#coin line╭┈─ [ prompts ]

[underworldsarcade]

TAG DUMP ; GENERAL.

[light-me-on-pyre]

https://www.fimfiction.net/story/352115/the-friendship-test

Link to the story I mentioned in the tags (there's also a reading linked in the story description)

trial 1 was brand yourself or brand the next pony person in line. Nonlethal (unless you lunge for whumper and get your friend zapped to death)

trial 2 was beat rainbow dash or stab the next person in line to the hilt with the dagger. (same person could get beaten repeatedly over multiple turns or you could stab someone once)

trial 3 was toxic laughing gas. Hold your breath!

trial 4 was choose one of your friends to drown.

trial 5 was choice or chance poison. (in the cider one of the whumpees sold for extra flavor)

We don't get to see trial 6 because trial 1 was supposed to be nonlethal (so she says) but damn does the winner get survivor's guilt :)

(I didn't know what whump was when I was in the brony fandom but I think I still figured out what whump was even if not by name lmao)

Hey, I know I've been MIA for SEVERAL YEARS now, but I am writing a fic and I CANNOT get through my next chapter so I'm caving and asking for help.

In this fic, I have a whumper who is into games. They're making the whumpee go through trials. The whumpee nailed the fist trial and they're not happy. The whumper is also in posession of whumpee's family (of which I want two to perish in this chapter and three to survive). I'm having trouble thinking about the second trial.

I would like something intellectual: that is, the whumpee would choose to control the outcome, but it would always be terrible (Sophie's choice sort of deal). At first I thought something akin to the chess in Harry Potter in which each of the charaters represents a piece and if the piece gets captured they die. But I feel like that would be 1) hard to narrate 2) hard for readers to follow and 3) it's literally a rip off.

But I'm having trouble thinking of other ways that might happen. Does anyone have any suggestions on where I can look for inspiration?

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 . ( a collection of fantasy - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

strangers don't last very long around here .

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

whatever you do , do not stray from the path .

try not to get yourself killed .

the magic here is old and wild .

quiet ... do not wake it .

i thought i'd find you here . get up .

the tavern in [ location ] is known for its ale and its rumors .

you are starting the path towards your destiny .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

my sword is yours .

the path to redemption is paved with trials and tribulations .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

you are nothing but damned bones , and a damned soul .

have you ever seen the world beyond [ location ] ?

in the face of overwhelming odds , we must stand united .

please don't let them know that i'm here .

i've heard tales of your exploits . impressive , if they're true .

there's a town three miles east from here .

we have such history , you and i .

go carefully ... there's a camp nearby .

you will not die here , i forbid it .

your reputation precedes you .

i would rather die on my feet than on my knees .

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you've got a fire in your eyes . use it , but don't let it consume you .

the spirits of this forest are restless .

there's more that you aren't telling me .

you have something that belongs to me .

you shouldn't be here , it's not safe in these parts .

all we can trust are the blades in our hands .

do you believe in fate ? destiny , prophecies ...

i don't think i'll ever get used to having blood on my hands .

wait ! there's traps here . lots of them .

i would die before helping in such a task .

there's an inn just another mile north .

have your blade at the ready .

if you can't already tell , i don't require saving .

have you drank your fill already ?

this isn't just some lark to me .

i'm headed to [ location ] . i could use some company .

your bravery is admirable , but it will also be your undoing .

you're exhausted , [ name ] . we're stopping here .

i will hunt you until the day i die .

i wish you a safe journey home .

as long as i can be of no help , i'm going to hide .

raise your sword . this should be a fair fight .

you're brave to show your face here again .

in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword .

i've seen the way you look at the horizon . you're searching for something .

[ administers a healing potion / spell ] is that any better ?

you have no idea of the catastrophe you've set in motion .

there's an ambush ahead , stay quiet .

i want to know your story ... beginning to end .

in the end , we're all just stories waiting to be told .

i've heard tales of a dragon living high up in the mountains . some say it's just a myth , others swear it's real .

the line between friend and foe is often blurred .

try to stay quiet . is the wound deep ?

do not provoke them .

monster ? who's the monster here ?

i forbid you from telling anyone what you've seen here .

are you scared of witches ?

that's a beautiful [ weapon ] . may i ?

you are a valuable ally and a fearsome adversary .

do not tell me you've grown soft over the years .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

you're a tough one to read , but i can see the kindness in your eyes .

the key to survival is knowing when to fight and when to flee .

i never expected to run into you in [ location ] .

last we spoke , you owed me some coin .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

there is no magic or medicine that can cure this .

you keep questionable company .

every choice has a consequence .

the fate of the world lies in your hands .

so you're the great [ name ] .

remorse will get you nowhere .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

i once dreamed of this place . it's real ?

some secrets are best left buried .

the bridge is heavily guarded . we need a plan .

i thought you were returning home .

i would not do this unless i had to .

i need my horse .

it's real . all of the stories , the legends ... and it's real .

don't lose your wit . i believe you'll have need for it yet .

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil Viper: A Web, Tangled

Aaand here we go with the Relaxing in Room line of birthday cards :v d ehebkwjw It’s so funny that they chuck pillows to attack??? (By the way, congrats to this Jamil card overloading and crashing the JP server 😂)

For this series of birthday ficlets, I’ll focus on writing each birthday boy preparing to walk to school with the reader (since the duo partner barely appears in the vignettes). Can be read platonically or romantically, whatever you prefer~

Rise and Shine!

You lingered by the doorway, your eyes glued on Jamil.

He was preoccupied with glimpsing himself in a mirror set on a table. Before him were various accessories from a jeweled box. (Judging from the gaudiness of the massive rubies on it, it must have been a gift from Kalim.)

Loose tresses the color of dark chocolate tumbled down his back. When Jamil ran a brush through them, the sun caught and his hair tempered, turning lustrous.

You’d seen him massage his scalp with oil-slicked hands before—and again, he diid it, followed by some sort of a cream. The routine left his head moisturized smelling faintly of jasmine. Jamil never compromised when it came to hair care.

You often had to remind yourself that he was not a princess, entrancing as he was. The sway of his hair, the snap of his steps. Each movement, close to a part in a mysterious dance.

Jamil produced his magical pen. The magestone laid in it was as clear as a cloudless day, and the color of blood that had been left out for a little too long.

Now came the spectacle, the very highlight of your entire morning.

Jamil raised the pen as if he was a conductor waving his baton. A hush fell over an imaginary audience, a collective of breaths held in anticipation. This is it, this is it.

He flicked his wrist, and the magic flowed.

A trail of scarlet light emanated whenever Jamil drew his wand. The accessories laid out on his desk floated up, compelled, in a neat line. A band with a feather dangling from it, narrow golden bangles, flat beads that clinked like coins.

His dark locks lifted, dividing themselves into even sections, then into even smaller ones. They carefully twisted over and under each other, weaving into tight braids. Accessories slid on, effortlessly fitting themselves at his direction.

His intricate hairstyle assembled quickly, as if arranging the pieces of a familiar puzzle.

The red sparkles faded into a fine shimmer and then into nothing at all. As the last traces of magic settled, you bursted into applause.

“Bravo, bravo! Great show as always,” you said appreciatively.

“… That wasn’t a performance,” Jamil corrected as he set his magical pen down.

“It might as well be! It takes some serious skill to pull that off every morning.” You gestured to him. “And so fast!“

“Anyone could accomplish it with enough time and practice.” His words choice was humble, but there was a hint of a smirk in his tone.

A rare moment of triumph for him.

“Not just anyone. I think you’ve got a natural talent for this kind of thing,” you grinned broadly, “like a spider!”

Jamil’s neutral expression splintered, leaving jagged edges exposed. His left eyes twitched, pupils pinpricks.

“Excuse me? In what way do I remind you of a vile bug?”

“Hey, don’t knock spiders! You guys have similar skills. The braids, the webs. You make’m well, all nice and strong. No strands out of place.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” he groused, a hand on his hip. “I’d prefer if you didn’t compare me to them. It feels wrong.”

Jamil shivered. Not from the cold, but with repulsion.

You gave a laugh—soft against the rising morning sun. “Really? But you’re so alike in other ways too.”

His eyes narrowed into suspicious slivers. Mildly offended, perhaps.

“Elaborate,” he commanded.

“They’re hard working and important but under-appreciated,” you pointed out. “Without spiders, there would actually be a lot more bugs around. We should be more grateful to have spiders’ webs.”

There was a pause, deliberate. Then a gentle prompt.

“… Remind you of anyone?”

Jamil scoffed. It was as loud as a thunderclap in his suddenly cavernous bedroom.

“Maybe.”

Two syllables, clipped. An acknowledgment.

“Jamil-senpai…?”

He hurriedly looked away, staring at the wall for likely longer than what was deemed appropriate. Any more, whether in length or in intensity, and he might have burned a hole in it. His face, hotter than the Scalding Sands.

Your brows shot up. “… Ah. Could it be that you’re feeling embarrassed?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Something like this couldn’t possibly ruffle me.”

You craned your body, attempting to meet his gaze. But he wrenched away, denying that to you. “Then why aren’t you looking at me when you say that?”

“I need to get ready for class,” he replied dismissively. “So close the door and wait outside while I change out of my pajamas.”

“Now you’re just changing the subject!”

“Well, we’ll both be running late if we continue to dawdle,” Jamil warned—a tactful evasive maneuver.

His hands found their way onto your arms, steering you into the hallway. You turned back, mouth opening to protest, but Jamil had already sealed himself off.

Banging and calling out to him was no good. Kicking resulted in you gripping onto your poor foot and whimpering. You were left in a sorry state, back to the door as you rested on the floor.

On the other side, Jamil was surely having a little laugh. Cheeks still burning from the praise showered upon him, basking in the afterglow of it.

You sighed.

A spider makes its web to deceive flies into getting stuck in it. Jamil-senpai can be just as tricky.

[lilasamaaa]

Amor | Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Smut, Fluff.

Word count | 3.8K

Warnings | Sexual content, alcohol consumption.

Summary | Carlos is about to enjoy a few days of rest in Lisbon between races when he crosses paths with a young woman with whom he will share a night. And, if fate allows it, perhaps a little more...

Author's note | Thanks for the lovely request @thefuckwasmyname ! Hope you like it!

In life, there are many things that Carlos Sainz enjoys. His job, obviously. Or his family, of which he's very proud to be extremely close. But sometimes, there's something he loves even more than all of that : escaping both of these things. And that's exactly what he had planned to do for the next five days, wandering the streets of the Portuguese capital.

His phone has been off since this morning, when he stepped onto the plane taking him from Madrid to Lisbon. Everyone had been informed, and his words were very clear. Unreachable. Don't text, don't call, he had told his family the day before departure. I need to take some time for myself. To recharge. I won't answer.

Carlos loves Lisbon. As he steps onto the geometric patterns of the Praça do Rossio, memories of childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood flood his mind. Memories of his father playfully chasing after him, of sharing ice creams with his sisters, of days at the beach searching for the most beautiful seashell to give to his mother. Yes, Lisbon is truly a place that is precious to him. A place he doesn't want to share. A place he wants to keep for himself.

His stays in Lisbon always start the same way, and he's set on respecting the tradition. Running a hand through his hair and adjusting his cap and sunglasses on his head, the Spaniard heads straight to Gelados Santini. The blazing sun of this early May afternoon isn't in his favor. It seems like all of Lisbon has crowded into the small shop, determined to combat the sweltering heat with a sweet treat. Engrossed in his phone, the twenty-minute wait passes without incident, and soon he's next in line. Right after the woman in front of him, who is now heading towards the counter.

"Bom dia," he hears a very lovely voice say. He's not surprised to hear something other than English. A lot of locals love the place. "Eu gostaria de..."

The woman pauses, seemingly searching for her words. There are quite a few choices, Carlos thinks. Her hesitation is understandable.

"Eu gostaria de um sorvete de limão em amor, por favor."

Oh, he thinks. This woman is definitely not Portuguese.

"Amor?" the young man behind the counter asks, eyeing up suspiciously.

"Sim, amor e limão. Em um potinho pequeno em vez de um cone, por favor."

The man scrutinizes the woman in front of him as if horns had just sprouted from her head. Even though Carlos had planned to remain rather discreet, the young woman's confusion prompts him to intervene.

"Ela quer de amora. Limão e amora," he says to the man behind the counter, stepping forward.

"Ah, amora," the vendor repeats, grabbing the ice cream scoop.

"Oh my god," the woman says in perfect English, turning to face him. "What did I ask for?"

"A lemon and love ice cream. Quite original," he responds, suppressing a laugh. The young woman blushes deeply, covering her mouth.

"This is the last time I try to speak Portuguese."

"You were doing great," Carlos says, still laughing. "The accent was perfect, at least. Could have fooled me."

The man behind the counter hands her the ice cream, and she gives him a bill in exchange for some coins. She thanks him and gives a little wave to Carlos, thanking him too, before leaving the shop. The Spaniard places his order in perfect Portuguese, and a few seconds later, he too is once again facing the boiling sun, ice cream in hand. The young woman is still there, leaning against the shop window, trying to enjoy the shade of the small awning at the storefront.

"Thanks again," she says, licking the side of cup where a drop threatens to escape.

"My pleasure," he responds, sitting down next to her in the shade. "But perhaps I shouldn't have intervened? If it's really love you wanted to order from that innocent man."

She laughs, with a radiant, luminous laughter.

"No, you did well to come to my rescue. I thought the poor guy was going to have a heart attack."

"If you had insisted, I'm not sure he would have refused the proposition of such a pretty girl," he responds with a smirk, his eyes fixed on his cone.

"You, Portuguese men," she says, smirking at him. "You've certainly earned your reputation as charmers."

"Well, that might be true, but I wouldn't know. I'm Spanish," he replies with a grin.

"Oops! Sorry," she replies. "It's not very far, after all," she adds.

"Yes, we're neighbors. That's why I come here so often," he explains.

"Oh!" she exclaims, her eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. "So, you know the city well, then?"

"Like the back of my hand," Carlos replies, gazing into her eyes.

"Okay," she starts. "I've been here for four days. I'm leaving tomorrow. I feel like I've already done all the important stuff : Praça do Comércio, the cathedral, the castle, the convent," she begins to list, counting on her fingers. "Belém Tower, of course. Absolutely magnificent. Alfama, too... But I'm afraid I might have missed something. Is there anything else that's a must-see?"

Carlos takes a moment to think, bringing the ice cream to his lips.

"Well," he says after a few seconds. "Have you crossed the 25th of April Bridge?"

"The one that looks like the Golden Gate?" she asks as Carlos nods. "No, I've only seen it from afar. I didn't dare to walk across it," she admits.

"Yeah, it's better to avoid walking across it," the Spaniard agrees. "But if you want, I have a scooter. If you feel like crossing the bridge. No pressure, of course," he says, focusing back on his ice cream.

"You'd do that?" she asks, her eyes widening. "Oh, that would be so amazing. I mean, if you don't have anything else to do, of course."

Twenty minutes later, done with their ice creams and feeling a bit refreshed, Carlos starts his scooter in a small Portuguese alleyway, while the young woman, seated behind him, fastens her helmet.

"Hold tight," he says, starting the engine and venturing into the cobbled streets, making her yelp before grabbing onto his waist.

The journey to the bridge takes about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes during which Carlos explains to her what's around them, from cathedrals to varieties of trees to famous murals. The rushing air and their helmets make conversation a bit difficult, so she leans into him, chin resting on his shoulder to hear better. When finally the bridge stands before them, she can't help but let out a "wow" of surprise and admiration. "It's so beautiful!" she shouts for Carlos to hear, and she feels the Spaniard laughing, his back trembling against her chest. In the distance, the statue of Christ stands with outstretched arms, as if waiting for them.

"Just like in Rio!" she says.

"You've been to Brazil?" Carlos asks, eyeing her up in one of the rearview mirror.

"Yeah," she says. "Have you?"

"Yes," Carlos replies. "For work."

The driver accelerates to overtake a car, and the wind cuts off their conversation. Behind him, her arms tighten around his waist, and he finds himself enjoying the sensation. A few minutes later, they've finally crossed the bridge, and they take the opportunity to stop at the statue and explore the surroundings. Lost in the streets of Almada, the two strangers get to know each other, exchanging life and travel anecdotes. The chemistry is so good that neither of them realizes how much time has passed until the sun sets on the horizon, in front of the terrace they're seated at.

"Wow, I can't believe it's already almost 8 p.m.," she suddenly says, looking at her phone.

"Did you have plans after this? Sorry, I've stolen you for quite some time," he asks apologetically.

"No, nothing planned. And I've quite liked being stolen, to be honest," she replies, looking at him over her spritz. "Thank you for being such a great guide."

Carlos looks lost in his thoughts for a moment, silent.

"Would..." he starts, hesitant. "Would it be weird if I invited you to dinner? My cousin lent me his apartment, there's a beautiful view of the city. I bought some groceries when I arrived this morning, I have wine, and..."

He's interrupted by a hand placed on his, and when he looks up, his eyes meet those, dark, of the young woman. He's never been extremely confident, but he's never felt as exposed as he does under her piercing gaze. It's... unsettling. Kinda sexy, too.

"I'd be really happy to. If you're not already tired of my company," she replies, laughing.

An hour later, she's sitting on the terrace of the Spaniard's cousin, overlooking the Tagus Bay, a glass of white wine in hand. The sun has set, but the air is still warm. Below, the noise of restaurant terraces adds to the evening's liveliness. Behind her, in the kitchen, the driver is busy slicing vegetables, cutting meat, draining pasta.

"Are you sure you don't need a hand, Carlos?" she asks, turning around. It's been a while since they exchanged names, back at the bar in Almada. She also learned that he was a driver. He didn't really say much more, so she interpreted... like a taxi, or something. They talked about her job, as a lecturer at the University of Oxford in England. Foreign civilizations, she'd explained with a smile, beaming with pride.

"No, I want you to enjoy the evening. I invited you to dinner after all, not to cook," he replies with a smile. She smiles in return, turning her attention back to the water. She could stay here forever. But already, her departure is approaching. The notification on her phone informing her that her flight takes off in a few hours is proof of that. A surprisingly disappointing proof. Almost painful. Painful? Ridiculous, she thinks, shaking her head to dispel the absurd idea.

"It's ready," the Spaniard announces suddenly, placing two steaming plates on the small table where she's seated.

"It smells incredibly good," she replies, closing her eyes and flaring her nostrils. "Do you cook a lot?"

"Not as much as I'd like," the man responds. "I'm often on the road for work. It's not easy to find the time and motivation to get into the kitchen."

"Yeah, I bet," she replies, raising her glass in his direction to toast. Their two glasses clink gently, and each takes a sip, settling into a comfortable silence.

"I'd like to cook more too, but when you get home at 9 p.m. from a day of long and tiring lectures... Food delivery works just fine," she confides, laughing.

The conversation goes on, each opening up to one another, asking questions, answering some. Neither of them says it, but each is surprised by how easily they open up, reveal themselves. It's almost unsettling, he thinks. To know someone for just a few hours and feel so comfortable. Truly unsettling, she thinks. Having dinner with a stranger and wanting to tell them your entire life story. The dinner continues, as does the wine, and slowly, the conversation drifts. Without either of them really noticing. Or caring enough to stop.

"What's a girl like you doing here all alone?" the Spaniard asks after a moment.

"Right back at you," she says. "What's a guy like you doing here alone?"

"What's a guy like me?" he asks, a playful smile on his lips.

"Come on now, you're just fishing for compliments. I don't care, I'll bite," she replies, smirking. "A charming guy. Very charming. Well-dressed, multilingual, good conversationalist, and who cooks amazingly well. A guy who knows how to please a woman," she adds.

"I do know how to please a woman," he says, tone low. "Thanks for noticing."

Realizing the innuendo, she blushes, drinking from her glass.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I know," he replies, smiling. "But thanks for the compliments. To answer your question, I often come to Lisbon when I need to be alone. To gather my thoughts," he responds.

"And yet, we've spent the day together. That's not what I call being alone. Did I ruin your plans then?" she says, eyeing him intensely.

"You haven't ruined anything. If anything, you've improved them."

"There he is," she replies, laughing. "The Portuguese man in you. The charmer!" she says, throwing the bottle cap in his direction. He catches it effortlessly in the air, laughing out loud.

"What about you, then? You haven't answered the question," Carlos says, serious again. "What's a splendid, refined, elegant woman of knowledge like you doing alone in Lisbon?"

The conversation pauses for a moment as she looks away from his eyes, gazing into the river in the distance.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she begins, "but I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone yet. Not my family, not even my closest friends. In fact, I've only just admitted it to myself, but... I'm searching for meaning."

"Meaning?" he repeats, arching a brow.

"I love my job, I've worked hard to get here. Living in Oxford isn't so bad, if you forget about the rain. I'm well surrounded, I have friends, I get along great with my loved ones. But..." she continues, hesitantly. "I've been feeling lately like my life doesn't have any meaning. Like I'm moving forward without direction. Like something is missing."

"And what could this something be?" Carlos replies softly.

"I don't know. I'm here to find out," she says, meeting his eyes.

It must be the wine. Or the adrenaline from the day... But probably more the wine, which prompts Carlos to lean over the table and capture her lips. She's surprised, her whole body seeming to stiffen, and for a moment, Carlos regrets it. But a few seconds later, her tongue finds his, intensifying the kiss, her hand moving to the nape of his neck. Things escalate quickly. It only takes them a few minutes to abandon plates, glasses of wine, and clothing along the way and throw themselves onto the double bed in the apartment.

All day, she let him make the decisions. The one to leave the gelato shop. The one to cross the bridge. The one to eat dinner at his place. So Carlos is particularly surprised when she pushes him onto the bed, kissing him passionately before descending to his groin, and his already almost painful hard-on. Her hand barely brushes against his cock, her touch delicate, but already, his whole body is on fire. At her mercy.

"Wait," he says, sitting up on his elbows. "Are you sure? I can make you feel good."

"Let me thank you for this fantastic dinner," she says, watching him through her lashes, eyes dark.

Her hand wraps around him, and her expert movements begin, running her thumb over the tip, letting a trickle of saliva drip from her mouth to its tip.

"Fucking hell", he swears, falling back.

Her mouth finds him, and she plays with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks, taking him as far as she can until tears well up in the corners of his eyes. His moans intensify, assuring her that she's doing well, that he appreciates her efforts. Her little game lasts for a while, his hands lost in the mass of her hair, pulling at the roots, uttering profanities. Praising her. Then suddenly, he sits up, letting out a "wait" that makes her stop abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, wiping her mouth.

"No, you did... Everything right. Too right. I was going to, erm..."

"Oh!" she utters, stiffling a laugh.

"Now, let me take care of you," he says, flipping her over on the bed, his body on top of hers.

They kiss, something she's never done with other flings, other one-night stands. Something so deeply intimate, so dangerous. Their tongues meet, explore each other. He bites her lip and she lets out a moan so loud that she surprises even herself. This guy has way too much of an effect on me, she thinks, getting lost in his eyes. Hypnotizing eyes, he thinks, surrendering to them.

Pressing kisses along her neck, on her collarbones, and then on her breasts, his mouth finds one of her nipples, over which he slides his tongue, eliciting moans from her. Feeling her receptive, he tries something else, nibbling on it, pressing his warm mouth against it. For several minutes, he alternates from one nipple to the other, from one nipple to her mouth, from her mouth to the other nipple. His mouth, his teeth, are everywhere. Warm. Intoxicating. Suddenly, she clings to his shoulders, her mouth slightly open, and he can't help but scrutinize her, observe every movement, every expression on her face.

"Oh, god," she says, her head thrown back, a strand of hair in front of her eyes.

And she cums. It's probably the most beautiful, the most exciting thing he's ever seen in his life. His cock pulses, aching, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to empty himself there, on her stomach. Like a fucking teenager. But he has other plans, and he intends on making good use of them.

"Wow," she says, coming down from her orgasm. "I've never come from this before."

"Well, you did say that you wanted to find out things about yourself," he replies with a cocky grin.

She smiles, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him towards her. He settles between her legs, his hand sliding between them, to her core. She's wet, her excitement glistening along her thighs. Onto the sheets. And who is he to judge, he, whose erection is almost painful, fueled by thoughts of slipping into her, making her his home for eternity.

In a kiss, he spreads her legs, positioning himself at her core, casting her a final confirming glance to which she responds by kissing him again, feverishly. He's inside her in one motion, and once again, he must focus to not explode within her walls.

"Fuck," he says, going as deep as possible. "Where were you all this time?"

"Oh, you know, at the ice cream shop. Asking for love," she replies, laughing.

He bites her shoulder, starting to move. Alternating between deliciously long moments where she moans, begging for more. And others where he ravages her, devouring her neck. Her lips. After some time, they're both panting, and he presses his forehead to her.

"I want you to ride me," he says, kissing her again. "I want to see you. All of you."

And she complies, swapping positions, sitting on his hard cock. Riding him without even thinking. Throwing her head back until her hair tickles his thighs. His hands find her breasts, holding them, kissing them.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So good at riding me."

"Stop talking like this or I'm gonna cum," she says, whining.

"Would this be a bad thing?"

"I want this to last as long as possible," she says, pressing her nose to his.

He helps her, lifting her thighs to ease her movements, caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. It lasts a moment, until she places both hands on his chest, her legs trembling.

"Let it go, hermosa," he says, holding her ass. "Cum for me, baby."

And she does, releasing a series of moans that make him bite his lip. He himself can't take it anymore, holding back his pleasure for some time. She feels it. The way his penis twitches. The squinting of his eyes. His short breath.

"Cum inside," she says, eyes still closed. "I want to feel you."

A few thrusts later, he empties himself deep inside her, with a grunt that could make her go for another round without thinking.

"La hostia," he breathes, panting. "¿Qué me has hecho, hermosa?"

"Was it that bad that you lost your English?" she asks, her head resting on his chest.

"You almost had me speaking French, that's to say," he laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Please, stay."

Several hours later, Carlos is snoring softly, and doesn't even hear the alarm clock of the young woman ringing. She grabs her phone, squinting against the brightness, checking the time. Four in the morning. Her flight is at 7, on the other side of the city. She has pre-ordered a taxi that should arrive within thirty minutes to take her back to her rental, so she can grab her suitcase before heading to the airport. She reluctantly slips out from under the warm covers, casting a glance at her lover, peacefully asleep. Should she wake him up? Say goodbye? She's always left her one-night stands without a word, without a glance. But him... she thinks. This was different. Maybe...

Spotting a notebook and a pen on the bedroom desk, she seizes them, scribbling a few words. Nothing seems good enough, yet she wants to try. She writes mindlessly, throwing in a thank you for everything, a best night of my life, a hope to see you again someday before leaving the note on her pillow. Twenty minutes later, she's gone, her perfume still lingering in the room.

Ten days later

"What's up with you?" Charles asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"What?"

"You're not there. So, where are you?" his teammate asks again.

So, he tells him everything. His trip to Lisbon to clear his head. His meeting with her, the very first day. Their afternoon. Their night. The next morning, alone. Her note. And the thoughts haunting his mind ever since.

"Why didn't you write to her if she affects you so much?" Charles asks, perplexed.

"She didn't leave me her number," Carlos sighs, dejected. "Not even an address. Nothing."

"You said she was a professor? At Oxford?" Charles asks, invested, as Carlos nods, zipping up his firesuit. "Foreign civilizations, yeah?" Another nod from Carlos. "Have you searched for her email? It must be on the university website, right? For students who need to contact her?"

Carlos' face lights up in a second.

"You, fucking cabrón," he says, holding Charles by the shoulders. "How did I not think of that?"

A few minutes later, as he's about to put down his phone before heading for the qualifying session, Carlos writes the final words on the email destined to his beautiful stranger. Finding her email was surprisingly easy. Summarizing everything he wanted to say in a few lines was more challenging. Letting out a deep breath and pressing the send button, the Spaniard sets his phone down before joining his race car and slipping inside. Nervously on edge. Not about the upcoming session, no. Something else. Deliciously nerve-wracking.

As he speeds around the track, completing lap after lap, he misses the screen of his phone lighting up, announcing an email of which only the first line is visible.

"Hi stranger... I was beginning to think you'd never find me."

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

[b1gtimerush]

first impressions matter a collection of meet cutes and meet uglys from yours truly. (add a “swap” to swap the sender/receiver in the prompt (or just do it manually).)

ankle, sender twists their ankle and stumbles forward, coincidentally falling into receiver's arms.

bark, a dog barks loudly, making sender jump and send their phone flying into receiver's face.

chips, sender and receiver both reach for the last bag of chips in the grocery store, their fingers touching by accident.

drink, sender chokes on their drink and ends up spitting it out all over receiver as they walk past.

emergency, in the middle of an awkward blind date, sender pretends to be receiver's friend and helps them get out of the date by faking an emergency.

french, sender pretends they can only speak french to get out of giving a stranger directions. receiver is a witness.

gift, sender is about to get scammed into overpaying for something before receiver steps in to help (and haggle).

hair, sender gets something they're wearing caught in receiver's hair and ends up yanking a chunk of it out when attempting to separate.

ice, sender is ice skating for the first time and skates uncontrollably in receiver's direction.

jail, sender and receiver are both thrown into the same holding cell at a police station.

kid, sender loses a child that they're caring for, only to end up finding them in receiver's company.

lock, sender crashes their ex's wedding, and receiver, a bridesmaid / groomsman, locks them both in the bathroom to prevent sender making a scene.

match, sender and receiver both end up being sat at the same table in a full restaurant.

nauseous, sender is drunk, and while receiver is attempting to help them, ends up throwing up all over receiver's shoes.

oops, sender is carrying a bag full of groceries that ends up breaking. receiver helps them pick their groceries back up.

plug, receiver walks into the bathroom to find sender stuffing tissues up their nose in an attempt to plug up a nosebleed.

quarter, sender doesn't have enough coins for the vending machine, so they stick their hand up the flap and gets their arm stuck just as receiver approaches.

rain, sender and receiver both get stuck under the same awning when seeking shelter from sudden rain.

shh, sender and receiver are both sitting beside each other at the movies. sender keeps whispering to themself every few minutes.

tooth, sender accidentally bites down too hard on their food, resulting in a tooth falling out and skittering across the floor to land at receiver's feet.

undone, the laces on sender's shoes ends up coming undone and they trip and fall, bringing receiver down with them and into the fountain beside them.

vacation, there's a problem with the booking of sender and receiver's hotel rooms and they end up having to share one. thankfully there are two beds.

woods, sender and receiver bump into each other in the woods. one of them is holding a shovel.

x-rated, in a bookstore, sender accidentally drops a few of the erotic books they were planning on purchasing on the floor, which receiver picks up.

yawn, sender, who is dressed down and has not yet slept, bumps into receiver, who is dressed up and just woken up, in line for coffee.

zap, sender calls out to receiver to ask for directions, but as it's late receiver mistakes sender for a creep and tases them.

[ravensliterature]

If you are taking more requests could you make more Magneto (Erik) x men 97 x reader with fluff?

A/N: Of course! Some Magneto (Erik) fluffy times coming right up!

pairing: Magneto (Erik) x Human!GN!Reader

warnings: NA

w/c: 784

Prompt: Magneto is having a nightmare, and the reader decides to provide their partner comfort.

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

He was tossing, turning, sweat dripping down his brow as they furrowed in distress. Erik has many demons that he fought through his lifetime and you had done your best to help him fight each one. He had seen the worst humanity had to offer - Yet you gave him hope. Hope that humanity could be and do better. You were better than any human he had seen before.

You slept soundly next to him, until a cry erupted in the night. Your eyes fluttered open alert. A cry in the X-Mansion could be caused by any number of things. An enemy, intruder, protestors, Nightcrawler stubbing his toes again. You lifted yourself abruptly to a sitting position to see your paramore to your left gripping his chest with a silk sheet in hand. Erik’s breathing was heavy and his head shifted from side-to-side, clearly having a nightmare.

You placed a hand on his chest, gently calling out to him, “Erik…”

He continued to toss around causing you to say his name a little louder, waking him from slumber.

As Erik's eyes snapped open, they were wide with panic, still clouded by the remnants of his nightmare. The room around him seemed to flicker in and out of focus as he struggled to orient himself in the present moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow and ragged, as if he were still trapped in the depths of whatever haunted his dreams.

You could see the tension etched into every line of his face, the strain of years of struggle and conflict manifesting in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. The moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the room, painting his features in a haunting chiaroscuro.

Without hesitation, you leaned closer, your hand still resting gently on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. "Erik," you repeated softly, your voice a soothing melody cutting through the darkness. "It's okay, you're safe. You're here with me."

Slowly, as if emerging from the depths of a turbulent sea, Erik's breathing began to steady, the frantic rhythm gradually giving way to a more measured cadence. His eyes met yours, still clouded with remnants of fear but slowly clearing as he focused on your presence beside him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I… I'm sorry."

You shook your head gently, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "There's nothing to apologize for, Erik. Nightmares happen. You're not alone."

His gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he reached out to grasp your hand, anchoring himself to the comforting reality of your touch. In that moment, amidst the chaos of his inner demons and the uncertainty of the world outside, there was solace in the simple act of connection, in the knowledge that you were there to weather the storm by his side.

As the tension slowly ebbed from Erik's body, he let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent plea for reassurance. The echoes of his nightmare lingered like ghostly whispers in the air, but with each passing moment, they faded into the background, overshadowed by the warmth of your presence.

Gently, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch light and comforting against his skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice a tender invitation to share the burden of his fears.

Erik hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window where the moon hung like a silver coin in the night sky. Memories, both distant and recent, tugged at the edges of his consciousness, fragments of a past that refused to stay buried.

"It was… a memory," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of a time when I… failed. When I couldn't protect those I cared about."

You squeezed his hand gently, offering silent encouragement as he struggled to put words to the ghosts that haunted him. In the dim light of the room, the shadows seemed to dance around him, mirroring the turmoil of his thoughts.

"I know the feeling," you replied softly, your own memories of loss and pain echoing in the quiet space between you. "But you're not alone anymore, Erik. You have people who care about you, who stand by you no matter what."

For a moment, there was a fragile silence, as if the weight of the world hung suspended in the air. But then, slowly, Erik's features softened, the lines of tension smoothing away as he turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of solace.

"You're right," he murmured, a faint glimmer of hope stirring in his gaze. "Thank you, Y/N. For being here."

Without a word, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise of solidarity and support. In that moment, amidst the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of the future, there was only the simple truth of your connection, a beacon of light guiding them through the darkness.

[psychrodraws]

thinkin abt Arven's frankly beautiful eyeliner 🖤

and like, that's definitely not stylization of eyelashes, when you compare it to the other characters or his own bottom lashes, that's clearly eyeliner.

(sure, Clavell and Salvatore also have the thick, dark parts above their eyes, but they don't swoop up into a sharp wing or go past the eyelid like Arven)

who taught him that? did he learn himself? what prompted him to learn?

it's also a very interesting design decision, I think. Like, Arven is never emasculated or masculated, really- he has long hair, wears makeup, has a flowery phone case and loves to cook, but his identity and gender is never mocked or questioned for that. And for a game targeted towards developing children, I think that's really awesome. :)

That's not to say headcannons twisting Arven's gender any which way are invalid- they're not, and if I was saying that I'd be a massive hypocrite- but having a character like Arven, just a guy who has multiple feminine traits that are never questioned or pushed against is just... really great. I hope that makes younger kids who play Scarlet and Violet, who might be made fun of or ridiculed for not always perfectly presenting as their assigned gender- whether or not they're actually trans- to be more comfortable just being themselves. :)

I also feel like there could be some analysis on Nemona being the other side of the coin- a tall, sporty girl with a ponytail who's loud and passionate abt what she loves. And of course, Penny is... well, literally transgender, like, literally transgender, like, literally fucking transgender come on if TTYDHD could give Vivian one line saying she's trans so too could ScarVio let Penny be trans.

I digress.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you.

> idol!jungkook x reader / fluff!! a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

> content/warnings: jimin cameo!!, a photobooth, oc gets a little hot & bothered bcs jk is a menace lol (they both are <3), touches a biiit on toxic relationships but this is pure fluff and yearning :p (the ex oc mentions is the same as the one mentioned in the first meeting drabble)

> songs: bad - wave to earth / just like magic - ariana grande

> in which masterlist!

note: just a sweet and silly drabble of jungkook being hopelessly whipped for oc before they even became official *to intensify the seven mv brainrot* no i didn’t plan this 🥲 + hehe this was only a week before the first kiss :p reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !! <3

—

“you really came!”

you run towards jungkook with a wide smile that reaches your eyes. the bag hanging on your shoulder swings and strikes your hip due to your excitement, but you could care less about the clinking of coins when there’s a bright star leaning on a lamp post, smiling back at you.

you stand before him as he straightens himself up, puffs of a fleeting cloud appearing as you pant lightly. “dummy, it’s so late. i told you to go to bed. aren’t you tired?”

“exactly, it’s so late.” he emphasizes your words to scold you, concern dripping from the tone of his soft voice. “of course i had to come.”

he tips his head to the side, sparkling eyes drinking you in as if he didn’t just see you the other night.

“you’re so adorable today.”

“thanks. is it because of this?” you happily scrunch your nose at the compliment, tugging at the strings of the brown knitted ear warmers wrapped around your head.

it is near midnight. drowning in the warmth of his bed to flee the freezing season, jungkook should be comfortably resting at home. however, he just had to look for your name in his contact list despite being absolutely knackered… and somehow he ended up here, because if he has been trading his sleep for work all these years, then he can also trade it any day to spend his midnights with you.

an endeared grin spreads on his face, rosy cheeks numb from the cold. “hm, teddy bear.”

a gust of silence passes by as your inquiring eyes survey the white plastic bag hanging from his hand, the company logo stamped in the middle of it familiar since childhood.

“what’s that? are you sick?”

“me?” he points at himself in confusion, shaking his head. “i’m not, though?”

“then why do you have-”

“ahhh- ah!” his face lights up as he is reminded of the other reason he came to you. he slaps his forehead with a chuckle. “i almost forgot.”

jungkook, although still a little shy around you, tries his best to initiate eye-contact when either one of you speaks to avoid giving off the impression that his mind is someplace else when you’re together. however, the mission becomes difficult when you meet his gaze wide-eyed, and he is… breathless.

“you haven’t been feeling well so… uhm, i got you vitamins and more medicine, just incase. here.”

your heart feels like it’s been wrapped in a cozy blanket meant to thaw the winter that has overstayed its welcome, spreading warmth and giddy sparks all the way to the tips of your fingers. you’re relieved that you wore gloves today; he didn’t get electrified when you took the thoughtful gift from his cold hand.

“really? even vitamins?”

the original plan was only to take a peek, but a word written in bold and colorful letters prompts you to bring out the cough medicine for a better look.

oh, jungkook.

you quickly slide it back inside the bag, a laugh accidentally slipping from your mouth. you press your lips into a thin line to suppress the rest of them bubbling in your chest.

“yah, why are you suddenly laughing? did i buy the wrong one?” he questions, nervous about his suspicions being correct.

he follows up with a matter-of-fact tone.

“you said you only like syrup when you have a cough, because it’s soothing.”

“it’s so sweet that you remembered that but…” you giggle, eyes watering as your body quakes with the intensity of it. the image of the packaging flashes in your mind, and you sniffle. “this is for babies.”

“but syrup is really for kids? are they not?”

his doe eyes are shining not with condescension but genuine innocence, and it makes this a whole lot funnier for you.

“yeah, i mean…” you pause as a puzzling realization washes over you.

oh my god, does this mean that this entire time�� he’s been thinking that you gulp down bottles of cherry-flavored cough syrup for two-year-old’s? and he didn’t question that? at all?

“i guess you’re right. but they also have one for adults. i was drinking that.”

“huh, that’s what they gave me. and i just assumed-” he gestures at the medicine you’re grasping in your hands before he freezes.

with the clear view of it, he finally discerns how silly of a mistake he has made.

“i must be out of my mind today!”

he breaks out into a fit of laughter, putting a hand over his aching belly.

it’s a sound that has been evoking an inexplicable joy in you since the first time you heard it; a sound that you often miss lately. you still need to remind yourself not to stare at him for too long, scared that he’d be able to read these thoughts from a simple look at your face.

“still, it’s pink. and i bet that tastes better?”

you nod your head in agreement, pulling out the medicine once more to study the directions of use. “with the dropper and everything, i bet it’s a better experience.”

“shit, it- it even has a dropper?”

“i told you! it’s for babies!”

“babies?! no, no. this isn’t it. this won’t do.” he furiously shakes his head as he waves his hand in disapproval, crossing the distance between you to seize your wrist. “let’s go- come with me. let’s go back to the pharmacy. i’ll exchange it for the right one.”

“nope.” you refuse his demands with a smirk, stubbornly breaking away from his grip. “i don’t want to. i’ll keep this.”

“____, come on!”

“but you already gave it to m- jungkook!” you squeal when he makes a move to steal the item from your hands.

out of reflex, you hide them from him behind yourself. and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t deter jungkook’s endless supply of friskiness. he chases you as he reaches for your back, and you carelessly stumble multiple steps backwards to escape him. whimpering at the unexpected impact, you finally reach a dead-end, trapped between a wall and the boy who’s been making your winter a little less blue. your forehead lands on his chest, defeated, and he keeps you steady with a secure hold of your arms.

a harmony of breathy giggles imbues the silence of the deserted sidewalk.

“what are you even going to do with it? you can’t drink it anyway!”

you lift up your head with a drawn-out whine.

you can’t give him an answer.

to be honest, you’re just as clueless as jungkook is.

“ehhh?” he mimics the sound you made with an amused expression painted on his face. you’re too damn adorable for your own good, and it’s doing very dangerous things to his heart. “will you? are you a baby?”

the rhetorical question is a bait that you choose to bite.

“not really, but i can be your baby.” you shrug, melting him with a coquettish smile.

“ah, i see… is that term of endearment your type? you want to be mine?”

his teasing grin puts his dimples on display, and you desperately want to run back into your apartment just to spend a full minute screaming into your pillow. you’re thoroughly convinced that you’ve never felt more attracted to a person than you are to jungkook. this is bad news. you don’t know to what lengths you’re willing to go so that he could stay in your life for as long as you want. it’s terrifying and exhilarating.

“just to set the record straight, you want me to be yours.”

“and if i do? then what…? are you confident you can handle me?”

every nerve connected to your heart is a wire most alive when you yearn to bare it for another.

“try me.”

his hazy eyes falls to your lips and he goes a little crazier than he was the other night. it’s infuriating that you manage to make them look so soft and so inviting despite the frigid air. it’s dizzying, how his face is only inches away from yours and as always, you smell so sweet, just right. he wonders if you taste the same.

jungkook is dying to kiss you.

the thought has been plaguing his mind, haunting his dreams both day and night. he keeps screaming at himself to just fucking do it, but as much as he is impulsive, he doesn’t want to be the guy who catches you off guard. he doesn’t want you confusing your feelings for him with adrenaline. he wants the moment to feel right. he wants you to see that he’s sincere, and he’s nothing like those bastards who took you for granted…

selfishly, he wants this to be something real, co-existing with the fear of pushing you into a tornado of chaos that is his life.

his heart is pounding violently, he’s afraid it might jump through his sweater. the right moment feels like it could be right now, and he knows you feel it too. he observes your breathing getting heavier, and one of your restless hands has freed itself to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

your lips slightly part, and he doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation, or you did it on purpose to rile him up. he figures his jimin-hyung is right; he would be a fool if he allowed you to slip out of his hands. but truth be told, he’s the one wrapped around your finger.

fuck, fuck, fuck. he is doomed.

a pin drops and he is doomed.

his ringtone rattles the silence and slices through the tension between you. disappointment flashes across your face, and you visibly flinch at its loudness. you’ve grown to despise the incessant noise of telephone calls since moving to your apartment, one of your pet peeves jungkook is yet to hear about. panicked and irritated, he scrambles to dish out the vibrating device from the depth of his pocket.

“it’s… it’s my manager. but it’s fine, i’ll handle it.” he informs you quietly as he rejects the call, opting to send a text explaining his whereabouts.

a pang of guilt shoots through your heart.

“you can go home, it’s okay… i can take care of myself.”

“mhm-hm.” he shakes his head, still busy typing away. then, out of nowhere, he looks at you to properly plead. “don’t send me home yet.”

your eyes flicker to watch a piece of ice fall on his shoulder, white contrasting the black fabric of his jacket. another one lands on your hand, and then your collarbone. the stinging coldness, another thing that makes you flinch tonight. you look up to face the snowfall fiercely coming down, and it seems that the heaven opened up the sky to scold two lovesick teenagers tangled in a modern-day dalliance.

goddamn it, you curse.

“are you kidding me?” you grunt in frustration, eyebrows sharpening your previously dazed eyes.

jungkook barely manages to tap the deliver button before you begin dragging him to the roofed entrance of your apartment building.

“stay here. i’ll just grab an umbrella real quick.”

“okay.”

once he confirms that you’re out of sight, he releases a loud sigh, exasperatedly kicking a non-existent ball on the cemented floor.

“fuck! fuck! why? why do i move so slow? ah- they can’t just kill the mood like that. why-” he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge and putting a hand over his hip, so upset he can’t even speak straight. “we almost… shit, this is driving me insane… she hates me. she must hate me right now. i’m done for.”

—

the aggressive slam of the front door rings throughout your apartment, and you’re about ninety-nine percent certain you disturbed the sleep of a neighbor or two.

“then what?” you grumble to yourself, followed by a desperate cry. “then kiss me! do i really have to do everything myself?”

after grabbing the biggest umbrella you own from the basket you have beside your coat rack, you head to the kitchen where you leave behind what jungkook bought you.

eventually, your overthinking leads you to a bitter conclusion.

“does he not want something more? is he playing with me?!”

and if it was any other person, you’d be fine with that but… your gaze lands on the bottles of vitamins and cough medicine, and you sigh to regulate the accelerated beating of your heart.

“but i think i can finally do this right.”

your voice comes out above a whisper, and the verbal declaration alone fuels the hope in you.

you’re confused whether it’s a sign of luck or childishness. maybe the compensation for being well-acquainted with loss, or good karma if you decide to push it some more… but you always get what you want. despite the blood, sweat, and tears; even during the instances that you do give up, the universe somehow finds a way to arrange matters in your favor.

except you don’t want to give up on this just yet, and you don’t intend to just stand around waiting for the universe work its slow burn magic.

because you look out your bedroom window, and jungkook is squatting on the floor with his head in his hands, looking distraught as if he just lost the lottery and he was only a digit off.

you might be unsure about your label, but he sure wanted to kiss you pinned up against that wall.

—

jungkook casually steals glances from you every now and then. you’ve been softly humming to christmas songs as the ice underneath your feet crunches with every step you take, influenced by the heavy snowfall despite the holidays being long gone.

when you came back, he thought you’d be giving him the cold shoulder, reminiscent of when you got pissed off at a hair stylist not even a week ago (that day, he learned that you’re grumpy when sick, grumpier when jealous). but instead, you lent him a white fuzzy scarf to keep him warm.

“where are we going?” he asks, unaware of your destination.

he’s just been following your lead for the past five minutes or so. he only knows that you’re going someplace that will satisfy your midnight cravings, as you mentioned over the phone earlier.

“i haven’t told you?” you wince. “just mcdonald’s. i’m craving their fries… hmmm, and chocolate sundae.”

“sundae? but you have a cough.”

“i’m all better now! that’s why i’m getting it!” you keen with excitement.

except jungkook is worried. at home and at work, he has many people fussing over him when he’s not feeling well. most of the time, you only have yourself to rely on. he doesn’t like thinking about your past boyfriends, but he hopes that they took care of you when you would get sick. as for the future, he hopes that he’s there.

he perks up when he sees the pharmacy store he’s been thoughtfully scanning both sides of the streets for, recognizing the lightbox signage. “let’s stop here. i’ll buy you your adult syrup.”

“jungkook,” you giggle airily, pulling at his jacket to motion him not to go near it. “i just told you that i’m not sick anymore.”

“it’s better to be prepared.” he reasons.

the snowfall has ceased. he transfers the umbrella to his other side, freeing his hand to hold yours and tug you along with him. he childishly pretends to not hear your protests.

he’s not showing it, but he must be embarrassed about earlier. you can’t help but to smile from ear to ear, watching his back as you’re left a few steps behind, the two of you tied together by his warm and protective grip of your hand.

“jungkook,”

your voice is calmer and quieter. he whips his head back, concerned eyes twinkling from the blaring headlights on the road.

“i’m thirsty.”

—

you’re blissfully unaware of jungkook falling in love with you from the opposite side of the table.

thoroughly engrossed with the movie-like scene outside the glass wall, you’re clutching an apple juice box in both hands, plastic straw stuck between your lips as you take baby sips. he probably sounds like a broken record, but there’s something different in the air tonight, and you’re twice as pretty in his eyes.

“i can sue you for that, you know?”

he drops his phone in shock. he chases it in pure panic as it clashes with the table before tumbling down to his lap. when he puts it down, the screen is already black, a desperate attempt of hiding the raw evidence of his offense. he smiles back at you sheepishly, cheeks and ears flushed after being caught red-handed.

“aren’t i cute? you already made it your lockscreen, haven’t you?” you tease, eyes flickering up to him as you begin stabbing at the chocolate sundae with the little plastic spoon to mix it.

“made what my lockscreen? no, i didn’t!” he strongly denies, holding up his phone to show it to you.

“plain black, really? what happened to gureumie?”

you send him a look of distaste.

“just makes me believe i’m really your lockscreen and you change it to something random before you come see me.” you say in a sing-song voice, shivering with delight after you lick your spoon clean of the sugary treat.

“don’t start. yours is your class schedule!” he retorts with a laugh, which goes up in volume when you slap his hand away for attempting to steal from your fries.

you scowl at him with a displeased pout, dipping a fry into the sundae before popping it in your mouth. “get away. i’m hungrier because you took so long.”

the effect of having your cravings satisfied is instantaneous. it was absolute hell, being sick, albeit it was only a cough accompanied by fatigue. it’s simply no fun being an adult and having no one enter your room every two hours to check up on you. for the first time in the past week, your brain is completely flooded with happy chemicals, and you feel like a little kid kicking their feet with glee.

“it’s not my fault! they had to do something to the ice cream machine… i-i think it stopped working.” jungkook stutters, stuffing his mouth full with a spoonful of his strawberry sundae.

of course, it’s the ice cream machine. it’s always the ice cream machine.

with a gasp, you weakly slam the empty juice box on the table. “wow, i almost didn’t get what i came here for.”

“but you did. ‘cause you’re with your lucky charm.” jungkook cheekily winks at you, and you long to kiss that stupid grin off his face.

—

“holy shit, he’s kneeling down now. kook, he’s begging- look-”

jungkook is convinced he has never seen your eyes this big. he looks at you dumbfoundedly, cheeks full as he chews a huge bite of his burger. you release a sigh, reaching over to turn his face to the side.

outside, just a few feet away at the opposite direction his body is facing, he discovers an angry tear-stained woman sitting on a bench and a man crying on his knees infront of her.

he swallows, tilting his head. huh, so this is what you were watching earlier when you didn’t notice him arrive with the food. funnily enough, this isn’t considered an unusual occurence in such a populated city.

“i knew it. he’s cheating, he’s definitely cheating.” you squint at the scene, shooting daggers in your mind. you rely on muscle memory as you continue to munch and dip your fries in the sundae without bothering to look anymore.

they were still arguing when you gave jungkook your undivided attention, but the shift in the atmosphere captured your interest again when your peripheral vision caught him on the ground.

“how do you know?”

“he panicked and snatched his phone away when she touched it. that’s why they started fighting.”

a sick feeling in your gut deflects your eyes away from the forlorn couple, the salt and the sugar in your food starting to taste bland on your tongue. on the other hand, it seems that it’s jungkook’s turn to be absorbed in them.

“oh, that makes sense.” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he frowns. “seriously, i’ll never understand cheaters. why… would you go out of your way to hurt a person who’s special to you?”

and because of that, his food are left to be unsupervised. with the hopes of resparking your appetite by stealing a taste of something you haven’t had in over a year, you scoop up a small bite of his strawberry sundae.

“that person isn’t special anymore, or maybe they never were in the first place.”

“but if you’re loved by that person, even if you don’t feel the same way anymore, shouldn’t they still be special to you in some ways?”

he returns to his previous position, and the passion written in his eyes like constellations makes you want to believe that maybe the world isn’t a lost cause. it’s a breath of fresh air — the new point of view clear as day infront of you. jungkook is your best friend, it dawns on you then and there.

a best friend who sends you pictures of the sky. a best friend who won’t let you roam the midnight streets with melancholy. a best friend you want to kiss and hold hands with.

“they should, but they’re horny assholes who don’t think about stuff like that.”

“ah, then what a shame.” he chuckles with a scornful shake of his head, finally going back to devouring his burger.

it’s silent for a few beats.

right now, you like the strawberry flavor more than the chocolate. it tastes better than you remember. it’s rekindling an old flame.

“are you that type of boyfriend? who gives out their password?” your voice is rife with interest as you casually steal another spoonful of jungkook’s dessert.

“of course, i don’t mind. i have nothing to hide. i just have the most random photos, and like a thousand voice memos… but… how do i say it?” he pauses to organize his thoughts, eyes pointing towards ceiling. “uhm, it can get uncomfortable, and hurtful… if they always thoroughly check everything. i don’t know…”

“no, i get that. my ex was doubtful of me all the time and it was tiring. giving reassurance is important, but so is having boundaries… never forget that, understand?”

you radiate with so much tenderness, he finds it so easy to listen to every word that you say. but since you already understand the importance of balancing those two things, can he just forget about it and admire your face?

“is that why you broke up with him?”

you pucker your lips in thought, playfully twirling the plastic spoon between your fingers.

“i guess so? he… he just sees me as a bad person. and i was starting to believe that i am.” you decide to put it lightly, scoffing when the mortifying memories of him floods your mind. “when i had that epiphany, i broke up with him right away. we just weren’t good for each other.”

jungkook utters your name, mellow and sweet, like a serenade.

you’re reminded that he sings for a living.

“hmm?”

“i don’t know what happened between you but… when i say you’re a good person, i’m really being sincere.”

during the fall, talking about your past relationship made your heart feel unbearably heavy.

but tonight, it’s winter. jungkook holds out his little spoon to feed you a bite of his strawberry sundae, and you accept it without thinking.

uh-oh.

you peer up to him shyly.

“and because you were so kind to me the first time we met, i don’t mind you being a thief.” he fondly strokes your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your body vibrates with giggles. “aigoo, you eat so well. good job, ____.”

—

“where you are taking me? this isn’t the way home!”

jungkook has an arm around swung over your shoulder, gluing you to his side as you walk together. the last time you checked the time, it was 1:27am. the stores you brush past are already lights off, locked up, and the sidewalk is mostly dead and quiet.

“i really like taking photos, you know?” he grins, sounding thrilled, and you glance at him with suspicion in your eyes.

“i’m very much aware. and so?”

you yawn not long after, leaning some of your weight on him as tiredness seeps into your overused muscles. you’re awfully sleepy, and cold. you can hear your bed calling out your name from kilometers away.

“so we’ll take some together.”

from a distance, you immediately recognize the famous photobooth only several buildings away from the noisy night life of the long rows of bars and nightclubs.

you feel your knees go weaker.

oh, you’re in very serious trouble.

—

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his muscular thighs.

“sit here?” he pats his lap as an invitation, looking up to your motionless figure still standing infront of the closed curtain. “or do you want me to stand behind the chair?”

curse him and his intoxicating perfume and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“four photos and… we’ll print… two copies.” he thinks out loud, face so close to yours as he taps on the screen infront.

curse the stupid person who decided to only put one small stool in this small photobooth.

you won’t dare to make it obvious, but your heart is doing somersaults. you realize how arrogant you were for whining about him not kissing you yet, because here you are trying your hardest not to squirm as you’re sat across his lap.

unconsciously, you embrace the scarf he took off close to your chest.

it’s… been quite a long, torturous while of being deprived of physical touch. and you like jungkook. you like jungkook so much that despite hating cramped spaces, you flash the camera a sweet smile while playfully squishing his pouty face in your hand.

“oh, oh, that’s right!”

a yellow lightbulb appears above his head. he bounces his legs to capture your attention, his arms tightening around your waist to prevent you from falling off.

you cross your thighs to subtly squeeze them together, a poor attempt at putting out the fiery tingles spreading throughout your body. you swallow thickly. he needs to fucking sit still. your self-control is running thin.

“act angry at me and i’ll put it as the first picture, okay?”

“huh? why?”

“so i’ll always remember that you got annoyed at me for dragging you here.”

“and i’m still annoyed!” you slap his chest with a frown, glaring at him exactly as he imagined you would.

his mischievous grin stays when he faces the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign as the flash goes off.

when the timer starts again, he rushes to reach for the floor, sticking his hand in the paper bag from the pharmacy.

“for the next one- stay still-”

you’re completely clueless. your vision remains fixed on him until he reveals a bunch of pink ribbon hairclips on his big palm.

“where did you get these?” you blink at him.

he only shushes you as he removes the earwarmers from your head, thoughtfully fixing your hair before carefully adorning it with the ribbons as fast as he can.

“the ice cream machine wasn’t broken, was it?”

“shhh, we’re running out of time.” he rebukes you to mask his bashfulness, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he focuses on arranging the ribbons symetrically.

“are these mine?”

“yours.” he confirms absentmindedly. he backs up to inspect his work, but he only ends up thinking to himself is it right for someone to be this beautiful?

the time runs out before you can deem yourself ready. the camera captures jungkook trying to tame your baby hairs, and you, watching him with a faint smile of affection.

“what do we do now?”

he shrugs. “let’s do whatever we want.”

“wow, i can finally do what i want?” you reply sarcastically. “i thought you were prepared for this.”

“three seconds!”

since you’re already smiling in the other two photos, you figure that it’s your turn to pout in the last.

the number ‘1’ appears on the screen, and you feel him pull you closer than you’ve ever been.

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his hand on your neck and his soft lips pressed to your cheek.

—

“you’re sneaky.”

“you’re one to talk.” jungkook replies, and you roll your eyes.

he chuckles to himself as he scans his copy of the photostrip under the street lamp beside the photobooth. on the other hand, your back is resting against it, your arms crossed over your chest. you take a fleeting glance at him, secretly smiling to yourself because he looks so happy.

yours is tucked in between the pages of the book inside your bag.

later. you can look at it later when you’re a little more sane and the ghost of his lips stops lingering on your skin.

“i don’t just let myself get kissed for free. don’t you know that?” you heave a dramatic sigh, feigning annoyance. “but since you bought me new clips,”

you turn your cheek to stare at him, but you instantly break the eye contact when you see how he looks like an excited puppy when he’s amused by you.

“…i’ll let this pass.”

“i think i just found the motivation to make more money today.”

you crack up at his words. “shut up!”

god, you’re getting swayed by his antics. he has too much hidden underneath his sleeve. you need to up your game.

a breeze sweeps across the earth, and you sniffle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. it’s getting colder and your battery is draining rapidly as the clock ticks. you die a little inside when you think about the consequences of your late-night adventure. there has to be time for you to squeeze in a nap between school and work, right? right? unbeknownst to you, jungkook takes notice of your weary state. he crosses the distance between you to wrap the ear warmers around your head.

“tsk, you’re going to catch a cold.” he whispers, loosely tying the straps under your chin. he reaches for a ribbon, but then pauses to ask for permission. “do you want to take off these now, so you won’t fall asleep on them? these are kind of sharp.”

“stop taking such good care of me.” you say half-jokingly, starting to remove them on your own. “i might get used to it.”

this upsets jungkook, it seems.

his lips are in a permanent pout as he answers, eyebrows knitting together. “what’s wrong with that?”

you only shake your head with a vague smile.

—

JK :

4:11am

[sent four photos]

credit GCF if you post on insta

got it?

you’re welcome !!!

4:13am

hehe you must be sleeping now right?

you better be !

4:18am

the truth is i’m a bit shy to tell you this in person but ... thank you for being someone i can spend time with comfortably and for always making me smile. i really like you a lot .. i mean that sincerely too

sweet dreams ____ :)

—

“goodnight, jungkook.”

you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek, painstakingly chaste yet sinfully calculated. he was left all alone in the empty hallway of your apartment floor, too stunned to remember and return your scarf.

it is not the first time you did that, but his mind is reeling like crazy tonight — the corner of his lips is still stained with the graze of your lips.

a rhythmic knock snaps him out of the electrifying memory.

“jungkook-ah,” a freshly-awoken jimin raspily croaks out while he rubs his blurry eyes. “did you bring home anything?”

is this becoming a routine now? him visiting at an ungodly hour in the morning; jungkook sitting up without a word to retrieve the snacks from under his bed.

“thank you.”

he receives an appreciative pat on the back before jimin grabs one of the diamond-shaped biscuits you earnestly made a whole tray of, enough to go around for seven people. he nibbles on it as he flops down on the mattress, planning to sleep here some more until it’s time to prepare for work.

however, his drowsiness gets pushed to the back burner when the photostrip beside the maknae’s pillow attracts his attention.

“yo, jungkook! is this from tonight?”

“hyung! be quiet!” jungkook whisper-shouts.

“the staff didn’t mention a photobooth to me. is this a secret?” the late-night visitor whispers back to humor him.

the bed creaks as he chases the printed memories from jimin’s grasp, who seems to have gained enough energy to tease him, heartily giggling as he rolls away to the edge of the bed.

“yah, you’re so cute together?!”

jungkook’s bunny teeth pop out as he’s unable to resist a satisfied beam at the flattering remark. damn right, they do.

pulling out a pillow from behind him, he playfully hits jimin with the huge bundle of cotton. “hyung, finish eating and go back to sleep. we have that thing later, remember?”

“you’re hurting my feelings. what happened to telling your hyung about your crush?”

—

“wait a second- i’m still confused. you sprinted to the fashion boutique before ordering?” jimin flips over to lie down on his stomach, speech muffled by the biscuit between his lips.

“they close at midnight, so i had to run there first.” jungkook explains as he reseals the tupperware. weirdly, he only feels the ache in his body now that he’s talking about it. “they really like things like that.”

“you’ve told me. so how long do you plan on keeping that in here?”

his gaze lands on the paper bag labelled ‘CHANEL’ on the other side of the room, and he makes a pained expression, still agonizing over whether he should give it to you or not.

“but don’t you think it’s too much? maybe i should save it for their birthday.”

“be honest with me. do they even know you’re courting them?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[jymwahuwu]

(This is about Aventurine + Ratio x You!! Note there will be polyamory here)

cw: dystopian au, forced breeding policy

"Insufficient credit. Please add a new balance."

On a sultry summer day, the burning air seems to condense around you. You quickly ran to the station and scanned it with your phone, and you got this result. You were stunned for a few seconds, frowned, and let the passengers in line behind you get on the spaceship first. what happened? Your wallet has been linked to the Universe Bank account, and the credit of the wallet will be automatically added. You stand aside and log in to your bank account, and a message that it has been frozen pops up. What the fuck. What happened-

You quickly scanned the account freeze prompts. "According to the law, you have exceeded the appropriate reproductive age for Beta citizens and have been punished by freezing your bank account. Please conceive within three months or you will be sent to a breeding facility." As if anxiety slapped you in the back of your head, knock Your mind is melted and cold. Damn it, they really mean it. What the fuck kind of planet is this.

Fifty years ago, the planet's fertility rate had been declining, prompting this government to introduce forced childbirth. In the past few years, you have been perfunctory with the government's Citizens' Fertility Bureau. They focus more on Omega and Alpha, after all. The poor Omega citizens are much earlier than Beta's breeding age. They enjoy paid vacation benefits throughout the estrus period, but that's just the surface. The benefits provided by labor laws have resulted in most companies being reluctant to recruit Omega…

As the passengers watch, you dig out a few vintage coins from the bag and plead with the driver to take them. ("Physical currency..." The driver sighed.) Finally passed, and after returning home, you browsed interstellar dating websites in despair.

"Beta female. 32 years old. Interested in cooking and reading. I hope to find a spouse who shares common topics with me."

"Omega male, 21 years old, hoping to find a humorous spouse (need to have a nest!)

Coordinates: a nest-like planet. If you are interested in knowing more details and getting to know me, contact me <3"

You held your chin with one hand, pouting unhappily, and pressed the big data pairing button, but there was only one result. Just when you were about to close the page, your eyes were caught by the introduced information.

“Alpha Male & Alpha Male

Career related: Education and business^^

We hope to meet a suitable spouse and have a baby^^”

Your eyes light up, you are looking for people like this! Ugh, but why are two people recruiting spouses at a time…Is this how relationships are on other planets…It would be great if they agree to a short-term marriage .

You pressed the contact button.

… Is anyone interested in this story?

[ilguna]

Can I get 6 and 23 from list 2 with Finnick please?

☼ sunburst (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gun use, blood mention, ehh gore.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 6. "I know, it hurts. I'm so sorry, but we have to get this out." AND 23. "You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer."

--

When you were recruited to be a part of the mission to storm the Capitol, you were under the impression that you’d actually be in some danger. You spent weeks training in District Thirteen, thinking that you were going to be running for your life every waking moment. It was supposed to be more like being inside of an arena, than a walk on the bad side of District Four.

Both of which you can handle, for the record.

What you can’t handle is the boredom that comes with being a member of the Star Squad. While you were told you’d be at the front lines with the rest of the rebels, the reality is that you’re stuck days behind them. President Coin is too afraid of putting their precious Mockingjay into danger.

It’s an interesting concept, considering that Katniss has expressed no issue in the past surrounding the idea of putting her life on the line. The first time she did this was when she wanted to get sent to District Eight, an active battlezone, to see the citizens there. The next time was District Two, where a gun was held to her head, and she still proceeded to give a speech, and got shot for it.

You suppose that’s the exact problem, though. She can be a magnet for trouble, whether she intends to be or not. In that case, you’re not sure why they didn’t tell you that you’d be stuck here with a mixed group, beforehand. You might’ve changed your mind and found a different way to help the rebellion.

And it’s not like you haven’t tried to have patience, because you have. It’s been severely run thin by the propo team—a camera crew from the Capitol, their only job being to film videos to slice together to show the districts. Their incessant need to get a shot of absolutely everything that’s going on has got you beyond irritated.

They’re so demanding with it, and all it is is a bunch of bullshit. They want you to walk down the street the right way, looking fierce and in the middle of battle. When in reality, there’s no one for a several mile radius, and all the threats are being given away by the Holo. A device that was made to tell you where the traps, the pods, are. 

If you could, you’d tell them that you’re done participating, but you really have no choice. You’ve been seen in so many of their other videos, that it’ll make the districts and the Capitol question why you’re not in the rest. Either they’ll think that you died, or that you’ve decided the rebellion isn’t worth fighting for.

Which isn’t true in the slightest. You just think that it’s morally wrong to be back here, pretending like you’re fighting, when the faceless rebels at the front lines are the ones almost getting killed everyday. You want to be up there, with them.

The rebels ahead don’t set off all the pods, though. They leave the mild ones behind, marking them as such, assuming that the group behind them will take it out when they pass. That group happens to be you.

Sometimes, Boggs, the squad leader, will see a pod on the Holo, so he’ll ask for volunteers to set it off, naturally. You don’t even know what the point of raising your hand is, anymore. He won’t call on you, or Finnick, or Katniss. He keeps his attention on the District Thirteen trained soldiers to do the important tasks.

Despite the fact that you had, once again, spent weeks training to be able to do something like that. 

What will happen is that Katniss will pretend to set off the pod with an arrow at a distance, to keep her from getting hurt by accident. While a soldier off to the side will trigger it. This makes the rest of you all duck for cover, afraid of whatever the pod has to offer. And when it’s all said and done, and you’re ready to move on, the next step is to reenact your reactions to defending yourself from whatever threat came out of the pod.

It’s been four days of this, and it’s driving you crazy. You’ll spend a few hours pretending to fight, and then return to camp for the rest of the night, safely out of harm's way. It’s taking everything in you not to ask Boggs to leave to go back to the Nut, where the rest of the rebel soldiers are. Maybe there, you can get reassigned.

The problem would be convincing Finnick to go with you, because he doesn’t mind being in the Star Squad. He thinks it’s great, because that means you’re not in any immediate danger. After what they did to Peeta, the last thing he wants is for the Capitol to potentially get their hands on you, or for you to die.

Neither of which you plan on letting happen.

The only way you’ll be able to get him to leave is if you do it without bringing it up to him first. Cut out the whole conversation on how he’d prefer if you went with Coin’s plan, instead of making your own. He has a way with words, and he knows this. That’s why your resolve can crumble in the matter of fifteen minutes, all because he’s the one reasoning with you.

That’s what you’ll do tonight then; you’ll go talk to Boggs.

The Holo begins to beep loudly, warning your squad that you’re coming close to a pod. Boggs slows his pace, opening it up to take a look. When he comes to a full stop, so do you.

A sigh escapes you, Finnick glances over, watching as you turn around to take a few steps away. This is the fourth pod that you’ve come across today, meaning that Boggs will probably call it a day after this. Even though you’ve covered more distance today than you have the past three.

“The Holo says it’s going to be a swarm of muttation gnats.” Boggs says, “Who wants to hit it?”

You turn to face the squad, watching as almost every hand flies up, with the exception of you, Finnick and Katniss. Even Gale, Katniss’s best friend from Twelve, has his hand raised. You think he’s been tasked once, which is the hope he’s probably holding on to.

Regardless, Boggs motions at one of the Leeg twins. “Leeg, I want you. The rest of you, go find someone to stand in the meantime.”

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Predictable.”

“Come on, (Y/n).” Finnick grabs the underside of your arm, pulling you with him to the other side of the street.

The pod is disguised as an electrical box on the side of an orange shop. If it weren’t for the Holo, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing of it, but that’s the whole point. The pods are hidden in plain sight, meant for your eyes to glance over them, so that they can kill you later on.

The best the Capitol can do is gnats?

“Okay, Katniss, we’ll focus on pulling the arrow back, and holding it.” Cressida begins, she’s the one that has the specific propo visions. If this doesn’t go according to her plan, she’ll rework it and have Katniss do it over again until it’s right.

“Just a regular arrow?” Katniss asks, reaching back to grab one.

“No, we’ll have Leeg set off the pod, and then you’ll use an explosive arrow to kill the gnats.” Cressida says, looking at Boggs. He gives her an approving nod.

“What happens when that shot isn’t good enough and we have to start over?” You mutter, Finnick bumps your shoulder.

“I know you’re unhappy, but can we please not make enemies out of the people that could save our lives?” Finnick asks.

You look at Finnick, “I’m not making promises I won’t keep.”

You watch as Cressida gives Katniss directions on where to stand and how to hold her bow. This gives the cameramen, Castor and Pollux, enough time to find their angles, because realistically, there won’t be an opportunity for reshoots. With one of them on Katniss, and the other on the pod, Cressida gives Boggs the go ahead.

“On the count of three, Leeg.” Boggs tells her. Finnick adjusts his footing, prepared to duck if necessary. You don’t move from where you stand, staring dead at the pod. “One, two, three!”

Leeg shoots at the pod, piercing the metal that encases the gnats, leaving bullet holes. The sound of metal on metal screeches through the quiet street, as the door swings open, releasing what’s inside.

A startled scream comes from you as piercing pains hit you all across your body, throwing you back onto the ground. The back of your head slams against the cement of the sidewalk, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, as the world begins to spin.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s voice wavers.

The punctured points in your body begin to deepen, as the shrapnel from the box begins to burrow in your skin. You grunt, writhing, eyes opening suddenly to see it for yourself.

It’s not shrapnel, they’re metal darts, and they've got claws that are digging into your skin.

“No!” Someone cries.

“We need the medic team!” Jackson barks, her voice is clear. “We’ve got two down, Boggs!”

“Copy.” He says.

From what you can tell, you got a brunt of the hit, a consequence of not taking cover like you were instructed to. There’s over a dozen of these, stuck in your body, going deeper as the seconds tick on.

“Get them out.” Your voice is rough, as you reach to grab one. “Get them out of me!”

“(Y/n), honey—” Finnick seizes your hand, keeping you from doing it. “Stop, leave them.”

“They’re in me!” You cry, “They’re going to kill me.”

“We can’t take them out. We learned this, remember? They’re stinting the blood, we have to wait for—”

“No, she’s right.” Katniss is standing at your feet. “Look at them.”

You don’t want to, not when they all move at once, ripping your skin open further. You can see the brief stream of blood in the air, before it’s gone, covered by the dart. It’s not large enough to block the chunk of skin it’s pulled from your body, though, because the blood begins to pool, quickly.

“Shit.” Finnick says.

There’s a girl crying, when you lift your head to see, you find that it’s the other Leeg sister, on her knees, next to the first one. The one that had shot at the pod, now has a dart sticking out of the side of her head. It’s already found her brain.

She’s dead.

You begin to breathe heavier when you realize that this will be your fate, too, if they don’t start to pull them out. Which must be the same conclusion that Finnick comes to, because he rolls back his sleeves, hands hovering over one of them.

You grab the heel of his shoe, knowing that you’ll need something to hold on to. He gives you a look, and you nod quickly, urging him to do it. The second that his hand is around the dart, it begins to wiggle. To keep it from going further, he yanks.

You scream, throwing your head back, body tense, as the entire world goes white. It clings on, refusing to be pulled off in just one attempt. 

“Stop!” You tell them, “Stop!”

“Katniss, I need help.” Finnick says.

She drops her bow without question to get to her knees to help him. You watch through blurred tears as she holds the dart while he pries the claws apart. It’s like a thousand needles jabbing into your skin repeatedly, refusing to leave the area alone.

And then they get it free, and the first tear slides down your cheek.

The metal clinks on the ground from Katniss dropping it. 

You can’t help the sob that breaks through your lips. This is just the beginning isn’t it?

“Hold on, honey.” He tells you.

“I don’t—”

He begins to pull at this dart, more aggressive than he was the first time. Unprepared, you cry through gritted teeth, squeezing his shoe. He manages to unhook it faster this time, but that means little to you.

Him and Katniss go back and forth, pulling them out of the areas they think will hurt the least. There’s a few times where their hands slip, which causes an indescribable pain. 

The pool of blood beneath you is growing. You can feel the puddle reach your fingers on your free hand, coating your skin in red.

“There’s only two left, (Y/n).” Finnick smooths your hair back. “These will hurt the most.”

“Just wait.” You tell him, grabbing onto the bunched sleeve.

“We can’t stop, or it’ll keep digging in.” He tells you. “Breathe, okay?”

“Finnick.” You warn, bracing yourself when he secures his hand around the metal dart, beginning to pull.

The feeling of your guts being yanked from your body, makes the dark spots at the corners of your vision come around quickly. For a moment, you’re gone, drifting off into the peaceful voice, until Finnick’s lifting your head up with one hand.

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.” Finnick tells you

“I can’t.” You sniff. “I want to be done.”

“One more.” He tells you, lowering your head back to the ground.

“No.” Your lips tremble.

He grabs the dart, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please! Please, please, please! It hurts!”

“I know, it hurts.” Finnick says, he doesn’t sound very happy that he has to do this to you. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we have to get this out.”

This one has decided to hold on, taking twice as long as it normally does. For a second, it almost slips out of their hands, when Finnick’s able to pry the claws open.

A faint sense of relief floods through you, but it’s gone when your body begins to tingle. “Finnick.” You whisper. With a shaky hand, you dip your fingers into one of the many wounds that will end up being scars. The exposed raw flesh against your fingers makes you nauseous.

It subsides slightly when you pull your hand out, and find an orange substance mixed with the blood.

Poison.

“No.” Finnick says, looking at Boggs, presumably. “How far out are the medics?”

“They’ll be here any minute.” He says, coming over to see better.

“They need to have an antidote ready.” Finnick’s voice echoes, bouncing back and forth in your head, as he splits into two people, then four…

Your eyes flutter shut.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[fanaticsnail]

I like your kissing booths idea! 😁 Can I request Heat? I have such a soft spot for him. 🥹

The Kissing Booth: Heat for Nocturnalrorobin

Word Count: 1,090+ (I have a problem, it got out of control)

Notes: I adore Heat. He is spectacular. He is so pouty, and he deserves all of the sweet kisses in the whole world. He is also really flirty here, because I say so. Now come get rizzed up by the firebreather, Nocturnalrorobin.

Drums began to beat within the air at a faster and more deliberate tempo than the musicians were playing prior. The song was vibrant enough to have you sway a little in your seat as you focussed on the tastes and smells in the air, the colorful sounds painted in your ears, and the gentle breeze floating over and kissing your skin from the ocean shore. 

Soft bells jingled and clicks of wooden sticks clacking indicated the vendors were readying themselves for a new round of sales, the blindfold prohibiting you from truly understanding what wares they were producing to the amassment of festivity enjoyers.

You had been sitting at your booth for a little while now, the line of immediate kisses finally dying down and giving you a soft break you yearned for since starting. A large variety of lips of all textures, teeth and jaws had pressed themselves against your lips, and you were genuinely surprised by how much you were enjoying the experience. 

A soft cough broke you away from your thoughts, alongside the rustle of paper placed within your glass jar with a few coins to follow. You drew your chin over to where you assumed your guest was sitting, a small smile on your face as you welcomed them in. 

“I-... uh-...” the smooth baritone sheepishly began, the weight of his body sitting down atop the stool causing the wooden frame to creak and shuffle, “...How does this work, exactly? I was watching earlier, don’t get me wrong, I get what happens. I’m just wondering if we talk a little first, or I just go straight for it?” 

You immediately hum a soft giggle at him, your smile only growing at his bashfulness. 

“Is there anyone waiting after you?” you ask him curiously, prompting him to take a moments’ pause. A soft grumble unintentionally left his throat as he mumbled his answer.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” his tone was soft and almost disheartened, “It’s just me and you here.” You could feel the pout in his tone, prompting you to reach forward and attempt to locate his hands with your own. 

“No, sweetheart. Not what I meant,” you reassure him with a soft look, “When you suggested talking, I just thought-...” you trailed off, sheepishly biting your bottom lip and stifling a rising flush to heat your cheeks, “I mean, if there’s nobody waiting, I wouldn’t mind the conversation. That is, if you want to talk.” 

A warm chuckle spread from his chest, prompting you to join your own laugh with his. 

“You a little lonely, that it?” he gently turned his hand, presenting his palm up to you and caressing your fingertips with his thumb. 

“You have no idea,” you admit to him with your smile growing more vibrant. His hands felt warm within your own, his skin having soft divots and feeling coarser than others you’d held in the past. He gently coaxed your hand up, gently pressing palms together in front of you both. 

His whole hand felt so much larger than your own, the heat from his hands feeling all the more foreign to you. 

“What made you sign up for somethin’ like this?” he asked suddenly, gently interlacing his fingers within yours and soothing over your index finger with his thumb. You hummed at the soft gesture, returning the soft touch by thumbing over the knuckle on his own thumb. 

“Not sure,” you admitted with a subtle shrug, “I had a free night, it’s for charity, and I’ve been told I’m a good kisser?” He chuckled at your candor, inching slowly towards you. His hand gently reached up and cupped your cheek, his fingers gently caressing the silken blindfold as he carded his digits through your hand. 

“You have to wear this thing?” he tapped your blindfold twice with the pad of his thumb, prompting you to nod in response. “A shame. I would’ve liked to see your eyes,” he gave it another gentle tap before you felt his lips hover over yours, “I bet they’re as beautiful as the rest of you.” 

“You flirt with all the booths?” you giggle at him, leaning your head into his hand, “Or am I just special?” He again joined his laugh with yours, the soft rumble bringing you great comfort with every soft moment together. 

“Just you,” he admitted, leaning all the closer towards you. “You mind if I just-...” You felt the heat from his lips hovering over yours, your lips immediately parting as you whispered the word ‘yes,’ in a voice just below a whisper. 

At that, his lips gently and tentatively joined with yours. Cradling your head all the closer, he gently parted his lips and kissed with a softness you had yet experienced in all your time at the booth. 

There was a soft texture and groove on his lips, several divots that felt almost like the silvery scarring of healed flesh. You gently squeezed his hand holding yours, leaning forward and placing your hand on his thigh as he deepened the kiss. 

His lips began to become more passionate and heated, his kisses becoming ignited like licks of flames over your sensitive flesh. Your brows knit beneath the blindfold, the temperature change not harmful but shocking with each passing moment. His hands carded through your hair as he angled his chin, slowly mouthing at your lips in a slow and sensual dance of passion. 

As he pulled away, you almost felt the need to chase him, his kiss leaving a lingering tingle of warmth over your skin. He chuckled, gently bringing his lips down once more on yours in a soft and chaste kiss. 

“You sure you gotta keep the blindfold on?” he gently teased you with his soft hum. You confirm with a disgruntled hum, which he mirrors back at you. 

“For the next hour, yes,” you confess as his hand returns to your cheek and caresses your face. The drums begin to calm their beat, an uproarious applause echoing throughout the festival space and urging him to release your cheek immediately. 

The sparks from your hands joining lingered where your digits remained intertwined. 

“I’m gonna come back,” he whispered, gently leaning down and pressing his lips against your cheek. “I don’t want you to die of boredom, afterall,” he uttered while gently releasing your hands, he chuckled and flicked his thumb over your bottom lip, “Or hunger. I’ll bring you a snack, I’m sure my crew’s already found the best vendor.” 

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

[froggibus]

Rose Quartz - Venture

Pairing: Venture x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, bit of crack, one droplet of angst

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: in which Venture wants to confess their feelings for you, but keeps giving you rocks instead

CW: awkwardness, crushes, kind of unrequited love, mentions of crystals/rocks and their meanings, Venture avoiding their feelings, one (1) argument, aggressive kissing, reader calls Venture "nerd", NOT PROOFREAD

NEW BANNERS!!! IM SO EXCITED!! ive been wanting a more cohesive graphic for my posts rather than just reusing gifs, so I made these and I adore them!! first time writing about Venture and tbh it's a little juvenile but it kinda works with the theme. they're so adorable and i absolutely love them ^.^ (also happy canadian moment that they gave us an interesting canadian hero finally lol)

“Hey! Y/n! Wait up!” Heavy boots trail after Sloan’s voice, prompting you to turn around. 

“What’s up?”

They give you a toothy grin, holding up a hand to pause while they catch their breath. It’s a hot day in Petra, nearly scorching with all of the gear you have on just to enter the dig site. Even standing in the sun is enough to have you panting and sweaty. 

Sloan releases one last heavy breath and closes the last few steps between the two of you. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

They’re so close you can see the sweat shimmering across their brow, smelling that familiar earthy scent of theirs that you’ve thought about for weeks now. The sun beats down overhead and you’re sure they must be boiling under their safety equipment. 

You cock your head to the side, “what is it?”

“I just—I’ve been thinking for a while, you know? And I really thought that maybe—is it really hot out here? I’m really hot.”

You nod in agreement, cupping your hands around your eyes to block out the sun. You were just on your way back to the shuttle to your hotel room when they caught you, and you have little interest in staying in this heat. 

“I should probably get going,” you admit, “it’s boiling and I need to eat.”

Sloan agrees all too quickly. “Yeah, yeah. I—I just wanted to know,” they loose a sigh, “do you want this rock?”

You’re taken aback for only a moment as they reach out a sweaty palm with a jagged pink crystal no bigger than a dollar coin. You reach out and grab it, your fingertips brushing their hand as you do. Sloan doesn’t miss the way you shiver from the contact. 

“It’s pretty, what is it?”

Sloan scratches the back of their neck. “It’s rose quartz, I just thought you might find it pretty or something…”

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You tuck the rock into your pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…see you tomorrow.”

Sloan watches as you spin on your heel and slowly disappear into the horizon. As soon as you’re out of eyesight, they let themselves sigh in disappointment and drop to their knees. 

Confessing is much harder than they thought it would be. 

—

You hold the rose quartz the whole shuttle ride to the hotel, rolling the cold stone across your aching palms. It really is a beautiful stone, even if it serves as a physical reminder of your own disappointment. 

You thought, just for a moment, that they might feel the same way as you. That they were going to ask you on a date, at least. But you’ve thought that the past few weeks, and it’s only bred chagrin. 

The cold air of your hotel room doesn’t feel nearly as nice as it should. Your skin still feels sticky, a layer of dust stuck to the sweat from the sweltering sun you spent the day under. But it’s not the sweat or the dust that has you feeling withdrawn—it’s the sight of the stones lining your night table. 

You place the rose quartz at the end of a line of eight stones, admiring them all together. It’s a beautiful array of clear, pink and green stones. Some are smooth—like they’ve already been tumbled—and others are jagged, found raw and expertly cut from the rock they once formed in. 

Your favourite, given to you just a few days ago, was a raw piece of rhodochrosite. Sloan had a big grin when they gave it to you, the stone warm from them holding it in their palm for so long.

You roll the stone in your palm for only a moment before ordering your usual room service, shrugging off your clothes and going to take a shower. The cold water feels amazing on your skin, washing the heat and shame of the day down the drain. For the time you’re in the shower, you hardly even think about Sloan or the collection of rocks starting to accumulate. 

You only get out when your phone buzzes with the usual courtesy notification letting you know the room service cart is on its way up to you. The air conditioning feels much better after showering, chilling the bite of your skin. You dress quickly in pyjamas and get to the door just in time to let in the kind lady with your dinner.

It’s the same woman as the last few nights—an older lady with a dazzling smile that she flashes at you as she crosses the threshold into your room.

“Same as usual?” She prompts while she lays out the dishes on the small table in the corner.

“You know it.”

She finishes laying out your spread, the delicious scent nearly making your mouth water, before grabbing the cart and starting to back out of the room. She pauses just as she gets past your nightstand, her eyes flicking over the array of stones.

“Well, aren’t those pretty.” You smile in agreement, “they are, aren’t they?”

“Lots of love stones,” she says. “Were they gifted to you?”

“Love stones?”

“Yes,” she nods, “like rose quartz, and rhodochrosite. They represent love in certain practices.”

The information is like a slap in the face, leaving you so dazed that you forget to thank the woman as she leaves your room. Love stones? Why would Sloan be giving you love stones?

You’re near frantic as you collect all of the stones into your hand, forgetting your shoes as you burst out of your hotel room and storm down the hall to Sloan’s. You’re not sure if they’re even back from the site yet, or what you’ll say to them when you get to their room—all you’re sure of is that you want to know why they gave you the stones. The real reason.

Sloan is utterly confused when they open their door to see you there, hair wet and dressed in pyjamas with no shoes, holding out a handful of rocks. “Hi?”

“Why did you give these to me?”

Sloan swallows, dark eyes examining the stones clutched in your palm. “I just thought you’d like them.” A lie, a complete and utter lie.

They curse themselves for being such a coward and not confessing sooner—but you’re just so cute, and they like you so much, and they felt so damn awkward trying to tell you they liked you. Except now, with you standing so close to them, water dripping from your hair and rendering your pyjama top near see-thru, they feel much more awkward.

“Just because you thought I’d like them?” You’re breathing hard, eyebrows knit together in confusion, “or because they’re apparently ‘love stones’, whatever that means.”

From the way their mouth hangs open, you know you’ve caught them.

“Listen, I—I—”

You cut them off, “did you know what the meanings were when you gave them to me?”

“Yes,” they sigh defeatedly. “But I thought you knew!”

“Of course I didn’t know!”

Sloan peers down the hall, hoping no one is around to hear your rising voices. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Why? So you can keep leading me in circles, so I can keep wondering why you don’t feel the same way as I do?” The words come out before you can stop them, even the hand you clamp over your mouth doing nothing to keep them in.

Sloan’s shoulders sag. “I wasn’t leading you in circles.”

“Weren’t you?” You shake your head, turning away from them. “You just wanted to hide behind a bunch of rocks forever.”

“Y/n, wait!”

You shake your head, starting to walk away. You don’t get far, as Sloan grabs your shoulder and spins you to face them. You have no time to react as they grab the back of your head and shove your face into theirs.

The second their lips meet yours, all of the built up disappointment from the past few weeks melts away. You relax into their touch, letting their calloused fingers tangle in your hair. They taste citrusy, over just a hint of salt, and electrify you like a shot of tequila.

You pull away breathlessly, looking at them over your lashes. They’re smirking like an idiot, eyes practically sparkling.

“Still think I’m leading you in circles?”

You rest your hand on their waist, pulling them back to you in desperation. “Shut up and kiss me again, nerd.”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[rainystarters]

* ☔ : action prompts inspired by FANTASY, NOBILITY, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )

crown of dawn. sender swears their fealty to the receiver.

crown of silver. sender congratulates the receiver on their political engagement, hiding their true affection for the receiver.

crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.

crown of glass. sender meets the receiver while their true identity is concealed.

crown of shadows. sender controls the receiver through magic or blackmail, making them their pawn so they can rule from the background.

crown of ink. sender meets the receiver for the first time after they are joined in an arranged marriage.

crown of starlight. sender kneels before the receiver to receive a boon.

crown of rot. sender accuses the receiver of failing their people.

crown of sorrow. sender tells the receiver they are the new lord/queen/etc. as those ahead of them in the line of succession have died.

crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.

crown of lies. sender accuses the receiver of not being the true heir.

crown of thorns. sender crowns the receiver after killing the previous ruler.

crown of nightshade. sender consumes a poisoned drink meant for the receiver.

---

wand of bone. sender uses necromancy to raise the receiver's companions from to dead to aid the sender in fighting against the receiver.

wand of ivy. sender ensnares the receiver in a net of living vines.

wand of twilight. sender conjures the spirit of the receiver from the land of the dead to speak with them.

wand of clouds. sender infiltrates the receiver's dreams to learn their desires.

wand of portals. sender summons the receiver to their world.

wand of resurrection. sender brings the receiver back to life.

wand of memory. sender clouds the receiver's mind so they don't leave.

wand of blossoms. sender grows flowers in the receiver's hair.

wand of salt. sender heals the receiver's wounds.

wand of leaves. sender asks the receiver to read their fortune.

wand of lightning. sender conjures a storm to impede the receiver.

wand of masks. sender crosses paths with the receiver while disguised as them.

wand of flesh. sender wounds the receiver to fuel their blood magic.

---

sword of honor. sender challenges the receiver to a duel to decide an argument.

sword of moons. sender wakes up to discover the receiver pressing a blade against the sender's throat.

sword of sacrifice. sender takes a deadly attack meant for the receiver.

sword of wrath. sender kills the receiver's loved one(s) as they watch.

sword of loyalty. sender executes someone at the receiver's command.

sword of blessings. sender asks the receiver to bless their weapon before battle.

sword of madness. sender tries to stop the receiver's bloodthirsty rage.

sword of ruin. sender tortures the receiver for information.

sword of defeat. sender surrenders to the receiver after a hard-fought battle.

sword of ash. sender asks the receiver to kill them for failing the receiver.

sword of spite. sender twists their weapon deeper into the receiver's wound.

sword of wind. sender quickly kills an enemy before they attack the receiver.

sword of betrayal. sender stabs the receiver in the back.

---

card of misfortune. sender catches the receiver trying to pick their pocket.

card of coins. sender buys the receiver a drink at a tavern.

card of vipers. sender meets the receiver in a thieves' den.

card of fools. sender finds the receiver caught in a trap, magical or otherwise.

card of iron. sender recognizes the receiver from a wanted poster.

card of vultures. sender is caught looting a dead body by the receiver.

card of songs. sender asks a bard to sing a ballad about the receiver.

card of keys. sender picks a lock to help the receiver escape.

card of winter. sender finds the receiver dying of frostbite and gathers them in their arms to warm them.

card of dust. sender finds the receiver asleep over a book and wakes them.

card of stars. sender keeps the receiver company during first watch at camp.

card of crows. sender warns the receiver they're being followed but that the sender can protect them—for a fee.

card of twine. sender stitches a wound shut for the receiver.

---

heart of virtue. sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's hand.

heart of devotion. sender slips their signet ring onto the receiver's finger.

heart of roses. sender gives the receiver a token of their favor before a tourney.

heart of thrones. sender kneels before the receiver to pleasure them.

heart of destiny. sender tells the receiver they are fated or reincarnated lovers.

heart of honey. sender intimately feeds the receiver by hand.

heart of darkness. sender cloaks themselves and the receiver in shadows so they can kiss in public.

heart of stone. sender asks the receiver to be their lover as they can't marry.

heart of gold. sender renounces their title to be with the receiver.

heart of wolves. sender intimately licks blood from the receiver's body.

heart of knives. sender cuts the clothes from the receiver's body, unable to wait.

heart of dusk. sender meets the receiver in secret to be together.

heart of embers. sender initiates intimacy to keep the receiver warm.

[maryangelex]

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.