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nottslove · 1 month ago

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Hello! My favorite song at the moment is bed chem sabrina carpenter

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4.6k words. longer than i expected. istg i should call these long-ass fics instead of mini-fics.

hi anon! thank you so much for requesting!! so since this song came from a summer album, it gave me summer vibes... as in, a summer romance vibe. and who better to fill in the role than our favorite, italian reverie? presenting.... none other than theo nott!

warnings: google translated italian, fluff, angst, use of y/n.

song: bed chem, sabrina carpenter slytherin boy: theo nott

Italy in the summer was nothing short of magical. Ever since childhood, you had dreamt of wandering its sun-drenched streets, breathing in the scent of fresh espresso and warm pastries, getting lost in the hum of its language. Finally, after years of waiting—graduation behind you, a job secured—you seized the moment. Three months of careful planning had led to this: a solo summer in your dream country.

From the instant you arrived, Italy wove its spell around you. The rich culture, the lyrical cadence of the language, the way history seemed to press against the very walls of the cities—it all made your heart swell. Rome for the first week, Venice for the second, Verona for the third, before returning home to England. A carefully mapped-out itinerary, structured yet bursting with anticipation. And yet, only two days in, the thought of leaving already felt unbearable.

Your schedule was packed, each day a whirlwind of exploration. Today, you were on a mission—to find the restaurant your coworker had raved about. But somehow, amidst the maze-like streets, you lost your way. A wrong turn led you somewhere unexpected—quieter, tucked away from the usual tourist bustle. The air here felt different, carrying the aroma of fresh bread and roasted coffee.

That was when you saw it.

A small, unassuming café nestled into the corner of a street you hadn’t intended to walk down. At first, you nearly passed it by, lost in thought, until your hip accidentally brushed against a potted plant perched on an outdoor table. As you bent down to set it upright, your gaze traveled to the building—soft yellow paint, ivy cascading like a green waterfall over the doorway, curling around the windows as if cradling the café in a warm embrace.

Through the glass, maritozzo sat temptingly on display, golden and pillowy, just waiting to be devoured. Your stomach made the decision for you—you stepped inside without another thought.

The café had a charm that was impossible to ignore. Dim lighting, shelves stacked with books worn from time, the quiet murmur of conversation blending into the clinking of porcelain. You spotted the perfect table by the window and moved toward it, but something stopped you. A pull, inexplicable yet undeniable, tugging you gently in another direction.

You turned.

There he was.

A classic Italian gentleman, effortlessly poised, his fingers curled around a porcelain mug. Dark curls framed his chiseled features, his presence magnetic, as if he had been waiting for someone—perhaps, for you.

He sat there with an effortless grace, the kind that spoke of quiet confidence rather than arrogance. His strong jawline framed a face that seemed sculpted by the hands of an artist—sharp cheekbones softened only by the warm olive tone of his skin. His deep brown eyes, rich like freshly brewed espresso, carried an intensity that made it impossible to look away. They held stories, secrets, a depth that hinted at a life well-lived, or perhaps, one waiting to begin.

The soft curls of his dark hair, slightly tousled yet undeniably charming, brushed against his forehead, the kind you could easily imagine running your fingers through absentmindedly. His neatly pressed shirt, a shade of crisp white that contrasted beautifully against his sun-kissed skin, was unbuttoned just enough at the collar to suggest a sense of ease. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing toned muscles beneath, a glimpse of strength tempered by elegance.

As he lifted his coffee to his lips, the movement was deliberate, languid, as if savoring not just the drink but the moment itself. His fingers—long, graceful—curled around the porcelain mug, and you couldn't help but wonder how they might feel tracing against yours.

There was something about him—an air of mystery, a quiet magnetism—that pulled you in. A presence that demanded attention without asking for it. And in that instant, as the world outside continued to bustle on, he was the only thing that mattered.

His eyes locked onto yours, unflinching, electric—a mesmerizing shade of aquamarine that seemed almost unreal, like the sunlit waters of the Amalfi Coast. They held something—an unspoken challenge, curiosity, or perhaps recognition. A glint of amusement flickered beneath the depths, but there was something else too, something that sent a shiver down your spine. It was as if, in that single moment, he had unraveled you entirely—seen you in a way no one else had.

The way they caught the light, reflecting hints of seafoam and cerulean, made them impossibly captivating, as if they carried fragments of Italy itself. And just like that, without a single word, you knew—this summer, your summer, had shifted in a way you never anticipated.

Just like that, your summer had changed.

It didn't take long before you were at his apartment, tangled up in his sheets, bodies pressed close, the world outside forgotten, him feeding you strawberries with your head on his chest.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into quiet contentment. He reached for a strawberry, holding it delicately between his fingers before pressing it gently to your lips. The sweetness burst against your tongue, mingling with the lingering taste of his kiss, and somehow, it all felt so natural.

It was intimate in a way you had never experienced before. Here you were, in the arms of a total stranger, yet somehow, you felt safer than you ever had in a long time. It had barely been two hours since you met, and he already knew so much—the tender details of your childhood, the wistful echoes of your first love.

You exhaled, staring at the soft rays of the golden setting sun filtering through the window. Was it him, or was it simply Italy itself—the spell this country seemed to weave around everything and everyone? Were all Italian men this effortlessly charming, this easy to talk to, to surrender yourself to?

"Come mai la tua bella testolina è così silenziosa, hmm?" he murmured, large hands sliding down your hair and brushing it away from your face.

You giggled, reaching for another strawberry and placing it between his lips. "I already told you I don't understand a word of Italian..."

"I've heard I'm a very good teacher," he replied with that confident, lazy smirk of his. "I could show you Italy better than any..." he paused, furrowing his brows slightly to think of the word. "guida turistica..."

Once again, you giggled softly, the moment he pressed his lips to your fingers to lick up whatever was left of the strawberry his mouth had just stolen from you. "tour guide?" you asked, trying to provide him with the correct word.

"Si. Tour guide. I can be yours, if you like..." He punctuated his suggestion with a series of open mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbones.

And just like that, all plans of going to Verona and Venice were out the window, and you rescheduled your return trip to a whole month later than your original return date.

His name was Theodore Nott, but you called him Teddy for short.

He had somehow managed you to move into his penthouse, where you spent every morning waking up in his bed, and the scent of freshly brewed espresso all over the penthouse.

Every morning, without fail, he insisted on spoiling you. Before the sun had fully risen over the terracotta rooftops, before the city outside had begun to stir, he was already at work in the kitchen, crafting something new—something special—for you.

The aroma would reach you first, warm and inviting, coaxing you from sleep before his voice did. And then, there he was, standing at the edge of the bed, tray in hand, a knowing smile playing at his lips. He never let you lift a finger.

It was never the same meal twice. One morning, perfectly flaky cornetti dusted with powdered sugar, paired with rich, velvety cappuccino. The next, eggs cooked just right, fresh tomatoes bursting with flavor, crusty bread straight from the bakery down the street. Then, perhaps, a delicate frittata, infused with fragrant herbs, the kind only someone born into the heart of Italian cooking could master.

He knew what he was doing. Better than half the chefs you had encountered. Every bite was a revelation, every flavor precise yet effortless, as if he were drawing from an endless well of knowledge passed down through generations.

And there, in the quiet glow of morning light, the two of you would share more than just the meal. Between sips of coffee and bites of something impossibly delicious, the conversations flowed—deep, unfiltered, woven with laughter and confessions.

It was indulgent, intimate in a way that felt rare, precious. You had never been cared for like this before, never been seen in such a quiet, effortless way.

And each morning, as he looked at you over the rim of his cup, you wondered how you could possibly go back to a life without this. Without him.

But both of you knew that this golden relationship you had wasn't meant to last. It would be over once the summer came to an end. It was nothing but a summer romance, no matter how real it felt.

Yet, despite knowing, neither of you spoke of it. The truth lingered between kisses, between laughter that melted into quiet sighs, between mornings wrapped in sheets that smelled of sun and him. It was there—in the way his touch lingered a moment too long, as if memorizing the feel of you. In the way you watched him, tracing every detail, as if trying to capture something fleeting, something slipping through your fingers.

It wasn’t just a romance. It felt bigger than that. Real, golden, drenched in the warmth of a summer that would soon end. But endings had a way of creeping in, of pressing against even the sweetest moments. The whispered promise of farewell was in every embrace, every shared meal, every sunset you watched together with unsaid words weighing in the silence.

And yet, despite it all, neither of you pulled away. Because for now—just for now—it was enough. It had to be.

He was true to his word. He showed you Italy better than any tour guide would. All the intimate places he spent his time at, all the tourist spots... everything.

And he did it with a kind of quiet pride, as if sharing these places with you meant something—meant more than just sightseeing. He led you through the winding alleys of Rome, past the bustling piazzas and into corners untouched by the hurried footsteps of tourists. The hidden cafés where the locals greeted him by name, the bookstore tucked away in a side street where he had spent lazy afternoons, the unmarked trattoria where the food was better than anything you’d find on a guide’s list.

But he didn’t ignore the classics. He took you to the Colosseum when the sun was soft, when the crowds hadn’t fully formed, so you could stand there in the open space and feel the weight of history pressing against your skin. He pointed out the details in Michelangelo’s work, things that even the guides didn’t mention. He let you linger at the Trevi Fountain, grinning when you tossed a coin in and made a wish, teasing you about what it might be.

"What did you wish for, cara?"

"Would you like to know?" you replied with an air of mystery and a suggestive raise of your eyebrow.

Venice came next, the city that felt suspended between reality and dream. He showed you how the water reflected the light just right in the early evening, how the gondoliers sang not for show, but because music was woven into the city’s bones.

And in Verona, he traced his fingers along the worn letters left at Juliet’s wall, smiling as you read them, as you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that love like that could live beyond legend.

He gave you Italy. Not the packaged version, not the curated one. He gave you the one he loved, the one that had shaped him, the one that mattered.

And in doing so, it became yours too.

He showed you Italy, and you showed him your soul.

He had given you Italy—the real Italy, the one written in hidden alleyways and the scent of fresh espresso, in the history etched into crumbling stone and the rhythm of a language that felt like poetry.

And in return, without meaning to, without even realizing it at first, you had given him pieces of yourself. The quiet corners of your heart, the stories tucked away for only the most deserving ears. The fears, the dreams, the moments that had shaped you. He saw them all—held them gently, as if they were something precious.

And somehow, he remembered all of it.

The way your fingers moved when tying your laces—quick, practiced, a subconscious rhythm you never thought twice about. The way you stirred your coffee absentmindedly, always three times, never more, never less. How your nose scrunched up ever so slightly before a sip, testing the temperature without thinking.

Then, of course, there was the pineapple on pizza—your unforgivable offense. He had gasped dramatically when you first admitted it, clutching his heart as if wounded by the mere thought.

"Mio Dio!" he had gasped, when he had first seen you put pineapple slices on your slice of the pizza he had spent four hours making for you at home, from scratch. "Stai rovinando tutto! This is a betrayal..." he declared, eyes alight with playful scandal, yet he still took your hand that evening, still kissed you like you belonged to every part of Italy.

And perhaps that was what struck you most—how easily he collected these pieces of you, storing them as if they were something worth keeping, worth cherishing.

It was fleeting, ephemeral, destined to fade when summer did.

But for now, he knew you, and you knew him.

It was unexpected—the way he let you in, the way he unraveled parts of himself that felt sacred, deeply personal.

He showed you the school where he had spent his earliest years, where he had first learned to chase dreams too big for a boy his age. He traced his fingers along the worn stone walls, the graffiti scrawled by restless students, and laughed as he recounted the trouble he used to get into, the teachers who never quite knew what to do with him.

Then, there was his childhood home—a modest place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, walls filled with echoes of the past. He told you about summers spent on that tiny balcony, about the way his father used to hum old songs while cooking dinner, about the arguments, the celebrations, the life that had unfolded within those walls.

But it was when he brought you to her grave that everything shifted. His mother—the woman who had shaped him, guided him, loved him deeply, and left too soon. He didn’t speak much at first, just stood there, quiet, thoughtful, fingers brushing the cool stone. Then, slowly, he told you about her—the warmth of her presence, the lessons she had given him, the ache of losing her.

And in between, you lived with him—fully, unapologetically, as if time had no claim on the moments you shared.

You laughed until your stomach ached, until your cheeks hurt from smiling, until your laughter tangled with his and filled the spaces between you like music. You cried in ways you hadn’t before—not from sorrow, but from honesty, from the weight of stories told that had never been voiced so openly.

Together, you existed in a space untouched by reality, wrapped in something golden and fleeting. Neither of you spoke of the end, but it lingered, always, just beneath the surface.

Yet, somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

And you loved him.

You loved him like you had never loved anyone else in your entire life. And he knew it.

Tangled up in the sheets after yet another round of him completely rocking your world, your head was resting on his chest when you tilted your head to look into his eyes and whisper the two little words that you had learnt on Google just for him.

"Ti amo..."

His grin stretched wide, unmistakable, almost wicked in its delight—the kind that sent a thrill down your spine, that made you wonder what thoughts ran through his mind in that exact moment. It was the kind of smile that could pull you in effortlessly, like a secret he was daring you to uncover, like he had already won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

The corners of his mouth curled with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with mischief, amusement flickering beneath the striking aquamarine depths. He leaned forward slightly, as if savoring the way the words hung in the air between you, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the table, his body relaxed, utterly at ease.

Without hesitating, he said it back, "anch'io ti amo, tesoro."

But all good things eventually come to an end, and within the blink of an eye, your summer had come to a close.

You had gotten to know his soul in depth— every inch of him, every quirk, every flutter, every mark on his body. It was a lifetime of love experienced in one single summer.

A love that burned brightly, condensed into fleeting moments, yet carrying the weight of something much greater.

You knew him. Not just his laughter or his charm, but the quiet pauses between his sentences, the way his fingers twitched when he was deep in thought, the crease in his brow that only appeared when he spoke of things that truly mattered. You memorized the rhythm of his breathing, the softness of his voice just before sleep, the way his presence wrapped around you like warmth you never wanted to let go of.

Every mark on his body told a story, every scar a memory, every glance a secret shared only between the two of you. And in the golden stretch of those summer days, you traced them all, learning him in ways that felt impossibly permanent.

A lifetime of love, packed into stolen kisses beneath a foreign sky, into whispered conversations at dawn, into the soft pull of fingertips against skin.

And yet, when the season came to its inevitable close, when the sun dipped lower, signaling the end, you both knew—this was exactly how it was meant to be.

No regrets. No bitterness. Just a summer that would live in your bones forever.

And when the time came, when the final days of summer settled upon you both like the last golden rays of the evening sun, there was no bitterness. No desperate clinging, no sorrowful goodbyes laced with regret.

You had known him completely—every detail, every quirk, every unspoken thought behind those aquamarine eyes. And he had known you just the same. There was nothing left unexplored, no corner of his world, or yours, left untouched.

Yet, this was how it had always meant to end. Not in heartbreak, but in understanding. A gentle farewell, filled with gratitude for what it had been, rather than grief for what it could not be.

Right person. Wrong time. Right place.

You stopped at the café where it all began one more time before he dropped you off at the airport.

It had been almost two months ago that you met him here, but now?

It felt like a lifetime ago.

And so, beneath the amber glow of the setting sun, with Italy wrapping itself around you like a final embrace, you made a promise.

Not one bound by desperation or longing, but by understanding. By the quiet certainty that, though your story was meant to end now, perhaps—just perhaps—it wasn’t meant to end forever.

"If you’re still single," you murmured, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, voice steady but soft, "meet me here. Ten years from now. Same place, same table."

He studied you for a long moment, aquamarine eyes deep with something unreadable—something like hope, something like fate. Then, slowly, he smiled. A real one. A promise sealed with nothing but the weight of the unspoken.

"Ten years," he whispered softly, but you knew him well enough to know what he was saying. "If you find yourself lost, or lonely," he continued softly, looking at you longingly, like he wanted to tell you to stay, but he knew he would be asking too much. "Will you come find me?"

He looked like he was losing a part of himself that he had never realized was missing until he met you.

Your lips curved into a watery smile. "Of course I will..." you replied, your fingers gently brushing his jaw, the way you had done countless of times. "I'll always find you, Teddy..."

And just like that, leaving him was easier, leaving Italy was easier, carrying the summer in your bones, the memory of him pressed into every part of you.

Maybe you’d return. Maybe he would. Maybe, just maybe, the right person at the wrong time would, one day, become the right person at the right time.

He was your soulmate. You never believed in them before, but you certainly believed in them now.

With your pact in mind, of a futuristic promise, you had finally agreed to part ways.

And just like that, it was over.

No tears, no grand gestures—just a quiet understanding, a moment suspended in time, wrapped in the golden haze of a summer that had changed you both.

He had dropped you to the airport, and your heart felt heavy and full as you parted ways.

One last goodbye kiss.

One last fleeting touch.

One last look of his beautiful aquamarine eyes meeting yours.

And then, you turned your back on him and began to walk away.

"Wait," he had called right before you fell out of earshot.

You turned, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from making this farewell harder for you than it was supposed to be.

A moment of silence.

And then he spoke.

"Goodbye, Y/N," he murmured.

"Goodbye Teddy."

It was only when you had turned around fully and passed through the security gates that you allowed the tears to finally spill.

But you held hope in your heart.

You walked away, carrying the weight of what had been, the tenderness of shared mornings, the electricity of stolen glances, the laughter, the knowing, the love—brief but undeniable.

Yet there was no sadness in the goodbye. Because, in the heart of Rome, beneath the watchful gaze of history itself, you had made a promise.

Ten years. Same place. Same table.

And whether fate would honor such a pact, whether time would lead you back to him, was a mystery left to the future.

But for now, you carried him with you, and he carried you with him.

And maybe—just maybe—Italy would call you home once more.

Ten years passed faster than you anticipated. The years slipped through your fingers like sand, faster than you ever imagined.

Lovers came, and lovers went. Life unfolded—new places, new faces, fleeting romances that never quite ignited the way that summer had.

Theo was embedded into your soul. He was there in every, single thing you did. Your summer in Italy was no longer a distant memory, but a whole different lifetime, one that was etched so fiercely into your soul that it was a part of you. You lived, you loved, you lost, and yet, through it all, Theo remained.

Not in a way that haunted you, not in a way that stopped you from moving forward. No, he was simply there—woven into the fabric of your existence, stitched into the smallest, quietest moments.

It was in the smallest things—the subconscious gestures, the habits formed over a lifetime. In the way you lingered at cafés with ivy-clad doors, in the way you stirred your coffee three times, in the soft ache that settled in your chest when the golden glow of evening light reminded you of the way his skin had looked beneath the setting Italian sun.

Your summer with him wasn’t just a memory—it was a lifetime, a part of you, embedded so deeply that no amount of time could erase it. It had shaped you, changed you, taught you things no other experience ever could.

Because that summer lived within you, etched into your very being, woven into the quiet moments of your day.

It was there in the way your lips curled into a soft, private smile whenever a passing scent reminded you of fresh espresso in a hidden café. In the way your fingers brushed against ivy-covered doors, lingering as if searching for something lost. In the way your heart skipped—just barely—when the evening light mirrored the golden glow of those long-forgotten afternoons.

It wasn’t just a memorable summer vacation. It was a presence, a whisper of something untouchable yet undeniably real.

And whether the promise would be fulfilled or left behind in the folds of time, one truth remained—Italy had never truly let you go.

And neither had he.

And now, here you were. Ten years later.

Standing in front of the café where it had all begun.

Heart pounding. Breath shallow.

Wondering if fate still had a place for the two of you.

The café still looks the same. The ivy overgrown a little more, the paint a little more faded and worn and the steps that lead to the café a lot more rough and round-edged.

You stepped inside, your breath shaky as you tuck your handbag underneath your arm, tilting your head back to shake the hair all away from your face.

Your heart in thumping, your fingers are sweaty as you look around once, a quick scan of your eyes across the room.

And everything stops.

Your breath catches.

Just like that, time collapses.

Ten years, a lifetime’s worth of moments, all fading into insignificance the instant your gaze locks onto his.

He’s there. Exactly where he said he would be.

The same table, the same quiet confidence, the same presence that had once unraveled you completely. But different too—aged by experience, refined by the years that shaped him in your absence.

It's his eyes that give it away— that he's the same person as he was a lifetime ago, the same person you fell so hard for.

His eyes—impossibly vivid, the color of sunlit tides and forgotten dreams—burn into yours, a tether pulling you back, back to a time when love was effortless and fleeting, yet somehow eternal.

Yet, as his aquamarine eyes meet yours, as recognition flashes across his face, as his lips part ever so slightly in stunned disbelief—none of that matters.

"Teddy," you whisper breathlessly, your eyes meeting his, the rest of the occupants of the café fading into a blur— nothing else matters as much as him.

It takes two strides for him to reach you.

"Y/N," he pulls you into his arms, and your lips crash against his, tears spilling down your cheeks as you hear the golden sound of his voice calling out your name.

And you're finally home.

Because this was never truly a goodbye.

And somehow, somehow, it feels like the beginning all over again.

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daintcas · 1 year ago

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rafe with his girl who gets the sad kind of jealous !

you should've been used to it by now - girls throwing themselves at rafe without a single regard for the one he had loyally waiting around for him. but it never failed to hurt your feelings. though your boyfriend was visibly disinterested, he never entirely shut them down, which you didn't understand and which ultimately hurt you most.

though your feelings about it were unchanged, it was no surprise when yet another country club, mini skirt-wearing girl was clinging to rafe, way too close for comfort. he hardly noticed as he chatted away about whatever stupid guy stuff.

being the mature one, you decided to sulk. excusing yourself from the conversation with your friends and heading across the club's diner, frown turned to a sad pout.

when rafe does his minutely check on where you're supposed to be sat and is met with only an empty barstool, he comes to his senses and practically shoves everyone off him with an annoyed huff. stomping around and keeping an eye out for the sweet little sundress he'd previously bought you.

he spots you as you continue to walk away from the scene and rushes over, roughly grabbing your arm and pulling you to face him, giving you a look of frustration.

"what's goin' on?" he demands, expecting an explanation for the big, glossy eyes you look up at him with and quivering lips.

"'m going home," you mumble out while not so sneakily taking a glance at the girl who'd put you in this mood to begin with.

noticing your gaze, rafe scoffs and brings your attention back to him with a firm hand gripping your cheeks, squeezing them together in a pathetic pout.

"you really gonna bother me with this again?" narrowing his eyes condescendingly as he steps closer, pressing you against his chest and peering down at you in a display of power.

when your only response is the look of genuine hurt on your face, he sighs and leans down to press a warm kiss to your forehead, hands wrapping possessively around the small of your back, nearing the curve of your rear.

"i'll tell 'em to fuck off and we can leave, 'kay?" he contends with a raised brow, gauging the response. a shy nod is enough to satisfy him and you hear a barely audible mumble of 'love you' while being pulled back to his side and led through the club, past his now-forgotten group, and straight to the valet.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt

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kdyq · 6 months ago

Text

Noxian legacy

Part three of my mini series

context You and Ambessa share moments while preparing for the arrival of your baby

The sun cast a soft golden glow across the estate as you stood in the entry hall adjusting the buttons of your coat. Ambessa appeared from her study, already dressed in her sharp dark attire. Her golden eyes softened as they landed on you.

“Are you ready?” she asked her deep voice steady but also nervous.

You nodded smiling despite the fluttering in your stomach. “Are you?”

Ambessa gave a low chuckle stepping closer to rest her large hand on your back. “I’ve fought wars and faced councils but this…” She trailed off shaking her head as a rare small smile tugged at her lips. “This is entirely new.”

The two of you set off for the Hextech facility the journey unusually quiet. Ambessa held your hand the entire way with her grip firmly. When you arrived a staff member greeted you and led you into a private room with advanced equipment.

The healer an older woman with kind eyes gestured for you to lie down on the cushioned table. Ambessa lingered close her arms crossed but her gaze never leaving the healer’s hands as she watched the healer prepare the instruments.

“This might feel a little cold” the healer said spreading a clear gel across your abdomen.

You flinched slightly at the cool sensation and Ambessa immediately leaned closer her brows knitting together. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” you reassured her placing your hand over hers.

The healer adjusted the monitor and pressed the wand against your skin. For a moment the room was silent except for the faint hum of the machine. Then the screen flickered to life displaying a small flickering shape.

“There it is” the healer said softly angling the screen so you and Ambessa could see.

You turned to look at Ambessa expecting her usual composed demeanor. Instead her eyes were fixed on the screen wide with wonder. Her hand tightened around yours as she leaned in closer her breath catching.

“That’s…” She paused her voice steady but creaking. “That’s our child.”

Tears fall from your eyes as you nodded. “Yeah. That’s them.”

For a moment the world seemed to stop. Ambessa’s usually stoic expression melted away replaced by raw emotion. Her free hand reached out hesitantly as if she could touch the tiny life on the screen.

“Strong heartbeat” the healer noted pointing to the rhythmic pulse on the monitor.

Ambessa’s lips parted and a rare tear glistened in the corner of her eye. She quickly blinked it away but you caught it your heart swelling at the sight.

“Do you want a picture to take home?” the healer asked breaking the spell.

Ambessa straightened clearing her throat. “Yes. Definitely.”

After the appointment Ambessa suggested stopping by Mel’s residence for a quiet dinner she had arranged in your honor. To your surprise Mel greeted you warmly her usual sharp demeanor softened.

“Halfway there” Mel said with a small smile raising a glass in your honor.

The dinner was intimate with Mel Ambessa and you sharing stories laughter and heartfelt toasts. Despite their differences you could see a subtle warmth between Mel and her mother a rare connection fostered by the new life growing within you.

“You’ll make a fine parent” Mel said at one point surprising Ambessa with her sincerity. “And I’ll make a fine sister.”

Ambessa’s chest swelled with pride and she pulled you closer. “You’ll have to fight me to be the child’s favorite” she teased her protective tone softening the moment.

The evening ended with quiet laughter and a sense of unity you hadn’t expected filling you with hope for the future.

When you returned to the estate Ambessa led you to a secluded part of the grounds where a vibrant garden awaited. “I had this prepared for you” she said gesturing to the cozy benches the flowering trees and the gentle stream running through the space.

“For me?” you asked touched.

“For you” she confirmed “and for the moments you need peace. I know this journey won’t always be easy but you’ll have this our sanctuary.”

You gazed at her overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness and smiled. “I love it. And I love you.”

Ambessa pulled you into her arms her embrace warm and steady. “I love you too” she murmured. “And I will love our child with everything I have.”

Later that evening as you prepared for bed Ambessa emerged from her study carrying a small ornately carved box. She set it gently on the table beside you and opened it revealing a shimmering necklace adorned with an intricate Noxian insignia.

“This” she began her voice deep and stern“is a piece of my family’s legacy. In Noxus it’s tradition to pass this down to the next generation.”

You stared at the necklace its craftsmanship stunning and looked up at her. “You’re giving this to me?”

Ambessa nodded. “It’s for our child but until they’re born I want you to keep it close. As a promise. A bond.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached for the necklace. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Ambessa stepped closer her hands cupping your face. “You are the one who brought light into my life. And now you’ve given me something I never thought I’d have a future worth fighting for.”

You kissed her deeply feeling the weight of her words and the strength of your love.

As the rain began to patter softly against the windows you curled up together in bed the necklace resting on your chest and Ambessa’s arms securely around you. For the first time in her life she allowed herself to imagine a future filled with love family and peace.

“THE END”

AN/

This series is so fun and it makes me happy that yall are exactly liking my stories. I genuinely made this page just strictly for me to post stories that I have made up or stories that I have seen and wondered how it would be if it was in a different character but I never knew it would blow up like this thank you all so much fr and happy new year!!!!

#arcane #ambessa league of legends #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #arcane ambessa #arcane x reader #arcane x you #ambessa x you #mel and ambessa #ambessa the chosen of the wolf

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eccentricwritingbaby · 1 year ago

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baby finn series, house divided

dad!lando norris x mom!wife!reader

series masterlist

summary - yours and lando’s little boy has decided to become a fan of a different team, leading lando into a little spiral

masterlist

finn norris, yours and landos bubbly pride and joy, was turning three this sunday - subjecting his birthday to a race day. finn had obviously grown up along the track with his dad and all his colleagues and friends which led him to adore and fall in love with the sport that is formula one - scaring the living daylights out of you in his passionate displays of love for the dangerous activity at such a young age. not only was finn bouncing off the walls when lando informed him of where his birthday would be held, he was jumping, shaking and yelling with excitement as the race track was his favorite place on earth.

“finn, baby, calm down,” you chuckled while giving lando a glance. you both were sat on the couch with your son in front of you in order to tell him the wonderful news. now your adorable little almost three year old was racing around screaming with joy.

lando let out a laugh as well and reached for his son, “if you’re excited about spending your birthday on the track you’ll also be very excited about my other surprise for you,” finn looked up at his father with those same crystal blue eyes and whispered as if it was to himself, “anotha’ supwise?” lando and you share another small laugh at his wonder as he proceeds to get your son his gift. you take this moment to sweep up your still giggly son into your lap and give him a few quick kisses to the top of his head. those delicious baby laughs were all you heard as you felt his face snuggle further into your arms. lando returns as swiftly as he left, yet this time he appears with a large box in his arms. your boy wiggles in your hold until you release him to crawl towards his father. once settled on your husband's lap, lando begins to aid him in opening the bright papaya colored box, leading to your understanding of the exact contents in seconds. lando was always getting sent items from fans that were miniature, or receiving pint-sized merch from mclaren all for his mini me which both of you just doted over. once the wrapping paper and tissue paper were thrown enough around your living room, finn finally poked his head into the box and came out with a frown.

“you don’t like it, bud?” lando softly questions while his eyebrows begin to furrow. “‘s not wed, dada,” your son responds as he eyes his father, confusion listed on all of your faces.

“baby, why would you want your outfit to be red for your birthday? don’t you want to cheer on daddy?” you attempt to understand the little boy by posing the questions but he simply just whips his head around to you even more confused.

“i cheer dada in wed!” his eyes begin to gloss over and you can already feel a temper tantrum about to stir, yet one look over to lando and you understand that both your boys may need a minute to cool down.

“okay finn, why don’t you pick out what you want to bring on the trip? i’ll be right in to help baby,” you reply cautiously as you lift him out of lando’s arms, around the forgotten papaya box, and in the direction of his room.

“otay, momma!” finn shouts as his little legs attempt to quickly take him into his room down the hall. once the tiny steps disappear, you turn to look at your other baby.lando sits on the couch with a blank stare as his hands ring together in front of him.

“he wants to support ferrari, love. not his own father,” lando’s head falls as he speaks and you land on the couch cushion next to him, beginning to run your hand up and down his back. even though finn was born while you both were young and unsure of how to raise a child together, since you were children yourselves, lando was consistently one of the best fathers you had seen. he let the third driver take his seat for a month and a half in order to be a dedicated father and bond accordingly with your son. he doted over you and your needs no matter what the cost or occasion. and overall he cherished approval, whether it be in the bedroom, the track, or parenthood. lando is confident, yes, but he will always want the confirmation that he is doing his best, and that his best is enough - which it is always more than. therefore, you could tell that his son not wanting to support his team, and by partisan him, has led him to conclude that he is not a good racer, role model, or father - and you needed to stop those lies from invading his head.

“lando, he’s two - almost three, he probably just likes the color and wants to wear it,” you reply to his heart heavy confession.

“no he wants to support his uncle carlos, who has been winning and been on all the podiums - oh except for when he was in the hospital having a surgery,” the ending of his small reply held a bitter tone which you knew was not jealousy. lando and carlos are especially close, he is beyond happy and proud of his friend who he knows deserves his winnings, but you could understand the envy appearing when his son is preferring him over his dad.

“lando, it doesn’t matter what team he wants to support, that is your son. and he worships the ground you walk on. trust me. i am with him all the time,” you continue with a chuckle and a funnier tone as you begin to recite the words your son always speaks to you, “it’s always, ‘when’s dada coming home?’ ‘i want dada to tuck me into bed’ ‘can i drive like dada when im older’ and so on. lando, he loves you - you know that. don’t make this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. he is three, his intentions are pure,” as you end your speech, lando begins to raise his head looking into your eyes.

“i know, love. it just sucks i guess,” he lets out a quick sigh along with a shrug and meets your eyes again, “you’re still wearing papaya, right?” slight anxiety in his higher pitched question and you begin to laugh, “yes, love, i will always be in your color,” you reply as he hums and leans into your embrace, reaching down to plant a sweet kiss to your lips. just as you pull apart you can hear the quick little pitter patter of feet running down the hallway your little boy emits, trailing behind him is his bluey mini suitcase overflowing with toys and games.

“i all pack!” he squeals in excitement as he races over to you and your husband. lando drops down onto your floor, finn running right into his embrace, followed by a fit of giggles.

“let’s see what you packed, buddy,” your husband replies as he ruffles around finns baby curls. finn then claps a bit until he’s situated on the floor in front of the suitcase. he begins pulling out his items and reciting them to both of you and you respond in a chorus of “ooh’s” and “aah’s”.

race day -

as lando struts down the makeshift runway that is the entrance to the paddock, you follow behind a little further as to not draw too much attention to your little son. even though finn had grown up around the paddock, both lando and you are still not fully comfortable with the cameras and attention specifically around your son. therefore, any precaution - even the slightest - to not have him overly immersed in the media you both will take. lando is simply sporting his mclaren team gear, you in a light and well-fit sundress that lando emphasized in the morning you look ‘absolutely ravishing, my darling” and your birthday boy, well, he has arrived in a bright red ‘sainz55’ ferrari shirt as well as a bright and wide smile - something your husband couldn’t even be mad at if he tried, as your son’s smile that bright on his birthday was worth any sort of bruise to the ego. once well inside the paddock, finn begins to wiggle and squirm in your arms wanting to be let down which could only mean one thing.

“UNCLE LOS! UNCLE LOS! UNCLE LOS!” he begins to cry as you put him on the ground and he takes off towards him.

“FINN! SLOW DOWN!” your husband cries after him as he picks up a jogging pace after his overenthused son. carlos’ head whips around at the voice of his favorite little man as he begins to crouch down and brace for impact with his arms held wide. the little ball of red soon collides with his newfound favorite driver and the two begin to laugh as they hold each other. once you and lando catch up to the pair you can hear the adorable conversation at play.

“i wear wed fo’ you, uncle los!” finn sings happily while prancing around in front of carlos. the spanish driver, still crouched at your son's level, chuckles in admiration as he stares at the boy in front of him, “i think red is your color, pequeño,”

“it is! it is!” finn replies once again jumping around in full excitement.

“i also think it is somebody’s birthday,” carlos says holding a sly grin while staring at the little lando in front of him.

“ME! it’s mine!” your boy continues to jump.

“i think special birthday boys get to sit in their favorite uncles car?” carlos feigns innocence in the question as he looks at lando who holds a grin on his face. finn looks at his father for permission with a slight doe-eyed expression and lando gives him a simple nod before finn and carlos quickly disappear to the ferrari garage.

“i am very proud of you, love. you’ve got a good brave face,” you say quietly to your husband as he reaches down to pull you into a kiss.

“you know why i’m smiling, baby?” lando doesn’t wait for you to answer the rhetorical, “because we just gained a free babysitter for about an hour,” he kisses you again, this time with more urgency as he continues, dropping an octave, “and i’ve got an empty drivers room just waiting for us,” one more kiss and he’s already pulling you into the direction of the mclaren garage with you jogging quickly behind him in a fit of giggles.

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coniferouspines · 1 month ago

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Another snippet inspired by @babyblankyerror ’s Dr. Pinington AU.

“Stanley, are you—?” Stanford stopped dead upon entering his brother’s office, standing in the doorway dumbstruck as he took in the sight before him.

Stanley was sitting on the floor, leaning over one of those life-sized anatomy models one would normally find in a university biology classroom. He was dressed in his favourite lab coat, the one that was too big for him with the sleeves that would slip down past his hands. Surrounding both him and the anatomy model was a large array of stuffed animals, all posed in different positions. Some were set up to hold various medical instruments, while others were holding fake plastic organs. A few more seemed to simply be observers.

Mr. Rabid was right on top of the model’s open chest cavity, sitting on the fake lungs. It wore a little nurses’ cap on its head and a mini lab coat that Stanley had clearly sewn together himself. It looked to be watching Stanley as he rooted about in the model’s body, seeming very intent with… whatever his task was.

“What are you doing?” Stanford asked, thoroughly dumbfounded.

He’d watched Stanley poke around in actual dead bodies before and remove their organs, and that had been less confusing than this. At least those bodies had been real and something could be done with their parts. This was a plastic model.

Stanley turned at the sound of his voice and cracked one of those eerie smiles (Stanford refused to think about how they were starting to become more endearing than creepy at this point). “Hey, Sixer!” Stanley said cheerfully. He waved a hand in greeting, the long sleeve of his lab coat flapping about.

“Hi, Stanley,” Stanford said patiently. “Again, what are you doing? What’s with all the—” He gestured wordlessly to all the plushies.

“Well, we haven’t had a patient or even a body to… have fun with… for a while and I’m bored. And if I’m bored… then my friends are probably bored too! So I figured I should include them… because no one likes feeling left out.” Stan beamed like he was proud of himself, looking at Stanford with those big, mismatched eyes.

Stanford blinked as the puzzle pieces clicked together in his brain. “Wait, Stanley, are you—You’re playing?”

“Uh-huh!” Stanley tapped his misspelt name badge. “The doctor is… in session! Or something. Whatever they say.”

He stuck his tongue out at Stanford in a goofy manner, and for a brief moment, Stanford’s mind overlaid the image of the man before him with a much younger version, with a boy in a white and red striped shirt. He had the same look on his face: giddy, innocent in the way only a child could be, yet mischievous and bold.

Stanford didn’t know what to say. His brother was playing make-believe surgery with his stuffed animals and a plastic anatomy model. There was something almost sweet about it, if one ignored how odd it was for a grown man to be doing so. Then again, Stanley had gained a lot of new…oddities…since his incident. Most of them Stanford wrote off as being from brain damage that the botched lobotomy had done to him.

So this was fine. Stanford could accept this. Even if it was a little unsettling, Stanley wasn’t hurting anyone by doing this. There were worse things he could do than play pretend in his free time.

“Did you… want to join me?” Stanley had cocked his head to the side, staring at Stanford with hopeful eyes.

“Actually, I was coming to ask if you wanted to join me,” Stanford said. “I was going to go get lunch. Did you want to come?”

Stanley jumped to his feet, nearly tripped over the hem of his too-large lab coat, pin wheeled his arms wildly to keep his balance, then bounced over to Stanford excitedly. “Yes!”

“Calm down,” Stanford chided, though a smile tugged at his lips at the overeager display. “It’s just lunch.”

He led the way down the hall, Stanley practically skipping behind him.

#Stan is such a little guy #I am here for it #he’s just having fun!#if you can’t get real kidneys plastic will do #for the moment #soon he’ll be robbing graves again #gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls au #dr pinington #fanfic

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super-lovely-star · 11 months ago

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🧸Cozy-fying Your Space: Middle Edition🧸

Put up glow in the dark stars or other shapes on the wall and ceiling— one time I found glow in the dark Lisa Frank puppies at the thrift!

Room sprays or scented candles or wax melts in a scent that soothes you can make a big difference!

Find a cool lamp, like a shaped night-light or a lava lamp or even an LED neon wall hanging to give the room a nice atmosphere.

Hang up one of those mini hammocks to keep your plushie friends in. Especially good if you have too many to fit on your bed.

Put up artwork on the wall that you or your friends made. Not only does it make the room pretty, but it’s very personal!

If you have the space, set up a pile of pillows or a beanbag chair to chill out on.

Use Command hooks to hang your favorite clothes on the wall. This adds texture to the room, and you can easily swap it out for a different article of clothing!

Cover your headboard, dresser, or other furniture with STICKERS!

Print out posters of your favorite franchises and tape them up to your walls (or ceiling!)

Display your collectable toys! Ironically, this is helpful if you are private about your regression, because it makes it look like the only reason why you have the toys is because you collect them.

If that’s not your thing, you can also get cute fabric storage boxes to stash your toys and gear in.

Finally, get cute memos, put your favorite quotes or affirmations on them, and hang them on your walls!

Your room will look super pretty!

#nostalgia #sfw middle regression #middle regression #sfw agere #agere blog #sfw agedre #age regression #agedre #agere #sfw age regression #agere textpost #list #room decor #room inspo

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bokutoko · 3 months ago

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can i please get a mini bouquet with daffodils and lavender for akaashi?

— 🎐

so wonderfully you

k. akaashi x gn!reader

wc: 1648

cw: hurt/comfort, fake dating + mutual pining, uni!au (loosely), akaashi is a sweetheart

to be fair, you did bring all of this upon yourself.

akaashi didn’t even need to look away from his book to give you his answer: "no."

"c'mon, please!" you groaned, "it's just one evening!"

he looked at you over his frames, giving you the look. "what ever happened to being honest?"

when a friend mentioned a group dinner date idea to your circle of friends after lecture that day, you were a little hesitant to agree. yet when asked if they could set you up with someone, you were a little too quick to lie with, "oh, i have a boyfriend." which led you to this exact moment: asking—no, begging—akaashi to be your “date” this friday night.

"admit i lied to them and look like even more of a loser? let's be realistic here."

akaashi couldn't help but to roll his eyes; he was usually amused with your usual antics, but this? this was… tiptoeing a fine line that, unbeknownst to the other, the both of you were secretly wanting to cross yet nervous to do so. but when he saw the pleading look in your eyes and flush to your cheeks, he knew he was in a losing battle, whether he liked it or not. all he could do was let out a sigh.

“what time do i need to pick you up friday?”

after fiddling with all the clothes in your closet, you opted for something casual—just a sweater and some slacks. it was just a dinner with some friends. but oh god, what if akaashi is wearing something nice? what if he’s wearing something that totally makes you look bad? what if you two look so uncoordinated that it gives away your secret? as your mind wandered to the idea of your dear friend in a dark, dapper suit, totally showing you up and ruining the plan, a knock interrupted your thoughts.

taking a deep breath, you checked the time—5:40. five minutes early. in everything he did, akaashi was always so punctual. always there before you to class, saving a seat beside him for you to sit. always arrived for a study session before you, ready to go over any notes you missed if you couldn’t make it to lecture that day. and this time served no difference.

“coming!” you yelled, in hopes he would hear, as you slipped on some shoes and grabbed your bag.

opening the door resulted in your temporary blindness, your eyes unable to handle the beauty before you.

standing in the doorway was akaashi, wearing a gray button up and slacks. his sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, displaying his absolutely sinful forearms, with some veins adorning them right beneath the skin. his hair was a little more tame than his usual tired, messier look—god, he was so beautiful, and it was so incredibly frustrating how badly you wanted him in this moment.

it was all for pretend. it was all for pretend.

all. for. pretend.

he met your eyes and held out an arm—already perfectly playing the part of your sweet, loving boyfriend. "ready?"

"yeah, i've got directions to walk—"

"i'll drive us. i've got my keys."

after locking up, the two of you walked to his car, which was parked right outside your building. "you look nice," akaashi commented, attempting to sound as neutral as possible (it didn't work).

"yeah yeah, you clean up pretty nice too, i guess," you quipped back, eliciting one of his infamous side eyes. he opened his car door for you, then slipped in on the driver side. thankfully, it wasn't too far of a drive to the restaurant you all planned to meet at—you didn’t know what you’d do if you had to remain in a car for an extended time with your friend-turned-secretly-fake boyfriend.

"okay.” you took in a deep breath, trying to explain through your master plan. “so, we need to act like we're in love, got it? my friends already are hesitant about this since i never mentioned a relationship to them before. the plan’s that we've only been dating a couple months." watching akaashi's little nods in agreement as he drove, you went into a little more detail about your friends and their interests so he knew exactly what he was getting into.

upon your arrival, akaashi immediately went into character and excelled—opening your car door and the restaurant door for you, pulling out your chair, draping his arm loosely over the back of your seat. he inched closer to you as the dinner progressed, so close you could smell the spearmint of his cologne and—

was that a hint of jasmine too?

oh, you were about to die.

“so,” one of your friends began with a polite smile, successfully interrupting your thoughts, “how’d you two meet and get together? i feel like i know nothing about you, akaashi.”

and that was where you realized you hadn’t come up with a "meeting" story.

hoping your face didn’t give away the ploy so soon, you opened your mouth to speak out some half-ass lie, until—

“we actually had a class together a couple semesters ago,” akaashi began with a gentle smile. his cheeks were tinted a soft pink shade—but that could’ve easily been caused by the spring afternoon heat… right?

“they just have this personality that drew me in. can’t even explain it,” he laughed, the sweetest sound escaping his lips. you noticed the slightest crinkles by his eyes as he continued, “with all the late night studying, the deep conversations, and going through the good and bad days of college together, how could i not fall in love with them?”

as your friends ooh-ed and ahh-ed over you two, your face burned. you knew this was all a part of the plan—oh, the plan.

the plan!

he must not mean any of this, at least, not in the way he expressed to your friends. he didn't mean anything with his arm around you, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

you couldn’t breathe.

fuck, why did it all feel so real?

the rest of the group date passed agonizingly slow, your mind too preoccupied with akaashi’s hand on your thigh—far enough down to not make you uncomfortable. his thumb caressing your knee absentmindedly as everyone talked amongst each other.

"you okay?" he mouthed to you, and you nodded—of course, did akaashi believe this? no.

so, he did the typical "tired" stretch and asked for the bill. he pulled out his card and paid for the meal (after only some arguing from you) and wished everyone goodbye.

"it was to meet you all," he said with a smile and guided you out of the restaurant with his hand hovering over the small of your back.

you were in shambles, your heart nearly fluttering out of your chest.

getting into the car, you were quiet. too quiet—akaashi didn’t like that.

“seems like it was a success,” he prompted, hoping a conversation would stem from this. it did not. you just hummed in agreement and smiled, albeit awkwardly.

he drove you back to your apartment and walked you back to your apartment. “i had fun tonight,” he tried again with another one of those rare, genuine smiles that had you weak in the knees, “your friends are nice.”

“thank you,” you said softly, suddenly wishing you could forget about all of this, “i know this was my dumb mistake and dragged you in it, but, uh… thanks.”

you felt so dumb. feeling giddy over him holding the door and being respectful in his touches? it was all your plan, all your fault. you brought this upon yourself.

the night breeze blew between you both, the early spring chill in the air making you shiver slightly, which akaashi noticed. “let me give you my jacket from my car—“

“no!” you interrupted, looking up at him with an unknown mixture of emotions in your eyes. were you angry? no. tired? no. you were confused, so very confused. “no. we’re not faking this anymore. i don’t need your jacket.”

his eyes widened, his brows furrowing at the sudden attitude. “… did i do something?” he asked, racking his brain to remember if he did something, anything, wrong tonight to warrant your coldness.

“no—i mean, yes, but—god, why are you so nice to me?!” your voice was growing louder with every word, “i bombarded you with all of this, along with all the shit you’ve already got going on—fuck, you made it all feel so real and i hate that!”

several beats of deafening silence pass through you both, the two of you just frozen, staring at each other.

“it’s always been real for me,” akaashi softly admitted, “nothing i said was a lie tonight.”

you met his eyes, those beautiful, brown irises that you imagined getting lost in quite often. his lips were so close, and he was inching closer and closer that you could smell his spearmint and jasmine cologne again. you thought your legs would surely give out at any moment.

“can i kiss you?” he softly asked, looking at you through a half lidded gaze. everything froze, your mind reeling over the question that was just asked—akaashi, your akaashi, asking if he could kiss you. all you could do was nod silently before his lips perfectly slotted against yours, like he was made to kiss you.

you were drowning in him, being smothered by your new favorite scent of that damn spearmint and jasmine. he was so gentle with you, cradling your face in his hands as he tasted the sweet cake you ate earlier on your tongue.

oh, akaashi couldn't get enough of you.

slowly pulling away, all you thought to ask was, “why me?”

“because you’re you,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, “god, you're so wonderfully you.”

a/n: hi 🎐 anon i hope u enjoy <3 ngl i didn't mean for this to be so long, i just got too invested. for future reference, these reqs will not be this long (i got carried away SORRY)

want to see more by me in this event? here’s my masterlist 🌷

main masterlist

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starsandsuch · 6 months ago

Text

Some notes on Chitra 💎🍡🐅

The 14th Nakshatra. It’s ruled by Mars and is the bridge between sidereal Virgo and Libra. Being contained between 23.20 degrees Virgo and 6.40 degrees Libra.

Deity: Tvastar the celestial architect

Their symbol is a Jewel/Pearl. Some sources would say it’s symbolized as a diamond as well. Their yoni is a female tiger.

This can apply to Sun, moon, Ascendant, lagnesh or Atmakaraka in Chitra. Honorable mention ketu in Chitra.

Here are some observations I’ve made about them:

↠ They look good on camera.

↠ Usually have thick defined eyebrows.

↠ They’re one to obsess over their appearance in a very thorough way.

↠ They have round eyes that look glossy like marbles. Their face is heart shaped.

↠ At a certain point they learn people like looking at them; as many find them physically attractive. They’re not one hide away from that gaze of others, but embrace the attention that comes with being attractive.

↠ They love attention and being the center of things.

↠ They hate having body hair. Many opt to getting laser: permanent hair removal. Ironically enough a lot of them tend to be genetically very hairy.

↠ Even Chitra men hate having body hair. My Chitra guy friend used to shave his legs and I thought it way so weird for a (straight) guy to do that??.😭

↠ Chitra women are thicc. They usually have full hips and big butt.

↠ Fun fact: when I used to do astrology readings , I offered a reading where I’d describe your physical appearance based on your birth chart , and literally every single person who bought that reading had Chitra Sun, moon or ascendant. Mainly ascendant though.

↠ They are good at orchestrating drama. They highkey love drama.

↠ They live for controversy/ creating controversy

↠ Being the conductor of the drama then being the one to try to fix it , is a classic Chitra trope to me.

↠ They actually have a masterful talent of orchestration of drama but never get caught or blamed for it.

↠ They know how to be manipulative of social narratives. They know how to act or say things in order to get a certain reaction from others.

↠ This why they make good lawyers, bc during prosecution you have to make the defendant person look guilty through power of suggestion & insinuation. And put that seed of doubt in the jury’s mind based on their line of questioning. Basically indirectly accusing them without saying it directly.

↠ They’re naturally passive aggressive. They can display the mask of cordiality but secretly plot of someone’s downfall.

↠ They can poke and prod people to get an emotional or angry emotion out of them.

↠ A lot of them are very critical and judgmental. They can be judgmental towards family members especially.

↠ One thing I’ve see with Chitra that no one ever talks about is how good they are at predicting social trends. They usually know about /do something a few years before it’s popular.

↠ I sense they’re good at trend forecasting since Libra naturally has Aquarius in their 5th house. 5th house= talents, Aquarius= the future. So they have a talent for predicting the future.

↠ Two examples of this:

↠ #1 Kim Kardashian (who has Chitra Sun) and her affinity for social media was ahead of its time. Her long-hair-bbl-aesthetic was arguably the first prototype in the copy paste look you see on Instagram.

↠ Also when I watched KUWTK , in a 2012 episode she had a selfie book, and would take selfies with a mini LED light attached to her DSLR camera. Now it’s the norm to have mini lighting equipment in your purse. But she had that even before iPhones were that mainstream.

↠ #2 Soulja Boy (who has Chitra moon) is a known pioneer with music artists/social media. He was one of the 1st to have an online image as a rapper / go viral /have a viral dance for a hit song etc. Basically that formula is the mainstream strategy for success in the music industry in present day. But he did all that in like 2008 before iPhones/IG/tiktok etc.

↠ They will thrive in any career where you have to curate the aesthetics of something. Being a stylist, decorator, image consultant are all very Chitra-like.

↠ These natives are good at making money. Any Chitra person I’ve known IRL is good at money management or they are wealthy. 💰

↠ They’re good at party planning or event planning.

↠ I’ve also seen this be a successful social media influencer Nakshatra. They will post on socials and in a relatively “short” time gain a lot of engagement/followers etc.

↠ They seem to be always on the pulse of social trends/ pop culture etc

↠ They love dressing up as different personas, they are good at impersonating people. They like to personify different cultures through their aesthetic.

↠ They attract very aggressive people as partners.

↠ Libra naturally has their 7th house in Aries so they attract people with Martian energy. Aggressive, straightforward, blunt, controlling.

↠ They have a spouse that is a different ethnicity than them. Likely to be in an interracial relationship.

↠ A lot of them are very intelligent and get high marks in school, some even be valedictorian, magna cumlaude, summa cumlaude etc.

↠ Many get involved in politics or law.

↠ They are social climbers

↠ They love to argue.

↠ The especially like bantering. They’ll be sports commentators, podcaster, fashion critic, pop culture critic, etc.

↠ They get over things quickly. They don’t dwell on the past and let that hold them back from future endeavors. They’re always trying to achieve something new.

#astrology #vedic astrology #chitra #sidereal libra #venusian #sidereal virgo #astro observations #astrology observations #starsandsuch #2024

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yourfavblondy · 2 years ago

Text

How they would react if they saw you wearing their jacket

the tittle is pretty much self explanatory

characters: rindou haitani, mitsuya takashi, draken, mikey

RINDOU

It was cold outside and you like usual forgot your jacket at home. And oh how convenient it was when you saw Rindous jacket just laying around. While your boyfriend was talking to some people you swiftly grabbed his jacket and put it on. The jacket provided you with warmth and comfort, it smelled like Rin, intoxicatingly sweet. "Hey babe have you seen my-" Rindou asked turning around but stopping mid sentence when he saw you. He wanted to put on his jacket but how could he take it from you when you looked so damn cute. A light blush crept onto his face and the tips of his ears. One of the most scary people almost everyone feared was fumbling with his words and blushing profusely just because you wore his jacket. "Rin are you alright you kind of froze." you asked waving a hand infront of the blondes face. "Yeah, I'm fine you just look so damn cute." he chuckled wrapping his arms around you lovingly.

MIKEY

You constantly stole your boyfriends hoodies, I mean it was his fault really why did he have to have such comfortable and pretty hoodies. But despite always wearing his clothes you never wore his Toman jacket. At this point Mikey had gotten used to seeing you in his hoodies, I mean yeah sure butterflies always pooled in his stomach and yeah his heart skipped a beat now and again but he was used to it. What he wasn't used to however was seeing you in his Toman jacket, so you can imagine his shock when you showed up to a Toman meeting wearing his jacket. The words leader Mitsuya embroidered on the sleeve were on full display for everyone to see. Everyone knew you were his and if they didn't already now they knew for sure. Mikey shuffled closer towards you wrapping the jacket more around you. His face was dusted with a light pink blush but they didn't need to see that so he choose to bury his head in the crook of your neck wrapping his arms around you waist.

DRAKEN

You were with the gang at some random party Izana decided to host. Everyone was having a great time dancing and laughing, making out and drinking. You were also having a wonderful time singing at the top of your lungs. The alcohol you had drank earlier provided a nice kind of buzz to the already exiting atmosphere. For the party you decided on wearing a short black mini skirt a sparkly silver top and black heels. To Draken you looked out of this world. Everything matched up perfectly, the skirt showed of your ass which was probably Drakens favourite part of your body, he could just stare at you for eternity and never get tired. And thats exactly what he did he kept a watchfull eye on you the whole night just to make sure some creep woudldn't try anything. Once some creep did try to hit on you thinking you didn't have a boyfriend Draken came and politely led you out of the house. "Thanks babe." you said getting up on your tip toes to kiss you taller boyfriend. "I think this is like the fifth guy that hit one tonight." you said chuckling. "Well I can't blame them, you look stunning." Draken complimented nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck. He left feather light kisses while wrapping his arms around your waist. "I know how we'll solve this." he let go off you and took off his jacket. "Here." he draped the jacket gently over your shoulders. He let go off you and took a step back. Immediately when he saw you wearing his jacket Draken melted. Such a strong and large man was like putty when it came to you. He was obviously much taller and bigger than you and the jacket which fit him perfectly was oversized on you. Rosy blush crept up on his face. "How do I look?" you asked twirling around nuzzling into the fabric. Draken felt his heart swell at the sight of you. "Better than ever." he stepped close and held your waist before placing sweet kiss to your lips. "Come on let's go inside." you grabbed his hand and led him back inside. Now everyone would know you're his, especially with the words VICE PRESIDENT embroidered on the sleeve.

MITSUYA TAKASHI

Mitsuya had sown a lot of pieces of clothing tailored just for you. He loved seeing you happy while wearing clothing he put so much work and effort into making just right, for you. Currently you were in a train with your boyfriend going on a date. You wore a beautiful jacket that he tailored, but it was a little too hot since the train was crowded. So not wanting to boil alive you opted to take your jacket off. As you were sitting down you layed it gently across your lap. You'll be getting off in two stops anyway so what could happen especially with Mitsuya sitting next to you. A lot apparently because one stop before you were supposed to get off someone ran by you and snatched your jacket. You quickly realised what had happened and tried running after him but it was too late. You looked sadly back at your boyfriend. "Hey, it's no big deal. I'll make you another one." he comforted you. "Yeah, thanks Mitsuya." you said leading him off of the train. As you made your way up the stairs and into the open street you suddenly realised how bloody cold you were. The cold air sent shivers down your spine, it chilled you to the bone. Mistuya noticed you lightly shaking before he, like a true gentleman that he is, took off his jacket and wrapped it snug around you. You glanced up at your boyfriend nuzzling further into the soft fabric. Mitsuya felt like he could explore with adoration. You looked so pretty, he truly didn't deserve you. Mitsuya wrapped his amrs around you holding you close. His cheeks were red but his heart was full of love.

#tokyo rev x reader #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #draken #ken ryuguji #ken ryuuguji x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers rindou #tokyo revengers draken #tokyo revengers mikey #mikey x reader #sano majiro x reader #manjiro sano #sano mikey manjiro #tokyo revengers x reader

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