#I hope the delivery comes early in the morning so I can get to it as soon as possible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asdfghjklmals · 3 months

Text

LILIES & ROSES 2.0✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. suggestiveness and mentions of sex. WORD COUNT: 4.1k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, dad!gojo, mom!oc. established couple.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend and satoru celebrate baby gojo's first valentine's day! AUTHOR'S NOTE: happy early valentine's day everyone! sorry i've been so mia. i hope this fic will make up for my absence. the first ‘lilies & roses’ fic was for oc gojo girlfriend’s mother’s day so make sure to read that. 💚 REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

you and satoru woke up at exactly 5am to your five-month-old human alarm clock babbling in her snoo.

you felt slender, yet strong arms slide under your shirt to pull you closer, even if it was just for a moment. a quick, welcoming kiss by soft tender lips pressed onto your exposed shoulder blade.

“good morning, sweetheart.” satoru whispered into your ear, finally pulling away from you so he could start his morning routine with his daughter.

you turned to face him, half-awake eyes following each step from his side of the bed to your daughter’s bassinet across the room. you let out a tired sigh.

“there’s daddy’s big girl!” satoru said with a quiet, yet cheery voice. a gummy smile appeared on the face of your 5 month old baby girl. it was a smile that satoru never got tired of seeing.

he reached down to pick up sayuri, holding her close to his chest so that her head could rest on his shoulder. you saw her peeking at you. you shot a soft smile at her as her lips trembled. she wanted mommy right now. and where the hell was her milk?

before sayuri could even let out a cry for you, satoru quickly left the master bedroom and shut the door behind him. this was the start of his morning routine, bonding time with his daughter that he always looked forward to.

and so, you shut your eyes for a couple more minutes before satoru and sayuri would come back with their special delivery, your morning coffee. (read ‘morning routine 2.0’ here)

**********************

“okay, yurs—here’s the game plan,” satoru said to his baby girl, “today is something called valentine’s day. usually mommy and daddy go out on a date and then participate in love-making-physical-activities at night, but since we have you this year, i think we should change it up a little.”

sayuri drooled on satoru’s shoulder, unsure of what her father was babbling on about. she pursed her lips and continued to drool.

“we need to stop by the flower shop first so we can get her a nice big bouquet of ros—i mean lilies. those are your mommy’s favorite flower you know. did you know you’re named after them?” (read 'hello baby' here)

sayuri. sayuri meant ‘small lily’ in japanese. it was the perfect name for your perfect baby girl.

satoru continued on with explaining his plan to his partner in crime, “then—i was thinking that while you take your afternoon nap, i can cook a late lunch for mommy. i haven’t done that for her in a long time.”

satoru stirred sweet creamer into your cup of coffee and smiled. he felt as if his plan was going to be perfect—another successful valentine’s day for satoru gojo in the books.

as he imagined how the day would progress, he warmed up a packet of your stored breast milk for sayuri before she started to fuss. but sayuri gojo was no fool, she knew she was going to be fed in a few moments so she decided to give grace to her trying father. she decided that she’d throw a tantrum later.

**********************

“what do you mean you’re taking sayuri out by yourself?” you frowned after taking a sip of your morning coffee. you had hoped to spend some time with your little family today—it was valentine’s day after all.

last year, you told satoru that you didn’t want to do anything extravagant because you were still in the early stages of your pregnancy. you were nauseas and tired during your first trimester. knowing him, he would have already had a trip to somewhere tropical planned if you hadn’t told him that you wanted to stay home.

satoru mischievously grinned, rubbing salt into your wound, “we are going to have a daddy-daughter date for valentine’s day.”

“what if i wanted to have a mommy-daughter date?” you pouted back at your baby daddy, “it’s our baby girl’s first valentine’s day, can’t we spend it together?”

an imaginary lightbulb lit up above satoru’s head. he did need time to cook for you without you being in the apartment, so maybe you could take sayuri during that time.

“how about you take sayuri out for a couple hours?” satoru suggested, “we’ll be home by 2pm.”

“—but 2pm is her nap time, satoru.”

‘of course you wouldn’t forget about her nap time.’ satoru thought to himself. he shifted his milk-drunk daughter in his arms so he could face you.

“okay, how about this, sweetheart—i’ll take yurs and be home by noon. she can take an early nap, and then you can have her at 3pm. i have an appointment from 3pm-5pm anyways.”

satoru may have lied about having an appointment, but he needed to have an excuse not to be with you and sayuri so he could prepare for your valentine’s day surprise.

“can we celebrate after your appointment?” you asked eagerly. your daughter’s first valentine’s day was important to you. not only was it sayuri’s first, it was yours and satoru’s first as parents.

“of course, sweetheart.” satoru said as he leaned in for a kiss on your forehead, a sneaky grin plastering his face, “we have a tradition to uphold.”

“if sex is the tradition you’re talking about, i swear to—”

a whimpering cry interrupted your empty threat to satoru. sayuri was still hungry. she started to wail as if she was screaming, ‘more food, please!’

“—and that’s my queue to leave,” satoru said as he handed off sayuri to you. he quickly jumped out of the bed to make sayuri another bottle.

you shook your head and chuckled.

“your daddy is so silly,” you looked down at satoru gojo’s mini-me. everything you loved about satoru reflected back at you in your daughter. her slender nose, soft pink lips, and her thin white eyebrows. you had the most perfect child. of course you did, she was satoru gojo’s copy and paste.

“so baby girl—i was thinking that while we go on our mommy-daughter date, we can go see grandpa kiku and grandma fuku. daddy would be devastated if we didn’t get him anything for valentine’s day.”

sayuri looked up at you as you patted her back gently. she felt content being in your arms. it gave her comfort and soothed away any fears she may have had, just like daddy’s—and it was the exact same feelings that satoru felt whenever he was in your arms.

“then we can come back home and spend the night with daddy!” you said excitedly with a giggle, “you have to protect mommy from daddy tonight, okay?”

sayuri gojo wouldn’t understand your joke, but you knew what satoru gojo’s intentions were on a day like valentine’s day.

later that morning

“your mom must be loving the fact that she can sleep in today,” satoru chuckled to his daughter as he opened the glass door to the flower shop.

satoru, you, megumi, and tsumiki have been going to this flower shop ever since you moved to the apartment. at first, it was just convenient for satoru. satoru always bought you flowers whenever he upset you or whenever he wanted to surprise you with them just to see you smile. and now, after years of giving the flower shop owner business, you were regulars—to the point where the owner, mrs. itose, had a customized bouquet on hand made just for you whenever satoru or the kids needed it.

“good morning, satoru! good morning, miss sayuri!” the flower shop owner greeted the father-daughter duo.

satoru smiled, presenting his baby girl, “say hi to grandma itose!”

grandma itose had been around for the growth of yours and satoru’s relationship. she was like family. when you gave birth to sayuri, she sent the world’s most beautiful bouquet of lilies you had ever seen. mrs. itose placed her bets that baby gojo was going to be a girl and because of that, she was one of the first people to know sayuri’s name.

“i’m guessing you’re here for valentine’s day?” the shop owner smiled as she continued to wrap rose bouquets to sell for the day. it was a busy day for mrs. itose.

satoru scratched the back of his head and grinned, “that obvious?”

“don’t you worry, satoru. i have (y/n)’s bouquet ready for you.” mrs. itose said with a smug, yet confident grin. she wiped off her hands on a towel and walked to the back of the shop, disappearing for a moment.

satoru watched sayuri as her small, curious eyes scanned the store. her eyes were always full of wonder. she gave a gummy smile to the shop owner who smiled back at her while holding your large bouquet of lilies and roses and a smaller bouquet of lilies alongside it.

“what’s that small bouquet for?” satoru asked, knowing he didn’t order a small bouquet.

mrs. itose smacked satoru’s shoulder, “not only do you have (y/n) to buy flowers for, but you have to buy them for your daughter too!”

satoru’s heart sank. he felt guilty that he didn’t even think about buying his mini-me, his adorable little girl, a bouquet for valentine’s day. he now had two girls in his life to think about.

“i didn’t even think about that before we had sayuri.” he sheepishly admitted, giving sayuri an apologetic kiss to her chubby cheek.

“being a girl dad will make you realize a lot of things.” mrs. itose teased, “a reflection of how you treat (y/n) is a guideline to how sayuri will expect to be treated by her significant other when she grows up.”

the thought of sayuri growing up, dating, and eventually getting married gave satoru the chills. he didn’t even want to think about it. all he knew was that whoever his daughter ended up loving, they better love her the way he loved you.

“grandma itose, thank you for teaching me how to be a good dad. and you’ve always helped me be a good partner to (y/n).” satoru said with appreciation. mrs. itose was always a listening ear when he would pick up flowers after an argument.

the shop owner smiled warmly at satoru and sayuri, “have a happy valentine’s day, you two.”

satoru held the two bouquets up with his cursed technique and paid the shop owner double the amount of what the flowers actually costed. he made sure to leave before mrs. itose could say anything.

“say bye to grandma itose, yurs.” satoru sang as he held sayuri’s arm to wave goodbye.

next year, he would make sure to remember to order flowers for his precious little lily too.

later that afternoon

“i bet your daddy wishes he could be here with us.” you sang smugly as you pushed sayuri’s nuna stroller down the familiar streets of tokyo. “he loves seeing grandpa kiku and grandma fuku.”

sayuri was bundled up warmly in her swaddle, enjoying the stroller ride. her view was a beautiful you. your long black hair flowed behind you in the wind, green eyes sparkling as you looked on ahead. sayuri looked at you just like satoru did. with awe.

“i’m sorry you had to change your nap time today.” you apologized, “mommy couldn’t help it. she wanted to spend time with you too.”

you weren’t mad at the fact that satoru and sayuri always got to spend time together, in fact, you loved that they had a bond. it was more of the thought that one day, your baby girl wouldn’t need her mother anymore.

you made your way to the kikufuku stand that you and satoru had been visiting since you were high schoolers. the stall owners recognized you immediately and rushed towards you.

grandma fuku called out your names excitedly, “(y/n)! sayuri!”

“hi mrs. fuku.” you laughed, knowing exactly what she wanted. you picked up sayuri and placed her in grandma fuku’s arms as she cooed at your baby.

grandpa kiku and grandma fuku were family, just like grandma itose. you remembered the moment when your belly started showing during your pregnancy. you wanted to surprise and visit grandma fuku to see if she would notice. grandma fuku was so excited when she realized you were pregnant, she wanted to close to shop immediately so she could sit down and talk to you about motherhood. that day, even grandpa kiku ended up giving satoru a lecture on how to be a good husband and that being a dad changes your entire life.

you were grateful for the kikufuku stand couple. they had been there for you and satoru when you were both in high school. their kikufuku stand was where you and satoru had your first date, and many more dates after that. they had become important parts of your lives and you hoped that they would be in your daughter’s too. (read 'love at first fight' here)

“grandpa kiku packed up all of satoru’s favorites.” grandma fuku said with a smile as she held sayuri in her arms. your baby enjoyed being held by anyone—she was a friendly baby, just like her friendly father.

grandpa kiku called out with a grin, “we figured one of you two would be here to pick these up.”

he held out a pink box of kikufuku towards you, all in satoru’s favorite flavors. you placed them in sayuri’s stroller and quickly paid the shop owners a generous amount of money, far more than what the sweet treat was actually worth. it was the least you could do for them after all these years of satoru terrorizing their kikufuku stand.

a visit to the kikufuku shop with sayuri always lasted longer than expected. they always wanted to hold her and talk about how she was doing. in a blink of an eye, an hour had already passed. you had to meet satoru back at home.

“on our next day off, satoru and i will bring sayuri.” you promised as you placed sayuri back into her stroller.

“that would be great! happy valentine’s day, (y/n) and sayuri! tell satoru we said hi!” the shop owners called out to you.

you gave them a bright smile and waved back, “we will! happy valentine’s day! don’t work too hard!”

“make sure to have lots of babies for me!” grandma fuku made sure to add.

you laughed at her request. you were pretty sure satoru’s sobo and your grandma wanted the same thing too. but for now, you and satoru wanted to enjoy the time you had with your little accident, sayuri.

at the gojo/(l/n) apartment

on your way home, a burning smell wafted through the apartment hallways, worrying you.

“is your father already home?” you asked your daughter as if she could answer you. you already knew it was satoru, you could sense his cursed energy residuals.

you typed in the code to the pin pad lock and pushed sayuri’s stroller in. the burning smell was coming from your kitchen.

“babe, are you okay…?” you called out.

“goddamn it—oh hi sweetheart!” satoru turned around attempting to mask his apparent frustration, he sucked on his thumb that he burned while attempting to grab something from the oven.

“did you burn yourself?”

“yes…” he mumbled, “can you come kiss it better?”

you laughed at how much of a baby the strongest sorcerer could be.

“let me grab sayuri, run it under cold water first.”

while you picked up sayuri from her stroller, satoru obediently ran his thumb under the kitchen faucet, the icy cold water soothing his burn.

you approached him from behind with sayuri attached to your hip, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

“you okay, babe?” you attempted to stifle a laugh.

satoru pouted and answered dramatically, “no, i might just die right now, it hurts so bad.” as a jujutsu sorcerer, you were pretty sure he’s felt worse than a simple cooking burn.

“hold her,” you demanded while you handed your daughter off to her father, “give me your hand.”

he quickly put his hand in yours. the red spot on his thumb was starting to blister. you focused your reversed cursed technique onto his burn, water appearing from the air to cover the spot on his thumb. when you released your technique, it was as if the burn never happened.

sayuri blinked in awe as she watched you and satoru. sayuri gojo was born with cursed energy, but you and satoru didn’t know what her innate cursed technique was yet. was it limitless from the gojo clan? or was it an elemental technique from your clan?

“you’re such a baby, satoru.” you teased, “you can use reversed cursed energy yourself but for some reason, you always come to me to heal you.”

“guilty as charged.” satoru grinned before pulling you in for a kiss, “i’ll always be your baby.”

you pulled away from him, biting your lip with a seductive grin. curious sayuri leaned towards the kitchen, grabbing your attention. you turned to stare at the oven, “so what happened to my kitchen?”

“i tried to make us dinner but i forgot about the food in the oven while i was cleaning and decorating.” satoru said, face palming his forehead.

you turned to look at the decorations satoru was talking about. a large bouquet of lilies and roses and a smaller one sat on the glass dining table, rose petals decorated the floor with candles lit all around the kitchen and living room area. it reminded you of your 25th birthday. (read ‘forget me not’ here)

you blinked twice. you didn’t even notice how clean the apartment was or all the valentine’s day decorations that satoru put up when you first came through the door. the burning smell must’ve distracted you.

you walked over to the patio door to open it, airing out the burnt smell and smoke. as you made your way back to satoru, he sunk into the couch, white cushions engulfing him, sayuri sitting on his chest. she gently patted his chest as if she was consoling him.

“what’s wrong?” you asked with concern.

satoru crest-fallen, mumbled, “i had the perfect valentine’s day planned out for us, but i burnt our dinner.”

“the only thing that matters is that our apartment isn’t burnt down.” you giggled.

“but sweetheart, i wanted today to be perfect.”

“it’s already perfect,” you smiled at him and then at your daughter, “i have my perfect man, my perfect baby, and you got me flowers. what more could i ask for?”

“a perfect dinner?” satoru added sarcastically.

you shot a glare at him before grabbing his chin with your hand, positioning his face to look straight at you.

“what were you cooking anyways?”

“a prime rib roast.”

you really would’ve enjoyed that prime rib roast today, but you had to save satoru’s pride. satoru gojo couldn’t be perfect at everything.

“it’s fine, who cares about a roast!” you bluffed while letting go of his chin, “how about we get take out from sushi go?”

“not splendid sushi?” satoru asked, knowing that you liked splendid sushi, while his favorite was sushi go.

“no, we can get sushi go tonight.” you said with a smile in hopes that it would make satoru feel better, “and before i forget, sayuri and i got you something for valentine’s day.”

sayuri babbled while attempting to eat the buttons of satoru’s dress shirt. she reached for satoru face as he playfully nipped at her stubby fingers with his mouth.

you made your way back to the couch with satoru's box of kikufuku. a smile crept back on his face. he couldn’t stay mad if a box of his favorite sweets were being presented to him by an extremely captivating and beautiful woman.

“my girls went to see grandpa kiku and grandma fuku without me?” he teased, squeezing and poking at sayuri’s chubby cheeks.

“mhmm.” you laughed, “we had to make sure we didn’t forget about daddy on our mommy-daughter date.”

“speaking of forgetting… you know what mrs. itose said to me today?”

you tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to continue on with his story.

“she said whenever i buy flowers for you, i should buy some for yurs too. she mentioned that how i treat you is gonna be a guideline on how sayuri is going to expect to be treated from her significant other when she grows up.”

“well, mr. satoru gojo, it’s a good thing you take very good care of me and treat me very well.” you smiled back at him, eyes full of adoration for the love of your life—and the father of your child.

satoru added, “—and don’t forget i love you very much.”

you snuck a kiss on satoru's cheek, “i love you too, babe.”

you looked back at the flowers sitting on the dining table. mrs. itose’s work was beautiful. you have never received a subpar bouquet from her and satoru. you spotted sayuri’s baby bouquet, noticing hers exclusively had lilies.

“i like how baby girl gets a bouquet of just lilies but mine still have roses in there even though you know lilies are my favorite flower.” (read ‘lilies & roses’ here)

“it’s an inside joke for us now. it’d be weird if you didn’t have roses in your bouquet.” satoru chuckled as sayuri laid on his chest, looking up at you. you admired the sweet sight, your child and your lover both looking back at you with the same eyes you loved so much.

“so how about that take out order?” satoru asked with his fingers on the speed dial for sushi go.

“don’t forget my salmon nigiri!”

EXTRA:

“i’m exhausted,” satoru huffed as he laid down on his side of the bed, his arm covering his eyes and forehead.

he had spent the last two hours cleaning the oven from the failed prime rib dinner while you and sayuri went through her night routine. (read ‘grateful for you’ here)

“too tired for your love-making activities?” you asked curiously, wondering if the baby blue lingerie set you wore under your robe tonight was going to go to waste.

“for once in my life, i think i am.” satoru sighed.

you pouted, “that’s a shame. i bought the cutest lingerie set just for you. it has a garter and everything!”

satoru sat up, interested in what you had to say. “well, when you put it that way… how about you show me? is it see through? is it edible? does it have ease of access?”

you giggled at his silly questions. he pulled you into his lap as he starting to unravel your robe, tracing kisses along your collarbone, the sensation tickling you.

you sensed a familiar cursed energy waver. immediately, you put your hands on satoru’s chest, stopping him from his ministrations.

“what is it?” he asked impatiently as he bit at your hands.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “you don’t sense it? she’s gonna cry, daddy.”

satoru was hoping in all honestly that sayuri would self soothe and fall back asleep on her own.

you heard sayuri whimpering. her whimpering turned into a full on cry, your motherly instincts were spot on.

“oh come on, yurs…” satoru groaned.

“maybe next friday we can get a hotel room.” you laughed, knowing that megumi would be home for the weekend to babysit. (read ‘date night vs. babysitting night’ here)

you wrapped your robe around yourself again and stepped out of bed to comfort your crying baby. you carried your fussing daughter to the king sized bed that you and satoru shared, placing her right in the middle between you and the white haired sorcerer.

“you can sleep with mommy and daddy tonight.” you said softly as you patted sayuri gently, coaxing her to fall asleep again.

“nice one, yurs,” satoru chuckled. he noticed sayuri had stopped crying and fell right back asleep as soon as she laid in the bed with the two of you. “saving your innocent mommy from your monstrous daddy, huh?”

you laughed, remembering how you had asked sayuri to protect you from satoru earlier. satoru turned to face you and sayuri. the both of you watched as she breathed in and out, her tiny body relaxing and sleeping so peacefully in the presence of the two of you. your heart swelled watching her, she was the best thing to ever happen to you and satoru.

“happy valentine’s day, sayuri and mommy.” satoru whispered across his sleeping daughter.

you looked down at your baby girl before smiling back at satoru, “happy valentine’s day, sayuri and daddy.”

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

526 notes · View notes

thirteenducks · 5 months

Text

rest for the weary

(neuvillette x fem!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to as 'girl'), no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.9k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic? sort of?, mild hurt/comfort, gentle and tender Neuvillette, being overworked, fainting, neuvillette is sexy in a paramedic kind of way, crimes against gloves, almost-crimes against pastries, "you will be taken care of So Help Me" neuvillette, very self indulgent, can you tell i'm a college student

༻❁༺ author’s note: blame my mutuals for putting talk about neuvillette being gentlemanly and kind on my twitter feed. this is their fault and also the four glasses of sangria i drank before i wrote this

Neuvillette would like to believe he understands human behavior quite well by now. What he does not understand is their tendency to be self-sacrificial to the point of exhaustion. When your stress reaches a fever pitch, he steps in.

You don’t remember if it was the fatigue or the hunger that you noticed first. Both have been on the fringes of your consciousness since you left your bed early this morning. Right now, they’re kept at bay only by a lingering headache that worsens as you step out into the clear day.

The beautiful azure of the morning sky above. The flocks of pigeons that dapple the steps of the Palais Mermonia like sunlight through leaves. The hum of the Court of Fontaine as coffee sales begin for the morning. All are lost on you as you forge ahead, feet barely clearing the cobblestone below them.

The papers on your desk, stacked high and demanding attention, are all that your bleary eyes register at the moment. Anything else is secondary.

As much as your conscience would contend it, your current predicament isn’t entirely your fault. Sure, you had procrastinated a bit when the pile of records was first assigned to you, and maybe hadn’t chipped away at it the way you could’ve if you planned ahead.

For a gestionnaire, though, it’s also just that time of year when the clouds pour rain daily and the opera house sees a never-ending rotation of cases.

So if that means some sacrifices on your side are required, you’re willing to make them for the good of the Court. You’re certainly not the only one, either. The circles under the Chief Justice’s eyes always grow darker during the rainy season; you hope he’s taking better care of himself than you are.

Once you’ve gotten rid of this batch of paperwork, you’ll be free to rest for a while, you tell yourself. You can take a break. Maybe you could walk to that cafe down the street with the nice cashier and get yourself breakfast, if the rain isn't too bad by midmorning.

Your knees waver under you as you carry the precarious stack of records to the threshold of your office. On second thought, maybe you should ask if they offer delivery.

The low murmur of a familiar voice, a pleasant bass melody, reaches you as you step out into the plush carpet of the hallway. It floats through your dizzy head like syrup.

Good. You won’t have to walk far to give these to Neuvillette, then. You’re not sure your feet would carry you all the way to his office anyway, and you’d rather not field any uncomfortable questions about your health from such an esteemed man.

Assuming what you hope is a pleasant expression, you approach the Iudex and Sedene as he bends at the waist to inspect a bump on her antler.

There’s a very becoming look of concern on his face, you notice. It must be nice to be the focus of such care.

The unfazed voice of a Melusine comes from somewhere below you: “I promise it’s just a mosquito bite, Monsieur. I must’ve stood around the docks for too long this morning.”

“Even so... I would administer some anti-inflammatory soon, Sedene. Please don’t neglect your health,” he chides as he pats her head affectionately.

Neuvillette rises again to his full height, catching your eye as you draw near to him.

A fetching smile upturns the corners of his mouth. He greets you with a stately nod, holding out his right hand for your stack of records. Your gaze flits to his other hand, currently engaged by an apple turnover.

Ah. A gift from a Melusine, no doubt. You hope he enjoys it, even if a part of your brain wants you to snatch it for yourself.

If Neuvillette catches the way your eyes linger on his breakfast, he doesn’t mention it. What he does is quirk his head to the left in a silent question as he continues to stand with his hand outstretched.

Oh, archons. How long have you been standing in front of him with a blank look on your face? Too long to be appropriate, certainly.

Clearing your throat and forcing a smile, you take a step forward to hand off your pile of papers to him. Only, instead of making contact with the floor of the hallway, your shoe falls into thin air as your other knee buckles and your back falls towards the carpet.

As your consciousness slips, you feel a cool hand snake around your waist.

Your head goes limp, bouncing a bit with the impact until the pastry drops to the carpet and Neuvillette’s other gloved hand comes to cradle the back of your neck.

He’s caught you. He wishes you were awake to instruct him what to do next.

He lowers you to the ground softly, brow creased with worry. Sedene stands next to him with a similar expression, holding the turnover she saved as it fell.

“Sedene. Bring me a pillow from the sofa in my office, please. Quickly.”

The Melusine salutes and she darts off. His eyes never leave your face as he kneels, large frame bent over you protectively.

Releasing your waist, he brings a hand up to his teeth and tugs off the glove in a smooth motion before resting his bare fingers against your forehead. A curse in a tongue unknown to all but him breaks the quiet air and his brows knit together. Humans and their damned self-sacrificial nature.

Sedene returns holding a cushion. He eases it under your head with care, ensuring your neck is supported before he retracts the hand underneath.

There in the Palais hallway, the Iudex of Fontaine strips himself of his judge’s coat, uncaring of decorum at the moment. Gentle hands graze your bare skin as he wraps the garment around your shoulders. Were you conscious, you would feel the softness of the silk lining against your cheek and the scent of the ocean it carries with it.

He knows from his extensive observations of human behavior that you’ve probably only collapsed from fatigue, not sickness. And yet… and yet he cannot keep himself from stroking your forehead, cool fingertips resting there as he meditates.

Another moment passes before he makes up his mind. Your body rises from the carpeted hallway floor into strong arms, seldom-seen muscles flexing under his white undershirt.

The change in altitude brings you halfway out of your daze. Through hazy vision, you catch the sight of pale skin moving above you. His slit eyes meet yours and you don't manage more than a small sound of confusion before you’re pulled back under by sleep.

With a brief nod to Sedene, Neuvillette carries you to his office in a few quick strides. The door slides shut behind him.

Your hands unconsciously tug on his lapels and you curl your body closer to the warmth of his chest, making his ears burn.

Every time he thinks he understands your species, something like this happens.

He had certainly noticed your energy waning over the last few days, but he worried about the propriety of mentioning such a thing to you. Would you resent him for asking about something so personal? Should he send someone closer to you to step in before you hurt yourself?

In the end, he had settled for bringing you breakfast from a nearby cafe. He glances at the turnover, now sitting innocently on his coffee table courtesy of Sedene. It taunts him.

The silence in his office is deafening as Neuvillette lays you carefully on the sofa next to his desk. He runs through the list of human vitals in his head.

You’re breathing quite deeply. Your pulse is healthy and strong as his fingers press against the side of your throat. The color in your face is returning to its normal shade. Surely all you lack is a good meal, which he can certainly provide, and some rest.

Then why do his hands shake as he pours tea into a cup on the table before you?

Why can he not keep his eyes from you as you sleep, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm?

Why does he find it impossible to return to the paperwork that calls his name just a few feet away?

A clap of thunder shakes the building.

He doesn’t realize how long his eyes have been trained on yours until you’re staring back at him through lowered lids, awakened by the noise.

It takes about a half second for you to remember the circumstances of a few minutes prior and gasp, sitting up with a speed that makes Neuvillette reach towards you in concern. His coat falls from where it was draped across you and you stare at it, unblinking.

Your gaze flits to Neuvillette, bare to the wrist. He watches silently as you register the sofa you’re laid upon and the lavish office around you.

The Chief Justice makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you rush to stand up, face burning. Your head spins - whether from fatigue or embarrassment, you’re not sure. A million apologies threaten to spill from your mouth at once.

With your head bowed and your feet unsteady below you, you don’t see the hand rising to your face until a cool sensation spreads over your flushed forehead. The surprise of it shuts you up immediately. When you do dare to raise your eyes, you hardly trust what you see in front of you.

There is no anger in the face of the Iudex, in the downturned curve of his mouth or the crease of his brow. Only tender concern presents itself as he addresses you.

“You appear to be feverish. Please, sit back down. I won’t have you fainting again if I can help it.” He removes his hand from your skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that you can't attribute to a fever.

“Mon- Monsieur?”

He tuts, raising the cup of tea to your hand and folding it into your grasp. “Drink, please,” he murmurs, face etched with care.

You blink a few times, sipping the drink as if compelled by magic. It's sweeter than you’re expecting.

“Good girl.”

You nearly choke on it.

If possible, Neuvillette looks even more distressed by your sudden coughing fit. “You’re far redder than when you awoke. The fever reducer in this blend should help with that, but in the meantime, please take some of this…”

The minutes pass quietly. Periodically, Neuvillette instructs you in a gentle tone to drink your tea or eat a bit of pastry. He absolutely forbids you to stand after the second time you attempt to excuse yourself.

When he's been assured that you're comfortable, he speaks again.

“May I ask why you believe those papers you were attempting to bring me were worth working yourself to exhaustion over?”

His words are authoritative, but his voice carries such softness that you can’t help but be honest with him.

“I’m so very sorry, Monsieur. It won’t happen again. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this week.”

Neuvillette's violet eyes are melancholy as they meet yours. “Of course. It’s a busy time of year for us all,” he says, shifting his gaze to the steady rain outside. “I do hope you know, however, that I would far rather your work be late than your health to fail on my account.”

You duck your head. “...I understand, Monsieur.”

The man’s stately expression fades into something unreadable at that.

“...Please, call me Neuvillette.”

You were unaware that his voice, so commanding in the courtroom, could sound so tender directed at you.

Your gaze darts up from the floor. The Iudex is not meeting your eyes. His are fixed instead on the light drizzle pattering the windowpane. A faint swathe of color decorates his lofty cheekbones.

As you smile and nod your head, pronouncing his name with a few words of thanks, the morning sun streams into the room behind you.

It’s getting to be quite the lovely day outside.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x fem!reader #fem!reader #:3c #this was fun to write and even more fun to see my beta readers react to #shout out to tender and honey btw love you guys #have i mentioned how much i love gentle men recently #if i haven't here's 2k words to remind you

415 notes · View notes

scribbledghost · 6 months

Text

Letter

A/N: I really wanted to expand on some stuff I said over here. It's not a full fic, because it felt right to end it where I did, but I hope you guys enjoy regardless. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (no Y/N) No warnings required. Word Count: ~620

It’s early when Captain John Price hears his office door open, the sun just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. The steady footsteps that follow once the door closes again tell him exactly who it is without the need for him to look up and confirm, but he does so anyway.

“Good morning, Simon,” Price says. “You’re early. Brief isn’t for another hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Delivery,” Simon says from behind his mask as he extends a hand.

In it is an envelope.

But it’s not addressed to John.

“What’s this for?” he asks as he takes the letter.

“Your desk,” Simon replies simply.

Oh.

It’s that kind of delivery.

It’s no secret (amongst the team, anyway) that in Captain Price’s top left desk drawer, behind lock and key, is a cache of similar letters. Two are from Price. Several are from Gaz. A small bundle is from Soap. Inside are contents meant only for the requested recipients, and only intended to be read if the writer doesn't come home. Each one is written with the express desire to never be opened, but with the somber knowledge that they might.

None of the letters in the Captain’s desk had ever been written by Ghost.

Until now.

“I’ll make sure it gets to its destination,” Price says simply. “Why don’t you have a seat? Still got time before the briefing.”

After some hesitation, Simon does so. It’s almost as if the silent giant knows what’s coming.

They’ve worked together for some time, after all.

“You’re really serious about this girl, aren’t you?” Price finally asks as he lights up a cigar. It’s less of a serious inquiry than a request for confirmation - receiving a letter addressed to her has already given him the answer.

“I am.”

“Can I ask why now?” Price ventures slowly. “Somethin’ happen to spook you?”

He drags his mind through their most recent mission, searching for any sort of close call or event that could’ve sent Simon’s mind down the road that told him he’d need to leave a goodbye note for her.

“No,” Simon says simply. “Not really. Just been on my mind lately, that’s all.”

Price nods. He doesn’t need Simon to elaborate, sometimes these things intrude on one’s mind even during more peaceful hours. He knows that all too well. He exhales smoke, watching in the lamplight as it curls through the air.

“I take it you want her to have your tags too, then?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretches across them, neither man taking the initiative to continue the conversation. Price would be content to sit in the quiet until he needs to brief the rest of the team on their upcoming mission, truthfully. Sitting in silence with Simon is rarely an uncomfortable thing, unless the other man intends for it to be. Instead, he takes his keys, unlocks his desk drawer, and stashes the envelope with the rest before securing it once more.

“I’d just hate for her to… not know. If something happens, I mean.”

Price nods again, and again, he understands.

It’s a big step for Simon, having an official tie to someone else outside of base, and Price knows it. He also knows that it’s to be kept as secret as possible, and he doubts Simon will even tell Gaz or Soap unless he has express reason to. The only reason he knows about her is because Simon had declined sticking around after last mission’s debrief, telling him there was someone he needed to see.

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of,” Price promises, and he means it.

He doesn’t point out how Simon’s shoulders release some of their tension in response.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost scribbles

304 notes · View notes

waterloggedsoliloquy · 6 months

Text

mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]

mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely

mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note

mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena

mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us

mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]

mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys

mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker

mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die

mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey

mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast

mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.

mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER

mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree

mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world

mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!

mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all

mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens

mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys

mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way

mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what

mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife

mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband

mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me

mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve

mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,

mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol

mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport

mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.

mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!

mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back

mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]

mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho

mutual 4: WHAT

mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time

mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point

mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?

mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?

mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it

mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!

mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena

#cecil drawls #long post #i love you guys

378 notes · View notes

auteurdelabre · 6 months

Text

Something to Fight For (series)(PART 5)

Word Count: 10.6

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no age or physical descriptions)

Warnings: THERE ARE SEXUAL THEMES IN THIS CHAPTER.

A/N: This is part of a series (lots of angst, pining and smut ahead) Also despite Sarah's young age Joel is early 40's in this because slightly grey babygirl DILF Joel is the best Joel.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve been staring at your cellphone for the last hour.

It’s Thursday morning, a full two days since Joel thrust flowers at you and walked off. Two days since Maria put them in a vase and observed that perhaps she wouldn’t kick Joel’s ass. Two days since you’d been to the office or seen James with his obvious hostility towards Joel.

You go from staring at your phone to staring at the flowers. The colorful arrangement sits on your coffee table looking so cheerful. You catch yourself smiling at it more often than not. You touch one of the petals, feeling its velvet softness before you punch in the numbers and raise the phone to your ear. It buzzes and by the fourth ring your anxiety is off the charts and you go to end the call when you hear it connect.

“Hello?”

The sound of Joel’s husky voice makes you feel apprehensive.

You almost can't speak for a moment, feeling tongue tied. But then you clear your throat and force the words out.

"Hey it’s me. Just calling to see what time you wanted me over tomorrow night?"

You bite your lip harshly, your eyes shutting tightly as you wait for his response. There's a lengthy pause and you panic wondering if you'd misread signals. Weren't you going back to normal after the whole flower thing? Finally you hear Joel clear his throat.

"I wasn't sure if you still wanted to."

"Of course I do," you assure. "As long as Sarah still thinks I'm the coolest adult in the world."

"I think she might think you're the coolest person of any age," Joel says and you think you hear admiration in his tone.

"What can I say, the kid has taste," you say affecting a supercilious voice. "Can't say she takes after her old man in that regard but..."

You hear Joel chuckle lightly and smile. Things are back to the way they have been. Good. But there’s still one thing you need to acknowledge, no matter how awkward it is.

“I also wanted to call to say I appreciated the flowers,” you say after a beat. “And the apology.”

You can hear Joel holding his breath.

"Never been that great with words,” he finally says in a voice pitched low. "Not always sure how to handle givin’ bad news. Apparently my delivery could use some work."

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect like me,” you tell him breezily before remembering one additional detail. “Oh, and I’m calling you from my cell, so you can save the number on yours. That way you don’t have to go through the office.”

You hear a pause and some tapping.

“Got it.”

“You can text if it’s easier.”

“It’s not.”

You laugh at his solemn tone musing that you can’t really picture Joel Miller texting at all.

///

"Any chance you have a bunch of blueberries hanging around?"

A few hours later you're on Frank and Bill's front stoop wearing Maria's apron and a nervous smile. Maria is no better than you with baking so you're hoping your neighbors might be able to lend a hand with your current predicament.

"Not sure." Frank looks you over, amusement in his eyes. "But come in and we'll look."

You pad in after him with your bowl like a lost puppy. You feel like one, you'd thought making cupcakes to decorate would be fun but your first test batch tasted like hot garbage. Maria had choked one down before telling you to just get some at the grocery store.

"I promised Sarah I'd bring cupcakes for us to decorate on tomorrow," you explain as Frank and you walk into the kitchen.

Bill is sitting at the table with the newspaper sat in front of him. He's sipping coffee from an ornate looking teacup as he slants a frown at you as you continue explaining to Frank.

"She really wants blueberry ones and no one carries any."

"They're out of season," Bill mumbles. You turn to face him, looking disappointed.

"Hey Bill. Really? Fuck."

The empty bowl hangs loosely from your disappointed grasp. You don’t notice when Frank shoots a meaningful look at Bill over your head that the other man groans at. Bill pushes himself to a stand, as if being helpful causes him extreme physical exertion.

"We have some frozen."

Your smile is back on your face immediately. "Is there any way I could borrow a cup? Please?"

Bill is in a surprisingly good mood (a good mood for Bill is a tepid one for most others) because he agrees. He goes to the deep freeze in the garage and returns with your bowl overflowing with plump little frozen berries.

"Anything else you need?" Frank asks kindly as you profusely thank them both.

"No, I think I have everything else.” You lift your eyes skyward as you rattle off the ingredients you bought. "Flour, butter, salt, eggs, baking soda, vanilla."

"Baking powder," Bill interrupts.

"Huh?"

"Baking powder, not baking soda," Bill corrects.

"Baking soda, baking powder, it's the same thing right? Besides the baking soda was cheaper," you say distracted. "Anyway, thank you so much for the blueberries. Fingers crossed this batch works out!"

Frank and Bill exchange a concerned look and then Bill is taking the bowl back from you and telling you to follow him back into the kitchen before you waste his berries.

It turns out baking soda and baking powder are not interchangeable. You learn this working alongside Bill who is watching you measure his ingredients into a large bowl. You think this may have contributed to your first crap batch.

Frank excuses himself to work on his paintings with a wry smile on his face as he watches the two of you get to work.

It's funny because while Bill is gruff at the best of times, right now he's instructive and patient. He does snap a bit when you drop eggshell into the batter, but his gloom passes quickly.

"You're going to a lot of trouble for this kid," he says as you begin to stir in the berries. "Are you sweet on her dad or something? Trying to get the kid to like you so you'll get in his good books?"

"No," you laugh, your cheeks pinking under Bills quirked brow. "I just genuinely just like her. I'm actually babysitting her tomorrow so the dad can go on a date."

Bill gives a hummed response before reminding you to stir faster and with the bowl on an angle to get rid of clumps. You do as he says, observing when things start to smooth in the bowl. Its almost fun doing this, seeing the progress you make with Bill’s instruction.

Later you enjoy pouring the batter into the paper cups in the pan, noting that they already look so much better than your attempt did at this stage.

"Frank told me about the trivia nonsense."

Bill murmurs this out of nowhere as you put the pan of cupcakes into the oven and set the timer. You feel awkward, unsure of how Bill feels about everything you did. He’s more private than Frank and less inviting to others’ opinions. You chance a look at him to see his face typically unreadable.

"It was nice of you to think of us, like that." His hands are in his jeans pockets and he's looking at the oven, not at you, but you can feel how genuine that statement from Bill is.

You don't want to press it, don't want to throw your arms around him like you would with Frank. Instead you cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the counter next to Bill.

"I can't imagine having the world hate me for loving someone," you mutter shaking your head. "Fucking insane.”

You keep your eyes on the oven because you're worried if you look at Bill you might cry.

You feel as Bill's meaty hand comes out of nowhere to squeeze your shoulder gently, lifting just as quick. Then he's gone from you, remarking that he has extra cookies in the basement, his special stash, and that Sarah will probably like them as a topping for her cupcakes.

Frank enters just in time to see this exchange but says nothing as his husband passes him in the hall. Frank's eyes are wet when you look at him.

"Fuck, I wish I'd met him sooner."

"Eight years is a long time to be together," you start but Frank is shaking his head.

"Could've been fifteen if we both had just admitted how we felt about each other, instead of fighting it," Frank shakes his head slowly, going to refill his coffee cup. "Just think, eight years wasted because we were so scared of what everyone else would think."

You stare at Frank for a moment, watching as he pours cream into his coffee, stirring thoughtfully.

"Wish we'd had kids together."

"You still can. You're not that old, Frank."

"Even if we were twenty five and rich you think they're gonna give a baby to two queers? Here?" Frank shakes his head dejected. "Not a chance."

You say nothing because you know that what Frank is saying is true. Your heart aches for him because you know that he and Frank together would be wonderful parents.

Frank is looking at the basement door with soft focus.

"I just think he would have made the best dad, you know?"

Strangely enough you do know, because under the gruff exterior of Bill is a heart with so much love for those he chooses to share it with.

"He can be my dad if he wants," you joke lightly. You're surprised when a knot forms in your throat, cutting the laugh off abruptly.

Frank laughs sweetly at this offer before going back to his office and his sketches.

You stand looking after him for a long while, thinking how insidious a thing like wasted time can be.

////

You smile at the jack o' lanterns that greet you as you walk up Joel's drive. One of them is large and cut to have a lopsided grin. The other looks like an attempt at a cat with mismatched whiskers.

You're surprised to see Sarah on the other side of the door, on her tiptoes to open it when you knock. She jerks her neck back so she can stare up at you.

"Daddy said I could answer the door," she tells you proudly.

"You did a great job," you say as you pick her up, her tiny frame so light in your arms, before closing the door. "Did you carve those pumpkins out front?"

"Daddy helped."

"But you were the brains behind the operation."

Sarah doesn't seem to know what that means so she gives a tentative nod. You internally remind yourself that she's only five and maybe you need to talk to her like it.

You bring her into the kitchen, dropping her at her chair before pulling the bag from your shoulder.

"Guess what I brought?"

Sarah's eyes are wide as you reach into your bag and pull out the plastic container full of cupcakes iced and ready to be decorated. In a bag you have jimmies, chocolate chips, Bill's mint cookies and a whole host of other toppings that would keep the sugar monsters in business if they were real.

"But not until after dinner," you inform her before she can lunge for the bag. She sighs as if this is inhumane torture but agrees, asking you to color with her until the lasagna in the stove finishes cooking.

You hear creaking overhead, the sound of a tap being turned on and off. You feel strange about seeing Joel after the whole flower thing. Maybe even a bit nervous. With Joel it’s so hard to know where you stand – are you friends? Employer and employee? Acquaintances? Someone he puts up with because of his daughter?

You just don’t know.

"Daddy you look pretty," Sarah tells Joel when he bounds down the stairs minutes later. You glance up from the coloring page she's been drawing on and swallow.

You have to agree with Sarah's assessment. You can now admit to yourself that Joel's an attractive guy. Tonight is no exception. His dark jeans are just the right amount of tight, the flannel is a navy that makes his skin glow and it's unbuttoned enough to showcase his lean neck.

"Thanks, babygirl," Joel says with an embarrassed flush from the attention. He notices the container in your hand and flashes his brows.

"What's that?"

"Cupcakes for decorating," you say proudly opening the container to show off your baking prowess. "And I know they taste good because my neighbor helped me make 'em."

"You made them?"

"Yeah. Want one before you go?"

"Don't want to spoil my appetite," he replies before pausing and smirking. "But maybe you could save me one?"

"Not sure," you tease. “I guess if Sarah says so. These are hers after all."

Sarah agrees, but only with the promise from Joel that she can decorate it however she wants. The two of you go back to coloring, Sarah talking about something she saw at her school. As you do this you watch covertly as Joel begins to walk around the kitchen, his eyes drifting over all the surfaces.

He paces like this for several minutes growing increasingly red in the cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck in irritation.

"Joel?" You ask with a small tug of your lips when he shoots you a questioning look.

"You been looking for your keys for the last ten minutes?"

"Yeah."

"You're holding them."

Joel looks down at his left hand to see your right and swears lightly under his breath.

Thankfully Sarah doesn't hear him.

///

"Can you come over tomorrow?" Sarah asks between bites of her decorated dessert a short while later. "We can have more cupcakes."

"Sorry bug, I got plans." You lick the icing from your fingertips.

"A date?"

You pause. She knows about dating? You consider lying to her but then decide that seems weird.

"Uh, yeah."

"You have a boyfriend?" Sarah looks up at you with interest. Or is it surprise? You try not to feel offended if it's the latter.

"Uh, not really,"' you stutter awkwardly. "Not yet. Nah, uh, I dunno."

You feel flushed. James as your boyfriend? Why hadn't the thought crossed your mind? You're sleeping with him, it seems a natural next step. So why is it such a foreign concept to you? With Paul it had been an immediate concept; you had wanted to be his girlfriend for so long. But with James? It just doesn’t flow like you thought it would.

Sarah is looking up at you quizzically so you decide to change the subject. You go to grab a cloth from beside the sink.

"What are you dressing up as for Halloween?"

Sarah pauses. "I think a puppy.”

The two of you chat more about trick or treating next week and how her friends are having a party. This gets her on the subject of parties and she starts getting excited, her tiny feet kicking out under her chair.

"My birthday is soon. I want a my little pony."

"When is it?"

"March."

You laugh out loud at this. "March is months away."

Sarah doesn't seem to mind this one small oversight and launches into how she wants to ride a horse for her birthday. You start clearing the table, half listening half thinking about how dark it is outside.

"Are you gonna have a party?"

"Yep. With purple cupcakes."

You laugh at this, continuing to wipe up the mess you've both made. Sarah rambles on about birthdays as you continue to half listen. You've had trouble focusing tonight, finding yourself glancing at the wall clock more than you care to admit.

It's Joel.

Well, no, more specifically it's Joel's date. You didn't really get to know much of her at the Bison, but there's something about Joel dating her that makes you feel iffy.

You go over to the cupboard, putting away the clean dishes and realize it’s because if things go well with Joel and his date tonight, she could be a big part of his life. Your potential friendship with Joel will be over before it even starts. No girlfriend is gonna want some random woman hanging out with her boyfriend.

And even worse, this burgeoning mentor ship of sorts that you have with Sarah will be over. Joel will have a girlfriend and they'll probably wanna do stuff together just the three of them.

"I don't have a mommy," Sarah tells you out of nowhere and breaking into your distressing thoughts.

“What?”

You spin around to face her. She's sitting there at the table still eating her cupcake if she hasn't just said something monumental.

"That's not true, Sarah. Everyone has a mommy."

"Not me," Sarah tells you with a voice that verges on pride as she looks up from her cupcake. "I was hatched from an egg like in Horton."

"Hmmm, last time I checked human babies don't come from eggs," you tell her diplomatically.

"Then where's my Mommy?" Sarah asks you in confusion.

You pause to gauge if you should continue this topic of conversation. You think it's not your place but Sarah's eyes are so trusting of you and you feel compelled.

You inhale slowly before coming to sit across from her at the table. Despite the heavy conversation her eyes are on her dessert that she continues to decorate and nibble at. But when you speak her large eyes dart to your face.

"Honestly Sarah, I don't know where your Mom is. I wish I had a better answer than that, but I don't. But I know you had a Mommy. You grew in her tummy like all babies do."

Sarah’s brows raise. "What did she look like?"

"I don't know, I never met her."

Sarah is unimpressed with this. "If I have a Mommy why doesn't she live with me?"

You feel like your fucking this whole conversation up and it's really not your place to begin with.

"Sometimes Mommies and Daddies don't live with their kids."

You don't know what Joel has told Sarah but it's not much.

"Maybe she didn't like me," Sarah says in a heartbreaking observation.

"Impossible," you intercede, launching your torso across the table and cupping both her chubby cheeks in your hands. "You are the coolest kid I've ever met, Sarah. Funny and smart."

Sarah has slumped into herself, her hazel eyes growing glassy with frustration as she pulls back from your hands. You sit back in your chair dejected. Fuck, you never should have said anything. You should have handed it off to Joel when he got back.

But he wouldn’t have done anything about it. He hasn’t for the first five years of Sarah’s life, why would he start now? Your decision is made and you take another steadying breath, internally praying that you’re doing the right thing.

"Sarah. I'm gonna tell you something that not a lot of people know about me," you start, seeing as her attention is back on your face. You add some decorations to her cupcake, trying to keep the mood casual.

"For a long time I didn't see my Daddy," you explain, placing the chocolates artfully along the icing. "He was sick a lot. Really sick. And he didn't live with us. All my friends talked about their Daddy's and I felt really left out because my Daddy wasn't around."

Sarah is staring up at you as if you've sprouted a second head. You suppose for a child it is hard for them to imagine adults as kids.

"Did your Daddy get better?" Sarah asks handing you the package of jimmies to open. "Did he come back?"

"For a bit."

"Will my mommy come back?"

"I don't know," you say wishing you had better answers.

Sarah looks deflated, her tiny fingers absently tapping the counter. You want to pull her into a hug but her body language is closed off and you need to respect that. Words are all you have to comfort her right now.

"I know it sounds weird, but you're really lucky, Sarah. Because your Daddy loves you more than a Mommy and a Daddy put together."

Sarah's eyes are large and luminous at this thought.

"Some parents are really special like that," you explain with a warm smile. "They have so much love inside of them, more love than if they were two whole people. And their kids are the luckiest in the whole world."

You can see Sarah trying to absorb this. She licks the corner of her icing laden mouth, her eyes troubled.

"Did your Mommy and Daddy love you like that?"

You hesitate before diverting her attention to a fresh cupcake that's just begging to be decorated.

///

It's not even eight when you hear Joel's key hit the front door. You hope Sarah is asleep otherwise the sound of her father's arrival will have her sneaking downstairs to see him.

"You're back so early," You say trying to sound casual as he comes into the kitchen where you're finishing cleaning up the mess you and Sarah left on the table.

"Yep."

"Date was just that good, huh?"

Joel is looking everywhere but your face. "Nice enough girl, but not for me."

You watch him shrug off his jacket, forcing yourself not to notice the way his shirt underneath strains over his shoulders.

"What went so wrong so fast?"

"Things got weird once she found out I had a kid," Joel says with grimace. "But even before that, conversation was like pullin' teeth."

"I'm sorry," you say with a frown. But something secret in you tilts pleasurably at the knowledge.

"Don't be," Joel says with a push from the counter. "Reminds me why I stayed single so long. It's a helluva lot cheaper."

"Too true," you giggle. "After Paul I swore off relationships. Too much money, too much work. Too much disappointment."

"Well, you got that James now," Joel says airily. "Hopefully he's not a disappointment."

He lets this hang between you and you find yourself blushing. For some reason you really don't like talking about James with Joel. You see as Joel reaches for his wallet and you feel your face flame at the thought of taking money from him.

“Joel, please. I was here for like, not even two hours. Don’t worry about the paying.”

“I do though,” Joel says with a creased brow. “We talked about this. You paid for all that dessert stuff outta your own pocket.”

“I know,” you nod shallowly. “It just feels weird. I… Let’s just skip it for tonight?”

Joel’s eyes dance along your face before he sighs and replaces his wallet back into his back pocket.

"I better get going," you tell him as the moment becomes awkward.

"I'm callin' you a cab," Joel insists. "It's dark and you takin' the bus can’t happen.”

"No, I - "

"C'mon. Lemme have a win tonight."

"Fine," you agree with a roll of your eyes. You watch him punch in the numbers before going back to the last of the dishes.

You feel Joel come up behind you, tensing when his hand skates along your waist, nudging you gently to the side as he reaches beside you to grab one of the mugs you've washed. It's his favorite one, green and oversized. In his hand though, it looks normal.

"How can you drink coffee this late?" You muse watching him turn on the machine. "You'll be up for hours."

"It's relaxing," Joel insists, watching the machine. "And delicious. Cab’ll be here soon."

You finish the dishes before wiping your hands as Joel pours himself his black coffee.

You were right, he is a coffee purist.

He takes it to the kitchen table, indicating with his head that you should join him. You plate the cupcake Sarah made for him, sliding the plate to him before sitting.

"Thanks. You know, I really appreciate you sittin' Sarah," Joel says around his mug. "I know it was last minute."

You shrug, letting him know without words that you didn’t mind at all. Joel is smiling softly at you over his coffee and a part of you wants to extend the serenity of the moment. But then Sarah's pinched little face from this evening swims into your head.

"Hey, this is none of my business but Sarah's got a lot of questions about her Mom," you say trying to sound detached.

"What?"

You can see Joel's shoulders tensing, his dark eyes narrowing on your face and you feel a moment of apprehension. You start to ramble as you always do when you start panicking.

"I tried my best to uh, well to talk. Like, talk to her about it but you might wanna, ya know, talk to her about it yourself."

Why were ya talkin' to her about it for?!

You can practically hear Joel's voice spitting this at you, the southern drawl more prominent when he's agitated. You're surprised when instead of ordering you out of his house with a roar he just nods sharply and then sighs.

"What exactly did you tell her?"

You swallow nervously. "I told her she wasn't hatched from an egg like Horton, whatever that means."

"Horton Hatches the Egg," Joel muses. "Doctor Seuss. We just read it last night."

"Okay, that makes more sense," you ghost a smile at the realization. "Uh, then I just told her sometimes kids don't have Mommy’s or Daddy’s that live with them but that she was lucky she had, uh, a dad like you that loves her so much."

You don't go into detail there, not finding it necessary to bare your own history with him.

You're still nervous waiting for the other shoe to drop when you confess this. But Joel doesn't look angry, he just looks impossibly tired. His lack of aggression makes you feel that you can ask your next question and you do softly, studying his down turned face.

"Can you tell me about Sarah's mom? Is that okay?"

You see the fingers of Joel's left hand tighten around the mug.

"We met about seven years ago. Uh, at a friend's party." Joel clears his throat, his eyes on his coffee. "Tommy was there actually with his girlfriend at the time. Anyway, I met Michelle, that's her name, uh, ya know and we made Sarah a couple months later."

You're nodding, trying not to press him into sharing more than he feels comfortable with.

"She wasn't planned," Joel says and you can tell her hates to say it, that it feels almost like a betrayal because she's the greatest thing that's ever happened to him. "Michelle didn't want to be a mom. When she found out she was pregnant with Sarah she almost didn't keep her."

Your eyes blow wide at this, at the thought that Sarah may not have been alive in another universe. Joel takes the fork from the plate and gently stabs at his cupcake, making no attempt to eat it.

"I told her it was her decision, even though it killed me. I even drove her to the clinic. I was so happy when she said she'd changed her mind. That she wanted to be a mom," Joel pauses to take a sip of his coffee. "I think she really thought she did at first. Tried her best. She seemed happy when I proposed and we got married just before Sarah got here. I bought us our house. Everything looked good on paper, ya know?"

You nod.

"Some people just aren't meant to be parents, I think," you say, blinking back tears that have little to do with Sarah.

Joel agrees with a sad nod. "When she asked for the divorce I wasn't even surprised. She didn't want anything, just a quickie divorce so she could move away. I think we were both just so tired of fighting for something that never existed."

"How old was Sarah?"

"Eight months."

The thought of a helpless invent Sarah floods your brain and a stab of anger for Michelle hits you hard. It makes your stomach clench angrily.

"Do you ever hate her?"

"I don't," Joel says honestly without pause. "I can't. She made me a dad, she gave me Sarah. I just never wanted Sarah growing up feeling like she wasn't wanted. Photos and talks about her Mom seem like a bad idea. "

"What about when she asks?"

"I tell her the truth. That she doesn't have a Mom because she doesn't. Michelle made that very clear, she wants no part of Sarah's life. No pictures, no phone calls, no nothin’.”

You think of tiny Sarah, perfect, sweet Sarah and how she'll always be missing that connection. It infuriates and devastates you in the same breath.

"Thought it mighta been, uh, that post pardon thing," Joel adds and you don't correct him. "But uh, she went to doctors and shrinks and turns out she wasn't sick in the head, just sick of us."

Despite the neutrality of his tone, that comment feels like a knife to the gut just hearing it. And it’s not even directed at you. More than ever do you understand Joel's inability to bring even a shadow of Michelle's presence into the home.

But you think of Sarah who feels she's been abandoned. Sarah who thinks her mother found her unworthy.

"Can I offer some unsolicited advice? From one childless woman to a father of five years?" You joke, emboldened when Joel gives you a nod. "Talk about Michelle with her. Hang up a photo or something around here. Because right now I think Sarah feels like she's living with you and a ghost."

"I'll think about it," Joel replies after a beat. He goes to say more but you hear the beep of the taxis horn outside his door.

"My ride’s here," you say standing. Joel follows suit, walking with you to the front door.

You turn to thank him for talking about Michelle with you, but the sight of him so near causes the words to get stuck on your tongue. In a rush of affection for what he's shared with you tonight you tilt forward to hug him, just a small squeeze to show him that you appreciated his candor.

However, halfway through the action you become aware of the potential intimacy of such an embrace and you panic. The momentum of your body is still going but you pull your arms back to still the movement.

This results in you smashing your head directly into Joel's sternum before belatedly pulling yourself back with a grimace.

Joel is searching your face with a crease between his brows, undoubtedly trying to decipher why fuck you just head-butted him out of nowhere.

You don't give him a chance to ask. You mutter your soft apology before rushing out the door and into the waiting cab.

////

Working with James is good. He's smart, dedicated to the work, competent and good at what he does.

Sex with James is decent. He's enthusiastic, competent and tries his best. Sort of.

Dating James. . . Is a holy fucking terror.

It’s Saturday night and you don't know what happened between the start of dinner to now but James has been talking non-stop, gesticulating wildly with his hands while he does. He mentions how much he loves spending time with you and how long he wanted to ask you out for. You blush at this, not only for the flattery but for how loud he’s talking.

He’s spilled his wine glass twice at dinner and now as he sweeps you into the movie theatre to see ‘Brains of the Undead’ he’s laughing at something you’ve said that you’re fairly certain wasn’t all that funny. He pays for your tickets, thrusting the stubs into his pocket.

You glance over at him, noting for the first time tonight that he seems off. Too animated, too agitated. It makes you feel uneasy. So you try to divert your attention to the concession stand where you join the long line has formed.

Popcorn is obviously a must, but then there’s the decision of whether or not to get a movie theatre pickle. You read the sign and mention that they can drain the juice from these pickles for you if you ask.

“What about draining my pickle?” he laughs into your ear, loud enough for the elderly women in front of you to turn around.

“James,” you warn, your face warm. Hot. He just laughs back at you, grabbing your ass before tucking you against him. You push back slightly, not enjoying the suffocation that comes with the action.

Why the fuck did I think I could sleep with James and not have it bite me in the ass? How can I dump this guy? I see him every fucking day at work.

“Gotta hit the washroom,” James sniffs before giving your cheek a peck and stalking off. You watch this before turning your attention back to the snacks in front of you. You debate the merit of Peanut M&M's versus Red Vines for a while, moving up the sluggish line before James reappears, his smile wide.

"Decide on what you want?"

You glance up at him, about to ask his opinion on licorice when something gives you pause. It's not the twitch of his nose, although that definitely doesn't help. Its that this close you can see that James' pale eyes are almost obscured by the dilated black of his pupil. He seems to notice your scrutiny because he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, solidifying your suspicions.

"Are you high right now?" you ask, nerves creeping all along your skin as realization comes over you.

"A little bump," James shrugs as if doing cocaine in the bathroom of a movie theatre is typical.

Immediately you feel your body shut down.

"Right. We're done," you insist without pausing. "I'll call a cab and see you at work next week."

"Excuse me?" James smiling face cracks.

"This isn't going to work," you tell him. "Happy to work with you, but this whole thing with us is over. I'll see you later."

James is rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "I don't get it. Can't we just -"

You hear your name being screamed out from behind you and you whirl around to see Sarah running at you full speed. Joel is jogging up behind her, his arm outstretched.

"Sarah! No!"

She slams into your hip, holding you around the stomach and squeezing. You drop to one knee as Joel approaches mouthing "sorry" at you. You wave him off as if it’s not a problem before turning your attention back on Sarah who is playing with the ends of your hair.

"What are you doing here, bug?"

"I just saw Bears Big Adventure" Sarah explains to you excitedly. "I had my own popcorn."

Your eyes dart to Joel standing next to her. He's looking between you and Sarah, his gaze unreadable before moving over your head to glare at James. You can feel James standing behind you, undoubtedly staring down at the back of your head.

"Lucky girl!" you grin, your hands at her waist. "Have you been to the movie theatre before?"

"Nope!" Sarah shouts this giggling madly. Her little sneakers bump against the red carpet as she jumps. "I got red vines too."

"That would explain all the jumping," you laugh.

"Movie's starting soon," James murmurs from behind you, brushing the back of your head with his fingertips as if you're still on good terms.

"We're not going to the movie, remember?" you say glaring up at him. "So I'm in no rush."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Sarah whispers pointing up at James who is now staring at Joel with an irritated look.

You can't help but burst out in a wheezy laugh. Imagining “James the coke head Co-worker” as your boyfriend just seems amusing in the most terrible way.

"Why’s that funny?" James asks from above you. Clearly he's heard everything and is not amused. You stand and twirl to face him, making sure to block Sarah from his view. There’s something in James that makes you wary.

"James, please.”

Joel has gathered Sarah into his arms and you feel his hand on your elbow, startling you. You glance over to see his dark eyes fixed on your face.

“You okay?” his voice is so low it rumbles. You almost think that you can feel its vibrations moving through your own body.

“Yeah,” you assure him and he drops his hand from the crook of your arm.

"Good enough to fuck but not date, is that it?" James is puffing his chest out, his eyes narrowed in anger. He motions to Joel. "You fucking this guy too?"

How didn't you see the signs? They were all there. The volatility, the paranoia, the agitation. You think back to the panic he felt when he saw his desk had been drenched. It wasn’t blueprints he was looking for that morning. It was probably his stash he kept at work.

"Cool it," you warn. "There's a kid--"

Joel has taken Sarah and moved her over to the arcade. She's still looking over at you but Joel is shoving quarters into a bright game with loud graphics to distract her.

"What, so you're bad in bed and boring?" James lashes out. You know that it's rejection that brings this ugly out in him but your cheeks still flame. Some of the theatres are emptying into the lobby, filling it up.

"Wow James, that cut me real deep," you reply in the flattest of tones. "Well done. You can go now. Maybe your dealer wants to catch a flick."

You're pulling out your cell to call a cab but James is slapping it out of your hands until it falls on the threadbare red carpet.

"You've never done drugs, is that it?" James scoffs as you pick it up and put it in your purse. "Little Miss Perfect?"

You sigh with a disgusted look in his direction. "James you need to go home. Leave me be. I'll see you at work."

You go to step towards the lobby entrance and leave, but James is following you, his voice loud.

"It's just coke! Coke doesn't hurt anyone! Just because you don't know how to have fu-"

The sentence isn't even out of his mouth and you've backhanded him. You don't mean to. Your body just spins, your arm outstretched and the feeling of his skin hitting your knuckles overcomes you. The sound snaps through the half full lobby and you immediately rear back, terrified at what you've done as people gasp and start to whisper.

"Oh fuck, I'm s-sorry."

James holds his jaw in shock, his nose starting to bleed. But if that's from you or the drugs you're not sure. Then you see the split lip and realize that one's gotta be from you. A zing of panic hits your core as James’ lip curls into an angry sneer.

"Fucking bitch."

He stalks away from you without another word. You watch him leave, your legs shaky. Some patrons are watching you and whispering to one another. Others have gone back to walking to theatres with popcorn and drinks in hand. You back up, thinking of another way to exit the theatre.

"You sure you’re okay?"

Joel is there behind you looking concerned. A large part of you wants to laugh at how horrible this moment is and that he’s there to witness it. But the larger part of you feels that sinking feeling in your gut that tells you to run.

"I'm s-so sorry Sarah saw that. That was so not okay. I'm so -"

Humiliation takes you over and you shoulder past Joel, aiming to find an alternate exit out of the lobby. You don't get far because Joel has gripping you by the elbow again, urging you to stop.

"Hey hey, slow down," he insists. "Take a minute to calm down."

"I don't want Sarah to see me like this," you explain swallowing embarrassed tears. "Just gotta call a cab and -"

"She's playing Mario, she doesn't even know we're here," Joel says motioning to her with his chin.

You look over to see Sarah's attention is indeed focused on a child's game featuring everyone's favorite Italian plumber in the arcade. You give a little sniff, blinking.

"Did she see?"

"No," Joel shakes his head. "But I did. Nice hit."

You shake your head, disgusted with your actions. "Nothing nice about it."

"From where I was standing a grown man was harassing a woman who was trying to get away from him."

"Yeah well my reaction was out of anger, not fear," you reply. "So it doesn't exactly feel defensive."

Joel's face is rarely expressive, but his eyes are. And right now they're open and reading you. The scrutiny makes you curl into yourself.

"How're you getting home?" he asks suddenly.

Your conversation is interrupted by a small Mediterranean man in a white button down and burgundy tie. He's wearing a small gold name tag that says theatre manager and giving you a heavy look.

"Ma'am I'm gonna need you to leave," he says to you in a voice full of reprimand. "We don't allow violence of any kind in here."

Your face blooms a bright humiliated red.

"Of course, I'm so sorry," you say flustered. "I'll totally leave right now. I'm so sorry."

You keep repeating this as you make your way to the front doors, too embarrassed to even say goodbye to Joel and Sarah. The manager walks with you the entire way, explaining that you cannot return for a full month. That’s fine by you, after the humiliating moment back there you never want to return again.

You step into the night air, pulling out your phone to call the cab when you see James in the parking lot sitting in his car. He's waiting for you.

Fuck.

You know that he won’t touch you, won’t chance you screaming or decking him again. But he will try to intimidate you. His mouth is still smeared with red and you feel your skin prickle at the sight.

Just, focus. What’s the cab company again? Or maybe I can just call Maria, but oh fuck is she-

You're taken aback when a large warm hand slides over yours. Joel is there at your side, looking at James in the car and then back at you. Sarah is being held in his free arm, looking at her father tensely. She can tell something is wrong; she's just not quite sure what it is.

"I'm drivin' you," Joel tells you and there is no room for argument.

Gratitude swells your heart and you nod, tightening your hand around Joel's as he leads you to his truck. James watches you leaving and you hear the squeal of his tires as he speeds off.

Joel is buckling Sarah into the back car seat and she fights him only a few seconds. The sugar is running through her system and you can see she's getting sleepy. Then Joel comes around to your side, jiggling with the handle.

“Sticks sometimes,” he says before he gives you a head tilt indicating you should get in the front seat.

Minutes later the truck is rumbling down the street and you're buckled in against the trucks bench seat. Sarah is talking to her toad in soft hushed tones behind you. Joel has put on the radio and some shitty pop is playing through the grainy speakers.

"Had a feeling that guy was trouble," Joel observes after you’ve been driving a short while.

You keep your eyes on the passing darkened landscape out your window. "You might be the only one. Everyone else thought he was great."

"I know his type," Joel murmurs, his face intermittently illuminated by the headlights of passing cars. "Used to bail Tommy out of jail more than once."

You glance over at him, shocked. "Really?"

Joel nods. "Always for getting into scraps. Mouthing off to the wrong guy. Hasn't been that way in a few years but yeah, used to be a much bigger pain in my ass."

You can't imagine the sweet Tommy you know now doing stuff like that. Your head falls back against the seat of the car and you sigh as you replay tonight’s events.

"Still can't believe I hit him," you say miserably. "So stupid."

You're leaned against the truck of the door, so that's why you assume when Joel reaches over, his palm lands on your knee because it's the closest part of your body to him

"You're being really hard on yourself," Joel observes, his thumb stroking the side of your kneecap soothingly.

You immediately bristle at the unexpected contact. His hand is wide and so warm and you stare at it, not quite sure what to make of it. He sees your eyes fixed on his hand and he brings it back to the wheel at if he's been burnt.

"I just worry it was an overreaction," you explain in a rush. "What if he calls the cops?”

“He won’t,” Joel assures. “He’d have to tell them why the fight started and last time I checked cocaine possession isn’t exactly legal.”

You feel your body relax a bit at that. That’s right; James wouldn’t go to the cops. But he now had the very obvious option of making your work life a living hell. This thought carries you until Joel has parked in front of Maria’s place, turning off the engine.

You glance behind you to see Sarah completely passed out in her car seat, her little head tilted to the side. Toad is on the seat next to her, just out of grip. You smile at her before glancing over at her dad.

Joel is staring at you, barely illuminated in the darkness. But you can feel the warmth from his gaze. For a moment you muse that for a man who keeps so much of himself hidden, sometimes his eyes give everything away.

For example right now they drop down to your mouth, staring for a beat too long. Your stomach jumps as Joel unbuckles his belt and slides across the bench seat towards you.

Holy fuck.

Joel is gonna kiss you.

His mouth nearing yours. You stay still, your eyes widening as he inches closer until …

…His hand hits the door handle, Twisting and pushing. It opens with a groan and you blink rapidly at Joel.

"Gets stuck on that side," he reminds you, his warm breath falling over your cheeks. His face is so close you could count every individual eyelash if you wanted to, but then he recedes just as fast.

"Thanks," you manage in breathy whisper. "I'll uh, I'll see you."

You fumble with your car seat as Joel’s lips quirk into a smirk. With a frustrated growl you yank it from you before rushing from the truck, your heart pounding all the way back to your suite.

You pace around the small space going over all that just happened in the last hour, your head swimming. How are you going to face James at work? How are you going to handle babysitting for Joel, now that he just witnessed such an embarrassing display? Your eyes are on the flowers Joel gave you and you find your stomach squirming strangely.

You walk towards your bed, not wanting to think about that. Wanting to delay the inevitable tick and whirl of your brain. You fall backwards into your bed, your eyes closing the minute your head hits your pillow.

You don’t know how long you’re asleep for when there is a knock at the door. It’s soft yet insistent. You know it wouldn’t be James – he’s not that stupid. Despite what you assume but be a late hour you pull yourself from bed, shuffling over to the door and pulling it open slowly.

When the door creaks open to show Joel standing on the other side you're not even surprised.

“Joel. Hi.”

His eyes move up the length of your body slowly drinking you in.

He's dressed as he was earlier, only now his hair looks freshly washed. He's half leaning against the door with his arms crossed and he gazes at you with a heated look that says everything you're both unable to admit in words.

You don't even ask him inside. You launch yourself at his mouth and he brings you into his broad arms as if he's been waiting for you to surrender.

You kiss him deeply, your elbows curling around his neck. You thighs go to wrap around his waist, your ass cupped by his wide hands. He groans as he grips you to him before he walks you into your suite, kicking the door closed behind him.

He has you on the bed, your knees squeezing into his hips as he grinds against you. He's kissing you with the fever of a man consumed, his hands fumbling with the button and zipper of your jeans before pulling them down and off. Your panties are thrust to the side and his fingers splay over your sex without hesitation.

"Need to fuck you," he groans in your ear, rubbing and curling his fingers within you. "But you gotta come on my fingers first.”

"Yes," you gasp, arching into him at the pleasurable pressure. Your own hand slides under his the bands of his jeans and boxers to find him already warm and hard. You grip him there tugging gently.

Joel hisses against your mouth before he begins bucking into your hand. His fists are twisted in the sheets next to your head, his hips rolling as your hand strokes him, your thighs clenching in response to his delightful fingers.

"Fuck that's good," he rasps against your jaw. "Shouldn't feel this good."

"Yes it should," you tell him as his mouth begins to move downwards, slipping over your clothed breasts. He's moving his hips faster now, his groans coming out in sharp little huffs.

"Gonna make me come."

"I want you to," you moan, tilting your mouth to meet his once more. "Please. Please!"

"Please what?"

You jerk awake with a muffled snort, the corner of your mouth damp. Maria is sitting across from you at her table, both of you dressed in pyjamas.

"Huh?"

The sound of morning birds outside the bright window jerk you out of your daze and you take a moment to register that you’re in Maria’s kitchen. A plate of flapjacks is in front of you, along with a half-drunk coffee. You came up here a while ago to tell her about your horrible date.

"We were in the middle of talking about what happened with James last night. I went to pour myself more coffee and I think you fell asleep?" Maria is looking at you with a raised brow. "You started saying please over and over. You okay?"

Jesus.

You can’t tell her you’ve just startled yourself from a sex dream with her boyfriend’s brother. You can’t admit that Joel’s comfort last night had been attractive to you in a way your body understood better than your brain. Instead you force a shaky smile around your coffee mug.

“Just tired, I guess.”

#something to fight for #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #dad joel miller #joel miller #pedro pascal #a03 #bill and frank #frank and bill #lgbt characters

302 notes · View notes

tartppola · 1 month

Text

Stranded in another world, with no hope of going back or any magic to defend themselves with, this is the anecdote of the Ramshackle Prefect Yuulis Crowley's first week in another world called Twisted Wonderland.

warning : mentions of blood & dissection, didn't beta this so :P a/n : happy april fools :D

It was a chilly morning on the Night Raven College campus, and Sam’s first day coming back to the mystery shop. Oh, how he missed the purple overlay of the wallpaper; the diamond skulls and taxonomy and other knick-knacks that seamlessly blend together to form something quite avant-garde. Speaking of knick-knacks, he remembered that his new stock of goods his ‘friends’ salvaged from who knows where should be arriving today, how exciting!

His feet skipped up and about, the keys he spun around his finger chiming as he hummed a happy tune from the Port of Jubilee. Sam wonders what kind of faces the new first years would make the first time they step into the shop, or when they meet his ‘friends’ for the first time.

Just as he was about to make a turn from Main Street, he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a pile of huge boxes at the doorstep, that must be his new goods, but there was something else, or rather, someone else. That someone–young enough to be a first year, but not wearing the school uniform–was waiting by the boxes. No student has ever been to the shop this early, and the school hasn’t allowed any of the local townsfolk to visit, so why?

“Excuse me!” Sam called out, making his way towards them, “I’m flattered that a line is already forming, but opening hours aren’t until lunch time!”

They stared blankly at him the moment he stood right in front of them. They held out a clipboard with a delivery receipt that listed the names of various magical supplies

“I’m here to on behalf of the Headmaster,” Sam barely understood them through their thick accent, “Please double check the receipt and make sure to tell of any errors.”

Since when did the Headmaster hire any couriers.....and one so young at that. Oh well, as long as Crowley’s not breaking any child labor laws, it should be alright, shouldn’t it? The shopkeep noticed that his back grew colder and colder as he went through the new inventory. He stole a small glance at the youth, turning back immediately when he saw how intently their gaze bore through his soul.

“Phew! It’s getting pretty darn cold out here!” The hand that held his keys trembled a bit, “How about we go inside to warm ourselves up a bit?”

He took back his thoughts. This was far from alright.

“--and where do these charms go, Mr.Sam?”

“By the aisle near the grimoires, next to the paper talismans,”

It’s been nearly half an hour of restocking, yet they haven’t left the store. Sam tried his best to breathe through the awkward atmosphere, but the tension was so thick he could harvest it, bottle it up and sell each for 500 madol. If only such a thing was possible, if only.

“Mr.Sam,”

He felt his shadow jump to the ceiling at the sound of their voice.

“What kind of store is this, exactly?”

“Well, since you’ve seen my wares firsthand, should you be able to tell right away?” He put on an air of faux confidence, hoping they wouldn’t notice.

“At first, I thought this was a magic supplies store, but none of them back at home sell dangerous herbs like oleander and wolf’s bane. How did you get a hold of this amount of them anyway?”

“Well, what can I say? There’s only so much exotic ingredients you can grow in the botanical gardens,”

“But, there are also basic necessities like toothpaste and clothes,” They pondered, “Come to think of it, one of the new deliveries was a box of snacks, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what happens when you’re the only tuck shop in one of the most prestigious schools in the world!” He winked, “It wasn’t easy getting ahold of most of the inventory, but you gotta do what you gotta do, don’t you agree?”

A small chuckle escaped their lips, “That’s not a bad mindset for a businessman.”

In the end, no matter how eccentric they initially seemed, a child is still a child. He felt foolish for being so afraid, what could they do when he had his friends by his side?

“By the way,” it was hard to notice how much time passed by, “Shouldn’t you go back to your dorm and change into your uniform? It’s almost time for morning classes.”

“Ah, was Mr.Sam not present during the entrance ceremony? No wonder you didn’t recognize me,”

There was some word on the street about a fiasco happening during this year’s entrance ceremony, something about the halls being lit on fire by a beast? He couldn’t believe it when one of the friends that stayed to guard the shop told him about it.

“I was deemed unworthy to be sorted into a dorm, because I possess no magical capabilities whatsoever. It seems that there was an error during the student selection process,”

“Is that even possible?” his suave expression morphed into worry, “Then, why didn’t the Headmaster send you back home?”

“He tried, but the Mirror of Darkness said something along the lines of ‘The place from whence they came from can’t be found in this world’.

“And so here I am, doing odd jobs and tasks on behalf of the Headmaster, the students and the staff of NRC,” Sam could hear a small sense of pride at their introduction, “I'm more capable than I look, please don’t hesitate to call upon me if you need any assistance.”

Of all the strange things to make their way into his shop, never in a million years would Sam expect an estranged secretary to be one of them, and one that possibly came from another world to boot. He had a feeling that this year was going to be much, much more eventful than any of the years to have come, and he couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, little demon,” The shopkeep tipped his hat in a fine, gentlemanly manner, “Make sure to drop by again, ‘till next time!”

The gap of knowledge between the first and second year was indeed a big leap to overcome, Crewel knew how unprepared his puppies were going to be.

But by the Great Seven, oh how much he overestimated them.

The likes of Riddle Rosehearts and Azul Ashengrotto couldn’t possibly make up for the utter incompetence these mutts have, even the students with subpar scores like Savanaclaw’s Ruggie Bucchi and Diasomnia’s Silver looked like geniuses. At best, there are students like Kalim al-Asim, who actually tries, yet their efforts seem to seep out through their ears the moment they leave class, then there’s the unpredictable ones like Floyd Leech.

He remembers how the eel turned in blank test papers, or how he mixes whatever ingredients he finds interesting together, bleeding the chemical supply. 2 days ago, he used up an entire month’s worth of imp spinal fluid during potions class. It’s not as if they were hard to get, but their effects are most potent when freshly harvested. The thought of harvesting it himself made him shudder; sure, he’s seen some grotesque imagery as an alchemy professor, but who knows how long it will take to restock if he made a report to Crowley?

Sigh. Looks like he’ll have to put practical sessions on hold for a while and haggle with Sam.

“Excuse me, is Professor Crewel here?”

The door to the alchemy lab opened, bringing the professor back to reality. Someone he has never seen before let themself in, a plastic bag in hand.

“Stay! I don’t recall allowing anyone without a lab coat to enter….!” Realization kicked in once he got a clearer look, “Huh--so it’s you, the magicless stray that caused a riot in the entrance ceremony.”

The sound of a whip resonated through the room, followed by faint chattering and murmurs from nearby students scrambling away from the alchemy lab.

“Only authorized students and staff are allowed in the lab during school hours, didn’t the Headmaster tell you?”

Most of his students would cower just by hearing his tone grow stern, yet they remained unfazed. Playing bold now are we? Looks like he’ll have to teach them a lesson.

“The Headmaster,” they brought the plastic bag to his chest, “said that the lab’s storage room needed restocking.”

Ah, was that it? Making a child do his job; how much of a slave driver was Crowley? Knowing Crowley’s tardiness, it was probably something he had already spent his paycheck on, although the bottom of the bag was unusually cold.

Curiosity getting the better of the professor, he untied the knot and opened the bag. His face recoiled, from the shock of seeing the contents. Aurora moth’s scales--he had only requested these a few days ago! Not to mention all of that translucent mucus coating the scales, how long ago were these harvested?

“Is there something wrong, Professor?”

Crewel almost forgot about the intruder standing in front of him, “No, it’s just--this is the first time I've seen them so...fresh. The ones Crowley buys usually come preserved in bottles.”

“That may be because I just harvested them this afternoon,” they said nonchalantly.

“You--You what?!” the professor didn’t even try to mask his disgust, “You did this yourself?”

Their head tilted sideways, akin to a confused child.

“The Headmaster said that the locals needed help with pest control, so I’d thought I’d lend a hand, and they let me do whatever I wanted with the moths as payment, ” Despite having experience with that sort, Crewel’s stomach began to swirl, “The Headmaster gave me permission too,”

A scowl grew on his face. Typically a moth would've been killed humanely before their wings were plucked to relax their ligaments, but seeing the mess clinging to the wing's ends, it's clear that they didn't consider such option. He couldn't decide if they had a strong stomach to withstand seeing large bugs squirm underneath them, or an uneducated fool.

“Professor, are you alright? You look exhausted,”

He snapped back to reality that instant, rubbing circles around his temple. Pull yourself together, Crewel, he edged himself, you’ve lost your composure twice already. Maybe he just needed a good serving of raisin butter with wine on the side, or a joyride on his prized car. He glanced back at the dismembered wings, at least he got what he wanted. Still, this has never happened before, perhaps if he could take advantage of this situation….

“Tell me, pup. Since you have...the appropriate experience to harvest wings, how good are you at dissecting imps?”

They pondered for a while. It’s the most animated he’s seen of them, “I suppose I do how to extract fluids, their lymph is a versatile ingredient in many types of salves after all. Although it has been a while since I’ve ever needed to.”

Bingo

“Then, how about spinal fluid?”

It was their turn to be surprised, “I-I’ve never done that on an imp before. Just think of the amount of imps needed to fill a single bottle.”

“Tell you what, pup. Are you interested in a side-job?”

Without giving them a chance to respond, Crewel tossed a few madol and a map of the campus in their direction, “There are some common imps causing trouble in the college lately coming from who knows where. If you can deal with them, I’ll give you the other half of the payment, and of course--.”

He shoved them a basket full of empty test tubes, slinging it over their shoulder, “Fill every single test tube here to the brim before tomorrow's Science Club activity, I won't take no for an answer.”

And with that, they were pushed out of the alchemy lab. Spending their first sleepless night in another world catching imps wasn’t on their bucket list. Sighing heavily, they picked up their feet and staggered.

‘I wanted to creep him out a little,’ they thought, ‘but I ended up being the one getting creeped out.’

For such an important place, why did Crowley’s office have to be in a place so out of reach? For all his years in Night Raven College, Crewel always dreaded sending weekly reports to the Headmaster’s office, he could feel his leg muscles ache as he knocked against the two large gates. He peeked inside the office to look for the Headmaster.

“There you are, professor! What took you so long?”

There he was, sitting cross-legged on his desk as the portraits of the Great Seven floated up and about. Trein was there as well, as cold as usual and showing no sign of fatigue, peering at him as if he could see through everything. Maybe it was because he had a 20 year head start, either way, it was irritating how he was the only disheveled one.

“I don’t know, maybe it was the countless stairs I have to climb every week to submit a report when you can simply hire a secretary to fetch them for you?”

The crow simply smiled, already figuring out a solution to Crewel’s ire, “How has the first week of teaching been for you, professors?”

“I don’t know which is greener, the topiary maze in the Heartslabyul dorm, or the new puppies I’m in charge of,” Crewel shook his head.

“For once, I agree,” the history professor nodded indefinitely, Lucius yawning in his arms, “But that could be said for every first year in the history of NRC.”

Dire nodded, “Seems like everything’s going smoothly then! I shall leave the future of our students in your capable hands!”

Both professors nodded in response, “As you wish, Headmaster.”

“Although, I’d like to inquire about something,” Crewel spoke up before raising his index finger to the large window. From above, the view of the setting sun looming over the campus could be seen, but his finger specifically pointed to Main Street, or rather;the magicless stray walking to the direction of the alchemy lab, with the basket in hand and the direbeast from before by their side.

“What are we going to do about that?”

Without needing to look, Trein simply closed his eyes, “If what the mirror spoke was true, then that child quite literally has no place to go back to. It comes to question how they even ended up here in the first place."

Crowley rubbed his chin. The ultimate decision lies with him, and honestly, there was nothing stopping him from just shirking them off his feathers and leaving them to fend for themselves, along with the cat-beast that terrorized the entrance ceremony.

"It would undoubtedly stain the reputation of our esteemed college if we just kicked them out," the Headmaster groaned, "Oh, why must I be plagued with such problems!"

"Best of luck to you then, Headmaster Crowley," The two professors turned their heels and left Crowley's office with not a care in the world, leaving him with his worries.

The Headmaster leaned against his chair and sighed against the beak of is mask. Dealing with the child was the last thing he wanted to do at this moment, with their odd mannerisms and such, however...

Being unable to return home wasn't an unfamiliar conundrum to the Headmaster.

Perhaps it's his boundless generosity speaking to him, but there was a pang of heavy emotion in his chest that told him he couldn't simply leave that child, Yuulis, alone. Was it guilt? or maybe atonement? Whatever it was, it overrode the rational side of his brain

Dire Crowley was the type of person to judge a book by it's cover, which is why he was surprised how his new errand runner, or rather, the new Ramshackle Prefect was able to hold up better than he expected. The reports he received from the staff members he had tasked them with helping have been amicable, and his workflow was much smoother now that he had divided the more menial tasks to someone else. He had thought he had envoked the wrath of the Great Seven with the mess that was thrown his way, but surely they were more pliant than they initially seemed, and now Crowley had a reliable aide at his beck and call.

That would've been the end of the story if Crowley's worries ended there.

Perhaps it's his intuition as a mage, one that's been sharpened by many years of experience, but there was something off about the Prefect. It was subtle enough for none of the other professors to pick up on it, perhaps not even the prefect the▅self were aware of it, but Crowley co▅ld fe▅▅ it.

The lingering mi▅▅ma ▅▅ p▅rmea▅▅ from ▅▅em, it ▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅ ▅▅▅ M▅▅▅l▅ ▅▅ ▅no▅▅ ▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅ , ▅n▅▅d f▅rom the loo▅▅ ▅, if Crowley doesn't get it under control, it might spell disaster for the mages in his beloved college.

They'd succeeded his expectations as a prefect, so why not bestow upon them another act of kindness?

A knock resounded from the door to the Headmaster's office, before creaking open. Under the candles that lit the office dimly, the prefect looked like one of the many ghosts that toiled in the campus.

"Apologies for the delay," they nodded, curtly greeting the Headmaster, "It took a while to convince Professor Trein to let me into the library archives, but I got what you asked for."

"It can't be helped, I suppose. The lecture he gave me that time still rings in my ears," Crowley picked the bundle of files off of Yuulis' hands.

"Rightfully so," the monotone in their voice wavered, "With all due respect, I don't see why what you did was necessary, nor will it benefit you or your reputation, Headmaster."

His fingers intertwined and rested over his mouth, obscuring what's left of his face. A part of him thought that Yuulis wouldn't question his actions, but it seems they had not let their guard down completely. Not that he blamed them--in a world of villains, it's wiser to play your cards right.

"I've made it quite clear that it was a mutual agreement, yes?" he says, "One day, you'll understand, once you've proven that you're worthy of carrying my secrets."

He sauntered towards them, slow and heavy footsteps circling around the prefect, "Besides, don't you want my help? You won't have to isolate yourself anymore, drifting around from place to place, worrying about hurting other people. You'll be able to live a normal life. It'd be easier for me to help you with your more personal matters like this, wouldn't you agree, my dearest nephew?"

It was probably underhanded of him to take advantage of their ignorance, but it's too late for them. The pact has been made, Crowley isn't sure whether Yuulis could feel the invisible link that binds them together as well, but the matching blue vest he gave them, their new surname, was enough to send them the message.

"It's getting late, come now, I'll walk you back to that rickety old--err, Ramshackle dorm," says the headmaster, waiting for Yuulis to trail behind him, like they usually do.

With bated breath, they come to accept their new circumstances. They step closer to the Headmaster.

"As you wish, uncle,"

#happy april fools!!!#yeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhhh #i think i wrote this for twst's first anniversary...time rlly flies lmao #i also changed some stuff from the original.. mostly cus new game info.. & such. and getting a better grasp/having different views on--#the characters #waaaaa #dont think too much on the writing pls...gdghghghg #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #disney twst #twst yuu #dire crowley #divus crewel #twst sam #mozus trein #yuulis crowley

104 notes · View notes

zarrella-hisone-and-only · 11 months

Note

heyyy, I hope you’ve had a nice day I was wondering if I could request ushijima, bokuto and sakusa with a fem tease sitting on their lap for a bumpy car ride and they get ‘excited’ down there 😏 it’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable with writing this! <33

Don't worry lovie I'll do my best to delivery!! Hopefully you enjoy it! Sorry if this took a decade, I ran into some writer blockages along the way heh! 😫

Bumpy Car Rides

Summary: How would the Haikyuu boys react to their dear lover sitting on their whilst on this bumpy ride?

Warnings: Characters are aged up, dirty talk, mentions of sex, teasing. Not Proof read!!! New writer!!

•·················•·················••·················•·················••·················•·················••·············•

It had been almost a decade since you and Ushijima had a fun day out. It was always him having to leave early in the mornings and coming home after you finished dinner. But this time you ahd somethign fun planned. It was autum and it had almost seemed like fate, a hay bale ride!

You smile hugging onto your muscular boyfriend's arm in pure joy. He sat down beside you far in the back of the cart. The guide moved and paid their attention to the younger children in the back, but you had other plans. Why bring your perfect boyfriend to this boring childish ride, maybe it was time to spicy it up a bit!

The hay bale ride was a hour and a half long. So you had loads of time to make this more fun for both you and your lover. You leaned closer to Ushijima's ear and whispered softly, practically breathing on him.

"Ushiii.. My seat is so rough, can I sit on your lap? Pleaaase.."

His eyes widened as he looks at you in utter confusion, were you really asking to sit on his lap?

"Wha-" You interrupted him by lifting your body up, just high enough to snuggle your bum comfortably on his thighs. His face was merely inches away from you, this cart was filled with children, adults, and old people.

You placed a small peck on the bridge of his nose, giving him a sweet and innocent smile.

"Y/n-" You cut him off again.

"Look babe, seems like it's about to get bumpy.." You wiggle in your seat atop of him, causing some friction underneath you. He raised his hand to cover his face, he lowly groans and sighs.

"Babe, I don't think this is the right time for-"

The cart bumps and you rub against him adjusting yourself again. It wasn't long till you felt something poking and prodding at your butt. A sly smirk plastered your face as you kept calm, continuing you effortless tortures. He places his hands on your waist tightening his grip.

If this wasn't bad enough for him, you managed to lean back and rub yourself against whilst letting out a small lewd noise for only him to hear.

Long story short, your little shenanigans put you in a bad position when you both arrived home.

The bus was full and compacted. And well, there was only one free seat near the back. You grasped your boyfriends arm and pulled him through the crowds on people. Bokuto sat down and you wiggled yourself into his lap.

"Uh, b-baby owl!" He exclaimed a bit embarrassed at your small yet impactful movements.

You turned back to place a sweet kiss on his lips, licking his bottom lip before leaving the kiss. His face was flushed a bright red as he gripped the seat's edge in frustration.

Fortunately for you the bus ride has seemed to hit a few bumps along the way. This caused you body to fly and then hit back down on his little friend. Bokuto gritted his teeth holding back a groan every time you landed back down effortlessly perfectly square on his sweet spot.

You looked back at him and raised a brow. "What's wrong baby?" You tease asking so innocently. He had a mind to rip you to shreds when he got home, because his little friend decided to wake up and greet you.

"Baby owl, I'm not sure you want to play this game your trying..." He groans lowly in your ear. And well, I guess it turned you on a bit.

"What ever do you mean my love?"

"I'm not sure why your acting so innocent babe, you know damn well what your doing... And you'll regret it when we get home.."

You ignore his mindless and ballsy threats and notice that you have seemed to hit a mine bomb. "What a nice surprise.." You whispered feeling his member poking at you.

He huffed as the bus stopped and grabbed your hand taking you off the bus as fast as you could. And according to his promise, he sure did rip you apart the second the front door was closed.

Sakusa wasn't one to go on public transports all the time, but this was the same cute trolley you would see everyday. After thousands of 'pleaase Omi' s and 'I'll literally die if I don't get to go on' , he finally gave in. You led him through the bundles of screaming children and messy toddlers to the back of the ride. There were two seats you you sat on the inside.

The trolley continued on its course and you were sure to watch the guide and make sure she wasn't looking at your boyfriend. You caught her catching another glance at him and you frown.

You lean over to Sakusa and whisper in his ear. "Omi, my seat is so dirty and close that nasty toddler in front of me.. Can I sit on your lap pretty please?" You whispered in the soft and sincere tone that he loved.

He shakes his head but you completely ignore it in jealousy. You slip yourself onto his comfortable lap and grab the hand that were near his side and wrap them around your waist. He stifles his breath and looks at you a shocked reaction. He was lucky that he had his mask on at all times because your boisterous action were sure to make his cheeks as red as tomatoes.

The trolley trudges onwards and hits a few bumps on the way. Between bumps you rub yourself gently across his groin, he lets out a breathy groan and bites his lip in frustration.

The guide glances at you wild actions whilst sitting on Sakusa's lap. She turns away now feeling silly that she was even thinking about making a move on him.

Meanwhile you kept doing your silly little antics causing your boyfriend unbearable pain. It wasn't long until you felt his anticipation peak. You leaned you back against his chiseled chest.

"Awh, are you excited for the next bump omi babe?" You whispered smiling in your words.

"Oh, you really want to play this dirty game again hm?" He quietly snaps back at you.

"Feisty huh?" You rub yourself against him again. He hisses and catches his breath, not able to say another word.

Long story short he had you in the shower bend over and screaming his name. He managed to wash away your dirty actions and reprimand you for acting like a jealous and territorial brat.

#haikyu smut #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima imagine #bokuto imagines #bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto #bokuto smut #sakusa smut #sakusa fanfiction #sakusa headcanons #haikyuu smut #requests open #requests anyone?#requests r open btw

464 notes · View notes

bloodynereid · 5 months

Note

Love your jordan fics!!!!! Would you write something for jordan x fem!reader or gn!reader (either one is fine) where r is like a normal human? No powers and all that. I thought about some angst and protective jordan when Rufus gets too close to reader, but you can also make your own plot and I'll love it anyway 💕💕

Inked Souls

pairing: jordan li x gn! reader

tw: RUFUS. also there's like slight allusions to rape because it's rufus but it's nothing explicitly stated, slight angst, mostly fluff, swearing

description: your job at the bookstore had it's ups and it's downs.

a/n: hi! i hope you enjoy this one anon <3 i'm sorry it's really short but i felt like it ended at the right bit and sort of felt more natural this way so yeah. i really liked writing it (even if i had to deal with writing rufus) so tysm for the request. have the best day/night <3

A brief chill ran across the length of your spine. The bookstore was yet to warm up and the cold frost of the early morning covered the atmosphere of the little room. You didn’t own the beautiful store but one day, hopefully soon, you would have the opportunity to find somewhere where you would feel just as at home as you felt here.

Straightening up the books you felt a tinge of disappointment. Shelves were filled with all the information that a supe would need to attend God U. The bookstore you worked at was the only one who housed all the texts. Supes tended to go to the online store which is why you were hired. The owner, Max, was a nice guy, but he was almost never around. He liked to manage all the online stuff while he left the actual physical sale of books to you. Or rather the pick-up of books since you didn’t have a delivery system in place.

It is not that you didn’t love your job but dealing with arrogant superheroes on a daily basis was starting to grate your nerves. You smoothed out your shirt before settling behind the desk after finishing up your opening routine.

The day went by swiftly, mostly due to the fact that you had picked up a new book just that morning and the rich story had sucked you in. A tingling of the bell brought your attention out from behind the pages and towards… your favorite customer.

“Ah, Jordan. It’s good to see you. What can I help you with today?”

“Oh I was wondering if you had anything of the same vein from last time.” A smile lit up your face as you nodded eagerly.

“I have just the thing. Give me a sec.” You jumped up from your little seat and you heard a chuckle coming from Jordan as they watched you with an adoring expression. Ok, so maybe you did have a little crush on them. Who was to judge you?

“You seem extra cheery today.”

“Well, I just started a new book and… AHA.” Your perusal of the shelves proved fruitful as you plucked out a book from within the confines of the spines.

The beautifully illustrated copy slipped out of your hands and into Jordan’s as you passed the book towards them. A feeling of comfort passed through your body for the millisecond that your fingers brushed theirs.

“It’s called Annihilation, it’s sort of a more modern version of the Lovecraft genre but it’s incredible. This is a special edition so it's a tad bit more expensive than usual but…”

“It’s worth it.” Jordan said with a smile and a wink as they thumbed through the pages. She looked calmer than usual, you thought. Usually they had a certain tense energy surrounding their being.

“What are you smiling about?” Jordan asked as their twinkling eyes met yours.

“Oh nothing. You look nice today.”

“You say that every time I come in.” Jordan said as they leaned over the counter.

“Well it’s always true. Do you-” The sound of loud laughing and the bell made the two of you jump apart. A guy with bleached hair walked in holding up a phone in one hand and pushing the door open with another.

“I'll be right with you, sir.” You said quickly, before turning apologetically to Jordan - only to find them with an annoyed twist on his lips. An expression you thought didn’t belong at all on their face.

“Jordan?” You asked before a sudden assault of something permeated your senses. You felt a wave of dizziness engulf you, making your hand shoot out to grab onto the counter.

“Well, aren't you a pretty one?” Came a voice from the side of you as the same guy who had just walked in leaned over the counter. His fingers etched closer and closer to your face when suddenly his hand was wrenched away from in front of you.

You dizzily watched as Jordan pushed the guy into one of the neighboring book shelves. Low but threatening whispering was exchanged between the two of them as the world started to become less blurry.

You heard a wheeze come out of your mouth as you settled down onto the little seat behind the counter. What the fuck was happening to you?

“Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.” The voice of Jordan materialized next to you and the soft skin of their fingers brushed against your cheekbone.

“Hmm.”

“Oh thank God, you’re okay. Fuck, I should have killed him.”

“What happened?” You muttered out as you turned your head to look at them.

“Rufus happened.”

“Rufus?”

“He’s a supe… a bad one. He kind of has like control over pheromones so he was-”

“Trying to drug me. Oh my God.” Your horrified voice echoed through the bookstore and you bit into the side of your cheek.

“Hey. I made sure he doesn’t come in here again, okay? You’re safe.”

“Jordan… I- thank you.”

“You never should have to deal with that, no one should…”

“Still thanks. How should I thank my gallant knight?” The question was phrased with a teasing lilt, making Jordan’s eyebrows shoot up as she smirks.

“Oh I can think of a few ways… starting with a date.”

191 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

Note

Nother idea: 8 years later, Tommy & Carol apologizing to Steve for their behavior. & for immediately abandoning him when they knew he needed them most.

But Steve has people now who have shown him love, family, true friendship. And while he forgives them its not the same. He doesn't trust them. He is thriving without them.

But Carol realizes that the reason it isn't the same is bc Steve genuinely believes that they don't mean their apology. So she & Tommy actually discuss it and find a way to clear up any misunderstanding & ensure he knows they mean their apology. It works, it takes time & effort but they are once again his friends.

MY LOVE!!! STEVE REALIZING HE'S LOVED AND DOESN'T NEED HIS SHITTY EX FRIENDS CREW STAND UP!!!! I had the opportunity to really give Steve his shining moment and yell at them, but I decided that Steve would just be kind of over it, like they aren't really worth yelling at. Steve didn't do all this personal growth just to let them back in so easily, but luckily he isn't the only one who changed. You know I had to involve Eddie, of course! - Mickala ❤️

-----------------------------------------------

It was too fucking early on a Saturday morning to be woken up by the buzzer of his apartment.

Whoever it was was lucky that Eddie had to go into work today or he would be committing murder at their door.

He glanced at the clock on the microwave, 10:47, okay, so not that early.

They’d had a late night, okay?

If he had a limp to show what they were up to, that was his business.

“You can leave the package in the box, I’ll grab it soon!” Steve said into the mic, hoping it was just a delivery.

“Steve? Is that you?”

He recognized the voice, though he wished he didn’t.

Eight years was a long time to go without talking to someone who used to be your best friend, but when you’d been best friends for so long, certain things couldn’t be forgotten.

“Tommy?”

“Uh yeah, man. I’m here with Carol. We actually were hoping to talk to you?”

He looked down at his almost naked body, only Eddie’s boxers covering him.

“Sure.”

He buzzed them in, not giving them any clue where he was so they would take their time getting to his door. He had to throw on clothes, brush his hair, and try to look like he hadn’t just been asleep.

He rushed to the bedroom, throwing on the first pair of jeans he saw and a t-shirt from the floor. He heard voices down the hall as he was heading to the bathroom, his hands shaking with nerves as he tried to rush to brush through his hair.

“It can’t be that Munson, though, right? Even Steve wasn’t a fan of him in school.”

Steve grimaced at Carol’s voice.

Technically, Eddie worked a half shift when he had to work Saturdays, which meant unless they were only stopping by for a few minutes, he would probably be home while they were still here.

Tommy had always hated Eddie. No one could really figure out why. Sure, a lot of people said nasty things about and to Eddie in high school, but no one else really put their hands on him the way Tommy did.

Eddie joked it must have been because he liked him, but Steve thought maybe he just had a lot of displaced anger.

At least that’s what he thought when he became a counselor and understood a lot of psychology behind why people did things.

Eddie laughed and said, “don’t overthink it, some people are just bullies.”

But Steve liked to think maybe Tommy was more complicated than that, liked to explain away his worst qualities so it made it easier to accept that he was once best friends with him.

Eddie laughed about that too, and said, “kids are stupid, and sometimes we find friends in people who make us feel better about ourselves, but you grew up.”

Steve shook his head, not wanting to think more about it.

He opened the front door, the ghosts of his past standing there, hardly aged, hardly any different at all.

“Come in, guys. Um. Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting anyone.”

They all awkwardly laughed as Tommy and Carol made their way inside.

The apartment was small, cheap rent kept them there so they could save up to buy a house outside of town in the next few years, maybe work on starting a family if they could.

They’d talked about it over the last couple of years, once Steve was settled in his job at the school, once Eddie got promoted to general manager at the shop, they’d save for a few years, have a decent down payment, start looking for a house with three or four bedrooms. Start looking into adopting. Maybe get a cat.

But to do that, their apartment was cozy, as Eddie liked to say. One bedroom, one bathroom, kitchen and living room area all one room, a tiny storage closet. They didn’t even have their own washer and dryer, which reminded Steve that he had to take their laundry downstairs and get it started soon.

Tommy and Carol looked around, but hid any emotion on their faces.

He gestured for them to have a seat on the couch, which was a hand-me-down from Wayne when they moved in. It was “too much” for his space when Eddie moved out.

They sat, though they didn’t look very comfortable.

Steve sat in the rocking chair Eddie bought, the first thing he bought for their “eventual home”, but didn’t rock as he took them in.

He originally didn’t see any proof of them aging, but now that he was looking closer, he could see Tommy’s already-receding hairline, Carol’s wrinkled by her eyes, both of them just a little softer in the face and stomach.

They looked incredibly human like this, like they weren’t some high school king and queen who only cared about how they look and what parties they could go to every weekend.

It helped Steve relax a bit.

“Not to be rude, but uh, how did you guys find me?” Steve asked, not sure he even really cared.

“We moved here to Chicago about six months ago, Tommy’s gonna run his dad’s office here starting next year, so he wanted to ease into it. I started job searching a few weeks ago for a teaching position and I noticed you worked at the school I interviewed at. We looked you up and decided we wanted to come talk,” Carol always was a bit of a rambler, always annoyed Steve when she started in on something that really didn’t matter much.

Carol nudged Tommy, who had been staring wide-eyed at Steve since he sat down.

He cleared his throat and nodded.

“We actually came here to make things right. We were best friends for years, and then one bad thing happened and we weren’t anymore. I know I fucked up with everything. We shouldn’t have treated Nancy like that, or you like that, and we’re hoping you could maybe accept our apology.”

Steve stared at them.

“We were kids. We did stupid shit. We’ve all grown. I mean, look at you! Your own apartment in the big city!”

As if he had been waiting for a cue, Eddie walked in the front door, his oil-covered coveralls already coming off. Steve made the rule after he came home one day to see oil stains on the bed sheets where Eddie had fallen asleep after working from open to close: coveralls come off as soon as he’s in the door and they go straight to the laundry room.

“Jesus, sweetheart, this is the last Saturday I cover in the shop. At least until I hire some competent mechanics. I think I did most of the work all morning. And after doing most of the work last night, I-”

“Eds! We have company!” Steve rushed out, his face bright red at what Eddie was implying.

It’s not that he really cared about what Tommy and Carol thought; Once they realized Eddie lived here, it wouldn’t be difficult to come to the conclusion that they shared a one bedroom apartment because they were together. He didn’t even care if Tommy and Carol were disgusted by him for it.

But he’d be damned if Eddie felt uncomfortable in his own home, especially if they started saying shit to him reminiscent of their high school days.

He watched Eddie turn around, recognize the people on the couch, and turn to Steve with a questioning look.

“Tommy, Carol, you remember Eddie,” Steve said, not breaking eye contact with Eddie.

They were having an entire conversation with their eyes, Steve begging Eddie to just go get cleaned up, Eddie begging Steve to explain what was going on.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them, Carol’s eyes stayed pointed at Eddie.

“Munson?”

“The one and only!” Eddie said, his voice pitching just a bit higher, naturally going to his over the top self to protect himself from whatever they would say.

Steve loved every version of Eddie: the performer on stage, the performer with friends, the soft version of himself that only Steve got to see, the protective version that would fight the world to make sure his loved ones were safe.

He was lucky to have every part of Eddie, even the parts that may not always be the best.

But his least favorite thing was seeing Eddie go into this mode, the one that kept him safe during school, when kids were mean, adults were mean, life was hard.

He didn’t want that for Eddie anymore.

“You guys…live together?” Tommy asked, looking back to Steve for confirmation.

Steve rolled his eyes. Tommy apparently didn’t gain any intelligence over the years.

“Yes. We’re together.”

From the look on Eddie’s face, he hadn’t expected Steve to say that.

That was fair; it took Steve nearly a year just to come out to anyone who wasn’t Robin, scared that somehow everyone would hate him, hate Eddie, hate them together.

But it went perfectly, and Steve rode the high a bit too much. He came out to his parents a few months after, and that went quite a lot less than perfectly.

He was lucky he didn’t have more head trauma from it, actually.

So he kept it quiet, didn’t come out to any new friends he met in college, even after one of them came out to him. Didn’t come out to coworkers while he worked at a cafe throughout college to pay the bills. Didn’t even come out to the bartender at their favorite bar despite the rainbow flag that was hidden behind the bar in silent support.

It was only recently that he started to feel comfortable being more open, and only in the city, only select areas where he knew they wouldn’t end up hurt.

Eddie was patient, maybe more than he deserved.

So saying it outright to the two people who suspected and bullied Eddie for being gay in high school, despite it not even being confirmed then, clearly threw Eddie for a loop.

“Oh, like…”

“Yes, exactly like that.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for any response that would give him permission to kick them out of his apartment, their apartment.

But he saw Carol nudge Tommy again, pasting a smile on her face. It wasn’t completely natural, but it also didn’t seem fake.

“That’s nice, Steve. Have you been together a while?”

“Since ‘86.”

“Wow! Since the quakes!”

Steve nodded.

“Steve, can you help me with something in the kitchen for a second?” Eddie asked, his voice unreadable.

Steve hated it, hated that all of a sudden he couldn’t get a grasp of what Eddie was feeling.

It had been so long since he’d experienced this.

And a small part of him blamed Tommy and Carol.

He got up, wordlessly following Eddie into the kitchen area that wasn’t even separated from the living room.

“Not that I don’t love that you’re comfortable telling them, but um. What’s. What’s happening currently?” Eddie whispered as he tried to appear busy, grabbing a glass from the cabinet to fill with water.

“They came to apologize to me. For high school.”

When he said it out loud, it sounded a bit ridiculous.

“And are you accepting it?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re only doing it to help themselves feel better. I’m not interested in whatever game they’re playing.”

Eddie looked over Steve’s shoulder at the pair sitting on the couch.

“Need me to get rid of them? Just say so, sweetheart. I’ll kick them both to the curb.”

Steve leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips, smiling as he pulled away.

“I got it, baby. Get cleaned up so I can hug you.”

“Just hug?”

Steve laughed as he walked back towards his spot.

“Or more!”

He focused back on Tommy and Carol, who were graciously pretending that they didn’t hear the conversation that happened less than 20 feet from them.

“So, we were wondering if you wanted to meet up for dinner, catch up? You could bring Eddie, of course!”

Of course, she said. Like they didn’t outwardly despise Eddie eight years ago. Like they were perfectly fine with him now, and fine with Steve, and fine with them.

“I think we’ll pass. Good luck to you guys in Chicago, though.”

He ignored the pang of guilt when he saw Carol’s face fall and Tommy’s eyes darted to where Eddie was closing the bedroom door and back to Steve.

“Oh. Um. Well, it would be our treat, if you’re worried about money.”

“I wasn’t.”

Tommy and Carol hadn’t expected to be shut down like this, but Steve knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t accept their apologies, and he wouldn’t expect Eddie to suddenly be friendly to people who tormented him for years.

“Okay. Well. I guess we’ll go, then.”

“Thanks for stopping by.”

He stood as they stood, walked them out the door, then closed and locked it behind them.

Steve made it to the bedroom before he felt the tears spring to his eyes.

Eddie was in the bathroom showering, so he hoped he could get it out quickly. He didn’t want Eddie to worry.

But unfortunately, once a few tears fell, it seemed like they wouldn’t stop.

He got back in bed, burying his face in the pillow so he could hopefully pretend to be asleep, but didn’t quite manage it before Eddie was walking back into the room.

He got in bed and silently pulled Steve against his chest, running his hands up and down his back to soothe him, not trying to use any comforting words.

“I don’t know why I’m upset about a stupid fake apology from people I don’t care about.”

“Stevie, it’s okay to be upset. They were your friends for a long time, and you still have a lot of hurt leftover from them.”

“I just wish things had been different then.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Eddie kissed the top of his head, and as they lay there together, Steve realized this hurt would never quite go away.

—------------------

“T, I don’t think he believed us,” Carol said from the passenger seat.

“I can’t believe Steve’s with Eddie. Of all the people,” Tommy replied, not even acknowledging Carol’s words.

“They seem good together.”

“I guess.”

Carol knew Tommy had a crush on Steve in high school, they’d talked about it years ago when she found an old picture of Steve with a heart drawn on the back while they were moving the first time around.

She’d been caught off guard, but understood, and was fine with it when he explained it was definitely in the past.

And it was.

But a part of him was wondering how long Steve had realized he liked guys, and what might have happened if he’d just been brave enough to do something about his feelings before things went to shit.

He loved Carol, was happy to be married to her, and wouldn’t want Steve now, but still. The what-ifs plagued his mind on the drive back to their home.

“Are you jealous of Eddie?”

Carol sounded hesitant to ask, like she wasn’t sure which answer she would prefer because she knew either way, Tommy would be upset she asked at all.

“No. I’m not jealous. Steve and I would never have worked out.”

Which may not have been a great answer for his wife, but it was the truth, and they were always honest with each other if nothing else.

“Since I got the job at the school, maybe I’ll have more chances to convince him we meant it.”

Carol was good. Deep down she had always been good. But Tommy always managed to drag her down when they were young, convinced her she needed to be a mean girl to fit in with their group, kept it up through most of college before they finally realized life was better if you just weren’t awful to people.

“Yeah, maybe.”

—---------------------

So, a month later, when school started up, Carol began the task of showing Steve that they were truly sorry.

She would often leave notes in his mailbox in the office, usually just a “have a great day!” with a smiley face, or “let me know if you want to catch up over lunch!”

He never responded, but she knew he got them.

Tommy had issues with his car and took it to the shop Eddie worked at, nodding along to what he said and admitted he didn’t really know much about cars so he trusted Eddie to fix it.

It was entirely professional, but a small part of Tommy was satisfied when Eddie gave him a genuine smile.

—--------------------------

“Is it weird that they keep trying?” Steve asked one night while they were lying in bed.

“I don’t think it’s weird. I think maybe they just mean it.”

Steve pondered it.

Yeah, they must mean it. The old Tommy and Carol would have given up after he sent them out of their apartment the first time.

“Would you wanna go to dinner with them? Just give them a chance? It’s okay if you don’t want to. You don’t have to forgive them.”

Eddie leaned in to kiss Steve’s slowly, softly.

“If you want to, then I want to support you. We’re all different now. Maybe we can look at who they are now instead of who they were, as long as they can look at who we are and respect us.”

“Yeah.” Steve kissed Eddie’s cheek. “Yeah.”

—-------------------

Steve left a note for Carol the following Monday: “Dinner at ours? Friday at 7. Bring a red wine and beer.”

She wrote back that same day with a bunch of smiley faces and a response that they would be there.

When Friday came, Steve was nervous.

He’d planned to leave work right when school got out instead of leaving at five so he could make sure everything was clean and the food would be ready on time.

Eddie promised to be home by six in case he needed help.

And when six arrived, Eddie walked through the door with flowers and a smile, and Steve relaxed.

Nothing would go wrong.

Even if something did, they would be in it together, and they would support each other.

They didn’t have to do this alone like they did all those years ago.

—-------------------

It became a thing: dinner every Friday evening, sometimes at Steve and Eddie’s, sometimes at Tommy and Carol’s, sometimes at a new restaurant in the city.

The first few dinners were stilted, full of apologies and awkward catch-ups.

Then it got easier.

They got closer.

Eddie and Tommy actually became closer than Steve and Tommy ever were. Eddie showed him how to change his own oil so he could “stop bothering him at work just so he could look at his sexy coveralls.” Tommy rolled his eyes, but was grateful to learn.

Carol and Steve would often bake dessert together, catching up on school gossip, the latest who was dating who always entertaining them just as it did when they were in high school.

There were still the occasional moments where Steve thought about how much they hurt him, and Eddie thought about how they might be teasing him behind his back.

But it was rare, and they usually talked themselves out of it.

They were the first people to find out when Carol was pregnant, and the first people to learn it was twins. Carol and Tommy were the first (okay, first after Robin) people to find out when their offer on a house was accepted.

Tommy ended up cutting ties with his father when he found out that Steve and Eddie were together and threatened to cut him off. Tommy had a degree, and now had years of experience under his belt, and wasn’t worried about finding another job, one where he knew he earned his position because of his work and not being the boss’ son.

And when Steve and Eddie were able to finally adopt a little girl in 2002, Tommy and Carol were at the courthouse taking pictures of the new family, their own kids already best friends with her.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tommy hagan #carol perkins #friendship rekindled #apologies #some fluff #future fic #ficlet #request

350 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

Text

live to rise - chapter one

live to rise series

one: they'll find you, burn you

series masterlist | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths, many minor character deaths, Din has hearing loss, angst by the bucket, Din Djarin takes the helmet off (kind of)

Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s morning when the news breaks.

By lunch, datapads are discarded in favor of gossip. It’s as useless as the Imperial rags parading as official broadcasts—all speculation and slander.

While the details of the Mandalorians’ final stand for their homeworld circulate above, the stiff air of the lower complex is thick with the question: to whose barracks will the fallen king be assigned?

You know the answer. Your datapad had pinged early, much before your day should have begun. Much before the news went live across the galaxy.

Cell C-5 had been scrubbed clean on your perennially bruised knees the day before when Dup, a young Gungan whose face was bruised as if he’d already gone a round, had failed to return from the arena.

He had been brought in late the previous night, shaking and weeping and not speaking a lick of Basic. Those were the hardest. There was no comfort, no preparation, no honor you could give them.

He didn’t return after his first battle.

It was the way of things. Many never saw a second sunrise.

As caretaker for Barrack Cresh, whether your fighters eat, drink, bathe, get medical attention and fresh clothing, or, well, anything, falls on you.

So you stocked C-5 with the basics, but the Mandalorian King’s file is barren when your clearance arrives. You bristle at the lack of biodata. How are you supposed to provide proper clothing or order his dinner?

It becomes obvious when he arrives that evening.

You’re not.

It’s past curfew when they bring him in, and normally, you’d be in bed. But one of yours had come back a few minutes earlier from the medbay and you know the state they usually return in, so you’re in C-2 with the door shut.

The ex-Rebel pilot, Gino, doesn’t argue as you dab the shallow cuts on his face with an alcohol swab, but he does flinch when you tug the split skin on his calf together like a stubborn bedsheet to apply suture tape. They had used just enough bacta for his serious injuries and left the rest to bleed.

“Sorry,” you hiss, but it’s lost in the pneumatics of the door.

Gino is on his feet immediately, shushing you with a finger to his lips. You can’t risk being seen through the little window, so he minds your space as you flatten to the ground and peek through the delivery slot.

At first, all you can see are boots. So many boots. And among the shiny black rubber is the oddest pair of worn brown leather. It’s been so long since you saw anyone in shoes but the guards; your stomach churns with fear.

Gino taps at your head, and you let him help you up to peek once they’re past the cell.

It’s the Mandalorian. There are five of the Moff’s personal guards in their black kits restraining him, and they still have to jab him with an electrostave in order to shut the cell door fast enough.

He’s snarling, the modulator of his helmet warping and crackling the terrible cacophony. He’s also huge, and the strip of lights shines off his dark armor like someone took a handful of the night sky and smudged it across the wall of the cell.

You brush away the errant question of how much of his bulk is the armor and how much he comes by naturally. You’ll find out tomorrow, like everyone else.

The hype alone ensures a sold-out arena. The officers and their simpering spouses and sycophants are salivating for the battle—or at least for the profits.

The headlines fill seats to a swarming mass, everyone vying to see the latest and shiniest trophy.

He won’t be shiny for long.

Not after they strip away the beskar that protects one of—if not the last of—the “galaxy’s greatest warriors” and see if he’s worth anything underneath.

They don’t expect him to survive. They don’t want him to, really. They want to crush the will of any who would still defy the Empire. A very public, humiliating execution is the Moff’s wet dream.

The Mandalorian is gone before your morning rounds, dragged up to the arena’s cage to watch his fate play out on the faces of others. Either end is the same, really.

And if he survives, it won’t matter. Sure, prisoners can earn their freedom through a percentage of the money they bring in from wagers, or they can die trying.

But no fighter has made it out alive. Not even close.

You’re close, though. Not that you’re in an arena contract. But you’re nearing the end of the third year in a five-year indentured servitude sentence, and it carries a lower fatality rate.

Which isn’t saying much, really. It would be hard to have a higher fatality rate than the fighters.

There are twelve of you and ten barracks, not counting the fluctuating number of sponsored champions who have private accommodations.

Sixty standard fighters, never more or less as the sun rises.

Sometimes, you return to six empty cells.

Only once have you found your flock all home. You fell to your knees and cried right then, bringing acrid dread to a boil as you knew it would never, ever happen again.

Just three days ago, Din Djarin had stood in the grand hall at Keldabe, knowing it would be the last time.

It was still. Silent. Not yet in the chaos of war, but just on the edge, as when rainfall is a distant specter and the uneasiness cloisters in your lungs.

He takes in the art behind the throne with quiet reverence, eyes following the sharp lines and bold colors, the stories of their ancestors dutifully and beautifully eternalized.

The shame creeps up his neck again, but he shrugs it off. It will work. He’s known for his tight and effective strategy, and his advisors had agreed to the plan.

He only hoped the Ka’ra would accept his soul into the Manda all the same. That the blood of his brethren wouldn’t deny him the peace that he ached for.

He thinks once more of Grogu, breathes through the pain, and then clears his mind.

Turning from the throne, he strides to the grand windows—to Paz. With hands clasped behind his back, he follows his general’s focus to the TIE fighters breaking through the atmosphere.

Troopers are within the walls. The Destroyers won’t be long, now.

“Vod,” Din begins, angling toward Paz.

“Do not deal me the insult of an out,” Paz snaps.

“I would never,” Din says, throat cinching around the words. “It’s an honor to have you at my side.”

Paz dips his head. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, ner Mand’alor.”

Din knows he speaks true. Though they may not have always gotten along, they were still vod. Still loyal, until death.

Death they now stood on the brink of.

Outside, the fleet falls fast. Din grimaces as their ships careen to the surface and crush the city into crumbs. Fire spreads, and he has to pretend the homes are empty. That everyone got out in time.

The Empire assumes each Kom’rk-class fighter is full of Mandalorians waiting to drop into battle. They target them with glee, thinking they’ve devastated the sky and ground teams in one fell swoop.

But each ship has only a pilot. A pilot who climbed into the cockpit knowing they would certainly die. Willing to take the place of their vod.

Mando’ad draar digu. They will live on in him until he draws his last. More importantly, they will live on in their families, who—if he’s done anything right—will live far beyond him.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Din says.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Paz echoes.

They are to be the last words spoken to one another.

Inside the palace, the fight leaves no breath for such things. Not that they need it; their movements are fluid and equal.

It takes half the platoon to take Paz down and the other to take Din.

Unlike his vod, they do not grant him a warrior’s death.

In the arena, they’ve left him in the armor as he paces the cage. Every moment with it spurns the barb deeper in his gut, the terror turning terrifying as his rage becomes a tsunami.

The fights are nothing. The Imps who thought he’d be intimidated by them have clearly never seen an average Mandalorian brawl. These ended with a little more finality and a little less bickering over the winner, but the actual fighting? Mostly pathetic.

He doesn’t look upon them with scorn, though. These are beings stripped of all dignity, underfed, and devoid of hope. The Empire has ground them into the dirt beneath their glossy boots, and he expects that for many, death is a kindness.

In the end, he lets them take the beskar’gam from his bound body. They hold him, scanners at the ready, the whole of the galaxy waiting to witness his final defeat in real time. The giddy grins tell him what he already knows—they are certain this will break him.

He holds eye contact with Gideon just to see the shock that strikes him at Din’s defiance. He aches to smirk or snarl or sink his teeth into the man, but he won’t give him the satisfaction.

They don’t give them weapons for this fight. At least they’re being honest about their intentions.

Hand-to-hand combat with a Wookie should be a death sentence. Should be, for a lesser being. But the Mand’alor is far sharper than their blades could ever hope to be, and he wields his mind and body as expertly as he would a blaster.

Din doesn’t speak Shyriiwook. He wishes he did, for when he asks his opponent for their name, he fails to capture the response. It slips from his grasp, slick as his hands are from the Wookie’s blood.

Bare hands that have rarely dealt such tangible death. Dust stirred up from the struggle sticks to the thick, hot carnage. He’ll feel the give of the Wookie’s eyeballs under his thumbnails for days. The crack of his skull under Din’s knee, driven like a wedge into the soft cartilage, is at least slightly more familiar.

It’s not a long fight. After all, Din has something of which his opponent has long been deprived: something to live for.

The Mandalorian isn’t back by dinner drop-off, but your captain sent the cart loaded with a tray for him, so you dutifully set it on his cot atop the folded blanket.

There’s been no clean-up call, and the roster is empty. But you don’t have to wonder over his whereabouts for long.

In the servants' barracks—which are actually barracks and not a soft word for cellblocks—the reports are already underway.

Some of the attendants get to watch the fights. Or, rather, they have to, bound as they are to a single combatant. The mandated proximity is unforgiving, and no one likes to watch.

After all, there’s very little difference between you and the fighters. Instead, the attendants take on the solemn duty of letting the rest of you know how your residents fared or fell.

“He was a berserker,” Hali says in hushed whispers. “They took all that armor off, and he just looked like a man. A pretty man, but… just a man. But when it started, he moved so fast. It was over in, like, two minutes.”

“Shut up,” says Eli, your bunkmate. “He did not take down a Wookie in two minutes.”

“No, he really kriffing did,” hissed one of the new attendants whose name you hadn’t caught. “It was brutal. The whole arena went quiet. And he just stood there, covered in blood, looking at the crowd.”

“Okay, whose block is he in?” Eli demands. “Someone needs to spill now.”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“You haven’t said a kriffing word this whole time? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I only saw when they brought him in last night. He was still armored. And terrifying.”

“I saw him,” Hali says. “He was in the lounge.”

“They took him to the lounge after his first fight?” you say, jaw hanging open. The after-party was a grotesque performance, with sponsored fighters forced to smile pretty and play nice with their benefactors after a victory.

“No,” Hali’s face is grave. “They displayed him. They’ve chained him up next to his armor.”

You cover your mouth to stem the nausea. “No,” you hiss through your fingers. The disrespect hurts, raking through like a nexu claw to the chest, and you don’t even know the man.

Eli sets a hand on your knee from where he sits cross-legged beside you on the bottom bunk. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know,” you say. But he knows you, sees it written between your brows, and hears it in the crack of your voice.

It’s a weakness; you know it. It had been a strength back home. Every single being that passes through your barrack doesn’t have long. The small hall of cells is a port, and you are the ferryman. Knowing each of them for the last scant moments has only made you love harder and faster.

To try and ease a soul’s journey is a burden you have always chosen to bear.

Come morning, sure as the stars, your cells are full. The Mandalorian is not the only new face—there’s a humanoid woman in C-1, too. The Klatoonian had been gone before the noon bell prior, and his cell cleaned by your hands within the hour after. Ovesu had survived four battles over ten days, but no trace of him remains now.

You start with her, Reen Sala of Drall. She’s on the roster for early afternoon, and you want to make sure she’s got food in her.

You tell her as much.

“Today? Already?” She wraps her fingers around the window bars, peering at you.

“Yes,” you say solemnly, sliding the tray through the slit at the bottom of the door. “Eat quickly. They’ll be coming to get you any minute. They’re going to take you up and prepare you and make you watch the day’s first battles.”

She has a steadiness to her eyes and stock to her build, just enough to have a chance. When she begins to eat, her hands only shake slightly.

“Are you a farmer?” you ask, watching her broken, stubby fingernails wrap around the metal cup of water.

She nods, gulping down quickly to add, “Mostly grains. Eggs. Basics.”

You give her a wan smile, the image of her in a sun-soaked field behind your eyes. It would have to be enough. If she held on, maybe she could fill in the picture.

“Thought so. Me too. My parents have a grove on Hetzal,” you say.

You chat for a few minutes, exchanging tales of her chasing tipyip and you sneaking honeyfruit and shuula during harvest.

“Good luck,” you murmur when you finally step away.

You don’t linger with Disdraa, the Twi’lek in C-3. She took a nasty blow to the head yesterday, so you slide her tray in as quietly as possible, hoping she’ll steal some extra rest.

Which brings you to the Mandalorian. He has no other name in your database. A mistake, you wonder, or an erasure?

When you knock on his door, you keep your eyes downcast. The decision you made in the lift was impulsive, but clear. He will have this respect here, if nowhere else.

“Good morning,” you say.

It’s silent.

You slide the tray under the door. “Do you need anything?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll be back this evening if you think of something.”

Din rolls his eyes in the dark room. Does the quiet, simpering little act really work on the other prisoners? He vaguely considers rejecting the tray just to irritate you.

But he’s a Mandalorian. He doesn’t give in to petty spite when survival is on the line. He has battles to win and to do so, he must eat.

The food is bland but nutritionally complex, so if he keeps up a routine, he should be able to maintain his strength. He’s already run through and decided the optimal calisthenics and body weight routines he can do in the confines of his quarters.

He’s not stupid enough to think all the fights will be so quick or easy. The only benefit, and he’s unwilling to call it that, of not having his armor is that he’s so much faster.

He’ll get out.

He has a promise to keep.

When the Death Star fell three years ago, it took nearly the entire Rebel Alliance with it. The rest were scattered in the ash. And when the Empire barely flinched, the Mandalorians knew their time was running out.

With one loss notched on their belt already, they would have to strike swift and sure.

And so Din’s life as the rebel liaison began.

When he went to Gideon’s cruiser, he had no backup. Technically, no one even knew where he was. But espionage and false diplomacy took too long, purged time they did not have. And he wasn’t going to get another chance to try.

He lost the intel in the skirmish but gained a sword he knew not how to wield, a title he knew not how to bear, and a son he knew not how to raise.

The guards come for Reen, forcing you to finish your deliveries in a tense, silent two minutes.

She doesn’t come back. You paint her picture that night while her soft face and sun-streaked sangria widow’s peak are still fresh in your mind. It, as with most of your books, is stained with errant tears.

Eli had convinced you to keep the ones you ruined with grief, when you first began, desperate not to forget.

“It’s just more proof they were alive if they were also mourned,” he said, flipping reverently through the pages.

It goes against the practice, but it’s not even the most egregious way you’ve had to compromise, so you let it go. This is not the Hall. You have no easels, no canvas, no priestess.

You wonder who’s taken over your space, who they plucked from the apprentices to take over the memorials.

The pictures are small, stacked across the page like a quilt. Most of them have a name, maybe an age, maybe a planet, inked into the corners.

It's certainly not the scale you’re accustomed to, and your colors are limited to the pigments you can press from your dinner, unblessed and unpurified, but you make do.

You never paint them while they still live, not wanting to tether their souls to the pages while they have a chance. But they are yours, and so you will take the burden of remembering from their souls.

“Tray, please,” you say after knocking on the Mandalorian’s door that evening. He’s slow to respond, but you don’t mind. It’ll be a bit before he gets accustomed to the routine, if he makes it that long.

Most don’t.

It grates against the floor when he kicks it out, and you exchange it for the full tray of dinner.

“Do you need anything?”

Silence.

“Okay, have a good night.”

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s the way of things. Some of the beings who come through never speak a word to you. It doesn’t change your loyalty or your duties.

Din is determined to puzzle you out. Why the farce? Everyone else he’s encountered is open in their disgust and amusement. He’s a novelty, a prize, a disgrace. What purpose does your feigned care serve?

“—dining with us tonight?” calls the inmate to his right in C-3.

You make a show of rolling your eyes, taking the last two trays from the cart. You slide one to the Twi’lek who had spoken.

“Depends. Are you going to behave?” you say.

“I always behave,” the fighter lies.

You seem to laugh, just a silent huff of amusement, and sit down with your back against the wall between the two cells.

He can’t see you from here, but he can hear snippets of you making light conversation between bites.

Something you say gets a lighthearted rise from the Devaronian in C-4 across the hall.

“Old? You want to talk about being old?” he booms.

C-3 groans. “Don’t get him started, come on.”

You laugh. “—else to bitch about. I’m saving— trouble.”

“…that I should suffer your disrespect,” C-4 is trying to say over you.

“Yeah, yeah, Vrar, you’re a terrifying grumpy—,” you tease.

A pause. A murky mumble from C-2.

“—you, Mandalorian? How old—?” You ask, tearing a chunk off your bread roll and popping it in your mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

After you leave, it grows quiet. A few moments pass, as if he was just waiting for you to get out of hearing range, before Vrar speaks up.

“Mando. You holding up? Any injuries?”

Din sits silently on his cot, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me. But can you be more respectful to the girl?”

If it’s bait, it works. “I don’t make a habit of being respectful to my captors.”

To his surprise, Vrar barks a hearty laugh. “Is that what you think? She’s a slave, Mando, same as the rest of us.”

Din feels hot guilt rise in his throat. “My mistake. I’ll do better.”

Vrar grunts his approval, and that’s that.

The next morning, when you ask if he needs anything, he tells you, “No, thank you,” in a soft but sure tone.

You straighten a little abruptly and try not to look shocked. “Okay. Good luck today,” you say, and move on. You’re pretty sure if you draw attention to it, he’ll never speak again.

You aren’t privy to the way things operate up top. All you know is that they take your fighters randomly, with at least one day between as a rest. Sometimes, it’s longer between fights.

But not for Mando. For the next two weeks, it’s every other day like clockwork. They’re capitalizing on his novelty, you think, but also hoping to wear him down.

Rumors tell you he’s become a quick crowd favorite. It should mean he has a shot at earning his freedom, but rumors also tell you he has the highest price on record.

They don’t want him free, and they don’t want someone to buy him.

No, they want him to die in the arena.

next chapter

thank you so much for reading! i live for your feedback, and i'm not above begging so if you have any thoughts pls let me know

*title from "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #gladiator!din #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x you #fic: live to rise

125 notes · View notes

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 1 year

Text

the first valentines day you spend as a katsuki's partner, you decide to buy him flowers. he wasn't the biggest fan of sweets and if he did eat chocolate it was in small portions and dark chocolate bc of the bitter taste. he always called people who buy special presents of people just because of a dumb love holiday pansies bc you should be able to buy your partner gifts any day of the year regardless of the occasion. at least, if you got him flowers and he ended up hating them, throwing them out wouldn't be that big of a waste.

he comes into his agency early in the morning getting ready for patrol, and all is normal when he leaves. when he comes back from his rounds, his secretary informs him that there's a gift that's been delivered sitting on his desk. absolutely confused, he goes into his office, unlatching his gauntlets on the way so that when he steps into his workplace privacy, he can just drop them off his arms.

he stops in his office threshold bc there sitting on his desk was a small bouquet of apple blossoms, daisies, and one large healthy lily. katsuki wasn't that well-versed in flowers, but he knew that these definitely weren't in season.

making his way over to his desk, he noticed a small card with his name on it slotted into a small plastic holder among the blooms that he plucked out. he flopped himself down into his desk chair and began to read. there wasn't much aside from the floors he received, their meanings, and a short message in a neat script he didn't recognize.

Apple Blossoms- i prefer you before all Daisies- i love you truly Lily- my love is pure -Happy Valentines Katsuki! I hope these don't smell too sweet for you xoxo

the prohero glanced at the small desk calendar he sat on the corner of his workspace and then looked back at the bouquet. he called you not long after reading the small card and you sounded absolutely giddy when you picked up.

"did they get there alright?" you ask as he looks over the assortment for the umpteenth time. he hums in approval. "good, i was worried they'd wilt or something on the delivery route."

"you didn't have to you know."

"i wanted to. for all the hard work you do, you deserve a treat. plus, who doesn't like getting flowers from time to time, right?" you purposely left out the fact it was valentines day, even though you mentioned it in your note. still, he chuckled at your innate nature to be so damn cute.

he's quiet for a while and you're afraid they aren't exactly to his taste. then you heard his desk chair move before he's shuffling around for something in his desk drawer.

"katsuki?"

"clear your schedule tomorrow."

"i mean i can no problem, but what for?"

"because i said so, dummy."

you laugh at him and talk with him a bit more before you had to let him get back to his job. for the rest of his shift before his next patrol round, he spent a lot of time thumbing the soft petals of his flowers and rereading their meanings.

the next day when you make it over to his place like he said, you can't help but notice the familiar bouquet sitting in a beautiful vase you hadn't seen before on his kitchen island.

"glad you like them"

"you gave them to me. 'course i do"

hugging his back as he makes you dinner, you giggle to yourself at the backs of his ears and how red they are.

-x-x-x-

a/n: i just really wanted an excuse to write katsuki getting flowers and being kinda bashful abt it hehe - p.s. i didn't proofread this and flower meanings may not be accurate bc i didn't do any kind of extensive research soz

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x y/n #bakugou headcanons #bakugou scenarios #bakugou katsuki #bakugou valentines fic #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #boku mo hero academia #boku no hero academia bakugou #my hero academia bakugou #my hero academia

946 notes · View notes

turtlecleric · 3 months

Text

Bay!Mikey x Reader, angst? It's pining idiots time. Idk I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open but I wanted to do something for V Day

---

By the time you make it home, you're exhausted and ready to pass the fuck out. After a much-needed shower, you collapse onto the couch and put something on the tv for noise. Despite how dead tired you feel, it's not late enough to actually think about sleep yet. Besides, sleeping this early would be a waste of your very limited, very precious free time. Still, you don't really feel like doing much of anything, so you proceed to stare at the ceiling while some random sitcom fills your living room with quips and laughter that you don't really hear.

You're just starting to consider saying fuck it and going to bed anyway when there's a knock at your door.

You groan as you push yourself up. A little annoyed. A little confused. Those feelings don't go away when you open the door to see a stranger holding up a plastic bag with the logo from your favorite sushi place.

“Delivery,” the guy says in a bored tone, pushing the bag into your hands.

“Uh.” You glance down at the food, then back up at the guy. “I didn't order any-”

“Already paid for. Says it's for,” he peers down at his phone for a moment, and he grimaces a bit. “...Angelcakes.”

Your eyebrows raise at that. Mikey bought you food? Why?

The guy heaves a sigh, then leaves without another word. He's not having a very good Valentine's Day, you think to yourself. Then again, until now, you weren't either. It's just another day in your world. Just another day filled with too much work and not enough time. You had honestly been planning on just skipping dinner altogether.

Mikey. Coming in clutch. Again. It makes you smile, that he thought of you. But, to be fair, he always makes you smile.

Damn it.

You retreat back into your apartment and pull out several containers with various sushi rolls. A lot of rolls, actually. Like, more than you could ever hope to eat by yourself.

A second knock pulls your attention, though this time it comes from your window. Ah. That tracks.

You let Mikey in and immediately get swept up in a hug that lifts your feet off the floor. He sways you from side to side in his arms, pulling a laugh out of you before putting you down, and his smile is like a balm on your soul.

“Mikey!” You feign sternness, jabbing the center of his plastron with a finger. “You should've told me you ordered food! What if I had picked something up? Or started cooking?”

He snorts at that, pushing your finger to the side with one large hand. “You said you were swamped at work. It's gotta be really bad for you to actually admit how busy you are. You always skip dinner when that happens. Can't have my Angel wasting away.” He winks down at you and heads for the couch, already opening a container of sushi and stuffing a bite into his mouth. He turns back to you, talking around his mouthful. “Especially on Valentine's Day!”

His tone is light, like it always is, but the words make you pause. The fact that he knows you that well. That an offhand text you sent that morning led him to do this for you. It has a swell of fondness growing in your chest, and you feel yourself soften. He really is such a good guy. Such a good friend.

Friend, you remind yourself bitterly. Just a friend.

He must sense something shift in your mood, because his grin falls. You see his brow creasing, a worried frown tugging at his lips. “You okay, Angel?”

You take a slow breath before fixing your smile back in place. “Just tired, Mikes.” You join him on the couch, pulling a container into your lap and avoiding his gaze. You need to squash this stupid sadness that's got its claws in you. This stupid… yearning for something you can never have. “...Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

He's quiet for a moment. Then he grabs a piece of sushi and holds it out, like he's holding a glass and wants you to clink yours against his. It makes your smile real again, and you pick up your own piece to comply.

“Cheers, babe.” The nickname makes your chest squeeze, but you push the feeling down so he doesn't see.

“Cheers.”

The two of you eat in comfortable silence as the show plays. It doesn't take long for you to polish off all the rolls with Mikey's help, and you lay down with your head pillowed on his leg like you've done a million times before. His fingers find your hair and start to brush through, pulling a contented sigh from your lungs. His hand in your hair, his steady breathing, just his presence. It's soothing in a way you'll never be able to fully explain, and soon you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

Halfway through the next episode, you realize he's… uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Not rambling or cracking jokes. Not even laughing at the show - and Mikey loves this show. He's the one who introduced it to you in the first place.

You're so tired, so close to falling asleep right there with your head on his lap, but you manage to push through the heavy blanket of exhaustion and speak.

“What are you thinking about,” you slur. The feeling of his hands lightly scratching your scalp is making it hard to focus. Hard to think.

His hand falters for a long moment. Then it continues, but he doesn't answer. Time weaves around you, and you try to keep your eyes open but you can't. You can't. You feel yourself drifting, falling into the waiting embrace of sleep, and it's only then that you think you hear his voice. But it's… different. Sad. More serious than you've ever heard him. And surely you're dreaming? Surely this is just your mind playing tricks?

“Would you be my valentine,” his voice whispers. “If I asked, would you… would you be mine?”

A lovely dream, you think to yourself.

---

Mikey watches you sleep, still brushing a hand through your hair. You're so beautiful. And he is so, so afraid.

“Would you be mine?” he whispers into the air. "Would you?"

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch

#turtlecleric scrolls #bay!mikey #i got this done juuust before midnight #it still counts right?#in about to pass the fuck out good night sorry for this I'm. so goddamn eepy and my eyes are so very blurry #I'm*

83 notes · View notes

moodymelanist · 3 months

Text

Now That Your Rose is in Bloom

happy day 2 of @sjmromanceweek everyone! Elucien won in my poll so I had to make sure to get to them <3 title from Seal's Kiss From A Rose for... obvious reasons haha.

it's been a long, long time since I've written Elucien so apologies in advance if this is ooc or what have you. but I hope y'all enjoy!!

Summary: Lucien buys Elain a bouquet of flowers for each year they've been together.

Word Count: 2,385

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Elain

Valentine’s Day dawned bright and early in the Archeron-Vanserra townhouse, and Elain groaned as the sound of Lucien’s alarm woke her up. She didn’t have to be up for at least another hour, but he had to be at work by eight instead of nine today, hence her sleep being interrupted.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Munchkin,” Elain heard Lucien say. She mumbled something incoherent back and fell asleep to the sound of his low laughter, snuggling further into the pillows as he quietly got ready for work.

When she woke up again, Lucien was already gone for the day. Elain didn’t fully wake up until she was five minutes into her shower, and the only thing keeping her going was the promise she’d made to herself that coffee was coming soon. Once she was moisturized and her skincare routine was done, she put on a pink sweater to be festive. She loved big holidays like Valentine’s Day, but she was also a grad student. There was only so much energy she could spare, especially when she knew she’d need it for whatever Lucien had planned for today.

Elain and Lucien had been dating for just over five years now, and around their second year together, Lucien had come up with a little tradition for Valentine’s Day: one bouquet of flowers for every year they’d been together. It hadn’t been so bad in the early days of their relationship, but now that they lived together and were talking about spending the rest of their lives together, things had gotten a little… out of hand.

Lucien had never missed a birthday, anniversary, or Valentine’s Day, and he clearly wasn’t going to start now. There was a modest bouquet waiting for Elain when she walked downstairs to make herself some breakfast, a mix of pink, red, and white flowers brightening up their counter as they waited to be noticed.

Even though she’d known it was coming, that didn’t stop Elain from smiling as she read the little card waiting beside the vase. This one had a gnome on the front and said Valentine, there’s gnome-one like you!

She laughed as she opened the card to reveal Lucien’s familiar, prep-school handwriting. Happy Valentine’s Day, Elain, he’d written. I love you more than I can possibly explain. Yours, Lucien.

“Always the romantic,” Elain murmured fondly to herself. She gently placed the card back in its original spot and snapped a quick picture before opening up a new text to her boyfriend.

Elain Archeron, 7:57 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Stop trying to one-up me so early in the day, Lucien!

Lucien Vanserra, 7:58 AM

Why, is it working? ;-)

Elain snorted and put her phone away, focusing on getting through the rest of her morning routine instead of going back and forth with him. She had a quick breakfast, packed her lunch, and made it out the door on time for once. There thankfully wasn’t a lot of traffic for once, and she got lucky while looking for parking, so by the time she strolled into the biology building it was shaping up to be a wonderful day.

“Hey Elain,” Nuala, one of the other grad students in Elain’s program, greeted her as she walked into the graduate office. She and her twin were both students here, though Cerridwen hadn’t yet made an appearance yet. “There’s a delivery waiting for you at your desk.”

“Thanks,” Elain replied. She made a quick pit stop at the fridge to drop off her lunch before circling back to her desk, her jaw dropping at the bouquet waiting for her. “Oh my God.”

“Lucien strikes again?” Cerridwen asked from behind Elain, finally making her appearance this morning. She walked over to Elain’s desk and made appropriately impressed noises at the bouquet and accompanying card. “Wow. He’s really not playing around this year.”

“He’s ridiculous,” Elain answered. Judging from the sound of the twins’ chuckles, neither of them quite believed her. “He does this every year!”

“Trust me, we know,” Nuala responded with another laugh. “How do you think he gets them past security?”

“By batting his eyelashes and flirting with whoever’s at the front desk,” Elain fired back without missing a beat. “We’ve been together a long time. Trust me, I know all of his tricks.”

“No wonder he got so good at them,” Cerridwen teased. She winked at Elain before heading back over to her desk, her long, dark braids swinging behind her as she did. “Guess you two got in a lot of practice!”

Once Cerridwen left for her desk, Nuala wasn’t far behind. Elain let the sounds of the rest of the biology department trickling in fade into background noise as she reached for her second card of the day, this one with a picture of an orange cat on the front. The caption read, You had me at meow!

Elain flipped open the card to reveal another few lines of Lucien’s handwriting. You’re purrr-fect for me, Elain. Love, Lucien.

Elain Archeron, 9:13 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] It’s barely 9 am!!!

Lucien Vanserra, 9:14 AM

What can I say? You’re all that I knead 😻

Elain shook her head fondly before she pulled up her schedule for today, looking forward to TAing classes and working on her own research. She responded to a few emails and set some reminders for herself before grabbing her backpack and heading upstairs for her first class of the day, and by the time she made it back downstairs to the grad office for lunch, there was yet another bouquet waiting for her at her desk.

“He’s really stepping it up this year,” Cerridwen said once Elain got back to her desk, already nodding with approval. Nuala wasn’t in the office, so it was just the two of them for now, a reversal of this morning when Elain had first arrived. “Two bouquets in one day? Sheesh.”

“You know he does one for every year we’ve been together,” Elain replied, smiling as she gently brushed her fingers across the pink and white peonies. “I have two bouquets to go before I’m done for the day.”

“You did tell me that.” Cerridwen sighed wistfully from her desk. “Does he have any sisters?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Elain answered. “He’s one of seven boys, if you can believe it.”

“Jesus. His poor mother.”

“You can say that again.”

They fell into comfortable silence after that, Cerridwen going back to whatever she was working on while Elain reached for the card. This one was science-themed and pulled a soft laugh out of her the second she read it; the front had a molecule on the front and said, We’ve got a strong bond!

Happy Valentine’s Day, (almost) Dr. Archeron, Lucien had written. We’ve got some awesome chemistry!

Elain pulled out her phone to take another picture and sent it to Lucien immediately.

Elain Archeron, 12:23 PM

[Attachment: 1 Image] I’m not a chemist, you dork

Lucien Vanserra, 12:25 PM

Doesn’t matter

You should change your name to Enzyme the way you make me react

Elain rolled her eyes, quickly taking another picture — this time, of herself looking annoyed — before sending it over to him. He’d made that joke every single time Elain reminded him that she was in a biology program, not a chemistry one, but it didn’t stop him from making it anyway.

Elain Archeron, 12:26 PM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Can you feel my disappointment.

Lucien Vanserra, 12:28 PM

I’d much rather feel something else 😈

Elain hoped no one had seen her choke on her leftover spaghetti and meatballs as she read her boyfriend’s text. Cheeks pink, she quickly texted him back while trying not to die getting her food to go down the right pipe.

Elain Archeron, 12:29 PM

Don’t start with me I have office hours at 1!! Let me enjoy my lunch in peace you scoundrel

Lucien Vanserra, 12:30 PM

That’s 30 minutes from now, Elain Don’t be like that

Elain Archeron, 12:30 PM

GOODBYE, Lucien

Lucien just sent back a series of laughing emojis, so Elain rolled her eyes and went back to finishing her lunch in relative peace. Once her break was over, it seemed like the rest of the day flew by, between meeting with a few students for office hours, working on a study guide to distribute to her sections, and grading some quizzes she’d meant to finish last week.

Elain startled as someone knocked on her desk, looking up to find Cerridwen fixing her with a look. “Elain, get out of here already.”

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Elain replied. A quick glance at the time showed it was already 4:30, and if she wanted to get home in time to bake Lucien something sweet, she knew she needed to get a move on. “I just have a few left—”

“Come on, you know Thesan won’t care,” Cerridwen insisted. Thesan was one of the professors they both worked with, and he was well known for his more relaxed vibe in the biology department. “Just finish them up tomorrow and come on already.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Elain agreed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Twist my arm.”

Cerridwen waited for Elain to finish packing up her things, and then the two of them were off to the garage. With Cerridwen’s help, they managed to get the two bouquets to Elain’s car without dropping anything, which was a minor miracle as far as Elain was concerned. Once they got off the elevator onto Elain’s floor, Elain somehow got her keys out without jostling anything too badly, and she almost didn’t notice the bouquet of red roses already inside until Cerridwen made a surprised noise.

“Oh my God,” Elain said incredulously once she noticed there was somehow another bouquet inside her car. “That sneaky motherfucker!”

Cerridwen gently laid the bouquet she was holding down on the backseat while Elain went to investigate the roses in the passenger seat. “He’s smooth as hell, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s ridiculous is what he is,” Elain replied, laughing off her surprise. “How did he even know where I parked!”

“He probably drove around looking for your car,” Cerridwen suggested. “Now that’s a keeper.”

“That he is,” Elain agreed. There wasn’t a card to go with this one, so Elain shrugged and put the rest of her stuff in the backseat with the other two bouquets. “You want me to give you a ride to your car?”

“No, I’m okay,” Cerridwen responded. She waggled her eyebrows as she added, “I don’t want to interrupt however you’re going to thank him when you get home.”

“Goodbye, Cerridwen,” Elain told her, ignoring the way Cerridwen was laughing at her pink cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cerridwen was still laughing as she turned and started walking back toward the elevator. “See you tomorrow, Elain. Enjoy your V-Day!”

Elain managed to make it home in one piece, and thankfully no other surprises were waiting for her when she got through the door. She had to make two trips to carry the ridiculous amount of flowers Lucien had gotten her inside, and since the stems had already been cut, she made quick work of finding vases to put them all in.

From there, she got started on dinner and dessert. Lucien may have been a sneaky wizard when it came to leaving her flowers, but Elain was a true mastermind when it came to the kitchen. She’d been planning this meal for at least two weeks, and it felt good to finally put her plans into action. She poured a lot of love into her Marry Me chicken — aptly named, if you asked her — but the real star of the show was the lava cakes she was making from scratch. She’d been secretly testing the recipe out and she prayed tonight wasn’t going to be the night things went wrong.

Of course it wasn’t. She was just that good.

By the time Elain looked up at the time, she realized Lucien was probably going to be home in the next couple of minutes, so she ran to the bathroom to quickly freshen up. She made it downstairs just in time to see the lock turning in the door, and even though she’d long since gotten used to the sight of her boyfriend coming home, it still sent a happy little shiver up her spine every time he came home to her.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Elain called out the second Lucien got through the front door. Lucien was waiting for her with a final bouquet, the sheer amount of roses stuffed into this one making it a little difficult to see his handsome face over the tops of the flowers. “Lucien!”

“My love knows no bounds, Elain,” Lucien said back, setting the frankly ridiculous bouquet down on the coffee table so he could wrap her up in a warm embrace instead. “Mhmm, I missed you today. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” she replied. Her voice was a little muffled from where her face was pressed against his chest, but neither of them minded. “How the hell did you get flowers into my car?”

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets,” he answered, pulling away so he could steal a kiss instead. He tasted like chocolate, and she hoped it was a sign he’d enjoy his dessert tonight. “But if you must know… I took the emergency key and drove around looking for where you parked.”

“Of course you did,” she responded, shaking her head fondly. She reached onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, savoring the way his eyes crinkled around the edges as she did. “Come on, Mr. Romantic. I made us dinner and dessert.”

“It smells amazing in here,” he told her. He was still holding onto her, one of his warm hands sliding under the hem of her sweater to touch the small of her back, and suddenly she wasn’t quite thinking about the same kind of dessert. “Can I send my compliments to the chef?”

Their food was a little cold by the time they made it to the table, but that was alright. Elain wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would Lucien.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #acotar #acosf #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #moodymelanistwrites #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #pro elucien

65 notes · View notes

avatarmerida · 4 days

Note

We're getting skater girl part 2?!?! I'm so excited!

Actually it's Part 3! You can find part 1 here and part 2 here

aaaaaaand here's part three:

Hunter usually got to school early anyway, but Monday morning he was there before Bump had even unlocked the door.

He had hardly slept, which wasn’t terribly new, but this type of anxiety didn’t just make him scared he was also a little… excited?

Friday night played over and over in his mind. During breakfast and his chores and his collection of endless lessons, his mind wandered back to the school steps. He stood at the bottom of the stairs at the edge of where the shadows started, looking at her like she was the only light that could cast them. One second they were just standing there and he got to see just how green her eyes were up close and the next he was kissing Willow.

He kissed Willow.

He had been impulsive, he still wasn’t sure if it technically broken school policy but he didn’t care? But he also cared a lot? But not about policy for once, no he cared about what it actually meant. He knew things happened at dances that would not happen otherwise, things people hoped for, things that happened impulsively under the guise of the flashing lights. Things people came to regret come Monday morning.

He knew his moment with Willow had been two of these, but he hoped it wouldn’t try for all three.

When she had gotten him to his house with plenty of time to spare they were a collection of muffled laughter as they tried to keep quiet. Normally, he’d be anxious about what his uncle would say, but Willow made him feel safe. When Willow touched him, it activated a bubble. It was like the pressure of his position, the weight of every expectation was gone because they were too fast for it to catch up. Even when they were standing still, if he was near her it still felt like flying.

“Thank you again,” he said once his house was in sight.

“No problem,” she said as she caught her breath. They would’ve gotten here in time with her usual speed, but she had gone faster to try and impress Hunter. The fact that the faster she went, the tighter he held onto her was just an added bonus. “I think I set a new personal record.”

“Cool,” he said, equally as breathless for a different reason. “Happy to help.”

They stood there as the autumn air hung between them, both in and out of their element. He wanted to say more but he didn't know what else there was to say. He was still a little embarrassed, a little confused, but being in her arms he felt like those problems could wait for him on the ground. But the realist in him knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Granted, he knew he could probably stay here awhile; she was pretty strong.

But he didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

“Um, Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“You can uh, put me down now,” he chuckled nervously, a part of him not wanting to say anything. Willow blushed at the realization that she was still holding him.

“Oh yeah, of course,” she said with a matching chuckle as she gently set him down. She playfully brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Another successful delivery.”

“Heh, yeah,” Hunter said with a faint smile, kicking the ground knowing he had a few minutes to spare and not wanting to leave her just yet.

She fiddled with her braid, sharing the feeling.

“It’s a nice night,” she sighed, looking up at the night sky. “You can see the stars out here. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, really beautiful,” he breathed, looking at her looking at the sky. She smiled, feeling his eyes on her as they listened to the crickets chirp.

Hunter knew if it wasn’t for him, Willow would be back at the school laughing and dancing and having the night she deserved. Now she had to skate home in the dark by herself and probably be late for her own curfew. How was he worth all that trouble?

“Willow, I need to apologize,” he said softly.

“You’ve apologized like twelve times already,” said Willow. “Hunter, I promise I’m not upset with you, you know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

He could tell she was trying to take it easy on him.

“It’s just… I still feel really bad for yelling at you,” he admitted.

“Oh stop, you yell at me all the time,” she reminded him.

Not like that, he thought. Never like that.

“And also for making you miss the dance.” He said, realizing he had a long list of things to apologize for. “I mean I know how much you were looking forward to it and you didn’t even get to dance-.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” she assured him, waving her hand. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have too much luck dancing in skates anyway.”

“Yeah but if I wasn’t such a jerk then maybe we could have gone together properly and you could have worn dancing shoes and a dance dress-.”

“‘A dance dress?’” Willow repeated with a giggle. “What’s a ‘dance dress?’”

“You know, like a fancy formal dress for a dance,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

“Hmm, so you wanna see me in a fancy formal dress for a dance huh?” she teased.

He blushed. “I just want you to have the night you deserve,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “You deserve to be in the gym with all your friends having fun, not doing favors for me.”

“Hunter, I promise you more than made up for it,” she said with a smirk. “I had a wonderful night.”

“Really? How?” She had spent her whole night babysitting, then getting accused of Boscha’s lies, and then running home to help him. She had spent her whole night helping other people

“Because I got to spend it with you,” she said simply. “And that’s all I really wanted anyway.”

In this small serene moment outside all the chaos, Willow’s words caught up to him: I’ve had a crush on him for awhile now…

Did that count as a confession? Did he need something more direct or in writing to confirm that he hadn’t imagined or misheard her. Because it didn’t quite add up that this dizzy, silly, floating feeling that he had for Willow was returned. Even more unbelievable was that he hadn’t blown it. He had wanted to impress her, to be a perfect gentleman but even when she saw the side of him he wasn’t proud of, she still stayed. What had he done to earn such affection?

He thought about kissing her again. They were far from school and there were no rules stopping him now, just nerves. But he didn’t want to do it just because no one would see. He didn’t want her to think he was doing it because he was grateful she had gotten him home before his curfew. He couldn’t describe in plain words why he wanted to do it, but his heart beat loud in his ears as the memory flooded his mind again. Whatever that was, he wanted it again.

“Well maybe next time we can hang out when you don’t have to rescue me because I’m running late for something,” he attempted to joke.

“Well maybe I like rescuing you,” she teased, moving closer to him.

“Well maybe I like…” you he so desperately wanted to say. He wanted to show her how grateful he was for her, to know her, to be seen by her, to spend any amount of time with her. But again, it was complicated. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to like her but, like she was above and outside his world. She was a mystery and an open book at the same time, like a contradiction mixed with a shooting star.

“…being rescued?” She offered.

Did he like being swooped into her arms and whisked away like his troubles were a physical thing he could run from? Maybe more than he should. Being rescued implied inconveniencing someone, burdening them with his troubles. But with Willow it felt like being noticed, being cared for. Oh, she could rescue him anytime she wanted to.

“I just… uh… thank you. I know I’m not always the warmest or friendliest person but I’ve always thought you were so kind and patient and beautiful and I’m just not used to someone-”

He was cut off by her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides as her face rested against his chest.

“Uh… w-what’s going on?” He asked. “N-not that I’m complaining I just don’t-.”

“I wanna help you get used to it,” she said. “Because I think you are a very warm and friendly person, even if you don’t think so.”

She didn’t mention that he had so casually called her beautiful, she kept that fact in her back pocket for a rainy day.

“Well, I-I think you’re very… uh…”

“Beautiful?” she teased, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him mischievously. Okay, so maybe a rainy day didn’t have to be so far in the future.

“Yeah,” he said, knowing he couldn’t believably deny it and frankly he didn’t want to. Something in her eyes hypnotized him and allowed him to move his arms around her back. The moving of his arms led her to naturally move hers up around his neck as they both gravitated towards each other. Normally being so close to her and being so quiet would make him nervous, but this somehow felt natural and calming.

“Ya know this kinda feels like we’re slow dancing,” Willow observed with a smile.

“Yeah I uh guess so,” Hunter replied with a nervous chuckle as she adjusted her grip on his neck. He could not wrap his head around that this was how she had wanted to spend the night originally, that he didn’t see it sooner. That he had held himself back from believing it could be something she’d want with him.

He didn’t know how to dance but he felt like that didn’t matter now.

When he first allowed himself to entertain the idea of going to the dance with her, he tried to imagine a grand, romantic evening. He knew little about romance but felt the word suited her very being, romance was supposed to be whimsical and spontaneous and exciting which she effortlessly was. But he was organized and calculated and skeptical which maybe didn’t have to clash which made it hard for him to see what she saw in him. Would he have known to hold her like this under the flashing lights and loud music barely covering the whispers of their peers? Would he have known how to keep the conversation going, known the right thing to say, known how to tell if things were going well?

But maybe just trying was enough.

“Maybe you can work your magic at the next student council meeting to see if we can push up the next dance,” she said, her voice a mixture of humor and genuine hope. He hadn’t totally blown it and he wasn’t blowing it now, though he didn’t fully understand how.

“Maybe,” he said. Oh, he would pull strings, pull rank, pull in any argument he could to make it so. He wanted to show her he was capable of showing her the time she deserved. He felt he owed her so much. Why couldn’t he say more? “It’ll give me time to practice so I actually know what I’m doing.”

“Well I’d be happy to help you practice,” she said and Hunter realized they had started to slightly sway. He intended to practice in order to impress her when the time came so he wouldn’t want her to see his awkward progress but something in her voice made him suspect she knew that but was implying something more. He tried to match her tone.

“Luckily I’m a fast learner,” he said, smoother than he had ever said anything in his life. He demonstrated by focusing all of his courage to pull her closer and skillfully lean her into a small dip. Her grip on him tightened, but not for fear he’d drop her. She let out a light giggle as her eyes locked down the way the streetlights above framed his head like a halo and how natural it looked resting in his golden hair. She held her breath, thinking about kissing him again. Thinking so hard she swore he could hear her thoughts as he leaned in closer.

Then out of the corner of their sight a light went on that stopped them dead in their tracks.

“Oh no,” Hunter whispered. “My uncle is awake.”

Without thinking Willow shifted her weight and knocked Hunter off his feet and brought them both down to the ground, out of sight in case his uncle happened to look out the window. She covered his mouth to prevent his sounds of surprise from giving them away.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll get you inside so he doesn’t know you’ve been out.”

“But how?” Hunter whispered back, too focused on his panic to process their position on the ground which would normally leave him flustered. “I won’t be able to use the front door because he uses the chain lock.”

“Can you climb through a window maybe?”

“Probably, but I’m not sure I can do it without him hearing.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Willow assured. “I said I’d get you home and that’s what I’m gonna do. Let me handle distracting your uncle.”

Hunter’s heart sank, he knew his uncle was a stern and cold man and he didn’t want Willow to have to endure such energy on his behalf. “But you’ve already done so much for me, I can’t ask you to-.”

“Hey now,” she cut him off by pressing his finger to his lips. “I like being your knight in shining armor, okay? Just leave it to me.”

“But what will you say? How are you gonna explain knocking on a door at 10pm?”

“Don’t worry, he won’t suspect I’m here to see you or anything” she assured him. “I’ll tell him I’m lost, that I’m looking for my aunt’s house or something. I’ll make something up and it’ll give you enough time to run upstairs.”

“Do you have a lot of experience sneaking into places?” Hunter gulped, trying to mix a compliment into his concern.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said playfully, moving her finger from his lips to boop his nose. Her confidence made him calm and he cracked a smile. “When you get inside safely, text me and I’ll head out.”

“But I don’t have your number.”

“Well it’s about time you asked for it then, isn’t it?” She smirked. “C’mere.”

She grabbed his hand as she fetched a marker for her skirt pocket, skillfully removing the cap with her teeth as she delicately wrote her phone number on his wrist. He watched with bated breath as she finished it with a tiny heart and he hoped she couldn’t hear his heart beating as his mind screamed at him that he would never be this cool.

“Wait like a minute and then make your way to the back, okay?” Willow instructed as she recapped the marker. She leapt back onto her feet as she dusted the dust from her blouse. “I won’t leave until you text me.”

“Okay,” he whispered from the ground, now in awe of the halo that found her. “And uh, w-what should I text you?”

“Send me a heart,” she said with a wink before taking off to the door. He watched her through the sheaves in the bushes, wondering how she continued to out-wonderful herself.

After a minute, he tiptoed around the house listening as Willow spun a tale of asking for directions unsure of the order of the numbers of the house she was looking for and color of the house. She kept going, giving his uncle no time to turn her away as she added to her fictional predicament. He stifled his laughter as he silently bolted up the stairs, marveling at the way she was able to make a normally panic inducing situation somewhat comical.

The minute he carefully closed his door, he dashed to quickly change] his clothes before diving beneath the covers to copy the numbers on his arm to text Willow the code. He agonized a minute over which heart to send her before deciding on the yellow one, so she would know for sure it was from him.

After another minute he received a green heart in response. He stared at them, hypnotized by them on the illustrated screen together as he tried to decide if it was appropriate to say something else. Maybe he was to only use her number for business purposes. He didn’t have much practice texting, he didn’t want to risk misusing an abbreviation or emoji so he decided on: let me kno w hen u get h.Ome sa fe

He didn’t fall asleep until another green heart appeared from her.

———

Hunter didn’t know what to do next. She somehow kept getting cooler and he felt like he was falling behind when it came to showing her another side of him. He had her number now but he felt as though whatever came next had to happen in person.

He didn’t want Darius (or even worse for his uncle) to hear him practice what he would say when he saw her so he knew getting to school early was his safest bet.

But he needed to be ready for every possibility.

If she was cool, he had to be cool:

Oh hey Willow, do anything… fun this weekend? He would say, leaning against the locker. He imagined she would look at him with sparkling, mischievous eyes as she offered a clever retort. Maybe she would giggle, believing his attempt at charm.

If she played it off, he would too:

Oh yeah, it was uh so random right? He would say, and she would brush her hair behind her ear or twirl the end of her braid. Like, that’s just dances, ya know? Craaazy haha

If she was mad, he would be mad:

Boscha had no right to try and drag your name through the mud. We should work together to try and get back at her in a way that doesn’t violate school policy or anyone’s privacy but also has us spend a lot of time together.

Hmm, that one might need some workshopping.

He could be nonchalant, he could be business as usual, but the one thing he didn’t want to be was regretful.

Because he wasn’t, and he hoped it wasn’t too much to hope she wasn’t too.

She had implied that she liked him, that she like-liked him. His mind wanted to trick him that she really meant something else but as much of a rule breaker as she was, she was not a liar. She didn’t tease him to be spiteful or cruel, she did it because she knew him. She knew he had a certain way of thinking and operating and speaking, so she had crafted a language just for them. As far as he knew she didn’t speak to anyone else like that, in a way that made his heart pause and pound and spin.

It took him awhile to accept that he liked her, but accepting it didn’t make it less confusing. He looked forward to seeing her everyday, and he liked things the way they were but lately she had been seeing him more, saying more, implying more. He didn’t know how to want more, he didn’t know what that looked like.

It was risky, but Willow was all about risks. So maybe he needed to take a risk.

Hunter heard the hustle and bustle start up in the hallway and knew Willow would be joining the masses any minute, and he wanted to be looking cool and proper when she did.

He imagined her skating down the hallway, her loose braids trailing behind her like a comet’s tail and she’d spot him leaning against the locker looking suave and confident and her mind would straw back to Friday night with fondness.

He took one last deep breath and prepared himself to enter the hallway, knowing he was losing time before the bell rang. But as he rushed into the hall, he bumped into someone and it sent him flying backwards onto the ground.

“Sorry!” He said as he tried to regain his balance to once again rise to his feet, but the faster he got up the faster he’d fall down again. “Sorry! I take full responsibility, I know I shouldn’t even be-.”

“Hunter?” A familiar voice asked and he stopped himself as he looked up to see Willow standing over him with a confused smile. She caught his eye as he looked up at his name and extended her hand to him, “Are you okay? I didn’t see you come out and I uh -wait, are you wearing skates?” “Willow! I uh- wait, are you not?” he said as he took her hand and she swiftly pulled him up. He rolled a bit but she caught him to keep him up.

“Oh, yeah,” she said as though she herself had forgotten. “I well, uh I thought we could walk to class together and I didn’t wanna be faster than you so I changed out of them before I came in today.”

“I uh, I had the same idea, actually,” he chuckled as he tried to keep his balance, but she instinctively placed her arm under his to keep him steady. He was extra tall now, towering over her without skates with the added height from his. Like a tree, a Willow and her tree.

“Oh, so does this mean skates are no longer against school policy?” she said sweetly.

“Oh no, they uh definitely are,” he said, fully in her embrace now.

“So you’re knowingly breaking school policy for me?” she asked. “Ooh, how romantic.”

He averted his eyes to the ground and Willow’s heart did a skip when she saw him struggle to find a clever comeback and instead found a vivid blush splashed across his face. She was glad that the events from Friday hadn’t changed her favorite part of their dynamic. In truth, that was the best response Hunter could have hoped for but as usual she stumped him.

“Uh, well I hope you don’t mind but after I dropped you off at your house I went back to the school and I picked up the flowers you… had,” she didn’t want to say ‘threw at my feet in hurt’ even though that technically was accurate. “And I spruced ‘em up. You picked a really nice selection.”

“Oh, uh thanks yeah,” he replied, secretly thankful she appreciated his efforts as he took notice of the arrangement in her other hand.”I uh… read a book about it once.”

“Cool,” she said, biting her lip like she was dying to say something. “So I uh, brought them because I thought they were really nice and if I had asked you to the dance like I wanted, well… I would’ve brought you flowers so I thought….”

“You brought these for me?” Hunter asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly flustered by her own actions. “But now I’m realizing I’m just giving you the same flowers you were going to give to me and that’s probably stupid so I’m sorry if I-.”

“It’s not stupid!” He said louder than he meant to. “I uh… thanks.”

Willow giggled as she handed them to him. “So, you were gonna give them to me, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah well when I thought you had… well I know it’s customary not to show up empty handed so I wanted to be prepared.”

“And you said you read a book about flowers?”

“Uh yeah maybe a few.”

“So you picked those particular flowers for a particular reason then?”

He gulped. He knew she knew what the flowers meant, he had hoped she would know but hearing her say it aloud made him nervous. He wasn’t going to take it back, wasn’t going to deny it but he had picked these particular flowers to say what he didn’t have another way to say.

“I guess I-I did yes.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Because I wanted to give them to you because they’re the same flowers I would have picked for you. Because I… have also read a few books about them.”

“Oh yeah well that figures since you’re in the gardening club and you-uh,” he looked from the transformed bouquet (not before noting she had added a few flowers of her own to enhance it) back to her looking as though she was waiting. She was waiting for him.

Waiting for him to understand why they’d buy the same flowers.

“Hunter, you know I like you, right?”

She said it so simply, so easily, so street-of-factly as though she was reminding him of the weather or day of the week. He had hoped everything was adding up but when he applied probability to the idea of Willow liking him he always left room for error. He was always 75% sure or 80% but never 100%. He knew his judgment was clouded by a selfish, confusing desire. He knew wanting wasn’t enough to make something so. But he didn’t know how else to turn the gamete, he didn’t see how just being himself was enough to win her over.

But somehow it was.

“I… suspected that maybe the feelings between us were… slightly more than platonic?” He said, unable to bring forth a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ because it just wasn’t simple for him, it just wasn’t. “That’s uh what the gardenias were meant to symbolize.” He wasn’t nearly as confident and cool and he had sought out to be, but that didn’t seem to bother Willow who was bouncing on her heels as the words bubbled up inside her, as though they couldn’t decide if she was about to fly away or burst as she delighted in his response and was eager to share more.

“So I was wondering if you’d want to come to my roller derby match later,” she said bashfully. “I know it’s kind an unusual date since we can’t really talk while I’m skating and it’s a little loud so I don’t know if you’d feel comfortable and it’s okay if you’re not but either way after we could go get ice cream and I know this spot in the park by the lake and I thought we could-.”

“A date?” Hunter gulped, acting as though the word had been lost to society until Willow rediscovered it. He wasn’t used to second chances, especially when he felt he hadn’t earned the first one, but once again Willow knew more.

“Uh yeah,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Tonight.”

“W-with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But… why?”

“Because I like you silly.”

“I know but… why?” he looked at her from behind the flowers, almost startled.

He could justify that Willow didn’t know him well enough to like him, but the side of him that she did know wasn’t exactly the most appealing. The students called him a narc, a nerd, annoying; things he couldn’t exactly argue with. But beneath that even he wasn’t exactly sure what he was, so did Willow see more or did she just not believe it? Sometimes he didn’t really like being himself so it was hard to keep up the charade that someone as vibrant and silly as Willow would like being with him more than what was necessary.

“I told you,” she said sweetly as she pushed past a rose to see him better. “I can tell you’re a warm and friendly person. I also know you’re smart and passionate and cute and I wanna know more about you and spend time with you.”

“Wow thanks,” he breathed, holding her gaze as everything else around them went silent. His instinct to mention how packed his schedule was as he had grown to instinctively do when he longed to do anything that couldn’t enrich his transcript. He didn’t want to talk her out of it or deny he liked the sound of it, he just didn’t know how to say that yet. “Y-you too.”

“Thanks,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was also wondering if maybe you’d wanna wear my captain’s jacket.”

“Wear your jacket?” “Yeah, cause Skara has her boyfriend wear hers as a way to like show everyone they’re together so I thought maybe if you wanted to we could… do that… too.”

It took a moment for Hunter to process the request within the request but when he finally did, his eyes widened in wonder. “You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“Mhm-hmm,” she said with a smile and a nod.

It was everything all at once, Hunter was sure he must have wandered into a dream.

“And you want people to know I’m your boyfriend?”

“Mhm-hmm,” she repeated, this time more bubbly as she felt like she was about to leap out of her skin. “I uh I know it’s technically breaking dress code and it might be too soon so it’s okay if you don’t-.”

“I’ll wear it!” he said much louder than he meant to, as though worried that not answering right away would cause her to take it back. “I-I wanna wear it! Of course I will! Yes!”

“Okay!” Willow giggled as she bent down to fish it from her bag. She held it out to Hunter and he looked at it like it was a corner of the sky. She took the flowers back from him as he slipped the jacket over his uniform. He knew it was impractical and he would get too hot and surely be told by the first teacher who saw him to keep it in his locker but he didn’t care. The smell of fresh grass and jasmine filled his nose, and he felt giddy to be in the jacket he had seen her in so many times. His arms were longer than hers and the sleeves bunched higher up on his arms but it had always been long on her and it fell perfectly on him. It was pristine and he knew she had washed and carefully folded it with the intention to give it to him.

“H-how do I look?”

“Cute!” she beamed as she smoothed the collar and Hunter felt he would melt. He meant alot to her. She didn’t care that talking to him could be considered social suicide, let alone so publicly declaring an advanced friendship between them. She had a confidence rooted in kindness that he hoped was contagious enough that he made her feel as safe and seen as he did in her perfect, peridot eyes. But as much as he was willing to publicly wear his feelings for her on his sleeve (well technically it was her sleeve since it was her jacket, right?) there were still things he felt more comfortable expressing in private.

“Um…c-can I give you something of mine to wear?” he asked timidly, clearing his throat as he tried to shake the nerves to sound suave.

Willow nodded excitedly, having the exact Monday she had hoped for as Hunter reached inside to his own jacket as he fetched something small from it and quickly placed it in her hands.

“Your honor society pin?” Willow marveled as though he had given her a diamond. “Hunter, are you sure?”

“Yeah, uh Amity lets Luz wear hers and I always secretly thought it was kind of… romantic but if you think it's weird I can find something else-.”

“Are you kidding? I love it!” she declared as she held it close to her heart. “Thank you Hunter, this is so sweet! I’m gonna wait to put it on so it doesn’t get lost during the match. Can you hold onto it for me until then?”

“Of course,” he said, as he went to take it. “I’ll give it to you after you win.”

“Aw,” she said. “I think it’ll be my new lucky charm.”

He looked down as saw her hand had not left his, happily content to be held by his as her finger danced to intertwine with his and a very familiar idea reappeared in his head, as though the timing had been gifted to him. But the hallway wasn’t the right place.

“S-shoud I walk you to class then?” he transitioned. “I uh don’t want you to be late.”

“Well then,” she said with delight, reconfiguring their hands to link pinkies with his. “Let’s go.”

“Y-yeah let’s,” said Hunter happily as he allowed her to help him roll slowly down the hall. Her grip on him was gentle, but he felt secure in his link to her.

“Um, actually I need to make a small detour first,” he said after a moment when they had escaped one of the more populated parts on the hallway.

“Oh, of course,” said Willow. “Did you forget something?”

“Uh, no I just wanted to see if I could get a vase for the flowers,” he said. “To keep them looking great, er m-maybe there’s one in the janitor’s closet?’

“You wanna look in the janitor’s closet?” Willow repeated.

“Uh… yeah?”

“Hmmm… sounds good to me!” she said with a shrug as they turned the corner, and ever the gentleman he held the door open for her.

She knew he knew nothing (or at least, wasn’t able to focus on in this moment) the implications of quickly whisking her into a janitor’s closet before the bell rang. But she couldn’t wait to see his face when she told him.

He carefully closed the door behind them as Willow took in the sight of carefully organized buckets, mops, and large rolls of toilet paper. There was barely enough room in the closet for the both of them let alone a shelf of emergency vases.

“So… just need to get a vase, huh?” she asked playfully and Hunter quickly spun to face her, his face stung with guilt.

“Okay, to be honest I’m fairly certain there are no vases in here,” he admitted, unaware it was unnecessary. “Actually, I’m positive; I put them away myself after the student council luncheon.”

“So then, what are we here looking for?’

“Um well, actually I thought I could uh,” Hunter began as he cleared his throat. “G-give you uh something else for luck...too.”

“Oh yeah?” Willow asked, raising her eyebrow flirtatiously. “What did you have in mind?”

It sent Hunter over the edge as he let out a high, nervous laugh and hid his face in the bouquet, overwhelmed in a way that felt both new and familiar. He felt the subtle need to still check to see they were not being watched before he quickly darted down and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. His heart pounded as he pulled away just as quickly as she looked back at him with an absolutely smitten gaze.

“Hehe okay,” she giggled, her mind joyfully flooding with the reality that she couldn’t tease Hunter about people thinking they ducked into the closet to kiss and get him flustered at the misunderstanding.Now she was the one flustered but there was no misunderstanding.

“I just um thought it was fair ya know?” he said as though his actions needed a more complex explanation. “Since you gave me your jacket and the flowers and that’s two things I wanted to give you two things so you would know t-that I uh-.”

“Well hold on, technically you gave me the flowers first so you did give me two things so I actually owe you one,” she stood up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment before returning to the ground. He smiled, feeling as though he was a part of the world’s best inside joke .

“Well you added flowers of your own so that can count as another thing,” he said, matching her tone, leaning down to press another kiss to her other cheek and lingering for a moment just as she did. Her face was soft and warm and somehow made him feel like a dream did.

“Actually, I should probably thank you for each flower,” said Willow, shuffling forward to take hold of his lapel as she brought him down to her level this time as her lips crashed into him like a wave, seeking to cover every inch of his doting, dumbstruck face as he surrendered his balance to her affections. He was more than fine collapsing into her as she decorated him with rapid kisses, as though she was bestowing one for every flower in her greenhouse.

Too enamored with each other they didn’t notice the door handle begin to turn. They didn’t notice the door had opened until their private, idyllic atmosphere of the closet was broken by the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.

They froze as they slowly turned their heads to see who stood in the doorframe. Hunter panicked, knowing how it would look to have a student council member littered with dress code violations sitting on a bucket as he forgot how to breathe because the prettiest girl in the whole school covered his face in kisses. What would they think?

Well, what beside ‘lucky him?’

More importantly, how would their reputations survive? He winced., knowing Willow must be mortified to be caught with him and having someone think-

“Oh, hi Gus!” Willow giggled, and Hunter could tell she found it more humorous than embarrassing. Hunter held his breath as he tried to read Gus’ expression, knowing if he was at risk of being blackmailed or sent to the principal’s office or if he’d tell Willow she was making a bad decision or if he’d-.

“Oh, so he said ‘yes?’” Gus asked nonchalantly, taking the jacket as a sign in addition to their… situation.

“Yup!” Willow replied happily, adjusting her glasses.

“Cool, congrats guys,” said Gus, looking down to check the time and text Luz to let her know Willow wasn’t running late but was just… occupied. “Does he wanna sit with us at lunch?”

“Do you?” Willow asked, admiring the lipstick marks all over his face, a lipstick she may or may not have purposely worn in case an opportunity such as this presented itself.

He nodded, unable to form worlds at the moment.

“Cool, well the first bell just rang,” Gus let them know as he went to shut the door. “Don’t be late.”

“K, thanks!” called Willow. “Bye!”

“Did you uh wanna get to class then?” Hunter asked with a gulp, weirdly not caring about preserving his perfect attendance as he was captivated by the way even in the low watt lighting she reassembled an angel. He was suddenly aware of her hands still resting on his chest as though keeping him tethered to the earth and allowing him to linger in the moment just as her lips had once lingered on his.

Please say no, please say no the less poetic part of his brain couldn’t help but think.

“We’ve got time still,” she said as though reading his mind as she wiped a smudge of raspberry gloss from his top lip before leaping up to assure the door was really locked this time. “I know the quickest way everywhere on skates.”

And she crashed into him again.

She didn’t mention that she may have memorized his schedule in order to increase her chances of running into him between classes after the first time he had threatened to write her up. Ever since she had been doodling his initials in hearts in the corner of her notebooks, finding delight in every rip and tear her mode of transportation granted her as she knew he would drop the facade to sew it up for her, treasuring every time she got him to crack a smile

He spent so much time trying to catch her that it had taken him so long to realize that she was waiting for him to catch up to her.

#huntlow #huntlow fanfiction #toh #the owl house #willow park #hunter toh #fanfiction #ask #huntlow au #winter toh

42 notes · View notes

loveroftoomanyfandoms · 8 months

Text

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 4

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T (for now, might change, probably not)

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, more tags to come as the story develops

Word Count: ~1600

A/N: Here's chapter 4! If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story, please let me know!

(Divider made by the insanely talented @theradioactivespidergwen!)

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41

Early the next afternoon, Ellison called you into his office.

You walked in. "What's up?"

Ellison leaned back in his chair. "I need to talk to you about your article."

Your brow furrowed. You had stayed up half the night working on it (while eating some of what was quite honestly the best tiramisu you had ever had) and had sent a rough draft to Ellison that morning after reading it over. "What about it?"

"Quite frankly, it sucks."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"It reads like you literally just transcribed the interview. There's no emotion to it."

"So, what, do you want it in another format, or…" You were hoping Ellison wasn't going to tell you to just forget about it or that he was reassigning the piece back to Kelsie, who was still out sick with food poisoning.

Ellison shook his head. "We need to switch gears. Instead of an interview, I want a full human-interest story." Ellison sat back up. "I want our readers to get to know Chef Murdock as both a chef and as a person. You got a bit of that in your interview, but I want more. Spend as much time with him as possible and do what you do best -- get him to open up to you. Find out what his interests are outside of cooking, how he develops his recipes, where his inspiration comes from. Give me personal details and anecdotes."

You nodded. Your second attempt at an interview had gone a lot smoother than your first -- you had found Chef Murdock had relaxed more the longer the two of you had talked, so you were pretty sure he wouldn't mind sitting down for a more in-depth interview. "Okay."

"Alright, that's it. Get a rough draft of your new article to me by next Wednesday -- that should be enough time to edit before we go to print the following Monday."

"Got it."

Ellison eyed you. "Don't make me regret that raise I agreed to."

You shook your head. "Don't worry, I won't."

You went back to your desk and eyed the clock. You had already been planning on stopping by Daredevil on your way home from work in order to drop Chef Murdock's dish back off to him and was just going to leave it with Karen at the host stand, but since you needed to talk with Chef Murdock anyway...

You pulled out your phone and sent him a text. Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could come by the restaurant to talk with you for a minute before you open?

A few seconds later, your phone chimed. It's not a bother, and sure.

Okay, I'll be by in about 20 minutes.

Sounds good.

You grabbed your bag and Chef Murdock's dish and popped by Ellison's office again. "I'm leaving a bit early so I can go by Daredevil to talk to Chef Murdock."

Ellison nodded. "Okay, see you Monday."

You hurried towards Daredevil, sending Chef Murdock a text as you approached.

A minute later a man with shaggy blonde hair and a friendly face unlocked the door. "Hi, you must be the journalist from the Bulletin, right?"

You nodded and introduced yourself as you stepped inside.

The blond man smiled and stuck his hand out for you to shake. "Matt's signing for a delivery, but he'll be out in just a second. I'm Foggy Nelson, his business partner."

You took his offered hand. "Oh, yes, Chef Nelson. It's nice to meet you too."

Chef Nelson grinned. "So, I heard you were on the receiving end of Matt's apology tiramisu."

You huffed out a laugh. "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess he told you about that. Does he always apologize with tiramisu?"

"Only when he knows he really screwed up." Chef Nelson glanced towards the kitchen before looking back at you. "By the way, thanks for giving him another chance at an interview. Matt can be prickly but he's really a good guy underneath."

You smiled, thinking about how warm and open Chef Murdock had been the previous afternoon compared to your first meeting. "I'm beginning to see that."

"Sorry about that," Chef Murdock's voice said as he came out of the kitchen towards you.

You turned towards him. Today he was wearing a white t-shirt and black pants with his usual red glasses. It's unfair how damn hot he is , you thought to yourself.

You swallowed. "Hi, Chef Murdock."

"Hi," he replied pleasantly. "So what brings you by? Did you have some more questions for me?"

You nodded. "Yes, but I also came by to return your container to you and thank you again for the tiramisu."

Chef Murdock took the empty container with a grin. "I guess that means it wasn't poisoned, then?"

You huffed out a laugh even as your face heated. "I'm sorry about that."

Chef Murdock chuckled. "It's okay."

You shook your head. "In all honesty though I think that that was probably the best thing I've ever eaten. I'll definitely be placing some to-go orders for tiramisu after work."

Chef Murdock smiled. "It's not on the menu yet because I'm still perfecting it, but until then if you let me know in advance I'll be happy to make some for you."

"Matt makes his own ladyfingers from scratch," Chef Nelson chimed in. "That's the secret."

"Well, one of them." Chef Murdock grinned at you. "There's a few other secrets to my tiramisu that not even Foggy knows."

Chef Nelson chuckled. "And with that, I'm going to go get started on the dishes I do know the secrets to."

He gave you a brief nod. "It was very nice meeting you."

"Same to you," you replied.

You waited until Chef Nelson had disappeared into the kitchen before turning back to Chef Murdock. "So about my article… I turned a draft of it into my editor this morning and he said it wasn't personal enough, so he wants me to expand it into a full human-interest story instead of just an interview."

Chef Murdock's brow furrowed. "Oh? What does that consist of?"

"Uh, well… usually with my human-interest pieces I spend time with the person I'm writing about, getting to know them over the course of several days, but since I don't want to take up too much of your time I'd probably just have some more interview questions for you, and if it would be possible I'd like to watch you work in the kitchen for a bit? It doesn't actually have to be during open hours or anything like that, and I'll even sign an NDA if you want me to promising that I won't reveal any of your recipes to anyone."

Chef Murdock pursed his lips as he thought. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, that's okay."

You huffed out a breath. "Thank you so much. I'm free all weekend, so you can just text or call me and let me know whenever is convenient for you."

"Actually, how about we start tomorrow? Meet me here at, say, 8 AM?"

You nodded. "Okay, yeah, that sounds good."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Thanks again for the tiramisu. It really was fantastic."

Chef Murdock smiled. "You're welcome."

"Okay. Bye."

You turned and walked back into the lobby so Karen could let you out, actually looking forward to seeing Chef Murdock the next morning.

Matt waited until you left then returned to the kitchen, where Foggy was slicing up cucumbers for the dinner salads.

Foggy paused in his prepping. "So… she seems nice."

Matt nodded. "Yeah, she is."

"Pretty, too."

Matt shook his head with a grin. "I wouldn't know."

Foggy chuckled. "Mmhmm. Sure you wouldn't, Matty. That's why you were totally flirting with her just now."

Matt's brow furrowed. "I wasn't flirting."

"I know your tells, Matty -- you like a girl, you cook for her." Foggy dropped his voice into an imitation of Matt's. "'Oh, I can totally make you tiramisu even though it's not on the menu, no problem'."

Matt shook his head. "She's writing an article about me -- of course I'm going to be nice and offer to make tiramisu for her again. Which reminds me, the editor at the Bulletin wants her to expand her interview into a human-interest story."

"Oh hey, that's awesome, man. A full human-interest piece will be great publicity for the restaurant."

Matt nodded. "We're going to meet up tomorrow morning to discuss it."

"Couldn't wait to see her again, huh?"

Matt shook his head. "She wants to watch me cook, so I'm going to have her accompany me to the farmer's market then give her a small cooking demo here afterwards before we start prepping for tomorrow night's service."

"Ah okay, cool."

Matt turned his head towards the receiving door. "Josie's here with the wine order."

Foggy set his knife down as the doorbell rang. "I got it."

"Make sure she's got the Frangelico I added to this week's order, will ya?"

"Sure thing."

Matt sighed to himself as Foggy left to go receive their order. The truth was that he actually was looking forward to spending more time with you. You were kind, and funny, and endearing, and according to Foggy, 'pretty', which admittedly made Matt curious as to what you looked like.

He shook his head. He needed to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. The last time he was interested in a journalist it almost cost him his career and he wasn't going to make that mistake again, no matter how much he was beginning to trust you.

#lotmf writes #Cooking Up Love Masterlist #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you

111 notes · View notes