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poetslastdeath · 7 days

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A HUNDRED KISSES ! ੭୧. . . showing affections and kissing penacony men. x gn! reader + unedited.

Aventurine slowly takes your hand, the one riddled with pretty pearls and rings and slowly caresses his cold lips against the jewels, stirring you from your slumber. You awaken to his ravenous eyes—the color like boysenberries hitting cyan—and he smiles, the softest tips of his lips lifting when he sees your eyes flutter open. He stamps a precious kiss at the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“…You’re back early.” You shuffle on the mattress, adjusting your eyes against the dim light. How was the business transaction—? You wanted to ask, that is until you see the exhaustion creeping up his expression, and the notable purple bruise forming at the edge of his lip.

You gasp at the sight and Aventurine cannot help but chuckle weakly, “Unfortunately, we did not reach a consensus yet.”

“Are you okay?” He winces when you lift a tender finger to his cheek.

“Yeah, nothing to be concerned with.” there’s a touch of ached bitterness in his expression when he sneers, “These clients just have a lot of things to say—or, aggression for this matter, towards an IPC mongrel.”

Irritation and anger spikes through your chest, your brows furrow at the spiteful treatment Aventurine receives from time to time. You pull away from him, leaving him cold in the mattress as you shimmy to the edge, feet touching the carpeted ground. Just before you can stand, you feel Aventurine’s gentle clutch on your satin sleeping wear.

“Where are you going?” There is panic in his tone.

“I’m going to get medicine and cotton for your wounds, are you sure you’re alright?” It’s a rare sight to see, Aventurine’s colorful eyes wide with fear, he holds your hand firmly like he’s scared to let you go, scrambling for your warmth.

“I just—“ He starts. “I want to be with you, for a bit, please? don’t leave.”

You immediately deflate, returning back to the mattress and pulling him with you. You brush the meager strands of his bangs away from his face and he revels in your simple affection, allowing you to pull him into a snuggly hug, he noses your collarbone and you rub your cheek onto his messy blond hair. When you have him securely in your embrace, you tip his chin in your direction and kiss him softly.

Plush, soft and simply delicate, Aventurine’s kisses have always been like that. Though at times, he also had the tendency to be greedy, greedy in a sense that if you give him a single sweet kiss, he will willingly reciprocates it, tenfold over.

He lifts a hand and cups the back of your neck when he feels you retreat. “Not enough.” he’s breathless, pulling you back into a kiss more passionate than the first. After a minute, he pulls away from you only to bite the tip of his gloves and discarding it, tossing them somewhere on the floor. Cold fingertips creep up your bare arms before he wraps it firmly around your wrists.

“Wait, let me at least place medicine on your wound first…“

“Later.” Aventurine breathes softly on your lips, pecking it. “Please kiss me more.”

Under the soft, golden gleam of the lounge, you’re having trouble trying to figure him out, when he looks at you with his droopy, apple-colored eyes your chest stirs, when he tries to guide you somewhere he places a sturdy palm on the small of your back and your cheeks heat. Truly, you did try your best to deny it even after being drinking buddies for a very long time—Gallagher still feels like a stranger to you, but you can’t help but feel like a mess whenever he gives you the barest of attention.

You just cannot help it, not when he hums deeply at your every drunken rambles, patiently listening as you murmur complaints about your colleagues, not when he tips his head back and laughs at your jokes, his Adam’s apple bobbing and tresses of his brown hair fall all over his forehead, returning back to his fruit beverage with a momentary smile to his lips and smile crinkling his eyes.

And especially not when the light-hearted atmosphere between you both plunges into dripping tension when you had mentioned how you never had your first kiss. You’re now hyper aware of his arm that’s mere inches from yours in the bar counter, and words flatten on your tongue when you feel fingers pinching your chin, pulling you to meet his eyes.

A certain type of energy swallows the soft, jazz atmosphere around you. It was only the two of you after all, tonight he invited you to drink after closing hours.

You can feel his strong arm dragging your seat closer so his nose touches your own, lips inches from yours and gaze holding eye contact.

“May I?”

“Please.” When the words left your lips, Gallagher closes the distance and presses his mouth to your own, capturing your face in his calloused hold. Oddly, his tongue tasted like tobacco and candy, his stubble pricking your jaw but you didn’t mind, not when your heart stirs and crackles as he consumes you whole, like a licking flame that continues to burn you deliciously from inside out.

You wanted more, so you wrap your finger around his velvet tie and pull him in, eliciting a soft grunt from his chest. You cannot understand, you truly don’t know what makes this roguish and messy man so addicting.

“You..” Your cheeks feel heated and you sputter out, “You damn officer.” Your words stumble like a drunk and a deep, rich chuckle escapes his lips.

Gallagher fixes his tie and smiles teasingly at you. “Is it everything that you hoped for?”

Only because it was you, finally it was you. “I suppose so.” You touch your lips, then grab your glass. “Can I have a refill of the Dreamjolt Special?”

Gallagher smiles, taking your glass as his touch lingers on yours, pulling away reluctantly he says, “Sure thing, sweetheart. Just for you.”

Dr. Veritas Ratio holds a penchant amount of stubbornness and narcissism, this usually revolves around creating certain self-portraits of himself through wet clay and chisel tools.

However, these days, the sharp-tongued scholar has been plagued by the thoughts of someone. A mere mediocre whom he had been acquainted with for a few months due to recent collaborative projects. Probably the only one—besides a certain gambler and a few fools at his guild—who could infuriate him this much.

Yes, infuriating is a good word to describe you.

Infuriating with the way you try to ruffle him up at every given opportunity, infuriating with how you can keep up with his snarky comebacks and debates. Infuriated with the fact that you can sometimes flood his whole mind to the point he can no longer focus on his thesis and books, slowing his progress indiscriminately.

And, Aeon forbid, how infuriated he was that he enjoyed that sweet kiss you gave him one late morning between the bookshelves of the University library, where his shaking hands that held an encyclopedia completely slipped from his grasps, abandoned on the floor as he grabbed your waist to pull you impossibly closer.

A sigh escapes him and he shakes the thoughts away, “this is just ridiculous.” He hates how crave slowly aches through his chest, circulating its intensity through his whole body because all he wants to do now is to just hold you in his arms and kiss you again.

Ratio rolls his shoulders, leaning back focusing on the statue in front of him. His face scrunches at the half-done plaster in front of him. In normal circumstances, he would have molded the clay into his usual self-portraits, but what stares back at him was someone else, someone that he had grown to think about often than none, you.

Embarrassment heats up the tip of his ears, his thumb lifting to trace the clay that beheld your enamoring features, he murmurs lowly. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

Ever since Robin’s departure from Penacony, you had no one else but her older brother to seek company with, and Sunday had no one else but you to quench his loneliness and to heal his exhaustion after a day’s work dealing with The Family.

Sunday had always held something special in his heart for his beloved childhood sweetheart. He always showed kindness towards you, even when you were kids, he always stuck to you. He’s willing to share his strawberry tarts, grabbing a napkin to dab away crumbs from your mouth, willing to hold your hand securely on his and give you piggy-back rides. He even allows you to give him cheek kisses, more than willing actually, and he remembers being all bubbly and delightful after receiving your kisses, his wings flapping enthusiastically beside his ears from how happy and blushy he gets.

Even now that you are older and more mature, holding more responsibilities than back then—his soft-hearted mannerism is only reserved for you and his sister. And with Robin’s absence, he tries his best to make time for you into his busy schedule, always keeping track of days where you are out of practice so he can take a stroll with you down Golden hour’s enthusiastic streets, catching up in jovial conversations and buying strawberry tarts on a stand. He spends time with you in the Dreamscape and outside of it—as per Robin’s constant recommendations when he receives her letters.

The only difference now than when you were kids is that Sunday’s affections for you blossomed into something more.

Behind closed doors, within the private space of his office in Dewlight Pavillion, Sunday has you on his lap. No words were truly as you cup his face, he takes your hand and turns his head to seal a kiss on your palm, kissing your fingertips and your knuckles. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face on the crook of his shoulders,

You cannot help but breath out a laugh, lips murmuring on his ear. “If the other Family head finds you in such a state, they would have thrown quite a fit.”

“That’s hardly a concern.” He answers without much as opening his eyes. “I need you in my arms, I can deal with pressing matters later.”

“Greedy. Didn’t think you missed me that much if you are putting Family matters on hold just for me, how endearing of you.” You blow gentle air on his wings, it flutters under your warm breath.

“Mind you, you’re the one that came to visit me, no?” Sunday pulls you away from his neck to stare at you, his eyes a buttery gold. “Maybe you’re the one that misses me.”

“Maybe.” You peck his lips, Sunday follows your lips when you pull away and you cannot help but smile when he finally, finally he kisses you, fully satiating your yearning.

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