#CITRUS WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME

[llumimoon]

ouudhhdhhgggdggd kagerou days time loop oakworthy ..:...,,;;:!!;!!!!!!!! <- is so sleep deprived and has not stopped thinking about this concept

[pyxxiestyxx]

Class-C

The shot glass sat in front of you, innocuous in appearance.  If you couldn't smell the tang of citrus, if you didn't catch the occasional sparkle suspended in it, you might think it mere water.

In front of you, your affini friend rested her head on her hand.  She practically bled smugness, the leaves around her neck slightly fluffed as if she was preening.  You rolled your eyes, mirroring her posture for the hell of it.

"So this is your bet?  Aren't Class-C's something on the 'dont mess with' list for terrans anyway?"

Her voice was a rolling purr as she answered, "Yes.  This is different.  A heavily diluted solution of a specific strain.  No lasting effects, just the intense feeling of a Class-C dose for about two hours."

The bet was simple: You had to make it through thirty minutes without confessing your love for her, or begging to be her floret.   She thought you couldn't do it.  You thought she was full of shit.  You had plenty of xenodrugs before, of course.  Class A's and E's were fun and relaxing, but ultimately you were still in control of things.

Shrugging nonchalantly, you picked up the shot and threw it back, the sweet flavor hitting your throat and tingling slightly as it went down.  You flipped the glass face down and slammed it onto the table, then looked up at her with a satisfying smirk.  "Easy."

Her smile only widened.  "We'll see." She flipped open her tablet and pressed a timer, starting a countdown clock.  She showed you it had thirty minutes remaining, then flipped it closed.  "No using the time you have left for rallying cries.  Just you, me, and the lovely chemicals your brain is about to be swimming in.  When the alarm rings, I'll administer the counteragent."

You scoffed, leaning back in my chair.  "You didn't even wait until it had begun to kick in?  Wow, you must really be confident."

"Oh, it begins nearly immediately.  Already the drug is interacting with those neurons, mixing in with seratonin and oxytocin and a few other things besides."

You looked at her, doubtful.  "Yeah?  Then how come I don't feel any different?"

"Sweetie, you've leaned halfway across the table already.  Move any further and you're likely to crush that shot glass you slammed down so viciously earlier." She gestured at your posture, causing you to hurriedly sit back into your chair with a blush.

"Shit, I...sorry.  Got carried away." You glanced down at the shot glass, biting your lip as you realized that you *had* been rather violent with it.  You carefully flipped it back upright, wiping the outside clean with your shirt.  "Um.  Sorry."

"Dear, did you just apologize to the glas-"

"NO!" Your face was properly red now.  Oh *stars*, you had!  You had just done something that embarrassing in front of your Best Friend and what if she thought you were silly now?  Would she not want to hang out with you?  You hoped not.  You really enjoyed her compa....wait....

Frowning, you shook your head roughly, slapping your cheeks a little.  It was just the drug.  You were in control.  The drugs were doing this.  But unlike the A or E, it was more...subtle.  or rather, it was potent, but you didn't even realize it until your best friend had pointed it out.  Gosh, she's so kind...

"Um, t-thank you for helping me remember I was drugged." The words felt good to say.  You wanted her to know how much you appreciated her after all.  So you could win the bet!

...

The bet?

"Wait, what happens if I lose?" You realized you had forgotten to ask that before.  Worried, you turned to look at her.

"Well, what would you like to happen, pet~al?" You blushed, realizing it was just like her to wait until you were...compromised before asking this.  Well, jokes on her!  You're still in control.

"Nothing!  I don't want anything to happen.  No new rules, no teasing, and no domestication.  Got it?"

She nodded, sagely.  "Of course.  In that case, I take that to mean that should you win, you'll get all of those wonderful things~"

You sputtered in shock.  "I- no! I don't want to... I'm...you can't be serious."

"Awww, is something wrong?" She smirked, her eyes flashing purples and golds in a way that made your heart melt.  "All you have to do now is lose, then~ Or are you so stubborn, you can't admit that you l~o~v~e me, flower?"

"I-I...you... fucking...."  You felt the indignation mix with the heady joy of her attention, of wanting to give into her, of wanting to beg.  She was trying to goad you.  She wanted you to win now.  She had entirely turned the rules on their head. 

But she also assumed you would take her bait.  You shook your head, biting your lip.  "I...fine.  I admit it."

"Admit what?" She had begun to rise up slightly, her hands clutching the edge of the table.  She was absolutely getting off on this.  You couldn't even meet her eyes, looking away and down.

"I love you?"

"Mmmm....I don't believe you." You could hear the smile in her voice, full of wicked glee.  "Say it louder, for one.  And look me in the eyes~ and don't be afraid to put a little more emotion in it, dearie.  This is a confession, after all~"

You whimpered, managing to drag your eyes up to meet hers.  Reluctantly, you allowed the feelings you had been fighting for several minutes now to wash over you, letting them guide your words.  "I l-love you...I need you..."

"I love you...?" She trailed off, waiting for you to complete it properly.  You wanted to scream, but instead all that came out was "Miss?"

"Dear, it's just a game.  You can use the one you want to use."

"I love you, Mommy."

"And?"

"A-and I want...I need to be your floret.  I need it, please stars I need it.  I...oh gods it's...I..." The feelings crashed through you in waves.

"Go~od job, petal.  You did it."  She slid the table out of the way, stepping into a kneel in front of you.  "You said those mushy gushy feelings!"

You nodded, pleased...until you remembered what that meant.  You weren't going to get anything now.  You had just said so.  Tears sprang up, and you had to stifle a sudden sob.  "I...it's..."

She was lifting you into her arms now, cradling you closely to her chest.  "Shhhh...petal, it's alright.  You didn't lose, silly."

"I...w-what?"

She smiled at you.  "How would love for another ever be seen as losing?  You won, silly."

You won. That made sense to you now.  Especially when She said it.  You beamed up at Her, letting Her wipe the tears away.  "I won..."

"You won!  And guess what that means, dear?"

"I'm...I'm a..."

"You're Mommy's little floret now." She tapped your nose as she cooed, causing you to giggle a bit.  A wiggling little thought in your head popped up, though.

"You tricked me, Mommy!"

"Did I?  Well, you knew we affini never play fair when it comes to cuties like you.  Awfully brave of you to make a bet with me anyway, wasn't it?  Almost like you wan~ted this, darling~" she purred at you, her eyes filled with light and warmth.  You thought you couldn't possibly blush more, but it turns out you definitely could.

"I...noooooooooo!!!  I didn't...I mean....maybe?"

"Silly little flower." She picked up her tablet, turning it back on and dismissing the timer, which had paused as soon as she had closed it.  "Now, let's get you home.  We have a contract to sign~"

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cutes Uglies Ft. Bruce, Dick, and Jason

GN!Reader, ≈500 words each

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, slut-shaming (but not really), swearing.

Bruce

The chances of bumping into a celebrity not once, twice, thrice, but four times in one day are low, but not impossible as you’re finding out.

It was kinda cool realising you’re stood behind him in line at the coffee shop, but not spectacularly cool or anything. Almost everyone you knew had a story about meeting Bruce, or another member of the Wayne family out in public so you weren’t overly excited. You just kept your head down, scrolling through your socials and wondering whether his drink was the iced cold brew, the fudge brownie hot chocolate, or the three pump vanilla no foam cappuccino. Your friend Jade was right, he is far ‘hunkier’ than the media gives him credit for, his piercing eyes really are that blue, and he smells good too, like bergamot and cedar.

It became somewhat more exciting when you'd headed to the library on your lunch break to return a book, only for him to already be there, chatting-up the librarians no less. Your friends were not going to believe this. He must sense you staring at him because he turns to look at you, when you make eye contact you smile, wondering if he might recognise you from the morning. He did not smile back.

Upon returning to work, the rest of your shift had been gruelling, job after job being piled onto your shoulders with minimal time to get them all done. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell your co-workers about your unlikely encounters with Gotham’s richest man. By the time you got off for the night, you were exhausted, the thought of having to cook dinner and wash the pots once you got home looming over you like a rain cloud until you decide to grab some take-out on your way home instead.

You’re barely out of the doors of Big Belly Burgers, a handful of fries hanging from your lips when you see him for the 3rd time. Bruce Wayne, on the sidewalk across the street, engrossed in what seemed to be a very intense telephone call. Weird.

You don’t have to wait long for the fourth encounter, it happens just a few blocks from your home. He’s much closer this time, a little too close for comfort maybe. You hadn’t seen it coming, one moment you’re rifling through your bag, looking for your keys, the next you’re suspended a few inches from the ground by a pair of strong hands fisted into the collar of your jacket. Instinctively you paw at him, one hand wrapping around his wrist, the other bunching up in the fabric of his sweater for faux support.  

You think for a moment you’re being mugged, until the familiar smell of wood and citrus hits your senses. Bruce Wayne is pressing you against the cold, damp wall of an alleyway, handsome face marred by its stern expression.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?”

>[Continued]<

Dick

The only thing worse than the feel of the uneven, filth-trodden pavements of Blüdhaven against your bare feet, is the thought of putting the torturous pair of dress shoes you’d worn last night back on. Perhaps you should have asked your hookup for something to wear, but that would almost certainly guarantee your having to see them again in order to return it and you’d happily walk barefoot across Tartarus before you let that happen.

Careful to avoid stepping in anything less than savoury, you keep your eyes glued to the floor, so focused on the things below you, that you don’t notice the things in front of you. The person in front of you, until you plough right into their admittedly firm chest.

The person in question reeks of stale alcohol, his shiny hair is a mess, there’s a shadow forming on his striking jawline, and the half-undone shirt he’s wearing is clearly wrinkled and stained from the night before. A fellow walk-of-shamer.

You stare at each other for a long moment before you realise you had bumped into him, therefore you should be the one to speak first.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” You murmur, voice hoarse.

“No problem.” He replied, far too chipper for his current predicament. His eyes rake up and down your body, and you might be vexed by it if you had not just been doing the same to him. “Why aren’t you wearing your shoes.”

“They hurt my feet.” You shrug, taking a cautious sidestep around him as you speak. “Just want to get home, they were slowing me down.”

That should be the end of it, but the sound of his dress boots tapping against the sidewalk follows you down the street. You can’t be certain, but you were pretty sure he’d been walking in the opposite direction prior to your collision. You cast a glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, he’s just a few steps behind you, offering you a striking smile that almost makes the grey morning feel brighter.

“Proposal?” He asks, and you stop to listen. Possibly because you’re genuinely intrigued, probably because your brain isn’t awake enough to tell your heart that you shouldn’t talk to strangers. “If I can get you home without you having to use your feet, will you go out for breakfast with me?”

“You’re really asking me out during a walk of shame?” You snicker, impressed by his audacity.

“We don’t shame in 2024, I prefer to call it a stride of pride.” He informs you, and he has a point. “Besides, might be fate that we walked into each other this fine morning, gotta give it a chance, right?”

“Right.” You agree, but your raised brow and puckered lips might suggest some scepticism. He doesn’t seem put off however, still beaming that brilliant smile at you. “And how do you plan on getting me home?”

“Easy.” He shakes his head, conveying his confidence as he beckons you closer by curling two fingers towards himself. You follow his direction and before you can comprehend what’s going on he’s crouching before you, threading his body between your legs and lifting you on his back, piggy style.

“So, where do you live?”

Jason

The coffee shop is that perfect level of busy that's not overwhelming but isn't too quiet as to be unsettling. Your drink is the ideal temperature, and the evening sun is seeping through the windows at just the right angle to warm your skin and add a golden glow to the atmosphere. By all accounts, this should be the perfect, relaxing moment, except… this book sucks.

You’d thought after years of recommendations from friends, many critically acclaimed adaptions, and its general status as a must-read classic that it was high time you picked it up, but you were about two-thirds in and thoroughly not enjoying yourself.

“Excuse me.” A low voice draws you from the pages of the book. You hadn’t noticed the 6ft+ mountain of tattooed muscle casting a shadow over your table until you looked into his eyes. Oh wow. You don’t know why he’s approached you, but whatever it is; he can have it. “Are you reading Lady Liatris?”

“I am.” You confer, lazily tilting the cover to show him, despite your reading choice already being apparent.

“Nice to meet a fellow bibliophile out in the wild. What do you think of it so far?” He smiles at you, reaching out a hand, your heart sinks as his strong fingers wrap around your own for a handshake.

“Well….” Handsome, well-read, confident enough to approach you, and you were about to blow it with your brutal honesty. “I haven’t finished it yet, so I won’t commit, but so far I am not impressed.”

“What?” He actually flinched. “No way. Where are you up to?”

“I just finished the bit where Claude professed his love for Florance at the flower show, which was the drollest thing I’ve ever read, and it went on and on for far too many pages.” It was probably impolite for you to be venting so quickly to this stranger, but you just couldn’t help it, the words just kept coming. “Not to mention its total lack of realistic feminism, you can’t just unveil your fencing champion to secretly be a woman and call it a day, every other woman in this book is either a two-dimensional gossiping villain or a two-dimensional love interest for the male side characters.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The mystery man shakes his head at you in disbelief as he situates himself in the chair across from your own. “First of all, it was a product of its time, and is widely considered to be one of the greatest pieces of feminist literature despite its origins, secondly, did you not read any of Evie’s subplot?”

The conversation continues that way, back and forth. He emphasises his points with big sweeping, passionate movements of his arms. He nods his head and purses his lips when you make arguably good points and grits his teeth when he disagrees with you. Neither of you notice when the sun goes down, or your drinks going cold until the barista informs you both that they’ll be closing in a few minutes.

Shit. You’d been debating classic-lit with this guy for at least 2 hours, and you didn’t even know his name. The sentiment appears to be shared because he offers you a comically confused frown as he puts his jacket back on and offers you a hand standing from your seat.

You exit the café into the cool night air together. You’re not sure if you should ask his name and invite him over, or say goodbye, fortunately, he removes the need to decide by handing you a napkin with his name and number jotted onto it in black marker. Jason.

“Call me when you’ve finished the book.” He instructs, and then he gone.

[dxstopiaa]

hello! >u< how are you? if it's okay, may i request the sumeru men with a s/o who loooooves sitting on their lap? i hope you have a great day/night!

characters: alhaitham, kaveh, cyno, tighnari and dottore x gn! reader

warnings: sfw! may be suggestive! otherwise fluff [hii anon! i hope you are doing well too! i tried to post something even though it’s been a month, i’m so sorry <3]

alhaitham

“Haitham, can i sit on your lap again?”

“…You may.” The Acting Grand Sage looked down at you, who had unknowingly sat on the desk infront, eyes gleaming so enthusiastically it’d be a shame to deny you of what you so kindly requested.

If anyone didn’t know the scribe as personally as you did, they’d say he was a cold-hearted man with a thirst only knowledge could quench— that he was incapable of demonstrating love. He’d overheard such earlier, watching the two students indulging in some pointless (and incorrect, mind you) gossip.

He wasn’t one to care of other’s perception of him, but with you in his life and his lap, he had to show at least some regard for his reputation. Seems like all you cared about at the moment was adjusting against his chest so you could snuggle your face into the corner of his neck. Firmly muscular, but comfortable.

He smelt pleasant— hints of fresh citrus and old books radiated off of him like an aura. You suppose the scent of a person really said a lot about them. Al Haitham, that once bitterly cold man had been reduced like a squeezed lemon, sour at first but you’ve drained that attitude from him. As for the other, well, the books were self-explanatory. He was a needed comfort either way.

“Can you read to me too please?”

“You ask for too much, darling...”

kaveh

“Kaveh, you wouldn’t mind me sitting on your lap, right?”

The architect’s breath hitched, pencil hovering over the unfinished blueprint. Did he just hear you right? He sighed, wondering why he felt the need to express hesitance when you’re his beloved. That’s new, and awfully endearing too.

His lack of an answer left thoughts swarming your head within seconds. Did i make him uncomfortable? Why though? You’ve done much more intimate things with him than this. You spun around on your heel, a mediocre attempt at fleeing the flustering scene. The creak of a chair accompanied with a tight grasp of a hand around your wrist had settled you onto Kaveh’s thighs.

“Don’t run away, sweetheart, i was a little taken aback, that’s all.” Your boyfriend massaged circular motions into your tense shoulders, apprehensively stiff to the touch. You melted into his gentle ministrations, finally lowering yourself into his lap securely.

“Am i not bothering your soon to be due planning?” You quizzed, turning your head to glance at the messily organised desk, fragments of graphite smeared over it and numerous pencils scattered across the surface. A professional procrastinator is what he was, he never accepted such a name from your mouth, poorly persuading you to keep quiet so he could de-stress.

“I needed a break anyway, my love, just rest with me a little while longer.”

cyno

“I know you’re busy Cyno, but can i sit with you please?”

Such innocently vague phrasing truly disguised your intentions. When you said it like that, Cyno didn’t think much of it and simply agreed. That was until you positioned yourself comfortably on his lap, legs either side of his thighs.

He gasped softly— watching you loop your arms around his neck and snuggle your face into his chest. Bold behaviour like this wasn’t normal for you but he supposed this didn’t have any deeper meaning other than wanting to be close to him.

“Dear…you don’t have anything up your sleeve, do you?” Cyno quizzed, squinting slightly to search for any reaction from you. Your light giggle and the abrupt shaking of your head suggested you didn’t have any ulterior motives.

The general grinned briefly, setting down his report to embrace you with his arms and began to kiss your forehead delicately, leaning into his gentle touch as if you were a cat starved of attention.

“Why don’t i change that, darling?”

tighnari

“Nari, sitting on your lap won’t interfere with your work, yes?”

Your boyfriend froze, the abrupt request felt unfamiliar to fall from your tongue, yet he couldn’t find it within him to decline such an offer. He placed the pen down, turning so slightly as to not let you see the hint of rose over his face.

“Well, i suppose it wouldn’t.” The forest ranger mumbled, trying his hardest not to show a trace of embarrassment. So much for the composed, knowledgeable chief everyone knew. You, on the other hand, smiled cheekily, walking over to see what mess you’ve made.

Just as you were about to tease him, Tighnari seized your waist and spun you around to sit facing the other way. Of course, you facepalmed yourself mentally, how could you limit your lover’s sharp mind?

Tighnari was not about to let you make fun of him with your little tricks— like how you did numerous times before.

“Not so fast darling. I think i deserve an apology for that, physical or verbal, it’s up to you.”

dottore

“My husband, can i sit here with you?”

Dottore trailed his scarlet eyes over your torso, following your outstretched arm until he witnessed your own finger directed to his very lap. You… wanted to sit on him? How flatteringly bold of you. He shifted his legs to let you move in between, patting his situationally vacant legs.

“As you wish, my love, don’t keep me waiting.”Your lover chuckled as your sudden expression adapted into a more coy smile, whether this was from hesitance or excitement, he didn’t know. Your gentle hands reached for his shoulders, so lightly as if you were afraid.

His thighs were firm yet soft enough to rest your own on top, allowing the harbinger to run his fingers along your back whilst he admired the way in which you’d relax against him without a care in the world. He only mattered to you in this moment— the unexpectedly soft, caring husband no one knew of but yourself.

Dottore hasn’t meant to become so attached to the feeling of your thighs encasing him, now it was the only way he was fond of, with you right where you’re safe.

[saerins]

𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

+ nagi seishiro x f!reader | wc 2.4k | content: fluff, high school setting!, some cursing

notes: this was something requested by an anon !! i realised this prompt was also done in my other fic whole except nagi was the second lead :’) also pleaseeeee excuse me if this is ass because i haven’t written in a long time T_T but i’m working on getting back properly !! <3

summary: he didn’t ask you out because he wanted to, yet nagi gets more than he bargained for in the end.

“so, um, nagi, why’d you ask me out all of a sudden?”

it’s kind of an awkward situation to be in, you think, as you look around the arcade, shuffling your feet beside where nagi’s seated, trying to win some tickets from what you can only assume to be a music machine.

when he’d asked you out on a date yesterday, you didn’t think he’d take you to an arcade, of all places. (then again, nagi asking anyone out is sort of unbelievable, honestly.) if you knew sooner (or if nagi had bothered to tell you), you wouldn’t have worn such a nice dress for today.

besides, you’re not even sure why you’d agreed. call your state half-flustered or whatever, because you heard that nagi seishiro of all people does not bother with human relationships much. you’ve only ever seen him interact with mikage reo anyway—and you’d just chalked it up to him wanting it that way. nagi had never shown interest in girls or romance or that kind of shit, so cue your surprise when he asked you out yesterday, when he saw you at the bus stop.

“hey, wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you blinked at him, utterly surprised because that was the first time that nagi had ever spoken to you.

“um, where to?” (you were still malfunctioning over the fact that he was asking you out on a date.)

nagi scratched the back of his head, and you could faintly make out reo a few ways behind him, watching on.

“hmm, not sure, i’ll text you tomorrow morning?” he suggested, pulling out his phone. “what’s your number?”

okay sure, you could’ve asked for more details, but it was hard getting nagi to respond to you at all. you’re pretty sure he was gaming, that’s why.

“oh, ‘cause reo asked me to.”

that… was not the answer you were expecting. “reo asked you to?”

nagi has a bad habit of not elaborating. you don’t really like that, because you don’t like asking questions, but you can’t help yourself now. this is too bizarre for you to let go.

“yeah, something about how he’s sick of me playing games all day long, told me to go get a date, then he’d return me my switch,” nagi mumbles, and you can’t help but think that reo’s plan may have backfired, considering how he’s on a date and still playing games.

while nagi’s grey eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, you find yourself drawn to the way he’s sucking in his cheek as he concentrates, the way his bangs fall over his eyes and how his fingers can respond so quickly to the lines on the screen.

“you’re pretty good at this,” you tell him, getting lost in how well he’s playing. the points on the screen gets so high he’s almost nearing the high score.

for a moment, nagi’s distracted by how close you are to him; your hair smells like citrus and it’s really smooth. it’s also the only time anyone other than reo has been this close and you’re not anyone so he doesn’t really see why you’re able to steal his focus from the game.

someone like you shouldn’t make him notice things that aren’t about games or himself.

but you do—and he misses the first note since the start of the game, though he recovers fairly easily.

he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re in his class and you’re very pretty (now that he’s actually looking at you). you have a really cute laugh too, he realises, right when he wins the game and probably what’s a thousand tickets, with you rejoicing happily beside him.

“oh my god, you’re so fucking good at this,” you’re jumping and giggly and nothing like how quiet you are in school and why does he feel a little giddy knowing that he’s getting to see this firsthand? this doesn’t make sense. “okay, move aside, teach me, i wanna do it too.”

nagi obliges. it’s a pain having to teach someone else compared to doing it himself, he gets to know, as you miss probably half the notes on screen even when he tries to tell you how to do it. hell, he’s not really a good teacher.

you win about 300 tickets.

“not bad for a rookie,” nagi comments as you grab your own pile and stack it in your shared basket. the neon red and blue flashes pretty against your skin. it makes you even prettier, he feels.

you raise a brow. “nagi seishiro, wanna play a bet?”

no, not really. but somehow, he can’t quite turn down a game when it’s from you.

“what’re you betting?”

you hold out the basket in front of you. “i’m gonna find a game where i can beat you.” your chest is puffed out, like you’re determined, like you really believe you can. “if i lose, you can decide my punishment.”

nagi blinks at you. you’re… weird. you make his heart beat faster than usual. it’s a little concerning. “and if you win?”

grinning, you wink at him, “let’s leave that to later.”

whatever possessed him to spend the entire day following you around the arcade and watching you fail, he doesn’t know. you’re pretty bad at everything compared to him, but it’s not really fair—he’s probably spent ten times as much of his days in the arcade than you.

have you ever even set foot in here before?

nagi observes as you try desperately to beat him in ddr. you fail, naturally. your feet coordination really isn’t that good, but it’s pretty cute how hard you’re trying. you’re still pretty even at the end of it, even when you’re sweating and some of your hair is matted against your skin. he keeps that to himself though.

throughout the entire day, nagi finds himself entertained by your persistent insistence to beat him at something. it’s funny how you’re awful at the arcade games. it’s also funny how you’re honestly trying. it’s really no use but here you are, sweating once again from shooting hoops.

your 64 versus nagi’s 154.

“wow, you’re really bad at all these games,” nagi murmurs when he sees your score. “wanna go somewhere else?”

you’re quick to open your mouth but it takes you just as quick to shut it, probably knowing you’ll never beat him. at least, not today. “fine, you win,” you say through gritted teeth. you’re a little prideful; nagi’s learning a lot about you. “what do you want?”

nagi seems to have forgotten your earlier bet. he just shrugs and tells you to choose what you want at the exchange counter.

“you don’t want anything?”

nagi looks at the prizes with such disinterest it makes you wonder what can interest a guy like him. he shakes his head, “i can get anything i want anytime anyway.”

(the underlying insinuation that coming to the arcade with him is your only chance to win prizes flies right over your head.)

but when nagi looks at your slightly disappointed face, he tries to backtrack. “i’ll let you know when i think of something i want since i won,” he says, looking away from you. “but you choose one of the prizes today.”

turns out it’s so easy to please you. just like that and that smile is back on your face.

you choose a big goddamn pink teddy bear by the way. nagi sighs as he leaves the arcade with you. it’s probably a character nagi doesn’t know. he’s judging you, but then you hug it and smile at him and he forgets what he’s thinking about.

“i know this was only because reo asked you to, but…” you mumble after you and nagi both finished eating dinner, sitting across from each other at the ramen shop. “it was fun.”

nagi’s not sure what this is. just a customary thing where you’re showing appreciation for the time you two spent together today? you’re looking away from him though, he’s pretty sure normal customs don’t dictate that. he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to look at him when you say that.

“why’re you looking away?”

you look at him in blank shock (an expression that he doesn’t know how to process—what’s so weird about asking you that?) before you smile helplessly. “you’re very weird, nagi seishiro.”

“what do you mean?” nagi’s clueless, in that nagi seishiro way only he can be.

a few seconds of silence pass when you try to make up your mind. it’s unnerving how big and wide his eyes are, especially when they’re focused only on you and nothing else. in the end, you manage with a shake of your head.

“it’s nothing,” you decide. telling him of your possible crush on him would not do any good, you guess.

something bugs nagi; he can’t understand what it is. he just knows something feels off but it’s not like he’s ever felt this particular kind of irk—he doesn’t know what to do.

when the time comes to leave the restaurant, nagi finds himself walking the opposite way to his home because you started walking first.

somehow, his feet follows you.

it’s stupid—walking this far away from the direction of his home is troublesome. it’ll be a hassle to get home when his bus is on the other side of the long gone restaurant. why is he walking you to the train station again when he’ll just see you next week anyway? you’re in the same class.

“oh, are you gonna take the train too?”

nagi blinks at you, drawing a blank at your question. he must’ve completely zoned out. did the both of you get here in complete silence?

“no,” he answers honestly. he doesn’t elaborate. as usual.

by now, that doesn’t surprise you. instead you just nod your head, a hesitance borne in the shuffling of your feet. “well,” you drawl out, dragging the syllable, somehow hoping this wasn’t the end of the night but it is. “this was a nice one-time date,” you settle for, smiling. you’re about to just say goodbye, but you bite on your bottom lip, contemplating, before you slip his phone out of his hand and slide the screen to the side, taking a picture of the both of you together, nagi looking at the screen in surprise and you winking beside him.

when you hand it back to him, you bite your inner mouth, trying not to grin. “in case reo asks for evidence,” you offer as an excuse. you totally didn’t want to take a picture with nagi. “he better give you your game back!”

nagi gets this fleeting feeling that he doesn’t know how to explain when he sees you smiling at him. like how you remind him of the color gray. not because it’s bland but because it’s his favourite color. you remind him of spring and the cool breeze and how refreshing it feels.

“it was a nice one-time date, nagi seishiro,” you chuckle before you turn around, ready to head into the station and probably never spend such time with nagi again. you’ll probably get over the sadness of what could’ve been pretty quickly. you think.

but just before you can enter, you hear the firm steadiness in nagi’s voice. “no.”

you whip your head around, not quite sure you heard him right. “no?” you narrow your stare a little, moving out of other people’s way as they push past you into the station. “as in, you didn’t like it?”

you hope he doesn’t mean it like that.

nagi looks away, earnestly processing it. it came blurting out of him, he didn’t even know what he said until he said it. “i won the bet and what i want is… this. again. with you.”

the implications of his words slowly sink in and it has you feeling giddy. nagi, the guy who barely cares about anything nor makes the time for anyone—is he actually telling you this? is he really saying he’d take you out more?

meanwhile, nagi’s feet stay firmly planted where he is, wondering why you make him feel like this, why you make him feel like he can’t get enough. you’re just… you. before today, he could honestly say you were insignificant. but just the way you are; how you speak, your smile, your laugh and your resilience—nagi likes it, finds comfort in it, somehow.

“then,” you say as you enter the station, face giddy with the excitement of something new blossoming. “i’ll wait for more dates with you, sei.”

the way you call him that makes his heart skip a beat and he’s left blankly staring at your figure as you retreat into the station, stealing his heart with you.

“fine, fine,” reo sighs. it’s two days later on a monday and reo grudgingly gives nagi back his switch. “so, what’d you two do anyway?” he asks, shifting his gaze between nagi and you, though you’re at the other end of the classroom, talking excitedly to your friends.

nagi’s attention quickly transfers to his switch, already opening up a game to play. “nothing much,” is all he offers, and reo’s beginning to think maybe it was more of a punishment for you than a date.

reo sighs again, ready to lecture nagi for being the worst date ever when he pulls up his phone to look at the time. but he accidentally takes nagi’s phone instead, unlocking it to find his own chat thread—to which nagi doesn’t even bother saving his name (reo side eyes him but nagi doesn’t even realise).

that doesn’t surprise him, but what does is when reo realises your contact is saved—with the icon being a picture of the two of you together. you must really be something to be able to make nagi do something so idiotic like this.

“oi, nagi.”

nagi only responds with a raise of his brow. he’s still clicking away at the controls. reo guesses it must be a racing game from those sounds.

“if you guys get married i better be the best man for being your matchmaker,” reo teases, his grin filling his face.

even though nagi doesn’t respond, the champagne pink that brushes across his cheeks is enough indication to reo of nagi’s feelings for you.

looks like he never needed to worry after all.

[luvscnarios]

Like Porcelain ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎ

Pairing :: Jing Yuan x fem!housewife!reader. Word Count :: 829. Warnings :: slightly suggestive towards the end, reader is described to be shorter than Jing Yuan, reader is described to be spoiled. Notes :: shamelessly projected here, whoopsie dingle 🎀.

“And maybe because these stupid shoes are too loose or are bad quality because now I have crazy blisters on my heels! So not only do my feet ache from walking so much, but now they’re all swollen too! I think I might die, I fear.”

Jing Yuan could only chuckle as he dutifully massaged your feet, listening to your complaints with a grin. As a general, blisters were barely something to rant over for almost half an hour, but then again he had centuries to build that pain tolerance. Not to mention that you were a spoiled little housewife, unknowing of discomfort and strain. What a delicate thing you have become, like porcelain, in constant need of coddling and care.

The culprit for the red blisters marring your feet was your monthly run around the Luofu for some errands. Usually, you just whine about the throbbing of your soles after walking all over the place and move on with your day. But not this time. You decided to wear some new shoes you recently bought from you can’t even remember and when you came home, you kicked them off like they had poison and awkwardly shuffled to the bedroom. All while cursing and complaining. 

This was all the more proof of how much Jing Yuan loved you because he followed you into the bedroom and wordlessly took your feet into his hands as you collapsed on the edge of your bed, doing his best to massage them and ease the pain. So from then to now, he’s been kneeling on the floor giving you a massage and listening to you rant without interrupting once. Not even when his knees began to ache from the hard floor or the fact your voice was way too loud. He spoiled you utterly rotten with his affection and devotion to you, but he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Once it was clear you were done with your little spiel, Jing Yuan kissed your ankles and lifted himself off the floor. Sitting right next to you at the edge of the bed, one is his sturdy arms curled around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. “Are you done, my love? You’re as whiny as a baby, such a spoiled little wife.” And before you could fire back at him with more scathing words, he cut you off by squishing your cheeks with his free hand and shutting you up with a kiss. You let out a huff through your nose but still melt into the kiss, nuzzling yourself closer to the warmth of Jing Yuan’s body. Your husband, loyal devotee, and wet cat of a lover was the only thing on your mind with his firm lips on yours. It was a surprisingly chaste kiss and you found yourself forgetting why you were so upset in the first place, the dull discomfort from your blistered feet fading away. 

Jing Yuan pulled away and you shamelessly tried to chase his lips, pouting once more as he held you still by the cheeks. And yet, your eyes told him you were more amused than annoyed by his antics even if you were pouting like an entitled brat. He had created a menace for sure but those saccharine eyes cut him to the core and crumbled his resolve. Jing Yuan loved you. You might as well take his heart, it’s already full of you. 

“You know, a little birdie told me that a warm bath with some soothing bath salts can help soothe aching and blistered feet. Want me to draw you a bath?” Before you got a chance to even answer his question, Jing Yuan slid his arms under your back and legs to pick you up as you yelped at the sudden movement. Holding you in the ever so typical bridal style, your arms instinctively curled around his neck as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Under all the silky hair of his and on his skin, you breathed in the scent of musk and woodiness and the fainest traces of your citrus body wash. This was the smell of home and of comfort. An aroma that floods your senses and gives you a sense of protection and cosset love. 

Although you knew he probably can’t even see your head and he already answered his own questions for you, you still nodded at the suggestions of a nice warm bath. “A bath is good. Together. But let’s actually shower and not start getting all handsy with each other. Like every time we try showering together.” Another huff left your lips and your warm breath fanned against the junction of his skin, not helping his restraint when it came to honoring your wish. Jing Yuan’s laughter rumbled deep from his chest and as he gently carried to the bathroom, pressing another lingering kiss to the top of your head. 

“I make no promises, my love. No promises.”

[muwapsturniolo]

✯Suave✯

Summary: Chris goes into Ulta with his brothers and ends up meeting a girl

Warning: nothing really

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Chris was irritated.

Nick decided to drag him out of bed and have him go to Ulta with him, and because neither of them could drive, Matt was also dragged out of bed.

Together they make the trip to the orange and pink store.

They walk in and are immediately met with “Daydreaming” by Harry Styles, and a girl in their face. “Hi! Welcome to Ulta! Could I help you find anything today?” The three brothers are a bit shocked at how enthusiastic she is considering it’s 11:30 am.

“Umm…no?” The girl nods and walks away, but not before saying if they need any help to come find her.

"She is a bit too enthusiastic this morning," Nick states.

“Nick what the hell are we in here for?” Matt asks rubbing over his face. They definitely feel out of place in this store. Three guys in a store filled with a bunch of girls and makeup?

They stand out.

“I needed new skincare and I didn’t want to order it!” Chris rolls his eyes before following Nick around the store. As they are walking around, Chris sees a girl dancing with whom he assumes to be her coworker. They are next to a brand that reads Lancôme, getting down to the new song over the speakers. He smiles softly and chuckles to himself. With him watching her dancing, he accidentally bumps into Nick. Nick quickly becomes irritated, “Go walk around! Stop following me like a toddler!” Chris and Matt huff before walking away from Nick.

Matt ends up in the hair section while Chris walks over to their fragrances.

He smells a few, scrunching his face up and immediately putting them down. “Did you need any help?” He jumps and turns around in shock. His eyes land on a girl in black flared pants and a pink bell sleeve blouse. Her makeup is done to perfection and her curly fro is out and extra defined.

it's the girl who was dancing.

Her name tag reads Y/N.

“Umm…I’m not sure.” She cracks a soft smile and motions to the fragrances. “Well let’s start off with this. Are you shopping for someone else or yourself?” She walks a bit closer and Chris can smell the perfume she's wearing.

She smells of vanilla.

“I’m going to be honest, my brother dragged me in here. I’m just looking.” She laughs a little bit and Chris can feel his knees buckle.

“I see, well if you ne-Could you help me pick out a fragrance?” He spits out suddenly. She’s a bit caught off guard at the switch-up, but nods anyway.

“What scents do you like?”

“Umm… maybe like woodsy and spicy?” His statement sounds more like a question, but the girl runs with it. She shows him a few fragrances, which he shakes his head at. He begins to feel bad, feeling like he's wasting her time. He just finds her pretty and wants to find an excuse to talk to her.

“Sorry for being difficult.” She shakes her head at his apology.

“No no! You’re not being difficult at all! Finding a fragrance you like can be a bit difficult, I get it.” He nods and they continue. “Ok, so this is the Versace Eros. It has a bit of citrus scent since it has Italian lemon, but it’s more spicy than anything-” he zones out and focuses on her face.

She has on a full face of makeup but she looks gorgeous. He finds himself loving the blush she has on as well as her lipgloss. "Hello?" He snaps back into reality and apologizes. "Sorry," he takes the tester strip and hums.

“I think we’re getting closer. Can we smell a few more?” The girl nods and shows him a few more. “What's your favorite fragrance?” He suddenly asks.

“For me or for men?”

“Both.” She thinks for a few seconds before showing him the Burberry Goddess. “I’m a sucker for vanilla fragrances.” He smells the fragrance and eyes her, “is this what you're wearing?” She nods and he smirks.

"Well, you smell great." his flirtatious smile makes her turn away from him, her face getting hot. He chuckles and looks at the multiple Burberry fragrances behind the glass.

“Does Burb-I’m helping a guest in Fragrance.” She cuts him off by speaking through her earpiece.

“Did they need your help?” He asks her, not wanting to hold her up for a cologne he doesn’t even need. “Yes, but I don’t want to get on register. So please keep talking.” He laughs at her words.

“Ok well, what’s your favorite fragrance for men?” He continues the conversation.

“I love Paco Rabanne and the YSL fragrances!” He nods before looking to his right. “How about the Dior suave?”

He notices her lips pursing as she tries not to laugh, “what?” He questions in confusion.

“It's sauvage.” She corrects.

He runs his hands over his face in embarrassment “Jesus Christ I sounded like a dumbass.” She chuckles before shaking her head. “You’re not the first person I heard pronounce it wrong...plus that was cute.”

To avoid facing his embarrassment and her seeing him blush, he turns and sprays the tester strip. He ends up liking this one the most and nods. “I think I want this one.”

She frowns at his pick. Chris notices the frown on her face and quirks a brow.

“What? you don’t like this one?” He holds up the tester bottle.

“Honest opinion?”

He nods, “Don’t tell my manager I swore but, I fucking hate that fragrance. It’s so basic and overhyped! Almost every guy I know wears it. Have some originality. I would hate if the guy I was talking to wore it.”

Chris can’t help but joke with her, “What, so you wouldn't like if I wore it?"

“i-i mean i don't think it would smell bad on you." she nervously states. she was never good when it came to flirting, always awkwardly responding.

“Well, I want to make sure when I take you out I'm wearing a cologne that smells appealing to you."

She fights back the smile that wants to form on her face. before he can say anything to him, Chris continues.

"How about this. I’ll buy one of the fragrances you recommend for me if I can get your phone number.” Chris is a bit shocked at his own words. He'd never flirted this much in his life, but it's something about her.

Y/n stares at him with unreadable eyes.

She’s had guys ask for her number while at work but most of the time their girlfriends are with them, or they are shopping for them. She usually turns them down and goes straight to the backroom to gossip with her coworkers about it. But Chris was different, he didn't just flat out ask for her number, he technically asked her out.

Without saying anything, she walks away from him.

Chris stands in fragrance, baffled and scared. He rushes towards his brothers who are still in the hair section.

"We have to leave right now!" Chris urges. Both Nick and Matt look at him confused. "what wh-I flirted with one of the workers and she walked away from me after I asked her out! I came on pretty hard and I'm scared she's gonna tell her manager I'm harassing her!"

"You're such a fucking idiot!" Matt can't help but laugh at the whole situation. "Yes I'm an idiot! Matt stop laughing or I swe-" Chris is cut off by someone tapping his shoulder. He turns around and sees Y/n. he stares with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing.

"I think you would like this one." She holds up a red box, the words on it reading Ralph Lauren. his eyes land on the box before he looks back at her, "So you're not going to yell at me for harassment?"

"Harassment?"

"You walked away and I thought you were going to tell your manager or something that I was harassing you. I was trying to flirt."

She giggles at his anxious thoughts, "No. I just don't handle flirting well so I tend to look uncomfortable. And I walked away to get the keys for the fragrance lock. Did I not say that?"

Chris shakes his head, "No you straight up walked away." Now she looks embarrassed. "Sorry, I thought I told you what I was doing. I must have replied in my head." Chris relaxes at her statement and smiles. She notices the two other boys behind Chris and straightens up,

“Were you all done shopping?” it's almost scary how fast she switched back to her customer service voice. "Yeah, are you able to check us out?"

She walks them over to the salon register and signs in with her numbers. “Can I get a phone number?” The boys tense and eye each other.

“Do we have to?”

“No, that’s perfectly fi-it would definitely benefit you! You would earn points which is money off later and you get your coupons with a free birthday gift!” Y/n glares as one of her coworkers approaches them. The boys can see the annoyance of y/n face and watch the interaction. “Layla, do me a favor and stay out of my transaction.” Y/n snips back.

"I'm just trying to he-I’ll sign up,” Chris states. “Good!” The coworker looks at Y/n with a smug look on her face. “I’ll be sure to let Jenna know your loyalty percentage went up.” She walks away.

Y/n mimics her, mumbling under her breath. “I’ll be sure to let Jenna know! Fucking bitch.” A snicker catches her attention and she turns back towards the boys, a look of fright on her face. She forgot they were there and they might tell her manager about her vulgar language. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to do all-Girl you’re good. I probably would have cussed her out. I hated working retail.” Nick states waving her off. She visibly relaxes at his words.

“You guys don’t have to sign up by the way.” Chris shakes his head, “We don’t want you to get in trouble with Jenna.” His voice has a joking tone and she smiles softly.

Chris gives his phone number, signing up for the loyalty program.

Seeing her manager walk buy, she does the pitch.

“Did we want to sign up for the Ulta card? You would get 20% off and double the points. You were pre-approved and it says it would take off $90.” Nick goes to decline for Chris but he speaks up, “I’ll do it. Might as well save.” He does the signup and gets the Mastercard.

“Alright, you were approved for the Mastercard. You can use it anywhere such as a gas station, a grocery store, or even online, and still get double the points here.” She wraps up the transaction and packs their bags.

She grabs a pamphlet that has all the info about the card and quickly writes on it.

She hands Matt the bag and gives Chris the pamphlet. “Have a nice day, and thank you for shopping at Ulta.”

The boys thank her and start walking out the store.

As they are walking out Chris looks through the pamphlet, he sees a phone number in the corner and a little note.

“Wear the polo on our date.”

He chuckles to himself and climbs into the car.

“Thanks for dragging me out of bed Nick.”

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Random idea I came up with that I fell in love with 😭 I work at Ulta so this was a breeze to write. I fr wanna make this like a plot that yall can send in requests for! Let me know what yall think and send in requests if you think about anything!!!

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3

[azullumi]

“withering desires of a cruel man with broken confessions” ; aventurine

to you : 🧀 nonnie !! i hope you had a wonderful birthday and i’m sorry for taking a long time to finish this but hey, it’s done now (finally). belated happy birthday and i wish you all the best <33

premise — his belief that he doesn’t deserve the good things is rooted deeply underneath the dirt where he buries his corpse, and he doesn’t deserve you; this is an ode to clementia and he wishes that his song reaches you.

tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, fluff to angst, friends to friends that knows they like each other, orange as a metaphor for love, angry and forced love confessions, aven my self-sabotage and mixed signals king, 1.5k ; one-shot

note — made while listening to phoebe bridgers, faye webster, adrianne lenker, and ichiko aoba. this was supposed to be a short drabble about peeling oranges and sharing with them what happened

They say clementines are a symbol for mercy—gentle, soft, and sweet, like an echo of the sun. 

There’s the fresh smell of citrus in the air as he delicately pulls its skin to reveal its form, a warm burst of sunset trapped within its fragile walls, and his nails will be tainted by the color of its penance and he’ll forget what it feels like to only have hatred in his heart. Maybe that’s how forgiveness tastes; salvation will fill his blood as he sheds tears that carry his sins (they were never his).

“I don’t know how you can do that flawlessly.” You say, your voice drenched in wonder and amazement as you watch the movement of his fingers, adeptly peeling the fruit. The sections come apart neatly and perfectly in his hands.

He smiles, “It’s easy.”

“It’s not.” You insist, reminding him of the horror of the state the orange has become when you tried to share it with him. “Did you see the holes I tore through it? I was left with nothing but the mere coat because the juice sprayed in all directions.”

The sound of laughter forms in his throat and escapes, “It’s because it was small and the skin is hard. Come on.” He holds a small piece near your face and you part your lips open enough for him to feed you; a warm feeling resides in your cheeks as you chew. There’s a burst of sweetness, with hints of sourness that lingered in its nature in your mouth—it reminds you of the night when he held your form and gently guided you to the melody of the song. 

“Is it sweet?” He asks, his head tilted a little to the side as he bores his gaze at you. There are lingering touches, whispered honey-coated words, affectionate gestures, and eyes painted of different vivid hues and contrasting pristine tones that never seem to hold the light, only reflecting your form within. You hum, nodding your head as you answer, “You should teach me how to peel them, you know. I don’t want to be calling you everytime or having to rely on you too much.”

(Truthfully, and hopefully so, may you never learn so he’ll get to be this close to you always.)

He smiles, sunshine peeking through his expression, “I wouldn’t mind.” He wouldn’t mind if it were just a small matter or nothing at all, you can keep on calling for him, ask for his assistance or simply just his presence—he’ll come running to you. He whispers, “Use me as you wish,” and his words shatter as it falls to the ground. (See him as a tool that has never known its purpose. See him as worthless but mere dust that covers your window sills. See him as nothing but a fool who never understood the lines in his heart.)

You say, “You know you’re not just as little as that to me.”

“Then what am I to you?” The comfort of silence settles in the gaps of his fingers and he finds himself seeking, waiting, with bated breath. His gaze seems to still at your eyes before falling to your lips, lingering for a few moments before meeting your eyes once more, and your hands tremble; you know the answer, you know what to say, you know, you know, you know, you know—and, at once, there’s the warm feeling of his lips on yours as you pull him in, as he pulls you in.

It’s gentle, soft in all of its edges and cracks. He holds your face in his hands and you intertwine yours in his locks, and you pull at his hair, eliciting a hum from him. It’s a burst of warmth, the taste of something sweet still left in your tongue as he kisses you. It’s short yet it will be engraved and buried in the depths of your mind for eternity.

“I like you.” You whisper against his lips as you part, eyes heavy on each other yet his gaze wavers and his breath shudders.

“I…” Why else would he continuously seek your embrace? Why else would he prefer to be alone with you even if it’s just silence between you and him (your presence alone brings him comfort)? Why else would he take such time to understand your form and cradle your being as if you were born from glass? He didn’t have your hands carve the shape of his thoughts into the form of your being just so he wouldn’t capture the feeling of your touch on his skin and how he craves, yearns for it like a starved man—and yet, he’ll hold his head down in humiliation as he looks for the words on the ground. He’s worthless, useless, nothing like his ‘luck’ that seems to curse everyone around him, and you’re everything he’s not. “I’m sorry.”

His hands fall from your cheeks and he stands up, saying, “I’m sorry, I have to go.” 

The chair screeches beneath him; his thoughts remain silent yet deafening, your voice fading into white noise as you call for him. He has to leave—each of his footsteps are heavy, echoing back to him as if a semblance to contempt and mockery that trails his wake.

Fear and shame forms at the bottom of his lungs. What even is he afraid of? Is it the lack of experience? The fear of abandonment? But humans are not strangers to those thoughts, people are bound to leave and Aventurine wasn’t unfamiliar with that, so how could he be afraid of something that has become a friend to him? Maybe it’s when he’s torn apart from flesh to bones and they’ll see there’s nothing in him—he was born out of barren wastelands and dust, his form has been long since buried under the golden sands. Maybe it's when he’s shown everything to them and they seek for something that he doesn’t have; the disappointment that lies in their expression will forever haunt him. Was it fear or was it worry that nobody could ever love him for what he truly is? Behind the expensive clothes he wears, the shining and heavy jewelry on his wrist, the suffocating rings on his hand, maybe they prefer his skin tainted with letters instead of wounds that brands him as human.

“—Rine.” A hand grasps at his wrist, preventing him from leaving. He stills in his position, feet glued to the floor and his back turned against you. Your voice breaks, “Stay, please.”

He’s stuck, sutured to the ground, hesitation sewing his mouth shut. You urge him to turn around, your fingers tugging at him, so he could face you, so you could see him—he’s tattered, torn and conflicted over something you’ll never know. The unfriendly air of the cold night wraps around his figure, but your hand eases warmth and comfort in his weary bones.

“Why did you kiss me?” You seek for something in the gaps of his expression, looking for a falter in the lines of his features to know the thoughts that he hides beneath all the charades and facades.

“…It was a mistake.”

You answer, frustration slowly seeping into your tone, “You know damn well it’s not.” He knows completely well it’s not and it will never be. And you don’t cry nor plead, you beg with sore, trembling palms for an answer to soothe the disturbance of the waves that will come to swallow you, drowning you in the murky waters of your mind. “You don’t get to hold my hands and cradle me in yours and tell me it’s nothing. You don’t get to look at me in a way that is reminiscent of lovers and tell me it doesn’t mean anything. You don’t get to kiss me and say that it’s a mistake. You’re a cruel man, Aventurine, and you’re unfair for telling me that it was all nothing but a mistake when you haunt my dreams.”

“…I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes for a moment, darkness swallowing his vision yet his mind conjures an image of you in it, berating him. The broken pieces of your words are left scattered on the bottom of yours and his feet.

You ask, voice low, “Do you like me?”

“Why—“

“It’s a yes or no question, ‘Rine. Do you like me or do you not?”

“I love you.” His voice is raised and cracks start to form on the surface of his expression, “and it’s scaring me.” Forgive me. The clock continues to tick despite the world seemingly coming to a still at his words.

The air is suffocating and the silence sits on your shoulders before he says, whispering in a broken tone, “I’m leaving.”

And this time, you don’t stop him. His steps are rushed against the flooring, the sound of the door closing echoes throughout the corners of your mind. The walls of your home stand tall over you, his confession written and tearing through all over your wallpaper, screaming at you; you’re left crumbling on the floor. The sweet scent of citrus lingers in the air, the mess the two of you made still on the counter tops, and you wished you told him you love him too.

tagging @toorurs, the loveliest and sweetest of all. i hope you know that you're cherished and loved by me, and i'm so glad to have you and the sun that touches your skin must be too <33 always be reminded that you're beautiful and i appreciate everything that you do and say (you always make me laugh even when it's just the smallest and useless of things like wow you must have a special talent in making someone smile) !! thank you for always being there for me too and always cheering me up, and also making my day because everything for me nowadays is becoming unbearable and you're the only one that keeps me sane (fk exams and projects and research im going to cry)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[readychilledwine]

What Once Was Lost

Rhysand Week Day Three - Loved Ones

Summary - Your baby shower should have been the happiest day of your and Cassian's life, but you and Rhysand just can't shake the feeling that something, or someone(s), is missing

Warnings - Loss of parents and siblings, discussion of mourning and grief, brother/sister bonding moment, pregnancy, angst, fluff, implied favoritism from a parental figure

A/N - Happy @officialrhysandweek day 3. Rhysand's love language towards his family screams gifts. I had something like this planned for a girl dad Cassian fic, but doing it with Rhysand just felt so right as things flowed together. I was pretty excited for this to be a prompt for this week because it gave me an excuse to finally write, revamp, and post this.

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

You were being irrational.

At least you repeated that to yourself over and over as you hid on the balcony. This should have been one of the happiest days of your life. A baby shower to celebrate the life you and Cassian had made after many centuries of trying and trying with no results. Yet, you found yourself a mess of tears and makeup, face buried in your hands and you cried. 

Every celebration came with a feeling of emptiness. It always had and for some reason, you felt it always would. It had been years since the night you woke up to your father's pained screams, since he then clinged to you, holding his last remaining baby girl for dear life, then you lost him too.

You wanted to move on, yet you still felt stagnated, unable to move forward. Something was missing today. Someone. Multiple someones, actually. Your mother, your big sister, your father despite his cruelty. It seemed like a joke to be celebrating without them.

The door opened and shut softly, followed by the scent of salty citrus, “Sister! There you are," Rhysand's face fell as he saw you crying. "Is it that bad,” he asked gently. “Did I mess up planning this that badly? Is it the cake? The white? I promise its-”

“It's not any of that, no,” you interjected. “I- its.”

“Oh.” He knew. Rhysand knew. He had felt it on his own wedding day, after the birth of his own son, after every milestone he accomplished. “You know they would want you happy-”

Those words made you sob harder, hugging yourself tightly. You felt this level of mourning wasn't healthy after so many years, so many heartaches, but it was as if your life had adapted and grown around the murders of your mother and big sister instead of moving on from it.

“Y/n, the depth of your mourning does not determine how much you loved them. What determines that is how we honor them.” Rhysand moved to lean next to you on the wall, “And have we done that. We've changed things mother felt would remain the same until the end of time, we rebuilt the Rainbow in honor of Stel, we ensured their stories were heard, written into the Night Court's history. We even honored our father through alliances, trade, and the crowns we wear.” 

He wiped his own eyes before continuing, “We've honored them by becoming the male and female they expected us to be. By becoming the husband and wife to our partners that they expected us to be. By loving each other and pushing each other to be better the way they expected us to. We've honored them by being happy, by cherishing each other. You, my starlight, have been my treasure since they left us.”

You only smiled slightly, “Until you had Nyx.” Your nephew, your light. He was the source of happiness for the Inner Circle you all had never seen coming. He had spun everyone's world, but mostly Rhysand's. Nyx filled a void with his sweet squishy face and bright blue eyes filled with wonder and joy.

“No,” your brother said the word with such gentleness but firmly. “You are still my treasure. My son is my world. And when i see you with him, I feel complete.” He meant that. You could tell by the little look of pride he had.

The transition from Rhysand as a full-time workaholic to almost stay at home dad had been a rough one, but one he would not undo. Feyre practically ran the Night Court now, while Rhysand enjoyed a life of fatherhood and solitude unless necessary. No one outside of the Inner Circle knew that fact, of course, but slowly, they would.

“Nyx will reshape the world some day,” his hand moved to rest on your stomach, his body moving to face you as it did, “And this little life you a carrying, this little being who is already so celebrated, so loved, who has already brought so much joy, this is his sibling. The closest thing he will ever have with Feyre's choice to never have a child again.”

Rhysand's hand felt your bump, trying to find where the soul growing inside of you was resting. “It's time to stop the circle of grief, dear sister,” he made you look at him. “To live. To love freely. To hold tight to the things we both cherish most. You are carrying the greatest blessing you could ever give this family.”

His eyes were still on that swell of life, a soft smile as he thought out his future niece or nephew, “Two more months,” you reminded him. “You can hold them in two more months.”

“It's forever,” he pouted before placing both hands on your tummy. “Have you two picked names?”

You could only nod as you two held eye contact. You searched those comforting eyes for any sign or hint of the gender you'd be giving birth to. He was the only one who knew the gender of the baby, information he carried so close to his heart he had not even told Feyre. You and Cassian had wanted to be surprised at birth, but your mate's anticipation made it impossible to wait 61 more days.

Rhysand had planned this whole party around that fact. The garden was filled with white flowers. The house had white linens and decorations. He’d gone as far as having enchanted white flowers spread throughout Velaris. 

After the overly extravagant dinner being served, you and Cassian would be moved under the flower arch he'd constructed with Elain. Then, when you both indicated you were ready, the flowers would change to pink or blue. Cassian, Feyre, Eris, and Azriel were all supporting pink, praying for a sweet baby girl. You were in black, matching your brother, in a silent message that you both wanted healthy. Mor, Amren, Elain, Nesta, and Lucien all Sported accents of blue, using old fisher wife stories to say you were carrying a baby boy. 

Rhysand pulled your mind back to the present, to him, with a soft kiss on your forehead. “You look so much like Mother. When I miss her, I look at you and find peace and comfort. I am reminded of the way she looked at me because your eyes look at me the same.” 

He hugged you the best he could, letting there be silence as your tears finally stopped. Rhysand had dedicated his life to Velaris, to the found family you two shared, to you. Your heart and mind knew that dedication would pass to this baby, to raising them to be strong willed, confident, humbled. “People are waiting for us,” he whispered into your hair. “Your husband is waiting for you two. Let's go eat.”

It was a gentle pull of your hand, bringing you to the center spot of the table next to Cassian. Lamb, chicken, prime rib. Rhys had spared no expense to make sure this day was special for you, and the meal filled with all your favorite proteins and sides was proof of that. Food was enjoyed with laughter, final wagers placed between the Inner Circle and Vanserras. 

The time had finally come, faelights guiding you and Cassian to where Rhysand wanted you to stand. Smaller lights had been woven into the arch made from roses, peonies, and wisteria. 

Cassian was a ball of energy, smile growing as he held both of your hands, “Ready, starlight?” 

“Ready,” you confirmed, and before your eyes, shades of pink filled the garden. Pink daisies, pink roses, pink asters and tulips. It bathed the room in promises of gentleness, compassion, beauty, and kindness, the qualities your mother and father raised you to have as Princess of the Night Court. Qualities Rhysand had continued to teach you long after their deaths. 

Cassian lifted you immediately, crying as he held you against him, mumbling into your neck how you had honored him. How you were giving him the most precious thing he'd ever have. Whispering his promises to protect her, to love her, to be a good father to his angel.

The celebration in garden was slowly drowned out by the loud party that had erupted through the streets of Velaris. Fireworks going off, music playing at the highest volume, bells chiming from the temple. The only sign of something different was the wisteria, fading to its soft purple shade, your older sister's favorite flower, your mother's favorite color. Rhys made a confused face at the sight of it before smiling. 

“That's not supposed to be happen,” Feyre seemed almost panicked, moving to fix them.

Rhysand grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks, “That's my mother and sister,” he said quietly. “They're letting us know they're here.”

“How would your dad indicate he's here,” Feyre joked. 

Rhysand only pointed to where a crow sat watching from the tree. Its dark eyes were on you and you alone as the Inner Circle rushed to take turns holding you and Cassian as you both cried out of joy. “Same way he watched her when she was little. Always playing favorites.”

Rhys moved to you then, playfully pushing Cassian away to take his turn. “You have my blessing,” the sentence needed no further details, no explanation. He was letting you use your mother's name. Your lip began to tremble, Cassian nodded as he and Rhysand looked at each other. “I can't wait to meet sweet little Astra."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[velvette-creations]

Bite the bullet and run

The Boys: Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI) 

WC: 1.9 k 

Prompt: Held at Gunpoint for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: spoilers for season 4, injury/blood, oral (f receiving), fingering, c*m eating, overstimulation, a bit of angst, alcohol consumption, anger, hallucinations 

Summary: Billy Butcher is living on borrowed time

Billy is staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and he knows it. The trigger is cocked, bullet warm in the chamber, just itching to fire into his brain. Karmic retribution; he’s done his fair share of lousy shit under the guise of being a hero, and now it’s catching up to him. Took the V and paid the price. He’s living on borrowed time as the tumor destroys his brain, bringing him closer and closer to death. He knows it, but he can’t admit it. Even as the hallucinations of Rebecca and Kessler make it painfully honest.

He wonders how long he can keep spinning out of control, keep blacking out, and keep pushing reality down; god knows it’s already wreaked havoc on his mental state. It’s not like he can escape it; eventually, the cold, hard reality will come knocking on his front door. His mind flickers briefly to the thought of you and the citrus smell of your perfume, of leaving you behind to handle the mess. You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Bucher; just admit, it will do you good, Kessler sneers. But he’s not; Billy Butcher is flesh and blood, human, and he’s not ready to bite the bullet just yet.

He downs the shot, the whiskey burning his throat and dulling his senses. The liquor won’t change anything but allows him a moment's sweet respite from reality. He can hear Kessler’s sardonic laughter from the stool next to him, the outline of him in Billy’s peripheral vision. He’s not fucking real, the cunt ain’t there, Billy seethes in his head.

That’s where you’re wrong, Billy Boy. I’m a part of you now; better get used to it—the devil on his shoulder.

Billy orders another shot, nearly jumping out of his skin when your hand presses against his shoulder. He’s ready to throw an enraged punch to your face until he realizes it’s you.

“What has you so pissed off that you were ready to knock me through a wall?” you ask dryly as you slip into the stool beside him, Kessler’s form dissipating. You turn toward the bartender and order two shots: one for him and one for you.

“A bit of this, a bit of that, love. This Neuman business has got us all on edge, don’t it?” he grumbled, wrapping his blunt fingers around the shot glass. You want to slap him right across the face. You know it’s more than that.

You hmmm softly before downing your shot, then tap your fingers against the sticky bar counter.

“Sorry, but I’m not buying that bullshit. You’ve been off for weeks. You’re hiding something.” You don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you’re tired of dancing around the issue. It pisses you off that he’s withholding, and you’re tired of letting him crawl between your legs so he can avoid reality.

“Ain’t none of your business, love,” he snorts, and you slam your hands against the bar.

“Fuck you, Billy! It is my fucking business! If I’m gonna wake up to you dead next to me in bed one morning, I deserve to fucking know,” you growl, making heads turn in your direction.

Tell her, Billy. You don’t have to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone. Sweet, sweet Rebecca, the angel on his other shoulder.

He glares up at you, anger dancing in his dark eyes, but you can see the pain pushing through. You’re ready for the explosion; you welcome it. Anything to prove that he still has a fight inside of him, that he isn’t giving in so willingly. Glass shatters as he slams it against the bar, tiny pieces embedding in his skin and blood oozing from the shallow cuts. You hold your hand out as the bartender storms over.

“We’re going,” you assure him, leaving enough cash to cover the shots and a generous tip to compensate for the disturbance and broken glass. You grab Billy’s upper arm and tug him towards the door.

The bartender was kind enough to lend you a clean rag to wrap around Billy’s injured hand, and you guide him toward your apartment, which is a couple blocks away. The silence is deafening as you both sit hunched over in your small bathroom (the light is better there) as you remove the glass from Billy’s cuts with tweezers. Once you’re assured you’ve gotten them all out, you wash and disinfect his hand before wrapping it in a clean bandage. How many nights have you spent cleaning blood and stitching up wounds, avoiding the hospital if able? How many nights have you spent with his mouth hot on your cunt as his tongue brings you to the edge of sweet oblivion? Intimate in so many ways, yet the art of communication is lost.

“I ain’t trying to lie to you, love. I just don’t wanna say it,” he murmurs, his gaze cast to the floor, counting the white tiles to glisten in the bright light.

Tell her, Billy

You gently grasp his uninjured hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. “Are you sick?”

He nods.

“Are you living on limited time?”

He nods again. He’s told you all you need to know without saying a word.

“Will you let me be there for you?”

There is a hesitation before he nods a third time. He can see Rebecca smiling at him from over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I won’t say anything to the rest of the team,” you assure him. Secrets are for him to share, not you. You won’t betray his trust in that way.

“Thanks, love.”

“Come on, you can crash with me tonight.”

You find a show to watch that isn’t under the Vought umbrella and share Chinese takeout with Billy, squished together on your small couch, the space he’ll be sleeping on tonight. You made it painfully evident with the extra pillow and blankets sitting on the small coffee table in front of the TV. The truth may have been revealed, but you’re not ready to completely mend fences.

“Night, Billy,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his warm cheek, feeling the soft stubble of his beard scrape against your skin.

“Night, love,” he sighs, and you disappear into your bedroom.

Eventually, you’re finally caught in the hazy space of sleep and the waking world when you feel the mattress dip. Billy’s warm body settles against your back, and his bandaged hand rests on your hip.

“I’ll go if you want me to, love, but I’ve missed you,” he whispers in your ear before his lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Need palpitates in your belly. You don’t want him to go. Maybe you’re more forgiving than you thought.

“Don’t…don’t go, Billy,” you beg, your words holding a heavier meaning as tears sting your eyes.

“I’m right here, love, I’m right here,” he assuages, pulling you closer with his other hand before it slips under your tank top to cup one of your breasts. His thumb circles around your nipple until it hardens. His cock presses against the swell of your ass. Your citrus perfume tickles his nose.

You rut against him, grabbing his hand and moving it down your belly. He plunges into your shorts, his warm palm finding your damp cunt immediately. His rough fingers stroke your folds, gathering up your arousal.

“Billy,” you whine. His bare chest radiates warmth, and you yearn to curl into it.

“I’m right here, love,” he breathes as two fingers slip inside you. You clench around him, rocking your hips as needy mewls spill from your lips. It never takes much for him to make you come completely undone. You try to push away the thought that he’s living on borrowed time, which could be one of the last moments you share with him. Might as well make the most of it.

Your eyes roll back as his fingers pump steadily in and out of your pussy, making your toes curl before you spill into orgasm. Animalistic lust surges through you as Billy removes his fingers and tugs your shorts down your legs. You roll over, tugging off your tank and his boxers before lowering your mouth to suck on the tip of his cock. Once he’s coated in your salvia, you mount him, sinking deep onto his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his good hand gripping your hip tightly before slipping up your belly to take a handful of your tits.

You bounce on his cock, working your muscles and riding him like it might be his last night. You try to push away the thought that it very well might be. You reach down to cup his face as sweat pools down your back.

“Billy, fuck, Billy,” you moan, tracing your thumb around his plush lips.

“Love the way you scream my name, darlin’,” he grins, all cocksure. There he is. There’s your Billy.

“Don’t I know it,” you purred, squeezing around his cock as his hips thrust beneath you. A chill sets in the outside air, but inside is all heat. His flesh is sweaty and salty, and you can’t get enough of it.

Billy finds his fire and his strength, remaining buried inside you as he changes positions, placing you on your back underneath him so he can pound you. Your legs tighten around his waist as he leans down to capture you in a fiery kiss, one where you can taste his passion and the salt of his skin. Your nails skim down his back as flesh smacks together. Wet sounds fill the air, intermingling with his grunts and your pants. You tremble beneath him as you reach your peak, and he spills inside you, making you milk him for all he’s worth. He stays pressed against you as your fingers drag lazily through his damp, dark hair.

Billy gazes into your eyes, thinking it was well spent if this was his last night on earth. Better to go out with a bang and in between the thighs of a woman he loves. Not that he’s ever uttered those words out loud. Almost feels as if he’s betraying Rebecca, but fucking hell, how long can he hold onto ghosts? He gently slips out of you, leaving kisses along your neck, over the swells of your breasts and your belly, before he reaches your soaked, swollen cunt. He can’t help but swipe his tongue over the mess of himself mixed with you.

“Billy,’ you gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as you squirm against his mouth.

“Indulge a dying man, would you, love? Don’t deny me my favorite last meal,” he murmurs against your damp thighs.

“Oh, you’re an asshole,” you laughed, giving his hair a sharp tag.

“Don’t I know it?” His tongue swirls against your core, dipping inside you.

You’re oversensitive from earlier, and it doesn’t take long for you to cum against his mouth, feeling absolutely spent by the time he’s finished. You’re coated in sweat, and a shower sounds so good, but you can’t be fucked to move. You barely muster up the strength to drape yourself over Billy’s naked chest, holding tightly to him. His bandaged hand rests lightly against your lower back. You snuggle your face against the crook of his neck, committing his scent and flesh to your memory.

Billy Butcher is staring down the barrel of a gun, but for now, he only cares about the feeling of you in his arms. He’ll bite the fucking bullet another fucking day.

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

Chapter 1: Only If For A Night

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.  

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.  

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible. 

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico. 

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?” 

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful. 

“The bus–” 

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude. 

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.    

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her. 

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her. 

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear. 

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting. 

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin. 

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it” 

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid. 

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.” 

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news) 

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?” 

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away. 

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist. 

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance. 

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision. 

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection. 

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together. 

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile. 

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies. 

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run. 

She ignored it, again. 

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit. 

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.  

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze. 

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen. 

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore. 

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family. 

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood. 

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have. 

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys) 

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair. 

Silver. 

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?” 

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth. 

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight. 

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.” 

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.” 

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever. 

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so. 

“I don’t—” 

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye. 

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist. 

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.” 

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down. 

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.” 

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her. 

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp. 

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic. 

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully. 

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic. 

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out. 

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.  

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative. 

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red. 

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe. 

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic. 

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand. 

Blood. Her blood. 

Run! 

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face. 

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor. 

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…” 

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there. 

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.” 

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.” 

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned. 

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

Fuck. 

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?” 

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one. 

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass) 

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.” 

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[citriarchive]

im having insecurity over one of my characters again lol. why have i eventually felt comfy with all of my characters but with this one i'm just like. the more i watch atla the more i wish i could start over and make them again and suck less. aside from wanting to watch og atla with the new one being out (no plans to watch atla 2024 but it reminded me i wanted to watch atla 2005), i hoped it'd give me ideas for my characters but it just made me feel like i shouldn't have made them at all lol 🫠 i have a lot of feelings about my place in the campaign already but this made it. so much worse. urgh

[mediumgayitalian]

Will knows who it is at the first light brush on his shoulders.

He tips his head back back, bumping his boyfriend’s hip, leaning into the hand on his trapezius, his scapula, the base of his neck.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi,” Nico says, leaning down to press his smile onto Will’s forehead. His hair tickles his cheeks, and he smells like woodsmoke and citrus, and Will slides his hand across his jaw and tugs him closer.

“Errand done?”

“Yep.”

“Lord Hades pleased?”

“As much as he ever is.” Nico shifts, kissing the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin, the shape of his jaw. “My ears are ringing from five days of quiet. Even the echoing sound of lost souls cannot compete with your constant blabbing; I hardly knew what to do with myself.”

“Oh, shut up. You love my chatterin’.” He smacks the side of Nico’s head, but it’s hard to play mad when he’s smiling, shameless, wide enough that his teeth nick Will’s cheekbones, that his snickers are muffled into his skin.

“If I wanted to be stuck with someone who yaps nonstop I would’ve stayed down with Cerebus. In fact he might shed less, and he doesn’t drool when he sleeps.”

“…I do not shed.”

Nico plants both hands next to Will’s head, heaving himself up, and scans his camp shirt. Within three seconds, he locates a strand of hair, pinches it off, and flicks it at Will’s face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, for the love of — get over here,” Will demands. Laughing, Nico goes where Will tugs him, curling up next to him on the bench. “You’re such a shit. Normal people are much kinder to the significant annoyances they leave behind for five days, you know.”

“Are they.”

Nico lifts his arm in offering and Will accepts with relish, tucking himself under it and making certain to drag his curls down Nico’s face in the process.

“Yep. In fact I was expecting hand-written letters by day two, honestly, telling me how much you missed me and how the distance was physically painful, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe a sonnet or two. Italian, preferably, Elizabethan are not my favourite.”

“You’re very picky.”

Will sniffs haughtily. “Well, I’m a catch. You have lots of competition, you know. I was fighting them off while you were away but now that you come back and insult me upon reunion, I shall reevaluate my options.”

He feels more than hears the quiet laughter Nico presses in his hair, thumb brushing his collar, dipping onto bare skin.

“Is that so.”

“Indeed. My suitors have even offered a dowry quite handsome. I’m worth twenty-seven goats, didn’t you know.”

“Oh, well then. I might as well return what I brought for you, since I’m not sure I can outshine two dozen goats.”

The cool thing about being a son of Apollo is that Will has range. His dad is the god of arts, generally, up to and especially the dramatic ones. Will knows how to school his face into the perfect mask, how to smile on command and cry as desired, how to deliver a line and bow with a flourish. Playing a part comes as naturally as breathing, as naturally as healing.

“A present?” he asks, checking his nails as if the mere thought bores him. “That’s interesting, I guess.”

Nico doesn’t even bother to indulge him.

“Here, you massive dweeb,” he snorts. He hands over a small paper box, hand-folded and thin. “I can practically feel you vibrating.”

There is only one thing in this world, quite possibly, that Will likes more than proving Nico wrong, and that is letting his boyfriend spoil him. In all honesty it’s a real challenge sometimes, because Nico is really very good at being everything Will has ever wanted even if he has wrong opinions on most movies. Truly Will’s life is a joke at which the gods must howl with laughter.

Eagerly taking the box, he holds it up to his face, carefully inspecting every corner. The paper is regular printer paper, slightly waterlogged (from the Big House printer, then, ‘cause Will was carrying a giant bag of saline in from storage when he was eleven years old and tripped on the shipment of office supplies that someone had left, for some reason, in the middle of the fucking hallway, and the bag had exploded on impact all over four boxes of printer paper holding one thousand pages each) and carefully bent into shape. He recognises Nico’s handiwork from the dozens of origami paper sculptures he’s been gifted over the past few months.

“Open it.”

“What is it?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “What did I just say.”

“No, I mean — it’s not my birthday or anything.”

“So?”

“So you’ve wrapped me up a present! I want to know why before I open it.”

“Just because,” Nico mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temples. “Not everything needs a reason, nosey.”

“If nothing had reason then we would still be premordial soup,” Will mutters, but pops open the lid anyway.

He gasps.

“Oh my gods, Nico, you —”

Nico’s smiling smugly, but Will barely notices. Inside the box is a black chain darker than shadow, so dark it doesn’t even glint in the heavy sun, and dozens of little charms, from polished obsidian to a ball of slowly flickering flame.

“You like?”

“It’s gorgeous!”

He makes a triumphant nose, pumping his fist, and says, “Fuck those suitors, I fucking win,” and the funniest part is that he’s damn serious. There’s a glint in his eye identical to when he wins a sword fight, to when Connor loses a bet to him, to when twenty-odd bets are stacked against him and he’s got a full house. Something dangerous and wild and superior and Will is not an enabler, okay, he is not, but he is only so strong and there is only so much he can do when pretty boys wrap their arms around him and smirk at him and bring him bracelets they made in the Underworld. He’d like to meet someone who wouldn’t fold, actually.

“There were no suitors, you loser,” he says, but he’s flushed, pleased smile stretched wide across his face, and Nico’s grinning that too-wide grin and tilting Will’s face closer with the edge of his thumb, like he barely had to try. And there’s always a little bit of shadow leeching off him when he comes back from a quest, an aura surrounding him like he’s squaring off to the sun, and of course the wild churning in Will’s stomach has nothing to do with that but what’s he to do, really? What is a warm-blooded person with eyes that can see to do when faced with such a look?

“Of course there aren’t. They know I would reap their actual souls.”

“Possessive, much.”

“You’re literally going red.”

“Shut up.”

And he does, but only because Will makes him.

Although judging by the hand he shoves in his hair, he doesn’t seem to mind.

[spamgyu]

SVT PU - Orange Peel Theory // Drabble

orange peel theory is making it's rounds on local tiktok and twitter. this is my humorous take on how the PERFORMANCE UNIT discuss/deal with the orange peel theory with their significant others.

[hhu] [vu]

SOONYOUNG

he was in the middle of call when y/n had taken a seat next to him on their couch, a snack in hand.

"yeah, i think i can come in and record today." soonyoung motioned for her to hand over the fruit, nestling his phone between his ear and shoulder – freeing his hands.

she shook her head, not wanting to interrupt him, but he was persistent – taking the orange from her.

"no it's okay, i'll be there in thirty." he continued, peeling the citrus. "let me just get dress– i can pick him up on the way too."

without breaking the conversation, soonyoung had managed to completely peel her snack of choice; handing it back once he had finished.

y/n mouthed a thank you to him, earning a wink in return.

"okay, see you later. bye." soonyoung ended the call, turning to her with his mouth open. "ah."

"get your own!" she shook her head with giggle.

pouting, soonyoung leaned closer. "i need energy for when i record."

y/n rolled her eyes at his antics, knowing that he was simply being dramatic – popping a slice into his mouth. "you passed by the way."

"passed?" he chewed.

"orange peel theory. if that's what you were trying to do."

"like a class?"

he had no idea what she was talking about; peeling the orange simply because he wanted to.

"nevermind."

JUNHUI

"baby!" he called out from the kitchen, causing y/n to run in – afraid of what he could have possibly done.

he had insisted on preparing their lunch today, despite it being his first and only day off in months. jun had always been better in the cooking department of their relationship than she was; not bothering to fight him when he had told her that he was completely fine with preparing their meal.

"what happened? are your fingers in tact? are you–"

"look!" jun pointed to the fruit he had peeled.

correction, plated professionally

her boyfriend enjoyed random artistic hobbies, not batting an eye whenever he chose pick a new one up.

even if it was.... fruit peel art.

"you made a flower out of an orange peel?" y/n raised her brows.

"cute right?" he chuckled.

"i thought you were making lunch."

"i am, this is your snack while i cook." he handed her the plate of oranges with a flower peel as garnish. "orange peel theory, baby."

"it's hypothe–"

"sh... eat the orange." jun shook his head, ushering her out of the kitchen.

MINGHAO

"babe, would you peel an orange for me?"

minghao was in the middle of chopping vegetables for their dinner when y/n had entered the kitchen, a playful smile on her face. "is this a sexua–"

"wha- no!" she laughed, walking over to him to show him the tiktok that had been playing on her phone – it was creator attempting to test her boyfriend with the orange peel theory.

she had no doubt he would do anything for her; he'd bring down the stars for her without having asked.

his mother had raised him well.

"hm..." he nodded as the video looped back to the beginning, walking over to grab one of the oranges in their fruit bowl. "isn't it crazy that such a small act can predict how someone will treat you and your relationship."

she watched as he peeled the citrus without tearing the outer in pieces – going in a spiral.

"it's such a small act that shows that your significant other is willing to do anything, no matter how small." he went on. "making their partner's life that much easier."

leave it to minghao to analyze a fifteen second video, instantly knowing the meaning behind the current social media trend.

he split the fruit in half, feeding her a slice. "yummy?"

"yummy." she chewed, a smile on her face.

"i know you were just joking, but for the record," minghao tucked a strand behind her ear, placing a kiss on her cheek. "i'd peel a strawberry, if it means you'd never have to lift a finger."

"i know." she hummed.

CHAN

in a world full of boys, he was a gentleman. or whatever the hell taylor swift said.

despite being the youngest in his group, chan was the eldest in his family and doting on her came naturally – especially since she was the youngest in hers.

she was used to the princess treatment from her own family and chan had no problem continuing that treatment.

y/n knew he would do anything for her... but she wanted him to know she would do the same.

even if he rarely allowed her to.

"fuck." y/n hissed as her fingers slipped yet again in her attempts to peel an orange for her boyfriend.

"you okay?" his voice startling her, causing her to jump.

"yeah just trying to pee– no!" she cried as he took the fruit from her.

"i'll do it." he continued where she had left off, using his body to shield the citrus away from her hands.

"give it."

"you just got your nails done." chan chuckled, turning around once he was finished. "those gems on your nails are going to get lodged in this and you'll end up choking or something."

"ha ha not funny." she rolled her eyes. "it's for you, dummy."

"i dont want it."

"yeah well, orange peel theory." y/n grumbled.

chan threw his head back and laughed. he had heard about the theory from seungkwan and didn't care for it, knowing that no matter how many relationship theories came about, he and y/n were secure in their relationship. though, that didn't stop him from finding her attempts to prove the theory right funny. "you failed then?"

"because of you!"

@thegirlwhoimagined @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @vanillacheol @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu @bubbly-moon @lllucere @bo-fairykim @bubbly-moon @pluviophile-xxx @daegutowns @jenoxygen @niktwazny303

(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

[r0-boat]

The Beasts' Fair Share

(Drabble)

Omega!Neuvillette x Omega!Gn!reader x Alpha! Wriothesley

Nsfw

NeuWrio(poly)

"Poor thing..." A familiar voice reaches your ears, but you are too exhausted even to check and see who it is lying naked on Wriothesley's bed, naked and used, his thick cum still coming out of your abused hole. Though you didn't have to, as you were scooped up into the arms of your other lover. Another Omega and Fountaine's very own Iudex. The smell of driftwood, lilies, and freshwater fill your nose. You smile, finally opening your eyes, meeting his draconic ones. Neuvillette returned your smile before his face got stern. "Wriothesley."He calls, his soft scent getting slightly stronger, indicating his worry of how he found you.

"What?!" The Duke yelled back possibly still at his desk trying to finish the new paperwork He had been given.

You heard your mate growl which made you squirm in delight in his arms. Which made the Omega chuckle "Settle down Dear. I don't want to drop you."He nuzzles his nose against your cheek He waits a few more minutes for the Duke but nothing.

"Wriothesley!" Neuvillette raised his voice, his tone Stern his voice similar to the one he'd use in the courtroom, despite being an omega, which is seen as the weaker sex in society. Nuevillette being the hydro dragon, his scent so powerful it could even bring alphas whimpering to his knees. Perhaps it could even work on some of the Archons.

"Ok!Ok!" The Duke said in urgency, immediately getting up from his desk going to his private room to see why Nuevillette was angry at him. Only to give him a shit-eating grin when he saw you wrapped up in blankets in his arms.

"Ooh, I see now." He chuckled, coming closer to run his fingers through your hair, still messy from what he did to you. " Yeah, was in rut for the past week, wasn't I, sweetheart?" He purred

"and work builds awful lot of stress, you know, with no way to take it out-yeah, but they loved it, didn't you?"

Neuvillette sighed, his brows relaxing when he saw your small, tired smile. His lips laid on your forehead as he places you back onto the bed.

"I just wish you would be a little more gentle."

Wriothesley huffed that smirk returned "That's not what you said last month."

The hydro dragon's eyes widen"That-"

Only for the Duke to cut him off "anyway I don't believe you just came down here just to give me papers. That paperwork you gave me was hardly work...." The Duke comes closer intaking the scent a fresh rainwater driftwood, lilies... what's this? That citrusy scent... He knows it well.

"well I just used them so I have nothing left to give and I need to do some paperwork so I'll leave you to alone, for now."

As quickly as he came The Duke left possibly back to his desk The sweet smell of fruity cherries filling your nose indicates his good mood.

Nuevillette flustered but still calm approaches you on the bed before crawling on the sheets. His face was a little flushed You're not sure from the encounter with Wriothesley or something else... You can kind of smell something but You are too fucked out of your mind to think as you feel hands caress and grab your thighs his hair brushing against your inner thighs and his breath on your core.

"I know you up probably tired from what Wriothesley has done to you.... But I need it," the dragons voice shakes with fresh rainwater, water lilies and finally nodes of citrus fill the air. His voice was husky and needy

"And I haven't seen you for so long, Even when Wriothesley had you I had a case to deal with... I need this; I miss your taste."

[stereotypicalsanriofemme]

Staggered moans draw from your butch’s chest as you watch her heave, drunk on the air that was your scent. It was that god forsaken time of year— mating season. The time of year where you got wet from the slightest motion from your alpha, and the time of year where it was impossible to not have her hands all over you. It always culminates at one point or another; a pot boiling over, a tea kettle finally screaming. A rut or a heat: whichever was drawn out first of the other.

“Hey, darling,” you said, taking a gentle step forward. Her teeth bare a little more at the small advance and she takes one step back, as if it was a practiced dance. “Are…you okay?”

“Baby,” she whined between slightly-elongated canines. “I…fuck, I didn’t expect it to hit so soon…”

“It’s okay,” you encouraged, giving her a soft smile, hand reaching out. “Is it your rut?”

What a diminutive question. Of course it was— the fucking smell of her arousal, strong like musk with cedarwood and citrus, permeated the whole damn room. No shit that she was in rut.

She gave a pained nod. “You…should probably go,” she said, pausing irregularly as if it hurt to just be in your presence. “I don’t…want to hurt you.”

She was always like this. Too kind, too caring, too perfect. She was the dream alpha for any yearning omega and you somehow lucked out with her, having her in your hands for six months now and going. You knew heats were inevitable, no different than the seasons changing. You just wanted to give her back the love and care she’s given you.

“Baby,” you said, voice quiet. “I want to help you out, please—“

“Absolutely not.” She snarled, and okay, that made some slick leak out of your sensitive cunt. Filing that away in a box for a later moment, you listen to her: “I could hurt you— fuck, I could bite you and force you to me for years, baby. I could make you bleed, I could force you through pain and I’d be too far gone to realize what I’ve done. You’re so perfect, I just don’t want to hurt you—“

“Why do you think as if I’m made of glass?!” You interject. “Please, I just want to help you this cycle. I don’t want to see you suffer, baby, please…”

Her expression is pained. “I… are you sure?” She asked, wavering. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, Angel…”

“Alpha,” you cried, and holy shit; the wood doorframe your butch used to hold herself up fucking splintered and cracked under her grasp.

“Bedroom,” she growled, and in a trance from those words alone, you scurry to the bedroom with her close behind you.

The door slammed in time with her crashing her mouth against yours, grasping and squeezing your jaw open. The pressure on your face forced a high-pitched whine out of your throat as her tongue forced into your mouth, licking over every ounce of your being. She’s pressed so fucking close to you, and oh, fuck, is that her cock pressed against your leg because that feels way bigger than usual—

“God, I love you so much,” she moaned while kissing you, biting down your neck while you fumbled with the buttons on your shirt. Your hands were quickly shoved out of the way the second she tore open your blouse, buttons popping to the ground.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, looking tragically at the buttons on the floor. “I really liked that shirt—“

“I’ll buy you a new one for every time you make me come with that pretty little cunt of yours,” she gritted out, and a whimper escaped your throat as she grabbed you from the thighs and hoisted you up against the wall. Another kiss is ripped from you with her hand against your throat, making you go just a bit limp from how damn good it feels, and all of a sudden you’re being tossed onto the bed like a doll. You look up after the impact of the fall with eager eyes, and see the normal rut glow in her eyes dissipate for just a second.

“Fuck, are you okay?!” She exclaimed, rushing over to you.

“Yes, more than okay,” you encouraged, rubbing her arm. “It’s all okay, baby, don’t force yourself out of a rut for me. I can take it.”

She’s shaking from anxiety, you realize. “Are you sure?” She murmured. “I‘ll…probably be really rough…”

“And that’s a problem how?” You teased. Spreading your legs to show off the panties between your legs wet with slick, you grinned. “C’mon, pretty boy. Show me what a big bad alpha can do, yeah?”

She puffed out air as she moved towards the dresser instead of you, yanking out a clanking, metal contraption.

“Handcuffs? Ooh, kinky,” you teased.

“They’re for me,” she said, and your eyebrows rose a little. “I just…can’t risk hurting you, so please. Handcuff me to the bed. Please,” she begged.

Wordlessly, you nodded, and she moved slowly to the bed and laid down, hands above her head. You affixed the handcuffs above her head, watching her clench them into fists over and over.

“You…want me to ride you?” You murmured, and she nodded desperately.

“Please,” she groaned, grinding into the air, eyes getting that typical alpha glow in them again. “I need some fucking relief from it all, so please baby…”

Thank god for the fact you self lubricated, because the moment you took her pants off you noticed her cock was at least an inch longer than usual and much thicker. You slid the head of her cock between your folds and you moaned together, her at the slick warmth of your cunt and you at the thickness prodding at your entrance. With a deep breaths you pressed the thickness into the entrance and whined upon feeling yourself get stretched open, the utter girth of her cock pressing against every sensitive spot in your pussy. The friction of her cock inside and rubbing your walls was quickly interrupted once you bottomed out, entrance pressing against the extra bulge at the bottom of her cock. Oh fuck, that was her knot.

It was your turn to be breathing heavy, eyes watering from the length inside of you and the way you could feel her pulse and throb inside your tight cunt. “Alpha,” you whined, twitching from the feeling inside. “You’re so big…”

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby, your pussy feels so damn good,” she heaved, hips bucking up ever so slightly into the warm hole. You made a pathetic little chirp at every upward thrust into your cunt, biting onto your lip like a lifeline. The cock was still so overwhelming but you hesitantly lifted up yourself on your legs, trembling with all of your strength before dropping down again with a wet smack.

The noise ripped out of your alpha’s chest was feral, a moan combined with a half-roar, grinding into the perfect, needy hole wrapping around it. You could smell it in the air with how her scent got more intense by the second— she was losing her mind to her rut. Her hands were struggling more against the handcuffs as her hips rut up and up again in your hole. You knew damn well that just rutting wouldn’t be enough for the relief she needed…

And you know what, maybe the idea that popped into your mind wasn’t your best one yet, but my god, did it sound so good. You had only heard the filthy line in your brain spewed in pornos, moaned by needy omegas getting their cunts pumped till they cried. Yet…

“Alpha,” you sobbed out, “breed me, please!”

Her eyes shot open wide with a loud crack in the background. The sound of metal breaking into two clean pieces. You were instantly flipped on your back, legs shoved next to your ears, and shit, talk about something from porn because you were in a fucking mating press. In a mating press, like the good little omega bitch you were, with an alpha’s cock pressed into your cunt, the head kissing your cervix.

The pace she started immediately was relentless, depraved. She fucked you with the hunger of a man starved, your lower back no longer on the bed as she drilled into your pussy over and over.

“Slutty fucking omega,” she growled, letting her knot slap against your rim and balls smack against you over and over again. “You probably wanted this the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes!! Fuck, yes, yes, yes, alpha! Please—!” You exclaimed in ecstasy, nails dragging down her back, leaving reddened trails as a trophy for the next morning. “Wan’ your cock, alpha, pleaaaase!”

“‘Course you did, you fucking slut,” she groaned into your ears, thrusting into you with your sweet slick coating her cock, leaning everywhere. “You want my cum? Yeah?”

“Yes!” You shrieked, clinging closer. “Please, alpha, give me your cum!”

“Yeah? Wanna be a good little breeding bitch for me?” She moaned, thrusting into your pussy with a newfound aggression. “Carry my fucking litter? Huh? Wanna take my litter and give alpha some pups?”

You can only moan brokenly in response as her cock continued to batter your cervix, your legs still pressed next to your ears. Maybe this was your place. Maybe you were meant to be a good, warm hole for a big, strong alpha; a dripping bitch in heat to be taken care of and always pumped full of cum.

“C’mon, omega, take my fucking knot,” she growled, and only then do you feel the bulging in her cock grow larger and larger, smacking against your entrance and bullying its way into your pussy. An unfamiliar sensation creeped up into your body— a tightness in your cunt, a burning sensation.

“Alpha, wait, wait, wait, alpha,” you cry brokenly, clutching against her back and holding right as the knot grew bigger and bigger, entering your cunt with every thrust, “Somethin’s coming out, alpha—!”

She was so out of it, teeth bared and staring at you like you were prey. And all of a sudden, that burning feeling snapped, and you squirted. The fluid splattered as your ears rang the moment hee knot popped inside, your cunt finally stretched open and plugged with her fat knot locking her cum inside of your pussy. Everything was hazy; your orgasm milking more and more cum out of her cock that shot inside of you. It was a pleasant warmth inside of you. You felt satisfied, as if you had a purpose. You felt full.

Your panting breaths slow down over time with hers, clutching each other post-orgasm. She nuzzled your neck with the comedown, knot shoved inside of you, keeping the cum where it’s supposed to be. Just the thought made you a little more horny— the knot was there to make sure you got knocked up with your alpha’s litter. It didn’t sound like a bad idea at this point, spending some much time with your alpha, forever…the idea makes another wet gush of slick come out around her cock. However, this time it felt like a lot more, like your body was preparing itself for—

Your alpha suddenly goes still from scenting you.

“Omega…did you just start your heat?”

…it was going to be a long week.

[made 4 lesbians, lesbians interact :3 straight people this fantasy was not made for you please DNI]