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seiwas · 3 months ago

Note

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

#iwaizumi x reader #hq!! x reader #shotorus.workbook #omg i hope u enjoyed this!! i had fun thinking it up ehehe and writing it #in my mind this is set in the same universe as the halloween one i did for mattsun―actually its the same party HABFHBSF #some stuff about the fic: iwaizumi is hot in that costume i spared the details bc i was going to combust MYSELF #but it clings to his muscles REAAAAAAL good and there's really not a lot of padding in the costume itself #bc makki believes in iwaizumi's anatomy enough to deliver #what happened in between iwaizumi asking for help and oikawa barging in??? we may never know 🤷‍♀️ kidding !#i just didnt write it in bc it would be too long but #if anyone is curious maybe i'll write it as a separate thing!#other stuff abt the fic: reader became good friends with oikawa first bc neighbors but then oikawa admittedly wanted to play matchmaker #so he invited reader a ton to their group things so he could introduce em to iwaizumi HAHA and iwaizumi crushed hard #they become close pretty quickly too hence why reader calls him hajime HAHAH and they hang out even outside of the group #theres definitely something like they text a lot and stuff but neither of them are sure of how the other feels so they arent admitting #reader has borrowed a hoodie from him tho #(aka the one he's wearing in the blurb bc it's the only article of clothing that fits him in reader's apt)#also they figured they'd just kill time by drying iwaizumi's costume bc for sure they couldn't chuck it in the dryer so the next best thing #was to just use a dryer and spot dry it #makki did source most of the costumes! except mattsun's and his gf's #uhhh they go back to the party afterwards but reader literally had to makeshift lock iwaizumi's costume with safety pins HAHA #i guess his muscles just be too popping 🤷‍♀️#fvntybomb #ask #rep #ask game answered

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toxintouch · 3 months ago

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yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon! For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like! It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos. So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol. Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch.

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery. The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows. You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat.

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–? A mouse? In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded. He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep? Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you… Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his. “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you. “I didn’t realize. The door was unlocked, so…” You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last. You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him. You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough. You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually. Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense. And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare. “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.”

If he was, he would have done it by now. Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him. …Probably.

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,” he says, looking amused. “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist. You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply. Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot. His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer. He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again. I find myself in need of a sous chef. Congratulations on your promotion. Come along now.” He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen. (To be fair, you don’t struggle. Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise. He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon. He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?” He asks, without looking up. You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment. “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron. You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness. He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable. Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it. You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort. You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction. You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even. There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it. A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?” You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet. And there’s a pasta in the oven. For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well. I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.” He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted. It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away. More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you. You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer. You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?” You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you. “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction? A guiding hand, so to speak?” You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter. “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.” His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter. He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that. Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins. (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.) The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time. You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere. He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who? Some limp dick? No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions. The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop. “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere. “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply. “And it’s faster. Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.” Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan. The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow. (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets. You’re probably better off not knowing.) Vere’s ears perk up, pleased. He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards. “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?” He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia. Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my. I’m almost jealous. I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work. The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll.

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere. Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice. He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box. You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle. He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible. The artful garnish is beautiful, at least. The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits. Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch. His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews. He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin. You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time. Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables. The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent. Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes. “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for? My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence. “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg. “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.” Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment. His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily. He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander. You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate. Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.” His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand. He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment. You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen. There’s really nothing you can do about that.

You hope you don’t get blacklisted. You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#Hmm! I think they should become cooking buddies I say; I think they should make this a weekly thing #which is my way of saying ‘my bad if this was too much time spent on the set up etc and not enough on the cooking oops ahaha’#this is not how u make panko btw this is some amalgamation of panko and tempura batter don’t ask #The owner & her wife know that Vere does this btw there is a whole thing happening behind the scenes #the number of grease fires Vere has started. Is not zero.#SLICE OF LIFE IS SO HARD TO WRITE FOR ME ATM OMG??#but I hope it was a fun time #i now crave…angst lmao #touchstarved game fanfic #vere x mc #vere x reader #toxintouch: {pick} prompt {your poison}#i feel so caught up on writing now wow time to SLEEP #no good title for this one i will keep thinking?? i;ll just name it whatever in the morning lol #not that ppl need my permission to share prompts #we are all living in the same fandom biome we must share our resources to thrive #i messed around with the formatting a little :) i think it is kinda cute #toxintouch writing

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