#「 ∘*∵ such a pity / a boy so pretty. ( precisely. )

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that to out-smartass Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring out a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable. 

[thegoldencontracts]

hello!! this is my first request!! can u write azul saving reader from drowning and gets angry at them out of worry? not realizing that he confessed to them just now until it sinks in?

Hiii sorry this took so long! This concept is sooo good, hope I managed to do it justice aughhh

Because-!

Summary: Azul saves you after you fall into the Octavinelle pool. You're just hoping he doesn't expect repayment- Wait, why is he so upset?

Notes: There isn't much focus on the feeling of drowning, but there's still some. Anyways, hope you enjoy! Also, credit for the divider here!

If a Darwin award existed, you were really one of the prime candidates to win it, it seemed.

You'd fallen into a pool. Actually, that was fairly normal. There was a very real risk of people falling into pools, that was why most public pools hired life-guards.

Octavinelle's pool, however, didn't abide by that policy, and so there was no one around as you'd fallen in. The panic was setting in at a rapid pace.

You couldn't breathe. Water was filling up your lungs, and you couldn't even cry out for help, and you couldn't breathe-

A splash. Someone was in the pool. Were they- here to save you?

They were approaching - closer, and closer. But you didn't get to see whether they saved you or not, because before they could even get near you, your vision went dark.

You woke up. That was good. Were you- in the afterlife or something? The silver-haired boy above you did seem angelically pretty, after all...

"You're awake."

You felt your face heat up. Nevermind. You were very much alive, and that guy you just called pretty was, in fact, Azul Ashengrotto, Octavinelle Housewarden, your crush, and maybe your friend. The jury was still out on that one. Azul never really admitted his friendships, but he gave you free stuff, so that was probably a good sign.

Would this be free, though? Even with Azul's "no free lunch" mentality, this seemed a bit too far.

"So," you started, voice hoarse. "Do you, uh, need something."

Azul looked at you for a second, expression all too void of emotion. Then, he spoke.

"What exactly were you thinking?" He demanded. "Approaching the pool in spite of your lack of ability to swim is the height of foolishness! If you truly wanted to come here, you should've simply asked me to accompany you!"

An uncharacteristically enraged Azul yelling at you was definitely- something to wake up to.

"I almost died- dude-"

"Precisely!" Azul said, eyes still burning with rage. "Were I not there, you wouldn't-"

He sighed.

"Don't do something so foolish again."

That was it? Azul Ashengrotto, not even expecting repayment? Weird.

"Listen," you said. "It's awesome that you care, but I can handle myself. I've learned my lesson."

"You quite nearly died," Azul said through grit teeth. "What if that happens once more, without me there? You'd die! And even if it weren't for my love for you, I simply cannot have-"

He cut himself off at the realization of what he'd just said. You took a second to process it too. Azul- liked you?

The universe had taken pity on you! Your crush liked you back!

"I- er, forgive me," he said, turning away his head in shame. "I suppose I got a tad carried away. Please, just allow me to accompany you the next time you come here."

"Why don't you also accompany me on a date sometime?" You said, before you could stop yourself. Azul looked at you in shock for a second, before clearing his throat.

"Are you being serious about this invitation?"

You nodded.

"Dead serious."

"Then," he said. "I'd love to accompany you."

And though you could sense he still had a lot more chastising to you, that you hadn't yet escaped scolding, nor the physical consequences of almost drowning, you couldn't help but feel oddly warm inside.

It seemed you'd found a silver lining here.

[ddejavvu]

okay okay I'm so obsessed with this idea of grumpy gruff/hotch who's secretly the most romantic bf ever so what about hotch who's sick but powers through it at work until you show up to drop off lunch and suddenly he's the biggest baby ever??

Adore your writing, thank you for being an angel!

The team doesn't even know he's sick until you show up with a care kit. Derek's brow furrows as he spots cold medicine in your hand, flagging you down before you can rush to Aaron's office.

"Hey, Missus Hotchner!" He calls, still a tease even when confused.

"Hm?" You nod in greeting, frozen on the steps.

"What's the cough syrup for," He motions to the bottle, "You and Hotch gonna party?"

"There's sprite in the kitchen," Emily snorts.

"No," You laugh incredulously, "Aaron's sick, I'm here to bring him soup and his medicine."

With that, you're off. You take Derek's confused silence as your opportunity to leave, rushing up the stairs and shutting the door behind you. Even if they can't hear you, they watch as Hotch sets down his pen at the sight of you, and how his shoulders droop with exhaustion.

"Hi, honey." You croon, gripping his cheeks and leaning over his desk to kiss his heated forehead, "Oh, my poor baby. You ready for soup?"

"Yes please," He rasps, and if his voice is a little more pitiful than it was during the BAU's earlier meeting, you'll never know.

"Take some medicine," You hand over the bottle, "10 mL, Aaron. No skimping."

He rolls his eyes, "I only did that once."

"Yeah," You scoff, "Last night! You're not to be trusted anymore."

"There," He pours the recommended dose into the small plastic cup, showcasing his precision, "Is that good enough for you, doctor?"

"Yes," You grin, refusing to acknowledge his snark, "Drink it all, Aaron."

As an adult accustomed to a drink here and there, his face should not screw up the way it does at the taste of the cough syrup. The team sees it through the windows lining Hotch's office, and there's assorted chuckles and gasps when you guide his mouth open again, holding a bottle of water to his lips and tipping it between his lips.

"Look at that," Derek marvels, "She's babying him."

"And he's acting the part," JJ's eyebrows raise when he shuts his eyes, leaning into your palm so that you kiss his forehead once more, "Oh my god, look, she's feeding him!"

Sure enough, you crack open a container of soup and hold the spoon up to Aaron's lips for him. He doesn't even try to do it himself, keeping his eyes droopy as you spoon more and more down his throat.

They only stop looking because you nearly catch them, but it's hard to return to normal like their stoic boss isn't melting in his girlfriend's hands a few feet away.

It's later, after you've left, that they really notice the shift. Aaron's mobile again, putzing around the kitchen to make himself a third cup of coffee for the day. Reid needs a refill, too, and while he's busy stirring in his overzealous portion of sugar, he strikes up conversation with Hotch.

"You're not contagious, are you?"

Hotch side-eyes him from the counter, shaking his head slightly, "No, you'll be fine. It's just a small cold."

"You looked miserable," Reid muses, keeping his eyes on his spoon, "From the way Y/N reacted when she kissed your forehead, I assume you have, or had, a fever, and it'll only get worse if you don't rest. If I were you I'd take the day off, and make sure the fever went down before coming back."

"Thank you for the advice, Reid." Aaron's hand tightens around his coffee mug, and he doesn't seem all that grateful for it despite what he says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He strides back to his office, door shut a bit too harshly for anyone's liking.

"Sore subject," Emily snickers as Reid rejoins the group, "You should have seen the way he flushed red when you mentioned Y/N."

"He's probably texting her now," Derek elbows Reid, pointing to his office where Hotch is bent over his phone, "Whaddya think it says, pretty boy?"

"Oh! Oh, uh," Emily answers instead, steadying her voice for her famed Hotch Impression, "Honeybunches," And the team bursts into giggles, "Reid said I should rest, will you pwease come pick me up?"

"Pwease," JJ snorts, "And- and bring my blankie for the car ride home."

Thirty minutes later, you stride back into the bullpen, and when you usher Aaron out of his office and home for the day, there's a blanket draped over his shoulders.

[pomefioredove]

um um. the nbc boys with a reader thats smart and learns easily but has trouble keeping up with the school system(? for lack of better words). they get distracted and bored easily, forget about homework, doodle on their papers and stare out the window, etc. they get great test scores and do exceptionally well when they are interested in what they’re learning, but otherwise get burned out really quick. i don’t know much about your nbc but it seems like the system is pretty fast paced and doesn’t really leave room for mistakes! 🫶🫶 i love your designs for nbc so far. can already tell the readers gonna have a blast (and a migraine)

my first ever noble bell oc request... rubs my hands together evilly

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ no room for mistakes (noble bell college)

inspired by my AU

type of post: headcanons characters: rollo, original characters; pierrot, bou, phoenix, clodio additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Rollo Flamme will arrange a precise time to study with you every day, whether you ask him or not. it's within his best interest that you succeed at Noble Bell (heavens forbid you're shipped off to a lesser, simpler arcane academy like that terrible Night Raven College), and so there will be no room for mistakes. this isn't something you should take for granted, either; Rollo is a very busy man, and to have an hour of his time for him to tutor you is a privilege. at least, that's what everyone else will tell you

to Rollo, this is nothing. he would make his whole weekend for you, if you asked. perhaps his whole life

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Pierrot Gregoire is probably the last person you should be going to for help. yes, he's exceptionally intelligent in the ways of history and literature, and yes, he could lecture you for hours longer than your actual professor does, but I doubt you would actually get anything but a headache out of it. he's a poet, not a tutor, and he has a tendency to talk himself in circles, go on tangents, anecdote about his personal life... yeah. it would take a special sort of mind to keep up with him, otherwise, you're probably better off trying to make sense of his unorganized class notes... which are just as full of doodles and daydreams as yours

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Bou de Neige is known for making harsh judgments about his peers... which are often accurate. and so he can tell, by the way you talk and articulate and express, that you're not a blithering idiot. you only lack the discipline that the typical Noble Bell College student has. and if it weren't for Rollo's faith in you, and his own damned pity, Bou would have been happy to let you fail...

...but he doesn't. he sits next to you in classes and pinches your arm when you're dozing off, or not paying attention to something important. he leers over you and corrects the mistakes on your homework before you turn it in. he begins carrying clean paper for you to doodle on, and insists it's nothing (it's so over for him)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Phoenix Bussiere is not what I would call a trustworthy tutor. he's not even a trustworthy student. oh, but don't think he wouldn't love to waste a few hours every week "helping you study" while he vandalizes 500 year old wood desks and falls asleep in the library. he's way too eager to volunteer. and how can you say no? his attention is highly valuable; the jealous glares of other students make that obvious. and perhaps you wouldn't have minded working alone, without anyone breathing down your neck... except he doesn't let you. he couldn't care less about the homework, but he'll ask you a thousand questions about yourself

...you can never quite tell if he actually cares, or if he's just passing the time

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

if you think Clodio LeFou would be the worst of the group, you'd be very wrong. is it chaotic? yes. but he'll teach you Latin while hanging upside down (and he's really quite good at it). he's managed to get by at Noble Bell without raising any eyebrows, after all, and his grades certainly reflect that. he'll act out your history lessons and critique your writing assignments like a professional. he'll make a puppet just to teach you math. it's unconventional, especially for Noble Bell, but it's much better than the dry lectures from your professors. you'll take what you can get

[slowd1ving]

Hello, I could request a Jaegyeon Na x Male!reader who is androgynous and brother of James lee please

NO STRINGS ATTACHED ・゜゜JAEGYEON NA

"I got so much to lose, so please don't ruin my mood." Unfortunately, taking your brother's motorcycle for a spin does mean you now have idiots and prospective debt collectors looking to make the man pay for whatever havoc he's wreaked, including pretty boy Jaegyeon Na, who perhaps is not the smartest when it comes to tailing someone. yo this is actually the first request I got on here so thanks nonnie :3 I hope whoever requested it actually likes this scenario (I only remember bits and pieces of the scenes he's in so it might be a bit OOC) also sorry anon if you wanted it in drabble/headcanon form honestly idk how I wrote it this quickly but same day delivery is crazy... it must've been the urge to wife this guy pairing: jaegyeon na x male reader warnings: some violence? male reader, lowkey crack since I can't take this man seriously, he's got a nice face though, do misunderstandings need a warning wc: 2.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

On all accounts, it should be a good day. Wind tousles your clothes as you speed the forgotten roads on your younger brother’s motorbike, while the sun’s never beat down brighter. To some, the arid weather cloys and sticks uncomfortably to their skin—but for you, this day is nothing more than bountiful beach weather. Even the last lollipop you stole from the stash in his kitchen seems more saccharine than usual; evidently, your mood isn’t the only thing that’s sweet on this wondrous day. 

Or at least, it should be a good day—but it’s not, because some idiot’s been following you through Incheon in the ugliest car you’ve ever seen. It’s hideous: so much so that you’re troubled more by its primary-colour chromaticity than the fact that it’s been cruising past you as you wind your way through the quiet of Nambuk-dong. Seriously, which child lost their toy car because of this nitwit?

The cherry flavour grows distinctly more acerbic in your mouth as you make several turns experimentally—and yep, he’s still following you. 

Question is, why?

Well, Jaegyeon Na’s seething behind the wheel as though the answer is horribly obvious. It’s only been a week since Mr. James Lee himself wrecked his new ride, a week since he was forced to take a taxi back to Incheon, and a week since he sobbed his pitiful heart out in his garage. 

Mr. James Lee did not, in fact, pay for wrecking his car. 

And Mr. James Lee probably never would, not unless the King of Incheon wanted to lose his hands to that monster. Perhaps his tongue, as well, for daring to ask for what he was owed in that freak’s presence. 

No, he festers with barely-bridled fury. He’s not a wimp—which is precisely why he’s tailing after the sleek bike. It’s not often his informants actually have useful scraps to report to him. It’s also not often (read: never) that the freak’s licence plate is spotted in his home turf. 

Naturally, Jaegyeon does the obvious: following the mysterious rider as he weaves through the streets like he actually knows this place. It strikes him as strange that James Lee knows where he’s going, but it seems the blond dye has seeped into his brain. Just a little, because common sense doesn’t seem so common for him anymore. For a moment, it seems like he’s making his way to the Incheon Airport, but then the route diverges onto the highway and he’s even more puzzled.

Where the hell is this bastard going?

What seems to be hours later (because he has been tailing you for about three hours) the motorcycle finally comes to a screeching halt. 

Where? 

At Wangsan Beach, because of course Mr. James fucking Lee came to sightsee after causing him immeasurable grief. In his own turf, too. He scrambles out of his car, fuming, as the man parks neatly on an isolated road just a minute or so away from the sand. 

“You’re pretty angry for someone stalking me.” The voice resounding from the helmet sounds muffled and disembodied, which is perhaps why it doesn’t carry the same mocking cadence James Lee’s does. Or perhaps, it’s not James fucking Lee behind the helmet. 

“Stalking you?” he sputters. His face is all twisted with rage, which is quite a shame since he’s so pretty. Like some foul-mouthed, wretched fairy, anyway. “You wrecked my car!”

“I did?” The confusion in the voice is so salient that Jaegyeon almost believes it. Almost, because everyone and anyone knows what a slippery, lying turd James Lee is. 

“Yes, you fucking did,” he hisses. He nearly stamps his foot, but he settles for petulantly jabbing at your chest instead. Once more, there’s a slight discrepancy—this time in your build, for he could’ve sworn James Lee was the same height as him. But the helmet looks down upon him, and he’s blind with rage at how condescending James Lee is. 

Maybe it’s your visor that’s clouding your own vision. You wipe the plastic with your sleeve obnoxiously—then peer at the car stalling only a couple of metres away. It looks… fine. Fine, if not egregiously, offensively repulsive. 

“I would’ve remembered such an ugly fucking car if I’d wrecked it,” you grimace. I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. “I think I would’ve been awarded a medal of honour for it too. Real brave to approach that.” 

“You conniving, duplicitous bastard,” he grits his teeth, and he swears he can hear a molar crack in his pretty mouth. That’s it. “It wasn’t this car, but another one!”

And I didn’t touch it! But whoever did, did the world a service, you want to say—but the cretin looks catatonic with rage. Any further, and you think his poor face might spontaneously explode. 

“You are a scammer,” you conclude, but perhaps that, too, was the wrong thing to say. 

“How shameless can you get, you jackass?” he yells, practically trembling with his fury. Like those little blond dogs you see yapping, you fear he might lunge at you any minute now. “You know you trashed it! You laughed about it while you did so!"

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” you yell back. 

 “I’ll kill you today, James Lee.” 

Woah—your eyes widen at both his words and how his body spins into motion. He’s fast; practically phasing out of sight like a spectre as his hands reach for the lapels of your leathers to grapple them. But unfortunately for him, he did announce his vengeance before he committed to the deed. 

Thus, he, too, built his villainous end—cliché by cliché. 

Well, it’s not really the end. That little warning gave you ample time to twist out of the way—using his momentum to spin his own body and pin him to the ground with freakish strength. 

It also gave your eye ample time to twitch as the words hit home. Of course this was that snot-nosed brat’s fault—you almost felt bad for the blond beneath your heavy boot. 

But then you look at the car again. It’s still hideous. 

And just like that, you fully support that brat’s wrongs. 

“Um.” With that, you step off his designer shirt, awkwardly brushing the footprint left behind. “I’m not James Lee.”

This exchange took such a short time—three seconds, in fact—that these words don’t register until the grappler has already locked himself around your legs and pushes you flat into the dusty street. Your helmet hits the asphalt with a sharp crack, and you wince as you almost bite your tongue instead of the lollipop stick. Actually, it was a wonder you hadn’t already bit your tongue. 

But you digress.

This leaves you in a particularly awkward position. He’s wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, and as your words finally hit, he’s letting go in surprise—while you’re finally shucking off the helmet. 

Sure, the candy in your mouth is the same, but he’s currently sitting between the legs of someone who decidedly is not James Lee. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he blurts out, but his tongue feels especially dry as he stares up at your face. 

“That’s what I’d like to ask of you,” you fume, and though your expression simmers red-hot with irritation, your tone is cold now that it’s not muffled by your helmet. He can feel his cheeks prickle under your glare. “Get off me, you dumbass.”

God, he’s never felt like such a fool—sheepishly, he scrambles off you, while you mutter something that sounds suspiciously like ‘look at this fucking idiot who doesn’t fucking check to see who the fuck he’s tailing this is how movie serial killers find their prey because fucking hell what a witless worm.’

“Uh,” he starts, and can’t bring himself to finish. He’s never felt so intimidated: practically cowering before you as you corner him against the wall you slammed him against earlier. Even with the syrupy scent of cherries from the candy in your mouth, there’s nothing about the man before him that’s friendly. Not even his pretty face—those eyes are only glaring daggers at him. 

Of course, part of the intimidation is due to his anger dissipating instantly at his mistake. And the exhaustion of tailing the wrong person for upwards of three hours. And the embarrassment that, naturally, comes with tailing the wrong person in the first place. 

“Do I look like someone who cleans up after whatever my younger brother gets himself into?” The question practically trembles with rage, punctuated by a harsh crack as you bite into the sweet. He knows better than to ask who the younger brother is; it’s not like his brain is that damaged from the bleach. 

He swallows, then tentatively answers. “No?”

“That’s right,” you take a deep breath, as though you’re calming yourself back down—but he’s entranced by the way your hands massage your temples, soothing the tension headache he’s no doubt brought on. “That’s right.”

You don’t look like your younger brother, and he’s staring at the man in front of him, slightly enraptured. 

“If my younger brother wrecked your ugly ass car, what does that have to do with me?” you seethe, and the illusion is shattered. 

“It is not ugly,” he argues back for the first time, chasing after you as you dust your helmet off and head towards the beach. It’s why you came here in the first place—though, you groan mentally when you see that the sun’s about to dip cautiously past the horizon. Of course, the irritation couldn’t possibly be because of the idiot floundering after you. 

“Don’t care what you think.” You bin the candy stick, much like you bin his opinion. “Your thoughts are rubbish.”

“Sorry, man—” and he’s still trailing you, just like some puppy now that all his bark’s gone. “—I really thought it was him.”

Irritably, you halt on the spot, and his nose collides right into your back. It’s almost comical how quickly you grab his stupid collar—how wide-eyed the arrogant blond gets, how flushed he becomes. 

“I don’t care about your grudge with my brother.” You’re just about nose-to-nose with him, and his brain short-circuits. If it hasn’t already. God knows he doesn’t have the most brain power. “Quit following me, you moronic stalker.”

“Can’t I make it up to you?” he wheedles, trying to prolong your proximity for as long as possible. 

“Yes,” you deadpan. “By learning from your mistakes and not stalking me.”

“Can I at least get your name?” he takes hold on the wrist currently wrangling him for dear life. “Since you’re so close and personal right now.”

“No,” you sneer, letting go in disgust. “Fucking pervert.”

This day was not a good day. 

゜・

When you next see your brother, you hand his keys to him and vow to buy your own bike. James stares hard at you—the harrowed gaze you sport, the mild twitch in your eye, and finally, the noticeable dent in your helmet. 

“What the fuck happened?” he utters finally, staving off any traces of laughter. Alas, judging by the look you shoot him, it seems he is not destined to be an actor. 

Your jaw clenches. 

“Fuck Incheon, man,” you mutter, dragging a scraped hand across your weary face. He does the maths. Incheon. Blond. Narcissistic king. 

“James,” you intone. Seriously, this time, and all his predictions of what you’re about to say next shatter to dust. “Next time you see that stupid pretty-boy bastard, destroy whatever car he’s in.”

His brows raise, not just because he wants to grin, but also from a certain adjective nestled between the pejoratives. 

“Stupid fucking prick with no brain, no shame and no future,” you seethe. Well, maybe he just imagined it, then. 

゜・

Meanwhile, a certain blond leans against the hood of his car, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the metal while he waits for his call to finally go through. True to his word, he did let you go—driving back morosely to his apartment while you continued down to the beach for the last shreds of the day.

But for some reason, his mind can’t let your face go. It’s out of irritation, he rationalises. That’s why he’s ringing Jichang Kwak for information, because Jaegyeon’s dubbed the King of Chungcheong the most intelligent (after himself, of course). 

Is it because the man wears glasses?

Maybe. 

Regardless of the status of Jichang’s intelligence, he knows his heart’s racing out of anger. His skin’s flushed due to rage. He’s twirling his hair because of the complex coils of revenge.

When he asks the king about James Lee’s brother, there’s a long-suffering silence on the other end of the line that makes him feel slightly foolish. Just very slightly. 

“Do you have a fucking crush or a death wish?”

“Death wish?” he scoffs. “I could take him.”

It’s only then does he remember the former part of the question and his absence of a denial. 

At the same time, Jichang processes the response given and keeps both his silence and his peace. 

“And I don’t have a damn crush,” he adds, but it’s perhaps a heartbeat too late. For the King of Chungcheong, anyway—he doesn’t think the man’s noticed either his earlier double entendre, or how comedic he sounds.

“Uh-huh.” He’s a bit dumbfounded by this turn of events, hanging up almost reflexively. Indubitably, he might’ve replied monotonically, but there’s just something about being in proximity (even just audibly) to that cretin that has him losing his own brain cells. 

For a few more moments, he stares contemplatively at his phone. Then, at last, he prays for the poor soul of James Lee’s brother—for there is something so deeply disturbing about being the recipient of that moron’s affections he can’t help but feel pity. 

゜・

[italoniponic]

𝓑𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 - mini-project

Flower Feelings

| Notes: this is based on a request by @that-one-fanperson about a Reader who leaves flowers on some of the boys desks without telling them or just leaving a note. I wrote for Silver and Azul (as the request) and Epel as my own choice. But I liked this so much that I might write for some of the others as well? (I made this for Ortho but in platonic format~) For this one we’ll have Idia, Kalim, Ruggie and Cater :D

Idia Shroud, Kalim Al Asim, Ruggie Bucchi, Cater Diamond x gender neutral reader / headcanons / fluff / flower language / crush to lovers / use of “you” pronouns / part 2 of "Flower Feelings"

Idia was in shock. Complete shock. At the same time, he was terribly confused. Precisely the day when his presence was mandatory in the classroom and the first thing he finds on his table is a white daffodil with its yellow trumpet and a branch of mint with a note. “Narcissus: respect, unmatched love, introvert; Mint: virtue.” A surprise item combo, no doubt about it;

Only Cater bothered to ask whose flowers they were — although he himself had an intuition of who might have put them there. The poor otaku, on the other hand? Perhaps more than finding the plants themselves it was the fact that he was approached about it that made him annoyed. Why couldn’t the classmate be a normal NPC who doesn’t vocalize his questions directly to the person in the scene? If it was Idia in his place, he would have kept the question to himself;

Truth be told, walking down the stairs and hallways with the daffodil and mint in hand — he pitied simply stuffing them in his coat or throwing them away because they looked so pretty — didn’t help much. Idia wanted to hide his presence from people, but the bright-colored flower and refreshing-smelling green herb made him stand out from the general crowd. But he was won over by the aesthetics of both plants, put in the worst of the double spell attacks;

And, well, Idia had discovered a while ago that narcissus was his favorite flower. Oh, and mints were cool too. These discoveries were due to the time Idia was spending with you lately. What started as a mere bump into the comic book store because you were fascinated by the use of flower language in manga has turned into you talking more often — virtually and in person — and turning into friends;

Idia didn’t even expect to connect with you so much at first, but here he was thinking more about flowers and how companies should pay to use you as a reference in SSR groovy event cards. He would never admit out loud that he had fallen in love with you. Madly, profoundly. If only he was lucky enough that you were the one who left the flowers for him;

In fact, if Idia wanted a miracle from zero, Olympus granted this opportunity. You two met on the way from the Mystery Shop, you making your way back while tying a blue ribbon in a large bouquet with two similar but distinct flowers in color — one part was red, the other was a purplish blue. You were so focused on making the bow that you ended up bumping into Idia;

It was a mess of petals and nervousness. No one was around to try to understand if the worst was Idia having an internal attack for holding you in his arms or you, who weren’t expecting to meet him so early that day. It took a while for any coherent word to be uttered by either party;

Then, in the end, Idia pulled himself together — what was he? A shy shoujo male lead by any chance? — and tried to strike up a conversation. Well, he just pointed at the crumpled bouquet you were holding and muttered something that you could only understand as a question. The situation proceeded to be complete chaos because you simply put the bouquet in his arms and ran away;

Idia stood still, shocked and panicked, reaching out pathetically forward in a vain attempt to reach you. Did all this really happen? He took a look at the bouquet, slowly recognizing the flowers arranged there. They were salvias. You had seen it a month ago in a manga — it must have been where you got your inspiration from buying them;

Suddenly, Idia remembered that at that time he had discovered the meaning of the types of salvias that appeared on that same manga cover and was going to share it with you if he hadn’t accidentally forgotten. But as he pulled out his phone and checked the meaning of the salvias, your panting voice spoke next to him: “Blue salvias mean ‘I’m thinking of you’... and red, that you’ll be ‘mine forever’...”;

The fright Idia took that day can only be described as something of epic proportions, to say the least. You suddenly appeared, having rushed headlong back to confess yourself properly and the deep meaning of the salvias you had delivered into his hands. “I d-don’t know... if my heart can take any of this...,” Idia said, hiding his face inside the bouquet. You were happy to notice that, similar to the salvias, his hair was a mix of vibrant blue and pink.

Kalim thought it was strange to find a small flower bouquet on his table. It was flowers that he had never seen, its yellow petals open like umbrellas and the core was a deep red like his eyes — it almost looked like a little sun! The card that came with it said “Coreopsis: means always cheerful.” At first, Kalim thought it was a gift from Silver, but the friend himself din’t know where the coreopsis had come from;

Kalim was amused by the prospect that the situation had now become a mystery. He put all the coreopsis in the button holes of his sweater and went in search of answers around the school. Since the ghosts hadn’t seen who left the flowers, Kalim eventually went to the most competent person in the botanical subject he knew…;

No, it wasn’t Jamil. Flowers attract insects, so the Scarabia vice-leader tried to live with as few plants nearby as possible. But you didn’t have that problem so much — not that Kalim knew. So he came radiant in Ramshackle, like the morning Sun, and asked you about the flowers;

Kalim didn’t seem at all suspicious of your nervous and apprehensive behavior, even when you ended up unintentionally showing the same coreopsis that he had on his clothes. Kalim was simply fascinated by those flowers and their joyful meaning. And of course, their cute appearance;

Kalim’s positive, energy-filled air didn’t fail to cheer you up. Exactly the reaction you wanted from him. You two ended up distracting yourselves by talking about flowers, arrangements and many other things — as was usual between you — and in the end, it was when Kalim returned to Scarabia that he realized that he didn’t ask if you would know who left the flowers on his table;

That evening, Kalim arranged the flowers in a pot of water, despite the fact that it was already half wilted, and placed them near his window. He had a certain hope that the Sun would help it to pull itselves together a little bit. But as he faced the starry night from his dorm room, he had another thought. It would be so cool if you were the person who left these flowers. He would be even happier if it could mean something more;

A few days passed, and Kalim found himself walking around the school alone in a certain afternoon. Then he found you in the woods, sitting thoughtfully on the grass and with a different flower in your hand. If Kalim hadn’t known that it was probably a flower, he would have thought that you were tightly holding a very crumpled white handkerchief;

His sudden appearance ended up surprising you again. A little awkwardly, you invited Kalim to sit next to you — which he gladly accepted — and showed him the white carnation you had grown in your garden. Kalim thought it was amazing how that flower’s petals looked like his hair, a strong white like ivory;

“White carnation...,” you swallowed hard, trying to control your nervousness. It was only to speak a few words, you couldn’t even be sure that Kalim would understand your feelings. “... it... means innocence, a pure and sweet love. L-like you.” You then looked away, purposefully inattentive to his reaction;

What a pity, honestly. Kalim had such a cute expression of understanding, then an flustered embarrassment and all this turned entirely into pure joy. Kalim didn’t even know what to do. If he would scream to the world how happy you made him, if he should call Jamil to prepare a party in Scarabia to celebrate or if he could call the magic carpet for you two to fly through the skies;

What really happened was this: Kalim put the white carnation on you, resting the flower on your ear, and gave you a kiss on the cheek. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received and the most precious treasure I'll ever have,” Kalim said, with a light, sweet smile on his lips. You ended up laughing together, sharing this precious and humble moment.

Ruggie knew that someone other than Rook must have discovered that he used dandelions in salads and tea for his own consumption, but this was the first time anyone was teasing him about it. Well, “teasing” was one way to put it. All he found on his table that morning was a handful of dandelions and a few sprigs of coriander, all tied by a bow with a card on the side;

The hyena-boy took the card with a scowl, but soon the bad mood gave way to confusion because he read positive things written on the paper — that is, the meanings of those plants. Dandelions meant “fidelity and joy” while Coriander meant “hidden worth”. Who had actually done that, Rook Hunt?;

Since Ruggie wasn’t the type to throw any food away, he brought the coriander and dandelions to Savanaclaw’s kitchen and prepared a small snack with the leftovers from lunch. As he shredded the leaves from the herbs, an intuition that this event may had nothing to do with the hunter bothered him more and more;

By the time Ruggie finished it all and was already enjoying his humble meal, sitting on the dorm porch and gazing out at the sparsely vegetated landscape, he had already decided that you were the one behind it all. At least, from the people who worked with gardening, you would have all this special care to leave him an explanation about the plants. But to what end?;

Ruggie was versed with nature in regard to the properties of plants and their culinary use. Grandma Bucchi used to say that “if you are lucky enough to find something edible, don’t let it slip out of your hands.” However, he understood the decorative meaning and value of flowery messages as much as he understood you — in short, not much. But it was different from things he wasn’t normally used to;

Your way of being was simply fascinating to Ruggie. Your concern with plants and your care in cultivating them only contributed to his impression that you would have an easy time caring for other people as well. Sometimes Ruggie would catch himself imagining you on his land, playing with the children he cared for on the grass, and making crowns of stems and flowers of all kinds. It wasn’t a bad vision;

He carried that thought as he headed to the classroom 2-B, early that morning. Ruggie had woken up with the Sun and, on another way, it was to find out if you were going to leave anything else on his desk again. It wouldn’t hurt to try. But luck did smiled on him that day because you were right there where he wanted;

You were concentrated, arranging on his table a bouquet full of small flowers that looked like bowls, variegated in pink, blue and red, and you had a real letter in hand — not a simple note like last time. From the classroom’s door, Ruggie whistled and frightened you with the announcement of his presence. He couldn’t contain a laugh;

It was inevitable Ruggie would ask what you were doing. But as you were taken by surprise, no coherent sentence would form in your mind. Then it remained only to hand over the paper in your hands to him. Ruggie took the letter and began to read your words, presumably about the bouquet flowers;

“Morning Glory: if it’s pink, it means love, romance and gratitude. If it’s blue, it means strong emotions, infinite love. If it’s red, it means a strong heart. But above all, this little flower that dies at night and reborn with the Sun is all the love and affection I feel for you that is renewed every day.” And your name was written at the end. It was simple writing, not exactly a poem. But conveyed your feelings completely;

You saw that Ruggie felt awkward after reading, a mixture of embarrassed and flustered because you went to all this trouble to give a gift to someone like him — who didn’t understand the language of flowers at all. However, as Ruggie approached you and left the paper on the table, he had a docile smile under his slight red checks. “First food, now your own heart, huh? You’re spoiling me too much, aren’t you?,” Ruggie teased and you both laughed.

The day had dawned as usual for Cater. He washed his face, got ready to give the best smile he could before breakfast, and started taking some pictures of his daily morning routine — #morningtuesdayslowkeysuck. But when Cater eventually came into the classroom and took his eyes off his phone, he found something quite different on his desk: a hibiscus flower;

Cater knew that hibiscus flowers were very common in tropical places and precisely for this reason it was a flower widely used in beach photos. Even without knowing why some anonymous person would leave a hibiscus on his desk, Cater took the flower, put it in his hair and took a photo. When he sat down, he then noticed a small note that was under the flower that said “delicate beauty”. What is the meaning of that flower?;

Cater spent the day pondering about the hibiscus. That one was an especially interesting type, its petals were white with yellow edges and the inside had a powerful pink, almost beet-red. It really matched his aesthetic. Whoever gave him the hibiscus really appreciated his style — that’s what Cater thought as he crossed paths with you in the hallway;

You took a picture together with the hibiscus and Cater couldn’t help but notice that you were a little happier than usual. You said goodbye and he tried to disguise that he wanted to ask you the reason for your smile. Whether it was for the flower — since you loved gardening — or whether it was for having met with him... which ended up taking him on a little tangent;

Was it you who left the flower on his desk? You were the person he talked to the most lately and your little hobby gave you plenty of opportunities. Were you comparing Cater to a hibiscus? Especially with that bicolor that represented the fact that he hid a little bit of himself sometimes, parts that sometimes you noticed before he could stop it;

It was what motivated Cater to meet you one day at Ramshackle while you tended to some vases to spruce up the dorm’s porch. He caught you humming a little tune to yourself, arranging some pretty little flowers. They looked like purple daisies, if Cater dared to use such a blunt description when it came to your flowers;

Cater had a particular admiration for the way you took care of your garden. Your care was reflected in the plants’ overall beauty and that would be enough to make you an influential profile in Magicam. On the other hand, Cater liked to be one of a few for which you showed your progress even when your vase or flowers had some defect;

You finally noticed Cater behind you, and without much planning, you showed him the pot of asters you were growing — and was actually thinking of giving it to him as a gift. Cater gave a big, genuine smile with your gesture, then asked the meaning of the asters in your hands;

“Well…,” you took a deep breath, uncertain, but regaining your courage. “They mean delicacy, loyalty, unpredictability, contentment and... they’re a symbol of love too, can you believe it?”. At this, you passed the small vase into Cater’s hands, hoping he would understand what you meant by those words. And, oh geez, he understood;

Few things can make Cater truly speechless and your confession made it onto the list. Cater couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. He would have been more sure if he had gotten lost and found a field of talking flowers. Although, he would have rejected those flowers’ feelings — no matter how beautiful their petals or their voice — because there was already someone in his heart;

“You really break me sometimes...,” Cater covered part of his face with the back of one of his hands but his smile was still quite visible. “That’s one of the things I love about you.” He left the vase on the floor and took your hand, the most beautiful flower anyone could give him.

| Special notes: I'm planning to do more of these in a very far-away future but yeah, we never know lol also, OMG I missed writing something for Kalim and Idia. Even for Ruggie. Cater was easy and fun to do too, I confess. This is so fun to me~ |

[yuurei20]

Hi! I was wondering how the novels described how it looks when each character's Unique Magic is cast.

(Really love your blog! Your posts are so good! Thank you for all the hard work you put in!)

Thank you so, so much! You are very much too kind! ♡

Here is (what I am pretty sure is) every reference to Riddle, Trey, Cater, Leona, Ruggie and Jack successfully using their unique magics in the novels!

Riddle

"The boy swings his right arm down, towards Grim. ‘Off with your head!’ Timed precisely with this command a beam of light races towards Grim like an arrow. In the blink of an eye, the light transforms into a large collar. A huge collar, in red and black. Open to the left and right, the moment it touches Grim’s neck it snaps closed with a heavy clank."

"‘No excuses! You have some nerve, laying your hands on something that belongs to me. Theft of tarts is an unforgivable offense.’ ‘It was yours!?’ Riddle raises his magical pen directly before the flustered Ace. ‘Off with your head!’"

"Seeing Riddle’s bright-red face Yuuya reaches out a hand, but he is too late: Riddle’s staff has already come down. ‘Off with your head!’ Grim and the others cry out amidst a dazzling flash of light. The light fades, and Yuuya’s vision gradually returns. Grim is blinking his eyes over and over. Yuuya exhales a gentle breath. ‘Deuce, Grim. Those collars…’"

"The flamingoes had been tired and hungry. He had needed to feed them right away.  He might actually be telling the truth, but it is fruitless to make such excuses to Riddle. ‘Off with your head!’ A merciless verdict. The collared student cries out, dropping miserably to the floor. Riddle looks down at the pitiful student. ‘This is all for your own good, you know.’"

"With a flick of the headmage's wrist, the mirror falls. It strikes the ground and shatters to pieces with a sharp sound. The innumerable scattering fragments glimmer in the sunlight, dancing in the air as they fall. In the same moment, there is a voice. ‘Off with your head!’ There is no time to blink—it is over in an instant. Though they wield their magical pens, before Ace or Deuce can cast any magic the same, identical collars have been fitted snugly around their necks, once again."

"The frozen fence behind which they huddle shatters into tiny splinters, and there is a flash: arrows of light, aimed at everyone's necks. Riddle's magic remains as keen as ever, even intensifying: surging to bring everything beneath its control.  Just before their collars snap shut Trey, rolling away from the fence, turns them all into playing cards. ‘Ugiiii!’ Riddle cries out in frustration, and Trey’s cards are swallowed in flames."

"There is no time left to waste. Riddle swings his staff, taller than himself, without hesitation. ‘Off with your head!’ Riddle's powerful unique magic, which seals off the magic of his opponent. The magic-suppressing collar appears as a ring of light, flying straight for Leona.  Though Leona must see it coming for him, he shows no sign of panic. ‘Don't interfere.’ There is a sound of metal colliding against metal. It is a high-pitched noise that makes Yuuya unconsciously furrow his brows.  Simultaneously, the light that Riddle released shatters, and is gone. ‘Just now, was that…’ Grim's cracking voice shifts Yuuya's sense of disbelief into certainty. ‘R-Riddle's collar was deflected!’"

"‘Riddle, now!’ ‘Off with your head!’ Riddle's magestone glows as if hardly needing the command.  This time, the magical collar seizes Leona’s neck. The sand that has been flying through the air drops to the ground, like a breath that has been cut short."

Trey

“Trey takes out his magical pen. Holding it in one hand and waving it just slightly in the air, he gives a quiet whisper as though talking to himself. ‘White to red, red to white. Let’s paint the roses.’ ‘That was…’ As Yuuya and the others watch shimmering particles of dancing light, Trey points to their plates and says, ‘Have another bite of chestnut tart.’"

Cater

“'There are two Diamond-senpai?’ ‘Are you serious! You’re twins? And way too identical!’ ‘Ahaha, we’re not siblings.’ The first Cater they met with waves his magical pen before the baffled group. ‘I am this one, and this one is that one. Split card.’ Cater wavers like a mirage. He begins to blur, doubling and tripling before their eyes.  Yuuya squints to focus, and already two more Caters have appeared on either side of the Cater who wields the magical pen.”

Leona

"In response to Leona’s anguished expression, his magestone gleams.  ‘──Bow down!’ ‘──King’s Roar.’ An explosion. That is the only thing that comes to Yuuya’s mind in the sudden onset of lashing, sand-laced wind. It strikes relentlessly against Yuuya's face, making it impossible to see. Shielding his face with both arms, Yuuya slowly opens his eyes. That figure nearby—could it be Jack? And is that Grim, crawling on the ground beside him? People huddle together nearby, bracing against the explosion of wind. Yuuya can scarcely see through the flying debris and his own tears. And there stands Leona."

Ruggie

"Ruggie unscrews the tightly closed cap. He pays no heed to the terrible odor, and raises it to his mouth. Sure enough, it tastes like rotten stew, but still he swallows the entire contents without hesitation. From his tongue to his throat, then his stomach, then throughout his entire body, he feels a force surging through him like the wind: filling him, brimming beneath his skin. ‘…here we go. My unique magic! Kings, hyaenas—everyone is my friend! Laugh with Me.’ The magical amplification will last for thirty seconds. More than enough time to destroy it all.”

“The monster raises its front paws once more, casting a huge shadow over Jack, who is still blind. On the brink of releasing their magic, Riddle and the others cry, ‘Watch out!,’ and Ruggie screams, ‘Laugh with Me!’ In that instant, Jack’s silvery body makes a graceful leap. ‘Sorry, Jack-kun. But I won't let you regret this,’ Ruggie gives a ‘shishishi’ of laughter as he moves, Jack's movements synchronizing effortlessly, the great wolf bounding through the sand.”

“Ruggie raises his voice, and his magestone begins to glow. He declares, ‘Laugh with Me,’ and then pinches his own cheeks into a smile. As his mirror image Leona, too, pinches his own cheeks. Facing parallel to one another they each boast matching, peculiar smiles.”

Jack

“Without thinking Yuuya closes his eyes, and hears Jack’s voice. ‘That's enough!’ Before Yuuya’s closed eyelids there is a glowing light. ‘Faster, sharper, stronger. Unleash Beast.’ Yuuya abruptly opens his eyes to the sight of Jack’s hunched back. His spine sways like a spring. The outline of his solid body begins to expand here, contract there, physically changing shape within the shimmering light. It is only a matter of seconds—it took only a moment. A howl echoes around them, and not from any human. In the very place where Jack was once standing there is a wolf, silver fur swaying in the breeze. It is extremely large, with soft silver fur and ears that are tipped with black: the same color as Jack’s. As are its trustworthy golden eyes. The wolf is Jack.”

[ezool]

fun little twisted wonderland thing i was thinking about recently* bc of a video i watched about carnival games

*(this was like MONTHS ago, so it took a bit of jogging my memory when i got back to this lol)

First Years Play Fairgrounds Games

The first years decide to spend a Saturday together at the fairgrounds. Yuu points out how the games they find are all extremely similar to the ones back in their world. And if that's true then they'll have trouble winning a prize with their kind of luck. Grim is convinced he can win the prizes himself, even proclaiming that he could beat the others at every game. With that, the competitive nature of the group kicks in and now they have to prove who can bring home the most big winning prizes. 1 point for small prizes, 2 points for big prizes.

Ace Trappola:

The gang heads to the Milk Bottle Toss and he hangs back a bit so the other boys try the games first. It was after Ace's successful milk bottle knock out when Deuce realized he just mimicked Jack's form perfectly. Some might consider this cheating, but the way Ace sees it he's simply taking and applying what he observes. (+2)

He is forced to go first at every booth now.

Ortho is very impressed in Ace's ability to mimic, having been familiar with this unique skill from working on the Fairy Gala together, while Sebek reprimands Ace for his underhanded scheming. Grim argues that the big prize he just won from cheating should go under Grim's score in the competition. Epel counters that the point should probably go to Jack since it was his form that won Ace the prize in the first place. Jack says that if he's going to win, he's not going to do it with pity points. Deuce says the point should go to Yuu since Grim's the one playing for the two of them. Ace agrees, saying that Yuu and Grim's scores won't be a threat to his chances of winning anyways. (-2)

He manages to win a small prize at the Ring Toss, getting 3 of the 5 rings on the glass bottles. Grim laughs that Ace really isn't all that impressive without piggybacking off of other people, to which Ace shoots back, "Bold words for someone sitting on Yuu's shoulders." (+1)

His best score is from the Basketball Shootout, winning him a big prize. It took him a shot to adjust to the height and distance (compared to an actual basketball court set-up) but he didn't need to sink any more money into that one, and managed to put his name on the board for the competition. (+2)

He's pretty good at the Balloon Darts, since a lot of that is precise wrist work, which is also important for magic tricks. He managed to get the flick of the wrist just right, but only after a few whiffs at the beginning, ending with a small prize winning. (+1)

With the Chance games, the Wheel of Fate got him a big prize, and the Fishing Game left him fishless. He was surprisingly good at Whack-A-Mole, but only getting a small prize in the end. (+2) (+1)

Total Score: 9 points

Deuce Spade:

When the competition was first proposed, Deuce was against it, thinking that an Honor Student wouldn’t make a fun and relaxing day at the fairgrounds into something intense for the sake of pride. However, with the right buttons pushed by Ace, and Epel’s “uncharacteristic” enthusiasm, he started to reconsider. Thanks to Yuu’s words of encouragement to participate with the group, he ultimately caves.

In fact, he was initially the one to lead, giving the booth’s the first attempt (until Ace got caught, of course).

At the Milk Toss, he manages to get a small prize, knocking half of the stacked bottles down! After him was Jack, and Ace followed. Deuce, involuntarily familiar with Ace’s antics, was able to pick up on the way Ace watched Jack with intense focus. It wasn’t until Ace threw his last ball at the stack of bottles did Deuce realize how Ace copied Jack’s form. (+2)

Next is the Ring Toss. Deuce couldn’t get the wrist flick right, and only managed to get one ring on a bottle. Unfortunately, this didn’t qualify for any prize. Ace, of course, couldn’t help but rub it in his face that he managed to get 3 rings on. (0)

At the Basketball Shootout, he expected Ace to do exceptionally well, so that was no surprise. What did surprise him was how he managed to win a small prize himself! He’s a lot better at games with bigger targets (hoops>bottle necks), so he was able to get enough baskets to make up for his ring toss performance. (+1)

With this logic, you’d expect him to not do well with Balloon Darts, but he actually gets himself a big prize. Epel wonders how he pulled that off, and Deuce admits that he and his middle school friends often played darts, so the muscle memory was still there to help target the balloons. Sebek commends Deuce’s display of hand-eye-coordination, which surprises Deuce for receiving a sincere compliment from him. (+2)

For the Chance games, he spins the Wheel of Fate and gets a small prize and is fishless from the Fishing Game. But with his speed and strength, he wins a big prize from Whack-a-Mole! (+1) (+2)

Total Score: 8 points

Jack Howl:

As you would expect, Jack did incredibly well with the Milk Bottle Toss and won himself a big prize. The praise from Deuce, Epel, and Yuu had his tail whirling, making it very difficult to seem unaffected by their words. (+2)

And~ as you would expect, Jack was quite pissed when it was brought to light that Ace copied off his work. Like any competition, he wanted things to be fair and square to prove just how skilled he is. He also didn’t like the idea of being given points he didn’t earn himself, so he rejected the idea of Ace handing the 2 points over to him. Similar to Ace’s thinking, giving Grim and Yuu the points wouldn’t be a problem as Grim is the last competitor he’s concerned about (and Yuu couldn’t pay for both of them to play the games so Yuu can keep the prize itself). He swears that’s his only reasoning.

He was better at the Ring Toss than Deuce, and even Ace, getting 4 of the 5 rings on bottles. This gets him a big prize! He and his younger siblings often played this game back home. (+2)

Similar to Deuce, Jack does really well with Basketball Shootout! He only manages to get a small prize, because let’s be real, how are you going to beat a basketball club member at a basketball themed game booth? A lot of what was throwing him off was tossing the ball too high and hitting the backboard too hard. (+1)

Throwing softballs at milk bottles is a lot different than throwing darts at balloons, and unfortunately Jack doesn’t do so hot, making it his first major loss for the afternoon. While Ace laughs at the major whiffs, Sebek lecturing him about the importance of training all of your body, even the smallest movements in your wrists. (0)

At the Chance Games, the Wheel of Fate gave him a small prize, his speed and strength getting him a big prize at Whack-A-Mole, and he even got himself a fish at the fishing game! He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it, and considered giving it to his younger siblings. He figures he’ll take care of it until the next vacation he heads back home to give it to them. (+1) (+2) (+2)

Total Score: 10 points

Epel Felmier:

These city slickers don’t know what’s coming. This country boy has attended the annual country fair every year since he was a little kid. His family would always have a booth open for apple themed carnival food, like caramel apples, apple fritters, fried apple hand pies, you name it. Because of this, he often got to roam the fairgrounds (with a chaperone obviously) and play all sorts of games like these.

Milk Bottle Toss? Easy-Peezy. He takes two of the three shots to knock all the bottles down, making sure to aim for the bottle row to have the whole stack topple over. He can’t help but bask in the praise from his more competitive peers (Deuce, Jack, and Sebek), but it was really Yuu’s astonished praise that really motivates Epel to win this competition at all costs. (+2)

Ring Toss? No Problem. He gets 4 of the 5 rings on the bottle necks, though he expected himself to better considering his experience with these games. At the very least, he matched Jack’s score, so he can’t be too hard on himself about it. (+2)

Basketball Shootout? Well… He didn’t do so hot with this one, only getting a small prize, but nobody wanted to be the one to tell him it could be because of his height (even Sebek had the tact to refrain). It was actually Ortho who wanted to help with analytics of the height difference and form. Epel, knowing Ortho means well, simply grit his teeth and thanked him. (+1)

He makes his big comeback with Balloon Darts, popping them left and right. Carving apples requires a lot of hand and wrist control, so adjusting and applying it to throwing darts helped him a lot. Sebek, having already been impressed by his apple carving, praises him for his performance, even telling Jack that he should be striving for this level of control. (+2)

With the Chance Games, the Wheel of Fate thought he'd won too many big prizes that day, it seemed, so it only gave him a small one. He does get a fish at the Fishing Game, though! And he kills it at Whack-A-Mole with a big prize in the end. (+1) (+2) (+2)

Total Score: 11 points

Sebek Zigvolt:

At first, Sebek thought that such a competition was beneath him. Why would a fae lower themselves to participate in something so trivial? He was originally just going to observe, watching Deuce, Jack, and Ace go at the Milk Bottle Toss. However, Ace’s utter disrespect for the display of skill of throwing a softball had him livid, enough to “show you humans how it’s done.” So after Epel had his chance, and was impressed by his honest show of skill, Sebek gave it a go.

And boy did it go. Struck right in the center bottle. You’d think that’d topple all the bottles, but really it just left a hole in the bottle’s absence. His throw was so precise and fast, much like pulling a tablecloth off a table and not disturbing the dishware, the remaining bottles hadn’t budged. He had hoped to get it in one toss, but it sadly took him all 3 softballs to knock it all down. He won the big prize! But this certainly played with his pride. Now the competition is more so between him and whatever booth activity stands before him. (+2)

Ring toss was a fair enough fight. He and Silver used to play something similar back when they were kids. But it wasn’t part of their training, so it took more time to adjust his form, and only managed to get 3 of his 5 rings on the bottles. Oh, you KNOW Ace had to rub it in that Sebek was sure talking all high and might with his fae superiority nonsense, only to get an average score. (+1)

He doesn't do well with the Basketball Shootout. He's never played basketball, and there was nothing like this in his training regime so he has nothing really to go off of with this one, leading him to getting no prize in the end. (0)

But he’s not always just Talk, as he does excellent at Balloon Dart, just as he had made a point of the importance of wrist control. With all these prizes, he’s not thinking about how his haul would impress Malleus and Lilia, and begins to wonder if any of these cheaply made prizes at this fair are worthy enough to be gifted to either of them. “I suppose Silver can have whatever it is that Malleus and Lilia don’t choose.” (he is totally making sure to pick at least a couple prizes he thinks Silver would genuinely like). (+2)

The Wheel of Fate, despite the rough handling Sebek gave it when spinning it as hard as he did, gave him a small prize. To make up for it, and because he’s a croc fae (fanon), of COURSE he got himself a fish at the Fishing Game. (He has half a mind to call it Waka-sama Jr.) And he does extremely well at Whack-A-Mole, reminiscing of a training activity very similar to this one, but with Lilia controlling the speed. This Whack-A-Mole is actually beneath him. (+1) (+2) (+2)

Total Score: 10 points

Ortho Shroud:

In order to make it fair, Ortho agreed to turn off his aimbot, so now he has to calculate his shots in a similar way a human would. He wins a few small prizes from the Milk Bottle Toss and Ring toss. He missed the Balloon Darts since the darts and balloons were smaller than the other targets and projectiles. (+1) (+1)

He got one basket in the Basketball Shootout, but on his last ball, so he only got a small prize. It helped him really respect Ace's skill in the sport without the use of supercomputer calculations and aimbots to assist him. (+1)

He much prefers the games of chance as it reminded him of all the fun games he and Idia played growing up. However, he spun the Wheel of Fate so hard it almost rolled off its axle, but he got a big prize out of it! He won a fish at the Fishing Game, and he got super excited at the prospect of taking care of a little fish all by himself, and planned to look into proper goldfish care. (+2) (+1)

He broke the Whack-A-Mole machine, though. (Luckily, he was the last of the group to try this one.) He repaid the booth runner for the damages with Shroud Family money, and although the booth runner wanted to make a quick buck out of the (deceptively) innocent looking child, Ortho was able to appraise the machine for much cheaper than the asking price. So although he didn't win a prize from it, at least he didn't get swindled (can be considered its own victory lol).

He learned a lot of what the human body is capable of, and looks forward to analyzing his recordings of the day’s events to apply to his body as time goes on.

Total Score: 6 points

Grim:

Yuu gave him a fair chance at the start of the visit but soon realized that his lack of opposable thumbs seems to hinder his capability of winning any game that involves technical skills. So to make sure he doesn't sink too much of their shared money, Yuu decided to turn his attention towards games of Chance. (Thankfully they got Ace’s initial big prize to get them on the board) (+2)

[Before Ortho had his turn] He's really good at Whack-A-Mole, though it's debatable whether standing on the machine was allowed. The person running the booth thought Grim was so cute pouncing at the moles, she was willing to overlook the issue and presented him his big prize. (+2)

For Wheel of Fate, Grim has Yuu spin it for him, but doesn't win anything substantial, only a small baggie of candy. Grim blames Yuu's bad luck on that one but happily eats all the candy himself. (+1)

He was banned from the Fishing Game booth when the booth runner realized he mysteriously lost more fish than he's had players attempt his game. Grim's huge burp was the booth runner's biggest indicator.

Yuu decides to take him to the kiddie games (without telling him they were kiddie games). Grim felt like a king with how many prizes he won from those (thinking they were still games of chance and that his luck was the greatest in the group.) He rubbed it in their faces, but they all had to just let him have it this time. (+1)

Total Score: 6 points

In the end, Epel is the winner, but what would you expect? A country boy put on a flat lot full of fairgrounds games, he’s in his element. Now the next step for the boys is figuring out what to do with all these prizes…

------------

this was fun to write. i don't ever write these kinds of things for any fandom, but it was fun thinking of which character did better than the others with the different games. i also hope i did each character justice, like i didnt shortchange any of them. (i was particularly worried about sebek's section since he's not really a character i ever think about, which is why i wanted to make extra sure his section had substance to it lol).

i hope this was enjoyable to read, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on who 🫵YOU think should have won in the end!

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You love watching your pretty boy cry. Pairing: Chanhee (New) x fem!reader Tropes: established relationship au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language Smut Warnings: dacryphilia, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, switch!Chanhee, dirty talk, thigh-slapping, handjob, petty names (pretty boy/ baby), boob job, dry orgasm Word Count: 1,021 Note: Thank you so much to @anyamaris for beta/proofing this February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye

Listen to ♡ Baby Boy by Beyoncé (ft. Sean Paul)

“Are you sorry yet, pretty boy?” You nearly purr.

Chanhee sneers at you, though it’s in vain, as he lets a strangled whimper escape his lips a moment later. You chuckle and slowly stroke his cock. You know he wants to cave. He’s far too much of a brat to give in without a fight first. You, however, know precisely how to pick him apart and make him crumble.

“You wish.” He bites, “You can– fuck– try all you want. I’m not apologizing for anything.”

“Those are fighting words, Chanhee.” You warn, rubbing your thumb against his tip, “You sure you don’t want to be a good boy for me?”

He huffs at you, and that’s answer enough for you. You start jerking him off at a fast pace, making him let out a broken gasp. His hips buck up into your touch, hoping to bring him closer to his high. You use your free hand to smack his thigh.

“Watch it, pretty boy. You wanna be a brat you’ll be treated like a fucking brat.” You hiss.

His eyes are shiny and slightly closed from pleasure. You keep your gaze locked on him, keeping a mental log of how close he is. You pull your hands off him entirely when he pulls his lower lip between his teeth. He whines at the loss of contact. His cock stands tall, the pretty pink color shiny with precum and lube.

“Why did you stop?” He pouts, “I was close.”

“That’s why I stopped, pretty boy.”

“That’s rude.” He scoffs.

You raise an eyebrow at him and smack his thigh again, “Brats get edged, and you know that.”

You graze one finger along the underside of his wet cock, watching how it jumps at the contact.

“You ready to apologize for being bratty?”

“If you let me cum I will be.”

You wrap your hand fully around him again. He moans at the feeling. Chanhee’s eyebrows furrow together as his head bows forward. You pull his cock slowly and a bit tighter than you usually do. A whimper falls from his mouth as a bead of precum drips from his tip. You bring your other hand up to play with his tip, wrapping your thumb and forefinger around the base of his tip and turning your wrist. The new sensation makes him moan loudly. Just as his moans get pitchy and airy, you again release his member.

“No,” he whines.

You pout with faux pity, “Oh no, what’re we gonna do?”

“Want–” He cuts himself off with another whimper.

You hear a little sniffle, then process that he’s crying. Wiping your hand off on his abandoned shirt you reach up to wipe away a tear with your thumb. He looks fucking gorgeous when he cries from pleasure and need. Any other time you hate to see him cry, right now, he looks like the most beautifully debauched thing you’ve ever seen.

“You’re taking your punishment so well, pretty boy. We aren’t done, though.”

“Please,” He asks in a sweet tone.

“Please, what, baby?”

“Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.” He admits, bucking his hips up toward you to further his point.

You smile softly at him. You start playing with him again and allow him to thrust into your fist. Mindless begs, and pleas fall from his lips endlessly. It’s not until now that you realize you’re also quite needy. Your panties are beyond destroyed, but right now, all you want to do is focus on your pretty boy and his cries. Tears stream down his cheeks, making his eyes shiny, as he desperately chases his high.

“I’m gonna– please!” He moans.

“Go on, pretty boy.” You encourage, “Make a mess on yourself.”

He throws his head back as his orgasm hits. More pretty tears roll down his cheeks as he rides out his high. You don’t stop moving your hands around him, either. Even when he starts to come back to Earth, you continue jerking him off. The moment he processes the fact that you’re still playing with him, he starts squirming, trying to stop you.

“If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.” He shakes his head in response, “Okay, pretty boy, if you need to use our safeword, you do it.”

He continues to pant and whine at the feeling. You know a second orgasm is bound to come soon. You let go of his cock for a brief moment, earning a whine which turns into another strangled moan when you engulf his member in your breasts. His cum and the lube works perfectly to allow you to move easily around him. Suddenly, he starts panting harder, small moans interrupting his breaths. His body shakes, and his moans break free. The room is nothing but wet sounds and moans in the air. You finally release him and wipe away some tears again. He lies back on the bed, breathing heavily. Climbing up onto the bed beside him, you carefully check on him.

“You alright, pretty boy? That was a really strong dry orgasm, wasn’t it?”

“‘M okay.” He sniffles.

You smile and lean closer to him. He smiles back sleepily. Brushing a hand through his hair, you kiss his cheek softly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“W-what about–”

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I want to take care of you now.”

He sits up slightly, leaning on his elbows. You watch him, but don’t stop him. He kisses you tentatively. Slowly, the kiss grows gradually more sloppy and needy. You moan into the kiss. Somehow, when you pull away, he’s over you. He smiles at you like a cat who’s caught his prey.

“It’s my turn to have some fun.” He says with a teasing lilt.

“Chanhee–”

Your words are cut off by his lips on yours again. You let him do what he wishes with you. You’re in for a fun rest of the evening regardless of what he plans to do with his time. His hands trail over your form while his kisses trail down your neck.

“You ready to play some more, sweetheart?”

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[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Skyrim - Tail Wagging

Requested: Yes [Would you consider doing a Farkas and Vilkas(separate) as werewolves that are just huge puppies for you when turned? Wagging tails and snuggles and maybe.. even using that tongue for something?]

Warnings: Werewolf oral sex, slight breeding kink in Farkas’ but reader is kept GN

Farkas

Farkas is definitely the more puppy-like of the two, but only when it comes to you. He’s always on you when he’s shifted, warm as he curls up around you, keeping you close. His tail wagging so fast that you can barely see it, just a blur. And his ears!!! They’re so sensitive, even the slightest touch or rub making him whimper, cock hardening against you, smearing precum all over your naked body. Which is just fine by him, makes you smell of him and keeps the others away.

And oh that tongue. He’s a messy eater, licking everything with that big tongue of his, just so eager to be tasting you, his drool soaking you more than your own slick, drenching your thighs and belly even. He wants to make you feel good but he just gets so lost, like he’s starved or something. He’ll never get enough of it, of your taste. But he’s such a pitiful boy too, he wants you so bad, especially when you’re in such a perfect position, on all fours for him. His cock is so hard, knot already half hard, precum dripping the aching skin, ending at the furry sheath. He’s desperate to breed you full, make your belly bulge from how much cum he’ll give you.

Vilkas

Vilkas is distinctly less puppy-like than Farkas but that doesn’t mean that there’s absolutely none of that same behavior in him. His tail is the dead give away to his other normal behavior, wagging almost as fast as Farkas’ when you rub and kiss his belly, one of your hands on his inner thigh. He thinks it’s a little funny how you try to pretend you don’t notice the head of his cock poking out of its sheath, especially when he bucks his hips excitedly at a particularly low pet, growling deep in his throat at your pretty whimper.

And hmmm, that tongue of his. He’s the exact opposite of Farkas in this regard as well. Slow and methodical, perfectly precise as he licks you up. Like he’s savoring you, like it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to do this. He’s more interested in drawing out ever noise he can from your mouth, music to his ears, really getting him going in a way nothing else can as he humps the bed so hard that you can feel it shaking.

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

why do you think alicent loves aemond so much? why she doesn't love aegon as much as she loves aemond? alicent appears to have misconceptions about her children. just like dumbledore said to snape about harry. you see what you want to see. the thing is alicent overlooks aegon good traits like cunning (he convinced people living for years at dragonstone to follow him without bloodshed so it means he convinced them. it means aegon is far more diplomatic than aemond even though aemond brags about studying history and philosophy so one can expect aemond to be more polished snd diplomatic but all his knowledge goes out of the window when he's angry) and resourceful while she is too preoccupied with aemond not causing problems compared to aegon that she paints aemond as unproblematic golden child. this and aemond actually never comes back. aegon does. alicent was so wrong about both of her children. had alicent really understood aemond she would have never loved him that much because he represents everything she despises thirst for blood, war and violence. she just likes her men strong, not self-pitying like aegon because he reminds her of herself. had she really understood aegon she would have loved him more because they are very similar doing their duty and fighting till the end. she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself.

this is very funny old joke that the child who rebels the most often ends up as the one more successful than obedient dutiful one.

Hello, thank you for the ask! And I`m awfully sorry for the delay with answering:(

Well, in a way you answered your own question. "she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself" - there is quite a lot of truth to it, I think. However, I do not agree with the premise that Alicent doesn`t love Aegon (or, more precisely, that she loves him less than she does Aemond).

In fact I find it quite difficult to say which one of her sons, in my opinion, Alicent loves more - because she loves them in different ways.

She sees Aemond as a pillar she could lean on (just like she views Criston), as a shield she could grab to protect herself and the rest of her family (not in a sense that she`s ready to sacrifice Aemond but meaning that shes sure he can take it). There IS a part of Alicent that lives in her second son (in one of my posts I called him the voice of her bitterness and rage) but overall they are quite different people. She might not understand Aemond as well as she would like to; she might love him less if she did - but we will never know. As it is, Aemond is her brave and fierce baby boy who went through a horrible traumatic experience (that started with him fighting alone) and still was strong enough to be the one to stand by her side when pretty much everyone else turned against her.

Aegon indeed too strongly reminds Alicent of herself. She feels it - and since she is often too harsh and demanding (sometimes even resentful) towards herself, she projects these feelings onto her child that resembles her the most. She might feel like she is not enough (screw you, Viserys, by the way) - so Aegon does not feel enough as well. There might be some apprehension about the way Aegon deals with his suffering: drinking, whoring, lazing around - trying to drown out the voice of his suffering with other powerful sensations and feelings where Alicent (almost) always chooses to suppress them. But that doesn`t mean she doesn`t love Aegon. In a way thinking about him - about his lot, his duty-bound fate, the neglect he suffers where the support should be given to him - hurts her too much, so she can`t fully process the love she feels for her eldest son, and neither she can express her properly. So here go slapping, shouting and saying the words that she knows will hurt a lot - but she can`t stop herself from saying them.

Her love for Aemond makes her feel stronger. Her love for Aegon makes her bleed. So no wonder Alicent feels more ready to embrace the former. And yet, when she takes a stand between Aegon and Meleys none of it matters.

[roosterbruiser]

"go to sleep, you haven't gotten any rest in the past couple of days" with Step Dad Rhett wanting to take care of baby so Mama can rest??

Forrest hasn't been sleeping well at all.

not even just the usual wake-up-every-two-hours-wanting-the-boob kind of not sleeping. it's different than that; your bouncing baby boy has been screaming through the night. already you've taken him to the pediatrician (or two or three) and they've all told you the same thing: he's teething. it''ll pass.

you're certain that it's much easier for them to say that when they're not the ones rocking a baby at three in the morning after precisely thirty-three minutes of actual sleep. and even if you had more grit, more patience, more energy, you would still be entirely deflated just hearing those pitiful cries from your baby boy. they puncture the still and quiet air inside your house--so much so that it sometimes makes the neighbors dog's howl.

so, you're spread thin. so thin that you're pretty sure you're see-through.

Rhett knows this as soon as you answer the door. he's smiling softly just in anticipation of seeing you--but when you swing the door open, Forrest tucked against your chest and wailing, that soft smile dissipates immediately.

"hey," you say, voice stained with tears. "c'mon in."

and then you're walking away from the door, wiping tired tears off your cheeks, sniffling hard. Forrest's little voice is ragged by now, but it hasn't stopped his upset.

"s'goin' on, darlin'?" Rhett asks, quickly stepping into the house and shutting the front door behind him.

he takes in the state of the house: the bottles on the table, the oragel infant on the couch, the unfolded blankets strewn over the chairs, the spinning record in the corner. his heart squeezes; you usually keep such a tidy house, it's important to you.

and if your house wasn't a dead giveaway, than the mere sight of you definitely is. hair thrown up lazily, shoulders practically sitting under your ears, tear-stained face, dry lips, unwashed body.

"teethin'. apparently."

you're still bouncing Forrest, pressing salty kisses against his tufts of brown hair, trying to soothe him.

Rhett feels a little bit out of his depth. he knew what it meant getting involved with you--it meant you and Forrest, always. he can't have one without the other and at this point, a few months in, he doesn't want one without the other.

he watches, wordlessly, from his spot on the entryway rug and racks his brain. how can he help you? tidy up the living room? let you shower? offer to take Forrest on a ride while you rest? he's chewing the inside of his cheek, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his Levi's when you suddenly turn and meet his gaze.

oh. you're exhausted. like the kind of exhausted that can fall asleep standing up like a horse. the kind of exhausted that makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

"darlin'," Rhett starts softly, crossing the living room to stand before you.

if you were any less tired, you'd be embarrassed about your tears. but you just sniffle and look up at him, entire body pulsing and aching.

"I'm so tired," you say quietly, still bouncing. "I'm so tired that it's scarin' me, Rhett."

Rhett, with his breath held in his throat, gently swipes the tears from your face. you relish in the warmth of his rough palm, inhaling all that leather on his skin, and almost let your eyes flutter shut.

but then Rhett is taking Forrest from you, his eyes pouring into yours, reading every crease between your brows and pull of your lips. he doesn't wanna overstep.

you let him take Forrest--your arms falling limp at your sides, vibrating with tired.

and in Rhett's arms, Forrest looks tinier than ever. how could something that small make you feel this fucking tired? and all that tired, all that sadness, washes away entirely when Rhett presses a kiss to the top of Forrest's fuzzy head. he hasn't stopped wailing, not, not yet. but Rhett's got this. his arms are secured, his hands are in the right place, his nose is pressing against his head.

"we'll be alright, huh?" Rhett whispers to Forrest, pressing a few more kisses to the top of his head, inhaling all that milk and talcum powder on his skin. "'ve got this, huh, bubba?"

you're fairly certain that your heart is about to pump out of your chest and fall right onto the floor, staining the wood.

Rhett looks away from Forrest's ruddy cheeks up to your face, which is wet with tears all over again.

"s'wrong?" he asks you, securing Forrest against him before he reaches out to stroke your cheek. you fall into his touch and his throat aches with affection. "this okay?"

you nod profusely. you've just never seen a man love Forrest the way Rhett does. in fact, you've never seen any man love Forrest at all.

"m'so happy," you whimper.

a smile tugs at Rhett's lips.

"thought you were so tired it scared ya?" he says.

you shake your head, sniffling.

"not anymore," you tell him.

he nods. and when he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, his scruff delicately scratching your skin, Forrest finally starts to quiet. he's still crying, sure, but Rhett reckons he would be, too, if he was cutting three teeth at once.

"get some rest, mama," Rhett insists, muffled from your own skin. "we've got this, alright? me and Forrest're gonna be just fine."

[woncon]

Flufftober Day 17

Encouraging s.o. to achieve a goal

🍁 felix x gn!reader

🍁 thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely ❣

🍁 flufftober masterlist | main masterlist

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You should be studying, but instead you're looking at Felix. As his eyebrows furrow softly, he browses through the cookbook and then scratches the tip of his nose, leaving a small cloud of flour behind.

You lean close to wipe away the smudge. At first, Felix is a little startled by the sudden closeness, but then he continues to watch the pages with a slightly bemused smile.

"Have you nothing better to do than to look at me?"

"Is there anything better than that?"

Felix grimaces shyly at the compliment, and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest. How the hell could you be learning French words about love when Felix is standing in front of you, trying to bake you a cake full of love.

"I thought you said you're gonna take a test on something."

Felix's warm gaze finds your notebook by your thigh. You quickly shove it against the wall behind your back, but of course the boy notices and blinks at you, mildly puzzled.

"Fine, I have to learn French. But I can't. I'd much rather watch you. After the cake's done and we've watched the mov-"

"No, no." Felix dusts off his floury hands, walks to the tap, washes them, then firmly grabs your notebook and lays it on your lap. "You can't put it off. It never leads to anything good. I'll help you, then we can bake together."

"Alright." As Felix's face lights up with excitement, so does your enthusiasm. You open your notebook to the concepts to be learned. It's not much, really, just a mini-test, but it's still a pain to get yourself to study. Of course, now that your boyfriend is offering his services, it's a different story.

You quickly run through the words, then hand him the notebook. You're ready, let's get it over with. Felix nods, reads the meaning of a word to quiz you, and you suddenly panic as those pretty lips, reading silently, empty your short-term memory.

"What's gently?" he inquires, his eyes fixed on your face. You shake your head. You're ashamed that you can't answer even though you just saw the solution. Seeing your exasperated expression, Felix takes pity on you.

"Tendrement," he smiles encouragingly, and takes possession of your lips again as he looks at the next solution. This time it's not slow, but intense, blood-pumping, yearning. He grips your hips, presses himself tightly between your legs, his tongue as if to carve the letters he pronounces as he part your lips.

"À la folie," he whispers in your ear. Your throat is dry. Nobody said Felix's deep voice mixed with French would make you so weak. "The meaning is passionately or madly."

"It was indeed mad." You throat is like a parched desert, you clear it, searching for water. Luckily for you, there's a bottle on the other side of the counter you're sitting on, which you take into your hand.

"Can we continue?" He asks after you drink a few fresh sips.

"Un peu, a little bit. Beaucoup, very. Pas du tout, not at all. I know these," you announce, while he checks that you've got them right. Somehow you've pulled them out of the short term after all. Or maybe Felix's kiss was so effective that the words bounced enthusiastically into your long-term memory.

"You won't forget the other two?"

"I don't think so." It's totally impossible to get Felix's teaching technique out of your head the next day, you're sure. "But we can still practice a few more times. You know, just to make sure."

"Oh, of course. Glad to help." Felix's wide, excited, sweet smile makes you weak in the knee - so it's very useful for you that you are sitting right now.

Your notebook lays forgotten on the counter under Felix's palm as you reach into his hair to swallow his sweet sigh into your mouth and love him as these learned words suggest.

flufftober taglist (send an ask! <3)

@jaeheekangslover

@haechansbbg

[dtyfp2]

Proposal

The Great War

“…relax your bow arm…”

In the tower, above where the young Stark boys train, sit the Stark girls and the Princesses of the realm, needling. Needling was something Helen never had any trouble with, her Septa’s fawned over her work and she regularly made gifts of her work to others. She quite enjoyed it actually, though you suppose everyone loves what they’re good at it.

“That’s beautiful work Sansa, you are better than me when I was your own age,” you compliment her with a smile as you peek over at her work. She had taken to needling some pretty flowers, a multitude of colours, prettier than any garden.

“Thank you princess,” she blushes shyly.

“And you, Myrcella, improve everyday,” you glance over at your little sisters work. She smiles bashfully as she holds up her work for you to better see.

“You have some much potential, you’ll one day create the most beautiful stitiching Westeros has ever seen,” you smile at your little sister, brushing her cheek with your finger which forces a smile from her

Arya, on the other hand, despite her somewhat concealed efforts, has made it obvious she wishes to be anywhere but here. Any time she hears her brothers below, her head snaps up. Only the watchful eye of her septa keeps her in her seat, away from the window, away from watching.

“Your needling is quite good as well, Arya, I can tell it’s Nymeria,” you tell the youngest Stark girl, offering her a look of pity as she looks down at her work.

“I don’t understand the point of needling,” she mutters under her breath, which earns her a harsh ‘shush’ from the Septa.

“I know it can be quite boring to some, but it is a great lesson in patience and precision. Nothing in life will come easy nor quickly, we must wait for the good, so why not perfect our skills and make something beautiful in the meantime?” You tell her. You remember thinking the same when you were younger, especially when you were forced to spend hours perfecting every stitch, needling the same thing over and over and over again. Arya’s face brightens, ever so slightly, as she nods her head in consideration.

“Are you having some difficulty in deciding what to make, princess?” Sansa asks, her gentle voice drawing you from your thoughts. You look down at your own work to find nothing, cloth as blank as it were nearly an hour ago when it was first given to you.

“Despite the beauty that surrounds me, I find myself feeling uninspired. Perhaps it is the cold, it has frozen my fingers so horribly that they cannot move,” you joke, which earns a smile from the Stark’s, though it concerns Myrcella deeply.

“But it is not so cold, Helen,” Myrcella frowns as she puts her work down to inspect your hands.

“There is no cause for concern, Myrcella. Perhaps it is time to put our work down for the day, you’ve all done beautiful work,” you laugh, patting Myrcella’s hair as you stand.

“I agree!” Arya exclaims, almost too quickly as she throws her work aside and practically runs out of the room. Sansa bows as she takes her leave and the Septa’s take Myrcella away for her next lesson.

You, on the other hand, are left to roam. Your blank needling cloth hangs by your fingertips as you slowly walk the castle halls, your fingers brushing over the stone as you think.

Something is meant to happen today, you had dreamt it, but couldn’t possibly fathom what it could be.

“Ser Barristan, is my father inside?” you ask, surprised to pass the Lord Commander, standing guard outside Lord Stark’s solar.

“He is, my Princess, with the Lord Stark. They’ve asked not to be disturbed,” Ser Barristan answers.

“Why? What are they talking about?” you question, your curiousity peaking.

“I do not know, Princess, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Ser Barristan offers you a smile.

“Yes, as am I,” you murmur, gripping your work a little tighter.

“Where are you off to? Shall I escort you to your room?” Ser Barristan asks.

“No…no, thank you, Ser. I am needed here, my father will call for me shortly, I am sure of it,” you smile, sitting on the bench across from the door, across from Ser Barristan.

“If your father calls, I would come find you. I’m sure there are more comfortable places for you to sit, Princess,” Ser Barristan’s eyebrows furrow as he glances at the cold, hard, wooden chair.

“I am quite alright, ser,” you assure him with a smile, your mind suddenly at peace.

“I am quite content where I am,” you murmur as you look down at your work. Inspiration must have found you as your fingers work as if they have a mind of their own. You must have sat there for many hours, long enough for the sun to set, a chill along with it.

Finally, the door cracks open. Lord Stark exits first, he slips away without even noticing you in the shadows. You stand abruptly when your father comes out, as if you are expecting something.

“Ser Barristan, fetch the Princess-oh, Helen? What are you doing here?” your father asks as he notices you, the shadow of the old castle obscuring you ever so slightly.

“I knew you’d call for me, father,” you say simply, smiling over at Ser Barristan as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He grins back, amused that you were correct. He wasn’t sure how much he believed in your, so called ‘prophetic dreams’, but he couldn’t deny that you were occasionally correct.

Your father motions for you to enter and you follow him inside. He sits at the head of the desk as if it were his own.

“You know about my trouble with the North, don’t you?” Your father asks, to which you nod. Since the reign of Aerys II, the Mad King, there had been rumours of seccession. All those years ago, they bent the knee to the dragons, but the dragons are now dead. The North was always the more independent of the Seven Kingdoms, hardly ever did Lords marry outside the North. Theirs was the Old Way, they followed the Old Gods, and they remembered. The North never forgot slights made against them. If it wasn’t for Ned’s strong friendship with your father, you are sure they would’ve declared independence after the horrid deaths of Rickard, Brandon, and Lyanna Stark. It was this very friendship that held the Kingdom together, some would say. As your father got older, he worried more and more about the state of the North, and this was saying something considering how far removed your father was from the politics that surrounded the realm. Your father was a fine warrior, but he wished for peace, and he knows that when he dies, peace will not continue. Your father wished peace for you, so that you wouldn’t have to send your sons to fight in a war he could have prevented. The North was on the brink of independence, and they’d fight a bloody war to ensure so once Lord Stark wasn’t there to quell rebellion.

“I have asked Ned to be my hand, and for him to wed his eldest daughter to Joffrey when they become of age,” your father tells you.

“Joffrey should be so lucky, father. Sansa is a beautiful girl, she will make a fine Queen one day,” you nod. You recall the stolen looks you had caught between the two, it was obvious Sansa liked him. You had also heard that Sansa was very much a lady like her mother, she would fair well in Kingslanding.

“I’ve always wanted to name you my heir, my sweet girl. I’ve always wanted you to rule, you’re better suited to it than me,” he sighs regretfully. You knew why he couldn’t, Joffrey was the eldest born son and history had taught you a daughter named over a son would end tragically. Just ask Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Marrying Sansa to Joffrey isn’t enough to keep the North in line. You, too, will wed Ned’s eldest son. A Stark and a Baratheon, the North and South, we should finally join our houses like we were meant to all those years ago. This will ensure the unity of the realm, so when your brother becomes King, he will do so without fear of Northern rebellion. Ned and I have held it all together with our friendship, but these marriages will ensure unity and peace for generations to come,” your father explains.

His guilt is evident on his face, he can’t even look at you as you take a seat across from him and reach for his hand.

“I am Helen Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and you are my father. I know of my duty to the realm, to my people, I think I have always known, father,” you tell him, wishing to allieviate the obvious guilt he feels.

“I know you had dreams about marrying for love, like all those maidens from the songs and books you sing and read. I wish I could give that to you, my darling girl. All I have ever wanted was your happiness, I would give my life to give it to you,” he closes his eyes.

“Ned assures me his son is a good man. Ned and Catelyn say he is good, strong, brave, they promise he will be good to you,” your father promises.

“He will, I’m sure of it,” you smile softly.

“Father, I am not angry, nor am I afraid. I have had a long time to get used to the idea, and I quite like it in the North. I think it suits me,” you console your father.

“The North is lucky to have you as their lady,” your father forces a smile as he finally looks at you. When he sees your genuinity, he relaxes.

“You are too good a daughter, sometimes I can’t believe you came from your mother and I,” he sighs as he looks at you, his daughter-becoming a woman before his very eyes.

“He’s not a bad looking lad either, is he?” he jokes, forcing a laugh from you.

“No, I suppose I could have done a lot worse,” you chuckle, trying not to blush, though you suspect you do.

“The two of you shall be married by months end, before we return to Kingslanding,” your father tells you as he stands.

“It will be the finest wedding the realm has ever seen, nothing but the best for my daughter!”

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Chapter II

Summary: Feyre takes some time to talk to one of her more reserved students, unveiling an adorable, yet heartbreaking Christmas wish.

OR

Rhys' little sister gets him a girlfriend.

AN: Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Chapter I

Feyre

“Three, two—” The bell above the studio door chimed and Ressina swept out from behind the front counter to greet the first arrivals for the evening class. A rambunctious pair of boys, ages eight and five. “Hello, my lovelies, I’ve missed you!”

Ressina was wonderful with the kids and had a particular fondness for greeting the younger classes and getting them settled. Turning away, Feyre finished setting out the paint and water before sitting down to start a few designs in pencil for the children to paint over. Elves, gingerbread men, angels, and snowmen. She’d need to draw a few more once the little ones had picked out what they wanted to draw, but it was good to get a little extra done before the place turned into a madhouse. 

It didn’t take long for all ten students to arrive, crowding into the studio and stripping out of their winter coats before sitting down at the table. The parents—and brother, in little Avyanna’s case—were left to line the walls, conversing among themselves. “What’s that, Ms. Feyre?”

She smiled. Avy was the meekest voice of the group, a bit wary of the children around her, though she’d seen her laughing with a few of the other girls on occasion and she seemed to be making better social progress with each class. “We’ll be painting ornaments today. You get to pick your favorite design and paint it whatever colors you want. Then Miss Ressina and I will dry it here and give you some pretty ribbon when you come back next week so you can hang it on your tree for your family to enjoy.”

Her eyes widened, lighting up with excitement. “I’d like an angel. Please.”

Feyre gave her another warm smile. “I’ll set this in your spot. Go grab an apron so you don’t stain that pretty shirt.”

“I appreciate the foresight you ladies have for that.” 

Feyre jumped, turning to face the new speaker. At least after two months of classes she could keep from blushing like a fool around him. “Sorry. I didn't notice you Mr. Axton—”

“I think we’ve attended enough lessons to justify you calling me Rhys. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to head outside for a moment to make a call, if that’s alright?” 

“Of course. We’re all set here if you need to step out. She’ll be fine.”

“Excellent. Pardon me.” Ruffling his sister’s hair, he stepped back out into the cold, pressing the phone to his ear, a scowl on his face the next time he spoke.

“Do you like my brother?” Avy asked the next time she circled back to their group. A bit startled by the subject, she hesitated to answer. “He likes you, you know.” The statement was out of the blue, an absent thought as she started to paint the angel wings as precisely as any six year old could. “He doesn’t talk about it, but he watches you while we’re here. I think it would make him happy if you went on a date. Happier than he is now, at least.” She had a solemn look about her, her shoulders curving in slightly. “That’s all I want this Christmas. For him to do something that makes him happy.”

While the other children around them were distracted with each other and their art, the parents in hearing range had been following the one sided conversation and were either looking on with amusement at Feyre’s awkwardness or pity for the girl’s homelife. She couldn’t imagine it was easy, going into the holidays just months after losing their parents to a fatal highway crash. 

And how does one tell an elementary-schooler you can’t make people happy by dropping them into a spontaneous date with a stranger. “Sweetheart, I think you and your brother are going to have an amazing Christmas together, especially if you’re with those uncles you keep telling me about.”

“Just wait til he gets back. You’ll see.”

Rhysand

Even smudged with paint and charcoal, the shop owner was gorgeous. Gorgeous and amazing with his sister, which did nothing to help how distracted he was today, trying and failing to tune into the nonsense his uncle was spewing in his ear. “Your parents are dead, Rhysand. If you don’t get a move on—”

“Tell me again, Kier, how I should run this business more like my father. I’m dying for a reason to kick you off the board for good.” Silence. “You’d do well to remember who this company was bequeathed to.”

“Of course, Rhysand,” he ground out. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Then don’t. Get me the contract I requested. I’ll review it in the morning.” 

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, rolling his neck as he calmed himself. If there was one thing he prided himself on it was not letting this shitstorm bleed into his time with his little sister. She was still too young to understand the truth behind a lot that had happened in their life. A mercy and curse, as he was left to question how long he could live with himself, telling her their parents’ car crash was a highway accident.

It was the right call for now, but as her guardian, he still felt like shit. He looked back through the window, spotting Avy in the middle of the table, quiet and reserved among her peers. It was a work in progress, breaking the six-year-old of their father’s rigid teachings, but he had seen glimpses of the rowdy kid she could be once she realized it wouldn’t get her in trouble. 

He pushed back into the art studio, removing his jacket and taking the empty seat beside Avyanna. “How’s it going, Avy?”

“Good. Ms. Feyre’s been helping me. She did the pencil part, see,” she showed him, tracing her finger over the cartoonish pencil marks that outlined the angel design Avy had chosen. She frowned, setting her paintbrush on her paper towel. “Was that Uncle Keir again? You didn’t look happy outside.”

“Ah, I fixed what needed to be fixed. No trouble in sight. What are you painting?”

She was quiet for a moment, likely trying to determine if he was hiding something that should be her business. “An ornament. Miss Ressina has some pretty ribbon we can hang them with so I can take it home and put it on the tree.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Avy.”

“How are we doing over here?” Feyre asked the cluster of children, immediately receiving overlapping progress reports on various snowmen, angels, elves, and gingerbread men. 

His sister was still as a statue, looking almost guilty as her instructor checked the paint and water cups around the table. Both of them were doing an excellent job of refusing to make eye contact with him, and Rhys found himself missing the fleeting-yet-bright smile the art teacher normally gifted him once or twice a lesson. 

Avy was far too well-behaved to have made any trouble for the two women leading the weekly lessons and Feyre seemed naturally at ease with parents and students alike. Whatever had shifted would need to be addressed, but it could wait until they weren’t dealing with eavesdroppers. 

“You don’t have to hover, you know,” his sister said, a bit of snark rising in companionship to that guilt. “I can paint on my own.”

Rhys frowned, but respected her request, walking back around the table to stand on the opposite wall. “What am I missing here?” he muttered. 

A father to his right chuckled. “Other than your sister telling Feyre you have a crush on her loud enough for the room to hear, nothing much.”

“Oh, is that all?” His eyes slid back to Feyre. Though she had likely brushed off the prospect of a date with him, something had been said that was weighing her down and it didn’t seem to lift for the rest of the lesson. He honestly didn’t care what the other guardians thought about him staying after they had all shuffled out. “Avy, put on your coat and wait by the door for me, okay?”

“Are you  asking Ms. Feyre on a date?”

“Avyanna, door.” She scampered away and he let out a long sigh, earning a chuckle from Ressina. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Feyre, come out here for a moment.”

“Yeah, what’s… up. Hi, Mr.—” He clicked his tongue softly. Feyre sighed in surrender. “Rhys, what can I do for you?”

Ressina was courteous enough to take up whatever was left in the back, leaving Feyre and Rhys with only a six year old for company. “This evening, it came to my attention that my sister made some insinuations that caused you discomfort.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “No!” Blushing, she cleared her throat, stating more calmly, “No, it wasn’t uncomfortable. I just didn’t want to get her hopes up. I didn’t think there was much substance behind…”

“A six-year-old’s second-hand love proclamations?”

She bit her lip. “Something like that. She just… She said it was her Christmas wish for you to be happy. I didn’t want her thinking a good holiday season hinged on romance.”

He swallowed. Did he really come off as someone so miserable Avy said this was her Christmas wish? The business demands were putting him through the wringer, but he thought he was better at wearing a mask. “I appreciate that. All the same though, if you weren’t currently seeing someone… more accurately, if you were interested in going out… Are you free on Saturday?”

Feyre chewed her lip. “Are you asking me because you want to ask me, or just to appease a six-year-old, because I won’t be part of something that—”

He waived his hand in a motion ment to cut off her concern. “If I didn’t have feelings for you I would have nipped this in the bud and left the studio as soon as her ornament was set to dry. I like you, Feyre. So what do you say?”

“Saturday. Can you pick me up from here?”

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

[thyshadowwriter]

Hi<3 Could you write some headcanons about the ragnarsons having a dominant s/o (separately)

Have a great day!

Ty <3

Ubbe:

The trickiest one among his brothers.

He’s used to the commanding role and he likes giving orders.

He’s pretty dominant himself.

It’s not that he won’t open up to another dominant s/o, but they’ll have to be on his level.

The dominance in the relationship would be balanced. One time it’s him and another it’s his s/o.

He’s a simple man when it comes to sex. He doesn’t need a lot of stuff to make it work or to get him in the mood. Usually likes simple, but effective positions.

It’s more about the general mood that sets who's turn it is.

A look, a certain way of touching, something subtle like that.

That’s not to say if something gets on his nerves, which a lot of things do but he keeps his cool, he won’t shove his s/o on the bed (or wherever they have privacy) and ride them till sunrise.

Fight training is also a good way to get him into the mood.

Hvitserk:

It’ll be unusual to him given that he’s always the one chasing new lovers and thus, being more dominant.

Still, he keeps an open mind to sex.

And noticeably, he likes to please.

As strange as the proposition may sound, he has no problem allowing his s/o to be dominant with him.

Say what you want out of him, leave him begging, he has no problem. Just don’t degrade, humiliate and neglect him, he has plenty of that in his life already.

He does appreciate being taken care of for a change, but will still want to be the ‘protector’.

He has someone that makes him happy, he likes to know he can protect them in the violent world they live in.

You’ll get the more playful and easy going side of him because he feels happy in the relationship.

Temperature play is off the list.

Ivar:

Oh boy, do you get a handful with this one.

Ivar is a very dominant person himself. Rarely you get any moment of vulnerability or one he’s not heavily guarded.

It would have to be someone he trusts, really trusts, for him to consider surrendering for a while.

It’s a plus if they can fight. Looking at you, Headmund.

Earning his trust is the long run. Don’t lie to him, don’t make him feel weak or like a burden for his disability, don’t treat him with pity. Things like that.

Before he surrenders, he must feel secure enough in the relationship that he knows his partner won’t stray for someone else.

Very much likes praising.

As he surrenders, you get the bratty, spoiled and impatient boy he truly is. Work your magic from there.

Bjorn:

You mean canon.

Look, this man is the best fighter and hottest viking of his generation. He knows that, you know that, everyone knows that. He doesn’t have anything to prove and his confidence reaches Valhalla.

He has precisely zero problems with a dominant s/o.

Bae, be as dominant as you want, this man is a freak in the sheets.

He’s up for everything, at least trying. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll tell straight away.

Might be a good way to keep him from straying…

Sigurd:

Honestly, the hardest nut to crack. (No pun intended)

He was neglected his whole life because of Ivar and doesn't have a relationship as close as Ubbe and Hvitserk.

That left him spiteful and with abandonment issues.

Before he even considers submitting to a partner, they must prove they care about him.

In a way, he’s like Ivar. His s/o will need to prove he, and only he, not one of his brothers or someone else, is their priority and that they only love him.

Earning his trust is a long game, but the payoff is great.

He doesn't mind his s/o taking a dominant role, but he has a lot of hard no’s.

Degradation and pain are the top no’s. Being bound is also on the uncomfortable side.

Simply tell him what to do and not to do and he’ll oblige.

But keep in mind he's a prince after all and he’s very much proud of his status, so you’ll also get the moody, demanding and bratty attitude.

Most of everything, he likes to be reassured he’s the only one in your heart and if you put that into or after the play, he’s a happy man.