Ratio had always prided himself on his sharp intellect, his ability to solve even the most complex of problems with a mere glance. But as he stood just outside the library’s archway, listening to the whispered confession escaping your lips, he found himself at a loss.
“I know he’s arrogant,” you murmured to a friend, a book clutched tightly to your chest, “and he talks like he has all the answers. But… I can’t help it. There’s something about him. The way he sees things, the way he challenges everything… I admire him.”
His name was never spoken, but there was no doubt who you were talking about.
Ratio stepped into the library, his usual composed expression giving away nothing. “It’s a shame,” he said, making you stiffen. “For someone so observant, you fail to recognize the most obvious of truths.”
You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What—”
He stepped closer, voice dropping into something softer, something edged with amusement. “You assume admiration is one-sided?” His piercing gaze met yours. “Perhaps, if you were to look at the variables again, you would see the solution has always been within reach.”
You blinked, heartbeat racing. “Are you saying…?”
Ratio smirked. “I’m saying, if you were to confess again—this time to my face—I might just be inclined to give you the answer you’re hoping for.”
Sampo had an uncanny ability to be exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be.
Which is how he found himself eavesdropping outside a supply room, arms crossed as he listened to you, of all people, admitting something rather interesting to Natasha.
“I don’t know why I like him,” you groaned. “He’s frustrating, sneaky, and probably lying half the time—but somehow, I just… do.”
Sampo’s grin widened. Oh?
He waited a beat before dramatically pushing the door open, wearing the most innocent expression he could muster. “Well, well, well! What’s all this, huh? Talking about little old me behind my back? I’m flattered!”
You spun around, color draining from your face before returning in full force. “How long have you—?”
“Long enough!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Gotta say, sunshine, I had no idea you felt that way.”
Natasha sighed, unimpressed. “Sampo, get out.”
“Ah-ah, not before I get a proper answer!” He leaned closer, voice teasing but eyes searching. “So? You like me, huh? Care to make that official, or should I start wooing you properly?”
You groaned, covering your face. “I take it back.”
“Ah, too late! No refunds, no returns,” he chuckled. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”
Aventurine always knew when people were lying. It was a skill he had honed to perfection, a survival instinct as much as a talent.
But what fascinated him more was when people told the truth without realizing it.
And tonight, as he leaned casually against the grand casino balcony, he had just stumbled upon a rather delightful little secret.
“I know he’s dangerous,” you admitted to someone, your voice lost in the buzz of music and chatter below. “But that’s what makes him so compelling. It’s like every conversation is a game, and I… I can’t help but want to play.”
His lips curled into a knowing smirk. Oh, darling, you’re more than just playing—you’re already all in.
Slipping out of the shadows, he chuckled as you jolted at his sudden presence. “Now, now. What’s this I hear? Someone’s got a little crush?”
You gasped. “You—!?”
Aventurine tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You wound me, dearest. How could you not tell me sooner?” He tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Should I make this interesting? A gamble, perhaps?”
Your breath caught. “What kind of gamble?”
He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. “A kiss, if you win.” A pause, then a smirk. “And if I win? Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take that kiss myself.”
Boothill had been called many things—reckless, ruthless, a dead man walking. But blind wasn’t one of them.
Which was why, when he overheard your conversation with an old friend in a dimly lit saloon, he wasn’t exactly surprised.
“You ever tell him?” your friend asked, swirling their drink.
You scoffed. “Tell Boothill? Please. He’d probably laugh in my face.”
At that moment, the infamous cyborg cowboy made his entrance, heavy boots clicking against the floor. “Now, sweetheart,” he drawled, teeth flashing in a shark-like grin, “what makes you think I’d do a thing like that?”
Your eyes widened in horror. “You—!? How long—!?”
Boothill tipped his hat, sliding into the seat beside you. “Long enough to hear somethin’ real interestin’.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Now, tell me true—was that just some whiskey talk, or do you really got a thing for me?”
You glared at your friend, who was conveniently looking the other way. “I hate you.”
Boothill just chuckled. “That ain’t an answer, sugar.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples. “And if I did?”
He smirked. “Then I reckon you just made my day a whole lot more interesting.”
Imagine waking up one day to find that every other human in the world had disappeared.. save for you and your boyfriend, Childe.
You two scouted the city for a while, and during night time, you’d find these faceless, humanoid shadow figures lurking in building and stores—taking up the roles of workers like it’s some kind of weird eerie dream.
There were those that acted as repairmen, fixing the powerlines, and any potential damage or leaks to the water distribution pipes.
Then, there were those that acted as cashiers by the counters of convenience stores and shops in malls, though they’re mostly motionless when they’re not restocking shelves, and can’t verbally communicate.
You and Childe also find out that they don’t accept or take money—or any sort of compensation—even after taking items from the shelves… which both of you took advantage of every night from then on.
Still, you two stayed at your shared apartment and made it your ‘base of operations’, as Childe would (jokingly) call it now, as you two were unable to travel out of the city.. not just because the vehicles wouldn’t work anymore, but also because something instinctually kept bugging you to not do so.
“Do you think we’re the last two people alive?” You asked him quietly one night, both of you laying down beside each other on the rooftop of the apartment building, gazing at the stars while holding hands.
Childe sighed, as if he thought of that too at the same moment. It took him a while to answer. “If we are the last two people in the world…” He pauses, turning towards you before pulling you into an embrace, chin resting on top of your head, pulling you close to his chest. “we’ll be okay. I promise.”
A week or so eventually passes, day and night passing like usual. You thought that you’d go insane at this point from how quiet everything was—no traffic, no background chatter.
But Childe’s presence proved to be an incredible anchor to your sanity.
Eventually, Childe tries to communicate with the humanoid cashier at the nearby convenience store (again) one evening, while reluctantly letting you look for snacks at the newly restocked shelves after making sure the area was safe.
“Good evening..” Childe greets a little awkwardly before placing a small notebook on the counter. “If you can’t speak.. then maybe you can write something down for us.. a sign or something.” The faceless cashier lowers its head, as if looking down at the item. Childe swallows and waits, but the entity does nothing.
Childe sighs before deciding to write on the notebook first.
| where is everyone? |
“please give us an answer.” The ginger mutters before backing away from the counter a little, still cautious and wary of the shadowy figure despite its idle behavior.
Childe waits until you come back with a bag full of snacks and other necessities. Yet the humanoid cashier still hasn’t done anything but stare at the notebook in front of it.
“Any progress?” You ask, looking up at Childe. He sighs and shakes his head.
“It’s fine, we’ll just try to find some answers on our own.” He replies, smiling at you warmly. “come on, let’s go.” Childe holds your hand, about to leave until he hears a small tap from the counter.
His eyes widened when he looks back—there’s something written on the notebook, just below the words he had written moments ago. Childe walks back to the counter with you, keeping you by his side.
| stewards |
| us |
the writing’s a little messy, as if it’s a kid who’s still learning how to write.
“What do you mean?” Childe asks, and the pointy hands of the cashier taps on the counter once more—a messily written set of words then appear on the page one by one.
| cleaning | | world |
| humans not | | gone | | not | | dead |
| temporary | | human | | return them | | after |
| job |
Childe blinks at the words for a while, trying to piece them together. “okay.. what happens after other people return?” He asks. “… and what about us? why didn’t we disappear?”
| people |
| come back | | think | | feel | | dream |
| two | | him | | her |
| fault | | no harm | | live | | in present | | live |
| frozen | | no | | aging | | time | | still pass |
| will wake | | like other |
| like dream |
To be fair, Childe felt like he’s having a stroke trying to read all of it while also trying to theorize the whole answer the entity was trying to give.
It went on for an hour, as the words appearing on the paper was a little slow and would occasionally pause whenever the humanoid cashier turn its head to check the shelves.
At some point the cashier somewhat told Childe through the notebook, that they mean no harm and cannot physically hurt living beings—only acting as temporary replacements so that reality wouldn’t fall apart while they nurse the planet’s health back.
| your love | | each other |
| very bright | | enjoy | | time | | here |
The entity wrote at the end of the ‘conversation’ before it moved away from the counter to restock the shelves. Childe smiled, before finally exiting the store with you, holding you close.
The next few days, you and Childe eventually decided to just take the cashier’s word(s) and went back to normal.. as far as normal could be at the moment.
Late or sleepy mornings, where both of you would cook breakfast in the kitchen—him in sweats, and you in his hoodie, humming and being playful.
Afternoon snacks and cuddles before a movie marathon or a little dance in the living room.
Steamy nights that’s spent tangled in the sheets, where Childe would be a little mean.. sometimes teasing, “you could be as loud as you want baby, it’s just us after all.” in that low tone with his smug smile before he folds you like laundry-
Whatever you used to do together before waking up to this seemingly peaceful yet temporary post-apocalyptic-like setting.
It filled the space of silence with warmth and love—something you could keep doing forever with him in this little bubble of time you two have.
“Ajax?” You called out softly, cuddled with him on the bed of your shared apartment one night.
“Hm?”
“After the.. ‘workers’ finish their job, we’d just wake up with the rest of people back, right?” You asked.
He was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I think that’s the gist of what it was trying to say back at the convenience store.” He replied before pulling away a little to gaze at your face. “something on your mind about it?” He asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You hummed in agreement. “do you think we’ll have any memory of what happened when we ‘wake up’?” You asked nervously, as the thought had been bugging you recently.
Childe presses his forehead against yours. “I hope so.” He says before burying his face at the crook of your neck. “If we don’t..” He pauses for a moment, contemplating. “.. no.. we probably will.”
✦ AHA *cries*
✦ its my first time trying to write soft post-apocalyptic romance(?) idk what to call it, its not even an apocalypse-
✦ im working on a short fic about this for ao3 so this is like… what, a prototype
✦ was this too ooc of Childe beloved Ajax Tartaglia? if so, I do apologize, don’t come at me-
Scenario 2 (the dancing one I think) and taunter 17 with Right and Henry. I am aware this is ridiculous
Hey, I really had fun with this one so thank you for sending it in. My ask box is always open for anyone to flood it.
I kind of did this outside the box with this one so I hope you'll don't mind and still enjoy it. It's not too serious here mostly comedic
2) Why are you taunting me? Stop— stop dancing. We’re in the middle of a fight.
17) “This is stupid. Goodnight.”
Right grumbles under his breath. Already annoyed as this wasn't going anywhere as he'd initially planned at the start.
"Why are you taunting me? Stop- stop dancing. We're in the middle of a fight" Announced irritably, Right couldn't believe his eyes at the outright goofiness of the clan's newest recruit, "As your trainer I need to make sure you're prepared for anything. So you can't be doing this"
"I'm not so don't be so uptight, dude. Just relax with me and have fun. That's what I'm doing and it's working for me?" All the while Henry chuckled out seemingly not caring in the slightest, "And this is a test trail 'fight' anyways. Nothing serious here. Besides, it's working in my favor, isn't it? You can't manage a hit on me"
It was true whenever Right attempted to throw a punch, the other man ducked out of the way in time with a quick, smooth move. The new recruit is an impressive dancer though his unique moves weren't Right's thing when it's being used against him it got annoying. Henry kept brushing up against him, hips swaying easily with the motion of the wind. Irritating as it was, Right impressed although wouldn't admit to it out loud when watching the man's body move like he weighed nothing in mildly peaked interest.
"Again. This is meant to be taken very seriously, Stickmin" Right exclaimed, eye twitching, frowning deeply when harshly jabbing his robotic finger into Henry's chest.
"'Ey. What got you so tense? Maybe I can do something then to help you out?"
"Actually listening to me and doing what you're been told would do me wonders. I'm trying to teach you how to fight"
Rolling his eyes, Right didn't notice that Henry was walking towards him, a wide, knowing grin on his face then he felt it. A pair of smooth cool hands firm on his hips finally caused him to still. It'd positioned him to lean backwards, eye wide in shock upon getting stuck in an unstable stance as the recruit stood him above.
"Hm. I could and I will. But this sounds so much better, dontcha think? I saw you were intrigued in how I moved back there. I can teach you if you want?"
Remaining stiff, awkward, his arms now glued to his sides, Right gulped, unsure to what he should do as he glared over at the other man brushing his auburn red locks from his face, "I. Uh"
"The look on your face is cute, Red. I like it" Henry complimented.
"G-get your. Hands off me" He says in a whisper yet he didn't make the first move rather stayed unmoving, "I. I'll make sure you regret it"
"Don't seem too confident there?" While running his hands on Right's hips though the recruit didn't plan to go further leaning in, suggestively wiggling his brows, "You're not saying no to it? I can show you some of my moves, yeah? May help you in the long run. Though I can pull back. Stop this if you don't wanna"
Turned silent, Right looked away, his sun-kissed, freckled face scrunched up in an unreadable expression. Almost like he was contemplating something he's unsure of. Henry's actions are subtle if politely asking for his permission to continue, to teach him to dance, and how to melt the pent up tension. His imagination then went crazy, Henry being soft with him, leading the way, nobody interrupting them as the thief would likely than not at the end pull him in which may lead to more. It made him want to relax for once, allow someone else to be there for him acting as a protective shield.
"You're thinking about it, huh?"
The one-sided, not too serious argument was seemingly forgotten about by the pair until Right can vividly remember he lightly pushed the man away. Henry wasn't hurt, allowing him to steady himself while he grinned, hands held up to appear non-threatening.
"This is stupid. Goodnight"
Feeling his scruffy cheeks, running his fingers down he noted the obvious warmth became unbearable so he hadn't mustered up the strength to face the newbie when making his way to the door.
"Alright. We can try this tomorrow. Night, love"
His whole face totally engulfed in heat at the pet name, Right immediately wiped his head around, opening his mouth to say something until deciding otherwise, he stomped out, melting into his jacket's collar he heard the man's roaring laughter in the background.
Gladiolus squeaked. It wasn't a sound that anyone could have expected, silence and then almost too-nervous-to-laugh chuckling following.
"Shiva's frozen tits, Noct, are you dead?" The Shield demanded, trying to be subtle about wrapping up even more in the blanket - and moving away.
"I will be if I don't get warm." The prince complained, huddling closer, but kept his hands to himself that time.
Which still made it very, very difficult to try and squirm further away. Particularly when Ignis and Prompto were also huddling in closer.
Then came something more closely resembling a shriek. "Noctis Lucis Caelum. Get those feet off of my back immediately." The adviser could feel the distinct outline of cold feet through his bedclothes.
"Sorry Iggy." He responded in a tone decidedly lacking regret.
"Is he dead?" Gladiolus asked, half-serious.
Noctis opened his mouth to respond, interrupted by his own sound of sheer offense.
"Nope, still has a pulse." Prompto informed them, grinning to himself as he took his hand back... and hopefully out of reach of retaliation.
So I ended up forgetting about the og idea I wanted to send because I didn’t write it down. 🙂↕️
But I do have another idea that involves Reader being a freak for art! If you’ve ever played (or watched someone play) Persona 5, Reader is a little bit like Yusuke, they love to draw and paint and all that fun stuff. They’re also a bit of a simp and have pages in their sketchbooks dedicated to drawing people they fancy.
So, not really nudity here, but one day while drinking, Reader gets so drunk off of their ass they finally dare to ask the question that’s been gnawing at the back of their mind:
“Hey, [muse]…D’ya wanna model naked for me?”
Bonus points if they’re trying to ask it to their muse in question, but they’re so drunk they don’t realize they’re facing someone else entirely.
Like, their muse could be Sunday and they’re trying to ask Sunday to model naked for them, but they’re facing Robin.
It can also be other combos!
Like, Muse:the person Reader is actually facing
So—
Gepard:Serval
Blade:Firefly
Dan Heng:Sushang
Lingsha:Yunli
Jing Yuan:Yanqing
These are just examples off the top of my head but basically pick any one or think of another pair yourself and make it as chaotic as you possible can. 🤣
If you make the title “Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls” istg—
Portraits of Desire
Tags: Sunday x Reader x Robin, Aventurine x Reader x Topaz, Artist!Reader, Fluff and Humor, Alcohol-Induced Shenanigans, Artistic Obsession, Mild Suggestive Themes, Confessions in Chaos, Playful Banter.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption and intoxication, Light innuendo, Embarrassing humorous situations.
A/N: sadly i already named a previous fic that, so I can't name this one the same title 😕💔
(Credits to @kakyoriya on Twitter/X)
The Charmony Festival's afterparty had always been a lively affair, filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You, an artist swept into the chaos of Penacony’s surreal world, found yourself seated at a circular table with Sunday and Robin. Despite your initial plans to observe the Halovian pair discreetly, the generous flow of Halovian wine had turned those plans into a swirling mess.
Your sketchbook lay open on the table, pages flipping as a gust of laughter erupted around you. The pages showcased the delicate strokes of your pencil—portraits of Sunday, Robin, and various festival moments. They were all expertly rendered, but your fascination with Sunday was painfully obvious. His eyes seemed to pierce through the pages, and even his halo was meticulously detailed.
Robin chuckled softly, her hair shimmering under the festival lights. “You’ve truly captured his essence.” she remarked, pointing at one of your sketches.
You hiccupped, the wine adding a rosy hue to your cheeks. “Well, it’s ‘cause he’s so damn… inspiring!” you slurred.
Sunday, ever dignified, raised a brow but allowed a faint smile to curl his lips. “I see. I suppose I should thank you for the flattery.”
The room swayed as you turned, your intoxicated mind suddenly consumed by a thought you’d never dared voice. You reached out, grabbing Sunday’s gloved hand—or at least you thought it was Sunday’s.
“Hey… hey, you!” you stammered, squinting up at Robin instead. She tilted her head, bemused.
“Yes?” Robin replied, her voice lilting like a melody.
“I’ve been… thinking,” you began, leaning closer to her. “You’re… perfect. Your symmetry, your aura—it’s breathtaking!”
Robin’s brows knitted in surprise, her cheeks flushing faintly. Sunday, watching from across the table, cleared his throat. “They mean to ask me, Robin. I’ve noticed their fixation.”
But you, oblivious and unbothered, barreled forward. “Model for me. Naked. Just once!”
Robin sputtered, her elegance momentarily faltering. “I beg your pardon?”
Sunday, his eyes narrowing slightly, stepped in to steady you. “I believe you’re mistaking your audience.” he said, his tone carrying both humor and restraint.
You blinked, your intoxicated brain struggling to process the situation. Then, your gaze shifted, landing on Sunday’s halo. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You! I meant you!”
Robin burst into laughter, her melodic voice echoing through the room. “Oh, this is priceless.”
Sunday, maintaining his composure, leaned down to meet your gaze. “While I appreciate your artistic passion,” he said smoothly, “I fear your request might be better suited for sober conversation.”
The IPC gala was a hub of high-stakes networking, dazzling lights, and endless champagne. You, an artist with an eye for detail, found yourself amidst the extravagance, clutching your sketchbook like a lifeline. Aventurine and Topaz had invited you along, each promising you’d find inspiration among the elite.
You had taken them at their word, sketching furiously as your muses moved through the crowd. Aventurine, with his flamboyant overcoat and peacock feather earring, exuded charisma that demanded attention. Topaz, on the other hand, carried herself with a composed confidence, her hair catching the gala’s light.
Hours later, you were drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed—drunk. Your sketchbook was open to a page filled with Aventurine’s smirk and Topaz’s sharp gaze. The champagne had loosened your inhibitions, and you found yourself staring at Aventurine’s eyes.
“You’re like… a painting.” you slurred, pointing at him.
Aventurine, ever the gambler, leaned forward with an amused grin. “Am I now? Flatter me more.”
Topaz rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. “They’re drunk. Don’t encourage them.”
But you were already gesturing wildly. “I gotta ask. It’s important. Life-changing, even!” You turned—or at least thought you turned—to Aventurine, but your gaze locked on Topaz instead.
“Will you model naked for me?” you blurted.
Topaz choked on her drink, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?!”
Aventurine burst into laughter, clapping a hand to his chest. “Oh, this is rich. I think they meant me, darling.”
You blinked, confused, before swiveling toward Aventurine. “Wait, yeah! You! You’re, like… perfection. I need to capture it!”
Topaz shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
Aventurine leaned closer, tilting your chin up with a gloved finger. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he purred. “But we’ll discuss terms when you’re sober.”
Topaz snorted. “You’re both ridiculous.”
And in your drunken haze, you could only laugh, thrilled by the chaotic charm of your muses.
Ice trailed over her skin, leaving a glistening trail of water. Starfire watched the ice glide across her stomach and up her breast to perch at the top as it was left to balance.
“I do not see the purpose of this,” she murmured. “I do not feel the cold as you do.”
Another ice cube, gliding different paths across her belly, around the button then upward. “Who said this was for your benefit?” A smirk. “Besides, I’ve seen you shiver.”
Water trickled down her breast as the cube melted against her skin and the second ice cube perched itself on the opposite one. “Not because I was cold.”
A third ice cube began its trek, held in steepled fingers. She watched through half lidded eyes as it slid against her skin. “I still do not understand—“
He left the cube at her belly button. “You’re making the mistake that this is purely ice.”
She raised her eyebrows. “It is not?”
Elegant fingers lifted a shot glass. “Close your mouth and hold still.”
She did try to stay still as he balanced the glass on her chin, watching with curious gaze as he filled the glass with liquid from a clear bottle.
“It’s a drinking game,” he said, sprinkling white crystals in the crevice between her breasts.
She made a questioning noise.
He lifted, kneeling over her. One hand on either side of her, he bent down and dragged his tongue up, tasting the white crystals. She fought not to giggle as he licked his way up to her chin, covered the glass with his mouth and threw back his head. Snatching the glass, he bent back down, taking one of the ice cubes perching on her into his completely into his mouth, languishing a kiss on her breast.
His hip against hers, he leant over her as he plucked the ice cube from his mouth, gifting it with a lingering suck while she watched. “Ahh. Delicious.”
“I am… edible?”
He dropped the ice into the small container he’d brought into the bedroom and fished out another, a clear ice cube this time. “A buffet of sexiness.”
The ice cube began a new trek, a downward exploration. “I do not—“
“Body shots,” he explained. “Salt, tequila and lemon ice. Lick, sip, suck.”
“Oh—“
He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows at her. “I thought you were impervious to ice.”
She arched her neck back. “The cold does not usually—“ she gasped again. “Oh.”
Another throaty laugh, smug and controlling. “Like that?”
“Hmm, yes.”
“Now I know your weakness,” he murmured as he sent her writhing.
