nyxiespam

[nyxiespam]

apple pie

synopsis: caleb’s birthdays have always been lackluster. you give him his best one yet. 

tags: fluff, birthday fic, proposal, mc proposes to caleb, set 3 years post-explosion, calm mc x panicking caleb, he cries a little, reverse comfort, very slight angst, pet names (baby, pip-squeak). inspired by apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

word count: 4.4k 

a/n: surprise. i am so nervous posting this? that’s not good. but yes, this was an idea i mentioned in like my second week of writing and kept postponing. all of it was written before the trailer & card dropped so his birthday is more of a sob story here *plays tiny violin*. anyway i waited until i played the card to post this because with my luck his first line of dialogue would’ve been wow i really hate apple pie

The nostalgic scent of apple pie wafts through Caleb's Skyhaven home. 

Wetting a towel, you wipe the flour from your face and shrug your powdery apron into the laundry basket. In your clean clothes, you rest on a seat in his spacious kitchen, letting the soft evening sunlight fall across your face. 

Making good birthday memories had never been Caleb’s priority, always too busy with work or training or other people to pay any attention to himself. You’d lost count of the times Gran had sent you to bed before he finally came home for the night, trudging inside to find a candlelit cake sitting alone on the dining table. It was only after the explosion that you’d started celebrating his birthday the way you should have all along: he’d come home early, put his phone on silent, and wouldn’t lift a finger.

With your enthusiasm and scarily strict instructions, slowly but surely, the good memories were replacing the bad. 

And with any luck, today would be the best of them all.

He had never refused a gift you’d given him. Even if he hated it, he’d pretend the opposite, just like he did the first time you bought his present with your own money. The girls at your elementary school had been raving about a new dollhouse, so you’d scrambled together all the coins in your piggy bank to buy one for Caleb. And when he’d pulled the sparkly purple mansion out of the gift bag, he’d only faltered for a second before grinning and wrapping you in a hug. 

Back then, he’d indulged your naive anticipation, accepting even the most questionable of gifts with gratitude. 

But today, your gift is something else—something more. Something he couldn't pretend to like and accept with a selfless smile. 

You thought you'd be nervous—thought you’d chicken out, thought you wouldn't have the guts to risk the day you’d reclaimed for him by doing something so bold. To wager a love you’d fought so hard to cultivate.

But it was easy to be with him. 

You’d danced around each other when you'd reunited three years ago. But unsure stares had turned to shy embraces, and those had turned to carefree kisses.

You love him. More than you ever thought you could. 

And if his answer isn’t the one you want to hear, you’ll love him all the same. 

Beep! Beep!

The shrill ding of the oven shatters the kaleidoscope of flashbacks in your head. Pausing your absentminded spins on the bar stool, you gingerly take the pie out and set it on the cooling rack. Sliding your oven mitts off, you carefully unwrap your helpers for tonight: the silly little apple mascots Caleb had drawn of you both when you were little—a way to get you to eat more fruit. With a soft smile, you set them aside for later and hop back onto the stool, fiddling with the small navy box on the island. 

5:32, reads the sleek wall clock. He’ll be home early tonight, per your nonnegotiable demand. And until his warm voice calls out his arrival, you’ll endure his absence with thoughts of him. 

June 13th was a historically bad day. 

Prying eyes, summer jobs, and air emergencies…so many distractions that Caleb could hardly call them that anymore. Not outliers, not accidents, just…normal. It was normal for his birthday to never truly be his. 

And sometime, somehow, he’d become okay with that. Until the last few years, there hadn’t been much in his life for him to celebrate, after all. What should he have toasted to? The time the whole neighborhood had thrown a party at Gran’s house, and he’d barely seen you the whole night? The time he’d had to cover a slacker’s shift and couldn’t make it home until after the candles you’d lit for him had already fizzled out? The time he’d been legally dead and unable to even give you a call? 

Yes. June 13th was a historically bad day. 

As his aircraft rises from the Fleet’s hangar and into the sky, Caleb breathes a heavy sigh he’d been holding in since noon. At the request of his superiors, or maybe some kiss-up recruits—all he knows is that he didn’t ask for it—the administrative assistants had planned a lackluster birthday party for him that afternoon. His subordinates had been all but forced to attend, and their empty smiles and hollow well-wishes had only made him want to get back to you sooner.

Tonight would be better, he was sure of it. Because tonight was one of the rare nights when you were all his. 

He’d only been apart from you for 10 hours, but that was 10 hours too long. He never woke you up before he left for the day—you deserved to sleep in—so the only bit of you he’d had today was the half-page letter you must’ve snuck into his uniform in the middle of the night. Don’t worry about today, you’d written. Enjoy it. You’ll be home before you know it, and then, I’ve got you. 

He can’t wait to hold you in his arms. To have your scent envelop him as you thread your fingers through his hair. To taste the tart apple pie you’d baked for him the last two years—every birthday since the explosion. 

He remembers the first time like it was yesterday: coming home weary from a long day at work to find you in his kitchen, covered in flour and nose-deep in a hastily printed recipe. You’d shooed him away until the pie was ready and cooled, then presented it to him bashfully, ordering him not to judge.

The crust was burnt, but he'd finished it all in just a couple days. Yes, because it was good underneath the charred edges, but mostly because you made it. For him. 

The extra miles he’d had to run all week were worth it.  

When the familiar landing pad comes into view, Caleb’s hopes are as high as his plane in the sky. He touches down like he always does, quickly running through his mental checklist, and hurries down the ramp. 

A breeze rustles through the air. It’d rained earlier—a brief, capricious storm—but the gray clouds had made way for a hazy pink sunset. 

Reaching the patio, he scans his thumbprint on the buzzer, waiting impatiently for the system’s recognition. It comes after a few seconds, the access panel lighting up bright green, and Caleb steps through the doorway, eager to see you on the other side. 

“Baby? I’m ho—”

Before Caleb can finish his greeting, you barrel into him, wrapping your arms around his torso in excitement. His happy laugh sounds more like a giggle as he twirls you around the foyer. 

“Looks like someone’s happy to see me. What’s the occasion, I wonder?”

“I was testing your reflexes,” you mumble into his uniform. “Nice to see your age hasn’t caught up with you yet.”

“With you keepin’ me on my toes all the time, I’d say I got a few good years left in me,” he teases, gently ruffling your hair. “Have you been in here all day?”

“Mhm. I made the pie and I’ve been working on…other things,” you answer vaguely. 

“Oh, the pie. I almost couldn’t tell you made it without you all covered in flour.” 

Pulling back from his hold, you glare up at him in exaggerated annoyance. “You just redeemed your birthday freebie. Anything else you say today is fair game,” you warn.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet,” he relents, and you nod your approval. 

Circling around him, you stand on your tiptoes to tap his back twice. Caleb understands immediately, used to carrying you back to his car after your longer dates. As soon as he squats down, you climb onto his back, and he rises to full height effortlessly. 

“I’ve never heard of anyone being used for transportation on their own birthday,” he jokes, placing his hands under your knees for stability. 

“Nuh-uh. This is so you don’t see anything you shouldn’t.” Meticulously, you cover his eyes with your fingers. “The kitchen is a no-fly zone until I say otherwise. I’m just here to make sure you don’t trespass. Now, three steps forward,” you order, squeezing his sides with your legs like a horseback rider.

Caleb chuckles and follows your instructions, but before you can keep steering him, he finds his way to the living room sofa all by himself. 

“I made sure there weren’t gaps between my fingers—you couldn’t see anything! How did you…ugh, never mind. Of course you did,” you grumble as he gently deposits you on the sofa. 

When he sits by your side, his purple eyes are open and twinkling at you. “You forget they did blindfolded cockpit tests at the Academy. This was child’s play compared to that.”

“What can’t you do,” you say flatly, failing to hide your fondness. “The pie is cooling. But in the meantime,” you add, reaching sneakily behind an apple cushion, “I wanted to give you this.”

The mid-size box is imperfectly encased in space-themed wrapping paper. Between the two of you, Caleb had always been the better gift wrapper; he could always get the creases right, but you figured you couldn’t ask him to wrap his own birthday present. 

Taking the gift from your hands, he smiles at the tape plastered all over the box but tactfully refrains from commenting. “You know you didn’t have to, pip-squeak. A night with you to myself is enough for me.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, knowing he’ll try to protest the second the words leave your mouth. And when he does, you cut him off. “Open it, baby. I think you’ll like it.” 

He frowns at you, still not appreciating your joke, but does as you say. Messy as it is, the wrapping tears off in one piece, and Caleb lifts the box lid to reveal a dusky orange binder. Immediately, he recognizes it as your old scrapbook—the one that’d practically been your prized possession growing up.

Carefully, he flips through it. The first few pages are just as he remembers: Caleb, age 12, concentrating on a model airplane you’d given him. A stacked clipboard in his hand while Caleb, age 14, helps you practice for the school spelling bee. You licking the spoon while Caleb, age 17, makes brownies to celebrate your stellar report card.

Warmth blooms in his chest at the familiar photos. But it’s the new ones that make his heartbeat quicken. 

The seventh and eighth pages are filled with moments from the past three years. Moments that he, for all his vigilance, hadn’t even known you’d captured. In the first, he’s lounging on this very couch, watching his necklace glint in the lamplight. In the next, he’s fixing his crooked Fleet hat in the mirror. 

His eyes flit to the largest picture, filling up the bottom half of the seventh page. Taken last year, according to the date scrawled on the film. You’re both in bed, entwined bodies outlined by the dim night-light. And wrapped securely around your waist is Caleb’s arm—his metal arm. He’d done maintenance on it that day, he recalls. It’d been a particularly rough session, and despite his reluctance, you’d walked him back to his room and laid him down on the bed. He’d stopped his protests when you’d crawled in beside him. 

Of course, he remembers that day. But he never expected you to. For you to want to. But as his gaze lands on the caption, spelled out in swooping letters under the photo, he knows he’d been wrong. 

My Caleb.

Inhaling sharply, he turns his searching gaze to you. 

“You always snuck into my room and pulled it out to tease me. Even when you came home on your breaks, until I got mad at you for it. And then the last few times you visited, you never brought it out again,” you start, fiddling with the sleeve of his uniform. 

He runs his thumb across your handwriting. 

“That day…it was tucked away in my nightstand, all the way at the back of the house. So, the firefighters were able to save it. And for a while, this and your necklace…your trophies and a few of your clothes…they were all I had of you. But then you came back, and you didn’t know, and I’ve been adding more.” 

“You kept it all this time?” he asks, but the awed question is more like a statement. 

You give him a bittersweet shrug.

“Are you sure you want me to have it?”

“It’s yours,” you whisper, willing a smile to your face. “You can take it to your office. Flip through it to break up the bad days.”

He smirks wryly. “So every day, you mean.” 

“Maybe. But yes, it’s yours. I don’t need it as much now that I have you beside me. With me. In the way I want.” Looking down in a mixture of shyness and anticipation, you spread his fingers apart and squeeze them shut again, bashfully waiting for his reaction. 

Setting the binder aside, he pulls you into his lap. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and earnest. “For keeping our memories. And for trusting me with them.” 

When you bury your face in his neck, strong arms encircle your waist, his hands rubbing up and down in soothing strokes. For several minutes, you stay just like this, breathing each other in until the rises and falls of your chests sync. 

And then, the upbeat melody of your phone timer slices through the perfect silence. 

Your head pops up like a meerkat’s. “Oh, yay! It’s ready,” you cheer, starting to climb off of him. 

But Caleb’s hands grip your hips, holding you in place. “Can’t we stay here for a while?” he rasps, throat bobbing with longing. “I know the birthday boy. He won’t be mad if the party starts a little late.”

You scoff at his attempt and wriggle out of his grasp. “It may be your birthday, but we’re still following my schedule.”

“Of course,” he sighs, trying to suppress the curl of his lips. “Shouldn’t have dared to think anything different.” 

“That’s right. Now stay in here while I put the toppers on! No peeking,” you yell, strolling into the kitchen. 

He cocks his head playfully. “No peeking, huh? Alright. I’ll give you…ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds? What do you mean ten sec—”

“One,” he calls, the smirk evident in his tone. 

Ten seconds to arrange a proposal. Nine, now.

Your stroll becomes a scurry. 

“Two, three.”

Fumbling with the apple toppers, you center them on the pie, sinking the bigger one’s foot a bit too far into the goop between the braided crust. Whoops.

“Six, seven,” he counts with tantalizing slowness. 

Okay. Okay. The last touch: the ring. With a shaky breath, you retrieve the box from the drawer you’d hidden it in and pull the ring out, carefully settling it around the red apple’s tiny arm. 

“Ten! Officially breaching the no-fly zone. Hold your fire, please!”

When Caleb finally enters the kitchen—he’d walked slower than normal to give you more time, you noticed—a golden pie greets him on the island. Perched atop it are figures of the two apple mascots he’d created—one red and one green, one big and one small. His face lights up in flattered recognition. 

“Thanks, pip-squeak. It looks great and smells even better,” he smiles, reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet. 

“Thank you, but…I worked so hard on the design! I think you should really take a closer look!” you prod, stomach flipping with sudden nerves. But even through the waves of nausea, you’ve never felt so sure. 

Entertaining your enthusiasm, he sets your plates down and leans over the pie, giving it an overexaggerated inspection. 

“Yep, this latticework is professional quality. You might have a career in—”

Caleb stops.

Freezes.

He freezes because he sees, draped loosely over the arm of the bigger apple, a shimmering platinum ring.

A ring that looks like it’d fit the thick curve of his finger. 

His eyes don’t leave the silvery band. Not even when he starts trembling. 

But after several tense moments of you holding your breath, he turns back to you wearing a mix of emotions: confusion, surprise, hope, love, fear, disbelief. You count them all. You welcome them all. Giving him time before you take a step toward him.

But Caleb takes a step back.

It’s a stumble, really, the way his knees almost buckle in shock. Eyes blown wide and darting all of your body, pleading for some kind of explanation. 

You falter at his retreat. But before the blight of rejection can spread through your chest, he takes two rushed steps forward, as if compensating for his mistake. Guilt joins the myriad of expressions on his face. 

You clear your throat. “…So? What do you think?”

“…Huh?” he splutters. 

From the corner of your eye, you spot his hands twitching at his sides, and you regain the strength to tease him as they clench and unfurl. This is Caleb. “Well if you don't want to accept, I’ll just—”

“No!” he rushes, snapping out of his daze and pulling you into him. “No. It’s just…I…is this what I think it is?” The question is soft, barely more than a whisper, and his voice breaks at the end. He swallows. 

Cupping his cheek in your hand, you nod. Slowly. Deliberately. 

A darling red blooms under his faint freckles, and you have to fight to contain your giggle. He looks like a strawberry. 

A small, confused noise, almost like a lamb’s bleat, escapes him as he gulps again. Tenderly, you raise your other palm to his face and wiggle it lightly, just like when you were kids. “Don’t be nervous. What do you have to be nervous about? It’s just me.”

Between your steady hands, his lips move in a pout. “Just…do you mean it?” he asks, head drooping toward the floor as if he’s afraid to hear the answer. 

“I do.” 

At the implication behind your words, Caleb draws a sharp inhale. Trembling hands enclose your wrists, and shining violet eyes search yours frantically. 

“You want me to be your…” He trails off abruptly, as if choking on the word. Your heart is beating too fast to be healthy, but you’ll be calm for him. He needs this. He needs you. 

“My husband,” you finish for him. “My big, strong, beautiful husband who thinks way too little of himself if he can't see what a catch he is,” you smile. “I love you for a lot of reasons. More than I can count. But the first is that you make me feel safe—safe enough to do this. So, if you’ll have me,” you drawl playfully, trying to balance out his flurry of emotions, “I’d like to marry you, Caleb. And if you won't…” you lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “I guess I’ll just end up alone, then. Because there’s no one else for me.”

There’s no one else for me. He’ll like that. He’ll like it so much, it felt almost cruel to lure him with the line. But you meant every word. 

Until now, you’ve been purposely delicate. Not moving too much or too fast, letting him process and think and feel. And when he collapses in your embrace and buries his head into your shoulder, you know you made the right call. Someone so strong, so, so fragile. 

You can’t imagine how self-conscious he feels. He’d gotten better about it after it brought you to tears last year—he’d kicked himself out to sleep on the couch—but he still tried to hide his vulnerability from you. 

And now, he’s here: the man who wouldn’t even let you see him when he had a cold, sniffling in your arms because you want to marry him. But he fell into you because he needed your comfort, and you’d never withhold it from him. 

“What’s wrong?” you coo, threading your fingers in his soft brown strands. “Did I upset you? Should I not have asked?” 

He tries to speak, but salty tears scald his throat. With a deep breath, he tries again, and the first word is firm despite his shuddering shoulders. “No. It’s not that. I…I’m just frustrated. I should've done it first—I’m so sorry I didn't do it first. Please let me do it—I’ll make it up to you,” he whines.

You kiss his hair. “You have nothing to make up for. I’m just glad I got to catch you off guard for once—you're always ruining my surprises.” 

Gently, you guide him to the nearest bar stool and slightly lift his head. He blinks quickly, but the movement only sends a tear streaking out of his glistening eyes—like morning dew on a field of lilacs. He curses when he feels you wipe the wetness off his cheek, more clumsy apologies falling from his lips, and his frustrated rambling starts before you can shush him. 

“I always wanted this…when I imagined it…I wanted it to be happy. It should be happy, I should be happy, I-I’m so damn happy, pip-squeak,” he breathes, a shaky, self-deprecating laugh escaping. “I love you. More than I ever thought I’d be able to tell you. And I only ever hoped that—that you’d give me the chance to show you how much. I never expected….” 

You return your hands to his damp cheeks. He looks down, inhales, and looks up again. “People don’t usually do these things. Not for me. And now I’m ruining it and being selfish, ‘cause after all those years of watching you, of wanting you…I just can’t believe that you’d—God, I’m sorry, pips.”

“Hey, hey. Look at me. I wanted to do this for you, Caleb. And you know what’s weird?” He shakes his head in your hands. “I wasn't nearly as nervous as I should’ve been. Even if you say no”—he blanches—“I’ll still be glad I asked. Because you deserve it. To have someone care for you, to have someone trust you, to be able to react how you want to and feel how you want to and say no to them if you want to. The ring is yours if you want it. But so is the choice,” you murmur, your own voice wobbling as you smile down at him. “I wanted to do this. Dreamed about it. For you. So you have nothing to be sorry for.”

The uncertainty that flickers in his eyes is quickly drowned by admiration. He nods slowly, your hands moving with the rise and fall of his chin.

“Although…” you continue, side-eyeing the drooping pie toppers. “An answer wouldn’t hurt. The pie filling is like quicksand. I need to rescue the ring before Sunny Apple sinks.” 

Your words win a chuckle from him, and he tenderly presses your foreheads together—a good luck gesture from your childhood, used when one of you was about to do something nerve-wracking. After a moment, he pulls away to cup your face, surveying, admiring, committing every detail to memory.

Caleb looks into your eyes with his still teary ones. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Forever with you isn’t something I could refuse. But nothing will change about the way I love you—it’s always been to the fullest. This just shows you think I’ve earned you.”

Whole body sagging with relief, you collapse onto his seated frame, hugging him as tightly as you did when he came home tonight. This close together, your pulses touch, and their matching thuds echo in your ears as tears of your own slip onto his skin. 

You pull away first, mumbling through tear-sealed lips. “Um, the ring. I should put it on, right?”

“Right,” he whispers, gaze refusing to leave your face.

Nodding, you wipe your eyes and face Sunny Apple, who, despite being buried to the waist in pie filling, still holds the ring valiantly in the air. 

Willing steadiness into your fingers, you lift the ring off the topper’s thin brown arm and turn back to Caleb, who’d been watching the exchange fondly. 

Smiling, you take his left hand in yours, running your thumb over the back of it in a small, lazy circle. And with a final look into his violet eyes, now alight with mirth and intrigue, you slide the platinum band down to the base of his ring finger. 

“Happy birthday, Caleb.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna wear mine?” Caleb asks, coming up to stand behind you in the mirror. 

In the 30 days since his birthday, you’d heard the question about as many times. He hadn’t hesitated to order you a ring of your own, custom-made from the finest jeweler in Skyhaven. But the process wasn’t quick, and the sight of your barren hand irked him—especially when his was so beautifully adorned. 

“Yes, I’m sure. And stop calling them from your Fleet line to ask if they’re finished yet! They’re scared of you,” you giggle, falling back into him. 

Staring at your left hand in the glass, he frowns deeply, and you swear you see his eye twitch. “But it’s empty. We’ve been engaged for a month now, and you don’t have anything to show for it.” 

“I have you to show for it,” you flirt, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Now, let’s take a picture before we go to dinner! I’ll add it to your album when we get back.” 

When you move to leave his arms, Caleb tightens his hold, keeping you in his firm embrace. Instead, you hear the bedside drawer open and shut, and a familiar device floats over to you before you know it. 

“What a convenient fiancé I have,” you quip, plucking your camera from the air. 

“You can go ahead and start sayin’ ‘husband,’ you know. Practice for the real thing.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now smile!”

When the photo develops, two objects on Caleb’s body glint in the evening sunlight. 

A necklace and a ring.

[nyxiespam]

Trapped family in Gaza appeals for help to survive🆘🆘🍉

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[nyxiespam]

🚫Beware of PayPal links🚫 Scammers steal all the information and images and create a PayPal link.

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[nyxiespam]

Help Hana and Youssef

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I'm a mother of a 2-year-old child. His name is yousef...I see my son growing up in front of me and I do not know how or when. This is not what I wished for him. I was dreaming of a wonderful life to spend with him...a life not full of death, fear, destruction and deprivation...I wanted to fill his room with toys and his closet with clothes, and I wanted to buy children's books for him, but I couldn't... the war came and the wishes were gone...my goal became to provide him with milk and food. I can barely afford anything. Everything is expensive and we no longer have income to enable us to buy his needs. Kram eggs have been deprived of many of his basic needs. He has been deprived of safety and stability..No, fruits, or meat.

There is nothing but fear that fills my son's eyes as soon as he hears the voices around him. He does not realize what It happens outside, but he feels and sees it in our eyes when he looks at us.I cannot protect myself and my son. Help me to save my son yousef. He deserves a better life, as do all the children of Gaza and the world.

Alone, I cannot, but with your help, we will be able to find a safe place and a better future for my son. Be a reason to change a child's life for the better by visiting our link on GoFundMe. And donate anything to us, no matter how small...every dollar makes a difference and give a life for my son..

I am Youssef. I was very young at the beginning of the war, but now l have grown up and can walk and know how to speak and understand everything. I hope to get your help in publishing or donating on our Aaljo Fund Me account

My campaign is verified by 90ghost. verified campaign is listed as number 246 on the verified fundraiser spreadsheet vetted by nabulsi and el-shab-hussein

5€ may seem small

The most difficult decision for us was to leave our country, to leave Gaza, overcome the obstacles we faced and the losses we suffered, and begin a new life from scratch.

[nyxiespam]

🚨 This isn't a plea. This is the cry of a mother being torn apart.

This is what it looks like... when a child dies, not from disease, but from poverty.

My child isn't treated.

He isn't held.

He's tortured—slowly and silently—and I watch.

He no longer cries. He chokes.

His lips are blue. His eyes are dull.

His chest barely rises, as if every breath is a war.

And I, his mother, stand here... completely useless.

They told me:

"Pay now, or take him to die."

They said it coldly. Without hesitation. Without heart.

As if my child isn't a life...just a number on a bill.

My child isn't dying from disease.

He dies because we are poor.

And the world is merciless to the poor.

Can you imagine watching your child vanish, knowing that he could be saved—if only you had the money?

Can you imagine digging his grave...

Not because he lost the battle -

But because no one gave him a chance to fight?

Every second is a knife.Every breath he loses - it breaks me more than death does.

I'm not asking for luxury.

I'm not asking for miracles.

I'm begging: Don't force me to bury him while he's still looking at me.

❌ No surgery

❌ No oxygen

❌ No time

❌ Nothing... except God... and maybe... you

If you have an ounce of humanity - help me.

If you're a mother, a father, a human being - save him.

If you can't donate, share this. Let the world hear his silent scream.

I'm a mother who's silently collapsing...I don't want to bury my child in a graveWhen he can still laugh... run... say "Mama"- if only we could keep him alive.

Verified : @90-ghost

Verified:@bilal-salah0

Vetted by: @gazavetters my number verified on the list is ( #576 )

@kyra45-helping-others @7bittersweet @tortiefrancis @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat @aristotels @komsomolka @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @watermotiff @stuckinaprill @mavigator @lacecap

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[nyxiespam]

zayne and his princess treatment

pairings: bf!zayne x fem!reader

warnings: none! no spoilers included 😋

Zayne is the epitome of a chivalrous gentleman.

You will not open a single door on his watch.

Your heels are hurting your feet? He’s helping you remove them, crouching on HIS KNEES while reminding you of the health disadvantages of your “beloved heels.” Then proceeds to carry your heels for the rest of your outing.

You don’t even mention you’re cold before he drapes his freshly dry cleaned peacoat over your shoulders — he claims you make a certain pout whenever you’re too cold.

Though his insomnia keeps him awake and often working most nights, he will almost always follow you to bed so you can fall asleep in his embrace.

To your surprise, he’s very affectionate. Though PDA is definitely kept to a minimum to both your likings, he still finds a way to touch you respectfully such as his hand always finding its way to the small of your back.

He drives and you are his passenger princess. (He saw a instagram reel with the reference and has not referred to you as anything else when in his car — coming from your stoic bf, this makes you giggle)

Your chair is always being pulled out and pushed in for you, to which you often follow up with “And they say chivalry is dead!”

You’re sitting on the couch next to one another except Zayne almost always moves your legs to lay across his lap.

A simple favor you ask of him is always replied with “Yes, my love.”

You’ve slipped into a dress and before you even think to ask, his tall frame is sauntering towards you zipping up the back with a chaste kiss to your neck.

He’s shaved and suited waiting for you to emerge from the bedroom for yet another hospital banquet dinner when you rush out glamoured up but barefoot with your heels in one hand and a earring in the other muttering something about how you were 'just about ready.' He replies by taking a knee in front of you and slipping your heels on either of your feet, then a kiss to your bare thigh. (You begin to realize how much you love this man on his knees in front of you…)

He’s quick to pickup on your cues and hints even before you notice them yourself. Often when you’re out at a gathering and he picks up on your tiredness just from your demeanor, he makes sure to be near you to lean on — weather it’s standing between his legs and using his tall frame as a wall behind you or curling into his side to rest your head on his shoulder.

He loves to kiss your hands and follow it up with “My lady” or “My love.” Mainly because of the blush that fills your cheeks each time..

requests open ❤︎

[nyxiespam]

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he���d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

icarus is a fool in love.

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[nyxiespam]

thinking about a spider-man au with childe

you’ve had a crush on ajax basically since the first day of college. he’s funny and witty, surprisingly smart for his jock aesthetic and -let’s face it- very hot. all of which is contrasted by the way he fumbles through a conversation with you, an air of clumsy yet innocent charm about him.

and then you’re walking home late at night. an arguably questionable decision that ends with you coming face to face with a criminal you’ve seen on tv before. but just as you’re contemplating your options, your heart leaping out of your chest, you’re being swooped up and into the strong chest of the uprising hero people have been whispering about in the hallways.

all of a sudden, high above the city skyline, your heart is pounding for a whole other reason as the guy tries calming you down. he sets you down not far from your apartment and you thank him profusely, to which he merely assures you not to worry about it.

as you fall into bed that night, you can’t stop thinking about the way his muscles moved beneath you, how melodic and familiar his voice was. when you try to imagine what he looks like underneath the mask, somehow blue eyes and ginger hair come to mind but you shake it off as your brain conflating your college and celebrity crush.

meanwhile, ajax is sitting on the edge of a building, dragging a hand down his face as he tries to regulate his heartbeat. going over his conversation with you again, he mentally kicks himself for basically anything and everything he said. seriously, would he ever not fumble while talking to you?

[nyxiespam]

"are you crying?" little 10 year old al-haitham says, in a bored voice. it's clear that he's just asking for the sake of asking – of checking up on you, the little boy is so ready to dive back into his books.

"n-no! i'm not... i promise."

"okay then. i'll go back to my books."

he feels the guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach – there is something that feels innately wrong, leaving you on the playroom floor with a probably still-bleeding scratch – but he takes your words at face value.

you're fine.

"are you crying?" a much older al-haitham lifts your chin up by his thumb – your glassy tear-streaked face betrayed by the salty tears running down with their own will.

he thumbs your tears away with such gentleness that makes you think that he's making up for all the times little al-haitham had been so callous about your little self's tears.

"no! i'm not... i promise."

"you do realise that it's alright to cry?" your lover sighs, grabbing a tissue and dabbing the glistening tears away.

"uh-huh."

you're not fine – you love to say that you are, anyways. it's easier to brush the lamentable sadness away when your smile feels easier to put on.

"you can stop lying now, you know."

"i'm not crying!"

al-haitham just shakes his head and gathers you in his arms, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead; a subtle nod to a fate well learnt. you will always say that you're fine, crumbling to pieces . . . but don't worry. he'll always be there to help put you back together.

[nyxiespam]

Albedo doodles ✨🙏

[nyxiespam]

@pxriss___ on X

[nyxiespam]

aether (one of the) main character(s) in hit game genshin impact hits on you.

thank u sm for beta reading @mitsies i love u and your silly comments and insightful suggestions on googledocs, wc 700, NO ONE IS ACTUALLY DEAD

“Holy—Archons!”

Anyone would be surprised if a body materialized from thin air right in front of you, lifeless like a doll. You stare at the body, thoughts racing as fast as your heartbeat, and all the while, the man with sun threads as hair lay eerily still on the ground, eyes fluttered shut.

The man is terrifyingly beautiful, like a fallen star. A limp and unmoving fallen star, that is. Your jaw extends to the ground, terrified and—mystified? Immediately, your instincts scream at you to perform emergency measures, but—

A pixie comes barreling in from somewhere, tears running down her cheeks as she zeroes in on the presumably dead body.

“Was he your friend?” you ask quietly, mourning on her behalf. Were they siblings? The way she’s slapping his face around seems so.

“He’s not dead!” the little pixie exclaims, sniffling and shaking the apparently not-dead body.

You stare at her, perplexed. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because Paimon had to go through that trial challenge alone!”

“The what?”

Paimon huffs, slamming her tiny fists on the man’s bare waist. It seems to not even have left a mark on his skin. “You wake him up. Paimon’s upset at him.”

It’s hard to say no when tears are rolling down her face. Obediently, you poke around the man’s shut eyes, and it snaps open.

You flinch back. He blinks blearily.

“Are you okay?” You study his face, looking for any signs of a newly born zombie, but his face looks flushed and as healthy as any living human being. His eyes are bright and gold as they stare back at you.

“I’m in heaven,” he says. “Celestia has done it. I’m seeing angels, and I’m in heaven.”

Angels? Celestia?

Paimon tackles his face, shaking his shoulders and crying. “You’re not dead, dummy! How dare you leave Paimon in Dragonspine! All alone, Aether!”

“Oh,” Aether says, sounding almost disappointed. “Then…?”

“You’re not dead,” you agree with Paimon, because evidence lies before you despite the initial fright. However, his comment about angels has you a little flustered. “Um, what happened?”

“Ah,” Aether laughs sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I failed the trial, and it respawned me back here. Which is weird—I haven’t been in Bubu Pharmacy for ages!”

“I’m sorry?”

Aether jumps to his feet, startling you enough to fall on your ass. He grins down at you and offers a hand. “At least I got to meet you,” he says, pulling you up from the grass. You stumble from his strength; he catches you easily, and you bump against his chest. “Or—not meet you yet. What’s your name?”

You can’t believe the previously perished fallen star is now hitting on you. “I’m… Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, smiling broadly. “I’ll remember that.”

You hope that your face doesn’t betray the warmth you feel fluttering under your skin.

Aether sighs, casting a glance at the ground he was previously lying on. “Sorry you had to see that. That was probably very disturbing and decidedly not flattering for me.”

You can’t help but laugh. Aether beams. “Does that happen often?”

“When I get a little rusty, yeah.” He tilts his head, looking at you up and down, then around your surroundings. “Do you work here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Just recently.” You gesture vaguely to the side, feeling a little shy. “If you don’t see me hanging around, it’s probably because I’m always loitering the docks to watch out for exhausted tourists.”

Aether’s smile turns sly. “Nurse me back to health, would you?”

But then Paimon starts tugging on his ear and away from you, a relief for your racing heart. “Enough flirting! You can come back here after you unlock that precious chest!”

“Ow, ow, okay,” Aether laughs, hesitating, before letting you slip from his hold. He takes a few steps back, his smile as blinding as stars seconds away from exploding. “The docks, right? I’ll see you soon!”

By 'soon,' you hope he doesn't mean he'll attempt to die again immediately, but you figure you'll find out eventually. You glance around to see if anyone is watching, then decide to take a stroll around the docks for reasons no one should know.

i cant believe mitzi's first aether fic is THIS i feel so ashamed lmfao, but TY FOR READING!!!!! <3

[nyxiespam]

Sigewinne teaches a cosmetics class

and I want her to test things on Wrio

[nyxiespam]

I'm crying, they're so silly

[nyxiespam]

[nyxiespam]

ꕤ 50. i think i ruined your PJs (ღ)

tw: none! :') / wc: 1.7k

you stare at your phonescreen, watching it vibrate on the kitchen counter. your hands sweat, and your heart races, as you hesitate to answer his call, contemplating about what to say.

a door slams and thoma appears in front of you in an instant. paper bags of fast food left on the dining table. "what are you doing?" he says, eyeing the phone before staring back at you. "answer it al—"

the phone stops ringing, ayato's caller ID disappears, and it returns to your lock screen. the panic you feel is indescribable, and you defeatedly think of calling him back and saying sorry for being unable to answer his call the first time.

ayaka lets out a pained groan. "you both are absolutely impossible! why didn't you answer it?!"

"i was nervous! i don't know what to say—"

"just answer it already!" thoma exclaims with a frustrated expression similar to ayaka's.

you wanted to pull your hair. why can't you just woman up and answer it?! you grab your phone off the counter, irritated at yourself, as you snap back at thoma.

"well, i can't anymore. it stopped ringing!"

as if on cue, the phone lights up, vibrating in your hands as your heart drops once again at the sight of ayato's caller ID. thoma audibly gasps and hurriedly rounds the kitchen counter to grab your shoulders. "answer it! now!"

"alright!" you push his hands away before clearing your throat, trying to level your voice so he won't find out that you were 100% freaking out at his sudden call.

"hello?" you speak into the phone. after a few seconds, when no one answers, you hesitantly say. "…ayato?"

no one is speaking on the other end, you can't even detect faint breathing. you pull the phone away from your ear, checking to see if the call is still ongoing, and the increasing seconds displayed on your lock screen confirm that it is. why isn't he speaking? should i not have answered?

faintly, you hear thoma and ayaka's enthusiastic "what's he saying?" behind you, but you stay silent, waiting for him. you open your mouth, wanting to address the person on the other line once again, when—

"hey."

his voice sounds defeated as if he's been crying for hours. you knew he wasn't in a good state right now from the voice alone.

your cheeks heat up, and you grip the phone harder. "hey," you answer stupidly, dazed and running on autopilot as you space out. every fiber and molecule of your being on edge as you give ayato your full attention.

you bite your lips, wanting to say a certain something to him after going weeks and weeks of not speaking to him. however, you held yourself back.

"i was thinking," ayato starts. "maybe you'd like to talk? you know… about everything?"

a small smile appears on your face, and you unconsciously nod even if he won't see you.

"i'd love to."

—

"are you really sure you guys don't wanna come up with me?" you ask ayaka, who sits behind the wheel in her white lexus and thoma in the back seat. you three are at the parking lot of the hotel ayato told you where he was staying.

he initially asked where you were so he could come to you, but after thorough persuasion, he relented on you going to him instead.

ayaka takes off her seat belt. "we're sure. he only asked to see you."

"just update us about how he's been. we'll wait for you here." thoma says.

you nod, stepping out of the car and walking toward the elevator. you met eyes with a woman at the front desk. she bows to you, a customer-service smile on her face, as she approaches you. ayato says he'd ring the front desk, so you can just come straight to his suite. the woman follows you to the elevator and taps the key card into a scanner before pressing a certain floor. whether or not she recognizes you, she doesn't say nor make it noticeable as she turns her heel back to the front desk.

you chew on your bottom lip, emotions running at an all-time high. you don't even notice the popping sensation in your ears as the floors get higher, your mind preoccupied with what you'll say to him, how you'll act. after all, the last proper conversation you had with him was back at their hospital's VIP room—which is weeks ago, give or take, and it did not even end well.

the elevator dings! and the doors open, sealing your fate.

there were only three rooms on this floor, and ayato instructed you to make two lefts to get to his room at the end of the hallway. the carpet is spotless, and your dirty white sneakers look so out of place as you make your way to his suite. just as you raise your hand to ring the doorbell, the door swings open, and there stands before you in all his glory—

"ayato," you say, dumbstruck. you don't notice how he is in mismatched silk pajamas, nor how a few of his hair stands on weird angles; you see his already pale skin that looks paler than usual and the bags under his tired eyes.

"yn—hey," he says, just as dazed as you. as if he can't believe you're actually standing before him right now. "uhm, come in."

the first thing you see is the thick white curtains hiding the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking out the skies' magnificent orange and yellow hues as the sun has begun to set. the suite looked much like any other hotel room, only it looked fancier and more luxurious with its white marble accents paired with wooden furniture. the living room is well-lit, and from where you're standing, the sliding door to the bedroom is open, allowing you a slight peak.

you see a leather bag open on the lamp desk, chargers, and other necessities placed haphazardly around it. one of his carry-on is sprawled open on the floor behind the bed, while the rest is zipped shut at the far corner of the room, looking untouched.

"so—"

"yn—"

you both speak at the same time. he meets your eyes sheepishly, letting out a small laugh, a hand rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly. "ladies first," he insists, and you don't argue.

"when did you fly back? seems to me you've been here for a few days now," you say, looking around. "i thought for sure you were still in another country."

"oh, i flew back a day after the wedding."

you nodded understandingly.

silence surrounds you both until ayato breaks it.

"would you like anything to drink or eat? i can order room service."

you smile, "a glass of water would be fine."

"alright, take a seat."

so you settle yourself on the plush sofa as he disappears in the kitchen for a few minutes before coming back to place your water on the low coffee table. you expected him to sit nearer to you, however he sits on the sofa across from you, and a frown tugs at your lips until you remember he's just being cautious. you guys did end on a bad note…

when your eyes meet, he shoots you a small smile as he nods. giving you the opportunity to speak first.

"well, i wanna start by saying i'm sorry," you interlace your fingers together on your lap. "for deceiving you. you definitely did not deserve that, i just got so scared—that i'd lose ayaka, and what your reaction would be if you found out… which you did, still."

ayato hums. "i understand your point, with ayaka. however i'm still quite hurt with our dates, as i did put my utmost time and effort into them," a solemn tone takes over his voice, and you can feel your heart breaking. "i would've accepted a proper rejection. i know how to respect a woman's decision."

"no." you answer in a heartbeat. "look, i know sabotaging our dates can possibly come off as me not reciprocating your feelings but that was just me making bad decisions."

ayato blinks, dumb founded. it takes time for him to properly start speaking. "i'm afraid i'm not following…?"

you sigh, not really knowing what to say—well, technically, you knew what to say, you just didn't know how.

well, might as well bite the bullet and blurt it out.

"i like you, ayato. i like you so much, even if i know i don't deserve you. because… because…" you didn't know you were crying, attention focused on the man in front of you to even notice the wetness of your cheeks.

your throat feels clogged up, and you choke on your words, unable to carry their weight. "i know how much i hurt you. i lied to you and didn't even stop to think about what you could've felt, i completely disregarded your efforts, and i was selfish. so i get it, when you told… told me that you shouldn't have liked me because i wouldn't… wouldn't like someone like me either —"

his scent engulfs you whole as he pulls you into an embrace. you feel a slight tremble in his hands as he firmly holds onto you, almost as if making it a confirmation if you truly were in between his arms. you break down in front of someone for the first time in weeks, your mind playing flashbacks of how you had to stifle your crying in the bathroom so ayaka won't hear.

it was as if a dam broke, and you couldn't stop your tears from cascading down your cheeks. you didn't know what you were crying about — you can't exactly pinpoint if it was because of this concrete fear of nearly losing ayato, of the harsh criticisms of the public, or you were just so overjoyed to be in his arms without having to worry about anyone or anything.

despite all the snot and tears you're probably getting on his expensive pajamas, ayato holds you tight, gently rocking you back and forth because he knew, he just knew, that his silent presence can comfort you more than his words at that exact moment.

after you have calmed down, resorting to small sniffles every now and then, did you decide to pull away. not completely, just enough to meet his gentle eyes. he smiles, tilting his head. "do you feel better?"

you nod slightly, shame suddenly washing over you.

"i'm sorry, i think i ruined your PJs."

"oh, these?" he shrugs his shoulder, laughing. "i have ten more sets of these, and you can cry on each and every single one of them if you want to."

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a kamisato ayato social media au

summary — it was only recently you found out kamisato ayaka was, in fact, not an only child after all! seeing ayato for the first time gave you the severest case of the butterflies but according to ayaka, he’s off limits, especially to you as her most treasured friend. well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt, right?

notes — the end lol jk

🏷 i. @rinrinchin @nejibot @viiolettee @katsumikumo @starryeyedkoko @xingqiusliegee @boxdisappeared @lovelyycherries @love6cks @kiyowoir @luvvmeilin @blackberri-jelli @moonlightbqe @kazooms @tricethecharm @lynnforever @kaedear @xiaoisahawtie @crowbird @apotatouwu @xinii @euryrue @aequha​@nuttytani @plinkuro @aixaingela @milesluvrrad @windasteriaa @cherrytomato2 @zannivrs @eishtar @wccycc @ceylestia @sweet-almonds @queenaveryrules @veyu002 @ukinya @adeptusx @x-xxiaos @loveyoutothestars @ssalamanderr

[nyxiespam]

yung kay albedo huy, HAHHAHWHAHAHAHA eme.

— FILIPINO HIGHSCHOOL SWEETHEARTS?! ♡

pairs: albedo, childe, heizou x reader (separate) notes: very cliche, taglish, fem!reader for heizou but i tried to make it so the others don't have a gender, can be seen as them being in junior high school or senior high school, not proofread, pure fluff ps. this is my first post, also i'm planning to make a pt. 2 of this so drop character suggestions!

# albedo as your matalinong seatmate na pogi

· yung nakaglasses na matalino na kaklase niyo na anak ng teacher tapos sobrang pogi omg andami nagkakacrush diyan pero walang lumalapit kasi study first daw siya · pero makapal mukha mo kaya nilapitan mo HHABAHSBSHSHS JOKE LANG nagkatabi lang kayo by chance nung inarrange na yung seats · medyo awkward nung first aray, nagkakausap lang kayo tuwing magpapalitan ng papel or tuwing may hindi siya makita sa board ganon · tapos ayon, nagevolve yung talks niyo about sa mga notes na di niya makita sa board to talking during discussions about sa topic, nagtutulungan na kayo · TAPOS OMG kalaunan nagtatanong siya sayo ng mga questions about sa topic kahit alam niya na para lang makausap ka · at first it was just curiousity, and then it turned into an interest to you tapos ayan na, wala na, hinang hina na siya HAHAHAHHAHA · and then kasi ang smooth smooth niya makakasingit siya ng mga tanong tungkol sayo like "what are your favourite hobbies? do you watch this series? what about games?" GANON omg kinikilig ako teka · tapos gagamitin niya yung mga in-common niyo as conversation starters after that, if wala naman kayo in-common SIYA NA MAGAADJUST · like may minention ka sa kanyang series na nagustuhan mo tapos over the weekend papanoorin niya yun para sayo para sa monday makausap ka niya about dun and then AHSJNEBSN KINIKILIG AKO

# childe as your friend that secretly likes you

· pure chance lang na nakapartner mo siya para sa cotillion nung grade 9, pero gago andaming nainggit sayo dahil dun 😭 sino ba naman hindi kasi, si childe na yan oh · hindi mo alam kung papaano mo siya i-aapproach at first kasi di mo naman siya gaano kilala kasi di kayo classmates · pero thankfully, siya na nagapproach sayo nung first day ng practice · ang daldal nito promise, ilang beses na siya napagalitan during practice kasi mas malakas pa boses niya sa choreographer HAHAHAJAB kung di siya magaling sumayaw siguro na kick-out na siya · LIKE?? ANG BILIS NIYA TALAGA NAPICK UP YUNG DANCE TAPOS SOBRANG ELEGANT NIYA PA SUMAYAW??? tapos ikaw andiyan lang. naapakan paa ni childe every step · pero okay lang naman daw !! tinatawanan ka nalang niya in a light-hearted way syempre · omg pero siya din nagguguide sayo tuwing sumasayaw kayo para madalian ka ng onti, AND HE DOES IT IN A WAY NA NAPAKAGENTLEMAN NIYA · LIKE lagi niyang tinatanong if comfortable ka ba na hinahawakan ka niya sa waist mo ganon and if okay lang ba yung pagguide niya sayo ): inaassure ka din niya na okay lang na tapakan mo paa niya kasi magaan ka lang naman daw · anyways ang galing niyo nung day na ng prom!! GWAPO NIYA SOBRA SIGURO NUNG PROM pero hindi mo na notice may pagtingin din siya sayo nung nagenter ka sa venue!! · after nung prom nagstay kayo as friends, and then during summer nagusap pa kayo ng mas madami over chat and mas naging close pa kayo · and then after summer nung next year na dun na kayo naging magkaclassmates kayo omg!! so now inseparable na talaga kayo, kung hindi kayo magkatabi pinapaalis niya yung katabi mo para lang magkatabi kayo · dinadaldal ka naman niya during discussions kaya pinapalipat din siya ulit 😭 · siya din yung friend mo na magpapatawa sayo if nagprepresent ka sa harap, papansin gago · pero papansin talaga siya promise omg, sayo nga lang siya nagpapapansin HAHABAHBSBEJW · like he'll do anything just to get your attention, recess na? sasama ka sa friends mo sa ibang section para kumain? wag na, sama ka nalang daw sa kanya libre ka pa daw niya · medyo seloso kahit hindi naman kayo HAHHAAHBSHEJ may kausap ka na ibang lalaki? aakbayan ka niyan tapos sasabihin niya lang sayo na nagseselos siya LIKE?? GAGO · pero ang lakas din nito magparinig sa socmed siguro, syempre lahat yung pagparinig niya about sayo pero ang manhid mo daw HAHAHAHHAH

# heizou as your admirer that's a year younger

· ang kapal ng mukha nito promise siya yung unang nagapproach sayo tapos yung unang message niya sayo PICK UP LINE 😭 mapapa-"????" ka nalang talaga · sarap hambalusin sa pader 'di mo alam kung may gusto ba talaga sa yo 'to or wala lang magawa sa buhay, napakapilosopo kasi pagkinakausap, pero in fairness at least funny siya HAHAHAHHA · tawag niya sa 'yo "ate" kaya dapat tawag mo din daw dapat sa kanya "baby" (tangina ano connect?? diba sarap hambalusin) · nagoffer siya sayo one time na tutulungan ka daw niya sa math assignment mo, eh gago isang year nga agwat niyo sa school · tapos mga 2 days after that nagoffer ulit siya na tutulungan ka daw niya, alam niya na daw ngayon, so ayon nagpatulong ka na tapos omg ayun nga alam niya na nga, tapos nung tinanong mo kung san siya natuto non sabi niya binulabog niya lang daw ate niya hanggang sa tinuruan siya HAHAHAHAHA at least nageffort siya na tulungan ka diba? · nagsesend siya ng mga selfies niya as conversation starters, nagpaparate sayo tapos nagagalit kapag under 8 yung binibigay mo · pero pag ikaw yan nagsesend ng selfies lagi niya nirrate ng 1 kahit hindi ka naman nagtatanong HAHAHAHHA pero okay lang sinisave niya bawat selfie mo kasi tapos sesend niya yan randomly sayo while calling you pretty · anyways ang smooth din nito omg, very flirty lalo na kapag nagkakasalubong kayo sa hallway, siya yung tipong magtuturo nalang bigla sa sahig and then magsasabi ng "HALA NAHULOG! ako sa 'yo hehe" SARAP SABUNUTAN · daming sinasabi kapag nakita ka niyang may kasamang iba "ate sino kasama mo? pwede mo bang sabihin sa kanya na mukha siyang itlog hehe" "did you know ate, bukod sa ayaw kong bumagsak ayaw din kita ngumingiti sa iba?" "what if pumunta ako diyan tapos ako nalang po kinausap niyo imbis na siya? promise mas funny po ako kesa sa kaniya" "ate iiyak na talaga ako 😭" · pero ang cute talaga nito, hirap hindi i-tease dahil dun