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luveline · 1 month

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I've read your vampire eddie fic and its soo lovely I adore them being weird toghether <3 and I thought how will reader and eddie pass the summer? I totally see her saying shit like Vlad please put on some sunscreen lol and eddie be so grumpy

“It’s not that you don’t like it,” you’re saying.

“No, that’s exactly what it is.”

You sit down on the picnic blanket by his hip with a plate of summer fruit sweating in your hands. You’ve dotted a few ice cubes through the mountains of it, water melting, turning pink from the melon and yellow with the pineapple juice as the sun bears down.

“The sun is good for you,” you say, taking a slice of apple with green, bright rind in between two fingers. You have very pretty hands, Eddie’s thought that ever since you met, and they’re prettier still because of how you use them, you’re oh so gentle. “Just like this.”

He won’t let you feed him, taking the apple as you press it to his lips, juice and water wetting his fingers. “The sun does nothing for me. I’m dead.”

“Are you?” you ask, a genuine curiosity to your tone as you put the plate in front of him. Eddie, on his front, anticipates your next move before you’ve decided, not just because of his super senses but also because you’re a predictable creature, who loves him very much. Unlikely and true. “I thought you were only half dead,” you say, resting a hand by his ribs and leveraging yourself across his back in a hug. “Well, I thought you were undead.”

Eddie is regrettably undead. “I forgot you were the expert on my condition,” he says, putting the apple slice in his mouth whole.

“Your condition,” you say, your face slotting into the back of his neck, forcing him to close his eyes and settle into the blanket, grass beneath it crisp from the heat.

“My vampirism.”

“Ah, I thought you meant your behavioural issues.”

“Of course you did.”

You don’t say anything back. Quiet, your hands slide up in front of his armpits, your head lolling heavily to one side. You mouth a word against his neck, a second and third, but Eddie can’t decipher what it is you’re saying even with his incredible hearing, can only feel the soft curve of your lips as they shutter closed, hot like a fresh bruise beneath his ear.

Eddie nudges you to slide off of him, turning, cautious of the plate, to offer you his arm, and to see your face more clearly. You’ve forgone any of your fun makeups today, weary of the heat, all your wrinkles and lines in stunning detail under his gaze.

You lay on your side and Eddie lifts the arm that isn’t supporting him with his finger bent into a tight ‘n’ to stroke the skin under your chin. “You’re pretty,” he says, his knuckle rubbing back and forth.

“You’re beautiful,” you say back. The hair at the nape of your neck is damp with sweat, and as you both lay there in the humidity, a bead of it races suddenly to sink into the fabric of your top.

“You’re really pretty,” he says, ignoring your deflection —though for you, he doubts it’s a deflection at all, only a thought you’d had and spoken without qualm— in favour of lavishing you with some more love and praise. He opens his palm and touches his fingertips to your cheek, conscious of the heat, stringing the words together slow as the heavy pour of a maple tapper, “I don’t like the sun, it’s hot, and I’m melting, but I don’t think I mind it when you’re here too.”

Your heart does a jump, to his smugness, an audible caper of your pulse. “Everything’s better when we’re together,” you say.

He nods severely and lifts your chin just a touch, tilting his head to the side to kiss you. The pressure of his fangs is forgotten, a blood sate too far away to ignore the more nefarious longing that thrums at the centre of his chest, but overpowered anyways by practice, and desire; he’s gotten a thousand times better at kissing you, because you like to be kissed, and he likes to give you anything he can.

He can’t pretend he doesn’t like this, either. You cover his hand with yours and wade in like a quick tide, pulling back and pushing in, like nips without the pain. Your hand slips into his hair. “I love you,” you say, “but you’re sweating like crazy.”

“You’re sweating worse,” he says.

“We’ll have to take a vacation.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Literally everywhere cold.”

Eddie can’t leave Hawkins. He needs blood, and there’s only one sheriff who’s willing to source it for him. But it’s a nice idea, a fantasy he won’t ruin for you. “Where’d you want to go first?”

“I wanna go to that place with the Northern Lights. We’d never complain about sweating again.”

You squint at him.

“What?” he asks.

“Where do you want to go?” you ask.

“Anywhere with you.”

“Well, you’d have to.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he asks.

“I’m your only portable blood bag, Eddie.”

He lays back on his back, covering his eyes with an arm as the other comes to rest on his soft stomach, whirl of a scar thick beneath his shirt. “Never gonna happen.”

You shuffle closer to him. “One day,” you say, laying down next to him with your face nearly flat to the blanket, the heat of your body a palpable thickness he wouldn’t change for the world, dehydration inevitable. “You’ll give me a nice sharp kiss and that’ll be that.”

“Never.”

“Imagine it.” Your voice turns to a whisper.

“Never, babe,” he says, he promises, the weight of his arm over his eyes like an iron.

“I’ll just have to bite you instead.”

You open your mouth and press your teeth to the hill of his shoulder, dull and wet, your breath like a kiss before you let your lips drift shut and give him a proper one. “Love you,” you say.

“Love you, freakazoid.” He wrestles you into a cuddle he’ll regret sooner rather than later, wishing his vampirism were better at keeping him cool. He’s cold to the touch most of the time. Right now he’s baking. “But I’m not biting you,” he says into your forehead.

You laugh breezily. “Not today you’re not. That’s why I made fruit salad.”

#love bites universe #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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thisblogisaboutabook · 3 months

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Rainy Season - Part 5

I Want Crazy

Azriel Eris x Reader

After a promotion to an emissary position by a meddling Tarquin, Y/N and Eris get much, much closer.

A/n: There will likely only be a couple more chapters of this fic. For those of you concerned by the previous chapter, please continue to trust the process. Our girl is intelligent.

Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: Language, brief mention of fertility struggles

Our first date, the seasons changed. It got washed away in a summer rain

He wasn’t what I expected, Eris Vanserra. Not that I ever fathomed what to expect or even considered it. In fact there was only a very short list of things I knew prior to the day we met:

-He was a High Lord.

-He’d been a secretive ally of the Night Court prior to his father’s demise.

-Azriel fucking hated him.

And after that day I knew everything I needed to:

-He was warm beyond the fire in his veins

-He was a just ruler

-He had a dry wit that sat well with my soul.

-I wanted to see him again.

After dancing that night, we ran back to Tarquin’s palace in the rain. It was the first time I’d been unable to contain my joy in far too long. I laughed, and skipped, and spun in circles the whole way back. Eris grumbled the entire way but I could see the amusement lit in his eyes. The next morning he met me for breakfast and found me again before he left for the Autumn Court.

He began finding reasons to visit the Summer Court more frequently and sought me out every time. It was no time before Eris became a close friend.

Tarquin - ever the cheeky, wonderful bastard - only gave me knowing smiles when he’d catch us walking the palace grounds. According to Cresseida, The High Lord of the Summer Court was quite the romantic and had a knack for playing matchmaker. I was inclined to agree considering that after a month of spotting Eris and I around the grounds, Tarquin made a proposition to me. I could still teach my classes but he needed a temporary emissary to the Autumn court as they negotiated border, trade, and tariff agreements. Given my recent closeness with the High Lord of Autumn and overall wonderful (debatable) disposition, he found me to be the perfect candidate. With that, I found myself on official court business in the Autumn Court.

Who cares if you’re all I think about?

I was nervous on the first visit to Autumn. I knew things were different under Eris’ reign but the stories of Beron’s cruelty within his own keep were enough to warrant a bit of caution.

My worries were quickly cast aside when Eris personally escorted me from the border and to his keep. The Autumn Court was stunning. The leaves on the trees were brighter than I’d ever seen. The hues ranging from gold to red absolutely stunning. I’d love to have Feyre one day paint it for me.

Smells of roasting chestnuts, hickory smoke, crisp leaves, apple cider, and autumn air filled my nose. On the way, Eris stopped by a small farm where the owner allowed us to pick what Eris called the finest Honeycrisp apples in all of Prythian. I’d never had that variety before and though I had nothing to compare them against, the apples had the perfect crunch and just the right ratio of tart and sweet. He paid the farmer handsomely for a bucket of them and several pie pumpkins for his kitchens.

The Autumn Keep was far from the drab stone castle that I’d pictured. Eris clearly went to great strides to ensure the ghost of Beron Vanserra had no hold here. The grand rooms were filled with maple accents, rugs and tapestries with hues greens, golds, oranges and reds. Fires roared in massive fireplaces and autumnal spices filled the air.

And despite the beauty of the keep. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of the tall, handsome redhead walking alongside me.

Once I was settled for the stay, we did meet to discuss political matters which took countless hours, but I was rather impressed with the ease of our negotiations. He and Tarquin had similar visions for the economic future within their courts.

We enjoyed dinner together, indulged in autumnal wines, including a hot mulled wine that flushed my cheeks. Or so I told Eris that was the reason for the blush on my features, and certainly not the way way he’d refer to me as “my lady” or “little fox.”

We’d stayed up late, sitting by a bon fire outside beneath the Autumn Skies. There was music and dancing, spiked ciders, and caramel apples. I could see why Eris loves his court.

We, of course, kept respectful distance from eachother as not to spark any gossip of anything more than friendship between he and I. Yet somehow, hours later, we found ourselves in a private courtyard - a small fire burning as we lay back on a blanket together. I began to shiver as the evening chill grew cooler. As I went to bid Eris goodnight and head for the warmth within Castle Walls, he halted me.

“Come here” he spoke. His voice low.

I scooted a bit closer.

“Come closer, little fox. I won’t bite.”

He refrained from adding “unless you ask me to” but that was readable enough in his heavy lidded gaze.

So I laid beside him, my head nestled between his chest and shoulder as his heat warmed my body. I showed him various constellations that I’d learned of during my time in the Night Court and he did a terrible job of visualizing them. He tried though. He told me how he used to wish on shooting stars, how he still found himself occasionally wishing upon them. I teared up when he told me of the wishes he’d made back then for his mother and Lucien, for himself, to one day escape Beron’s cruelty. For a better life. A better Court.

When we saw a shooting star later, he made a wish and told me it was bad luck to tell someone else the wish.

And I, despite everything that had turned upside down in life, found myself struggling to ask for anything more than what I had in that moment.

When we finally said goodnight I realized his own suite was right next to the one he had set me up in.

I woke in a sweat sometime hours before dawn. Pain ripping through my chest. Azriel once again pulling on the fucking bond with no regard for the feelings of despair he was shoving to me. This time was worse than usual, the waves of grief continuing to grow stronger and stronger all the time. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t deserve this. This was a bed of his own making and yet I still had to suffer beyond what I’d already been through. Sleeping through it was futile and the room’s darkness began to suffocate me.

I padded from my room to a common area outside of the suites, sat before the fireplace and worked on breathing through it.

Though I tried my best to remain quiet, Eris apparently had a sharp sense of hearing as he wandered into the room, seating himself on the floor beside me. If I hadn’t been in such a sorry state, perhaps I would have noticed the low slung gray sweatpants and broad muscled chest of the half-naked High Lord- no, friend - beside me.

He took my hand. “Hey, fox, look at me.” I lifted my gaze to his. “You’ve got this. Breathe for me.” I took a shallow breath. “Can you breathe deeper for me, little one?” He placed a hand on my shoulder while the other remained on my hand. I took a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

“Good girl.”

Eris sat with me in silence on a plush couch once my breathing steadied. Still too worked up to fall back asleep, I nestled myself against Eris’ chest while his fingers ran through my hair in soothing, repetitive strokes.

It was hours later that I awoke, finding that I’d fallen asleep on him. I tried shifting away slowly but a sleeping Eris only held his arm around me tighter as I pulled. We slept like that a while longer.

The rest of the trip went by uneventfully. We discussed further trade options and Eris spent the evenings working with me on how to close off the bond to Azriel’s feelings. While I was already excellent at shutting down sending my feelings down the bond, cutting off his feelings was what I needed help with. By the end of the stay I could only feel his emotions slightly.

I expressed my gratitude to Eris who only waived off my thanks. “Anyone would have done it.” Yet he was the only one who tried. What I didn’t tell Eris was that as Azriel’s end of the bond silenced and the depths of my soul went from overflowing to filled with contentment, my thoughts began drifting to happier things, drifted to him.

Front porch and one more kiss. It doesn't make sense to anybody else.

The fifth month after I left, my grandparents held an outdoor feast for our family and friends in celebration of a holiday of one of the lesser Summer gods they worshipped.

It was far from a religious event. There was always wine, dancing, and lively conversation at these celebrations with none of the boring sermons that typically came with such events.

I invited Eris, and to my delight he came. My drunken sister made plenty of comments over how pretty of a pair of “friends” we made, with overemphasis on the word. My sweet, protective nephew took to Eris right away, deciding that after what Azriel put me through, anyone was better than him. He had no tolerance for cheating or sympathy for adulterers from the time he was old enough to understand what it meant and that his father had cheated on my sister during her pregnancy (real stand up guy) though my sister was so far out of his league that he’d have to reach the stars to find someone better. Obviously she’d left him immediately and she and my nephew were better off for it.

My family tried their best and failed miserably to act normal with the High Lord of the Autumn Court in their presence. Fortunately, Eris paid no mind and had won everyone over by the end of the night.

Despite his aversion to the sand, Eris accepted my invitation to camp on the beach so we could enjoy my favorite part of the night, the fireworks shooting off over the bay.

As the finale approached, I pouted.

“I hate when they end.”

Gesturing toward himself, Eris replied. “It’s a good thing you have a High Lord at your disposal to light up the night any time you wish.”

Before I could reprimand him for the crude comment, he began shooting small orbs of fire toward the water in a rainbow of colors.

My eyes sparkled watching the vibrant flares. Soon enough the orbs into butterflies of fire flying through the air, some circling around me. One brushed my cheek and there was no pain, just a gentle flutter.

“That’s… Just wow, that’s incredible, Eris!”

He gave a shrug of nonchalance in return.

“I bet you do that for all the ladies, don’t you?”

Eris looked me in the eyes, something unreadable in them.

“Only the ones I want to kiss.”

A moment passed before I realized that he was entirely serious.

And that I WANTED to kiss him.

So I did.

We kissed under the stars. It was a hard, passionate kiss, our shared breaths riddled with desperation, a profession of the unspoken words between us, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

And when we eventually pulled apart, I looked into his eyes with a smile, genuine, full of adoration, and Eris gently grasped the back of my head, pulling me into another searing kiss.

We shared many more before dawn.

You can’t undo a fall like this.

When Eris returned to the Autumn Court, I tried feeling any remorse for what we’d done. I was technically still a mated female, though I’d left and due to Azriel’s infidelity nobody expected me to honor the bond.

The guilt never came.

Eris had to travel so I wasn’t able to see him for the next couple weeks but we wrote back and forth often through enchanted notes. Curiosity or concern must have gotten the best of him because eventually he asked:

“Do you regret it?”

I knew exactly what he referred to.

“I regret many things, Eris. None of which pertain to you.”

I sent the letter to him with confidence. I did not regret a single thing about the night our lips collided on the beach.

“Thank the Mother, because I need to kiss you again.”

Heat radiated through me at his admission.

But then reality struck. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court. I was the - separated, yes, but still - the mate of the Night Court’s Spymaster.

“Eris, I love spending time with you and will never regret it. You’ve helped me heal in ways I will never be able to repay you for. But this… how can this work? It’s messy.”

I sent the letter. My own heart crushing at the words. I didn’t want this to end but I couldn’t risk it going further just for reality to come crashing down on us.

Some time passed, the unease in my gut growing when his response appeared.

“If I wanted easy, I’d have married the daughter of some Autumn Lord. Nothing about my past has been easy and despite what some may believe, nothing worth having has come easily to me. Every second spent with you is worth it. Do not, Y/N, doubt that for one single moment. And perhaps this is crazy, but I would not want it any other way.”

It was that moment that I knew I wanted, I needed Eris as more than a friend.

“Then let’s be crazy, Eris Vanserra.”

I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"

The thing about immortality is that six months can bring more change than six decades or even centuries.

Six months ago I would have never dreamed that my mate would take the life we’d built over the years and tear it into shreds with those once sacred, beautiful scarred hands that I held reverently. The hands that placed the lovely mating band crafted from one of his own siphons on my finger after he’d made his vows, the hands that lovingly caressed my bare thighs through restless nights until sleep took me, hands that held me pressed to his chest and wiped away the tears of grief after yet another failed fertility cycle.

Those hands that held another and damned it all, the hands that came home and stroked my hair as pretty lies fell from his mouth, the hands that took my glass heart and dropped it.

I especially wouldn’t have dreamed that six months later I would be laying in the bed of the High Lord of the Autumn Court with his strong, warm hands holding me like this heart of mine that he’d forged anew was the most delicate, precious possession in his keep.

I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"

We’d spent the night together making love. The kind of love making that shifts something intrinsic within a person, the type where no matter what happens, a piece of you is forever changed. It was more than just giving my body to him, it was a claiming of the soul.

We lay in bed all morning, his long fingers tracing along the arch of my bare back as he pressed soft kisses along my shoulder and neck. Between kisses, his low voice whispered quiet hopes and dreams for the future.

I was just about to speak those three words that I’d only ever spoken to one other male when a loud knock came on the chamber door.

“For fuck’s sake” Eris muttered before shouting “Come back later!”

“We apologize, High Lord but this is urgent.” a muffled male voice replied through the closed door.

Eris growled, shifting out of bed and throwing on his sweatpants not bothering with a shirt. I enjoyed the view.

“This better be worth my while, lads.” Eris hissed in a tone that conveyed “I’m very fucking inconvenienced right now but understand that you are doing your duty as my sentries.”

“Apologies again, High Lord, but we’ve….”

The male outside the door cleared his throat in attempt to communicate that the matter should be discussed privately.

“It’s fine.” Eris grumbled. “Just get on with it.”

“We, well, High Lord, we’ve apprehended the Shadowsinger. He was making an attempt to infiltrate the keep.”

———————————

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious

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lookashiny · 2 years

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(via https://www.sprinklesomesugar.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/IMG_4945.jpg)

https://www.sprinklesomesugar.com/maple-apple-crisp/

#recipe #apple crisp #maple

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the-witchhunter · 4 months

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Masterpost for all the DP x DC vodkas y’all have suggested and I’ve made… (so far?)

Previous post here

Burger/batburger/nasty burger

Beefy followed by pickle. Not the worst thing I’ve put in my body. Mainly just weird and combine with tomato juice and a float of smoky scotch it tastes like a backyard cookout burger and is a decent drink.

5.5/10 it’s not the worst but you’ll probably not make it again. Shoutout to @stealingyourbones for making this with me

Ranch 2 (ectoplasm)

Salty af and tastes like vodka and ranch. Unironically makes a good Bloody Mary but not recommended on its own. It’s just ranch seasoning and green food dye. Hard to rank because not good as a shot but mixes well in savory drinks 6/10? Unless you really like ranch and/or Bloody Marys it’s not really worth making again

Dick(Grayson)/fruity pebbles

I mainly just think it’s funny to call itDick flavored so bonus point there. It’s literally just soaking fruity pebbles for a couple minutes in vodka and straining. It tastes great, it’s freaking fruity pebbles 8/10 definitely worth making again. Mix with sprite or just do shots. If you want a stronger flavor soak fresh cereal instead of soaking longer

Jason’s Pit Rage

Raspberries, sugar, and a Serrano pepper. Spicy and grassy flavored up front balanced by the red berry flavors of raspberry and the sweetness. Actually really good and could easily replace the Serrano with a chipotle pepper to add a smoky note. 9/10 do make this one. Good as a shot, on the rocks, or as an addition to a margarita

Green apple (ectoplasm)

Apple jolly ranchers and vodka. It’s good. I don’t think this will surprise anyone. Sweet, apple flavor, it’s welcome if you bring it to most parties 7/10

Lemon/lime(ectoplasm)

Lemon lime kool aid packet and about 375ml of vodka. Add sugar if you want it to be drinkable because I, a fool, forgot for a second and boy it tasted kind of chemical in a way cheap vodka, artificial citrus flavor, and citric acid only can. Sugar, actually makes it taste good. Like a very boozy sprite flavor 6.5/10

Waffle (Steph Brown/Spoiler)

Brown butter washed vodka sweetened with pancake syrup. Don’t use real maple syrup. This is going for waffle crisp cereal taste and you’re going to get closer with pancake syrup than the real thing, or even light brown sugar. 7/10 its fun and tastes nice

And that’s all I got so far. Overall these have all been surprisingly okay to even delicious. Thanks to everyone that made suggestions it’s been interesting at the very least. I might revisit this soon considering I still have vodka and jars

Let me know if you try any of these

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

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Dark!Eris x reader: Bruises and Burn Marks[***]

Summary: you and your husband own a small flower shop that also sells some baked goods on the weekends.

Warnings: Noncon, spitting, degradation, spanking, light bondage, heavy sexual assault.

The bell rings as someone enters your shop, and you go to greet them, grabbing the bouquet of dried plants you were attempting to tie together as you bring them into the front. Your eyes pick him out immediately. He looks a little out of place in the worn and comfy shop.

The male wears tailored corduroy trousers, the colour of the autumn maple leaves in the back garden. Over his torso is a crisp linen shirt, hardly a fold to be seen, absolutely immaculate. Over top that, is a dusty red waistcoat sewn from jacquard fabric, the subtle indentation of curled leaves splaying across the beautifully elegant material. It fits him perfectly, clothes tailored down to his ankles and wrists. Pristine.

“Welcome!” You greet, cataloguing the fine clothes, the lone ring that sets his thumb—an heirloom, perhaps?—his perfectly coiffed hair looking silky as it cascades over his broad shoulders. “Is there anything in particular I can help you with today, sir?” You offer a small curtsy, dipping your head as you place him as a probable member of the aristocracy. He’ll likely be searching for a courting gift, or an obligatory present for an evening soirée.

“I shall summon you if necessary.” Is all he replies, whiskey and caramel eyes skating over your figure and returning to the menagerie of mostly dried plants. You swallow down a sigh. Males like him can be…tricky. You clear your throat, plastering on a bright smile, “either I or my husband, Wilbur, will be happy to aid you, sir.” And with that you return to your counter, tying the dried stems together before wrapping them in some brown paper.

When you’ve finished, your eyes flick to the clock on the wall, marking the hour as noon, making you smile. Lunch time. You pull out the cloth from beneath your desk, taking it with you as you head for the back door that will take you to the garden. You hesitate, before turning over your shoulder to peer at the male. You steel your spine as you walk over to him, stopping an appropriate distance away, and wait for him to take notice of you.

Seconds tick by, and he continues perusing. You inhale a calming breath, praying your stomach doesn’t rumble in the silence. When he reaches forward to lift up a pre-wrapped bouquet, you clear your throat. Only after he’s examined it, and returned it to it’s place do his whiskey eyes cut to your figure. You paste on a polite smile that he doesn’t return—not that you expected someone like him to. “I thought you might like to know we also have an assortment of pastries on the floor above, if it takes your fancy, sir.”

“Is that all?” He replies, his tone sharp, displaying his irritation. You smile, dipping your head as you take your exit, understanding the dismissal.

You ease a sigh of relief as you close the back door behind you, the crisp autumn air clearing your mind as it breezes through the garden. You inhale deeply before walking across to the maple near the back, a delightful splash of colour beneath the cloudy sky. It looks like it’ll rain later. You can smell it in the air.

Taking a seat beneath the maple, positioning yourself on one of the large roots that protrudes from the earth, you open up your lunch: some crackers, an apple, and some cheese. Perfect snack. You pull out your pocket knife, and begin slicing the fruit, laying it atop the cheese to avoid softening the cracker.

You’ve finished preparing your meal, raising the first to your mouth, when a series of knocks are landed on your ears. You flinch, dropping the cracker, startled. Another rap of knuckles sounds, and you twist, panicked in case it’s Wilbur. Instead you’re met with the sharp whisky eyes of the aristocrat from earlier. His brows are narrowed in distaste as he takes in you clearly un-working form. You beam up at him, gesturing to your lunch, informing him you’re temporarily off the clock. He’ll know to seek out your husband instead. He should be downstairs anyway.

The male disappears from the window and you smile to yourself, glad you won’t have to deal with him. Yet not even a minute later, the back door is opening, creaking loudly on its hinges, and you wince. You’ve told Wilbur countless times he needs to be careful with that door or else it’s snap off one day. You huff, turning to scold him, but your breath catches. The aristocrat is highlighted in the doorway, appearing to be scowling at the earth, considering the trouble of dirtying his shoes.

His clearly displeased gaze lowers to yours, and the hairs at the back of your neck rise—something integral warning you from him. But you sigh, fold up your untouched lunch and hurriedly make your way over to him. He’s stood atop the step that leads back inside, so you have to crane your neck to look at him. “This area is off limits to customers, I’m afraid, sir.” You offer him an apologetic smile as you move to guide him back inside, but he remains locked where he is.

“You’re being paid to work. Not to take breaks.”

You blink, startled at the affront. It’s pretty clear you’re having lunch. You swallow the words down, again giving him a sweet smile, “was my husband not around?”

“It’s your job to serve me, as the customer.” He emphasises the last word, eyes piercing down at you. You clear your throat, a little annoyed. “I take my lunch break at noon,” you supply, “I assumed that would be clear, and that my husband would be perfectly capable of attending to you, sir. Could you not locate him?” His brow narrows in distaste, and he sighs as if the conversation is a waste of precious time. “It is not my job to seek out your husband. Neither you, for that matter.” His eyes flick over your shoulder, to where your garden lays behind you.

To your astonishment, he brushes past you, pushing you aside as if you were a curtain. You splutter, turning on your feet as you stumble after him, caught off guard. “Sir,” you call, “sir, this section is not accessible to customers. If you will allow me to serve you, we can go back inside and—” He continues walking, coming to a stop by your flower bed.

“These will do.” He gestures to the rose bush. You shake your head, “they aren’t for sale.” His eyes blaze with ire, but his expression remains bland. “I will take seven.” Your lips part in surprise. Then you steel your spine, straightening as you stare the aristocrat down, “kindly take your leave. This area is off limits to you, and if you refuse I will have to call my husband.” Males take other males more seriously. It’s what you resent about those aristocrats, how unfair it is, but he’ll leave at the reminder that Wilbur is inside the shop.

“If your husband so much as touches me, I will have him beheaded.” You fight against the urge to roll your eyes at his arrogant narcissism. “That is not within your power as an aristocrat.” You fail in keeping the bite out of your voice. “…Sir.”

His lip curls at the edge, “I aid in ruling over this kingdom. It is well within my jurisdiction.” You scoff, folding your arms over your chest in indignation, “you certainly aren’t the High Lord. So unless you expect me to believe you’re his eldest son, I will ask you one final time to leave.” You don’t bother with his title at the end.

Something flashes in his whiskey eyes as he extends his hand toward you. Showing his ring, you realise.

Shit.

You recognise the Autumn Court insignia engraved into the precious stone. The heirloom of the royal family.

“That’s better,” he drawls, pulling his hand back to him is you stare. You’re certain the blood has drained from your face. He could have you killed if he wants to. He could have your shop disassembled. He could have Wilbur murdered. You hurriedly dip into a deep curtsy, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I had no idea—”

“Do you even know my name?” You stare at the tips of his polished shoes, hurriedly scrambling through your memory for— “look at me.”

You raise your eyes from the ground, resuming an ordinary standing position. His darkened eyes cut into yours, and you fight against the urge to take a step back. He waits, expectantly, as the silence draws out.

Eventually, you have to say something, if only to ease the tension in your chest. “I’m afraid I cannot summon it at the current moment,” you try. His brow narrows in displeasure that borders on anger as he holds out his hand, expectantly. You look at it, dumbfounded. His lip curls as he snatches up your wrist, pulling you a little too close for your liking.

Where’s Wilbur?

His fingers strangle the bone of your arm, painfully, making you wince. “Say it when you remember.”

You stare at him, a mix between horror and curiosity in your gaze. Then his palm starts warming. Your eyes dart to his fingers, and then you tug away as it begins to heat. You wince, beginning to struggle. His hand grows hotter and you hiss, thrashing. “Let go,” you panic, staring up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes narrow, “wrong.”

Horror unfurls in your chest, diving down into dread. You let out a yelp as his palm heats again, a stinging sensation beginning to set in.

You claw at his fingers, attempting to pry them away. A scream bursts from your lips as it feels like flame is licking against your skin. His name. What is his name?

“Vanserra!” You gasp, and his hold lessens a little, heat cooling. You breathe hard, vision blurring at the side. “And my name?” He asks, and you can practically see the spark in his eye at your stiffness. You can’t remember it. His palm begins heating again and you scream, moving to kick him but his free hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but you can already feel the heat begin to build.

“Eris,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Eris Vanserra.”

He seems a little disappointed you remembered. The looks sends a shiver spider-walking down your spine. Nevertheless, he releases you, and you stumble back, collapsing into the ground, your ass hitting the floor as your hands land behind you. Small tears gather at the edge of your vision as pain sings through your wrist and you cup it.

The skin’s rougher where he touched you. No obvious marking, but enough you would always know where it lies, even if everyone else will be blind to it.

That was your first encounter with Eris Vanserra. Your future High Lord.

————

From then on, it’s seems like he’s making a point of stopping in every month to collect a bouquet. Each visit is just as unpleasant as the last, if not worse, and you begin dreading opening the store. Your dream shop, the one your husband had helped you pull together, supporting you all the way, learning about botany until he knew more than you, just so things would run smoothly when the time came.

And now you resent it. All because of him.

It’s been nearly a year since his first visit, and nearly a month since his most recent one. So he’ll be in any day now. It’s enough to make the usual smile fade from your lips, and you wrap your hand around your right wrist, cupping it to your chest self-consciously.

Now it’s nearly midday, and he hasn’t made an appearance. Maybe you’re safe for today. But then the bell rings and you stiffen. You ease a heavy breath when another male enters. It’s not the hateful Vanserra.

You pull a smile to your lips, delivering the usual greeting, “welcome! May I assist you in any way?” His eyes run over your form, then back up to your eyes. He nods. You flash him a bright smile, getting up from your stool as you make your way over to him. “What in particular are you looking for, sir?” He shifts to look at some of the dried flowers, sparked with colour. You debate taking a step back, but the male pulls away, seemingly sensing your discomfort.

“My father is throwing a celebration for his wife, as it’s their anniversary,” he elaborates. Warmth rushes your chest, “that’s marvellous! How long have they been together?” You inquire, already sifting through the possibilities that your small shop might offer. “It’s their second century. Though they both insist they’re one more day away from tearing each other apart.” He laughs, smiling back at you. You chuckle along with him, wondering at a love that could last for so long. You can only hope you and Wilbur share the same.

Something shifts in his features as he looks over you again. “Are you alone right now?” A hint of discomfort tugs in your gut at the question, and you remove your eyes from his intent gaze. You clear your throat, “actually, my husband and I have been married for about nine years. Our ten year anniversary will be a month from now in the following year.”

“I beg your pardon,” he laughs, dipping his head, “I meant do you have additional assistance in the shop. Or do you run this business by yourself?”

Oh. You relax a little.

“Ah! Sorry, my mistake. My husband is currently on his lunch break, so we’ll swap when he returns. He helps out a lot—more or less enabled the entire shop coming together.” You twist the golden band around your ring finger, a faint smile lifting the edges of your mouth. “Ah, so he gives you the financial support, and you repay him in bed,” he laughs, gently, chuckling to himself. Your brows dip as you blink, but the bell rings again, and his familiar scent breezes through the door.

You turn, forcing a smile to your lips. “Welcome! I can be with you in a moment.” You refuse to look at him a moment longer, even as you can feel his glare searing between your shoulder blades at possibly the rudest dismissal you’ve ever given him. You can picture the way his lip curls, before he ascends the stairs.

You panic slightly. Your husband isn’t there to serve at the small bakery, so you’ll need to wrap this up quick before he throws a tantrum as has one of you beheaded.

“Who was that?” Your attention returns to the male, his keen eyes dragging over your stiff shoulders. You sigh, heavily, “no one. Just a pompous, arrogant male who likes to bother this shop.”

“You’re scared of him.” You still, eyes flicking up to the male’s. “Please, your hands are trembling.” You look down, to find your fingers are indeed shaking. You tuck them behind yourself. “He’s…worrying.” You admit. “I feel like he’ll pounce at the first chance he gets to have me or my husband thrown in jail or beheaded.” You phrase it as joke, but it comes out with a bit too much sincerity.

You swallow, turning back to the male. “Anyway, I’m sorry about his gloomy presence. But I should really go and attend to him, before he…you know.” You make to walk away but the male holds you gently by your wrist. Your right wrist. You flinch, feeling that stinging sing beneath your skin.

And then he yanks you close, his mouth opening over your own, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against his hips; walking you back to the counter. You freeze for a moment, stark shock splintering through you as his tongue pushes in.

He pulls away, and shoves his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. “I take it you don’t want me to repeat what I’ve heard back to him, then?” He hisses, so close you can feel his breath fan over your cheeks. You manage a weak shake of your head. “So you’ll be good, and do as I need, yes?”

Your legs nearly give out. Your eyes flicker to the clock. Wilbur should be back in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Suddenly it seems far too long. But if he leaves earlier to get back on time, it should be five. It’s still too long. He loosens his grip on your mouth. “My husband—”

“Will not be able to do anything about it,” he snarls softly. You open your mouth to protest but he spins you around, forcefully bending you over the counter.

His hands bury in your skirts as he hitches them up over your thighs, until he’s got a nice view of your ass, only a thin slip of fabric hiding you from him. “Please,” you hiss, “don’t do this.” His hand fists in your hair, yanking you up from the desk, straining on your throat.

But then he’s pulled away, and you slump down onto the counter. You push up quickly, shoving your skirts down as you hear the male snarl at the force he was ripped away from you with. Tears well at the edges of your eyes as you turn to see your husband—

Eris has his hand wrapped around the male’s throat. From the pained snarls, you know the flame that’s encasing the sensitive skin, fingers brushing over your wrist. “What were you doing?” Eris’ voice slices through the silence, commanding and authoritative. “Just a bit of fun,” the male rasps, eyes sliding to yours, “weren’t we?” You remember the threat he’d made, about repeating your foolishly careless words back to him.

Blades of ice cut into you as you meet Eris’ stony gaze. “It’s true,” you manage, voice cracking. You swallow, a neutral expression settling over your features, “a bit of fun.” The male nods along with you. And then they disappear. Like they’d never even been there in the first place.

You blink, looking around, as if they’ve moved to another part of the room, but it’s unnervingly silent. You don’t waste a second. You stumble forward, flipping the sign in the door, shifting it to Closed, before you’re wobbling hastily up the stairs, hardly keeping your tears in.

You pass the bakery, and head up the next flight of stairs, the ones that will lead you to you and your husband’s shared rooms. Your home. Wet droplets land on your hands as they fumble with the keys that will lead you to your safe space, managing to turn them and place them back inside your pocket.

A presence looms behind you.

You scream as you’re spun round, body on high alert. Eris glares down at you, eyes containing frozen fury. You smack your hands over your mouth, silencing yourself. His shadow spills onto you, casting you in slight darkness. “What was that?” He growls lowly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his palms, surely searing the door.

You’re rooted to the spot, trembling as your hands grapple for the handle. You manage to push it down, the door giving way behind you as you stumble backward, trying to escape him. He gives chase, entering your home as you desperately attempt to reach your bedroom, the only other door that has a lock.

He catches your right wrist, jerking you to a stop as you’re flung round, as if in the middle of a dance. You prepare to scream, to claw, to run from his burning hands, but he pulls you against him. He’s not gentle in his movements, though they’re refined and elegant even in the midst of his rage. “What the hell was that?” He snarls again, hand fisting in your hair as he forces you to look up at him. “Why did you let him put his hands on you? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Tears spill from your eyes as you try to pull away from him, and you don’t think twice about it when he lets you, quietly stalking behind you as you race to your bedroom. You slam the door shut, and slide the lock into place, backing away until you hit something hard.

You scream when you find him stood behind you, and he surges forward, slamming you against the door. “Get off me!” You shout, attempting to push at his chest. He snarls, the sound thundering through your room. “Answer the damned question. Why did you let him put his hands on you?”

“I didn’t!” You scream at him, tears rolling as you tremble beneath his piercing gaze. He ignores you, gripping your jaw in his large hand as you writhe under his iron hold.

“Liar,” he snarls, his mouth brushing over your own, “you let him bend you over. And you would have let him fuck you.” You shake your head in denial, refusing to think about what would have happened had he not—

He’d saved you.

You gulp down your tears, and his eyes track the roll of your throat hungrily. “Why did you do it?” You rasp, drawing his attention, “why did you save me?”

“Do I need a reason to be disgusted at him assaulting you?” He growls, and you can feel the hard press of his body against your own. “You hate me,” you breathe, managing to get your shaking under control. He snarls, “I most certainly do not.”

“Yes, you do,” you hiss, vision blurring despite your best attempts to keep them at bay. “You make my life hell whenever you come into the shop. You’re always taunting me, and belittling me, or saying something cruel to my husband. You abuse your power and use it against us when we’re struggling enough as it is.”

He snarls, “that is who I am, and I will not change. Not even for you. No matter how much you crave it, plead or beg for it, I am who I am and have survived because of it.” One arm wraps around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his. “If I was any less ruthless I would be dead. I did not make it to where I am now by being kind or merciful.”

“You’re cruel,” you cry, brow narrowing through your tears. He growls, and power thrums in the room, crackling and zapping through your skin. “Cruel?” He laughs, but it’s dark, and lacks amusement. “You think I’m cruel?” You can’t move, and it feels like every part of you is pressed against him in one way or another. “What’s cruel is you’re still fighting against me. That you’re not letting me have you after the other male had you bent over your own damned desk.”

You thrash against him, “I didn’t want want him to!” You scream, trembling beneath his iron grip. He snarls, and just like that, he’s pulling you from the door, turning you around as he shoves you onto the bed, bending you over just as the other male had. He pulls your skirts up over your thighs, and you whimper, struggling.

His large palm squeezes your ass, rubbing appreciatively as his hands land on your hips, dragging you over him. You whine but it’s drowned out by his groan of pleasure. He curses, and he thumbs at the thin slip of material, feeling the give as he finds your centre. You try to shrink away but he presses in slightly, delighted when a shiver slides down your spine. “You don’t want this?” He growls, rolling his hips against your own. You shake your head, but yelp when he pulls his hand back, smacking down on your ass.

“Crawl,” he demands.

As soon as he’s releasing you, you’re scrambling up the bed frantically, needing to escape his heated hands. Magic crackles and you still, body freezing while you’re in the middle of the mattress. “Wh—…What?” You scream when flame wraps around your wrists, tugging them from the bed until they’re above you, keeping you on your knees. You struggle against the bonds that are somehow not burning you.

He prowls around the side of the bed, settling down in front of you, cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Now, are you capable of disrobing yourself, or will I have to do it for you?” He drawls, staring into your eyes. You want to shrink away from him, but in a fit of anger, you spit at him. He blinks, raising his fingers to his cheek as he brushes the saliva.

You gasp in horror as his tongue laps over the skin, tasting you. His arousal smacks into you as though ice has frosted his hands instead of flame. “That’s disgusting,” you rasp weakly, managing to meet his hungry gaze. “What’s disgusting is that you’ve let your husband use your cunt instead of begging me to treat her right.” Your lips part in shock and he groans. Then his mouth is opening over your own, tongue lapping and flicking with practiced precision.

A whine is dragged from your throat as the kiss becomes rougher; more frenzied. Bordering on violent. He pulls away, and you’re panting, swallowing air into your lungs. “Hold still,” he commands, and you tremble as his fingers drop to the ties at the front of your dress. One by one, he loosens them, pulling them free.

You whimper as his hands drop to the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head, the material fazing through the bonds at your wrists. You’re nearly completely bare, save for the flimsy slip of fabric clinging to the sweep of your hips. Eris groans, and you can clearly see the effects of his arousal through his finely tailored trousers.

“How selfish can you possibly be?” He murmurs, his hands reaching for you reverently. He cups your breasts, thumbs flicking over your peeked nipples as his mouth returns to yours. It’s softer this time, slower as the pads of his fingers dance over your skin. “You’ve been keeping all this—” his teeth tug gently on your lower lip, hands curving down your spine, making you arch helplessly into his chest, “—to yourself?” He groans at the feel of your breasts dragging against his torso.

His fingers hook beneath your underwear and you squirm, despite knowing how pointless the effort is. “Stop,” you plead, staring up at him, “Eris—” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips. “Whatever I’ve done, please, just forgive me. You can’t— I can’t do this.” He shushes you, and with a crackle of magic, he removes the sole piece of fabric from your body.

Eris pulls away, taking in your naked body: the swell of your breasts, your perky nipples, the hair dusted between your thighs. He wants to drag his tongue across every inch of your skin, taste everywhere. “Please…” you pant, weakly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He palms himself, getting off to your beseeching cries. He curses beneath his breath, “beg me,” he growls, “beg me not to.”

“Eris,” you cry, “please, don’t!” Horror roils in your stomach as he moans, warmth flushing his cheeks. He sits up, moving to kneel before you, still towering over you, “so pretty, aren’t you?” He murmurs over your lips, “does your husband know what a pretty beggar you are?” You’re too shocked to respond to his quiet words.

The male’s lips quirk, “I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”

Shame flushes your cheeks.

But then he’s pulling away from you, and his flame twists your wrists, forcing you to move so your back is facing him. You protest weakly, but to no avail. Instead, you flinch when his front presses against you, his bare chest warm and strong. Already, he’s removed his shirt and waistcoat, left only in his trousers.

You whimper when you feel his hand snake round your front, fingers slipping between your thighs. “That’s it,” he soothes beside your ear, a lover’s caress, “keep making those sounds for me.” You gasp as his fingers roll over your clit and he moans in response. “Do you like that, hm?” His words are softer, vaguely romantic as his hips roll gently into your own.

His canines scrape your neck, tongue lapping over the erogenous area, “answer me.” You shake your head, refusing him again and again. He merely laughs, “you will.” Then he’s drawing away from you, lips attaching to the tip of your spine as he begins his descent. Heat raises beneath his mouth, following the pathway he trails until he’s between your legs.

You let out a startled whimper when he spits on you, pressing two fingers to your entrance. Your face heats when they slide in easily, and he groans, the sounds rumbling through you. “And here you were saying you didn’t want this,” he growls. “I think you’re as depraved as I am. Isn’t that right?” His fingers press deeper, and when they pull out, you feel the slick that dampens your inner thighs.

He returns to your ear, hand snaking round your front. You flinch, whimpering when he smacks between your legs. “Isn’t that right, hm?” He plays with your clit, fingers again dipping down to your entrance, pushing in, getting them nice and wet as he moans deeply. “You can’t deny me when you’re soaking me like this. Do you hear that?” He shoves his finger back in and you hear the wet squelch.

You involuntarily tighten around him, whimpering at the pleasure. “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t even be able to beg me to stop.” Then he’s guiding his tip between your legs, slicking himself in your wetness, his head bumping into your clit. His cock presses against your entrance, and he pushes in slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him. He slides in partially, then pulls out, only to push back in further, until you can feel him in your lower abdomen.

“Eris,” you whimper, his hands coming up your front to play with your nipples. “Say it again,” he murmurs, drawing his hips back as he pushes in, “say my name. Go on.” One hand drops to your clit, swiping over it. “Moan for me.” Then his hips snap against your own, and a startled moan spills from you.

He laughs darkly, picking up the pace. “That’s it,” he encourages, chuckling, “moan for me like the damn whore you are.” You whimper at the title, clamping down on him. “Fuck, you like that? Like when I call you my whore?” He doesn’t miss the wave of arousal that washes from you—it’s impossible.

“So damned dirty, huh?” He’s found the pace you like, beginning to pound into you, relentless snaps of his hips as he fucks your cunt. “Does your husband know what a slut you are? Does he know how much you enjoy the degradation?” Tears roll down your cheeks, lips parting as you pant, the breath being knocked from your lungs with each slam of his cock.

“Fuck. What would he say if he walked through that door, huh?” You freeze. It’s like ice has been dumped over you. He should be back any second now. He should already be back. Eris kisses along the slope of your neck, “does that excite you, hm? Knowing that handle could dip at any second and he would see how well you’re taking my cock? How desperate you are? How filthy you are?”

Eris laughs, as if it’s a game to him. “He won’t though. He’s had you to himself for long enough. Kept this pretty pussy hidden, mistreating her all these years, and now I’m going to give her so much you’ll never think of him again. Forget he even existed.” His cock presses against you so deliciously, fingers playing with your puffy clit with practiced ease. And you feel that traitorous high approaching.

The male feels you tighten around him, and groans. “You going to come on my cock, huh? Gonna take your pleasure like a good whore? My good whore.” He drives into you languidly, and you spiral. Eris swears as he feels you fluttering around him at last. “Oh, there you go. Just like that. So good. So filthy. Fuck, you’re just divine aren’t you?” His teeth sink into your neck as you come, his own high hitting him moments later. He moans softly beside your ear as you feel him spill into you, “you like that feeling? Like having my come stuffing you full?” He laughs darkly, “maybe I should tie you to the bed with my flames. Have you all spread out to let it slip down.”

You pant heavily, too dizzy with euphoria.

“How do you think your husband would react, hm? Seeing another male’s come dripping from your pretty pussy?”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#eris #dark! Eris #Eris smut #dark! Eris smut #Eris x reader #Eris x reader smut #dark! Eris x reader smut #[***]

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morethansalad · 1 year

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Cran-Apple Goji Crisp (Vegan)

#vegan #desserts #fruit crisp #valentine's day #cranberries #goji berries #apples #oats #almond flour #vegan butter #lemon #cinnamon #cardamom #nutmeg #maple syrup #coconut oil #sea salt

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hetalia-club · 1 year

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So I have this head cannon that I put so much faith in that I sort of convinced myself it was real and I just want to share it with you guys because i think it’s kinda cute and harmless.

So I have this theory that the nations have distinct smells. they don't need perfume or cologne or rather if they wear it you can't even smell it because their natural smell overpowers it. I think they smell like what they are known for. I haven't mapped down everyone because I don't really know what everyone is known for but there are the ones I have. You don’t have to agree with me on the smells and feel free to add your own takes if they are different.

America- oranges, apples, suntan lotion, mountain air, wild flowers and pine. (Like outside in the summer time)

Russia- earth, oil, flowers, crisp air and honey (Earthy with a hint of sweet at the end)

France- Roses, fresh herbs, lavender, and cigarette smoke (Floral slightly masked by the smell of stale cigarettes)

Italy- lilies, oil paint, grapes, and fresh cut grass (floral shop meets art studio)

Romano- lemons, ash, salt water air, wild flowers, and old churches (fresh and little musty at the end)

Germany- fresh baked bread, coal, metallic, and dead leaves (imagine a bakery was built maybe slightly too close to a factory)

Canada- Pine, earth, maple syrup, wild flowers (the sickeningly sweet smell over takes the smell of nature at times)

England- old books, tea leaves, freshly cut grass, metallic (kind of like how the airs smells before a big lightning storm)

#healia #hws america #hws france #hws italy #hws russia #hws romano #hws prussia #hws germany #hws canada #hws england #Arthur Kirkland #Alfred. f jones #lovino vargas #Ivan braginski #Feliciano Vargas #ludwig beilschmidt #francis bonnefoy #original

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swirlpops · 2 years

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jjba & you: fall dates edition.

Another season, another round of D A T E S with some of our faves. HAPPY FALL AND SHIT, Y’ALL.

> all characters 21+.

> characters: bruno, abbacchio, gyro, jotaro, josuke, doppio/diavolo, diego, giorno, kakyoin, poly caesar & joseph.

> gender-neutral reader.

> sfw fluff, tender and warming for the soul.

(> if you're interested, a summer dates edition with our darling bruno, is here!)

bruno bucciarati ; farmer’s market

Bruno had always loved the hustle and bustle of the farmer's market. Amidst a cacophony of hellos, he would blaze a trail of taste testing and sightseeing, taking in all the market had to offer. Today, you were by his side as he showed you his favorite stalls. "That one over there," he says, pointing one hand and gently resting the other on your shoulder, "has divine maple butter pastries. The farmer makes them fresh every morning." He ushers you to another stall, dotted with bouquets and fairy lights even in the gentle light of morning. "And this one has flowers that are homegrown here in Napoli, picked at the break of dawn."

The sight of such a diverse array of flowers catches you off guard – mums painted with deep burgundy, sunflowers soaked in the last vestiges of early autumn sun. Bruno hums over the selection and plucks a violet dahlia; its center is smattered with brilliant gold. He tucks it behind your ear and smiles warmth down at you – undoubtedly, the most beautiful flower of them all.

leone abbacchio ; fall shopping

At the craft fair, the fragrance of candles poured with apples, leaves, and candy corn float through endless rows of fall decor. Leone wrinkles his nose as you enter a particularly robust row, and casually takes your hand in his. It’s calloused and rough; the arbiter of a small token of affection doled out in carefully placed intervals. It’s ok – you don’t mind. “Why do people make these damn candles so strong?” he grumbles to himself. However, a small, white pumpkin tufted from scratchy felt steals his attention. He picks it up with his other hand, inspecting it as he holds it up to the crisp light of the low autumn sun. “This is cute,” he says under his breath, almost loathe in his admittance. “Let’s put it on our mantle. It'll look nice above the fire.”

gyro zeppeli ; bonfires & s’mores

"No no no," Gyro titters at you. "You have to smush it like this." He presses his palms together, melding gooey layers of graham cracker, scorched marshmallow, and rich milk chocolate. "The flavors have to bloom!" he continues, stressing each word as he gesticulates. "They have to bloom and grow, so you can stick it in your mouth for it explode with a big boom from the taste of it and–"

You stare at Gyro, mouth agape, as he waxes poetic about the wonders of s'mores technique. The bonfire he so skillfully built was licking its flames to the night sky, acting like it was protesting his lecture. Shadows play across his face, but you notice something amidst the embers' glow.

"Gyro," you interrupt.

"What?"

"You have chocolate on your nose."

"I do?" He swoops in to bring his face close to yours, and playfully rubs the tip of his nose against your own. "Well, so do you."

jotaro kujo ; apple cider

Quiet mornings are always spent together, perusing the daily newspaper on the porch. Morning fog sets the scene, rolling over fireburnt foliage and quaint cottages to douse the horizon with a cozy, picturesque atmosphere. Jotaro looks across at you, deep in the headlines of today's paper. He takes note of your concentration – brows furrowed, eyes scanning, and lips parted and soft from the touch of apple cider kissed along them. His own mug is warm and steaming, with tendrils of heat unfurling to befriend the rolling fog. Eyes still on you, he lifts his mug to his mouth. He takes a moment to relish the taste – but its sweetness holds no candle to the sacred ritual of sharing his mornings with you.

josuke higashikata ; pumpkin patch

With all the countenance of an overexcited puppy, Josuke tugs on the hem of your marigold sweater to pull you in the direction of the hayrides. He drags you over rows of pumpkins dusted with nighttime dew; vines snag your ankles as the crunch of leaves lead you to a farmtruck stuffed with bales of hay. Easy as could be, he grabs your waist and lifts you clean off your feet, settling you onto the back of the truck. The low full moon shines its favor on the both of you when you share a tender gaze.

“Are you ready?” he asks, gently resting his hands on your knees while his cheeks bloom with blush. “As I’ll ever be,” you respond with a smile, reaching your hand out to him. He smiles back, wide and beautiful, as he takes your hand to climb aboard and join you.

vinegar doppio/diavolo ; haunted house

Trembling like a fieldmouse at harvest, Doppio latches onto your arm. "I bet another monster is going to hop out any minute," he laments. "I can't take this!" He buries his face into your shoulder and rubs it, wiping away the tears threatening to spill. "We shouldn't have came…"

You reach up to stroke the wild pink fluorescence of Doppio’s hair while you both round a corner into a small and empty room. "They're just actors!" you say, laughing in jest. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

All Doppio could do was quiver in the dim light of the haunted house; he whimpers and grips you tighter. "I mean… I could protect you too, you know."

"Is that so?"

You swore you could see a familiar glint in his eye. Doppio nods, and his body starts to grow larger as he does so. You lean back when you feel a heavy presence – though at this point, you supposed you were used to it.

A muscular arm pushes you against the wall to trap you between a rock and a hard place. Who you knew as Diavolo was now pressed against you, with his arm bracing the wall to cage you in. "Oh?" says a deep voice. "What’s this?” His tone is smooth and dangerous, and the touch of his trailing hand evaporates down your cheek. "Lost in a sea of wolves, little lamb?"

diego brando ; trick or treat

“This is stupid.”

Diego huffs as he enters the room, clad in a comically oversized dinosaur suit from head to toe. "Remind me again, why am I doing this?"

In your Jurassic Park ranger costume, you giggle at the sight of Diego, who so courteously succumbed to your request. "Look at you, oh my god!" you say excitedly. "You'll be a hit at all the houses! We're gonna get so much candy, just you watch."

Diego waddles over to you, and you can practically see the scowl on his face through his getup. "I can barely breathe," he complains. "What a stupid tradition."

"It'll be fun, I promise. And you can always take off your little dino head, you know.”

No more permission is needed – he pulls it off with zero hesitation. “Done,” he says, making his way to the overflowing candy bowl in your foyer. "An hour is my absolute limit, mind you."

You follow alongside him, pouting and affectionately pinching his cheek. "Aw, Diego – a little bit longer? Please? For me?"

He picks up a miniature candy bar and tosses it in the air. With a deft hand he grabs it, then squeezes it out its wrapper, sending it flying to catch in his mouth. “Well, if it's for you I suppose I could," he says through a mouthful of sickly sweet chocolate. "Right. Let’s get on with it, then.”

giorno giovanna ; carving pumpkins

Tongue peeking out in concentration, Giorno carves into the delicate stencil pasted on his pumpkin. Ambitious as always, the pattern is intricate – inlaid with roses aplenty and labor intensive vines. The only sounds in the room are hushed breaths and the drag of carving knives ripping into the pumpkins' soft flesh.

"How's it coming?" you ask, peering over your own pumpkin.

"Almost there," Giorno replies, with his eyes trained on his handiwork. "How about you?

“Uh…” You take a moment to tilt your head and appraise your progress. It’s a bit jagged and roughshod, but it still retains the likeness of a classic jack o'lantern.

Giorno scoots over in his chair and leans into your shoulder to take a peek for himself. “Looking spooky,” he says with a half grin. “I love it.”

“Thanks!” you say, as you go back to hacking into its eye. “But honestly, this part is a little tough to cut through. Do you mind giving me a hand?”

He places his hand on top of yours, grasping your keyhole saw alongside you, and presses a gentle kiss into your temple. “Allow me,” he says, melting all of your woes in one fell swoop.

noriaki kakyoin ; apple picking

A dappling of light scatters through a grove of apple trees. The air is fresh and crisp; your baskets overflow with apples speckled in sap. The best part of it all, is getting a lift on Noriaki’s shoulders – a far better option than scrambling up wooden ladders laden with splints.

From your perch, he runs his hands down your calves, looking up in adoration to observe as you pluck a particularly juicy looking apple. After a small wiggle to position yourself, you tug the fruit from its spot on the branch. It falls into your hand with a satisfying plop.

“That one’s pretty big,” he notes. “Maybe we should eat that one first.”

“A good plan, I think,” you say. You give it a quick wipe on your sleeve, then bend over so you can present it in front of his mouth. He smiles with serenity, appreciative of your offer. His eyes lock on yours as he tilts his head forward, sinking his teeth into the ripe flesh. A trickle of juice runs down the side of his mouth, and he can’t help but laugh through the burst of apple. Everything always tastes better when it's with you.

caesar zeppeli & joseph joestar ; soapmaking

The hustle and bustle of people milling around your soapmaking class was the perfect diversion for Joseph’s latest caper – which was to annoy you and Caesar. Simply put, it was business as usual.

Caesar slipped on a pair of gloves, but the looming figure behind him snatched his attention from pouring his lye. “I can see you, Jojo,” he said, looking over his shoulder in annoyance. “We can both see you.”

Your head was also turned – you were well versed enough to recognize Joseph’s ways. His face stretched in a wide, suspicious smile, and his hands remained hidden behind his back. "No need to get your eyes checked, then!” he exclaimed in a singsong voice, cheesy as ever. “Look at my two favorite lovely people, being so cute, making the best soap–”

Caesar rolled his eyes and turned back to his work. Leaning over to you, he spoke, “If we ignore him, he just might go away.”

“Caesar,” Joseph whined, “I’m right here! I can hear you!”

“Good,” said Caesar.

Joseph whipped his arms from behind his back, brandishing a heart-shaped bar of soap in each hand. "Fine," he pouted. "I was going to give you two these, but since you're being so mean…"

Your heart melted on sight. Though they looked… suspicious, to say the least, they were still a token of Joseph's affection. "That's so cute, Jojo!" you exclaimed happily.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Caesar – but he couldn't even begin to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

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youre-ackermine · 6 months

Text

Belated birthday

Characters: Levi Ackerman / Hange Zoe

Wordcount: 1160 approx.

Modern AU / SFW / established relationship / non-binary Hange / swearwords

Walking back home through the park was not so bad after all, Levi thought to himself. He had been reluctant to Hange's suggestion at first, arguing that the pie would never be baked by tea time.

They had already wasted enough time wandering among the stalls at the farmers' market to purchase some veggies after lunch, he had argued. But of course they could never take 'no' for an answer, could they?

So they had insisted, all puppy eyes and irritating whines, tugging his coat sleeve, begging him between kisses on his cheeks or neck, squeezing his arm between theirs.

And obviously they had pestered the shit out of him until he gave in, frowning in annoyance and rubbing his temples as he felt the headache coming.

When he thought about it, Hange’s beaming smile had been worth the relinquishment, lighting up their face and making his heart melt in the process. And strolling through the park together arm in arm only added to the warmth that started to spread in his chest, reviving the memory of their first date one fall years ago.

Rays of pale sunlight played through the russet foliage, piercing the light mist. A swift gust raised a whirlwind of fallen leaves every once in a while, scattering them across the path. Levi took a deep breath, taking in the relaxing quietness of early Saturday afternoon, relishing in the sweet undergrowth smell of the earth.

The crisp autumn air stung his ears and the tip of his nose but Levi couldn't care less, not when he felt the gentle touch of Hange's warm body pressed against his side as they walked. Not when their eyes sparkled with sheer joy as they babbled about how beautiful the elms and maples were this time of the year. Not when they squeezed his arm as they pointed out a squirrel hopping from branch to branch.

“...and the way their eyes are positioned allows them to see behind them, can you believe it, Shorty?” Hange exclaimed, snapping him off his reverie. “Nature is so fascinating, I’ll never get tired of learning more about it every day of my life!” they enthused.

Every day of my life. The words echoed in Levi’s head and swirled around for a while, leaving a sweet sensation in their wake. He turned to Hange, smiling softly as his gaze wandered over their handsome face. He slowed his steps, gently holding them back and pulled them into him.

They giggled and slid an arm around his neck when he leaned in to kiss them on the lips, a brief and chaste kiss, something featherlight and heartfelt, his eyes fluttering shut for a few seconds. He was caught in the moment, oblivious to the affection he displayed in public, but it felt so right his heart swelled with fondness in his chest.

Snapping out of his trance, he slipped his hand in Hange's, intertwining their fingers, and resumed walking.

“Come on, Four-Eyes, let’s get home before we freeze our asses off!” He blurted out.

Levi was glad they could finally mark Hange’s birthday. Nothing too fancy though, just their friends coming over for tea and apple pie, an opportunity to catch up on each other’s lives, a chance to share a good moment of friendship and show how much they all loved Hange.

Their last project at work had kept them busier than usual, delaying the celebration for weeks. This week-end was the first one in months for them to enjoy free time so, before getting to cook, Levi had insisted Hange settled comfortably on the couch with a soft blanket and the book they bought before coming back home.

Lulled by Hange’s blabbering, Levi had prepared and baked the pie in no time, letting his mind wander to his bedside table. Levi smiled. There, in the drawer, Hange’s birthday gift was nestled between neatly ironed handkerchiefs and a box of mints.

He had bought it on an impulse months ago, his gaze drawn to it as he walked past the store window. It reminded him of the golden amber hue of their eyes, those eyes which held the most beautiful shades of fall, those eyes so entrancing and expressive he could never get tired drowning into.

A slight blush of anticipation crept up his face as he thought about how surprised Hange and their closest friends would be. He imagined their fingers feverishly tearing the pumpkin patterned paper. He imagined them gasping as they opened the small box. He imagined them beaming as they lifted their head to look at him. And the butterflies fluttered in his chest.

“Oh my, it smells so good, Levi!” Hange exclaimed in a cheerful tone as he took the pastry out of the oven, a sweet aroma wafting from the kitchen. “Can I have a teeny-tiny slice, please?” they begged.

“Hell no, Four-Eyes!” he replied without turning back, sliding the cake onto a plate. “It’ll ruin the whole damn pie before anyone can see it!”

“But it’s for my birthday!” they whined.

“I-said-no!” His tone cut short any retort. “Besides, it’s still too hot, tis gonna burn your tongue and shit!”

“You’re not funny, Shorty,” they pouted.

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, Four-Eyes. If you say so.”

Shining spoons and a china sugar bowl elegantly set out on the tray next to the floral patterned tea set, the birthday candles placed on the apple-pie, autumn flowers nicely arranged in a vase… Levi let out a sigh of satisfaction. Everything was ready.

He headed to the bedroom for a quick check in the mirror and opened his drawer to take the wrapped box with a trembling hand. He felt weird. Shy and nervous, giddy and thrilled, wobbly and excited, all of these at the same time.

In a few steps, Levi reached the window, opened it to let the bracing autumn air in. He let his eyes wander over the golden foliage of the trees along the street below and took a deep, invigorating breath.

He had been waiting for this moment for months and now was not the time to flinch. Slipping the gift into his pocket, he pulled himself together and walked back to the kitchen to brew a cup of espresso for Hange.

Levi stopped in his tracks as soon as he glanced into the sitting-room. The autumn sun bathed the room in golden light, softly warming its atmosphere and highlighting Hange's handsome features.

They looked comfortable and relaxed, cozily huddled on the couch, their book now neglected in favor of Sawney. The couple’s ginger cat purred and squirmed shamelessly under Hange’s petting. Their voice was gentle and loving as they cooed to the fur ball, a soft smile spreading over their pretty face.

He took in the endearing sight for a while, relishing in this sweet, heartwarming sensation. In this very moment, looking at his beloved Hange, he finally felt like home.

This is my entry for Eliza's Under the Harvest Moon AOT collab @postwarlevi

Sorry to post it so late!! Technically, it's still fall, right?

🔸🔸🔸

Header: @youre-ackermine

Dividers: @saradika-graphics & @firefly-graphics

🔸🔸🔸

A/N: not beta/proof read - English is not my usual language

#levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levihan #levihan drabble #levihan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #nonbinary hange #nb!hange #harvestmoonaotcollab #val writes ✍️

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