#five year old spice wine

[loveshotzz]

We’re supposed to be eating breakfast

older!steve x fem!reader an AIRWIY oneshot

summary: You wake up after your first sleep over at Steve’s house feeling bold.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ older!steve, smut, p in v, cream pie, breeding kink, mentions of past drinking, reader is wearing Steve’s baseball jersey but it’s not really described how it fits on readers body, no real descriptions of readers body.

authors note: this took me over a month to write with everything going on in my personal life, so I’m excited to finally give it to you. thank you all for your patience and encouragement to keep coming back on here every day despite me not writing as much as I used to and to keep me opening my word docs. this one was spurred my @palmtreesx3 brilliant mind and an idea that’s haunted me day and night. This takes place in the All I Really Want Is You universe, but can be read as a stand alone. Just know you’re wearing Steve’s personalized cubs jersey. :)

The harsh sounds of the coffee grinder is what wakes you up, but the golden rays of morning sunshine that leaks through the cracks in the blinds is what gets your eyes to open. Slow soft blinks, with fluttering lashes and brain still fuzzy from the kind of sleep that makes you temporarily forget what year it is, you need a moment to recognize the unfamiliar, much nicer surroundings.

You were in Steve’s room.

A smile you can’t contain spreads wide across your face, butterfly wings tickling at your rib cage. Stretching your still sleeping limbs, your body melts into the soft cushions of his mattress. The feathers that fill his pillows contour to your head perfectly, and the memories of the ways he had you pressed into it resurface, skin igniting with the ghost of his hands on your curves. Biting your bottom lip, the kind of nerves that you haven’t had since the Fourth of July make themselves known again, having never spent a morning with him at his home.

Rolling over, your face hits the cotton of his pillowcase that you’re not surprised is cold. Shamelessly you inhale the cedar and spice that still lingers on it, and the faint ache between your thighs, along with the clinks of glass you hear from his sink, reminds you that he’s just down stairs. It takes a little bit of willpower to leave the cozy cocoon you’ve found yourself in but the need to see him over powers the comfort of his duvet that feels like just the right amount of weight against your body.

Shuffling out of the covers, your bare feet hit the cold hard wood of his floors, a shiver crawling up your spine that you tell yourself is from the chill of the winter air that seeps through his unsealed windows, definitely not your nerves catching a glimpse of your naked body in his dresser mirror. The same mirror you’d seen him in almost five months ago.

Padding across his bedroom you wonder if he can hear your steps as you search for any sign of your clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around after an old bottle of red wine. The clean white color of his jersey catches in your gaze, the blue bold lettering that spells out his last name has your thighs pressing at the memory of your second date as it sits folded on top of his dresser.

The thought of how good he looked with it stretched across his broad shoulders, and the top two buttons undone, teasing the chest hair that your nails dragged through last night makes your skin warm. The praises he whispered in hot merlot against your lips, your neck, and between your legs is what gives you the confidence you need to slip it on instead.

The stairs creak under each step, but the popping grease of the bacon that fills his house with the smell of maple lets you go undetected. Familiar voices of who you’re learning are sportscasters, spill out from the small speaker on his phone that you know is propped up on the little plastic holder he always sets it on when he charges it. He mumbles something in response to the commentary under his breath, and you hear the beeping of the oven telling him it’s finished preheating.

Your cheeks hurt from how high they push up when you realize Steve’s making you breakfast.

A little shy from his affections already, your fingers wrap around the wood frame of the entryway with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. With his back to you, it gives you a perfect view of the way his white cotton undershirt stretches tight over his shoulder blades that move with every flick of his wrist, forearms flexing as he whisks whatever is in the bowl in front of him. Black sweats sit low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of his boxer briefs underneath, the font across the top of his waist band says Burberry, making your palms sweat. A personal favorite pair.

He turns his head to look at a replay of a game he missed in favor of spending time with you on his phone screen, still completely unaware of your presence. The new angle reveals the silver glasses he wore a few weeks ago in his office, dark chestnut and peppered hair sticking out wild at the ends, a mess you know was made by your hands.

“Seriously? Keep him on the bench.” He grumbles, shaking his head before bringing his attention back to the bowl.

You watch him for a few seconds longer, but his butt jiggling with the force of his whisking makes a giggle slip past your lips blowing your cover. He jumps at the noise no matter how sweet it is, meeting your eyes from over his shoulder. Steve gives you a smile that you’re learning is only reserved for you and sometimes Eddie, punching the air out of your lungs. Watching the way it only continues to grow across his stubble covered face makes your heart swell even more.

It’s only when his gaze finally lands on the only thing you’re wearing that the gold shimmering inside his eyes darken, a starless night lingering where the bottom hem of his jersey sits at the very tops of your thighs.

“Jesus honey, look at you.” The metal whisk hits the glass of the bowl with a loud clink as he turns around to really drink you in, “good morning to me.”

“I hope this is okay,” your voice comes out smaller than intended, suddenly self conscious you might have overstepped despite the way he watches you take your first steps into the kitchen like he wants to eat you alive.

“Okay?” His huffs out a breath like he’s wrecked, long fingers coming up to scratch at his jaw, “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to wear anything else in my house ever again.”

You giggle again, and you swear you hear him groan because of it.

“I think we might be able to arrange something, a deal, an agreement of some sort.” you smirk, tapping your nails along the smooth black marble of his kitchen island, giving your hips a little extra sway with your slow steps.

Both his palms curve around the counter behind him as he leans back, chest puffing while he licks his full pink lips. They pull up into a lopsided grin, a hungry gaze roaming freely as you come to a stop right in front of him. His confidence only falters a little when he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, but the gesture only makes your heart swell especially when the tops of his ears redden.

You lean against the island with a smile that tells him you’re up to no good. Heat from the oven and the man across from you warms your legs against the chill that bounces off all the glass and stone in his kitchen. Electricity sparks in the space between your bodies making the tips of your fingers and toes buzz, your pulse jumping when he reaches a big hand out for you.

“Just a little bit too far for me still baby,” He wiggles his fingers at you making you smile shyly before you slip your hand into his palm, your eyes glaze over watching it disappear in his grasp.

His gentle tug makes you squeal, hitting his chest with a soft thump, he grins down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Wrapping an arm around you to keep you from leaving, he lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb traces the length of your cheek bone, and he smells just his pillow. Your hands find themselves tangled into the cotton of his shirt, leaning deeper into his touch. It makes the playfulness that dances in the chestnut of his eyes turn soft with something lovesick.

“Good morning handsome,” you say in a content sigh, and the hand that's spread across your back starts to work a path up your spine pulling the fabric of his jersey with it.

“I could really get used to this you know,” He hums, dipping his head down so the tip of his nose runs up the length of yours, mint and coffee on his breath “waking up to you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when you feel the cool breeze hit where your underwear should be.

“Oh yeah? What about Bandit?” You tease leaning closer, letting your top lip catch his bottom one.

Steve snorts a little, reminded of his dog who he knows is soaking up the sun outside, and the palm on your back squeezes you even closer.

“Are you kidding me? We’re obsessed with you over here honey.” The whites of his teeth show a little before they nip at your pout. He takes advantage of the gasp he earns, closing the gap completely in the kind of kiss that doesn’t give you any time to catch your breath before he’s licking at your bottom lip.

Your fingers untangle themselves from his shirt, and find a new home to get lost in the locks at the nap of his neck. Tongues meet in the middle with eager enthusiasm, and your front teeth hit as you push up on your tippy toes on the search for more. A deep groan vibrates from his chest, and his palm starts working its way down the dip of your back. When he’s met with the bare swell of your ass as he reaches the bottom hem of his jersey, you feel him kick up in his sweatpants.

“Tough girl.” He says your nickname like he's scolding you, leaving open mouthed kisses up your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering with the kind of gravel in his voice that makes the inside of your thighs sticky. “We’re supposed to be eating breakfast.”

You hardly register him turning the oven off beside you.

“Who says -“ your sentence is cut off by a gasp when two thick fingers trace up your slick lips with ease, the pads of them pressing down on your bundle of nerves just long enough to make you whine with shaky knees.

“Who says what huh?” He whispers against the sensitive spot behind your ear, rubbing small circles on your clit with pointed pressure, obsessed with the way your jaw goes slack, and your eyebrows pinch together because of it.

“Who says we can’t do both?” You manage to get out with fluttering lashes, as he spreads you apart.

“You’re right, I don’t think breakfast is gonna be sweet enough for me.” He tuts, letting his middle finger push just a knuckle into your already greedy walls, and the soft moan that he gets from you has him leaking in his sweats. “You gonna help me with that, honey?”

Too lost in his teasing all you manage is a nod and a breathy ‘mmhmm’ looking up at him with big glassy eyes. He lets his lips ghost over yours, with a smirk tugging at the corners of them before spinning you around. Your palms land back on the cool marble of the kitchen island while both his hands wrap themselves firmly around the soft dough of your hips keeping his Jersey rucked up with them. He pulls your ass flush with his hips, letting you feel the hard length of him that begs to be released from the fleece confines of his pants against the ache in your core.

“This is what you wanted when you came down here lookin’ like this huh?” He asks with a low voice, hooking his thumbs under the bottom of his jersey. Lifting it higher up your back, he grinds against you while his eyes drink in all the soft dips of all your curves.

“Maybe,” you giggle a little breathy looking back over your shoulder at him with half lidded eyes.

His smile steals all the warm light from the room as he looks down at you with a cocked brow.

“I was trying to wait till after breakfast, which was hard waking up to you naked in my bed.” He can’t stop his heavy gaze from wandering to his last name covering the top of your back, unlocking something primal and possessive inside of him that he thought he’d lost forever. He wants you to leave it on, he’ll get it dry cleaned. “But honey, I can’t keep my hands off of you lookin’ like this.”

His palm feels heavy as it slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing at the fat with strong fingers spreading you apart a little before shoving his sweatpants half way down his hairy thighs. With hot cheeks, you flutter around nothing when the thickness of his cock springs free, standing at attention just for you. Somersaults in your stomach as you watch his tight grip pump himself a few times. Your hips wiggle in anticipation, whining when he teases more, gliding his tip through your slick, a small moan spilling from between your lips when he catches your clit.

“Always so needy for me,” he groans with a hint of disbelief, “fuck, what’d I do to deserve you?”

Steve doesn’t waste anymore time, slowly pushing in and the feeling of your walls wrapping around him while your body tries to accommodate the stretch has him chanting your name under his breath. Half way in, he regrips your hips a little rougher than before. His cock twitches watching your back bow, making his last name shine against the light while your nails scratch at the cool marble when he bottoms out.

Legs shaking, still sensitive from the night before, his hold on you tightens. You keen at the feeling of his thumbs rubbing small circles into your soft skin giving you time to adjust. It doesn’t take long for the initial sting subside, giving you the strength to rock your hips a little, a breathy sigh escaping you when it feels good.

“Yeah?” He hums, meeting your hips with his own hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

“Uh huh” You manage to utter as he pulls almost all the way out, a moan of his name long and drawn out bounces off the walls when he pushes back in letting you feel every inch.

“That’s my girl,” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes you want to turn around and see it.

Your eyes meet from over your shoulder again as he starts to roll his hips, finding the perfect pace. The sound of skin slapping fills the quiet space between moans every time your ass jiggles from the force of it. That strand falls messily over his forehead when he looks down at you, brows pinching together and jaw going slack like seeing your face only intensified everything he was feeling. He holds your stare, and the snap of his hips starts to get rougher. Burying himself deep focusing on that spot, the one he’s only ever been able to find.

“Oh, oh- Steve. Right there -shit - oh my god.” Your head falls between your shoulders, when he starts to barely pull out anymore. The tip of him making your eyelashes flutter as he reaches the spot that had you screaming his name last night, over and over again.

His eyes wander the expanse of your back, keeping his pace while his hands slowly start to slide up your sides, pushing his jersey with it. He wants to see more of you, but his hips stutter hearing the noises he’s getting out of you with his last name plastered across your hunched shoulders.

“You look so good - shiiit, like this baby. My name on your back, letting me bend you over in my kitchen while I cook you breakfast.” He babbles as your walls start to flutter, already dangerously close to falling over the ledge, your body threatening to take him with you. “Wanna do this all the time, please, let me do this all the time, honey.”

“Whatever, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m - oh fuck, I’m yours.” Your words break off in a moan when he starts to circle his hips at the same time you push yours back and he holds you there, repeating the motion.

“Yeah? You’re mine?” Steve grunts, cock twitching at the thought of filling you up, and for the first time in over a decade he feels the need to mark what’s his in the most primal way he knows. The thought of you round with his kid brings a new kind of intensity to the way he starts to fuck you, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Tell me again.”

“Mmmhmm, always yours.” You whine, feeling yourself reaching the edge. Steve leans forward, somehow going deeper. Long thick fingers find their way between your thighs, where the two of you connect and he starts rubbing messy circles on your clit, pushing you off the cliff.

You flutter and squeeze around him hard enough to almost push him out, but he continues rutting his hips fighting against it, white spots explode behind your lids, his name falling out of your mouth broken in a gasp and a shudder.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it.” He groans, watching the way your forehead hits the cold marble with another tremor that makes his cock twitch. “Gonna cum baby, let me cum inside, need it, please.”

He can make out the nod of your head, and with the little strength you have left, you push yourself further back encouraging him more. He knows you're on the pill, he’s seen you take it, but right now in the heat of it all, a small part of him hopes you missed a day. He blames the blue letters on his Jersey staring him right in the face, or the way you coat his cock with the remains of what he did to you every time you suck him right back in.

He pushes himself deep enough to make you fall forward a little, a low groan rumbling deep from his chest as he spills hot inside of you the rock of his hips slowing down as he falls apart. His forehead hits your back, with one last lazy thrust, and you can feel the heat of his breath as he pants to catch his breath. You wish the fabric of his jersey wasn’t so thick when he plants a kiss between your shoulder blades, before slowly pulling himself back up.

“Yeah, it’s official. This is absolutely the only thing you’re allowed to wear here.”

#my writing #all i really want is you #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader smut

[mixtape-racha]

looks like we made it | choi yeonjun

maybe being maid of honor at your best friend's wedding, opposite your college ex, had its perks after all... // minors dni, 18+

warnings: exes to lovers, best man!yeonjun x maid of honor!reader, built up tension // words: 3.84k

a/n: sorry in advance, but i took out the smut section because it didn't feel like it fit with the direction the fic took. but regardless, i hope you enjoy!

you giggled again as your best friend, eui, pulled you from the passenger side of her car - seemingly desperate to get you up to her apartment.

“eui, what’s going on? why are you in such a rush?” the smile of your face was etched permanently, like it always was when you were around eui. the two of you had been friends since you were merely five years old, and had remained inseparable ever since.

she didn’t respond though, her laughs growing as she covered your eyes once you were outside her front door. through all of your protests, she shushed you and carefully led you inside - based on the direction she steered you in, you had assumed into her living room.

she had been secretive and kind of strange all day, the conversation never flowing into why she so urgently needed to hang out with you at all. it was definitely suspicious, but with eui you could never expect what was coming. it could be the most mundane thing ever, for all you knew.

oh, but how wrong you were.

when she finally removed her palms from your eyes, you blinked as you adjusted to the light. looking around, there were loads of pink balloons and decorations. was she pregnant? no, no she would’ve told you sooner so that couldn’t be it.

“surprise!” she cried, holding up a cake with your name iced on the top. but… what else was etched in the pale pink icing?

will you be my maid of honor?

once the words had registered in your brain, you squealed, tears springing to your eyes. you pulled her into a massive hug, both bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement.

“of course i will! oh my god, eui, this is huge!”

the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon pampering yourselves over a bottle of red wine and face masks, with the twilight movies playing peacefully in the background. her fiance was away for the weekend, so you had all the time in the world to relax with your soul twin. really, you had both been dreaming of days like these since you were preteens hooked on the idea of marrying your celebrity crushes, and now here you were - merely months away from watching your closest friend in the world walk down the aisle.

you gossiped a little, getting tea about how eui’s own mother was arguing with her fiance’s mother about the theme of the wedding, and silly things like the color scheme and the cake. you had met soobin many times, and he was very open about how argumentative his mother could be. especially when it came to her children - she wanted nothing less than the best for them, no matter what it took. somehow, he didn’t share his mother’s need for the finest things, often opting to take the easy route instead. for “simplicity and comfort reigned over expensive and difficult”, he often said.

“you wouldn’t believe how he asked yeonjun to be his best man, though,” eui huffed with a roll of her eyes. “he literally asked him on speakerphone in the car. like… where is the spice? the flavor? the speciality?”

you laughed along, sharing her confusion, but one thing stuck out in the forefront of your mind. choi yeonjun. soobin’s best friend, and the bane of your existence.

you and yeonjun had dated throughout your sophomore and junior years in college, and everyone had thought you were soulmates - you were voted first to get married, first to start a family, most likely to grow old together by all of your friends.

but right at the beginning of senior year, something changed. he became more distant, more distracted. you barely saw each other, and when you did, all you would do is eat a burger or nap together. it was exhausting to feel like you weren’t enough anymore, and so you left. but what hurt the most is that he didn’t try to stop you from leaving, and he was in a new - very shown-off - relationship merely a month later.

sure, the two of you were civil now you had graduated and moved on with your lives, but that didn’t stop the little bitter feeling you got deep in your stomach every time you saw him. and now - god, you’d have to see each other so often. you’d have to share so many responsibilities and tasks. eui and soobin were lucky you loved them so much to be able to deal with it.

not long after eui had actually asked you to be such an integral part in her wedding party, yeonjun had reached out to you. he offered to take you out for lunch the following week so you could discuss your respective hen and stag parties - of course, that was his biggest concern right now. but respectfully, you agreed, and arranged to meet him at a diner on the outskirts of town the following thursday. you only had 5 months until the wedding, so it was better to start organizing these things as soon as possible.

by the time thursday finally rolled around, you had forgotten about your plans to meet with yeonjun until he texted you while you were 6 episodes deep into a pretty little liars marathon. stressed and half asleep, you rushed around to grab anything you needed and put on clothes - there was no way you were meeting him in pajama’s. 

he was waiting outside your apartment building, having kindly offered to drive you to the diner and back as your car was in the garage getting repairs. when you finally got outside, he was waiting leant against his car, scrolling through his phone. for a second you were transported back to college, seeing a younger yeonjun waiting to pick you up for a date. it felt strange, and you shrugged off the feeling as you approached him.

“hey, you.” you smiled, pulling his attention from his phone and alerting him of your presence. he smiled widely, holding his arms out for a brief hug, which for some unknown reason you accepted.

“hey, yourself. how’ve you been?” he asked as you pulled away and got into the car, the stress of adult life evident on both of your faces.

you made small talk during the drive to the diner, and it was surprisingly comfortable. you forgot how well you and yeonjun truly got along, whether as friends or as partners, and already you knew you were going to enjoy having him back in your life like this.

once in the diner, you both ordered milkshakes and a side of fries to share as you discussed your respective plans for the hen and stag parties, and what was off-limits for the others to do.

“honestly, just no strippers. i know its common sense, but its a respect thing. eui wouldn’t appreciate it, and honestly, i don’t think soobin would enjoy it anymore.” you giggled, watching as yeonjun intently took notes on what you were saying. he was almost as serious as you were, rocking up with ruled notepads and an abundance of different coloured pens.

“no, i agree. i think bin would be offended if i even tried it. i was thinking about taking some guys away on a camping trip for a weekend. bin’s turned into such an old man - i was thinking he’d enjoy just a few guys going fishing. what are you thinkin for the hen party?”

you smiled softly, appreciating how much effort he was willing to put in for his best friend.

“eui’s mentioned a few times wanting to do a spa getaway - so realistically, we could plan you guys going camping and us going to a spa resort for the same weekend. i was thinking maybe the weekend before the wedding if that works for your ideas?”

yeonjun hummed before replying. “i think that makes sense. if the wedding is a tuesday, we all leave on the friday and then come back on the sunday evening. then monday, i know soobin’s very traditional, so the bridal party and groomsmen for the ceremony can stay separately to prepare for tuesday.”

deep down, you were shocked at how seriously he was taking it, but hastily agreed.

you stayed a while longer, discussing various plans over your fries, and just generally catching up before he drove you home, pulling you into another hug to say goodbye for now. it was nice, you truly loved having him around. 

unfortunately, you didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks.

eui and soobin had invited you over for dinner, and you realized when you got out of your uber that yeonjun was there, too - you spotted his car outside and, regretfully, your stomach fluttered. it was just a casual dinner with some friends in their apartment, but suddenly you felt underdressed in your work shirt and jeans. god, did you even remember to put a bottle of body spray in your bag this morning? why was the thought of yeonjun’s presence making you so stressed?

with a sigh, you trudged into the building, catching the elevator up to the fifth floor. you could call apartment 505 your second home by now; spending all your free time there before eui had soobin move in, and still spending every friday night and occasionally a saturday morning there too. you were lucky that eui had found such an understanding fiance, one who adored you like you were his best friend from the start, and even going as far as to introduce you as his sister-in-law now.

knocking on the door, you heard a yell from inside before feet padded towards the door, and it swung open to reveal a pouty eui. she had her arms crossed over her chest, and from the living room you could hear insanely loud laughter from the two men inhabiting the room.

“what did they do now?” you teased, placing your bag and shoes down as she let you in.

“they keep cheating at uno!” she cried, genuine anguish in her voice. “they’re teaming up against me, (y/n)! its so unfair!”

“choi soobin!” you called out in feigned disgust as you entered the living room, very casually taking a seat next to yeonjun, who was sat on the opposite sofa to soobin - and now eui. “i can’t believe you’d betray your future wife like this! i might have to whisk her away if you carry on.”

yeonjun cackled next to you, and just as quickly as the feeling arose, your anxiety about seeing him disappeared.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ladies and gentleman, i give you– the bride and groom!”

as the first notes of unchained melody by the righteous brothers played through the speakers, a warm smile grew on your face. just being here to watch your best friend marry the love of her life was phenomenal.

you looked across the head table you were seated at, and caught eyes with yeonjun - was he already looking at you? you didn’t have time to process the thought before he smiled, eyes all crinkly and tear-filled, and raising his glass slightly in a toast to you both.

yeah. you’d done well. the wedding had run so smoothly, because no one could even consider acting up before you or yeonjun put a stop to it. you were just grateful you didn’t have to “accidentally” spill red wine on a guest who had shown up wearing white - your biggest worry averted, as everyone in invitation took the dress code very seriously.

over the past few months, yeonjun and yourself had grown extremely close again, and you couldn’t be happier. it felt nice, having him around. like a breath of fresh air that you hadn’t experienced since you graduated, and he truly brought out the best in you. all throughout the respective hen and stag weekends, you hadn’t stopped checking in with one another, to the point where one of your other friends took your phone, thinking you were drunk texting an ex.

you supposed that really, you were. it pained you to admit, but after spending so much time with yeonjun over the past few months, an itch had grown that you couldn’t quite scratch. you swore you’d tried everything - a trust vibrator, a dating app, even a blind date set up by eui - but nothing worked. it felt like every time he was around you, your soul yearned from yeonjun and your skin lit itself on fire.

you just had no idea that he was seated across the table from you, facing the exact same dilemma. he always thought he was over you - that you were both mature adults now, and you could be friends without your past affecting you. but even from that very first hug before you went to the diner together, you’d been playing on his mind like a looped track. you looked good - that much he could never deny. and sure, he would always hold you to a high standard because you were his first love, but this was deeper than that. no one else could even compare, not anymore. he wanted you so bad - not sure whether he just needed a fuck, or he truly missed you deep in his soul, but he wanted to find out.

as the evening progressed, you couldn’t help but let your mind and eyes wander to the man who seemed to be constantly on your mind. during wedding planning, you always seemed to be paired together - not that you minded - and that resulting in the pair of you hanging out regularly by yourselves. movie nights, games nights with eui and soobin, trips to the diner, even accompanying one another on their weekly food shop when you bumped into each other in the supermarket. no matter how hard you tried to fight it, the universe was pushing you together and you weren’t sure how much resolve you had left. the last thing you needed was the kiss him, just for him to reject you, and feel like that 21-year-old heartbroken college student all over again. well, that was until one of soobin and yeonjun’s old college friends asked you to dance, which you happily agreed to.

the second yeonjun looked up from his conversation with eui’s young sister and looked eyes on you dancing with serim, his blood felt like it was boiling. his friend was looking at you with literal hearts in his eyes, who did he think he was? you were yeonju– well, you weren’t yeonjun’s. but the point was why the fuck did serim think he could flirt so hard as he spun you around on the dancefloor? especially right in front of where yeonjun was sitting? had he not been obvious enough? he spoke about you all the time to his friends, they had to know his returning feelings for you by now.

you, on the other hand, were more than happy in your predicament of dancing with serim. when the boy approached you, you vividly remembered him from college. most of all, you remembered how kind he was to you, even after you and yeonjun had broken up. so when he so politely asked you to dance, how could you say no? you already thought serim was lovely, and there was no harm in dancing with a handsome man. worst case scenario, he was boring. best case scenario, it helped you get over your unreciprocated feelings for yeonjun. you danced with him for a while, chatting away the whole time, until you had to excuse yourself to give your heeled feet a break and get a drink.

once you reached the bar, massaging your aching calves, you smiled as you ordered your drink. a vodka cranberry - something you’d discovered during your freshers week of college, and swore by ever since. you reached into your clutch to get your bank card, but a hand reached out and swiped their card across the reader before you could.

“serim, i appreciate it, but–”

“its been half an hour an you’ve already forgotten what i look like?” your protests were cut off as you looked up and met eyes with a smiling yeonjun, which caused a grin to spread across your face.

“course not, jjunie. just thought you were a little caught up being the future husband of every child here.” you giggled, referencing the way all the young girls at the wedding had fallen from him and approached one at a time, shyly asking if he’d marry them.

yeonjun was amazing with kids, that much you knew, and it warmed your heart watching the way he interacted with them, and told them that they’d find their own prince charming one day, because uncle jjunie couldn’t marry them.

“good,” he grinned, pushing your drink towards you as it was served. “don’t want you abandoning me for serim, now, do i?”

you sighed at that, taking a sip of your drink as yeonjun looked at you confused. upon further prompting, you opened up and spoke to him about your short experience with the boy in question.

“i just… i don’t know, jjun. he asked me out. and like, yeah, he’s sweet and all, but i don’t want to feel like i’m leading him on, you know?”

yeonjun looked perplexed at your words, but stayed quiet. he knew you well enough to know you would have more to say, and you looked away as you continued. you didn’t know what, but something about his gaze felt a lot more intense now.

“i’m not looking for dating or a relationship. well, i mean– i guess i am, but only with someone specific. unless i get over them, its not fair to try and pursue things with anyone else.”

he stayed quiet, still, and you looked over to see him staring at you with something unrecognizable in his eyes. you wondered for a second if you’d said something to upset him - never wanting that to be the outcome of any of your interactions. maybe he was worried serim’s heart would be broken if you rejected his advances? yeonjun was always very protective of his friends, everyone who knew him could attest to that. but the way he was looking at you was like he was trying to read your every inner thought, so you couldn’t be sure.

“fuck it… (y/n) can i talk to you outside?”

you were a little surprised by the bluntness of his words, but silently agreed, following as he headed to the empty hallway outside the room of the hotel that the reception was being hosted in. the second you exited, the loudly blaring music turned to a soft thudding bass, and so for that alone you were thankful.

yeonjun paced quietly for a moment, while you leant against the wall, taking off your heels to give your aching feet a break. you wished you put a pair of flats in your purse-bag, standing barefoot in a hotel corridor felt wrong on so many levels.

“jjun, what’s wrong? you know you can tell me anything, right?” you said softly after a few minutes of silence, genuinely worried for the taller boy in front of you. your words shook him from his trance and he stopped his endless pacing, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

his head was swirling, and he felt like he was spinning out of control. what if you rejected him? worse, what if you called him disgusting, or got mad that your recent proximity made him think that you could try again? what if you told eui and soobin that he’d made you uncomfortable, and he lost them, too? he knew if was silly to worry the way he was, but you looked so perfect in your bridesmaid dress and he was riddled with feelings of inadequacy. maybe serim would be better for you after all. serim had never broken your heart. serim had never acted like you didn;t exist to protect his own heart. serim would never do that to you, not like he had.

but at the same time, he knew he wasn’t that person anymore. he knew he was good enough. he knew he could be anything and everything you asked for. he could picture you walking towards him in a wedding dress, and he wanted that. he wanted all of it with you, and it had taken him one too many years to realize it.

he sighed heavily, a sound that you hadn’t heard leave his lips in many years. your heart thudded in your chest, not knowing what to expect - but preparing yourself for the worst. not that you knew what the worst would be, but you had to prepare either way.

however, what you weren’t expecting was for yeonjun to bare his heart to you - eyes wide and shining as he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. your heart skipped a heat with his every word. you didn’t even respond until you were 100% sure he had finished what he needed to say.

“i just– i’m so, so head over heels for you. when soobin told me you were eui’s maid of honour, i was worried. not for seeing you, but i wasn’t sure you’d want to do this with me after i broke you heart. and i did. i know i did. i was stupid, and i let go the best thing that ever happened to me, and i’m so ashamed it took me this long for me to figure it out.

then i saw you dancing with serim, and it was like everything i’ve been trying to repress these past few months came bubbling back up to the surface. i never truly got over you, but i was always ready to cheer you on and support you with whatever and whoever made you happy - until it happened. the idea of serim being the one to treat you right, or dance with you at a wedding, or hold you hand and buy your drinks for you - it made me honestly feel sick.

you don’t have to accept this, i don’t want you to accept because you feel like you have to. i’ll support you on whatever path you take, but i couldn’t waste another second not telling you - especially when everyone here can see what a catch you are.”

you didn’t know what flipped harder - your stomach or your heart. he truly wanted you? it was like a curse and a miracle warped into one. a miracle, because you never would’ve thought the stress of hiding your feelings this past few months was affecting him too. a curse, because you knew you were falling in the deep end again. it was yeonjun. it would always be yeonjun, and you knew that even in the deepest parts of your soul.

through watery eyes and a skip in your chest, you smiled at him, using everything in you to stop the tears from falling.

“jjunie, i love you. i always have, and i always will.”

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @wccycc @cherriruto @skz-streamer @kyrkitten @cherriesbloss0m @xenkimmie @laffatae @milkyway-vxm @yxnjvnnie @suburbiataehyung @queen-klarissa @demetrisscarf

#mixtape-racha #mixtape-racha fic #txt fic #tomorrow x together fic #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun fic #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader smut #yeonjun x reader fic #choi yeojun fic #choi yeonjun smut #tomorrow x together smut

[jungle-angel]

Daddy's Little Helper (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Ever since opening your own store, Amy's been yours and Rhett's biggest helper

Rhett stood waiting on the sidewalk outside the little farm store he had opened up with you several years before, the porch freshly swept, the rocking chairs rocking a little in the chilly October air as he waited for the bus from Amy's school to pull next to the sidewalk and let her off.

Sure enough, the little yellow bus from the Amelia County Steiner School pulled up and opened its doors to let Amy off, the five year old jumping off the last step and into Rhett's arms, happy and excited to be spending the rest of the afternoon with him at the store.

"Mommy have the babies yet?" she chirped.

"Nope, not till December, Doodlebug," he told her, holding her hand as they walked up the wooden porch steps.

He opened the front door, the little bell above the threshold ringing as they walked in, enveloped by all the smells of fall.

"What'd ya'll do at school today, Doodlebug?" he asked, prepping her after school snack.

"We made soup and bread for lunch," Amy answered. "And then we got to go outside and play in the woods."

"You gonna carve pumpkins soon?"

"Yeah!"

Rhett couldn't help but smile at her little giggles. Hearing them always seemed to brighten his day, even if they were already brighter than the sun itself.

The two of them spent hours in the store, prepping all the baked goods for the weekend and setting up the shelves full of cloth, beeswax, dyed wool, little hand tools and kits to put small craft items together. Unfortunately, Rhett had to keep Amy from sticking her fingers into the melted chocolate that was meant for some of the homemade Halloween candy.

"Alright Doodlebug, last one then we've gotta go home," Rhett told her as he lifted her up off her feet.

Amy carefully placed the little wicker basket of yarn on the top shelf, carefully sliding it into its spot before Rhett set her down. Once the lights were shut off and the doors locked for the night, Rhett loaded Amy into the truck and headed for home.

No sooner had he pulled into the turn-around in the driveway and gotten Amy out of her carseat, than Diesel came charging right for her, his big mug stretched into his dopey dog grin that rottweilers were known for.

Rhett gave him as many scritches as he possibly could before he shooed them both into the house. Hannah came waddling in from the living room as soon as he had kicked off his shoes, her little self scooped right up off the floor before Rhett littered her cheeks with kisses.

"Where's Nana honey?" he asked.

"Nana's in the kitchen!!!" Cecelia answered loudly.

All Rhett had to do was follow the scent of dinner cooking in the crockpot, some sort of beef dish that had been soaked in herbs, spices and red wine before being stuck right on a bed of veggies. Cecelia was busy cutting up the green beans for the sides, but was still happy to have the rest of the family in for dinner.

"How goes Grumpy?" she asked.

"Better than ever Ma," he answered. "It's Friday night, we can all relax and not worry about having to do anything tomorrow."

"Yeah well, your father and I are gonna have to open the store tomorrow since you're taking Amy and Hannah to the pumpkin patch," she told him.

"How's (y/n)?" he asked.

"Tired," Cecelia answered. "She's upstairs resting but I think the boys have a case of restless leg syndrome."

Rhett laughed a little before heading up the stairs to your shared bedroom. You were sat upright in bed, trying to plan your new main lesson block for the next four weeks with your fifth graders and to get the two little boys in your belly to stop kicking for two minutes.

"Ya'll doin ok Darlin?" Rhett asked, scooting in next to you.

"Well," you half chuckled. "I had to run home earlier than normal for a new pair of pants but I think I'm doing ok."

Rhett kissed your cheek and you kissed him right back on the lips. "Amy was a big helper this afternoon."

You hummed happily, melting right into your husband the same way the cats always did. "Maybe we can have her help once I'm on bedrest," you half laughed.

"I'm sure she won't mind," Rhett told you.

The two of you stayed like that for as long as you could, until Royal and Cecelia both called everyone in for dinner. Rhett helped you down the stairs, but despite the trouble, you were both only too happy to be surrounded by your family, the very people who loved you both the most.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #amy abbott #royal abbott #cecelia abbott #royal x cecelia abbott #outer range

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi Terra Darling ❤️

Festive fic request with prompt number 6 "family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party" for Levihan

My headcanons for this prompt:

Hange or Hange's family invites Zeke to a dinner party & Levi is far from happy OR fed up by Levi being single for a long time, Kuchel invites Hange to a dinner party OR Levi or Hange or their family invites an old crush (Zeke/Erwin/Petra, pick one) & it turns out they both used to date him/her lol OR you come up with your own because it will be amazing whatever you decide!!

Happy holidays 🎄❄️

Now or Never (Part 2) Characters: Levi x Petra; Levi x Hange; Mike x Nanaba Word Count: 2188 words

The dining room lay almost bare. No photographs adorned the walls; their ornaments were still wrapped in paper, stored in boxes upstairs. Even the low, wooden dining table didn’t quite suit this new room.  As he sipped his wine Levi considered how it had once sat in Mike and Nanaba’s old flat, centrally occupying the square-shaped space. The table still proudly displayed the tiny tree which Hange had bought for the couple as a flat-warming present over a year ago. Of course, they had never planned to live there forever. This new dining room was longer and in want of furniture to fit it. Its walls were a pale, non offensive shade of magnolia - the exact choice of homeowners intending to cover over the marks - the mistakes - they had once made before moving on. Mike was pouring refills into their glasses. Levi placed a hand over his whilst, beside him, Petra quietly accepted.

“Come on…” Mike urged, “you’re getting the train back right?”

“I’ll take a tea instead.”

“We’ll put the kettle on after dinner.”

Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

“This it then?” Levi’s eyes shifted to the empty seat beside Mike. Of course, if they had been expecting more than two guests, then there would be a fifth floor cushion set out. Despite his uncertainty, Levi’s shoulders relaxed a little. He had experienced the same gnawing sensation when he and Petra had arrived at their house. Removing their shoes at the door, Levi had glanced down to see several discarded pairs beside theirs. He had assumed that someone had arrived before them, only to discover that they were the first.

“Yeah,” Mike replied, “Hange got caught up with an assignment as usual. Something about a deadline.” 

Levi exhaled through his nose. He doubted that very much.

His hand brushed Petra’s shoulder with renewed reassurance as Nanaba appeared in the doorway. The fragrant scent of spices seemed to waft after her.

“The rice will be done in five minutes,” she announced. “Hope you guys are hungry!” “Can’t wait,” Levi commented, “... and nice place you’ve got here. What’s it like living somewhere with two floors?”

“Ah you know, it’s better than being cooped up in the flat.” Nanaba shared a sentimental glance with Mike. “We’ll miss it… but this is better. Even if we’ve got some decorating to do!”

She smiled over at Petra, who was nodding along politely despite not having been part of this previous era… an era of small apartments, of Mike and Nanaba as university graduates… of Levi and… Hange.

“So, how was your holiday? Where did you say you-” Nanaba frowned, reaching over to grab her phone from the side table. “Sorry - hold that thought. Hello?” 

“It was so beautiful…. and just nice to spend time with family you know?” Petra continued to address Mike in Nanaba’s absence. “I’m sorry that I missed out on your New Year’s party though! I heard it was a fun night…”

Levi took a long sip of his wine.

“I don’t know if you’d call it much of a party,” Mike chuckled, “Nana and I were asleep just after midnight so we missed the excitement… guess you’ll have to ask Levi.”

“Hange’s outside!” Nanaba reappeared just as Levi knocked his glass sharply against the table. “Apparently they made their deadline after all.”

There came the sound of a door closing, followed by footsteps in the hall. Petra gave Levi’s arm a little squeeze. He smiled at her in response, though with a warmth which did not quite reach his eyes.

Voices echoed outside; Hange fawning over the staircase and laughing with Nanaba about the previous owner’s choice of carpet. Levi’s jaw set. Then, both of them emerged in the doorway.

“Evening!” Hange beamed around at them. Briefly, their eyes met Levi’s before they glanced away. “Sorry for almost flaking!”

“Why quit the habit of a lifetime?” Mike teased. Levi reached for his wine again. His mouth felt parched; his tongue lay heavy and useless. He craved water - something hydrating - rather than more alcohol.

“Nice to see you again Petra.” Hange gave a little bow of their head as Nanaba dragged another floor seat over to the table. “Heard you’ve just come back from your travels! Was it a good trip?”

“Oh yes, it was so beautiful and relaxing. The new year is the best time to go…”

Levi listened intently to Petra’s story for a second time, refusing to allow his eyes to stray from her face. 

“...but it’s a shame I couldn’t spend New Year’s with you guys.”

Casually, Hange picked up the glass of wine which Mike had just poured. 

“Oh you know, it was a quiet one in the end. Nothing much happened.”

Levi stared at them, utterly astounded by their nonchalance on the subject. 

“Mike said you were all asleep just after midnight!”

“Well, Levi and Hange were up, weren’t you? Mike said he heard you both-” Nanaba walked in with a pot of steaming rice, just as Levi’s floor seat lurched out.

“Whoa!” Petra turned to her left. “Levi, what’s the hurry?”

“Seat got caught on the rug,” he lied. His eyes flew to Hange’s face who appeared quite composed by comparison. They blew out a little sigh as they lifted their glass again.

Nanaba set down the pot of rice. “No jogging the table. I’ve slaved away at this!”

Mike raised his eyebrows as Nanaba began serving heaped spoons onto plates. Petra received hers gratefully. Levi was just thankful to have something to occupy his hands.

“This smells amazing…” Hange praised her. “I love curry rice!”

“So… you had a late night, huh Levi?” Not to be deterred, Petra had rerouted from Hange’s interjection to their earlier conversation. She grinned at Levi expectantly over her plate of food. As he opened his mouth to explain, Mike cut in with a rumble of low laughter.

“Oh yeah… took him years but he finally got Hange where he’d always wanted them.”

Levi dropped his plate on the table, spilling rice onto its wooden surface

“Yeah…” Mike continued as Petra’s head whipped round, “...never thought we’d see the day, but there the two of them were, getting busy-”

Horrified, Levi willed Petra to look away from him as he frantically tried to scrape up rice grains from the wooden tabletop. He could feel her eyes on him; the more she stared, the more the tips of his ears burned. 

“- at the sink.” Mike took a large spoonful of rice and curry, savouring its flavour alongside his own unendurable comedy. “Who would have thought you’d finally get Hange to wash a plate?”

Hange’s forced laugh was lost in the more genuine giggles from Nanaba and Petra. Although the threat which had been silently hanging over Levi had not fallen yet, he could still feel it swaying over his head. He set his spoon down on the side of his plate and let his trembling hand fall into his lap. 

“...yeah, I heard you doing the dishes,” Mike explained as the laughter around the table died away, “...at like, four in the morning.”

“Well, a little cleaning up is the least you guys could do, seeing as you all insisted on staying at my place,” Levi muttered bitterly.

“You know we appreciated you sharing your floor with us!” Nanaba sighed, widening her eyes.

“...and some of us even got to share your bed,” Mike teased Levi again with a hearty wink.

“Gunther,” Levi told Petra automatically.  He reached for his wine again. By this point, he was going to need several refills to endure the rest of the evening.

“...I’m guessing he wasn’t who you really wanted sleeping next to you that night… huh, Levi?” Nanaba joined in, much to Petra’s delighted ‘shh-ing!’

Levi waved away their jokes again, his mouth twisted as though he was being forced to chew on tiny white grubs rather than rice. As he lifted his head he caught Hange’s eye again… and held their look. 

This was dangerous. 

That same rising dread intensified; remained suspended over Levi as he continued doggedly through one of the most excruciating dinners of his life. And yet, there was something which threatened to consume him whole; a feeling caught halfway between fear and fascination. Like oil and water, his conflicted emotions lay beside one another; equal parts danger and desire. They could never be reconciled, but only hold firmer in the presence of one another. Ever since New Year’s, something had started to take form… something that any and all other distractions hadn’t managed to douse…

Levi felt the brush of gentle fingers on his wrist. Petra was smiling at him. He closed his hand over hers, watching as their fingers lay entwined upon his knee. He couldn’t look at Hange again.

“What was it you said that night, Levi?” Nanaba continued, “just this once, then then never again?”

Levi’s thumb stroked over Petra’s knuckles as his mind drifted back to that night. He didn’t want to remember the warmth of the blanket enclosed around his body and Hange’s. He didn’t want to breathe in their scent; to feel the heat lifting from their cheeks; to have his throat run dry as they drew towards him…

“Levi, we can sleep here and never talk about this again. Or…”

Back in the present, Levi squeezed Petra’s hand.

“And I meant it…” he managed huskily, “...you guys can stay at a hotel next time.”

In part it was due to his own habit, but also out of a desire to extract himself from the table, as Levi took up their empty plates. He carried the dishes out to the kitchen and set them beside the sink. For a moment he gazed through their kitchen window at the view of Mike and Nanaba’s new neighbourhood. Rows of detached, two-storey houses stood adorned with gleaming windows and wooden balconies. The pair of them had taken the next step of their journey… their wedding was to follow in a few months…

Behind him there came the tinkling of glass and the sound of a door closing. Levi glanced over his shoulder.

“Um… just getting more wine.” Hange lifted the bottle they had taken from the fridge. Levi uttered a throaty sound halfway between a cough and a derisive snort.

“Sure as fuck you weren’t coming to wash these up…” Levi glowered at them until Hange took a step closer. They set their glass down beside Levi’s stack of plates. Through the open door and across the hall they could both hear the chatter of the other guests.

Levi turned away and began to run the water. Behind, Hange poured a little more wine into their glass. He couldn’t help but turn his head again. Hange was checking the label as they set the bottle down. With a sigh Levi lifted a plate and sank it into the dishwater, missing Hange’s eyes as they moved over him.

“Levi… do you want…”

He shifted around again to look at them. His mouth dried up before he could speak. He took in Hange’s broad shoulders beneath their white shirt; the deep, rich brown of their imploring eyes… There was always something so earnest, so fearless in their expression.

Levi’s eyes remained upon their face.

“...I’ll leave the bottle here.” They turned to leave the room, but stopped after taking a step. When they spoke again, their tone was low, conspiratorial.

“You know I won’t say anything, right…?” 

Levi felt a ripple of tension travel down his arms. His hand seized up; the brush he was holding clattered onto the kitchen floor.

“Anyway, nothing happened that night…” Hange gave a little laugh without a trace of humour in it, “...after all, you made it pretty clear what you wanted.”

Slowly, they began to approach him.

“Just like I have to… right now.” Hange was smiling at him, a gentle blush dusting their cheeks. “You know when it’s your shot right? Now or never…”

The air itself lay thick and heavy. Levi was rooted to the spot, his mind clouded with them as they took another step. Oil and water. They couldn’t-  Petra was seated in the next room, laughing with their friends.

Again, he remembered the blanket that had embraced them as they lay together on his couch. Levi could feel their warm breath on his mouth. It was just the two of them under night’s black canopy, threaded with the lights of a million stars. Whilst the rest of the world had slept, they had lain so closely together… they had almost…

“So Levi…” 

Hange’s lip trembled before their jaw set. Behind their glasses, their eyes were glazed with a love so profound that it took Levi’s breath away. 

“If I told you now that… despite it all… bad timing, lack of communication, people and work and life getting in the way… despite my initial hypothesis and all the test runs in my head… my findings are still the same.”

Hange took a shuddering breath.

“You are all I ever wanted. That’s… what I’ve decided.”

He felt their fingers trace his shirt sleeve.

“...what about you, Levi?”

Part 1: Now or Never (NSFW)

#sorry I kind of ran with my own thing! #hope you like it Val <3 #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levihan #levi x hange #petra ral #rivetra #levi x petra #mike zacharias #aot nanaba #mikenana #mike x nanaba #aot vets #tw cheating #attack on titan #snk #my writing

[mangoshorthand]

Before A Fall [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch 1 (Hard Feelings Part 2)

SUMMARY: As your life begins to grow around Five's, his attitude becomes a little sinister. When does protection become suffocation and when does taking matters into your own hands become betrayal? (weekly updates) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this first chapter of Part 2...it's pretty much just sex and scene setting. Spanking and daddies and edging, oh my!

(Lots of) smut below: proceed at your own risk

Chapter One: The Alarm Clock

You've settled into Academy domesticity well. It was strange to go from living alone in a tiny apartment to a huge, four storey family compound, yet you find yourself at home. Sure, it can be a little crazy living with four to eight other people at any given time, (including a capricious seven-year-old), but it’s more than worth it.

Yourself, Five and Diego’s little family are the only permanent residents, with the others coming and going on a more ad-hoc basis. Viktor, an incredibly talented violinist, mainly sleeps in his apartment near the concert hall, while Luther and Sloane have a base in the city. Klaus, much to Five’s annoyance, has taken over the largest training room as his studio. He produces strange, avant-garde pieces at irregular intervals and often leaves brightly coloured footprints in the courtyard. None of you are entirely sure where he’s sleeping.

Throwing some peppercorns into the dry pan toasting the rest of your whole spices, you rotate your hips to Tina Turner’s Private Dancer, playing over the sound system. Raising the wooden spoon to use as an imaginary microphone, you lip sync the chorus, emoting dramatically. As Tina builds towards the key-change, you can’t even let out your strangled yell as your neck is jerked abruptly backwards; the sound only coming when you’re pinned to an attacker behind you. His forearm flexes, applying pressure to your throat.  

“And with that, you’re dead.”

He releases you.

“Fuck you, Five!” You raise a hand to your throat, massaging away the little lingering pain.

“If you’re going to be attacked, it will be when you least expect it- when you’re most relaxed. Whoever tries to hurt you isn’t going to give you the courtesy of fighting fair.”

“Shithead.” You shake the spice-pan a little too violently, the spices giving off their aroma as they toast. Still behind you, Five kisses your neck and puts his hands on the swell of your hips.

“I’m sorry dear one,” he rubs you a little, easing your tension with practiced hands. “you’ve been doing well sparring but your reflexes are still sup-par.”

“But I’m cooking.”

“Well we’ll have to hope someone who wants you dead will give you a second to turn the burner off and square up.” You breathe out hard through your nose.

“So I’m supposed to spend my entire life on a hair-trigger, just waiting to be murdered?”

“If you want to stay safe, yeah.”

“That’s no way to live.”

“You get used it.” he mumbles, laying his chin on your shoulder, “Smells good.”

“Hm.” You break away from him, removing the pan from the heat and readying the spice grinder. You’re unable to shake annoyance.

Hands back in his jacket pockets, Five crosses the kitchen to his newly-installed wine fridge. The one with temperature-controlled zones that you’d teased him about so mercilessly. Bending from the waist, he runs his eyes over the white wines he has lined up. He’s less experienced with white than red wines, (the former having not fared as well in long-storage during the apocalypse), but now he’s happily making up for lost time.

He straightens up with a Chenin Blanc and pours you both a generous glass.

“Salud”, he says, handing you your glass and holding up his own. You clink with good grace but don’t verbally return his good wishes, “want me to chop those onions?”

Though still not completely happy with Five, you begin to relax again after half a glass of wine and some more music. The meal starts to come together, perhaps slightly more slowly than if you were alone. Five’s particularly pedantic about measurements, so you find yourself waiting by the pot as he makes sure he has precisely the right amount of tomato. When the sauce starts to simmer, you’re able to focus on finishing your wine. It's another excellent pick by Five, you have to admit.

Standing at the sound system, he changes the song. The sultry tones of I Can’t Stop Loving You fade into being; Ray Charles is his usual, bluesy-voiced self. You feel a smile form in spite of yourself. You know what he’s doing, so you don’t give him the satisfaction of turning round.

Clearly deciding that he needs to escalate his attack, Five approaches. Again, he presses his chest against your back and glides his long fingers around your hips, coming to rest on your stomach. He sways to the music, bringing your body in time with his. To show him that he’s not getting around you this easily, you ignore him and give the sauce a stir. This causes him to pull out his trump card; still swaying, his mouth against your ear, he pours his honey-baritone into your ear.

“Though long ago, they still make me blue…”

“That’s not fair”, you say, finally. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice as he replies.

“You know I fight dirty.”

He continues to sway your body with his, lightly kissing your ear and neck during the instrumentations and singing to you quietly. You had never considered yourself the sentimental sort before meeting him, but his old-fashioned sense of romance was simply irresistible. You close your eyes and lay your head back onto his chest

After a pleasant meal together, the dishes all done, you head to bed. On the way up to the entrance hall, Five stops to kiss you on the basement stairs, leaning you up against the wall. You deepen the kiss, running your hands beneath his jacket and around his waistcoated body. When you feel him start to respond, you rapidly jerk your knee upwards and into his crotch. It’s not a hard blow; had it not taken him by surprise, he would have been able to parry or ignore it but, as it is, he doubles over, letting out a little ‘ah!’ of pain.

“I’m sorry Five,” you say, “but if someone’s going to knee you in the balls then it’ll be when you least expect it, when you’re most relaxed.”

“You-”

But you run away from him laughing. He pursues you almost immediately, training and fortitude overcoming pain. You outpace him, barely, but then he blinks directly in front of you as you turn into the entrance hall. Still laughing madly, you dodge him effectively as he makes to grab you.

“Nicely done!” he remarks, starting to laugh too as he tears after you again, “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill you.”

“Whatever!” you shout as you make for the stairwell, leaping steps three at a time. Before you reach the second floor, you hear him blink again but he doesn’t seem to reappear. You slow your steps, needing to be both alert and quiet, (the latter because of the sleeping child on the second floor). You make your way stealthily up the rest of the stairs towards the attic, ready for him to ambush you again.

He does so just as you’re about to place your hand on the bedroom door. Grabbing you again from behind. He blinks you both into the bedroom.

“Got you.”

Dragging you roughly towards the bed, he shoves you onto it, his eyes dark with sadistic mischief. You intend to spring up, but before you can he pins your arms above your head with one hand and weighs your torso down with his upper body.

“You’re gonna get it now,” he smiles threateningly, but you just give him a sassy look. Clearly not getting the contrition he’d hoped for, he uses his free hand to unbutton your jeans. Then, in one movement, he uses the waistband to pull you over onto your side, your arms twisting above your head. He pulls your jeans and panties down in one.

Without giving you a chance to prepare for what’s coming, he slaps your left asscheek hard, making you squeal in pain. He doesn’t wait for the pain to bloom outwards before bringing his hand down again, right in the same spot with the same intensity. As you let out another yelp of pain, he rapidly removes his tie and secures your arms, wrists down, to the bedframe, trying the knots tight.

He stands up, the imprint of his erection clear against his trousers. For a moment, his burning eyes catch yours. It’s a moment of confirmation. Sure, you can stop this at any time, but until then he’s going to really make you pay. He crosses to the wardrobe and extracts one of your scarves. This, he uses to gag you. Like his tie, he knots it tight. The material bites hard into your mouth, effectively stopping any sound escaping. Now he can really let loose. You feel your pussy get wet with anticipation and the heat radiating outwards from his last blows.

Roughly, he puts the small bedside alarm clock into your hand.

“Throw or drop this when you need to bitch out on me.”

You nod, letting him know you understand. The use of the word ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ is as arousing as it is unsettling.

He walks down to the foot of the bed and pulls your jeans and panties down to your ankles before flipping you over onto your front. At least your arms are less twisted now. You grip the alarm clock in your left hand, its corners digging into your palm.

“I want you face down, ass up,” you shuffle into position, letting your asscheeks spread wide and your face press into the pillow. You can hear the floorboards creek as he walks around the bed. You’re unable to see him but it’s hard to not imagine him, arms folded and thick brows raised as he inspects the sight in front of him.

“It’s going to hurt for you to sit down tomorrow,” he sounds almost regretful, as if he’s already administered the full punishment, “a shame.”

Waiting is the worst part. It feels like every hair stands erect. Your heart flutters. Suddenly, the usually cosy attic room feels drafty, a cold breeze tingling your skin. You feel him move as if to strike… but he stills his hand before it makes contact. He chuckles at your instinctive flinch and then very gently runs his finger along the line where your labia meet. You shudder, but before you can register the tingle of pleasure, he slaps your ass with a whip-like crack and an answering sting.

He focuses all his efforts on your left ass cheek, switching between front and back handed slaps, putting no small part of his considerable strength into every blow.

“You. Bad. Little. Fucking. Bitch”

You scream into your gag, tears of pain coming into your eyes. He doesn’t let up, sometimes making little grunts of effort as he spanks you. The smack upon smack is almost unbearable even as your pussy becomes unbearably wet and the intensity of your arousal becomes itself a little painful. He stops hitting you. When he leans down to look you straight in the eye, his hands are back in his jacket pockets.

“Have I made my point yet?”

You grip the alarm clock even tighter, white hot pain blooming through your ass. You like the idea that you’re giving him more trouble than he anticipated. Something about hearing him grunt as he whales on you is hot in its own right. He eyes the alarm clock.

With a rueful sigh, he returns to your ass, this time painting your right cheek red. He brings his palm down so hard that your body lurches from side to side. He’s starting to breathe hard now with the effort. Even as tears roll down your face, you concentrate all your effort on not giving in. One thing combat training with Five had taught you was endurance.

When he seems to feel satisfied with the color, he rubs a hand on each cheek, none too gently. He pulls them as wide apart as they will go before crushing them harshly together. You cry out a little as the already flayed flesh aches.

He reappears beside you, jacket off and fingers steepled together in front of his chest.

“You had enough?”

You look back insolently, shaking your hands within your bonds to show the still-gripped clock. He laughs.

“Wow. I got a feeling you might regret saying that.”

He unties your hands from the bed and flips you onto your back again. Your ass throbs as it makes contact with the mattress. After tying your hands securely above your head again, he reaches into the beside cabinet and grabs a more recent addition to his small collection of sex toys; it’s a little G-spot vibrator he bought with you in mind. He sits between your legs, forcing them wide with one hand and the weight of his body.

He turns it on and applies it to your clit. Already aroused, the sudden vibration sends electricity down all your limbs. He lets the vibe do most of the work, sometimes swirling it delicately, like he’s adding fine detail to an oil painting. He watches you moan against your gag, his face taking on that scholarly air that sometimes comes upon him while he pleasures you. Like you’re a tricky equation that needs to be squared.

You twist a little, the direct contact slightly too intense. He pushes down on you harder, pinning you to the bed. Your legs are fully spread for him; and you’re unable to do damn thing about it. As your orgasm builds slightly painfully, you feel your pussy throb and wetness pool as you get nearer and nearer to the crisis. You feel your thighs tremble beneath him and you call out just as you reach the precipice…

And then he removes the vibrator.

“Oh, did you want to come?”

He turns the vibe down to its lowest setting and reapplies it to your clit. You sob slightly at the not-enough pleasure of it. You try your best to wriggle down onto it, to press it more firmly into you, but he has you held fast. You can feel your juices dripping down on to the bed, your whole pussy aflame with denied release.

He wiggles the vibe, causing you to feel a tiny, too small spasm. He laughs at the desperation in your eyes and the pained ‘Mm-m’ that forces its way through your gag.

“So we’re already struggling, huh?”

He turns up the power a tiny amount. It’s enough to pull an intense, wavering whine from you, but not to get you there. You tense up, the base of your spine lifting from the bed. Sensing your discomfort rising, he wiggles the toy. You feel as if you’re about to explode, cry or both. You try to move again, wailing with frustrated arousal. You want to press yourself harder onto the vibrator or else relieve your thrumming clit by getting away, but he doesn’t let you. You sob shakily and throw the alarm clock onto the floor.

“There we go.”

He turns the vibrator up, it’s agonising pleasure. Your overstimulated clit burns as you scream and cry through your orgasm. He lets up on your body slightly, allowing you some room to thrash against your bonds. After the final surges subside, he removes the vibe and leaves you to tremble and pant on the bed.

He removes the scarf from your mouth.

“All ok?”

In response to your weak confirmation, he kisses you briefly and then stands, undressing himself as he looks down at you.

“I'd say you look suitably sorry.”

You neither confirm nor deny, looking up at him as he strips off his last clothing and finally strokes himself a little. He looks achingly hard. Again, he unties you from the bedframe, leaving your hands still tied behind you. He takes a second to cup and stroke each breast, running the tip of each finger over your nipples before instructing you to retake your head down, ass up position. Once you’re there, he kneels between your legs and rubs himself between your folds, breath hitching a little as he enjoys the warm wetness on the head of his dick.

He doesn’t waste time, pushing himself into you and filling you pleasantly. You breathe out shakily. There’s something about being on his dick that makes you feel like it’s where you were born to be. After giving you a second to adjust to the fullness, he begins to fuck you like this, snapping his pelvis rhythmically towards his hands clasped around your hips. Your sore ass protests a little at the repeated pressure.

As he speeds up, he grabs the loose end of his tie and pulls your hands up and backwards. Your head lifts off the pillow, your arms stretching behind you. The slight discomfort is even more of a turn on, and this new position clearly does something for him too. He groans and speeds his thrusts, becoming more erratic the longer he goes.

“Oh fuck,” you drawl. His dick rubs your g-spot rhythmically, making up for the ache in your asscheeks as his body slams into them.

After he comes and his deep-throated grunts subside, he circles his hips slightly, deep inside you, making the most of his receding pleasure. After pulling out of you, he bends to kiss each of your asscheeks and unties you. You relax your stiff body, laying face down on the bed.

“Ok?”

“Yeah,” you pant, “It’s sore.”

Blinking to and from the medical room in his bathrobe, he returns with a large ice pack: one of the many supplies kept to patch up the members of Reginald’s child militia. What would he think if he knew the use to which Number Five was putting it now?

He lies beside you and holds the cold pad to your buttocks. 

"Does that feel better?"

You nod.

"My beautiful girl." he whispers, his voice soft. He kisses just above your lip, "I love you, my angel. Anything you need, just tell me."

He soothes you with more endearments, kisses and embraces, his arms warm and his voice low. He's loving, attentive and tireless in this. When the swelling has subsided, you slip between the bedsheets together. Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh,@nevbrooke-555

Masterpost Alternatively, join me on AO3.  Here is a link to the whole series

#the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy #umbrella academy smut #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x you #umbrella academy five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five imagine #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves imagine #number five smut #number 5 imagine #number 5 #fanfic #ao3 writer #read on ao3 #tua fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number 5 x reader #number 5 x you #Hard feelings #Before a fall

[footballffbarbiex]

player: Mats Hummels words: 761 request: Mats Hummels - she / her - 500 - 900 - Him taking her to her first Christmas market and staying there until dark to watch all the Christmas lights while drinking hot chocolate/mulled wine

Mats, despite all actions contradicting this, liked tradition and December brought on a lot of them for him. He enjoyed his countdown to the big day. He enjoyed buying his food and drinks so that he can enjoy his evenings. He enjoyed celebrating with his family and friends. He enjoyed Christmas markets. He enjoyed putting up a small tree, some light decoration but it was his. And even though he was single previously, it made him feel good to celebrate in some way. This year however, she’d strolled into his life and made him want to make new traditions while also sharing his own and that included tonight. 

He’d taken her around the market, encouraged her to have a light lunch and nothing too heavy because she’d have more than enough to sample whilst there to give her a full course meal and he wasn’t wrong. She’d tasted some of the most amazing dishes that she may not have considered previously, one of them she chose as the main meal to eat and she’s already loaded it up on her phone with the intention of trying to imitate it at home. 

She hums as she sips on the mulled wine that’s cupped between her hands and Mats, unable to stop himself, adjusts her beanie hat so that she can see a little better. It’s been bugging him for the past five minutes and the urge finally got the better of him. She keeps giving small blows over the surface to cool it down before taking another sip. 

A lot of the crowd has begun to file out, armed with bags of gifts, holiday trinkets and perfectly wrapped handmade foodie goodies. She knows the lure of the stalls, she’s got a few small bags beside her containing spiced biscuits, various spreads - both sweet and savoury - for them and those they know, something yummy for Christmas Eve and some items for decoration as well as a few gifts that she knew would be perfect for the ones in mind. Mats had bought a few things too, including some sweet treats but he’s already gobbled up one of the bag contents.

Though lights had been strung up and the market area itself is incredibly well lit, the large Christmas tree which took pride of place in the centre with all the stalls circulating it. It’s impressive, a tree right off the set of a certain Wizarding franchise. While all the other lights are strung up leading to the main event, everyone who remains now waits for this to be switched on. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says quietly, leaning her head against his shoulder, and as a result, taking him out of her line of vision as she watches those who are the event organisers getting ready. Which is a shame because if she could see him, she’d see the way he was struggling to keep the smile from spreading. To stop him from slipping up and looking like the love struck puppy, Mats takes a drink of hot cocoa. 

“That’s ok. You said you wanted something that wasn’t from the everyday stores and I knew that you’d love it here.”

“It’s a coffee lovers dream. No wonder you come back every year.”

“I’ve never touched a caffeinated drink in my life.” He jokes and she chuckles. 

Before she’s able to say anything, the projector screen that had been inactive throughout the open market is now alive with a 10 minute countdown and excitement begins to move throughout the waiting crowd. 

“Do you always hang around for this bit? Or are you already trying to drive home and hope you’re not stuck in the traffic?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever stayed for the lights being switched on.” He answers as he considers it. “No. No, I don’t think I have. So this is new for me.”

“I know it’s not much.” She says, wondering where to go with the thought. 

“It is, it’s something new with something I’ve always done.”

“It’s almost like wedding days. This is something new, but is coming here something old - as in your traditions,” she clarifies, “or something borrowed, as in, "I haven't had this experience before but you have and I love that you’ve chosen me to do this with.”

This time, Mats can’t help but give his happy smile at her, his eyes lighting up hearing the praise and gratitude falling from her lips so easily, it made him want to kiss her right here and now. “We’ll definitely make new traditions together. I promise.”

#football imagine #football one shot #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #football blurb #football fanfiction #football fanfic #footballer fanfiction #mats hummels one shot #mats hummels imagine #mats hummels blurb #mats hummels drabble #mats hummels fanfic #mats hummels fanfiction

[thenightling]

How to ward your home against evil

How to ward a home against Evil: Protection wards are pretty easy.

One of the oldest protection wards is hanging a pentacle (Pentagram) over your door. In medieval Germany up into the nineteenth century it was believed the pentacle over your door could ward out evil, including demons. It also protects against werewolves and vampires (which are warded off by symbols of faith).

If you're not comfortable with a star within a circle over your door because you have neighbors who think it's Satanic, a free-floating pentacle (a five pointed star on its own) may work.

Salt sprinkled across the threshold will also keep out unwanted spirits and demons. I sometimes add a little garlic powder to give it an extra oomph. I sprinkle it across the threefold and window frames while repeating "Let none with ill-intent pass this way. So mote it be." I do this at night and while the moon is waxing. It's always worked well for me.

But be warned, if you invite an entity in, this will break the ward and you will have to do it all over again so be careful of who or what you invite in after you do the salt warding.

Sprinkle blessed water over the threshold too. If you don't know how to make blessed water there are plenty of easy instructions out there. It's not hard. And there are many kinds of blessed water as well.

Iron horseshoe hung over the door will protect against malicious Earth bound nature spirits. i.e. dark fae / sidhe, goblins, imps, etc. Anything iron works really but iron horse shoes are considered especially lucky.

A Jack-o-lantern (even an artificial one, or a Jack-o-lantern shaped nightlight) also helps. This one might sound silly but Jack-o-lanterns were originally protection wards against uninvited, malevolent, wandering spirits. They were not just Halloween decorations.

Supernatural entities tend to respect old beliefs and understand a dis-invitation when they see one. The earliest Jack-o-lanterns were carved out of turnips but Irish immigrants to America found that pumpkins worked just as well (if not better). I used to keep a large wooden Jack-o-lantern on my doorstep all year long for protection and luck. It made for a wonderful conversation piece when someone came over in late March and saw it. "Is that... a Jack-o-lantern?" "Why, yes. Yes, it is."

Wild roses will also ward against vampires. Sprinkled poppy seeds and a rope with many knots in it also works for this purpose. Roses also work against demons.

A five pointed star made of rowan twigs and bound together with red ribbon is supposed to protect against black magick.

A charm of any kind with a glass blue eye is supposed to protect against the Evil Eye and can be hung anywhere or even worn.

Lamb's blood (myoglobin from a package of lambchops will work) or sacramental wine smeared on the front door and splashed on the thresholds and windowsill are supposed to keep out demons.

I recommend using the wine instead. Easy cheat: Welch's Sparkling red grape juice was an attempt to make a non-alcoholic wine for ceremonial purposes. It's safe, clean, and you don't have to explain yourself to a rabbi or priest. An iron bell (preferably three) will ward off some spirits.

Vervain / Verbena (Flower or things scented to be like verbena) are supposed to protect against mind manipulation.

Cinnamon sticks or anything cinnamon scented (Cinnamon brooms) for luck.

Anything made of silver and iron mostly for protection, but especially if it is a symbol of faith.

Something small and gold like golden pin will ward off entities like the Dullahan (headless horsemen). For something more discrete: Anything "pumpkin spice" may ward off evil in general as most of the ingredients in pumpkin spice mixtures are seasonings once used in protection spells against malicious entities. Every autumn lots of people are drinking spice mixtures that double as seasonal protection wards, and don't even know it. (Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, pumpkin, and ginger are all used in protection magick.)

#Protection wards #Wicca #Wiccan #Pagan #Magick #Occult

[liulans]

Teeny tiny Wangxian AU drabble for Wei Wuxian's birthday 🎂 🥳 🥰

rating: G / w/c: 1724 / lots of fluff 🤍

————

Lan Wangji has been told that he isn't particularly friendly, by several people, in fact. That is fine — he's incredibly picky with who he spends his time with; where he expends his social energy. He's not particularly interested in gaining new friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, kept firmly at arm's length.

But if he is not friendly, somebody should probably explain what he has done so right to wind up with, single-handedly, the greatest best friend anybody could ever ask for. His best friend, sitting on his couch, wearing his pyjamas, while deliberating over matching Halloween costumes.

"Hey, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, eyes glazed over with something pleasant, the light of his phone pailing next to the bright of his eyes. "What about Joker and Harley Quinn?—actually, no, that's a toxic dynamic. We could do, like, Barbie and Ken?—like, that rollerblading scene? Actually, I can't rollerblade and you'd have to carry me everywhere."

"Mn," Lan Wangji says, just to show he's listening. These ideas are fine, but there's a certain difficulty in picking out costumes on the actual day. And that's without mentioning that he's aware Wei Wuxian is skirting around another separate topic here.

They wind up opting for cutting eye-holes into some of Lan Wangji's old bedsheets. To draw little mouths onto them. Wei Wuxian's is adorned with a big, happy smile, while Lan Wangji's is more of a straight line.

"This is so cute. You're so cute, Lan Zhan." Wei Wuxian had said, and so, that was that.

They have something of a tradition every year. First of all, they'll head out to dinner, wherein Wei Wuxian will make up some elaborate story about how they're 'celebrating their wedding anniversary', usually because that gets them a free bottle of cheap wine — a couple of extra side dishes for Lan Wangji.

And then Lan Wangji will find a time to tack on the fact that it is, in fact, also Wei Wuxian's birthday, much to Wei Wuxian’s protest. But that will earn them a free slice of cake to share, so who's winning here?

Today, they've opted to go to some Sichuanese restaurant, because Wei Wuxian is a maverick who loves spice — and he's lovely enough to spend five minutes scraping the sauce from Lan Wangji's mapo tofu. It is still a little too spicy for his tastes, but Wei Wuxian uses the remaining spicy sauce as a dipping condiment, and that smile on his face is all that matters, really.

He does, in fact, get his free bottle of wine, not quite the bottom of the barrel, but the next one up in the weirdly determined hierarchy of fermented beverages. He gets a free slice of cake, too, and much to his embarrassment, ends up with the dining room staring at him, singing Happy Birthday.

He shoots Lan Wangji a look that perhaps says something vaguely threatening like 'wait until it's your birthday'. But when the room stumbles over his name mid-song ("happy birthday dear…uh, you…"), the vibrant fit of laughter he twists into is more than worth it.

"I hope everything was to your liking," the waiter says, stacking empty plates and bowls strategically atop his arm. "I hope we have made this day special for the two of you."

Wei Wuxian smiles, something big and shining. "It's perfect. We'll come back here on his birthday, right sweetie?" Lan Wangji blanches. They do this every year — it is tradition, and yet, he doesn't think he'll ever be used to that. "Hold a table aside for us for January. We're gonna have to blow his mind."

"I see." The waiter has a kind smile, even as his gaze flickers between them. "Don't worry, just call ahead of time and we'll keep a table for you. And may I just say, the two of you make a lovely couple. Oh, to be young and in love again. I see the way you two look at each other."

"Oh," says Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji will dissolve right here, right in this seat. He will dissolve into the ground and let earth's crust break and swallow him up. "Ha ha haha. Yeah, we've known each other a long time. It was inevitable, y'know?"

"Ah, inevitable lovers. And on your birthday, no less. You've got yourself a romantic, young man."

"Ahah, yeah," Wei Wuxian casts Lan Wangji an apologetic gaze that lingers just a little too long. "He really is. He's the best."

The best. Lan Wangji has heard that many times. It often drips from Wei Wuxian's tongue, prompted by any manner of actions that Lan Wangji would deem to be wholly normal, instinctive, even. Picking Wei Wuxian up from work, holding a blanket around his shoulders when the cold hits, diligently holding his hand at fancy restaurants to get that free wine.

It is good, he thinks, to be someone who Wei Wuxian considers to be 'the best'. An honourable feat indeed.

"Lan Zhan." Wei Wuxian's eyes are glimmering, grey painted pink by the sunset. He suits golden hour very well. "Mind holding the bag a little while? You're better at maintaining the integrity of take-out boxes."

Lan Wangji, of course, agrees. And if it's because he wants to watch a very giddy Wei Wuxian shuck a bed sheet over his head and proceed to bounce in place, making all sorts of silly "boooo" sounds— well, that's for Lan Wangji to think about.

Wei Wuxian is tentative as he drapes the other sheet over Lan Wangji's body. He's comically stiff, and Wei Wuxian laughs about it, bright and airy.

Their hands find each other again. And then they're walking out into the rapidly darkening evening, joining the hoards of haphazardly costumed passers-by.

"Hey," Wei Wuxian says after a while. It feels as though they've walked the whole block, just talking, occasionally pausing to paw at a bit of cake. Lan Wangji dips beneath Wei Wuxian's sheet to press a small slab of icing to his lips. "Thank you for doing this. Like, every year. It's a big act to keep up with, but you pretend we're married, and you're so convincing about it."

"It is your birthday," Lan Wangji replies, as though that much is obvious. He's a little muffled beneath the sheet. "It is no hardship for me." I love you, is what he means. "I know. That you do not enjoy your birthday. So I hope— that this is enjoyable regardless."

He's stared at for a long moment, Wei Wuxian's gaze flitting over his face. Lan Wangji is very aware of himself; how it's been so many years, and his expression must be growing easier to read. "It's always enjoyable. Like, we're just hanging out, and it's still the most fun."

"Wei Ying, it is your birthday. I wish to celebrate you."

That makes Wei Wuxian falter, just a little bit. They have this conversation at least once a year. "I know. You're too good, you know? Wait—it's hard to be real with you when we're dressed like this. But like, seriously—"

He's cut off by the sound of fireworks, rising and bursting overhead. He swings around, utterly engrossed in the millions of trickles of colour shooting across the sky. Lan Wangji can only stare at him.

The both of them lift up their bedsheets, half draped over their heads, practically capes now.

And because Wei Wuxian looks so happy, is rendered so silent, Lan Wangji - without thinking one bit - swings forward. Whispers softly. "Happy birthday, Wei Ying."

He isn't sure Wei Wuxian hears it at first, but then the palm flush against his own adjusts, fingers intertwining instead. Wei Wuxian is gazing over his face then, flickering down and up. Down again; up again.

"I'm—gonna kiss you, okay?" He says, looking smaller. "Lan Zhan, you're gonna have to say no quickly if you don't want—"

Lan Wangji surges forwards, in spite of himself. Their hands part only to allow their arms to circle into an embrace. Wei Wuxian's mouth is soft, and it's so easy to sink into it. So easy to forget the sounds of people cheering, their oohs and ahhs; the intermittent pop of fireworks scattering across the sky. It's so, so easy.

They kiss like that for a while, bodies slowly swaying side to side, as though listening to some far-off music, somewhere. But then Wei Wuxian is smiling — Lan Wangji feels the curve of his mouth before he feels the teeth that follow. And when he opens his eyes, the sight before him is so bright, so colourful, so much more even than the sky.

"Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji." Wei Wuxian says that, and nothing else. His eyes are scrunched into delightful crescents, his lips pink. They look like messes, both of them, with their costumes strewn so carelessly over their backs.

Lan Wangji repeats, just to make it known. "Happy birthday. Wei Ying. I hope that you have felt celebrated today. Wanted."

"Are you kidding me? Every year my birthday is the best, better than everyone else's. Because you're a massive sap and you're so good. So good. I— Lan Zhan, let's go home, okay? Let's watch a movie or something. Oh! And let's kiss some more? That was good, you are really good."

Lan Wangji finds his mouth again, a chaste press of lips. It's chilly with the cold, but he feels so warm inside. But then, he nods. "Wei Ying can have anything he wants."

"Best birthday ever." Wei Wuxian whispers to himself. Lan Wangji secretly starts making notes to make next year even better.

And little does Wei Wuxian know that when they get back, there's even more cake waiting for him. A delivery of brushes, inks, and paper he'd mentioned he'd wanted in passing. A big jar of aged wine hidden in the closet. A ticket to redeem a visit to the zoo.

Lan Wangji will add a spare set of keys to that list. Wei Wuxian practically spends all his time there anyway. Maybe next year, he'll propose. If this all goes well.

(It does. He proposes next year. Married the year after that. Wei Wuxian deserves to remember his birthday as a day of celebration.

Those dinners they share each year are genuine after that. Happy Birthday, Wei Ying. Happy anniversary, Wei Ying. I love you, Wei Ying.)

#mdzs #wangxian #wangxian au #wei wuxian #happy birthday wei wuxian #mdzs fic #ficlet #lwj #wwx #my fic

[uefb]

Ten First Lines

Tagged by Tolkien buddies (thanks @spiced-wine-fic & @roselightfairy!), but I am posting here instead of UnnamedElement because my fic has been for Fantastic Beasts recently, I am mostly active in the FB fandom at the moment, and since most of the ficwriters I interact with currently are on this blog.

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway. If you are mostly an artist or meta-writer, please feel free to find a way to participate, if you would like :)

The Business of Worrying link

Newt is five-and-three-quarter years old when his mother takes him to St. Mungo’s for the first time.

Charms and Bluebells and Summer 1912 link

Exams were three weeks away.

The Most Vicious Creatures on the Planet link

Newt Scamander could never claim to have had a particular, in-born affinity with the human race.

A Home by the Sea link

It was in the early years of their marriage—after Tina had accepted an assignment in Europe—that she and Newt really got to know each other.

Head Full of Fairies link

The day had not been going the way Tina Goldstein Scamander had hoped.

With Its Head Under One Wing link

Dearest Tina,

The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures link

Newt was juggling a child under one arm and a crutch under the other when an owl carrying a bright red, Ministry-embossed envelope swooped in through the open window of their house in Dorset.

In Desperate Need link

Newt Scamander was twelve years old, and he had never loved a place as much as he loved Hogwarts.

Flowers Will Come Again link

Laelas shifted a lamp to her right as she pulled another stack of damaged papers toward her.

Painted with the maps of newly stolen rivers link

That the sun rose the morning after the second longest night of his life was almost more of a surprise than the shattering of their world the day before.

Tagging @afrenchaugurey @katisfania @exasperatedtinagoldstein @bluelikeajay @themysteriousphoenix @scamanderishredmayniac @brisemolaire @salamanderscamander @eveneechan —I don’t even know if some of y’all post fic, and I’m certain I’ve forgotten someone. Apologies.

#tag games #my stuff #fanfic #also posting here instead of main bc social trauma (tm)

[nocompromise-noregrets]

five good things

because I'm utterly exhausted after two bad nights' sleep and not getting the most out of my time off work, so let's remind myself of the good stuff...

I'm off work for two weeks, hooray! The plan is to study, write a lot for Barduil Month, write an assignment (project plan for end of module assessment comparing extracts from the script for FotR and the book), do some housework and generally chill out; so far I've only managed the chilling out bit (I spent 11.5 hours in bed on Sunday night and slept for 4.5 of those hours; it took me six hours to fall asleep >.< no apparent reason at all, and then last night I slept longer but kept waking up aargh). But hey, I didn't have to go to work!

I've written something for day 30 of Barduil Month and am currently working on day 28 :D Super excited for this event and super excited about the ideas I'm having! (check it out at @bi-widower-dads if you haven't already!)

I had a lovely birthday yesterday despite the exhaustion (special thank yous to @spiced-wine-fic for the card and book, I'm really looking forward to getting stuck into that!, and to @scary-grace for the fic omg!); we finished watching Endeavour in the evening (very entertained that the villain of the week seemed to be a massive dig at Laurence Fox XDDDD ), I have the very nice Franziskaner Royal in the beer machine and the missus got me some new bike gear because I was due a new helmet and my jeans and jacket don't fit properly since I spent two years sitting on my backside eating food, so I have some awesome new stuff. The brother and sisterinlaw sent me a stained glass/glass-painting kit, and despite my utter lack of artistic talent I think I might be able to do something with it (they like to use their imagination when selecting presents, which tends to be a bit hit-and-miss, but this might just be a hit); and my lovely German friends sent me the Känguru-Comics book of cartoons and also sent on the t-shirt that was supposed to be a Christmas present from the missus only the seller sent the wrong size so we had to get them to send the right one, and the complication of no longer being in the EU meant we had to send it to the girls and get them to send on because the seller no longer ships to the UK, sigh. Anyway, it's an awesome bike-gang-style design for the Riders of Rohan and I adore it.

I've been watching Expert Witness which is a daytime BBC show about forensic experts solving criminal cases, and finding it really interesting; there's a forensic linguist whose work has been a case study on my course and he's appeared twice on it, for starters. Plus I am morbidly interested in this sort of thing anyway; and the daytime BBC One shows always entertain me because the common thread is always 'there are bad people out there but you mustn't worry because they always get caught' (yes, it's an oversimplification, but trust me, it's always there in the narration) - catering for the anxious daytime audience, whether it's consumer affairs, wrong'uns caught on camera, traffic police catching people who drive like wankers, forensic experts catching wrong'uns...always couched in very reassuring terms XD

I'm planning a Hobbit/LotR rewatch although so far I've been too knackered for it, and tomorrow Ted Lasso is back! :D :D :D I need to catch up with Daisy Jones and the Six too, although...I dunno...it's all right, but the casting is super weird; Billy looks the right age in the 20-years-later documentary sequences but too old in the 1970s scenes, whereas everyone else looks the right age in the '70s and too young in the 20-years-later bits, and it's really throwing me out of it, especially Graham and Eddie. But it's enjoyable enough, and the songs are great, so... *shrugs*

We had a good afternoon/evening out on Saturday - went up to the outlet centre at the docks, got some excellent new makeup (I barely wear any, not having the opportunity for clubs or gigs much any more, but I've taken to wearing some to go to the pub every Friday because why the hell not, so I fancied some new stuff, including some more metallic eyeshadow and a fantastic metallic purple lipstain :D ), went to the Brewhouse, which was full of rugby lads and wasn't doing their usual seasonal witbier, so we went to a different pub for an hour or so and then went to our dinner reservation at the semi-fancy French bistro where lovely Tom from t'pub now works, and got to see him and have a chat and have some lovely food and free kir royales for signing up for the newsletter, and cocktails at the end of the night that didn't show up on the bill, which I suspect lovely Tom had something to do with, and generally had a great time. That's our going-out-out quota fulfilled for the year XDDDD

Think that's it for now. Back to day 28 of Barduil Month, it's getting angsty!

#five good things #my writing

[marvelmaniac715]

This is part five of my au where Chucky decides to transfer his soul into Stan the chauffeur’s body at the end of Seed instead of going all psycho. The twins are babies again today (Glen has he/him pronouns and Glenda has she/her pronouns, I know they’re non-binary but this reflects them at this stage in their lives) and I love writing them as babies. But they’re one today, and I think this is my favourite part of the au so far.

————————————————————

It was a battle of wills. Chucky stared into the eyes of his one year old daughter Glenda, desperately waiting for her to speak. Her brother had already said his first word (‘Mama’ to his horror, he’d hoped that his first word would be ‘Daddy’) and now all eyes were on Glenda.

Chucky had tried everything to get her to say ‘Daddy’. He’d put on movies about fathers and children and repeatedly said “that’s his DADDY. Can you say DADDY?” Tiff told him to give it a rest, so he stopped that eventually. He’d repeated it over and over again to Glenda as he prepared her bottle or rocked her, sounding it out phonetically just to help her out.

He’d begged, he’d pleaded, he’d bribed, Tiff was getting sick of it. But Glenda had been emitting some promising gurgles in the last few days (one day she even let out a ‘Da’ to Chucky’s delight) he was sure it was any day now. That brought them up to today.

Glenda was sat in her high chair, Glen was in the high chair next to her playing with a baby board book (chewing on it mostly). Nobody spoke. Tiffany was at the store picking up some groceries. That was usually Chucky’s job, but because Glenda was about to speak any day now he didn’t want to miss that milestone. He’d been at an art gallery when Glen had first said ‘Mama’, so he’d argued that he deserved to hear Glenda’s first word since TiffNy got their son’s.

He was about to start encouraging her to say ‘Daddy’ again when the door opened. Tiffany came in carrying some bags, there was something wrapped in paper tucked under her arm. When Chucky made no move to help her with the groceries she sighed dramatically as if the world was coming to an end and dumped the bags down with a huff. Then she slowly unwrapped the paper from the object she’d been holding.

When it was unwrapped, it was revealed to be a china ornament of Snoopy from the Peanuts comics. Why did she buy that? Both of them had… explosive tempers at the best of times. They broke stuff when they were mad. This ornament would just get destroyed, either by them or their curious (now walking) little bundles of joy.

“Hey Tiff, what did you get that for? We don’t normally have ornaments or fancy shit like that.”

Tiffany sighed again, and leaned over to kiss Glen and Glenda on the tops of their heads in turn.

“I thought it would bring some class to the household. And it’s so cute, isn’t it?”

Glenda reached for it, absolutely fascinated. Chucky went to grab it for her, because it was just out of her reach. 

“Here ya go pumpkin.”

He loved giving the twins nicknames that related to their red hair. Pumpkin was one of them, but there was also Gingerbread, Robin, Ginger Spice and (his personal favourite for Glen especially) his Little Good Guy. The other things he called them were either just ‘Baby/Baby Doll’ or a more personal nickname. Glen’s nickname was either Sugar Plum or Angel, because he was such a sweet little boy. Glenda’s nickname was either Piranha or (secretly) Daddy’s Little Killer. What could he say? Glenda was a very… unique child.

Tiffany smacked his hand away when he reached for the ornament.

“It isn’t a toy! I don’t want the babies playing with it!”

With those parting words, she flounced out of the room, probably to drink some wine as she normally did at this time of day. But Glenda was still reaching for the ornament. Then, something incredible happened. Glenda began to babble, trying to form a word.

“D-Da-Di-Du-Do.”

Chucky was so excited, he scooped Glenda out of her high chair and held her high in the air with a grin.

“C’mon Glenda, say it! Say Daddy! Come on, you can do it baby girl.”

Glenda grinned happily and tried again.

“D-Da-Di.”

Any second now. It occurred to him that he should go get Tiffany, but this moment was just for him, he didn’t care. Glenda was almost there, she just needed one more nudge.

“Come on sweetie, you can do it.”

Then it happened.

“D-Doggie!”

Tiffany was so dead.

#chucky #chucky series #seed of chucky #childs play #charles lee ray #tiffany valentine #glen ray #glenda ray #horror #fanfiction

[fourseasonsfigs]

New Year Joint Special Project - Never Fail the Four Seasons

You can read about the other sets in this 6-set series here and here, but just to recap, this is one in a collaborative series of six designed among five fig makers for the Lunar New Year 2022.

This fig collaboration launched on February 22, 2022, and if you ordered during the early bird pre-order period (which I did), you would get a piece of a magnet which formed part of a larger piece of art. If you got all 6 magnets, you could complete the whole art piece.

The collaboration was 4 Wenzhou sets and 2 Junzhe. The 4 Wenzhou ones are below, and this set is of course the one in the bottom left, the walk to Siji Manor.

The name of this fig set comes from Word of Honor's main theme song, Tianyake, sung by Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun. The lyric is quoted in the fig poster above:

相见恨晚幸未晚 不再辜负四季花 Even if I met you too late, it’s not too late. Let’s not fail the Four Seasons’ flowers again.*

Here's the original picture in all its glory. This is of course the walk to Siji Manor in episode 24.

My husband, glancing at my screen, "Oh, they're on a picnic?"

Look at these two. A-Xu's face is so happy here, I love it.

Ah they're adorable. A-Xu of course isn't holding his drink gourd in the original picture, but why quibble details? He's probably just storing it in his robes, along with all his disguise gear, his changes of clothes, his various medicines, his moneybag (did he ever get it back from Lao Wen?) and some wrapped up bread for the road.

The fig maker even designed little feet for them:

I love little totally unnecessary details like this. We also have Lao Wen's hand behind his back here in his classic walking around pose. These figs stand securely thanks to their wide stable base.

Frankly it's good these two have solid stances, because they are sure sporting some luxurious flowing hair on their big ol' heads. You'd think such cranially-gifted disciples of Siji Manor would have a little more common sense stuffed somewhere in those gigantic melons, but, well, you've seen the subsequent episodes.

Here's a comparison of the Tofu official fig from the same scene with this one:

The official one is very authentic to the picture! I have to say, though, Big Headed A-Xu's enormous sparkly eyes and look of pure delight at being back in his old stomping grounds wins big with this fan.

The boxes are beautiful too.

Alright, it's magnet time! Here's the adorable magnet that came with this set:

Wait, they ARE having a picnic!

Cute little touches in the artwork here. The Tianchuang lantern, the juzipi in the tree, and the two rabbits who don't need to be exchanged for a piece of the glazed armor.

For the full set of magnets based on the posts to date, please be aware we're now moving into the portion of this program where we include a perhaps very mildly NSFW (spice ratio of like, well, something not very spicy at all, let's say a fast food jalapeno) piece of cute chibi artwork, so stop at the **** if today is not the day, and keep on going past it if it is!

Material: PVC

Fig Count: 47

Diorama Count: 4

Snowglobe Count: 1

Rating: A life of snow and frost melts away as I brew wine and make tea with you*

*Tian Ya Ke translation is from 青Cee, located here: https://youtu.be/UIgnDX5wcno Check it out, it's beautiful!

Ok!

Go no further if you don't want to see two zhiji entertaining themselves on a sunny summery afternoon.

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

*************************************************************

We're halfway through this piece of artwork! So cute!

#wenzhou #word of honor #shl #wen kexing #zhou zishu #figthusiast

[unspeakable3]

STARS SHINE MORE DARKLY

chapter one: THE GRIM

This was not Regulus’s first funeral.

That honour had gone to his great-aunt Lycoris’s: he’d only been four or five years old when she’d died, and he hadn’t really understood what that meant until his mother had taken him into the drawing-room to watch the verdant foliage around her woven portrait on the family tapestry curl and wither and fade.

Walburga had protested against him attending the funeral. He was too young, she’d said, too sensitive, too emotional. Look how he’d cried when he’d seen the tapestry, she’d said. And he was only the spare, she’d said, it wasn’t as though anyone would miss him if he wasn’t there.

He didn’t matter, she’d said.

But Orion had insisted and in those days, Orion’s word had still been the law at Grimmauld Place.

So Regulus had gone. He’d clutched Narcissa’s hand throughout the ceremony and buried his head in her soft robes when the acrid smoke had made his eyes prickle and tears fall.

Narcissa had seemed so old to him, then. So wise and mature.

But now he realised how young she, too, had been; Lycoris’s funeral had taken place the summer before Narcissa had started at Hogwarts.

Regulus glanced across the hallway to the receiving room where various family members were milling and mingling and warming themselves with hot spiced wine before the long journey ahead. Narcissa was there, standing with her arm linked through Lucius’s, talking quietly with her parents. Regulus doubted she would have either the time or the inclination to hold his hand and comfort him during this funeral, even if she hadn’t already been preoccupied with her husband.

A throat cleared. Regulus blinked to attention and berated himself for his wandering thoughts as he turned back to his father. Orion inclined his head; Regulus straightened his robes and his shoulders. He greeted another elderly cousin and accepted her condolences with what he hoped was a sufficient amount of grace, then directed her towards the receiving room where, he told her, a house-elf would be waiting to take her cloak if she wished to remove it before the carriages arrived.

‘I shall not be taking a carriage anywhere,’ Lysandra retorted. ‘At that height! At this time of year! To a damp and mouldering castle! At my age!’

read the full chapter on AO3

#stars shine more darkly #regulus black #the black brothers #the noble and most ancient house of black #hp fanfic

[prttypctures]

*  victoria pedretti

  .  cis  woman  .  she  /  her  .   /   that’s  frances geller walking  in  to o’connell’s -  you  know  ,  the  thirty one year old  hotel manager for lakeview end motel  known for  having flown to new york for a year to be a surrogate mother  ?  having  lived  here  for  basically her whole life  ,  their  neighbors  know  them  to  be venturesome  &  faithful  ,  but  their  uncouth &  venal tendencies  shine  through  when  there  are  no  buses  in  to  the  city  . @30extra​

BASICS ;

NAME.　frances jane geller

ALSO KNOWN AS. frankie, franny ( family and close friend nickname , not used anymore. ) 

ORIENTATION.　heteromantic / heterosexual

OCCUPATION.　hotel manager at lakeview end motel  

BIRTHPLACE.　lakeview, louisiana

CURRENT LOCATION.　lakeview, louisiana

RELATIONSHIP STATUS.   single 

APPEARANCE ;

FACECLAIM.　victoria pedretti

EYES.　a very dark blue 

HAIR.　naturally a darker brown , bleached lighter with blondish highlights 

DOMINANT HAND.　right

HEIGHT.　five foot three

BUILD.　well toned 

TATTOOS.　  two dolphins on her left hip ,  wild flowers on the inside of her right arm above the elbow , sun and crescent moon on her right shoulder 

SCARS/BIRTH MARKS.　a white and pink jagged scar across the top of her right from falling into the lake when she was little and getting her foot stuck under a sharp rock

AESTHETICS ;

satin pillowcases ,worn out converse next to a pair of heels , four dollar bottles of wine , moody floral wallpaper , unfinished diy home renovations , overflowing ashtrays on the patio , vinyl records , coffee table art books ,pumpkin spice candles year round 

BACKGROUND ;

tw: mentions of suicide, drug addiction  

frances has led what most would describe as just a normal life. her family was strictly middle class, affording her everything she needed but nothing gratuitous. they lived in a nice suburban home with a white picket fence and a dog. her father and mother were high school sweethearts who married after her fathers first deployment in the army, right out of school. neither of them attended college. they were very conservative with their money -- most of her clothes were from goodwill or salvation army, and all of their furniture was usually found at christian thrift stores. she never minded the mismatched or a tad outdated decor of her family home. it was eclectic and comforting. 

she performed very well in school, honors classes, band, all that noise. but when it came to all of her friends talking about college, frances realized she had never made a plan. she didn’t necessarily not want to go to college, but she hadn’t considered what she wanted to do. it seemed like everyone set ideas on who they wanted to be or, at the very least, knew they were ready to leave home. she wasn’t. frances didn’t immediately go to college. she took up work and stayed home with her parents hoping that if she were to just jump into something, maybe her future would reveal itself. after about a years journey she went to school for business, which was more of a play it safe type decision. 

her father committed suicide when she was twenty two years old. for her all of her life she had thought everything was fine; she had never seen him cry. he had always been quiet and short with his words... she looked for all the signs following his death and couldn’t find them. she remembered waking up late at night to her parents having whispered, tense conversations in the kitchen but she’d never made herself privy to what was being talked about. at his funeral a friend of his appeared, causing a huge fiasco. frances had never seen him before. he of course had not been invited. there are very few things she remembers as vividly as the moment her mother turned around to see him in the church, her usually very polished and mannered mother lit up like a match, yelling and screaming for him to get out before collapsing into a sob. it seemed to play like slow motion. frances had learned later, from a friend of her mothers, that the man had been a close friend of her fathers; a drug dealer. her father had suffered from drug addiction all his life, which had caused most of their financial strife and warred with his mental health. 

following his death, and the revelations of who her father had been in secret, frances was heartbroken. her mother and her had to move into a much smaller home and the two struggled against mounting debt. 

when she turned twenty-six, she found herself in what would have to be the youngest mid life crisis possible. she had worked herself so hard, alongside her mother who still had to work everyday, and it felt helpless. then she heard word from a friend about someone they vaguely knew in college becoming a surrogate mother, and the reward for doing so wasn’t cheap at all --  they had made a whopping $35k. following the scent of money, frances set out to do the same. it was no easy process, however, and by the end she felt herself empathically intertwined with a couple in new york who had tried everything so far to have a baby. they were such a model of love and grace. the money wasn’t even important. helping them felt like a true purpose, something she had been searching for for over a decade now. she moved to new york to live with them during the duration of her pregnancy and treated herself to a world far removed from lakeview and the stress of not knowing. it was a very positive and life changing experience. when she came back to lakeview she and her mother moved into a bigger and more comfortable house.

it wasn’t very long after her return from new york that the mysterious man that had appeared at her fathers funeral approached her at the front desk of the motel. her father had owed him money, and he had the perfect plan for getting it back. if she helped him and his friends run drugs through the motel, he would skip all the cliches of cutting fingers and making dramatic threats. eventually, she’d get her own cut too. she had all these dreams of fixing up the motel and turning it into something quaint and memorable, but she needed money to do so. it was always about money. so she agreed. with her straight edge appearance and charismatic nature, no one would ever be the wiser.

#30.intro #whoops this turned into something too long #but i havent written anything in like two years so i got crazy

[transgavin]

Just wanted to say that I absolutely adore Sashya and would love a lore dump on him please and thank you

I’ve been thinking about what to post for this for awhile! Sorry it took so long and thank for adoring Sashya he is a delight to draw and it makes me so happy that you like him so much 😭

Sashya is pantoran but was born on coruscant in a brothel. He grew up in the care of his “sisters” after his mother died giving birth and spent his childhood as an errand boy for the brothel. He spent most of his child and teen years perfecting the art of scamming tourists and petty thievery. Eventually he starts trouble with some local spice runners and ends up in the clutches of the reigning cartel who spares his life in exchange for his services.

He first met Fives on a spice run and against his better judgment, took him in, lazered off his tattoo, and taught him how to survive in the streets. Sashya and Fives grow to love each other and start making plans to run away from the cartel and the republic. Fives objects to leaving everything behind because he still has loyalty to his family whereas Sashya doesn’t see the point in trying to save the people hunting you but I mean I guess Fives but be careful or I swear to fu-

Sashya loves fixing old pieces of junk (speeders are his favorite but he’ll fix anything old and rusty) he also loves wine and cosmetology. He loves old holos with cheesy acting, the smell of cigarettes (not menthol) and his sisters. He’s an excellent shot but hates blasters and avoids carrying if possible. “It’s not an ‘irrational fear’ , Fives, it literally exploded in my face- took weeks for my eyebrows to grow back in-“

He distrusts everyone except for Fives and can sometimes be overbearing and overprotective.

#sashya oc #asks #thank you so much for the ask 💙😭 I love my boy

[fierypen37]

Virtue a Veil, Vice a Mask: Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 The closeness and filth of Pentos made Jon itch. He’d become accustomed to the open air of the Dothraki Sea, or in the comfortable idyll of their island home on Dragonstone. The heat was oppressive, humid air like breathing through a sodden rag. A wet rag would’ve been a mite more pleasant, given the thick fug of body odor, sour wine, dung, spices, midden heaps and perfumes that diffused the air. Even King’s Landing had smelled better. The stench was so thick, Jon could taste it. Even late in the evening with torches hissing in their sconces, the roads were crowded. Foot traffic crammed close, palanquins, sedan chairs, horses and carriages. No elephants, thank the gods.

One did not refuse an invitation from Magister Iliyrio. Not even princes and khaleesis. Another reason for his vigilance and itching. Daenerys had ridden ahead to meet their host. Jon disliked being separated from her—even when it was for honest business. Silly, perhaps, especially since they had been married for three years now, but Jon couldn’t shake the feeling. He reached for that distant inner glow of Vyrmax. Jon felt the impression of seeking, of flight. Hunting, with his brothers. Stay close. Just in case. As he and Dany had discovered in bonding with the dragons, it wasn’t so much about the words, but the essence, the intent of the message. This one was of watching, of protection. He felt the glow of understanding and severed the link.

Jon clicked his tongue, urging Shadow on with a murmur. He dared their host to object to his state of dress—he came to Pentos in his leather gambeson and hauberk, his sword Nightfall at his hip.

“This perfumed man must offer gifts to tempt us to the city, Khal Ahesh,” Rakharo said in Dothraki.

“Indeed. Gold and gifts,” Jon said. The horselord words were awkward on Jon’s tongue, but he managed. Princes, prefects, and magisters still would attempt to woo them, expensive gifts for the Mother of Dragons and her husband, a Prince of Westeros. They did not want for riches. The khalasar now stood at five thousand riders strong. Enough to protect Daenerys. Their cottage on the island was built. Their peaceable life was pleasant. But the itch persisted. Could one become bored with happiness and freedom?

As their horses wended their way through Pentos’ thoroughfares, Jon’s thoughts turned to his father. Three years away from home, and naught a raven to be seen. He’d corresponded with Tyrion, with Uncle, Aunt Catelyn, and his passel of cousins, even his half-brother Aegon had sent a raven offering his greetings after their lord father crowned his wife Monterra Velaryon Princess of Dragonstone. It was a polite missive and mollified some of Jon’s old hurts. Perhaps in adulthood, separated by a sea, they could forge a new and better relationship. But his father, the mighty King Rhaegar Targaryen . . . not a word. He was a busy man, codifying and updating laws of the realm, reoutfitting the Night’s Watch, rebuilding the royal fleet, but still, the silence stung.

Perhaps once he and Daenerys set foot on the sands of Blackwater Rush, dismounting the first dragons seen by Westerosi eyes in three hundred years, perhaps then he would merit notice. Jon had promised to arrive for the christening of Tyrion’s son, Tytos, but some deep instinct warned against it. The khalasar had been too small, the dragons too young. Soon, then. Cousin Robb had announced his troth with Margaery Tyrell of the Reach. Perhaps when they wed in the godswood of Winterfell, Jon and Dany could make their appearance.

Magister Illyrio’s manse sprawled across a hilltop with warrens of lavish rooms. The gates were ornate wrought iron, black as dragon’s teeth in the dying light. Beyond, Jon heard the trill of music beyond and smell the richness of cooking meat. Two Unsullied crossed their spears across the mouth of the gate.

“Jon Targaryen to see Magister Illyrio,” Jon said in High Valyrian, leaning down from horseback to offer the invitation. The stone-faced Unsullied, a watery-eyed Qartheen, squinted first at the invitation, then at Jon. He returned the look flatly. True, he was garbed more as a prosperous sellsword than a prince, but damn it, he was invited!

“Welcome, Targaryen,” the guard said, ushering him within at a gesture. Jon swung down from Shadow and handed him off to a waiting groom in cloth of gold livery. The itch between his shoulder blades worsened upon the close press of gaudily dressed nobles. So much like . . .  An impish grin spread on his face.

 ~

 Daenerys scrutinized her reflection in the mirror one of Magister Illyrio’s servants held. The gown was lavender watered silk, so fine it felt like running her fingers through a cloud. Cinched with a belt woven with opals and gold-soled sandals on her feet, she felt like a princess—and disliked it. She missed the comfort of her leathers and sandsilk. She missed the communal chatter of her women as they arranged their hair or chose their dresses. The perfect silence save for the hollow drip of water in the bath made her uneasy. She missed Missandei’s wit, Grey Worm’s comforting presence. The servants too, with their collars and downcast eyes, made something quiver in her belly. And the bad memories that stirred along with it, like silt from the bottom of a clear pool. Slaves in all but name . . . as she had been. Chattel for a horselord’s pleasure.

“I can see just as well with the mirror on the table. You needn’t hold it,” Daenerys said, unable to keep the edge of concern from her tone. The girl’s arms were trembling.

“I—I can manage, my lady,” she said in a small voice. Daenerys ended the debate by taking the mirror from her hands and setting it on the sideboard.

“See?” she said with a grin, “much better.”

Daenerys fretted with her hair, tugging the braids loose for the third time. Her silver hair fell in a crimped wave nearly to her waist. Another of Illyrio’s servants fluttered, dabbing perfume, sliding bracelets and rings on her fingers. The pearl ring—her mother’s ring—she wore on her index finger, and never took off.

She and the magister spent the afternoon negotiating trade terms. Daenerys and Jon’s khalasar had a decent hold on a corner of the Sea and traded with both Dothraki and Lhazareen. Naturally, the magister wanted a cut of profits in arranging shipping, but it was a mutually beneficial agreement. The magister was offhanded and generous after their business was concluded. ‘A beauty such as yours deserves to be celebrated, my dear.’ Dany did delight in being able to make herself beautiful for Jon—such a rare pleasure. A blush bloomed at the memory of her trying on an old gown for him in the Qartheen style. Her wild husband had tackled her, torn the gown off with his teeth and taken her on the floor of their tent. The idea of seeing him again in the midst of a crowd. Have him see and want her so . . . gooseflesh stippled her skin.

“Thank you, ladies. I shall take my leave,” she said.

The servants curtsied deeply, and the wavering candlelight shone off their ornate brass collars. With the soft pad of silk slippers, they escorted her through the winding halls to the courtyard. Candles danced like fireflies, the air dense with the smell of jasmine, sizzling meat and the close smell of sweat. Servants wove through the glittering throngs with sweetmeats and cordials of plum wine.

She recognized Rakharo’s lanky height and long black braid lingering near the cook, where he and Kovarro snagged morsels as soon as they were cut. Daenerys giggled at their antics. Her gaze wandered, searching for Jon as she sipped the sweet cordial. The taste of summer sang on her tongue, plums and honey and sunshine. She glimpsed Grey Worm and Missandei dancing to music only they could hear, nestled close together. The sight made her heart melt.

The feeling faded as the immensity of Magister Illyrio cut through the throngs like a barge down a sparkling river. He grinned with his long yellow teeth.

“Good evening, khaleesi. I am grateful you chose to take advantage of my offer,” he said, capturing her hand for a kiss, “you look ravishing.” Daenerys’ answering smile as thin as a stiletto. Jon did not know of the year she had spent in this very manse, awaiting her marriage to Khal Drogo. He knew magisters courted her as a lost princess, but not who or when. Had he known, there was no possibility he would have let her ride ahead to treat with the magister alone. In truth, Dany wished to protect Jon. He was Rhaegar’s son, after all. A princely prize for those so inclined. Sons were more prized for a reason.

“Magister, you are as famed for your generosity as you are your wealth,” Daenerys said with a honeyed smile. The steps of this dance returned to her quickly—though for the years of her marriage to Jon, she hadn’t needed them. Forthright as he was, Jon spoke from his heart with ease. Magister Illyrio gave a polite laugh and followed her gaze to where her bloodriders ate.

“You needn’t worry, magister. The blood of my blood will obey your rules as guests,” Daenerys said.

“My thanks, khaleesi. I imagine they have been quite busy,” he said. At her puzzled look, he continued. He’s never needed much incentive to hear his own voice.

“Your bloodriders must be busy defending your honor from Dothraki who would rather die than follow a woman to war.”

Ire kindled. Just a woman. How often had she heard those words bandied about as if an insult? A woman with a clear head and a strong stomach. A woman who called forth dragons from stone. A woman who could walk through fire unharmed. Just a woman, indeed!

“No I would say my sons are the best deterrent, Magister,” Daenerys said with faint savage emphasis. Let him remember that his role in selling her to Khal Drogo had not been forgiven. A ghost of a flinch danced across the magister’s face.

“I imagine so, khaleesi. Enjoy the party. I must see to my guests,” he said briskly. Daenerys drained her glass and took up another. Where was Jon? She traded pleasantries and gossip as she waded through the glittering throngs. The cordial settled amicably in her belly, leaving her pleasantly flushed and muddled. The hot press of the close bodies stifled her, and she sought the quiet of an alcove. The music and voices were faraway, like figures in a dream. Daenerys closed her eyes and breathed deep of the coming night. The flickering light of the torches danced in red patterns behind her eyelids.

“Are you well, my lady?” a deep voice murmured in her ear.

A grin spread on her face as she turned to face Jon. He stole her breath, looking lean and dangerous in the gambeson she’d sown for him. Wild hair pulled away from the strong bones of his face. Tonight though, he wore black silk mask. A crude thing, the eyeholes looked gouged with an eating knife, and tied unevenly behind his head. Still, the sight made her heart turn topsy-turvy. The memory of the night they met washed over her. His awkward gallantry, his honest desire, his kind honorable heart—gods, there was no way she couldn’t love him. Jon gave an elaborate bow over her captured hand and kissed her knuckles. A delicate graze of his teeth made her shudder. Wine always roused her lust, and the sight of his grey eyes dancing behind the mask sent arousal skittering through her veins.

“What is such a lovely lady doing without an escort?” Jon asked, deepening his voice to a lower, harsher register. Dany chewed delicately on her lower lip. To act as strangers, to dance and flirt—what fun!

“My h—husband should return soon, I think, ser,” she said, affecting a coy timidity. Jon kept his grip on her hand, his thumb stroking idle circles on her inner wrist.

“A fool to leave such a gorgeous creature,” he rumbled. Dany snatched her hand away.            

“Ser, you are impertinent!” she said, biting down on her lower lip to fight a smile. A sinful smirk stretched Jon’s full lips. He advanced and Dany took matching steps backward until her back pressed against the stone wall, still warm from the sun’s heat. Dany’s hands plucked at gossamer of her gown.  

“Apologies, milady. No offense meant. Still . . .” he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Dany shivered at the delicate touch. Jon loomed close, so close that delicious scent of him, spicy and strong and masculine, filled her nose.

“Still, you tempt me,” Jon murmured. Arousal kindled in a low ache in her belly. Dany clenched her thighs together around that blossoming glow.

“Why do you wear a mask, ser?” she whispered. Jon laughed, but not his usual sharp bark of mirth, more as if he played at something more roguish. Dany loved him for it.

“Let’s just say there are more husbands I’d rather not meet,” he drawled, tilting his chin.

“Oh?” Dany said. If she loved her own gallant, honest Jon, then this swaggering philanderer persona roused her. Daenerys leaned closer, mesmerized by the striations in his grey eyes, framed by those long lashes. Their noses brushed, Dany could smell cordial on his breath. He would taste syrupy sweet.

“Aye. This sweet Lysene girl failed to mention her Dothraki husband.”

“Oh, Dothraki! I hear they are fearsome.”

“Oh, indeed. Quite so. Though he was cruel to this one, and she was so young. I took exception to this, and she is now a happy widow.”

“How gallant!” Dany said, her throat closing. Jon would have protected her from Drogo and Qotho, with all of his might. Jon leaned against the wall, trapping her close. He combed a stray strand of her hair between his fingers, rubbing it as if trying to test the fibers.

“Are you happy with this husband of yours, milady?” he purred, nuzzling the shell of her ear with his nose. His breath was a hot, delicate caress.

“I will liberate you, if you wish,” he murmured.

“He is kind enough though . . .” Dany said, with a coy shrug, hinting at all manner of longing. Jon chuckled, nudging his knee between her thighs. A small noise rose in her throat. Jon lapped up a bead of sweat from the side of her neck. The delicate lap of his tongue made her shudder.

“He leaves you wanting, love? Do you need more?” he rasped, his fingertips circling her nipple through the thin protection of her gown. Pleasure was a whisper, a taste that made her yearn for more. Dany clenched her legs, rocking against the hard strength of his thigh. It wasn’t enough.

“Yes. Please,” she said breathily.

“Yes, love. I’ll take care of you.” He kissed her. Slow, drugging kisses, as if all he wanted in the world was to kiss her. Dany opened for him, tasting the sweetness of the wine and Jon. Both familiar and thrilling with the banquet just beyond the lattices of ivy and his improvised mask tickling her upper lip. Jon’s tongue teased hers, his chin angling to deepen the kiss. Rough fingers plucked and teased at her nipples. Dany’s hands clutched at the heavy leather of his gambeson, frustrated the naked heat of him was hidden beneath his clothes. Helpless, she ground against the strength of his thigh. Jon peeled back and chuckled. Gods, he looked like a dark god with his black mask and grey eyes, full lips swollen and red from their kisses.

“Patience, my lady. You needn’t strive for your pleasure, I’ll give it freely,” he murmured.

“Let me see you,” she breathed. Echoing his own impassioned plea the night they met. The cocksure expression softened and he peeled the mask off.

“So handsome,” she said, just for the pleasure of seeing the apples of his cheeks redden. Her bashful love. Jon pawed for the hem of her gown, teased down the soaked silken smallclothes to pool around her ankles.

“Mm, my Dany, my wonder, my love,” he murmured, sealing each word with an open kiss along her throat. Unerringly, he teased that spot on her neck until she shivered. He craned his neck lower, nuzzling her breasts through the gossamer fabric. A cry eked out. One rough hand covered her mouth.

“There now. Cry out all you wish, love. I’ll make it good for you,” he promised, watching her face as he sucked her nipple through her gown. Dany clenched her eyes shut. The sensation of his mouth rode the line between pleasure and pain. Her breasts and nipples especially had been tender of late. The touch softened to a gentler suction and she bit her lip to contain a moan. Those clever fingers opened her folds. Another smug chuckle and some of the swagger overcame her loving husband’s face.

“So wet for me, love. You could come from just a touch, hmm?” his breath was warm against her skin. Dany squirmed in his implacable grip, pulling free of his hand to drag him down for another deep kiss. She nipped at his lower lip in challenge. Jon growled, circling her pearl with his thumb as he eased one finger inside. Slick and hot. She gasped, pleasure rising with each tiny movement.

“Jon,” she moaned as the crest pierced her.

“Yesss,” Jon hissed, laving the sweat from the tops of her breasts.

“More. More. I want you in me,” Dany hissed.

“As you command,” Jon said with the approximation of a bow. Roused to a fever pitch, Dany shoved him back and attacked the fastening of his sword belt. Jon helped her, shoving the trousers down just enough. Dany’s mouth watered at the sight of his cock standing red and eager, fluid beaded at the tip. Jon guided her hands to brace on the wall. Dany arched her back, eager for that heavy push of his cock in her. Jon wadded her fine gown at the small of her back and stroked her arse.

“Mm, so lovely. Any man alive would count himself blessed to love you, my wonder,” he said, his voice rough with arousal and emotion. Dany bit her lip to stifle tears. Emotion bubbled up all too easily. Jon gripped her hip as he slid inside. Perfect. A key to a lock, a sword to its perfect scabbard. Jon thrust with sharp snaps of his hips, urgent and hungry. The tide built again. Yes yes yes, there! That exquisite spot within her that his cock stroked so wonderfully. Her arms collapsed, she pressed her cheek against the rough stone wall as she shuddered through another release. Jon stilled.

“Dany? Are you well, love?” he whispered, petting her back soothingly, the game forgotten. Dany straightened a little, realizing her face was wet with tears. Pleasure surged lazily through her.

“Yes, Jon. It’s so good. It’s always so good,” she murmured, deliciously aware of him hard and throbbing inside her. The worry on his face dissolved into delirious pleasure.

“Aye. I’ll never get enough,” he said, stirring pleasure with each delicious heavy thrust.

“Me either,” she gasped, already teetering on the cusp. This time, the explosion was mutual. In the aftermath, Jon’s strong arms held her up. Dany leaned into his strength and his affectionate nuzzle. The prickle of his beard tickled the curve of neck and shoulder.  

“Qoy Qoyi? Qoy Qoyi!” Rakharo’s voice floated through the lattice. Jon cursed, yanking up his trousers. Dany giggled. The discarded mask served well enough to clean up.

“What is it, blood of my blood? I am with the khal,” Daenerys said in Dothraki. There was a snigger from the other side, Kovarro, she guessed.

“It is no secret when you both are out of sight, you are most likely fucking,” Rakharo said in the same tongue. A glance at Jon saw him blushing again. Three years together and he still blushed. Gods, she loved him.

“Why interrupt us, then?” Jon barked.

“The fat man is making a speech,” Kovarro said. Dany and Jon shared a glance. They were flushed and sweaty, reeking of sex. It would be seemly to excuse themselves. Still, this was surely not the first time one of the magister’s parties devolved into debauchery.

“We’re coming,” Dany said, taking Jon’s hand.

~

 The speech hadn’t been worth disrupting more dalliance with his wife. Boring platitudes to the assembled peers, promises of wealth and prosperity. So very boring. The reality of ruling a khalasar: finding grazing lands, game, adequate water, avoiding rival khalasars unless provoked . . . it was much more satisfying to Jon. Ruling men was the same whether it was in a council chamber or astride a Dothraki stallion, but. . . there was unity, clarity of purpose with the Dothraki that Westerosi or Essosi nobility lacked. Simply put, nobles wished for their arses to be kissed and boots licked, which Jon loathed.

“What do you know of the Unsullied?” Jon asked around a jaw-cracking yawn. He had an idea and it was as restless as the vague itch within his soul. An idea that needed Dany’s knowledge. The time was somewhere in the small hours of the night. The banquet still raged within one of Illyrio’s multitude of rooms, but he and Dany had retired to bathe and rest. Dany curled away from him on the bed, gave a sleepy murmur.

“Hmm?”

Jon chuckled, curling close to kiss behind her ear.

“Nevermind. Dream sweetly,” he said, rolling on his back to stare at the murals painted on the ceiling. Tomorrow they would talk, and perhaps conquer.

Jon awoke to the comfortable pressure of Dany’s back against his. Sun streamed in from the high stained-glass window. Even in this minor guest room, the manse dripped opulence. Mosaics of vines and gardens covered one wall. The bed was large enough to fit five, with a down mattress and satin hangings. Jon rolled over, trying not to disturb Dany. She made a small distressed sound and Jon kissed her bare shoulder.

“Dany?” he whispered. Dany stirred and cursed.

“Jon. Jon a basin!” she said urgently. Naked, Jon jumped up and snatched the basin at the ewer stand. He held it off the edge of the bed just in time for Dany to retch. Jon combed back her hair and murmured sympathetic words, caught between pity and amusement. It was rare Dany overindulged. Usually, their roles were reversed.  

“My poor love! Too much wine?” he asked as the spasms subsided. Dany answered him with a groan, curling into a ball. He set the basin outside the door, rang the bell for a servant to fetch another, and dampened a cloth with water from the ewer. He mopped the sheen of sweat from her brow, helped her rinse her mouth and clean her teeth. Dany flopped back on the bed, clutching her belly.

“I suppose so,” Dany’s voice was a hoarse rasp, “I must’ve drank more than I thought.”

Jon chuckled and drew her close to rest her head on his chest. His designs could wait until she was feeling better.      

#jonerys fanfiction #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #virute a veil vice a mask #smut #road trip with dragons