfounded part in his lips close as he pivots his spun head to meet your gaze. You’re not gonna sit here and entertain this any longer, you’re gonna be late for work, so you round his wide frame to hurry to the door. “Let’s see how easy you think I am.” you challenge, throwing open the door, “Good luck getting off without me.” you spit at him before slamming the door after you.

“That’s it, I’m so done with him—for real this time.” you claim, yapping the ear off your coworker at the lockers while you two get dressed.

“Oh, yeah, right.” she replies with a roll of her eyes, zipping up her boot. “Next week y’all are gonna be back together, attached at the fuckin’ hip. Who’re you kidding?” She stamps her foot down, and gives herself last looks in the vanity mirror, teasing her hair with her hands.

You throw down your needle and floss, halting your sew of a hole in your costume. “Shut up, it’s not like that!” you whine, annoyed by her prediction—more or less accurate.

She snickers. “See you out there.” she tells you, effectively dismissing the conversation as she makes her way out onto the floor. Somehow, her reaction only fans the flames of your spiteful commitment…. but even though the hurt is still fresh, you miss him.

It’s frigid in the AM, hugging your jacket close as you watch your breath steam in front of your face. The bouncer didn’t think to watch your walk to the car this time, knowing that your boyfriend usually picks you up. You forgot to tell him otherwise, but it’s not a big deal—until you remember you took your car this time and the heater is broken. You’ve taken three steps out the door and you’re already shivering, what are you gonna do when your brittle fingers can’t grip the wheel?

“Hey.” a rough and familiar voice breaks you out of your internal debacle, facing the noise promptly. Logan wearing his usual scowl and puffy vest—somehow he looks good. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up to reveal the cords of his forearms crossed across his chest, tailbone leaned against his truck. “C’mon.” He tilts his head in the direction of his vehicle. In one small second, you’re endeared by his gesture, he knew you were gonna be cold and a little unsafe—even through being angry he’d do this for you. In the next second, the warm feeling is quickly crushed under the weight of knowing Logan. This isn’t some knight-in-shining-armor moment. This is his apology.

You stick your frozen nose in the air, “No, thanks.” you respond. There’s no way you’re going to let him off the hook that easily. Back on your path to your car, you huddle into yourself to converse heat, but you still hear footsteps on gravel behind you.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you’re freezing.” he says. He only calls you that when you’re being especially prissy. “I know you didn’t mean what you said back there, so let’s just go home and I’ll hook and tow your car in the morning.” The impending presence of a palm against your upper arm alerts you and you flinch out of the way.

“I’m not getting into the truck with you, Logan, I’m mad at you.” you hiss. Your persistence is annoying, and if you were less wrathful Logan might’ve thrown you over his shoulder by this point. Something tells him this isn’t like other times.

His hand lingers in the air aside your sleeve, but draws back when he straightens to his full height behind you. “So you’d rather catch fuckin’ pneumonia than be within three feet of me?” his disbelief is deduced clearly in his tone, conveying how stupid he thinks you’re being.

So you double down, shrugging indifferently as you cross your arms over your chest. “If that’s what it comes down to.”

“Jesus, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

You round on him. “Logan!”

He inclines in your space, raising his voice as he gestures in front of him, organizing his verbal thoughts, “First, you tell me some bullshit about no pussy, and now you don’t even wanna be near me—“

You’re incredulous, matching his energy as you lift onto the tips of your toes to compete with him. “—Why would I wanna go anywhere with you when you’re being the biggest asshole—“

“—and it’s not like you can keep up with that shit. You’ll last a day- and that’s generous—!”

“—A day? You think I’ll last a day—?” You have the urge to laugh, a dry hollow sound.

“Face it, you can’t go a night without me.”

Obviously, you’re not getting anywhere and you’re tired. Defeated, you shake your head and turn on your heel. You’re beyond cold, and you say loud enough for him to hear, “Get outta here, Logan, I don’t wanna see you when I get home.”

He shift his weight to one hip, raising his arms out at his sides in a questioning pose. “Oh, and where am I supposed to go? Huh? Where am I supposed to go?” he interrogates after your retreating form, angry at your reaction, at the fact you’re walking away from him, the idea he’s not going to be in a warm bed with a warm body to comfort him to sleep tonight.

It’s his own fault. “I don’t care where you go! I’m not letting you in.” you reply with a shake of your head.

#unfinished wip #ch: logan #logan howlett x reader

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buckys-metal-arm · 5 months

Text

Comfort

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: three instances of Bucky associating someone stroking his hair with comfort.

Warnings: fluff and angst, mentions of illness, period-accurate toxic masculinity, mentions of nightmares, no y/n used, only pronoun used is "you"

A/N: this is based on something I wrote for my self indulgent self-insert OC Juniper, where Bucky tells them the story of the first two memories and then decided I wanted to also do an x Reader with a similar idea.

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1930

One time, when Bucky was young, he was hit with an awful bout of illness. He felt like there was a hundred pound weight on his chest, and he couldn’t stop coughing. Steve kept trying to sneak in to go see his friend, but would be shooed away before he could actually see his friend. Rebecca, Bucky’s little sister, would slip notes from her and Steve under his door as often as she could, trying to remind him he wasn’t alone. One night, when his sickness got real bad, his mother came in to sit up with him. Since it was the Depression, she would be up pretty much every night working on sewing alterations until her fingers cramped and bled. But tonight, she was staying with her Baby Boy. She rubs Vick’s on his chest in hopes of soothing the cough, and sits by his bedside. When Bucky’s coughing gets so bad that he can’t fall asleep, she sits on the mattress next to him, running their fingers through his hair until he falls asleep. She saw how much it soothed him, and from then on whenever he was sick she would stay with him, running her fingers through her son’s hair to calm him.

1942

Bucky was an adult now, dressed in a soldier’s uniform and trying to pretend he was proud of that. He’d just gotten home from the Stark Expo, and found that his mother and sister had stayed up to wait for him. Rebecca hugs her brother goodbye before heading to bed, but Bucky and Winnefred stay up late talking. During the conversation everything hits him at once. He’d spent the entire day forcing a smile and pretending to be brave, being strong in front of his date, of Steve, of anyone who saw him and saw a young man ready to take on the world and fight for his country.

When in reality?

He’s been terrified ever since he learned he was drafted.

He broke down in front of his mother, telling her that he’s not ready, that he’s scared, and that he hates that he’s scared. That he’s a coward. But his mother shakes her head, and hugs her son tight. She doesn’t tell him to “man up” or that he needs to “get ahold of himself”, just held him and assured him that it’s okay, that he’s not a coward, that he’s not weak for being afraid. She took him back to his bedroom, getting him settled under the covers and sitting at his bedside, stroking his hair the same way she did when he was young.

“Rest now, James,” she whispered, brushing his hair out of his eyes, “you don’t have to be strong tonight…”

Now

Bucky woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. He tried to take deep breaths, to calm himself down, but the nightmares that had forced him awake still ravaged his subconscious.

“Bucky?” He whipped around to see you, eyes tired but still filled with concern, “are you alright, Baby?”

“Yeah,” he gasped out, running a hand through his hair, “yeah, yeah, I'm…I-I’m…”

“Oh,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around him and laying your head on his back, “oh Sweetheart…”

You hugged him close, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“Can you feel my breath?” You asked, running your fingers along his stomach. Bucky nodded, “good, Buck. Can you follow my breathing?”

He matched your breaths as best he can, and you held him until he calmed down. Once his breathing evened out, you pressed another kiss to the crook of his neck and smiled softly.

“What do you need to feel better, Sweet Boy?” You asked, “what do you need to go back to sleep?”

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, trying to decide. His mind drifted to his youth, to his mother carding her fingers through his hair and the feeling of serenity it brought him.

“M-my hair,” he murmured. You looked confused, “will you stroke my hair for a bit?”

He didn't give you a chance to respond.

“Sorry,” Bucky's blue eyes wouldn't meet theirs, “that sounds stupid, but my Ma used to do it when I was younger but–”

“Shhhh,” you slid in front of him, “it's not stupid. Of course I'll stroke your hair.”

His blue eyes met yours, relief flooding his gaze.

“Lay back down, Sweetheart,” he settled himself on top of you, laying his head on your chest and listening to your heartbeat. You cradled his head against your body, running your fingers through his dark hair. His eyes were already starting to feel heavy, and he nuzzled into your neck, a little hum escaping him.

“Get some rest, Bucky,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head as he started to give in to sleep, “I love you.”

The same feeling of serenity overtook him, and Bucky drifted off in his partner's arms.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky fanfic #mcu bucky barnes

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dancingbabya-notes · 9 months

Text

Their name for you

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•->

Your partner didn’t always call you by the nickname he has for you now, but there was a reason that he started referring to you that way.

Characters: Togata Mirio, Amajiki Tamaki, Shinso Hitoshi, Bakugo Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Kaminari Denki, Kirishima Eijiro, Shoji Mezo, Todoroki Shoto

!!!this version is fixed and has the rest of todoroki's part!!!

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•→

Mirio

You simply shook the snow that was covering your wings and quickly melted sending a terrible chill up your spine. “Fuck it’s freezing.”

“Oh, come on L/N, it’s not that cold.” Yuyu laughs as she throws another snowball at your back.

Squeaking when the snow slides down your skin between your wings. “Yuyu!” Your quirk picked up making the immediate section around you colder.

Suddenly someone’s hands were on your shoulders. “Now Birdy, calm down a little bit. If you’re cold I can just keep your warm.”

You nearly shoved your classmate away with your wings, but the bandage that was holding two of the four in splints prevented that. “Mirio, I’d beat you if I could.”

“Awe come on Sunshine, don’t pout.”

Sighing a bit, you lean back into his hold. “Fuck off.”

“That’s my Birdy.”

You quirked a brow. “You know if anyone, but you called me birdy I’d probably get suspended.”

Feeling his chest as he hums you roll your eyes before continuing the walk to class.

Amajiki

“Y/N.” you whip around completely forgetting where you were and the pile of fabric that your classmates had stacked on your head to see how much weight could be put on your head before you stopped working-- which was a lot more than they thought so they stopped mid-way.

Your body teetered as you tried to adjust it, so you sat properly-- not a poor example of a shrimp while you were working on your projects-- and you also fell backward because a lot of the fabric was still attached to the bolts. Before you could fall back into the precariously placed bag of sewing supplies, arms pulled you up, so you were at least on the tips of your feet as Amajiki kept you from sustaining further injury than was allowed.

“Sorry Amajiki,” you chuckle a little bit glancing at the mess behind you. “Damn I could have sworn I told them to clean up everything after they were done.”

“Are you okay Lovely?” His face was red, and he would probably pass out if he didn’t calm down soon.

“Yes, I’m fine, but why the nick name all of a sudden?” you chuckle making sure you had a clear space to stand.

You could just see his head practically burning up from how red he was getting. “ I- I

Smiling, you give him a quick hug. “I like it, Tamaki.”

He stood there for a moment before pulling his tall form into a ball on the ground, incoherent rambling comes out, but you did hear a mention of your name and how he thought lovely suited you which made your ears burn as you tried to busy yourself with cleaning up the mess.

Shinso

He could have been stereotypical and called you “Kitten” or “kitty” but no. You didn’t remember a cat in his eyes, and no matter how much he argued that he was a cat person, your personality was not cat like.

“Puppy, are we out of the cat treats again?” Hitoshi asked one day while you were busy cleaning the bathroom.

You nearly took out the tub spout with the speed with which your head came up, recoiling from impact you fell face first into the cloth you were using to clean the tub. There was no worry about chemical burn you were rinsing the tub which made how you hit the tub spout even more confusing. Hitoshi runs into the bathroom to see what happened and if you were okay.

Although it was a bit strained you managed to speak. “Y-yeah we ran out a few days ago I wrote it on the fridge.”

Shutting off the water and checking the back of your head for any sign of blood Hitoshi groans. “Thats not important are you okay puppy?”

There it was again. You look up at him, eyes big as you point to yourself. “You mean me puppy?”

“Yes, you’re…

He didn’t get a chance to finish his explanation as you ignored the slight throbbing in the back of your head as you practically tackled him to the ground into a hug. Defeated and tired, his hand rubs your back as he doesn’t even bother getting off the still very wet floor, he’d have to take a long bath later and he’d be lucky if you let him have that long before you complained that you wanted his attention again.

“Yup, definitely a puppy.” he sighs, as you hug him a little tighter. It was a wonder you weren’t in any specialized field with how much strength you had, but it was mainly due to working at your family’s pet shelter and being the only one confident enough to handle the more playful dogs.

Bakugo

You’d called your boyfriend many different terms of affection depending on how you were feeling. But he very rarely used one for you. It didn’t matter to you because you knew he showed affection differently.

“Tsuki!” You shout from the second floor of your house, you both decided early on to buy a house and whoever wanted to keep it could not that it mattered he had absolutely no plans of leaving you alone at any time.

When you were met with silence you leaned out of the doorway. “Tsuki!” being a little bit louder.

Thinking that he was wearing headphones or something you were about to scream for him. Only for him to tap you on the shoulder. Nearly jumping from your skin, you leaned a little too far on the banister. His arm catching you before you can fall over.

“I just keep catching you don’t I, happy?”

You nearly narrow your eyes at him, but he just pulls you closer before kissing the top of your head.

“Happiness needs someone to be Happy.” he mumbles.

You smile as you hug him tightly. “We gotta replace the banister now, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do, the hell were you yelling about anyway?” he frowns looking into the room you were just in.

You pull him in and point. “Ah, um… we should probably call an exterminator.”

Midoriya

You roll your eyes as Midoriya was once again showing off during agency training, everyone was doing their best to get stronger and not everyone had the correct conditions to train their quirks-- you included, seeing as every time you tried to train you regenerative quirk you were practically grounded to the school. IT wasn’t like you didn’t understand why he was praised, there was more to it than simply training. But you still found yourself saying: “Congratulations do you want a cookie?”

Midoriya smiles as he pulls you into a tight hug. “Yes, I do Cookie.”

Your heart leapt a bit as he did this, but deciding to be a bit of a menace he bites your cheek. Pushing him away you huff. “That’s not sanitary I’m covered in sweat.”

Suddenly he was pushed off you. “For fucks sake keep your damn hands to yourself.” Bakugo groans as he nudges you a bit too.

Which was a bit of an alarm for you since he was not one to pull his punches with any of them. You grab his arm watching as he seemed to relax a bit. “How long have you been avoiding me Blasty?”

“None of your damn business mind reader.”

“Awe come on, Kacchan, Cookie is as sweet on you as they are on me,” Midoriya pouts a bit as he pushes against Bakugo’s still extended arm.

Bakugo rolls his eyes a bit as he doesn’t budge. “I don’t want any part of your sappy relationship.”

“Are you sure? Puppy would probably be much more excited if you were a part of it,” you tease as you wait for your quirk to stop patching him up.

Kaminari

Bouncing from one foot to the other you hated waiting for Power-loader to allow you into the lab, it wasn’t like you were banned from it you simply were given time limits. With your quirks it was kind of like a cooldown because who knew how dazed you’d be if you spent the entire day using your flame breath. Once allowed inside you zip from one space to another quickly grabbing your things and returning to your earlier tasks. Kaminari, who needed you to recalibrate his disk shooters.

“You look like a little bumblebee buzzing about.” He chuckles.

Pausing in your tracks you look directly at him. “Thank you for the compliment. Now put your disk shooters on my table space so I can start fixing them.”

“Of course, bumblebee,” He beams before getting hit with something.

“No. No.” You frown covering your face, because now your heart was in your ears. Great you’ll have to face the consequences of this later because this idiot decided to say something like that. Making fall a little bit more in love with him.

Hearing a sharp. “L/N!” before trying to clean up the mess you’d just made.

Kirishima

Since you had a harder time with Japanese than you’d like to admit so early on in your relationship you called your friend Kirishima “Edgy” because for some reason his name just made you think that was the right way to say his name on top if his quirk.

“Eiji, where are my extra weights?” It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in your apartment at any moment simply because he enjoyed being in your company.

He looks around. “Uh, I dunno Babe do you think you forgot them?”

“No, I haven’t even used them yet.” You mumble trying to think.

“Baby.”

As you pace around the mini gym you had in your apartment you look for the missing weights.

“Love.”

Not finding them in the closet you cross your arms.

“The light of my life.”

Glaring at the ground you try to wrack your brain for where you could have placed them coming up blank when your face is picked up and squished in a hand that was rather large.

“Rosebud.”

Blinking you look at Eijiro confused as you felt embarrassed for ignoring him this whole time before a sharp smile is in your face.

“You left them by the door rosebud.” he chuckles a bit before planting a kiss on your nose and pulling away.

“You’re the worst you know that right?”

He simply laughs before pulling you into a hug and preparing your face with kisses.

Shoji

Dating was difficult with your quirk. Eyes constantly glued to the ground and never looking at another if you can help yourself. So, when your current partner started referring to you by a pet name you couldn’t help but look up at him. Towering over you small frame as he crossed his arms.

“Stardust when was the last time you took a break?” Mezo wasn’t mad and you knew that, but your head hung down a little bit.

“I can’t remember,” was all you could muster before he plucked you up from your computer chair like he normally would.

Pouting a little bit, it was hard for you to even fathom why he called you this, even as you were being placed on the couch.

As if reading your mind Mezo chuckles as he pulls a blanket from the nearby chair. “I call you stardust because of the performance from school.”

“Huh?”

“Because the first time you really looked up your eyes sparkled like stars.”

You pull the blanket over your head not even wanting to look at him. “Mezo that’s not fair.”

Todoroki

“Sho?” you felt like every time you visited this man, you’d lose him somewhere in the maze that was his childhood home. Not that there were any happy memories left from the large place, but you found that for his other family members sakes he returned.

You were surprised by how accommodating the entire building was, though you had to gently remind yourself that not everyone was the same height as Enji. Not finding the dual quirk user anywhere near where you’d been, you began hunting for him. Because the moment you left without telling him first you could only imagine the problems that would cause and the abuse of money that would start.

As you looked around for your boyfriend you wondered about something for a while now, Shoto had never referred to you by your given name, he’d often tap you or stood behind you-- often giving you a near heart attack when you’d turn and almost smack him with your wing.

“Sho, where are you?” you call out a bit as you kept looking around.

Fuyumi waves as she notices you in the hall. “Oh, y/n I was wondering where were, have you seen Shoto?”

Shaking your head, you sigh. “I was just looking for him so I can let him know I was gonna head home.”

“Huh.” his sister crosses her arms trying to pinpoint where in the house her youngest brother would be.

Before you realize you felt the temperature change behind you seeing your breath a bit. “Oh there you are Sho.”

He pulls you into a hug and from how tight his hands were against you there much be something wrong.

“Hey? Do you need me to stay the night?” you ask as you try to hug him back.

He nods against your shoulder, and his hold gets tighter.

Fuyumi waves a bit. “I’ll make you some extra dinner let me know if anything changes.”

Nodding a bit you follow Shoto as he pulls you along his grip on your hand as if the moment he let go you’d disappear, but he wasn’t dragging you. Once you got to his room you sit down and hold your arms open for him to cuddle into you. Your wings going up to kind of create a slight separation between the two of you and the rest of the world.

“My love you’ll never leave me right?” he whispers.

You look down at him and hug him tightly. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He nods.

“Of course as long as you want me next to you I will never leave,” you state.

“Thank you my love.” He states.

Chuckling a bit you rub his back to sooth him a little bit. “Is that your name for me now?”

“Yes because you are my love.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 21 days

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Overtime 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You enter Mr. Hansen’s office and he’s not far behind. The slam of the door makes you jump. You whip around to face him as he storms in, brushing past you so roughly that you teeter on your feet. You’re happy you didn’t go all in and buy those heels.

“You wanna waste me time, Critter? Huh?” He snarls as he turns and slams a fist on his desk. He winces and pulls back, shaking out his fingers.

“No, sir, I wasn’t--”

“You were. Look, you wanna flirt, do it on your own time. I don’t pay you to make eyes at the dweeb,” he growls. “But it’s sure as shit my damn money that got you the new gear, isn’t it?”

“Sir, he was--”

“Not very fucking subtle, is it? A red dress. Might as well sew a scarlet fucking letter on,” he searches around furiously and grabs something you can’t see. “How about I help you out?”

He charges at you with a pair of scissors and you squeal. For a minute, you foresee your own murder. The gleam in his eyes assures you of your fate but he doesn’t plunge the blades into your chest.

He grabs your skirt as he bends and snips into the fabric. You yelp and he tosses the scissors to his feet. He clutches and tears across, rending the skirt at your mid-thigh. You try to pull away but only help his destruction. He snaps the last thread and stands, whipping it at your face.

“Show a little leg, Critter, no use in being fucking shy,” he kicks the scissors and stomps away. “Hello, now you got a little shawl to keep you warm, don’t you?”

“Sir, I’m sorry, I... it’s just a dress.”

“Every time I walk out of this office, I see you with the fuckhead. Just a fucking dress. You’ve been dressing like a paper bag for two years and suddenly you’re sweeping in here dressed like a goddamn cherry. You think I’m fucking stupid?" He sneers and drops into his chair.

You stare at him as you clasp onto the strip of fabric. You look down slowly and push your legs together. You’re horrified at how much skin is on show.

“I have to go home and change,” you utter.

“No, you’re going to stay here and do your fucking work,” he snaps as he lifts his feet onto his desk, his chair creaking loudly. “And if that dipshit comes around you tell him to go fuck himself.”

You blink and look at him again. You don’t understand why he’s so upset. You thought, stupidly, that he would be impressed. He always insulted your clothes and you finally took his advice. You sniff and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

You turn and walk to the door. The dress is ruined but you can return the rest. He clears his throat.

“Pick up the fucking scissors,” he snarls. “You know better than to leave a mess.”

You recoil from the door and cross to the scissors, open in the corner of the room. You bend and pick them up, not realising until you feel the air between your thighs, how short the dress really is now. You stand up sharply and scurry over to put the scissors back in their place.

Hansen watches you, a stitch between his brows as he steeples his hands. You retreat and try to shake away his gaze. You shut the door quietly and brace yourself. You sigh as you find yourself alone. You’re not sure you could tell Jensen to go away after all of that.

You go to your desk and sit. You tuck away the remnants of your skirt in your bag. You push your shoulders back and wake up your computer. The smell of cinnamon tickles your nose. You look down at the muffin. It doesn’t feel right now, not after Mr. Hansen ruined all the rest.

You shove it aside and forget about it. You keep your eyes glued to the screen between getting up to print or mark the board or run off on another errand. You don’t let yourself stray from anything beyond Mr. Hansen’s demands.

‘Coffee.’ The singular order pops up in the corner of your screen.

You stand at once and snatch up your purse. The chance to get free of the stolid tension is enough to have you moving at double speed. You skip the elevator and take the stairs instead. You don’t take a single moment to look ahead before you dive out into the city street.

A sheet of rain crashes down on you. Of course. Too late. You're already soaked.

You find your beaten-up car and swing yourself into the driver seat. Frig. You’re completely drenched. Oh, and your umbrella is at your desk from the last time it rained. You sigh and try to ignore the damp clinging of fabric.

You patiently pull out into the crawl of noontime jam. You can’t get close enough to Esther’s to avoid another slake of rain. You run inside and wait patiently for Hansen’s coffee. You ask for a double cup to keep it warm. You shield the lid as you hurry back through the downpour.

Your spot at the office is filled as you pulled up. You park further away and bemoan another venture out into the elements. Today can’t get any worse.

You have the coffee. That’s all that matters. You get out and sprint across the street. This time you take the elevator as your soles are too slippery to stay on the tile.

Several looks ping off of your disheveled appearance. You ignore them like you always do. You get off on your floor and surpass your desk without missing a beat. You knock on Hansen’s door. He grunts for you to come in. He’s expecting you. He’s waiting and no matter how quick you are, it’s not fast enough.

You stop short with a squeak of your flats as you enter. You’re unprepared for the full flash of Hansen’s bare chest. Your eyes round and you hold up the cup. You can’t breathe as you try not to stare at the thick hair across taut muscles.

“Coffee,” you cough out and rush over to set it on the coaster.

He casually pulls out a black polo and holds it up, “what do ya think, Critter? This make the bitch wish she’d never left me?”

You blink and look at the wall, “um, yes, sir. I guess--”

He isn't as mad as before. That alone puts you on edge.

“Woah, what the fuck happened to you?” He lowers the shirt, once more showing his buff torso.

“It’s raining, sir,” you shrug, “I’ll just go dry off...” you look down at the moisture around your shoes, “and get a mop.”

You turn with another wet squeak and he chuckles. You ignore him as you head for the door.

“White panties and a red dress?” He clucks, “tacky.”

You trip and stop as you feel the back of your skirt. The water has the fabric stuck to your skin and you didn’t notice in the chaos how it rode up. You pull it down and apologise under your breath as you flee.

You should just stop hoping things won’t get worse and just expect it.

#lloyd hansen #jake jensen #dark lloyd hansen #dark jake jensen #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!jake jensen #lloyd hansen x reader #jake jensen x reader #series #drabble #overtime #the losers #the gray man

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demonzoro · 10 months

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none of this is proofread but here's my ideal modern au for the goth fam. wall of text incoming, sky is blue, etc.

mihawk: World's Most Reluctant College Professor. history/archaeology. reluctantly employed because his place of residence (half-wrecked castle) is owned by the university and one of the terms for him to live there for free is to teach classes. initially hired as a publicity stunt that petered out. actual respected swordsman in the modern age but the reality is "swordsman" is... not very lucrative. really important to me that he is forcibly employed while having gigantic unemployed energy.

his ass is not showing up to a lecture hall unless under extreme duress (shanks showing up to his place unannounced again🙄). fully aware his papers are only taken as a credit filler (robin lectures the papers that are more practically applicable). almost exclusively "teaches" by emailing out reading lists and assignments. actively trying to get his students to drop his paper so he can do fuck-all for the rest of the year.

zoro: phys ed major. he's so serious about his main courses as well as mihawk's stupidly niche paper. probably the first person the "Dracule Mihawk Teaches Here!" publicity stunt has worked on in years. has trouble with the heavy focus of book-smarts this paper requires but powers through it best he can until mihawk sets some indecipherable tome as part of a reading list and zoro is like. okay. you leave me no choice.

he fully shows up on mihawk's doorstep at 9:44PM on a tuesday night brandishing this tome. mihawk answers the door because he is two bottles into his wine.

zoro, furious that this piece of shit tome has no audiobook alternative: this. YOU. explain. NOW. mihawk: a student. at my doorstep. did shanks blab to you. zoro: your address is publicly listed as a minor tourist attraction. mihawk (<- didn't know that): hm. come in.

zoro is treated to a full drunk history session and the supermarket gift wine mihawk has been avoiding but accidentally opened. he wakes up the next morning and zoro is still there in one of the guest rooms. he's like what are you doing here and zoro is like. i don't have a whole day to waste getting back to my dorm i need to do your assignment.

mihawk, fully aware the dorms should only be a max twenty minute walk away: interesting. get out.

safe to say, zoro thinks visiting mihawk's home is easier than emailing him. which is true in some ways since mihawk takes small joys in putting unread emails straight into trash.

perona: fashion major OBVIOUSLY. really interested finding vintage/archival sewing patterns/designs and modernising them. LOVES using essays as outlets for her rants. blase on everything else in life but takes her course so seriously. HATES zoro ever since he almost made her fail an assignment because he had checked out a book she needed and held it for fucking aaages.

similarly zoro hates perona bc she almost made him fail an assignment by hogging the only lightbox on this side of the campus that makes it possible to read some of the archival material mihawk puts on his impossible reading lists.

zoro gets lost in mihawk's castle and meets perona in-person for the first time outside of a name on a booking sheet and they have a huge stupid argument. zoro storms off and accidentally finds mihawk again this way and he's doubly mad because he can't believe mihawk has been chasing him away all this time while letting another student just live in the east wing.

mihawk (<- didn't know that): there's a what.

turns out perona just said "umm dorm fees? rent? in this economy? there's a wrecked castle 20mins away from campus it's free real estate". and she's right. she also finds out mihawk has staff access to archival materials not readily open to students and she immediately whips out a wishlist.

anyways i imagine perona graduates and becomes a fashion designer. zoro decides booksmarts is not for him and drops out to focus fully on a professional athlete career or make his way as a stuntman. models for perona on occasion. mihawk fully quits his job after those two leave bc they were the only ones in years that made it interesting. retires but robin recommends him as a consultant to the museum society and he does some work there. ALWAYS calls zoro or perona if he's restoring smthng cool he thinks they would love.

jfc are you still here. i kiss you on the lips

#mihawk wld slay as a retired-not-retired professor #and by slay i mean you are killing the students good gd.#but like tbh what else wld you transfer the warlord of the sea vibe to ..... his apathy/antagonism to the world govt #what better parallel than forced tenure and HORRIBLE university admin.... college bureaucracy .... [shudders]#btw i know nothing abt history papers or how unis work #this is all made up for maximum antics.#✨#goth fam

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reccyls · 2 months

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Beyond the Merging of Then and Now (Sariel story)

Sariel's 4th anniversary story sale, where child Sariel is brought to the future to meet Emma and current Sariel

---

It wasn't unusual for Sariel's office to be full of tension as a result of all the political and bureaucratic affairs he had to tend to. But today, the room was filled with tension of a different sort.

Sariel: What is this charmless menace?

Young Sariel: What is this four-eyed old man?

Emma: Okay, so... You're both Sariel. Emma: An adult Sariel, and also, for some reason I don't understand, there's also a younger Sariel here.

(I was just going into town for an errand, how did this happen...)

--flashback--

Some hours ago...

(...Hm? Looks like there's some kind of ruckus up ahead. I wonder what's happening.)

Man: The hell are you doing, brat! You better watch yourself!

(A fight? And with such a young child?)

Man: You little bastard, looks like I need to teach you a lesson.

(Wait, he's not going to hit the boy is he? I have to save the--)

Child: .....you.

Man: ...!? Man: I-I'm sorry...

(He ran off... Something about this scene seems familiar... but now's not the time!) (Just who is that boy? He was able to send a grown man running just by whispering something.) (Wait, huh? That face...)

Emma: Sariel?

Child: ..?

(No, what am I saying. There's no way that's Sariel.) (But he really does resemble Sariel, and he's even also wearing gloves. The more I look at him, the more alike they seem.)

Child: You, what are you- Child: ...

(He left.) (I must have been mistaken just now. He can't be a little version of Sariel, there's just no way.)

--scene change, hallway--

(I keep thinking about that boy from earlier. What a mysterious kid.)

???: Don't turn around.

Emma: Wha?

(Who's behind me!?)

???: Head inside. Don't act suspicious.

--end flashback--

Emma: ...And so, that's what--

*whip sound*

Emma: Ack!

(What was that?)

Young Sariel: ...Tch. You're just a bureaucrat.

Sariel: And what does that make you, who can't even put a scratch on a lowly bureaucrat? Quite pathetic.

(Little Sariel tried to attack normal Sariel, but was warded off...?) (I couldn't see a thing.)

Sariel: Who ever would have thought that there would come a day when I would use this whip against "myself".

Emma: So he really is a child version of you.

Sariel: Indeed. Although I hate to admit it. Sariel: Because you knew his name, he likely tailed you in order to ascertain your true intentions. Sariel: And after finding out that you have some relation to the royal castle, he decided to infiltrate the castle. Sariel: At this point in time, I did have some interest in contacting the royal family. Sariel: At any rate, the question now is not who he is, but what to do with this vermin--

Official: Apologies for the interruption, sir, but I have something urgent I need to-- huh?

(Uh oh.)

Official: That boy is...?

Emma: Uh, no, you have it all wrong, he's--

Young Sariel: You look busy, father. You don't have to worry about me, you should just get back to work.

Emma: ......

Sariel: ......

Official: F-father...? So he's your...

Sariel: No. He is the child of a very, very, very distant relation. He is absolutely not my son.

(Oh, Sariel is not happy.)

Official: O-oh, I see. Ahaha...haha...

Sariel: If you have something urgent to discuss, let us speak in the hallway. But before that. Sariel: The next time you say something like that, brat, I will sew your mouth shut.

(And he's gone.)

Young Sariel: Hmph.

(Is he trying to get revenge on Sariel because his surprise attack failed?) (Maybe he does have a childish side after all. I didn't expect that.)

Emma: If you're hungry, would you like to have some sweets?

Young Sariel: I don't want them.

Emma: All right then, how about we read a book toge-- *sound of footsteps running* No, wait, wait!

*door opens*

(What do I do, do I chase after him... Hm?) (He's back.)

*door opens*

Young Sariel: Damn it... that damn 4 eyed bastard...

(I've seen Sariel kick people out of rooms before, but this might be the first time I've seen someone get kicked back in.)

Emma: Hey, come on, why don't we have something to eat together? What kind of sweets do you like?

Young Sariel: ...I don't like anything.

Emma: Then we'll have a bit of everything!

Sariel: ......

(That's quite the cold look from little Sariel.) (It looks like he's still wary around me, but I hope he'll slowly start to trust me more.)

--scene change, Sariel's room at night--

(...He hasn't taken a single bite.)

Young Sariel: ......

(He's been constantly looking for an opening to escape, but it looks like he's getting tired now.)

Sariel: Emma.

Emma: Y-yes?

Sariel: You should get some rest. I will keep watch over this vermin.

Emma: I can't do that. You should sleep too, Sariel. Emma: And you should too!

Young Sariel: ...

(He won't even look at me!)

Sariel: It's no use. The only thing a brat like this responds to is pain and discipline.

Young Sariel: You look like a proper pencil pusher but you still think of violence first. You think putting on a pair of glasses can change the kind of person you are deep down?

Sariel: What was that?

Young Sariel: You heard what I said.

Emma: Please don't fight with yourself, both of you!

(If I go to sleep with things the way they are, there is definitely going to be another incident...!)

*stomach growling*

(--Ah.)

Sariel: Emma?

Emma: I- I'm not... I mean, there was just so much happening today that I didn't get a chance to eat...

(Now that I've realized it, I'm just feeling hungrier and hungrier.) (It's already so late, but maybe just a little snack...)

Emma: Sorry, but can I have one of those?

Young Sariel: Do whatever you want.

Emma: Thank you. *munch*

(It's been a while since I had something sweet, it's so good... hm?) (When did little Sariel start eating too!)

Sariel: ...Strange. I didn't think you'd willingly eat something that someone else prepared.

Young Sariel: It doesn't seem poisoned. Young Sariel: ...Huh.

(Ah, looks like he likes that one.)

Emma: Is that one your favorite?

Young Sariel: Not really.

Emma: Hehe, you're free to take as much as you like if there's anything you like.

Young Sariel: ....Okay.

(He grabbed some more of the same kind. I guess that is his favorite.)

Sariel: Emma. Don't spoil him too much.

Emma: It's fine. He's you too, Sariel. Emma: Why don't you have some pastries too, big Sariel? There's some that aren't too sweet.

Sariel: I am not sure how I feel about being called 'big Sariel'... Sariel: However, I'll take you up on that offer. I'll have what you recommend.

Young Sariel: .....

Sariel: What?

Young Sariel: Nothing. Young Sariel: ...You look like you trust her a lot.

(He didn't want to eat anything because he was worried it would be poisoned...) (So that was something he had to be worried about even though he's this young.) (Maybe he only started eating because I ate one first, but maybe he can start opening up and trusting me some more now.)

Emma: Is it good?

Young Sariel: It's food. How it tastes doesn't matter.

(Ah, he looked over at me, just a little bit.) (I hope he can let himself relax, even if for just this moment.) (Both the young Sariel, and adult Sariel.) (Because both of them are my dear, precious Sariel...)

#ikemen prince #sariel (ikepri)#my translation

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brailsthesmolgurl · 6 months

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COOKING LESSON 101

This is a one-shot for Xavier! Hope you guys enjoy this :>

Xavier is known to be a terrible cook, but what if he was prescribed with an instructor and a recipe book? Will that change anything?

Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff

"Do we really have to do this?" Xavier asked you, his body lazily plopped against the arm rest of the couch, eyelids half opened as he looked at you. His usual demeanour non-existent as you came barging in the mid afternoon, with a grocery bag in one hand and a recipe book in another. He knew this day was coming, but he did not expect it to happen on a weekend where he would rather spend his day curled up under the blankets.

You nodded excitedly, your ponytail bobbed up and down at your motions. "They said it's a good bonding time for couples." You held up the recipe book and started to browse through it.

"Maybe that applies to couples who can actually cook?" Xavier quirked an eyebrow, a pout forming on his lips when he knew it was too late for him to say no. He should have just pretended not to be at home, but the constant ringing of the doorbell would be a torture to his sensitive hearing.

You walked over to him and took a seat next to the couch he was laying on and you patted his head, his blond strands silky to your touch. "Why? What's with the long face?" You mimicked his pout. "You don't want to do this together?"

"No..." He trailed off, his cerulean orbs catching yours and you can almost see a gleam of disappointment within this stare. "It's just that I am not confident in my cooking skills, and I do not want to mess things up, you know." His confession made you go 'awe' and your pats on his head got a little aggressive, but not enough to hurt him.

"Xavier, there is always a first time to everything. This time, we are both going to do this together okay?" You held out your hand to him in the form of a fist, with your pinky finger dangling mid-air. "I promise okay?"

Instead of hooking your pinky to formalise the promise, the blond boy took your hand in his larger ones and kissed your pinky. A much more intimate promise of his. "Alright, if you say so." Your cheeks blushed slightly at the sudden bold interaction. His smile then exchanged for a smirk and he leans in, catching your lips in his and you returned the favour. When he pulled back, he tilted his head sideways, an abashed grin accompanied his features. “I look forward to your guidance.”

"Now, on here, it says that we have to combine the wet and dry ingredients together." You had your finger lining up towards the sentence on the book, eyes focused on the instructions. It has been like this for quite a while, you reading off of the book and him doing all of the hard work.

"Okay." He quipped, picking up the bowl containing the dry ingredients and he poured it into the wet mixture. "Do I just stir it around?" He turned towards you, an apron tied to his torso. The apron was mainly a mix of the colours pink and red, with frills sewed onto the sides of the protective garment.

You stifled your laughter, the apron looking extra adorable on him. Initially, he did not want to put on the apron, claiming it was not his type of clothing. But with a bit of coaxing, and an offer to bring him to eat hotpot later, he gladly went along with your idea.

You nodded, watching him when he started stirring the mixture together, his force making some of the flour poured out of the bowl and staining his apron. Oh, how you wished that he could have worn this without the extra layers beneath it. Then he shall be a desirable eye candy for sure. Of course, getting him to wear the apron itself has been a trouble so you could only imagine how much more troublesome would it be to convince him to be half naked in it.

"This does not...look right." He showed you the bowl and your gasped, shocked at how the mixture has a lot of air bubbles. By a lot, it is filled with air bubbles. "Maybe I whipped it too hard?" DEFINITELY.

"Xavier, I think you should go slow on the mixing process okay?" You smiled apologetically at him, giving him a pat on his shoulders and a kiss on his arm. He looked down at the bowl and took the spatula and the next thing he did, was whipping the mixture HARD. "Xavier!"

"Huh?" He looked at you, eyes widened. "I am whipping it slowly, like what you told me to do." At that moment, you felt like your instructions had fallen on deaf ears, or maybe on hands that are just not capable of cooking. But you chuckled, calming yourself down and you showed him the motions of whipping the mixture 'slowly'.

It took you around two times to get him to mix the combined ingredients till you achieve the texture that is similar within the cook book. Then, you layered parchment paper onto a baking tray and he poured the mixture onto it. The thick brown texture slowly flowed onto the parchment paper. Then, you instructed Xavier to flatten it but the moment he raised his arms up high, you stopped him. He was not going to flatten the mixture, you think he was actually going to flatten his whole floor to the ground floor.

"Just spread it out, you don't have to smack it or anything." You took over the spatula and he watched in awe at your languid movements as you spread the thick batter to cover it all over the parchment paper. "And we are done."

"Does this mean we can eat it now?" Xavier looked at the batter, confusion written on his face. There is no way you guys went through all of the trouble just to eat something that does not even look as appetising.

His question made you laughed. Oh, how innocent this boy could be. "No Xavier, we have to bake it first, then we can eat it afterwards." You brought the baking tray to the oven that he owns, but probably never touched. Opening the lid, your assumptions became true, his oven still have the smell of a freshly bought one, the metallic smell of new appliances apparently. "Now, set the temperature to 325 degrees and bake it for about 40 to 45 minutes."

Xavier bent down and started to adjust the temperature using the knobs and buttons available on the electrical appliance. Once he was done, both of you headed over to the couch to await for the brownie to be done.

DING! The chime on the oven jolted the both of you, heads turning in sync, away from the cartoon playing on the television towards the kitchen area. "I think it is done." Xavier stood up, apron still clung to him. "I will go and get it out and we can taste test it."

"Be careful, it's going to be hot, so make sure you are putting on the mittens before you are getting the tray out." He replied you with an 'okay' as he headed to the kitchen. Sounds of a door opening and closing echoed through his apartment, accompanied with the sweet, delectable smell of brownies. "It smells great Xavier!"

"Yeah it does." He appeared from the corner, tray in his mitted hands and he smiled, walking over to you carefully. This is one of the first times you had ever seen this young man trudging carefully as he always walks with a purpose in mind. "I think we managed to do it this time. Oh wait, let me get a knife to cut it as well."

He placed the tray onto the coffee table and he took long strides over to the kitchen again, judging by his hasty movements, he should be hungry already. He returned with a knife and two small plates, alongside with two forks, a smile pasted onto his face and he took a seat next to you and started cutting into it. The brownie looks really promising. Perhaps even better than the ones which are store-bought. Call it biasness, but Xavier would call it his first time success.

Two slices of brownies are placed individually onto both of the plates and you both shared a look before digging in. The pungent, fragrant smell hit the both of your mouths but what comes later was the exponential increase of saltiness within your mouth and you spit out the brownie. You looked over to Xavier, his eyes closed and you can tell he was not enjoying the slightest bit for the salty piece of dessert. But he forced it down his throat anyways. "How much salt did you put into this Xavier?"

"Just two spoonfuls like what you said." He looked at you with those puppy eyes of his, a genuine reaction.

"Alright, was it 1/4 of a tablespoon?" You asked, recalling during then, you were too busy replying to Tara on your phone hence you did not noticed the amount of salt he had put in, or the type of spoon he used to measure the amount of salt.

"I didn't know which one it was, so I scooped the salt with the biggest spoon they have." His answer made you smiled at him, not disappointed, but you wished you could have monitored him better. At least he tried, so that should matter more. "Did it tasted that bad?"

"It's just a little bit salty." Your reply made him looked down at the brownie and you were worried that he might not take your answer well. "It's okay Xavier, shall we just stick to store-bought brownies next time?"

"Or, we can just go for hotpot now." He put the plate back onto the table, next to the tray. "Then when we come back, we can try baking it again." He smiled at you and took your hand into his, a confident smile on his face.

This is the one-shot for you Xavier girlies out there! Poor Xavier can't cook but we all know that at least he is willing to give it his best and to try again and again, just to spend precious time with you ;) Hope all of you enjoyed it!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #lnds #xavier x reader

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kuroppiii · 2 months

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who are you wearing ? ᵕ̈ timeskip!azumane asahi x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : we forgot about ⋮⋮ fashion designer asahi wayyy ⋮⋮ too soon . . .

📋 content ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛 ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 🥛 ♡ # ~930 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩ like what you read ? check out more of my blog ! •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i ' ve seen the good people around on the asahi tag ask , and so i ' ve come to deliver ( i ' m actually batman 🦇 ) ”

fashion designer!asahi who knows how to sew and will patch up your clothes if you need, so delicate even if the tiny needle and thread gets engulfed in his big hands

fashion designer!asahi your laundry day superman who knows how to get any stain out of any fabric

fashion designer!asahi who wants to match outfits with you when you two go out

fashion designer!asahi who brushes out all the wrinkles in your clothes before you two head out the door

fashion designer!asahi that always needs to bring you to the shows or galas he attends bc he needs you by his side amongst all the ppl in the crowd

fashion designer!asahi who gets shy when you come home with one of his pieces or a fashion magazine you found with him on the cover bc your unbridled support always makes his heart flutter in his chest

fashion designer!asahi that never fails to mention in interviews how you are his "muse"

fashion designer!asahi who will later get all flustered when you wind up finding those interviews and read them back to him once they get published later on

fashion designer!asahi who always gets front row seats to catwalks for the two of you, where you whisper in appreciation to each other about the pieces as the models pass by

fashion designer!asahi who’s hair falls in front of his face in the midst of sketching custom designs just for you

fashion designer!asahi who sometimes has you model his prototypes around the house, and has hundreds of photos in his camera roll of you doing so

fashion designer!asahi who always ends up sweeping you off your feet and showering you with kisses whenever you're wearing something he's made

fashion designer!asahi who designed both of your wedding garments himself, as well as those for the best men and bridesmaids

⇩ ⇩ ⇩ 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙐𝙎 ::

you give the softest of pushes against the handle of asahi's home studio door. careful not to make a sound, you peer your head in to see all the lights are off, except for the light from his desk's lamp.

you quietly step in a bit more, the sound of pencil scratching and pastels smearing vibrant colors onto asahi's creative visions reaching your ears. every now and then, he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose since his head is hung so low in concentration.

as not to scare him, you call out softly, "'sahiii."

like instinct, his head whips around to the sound of your voice, and when he calls back you can hear the grogginess sleep has laced into his voice, "oh hello honey."

"it's getting late," you say as you saunter over behind him, resting your head on the top of his and draping your arms around his broad shoulders.

"i know," he coos. the sound of etching drifts into the still night air again as he can't resist adding a few more lines to the curve of a dress on his paper, "but i want to get these done so we can start fittings as soon as possible. fabrics in some of these colors might take longer than expected to arrive before the ceremony. trust me, i know."

you look out into the sea of drawings scattered across his desk, and your heart swells at the thought of those you love wearing such amazing works of art on your special day. the thought makes you tighten your arms around him to pull him closer, and you feel his free hand reaching up to squeeze one of your arms affectionately, as his other hand reaches for a colored pencil to shade in part of his sketch.

"why does everything you make have to be so perfect," you jokingly sulk, reaching out to run your fingertips along some silky fabric samples occupying a corner of asahi's desk.

you can feel the tiny rumble of his soft laughter beneath you, "not true."

you peel yourself off of him and crouch down next to where he sits in his chair. you take your hand and take the colored pencil out of his hand, before gently holding his face in your two palms, fingers brushing his brown hair out from his face.

"very true, actually," you correct him in a whisper. and even though his facial features are very visually tired, the smile that grows on his face as he's looking at you still manages to meet his lidded eyes. you feel his larger hands place themselves over yours, and feel the cold metal of his engangement ring tickle at your left hand.

the feeling makes you giddy and a small fit of sleepy and loopy laughter starts bubbling out of you, but asahi lovingly cuts it off, leaning in to leave an affectionate kiss on your lips.

he tastes like dark roasted coffee and beeswax chapstick. his fancy cologne lingers even when you finally pull apart, the one you suprised him with when one of his pieces made it into one of the big showcases for the first time. it mixes with one of the many scents he's gifted you in return since then. (he loves to spoil you, it really being one of the only reasons he mingles with other designers at events, so he can later get linked up with the best stuff to give to you.)

you both smile against each other. just you, your soon-to-be husband, and the many manifestations of his love for you scattered around his studio.

#🌼 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗸𝘆𝘂𝘂 #🌼 𝗮𝘇𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝗮𝗵𝗶 #giggling and kicking my feet #tbh he has one of the coolest timeskip occupations #big artsy soft giant im sobbing #haikyuu #asahi azumane #asahi x reader #azumane asahi x reader #asahi headcanons #asahi fluff #timeskip asahi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyu x reader #haikyuu timeskip

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 6 months

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Buttons

The request from @toomanytookas: I have such fond memories of my grandmother teaching me how to sew on her old Singer. Obviously a WILDLY different context for a million different reasons, but I love the idea of of Pin showing Joel how to sew or just explaining the general mechanics of using the machine. Maybe some physical guidance/touching a la the pottery scene in Ghost?

If you'd prefer to play with other characters, it would be sweet to see her teach Ellie now that she's working at the shop and I imagine she'd be curious about it!

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 900 words | warnings: rated M for dirty thoughts and slightly dirty talk, outrageous flirting, topless Joel Miller | can be read independently of the series but is part of the Seams universe

‘Nice tits, Miller!’

Joel chokes on his corn chowder as Tommy’s voice rings loud and obnoxious in the half-empty cafeteria, a mischievous glint in his eyes when he makes himself comfortable opposite him, tray hitting the table with a clatter.

‘Seriously though, put them away before Maria sees you. This is a family place, y’know.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘Shut up, jackass.’

Tommy studies the familiar green plaid shirt on his brother that is sitting open to the sternum. ‘Buttons fell off, huh?’

‘Aren’t you a regular Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Pin gettin’ a bit rough with ya?’

Joel splutters, raising his fork in what he hopes is a menacing reproach. ‘Hey!’

‘Just jokin’, big bro. And no judgement if she is.’

He scoffs. ‘This is gettin’ real weird, Tommy -’

‘Why don’t you ask her to sew ’em back for you?’

‘She ain’t my seamstress.’

‘She’s a seamstress. And your girlfriend.’

Joel snorts. ‘You ask Maria to do all your chores for you?’

Tommy shrugs and replies around a mouthful of mashed potato. ‘Ask Pin to teach you then. What's that they say about fishermen and fishin’?’

He has a point, Joel has to concede. That’s how he ends up at your studio that afternoon, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you on the sewing machine. He likes the steady, mechanical staccato of the needle, the whirring wheel and the metallic squeak of the pedal as your hands and feet all move in almost nonchalant choreography.

He knows that under that ease lies years of experience, and there’s an understatedness about your movements that makes him stop and stare every time you're at the antique sewing machine.

He waits patiently for a lull, not wanting to disrupt your rhythm. When you pause to inspect the stitching you’ve been working on, Joel knocks on the doorframe.

His lips twitch when you startle, eyes wide as your head whips around at him, and it brings him right back to the day you meet, just a few feet from where he stands now.

But then you break into a wide smile. ‘What are you doing sneaking up on me, Joel Miller?’

He closes the distance with three steps, bending down to drop a kiss on your lips. ‘Just wanted to say hello - and to ask for a favour.’

You stare up at him, admiring the way a stray lock curls over his eyes. ‘What is it?’

Joel tugs on the front of his shirt. ‘Was wonderin’ if you can teach me how to sew my buttons back on.’

You eye his neckline, which is suspiciously low. ‘I thought you were just trying something new,’ you quip.

Arching an eyebrow, he asks, ‘Is it workin’ for you, sweetheart?’

Hooking your finger into the open V of the shirt, you grin. ‘I’m not complaining, but it doesn’t hurt to fix it. Take it off.’

Joel huffs, joking, ‘Buy me dinner first, at least?’

You watch his fingers push the little buttons out of the holes, baring broad chest and freckles with every downward inch. You hum when he gets to the bottom of the shirt and it hangs open, nothing but bare skin under it. ‘No undervest?’

‘Feel like showin’ off today,’ he winks and disrobes with a smooth roll of his shoulders.

You can’t help it, your breath catches - at the strong shoulders, the soft belly, the way he has one hand on his hip - and by the self-satisfied curl of his lips, you know he knows.

Clearing your throat, you stand and take his shirt from his grasp, the warmth of the fabric comforting in your hands. ‘Come sit over here.’

‘We’re not using the machine?’

‘Not for sewing buttons,’ you reply, opening a little box to find matching ones for his shirt.

‘Okay, step one,’ you seat yourself next to him and hand him the supplies. ‘Thread the needle.’

The thread looks more like a blade of the most delicate hair in between his thumb and index finger, and the needle comically small. But his hands are remarkably steady, and he surprises you by nimbly pushing the thread through the eye on his second try.

‘Pull the thread through and keep going,’ you instruct, snipping it off with scissors when you’re satisfied with the length. ‘Now, we need to knot the end. Loop the thread around your finger a couple of times, pinch it with your thumb and pull the end through.’

He does so with aplomb, and you remark, more to yourself than anything. ‘Your fingers are really dexterous for their size.’

Joel wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘You should know that first hand, hmm?’

A comment like that would’ve had you ducking your head a few months ago. But now, you narrow your eyes at him in playful admonishment. ‘So full of yourself, Joel Miller.’

Dragging your chair towards him, he leans in and murmurs against your ear. ‘Ain’t you the one who was full of me last night -’

Heat rushes to your cheek as he noses the sensitive skin behind your ear. ‘Joel, I thought you wanted to fix your shirt -’

Pushing the needle into a pin cushion, he shrugs and pulls you into his lap with a smirk, his skin hot under your touch.

‘Luckily, I don’t really need a shirt for what I want to do right now, sweetheart.’

More notes: Thank you for this adorable prompt @toomanytookas! I hope you don't mind that I tweaked it a little bit. I love that you have such beautiful memories with your grandma. Mine used to sew and do cross-stitch, I miss her so much 🥹

#fuckyeahseams #seams sleepover #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine

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sea-of-dust · 4 months

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Joker,Akechi,Futaba,Haru x GN!Reader

You made a doll out of them, time to make them think they're one with it

N: I need those idv skins bro every ask is 5 bucks/heavy j. This post shall multiply my luck by 10 fold no 100 fold!!! I WILL GET FUTABA I WILL GET HARU I WILL GET FUTABA I WILL GET HARU RAAAAA

"That doesn't look like me" you pick up the doll and widen it's arms "where my hug at?" Imatating his voice, he goes to wipe his eyes, hitting his glasses, yet still doing the gesture. "Son?"

He would smush his face, twiddle with its hair, all the gestures you'd do to him. "Is my face really this smushable?" He pinches the cheeks of the doll. "Yea" you pinch his actual cheeks

He'd actually treat it like his son. "Why are you doing his laundry?" The doll stares at you with a towels wrapped around its head and waist it's clothes swashing around in a small kids washing machine. "Where did you even get that?" "A friend sent me an address on where to find em" it's silent as you watch the washing machine whirr. "Sooo" "soon I'll teach how to do it himself" he goes to wipe his eyes, only to hit his glasses again and still going through with the gesture.

Don't make him new clothes...either of them. His first thoughts when you show him the dolls new outfit is ask where to find the human sized versions. "It's just clothes you already have" you put headphones around the dolls neck "I don't have those" you find them instantly showing them to him. ".." "you can match with him" he would send you pictures of him smiling wider than a cartoon character with a matching outfit to the doll

Morgana would accidently talk to the poor doll instead of him. "He's so werid right mini joker?" The doll stares into oblivion "I know right" he'd have deep conversations with that doll, you accidently made Morgana a ride or die partner

"How amusing" you show him the doll holding it up by its hands. "It's you" "it isn't it dosent have any physical resemblance to me" you look at the doll and look back at him. "I think this is your long lost good twin"

He'd stare at it if you weren't in the room. It's soulful little eyes it's little smile. "Akechi why are you in a roll of tape?" He turns thinking your speaking to him only to see you pull his imposter out of the tape.

He'd wouldn't interact with it much besides tying it to celling fans, eventually he did examine it. The attention to detail was top notch, the parting of his hair the details on his clothes. He caught himself smiling at these features. "I see you're growing fond of him" he almost throws it but instead hides it behind his back. "I don't know what you're talking about"

You can't be away from minikechi, the life sized one would bring pictures of you three. Either to use as proof as you mearly breathing near the doll, or because he misses you and the doll was just in frame. "I wasn't touching him" he smirks "really now?" "Yea really" he pulls out a picture of the doll falling on your face. "He fell on me that's gravity"

He's gonna open a seam at one point. Maybe a lot depending on the saw traps he gets put through. He takes this as an opportunity to try and learn how to sew. "Okay wear this" you place a thumb cap over his finger. "What's this?" "It's so you don't poke yourself" he'd take what he's learned from you fixing the doll and minor clothing repairs to "pay you back" by fixing torn things that could be fixed via stich. Would complain after and that's how you know he did it. "That took too long for just a few stitches" "don't use a whole wingspan worth of string next time"

"NOOOOOOO" her scream of anguish would have vibrated the house "I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT" "right about what?" "REN SAID YOU CAME INTO HIS ROOM AT MIDNIGHT TO STEAL MY HAIR AND PUT IT IN A DOLL" "I wasn't there for your hair" "oh" "I was there for answers he forgot to send them to me so I put whipped cream on his hand"

She loves it, convinced to make it a tiny ufo. She'd look up a little too many paper 3d sites to make one, finally finding one and barely able to put it together, she had to call the one person she knew!! "INARI!!" "I'm a painter, I'm afraid I may only be able to help with design and not overall structure" he still comes over to help tho

UFO SET UP, mini futaba put in! Yusuke praising it to God, and the mini futaba totally not being held up by string so she doesn't stress out the paper (suggested by you) "it's cute" your famous last few words before seeing a white spot on the ufo "oh you missed a spot-" "INARI NO"

She'd try to make her own doll of you. "3d printing y/n!!" She giggles to herself as she stitches carefully around the dolls head, she's continue to hype herself up, and then come to leblank like a zombie

The doll replaces her at video calls. Sojiro calling? "Dolltaba speaking!" "Can you tell Ren to get up" "Okey doki!" Sojiro had to get used to it, not like he could tell her to stop either she just went harder taping a printed paper with her face onto the doll so she could keep using it for Webcams.

"Really?" Her eyes widen when the doll looks at her. Touching its features. As long as she doesn't look down you can convince her the doll and her share consciousness

You'd catch her trying to tone her skills with it. "Haru?" "Yes?" "Why are you glaring at the doll like that?" "To practice my skills" she stares even harder at the mini haru. "You're gonna pop a vein" "all in a days work" without a secound of hesitation you speak up once again "are you trying to explode her with your mind?" Her eyes widen, her head nearly snapping to you and back at the doll staring even harder. "Alright that's enough no mind explosions" "but y/n!" "You don't have powers"

"Would you like tea?" The dolls 1000 yard stare answered for it l, you pouring it pretend tea. "Truely a spleaded tea party" "indeed" you both extend your pinkeys to a painful degree. You two would enjoy actual snacks while leaving nothing for a doll, this would sadden her. "We should buy doll food" "Haru her mouth is string how is she gonna eat?" "Are you familiar with the plastic food for kids toys?" Finally the doll could join in being an estimened guest

There's hair matienece..for both. At the same time. "You have more curls than a lala loopsey doll" you carefully comb its hair "I should stop using yarn" finish it up with a plastic hairclip that totally wasn't from a discount store and she'd nearly instantly ask for the same thing. She'd come to school with a diffrent sweater to match the hair pieces making Ryuji think she had been switched with ghost

The only person with a near perfect condition doll. Because she keeps mini haru in a case. "Haru I appreciate the fact you care to keep her clean, but she's being held hostage" "your right.." You sigh, thinking she's agreed with you. "I'll need to buy her a home!" Your eyes shoot open, too late now you're already assembling mini Haru her own home. Atleast she lives rent-free

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bloodmoonmuses · 7 months

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stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him.

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester.

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back.

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant.

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner.

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre.

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment?

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact.

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?”

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies.

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection.

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it.

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining.

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind.

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle.

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly. “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.”

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips.

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile.

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #nct 127 fluff #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh fanfic #johnny suh

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