First of all, I HAD NO FAULT IN THIS, THIS IS ALL @fireemblemxtextposts-realm‘S FAULT…. it all started when we were talking about a Valter x Summoner support submited to @fire-emblem-heroes-supports and on how… could people even like that… THAT… GARBAGE MAN… and then I GOT OBSESSED… THEN SHE DARED ME TO WRITE IT… then I did, and… Well, this is it.
This is very sinful and I’m very ashamed to have written it, and yet… I couldn’t stop it. I loved writing this cause it was so against everything I stand up for it was EXHILIRATING… I may or may not have a sequel planned for this, so for now, enjoy this sin, I guess :’D
Sharena! Are you alright?” Kiran yelled from across the field, making her way
towards the princess.
shook her head and used her training spear to get up. “Muh? I’m fine, Kiran,
don’t worry so much!” She laughed, scratching the back of her head.
“Oh? Do you
have time to laugh, scrawny princess?” Her training opponent smirked and made a
follow-up attack on the back of her legs, making her fall on her behind once
Hey, no fair! I was distracted!” Sharena winced, letting go of her weapon and
massaging her rear. The blue haired man crouched and used the tip of his spear
to lift the princess’ chin, making her feel a chill down her spine.
that in her eyes, Valter tilted his head to the side, “now that’s a much better
look on you, Princess.” He let out a low laugh before getting up as Kiran
that’s quite enough! I thought you had agreed on behaving the day we recruited
you.” Kiran said, helping Sharena up, both women’s serious gaze on the former
He put a
lock of hair behind his own ear as he bended down towards the Summoner,
scrutinizing her foreign features. “Your so-called contract prevents me from
mortally hurting any of your little friends,” he started, his breathing so
close Kiran could fell its warmth on her nose, “but there are many ways of
making prey out of someone, girl.”
hi friends i’m down to following like -100 people & have lost like tons of followers bc i’ve been trash about being active so pls reblog this if ur an active larry/harry/louis/ot4 blog.. u don’t even have to be following me but what’s the fun in that bc mutuals rock! anyway thank u in advance xox
Hello! May I please get some HCs for the chocobros and how they would react spending the night with their S/O for the first time? The thing is it was completely by accident that they end up having to do so~
OKAY OKAY, SO I’m bad at this s/o thing bc i much prefer character/character shippy things, so
it’s very neutral and if you close your eyes it works for any ship really. BUT
I did it?? I think? I DON’T KNOW GUYS.
After being fussed over by royal attendants all day, then
dragged around the Citadel to blocks of princely meetings he paid little mind
too, Noctis only wants to feel some
semblance of normalcy again. So when he’s had a long day, Noct usually finds
himself making evening visits that end with him on their couch, feet propped up
on the coffee table, suit jacket slung over the armrest and tie hanging loose
against his chest. Popping a few of the buttons open on his dress shirt lets
him feel like he can breathe again. He makes a passing mention of having a
massive headache, but apparently finds himself well enough to stare at flashy
pixels for the rest of the evening; he gets up to turn on the gaming console and
grab the two controllers off the entertainment center, tossing the second one
at them (the one that will give them the 2nd player screen, because
even though it might be their house,
he is the prince and he’ll use that
as leverage— but only for important things, like making sure he’s got the 1st player, top screen view).
It’s a small activity, filled with sitting close enough to bump
shoulders, playing dirty to get ahead, and cursing at each other with a smile
on each of their faces, but Noct just wanted this. To come over, play some video games with his favorite person,
and unwind— and he does. So much so that when they get up to grab something to
drink from the kitchen, they return to find Noctis laying across the couch,
controller loosely still set in his hands, head resting where they were
previously sitting, out cold. In short, it ends up being an impromptu
He’ll wake up, long eyelashes fluttering, with his head in their
lap and their hand brushing through his hair. Noctis has a moment of tired
deliriousness where he’s trying to figure why the ceiling looks nothing like
the one in his room before he catches the other’s gaze. Oh.Right. He shifts in
their lap and makes a move to sit back up, only to be gently kept against them.
A blush rises against his cheeks as he tries to apologize, his voice a low,
sleepy rumble in his chest. They can tell he’s trying to play it off with a cool
attitude, but the redness tingeing his ears says otherwise. He’s probably
asking a million self-conscious questions in his head, most of which come
across as a blow to his imagined nonchalant-ness—he’s worried about snoring too loud, sleeping with his mouth open,
drooling on them— but he manages to
ask what time it is. 3am. With their hand still in his hair, nails scratching
against his scalp, and his eyes closing as he tucks his face against their
stomach and sighs, there’s no argument. He might as well stay the rest of the
accidentally staying over the first time is unquestionably because of an accident. This boy tries so hard to impress the one
he likes and what better way to do so than help them make dinner? He comes over
prepared: finds the recipe that morning, picks up all the necessary groceries, and
arrives at 6 o’clock sharp to get started. He’s only a little mad at himself
for forgetting his “Kiss the Cook” apron at home. Nonetheless, Prompto insists
that he do it all himself, arguing that they do too much for him as it is—and
maybe he feels a little guilty over the fact that they paid the quite
substantial bill for their last diner date at Galdin Quay in its entirety. The
least he can do cook a small meal for the two of them. Except it’s not small.
And it’s exceedingly more complicated (and expensive)
than anticipated; but it’s fine! He’s been watching a lot of cooking shows
lately, that’s definitely gonna pay
Except none of it is much help when he’s quite a bit flustered
being around someone that makes his heart flip in his chest just from meeting
his eyes, let alone actually laughing at his stupid puns (‘Penne for your thoughts?’ he said, pouring the penne into the
boiling water. And they had actually giggled, like, a real one! Not out of
pity!) But the combination of being nervous and jittery while trying to be a
literal Bobby Flay, causes him to forget to put the lid on the blender. There’s
a quick pulse, a decisively girlish screech, and then silence. There’s now
homemade spaghetti sauce splattered over the walls, down the counter, and,
mainly, all over Prompto. Down
his chest, in his hair and across his face. He thinks for
a moment that they’ll be peeved, but when he’s greeted with the sound of
laughter and a finger swiping at the line of sauce down his freckled cheek to
take a taste, he’s relived if not extraordinarily embarrassed.
By the time they’ve got his clothes in their washer, him in the
shower, and dinner finally done, it’s late; his clothes still need to dry and
food still needs to be eaten. When Prompto comes out of the bathroom, hair damp
and drooping without any gel, wearing some mismatched amalgamation of their
clothes he borrowed, it’s natural to suggest that he spend the night. He
agrees, perhaps a bit too eagerly, laughing and watching them break out a jar
of spaghetti sauce to replace the one now slowly drying against the wall.
Gladiolus tends to
pride himself on being smooth— in some part, it’s the charm that got him in
this relationship in the first place— but, damn, is he so much more sweetly conniving
than they initially gave him credit for. Usually he finds himself planning
dates on the weekends, but when he calls them on a weekday to let them know
he’s dropping by their place for a visit after work, they know something’s up.
It doesn’t hit them until they’re cuddled up on the couch, hand-in-hand and
stomachs full after a junk food filled night of Cup Noodles and a couple beers,
watching the nightly news. “A strong
storm front moving in bringing periods of light snow throughout the evening,
ending in a combination of sleet and freezing ra—“ A dusting of snow had
the entire city of Insomnia shutting down, let alone a whole inch. “It is advisable that people stay off the
roads if possible and take caution to avoid—“
Gladio pulls them closer to kiss the top of their head and
smiles into their hair, “Guess I’m spending the night then?“ And that’s
all it takes. Honestly, how had they not seen this coming? He’d planned this
since he heard the weather report two days ago; he knows what he’s trying to
set up. They have to resist laughing with a roll of their eyes when he excuses
himself to grab something out of his car and comes back with a small,
pre-packed sports bag filled with spare clothes, a toothbrush, a razor… he is
not trying to hide this at all. Talk about over-confident. Yet still strangely
coy enough to have never outright asked to spend the night without an excuse?
The night is spent doing lot of shitty movie watching, finding
the worst direct to television productions possible and binging them—
everything ranging from one about supernatural sharks, to another about a
scorned housewife that plays off like a daytime soap opera. Gladio’s infectious
laugh makes them both more than giddy and they find themselves making fun of
every little corny line and botched CGI until the credits roll then the early
morning block of infomercials start playing. Gladio stands up, back and arm
muscles pulling his tattoo taut as he stretches and yawns before hoisting them
up too. Tossing them a wink, he declares himself ready for bed and saunters on
into their room, shedding his shirt on the way. It’s like he’s lived there the
whole time, like this wasn’t something new. The casualness of it all is more
The shops began closing their doors and the plaza’s usual
throngs of people were thinning when Ignis
suggests calling it an evening; it’s getting quite late after a long night of a
reserved, high-class dining and walking the city streets together, popping in
and out of small boutiques and sitting on park benches, watching daring street
performers make their living. It’s painfully obvious that Ignis doesn’t often
find time to unwind— and, gods, does it take an hour or so to whittle the
advisory persona down— but from the way his shoulders slouch far more than usual, the
way his lips curve into a smirk instead of a tight line of concentration, the
way he backtalks and quips, anyone can see the ease the night has brought him. Being
nothing short of an extraordinary gentleman, he’ll offer to drive them back to
their place. He outright refuses to let them take the Insomnian subway system
at the dead of night.
So the plan was to end the night at their doorstep— walking them
up the steps, leaving a chaste kiss against their lips with a promise to see
them again soon— except when he retreats, leaving them floating on air in the
doorway, watching him get into his car with an almost dorky wave goodbye, Ignis
can’t get his stupid royal car to start. Gods, it’s making the saddest little
stalling noise and it’s nearing midnight, and Ignis is a little panicked when
the ‘check engine’ light turns on. When
he’s asked to come inside their house to figure out what to do next, he agrees,
a tad defeated. Once inside, they ask him to stay the night— not for sleazy
intentions. It’s simply that Hammerhead is far away and overnight towing is
expensive. Despite the fact that they know
he can pay for it, it seems senseless. Stay the night and wait until
Ignis feels alight with nerves. He clears his throat and tries a
few excuses as to why he shouldn’t
stay— it’s not out of ungratefulness, he assures them. Most of what he says is
trivial, nervous talking that stems from not wanting to sleep in his clothes,
or not having clean clothes to wear the next morning, or disturbing their
sleep. He plays it off as being a bother, but, really, he’s reluctant to let
them see him not at his best; as if this will change their whole view of him if
they see him so undignified in the morning, with his horrendous bedhead and un-pressed
clothes. It’s a level of personal that Ignis is not used to anyone seeing. But
when their hand is on his, and their waving off his excuses, he’s convinced to stay.
Regardless, they can’t stop him from being so apologetic for imposing
on them, acting as if he sabotaged his own car. And, wow, he is so awkward when he crawls into bed with
them, murmuring little apologies when his legs, bare from stripping down to his
briefs, brushes against theirs. They convince him it’s more than fine by
tangling them together to guide him closer into their arms, where he’ll find
that he spends the rest of the night.
can you do "pipe the fuck down, asshole" with lucio, thank you very much!!
“Pipe the fuck down, asshole,” the magician laughs, letting Lucio fall into their weight as they half-carry him down the street. “Do you want to wake all of Vesuvia?”
“But I won,” he insists. “Admit it. I’m better at darts.”
They shake their head. “You’re drunk, is what you are.”
Lucio scowls. “I am not,” he insists. “But you -” he reaches out a flopping hand and boops their nose sloppily; they scrunch it in response - “are avoiding the question!”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
He’s enraged. “Yes, I did! I asked -” He frowns, thinking back on his words. They wait patiently while he puzzles it out. “It was implied.”
They snicker, shaking their head at his antics and shifting their weight.
“C’mon, drunky,” they say, fondly. “You can sleep this one off at the shop.”
“Wait,” Lucio tells them, a different not entering his voice, and they freeze immediately.
“Are you going to puke? Please tell me you aren’t going to puke. Or, if you are, just - do it over there, away from me, I do not need a repeat of your birthday -”
Lucio unwraps his arm from around their shoulders, but instead of lurching away towards the alley they’d indicated, he grabs onto their wrists and turns them to look him in the eye.
“Be quiet,” he murmurs, reaching up one hand to press it against their cheek. Their breath catches in their throat. He stares at them like that for a long time, shadows dripping across his face, moonlight shining onto theirs.
And then he sways forward a little, his thumb brushing over their lower lip. Their heart stops.
“You are radiant,” he whispers, eyes dancing between their mouth and their eyes. He says each word clearly, crisply, and for a second, they forget that he’s drunk and a horrible flirt and the most ridiculous person on the planet. For a second, their body leans toward him, too.
He tilts his head - his eyes fall half-shut - his thumb is still tracing the outside of their lip -
“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, and their knees go weak.
And then the smell of alcohol drifts up into their nose, and their thoughts clear. They pull away, their eyes locking on his, their stomach still fluttering. He smolders back. Which is unfair, because he’s so beautiful, and they want him. Oh, how they want him.
“Kiss me when you’re sober,” they reply, voice so soft it’s barely words. They reach up and press a hand to his cheek. Swipe a thumb over his lip. He shudders at the contact. “It’ll be more fun that way. Promise.”
His eyes spark. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Please do,” they reply, quick and wry, and he laughs. It’s loud, boisterous, guaranteed to wake someone.