#hint of a certain citrus i would say

[devildom-moss]

How about MC returning the favour and giving roses to the others?

Okay, so I thought it would get a little boring if I did roses all over again, so I picked different types of flowers for each character. I hope that's okay and that you'll like what I came up with. (part of me wanted to add pictures of each flower but I don't know... so I didn't.) This took a long time. I will eventually get to the brothers, but it'll be a bit.

Flowers for Them (the others)

(Diavolo | Barbatos | Luke | Simeon | Solomon | Thirteen | Raphael |Mephistopheles)

Kind of a part. 2 for the Roses for You series (links here)

(Suggestive for all except Luke)

Word Count: +6,100 longest post yet?

Diavolo

red freesia

“The Young Master should be finishing up his work shortly,” Barbatos spoke as he escorted you to Diavolo’s bedroom, eyeing the vase of flowers in your arms. He chuckled and teasingly added, “I suppose I should make myself scarce for the night.”

You could tell from the mischief in his tone that he was insinuating your gift would charm Diavolo straight to bed – which wasn’t necessarily your intention. With a soft huff, you teased back, “You pervert.”

“If so, I’m in good company – My Lord, for instance.” Barbatos smirked at you, following your movements as you set the vase on Diavolo’s coffee table. “He’ll love them. It’s a lovely pick.”

With that, Barbatos left you alone in Diavolo’s room, waiting. Your fingertips gently ran over the length of bright red blossoms that sprang up from the stem like an offshoot of a branch, with the largest flower sprouting at the bend. As the minutes passed, the sweet, heady, citrus aroma of red freesias – the most potent variety – filled the room. It was that distinct scent that welcomed Diavolo as he returned to his bedroom, to you.

Diavolo’s lips parted in hesitation before a smile graced his face with a chuckle. “Barbatos told me I had a present waiting for me in my room. I wasn’t expecting two gifts.”

“Two?” You knew what he was hinting at, but you wanted him to say it.

“Such beautiful flowers, and you.” Diavolo made his way to the couch where you were sitting, tossing his jacket over the arm of it. He tilted your chin up and brought his lips to yours with a softness befitting a delicate petal. When he pulled back, his eyes were pleading for something he could not speak of – a need that escaped detection in his mind after a long day of work. All he knew was that it involved you. “What have I done to earn this thoughtful gesture?”

“You didn’t need to do anything to earn them, but I suppose I wanted to return the gesture – when you gave flowers to me.”

Affection swelled in Diavolo’s chest, and he pulled you up into his arms so that you might feel his heart pounding for you. His eyes fell to the flowers on the table. He was no expert, but he was nearly certain that you had procured them from the human world – which only delighted him more. Red was typically a romantic color for flowers, but he was eager to know more, to make you say it.

Diavolo released you from his grasp and asked, “what type of flowers are these? Can I assume you picked them for a specific reason?”

“They’re called freesias, and yes, you can,” you admitted with a grin. “They usually carry a meaning of friendship, thoughtfulness, and trust; but the red ones, in particular, symbolize love, passion, admiration, and appreciation. There is also an association with strength and perseverance. When I think about you – you’re so dedicated to your goals. You have so many obligations, and you show so much courage, rising to meet those challenges. I want you to know how much I admire you, and I’ll be by your side, loving you through everything to come.”

Diavolo’s eyes were wide, stunned into silence. He couldn’t find the words to thank you. Instead, he kissed you with the urgency of a man on the verge of tears – who would burst if he didn’t express his love for you that instant. He gently pushed you down onto his couch and began to sneak his fingers beneath your clothes.

“Diavolo,” you muttered his name sweetly.

“Shh, just let me unwrap my other present,” Diavolo hushed you affectionately, peppering your neck with tender kisses. Barbatos was right.

Barbatos

pale purple and pink aster

“A little demon told me I would find a handsome butler baking in the kitchen,” you announced your presence with a sultry affection that caused Barbatos to freeze up ever so slightly. He turned from his spot at the counter, still holding a piping bag in his hands. His cheeks were slightly pink, but you were generous enough to consider it a symptom of his proximity to the oven. “You don’t mind that I showed up unannounced, do you? I won’t stay long if you’re busy.”

“Not at all,” Barbatos laughed and set the piping bag down. “I’m delighted to see you. May I be so bold as to assume you came here just to see me?”

“You may – in fact, you should – because I did.” You kept the bouquet of flowers tucked behind your back as you took a few steps closer.

“What are you hiding?” Barbatos tilted his head with a joyous curiosity. “I’ll have no secrets kept from me in my kitchen. If there are secrets, I’d rather they be between us.”

You couldn’t ignore the seductive hint in his tone, but you gathered yourself to instruct him, “close your eyes.”

“That’s not a new one, but we haven’t tried that in this particular room yet.” Barbatos followed your command. You knew he was turning up the charm to distract from the fact that you had flustered him by showing up today. He was overcorrecting to maintain his composure.

“Stop flirting; I’m trying to be sweet here.” You sighed and thrust the flowers out towards him. The light floral scent – previously masked by the cookies he had baked – finally hit him. Before you could give him the okay, Barbatos furrowed his brows and opened his eyes.

“Did you get me flowers?” His words were filtered through a grin. You nodded. Of course, he had expected as much, but the heat rushed to his cheeks at your confirmation. It had been a long while since he received flowers, and getting flowers from Luke and Diavolo – as sweet and precious as it was – elicited an entirely different feeling than the one that filled him now. Although there were traces of affection and gratitude in all three cases, only you could make his blood rush. He studied the flowers you held out for him, noting the combination of both blue-ish purple and pink blossoms, before slowly bringing his hands up to the bouquet, cupping over yours gently. “And where, my dear, did you get human world flowers – asters, I believe?”

“Sorcerer’s – well, apprentice’s – secret,” you teased, pulling your hands back. “How did you know what they were?”

“Oh, please don’t tell me Solomon was involved in their procurement.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Wonderful. That would ruin the mood,” Barbatos flashed you a smile – almost threatening with its undertones of envy. “And as for how I know that: the Royal library is vast. We have a good number of books on human world horticulture. But perhaps you could give me a brief floriography lesson.”

“You don’t know?” A part of you was shocked – as it often seemed that Barbatos knew everything.

“I could fathom a guess, but it would be far less accurate than hearing the words directly from your lips.” Barbatos held the bouquet in one hand, using his free hand to pull you closer by the waist. He leaned into your ear and whispered, “Now, please enlighten me.”

“Asters are associated with traits that remind me of you: patience, elegance, and wisdom. The purple asters represent that wisdom – as well as your grace, nobility, and mysterious beauty. The pink ones are for your sensitivity and kindness. You’re always serving others and thinking about them, and you’re so sweet to me. Of course, pink is also a symbol of love – lest you forget how much I adore you.”

“Oh my.” Barbatos lowered his eyes, flushing a pale pink. “You’re too kind, MC.”

“You asked me to enlighten you.” You pressed your lips sweetly, albeit momentarily, to his. “Now you know.”

“Close your eyes,” Barbatos whispered. Feeling you owed him the same trust, you shut your eyes. “Now, open your mouth.”

Again, you did as he asked, only for him to bring one of his bite-sized, fresh-baked cookies up to your mouth. A delightful sweetness flooded your tongue. His fingers grazed your lips and lingered, waiting for you to swallow before swiping his thumb across you.

“It’s delicious.”

“Thank you, my dear. I’m afraid that will have to be a suitable reward for your kindness until I’m done here. Then, I’ll repay you properly.”

Luke

pink and yellow hibiscus

It had been raining in the Devildom for five full days, with another three days of rain ahead in the forecast. The slow shift from a gentle pitter-patter to a heavy pounding on the RAD windowpanes played in the background of each class you attended. This would be fine, if not for the fact that Luke’s gloomy face was haunting your mind. He had been sulking since the third day of rain. Even a happy, sweet little angel like Luke can’t keep his sunny disposition forever. He clearly missed going outside without the threat of damp clothes and discomfort. You had to do something – he was practically your adopted son.

“Luke,” you caught his attention at the end of class, “are you free tomorrow?"

“Yeah,” he admitted sadly, “there’s not much I can do in this weather.”

“Great! What do you say we have a picnic?”

“What? We can’t sit outside and eat when it’s raining like this! We’ll get sick. Besides, I think the parks are starting to flood.” Luke groaned quietly.

“Let’s have an indoor picnic, then. We could prepare some snacks together, lay a blanket down in the living room or maybe make a blanket fort, and play some games. What do you think?”

“That sounds like so much fun!” Luke perked up immediately – the first genuine smile he had had all day gracing his sweet face.

“I’ll meet you at Purgatory Hall at noon tomorrow, okay? I’ll pick up some fruit and ingredients for sandwiches or something – just let me know if there’s anything you’re craving.”

“Let me think about it after I check the pantry at Purgatory Hall, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I’m so excited!” Luke’s grin widened as dozens of snacking options crossed his mind.

Luke contacted you later that day with a short list of ingredients to make grilled cheese sandwiches and a few fruits – including an array of berries. You stopped by the market, which was pleasantly quiet, on your way over to grab everything, placing the grocery items in a large picnic basket you decided to bring along. Inside that basket was also a pitcher of cold brewed sweet hibiscus tea you prepared the night before and a bouquet of human world flowers you had magically crafted. You didn’t have time to pop up to the human world and purchase them, and you were certain you couldn’t obtain them at a florist here, so hopefully these would do.

Luke greeted you eagerly at the door and ushered you towards the kitchen. He had a bright smile on his face, and you were certain this was the closest thing to sunshine as the Devildom would ever know. You spotted a loaf of fluffy-looking bread on the counter, and Luke confessed happily, “I baked some milk bread before you came over, and we have a variety of delicious jams and spreads to go with it. We also have all the ingredients to bake cookies later if you’re up for it.”

“That sounds wonderful, Luke. You’re so sweet.” You began to pull the ingredients out of the basket, careful to keep the bouquet tucked away. “I have a surprise for you. Have you ever tried hibiscus iced tea? It’s made from human world flowers.”

“I don’t think so.” With that, you pulled the pitcher out of the basket, revealing a bright red liquid. Luke was enamored. “It looks so pretty! Can we try it right now? I’ll get some glasses and ice.”

Luke’s smiling face as he took his first sip told you everything you needed to know. He loved it.

The two of you set up your blanket fort – complete with multiple comfy pillows – in the living room before preparing your grilled cheese sandwiches and a platter of fruit, spreads, and the bread Luke made earlier. Luke brought a few games into the fort while you brought the tea and the basket. With everything in place, you were ready.

“Actually, Luke, I have one more surprise for you.” You reached into the basket and pulled out the bouquet: a mix of hibiscus flowers – some a bright yellow and others a soft pink. Luckily, it was still in pristine condition.

“For me? These are the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen!” Luke brought his hands up to his mouth. “What are they?”

“These are hibiscus. I couldn’t get them from the human world, so I had to recreate them with magic, but I wanted you to have them,” you admitted, handing the bouquet over so he could inspect them further. “The pink ones symbolize friendship and platonic love while the yellow ones mean joy, happiness, and sunshine – which I felt like you needed more of recently.”

Luke’s smile faltered briefly before resolving itself. He hugged the flowers close to him. “Thank you. You’re right, I think I did need this. If you ever want to become an angel, I think you’d make a great one.”

Simeon

(Original game lesson 76 spoilers)

red and white variegated tulip

Simeon wouldn’t tell you how he had convinced everyone to let the two of you go on a weekend trip to the human world together – and he had no plans to, either. Perhaps the others felt bad about Simeon losing his angel’s blessing; if anyone could cleverly use guilt to get his way, it would be Simeon. Then again, who knew what tactics Simeon had in that mind of his – what he could stoop to. He was a human now, and that offered him an excuse to be devious; there was no need to feign innocence when he wasn’t held to an angel’s standard. Simeon would do a lot for you, and perhaps it was best that you were not made aware of every detail of his schemes.

Still, he had gone through the trouble of planning everything. The first day was delightful; Simeon led you through a beautiful town, packing as many fun activities into your time together as he could. He even booked a nice hotel room beforehand that “incidentally” only had one bed. You wanted to thank him somehow.

So, you forced yourself to wake up early, crawling out of bed quietly to avoid disturbing Simeon. During your previous outing, you noticed a flower market, along with several bakeries and cafés. It wasn’t much, but breakfast and flowers seemed like a good start to show him your gratitude. Besides, this was a rare opportunity to spoil him a bit.

It was still early by the time you returned to your hotel room – flowers, coffee, and an assortment of pastries in hand. Luckily, Simeon was still peacefully asleep. You worked quickly, rearranging the flowers in a nice vase that you were fortunate enough to find at the market and plating the pastries. Some – a huffy, grumpy old demon, for example – would probably frown at your use of magic to summon up some decent serveware, but with Solomon as your teacher, you figured you had every right to use magic frivolously. You had just finished up by the time Simeon began to stir, letting out the softest little moan.

The sweet combination of smells filled his senses – although he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. It could have been a café nearby for all he knew. Simeon stretched his arms out to the empty side of the bed, and upon feeling your absence, he decided to open one eye and investigate.

“Morning,” you greeted him.

“Why did you get out of bed?” He sat up with a yawn.

“I wanted to thank you, so, ta-da.” You brought a tray to the bed and set it next to him. Simeon’s eyes, still adjusting to the morning light, looked over the hot coffee, pastries, and a vase of red and white variegated tulips. A smile slowly formed on his lips.

“Just how long did you leave me alone in bed?” Simeon chuckled. “Thank you, MC. This is so sweet.”

“You deserve it.” You brushed his hair aside to kiss his forehead. “Did you know that variegated tulips mean beautiful eyes? They’re ideal for giving to someone you admire – although admire isn’t nearly strong enough to describe my feelings for you.”

Simeon’s face warmed, and he nervously took a sip of his coffee to calm his desires. The drink was perfect, as if you had thought about him in every detail. It only made his heart race more. He set the cup down. “Tell me more.”

“About the flowers – or are you asking me to praise you more?” you teased.

“Either sounds nice. Just kidding, you can tell me about the flowers.” Simeon was quick to retreat from asking for praise.

“The flowers first, then. Well, the florist – farmer? The person selling the flowers told me that these are called Grand Perfection Tulips. They start out a light yellow and turn white as they mature, but the red streaks stay the same vibrant color throughout. I wanted to get the mature ones because I wanted to convey the meaning of both red and white tulips. Red tulips are probably easy to guess the meaning of, right? They represent love, devotion, sacrifice, and lust.” Your voice dropped at the last word, and Simeon nearly choked on the pastry he had bitten into. You continued, “But white symbolizes purity and new beginnings. They’re also used to tell someone ‘I’m sorry.’”

Simeon caught the shame in your voice and stared at you, confused. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“It’s at least partially my fault that you’re a human now.” Your heart sat heavy in your chest and the weight of your words anchored Simeon to the bed. “You sacrificed a lot, and now you’re living this new life, and it’s not fair that you were punished for protecting the people you care about. All I can do is tell you that I’m sorry, and I love you, and thank you.”

“No.” Simeon’s voice was unusually stern – as was the look on his face. He moved the tray onto the bedside dresser and pat his lap. “Sit on the bed with me.”

You took a seat at the edge of the bed, but Simeon shook his head and grabbed your hand, pulling it to his side.

“Closer,” he insisted. You took the hint and climbed over his lap. He stared at you affectionately, his fingers dancing up your sides. “Better. Now, listen closely: I don’t blame you. Even if I had to fall as far as becoming a demon, I would – and I’d do it just for your sake. You don’t have to apologize for the actions I chose to take.”

“But –”

“Don’t feel bad, or I’ll be tempted to take advantage of you and be greedy,” Simeon admitted. “I’ll ask you to stay by my side forever and love me more.”

“I can do that,” you whispered, trying to digest your guilt.

“Then don’t say you’re sorry. I’m okay with living as a human alongside you. Now,” Simeon gently rolled over with you in his arms until he was on top of you, “while I appreciate your precious gesture of breakfast in bed, I have something different in mind. Can I?”

Solomon

black poinsettia (Devildom) and red poinsettia (human realm)

You were finding it hard to focus on Solomon’s lessons. Between his lingering gazes, the sly way his body pressed to yours as he glanced over your work, and the anticipation of the surprise you had planned for him, you could barely maintain your composure.

“What’s on your mind, my sweet apprentice?” Solomon picked up on your tension. “Am I distracting you?”

“Not exactly.” Solomon pouted slightly at your response and clapped his book shut in his hands. “I’ve been working on a new spell in secret. I think I’ve got it now. Can I show you?”

Solomon burst out in melodic laughter. “How studious of you. Of course. Show me what you’ve got.”

You had practiced this nearly a dozen times before in preparation; you could do this. All you had to do was take a deep breath and concentrate your magic into your hands. With a flourish, you summoned a large bouquet of black and red poinsettias and held them out for Solomon. Bowing slightly, you added, “for my adorable teacher.”

Solomon’s cheeks flushed pink, but by the time you looked up to gauge his reaction, Solomon’s surprise had melted into a tender smile. He chuckled and reached over the bouquet to pat your head. “That’s certainly something. Good job.”

“I chose these flowers specifically for you.”

“Oh?” A faint pink glow reappeared on Solomon’s cheeks. He wasn’t certain you had put any thought behind the flowers you summoned; knowing that they were chosen with intent warmed his face and made his heart ache. Suddenly, he recalled the bouquet of black and red roses he had given you. Barbatos had once told Solomon that black poinsettias – native to the Devildom – had a special meaning for couples, but despite poinsettias being his birth month flower, Solomon didn’t know much about their symbolism. The question on his lips fell out shyly, “What do they mean?”

“Black poinsettias represent the bond between two people. Red poinsettias are associated with cheer, rebirth, and good wishes – but, more importantly, with love, passion, and strength. I think that reflects our bond, don’t you?” You smiled at him softly. “And there’s something else: I wanted to combine flowers from the Devildom and the human world. It’s because Diavolo decided to try to bring the human realm and the Devildom together that I was able to meet you, and I’ll always be grateful and happy about the new life I have here – with you.”

“My adorable apprentice, you’ve outdone yourself,” Solomon praised you. He took the bouquet in one hand, removing it from the space between you, and pulled you close until your noses nearly touched. He dropped his voice to a seductive whisper, “I’ve never witnessed such a powerful seduction spell.”

“It wasn’t a seduction spell.”

“Then why am I so enamored with you right now? I can hardly contain myself.” Solomon crashed his lips against yours with overwhelming neediness. The kiss grew heated quickly, and you were both left panting by the time he pulled away. “Let’s conclude your studies early today. I think I need to spend the rest of the night studying you, instead.”

Thirteen

pink spider lily

“Thanks again for treating me today – you really didn’t have to.” You squeezed Thirteen’s hand as you walked together towards her cave.

“Well, you deserved a little reward for agreeing to meet me at Café Lament. It was a last-minute invitation, and I’m just happy you were able to join me. I think their new dark hell mocha pudding parfait tasted better because I got to eat it with you.” She bumped her shoulder against yours casually. A faint vanilla scent hit you; how did someone so involved with death smell this good?

“I didn’t expect them to top it with bufo eggs. I liked it, though.”

“Right?”

Part of the reason you had so readily agreed to accompany Thirteen – other than wanting to spend time with her – was because it gave you the opportunity to surprise her. As someone so often involved with setting up traps and tricking people, you figured she’d appreciate an unexpected present. All you had to do was get her out of her room for a bit.

Just before your date – when you knew she had already left – you used a bit of magic to leave flowers on Thirteen’s bedside table. She was far enough away to not sense your magical delivery, too, so by the time she arrived home, a small present would be waiting for her. Of course, you could have summoned them while she was at RAD, but you wanted to see her reaction, and there was a good chance Thirteen would invite you back home with her after your date. Besides, leaving school with her was likely to draw the attention of at least one of the brothers, and neither of you would have any peace if that occurred.

As Thirteen led you to her bedroom, anticipation grew in the pit of your stomach. You were excited to see the look on her face. When she opened her door, the faint remnants of your magic lingered, but her focus was concentrated on you. She dragged you into her room, walking backwards until you both crossed the threshold. Thirteen let go of your hands, wrapped her arms around your neck, and kissed you tenderly. Lips still locked on yours, she shut the door behind you and pressed your back gently against it. Your hands landed on her hips. A soft sigh left her as she pulled away.

“I was looking forward to that,” she admitted. The light floral scent and your magic finally got through to her, and Thirteen turned in your hands. She was startled by the appearance of a vase of pink spider lilies next to her bed. Her brows furrowed and she looked back at you, a smile fighting its way through her attempt to find the right words. “Did you – when? What?”

“I did,” you started, coolly. “Right before our date, and they’re pink spider lilies – or resurrection lilies.”

“They’re beautiful, but are you trying to be funny, giving a reaper something called resurrection lilies?"

“No, of course not. While it’s true that the most common color for resurrection lilies is red; and they symbolize death, corpses, and blood; the pink ones don’t have those same associations. I don’t think of death when I think of you – not usually, anyway. The pink flowers represent beauty, love, passion, and desire.” You brought a hand up to caress her cheek. “And you, my love, are so beautiful and passionate. I love being around you – and I love you.”

“Well, how can I get upset over such a precious explanation?” Thirteen chuckled through her smile and left a soft kiss on your cheek. “What if you weren’t here when I found such a lovely gift?”

“I had a feeling you’d want to take me home with you – and if you didn’t, I would have told you about the flowers over the phone.”

“You’re a confident one, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I just know you like me.”

“Okay, smarty-pants.” Thirteen rolled her eyes playfully. “Then tell me this: what am I going to do now that I have you in my room?”

“I think we’re going to take this to the bed.”

“Such a smart human. No wonder I love you.”

Raphael

lavender

Raphael: I’m almost done mending your sweater. You can pick it up tomorrow if you want. I embroidered flowers along the hem of your sleeves where it tore. It will suit you, so I hope you like it.

Raphael offered to mend your sweater after he saw how upset you were over it tearing – especially since it had caught on a shelf while you were out shopping with him. He had been offering to do more sewing specifically for you recently, which made him all the more comfortable asking you to take off your clothes the second you got back to his room. You knew what he meant, but sometimes his straightforward approach flustered you. If it had been anyone else, you had no doubt that there would have been more sexual undertones. Although perhaps if Raphael wasn’t so concerned about your disappointment at ripping your sleeve, he might have thought to add another meaning to his words. But alas, he was solely focused on mending an item you clearly cherished.

You appreciated the gesture, and you knew you would only adore the sweatshirt more now that he had helped to fix it. Raphael could be quite sweet when you gave him the opportunity – and, if you weren’t mistaken, he seemed to have only become kinder after coming to the Devildom. You weren’t certain how much he would appreciate the gesture, but you wanted to get him flowers.

The following morning, before you left for Purgatory Hall, you read over the spell you had found in a book Satan was nice enough to lend you. All you needed were a few herbs, your magic, and a Devildom equivalent of the human world flower you wanted to recreate. You stopped by a florist – one Raphael had taken you to before – to get the last ingredient for your spell.

The demon working the shop looked up from the counter, a wicked recognition in his eyes. “Aye, if it ain’t the little human again. Been a while. Your angel cut ya loose? Or maybe you got a taste for demons now, hm?”

“Have we met?”

“Why I –” he huffed, releasing his anger, “y’know, I guess we didn’t get a chance to meet last time, cuteness. I’m Stolas, and you are?”

You gave the aggressively friendly demon your name. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a rush today. I have to go see ‘my angel’ soon. Do you happen to have any acid lavender in stock?”

“Shame,” he sighed. “But yes. Right over there.”

Stolas motioned towards an aisle with his head, and your eyes followed. There was a small selection next to some filler plants – what you assumed constituted Devildom “greenery.” You picked out a pretty, fragrant bunch and returned to the counter with your wallet in hand. “How much for this one?”

“Tell ya what, you show that sweet little face ‘round here more often an’ I’ll letcha have ‘em for free.” Stolas leaned over the counter and gave you a wink.

“I’d feel better if I paid. You’re running a business, after all.”

“For you, 100 Grimm.” He wrapped your flowers up nicely and handed them back to you. “See ya ‘round, MC. Tell your little angel I said hi, would ya?”

You nodded, with no intention of following through on that. On your walk to Purgatory Hall, you performed the spell, and by the time you arrived, you had a bouquet of human realm lavender in your hands.

Raphael was the one to greet you at the door, and you quickly hid the bouquet behind your back. He smiled at you softly. “Oh good, you’re here. Come with me.”

Raphael led you to his room. Now that you were alone, you pulled out the bouquet and presented it to him. His back was still turned as he walked to his desk and makeshift crafting table.

“Uhm, Raph, I hope you don’t mind, but I got you some flowers,” you admitted, still holding out the bouquet. He turned around immediately, surprise evident on his face. Your sweater was folded neatly in his hands.

“Me? What for?”

“To thank you. I’m really grateful – not just for the sweater, but for everything.”

Raphael inspected the flowers in your hand, slightly confused. They looked familiar, but not quite like any plant he had known. The color was off. Acid lavender was a deeper, darker shade of purple – almost black – while its counterpart in the celestial realm was a pastel blue. However, the pleasant aroma was quite similar. “Is this human lavender?”

“Yes. Although I had to use magic to get this from acid lavender. I think lavender suits you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because lavender is associated with purity, silence, and calmness. It represents personal growth, and,” you paused, inching closer to him, “it’s a symbol of love and devotion.”

Raphael made no efforts to hide his smile. He unfolded your sweater to reveal leaves embroidered with pastel blue lavender flowers. “What a pleasant coincidence.”

Your lips parted in astonishment. Not only was it a coincidence, but Raphael had done a beautiful job repairing your clothes. He handed you the sweater and took the bouquet in his hands. The only ones who had ever given him flowers were Luke and Michael – and the latter case usually annoyed him more than it delighted him.

“Thank you, Raph. This is lovely.” You clutched the sweater close to your chest. Raphael shook his head, setting the lavender down carefully on the nearby table.

“I don’t know if these flowers suit me. They smell nice, and I appreciate them, but if you’re going to be so nice to me,” Raphael paused to pull you in, flush against his body, “neither of us are going to be pure or silent. . . just teasing.”

You waited for him to let go, indicating that he was, indeed, teasing, but his grip remained firm. “Are you?”

“Would you like me to tease you?”

He was impossible.

Mephistopheles

red wallflower

You knocked politely on the door to the RAD Newspaper Club room. It was getting late and the only students you had run into were those who had stayed behind after club activities to chat or do who-knows-what. Mephisto, shouted from the other side of the door. “Come in but make it quick.”

“Serun told me you were going to be here late.” You walked in and set the overly sweet pastry you had bought on Mephisto’s desk, still hiding a bouquet of flowers behind your back. “I figured some sugar might perk you up.”

“Oh, MC, I thought you might be a club member.” He added that to strike his comment about making it quick from the record. If it was you, he didn’t mind a bit of company. Mephisto glanced up at your face quickly before returning his gaze to the stack of articles he needed to edit. “First, why would Serun tell you if I’m staying late? And second, was that last part supposed to be a euphemism? Should I push my chair back?”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “They told me because it’s apparent that I’ve taken an unfortunate liking to you, and someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Then the sugar?” Mephisto questioned you, flipping the page. You laughed again, which bothered him. “What?”

You pushed the pastry closer to him until it entered his line of sight. The soft “oh” from his lips made you chuckle. “Oh, you are so cute when you’re serious.”

“Get out,” Mephisto scoffed to distract from his warm cheeks and his desire to smile.

“Aw, are you grumpy? I’ll leave, but I have a gift for you first. Look up from your work for one minute, please?” You sweetened your tone to entice him further, but you couldn’t miss the exaggerated roll of his eyes. He set his pen down and gave you his full attention. “Good boy.”

“I will bite – I mean fight you.” Mephisto’s heart raced.

That exasperated look on his face melted as you pulled out a bouquet of deep red wallflowers in a smooth black vase and set them on his desk – out of the way of his paperwork. It wasn’t easy obtaining them, but you wanted to do something nice for Mephisto beyond your usual small gifts and kind words. He chewed on his lower lip to hide the threat of a smile.

“What are these for?” he asked.

“I wanted you to feel loved,” you confessed.

Mephisto let out a soft, affectionate groan. “I don’t recognize these flowers. What are they?”

“They’re from the human world – wallflowers. They represent faithfulness in adversity, and resilience. Red ones, specifically, signify love. It makes me think of you. I really admire your unwavering loyalty to Diavolo – I mean, you’re here now, this late, because you want to support him. I want to give you my loyalty, too – romantically.”

“I –” Mephisto took a second to gather his words. “I’m going to be another hour or two here tonight. You should take a nap on the couch while I finish up. I’ll take you home when I’m done.”

“I’d much rather stay up with you, but if you’re busy, I can go home now,” you offered, slightly disappointed. There was a silver lining, at least. “I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway.”

“Oh, you misunderstood. I’m taking you home with me. And I want you to get some rest because I’ll be keeping you awake all night.” He smirked and got out of his seat to usher you towards the couch. Mephisto laid you down sweetly, smoothing his hand over your hair before walking back to his desk. He cleared his throat, trying to force his feelings up to the surface. “And MC, thank you. I – I haven’t felt this cherished in a while. I love you, too.”

This was a bad idea, he thought. How was he going to concentrate when your precious sleeping face was right across the room? Once you fell asleep, he was determined to get a picture – or ten.

Lucifer | Mammon | Leviathan | Satan | Asmodeus | Beelzebub | Belphegor

(If there's no link, that character is coming soon-ish)

A/N: Happy (possibly be-lated) Valentine's Day. I hope even though it's late, this one fills y'all with love. If you're single or something, then you automatically have my love now (unless you don't want it). Also, we are never going to talk about how long I spent on this, okay? Okay.

[capricornlevi]

bokuto x reader // sfw, gratuitous fluff, established relationship // wc 1.6k

planning birthdays is just one of bo's many talents <3

an: this is a little birthday present for my favourite bo stan in the entire world @brainrot329 ! she is a ray of sunshine and one of the best people i know and it is an honour to write a bo fic dedicated to this wonderful human !!!

you had never figured bokuto for much of a chef. you've been together for four years, lived together for two, and so you feel you know him pretty well by now -- the man has multitudes of talents, but preparing food is not one of them.

he has no trouble with eating, obviously, since pretty much every team barbeque ends with him being physically dragged away by a teammate or long-suffering coach, begging for someone else to be allowed their pick of the steaks.

but his appreciation for food does not extend to cooking or baking, shopping for ingredients or meal planning. his lack of culinary proficiency is not from any form of uselessness or incompetence -- he's good at pretty much anything he turns his hand to, plus the msby nutrition team supplies most of his meals anyway -- he just doesn't have much of an interest. which is more than fair; nobody can be expected to be good at everything.

but this is also why you find it to be very shocking that today, your birthday, he has offered to prepare you a four-course meal to mark the special occasion.

he had informed you of his plan this morning over pancakes at your favourite diner while you were mid-sip of coffee. as you smiled and expressed gratitude, you had to put in a copious amount of effort to prevent your jaw from dropping open and accidentally spitting coffee everywhere.

again, it's not that he's incapable of achieving this task. he’d likely be very capable should he puts his mind to it, but it's just ... this is his first time cooking. you don't attempt the tour de france before learning how to ride a bike, and you can't imagine that a four-course meal (with accompanying wines, he informs you) is the easiest introduction to the culinary arts.

but he seems certain, and the last thing you want to do is discourage this newfound enthusiasm.

the rest of the day was spent out with friends and family as bo headed home to get everything ready. he didn't give many hints as to what the rest of the evening would entail, but he did say that he knew you'd love it.

(and you will; regardless of the final product, you can see how much effort he's put in. you just hope you won't arrive home to the scent of singed hair and an eyebrow-less bokuto standing forlorn in the kitchen.)

when your college friends took you out for cocktails in the early hours of the evening, you stuck to just two margaritas so as not to take away from the rest of the night. they dropped you back home with gifts in hand and plans to meet up again next week to get your nails done – a strange suggestion since you haven’t gone to the salon as a group in years, but you wave it off. 

now, standing at your doorstep, you take a deep breath before twisting the handle and letting yourself in.

the place smells ... nice. really nice. it's a medley of scents from multiple dishes but they all come together to paint a very positive picture; hints of citrus, the buttery aroma of your favourite pasta sauce, something sweet you vaguely recognise as being your grandmother's french vanilla cake recipe.

suddenly overcome with a sense of awe and burning anticipation, you make a beeline for the kitchen.

you find everything in it to be clean, perfectly presented, except for bokuto himself. he stands by the countertop, spatula in hand, covered with a light dusting of flour and with a scorch mark on his light-blue shirt.

"never promised it'd go completely without a hitch, did i?" he grins, expression as close to bashful as you've seen it. setting down the utensils and dusting himself off with a kitchen towel, he closes the distance to take your hand, guiding you to your seat at the table. with a professional flourish he pours you a glass of sparkling wine, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head once you've sat down.

"you enjoy that while i go change," he mumbles against your hair, "and i’ll also make sure I'm not still smouldering."

you laugh as he walks away, heart swelling in your chest as you survey the space around you.

he's bought a bouquet of your favourite flowers from that little old florist who lives three doors down from your apartment, the one whose displays you always admire when you head out to work in the mornings. he has your favourite album playing on vinyl, the low reverberations of the music filling the candle-lit kitchen.

distantly, you wonder if bo's fire incident came from the cooking or the decoration.

but before you have much time to consider, he's arrived back in the kitchen with a fresh shirt and almost-tamed hair, paired with that signature bo smile that lights up all of his features.

"ready for course number one?" he exclaims, clapping his hands together as he heads over to the counter space. once you voice your assent he produces two dishes as if from nowhere, heading over to the table and setting yours down in front of you.

you find yourself looking down at a perfectly presented salad, crisp leaves and a citrus dressing that reminds you exactly of the one you had --

"on our first date!" you burst out before even taking a bite. "this is the salad from that bistro by college!"

the bistro where he had taken you after finally mustering up the courage to ask, waiting until after you both had graduated to make his move. you're still not sure why he was so anxious since your class had no qualms about intra-departmental fraternisation, but you're just glad he went for it eventually.

he nods, clearly relieved you picked up on the connection.

the salad is wonderful, a light and refreshing starter for the evening, and you inform him as much.

your response clearly encourages him. he gets up again to start heating the next dish, pouring you a glass of wine beforehand for you to nurse while he gets things ready.

this time, he presents you with a bowl of soup. the same type of soup ...

"that you made for me that time i got the flu!" he informs you this time, voice achingly fond as he watches for your reaction. "and no word of a lie -- it cured me."

his earnestness draws another laugh from you, the soothing smell of herbs and vegetables bringing you back to that afternoon.

you had never seen bo so sick before and you haven't seen it since. with the combination of his healthy approach to life and sheer stubbornness to remain top of his game, he ends up avoiding most illnesses, and so when he called his coach to inform him he wouldn't be making 8am practice, you knew things were serious.

he ran a temperature, cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pink that you would have appreciated more were he not suffering, and had started shivering by noon.

"you need to keep your strength up," you had whispered softly to him, setting a glass of water down at his bedside and perching yourself on the edge, watching as he slowly started eating the soup. it was difficult with a sore throat but he managed to polish the whole thing off.

that soup was the only thing he could stomach for forty-eight hours, eating it for every meal until his shivering subsided and his muscles stopped aching.

it's one of the few dishes he knew how to prepare before tonight, since he insists on making it with you whenever either one of you starts to show any signs of impending sniffles.

once the soup has been finished and cleared away, the third course is presented with another glass of wine and near-giddy smile from bo. just as you had guessed from the hallway, he serves up your favourite pasta dish, the recipe having been scribbled down on a napkin after the chef from the aforementioned first-date bistro was kind enough to let you have it. 

bo managed to replicate it perfectly, albeit not without slightly singeing the accompanying garlic bread (explaining the scorch mark on his shirt).

as you take your first bite, you realise that he was right earlier when he promised that you'd love this.

it wasn't that the food was michelin quality (though it was undoubtedly delicious, especially for a first-timer) -- it was the thought that went into every dish, every ingredient, every element. the effort that went into telling a story with each course.

you've never felt as loved as you do in this moment.

that is, until he brings out dessert in the form of your grandmother's french vanilla cake. it’s been frosted to the best of bokuto's ability, with 'happy birthday my love!' edged in pink font and surrounded by flickering candles.

there's also a design under the words. a little shape, something you can't see without squinting.

he carries it over to you proudly, though with a slight tremble in his hands you can't quite understand ...

after blowing out the candles, you lean in to examine the cake closer.

it takes a few seconds for it to land, to determine what bo attempted to draw in icing format, but once it hits you ...

"is that a ring?"

your heart pounds in your chest, each word leaving your lips in a flurry as you try to gauge whether or not your exhilaration is merited.

and in lieu of an answer, bo sets the cake on the table before getting down on one knee, producing a velvet-bound ring box from the pocket of his new shirt.

[kabie-whump]

AJDJFJIWJDJD YOUR BAIT STORY OMFG.

May I ask for a final part, where Onthyes and Ventis comfort each other and apologize? Just overall sweetness between them with some angst? 👀 (sorry for the constant asks, I just LOVE your writing OMFG).

-- @whumperofworlds

Yes absolutely they definitely need this!

Part 1 | Part 2

Content: drugged whumpee, guilt, stitches, (oblivous) whumpee x caretaker

~~~

Ventis dozes off on the way to Onthyes's house. There's not even a second of fear that Onthyes will drop him, and he feels so safe being carried in his arms that it's easy to let the nightspill finally weigh him down into sleep.

Things are fuzzy after that as Ventis continues to drift in and out of consciousness. He feels himself being gently laid on a bed. Onthyes's scent surrounds him - warm and woody with a hint of citrus.

"The poor fucker." Shayah's voice sounds like it's miles away, but Ventis can feel her hands unwrapping the makeshift bandages covering the claw marks on his side. "He was trying so hard to stay sober."

"He'll recover." Onthyes sounds certain. How can he have so much faith in something who doesn't know how to do anything other than fuck up? "He has us. I just hope he doesn't blame himself."

Ventis lets himself drift above the soft lull of their voices. It's comforting, knowing that his friends have everything taken care of.

Then he's rudely yanked back to awareness by a stinging pain in his side. He gasps, trying to turn away from the source of the pain, but he's stopped by hands on his shoulders keeping him in place.

Ventis opens his eyes to see Onthyes's worried face hovering over him.

"I'm sorry," Onthyes says quickly. "We thought you'd stay out for longer. It will only take a minute, okay? Just try to hold still."

Ventis whines as the pain starts up again. He forces his eyes to focus enough to see what's happening, and nearly faints at the sight of Shayah pulling a length of bloody thread through his wound to hold it closed. Onthyes's hand finds his cheek quickly, turning his face so they're focused on each other.

"Don't look, Ventis. Focus on me. You're okay."

"It hurts," Ventis gasps.

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Ventis shakes his head quickly. "No, It's mine. I should've let you- ah! Fuck!"

"Sorry, breezy," Shayah murmurs. "I'm almost done."

Onthyes grips Ventis's hands tightly, letting him squeeze them despite his claws digging into his skin. "I should've protected you. I promised I would always protect you."

"You shouldn't have to."

"That doesn't matter. Even if you become the most powerful sorcerer in this world I am always going to be there to keep you safe. I swear it."

Shayah ties off the stitches and reapplies bandages, but Ventis's full attention is on Onthyes. He's exhausted and in pain and he just wants to sleep but he can only stare up at the man kneeling next to him on the bed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ventis whispers. "Why would you..." He squeezes his eyes closed. "I'm not worth it."

Onthyes makes a pained sound. "Ventis, listen to me." He lets go of Ventis's hands and grabs his face, cupping both of his cheeks. Ventis does as he's told, meeting Onthyes's ivy green eyes and finding them watering dangerously.

"You are worth so much. You are everything to me and I can't let anything happen to you. That's why I get so overbearing sometimes. I need you to be safe because you are the most important thing in my life and I can't lose you."

"But... That's not fair. I can't lose you either. Why do you get to be the one putting yourself at risk for my sake? It's selfish, Onthyes. I need you. I need you alive and by my side and not throwing yourself in front of every bad thing that comes my way."

Tears finally escape Onthyes's eyes and he wipes them away quickly with a shaky smile.

"Let's protect each other, okay?" Ventis says. "You're not my bodyguard. Not my shield or my armor. You're my best friend."

Shayah, who had been quietly putting away her suture tools, let out an exasperated groan, muttering something about "they're so fucking clueless I'm gonna kill them" as she storms out of the room.

~~~

Ventisposting taglist: @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

@unicornbeck @whumperofworlds

[redheadspark]

Heyyy How are you? It's been a while, sorry

:( I wasn't feeling so nice but I'm getting better.

About the Prompt Fall part 2, I miss Azriel!

Dear Author could I please request Azriel x female reader, for numbers 17 and 24?

Thank you so much

Sending virtual Hug!🤍❤️

Omg I just want a crush to cuddling like this:

A/N: Hello darling! I'm sorry you weren't feeling yourself, but I'm glad you're feeling better!! I'll write a sweet Azriel oneshot just for you ;)

Hold Me Close

Summary: Azriel never told anyone apart from his mate, but he was a massive cuddler.

Warnings: Fluffy

"Are we going to move from this spot anytime soon?"

"Mmmmmm...nope,"

"That's what I figured."

You nuzzled into your mate some more, breathing in his scent that was a mixture of citrus and a hint of pine along with some of his sweat from his training session at the House of Wind. You could of sworn he was going to keel over when he flew to your little home in Velaris, looking beyond exhausted and was about to collapse on your doorstep. You just tutted, bringing him inside to hold him close on your massive couch in the sitting area. it overlooked the cobbled street in the front of the house, which didn't get a lot of foot traffic but was safe and quiet. The only thing heard outside was the rustling trees from the wind that came from the towering mountains and the leaves falling onto the cobbled ground.

Autumn had come to Velaris.

You never minded it, it was rather nice to have a change of pace in the bustling city of Velaris within the Night Court. Many people were dressed in sweaters and coats, the swirling leaves made it inviting for children to jump into, and new sweet scents of treats slipping through the cracked windows of the food stalls. It was all inviting, a season of change for certain.

Azriel never minded the cold too much, he would prefer to be with his mate under the covers in your massive bed or on your couch in front of a roaring fire. he was more prone to having moments of peace and quiet after working the new Illyrian soldiers to the bone or being the Spymaster for Rhysand and Feyre. He didn't mind the work at all, anything that would help Velaris and Night Court thrive was all Azriel wanted as a member of the Inner Circle.

But with you? He didn't have to think about it too much.

You had your own duties in the Inner Circle as Mor's right hand. She kept you busy and occupied throughout the day, and you didn't mind working with her since Mor was one of your closest friends. She was one of the first ones to catch onto you and Azriel being mates, highly endorsing the pair of you together.

So it was no brainer she was your maid of honor in your wedding.

On this particular afternoon, Azriel was having your wrapped in his arms. The first layer of curtains were drawn in the sitting room, giving you the right amount of privacy to let the both of you be bare on the couch with only a quilt covering the pair of you. Sprawled on your stomach and half laying on your mate, your mind was slowing drifting and your fingers were dancing along his arms and shoulders to soothe him and let his day melt away. You both were still in your "honeymoon" phase, which seemed rather silly since it's been almost a year since you two were married. But either of you cared or wished to cool down your love and affection for one another.

It never got in the way of your jobs with the Inner Circle and for the High Lord and High Lady. While you worked, you remained poised and professional. Azriel was always cool and calm when he was on his Spymaster patrol with other Courts, and you were the same with your delegation work with Mor. But when it was just the pair of you...all bets were off.

And neither of you cared.

"Come closer, I'm cold!" You heard Azriel say next to you as he was breathing in your hair and wrapping his arms around your bare back. You grinned against his neck as you huffed closer, feeling the body warmth between the pair of rise. Azriel sighed in relief, "Much better. You're like my now personal heater,"

"That's so romantic," You joked, Azriel pinching your side to make you squeal. He laughed, the mood lightening a bit as you both were simply laying together in piece and with the cool sun about to set over the bustling city. You watched the leaves fall, the dancing reds and oranges giving the beautiful image of a painting.

"Never thought we would end up on the couch," You mused, Azriel tracing his fingers along the spine of your back, "This is a first for us, on the couch of our sitting room,"

"I've always wanted to try it," Azriel admitted, sounding so modest as you grinned widely, "Cassian did bet that we would end up on here sooner,"

"What a dick," You snorted, then moving over to rest your arms on his upper chest to look at him lovingly as you moved some of his dark locks out of his face with your fingers, "Too bad our bed is much bigger and softer....with satin sheets to boot,"

"A wonderful wedding present from our High Lady no doubt," Azriel said in agreement, searching your eyes with his hazel ones and giving you his soft smile. You shivered a bit, Azriel moving the quilt up a bit along your back to be perched over your shoulders to keep the chill away. Right after he was done with placing the quilt over you, he simply stared at you and drank in the image in front of him. His mate, bare and blissfully happy, wrapped in his arms with a sense of love and peace floating in the room. With the rosy cheeks along your skin, your hair askew and down your back from being in a braid all day long, and some small kissed marks along your neck and collarbone.

You looked beyond radiant to him.

"What is it?" You asked, leaning up a bit to touch your nose with his. He merely shook his head, nuzzling your noses together and staring into your eyes deeply as he reached up to trace your jawline with his scarred fingers, but in a delicate fashion.

"Nothing at all, my darling mate," he replied in a hum, sounding so calm himself, "I'm at peace with you here, it's all I need,"

You beamed, hearing that from his mate made your heart soar. Azriel was always one think of others before himself, to place himself last for any need. You loved that about him, but you wished to have him care of himself more. To have that sense that all was well for him, nothing to worry about or to look out for. Seeing him there, wings out and pliant as a sign of vulnerability and comfort, tussled hair and loose limbs, and his face ever showing love and contentment, it was more than enough for you.

You kissed him soundly, feeling him pull you closer as the quilt was falling down your back again as his fingers started to wander....

The End.

Fall Prompt Round 2

[sinking-into-mist]

I associate with Olli with classic incense scents patchouli or sandalwood: sweet, rich, soft, earthy. I used to burn quite a lot incense when I was younger and these were my favourite scents 💗

For Joel I'd say fresh and sporty scents, generic "blue" scent that you can find in men's shower gel 🌊

Joonas is more flower scent guy: rose, lilies or even peony 🌹

I believe both Tommi and Niko like classic manly scents, forest and smoke 🌲

Aleksi has said he has a certain vanilla and whisky scented aftershave which I'm not a fan of.. I like to think vanilla and coffee would suit him well too! ☕

THANK YOU you are a lifesaver! 💖💖 All of those sound very good and "in character"!

Sweet, rich, soft, earthy is definitely the right scent for Olli! I think the next time I go to a bigger store I'll have to find some patchouli and/or incense or maybe aftershaves containing those scents, because I'm not quite sure what they're like but you made them sound good 😄👀

I agree, fresh and sporty for Joel 👌

Ooh Joonas and flowers made me think of a shower gel I had and loved, it was rose and bergamot - such a nice scent, and would fit Joonas very well! 😊

Absolutely classic manly forest scents for both Tommi and Niko 👌 More earthy for Tommi, and maybe for Niko a hint of citrus or some flowers?

Okay I didn't remember Aleksi saying he has that aftershave, and for some reason I was imagining something more like, earthy and warm but also notes of citrus? 😄 But sure, vanilla and whisky or vanilla and coffee seem fitting too! 😄

[thetarttfuldickhead]

do you have any thoughts about the perfume/cologne/deodorant of Roy or Keeley?

Oh, Keeley’s hard, because I think she’d know a lot more about perfumes than I do, and have a far better idea of what is fashionable or not. Then again, I can also see Keeley saying fuck off to fashionable and just go with whatever floats her boat. She’s sure to have a collection of scents for different occasions, selecting what suits her mood and outfit, even if she might have a few favourites that she wears more often than others.

Generally, I’d say she leans towards very feminine and sweet scents, preferably floral and/or fruity ones, rather than very fresh or very aromatic or woody ones. Amber florals, mostly, I’m thinking, or maybe a fruity gourmand.

I’d love to say Twilly D’Hermes Eau Poivrée, because I think the aesthetic of the little bottle with a bowler hat and a colourful scarf is very much up Keeley’s alley, and I do like the symbolism of the cute packaging hiding something surprisingly spicy and strong. Unfortunately, I just can’t square the actual smell with Keeley, especially since the dry down turns rather mature (read: old-fashioned). She might pick up the Eau Ginger, for the odd occasion when she wants to go all out on the sweet candied ginger, baked goods quietly having it out with a flower bouquet. It’s rarely her first choice, though.

I can see (smell) her in Valentino Donna Born in Roma, especially when she’s gearing up for a night out or day about town. There is a woodiness to it that always gives it a hint of smoke, but there’s lot of sweet floral notes as well, and vanilla. It’s pink too, so it’d go nicely with her everything. But maybe this is something she would have primarily worn a couple of years ago, back when we first met her on the show. These days, and especially when she’s at the office or doing business, I think Gucci Guilty pour femme would be a solid choice: it’s a little less in your face, still very sweet and floral but with a hint of citrus freshness to it that makes it lighter, and a quiet undercurrent of spice that lends it a certain air of elegance and (fashionable) maturity. It’s also supposed to be for “women who are truly liberated. A modern declaration of self-expression and fearlessness” and while that’s obviously marketing bullshit it’s also very fitting for Keeley, right? It’s not her party perfume, but yeah, quite possibly her everyday office choice.

For a classic, she might turn to Coco Mademoiselle, as might we all in times of trouble. When she’s feeling the need for something a little less sweet and more purely floral (and woody), the EdT Euphoria Blossom by Calvin Klein might do (if she can get hold of it, it’s no longer produced and I’m very bitter about it), or maybe something from the Gucci Flora Gorgerous line.

Roy is far easier: it is my very learned and expert opinion that he’s recently been rocking Ralph’s Club by (you guessed it) Ralph Lauren.

It’s not a hugely original scent, perhaps, but it is very likeable and not at all boring. It’s got a freshness to it, a little sweet velvety floral layer that turns the aromatic wood into something more than just your average masculine scent. It’s sleek and casually elegant with a nice (if not extremely surprising) twist to it, and smelling it I can smell Roy. I don’t think he’d want anything too out there, but if he bothers getting a perfume at all, he still wants it to be nice and somewhat fashionable (even if he’d hate to admit it) and not just out and out traditional musky spice and wood and leather. The freshness also makes it something suitable for a well-groomed athlete even if it’s very much not a sport scent. Can be worn to any occasion, too, which I think Roy would appreciate – one bottle of perfume is plenty, thank you.

Also, it comes in a all black bottle, so yeah. My main concern is that I’m not sure that Roy would care to be part of any club of Ralph’s, but I have decided that he’ll suck it up. At least he’ll be smelling nice while sulking about it.

[litgwritersroom]

Hi! It would be lovely to read some good writing about Youcef, his smouldering, but really vulnerable character underneath all of his confidence and beauty. Maybe like a mix of season 2 and 4? Like season 4 but there is Casa Amor and the reunion after, and u know, Youcef is confessing his feeling after all this time and they catch up and have some alone time... But I would read anything about him, really, it would be wonderful, because right now there is not much stories and I'm not a talented writer, so i cant contribute to the society of fans of litg by writing. Sorry if I wrote something in a strange way, english is not my first language xd

And thank you in advance!

I wish you all Bobbies, Brunos, Angies, Jakes and Talias in your life!

CHANEL PARIS-BIARRITZ

S4 | Youcef | 2100+ words | @mrsbsmooth

Youcef's perspective. A little smut. Lots of romance.

It's not exactly what was asked for, but there are like five different fics to write in just these asks alone! However, I highly recommend Mon Amour by @rebelrayne for a S4 Youcef Rewrite.

🎵 U Remind Me - Usher 🎵

His greeting left his lips in a much deeper growl than was usual.

He could barely take his eyes off her. She seemed to move in sync with his heartbeat. 

Step. Step. Step. 

It was only a few steps before he realised it was his heartbeat that was syncing to her steps. 

He swallowed, imperceptibly, and turned his face back to Najuma. She was beautiful, of course. 

But her. 

He hadn’t come all the way to Mallorca just to find another Camille. But she reminded him so much of her. The same coffee-coloured skin he used to taste. The same long, thick hair he used to run his fingers through. The same fire in her eyes. The same playful smirk. 

Their names even started with the same letter.

Chloe.

Non.

He tore his eyes away from her. He must stop looking at her.

That was the second, and final time, for certain. 

He would not do this to himself again.

He refocused on Najuma, smiling at her, fighting with every urge in his body to look back at Chloe. She slid into the water beside Bruno, but she couldn’t have been less interested in the comedian.

He could feel her eyes on him, and he watched the oceanic blue of them caressing his body as if she was kissing it.

Merde. Looking at her again. 

The third, and final time, for certain. 

*****

Najuma was fun. Sans filter. She could not have been more different to Camille. Precisely the kind of girl he needed. But she seemed more interested in dating Chloe than in him. 

One way to find out, je suppose.

He deliberately kept his eyes locked on Najuma. But as Chloe openly agreed with him, he caught himself glancing at her again, his eyes flickering to her lips. 

Zut alors. The ninth, and final time, for certain.

Wordlessly, she floated across the hot tub, and placed herself immediately in front of him, waiting for him to pull her closer. Najuma and Bruno both ceased to exist, as he recognised her perfume immediately. 

A woman’s choice of scent, you see, says a lot about her. And Chloe’s was a letter, sealed with a press from her beautiful, lightly painted lips, and a spritz of Chanel Paris-Biarritz. 

Vibrant. Citrus-y. Fresh. Mandarin and Lily-of-the-valley.

She smelled like summer and the city; of orchards and sand, of fresh sheets and sea salt. 

Such playfulness. Such elegance. Not a hint of darkness or danger. 

It was innocence and honesty, femininity and integrity.

Oh, putain.

He reached out to her, tracing his fingers across her collarbone and down her arm. 

Where had she sprayed it? He wanted to kiss her where it lingered on her skin.

Stop, Youcef. He begged himself.

But his body betrayed him, as he took her chin in his hands, planting a kiss behind her ear, the fragrance overwhelming him. His lips wordlessly traced a line across her cheek, pressing gently over the soft dimple lingering from her enjoyment of touch.

Her innocent gaze met his, and she lifted her chin, letting her eyes half-close, a warm invitation to do with her lips whatever he pleased.

For a moment, he wondered whether he should stop. But it was only a moment, and it soon passed.

He was only a man, after all. What hope did he have of resisting the gift in the form of this woman who had floated into his arms?

He pressed his lips to hers with the confidence of a man who knew how to kiss, and kiss well.

But he couldn’t kiss her too deeply. 

He could kiss her, just this once, but then he had to resist her. She was too much of what he already knew would hurt him. And he could not allow himself to be so hurt again.

But her lips… they were so different. Instead of the cold reluctance of Camille’s, he tasted reciprocation on Chloe’s. Could he allow himself a moment to enjoy it?

Surely there was no harm in just a moment?

He allowed it for himself. Permitted himself one moment of weakness, as his hand found her waist under the water, pulling her closer to him. She brought hers to his chest, a gentle invitation to pull her as close as he wanted her. To let him know she would submit herself fully to his kiss.

How joyous it would be if one day she were his? A woman like this?

Youcef broke the kiss, smiling warmly at her, but swallowing hard. 

Non.

*****

He’d made a joke about Kobi not being his type. Chloe’s eyes sparkled, and his heart almost hurt. 

Non. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

He looked away. 

The fifteenth, and final time, for certain.

Camille’s laugh had been the most cinematic laugh in the world. It was melodic. Soft. So elegant. So feminine. As flawlessly composed and orchestrated as her outfits. She'd spent hours practising it. Perfecting it. Demanding perfection from it.

A wide smile formed on Chloe's face, and he almost braced himself for the heartbreak. 

And she snorted.

Out of her beautiful mouth came the most hideous, guttural cackle. The most deliciously flawed, awful laugh. She clapped her hand to her mouth to hide it, embarrassed by it.

Oh mon dieu. He was in love.

*****

He paced the roof terrace, shaking his hands as if they were wet. And he supposed, in some way they were, with how warm and sweaty they felt when he thought about what he was about to do.

Was he really going to do this?

Weeks. Weeks.

He’d denied her at every opportunity. He refused to believe he could fall in love with someone as quickly as he had. And from afar? While she shared a bed with another man? While he'd slept with his arm around another woman? 

How could it be?

But from their adjacent beds, they faced each other every night. He always woke up looking at her, and she always woke up looking at him. Most mornings, they lay like that, silently looking in each others direction, waiting for that brief moment just before the dawn. Where it was not dark, yet not quite light. Where he could drink in the details of her face as he looked at her, while he was still blanketed enough by the darkness to pretend that he wasn't. This morning ritual had become the best part of his day.

He’d almost told her yesterday, before her date with Dylan. But she had been hurt before, too. And he knew she needed a stability in her life that he could never give her. 

So when he looked at her, he’d cursed himself. 

The six-hundred and twelfth, and final time, for certain.

But he couldn’t hold it inside him any longer. Not after last night. Bruno had banished her to sleep outside like a dog, so he and Cora had joined her without hesitation. Somehow, during the night, Chloe had ended up in his arms. Her tear-stained face millimetres from his. He’d held her. Stroked her hair. And they’d lay silently together, their eyes fluttering open and closed as they tried to fight sleep. Because come the morning, they would go back to being just friends.

But the morning had come, and they’d lain face to face, drinking each other in like the first sips of coffee. And he knew. 

Stability or no, if he went one more day without her, he would crumble. Even the bitter sting of her rejection would be sweet relief from not knowing. 

And here, she was coming to meet him. It was evening, and the final recoupling wasn’t for hours. He had to do it now.

“Youcef?” she whispered, and he turned to her, the weight of the world suddenly featherlight as he saw her.

“Chloe” he whispered in return, taking her hand, and leading her to the benches. 

Her sapphiric eyes met his. The colour of deepest oceanic trenches. 

Almost on instinct, he turned his away. 

The six-hundred and fifty-first, and…

Non. 

He turned his eyes back to hers, deliberately looking at her with the love and honesty he should’ve shown her all along. 

He steadied himself, resolute as the words formed in his mouth. I am in love with you.

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Every time you look at me, I fall in love with you more. It’s you. It’s always been you. You’re the only one I want.”

Youcef said nothing, not taking his eyes off her. 

But he didn’t have to. 

She fell into his arms before he even had a chance to pull her into them. 

He pressed his lips to hers over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over. Again, and again, and again, and again. 

He would kiss her for every time he had to look away from her. For every time he’d had to call someone else’s name at that maudit firepit, while she stood with another. For every time her gaze had flickered to him, as he stood, already chosen by someone else. For every time someone had traced a hand on her waist. Every time someone else had kissed the lips that should’ve only been his to kiss. 

He’d never been the type to be overcome by physical need. But he needed her. It was almost as if his body was choking him with how badly he needed her. But his hands were on her, and hers on him, stripping layers from each other with a perfect balance of urgency and gentleness. 

He’d always pictured their first time being tender. Soft. An exploration to discover each other’s sensuality, coming undone hour by hour. But instead, here they were on the floor, all hands, mouths and sweat, holding each other as if they’d never have another opportunity. She flung his swim trunks across the terrace, pulling him on top of her, not caring about the soft fairy lights which illuminated their naked bodies. 

She was so ready for him, and he pressed inside her with a groan, her sweet mouth opening with a gasp, her eyebrows furrowed. And even still, he had not taken his eyes off her. He would never deny himself from looking at her again. He would look at her every day for the rest of his life.

No view from a mountain, no bluest ocean, no art, no theatre, no photograph could be as beautiful as she looked as she lay naked beneath him, coming slowly undone. 

He kissed her over and over as he thrust inside her, the most beautiful, most simple, purest act to show her how deeply he loved her. How entirely she owned him. Her hands caressed his face like she had created it, her fingers traced his hair like she'd drawn it from her dreams. 

Her soft thighs were wrapped around his waist, and she whispered his name, the sound of it sweeter than any honey or dessert he'd tasted. 

His lips parted with gentle prayers to God, the same one that hadn’t existed before he’d felt this woman underneath him. 

He’d never felt any drug, any cigarette, any wine as delicious and addictive as the way she felt as she pushed her hips back against him, whimpering, breathing heavily. 

But the truest euphoria was in her eyes. And in her voice, as she spoke the words that healed every part of him. 

“Youcef, I love you, I love you”

Her back arched, and he felt her crumbling underneath him. 

“I love you” he whispered in return, as their bodies went over the edge together, rolling in waves as they moved of their own accord, as though it was their purest and basest nature to do so. 

They lay like that for what seemed like hours, and he pressed his lips to hers, over and over. Her soft lips on his. Where they belonged, only parting to whisper the words to each other over, and over, and over. He would never tire of hearing them. 

*****

“Chloe” he said, proudly, confidently, and with zero hesitation. 

She smiled at him, walking across the firepit to stand beside him. She slipped her hand into his, and he leaned down to kiss her once more.

He lingered for a moment, bringing his lips behind her ear, and inhaling. Chanel Paris-Biarritz. 

She hadn’t worn it since the day they’d met. 

He wondered if it was especially for him. 

The sparkle in her eyes, and the gentle brush of her fingers on his told him that it was. 

He let his eyes linger on her, as he whispered it into her ear again. 

“I love you”.

The thirty-eighth time he’d told her that day. 

And he’d tell her every single day for the rest of their lives. 

Nine hundred times a day. 

For certain.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Looking at jm’s tracklist for FACE got me really surprised because the a lot of producers that posted pics with him aren’t on there (except for pdogg ofc lol)… it got me wondering if jm’s has plans on releasing whatever they worked on down the line if it wasnt scrapped… really glad abt the credit though because not only does it seem like FACE is fully in house project but we got Rm writing too (minimoni collab 💜💜💜) and most especially JM has writing credits on all of the tracks except for interlude!!! jm worked really hard and judging from the snippets we heard from the behind video, I know I’m gonna fall in love at first listen… sad that there’s no yoonmin tho, altho set me free pt 2 is potentially a callback for d2 interlude set me free. I’m looking forward to JM’s spin on it!! Some people are disappointed that the album is gonna be short but tbh jm has the least experience in writing/producing his own solo songs so I wasn’t surprised but i know for sure they’ll be quality tracks because of his historg of producing bangers. I had also been guessing that jm will be doing full promo and seeing that he has an eng vers for a track makes me certain that there are plans for us promo too!

Ive been laughing at your reply to the anon abt FACE all day bpp but it also has me delulu that maybe he’ll release a makeup line because that man can definitely sell out just from his face alone and the colors for the album itself def very similar to what brands are releasing these days… army twt def makes me delulu with all the edits too… like didnt nwjns release some kind of limited ed bag for their debut album??? imagine if one of the tannies did that…

*

Ask 2: addtnl bec i accidentally pressed the button to send the ask without finishing

seeing pdogg in the credits for FACE tho makes me kind of wary that he’ll have jm use his higher register again but seeing that this is jm’s solo album and they dont have to worry abt his voice harmonizing with the rest of the members to make tracks that work i am very hopful that we’ll hear jm’s lower register more…

i’m hoping that at least one of the dance performance will have him doing some pole work too… maybe not the whole song but like a segment of it… i’ve been watching a lot of pole dance videos and there’s a lot of beauty that can be created in it it’s truly an art form too and jm has the muscle strength to execute those moves perfectly too… i really cant wait for march!!!!

***

Hi Anon,

I loved reading this. Thanks for taking the time to lay out your thoughts so fully. But before anything else, and because I've seen this in a few places, I want to start off with one thing:

"Looking at jm’s tracklist for FACE got me really surprised because the a lot of producers that posted pics with him aren’t on there (except for pdogg ofc lol)"

It's possible those people still worked on the album. Visiting another producer can serve a myriad of purposes - those producers could have worked on the arrangement, Jimin could've used their sound engineers, recorded vocals in their studios for processing, etc. It's also possible you're right and these were initial meetings to discuss ideas and establish a relationship on which Jimin can leverage for his later music. But I'm saying this to point out we haven't seen the full credits yet. Pdogg as main producer and Jimin working with RM who has supported every solo venture Jimin has ever done, is obvious too, but we won't see the full credits until the album is out.

As for the make-up line, I think I've been saying forever that in my head, Jimin already has a fragrance house. What I want for Jimin is for him to delve headfirst into releasing a whole line of perfumes (sorry, make-up lovers). I know he loves flowers but for some reason, I imagine he smells more gourmand and musky with a hint of citrus and chypre, rather than floral scents. But yes just his face alone on any sort of palette would sell it out instantaneously lmao.

I think we're also getting a standard BTS cardboard album packaging lol. NewJeans is under Ador, not under BigHit, and we know that Ador and BigHit are fully independent sub-labels under HYBE, meaning what NewJeans does has zero bearing on anything BigHit does... for better or worse.

Your mention of pole dancing reminded me of that edit that dropped after Jimin mentioned wanting to do it for a Run episode.

(This non-Jimin is doing such a superb job)

*

Yes let's have Jimin in a skintight mesh piece showing off his full back tattoos doing an inverted crucifix move with black hair and black nails. All our synapses will misfire (and this likely has an 80% of not happening), but after writing out my own outlandish wish list for PJM1 (now, FACE), who am I to say nay?

I'm not the type to analyze album covers, concept photos, or even album/song descriptions so I don't have much to say right now, until I actually hear the music. After the initial excitement, I'm now stuck in this 'let's wait and see' limbo, but I do have certainty about one thing:

Jimin is coming to fuck all of us up.

[key-lime-soda]

RE: resippy tiem :)

Okay, so what I said earlier in that one response to that one ask: It was like... almost sorta an overstatement when I said that I had multiple recipes prepared, as 1) I have many more for Maiko (which I will elaborate on tomorrow or something, it's getting kinda late) 2) I don't have like... exact recipes? More like, general ingredients and ideas that'd fit together for Jackson, which I normally forget but I very likely will look through the Jackson Trace Time Tab (doesn't exist, i'll just look back at like. what i've seen of him) and I can gather more ideas coherently then and 3) It often isn't like! A full recipe! Sometimes I just look at some of Jackson's dialogue and go "Hm. Yeah. That's a grilled answer if I've ever seen one." and then go on with my day.

Anyways! Going back to Maiko's Recipes, (not sure if I even brought that up) you once said that she enjoyed making french toast of sorts: I think that she'd like to ham that stuff up with decorations, just because like! I think she's somewhat of an overachiever in an early stage, and also she cares about the appearance of something quite a lot-- that's what being too invested in cooking competitions can do to someone, man. Citing this ask, Maiko enjoys rice pudding and french toast, implying she enjoys sweet foods with a strong savory undertone, and ones that start out simple but can be modified to the chef and eater's likes and dislikes- which I think shows the level of care between father and daughter here, even in a miniscule way.

Before this, from this ask, the wording of how Maiko wants to join a cooking competition somewhat implies that she favors cooking over baking (or at least that's how I interpreted it) which may be in part due to nurture, Jackson favoring savory, more 'fast-acting' foods over sweeter pastries, with some exceptions, the exceptions being that he seems like the type to go to a local bakery for a croissant when he was busy with work. This might also be a hint into Jackson's personal preferences in food- like I might have mentioned offhandedly before, he seems like the dude to like warmer foods, and also more spicy foods. And like. Based in grains and stuff? He also isn't like, super-heavily carnivorous, not eating meat more than??? Once a day?? But that's just straight up headcanon territory. Also-- So many sauces are just... so fitting for Jackson. I had an actual recipe earlier, but I doubt I could find it in my mindscape now.

One of the recipes I had laid out for him was almost a sort of birria taco? But weird, with more vegetables, a greater citrus-y (specifically lime) presence and a thicker broth. Like. A rich, multi-leveled flavor with a solid base sorta dish. I think the meat inside the weird taco (like i MIGHT have said, i can never describe these recipes thinking back on them) was chicken, which doesn't say much other than I like chicken tacos.

ANYWAYS this was a long and rambly ask, really sorry about how incomprehensible this is, i'll probably swoop back in with more recipe stuff tomorrow-ish? Because i am Tired and Not Thinking As Precisely As I Should Be- Goodnight!

(also sorry if I mischaracterized either of the guys mentioned in this-- i tend to get lost in my own headcanons with characters, very sorry if this did happen)

wow ok that's a lot to unpack (I'm smiling like an idiot btw)

your way of interpreting characters is so interesting??? like u think of food components when you hear certain things. I'm gonna study u so much cuz that's really cool. I think I kinda do the same but with colors? I hear noises and think of colors if that makes sense.

also I love ur headcanons. plz never apologize for making them, it makes me so happy. I'd say half of them are right tbh so congrats!!

few response notes! :3

Maiko would definitely go all out and make the fanciest French Toast ever. She wants to make her dad proud, y'know? And as much as he appreciates it, he still inhales the whole thing in like 3 minutes because this man is always late for work.

Rice pudding is like a comfort food for her. Reminds her of Jackson cuz he's the one who always makes it for her. She likes to make French Toast because it's Jackson's favorite breakfast. He probably doesn't like it too sweet though.

She does favor cooking over baking because she hates using an oven. It's so hot inside and has a risk of burning yourself and that scares her. If your properly trained, you can easily avoid burning yourself with a stove (as long as you avoid hot oil too, which isn't her forte either)

Her love of cooking came from watching cooking shows all day when she was really little. Cartoons only play in the mornings back then so she'd watch a Food Network kind of channel in the afternoons. Maiko is autistic, and cooking is her special interest.

Jackson actually does really like meat. Beef is probably his favorite. He doesn't eat it that often because he's not that wealthy and can't afford it (remember: he's a private detective who gets paid the bare minimum, and lives with a college student. they're both broke losers)

He definitely eats a lot of rice. Inherited from his dad, who grew up on a rice farm.

that taco goes hard /pos

this was fun, I'd love to do this again <333

[sexysauron]

Review #1: Alberta Premium

Alberta Distillers Limited (ADL) has garnered a reputation as the darling distillery of folks who enjoy rye, North and sometimes even South of the border. Indeed, ADL’s focus is on rye; it is a specialty of theirs. All rye, or as near to it as matters. A good deal of what they make ends up exported to the U.S., where it is treated to a relabelling and a fierce markup (looking at you Whistle Pig). But at home they have a reputation for making solid whisky, available at a respectable price in their Alberta Premium label.

As ever in Canadian whisky, we’re short on tangible details. The bottle itself offers no age statement, but their website claims this to be at least five years of age. (Take that with a grain of salt.) What is certain is this is one hundred per cent rye. ADL claims to use “one of three distillation processes” in the creation of their products. That’s ambiguous, but I’d guess one process uses a column still, distilling to a high proof base spirit; another would use a pot still to create a more flavourful spirit. It is traditional Canadian whisky-making practice for these whiskies – base and flavour – to then be blended in varying proportions. So, does this offering hold up to scrutiny? Let’s find out!

Alberta Premium Alberta Distillers Alberta Rye Age: NAS ABV: 40%

Price paid (MLCC): $25.75 Reviewed: 2023-02-02

Colour: Dark Yellow

Nose: Distinct grain-y, bread-y rye; orange zest follows. Then clove and buttered toast. Rich toffee. Slight floral note. Linger too long and a vodka-like note asserts itself.

Palate: Candied orange peel and baking spice; peppermint candy cane. Toffee and vanilla. Green apple skin.

Finish: Citrus peel, vanilla, and a hint of green apple. Vodka comes up fast.

Well, there’s certainly things to enjoy in this. But is it some exemplar of quality or of value? Hardly. It’s anemic, with a thin mouth feel. Particularly off-putting is the vodka-like note that arises on the nose, and on the finish. It shows this to be a young, rough whisky that is nevertheless muted where it counts: in the breadth and depth of flavour.

Score: 2 out of 5

Every few years I buy another bottle of this to give it a try, apparently forgetting just how poor a whisky it is. Hopefully now I’ll remember and not restock it. Up next is Alberta Premium Cask Strength.

Scoring Guide 1 out of 5: Terrible; no redeeming qualities, just say no. 2 out of 5: Poor; possesses qualities that detract, fodder for mixers. 3 out of 5: Mediocre; middle-of-the-road whisky, sippable but perhaps better in a cocktail. 4 out of 5: Good; a solid pour, enjoyable neat and outstanding in a cocktail. 5 out of 5: Superb; continues to surprise and delight, something to cherish.

[silver-weasel]

Body & Soul (BKDK x Reader)

Pairing : Bakugou x reader x Deku (aged-up characters)

Rating : E, 18+

Tags : Fem reader, use of the pronouns ‘she / her’ | PWP | established relationship | polyamory | threesome | praise kink | a bit of degradation (more like them being condescending little shits, but no insults) | edging | oral sex (f & m receiving) | facefucking (kind of) | uhh double-teaming?? | excessive use of petnames | Just the boys manhandling you into oblivion | I'm a whiny sub and it shows in my fics < that should be an AO3 tag | Some shippy moments because I can’t help myself 😌 | This is so self-indulgent huh | Guys life's too short to choose just one

Word count : 8842 [AO3]

Summary : Just a little birthday present your sweet boyfriends planned for you.

A/N : It's been literal months, and wow, it’s finally out. So have these 8K of filth while I write something bigger and with an actual plot. Thank you to @hoe-doroki​ for beta-reading and dealing with my pervy ass <3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The slam of your apartment door echoes like a thundering gong bringing a boxing match to an end. A second after, you can almost hear the emptiness, the calm your home is so suddenly falling back into. A worn-out sigh passes the barrier of your lips to crash against the solid wood of your front door.

You came home around 7PM, drained from a rough patrol, to your friends—and boyfriends—waiting for you with a great surprise party. You can’t say you weren’t at least half expecting it, but it still warmed your heart to no end, seeing everyone there to celebrate in your honor. And it was a great night: all good laughs and cool music and class A shenanigans, as usual. But fuck, is the quiet of an empty apartment relaxing without Kaminari and Mina’s masterfully executed karaoke, or without Katsuki’s relentless yelling for Sero to “get your damn smelly feet off the fucking table, you filthy son of a bitch”.

Speaking of, as soon as you turn around to take a painful glance around your absolute chaos of a living room, you see no sign of either of your boyfriends. Katsuki is fussy, and Izuku is not a quitter—they won’t let you clean up this mess on your own, especially on your birthday. Still, maybe a little reminder wouldn’t hurt:

“Guys! Come on, there’s so much to clean up. I’ll do the dishes, you’ll just have to tidy up this mess!”

You only get silence for an answer, but you don’t bother waiting for too long. It’s about 1AM and you still have so much to do. You grab most of the used plates all over the room and head to the kitchen, getting straight to it. You don’t get halfway down your gigantic pile of dishes before you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist in a loving grip.

If the gesture itself didn’t betray him, you would easily recognize him by smell alone. Pine trees and a hint of citrus—Izuku is living proof that you can smell like a color. The freshness of it coats your space in a dizzying cloud as he nuzzles the side of your neck. It comes out muffled, warm and enticing when he speaks into the sensitive skin there. “Aren’t you coming to bed with us, honey?”

He sounds like a man with a plan—one he’s certain you’re going to follow. You keep your hands busy, scrubbing one plate after another, trying not to let yourself get distracted.

“We still gotta clean up all this mess, Izu. We can’t just leave it all like this.” You try to sound as firm as possible, to pretend the magnetic heat of him against your back doesn’t affect you.

“But you can’t clean up before you get all your presents,” he breathes directly in your ear, because this little shit knows you wouldn’t hesitate to jump off a bridge if he asked you that way.

That pokes at both your curiosity and at the warm feeling leisurely creeping between your legs. As if his intentions weren’t clear enough, his rough, calloused hands slip up beneath your shirt, letting his fingertips graze at the skin of your stomach. It sends a surge of shivers down your whole body.

“You know it’s not my birthday anymore?” you laugh, nodding towards the clock at the kitchen’s side wall.

“The day is not over until we say so, angel,” he whispers, and the warm air it blows at the side of your neck crashes like a hot wave flooding through your core.

This guy is a literal rabbit. It must be his hidden quirk, there is no other plausible explanation. Undeniably the horniest out of you three, and God knows that’s saying something.

Giving up on the dishes in admitted defeat, you set the one you’re holding aside before turning around to face Izuku. His arms haven’t left your waist, still firmly looped around you. Now that you’re facing him, you catch a glint of something in his bright eyes, an impish glow that’s not really like him. You feign a dramatic, exasperated sigh.

“I don’t have that much of a choice, do I?” you say, unable to repress a sly grin.

Your fate is sealed with a little shake of his head and a satisfied twist of his lips. Your feet are lifted from the floor, drawing a high yelp out of you, followed by a giggle as soon as your legs wrap around his hips. Just the familiar feel of his hands digging in the flesh of your thighs makes you wonder how you could’ve been reluctant in the first place. Your arms circle his neck and you take a deep breath in the curly mess of hair at his nape, high on the invigorating smell. He walks you to the bedroom in a few strides and you’re unceremoniously tossed on the bed.

The moment your back hits the mattress feels like falling into the lion’s den. And the predator’s menacing gaze falls over you, upside down, in the form of two clear-cut rubies, sharp enough to cut your skin and paint it in the very same color.

Harsh fingers take a firm grip on your jaw and you can’t look anywhere but into those threatening eyes.

“Looking for me, princess?” His voice is deep, raw, as sweet as his smell. It fills your lungs and pools into a honey puddle deep in your belly.

“Hm. I was starting to think you were avoiding cleaning. Wouldn’t have been nice of you.”

His grip on your jaw tightens, unyielding, making you yelp again.

“I don’t avoid anything, you brat.”

Refusing to lose yet another staring contest, you can only feel your shirt riding up to your chest and Izuku’s entrancing mouth dropping sweet kisses up and down your stomach. He barely lifts his head to chime in, “We wouldn’t let our dear princess do all the cleaning on her birthday, would we, Kacchan?”

“We won’t let her clean, but we damn well can shut that smartass mouth up.”

Katsuki’s grin is all sharp canines and predatory threat as he leans down closer, your noses almost touching. His next words are only whispers but hold the authority of a leader’s command:

“Get on your knees.”

You can’t repress the challenging gaze you shoot him, just for the sake of pride. You must be looking very intimidating right now from your place under him. Hell, you probably look silly upside down. Katsuki doesn’t look silly upside down, though. He looks just as gorgeous, as magnetic, as ever.

With an authoritative raise of his eyebrow, you finally oblige. You stand on your knees between them, facing Izuku and feeling Katsuki like a menacing shadow right behind you.

You barely get the time to kneel straight before two scarred hands cup your face and pull you into a kiss. It’s as sweet as always—languid and passionate, mesmerizing, his lips speaking volumes without a sound escaping them, with the exception of a few moans and whimpers.

You melt into the kiss instantly, relishing the embers his hands are igniting down your sides and burying your own fingers into his hair. Another pair of hands soon makes an appearance on your hips while another mouth assaults your neck with open-mouthed kisses and ferocious bites. His hungry lips trace the column of your neck like an animal would, and it sounds like a growl when he whispers, “You don’t think I’m gonna let Deku have you all for himself, do you?”

Your face is forced away from Izuku with a rough grip on your chin and a high squeal escapes you as he takes over your mouth, angry and dominant. It’s all tongue and teeth with Katsuki, his own way of claiming you all over again, every single time.

Your skirt rides up your thigh with a stroke of his other hand, meanwhile Izuku takes advantage of your exposed neck to bury his face there, mouthing at your throat and slipping his hands under your shirt. His fingers gently graze your sides before settling on your ribs to thumb at the undersides of your breasts.

They’ve got you drenched already, dripping so much into your panties it’s getting uncomfortable. Your hands are gripping both their hair but you let go as soon as you feel Izuku’s hands pulling your shirt up to peel it off. You’re left panting as you part from Katsuki's mouth and your shirt is sent flying.

It dawns on you that the two of them are still fully dressed, but the tentative hands you raise to reach up and start unbuttoning Izuku’s shirt are immediately slapped away, courtesy of Katsuki.

“You’re not getting us naked before you are, princess.” His voice is a low grumble, leaving no room for discussion. His fingers brush against your back when he unclips your bra before letting Izuku gently slide the straps down your arms and throw it to join your shirt.

“Kind of unfair, isn’t it?” You try not to get flustered from the nakedness of your chest and raise an eyebrow at Izuku, but you’re not addressing him. Not only, at least.

“If you wanted fair, maybe you should have thought about that before dating the two of us.” Katsuki’s voice is scornful, mocking. It makes your inner brat want to riot but brings the good girl you want to be down to her knees.

He grabs the zip of your skirt, before Izuku stops him.

“Wait, Kacchan. Leave the skirt, I…I like her like this.” His voice is soft, quiet and shaky like he’s not announcing your little skirt makes him hard as wood.

You don’t see him, but you can feel Katsuki smirking behind you.

“You dirty little perv.”

Izuku gets closer, his hands back on your waist, mumbling so low Katsuki must’ve barely heard him. “Can’t help it, she’s so hot dressed like this.” His hand creeps up your inner thigh, a light stroke that makes you hold a whimper as he leans into you, tantalizingly close as he all but whispers, “Did you dress up just for us, angel? You know what you’re doing to us when you dress like this, don’t you?” You can only nod in response, can only lock your hazy gaze in Izuku’s as your audacity to answer dies in your throat.

“Brat fucking knows what she’s doing. She’s practically begging for this.”

You shoot Katsuki a heated glare over your shoulder, but Izuku guides your face back to him with a tender hold of your chin, only to drop a soft peck on your lips. Then another at the corner of your mouth. Another at your cheek. A few ones at your jaw, multiple down your neck and collarbones. The lower he wanders, the bolder his mouth gets. The wet heat of his tongue peeks out and reaches your nipple. A light gasp escapes you as he starts sucking at it, squeezing your other breast with a hand so gentle despite its roughness.

It gets hungrier, messier and you’re pressed harder against Katsuki’s firm chest and the soft cotton of his button-up shirt. He’s ferociously nipping at your ear as his hands wander lower down your hips. Slipping over your short skirt, then under, where he keeps his fingers teasing over the fabric of your panties.

His finger dragging just above your clit creeps up on you like the first strike of lightning—you saw the storm building up for hours, but the white flash still startles you. And thunder rumbles with the echoing sound of his low chuckle in reaction to your pathetic sob. His fingers trail lower and lower, until it reaches the pad of fabric at your crotch.

“Fuck, dripping already?” he mocks, though you’re sure it copiously feeds his starving ego.

The lips around your nipple turn into teeth at Katsuki’s words, not without a muffled whine.

“Want me to leave her panties on too, Deku?” Katsuki scoffs in a tone of faux complaisance, his fingers hooking into the elastic of your underwear.

Izuku speaks against your breasts, his lips brushing your hardened bud with every word. “Don’t be like that, Kacchan. I know you like it as much as I do.”

“Damn right I do.”

“Can you two stop talking like I’m not here? You know, if you’re not focused enough I might end up disappointed.”

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Maybe you should have seen it coming but you absolutely don’t before you’re suddenly manhandled and whipped around like you don’t weigh more than a ragdoll. Katsuki’s knee bumps your thigh aside so that your legs part and you land on your butt on Izuku’s lap. You’re now facing Katsuki, and he’s sporting this signature feral grin that makes you think you should have shut up for once.

Your panties are literally ripped off you, the poor piece of fabric flying out of the way. You are only left with your extremely short excuse of a skirt that’s doing a terrible job at covering you, especially since it rides up with every bump of Izuku’s hard-on against your lower back.

One holds your arms back as the other sets your ankles on his broad shoulders, both in firm grips you can’t escape. Katsuki speaks between your legs, the cool air of his words blowing over your most intimate parts. 

“I’ll make sure you regret the attitude, princess.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he dives in. His gaze is proud and menacing—he’s so confident in his ability to ruin you, and God knows he should be.

The first lick of his tongue makes you short-circuit, hot and sharp, snaking through you and it’s only the start of a maddening series. Your head drops back onto Izuku's shoulder, and he isn’t one to let such an opportunity go to waste—his mouth runs fond but ardent trails on the exposed skin of your neck.

Both your hands reach out to bury in their respective hair, grabbing a handful of each, pulling a bit with every flick of Katsuki’s tongue. Katsuki’s hair is prickly and dry under your palm, a feeling you’ve gotten used to during all the times you’ve grabbed it while he drove you to madness, just like right now. Izuku’s hair is so soft, on the other hand, because he just washed it, but it tends to get greasy faster. And it is a mess, a wild nest of heavy curls that fall so naturally all over his face, it makes you wonder how you’ve never seen a bird coming out of here.

Katsuki’s mouth is demonic, merciless. His eyes are fixed on his prey, relentless and focused. He knows exactly where to target and when. Every move, every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips and vibration from his throat is deliberate, a savage intention to tear you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but a mess of slick and breathy moans.

Still, you keep your lips tightly pressed. The urge to make noise, expressing your pleasure is overwhelming, truly. But you’re still a bit self-conscious about moaning shamelessly in front of not one man but two. You trust them with your life, but your pride always holds you back a bit from being loud. Until they decide they won’t have any of that anyway. A series of whines and hisses works up and dies in your throat as Katsuki toys with your clit with the tip of his tongue.

A light, but loud slap spreads tingles into the flesh of your thigh and you open your eyes—you didn’t even realize they were closed—only for them to fall over Katsuki’s all-consuming gaze between your thighs. His mouth doesn’t stop, still unrelenting on you.

“I think he wants you to stop holding back, angel. We both do.” Izuku’s mouth is running up to talk against your jaw, about as determined as the one between your legs. “You can let go for us, honey. Do you trust us?”

Your frantic nod comes without an ounce of hesitation. Of course you trust them. You wouldn’t hesitate to put your life in the palm of their hands after all.

Izuku has a low giggle at that. Devilishly cute.

“Perfect, then show us.”

Katsuki lets his tongue leave your clit only to wrap his lips around it and suck, hard.

Your lips part with a mind of their own, and the sound escaping them is nothing short of sinful. And it’s only the first of an escalating series, your inhibitions flying out the window as they both double their efforts to unravel you.

“There it is, such a good girl. Show Kacchan he’s doing a good job. He loves to hear you say it.”

Katsuki revels in every single one of your reactions, he really does. But what Izuku forgets to mention—because he knows you’re perfectly aware of it—is that he loves to hear you react to Katsuki’s ministrations even more. There are only two places where you witnessed Izuku going absolutely feral. On the battleground, facing a villain he’s about to Detroit Smash into a brick wall. And on this very bed, feeling the vibrations of Katsuki’s name when you softly whimper it into his mouth.

But you don’t even need to put on a show: when Katsuki eases a finger inside you, something in you snaps and you get loud. Both your hands tighten their grip on their hair, and Izuku grabs your jaw to lead you into a sloppy kiss. ‘Kiss’ being a fancy word for screaming ridiculous mixes of their names—you’re trying your best—into his mouth. The hand that’s not holding your face keeps a harsh grip on your breast, then runs down on your stomach to grasp the fabric of your skirt so tight his knuckles are turning white.

Izuku’s rutting against the round curve of your ass, his mouth leaving yours to pant hot air at your nape and if Katsuki’s mouth wasn’t already pushing you to tumble on a path to delirium, that alone probably would.

“God, angel, the sounds you make—”

Katsuki’s finger is joined by another, instantly dragging in and out against that spot that gets you boiling inside, and that he always finds too damn fast. Your walls tighten, your breath cuts right in your throat. There’s only a silent scream between Izuku’s open mouth and your own. The sturdy roots of Katsuki’s hair are put to a challenging test under your grip.

Then everything stops.

Katsuki’s mouth parts from you and your whole world feels empty. You consider yelling your rage, giving that bastard a piece of your mind, but, in your cloudy haze, all that comes out is a whiny, ridiculous, “Nooo, Katsuki, why would you do that?”

Your hand is snatched out of his hair and the pure intensity of his gaze all over you cuts any intention of throwing a tantrum, even when Izuku’s low giggle at your misery feels a lot like fuel to your seething fire. Katsuki keeps his tone impassive as he says, “Trust me princess, when you do cum it’ll be hard enough to send you into another dimension.”

Izuku chimes in before you get to say anything, and when you catch the honeyed purr of his voice into your ear, “Kacchan, gimme a taste,” you’re so grateful he did.

An obscene smirk stretches Katsuki’s godly features, still glistening with your juices under the dim light of your bedroom.

Their lips collide just above your shoulder. It’s magnetic and inevitable. And it is messy—both their faces are now dripping with your slick. Izuku takes everything with outrageous hunger, his tongue swirling around Katsuki’s, not missing a single drop of you. He hums into the kiss, buries a hand into Katsuki’s hair that’s welcomed with a low and guttural groan, and you—you’ve never been wetter in your entire life.

It’s in moments like this that you truly feel like the luckiest dumbass on this entire planet. You never get tired of witnessing this—them. Together. Of being blessed with the holy sight of their noses brushing as they shift angles, of Izuku’s shameless moans and Katsuki’s sharp hisses, of their smiles, warm, fond against each other’s mouth. It’s something they’ve both worked so hard for, they deserve it—deserve each other’s love and your own and so much more.

When they finally part, you’re feeling dizzy, like you were the one kissed out of breath. Izuku speaks against Katsuki’s mouth, eyes half-lidded and voice throaty with lust. “God, I wanna taste her.”

“Go right ahead, nerd.”

Izuku pets a gentle hand in your hair, the cotton clothing his chest still pressed against your back. "Whaddya say, angel? Wanna sit on my face?”

You raise a sassy eyebrow at him, a bitter taste persisting on the tip of your tongue. “Will I get to actually cum this time?”

“If you behave, we’ll see about that,” Katsuki snaps in his place, from the side of the bed where he’s now standing and already going for the first top buttons of his shirt. Judging by his amused grin, the glare you try to shoot him probably looks more like a childish pout than anything menacing.

You feel Izuku shifting to lay down behind you, caging you between those massive—still clothed—thighs of his. Your eyes follow Katsuki’s fingers working each button open, finally revealing his toned torso for your fascinated eyes and it’s embarassing how you can’t stop staring. The bright white fabric slides down his arms, following each and every curve of ripped muscle, every vein and every scar marking his skin—

And it’s a condescending whistle that gets you to finally look back up to meet the same sly grin that hasn’t left his damn gorgeous face. You take the twist of his index as an order to turn around and take your place on Izuku’s face, so you do.

As soon as you straddle his freckled cheeks, he’s looking up at you like you invented beauty, the bright emerald of his eyes turning into something dark and fervid. The telltale clang of Katsuki’s belt reaches your ears, followed by the unmistakable thump of fabric crashing to the wooden floor—it all makes you twitch above Izuku’s waiting mouth. His hands run up your thighs in a languid stroke and you finally take your seat. His eyes are sparkling with lust as he meets you halfway, lifting his head a bit, so eager to finally get you on his lips.

It’s sloppier with Izuku, like he’s making out with your intimate parts. He eats you out like a feast, like a starved man who’s suddenly offered a whole buffet and forgets how to use cutlery. A raw, hungry ‘mmm’ resonates through your core, sending vibrations all over you. You look down at him, pulling your skirt up and all you see are half-lidded, mesmerized green eyes.

The tips of his fingers sink deeper and deeper in the soft flesh of your hips and he’s willing to take everything from you, drinking at the source with his eyes closed like he just found the Fountain of Youth, and he’s not letting go until he’s drained it dry. His skin is growing a pretty shade of pink under his freckles as he forgets all about breathing.

He’s pushing his tongue inside you, deliberately avoiding your clit because he knows it’ll get you to ride his face at some point. It does, like every time: your hips move on their own, rocking over him and he thanks you with a pleased mewl vibrating through your whole being and a ravenous suck on your clit.

“Oh God, Izuku, just like that...fuck—yes!”

The high wail of your last word almost covers the other ring of a belt that resonates through the steamy air of the room. But you heard it just fine, and as your eyes meet Izuku’s, you figure he also did. His wide, wet eyes are looking up at you with something that looks like panic. In a second his lips let go of you as his head falls back and ‘obscene’ doesn’t even begin to describe the moan that passes his shiny lips.

“Fuuuck, Kacchan…”

You turn around as much as the position lets you, and what you find there makes you clench instantly: Izuku’s cock stands free, rising from his open zipper and pulled down briefs, shining with pre-cum and the wet trail Katsuki just left over the whole length of it. Katsuki’s leaning over him, focused, working his tongue over and around the tip, redder than ever. He didn’t even notice you, unashamedly staring.

He took the time to open Izuku’s shirt all the way down, letting you admire the erratic rise and fall of his stomach with every erratic pant. The sight is breathtaking and, feeling the grip of Izuku hands on your hips, there’s nothing you can do to contain your high, desperate whine.

Katsuki eyes rise on you, quick and sharp, and pure mischief lights up his eyes instantly. You catch the glimpse of a smirk right before he speaks. “Like what you see, princess?”

Your lips are parted but no sound comes out; your nod is barely conscious.

“That’s too bad, because you don’t get to watch.” He shifts to land a hard smack on your ass, making you wail in what you cannot really identify between pain and pleasure.

“Be a nice girl and turn around to focus on what’s in front of you.” His lips brush against Izuku’s rock hard cock with every word, and judging by the little whimpers under you, Izuku’s probably feeling every single one of them.

“And you damn nerd better get back to work. That pussy ain’t gonna lick itself.”

Izuku pulls you back to his mouth with a bruising grip on your ass and a muffled moan for an answer. As if the sound alone wasn’t enough, when you turn around, you’re blessed with the hottest picture you ever laid your unworthy eyes on.

Izuku’s gaze is back on you, a teary, unexpected mix of panic and determination, but focused like he was never distracted, his brows curving in a slight frown that strains harder as soon as Katsuki is back on him. You can almost read his every move on Izuku’s cock, the face between your legs growing redder, the hands on your ass spilling flesh between splayed fingers.

One of his scarred hands runs up your ass to stroke the small of your back, pushing you closer to him, willing to suffocate in your heat and die a happy man. The harder Katsuki goes on him, the louder he gets against you, his every noise reverberating against and into you in a delicious echo.

His shoulders and chest bump up against your ass repeatedly with every thrust into Katsuki’s face. The feeling fills your hazy mind like thick smoke; Izuku’s desperate hips rising and falling, hitting Katsuki’s nose, his ribs beginning to show, stretching the freckled skin of his abdomen. It’s all wild imagination only, since you can’t see anything aside from half of Izuku’s burning face, but that alone tells you all you need to know about what’s going on behind you. You let your fingers lazily run through his bangs, pushing them back so you get the total view of his gorgeous face in all its flushed glory. 

You’re openly riding his face now, your soft whimpers growing into desperate wails as you come closer to your well deserved orgasm and, apparently, so does Izuku. His muffled cries grow in intensity with every second, and your gentle push of his hair grows into a harsh tug. His nose wrinkles, hitting your clit while his tongue slows down on your slit every time Katsuki does something a little bolder. But it speeds back up with renewed vigor, every single time, dragging all the way up to your clit.

“Ah—P-Please, Zuku, baby, please…”

Maybe it's Katsuki's raw groan behind you in reaction. Maybe it’s the glorious sight of Izuku’s eyes—the intense black of his pupils eating up the pretty green of his irises. Maybe it’s a bit of both, but it all throws you over the edge with such violence your knees almost give out.

And well, Katsuki didn’t lie earlier. You’re given a glimpse of heaven as you ride your orgasm on Izuku’s face. From what you can see from your place, he’s coming too, hard, wiggling under you but pulling you tighter against his face, digging his nails into your hips hard enough to bruise for a week. You’re crying with pleasure, your moan long, desperate and joining Izuku’s own muffled scream between your legs.

You’re not given a second to come down from your high. Two strong hands pull you back by the hips and you’re snatched out of Izuku’s grip before you find yourself straddling his waist. Katsuki’s massive forearm comes to loop around your middle, cutting the air right out of your lungs as he slams your back against his chest. His hand grips at your skirt, slips under it and flicks it up, letting the scorching heat of his cock tease the delicate skin of your ass. Leaving a hand on your hip to hold the fabric up, he lets the other crawl back to your jaw, keeps you from turning around and forces your face ahead, your dazed eyes naturally falling over Izuku’s exhausted form laying there, entirely bare aside from his shirt spread open.

A warm, panting breath settles by your ear as Katsuki speaks right into it. “Maybe I should thank Deku for getting you all ready for me.”

His words are punctuated by a rock of his hips against your ass, slow, languid. The massive length of him stands against you like a threat, like a promise, and it makes you whimper for it.

Izuku’s eyes are now fixed on you, an enthralled expression tinting his wide eyes and parted lips, still glimmering with your slick up to his nose.

Katsuki enters you without warning, the both of you straddling Izuku’s hips as he fills you full. You’re dripping with slick and spit and lust so he slides right in, but that doesn’t make the stretch any easier to handle. He gives you the time to adapt, the harsh hand on your jaw dropping to your breast in a stroke so gentle it almost makes you forget how hard he usually fucks, and how it shouldn’t be any different today. Just the thought of it makes a grin crack on your face and your walls clench around him, earning a deep groan. He’s thumbing at your nipple, a tender gesture that makes you melt on your knees.

One of your hands reaches up to scratch the short hair at his nape, which he knows means that he can move, so he does. He sets a slow pace, just dragging in and out, his nose brushing against your neck, breathing you in.

Your eyes fall over Izuku, who’s getting visibly hard by the second, half-lidded eyes drifting down to where your body and Katsuki’s join while the sheets crease under his grip. A hint of warm air hits the side of your neck with Katsuki’s chuckle. 

“How’s the view from down there, nerd?”

Izuku’s eyes lift, switching between yours and Katsuki’s, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sits up, never breaking eye contact, and peels out of his shirt with such urgency, you swear you caught a glimpse of green lightning. With a mind of its own, his hand reaches down to his own cock to stroke it lazily as he speaks against your jaw, his voice surprisingly deep, “So freaking amazing.”

The words go straight down to your pussy like they never even passed by your ears. You don’t even acknowledge how loud you moan until you hear the both of them chuckle with pride. Katsuki’s thrusts are getting faster, stronger too, and a sloppy, lewd rhythm soon bounces against the walls of your shared room.

“Are you really gonna let Deku take care of this by himself? Come on baby, the least you can do is be a good girl and help him out.”

You’re almost sent flying over Izuku with a particularly harsh thrust and you’re not very proud of the squeal that escapes you as you barely manage to hold yourself up on your hands. Izuku’s back hits the mattress, but he still has the reflex to hold your shoulders so you don’t tumble all over him.

Katsuki doesn’t stop pounding into you for a second, still going faster. Holding yourself up on one hand, you reach down to grab Izuku with the other, immediately catching up to the pace he set himself. Now that both his hands are free, Izuku reaches up to cup your face, looking up at you with adoring eyes, so bright and tender and loving.

“God, baby...You look gorgeous when you get fucked like this,” he coos as one of his hands trails up to bury in your hair. You cry out at both his words and Katsuki’s hips, now hitting your ass with every thrust in an unwavering rhythm. You tighten your grip around Izuku, rubbing your thumb over his tip. His head falls back on the pillow, his hair a halo of green softness spread over the linen.

“Hnnn, yes, keep going, angel...feels so good—”

That’s when Katsuki decides it’s a good moment to speed up again. The strength he’s charging on your abused pussy grows up with every slap of skin against skin, and it hits just right every single time. You’re a mess between them, a puddle of cries and whimpers. Another particularly hard thrust makes you lose balance again but this time, you crumble head first on Izuku’s chest, your nose bumping one of his collarbones as you accept your fate and just stay there, both your hands weakly gripping his shoulders.

A sharp scoff strikes behind you: “Oh, baby can’t even stand on all fours?”

“Don’t be mean, Kacchan!”

“But she loves it when I’m mean!” You might as well have heard his sly grin in the tone of his voice. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”

His mocking, condescending tone sends a sharp strike of electricity though your whole body. It takes the strength to answer right away from you. But Katsuki never takes silence for an answer. You’re pulled right back up against him with a tug on your hair and an arm looped around your waist, his hard chest hitting your back with every slap of his hips. He growls right into your ear, his tone menacing:

“You know what I think? I think you got the nerve not to answer me because you know I hate that shit, and you know it’s gonna make me get even meaner. And since it’s such a special day, I think I can oblige.”

But he doesn’t speed up, just goes even harder on you—it feels like his cock actually pounds your brain. Izuku takes himself back in hand to the sound of your moans, higher and higher, louder and louder. He’s looking up at you with wonder in his eyes, stroking himself faster as Katsuki ruins you right over him.

“Just look at him. So desperate to fuck you, to finally slip his pretty cock into you. Well, he’s gonna have to wait until I’m finished with you.”

Which shouldn’t take long, judging by Katsuki’s breathless grunts and his hand creeping down to reach your clit.

“‘Suki, please, I’m—ah!—I’m almost there—there, yes! Oh my God, right there!”

“Give us another one, baby, you can do it, c’mon…”

With a few rubs of his finger you’re gone, clenching around him with a high-pitched wail. Your first orgasm submerged you like a warm wave, gently flooding all over you. This time it hits you, and it’s nothing gentle—it feels like drowning, makes your head fall back, your voice weakened and the air cut right in your throat.

Katsuki comes with a grunt, a “Holy fuck,” and a grip on your hips tight enough to mark skin. He fills you full of him, fucking his seed inside you with a last few thrusts.

Once again, you crash on Izuku, devoid of any energy. Your limbs feel like jelly, but the high is so, so sweet. You lay there, breathless as Katsuki withdraws and Izuku welcomes you on top of him, gently petting your hair as you nuzzle into his neck. He pecks at your temple, dropping sweet kisses while his hands trace mindless paths over your naked back. This man is too sweet for his own good.

The bed frame creaks a bit as Katsuki lifts from the mattress.

Izuku’s voice is soft, so quiet in your ear as he whispers, “You heard the boss. It’s my turn now.”

Never mind, this guy is a demon. They both are, and if this is what hell feels like, you might become the worst sinner to ever walk this Earth.

Again, you don’t manage to hold your gasp when he sits up swiftly, like you’re not splayed all over him with your entire weight and cups a hand under your ass so he can lay you down, settling his hips between your legs. Your head dangles over the end of the bed, and you find yourself facing Katsuki’s dick upside down. It still shines with the essence of you around him.

You jump a bit with the feeling of something sliding along your dripping folds and you look back up to find Izuku, settling between your thighs and looking down at you. He brings a finger to his mouth, the one he just coated in both your juices and Katsuki’s, and hums at the taste. He never breaks eye contact, only gazes at you, his eyes dark and foggy as he sucks on his fingers, dragging his tongue from knuckle up to nail. It makes your head spin and you let it fall back down with a drawn-out whine.

Katsuki is casually pumping himself back up, every stroke sounding sloppy with your slick, while Izuku is all over you—firmly placed between your legs, his hands running up your thighs and his mouth lazily pressing kisses up and down the presented column of your throat. He slides the zipper of your skirt down, and the poor piece of clothing is finally sent flying, leaving you bare for their starving gazes to eat you alive.

All there’s left to do is trying not to drool too much at the idea of what’s coming.

Once again, Katsuki’s thick fingers curl around your jaw, holding your face upside down, hanging at the edge of the bed, exactly like he wants you. The position is going to grow very uncomfortable in very little time. But you let him, like you let him do anything to you—let the both of them, because it always feels so, so good in the end.

Katsuki gently grazes the tip of his cock against your swollen lips as a clear expression of what he wants from you. A wave of shivers runs all the way down to where Izuku is placed between your thighs.

“Open wide, princess.”

You don’t discuss, too far gone in your hazy daze to think of a single reason to refuse this. You do as he says and he slides the tip into your mouth slowly, not wanting to choke you from the start. You’re quick to respond, kissing it, letting your tongue trace the slit. You can taste the salty reminder of you all over him. He groans, taking it all as an invitation to intrude further and you welcome him with blatant hunger, the vibrations of your low moan surrounding him whole.

You’re spread wide over the bed. Not just your legs, but your entire body, and your entire soul with it, all open and vulnerable for them to do whatever they want with.

You breathe heavily through your nose as you take most of Katsuki’s length in your mouth, and feel the reassuring stroke of Izuku’s hands over your sides and hips.

As Izuku licks a straight stripe along your throat, from collarbone to chin, Katsuki moans above you:

“Fuck yeah, take it all in, baby...That’s it, you can do it.”

They’re so close, the both of them, you can feel it. It’s insane how wet you are; it all drips to pool into a puddle on the sheets as Izuku’s tip teases your entrance, waiting for approval—though you don’t really know whose approval he’s waiting for, probably a bit of both.

He enters you a second later, slow, gentle, inch by inch. You can’t see anything, your eyes are pressed closed because if they were open all you would be able to see would be Katsuki’s balls anyway. You try to relax, to allow yourself to just feel, just take, because there’s nothing left to do except give all of you and accept what you’re given.

As soon as Izuku bottoms out, you feel the heat of his chest leaning over you, his breath crushing over your ear as he talks, low and husky:

“God, just look at you.” The warmth of his breath hits your cheek and sends goosebumps down your whole being. “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for us, right, angel?” He starts moving, so slow you barely feel the motions of his hips. “I would say it looks a lot like it’s our birthday and not yours, but we all know you love this so much, don’t you?”

The moan you make around Katsuki is sinful, loud and obscene because you do, you do love this. Love the way they take such good care of you, the way they double-team to extend your limits further and further in the most delicious way.

Izuku speeds up a bit, but Katsuki doesn’t move, just stays still, lets you take the length and weight of his cock between your swollen lips, his grip less firm on your jaw, his fingers grazing over your cheek and your ear in soothing circles. The steady rhythm Izuku sets is enough to make you move around him anyway.

It’s still slow, and it stays that way. He goes so deep every single time, the friction against your walls is marvelous, and it becomes not enough very soon. You whine again around Katsuki, rocking up with every gentle roll of Izuku’s hips—calling for him to go faster, to give you more than this. But he doesn’t give in, keeps up with a maddening rhythm.

His hot breath crashes on your exposed neck—you can’t see him but can feel his whole body leaning over yours, pecs brushing your nipples repeatedly. His tongue traces the veins straining against the thin skin of your throat, his right hand reaching down to rest on your ass.

“Such a good girl, you take it all so well.”

You’re dripping all over them, both spit and slick. The more you get from them, the more eager you grow. Your hands are clawing at Izuku’s back, frantically going up to bury in his hair, pulling a bit at the wild mess of his curls, then back down to grab and scratch the firm skin of his shoulders, in a desperate attempt to get him to go faster, harder, give you anything more than this.

“Damn, someone’s really fucking desperate for cock. One in your mouth and one in your cunt and it’s still not enough for you?”

“Fuck, she feels so good, Kacchan. Keeps squeezing me, can’t hold back for long—”

And with that, he speeds up a bit. It’s still not enough, but it gives the both of you some relief as he rams into you, still slow, but harder, deeper. It sends you further into Katsuki’s thighs each time with broken moans and muffled cries.

It’s way too much and painfully not enough all at once, feeling like their cocks are filling your entire being, cutting your oxygen, freezing the blood right in your veins, squeezing the heart out of your chest. The room resonates with Katsuki’s raw groans, your muffled whines, Izuku’s breathless moans and the lewd slap of his hips against yours. His grip on your ass is bruising, his fingers digging in your skin so hard it’d be painful if it wasn’t your own cloud nine. The curly hair at the base of his cock rubs against your puffy clit repeatedly.

Then he speeds up again, reaching a decent rhythm. Your legs come up to loop around his waist, pulling him in.

Katsuki doesn’t even have to move, the force of Izuku’s thrusts makes it feel like he’s fucking your face.

It’s overwhelming, all of it. The feeling of giving, of taking, and of trusting. They’re everywhere over and around you, crowding your space, and it feels like there isn’t a single part of your body they’re not touching.

Izuku’s hands are running all over you as he goes faster and faster, stroking your sides, groping your ass. Licking and kissing and nipping at everything within his reach. Moaning into your skin, shameless, willing to show everything to the both of you.

Katsuki’s hand still rests on your jaw, his grip firm just for show, but so fond in the way he cannot keep his fingertips from soothing your face. He knows your jaw is starting to hurt, your breath is running short—they both know it.

You’d probably be screaming loud enough for half the city to hear you at this point, if your voice weren’t all muffled by the girthy weight filling your mouth. You’re struggling to breathe through your nose, getting dizzy. It feels like Izuku is pounding through your soul.

“Ngh, fucking hell, just look at that, Deku. Isn’t that a damn sight?”

“God, yes—you’re doing so good, angel. Gonna cum for us, yeah? Milk me dry and scream around Kacchan’s cock? Do it, baby. Come on.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Your whole body tenses around them, your back arching unnaturally as you scream over Katsuki. Izuku guides you down your high with his last thrusts as he empties himself inside you with a bite to the crook of your shoulder, mixing himself with what remains of Katsuki inside you.

The vibrations around Katsuki send him over the edge last, filling your throat before pulling out and falling to his knees, his torso collapsing on the bed right next to you. Izuku simultaneously pulls out and lays on his stomach beside you. You just lay between them, out of breath, staring at the ceiling and seeing stars there.

The three of you fall into quiet peace, a moment neither of you feels like interrupting. The silence is comfortable, only troubled by all your panting breaths, out of sync, filling the room like fresh air dispeling heavy smoke.

Your heart is in your throat, half your face is covered in spit, your body is worn-out. You’re  hot and sticky and exhausted. It’s the best feeling ever, to know they’re feeling it too, to know the three of you chose to share these moments. And the high is so, so worth the fall.

Katsuki is the first to rise—he always is. He walks to the bathroom, ass naked, without even grabbing underwear.

“I’ll run you two morons a bath.”

Izuku gets to his feet after a couple of minutes, leaning over you and whispering, his voice soft velvet to your ears: “Come on angel, let’s go clean up a bit, you can’t fall asleep like this”.

You scoff at his words. Your legs are so weak you’re not sure you could even stand. You’ll look brilliant on patrol tomorrow, walking sideways like you got run over by a truck.

“Mhmm, just watch me.”

You’re lifted from the bed without any chance of protesting, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders and knees without a word. You catch the glimpse of an impish smile that’s just enough to keep you from getting mad.

“Noooo...Let me sleep!” Your little fists are so weak, bumping against his chest, but you’re not even trying. Of course if you really tried you could totally beat his ass. Duh.

“We’re not letting you sleep all night covered in sweat and cum.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t like that.”

He barely gets the time to raise an eyebrow at you before Katsuki’s voice raises from the bathroom, distant but as expressive as always: “Just shut the fuck up and let us clean your filthy ass, for God’s sake.”

Izuku sets you on your feet as soon as you enter the room, already foggy with steam. The air is warm and humid, feeling like a cozy blanket wrapping around you whole.

The tub is absolutely huge, so spacious it takes up half the bathroom. It was a requirement for you three when you got this apartment, along with a few other things. All of them revolved around space. It is already half-filled, up to Katsuki’s waist. He’s leaning back with his arms and legs spread, taking so much unnecessary space the picture is almost funny.

The water is piping hot, like expected from Katsuki, but so soothing on your abused skin and sore muscles. You take a seat between his legs, leaning your back against his chest while Izuku adjusts to sit in front of you.

You start cleaning each other at some point. It’s a natural reflex for the three of you—it always feels so soft, so intimate. And well, you also reached for shampoo with certain urgency as soon as you spotted what looked a lot like cum in Izuku’s hair. While Katsuki works at your back, still painful from his ruthless pounding (maybe he feels a little bad after all), you massage Izuku’s scalp, letting the soap lather into a white, coconut scented cloud. He breathes a series of pleased little moans, growing in intensity as you scratch your nails through his mess of wet curls.

“Hmm, feels good...”

“Shut the fuck up loser, you’re gonna make me hard again.”

Katsuki’s heatless threat is like talking to a wall. Well, a petty and horny wall. Izuku lets out his filthiest moan, bouncing against the tiles in an intense echo. And another. And another. His hair is still ridiculously covered in shampoo but, expecting the storm, you stop your ministrations.

Katsuki shifts behind you, ready to attack like a rabid dog, even growling right in your ear. This animal.

“What did I say——you wanna fucking go?”

They’re idiots. The both of them. Your idiots.

You speak before you even think.

“Thank you. Thank you for tonight. I love you both so much.”

Izuku raises fond eyes at you, reaching to take your hand. But it’s Katsuki who answers you first:

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to thank us for fucking your brains out.”

“I think she meant for the party, Kacchan.”

“For fuck’s sake, I know that, dipshit! I’ll bite your dick off, how’s that sound?”

“Kinky.”

This time Katsuki really goes at Izuku, bumping his chest against your back so you end up, once again, nose first into Izuku’s shoulder. And since he decided to play along, you decide it’s a good time to get out of here. They’re cute, but they’re a bit like those huge dogs that are affectionate but absolutely not aware of their strength. You chuckle to yourself at the thought.

You rise to your feet with a sleepy “Nope, too tired for this, good night” and step out of the tub, grabbing a towel before heading back to the bedroom. As soon as you’re dried off, you gracelessly collapse on the bed, entirely naked, and slip into the sheets with as much elegance as a worm crawling back to its hole. It doesn't take long before you’re dozing into a deep, dreamless sleep. But in the dark, starry depths of it, you feel them, hear them like a distant resonance.

You feel Katsuki’s arms wrapping around you, holding you tight, though careful not to wake you. His nose brushing the back of your neck, to smell you, sense you there, make sure you don’t fly away somehow in your sleep.

You also feel Izuku’s hand reaching for your cheek, featherlight, barely making contact. His wide, boyish eyes over you, scanning your face in its most relaxed state. And the gentle warmth of his feet rubbing against yours under the sheets.

And you feel his words, more than you hear them. Almost feel his lips talking against yours, so quiet it’s barely hearable, just above a whisper:

“We love you too.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Orange is the Happiest Color

Summary: “I had a dream that you proposed to me with an orange.” 

He chuckled, relaxing back into his pillow. “Did you say yes?”

Word Count: 2,657

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: So I had a dream about Loki proposing with an orange. I drew this. And then I wrote this. It’s very stupid. I’m not sure I’m happy with it. Here it is. Don’t take it too seriously. 

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod​ @naterson​

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“I had a dream that you proposed to me with an orange.”

It was a strange way to begin the morning. Loki raised his eyebrows as he rolled to his side, propping his head up with his hand and studying you with a sleepy sort of amusement. “You dreamt I did what?”

“You proposed with an orange.” The words felt silly on your tongue, but it was still early in the morning, with only the slightest hints of sunlight slipping through the slits in the curtain to where the two of you lay tangled in blankets. It was sleepy enough to be silly. “We were in an orange grove. You opened two halves of an orange like a ring box, got down on one knee, and proposed.”

Loki chuckled, a lazy puff of breath escaping his lips as he relaxed back into his pillow. “Did you say yes?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard. Frowning, you tried to recall. The dream now felt distant and murky, something that faded a bit more with every waking moment spent beyond it. There were little more than still images left behind now—the sweet taste of citrus on the air, Loki’s goofy grin as he knelt before you, the wild wave of ecstasy that crashed through your soul at the realization …

“Yeah, I did.” You smiled. The memory was so warm, like reclining into a hot bath after a long day. “I said yes.”

Loki laughed again and pulled you close against his chest so he could press a kiss to your temple. You snuggled against his sternum, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. The room had gone silent again, a contemplative quiet.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him the dream. It drifted too close to the unspoken. You and Loki had talked about marriage before, but nothing really beyond vague little allusions back when you had first started seeing each other two years ago. The situation was rather … difficult, you supposed the word was—when one partner’s biology would cause them to outlive the other’s by several millennia, planning for the future wasn’t exactly the optimistic conversation it was often cracked up to be. The two of you had elected to ignore the hulking bilgesnipe in the room and simply enjoy each day as it came. But the topic continued to simmer beneath the surface. Clearly.

Why else would you be dreaming of proposals?

But the two of you would have to wait to jump into a deep dive dream analysis, because the bedroom had barely been quiet a minute before Loki’s Avengers-branded communicator exploded into its usual obnoxious tirade of beeps and buzzes from where it had been exiled to the floor the night before.

Loki groaned, propelling himself to a sitting post even as you continued to cling to his shoulders.

“Can’t you ignore it?” you whined. “Just this once?”

He laughed, attempting to squirm out of your grasp—although you were nearly certain he was only doing so for appearance’s sake, because you both knew well enough that if he wished he could shrug you off with the flick of his wrist.

“If I do, they’ll break down your apartment door in their crusade to drag me there themselves,” he laughed. “And that would make quite the mess of your lovely doormat.”

“Let them try. They’ll have to go through me,” you declared. “I just got you back, and now they’re going to send you away again—”

“It won’t be long—”

“You don’t know that—”

“Darling, I promise—”

“That’s what you said last time.” You pouted, even though you knew you were being childish. It wasn’t Loki’s fault. The terms of his sentence, the terms that kept him out of an Asgardian prison and free to live by your side in the first place, mandated that he must assist the Avengers in any way required, at any point required, regardless of his personal desires. He was their muscle and their errand boy all at once, the red shirts sent in to handle situations too dangerous or too tedious to risk the other Avengers. These missions could take up to a couple of days to a couple of weeks to a couple of months, and often you found yourself left in the dark with no contact with which to determine when he was coming home, or if he was coming back at all. You hated it, and Loki knew it.

He sighed, cupping your chin in his hand even as the communicator continued to spasm on the floor.

“I will return to you, love,” he said. “Regardless of what that device has in store for me. I swear it to you.”

You swallowed. It was hard to stay upset with his sea-green eyes staring so deeply into yours, brimming with such sincerity. “When?”

“Before the week’s out,” Loki smiled, so warmly that you nearly forgot he had no way to guarantee such a statement. “Next Sunday morning I’ll be back here at your side. You have my word.” He leaned forward to give you a kiss, and you drank him in, that wild, woodsy scent that seemed to overwhelm everything else whenever he was nearby. You huffed. It was infuriating how easily he could play the strings of your soul.

“Fine,” you said. “You have a week. Any longer than that and I come looking for.”

Loki grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

…

The days ticked by in monotonous fashion. It was strange how quickly the color seemed to seep from the corners of the world when Loki wasn’t about. Your job certainly wasn’t boring—Pepper Potts may have been the most actively normal higher-up at Stark Tower, but she still worked at Stark Tower, and as her personal assistant you found yourself taking notes on the reinforcements necessary to Hulk-proof the outer balconies and updating the budgets to add baby powder for suit chafing. But it was just work—there wasn’t any pizazz, any of the fluttering excitement when you’d run into Loki as you turned a corner, that little smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth as he gave the over-theatrical bow he had developed specifically for you after Stark complained about him behaving “unprofessionally” when you were in the vicinity. You ate on your own and went to bed alone, lying flat on your back to avoid looking at the cold, empty space left behind in his wake.

Pepper would give you updates on his status when she could—there wasn’t much she could say, given how highly confidential everything little thing related to Loki was within SHIELD, but she could tell you that he was alright, that he had met his check in’s, that the mission was coming along fine. You clung to those words the way you clung to Loki’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life as you willed him to come home soon.

Pepper had other news for you as well, possibly even more confidential than that involving your lover.

“I haven’t told anyone this yet,” she practically whispered in her office. “So if it gets out, I’ll know where it came from. But I have to tell someone—Tony and I are having a baby.”

“Oh, congratulations!” you cried. “That’s really exciting!”

“Thank you.” Pepper Potts wasn’t one you’d ever think to describe as “giddy,” but there was a kind of pure elation radiating from her voice with every word she spoke. “We just found out—it doesn’t feel real, you know. We’ve been trying for so long …”

You were happy for her—you were—but as she continued on you couldn’t help but taste the pinpricks of jealousy on your tongue. She had everything planned, every bit of her future set safely in stone, content to start a family knowing that her husband would be safely by her side. You on the other hand … you could only dream about orange-slice proposals as you waited on bated breath for the person you loved most to return from some secret, dangerous mission classified above your pay grade. You longed for that stability, that safety. You longed for a familiar hand to slip a ring on to your finger.

But did he feel the same way?

Loki loved you. Of that, you were positive—he wouldn’t have remained by your side for so long if he didn’t. But to love you was one thing. To marry you was something entirely different. Would he want to tie himself to a creature whose entire lifespan would make up less than 2% of his? Were the situations swapped, you couldn’t say you would want the same.

It was Saturday night. Loki had promised he would be home by tomorrow, but you weren’t particularly optimistic. You reheated your week-old Digiorno’s pizza for the third time and wallowed in the bleakness staring back at you from your microwave door reflection. It was a tired night, a lonely night. You were ready to huddle under your empty covers and cease to exist for a few hours.

Sigh. Maybe Loki would be back in the morning. Maybe you’d wake up to find him curled up besides you, soft grin on his lips as he studied you through sleepy lids. But you pushed the image away as you climbed into bed. It was better not to get your hopes up.

…

Loki wasn’t in bed when you woke up. It was the first thing you noticed, reaching out across the rumpled sheets before you were even fully awake to find only the smooth cold of an untouched mattress. You heaved another disappointed sigh and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Except … was that something burning?

You sat up with a frown, sniffing. No, not burning … but something was cooking, something buttery and fresh. You glanced towards the door and realized that the light streaming into your room wasn’t just the sunlight, but from a florescent glow slipping in from somewhere down the hall.

What on Earth?

Padding out into the kitchen, you were greeted by a veritable banquet of breakfast—pancakes, waffles, pastries, pitchers of orange juice, steaming maple syrup, vibrant bowls of fruit … and in the middle of all of it was Loki, wearing the stained old plaid apron your mother had given you as he fussed with something on the stove.

“Good morning, darling!” he practically sang as you walked in, blinking at the colossal feast he had somehow managed to cram on to your tiny kitchen counter. “Forgive me, I did try to be quiet—”

Your head was spinning. The whole thing looked like something out of a dream. “When did you get back? And have time for all this?”

“Early this morning. I did promise, after all.” He grinned pulling you into an embrace, so warm and soft and real that you just melted into his arms. You exhaled against his chest.

Loki pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You laughed, nuzzling against his cheek. Mission accomplished. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

He guided you into your seat, the purity of his excitement something truly infectious. You couldn’t help but beam even as the sheer mass of food he was placing before you overwhelmed your senses. Goodness, there was so much food! How had he the energy to prepare such a spread after a week-long mission?

“Loki, I don’t know where to start!” you giggled as he brought out another tray of blueberry muffins from the oven. “There’s so much!”

“Perhaps something simple and sweet?” Seemingly from thin air, he procured an orange the size of his palm, luscious and vividly ripened.

You cackled. “You didn’t!”

He smirked. “Well, I needed them to make the juice, and I thought since they came so positively recommended …”

You fumbled for a knife to cut the fruit, but he already had one ready for you. You giggled as you accepted it. Silly, romantic Loki. How long had he been planning this for? You imagined him taking notes on a mental grocery list whilst sneaking through a high-security Hydra base.

The knife hit something hard within the orange, so hard that it couldn’t cut through, as if there were some great pit in the middle of the fruit. What the—

Abandoning the knife, you dug your fingers into the cut and pulled the citrus flesh apart as if you were opening an oyster. You gasped. In the center of the fruit, clean of any juice or pith, lay a sparkling ring, two bands twisting together like a pair of undulating serpents encircling a glittering emerald stone.

For a moment you could only stare.

“What is—” You turned back to Loki, only to find him kneeling besides your seat, holding you in his starry-eyed gaze. Your breath hitched.

“Darling,” he whispered. He pressed his hand to your knee. “I know we’ve rather avoided this subject, but I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit lately, and …”

Loki inhaled, an uncharacteristically shaky breath. You, it seemed, had forgotten how to breathe entirely.

“I love you, darling.” The confession was soft, tender, enchanting. He reached out to stroke your cheek, his fingers leaving sparks in their wake. “I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I know that much. I want to be with you, as long as you’ll have me,” he swallowed. “Will you have me? Darling, will you marry me?”

He stared up at you almost anxiously, as if he didn’t know that there was no other possible way you could respond.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Goodness, yes!”

It seemed something straight from your dreams. Loki’s face broke into the most beautiful, joyous smile you had ever seen, and you pounced forward to plant your lips on his. Somehow, this was real. He was here, and he was yours, and he wanted you to be his. Forever. You kissed him, basking in the beauteous glow of the moment, hoping it would never end.

Loki was the first to pull away, but it was only to pluck the ring where it rested on the orange and slip it on to your finger, a perfect fit. It made you giggle, to think of where all of this found its beginning.

“Were you always going to propose?” you asked. “Or did you do it just because of my dream?”

He blushed. “If I’m to be entirely honest, darling, I gave you the dream.”

“What?”

Loki glanced down, cheeks an adorable shade of pink. “I wanted to see how you might receive the prospect of a proposal,” he said, interlacing his fingers with yours. “But I wanted it to be a surprise, as well. So I thought I’d just … drop a little hint, into your mind, to see what you’d think.”

You gawked. “You can do that?”

He seemed playfully amused by your reaction. “Of course,” he said. “I can do many things.”

That made sense, you supposed. He had the ability to call another’s memories to the front of their mind; you couldn’t imagine dreams were all that different. Although you had a feeling he didn’t have to drop that much of a hint to turn your dreams to matrimony.

“Did you give me the orange part too?” you asked.

“No, the orange was entirely of your own creation,” Loki chuckled, nuzzling against your hair. “Although I must say, I found it rather inspirational.”

“Yes,” The early morning silliness had returned, and you smirked. “It certainly was orange-inal.”

Loki made a face. “Now that was atrocious.”

“Really? I found it quite a-peel-ing.”

“Darling—”

“If you’re going to marry me, you better get juiced to it—”

He silenced you with a kiss, and you were content enough to leave it at that.

[imagine-docx]

scent market

Summary: Wanda stumbles upon this tiny gem of a candle shop. Does she keep going back because of the amazing scent range? Or is it because of the cute shopkeeper?

Warnings: None.

A/N: i apologize for being mia. university has been killing me, and i have had zero time to write because i am busy pulling essays outta no where. please enjoy a minor comeback! - amanda 💛

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Everyone knows that Wanda Maximoff is the biggest candle consumer ever. Something about the warmth of the candle and the scent that follows, just seems to make everything better. 

It was one of the rare days that Wanda had off, and decided to go to one of her favourite parks in New York, Prospect Park. 

On her way out, Wanda was walking down Empire Avenue and was automatically drawn to this small candle shop. The exterior automatically had this warm aura to it. The open glass windows gave Wanda the opportunity to look in, and it screamed ‘home’ to her. 

Wanda opened the door to the tiny shop, upon her arrival a little bell dinged and she was greeted with soft radio pop and a heavy peach scent.

“Hi there! Welcome to Scent Market! Let me know if you need any help!” She heard a voice beam out from the corner.

Wanda turned her head to the corner to track the sound, and was blown away. You had to be the most breathtaking woman she has ever seen. Yet you were only wearing a pair of ripped jeans, a form fitting long sleeved shirt, and a pair of sneakers. “Hi,” Wanda managed to shyly get out.

You smiled at Wanda, and Wanda swore she resembled melting candle wax. Wanda looked around the tiny shop, grabbing some candles and smelling it as she went. But she still kept an eye on you out of the corner of her eye.

It seemed as if you were either doing inventory, or were picking out orders. As Wanda turned herself back to the candle that was marked as Frozen Margarita. The hints of citrus, and melon jumped out at her. “If you like that one, I definitely do recommend the Citrus Splash,” you said coming up to her. “Less lemon and lime, more orange.”

“That sounds up my alley,” Wanda laughed, “Can I see it?”

You let out another smile towards her and she swears she never felt that much warmth from someone, “Of course, follow me.”

You handed Wanda an orange candle encased in a glass jar, she took the top off and smelt it, “This is wonderful. I also want to know which scent do you currently have burning?” Wanda asked, while smelling the candle.

“Oh that’s Peach Sugar Kiss! Here lemme get it for you,” you responded, before going to the fixture next to Citrus Splash.

“Are these handmade?” Wanda asked, taking the Peach Sugar Kiss from you.

“Yes they are, they are soy candle wax with essential oils mixed in,” you responded.

“Wow, you must be super talented,” Wanda said looking at the Tropical Mango candle, while looking at you.

You let out a giggle, and Wanda swore that as time passed she would melt even more, “No, that’s my business partner Trish. She makes them, I sell them. Unstoppable duo, you know?”

Wanda smiled at her giggle, “Ah so you’re the brains.”

You chuckled, “Pretty much.”

You and Wanda walked around the store, with you recommending different candles, her smelling them, and you both basking in each other’s company. Upon doing a lap around the whole store, you turned to her, “Is that it for today?”

“I guess so,” Wanda said, placing the Citrus Splash, Peach Sugar Kiss, and Apple Blossom candle on the counter.

“Lemme get that rung up for you,” you smiled.

As you were cashing Wanda out, you two continued to crack jokes. You wrapped the candles in a light peach wrapping paper, and into a black bag. “See you around?” You asked.

“With candles like these? You will be seeing me more often,” Wanda said, smiling.

“Have a good day!” You called out, as Wanda was leaving. 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

It was almost like clock work. Wanda would buy a single candle every time she goes, burn it until there is nothing left, and she would be back at the shop. 

“So is there a reason today we’re burning,” Natasha squinted to read the candle, “Apple Blossom? What happened to Blooming Berry?”

“I finished it,” Wanda nonchalantly responded as she packed away her hoodies.

“Wanda, that's your 3rd candle this week.” Natasha retorted.

“What can I say? The candles are good.” Wanda responded as she packed away her jeans. 

“We all know you are a massive candle consumer, but this? This is a new level.” Natasha said, studying Wanda.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Wanda responded.

“Take me to this candle shop, I wanna see what the fuss is about.” Natasha responded.

“No!” Wanda responded too quickly, which resulted in a raised eyebrow from Natasha, “I mean, no they’re closed right now. I’ll take you when they are open.”

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Wanda forgot how serious Natasha is, as Natasha held her to taking her to the candle shop. The two were walking to the shop, and the pair stopped in front of it, “It looks cozy, now I know why you like it.” 

Wanda let out a small sigh of relief, that Natasha thinks it’s because of the aura the shop gives off. Upon the two walking into the shop, they were greeted with a, “Hi! Welcome to Scent Market!” You beamed from the back, which Wanda naturally returned with a smile. 

“I’m back!” Wanda announced, to which you now smiled at.

“Welcome back Wands, we got some new candles for you to try out,” you said, coming up to the duo. “Hi there,” you smiled at Natasha as you introduced yourself to her.

“I’m Natasha, Wanda’s best friend,” she said, shaking her hand. “I gotta know, do you have more fresh scents? Wanda keeps burning fruits, and I’m kinda getting tired.”

“You are just a downer, you don’t like cutesy smells.” Wanda stuck her tongue out.

“Lucky for you and your sanity, we do,” you chuckled, “Are there certain scents you like?”

“I just want to feel like I spent the entire day cleaning, and there’s that after scent,” Natasha responded.

“I got a good one for you,” you walked over to the fixture, “Lakeside Waters. Smells kinda like the ocean, some driftwood, and minor hints of orange.”

Natasha took the candle from you and took a small inhale, “The orange is very minimal, I like this, do you have anymore?”

You took Natasha around the store and showed her similar scents to Lakeside Waters. Natasha holding onto the scents that she loves the most.

Majority would be pissed off at how easily the two of them bond, but not to Wanda. She was in awe that you managed to mesh in with them so easily.

You managed to introduce Natasha to Lakeside Waters, Sugared Lemonade, and Eucalyptus Spearmint. Whereas Wanda got Raspberry Mimosa, just so she has a reason to keep going back to the shop.

As you were cashing them out, you continued to crack jokes with the two of them. You were walking them to the door, “So Wands, will I see you soon?” You smiled.

Wanda instantly let out a goofy smile, “Of course. I’ll make sure to leave Natasha at home.”

“I’m offended,” Natasha feigned offence.

“Don’t worry, you’re always welcomed back,” you smiled at the duo.

The three of you bid your goodbyes, you walked to the desk and bit a small corner of your lip trying to hide your giddiness.

On the other hand, the moment Natasha and Wanda left the shop, Natasha let out a, “No wonder you keep going back to this candle shop.”

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

Of course Wanda hit the bottom on Raspberry Mimosa within two and a half days of getting it. Which prompted her to return back to Scent Market. Every time she walked in, she felt as if she was greeted the first time, “Wanda!” You called out.

Wanda instantly smiled at the sound of your voice, “Raspberry Mimosa was amazing. Do you have any others?”

“I’m running low on options to give you Wands,” you joked.

“I might have to go and try something sweet next.” Wanda responded, following you to the fixture.

“We got everything you could possibly need,” you reached for the Peach Bellini candle, “ I know you like peach a lot, so tada, Peach Bellini; white peach, prosecco, and a hint of orange.”

“You got my scent notes down, huh?” Wanda said, amazed at the detail that you pay attention to her.

“Of course. I gotta make sure I have my favourite clients scent list noted,” you smiled, as you took her to the front to cash her out.

“I feel honoured,” Wanda said, pulling out her wallet.

The two of you continued to joke, while you cashed Wanda out. Every moment that passes, she feels more and more drawn to you. Wanda knew that when she got home she would have to try and work out a way to ask you out, but until then she would bask in your companionship. 

⚛》》》》》◆《《《《《⚛

That night Wanda sat at her desk, pen and notepad in front of her, trying to come up with ideas to go about asking you out. Each idea was futile. 

She reached for her phone to call Natasha over for some help, but remembered she was out with Clint for their weekly dinner. Wanda groaned, and ran her fingers through her hair. She leaned back, struggling to come up with ideas.

Wanda decided that maybe burning the candle she got today would help flow her ideas. She opened the tiny black bag, and to her surprise, there was a second candle. 

Wanda cautiously took the candle out of the bag and noticed a heart sticker rather than your usual clear tape. She gently unravelled it, to reveal a beautiful peach coloured candle with no label.

She was confused. Opening the candle she saw a piece of paper, she gently placed it on her desk and continued to smell the candle; heavy on the peach, light vanilla notes. She smiled and picked up the note.

Wanda let a goofy smile escape her lips as she read the note that was signed as you.

I have no name for it yet. I call it Peach Tea and Vanilla; peach tea, vanilla creme, and some oat milk. This is a special one for you, call me sometime and we could work out a name over coffee? (XXX)-XXX-XXX

[dracosaurusrex]

My Cup of Tea (Draco x Reader)

Summary: There’s intimacy found in understanding. 

Wordcount: 1.2k

A/N: Hi everyone! Here’s my submission for @iliveiloveiwrite‘s 3.5k songfic challenge :) The song I chose was Maybe I’m Amazed by Paul McCartney. It took a while figuring out how I was going to write this (I initially planned to write it in second person). However, after reading and listening to the lyrics multiple times, I figured that the best way was to write from Draco’s perspective. I tried my best to get the characterization right, so I hope it does some justice at the very least. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Draco’s POV

There was no one who could have prepared me well enough to face the life waiting on the other side of the war. 

There was no one to warn me about the pains of regret that accompanied the idea of redemption. My life, which was once lived with blatant arrogance and pride, was filled with false beliefs. That much I realize as I trace the fading details of the dark mark that stains my skin. 

The wounds remain vivid within the corners of my mind. I often recall the venom spewed from my lips and into the hearts of those I made my prey. Unlike before, where I’d been the one to cast such foul words, the weeks, months, even years following the war had me find myself on the receiving end of the hurt, longing for a saving grace I surely don’t deserve. The desire to rewind time was constant as remorse pools in from day to day. 

Within little moments, where everything seemingly came crashing down, I simply sat in the stillness of the dark. Cold air from the balcony would linger against my skin, while the only source of illumination originated from the stars late at night. As I sat, I pondered. I pondered  upon what this pathetic life of mine had to offer. I pondered on the what-ifs and the-could’ve-beens had I opened my eyes to the world around me much earlier.

“Pathetic”. The word, which bore much weight upon my shoulders, had subsided into a  distant memory now.

Eight years have passed since then. I was 17--broken, tattered, lost--yet here I am now at 25, awoken by the sweet aromas of tarte orange, velvety chocolate, and rich vanilla bean on a simple autumn day. The sound of a knife striking against a cutting board is next to fill my senses, followed by the sizzling noises of oil frying in a pan. Meanwhile, light from the morning sun scatters across my room, the space beside me is unoccupied, but I’m not alone anymore.

 The sensations were oddly comforting knowing that the owner behind them is the very person who managed to fill in the cracks of my heart. Her name is Y/N. She’s an early riser, unlike me, opting to say ‘hello’ to the world at the break of dawn. She situates herself in the middle of our bustling kitchen, her hands moving with grace, elegance, and poise. There was an air of artistry in everything she did, attending to even the smallest things in life with a stroke of wisdom and beauty--slowly, steadily. 

She’s patient. 

And with such patience, she has mended me. At least that’s what I believe anyway. Slowly, steadily she picked up my fragments and fixed me with a new sense of hope. She constantly refuses to believe that, however, reminding me that it was I who mended myself. I agree only because it makes her happy, but deep within I know that she’s my saving grace.

I seat myself at our dining table, taking the liberty to gaze at her from afar. A gold morning glow embodies her figure as she tends to the breakfast cooking on the stove. With a brief glance thrown my way, she casts a soft smile only for a moment before her attention is redirected to the ingredients laying before her. 

“Good morning, my love.” The words roll off her tongue like honey. “Would you like some tea?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.” She prepares me a cup the way only she knows I like it: black tea brewed with a slice of orange, topped with a pinch of cinnamon. The familiarity in her motions elicits warmth within, and soon the mere act of crafting a drink becomes something much more intimate when she makes mine. She comes over. The smile plastered on her lips lets me know I’m loved. As she places the cup before me, she presses a kiss to my cheek before wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pressing another one to the back of my neck. The warmth from within spreads over, and I take her hand in mine to plant my lips on her knuckles in response.

“I love you.” The phrase comes out as a whisper, but they’re of the heart, for within her arms I am Draco. Not Draco Malfoy. Not the heir to a long line of purebloods. Within her arms, I am understood with an intimacy surpassing that of lust and desire. 

Unlike her patient self, I am a prideful, stubborn man. Regret of the past had weaved its way within me, but the values I once upheld were not ones so easily discarded. It’s miraculous, really, how a woman like Y/N makes me come undone. It merely took the slightest caresses to my cheek or even something simpler like her fingers entangled in my hair. My favorite amongst her many talents is her way of speech. With each thought profound and carefully planned, she strings her words in a manner so eloquent that I find myself in a state of awe listening to everything she says. Any other person would become frustrated trying to untangle the entanglement that is myself. However, when I look into her eyes, I’m immediately stricken by the passion she emanates in order to right my wrongs. I’m found with no words to defend myself. Nevertheless, I submit myself to her, allowing her to worm into my mind and my heart while simply watching as the beliefs I once knew crumble into her hands. 

“How’s the tea, Draco?” I’m pulled out of thought with the sound of her voice.

“No one can ever make it like you do.” The allied hints of citrus and cinnamon accompany the robust flavor of the tea itself. Much like her to me.

“Anyone can if they took the time to try.” She responds. 

“Sure, but you’ll never see me satisfied.”

There’s truth to her statement: Anybody was capable of making the drink if they tried. However, no one ever has. No one has gone to her lengths to prepare me a cup of tea just the way I like it. The way that calms the turbulent thoughts that run through my mind. The way it straightens out my worries. Every morning, when I wake up and seat myself before her, slices of oranges and a shaker filled with cinnamon powder are already set out on the counter. She lets the pieces of fruit dry for a moment, explaining to me that its flavors become more vibrant once it’s placed in a fresh brew. Call me soft, sappy, or smitten--there’s no denying the admiration I have for her observant mind. 

“Why do you care about those little details?” I would ask sometimes. She’d reply, “You deserve to wake up to a nice cup of tea.”

I must’ve been a guardian or a saint of some sort in my past life, because Merlin knows I am not a favorite to the hearts of others. I will never consider myself worthy of her love till this very day. Regardless, I would live my life over and over if it meant waking up to her making me a cup of tea forever. 

“Y/N?”

“Yes, love? Breakfast is almost ready.” She doesn’t dare look up from the pan. I release a chuckle before raising myself to approach her, scents of eggs and sausages now fill my senses. With much tenderness, I wrap my arms around her from behind and plant a kiss on her jaw. I was never good at words, but I was certain of letting her know about these deep feelings.

“I love you.” She turns to me with that familiar warm smile.

“And I love you, Draco.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading if you made it this far! Feedback is very much appreciated! Besides that, I hope you have a great day! Also, kudos to those if you read one of my past fics and got the gaurdian reference LOL

Tagging: 

@amithatemo  @littlethie @cherie-draco @svturtles @stretchyice @xoxohollands @chthxnix @dracosathenaeum @hahee154hq @mushi98 @dreaming-about-fanfictions @beiahadid @dreamy-clousds @minsuuwu  @adrienpuceyishot @Saby06143 @rottenhexrt

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART XI - Ok, so Eris finds out about Jesminda and confronts Lucien about it. He says some pretty not nice things to his younger brother (he gets pretty mean), things couldn’t stay great between them forever. Thanks for reading!!!

oooooh boy we’re getting into it now

Prince of Ashes. Part XI.

masterlist.

Eris stumbled when someone slammed a large hand onto his shoulder, reaching for the knife at his side as he whirled on whoever it was. 

“Easy, brother,” rumbled Owain, his red hair a mess and his brown eyes on the snake-head knife hilt in Eris’s hand. Eris had to admit that he’d gotten very used to no one approaching him, let alone having someone lay a hand on him, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

Eris also figured it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he accidentally killed a new servant, and that perhaps his first instinct shouldn’t be to reach for his weapon. Eris returned the dagger to its place on the sheath at his side. “I didn't know it was you.” Owain looked troubled as he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and opening it once more as his eyes looked at anything but his oldest brother.

This sort of behaviour from Owain was unexpected, and Eris’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother. “What’s happened,” Eris demanded. The dominance in his tone suggesting it was best to just spit it out.

“Lucien,” was Owain’s response.

That one word had Eris freezing. “What’s happened,” he repeated, voice low.

“I would have just said — I would have spoken to him, but… He doesn’t,” Owain ran a hand through his hair, “He might listen to you.” Owain was usually stoic, composed. Eris was panicking slightly to see that he looked worried.

“Owain,” Eris snapped, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Owain lifted his chin just slightly, he was taller than Eris by a lot, but he was looking Eris straight in the eyes. “I saw Lucien in Calchas with a female.”

Eris paused, blinking once before he grinned. “I don’t really see the problem.”

Owain licked his lips, “Right, no, it wouldn’t be, not normally.” 

Eris’s grin shifted, turned more into a bare of teeth, “Then why are you bothering me with this.” Eris had countless things to do, a territory to run, prisoners to deal with. He didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“The female is a lesser faerie, Eris,” there was a hint of desperation in his usually calm tone. “And he’s with her … constantly. You know how father feels about this sort of thing. If it was one time, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you,” he awkwardly waved one of his large hands, “If someone loyal to father had seen him…” Owain trailed off. Owain hadn’t needed to finish his sentence, Eris knew very well what Beron would do if his youngest son was with a lesser faerie.

Cato’s warning from nearly two decades ago rang clear in his head — Beron wanted to make Lucien’s life as miserable as possible. Eris moved closer to Owain, his hand gripping his younger brother’s thick arm, “What do you know?”

Owain shook his head, “Not much.”

“Tell me everything.” Eris would rather know what little Owain had discovered than nothing at all. 

“She’s a farm girl, works in the orchards with her family, can’t be older than three decades.”

Owain sounded like he was giving Eris a report, “Priam and Maddox have seen them as well, usually out in the fields, by the rivers, they don’t go to the city often, but knowing this court, they go enough that commoners have noticed.”

“What are the rumours?”

“Amongst the High Fae? Just gossip. No different than what they say about the rest of us.” There were always rumours surrounding the Vanserras. “I’m just,” Owain’s cheeks turned red as he mumbled, “Worried, I suppose.”

Eris scanned Owain’s face for any signs of deception. He seemed sincere, but Eris wasn’t entirely shocked, Owain wasn’t horrible. “I’ll talk to him,” Eris assured his younger brother, “But this stays between us.”

Owain nodded once, embers in his brown eyes, “Of course.” Eris gave Owain what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Owain’s hand snapped up, grabbing Eris by the wrist.

“You can… You can trust me, Eris,” he said, voice low, auburn brows furrowed. “I don’t want Lucien dead anymore than you do.” Eris didn’t get a chance to respond as Owain let go of him, winnowing away with a loud crack, leaving Eris alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Eris would think on this later, about possibly trusting Owain. Owain had always been closer to Cato, closer to Maddox, but he knew they’d all be stronger together if they could all stop fighting amongst themselves.

With a shake of his head, throwing his shoulders back, Eris walked down the hall, making his way to Lucien’s room. Eris couldn’t understand where in the hells he went wrong. He’d spent decades telling Lucien not to make any attachments, not to do anything that would draw any unwanted attention, not to do anything that would anger their father. Not their father. Eris was certain if Lucien knew the truth he wouldn’t refer to Beron as such.

Eris growled just thinking about the vow he’d made to his mother nearly thirty years ago. He bounded up a flight of stairs, flames flaring in the sconces on the walls. He’d been in such a rush that he almost ran past Lucien’s bedroom door, backtracking with an annoyed snarl. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to tell his youngest brother, but he lifted his fist, banging a little too loudly on the dark wood. Once Eris heard the muffled “come in,” he shoved open the door.

Lucien was lounging on his bed, shoes off, the laces of his shirt loose. He was holding a book, one that Eris had read before. “Fallon’s Fables” was painted in an elegant, gold script on the cover. It was more of a story book than an actual tome for educating oneself. It had been Eris’s favourite when he’d been young, he’d gifted his to Rufus decades ago and he wondered whether the book Lucien had in his hands was the same one.

Lucien grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I thought you were Rufus.”

Eris slammed the door shut, locking it, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you as well,” Lucien’s grin faltered just slightly, and Eris briefly thought that he should have greeted his youngest brother, but he’d already started speaking.

“Lucien, tell me right now it’s not true.” Eris was trying to keep calm, he was trying not to yell, he was trying not to get angry. He would give Lucien a chance to explain himself.

Lucien closed his book, laughed a little nervously. “Tell you what?” He questioned.

Eris’s nostrils flared. The unmistakable scent of his little brother was obvious. But among the familiar citrus, weaving in and out of that scent, was apple blossoms. Eris groaned, “Lucien, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“You’re starting to worry me a bit, you know?”

Eris could have set the room on fire. “You don’t worry about me,” Eris shook his head, “Stick to worrying about yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucien was wary now, but his eyes were still bright. “Is this one of your riddles?”

“Yes,” Eris stepped closer to the bed, a mocking smile on his face. “I’m an idiot who chooses to ignore my older brother’s good advice.”

“Easy,” Lucien smiled, just like he’d done when he was younger and he’d found the answer to any of Eris’s riddles, “Rufus Vanserra.”

“Rufus isn't the one parading around Calchas with a lesser faerie,” Eris crooned.

Lucien’s face dropped, his smile gone, Eris could practically see Lucien trying to come up with some lie. He noticed when Lucien decided to just tell the truth, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest, jaw set. “So?”

“So?” Eris wanted to laugh, “That’s all you have to say?” Eris was going to light the whole room on fire if he didn’t get a handle on his anger.

Lucien looked up at Eris, flames in his eyes, “I don’t know why it matters, most of what I do doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it does,” Eris spat. He had to remind himself to take deep, calming breaths. “Find another female to fuck.” Eris found he was absolutely horrendous at this. Even Eris thought that was crue, too cruel. He should have gone straight to their mother and asked her to deal with whatever the hells this was.

Lucien’s face unexpectedly softened, “I love her, Eris.”

Eris threw his hands in the air in defeat, “You’re not supposed to love things in this cauldron-forsaken court,” Eris was getting angrier by the second. “This court is cruel and brutal, there is no place for love in it.” It was a lesson all of them had learned, a lesson that Beron had taught them, a rule each of them tried to follow. In Autumn, a rule like that kept you alive. 

“You sound just like father.”

Eris flinched, just slightly, Lucien probably hadn’t even noticed. Eris would have rather Lucien stabbed him then tell him something like that. But he would stand his ground, “End it.”

“I’m not going to,” Lucien lifted his chin, his jaw set. Had Lucien always been this stubborn?

“And I’m not going to say it again,” Eris growled, “End it.”

“What about you, then?” Lucien snarled, eyes flaring. “You and all your lovers? Everyone knows you’ve had countless.”

Eris felt his rage mounting as he waved a hand dismissively, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “They meant nothing.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as Lucien asked, “What about Micah?”

“I didn’t tell you that so you could throw it in my face.” Eris snarled back, his voice low. Eris was regretting having trusted Lucien and Rufus with it now, even if they both hadn’t seemed to care when he’d mentioned that Micah had been his lover.

“I’m not throwing it in your face,” Lucien shook his head, he looked hurt that Eris would consider it. “I just don’t think you have any right to sit there and lecture me about forbidden love.”

“I didn’t love him.”

Lucien didn’t look like he believed him for a moment. “Honestly?” 

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, “Honestly.”

“Cauldron, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Lucien raised his brows.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, Lucien, I was young and reckless once, too,” Eris started, probably as close to an admission of the love he’d had for Micah as anyone would get, “But I know better now.” Eris’s relationships never lasted, either because of him or because he ended them before they got too serious, before he got too invested. Micah had been one of his only exceptions, and even that had ended. Eris shook his head, “End it and court a female father will approve of.”

“Yes, because all you do is court lovely females father would approve of?” Eris knew he was being a ridiculous hypocrite, but this was different. Eris was the heir, and his father didn’t pay much attention to anyone he took to bed, and Eris had had a whole lot of practice making sure his father only knew about the females he’d wanted Beron to know about. No matter how often Eris messed up, Eris figured his father probably wasn’t going to kill him - he couldn’t afford to, not anymore.

Eris was a damn good courtier and a fantatsic fucking commander, his father would have to be an imbecile to kill him off. But Lucien wasn’t important, not to Beron. He was young and worthless. Lucien was the runt of the litter. “This isn’t about me,” Eris snapped, finally having reached the end of his rope. “This is about you.”

Lucien jumped to his feet, throwing the book from his hands onto his bed, “You don’t get to do that,” he shouted.

Eris growled, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucien wasn’t finished. “You’ve been gone for over a year, you don’t get to come back when it suits you and tell me how to live my life!” Eris stiffened, watching as Lucien waved a hand in his direction. Embers fell to the floor from Lucien’s fingers. “Don’t act like you care, Eris, when it’s obviously not the case.”

It was true that Eris hadn’t been to The Forest House in quite some time, but he hadn’t thought Lucien would be so angry at him for it, that Lucien would accuse him of not caring. Eris wanted to stomp his foot like some spoiled child, say Lucien was being unfair, that he was acting like a youngling. “Just think of the mess I’ll have to clean up when this goes wrong,” Eris snarled. “Think for one moment and you’ll see nothing good can come of this ridiculous dalliance.”

Eris knew he’d been too harsh when Lucien’s face hardened.“Get out,” Lucien spat, a strange golden glow to his eyes.

Eris scowled. “Fine then, don’t fucking listen,” he moved to the door. “See if I’ll fucking help if you get caught.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Lucien sneered. “I’ve lived my whole life without your help.” Eris had his hand on the doorknob, frozen on the spot, as he gasped out a choked laugh.

Turning to face Lucien, brows raised, lip curled, Eris cocked his head to the side — the words he spoke quiet. “Have you?”

Lucien’s expression changed, almost imperceptibly, almost like he regretted having said that, but he stood his ground. “Get out, Eris.”

Eris should have stayed, should have apologized, but he had never been very good at admitting when he’d been wrong. With one last shake of his head, Eris threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Eris heard something shatter in Lucien’s room, he heard Lucien’s muffled shout, but he kept walking. Eris knew there were flames in his eyes, flames trailing behind him as he walked towards his study with fast steps. He could practically hear his mother’s voice from when he’d been young, urging him to tame his magic. The flames should not control you, she’d tell him, you must be the one to control them.

Eris had struggled with his magic as a child, tutors thought him too dangerous to teach, and his mother had taught him to control it when even Beron hadn’t been able to. Eris was having trouble keeping his magic controlled now, though. The temperature around him raised, the air holding some of that choking feel that his father’s magic so often had. Eris really was becoming just like Beron.

Eris slammed the door to his study open with his shoulder. The fireplace flared to life as he entered, flames wild. Eris needed to be careful, or he’d set all his books on fire. Eris took a deep breath, “I’m in control,” he muttered. “I’m in control.” He clenched his fists, the flames disappearing, “I’m in control.” Eris took another deep breath, picturing dying embers in his mind. He was going to speak to his mother, she would be able to help him.

Lucien had always listened to him and Eris didn’t know what he was going to do now that he hadn’t. Perhaps Eris would damn the consequences and drain his father’s stash of good cognac. Perhaps Eris would go to the streets of Calchas in search of some company. Or, Perhaps Eris would simply stay at the Forest House and pray this did not end badly.

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

Anonymity be Damned

Hi, everyone! This is my first ever fic, and it’s a part of the Citrus Server collab! I’m so excited about it, and I know it’s super self indulgent, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it. Please give me feedback and tell me what you like and what I can improve on; also, please be nice to me, I’m a baby.

MASTER LIST IS  HERE  Go check out everyone’s hard work!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, brief angst, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x chubby!female reader

Taglist: @reinawritesbnha

Prompt: "Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow.

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist.

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

—————————

Of course, not thinking twice about accepting came back to bite you as soon as the realization set in that you would, in fact, have to go. Suddenly hyper-aware of your need to buy a dress, and knowing how little you enjoy shopping, you call your best girls for the job. A quick text to the groupchat had Mina and Yaomomo screaming with excitement that you were actually asking to go shopping. Jirou and Ochako sharing your apprehension, and Hagakure and Froppy bowing out due to their schedules, but wishing you luck with sweet emojis.

Yaomomo chose the dress shop, under the enthusiastic offer that she’d pay to ensure everyone would receive something from her favorite designers. You knew this was a place only Yaomomo could frequent- beautiful gowns lined every wall, display mannequins donning the most gorgeous dresses, made of the best fabrics with jewels perfectly beaded in, none of which had price tags so as to not “ruin the material” as she had told all of you. Whisking you all into dressing rooms bigger than your entire apartment, the staff practically fawned over each of you, offering assistance, refreshments, recommendations, and- oh fuck- measurements. Nerves shot through your entire body and made you nauseous, ready to make a stupid excuse to leave before your insecurities were announced to your girlfriends. You’ve always been...bigger.

The word tasted bitter on your tongue. The consultant made barely a sound as she pulled out her tape, but you heard it. That little “hm” noise, indicating judgement, knowing that most of their stock isn’t going to fit you properly, what with your plump thighs, soft tummy, squishy arms, the rolls that seemed to stay no matter how many workouts you do..

“We don’t carry plus size gowns, but I’m sure I can find something for you.”

All is confirmed when she says those stupid fucking words with that Joker-esqe smile and that hint of disgust in her tone. ‘I shouldn’t be here, I never should’ve accepted that invitation, why did I even think this was a good idea, the whole thing is for beautiful skinny girls like your friends, this is all a mistake,’ you think to yourself, insecurities and anxiety flooding your brain. Mina’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we asked for your personal opinion on her body. In fact, I believe we only asked for you to do your job, but if you can’t complete such a daunting task, I’m sure there are 20 other people who’d love to take your place.” she grinned, in a tone too perky for her threatening choice of words.

“Also, as I happen to frequent this shop, I know your entire inventory. As such, I know that you do, in fact, carry gowns for each of our sizes. If you can find one to fit my chest, I know you have a variety of gowns to fit my beautiful friend, y/n. I suggest you begin pulling them, as I’m sure you’ve gotten the measurements you need. Now.” This time it’s Yaomomo, handling the situation with dignitary-level finality, before gracefully walking to you with a comforting smile. Ochako wipes a tear you weren’t aware had fallen, attempting to comfort you with false empathy, saying how you two are “practically the same size”, but you know you’re not. It’s comforting nonetheless, having the support of your friend group. Jirou cracks self deprecating jokes to lighten the mood, complaining, “If I have to wear a frilly gown to this bullshit, so do you, y/n. You’re not getting out of this that easy,” and you absolutely know she means it.  

With your spirit slightly renewed and the consultants carrying in a multitude of dresses, you all end up having a blast laughing about how the pink ballgown does not fit Jirou’s aesthetic and the skintight green satin number Ochako tried on would quite literally have Deku passed out on the floor. You giggled with Yaomomo about how certain dresses looked risqué and nearly pornographic on your respective figures. Mina whined about how each dress didn’t have enough glitter, her complaints falling on deaf ears. Over the course of two and a half hours, each of the girls had secured a dress. Mina, in a teal mermaid-style dress with enough sparkle woven into the tulle to blind. Jirou, in a simple deep purple velvet gown that gracefully fell off her shoulders. Ochako, deciding, after much peer pressure, to opt for the green satin to make Deku drool. Yaomomo, in a red gown with beautiful beading, and a deep V neckline. You, on the other hand, were struggling to find something that doesn’t have you hyperfixating on one aspect of your body or another, limiting your breathing and movement so as to not further sink into the mean thoughts swirling around inside your head. The girls have gone into full support staff-mode, bringing you dresses of every cut known to man, offering more champagne to dull the anxieties, Yaomomo even offering to make you a custom dress with her quirk. Jirou sheepishly comes into the room, head down, hoping no one brings attention to the fact that she just sifted through dresses for a good 15 minutes and didn’t hate it, before nudging your soft side. You turn to her, defeated, and ready to give up, when you realize what she’s holding. She’s picked a dress for you, even though she hates shopping anywhere that isn’t blaring music through the speakers and dimly lit. You smile sweetly at her shy offering, reaching out to take it before she pulls back.

“No, I have an idea… I know it’s easy to look at your insecurities before the dress is all the way on, and I think you should let us help you into it with your eyes closed… Then, when you turn around to the mirror, you can see all the beautiful parts, like we do!” She looks down at the floor as she mutters the words, as though she’s embarrassed to be so soft and sweet.

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, JIROU! OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU HAVE TO LET US DRESS YOU, IT’LL BE JUST LIKE CINDERELLA WITH THE BIRDS AND THE MICE, COME ONNN…” Mina bounces up and down, grabbing your hands and pleading, knowing you never say no when she gives you such excited eyes.

“Uh… fine… Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” You shyly whisper, looking away.

If it were anyone else, you’d never want them to see you getting dressed, soft tummy and extra squish uncovered, leaving you vulnerable to their judgement. But these are your best friends, you’d known them for years. They’d held your hair on your 21st birthday, and cuddled into bed with you when you were crying over unrequited love. They’ve had your back, they’d never make fun of you, and Jirou chose this dress all special for you, you couldn’t say no. With that, you turned around and closed your eyes, arms out and waiting for them to help you into whatever Jirou had deemed right for you.

“Okay, y/n, almost done, just have to zip this last part up and… DONE!” Mina and Yaomomo stepped back from their positions holding the sides and pulling the zipper, respectively. Finally admiring the you in the dress, there was a moment of absolute silence. You started shifting uncomfortably, wondering just how horrible you looked if they didn’t even have words to describe it. Ochako was the first to break the quiet and a teary-sounding “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”, followed by Mina’s signature squeals of excitement. Yaomomo clasped her hands together and began ranting about “how gorgeous you looked” and “how perfect the dress was” and “how she didn’t even know they had this one yet”. Jirou, sensing your anxious shifting, finally told you to open your eyes and turn around with a hand on your shoulder, the satisfied smirk on her face audible in her now assured voice.

“Oh… wow…” was all you could manage to say, eyes wide as you saw yourself in the full length mirror. This was, in all honesty, the first time you felt beautiful in years. The dress did nothing to hide your body- no- it somehow managed to accentuate every single curve in the most beautiful way possible. The gown was black, made from silk and taffeta, with some built in structure, and oh so soft. Simultaneously comfortable, secure, and elegant, the strapless gown mimicked a one shoulder, right side jutting up in an asymmetrical style and the left dipping just low enough to show your cleavage before cascading down your curves, hugging each roll of your body gently, showing off your figure and flowing down to the floor with a slit up your thigh, only visible when you walked and showing the ample flesh of your hip and thigh. God, it was perfect. You felt strong and classy and sexy and beautiful. Turning to Jirou, you pull her into your chest and hug her, thanking her a thousand times for finding it.

“Whoa, hey, okay… I’m glad you like it, you look absolutely beautiful. But- um- hey, can you let go? I’m suffocating in titties here.” Jirou laughed, genuinely struggling to breathe in your embrace.

“Oh shit, sorry, Jirou! I’m just so happy, I love it so much! I kinda forgot you can’t breathe when I do that…” You chuckle nervously, releasing her from your embrace.

“Yay! Okay, now that everyone has a dress, let’s go purchase them and get some food. I’m starving!” Yaomomo pitches the idea, and everyone agrees, excited to hurry out of the shop for a meal.

_____________________________________________________________

The day had finally come, and your nerves felt fried. The other girls all had dates; Momo and Jirou deciding to go together, Ochako with Deku, even Mina was going with Kaminari. But here you were, riding in the car service alone, makeup absolutely flawless, complete with falsies and red lipstick that was the perfect shade to stand out against your skin. Such a shame no one was going to be benefiting from your efforts tonight, although the thought that your longtime crush, Sero Hanta, would be in attendance was enough to urge you to adjust your carefully placed mask, ensuring your anonymity and polishing your confidence. Sero had been in your friend group since high school, and was the first person you truly warmed up to upon your acceptance into the group. You quickly became the “shy little sister” to the loud ones in the group: Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina. Jirou and Sero were more your speed; quieter, more laid back and chill, with great senses of humor that not everyone was privy to. With Jirou as your designated best friend, Sero was proclaimed the unrequited love interest. You friendzoned yourself almost immediately, assuming Sero wouldn’t go for a girl like you, not when he was tall, dark, handsome, and muscular. A budding pro hero wouldn’t want you, not with your shy insecurities and soft body…

Little did you know, Sero had been pining after you since the beginning, flirting with you subtly in hopes that you’d express your interest. Eyes wandering down your curves during movie nights, taking in your too-small shorts and how your oversized shirt would raise just enough to see your little tummy pouch, wishing his face was buried between your plump thighs, praying he would be able to leave hickeys on every delicious roll, pleading he could see those cute chubby cheeks covered with tears while your plush lips wrapped around his cock… No- he couldn’t think of you like that. After all, you never returned his flirting, and there’s no way you’d like him when you could crush on manlier guys like Kirishima and Bakugou. ‘He was just a “dollar store Spiderman”, as Bakugou liked to call him, just a guy… Nothing special…’ he thought to himself as he adjusted his own mask in the bathroom mirror at the gala. His friends had all confirmed that you were coming, and that you were coming alone (said by Kaminari while wiggling his eyebrows). Every other person in the group had a date, including Bakugou and Kirishima, who had to practically drag the former to the event in the first place. He was the only one “stagging it”, aside from you, who would no doubt attract attention and end up going home with some flashy hero higher ranked than he was. He sighed, adjusting his tux jacket and cufflinks, and exited into the main ballroom to get a drink.

You walked into the venue, checked in, and stood frozen outside the ballroom entrance. You adjusted your mask, steeled your nerves, and squared your shoulders, reminding yourself how absolutely gorgeous you looked and donning your best “bad bitch” aura. You strut into the place like you own it, suddenly very aware of how many people there are, scanning for familiar faces as you sway your luscious hips to maintain your balance in your heels.

“Holy fuck... “  Sero utters, jaw slack and eyes locked on you. You’re so perfect, breasts bouncing with every step, thighs and tummy jiggling, soft smile gracing your face. He’s staring, and Kaminari has to elbow him to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth before you get there. You’re equally as enchanted, seeing Sero in his black fitted tuxedo, crushed velvet lapels, tapered pants making his quads look positively biteable, crisp white shirt tailored over his pecs, black bowtie (slightly crooked, very fitting of his personality) and mask obscuring his face, leaving him as nothing more than a handsome stranger. A  yellow pocket square catches your attention, reminding you of your favorite hero in his costume. You smirk to yourself, knowing you chose yellow gold heels specifically because they reminded you of him.

“See something you like, Sero-buddy? You’re staring so hard, you’d think she was God.” Kaminari punches Sero in the ribs, trying to break the spell. “Maybe you should talk to her, finally get over your crush on y/n by getting under someone else.” he winks, completely unaware that he’s talking about you in both respects.

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I think I’ll give it a minute, maybe grab another drink and enjoy the party for a while. I’m not trying to start hitting on some random chick just yet, though hot she may be.” Sero laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, downs the rest of the liquid, then focuses back on you. You wait at the bar for your drink of choice, aware of that beautiful stranger still staring and leaning against the counter just enough to push your ass out. You hear him nearly choke on his drink, and move around the party satisfied with yourself.

A few drinks later, you find yourself on the dance floor, watching from the edge and lightly swaying to the music. A masked man with shaggy black hair, who you can only assume to be pro hero Grand, given his mask barely covered a fourth of his face probably only worn to fit the theme, approached you for a dance, hand extended and bowing at the waist.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be a wallflower. Care to dance?” he asks, voice low and alluring, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.

“I might…” you smile shyly, taking his hand and letting him lead you.

Once out on the dance floor, he pulls you into his chest with a hand on your lower back. It’s nice to be wanted, to dance so close to a man who finds you beautiful, especially one as chiseled as Grand. ‘Wait- is he…? Are you fucking kidding?’ Your fight or flight response kicks in as soon as you feel his hand drift lower and lower onto your ass. You pull away, ready to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before you can get a word out, he puts a hand over your jaw, fingers tightly snapping your mouth closed. Unable to speak and too shocked to move, you feel helpless as he whispers in your ear.

“God, I love fat girls. Your self esteem is so low, I can do whatever I want and you’ll fall for it. So stupid, so fun.” His laugh is so dark, and you start to panic before a large, strong hand reaches between the two of you and wraps around Grand’s throat, yanking him back and off of you.

“Listen, this is a classy place, so I’ll give you a choice. Either you apologize to this absolutely gorgeous woman and get the fuck out of here, or I beat you to a bloody pulp right here and ruin both your suit and your face.” The handsome stranger who had originally caught your eye growls, voice so low and intimidating you didn’t doubt for a second he meant every word. ‘His voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s so angry, and he’s speaking so low, I can’t figure out where I’ve heard that before.’  Thankful for his saving assistance, and trying to calm yourself from hyperventilating, you watch Grand’s retreating form before turning to the man who is quite literally your Prince Charming of the evening.

Voice still low and angry, “Listen, I need you to distract me. Calm me down so I don’t turn around and kill that guy.” he seethes. “You are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. He was so wrong. He’s an asshole, absolutely vile, and he never should’ve even had the nerve to approach you, much less touch you. God fucking damn it, I should-”

You cut him off by pulling him close, placing your hands on his chest and letting them roam up to fix his still crooked bowtie.

“Thank you…” you whisper, tearing up as you put your head on his chest. His cologne is so calming, his scent enveloping you as his arms instinctively wrap around you and his hand finds the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

The two of you slow dance in silence, his head resting on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo and hairspray comforting him and taking him to a dream where he was dancing with the y/n he knew, feeling your soft body pressed against him, imagining how you’d look in the dress on the girl he was actually dancing with. ‘Oh fuck, y/n would look so fucking perfect in this. Her curves- fuck, this dress is soft- I would absolutely love to run my hands along her body in this dress, press her up against me like this, fuck her thighs- wait… SHIT-FUCK-NO’  Snapped out of his thoughts by the increasing tightness of his tux pants, he prays to god the sexy girl pressed against him doesn’t notice.

You notice something nudging against your thigh, breaking you out of your daydreams about the mystery man being Sero Hanta, opening your eyes before you realize exactly what you’re feeling. ‘Oh… OH. Holy fuck, did I make him hard just dancing? He- uh- feels… big… Maybe if I just-’  you subtly shift your hips, thigh brushing up against him and slotting between his legs just enough. A deep groan rises from his chest, and he leans down to your ear.

“Babygirl, if you keep doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to return the favor~” His voice sounds so familiar, but the lust clouding the low rumble has it taking on an entirely new timbre. You lean in, feeling emboldened by his words, swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear with a simple “Oh really?~ And what if that’s the goal?”

With that, he crooks his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. What starts as a sweet and simple kiss quickly evolves into a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His fingers gently resting on your neck, just above your collarbone, and tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You sigh into him, granting him access and letting his tongue explore your mouth, relishing in his deep rumbles and pressing impossibly closer, hoping he’d get the message and take you somewhere more private. Luckily, it seems he seems to read your body language and leads you to a side hallway by pressing his hand on the small of your back, possessively guiding you. Pushing you up against the wall, he leans back in to resume kissing you, with an arm steadying himself above your head. In a simply embarrassing display of clumsiness, your hand reaching for his cheek goes slightly off course, accidentally knocking off his mask and causing you to fumble to the floor to retrieve it. Upon looking up, you see Sero standing with a flushed face and his hand reaching up to the back of his neck, the endearing nervous tic you’d learned from him over the years. Oh God, if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it sure as fuck was now… The man you had yearned after for years not only swooping in to save you from some low-life creep, but also having you in a kabedon against the wall of the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. He laughs, nervous now without his anonymity, and reaches down to help you up.

“I- uh- sorry, I might’ve gotten carried away. I hope you’re okay, I know I’m probably not the hero you wanted. I really do think you’re beautiful, you actually remind me of someone I know and- wow- I’m rambling…” He goes on like this, panicking that he’s somehow ruined your fantasy and disappointed you by existing. He only shuts up when you stand back upright and kiss him softly.

“You’re exactly the hero I want… The hero I’ve always wanted.” You blush, staring up at him with the most loving doe eyes you can manage.

‘Wait… Her voice… Is that- ?’ Sero came to quite possibly the best and utterly terrifying realization; that the girl he’d been lusting after all night and the girl he’d been wanting for years could be the same girl. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face, lightly grazing your mask as though asking for permission. You nod, never breaking your gaze on his concentrated expression, and parted your lips. He gingerly lifts the mask from your features, damning your anonymity, and each of you hold your breath in anticipation. The way he looks at you is like something out of a movie, or one of those shōjo manga you love to obsess over: pure relief, adoration, lust, love. Oh, you want him to look at you like that forever.

“Y/n, I-... You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. I have been wanting to kiss you for years, and to finally do it, and with you looking… Wow- you are so fucking stunning, I have never seen anything as beautiful in my life. Fuck, I just- I wish I could tell you how perfect you are, express in words how flawless I’ve always thought you were- still do… “ Sero breathed all of this as though he had to get every word out before you disappeared. He held your face in both hands, lightly squishing your cheeks and stroking his thumb over your lips, taking in your hopelessly enthralled expression. “You know what? Fuck this. No- I mean- not ‘fuck this’, I just… I want to do this right. I want you, I need you. I want to express how important you are, I need to show you that you’re everything to me. I want to worship you, kiss every inch of your body and make you feel so incredibly complete and full and whole and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Hanta… I- Yes. Yes. Please take me home, I need you. I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You lean into his touch, wanting to be ever closer to his warmth.

You yelp as he suddenly picks you up, bridal style, as though you don’t even provide a struggle.

“HANTA, you can’t be carrying me, I weigh more than you, no no no, I’m too heavy, you can’t-”

“Y/n. I’m a pro hero, are you seriously telling me I can’t carry you? I can carry 3 people at once while hanging from a strip of tape in midair. I’ll hold you up forever if you’d let me.” He squeezes you in his hold, emphasizing his point.

His cocky attitude was majorly driven by how good you felt, soft tummy and jiggling tits against his torso, the perfect squish of your thighs in his powerful arms, chubby hands and cheeks tucked into his chest and the crook of his neck. He swore he could die happy right there. In the elevator, he took a moment to take in your entire figure, but upon reaching your feet, something turned him absolutely feral. Your shoes. You were wearing his colors. Every single piece of clothing matched his hero costume. ‘Holy shit… You knew. You wanted him before this even happened. You were his.’ The possessive growl that tore from his chest startled you as he adjusted you in his hold. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, hands unapologetically on the ample crux of your thighs and ass, lips on yours in a desperate kiss that was all tongue and teeth, grinding his hard cock against you. You whimpered against his lips, shocked by his sudden change of demeanor.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my colors, aren’t you? You want me to claim you? You want to be mine? I’ll give you anything you want, babygirl. I just need you to ask for it.~” He growled against your neck, nose tracing the column of your throat.

“Hanta, please, yes- ah~. I want to be yours. I only want to be yours. I need you. Please, please, please.” Normally, you’d be way too shy to beg this much, embarrassed about how desperate you sound, but fuck he’s making you so needy. The gasp that escapes you when Sero licks a stripe up your neck turns into a moan when he starts sucking a hickey over your pulsepoint. He feels so good, the heat between your thighs steadily building with every nip of his teeth and roll of his hips. You thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and pull gently, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. He works his way up to your jaw, leaving pretty little marks in his wake, and returns to your lips like a safe haven. He strokes your tongue with his own, committing your taste to memory. He never wants to forget this moment, especially not when you lightly suck his tongue and pull him in further with those perfect fucking thighs. You’re so soft, being wrapped in your plushness with his fingers digging into the pliable flesh of your ass is too much. Sero’s sinful thoughts are interrupted by your fucked-out voice, so small and innocent, as though you’re afraid of his answer.

“Um… Can I- can I touch you? I mean- I- can I mark you, too?” You sound so unsure, not used to someone wanting to show you off.  You’re so breathless, and he’d be lying if the pleading in your voice didn’t make his dick twitch in his pants.

“Awwww~ is my babygirl shy now? You want to mark me, too? Go ahead, mi amor, sí se puede. I’m all yours, just like you’re mine.” Sero cranes his head to the side, baring his neck to you, waiting for you to bless him with those full lips, waiting for you to make a show of him finally having the most perfect girl he’s ever known.

If he could’ve taken a picture of your face in that moment, he’d look at it every day. Squishy cheeks blushing, eyes wide with surprise and excitement, gaze clouded with lust. You were so pretty, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. Sero moaned as you sucked a small dark mark onto his skin and happily carried you from the elevator to his room. You tighten your arms around him when he reaches for his key card, involuntarily pushing your chest together and pressing up into him.

“Oh, mi corazón, if you keep pressing into me like that, voy a tener que lamer cada parte de ti y puede que no te deje ir…” His threats sound more like promises when he’s carrying you through the threshold and placing you down gently, though his hands never leave your body.  Tracing your sides, memorizing your curves, squeezing any part he can get his hands on.  His right hand inches down your torso, resting on the pouch of your tummy and making you flinch. Sero notices and worries he’s hurt you, or that you don’t want him to touch you. The hurt in his eyes is obvious when he takes in your tense muscles and eyes squeezed shut, realizing it’s your own insecurities holding you back. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, see yourself through his eyes. He was going to make you feel so fucking loved, he just had to show you what he couldn’t express in words. You stripped him of his jacket as he unknotted his tie. With nervous hands, you unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it past his broad shoulders, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest and lean abs, admiring the enticing adonis belt and pretty trail of coarse black hair disappearing into his pants. Sero, with his ego now boosted by the lustful look in your eyes as you took him in, returned your gaze to his face with an intensity that made you shiver. He kept eye contact while sweeping your hair to one side, and slowly unzipping your gown. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans down to place open mouthed kisses along your shoulders as he pushes your dress down your body, kissing down your arms as it falls, and places a sweet kiss to your hands. Pushing you onto the bed with a soft thud and climbing over top of you, he moves the hands that raise to cover yourself , grasping your wrists in one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, as he softly reassures you.

“Princesa, please don’t hide from me. I’ve waited for you for so long, and I want to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you cry out my name, and show you just how perfect you are while you cum on my tongue. You will not say a single bad thing about mi amor, you understand?” he says lowly, so loving yet commanding.

“Yes, Hanta… I- I’ll be good for you, I promise.” you whine, praying your submission would please him.

The sound of his given name in that pleading tone has him painfully hard, but he’s too focused on hearing his name from your sweet lips again to care. You pull him down into a passionate kiss and roll your hips against his clothed cock when he laves down your neck and leaves love bites across your chest. He sucks your nipple into his warm mouth and rolls the other between his forefinger and thumb, earning a high pitched keen from you. He switches to give the same attention to the other side, tongue swirling around the peaked bud and relishing the way your chest heaves just from his mouth on your tits. ‘So needy… Fuck, how did I ever wait this long to see y/n like this and hear her sounds?’ Sero thinks to himself, so ready to watch your eyes roll back in your skull the minute you feel his cock fill you. The thought of you bouncing on his dick, watching you jiggle with his thrusts, letting him grip the fat on your hips and help you fuck yourself on him, feeling your lovely thighs straddle him, has him impatiently rutting into the mattress. He needs to taste you, leave marks all over your delicious tummy and thighs, and feel you coming undone beneath him. His large hands slide down your sides, rubbing back up under your breasts, gripping the extra flesh over your ribcage, the soft love handles on your sides, caressing the perfect pouch of your belly and settling on your hips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing and licking every place you had deemed undesirable like they were the sexiest pieces of you, leaving dark hickeys on the front of your hips to remind you that all of these parts were now his to love.

“Lo siento, babygirl, pero no puedo esperar más, necesito mi lengua en ese bonita coño jodidamente ahora. Estas necesitan estar en el suelo ahora.” If his panting growl of Spanish didn’t already have your pussy gushing, his strong fingers ripping your panties and hoes off your body had you dripping onto the bed. Your shocked squeak turning into a moan when he parted your legs and nipped at the soft skin of your inner thigh, Sero is beyond delighted by feeling your beautiful thighs squishing against his face. If he could choose his end, it would undoubtedly be suffocating between this plush heaven. He snaked his arms under your parted thighs to hold your hips, squeezing and marveling at the feeling of your warm body protruding between his spread fingers, trying to fit as much of you in his grasp as he could and never getting enough. You’re just about to plead for him to touch you where you need him most when you lock eyes and hear the teasing lilt in his voice when he groans “Itadakimasu~” and flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

“So wet for me, princesa, is this all for me? You’re so thoughtful to give me a meal so sweet.”

“Hantaaa, please. I want you, please don’t tease me, please touch me. I need- ah~”  

Your begging is interrupted by his tongue diving into your sex, lapping at your slick like a man starved. The moans coming from the man between your thighs were sinful; in this moment, Sero Hanta was no longer the friend you’d watched superhero movies with and silently crushed on for years- he was a man, a lover, all you’d ever wanted. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking the sensitive pearl into his mouth, he pulled one hand from your hip and slowly slipped two long fingers into your sopping heat. The callused pads from years of hero training now rubbing perfectly against your walls have you crying out for him and grasping his hair, begging him to go faster. He suddenly props himself up, bringing his palm up to grind against your clit and slowing his thrusts, wanting to hear you beg for him and watch your desperate facial expression.

“What is it you want, babygirl? C’mon, you’re going to have to use that pretty little mouth of yours. Tell me what you want, baby, use your words. I wanna hear you beg for me.” That normally dopey smile was replaced with a lewd smirk, hungry and covered in your juices.

“H-Hanta, please please please. I need you, need your mouth. Please I wanna cum, please let me cum, I want you to fuck me! Please please pleaseeeee~” Hips bucking forward, sweat lightly covering your skin, hair splayed out, body covered in his marks, begging for him… Shit, he’d give you anything you asked for. Oh, he’ll give you what you need- don’t you worry.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. I’ll make this pretty pussy cum. Hold onto me and just relax, princess.”

His lips returned to your clit, flicking his tongue and sucking lightly, and increased his pace. He curled his fingers just right, finding the spongy underside of your clit and he chuckles darkly to himself when your back arches, head falling back onto the pillows.

“There it is~, there we go, babygirl. Cum for me, just like this. I’ve got you, let go, cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long after his mouth goes back to nursing on your clit and his fingers continuously hitting your g-spot for the coil in your belly to finally snap. You climax hard, eyes screwed shut and screaming out his name as his tongue works you through your high. Once you’ve come down, you open your eyes and see Sero sucking his fingers clean of your release and unbuckling his belt with the other hand. You sit up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and unbuttoning his pants. He grows impatient with your pace, shoving his pants and tight boxers down at once. ‘Fuck, his dick is pretty’ you think to yourself, marveling at the masterpiece before you. He’s long, maybe 8.5-9 inches, thick enough to stretch your walls so deliciously but not too thick to fit in your mouth, prominent vein running along the underside and leading from the neat crop of black hair to the leaking tip, begging for your tongue. You start to rise to your knees before being pushed back into the duvet, looking up at him in confusion.

“No, no, mi amor. As much as I want to see your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, that’s gonna have to wait. I want to be inside you, I need to fuck you until all you can think about is me and how fucking beautiful I think you are.” His eyes are so sincere. He looks down at you with the most loving stare you’ve ever felt, so calm and safe in his presence. You’re lulled into submission, every doubtful argument you had died on your tongue, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He leans over you, bracing himself on an elbow with his hand on your jaw to keep your eyes fixated on him. The other hand wraps around the base of his cock and teases the head along your slit, pressing on your clit just enough to have you squirming, trying to impale yourself.

“So needy for me, so wet. You’re so perfect, babygirl, I wouldn’t want to go too fast now. I want to savor every inch, feel you stretch around me while I watch those e/c eyes roll back in pleasure.” He holds back from thrusting into you when you whine in response, breathing heavy and struggling to get him inside. “Damn, baby, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you tell me exactly what you want? Beg for my cock, mi amor.”

“PLEASE, I need you inside me, please! I need your cock. Please fuck me, Papi~” You gasp out in succession, trying out the name you had once heard Kaminari teasing him about. It was a desperate attempt to get him to move, one your fucked-out brain decided was your best shot at getting him feral. And holy shit were you right. Sero fills you in an instant, hard length thrust to the hilt in your tight hole, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back just as he promised.

“FUCK!” He’s losing restraint, driven mad by the filthy name coming from your angelic lips. The squeezing and fluttering of your walls is the only thing grounding him to Earth as he smirks down at you, baring his teeth while his other hand comes to wrap around your throat and apply light pressure to the sides. “Oh you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You have no idea how many times I imagined you calling me like that with these soft thighs wrapped around me; trust me, it’s nothing close to how sexy the real thing is. If you want to play dirty, princesa, don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

He backed up his statement with a few deep strokes that had your mouth falling open and eyes unfocusing, still unable to look away from the man about to wreck you. In a weak attempt to ground yourself, you reach up and place your hands on his back to feel the flexing of his muscles as he gave you slow, deep thrusts. Running your hands along his shoulders had your pussy clenching, and the groan pulled from his chest accompanying a harsh increase in his pace had your nails clawing at the corded muscles, causing him to put more force into fucking you into the mattress. A cycle of reactions, spurring the other on to continue and escalate.

“You feel so good, babygirl. S-So tight, you feel like you’re fucking made for me. I love you so much. I love everything about you. God, I fucking love your body- I love your curves, I love your legs wrapped around me, I love your sexy fucking thighs, I love your cute tummy- love how you feel pressed against me, I love running my fingers up your arms and kissing back down, I love gripping your hips when I hold you, I love watching you jiggle when you walk and bounce when I fuck you like this. You’re so fucking beautiful, so perfect for me.” Sero babbles out praises like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out. You’re a blushing mess, knowing these words are completely true, tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously as he thinks them. “I love that expression, angel. Still so shy at my praises, even though I can feel you trying to milk my cock at every word. Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you tell me who makes this pretty pussy feel so good, huh? Say it, angel.”

“Hantaaa~ you feel so good. Please don’t stop!! I’m so close, please. I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your cock, please Papiiii~. You make me feel so good. I love you, I love you, I’m all yours. Please, I’m yours-ah~, I wanna be yours. I need you, I love you so much. Only you could make me feel like this-fuck- it’s only you. Please make me cum, Papi~” Your moans and pleas are getting louder and louder, chasing your impending climax. Every emotion flowing out of you, combined with the wonderful overstimulation, had tears rolling down your pudgy cheeks. You hadn’t yet realized you were crying when Sero leaned down to kiss and lick away the salty streams.

“Okay, princesa, I’ll give you what you need. How can I say no when you're being so good for me? Such a beautiful mess, all for me. So perfect. My good girl~” His right hand smoothes down your torso and settles between your thighs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come on, babygirl. Papi’s got you, I’ll take good care of you. Cum for Papi. Cum on my cock.”

Your final orgasm has your back arched off the bed, eyes crossed, tongue lolling out, screaming out a string of “Hanta”, “Papi”, and “I love you”. Sero keeps his pace steady, fucking you through your climax and trying to prolong it as long as he can. The feeling of your doughy pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice, the gloriously wrecked ahegao face, and the sound of your cries as you creamed on his dick had him right on the edge of his own high. He started to pull out, not wanting to cross any boundaries, when he felt your legs pull him in even further. He looks back to your face; hazy, loving eyes drawing him in with that innocent look.

“Please cum inside me Papi, I want it! I’m yours, I want you. I want you to fill me up.” The permission to claim his longtime love and the aftershocks of your orgasm having you still pulsing around him finally push him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a feeble attempt to muffle his moans of your name as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum warming your insides and painting your walls white. You feel so full and so content. Staying inside you, Sero rolls the two of you over to lay on his back, still holding your sweaty bodies together as he kisses your forehead and strokes your hair, telling you how good you did, how happy he was, how proud he was of you.

No one has ever made you feel so good, so wanted. Normally, your post-sex thoughts are plagued with insecurities, but instead all yoou can think about is Sero and how perfect this was. How beautiful he made you feel… and how you didn’t want it to end.

“H-Hey… Um… Sero?” you timidly get his attention.

“Y/n, I’m gonna need you to start calling me Hanta if we’re gonna be together. It’s a little weird to call your boyfriend by their family name, isn’t it?… Unless you wanna call me Papi, of course~” He says, his normal goofy grin and teasing tone returned.

“Wait… You- you really want to be with me? You don’t want me to keep it a secret? I will if you tell me to… I don’t want to embarrass you, I know I’m not exactly the ‘trophy wife’ the other heroes go for… I just really like you- um- actually, I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I just got really excited that you wanted me and-” Your nervous muttering is cut off with his lips softly pressed against yours, his hand moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Mi amor, I’ve been in love with you for just as long. You are my trophy, the greatest part of me. Every single thing I said is true, and I’ve thought those things for our entire friendship. If you think for a second that I won’t be walking around shirtless, showing off all of these marks to Kirishima and Kaminari, you don’t know me at all.” He winks at you and brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “Princesa, babygirl, mi corazón… Nunca te dejaré, yo nunca te dejaré salir, yo prometo. I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you, too, y/n.”

You fall asleep on his chest to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat and steady breathing. Upon waking up, you assume you had just dreamed the entire affair, chalking it up to your vivid imagination and drinks at the ball. That is, until you realize you’re trapped in a tangle of limbs with Hanta, leg hiked over his body and arms encompassing each other. You try to shift slightly to see his sleeping face, but he stirs and rolls over on top of you with a groan. The jolt of his muscles jerking awake told you he also thought he had dreamed the entire thing, believing that the prospect of your mutual pining actually coming to fruition was too good to be true.

“Good morning, angel. I’m so glad you’re real… And that you’re all mine.” Sero softly sighs, voice rough from sleep, nuzzling his face into your chest and squeezing your soft midsection to hold you closer.

“Good morning, love. I’m so so happy, but there’s one thing…” You say, trying to hold back your giggles.

“What is it, baby? Is something wrong? What did I do?” Sero starts thinking of every possible scenario as you soothe his thoughts with a cheeky smile.

“I- um… I think I need you to carry me to the shower, you weren’t lying when you said I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you erupt in a fit of laughter. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the shower, so content in finally having his girl.

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A/N: WHEW okay… I’m actually really proud of this, and I hope you guys like it. The Latin Sero headcanon hits me so hard and I just absolutely simp for this sweet tape boy. Huge thank you to @reinawritesbnha for inspiring me to write this matchup, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten for encouraging me and giving me the courage to post, and my dear, sweet Sage for reading it to make sure I don’t embarrass myself and inspiring me to write in the first place. <3