#and the sun coming through the window and the warmness of late spring made me realize it had been about a year

[postmortemnivis]

spring was simon’s favourite season.

maybe because it meant rebirth, seeing the trees turn a vivid green again and the fields full of flowers and colours gave him hope. he loved to wake up and open his window in the early days of april, when the world was finally getting rid of the chilly morning breeze that always made him sick the first weeks of winter. every time he felt the air getting warmer, he couldn’t wait to change his heavy winter jacket into his windbreaker.

maybe it was because his birthday was in may, and despite not having celebrated it like he should’ve when he was a kid, he knew you would never forget to wake him up with a soft peck on the lips.

‘morning birthday boy.

if you asked him, he would tell you he liked spring better than summer because the weather was more enjoyable, not too hot yet not cold. spring’s light showers were his favourite noise to wake up to, after the one of the coffee maker he got you for christmas.

the real reason simon was so devoted to spring, almost as much as he was to you, were you. what did you expect from him?

he knew you probably couldn’t remember, but all those years back, you two met in early spring, after a particularly difficult winter.

simons life had been a deep, cold and dark winter for the past years. two, five, ten, who kept count anymore? his days would blend one into the other, seasons slowly turning into the next, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between august and february. seasonal depression was real, but somehow it lingered all around the year for him. that was before you.

you were the first shy sun ray that filtered through the clouds, quite literally. you, as fresh as the cold rain, and you heart, as warm as a late may afternoon, were all he needed to get out of his hibernation. you were what simon needed to wake up, the signal that spring and all beautiful things were on the way, that he needed to arise and get out of his hollow tree.

for the first time in years, simon’s eyes realized that spring was blooming everywhere around him, he was just too deep into his winter, blind, to notice; the flowers were blossoming, as beautiful as ever. he was grateful.

for you, for spring, for the sun finally caressing his face and skin and for your sweet kisses, each of them feeling like the first warm day after months of wind and snow.

“good morning, birthday boy.” you whispered as you kissed his lips.

simon squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them. he’d heard you get up, of course, the moment you started stirring in bed he was informed you were awake. you could try to keep the military out of the house, but the instincts followed him home, whether you liked it or not.

your bright smile was beaming at him, your hands on his bare broad chest as you sat on his hips, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“‘mornin’ beautiful.” he mumbled, resting a strong hand on your hip as he sat back, leaning against the headrest.

“breakfast’s in the kitchen,” you smiled, “i made coffee too.”

he hummed. “can smell it. i heard you too.”

you grinned.

“what’re grinning at?” he tiredly grinned back.

“want me to bring you breakfast in bed?” you said, “we can stay here in bed all day if you want to.”

he shook his head. “nah, love, i’m coming to the kitchen. i’ll be ready in a minute.”

you brought your lips to his again before getting off of him and caressing his cheek as you walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him.

his eyes followed your figure until you left the room, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling for a minute before shuffling his feet to the bathroom. he closed the door and stood in front of the sink, his hands on either side of the ceramic. his brown eyes, so dark they looked black, remained fixed on his reflection before he walked to the big window and opened the panes.

“simon?” you called. “baby, your coffee’s getting cold!”

his broad figure stood there, studying the nature outside. there was a small park in front of the flat, a little green heaven where mostly children went to play, he could hear from there the laughters and giggles. the trees, wild cherries and guelder rose followed the small street, their branches almost reaching the top floor where you lived.

“comin’ love.”

it was the middle of may, almost summer, and simon took a big breath of the fresh morning air before leaving the window open as he turned around and walked to the kitchen, right into his little piece of spring.

#simon riley #simons a loverboy at heart #postmortemnivis #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #spring is in the air #my baby #i love spring #springtime

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Excuse me but the idea of MC and Xav sitting on their respective balconies and texting each other The Tea while people watching in their neighborhood is both so silly and so endearing to me.

So let's go on a small adventure, shall we?

Warnings: None.

Just fluff. Pure, unadulterated fluff.

The late morning sun was already warming you through the windows of your tiny apartment before you'd even stepped foot outside. It was finally mid-spring in Linkon, which meant you could enjoy your late breakfast on the patio without having to worry about a stray chill or errant frost dampening your weekly Saturday 'brunch' plans.

Opening the patio door with your granola bar in one hand and phone in the other, you settle into the cushioned bench that overlooked your apartment courtyard and took a deep breath. Sometimes it felt like winter was neverending in Linkon, but you could finally feel the tension of the gripping cold that had settled in your bones start to slowly bleed from you.

After getting comfortable, you finally pulled out your phone, and quickly found your brunch 'date's' contact info, sending him the customary "Get up it's people watching hour" text.

[Hey Xav, you up? I'm already on my balcony?]

It doesn't take long for his reply. This has been your weekly tradition for a few months now. Ever since you had both just so happened to see that kid getting dragged down the street by the monstrous hound, it had become something of a... habit for the two of you to text each other the funny happenings on your street when you were home. Not that either of you were particularly prone to gossip, but the simple domesticity of it was oddly comforting after a long week of getting slogged on by wanderers.

[Yeah I'm up. Give me a sec]

The soft ping of your notification broke the peace, followed shortly by the shuffling of his patio door sliding open from above you. Sure, you could simply call out and greet him, as the acoustics out here are great and the soundproofing is atrocious, but the silence is cozy, and the atmosphere almost feels magical. This is your ritual, after all.

It's a bit like a storybook scene, you think, the two of you sharing a moment in time together yet still separated by some outside force. Maybe it was silly, but the fabricated longing almost made it feel romantic in a way that you're sure your neighbor would find ridiculous.

When you hear his footsteps above you come to a halt, you immediately notice something in particular is missing, however.

[You forgot your coffee Xav. Are you gonna be able to stay awake?]

[How could U tell?]

[I didn't smell any burning 🤭🔥]

He doesn't reply, but you can hear the huff he makes over the railing as his footsteps retreat, fading behind the sliding door once again. You don't even try to hold back the laughter his reaction elicits from you, hopeful the concrete carries it to him easily.

When he finally does reemerge, faint smell of bitter charred beans on the wind, his phone is already buzzing with the morning's newest additions to your people watching portfolios.

An older man you'd long ago dubbed "Green Thumb" who liked to frequent the flower garden outside your apartment complex was already taking photos of the new stargazer lily blossoms that had just opened this morning. So enamored by the vibrant petals, he didn't even seem to notice the couple he'd backed into who'd happened to spill their groceries all over the sidewalk. You heard Xavier call "Watch out!" From above you when he'd recognized the impending impact, but at your distance, it was no use.

[That was nice of you Xav. Too bad it didn't help 🫠]

[I can't believe they didn't see Green Thumb. He was so hard to miss. Even when Ur distracted U still see better]

[HEY! I'm not the one who sleep walks! 💀]

[And yet I'm always there to guard Ur back partner]

He's right of course, though you're not going to tell him. Xavier likes to play the part of a soft and harmless little thing, but it doesn't take much to stoke the hunter into burning hotter than you intended. His evol might be light, but you know better than anyone that light, under careful concentration, can start a blazing fire if you're not mindful. His teasing isn't ever harmful though, so instead you decide to simply poke the bear.

[Only because I'm starting to suspect you like it back there]

The distinct sound of a phone accidentally hitting the concrete marks the end of that thread.

Its not long before another of your regulars, pair of young kids Xavier had called the Trouble Twins arrived on scene. Aptly named for the number of times their poor mother has chastised them for chasing the ducks and picking the flowers, the siblings were quite the rambunctious duo. Today they seem to be a few steps ahead of their vigilant mother, rushing into the park with high-pitched hollers and improvised swords made of small branches they'd found. Today's unfortunate conquest seemed to be the pigeons that were being fed by the local grannies.

[They look like a pair of knights today don't they?]

[Knights? Don't knights usually protect people?]

[Maybe they're protecting us from the pigeons]

[Xavier those old ladies look pretty mad idk. That one even tried to chase the boy and almost caught him!]

The pause in messages was punctuated by his soft laughter above you, carried on the spring breeze. It was so warm, so genuine, so comfortable. You didn't need a mirror to feel the heat bloom in your cheeks; the overwhelming sensation of ardor flooding you at the the very sound.

[You're right. He needs more training. A good Knight should never be caught by an old lady]

[.... I don't think that's the message here Xav]

The rest of your morning goes back and forth like this for another hour. Watching your favorite people pass by, concocting new and interesting stories for them as they pass your balconies. Xavier has very interesting and oddly insightful opinions on those around him, considering you don't really recall seeing him with many friends. None the less, his company and companionship on your balconies has easily become your favorite part of the week. The only noises between you are the laughter that passes back and forth as the texts volley from one to another.

Finally, as the afternoon sun starts to become an uncomfortable heat, your phone chimes once more.

[I'm getting kind of hungry]

[Oh good. You're warning me this time. Thanks!]

[What?]

[No. I was going to ask if U wanted to go to lunch. With me, I mean?]

And just like that, the storybook was snapping shut. No longer a fragment lost in time where two people gazed at the same scene together from two separate places, but a tangible moment you could step into. Something intimate and real.

Perhaps you stayed in this thought a moment too long, or your silence below him made him second guess himself, as the chime of your phone snapped you out of your daze again.

[I didn't mean to impose if U have plans]

[I know it's Ur day off too]

Fumbling with the suddenly slippery device, softly cursing, and praying he didn't hear, you quickly hammer out the only thing that's been playing in your head on repeat-

[Yes absolutely! I'd love to grab some lunch I'm starving]

[Meet me downstairs in 30?]

#look i had 3 hours of sleep and i chose to this idk why #written in a single go like a psychopath #and now im going to bed gnight ♡ #lnds #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love & deepspace #xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier lnds #xavvy baby #kay writes #this text was just too cute I had too i was over come with emotions #god why is Xavier so adorable ugh #so soft boy sometimes i love himb #also- #not proofread we die like men #sorry im Le~ tired ill edit tomorrow

[undertheorangetree]

Under the God’s Eye

The Epilogue

Summary- Everyone has adjusted back to life nine months after the God’s Eye.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Me once again having no idea how lawyers work. Domestic and work place fluff. Vaginal fingering. Handjob. P in V sex. Overstimulation.

Author’s Note- I lied before I wrote an epilogue. The idea came to me on my commute and I was feeling fluffy. Full chapter on AO3!

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“I managed to find the Hill files for you,” she tells Rhaenyra as she pulls the beige folder out from under her arm. “They were buried in one of Otto’s filing cabinets. How they got there, I have no idea, but…”

Rhaenyra smiles as she takes the folder from her, flipping it over and scanning through the loose leaf pages inside before giving a curt nod. “Thank you, you’re a life saver. Have you taken lunch yet?”

“Not yet.”

Another nod. “Go take your hour. I’m not sure how long we’ll be here tonight but I imagine you’re going to need it.”

There is no need to tell her twice. With a bouncy nod, she leaves Rhaenyra’s office and makes her way down the hall, sensible heels clicking against the linoleum. There’s a line of windows that lead away from Rhaenyra’s office and she steps from shadow to shadow, the spring sunshine outside leaving warm sun spots in its wake.

Her own small office is not far from Rhaenyra's and she makes a quick pit stop to fetch her water bottle and thermos from her purse before shutting the door behind her and continuing down the hall.

She has enjoyed working at Targaryen and Hightower just as much as she assumed she would these past few months. It is difficult work, to be sure. Long hours on top of her final semester at school, countless mugs of coffee, and cups of noodles late at night when she finally trudges through the door, but it is just as rewarding as she thought it would be. Truthfully, despite the difficulties that have come from working at such a high end firm, she isn't sure she could be happier. Rhaenyra is the best boss she could ask for and a perfect role model for her to work toward. They have become reliant on each other and Rhaenyra has made it a habit to come to her for what seemed to be anything and everything. It should feel more like an assistant position she thinks, but the older woman has never treated her as anything less than an equal, often asking for her opinion and taking her advice on more than one occasion.

She does not see much of Viserys Targaryen or Otto Hightower, both too occupied with their own cases to ever give her much mind, but she doesn’t mind as there is someone else she sees far more often.

Her fist raps against Aemond’s office door, listening carefully before pushing it open slowly. He’s sitting at his desk staring at his laptop screen, one hand braced next to his good eye as he squints it, likely trying to chase away blurry vision. It darts up when it catches sight of movement and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile when he sees her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she greets, shutting the door behind her before pressing her back against it. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans back in his chair. “Looking over the sales accounts for the Westerling case. It’s melting my brain.”

“You were looking at those this morning. Isn’t it time to take a break?”

He’s shaking his head almost the moment she suggests it, leaning forward again to stare into the blue light. “No. I have to sort them out before tonight or granddad will kill me.”

She purses her lips but elects to say nothing, twisting her thermos lid open and pulling the collapsible fork from the top, straightening it before digging into her leftovers from the night before. It’s lukewarm at best but she does not mind it, watching Aemond as he blinks erratically. Though she winces in sympathy at the thought of the pain in his eye, the irritation exacerbated by the strain, she knows better than to comment on it. He will not take a break regardless of what she says and so she simply watches him while she eats.

He looks good like this, dressed in his white button up and silk tie, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It has become a routine sight, one that she more than welcomes, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Even from here, she can see the shadow of his eyelashes as they wash over his cheekbones, his lips pursed in half a pout that tells her that his frustration will soon get the better of him. There’s an empty coffee cup next to him and she takes it upon herself to make her way over to his Keurig, placing a pod in and positioning a mug beneath the spout before pressing the button.

She continues to stare at him as it brews, feeling only a little creepy for watching him so long. Whatever tan his skin had managed to soak in from the summer has long since left him, leaving him a little paler than she had gotten used to, and she wonders if he would be willing to go on a trip with her after graduation. To Qarth maybe, for the culture she knows the history buff in him will enjoy. Or maybe Dorne, to the Water Gardens. It would be nice, to go on a holiday with him again.

Read the rest here :)

Taglist: @backyardfolklore @docmartinis @watercolorskyy @barbieaemond @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @aemondsbabygirl @randomdragonfires @at-a-rax-ia @violetletovi @launotfound @helaenaluvr @solisarium @bellstwd @moonlightfoxx

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond targrayen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #house of the dragon

[puffein]

EPILOGUE | late spring [xii.]

summary: all you have left is hope as you board a trip back to new jersey. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 2411 a/n: its finally the eeeeend!! i hope you enjoyed this series! thank you!!!

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Edinburgh, Scotland

Late-May 2027

The sharp chilling air of the early mornings of Edinburgh rouses your sleepy form from its slumbers. The bright sun waking its warm light to cascade through the open gaps of the windows made you forget the fading breezy air you felt a minute ago. Blinking through the sudden illuminating light of the sun, you felt the moving car come to a complete stop. 

Your eyes watch the forwarding move of each stranger, the crowds moving like waves crashing through their destination, their luggage trailing behind them with the sounds of its wheels gliding through the pavement. 

You let out a breath, pushing the door open and taking the heavy suitcase out of the car. You heard a door closing in hard and a set of rush footsteps gliding towards you. 

"Y/N, wait– this.." Kate's staggering timbre of voice made you whip your head towards her, an eyebrow raised at a box she was carrying. "This is for you." Pushing the box forward into your arms, you gave her a confused look. 

"What is this? I told you I do not need a parting gift, I'll be coming back here." you huff.

Her dark hair moves swiftly as her head shakes, "No, no, I know you're coming back. It's, um, remember like years ago you told me about the letters, just the story behind that, um, well, you see– I didn't throw her letters away, I have kept them." 

Your heart thumps, eyes flickering downwards– into the box your arms securely carried, "Kate, why.."

"I don't know, it's just, it felt weird to throw it away. If what you have said is the truth, that you are now okay and breathing then it wouldn't be so hard to read the letters she wrote years ago, right?" 

Your heart wobbles lightly, a smile taking its place right at your place, "Alright, thank you for keeping this."

Kate beams, her body giddy at taking in your gratitude, her hands moving awkwardly as she points at you, "Can I hug you or is that too weird, I mean I know we are busi–" 

You bark out a laugh, wrapping your hands in her wrist to pull her flush into your body, hugging her. "Be good here, Bishop."

"I will!" she chirps, leaning away to give you her wide smile. 

You step back, the box in your arms suddenly heavy, you give Kate one last smile, and as soon as your back faces Kate, your smile falls. You feel the weight of the letters, clutching the box tightly, and your steps wobble as you try to navigate your way through the airport. 

The distinct smell of the airport wraps you in quickly, with each stranger having its own destination, you have come into a thought of what stories each of them carries and then your story came in like a bucket of ice-cold water, splashing into you without a warning. 

You have healed. But the heavy weight of the letters doesn't settle right into your being. You are afraid opening such things would make you backtrack all the progress you have gotten, but then again, healing is not linear, it never will be.

So, when you successfully seated yourself in the window seat of the plane, you took one letter out of the box. Eyeing the familiar handwriting plastered through the piece of paper, your breath catches in sharply as your eyes scan the contents of a piece of paper that holds such delicate words. 

My dear Y/N,

      How are you? I don't know what letter this is, this might be my 10th, I don't know. I just kept on writing and writing, it's the only thing that has brought me comfort. I hope you are doing well, I kept on thinking and thinking if I have made a different choice, a different action, would this be just another alternate version of our life?

     I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. I know the words I have said don't justify how wrong my actions were. It didn't dawn on me how my simple actions of ignoring you— the problems— my problem, would cause you such great pain. It didn't occur to me and I was being selfish and prideful. I was so blind, I was so scared of what I was feeling for you that I completely broke you. I didn't mean that, I was just scared and I wanted that feeling to vanish, so I did what I thought was the best plan. To be blind and avoid problems.

      Sorry, I'm sorry.

      I hope Edinburgh is treating you well. All I can do is hope, Y/N. I hope Edinburgh is fixing things for you that New Jersey never fixed. You don't need fixing, though, you have always been perfect and I never treasured that. 

      I love you, Y/N. I really do. I was just scared of many things, the thoughts were bad, and it did not help at all. I'm sorry. This doesn't make sense. Everything doesn't make sense. You are the only one grounding me, Y/N. 

      I hope when the time comes, you and I can talk. I will be hoping for that day.

Sincerely,

Wanda

You try to take in whatever words Wanda has written and along the lines of her painful words, your heart thumps lightly. This is a letter she wrote years ago and yet, it perfectly consummates the current emotions you are feeling. And without a single doubting thought, your heart blooms that one word she always wrote. 

You will be hoping.

༻༺

"I can't believe I have to get married for you to finally come home." Natasha greets you with a teasing voice, the ends of her tone are tender and warm as she pulls you in quickly for a tight embrace. 

You let out a surprised squeal at her tight grip, choking out a laugh, "Get off, please. I can't breathe."

"Oh shut up, you missed this." 

You smiled against her body, pulling her closer and taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. Natasha's grin widens when a familiar hand pulls her away gently. 

"Maria, finally nice to meet you." your hand reaches forward for the brunette to take. The woman with a posture so straight gave you a winning smile, pulling you in again into a tight hug.

"What is with you two and tight embraces, oh god, I feel like my lungs are crushed." 

Maria chuckles, "Okay, you are dramatic." 

Natasha swiftly moves beside you, hanging her arms around your shoulder, "So.. tell me about this Gray woman, does she make your life vibrant contrary to how monotone her name is?" 

You let out a nervous laugh, "Nat, I told you we are just friends. I don't think it's a great idea for me to date, I don't want someone to get stuck up with someone like me."

Natasha completely stops, her face is ready to fight the words you just have stated, "Like you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for anything," you stated, mouthing a small thank you to Maria as she easily carries your suitcase into the car. "I wanna focus on myself, that's literally it."

Nat leans her body on the car, her arms crossing right at her chest, "And we love you for that. Apologies for my remarks." she declares, the corners of her mouth twitching in a wide grin, proud of what she's hearing from her precious best friend. "Now get in. My fiancée and I will take you for a wild ride."

Your smile widens at her silly words, playfully slapping her arms as you duck down to sit in the back seat. 

You watch them interact with each other, how Maria holds out her hand for Natasha to take, how your best friend can't seem to take her eyes off the brunette, how the brown-haired woman has a smile permanently plastered on her face. As you watch them carefully, something gnaws in the deeper ends of your chest, slowly clawing its way out to let you know that this feeling, the feeling of envy, the feeling of being wanted to be loved, is still present, alive, even after shoving in and crushing it to pieces.

It somehow mends itself and it's now clawing wildly out of your chest, making you look away and focus your sights on the moving scenery laid out of the clear window.

Westview is still the same as when you have left it, the tree-lined streets stand beautifully, the proud sun sets itself onto the blue sky, its rays peeking in between the leaves of the trees, making it look like a scene out of a postcard. 

When the moving scenery finally comes to a stop in a very familiar neighborhood, Natasha quickly hops out of the car to open the door for you, her head tilting as she gives you a cheeky grin, opening her arms as she points at a house.

"What do you think?"

You gape at her, "You brought a house?"

"Me and Maria thought it would be nice to have a house before the wedding and this, woman right here," pulling Maria closer to her, Natasha kisses her cheeks loudly, "She surprised me with a house!" 

Your eyes flicker at the brunette whose face is turning red, "That's great, Maria, wow. You are in deep."

"Oh, shut up. I'm saving you money here from checking in a hotel." Maria's stoned voice made you laugh loudly, shaking your head as you carried your suitcase with ease, letting out a silent huff at how heavy it is. 

Letting yourself breathe in the sight before you, the couple's house screams cozy and homey. You can picture them starting a family with this house, little Natasha running around, Maria's stoic face as she scolds their child, and family pictures scattered all over their house. Their future unfolds before your eyes, and you badly want to see what the future holds for you. 

Will it be just like them?

"Hey, Nat." your hand grips Natasha's wrist, "I wanna see something, is it okay if I meet you two at dinner?" 

"Sure, want me to drive you? Where are you even going?" Natasha quips, arranging your suitcase in the corner of the room she had pointed out. 

You shrug, "I just wanna walk around, it's been so long. I wanna see if something has changed." 

"Call me if you need a drive back home, yeah?" The redhead's smile was contagious, making you give her a grateful smile.

That's how you found yourself walking aimlessly on the sidewalks of the neighborhood, each house feels familiar yet different and strange. It's like watching something out of a picture you have hidden in a box that has a label of 'memories'. 

It doesn't feel real, how you are walking to the very place you have run away from. Nothing would have prepared you for what happened years ago, the final conversation you had with Wanda was eye-opening. It did help you get the closure you wanted but not the ending of what you had hoped. Despite that, you chose yourself, you chose what you needed instead of what you wanted. 

It is hard, to choose between a want and a need but you knew what weighed more. Even if it left you on a lonely journey of self-healing, it was the very first time you have chosen an option that does not revolve around her.

Life shouldn't revolve around her and yet you had caught yourself standing outside the coffeehouse, eyes gazing at the empty building, despite the day not being done, the lights were off, and dust forming inside the clear window pane.

Thank you for your patronage. This coffeehouse has permanently closed.

You blinked away the sudden bitterness pooling at the tip of your tongue, gulping the remaining dejection crawling out of your throat over a closed coffeehouse, you looked away.

Westview did change, if it's the same as what you have left, the coffeehouse would still be here, not an abandoned building sitting with its bleakness seeping out of its clear windows. 

The grimness you have felt for something that seems so insignificant to others made you feel petty, but maybe you were just holding on to something that needed to be let go of. 

Hearing the sudden whipping of the wind and the yapping of a fast little dog running right at your ankle, you look down and instantly crouch to take the dog. 

Brows furrowing, you tried to look for a collar.

"Sparky– I swear to god. I am so sorry—" a hoarse voice comes next.

Your head whips fast. 

"...Y/N," she says breathlessly, her soft tunes sounding like she's running out of breath, catching it.

Wanda. 

It shouldn't bother you.

If you had moved on, it really shouldn't.

But it did. The look on her face sits gorgeously, she gapes at you wild like a fish out of water, trying to make sense if you are real or just another delusion of hers. You blink, your heart is calm but your mind says otherwise.

"You–you're back?" 

You nod. "Yes, I– uhm, just today."

The nibbling of her bottom lip made you turn your gaze away, softly setting down the dog on the ground, the cute pup instantly ran towards the frozen woman. 

"They, they closed months ago." she suddenly declares, watching as your eyes linger on the building. A tense silence ensues, making you clench the quiver of your chest. 

"It was nice to see you, Y/N. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she mutters, you turn at her, watching as she struggles to clasp the collar back on the puppy, her hands are visibly trembling. 

With one last final glance, she smiles at you, "Sorry again, he always likes to run away from me. Okay, I— I want to—" she struggles.

Then settle for a simple, "Goodbye, Y/N."

You let her walk away, her long chocolate brown hair sits beautifully at her shoulders, then it hits you. A memory replaying right in your eyes, watching her walk away, steps heavy on the pavement. This is so familiar. 

"Wanda!"

The turning of her head was fast, the hope pooling in her green eyes made you waver. 

"What time is it?" you asked. 

Her shoulders fall, looking down at her watch, "Eight-forty-nine," she replies. 

"Would you like a coffee at nine?" 

fin.

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—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda #wanda maximoff mcu #wanda maximoff marvel

[lilmashae]

☙ no promises | vol. 1 | s.jy

♥ summary ♥ back. ♥ next. ♥ home. ♥

author's note | don't hate me ! i know i said i'd upload the first part last night but i had priorities (the birthday hair 🤓 ). anyways i love you all lots , and depending on how this does there will be a part two ! there's no smut this time , is it goes on there will be :)

the steady chugging of the train hummed in your ears, and the window felt cold against your temple. on the other side of the glass lay your hometown, its roads beautifully blanketed in flower petals, dressed for the spring.

the humming ceased as the train pulled into the station. crowds of people gathered in front of the sleek double doors, and you stood up. the warm spring sun kissed your forehead as you stepped out onto the platform. your eyes wearily searched through the ocean of people, looking for your best friend.

you were nervous to return home. it took weeks for lily to convince you—four weeks exactly, a month. you didn’t have any family living in the small town; you didn’t have any reason to show your face. your older sister had moved across the country, craving freedom from your strict parents, apparently from you too—her burdensome younger sister. so, no family and an aching guilt—no reason to come home. however, the girl had still managed to reel you in.

"you can stay with me and jaeyun," she said. and momentarily, you agreed because you didn’t have the funds to rent out a room for two weeks. however, it wasn’t until after your agreement that it clicked.

shoving past strangers, her words rang in your ears. her and jaeyun—little jaeyun. who you assumed wasn’t so little anymore. he probably wouldn’t run into your arms pleading to stay up late with you and his older sister. you’ve been gone for three years... of course, he’s not a baby anymore—he’s not the same lovesick teenager, is he? the same jaeyun who cried watching your train leave the station, or the same jaeyun who made you promise to never forget him—which how could you? obviously, he’s not little anymore—your little jaeyun could never hate you—no matter what you lied about.

"y/n!" a voice rang out. it cut through the bustling clamor of the station—families reuniting and friends excitedly chattering. suddenly, all of your guilt melted away underneath a new feeling—possibly the relief of finding lily through the crowds that sunk your apprehensiveness. you couldn’t help but grin because lily’s bright smile had your lips curving up into a smile too. she made her way over to you before enveloping you in a warm embrace.

“i haven’t seen you in forever!” she let out an exaggerated sigh. “you saw me last week!” you giggled, squeezing her in your arms. lily sim—your best friend—saw you seven days ago when she was helping you pack your suitcase for your return home. unlike you, she had decided to stay within the warm community of your small town—where everyone knew everyone and everything. “whatever! are you ready to go?” she smiled, reaching for your luggage. you nodded as a feeling of nostalgia washed over you; you’d finally be home.

the car ride wasn’t long. one of lily’s playlists erupted in the car’s speakers as you two caught up. lily’s place wasn’t far from the station; the familiar scenery of your hometown welcomed you with open arms. the small businesses and parks seemed unchanged. your tree still stood tall in the town’s field—which made you crack a cheeky grin. the familiarity somewhat eased your thoughts—specifically those of jaeyun who stood tall in the driveway of lily’s parent’s house. he definitely wasn’t little—far from it especially clad in his soaked white shirt that lazily clung to his stomach. “jaeyun!” lily shouted from out of the window piercing through your focus. “are you done washing dad’s car or what?” she smiled opening her door and getting out of the car. “yeah yeah… i’m almost done. what’s up?” you watched the siblings bicker through the tinted windows of your best friend's car. that anxiety in your stomach began to bubble up once more. “get the bags out of my trunk! pretty please jaeyun!” she pleaded stomping back in the direction of the vehicle before opening your door. “what are you doing? stop being weird—get out and tell my brother hi.”

you bit your lip stepping out of the car, and jake’s eyes lit up watching your figure emerge before him. looking at lily, you awkwardly smiled before walking in his direction. “hey… jaeyun,” you waved softly, biting the inside of your cheek. he swallowed dryly—clearing his throat, the last thing you expected was his chest to meet your own—hands snaking around your back, pulling you into a particularly damp hug. “jaeyun!” lily shouted from behind you. “you’re getting her wet! let go!” you could feel him slowly releasing you, dropping his arms at his side. “you’re back,” he smiled widely. “i—” before he could finish, lily was standing between you two. “bags, jaeyun!” he scoffed. “right, right… your bags.” he turned to you once more, his eyes full of wonder and admiration.

as if he had perfect timing, the sim siblings' father came through the front door. “jake, you done with the car or what?” it seemed everyone was worried about that car. you went unnoticed, quietly standing in front of the garage as lily continued to shout at jaeyun. he’s strong, you think, watching as he carries all of your bags up the front steps in one trip. “not yet, dad… lily’s making me do chores,” he rolled his eyes. “hey!” the older girl shouts back at him, and he sticks his tongue out. “dad.” lily smiles, dragging you behind her. “guess who’s here… your favorite… y/n!” the girl glides on the flats of her feet, revealing you behind her. “hi, mr. sim!” you brightly smile and wave at him. much like his son, mr. sim is incredibly enthusiastic, throwing his arms around you. “y/n! where’ve you been? it’s been how long… three years? you haven’t changed one bit, you know—”

“oh, leave her alone!” again, the sim family has ironically perfect timing. mrs. sim follows jake out of the house. “she’s changed lots! she’s taller, her hips are a little wider…” lily’s parents always acted like your own—just much more loving and carefree. “i got your bags up in lily’s room,” jake proudly smirked, staring you up and down, which lily clearly saw. “gross! you still have a crush on her or something?” she nudged her brother.

the savory scent of barbeque wafted through the air. the sim family's backyard was a cozy haven, adorned with string lights twinkling overhead and a rustic wooden table adorned with colorful tablecloths.

as you settled into the comfortable patio chairs, mr. sim skillfully tended to the grill, expertly flipping burgers and basting chicken with his secret marinade. the rhythmic sizzle of the grill mingled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, creating a comforting symphony of home.

lily's parents effortlessly juggled conversations, seamlessly blending familial anecdotes with playful teasing. mrs. sim, with her warm smile and nurturing demeanor, circulated among the guests, ensuring everyone had their plates filled with mouthwatering dishes.

meanwhile, jake, with his boyish charm and mischievous grin, manned the cooler, offering everyone ice-cold beverages and sharing lighthearted jokes. despite his playful antics, there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes whenever he glanced your way, a silent reassurance that eased the lingering hesitance in your heart.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the backyard, the sim family gathered around the table, sharing stories and passing around plates piled high with grilled delicacies. the air was filled with laughter and contentment, a testament to the bond shared between family and friends.

but amidst the warm embrace, you were still hesitant to face—jake. you had grown up together, sharing countless memories and adventures, but there was one memory in particular that you couldn't shake — your tree.

during a lazy summer afternoon beneath the shade of a towering oak tree, you had leaned in closer to jake’s skin. your heart was heart pounding in your chest as you pressed your lips against his, stealing his first kiss with a promise to come back whenever you could to see him.

“y/n! hey, y/n!”

your eyes shot open at the familiar voice. “jake!” you waved from under the tree with a book shut on your lap. you must’ve dozed off, reading or thinking. either way, it didn’t matter because jake was there. he had ridden up on his bike. if you had to guess, he’d just gotten out of school. after all, he was still adorned in his uniform with his hair neatly thrown on his head.

“what’s up?” as he ran up, you patted the earth next to you. “nothing… i just wanted to come to see you.” he sat down beside you, his head on your shoulder. “you haven’t been over in days — are you and lily still fighting?” a small giggle escaped your throat as you nudged his side. you two were fighting, but you were sure she’d long gotten over it. if anything, you were hiding from him. “no, jake… i’ve been busy. you know i leave soon — for college?” and hearing that, his smile quickly faded. anyone would notice the frown plastered on his face as it was unfamiliar to him. the silence was swallowing you whole. you looked down to see him playing with his fingers — his glasses close to falling. “hey, jake, are you okay..?” if you were being honest, you had no idea how to comfort him. you knew that he wasn’t okay. seeing him pout and whine made your stomach twist and tie itself into a tight knot.

“y/n… please don’t go.” his tone was serious, almost cold — far from playful, cute jaeyun. “jaeyun, i have to.” you could see tears welling up in his eyes. “jake, you know—” he knew you knew that he liked you — loved you. even if you didn’t, the speed at which his smile dropped entailed something was wrong. “just do this for me. stay, y/n.” salty tears began streaming down his cheeks. “stop it, it’s fine… you know i’ll be back.” you hate watching people cry: it’s the worst. but watching jake cry, that made you sick. “hey,” grabbing his hands, you looked into his eyes. “i’ll never really leave, so don’t cry. seriously, quit it, or else i’ll—” you’re interrupted by jake’s lips colliding into your own — they’re pillowy but slightly chapped from his constant nipping. it’s a bad habit — a nervous one that only got worse as you were closer to leaving.

but after the initial shock, you close your eyes — leaning into his lips. your lips mold together in a sweet kiss — passionate yet chaste. slightly smiling into his mouth, you placed your free hand against his cheek and wiped his tears. “jake…” he squeezed your hands tighter than before, “please stay.” it broke your heart to watch him cry.

but as the years passed and life got in the way, you broke her promise, leaving behind a heartbroken boy and a shattered dream.

now, as you stood in the doorway of lily's house, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt wash over your body. you had avoided jake at all costs, unable to face the consequences of your actions. but deep down, you knew that she still harbored feelings towards him, feelings that you had long tried to bury beneath the weight of your guilt.

guidelines and disclaimers | not too lengthy , just because i want to see how this does ! if you guys like it i'l continue updating... but i don't really have any personal desire for this except maybe a smutty drabble 🤡

#lil-ma-shae #fanfiction #enhypen smut #sim jaeyun #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #jake angst #jake fluff #jake smut

[familyvideostevie]

Hi hello🍄✨🌼 I would like to ask for a friends to lovers Eddie munson x fem reader, where Eddie's announcing to the reader that he's going on a date with a girl and it gets a bit angsty and they stop talking for a while but eventually she admits that that she likes him and they get together. If this is too much or not your thing feel free to ignore. Hope you have a great day ✨🌼

darling! i hope this works for you, let me know! <3 angst w fluff at the end! | 2.3k, fem!reader

The sun is warm on your face as you wait for Eddie to get out of class. You're meant to go to the library today to work on his history paper, but he's late. You don't really mind, since it's a rare early spring day in Hawkins. Having the day off, you walked to the school and chanced a skirt today, glad to stretch your legs out in front of you where you sit on the steps. The sounds of the campus are soothing as you close your eyes, chin tipped up. Someone playing frisbee, cars starting and stopping, skateboards over the pavement. Shouts and laughter. It's a perfect day. 

"Don't be late tomorrow, Wheeler! You too, Henderson!" Eddie's voice from behind you makes you smile, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound. 

Being friends with Eddie has made your life better in so many ways -- he is kind and caring, sure, but he is funny and brings you out of your shell. He has introduced you to a gaggle of other teens and they've welcomed you into the fold. Eddie makes your life full and makes you so happy you could burst.

Maybe it was only par for the course that you've fallen in love with him. But, friends you stay, because that is enough for you. And if sometimes you think Eddie's gaze lingers on your lips, or if he holds you a little tighter than necessary when you sleep over? Maybe someday you'll ask him about it. But first, getting him to the end of the school year and into a job at the record store with you.

You keep your eyes closed as you feel him plop down next to you, chain scraping the stone steps. He bumps his shoulder with yours. 

"Now, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?" The corners of your mouth turn up but you try to muster a frown. You open your eyes and allow yourself to drink him in for just a moment. Warm eyes, wide grin, messy hair. Your Eddie, pretty as a picture. 

"Waiting for someone who is late," you cry, mocking affront. "I'm burning to a crisp out here."

"Looks like you're enjoying it," he smirks, running an index finder over the freckles on your cheeks."You look like a dandelion in the sun."

"Are you calling me a weed, Eddie?" You roll your eyes and stand up, brushing off your skirt. His eyes follow your movements, and you pretend not to notice. "Real nice."

"A pretty weed, babe. Honest." You snort and he laughs as you walk to his van. "And I know my weed." No doubt the sun has warmed your cheeks some, which is a good thing since you're definitely blushing.

He pulls out of the school parking lot and heads towards town after you've hopped in and buckled up.

"Y'know," he starts, glancing over at you. You're already looking at him, of course, and he smirks. "I was late because the weirdest thing happened."

"I heard you talking to Mike and Dustin. Hellfire stuff?" He shakes his head. 

"No, just ran into them as I was leaving." He pauses, fingers tapping a random rhythm on the steering wheel. "Lester asked me to go out with her this Friday. To her brother's gig in the city."

"Kate Lester? From your English class?" You furrow your brow and look out the window. You feel a little mean for being surprised. 

"You know her?" 

"A little," you say. She'd been your lab partner your senior year. She's kind and pretty, a year younger than you, and going to University of Cincinnati in the fall, according to Nancy. 

"What's she like?" Eddie huffs. "She's never talked to me before, really."

"Then why did you say yes?" The question comes before you can stop it. His eyebrows raise and he searches your face for something before looking away. Your shoulders drop. 

"Well, she asked, I guess." He shrugs. "Seems to think I'll like some amateur punk music. Don't know where she got that idea." He looks at you to see if you'll laugh at him, but you're focused on the road. 

"She's nice," you say, and you mean it. She is nice. "I'm sure you'll have a great time." You try to keep your voice bright because you really do want him to have a nice date, even if it's with someone who doesn't know him like you do, with someone who doesn't already love every inch of him. Eddie is a catch, anyone should be able to see that. 

It's just that you thought everyone knew you and Eddie were youandEddie. Even if you're just friends, it's been you two against the world for a while. Late nights watching him practice his guitar, staying over in the trailer after helping him study, long walks when he has nightmares. You've got a drawer of his clothes in your room and he made you the guest of honor at Hellfire Club for your birthday and he visits you at work whenever he can. You know that he loves you, but maybe it's not ever going to be the way you love him. 

"What's wrong, sweet thing?" The pet name makes you shiver. His hand reaches over and cups your knee, thumb pressing into the bare skin, his rings leaving little indents. His eyes flick between you and the road and you feel a little guilty, but can't muster the will to pretend. 

"Headache," you mumble. He gives you a squeeze before letting go. 

"Do you want me to take you home?" His voice is soft, gentle with you in that way of his. 

You shake your head. "We agreed to do your essay today, Eds." He's smart on his own, but he works harder when you're there to encourage him. 

"I can read and write, you know. I'll be fine on my own, honest. I'll drop you at home."

"You sure?" You're going to be no help anyway, now that you're sulking over a date that hasn't even happened yet. He nods.

That night you try not to think about it but you fail. Your brain is fuzzy all week at work, but when Friday rolls around you put on a brave face. 

"We're leaving right after school," he tells you at lunch -- he's driven over to see you on your break during his free period. "Driving into the city and then back tonight."

"Be safe, okay?" you say. "No drinking." Eddie is a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them. Still, you can't help but make him promise. 

"I'd never," he replies, seriously. "We'll just see some shitty music and be back before midnight, probably."

"Are you excited?" you ask, running your hands through your hair to stop yourself from brushing his out of his face. 

He hums noncommittally. "Lotta driving for a first date," he huffs, as if it just occurred to him. "Didn't even know she knew my name till this week."

If you didn't know him so well you'd say he was self conscious. "Oh, stop that," you say. "You're a catch, Eddie Munson, you hear me? She's lucky to be going on a date with you."

Eddie fixes his gaze on you and looks and looks and looks. You meet his stare with your own, until he breaks and grabs your hand, dragging it up for a sweet kiss. Your heart breaks a little, but you smile. 

____

You don't know why you do it, really, but you avoid Eddie for the whole weekend after his date. And the entire week after. You sit in the break room during lunch in case he comes in, and pick up extra shifts to beg off when he asks you to hang out. You even go to the skatepark with Max. Anything to keep you busy. A small, ugly part of you wonders if he even notices. 

Robin calls you from work a week after you last really spoke to Eddie.

"Do you know why Munson is in Family Video right now looking like a kicked puppy?" she asks, the line crackling. "Steve is telling him he's scaring away customers."

"Why did you call me about it?" you ask, twirling the phone chord around your fingers. It's Saturday night and you would bet that it's just the three of them in the store.

"Don't be dense," Robin replies, not unkindly. "Does this have to do with his date last week?"

"Robin, shh! Can he hear you?" You pause. "Wait, how do you even know about that?"

"Kate told Carol in the locker room and Vickie overheard and told me. Do you even know how it went?" She sighs. "Of course you don't, since Eddie has told us no less than four times that you haven't spoken for a week."

The guilt rises up in your throat. Have you gone and done the thing you wanted to prevent in the first place -- ruin your friendship?

"Is he mad?" you whisper into the phone. Robin barks a laugh. 

"Mad? Have you ever seen Eddie get mad? Other than that time when I made fun of his music. But at you? I don't think he can get mad at you." You rub at your eyes with your free hand. 

"Okay," you say. "Okay. Can you tell him to come over to my house, please?"

"Roger that," she chirps. It sounds like she pulls the phone away from her mouth before yelling, "Munson! Y/N wants you at her house, pronto."

You hear a faint Thank Christ from Steve and a Really? from Eddie. 

"Thanks, Robin," you say. 

"No, thank you," she laughs before hanging up.

The sun is setting, so you decide to throw on a sweatshirt and wait for him outside so you can go for a walk. You've barely sat on your stoop when Eddie's van pulls into your drive. He seems to steel himself before getting out. 

"Hey," he calls, his voice hoarse. You stand. It takes about four second of looking at him for you to start running and before you know it you're in his arms. He thunks back against the door of his van and you bury your face in his neck, his hair tickling you, but you don't mind. His hands stroke your back, up and down, and the tension seems to leak out of him. 

"Hey," you whisper, before you pull away from him just enough to see his face. He looks wrecked and your stomach twists. "I'm sorry, Eddie."

"No," he says loudly into the night. His hands come up to cup your face on either side. "No, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm so fucking sorr--"

You place your fingers over his mouth. "You didn't do anything." He looks confused, so you continue. "This was all me, Eds. I've been a horrible friend to you this week and that's the last thing I wanted to do but I went ahead and did it anyway."

"Why?" he breathes. You take his hands in your own and draw them down between you. 

"I--," you start, then take a deep breath. "How was your date?" you ask. You need to know before you tell him. 

Eddie looks confused, but answers. "Music was fine. She just wanted me there to make the drummer in her brother's band jealous," he admits, rolling his eyes. Your eyebrows furrow at that. "It's okay though," he continues. "Because I'm not really into Kate."

"Oh," you let out. 

"But what does that have to do with you not talking to me?" His thumbs trace circles on your skin. His eyes have nothing but warmth for you and it gives you courage. He'll forgive you for this, you think. You can still be friends. 

"I want more than anything for you to be happy, Eddie," you say, and then lose your nerve at the last second, closing your eyes before continuing. "But I'm in love with you." His thumbs still. 

"And I know that's no excuse for how I've treated you this week, because we're friends first and you're my best friend and --" 

"Sweetheart," Eddie says, sounding breathless. "Look at me, please." Your eyes fly open. He's looking at you the way he looks at his guitar, the way he looks when he's finished a campaign he's proud of, the way he looks at you when you wake up next to him. 

He's looking at you like he always does, you realize. He's looking at you like he loves you. 

"Can you say it again?" he whispers. 

You don't hesitate. "I love you, Eddie." The words seem to pour out of you now. "I have for a while. And it made me jealous to hear you were going on a date, which I have no right to be, since you should be happy with whoever you wa--"

"Hey," he interrupts again, and this time you can see the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Let a guy talk, huh?" His hands return to your face and you nuzzle into one palm. "I am happy." He smiles. "Happy with you." He sighs, and it's a happy sound, before leaning in to kiss your forehead. "My best friend." His lips find your right cheek next to his hand, and then your left. "Girl of my dreams," he continues, and you're grinning, now. He kisses your nose and you giggle.

Eddie pulls away and you almost whine. He looks serious, but you can't stop smiling. 

"I'm in love with you," he says. "I love you. Can I kiss you?" You find the ability to nod somehow, since Eddie has just blown your world to pieces and you didn't know you could feel this happy. But as his lips find yours and your hands tangle in his hair, you think that you could get used to it. 

want to be added to my tag list for full-length (non-ask) fics? send me a message and specify for steve, eddie, or both! reblog, send feedback, requests open, masterlist here!

#anon ask #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things s4 #please excuse all typos i just wrote this #first fanfic on this account WOOO #reblog and share and all that bc i have no followers yet <3 #emma’s asks

[delopsia]

Thinking about Rhett looking after you during storms...

Wabang. A tiny excuse for a town that grows closer and closer to being downgraded to a village every year. Forgotten by many, tucked away into the southwest corner of the Teton range, you’ll miss it even on the most detailed of maps. First driving into town, it’s hard to understand why the town has been practically abandoned; with vast pastures, a scattering of crystal clear lakes, and a breathtaking view of the mountains, Wabang is the very definition of picture perfect.

Rhett’s always referred to Wabang as a siren. She’s beautiful until you get too close. You’ve never understood what he meant by that, but to be fair, you never thought to ask him to elaborate. Even as you made the life-altering decision to pack up and settle into a comfy rental home on the edge of town. Even as Rhett quietly asked if you were absolutely sure that you want to go through with it, meekly volunteered to leave Wabang to come to you instead.

Spring arrives a week after you settle in, bringing with it all of its infamous trademarks; chirping birds, flowers re-emerging from the ground, bearing colorful buds that haven’t quite bloomed yet. The atmosphere is as cozy as a cheesy Hallmark movie; you find yourself waking up late in the morning to sunshine peeking through the curtains, bathing your skin in its warmth. Somewhere past noon, your new neighbor stops by to gift you a freshly baked pie and some of her homemade jam. She says she made too much and has no way to get rid of it, but you get the sneaking suspicion she's gone out of her way to do something nice for you.

When you see her out the door, you don't think too hard about the dark clouds rolling in from the west. Spring showers. No big deal, you've dealt with them before, and you shall deal with them again. But then thunder booms, ear-splittingly loud as your home shakes so hard that a newly hung shelf comes clean off the wall. The shining sun is gone within an instant, replaced by low-hanging, almost black clouds that carry squealing winds and an ocean's worth of rain. Distant sirens wail to life, screaming wordlessly about a potential tornado, but you can barely hear it over the screeching of wind beating around the corners of your house.

You hardly know what to do; this house is laid out strangely; every room has a window, and you haven't the slightest clue where the safest point in your house is. The electricity has long since been knocked out, leaving you to your own devices in a house you're unfamiliar with. You don't even have a kitchen table to hide beneath because it's currently on backorder for the next week. You've just resigned yourself to accepting your fate from the comfort of your couch when the front door bursts open.

Your first instinct is to think that a tornado is on the ground and it's right on your doorstep, but then a familiar form comes stumbling in, chasing down the door handle that escaped his grip.

"Rhett?" Lifting your head from the stiff, decorative pillow, "Rhett, what the hell—"

"'s bad out there, ain't it?" Discarding his dripping jacket in the middle of the floor because there's nowhere else to put it. Water drips from the messy curls that poke out from beneath his ears, leaving tiny spots in his gray t-shirt as he crosses the room.

"Don't tell me you drove all the way here while those sirens were going off," but you already know the answer to your own question.

"'course I did," pride leaking from his tone as he settles into the gap of space next to you, arms open wide, welcoming you into his warm, safe chest. "Can't let some mean ol' twister get my baby, now can I?"

Even as the sirens begin to wail once more, hail beating against your windows as the wind shrieks, threatening to break in at any moment, it's hard to feel scared at all. So carefully secured in Rhett's arms that it feels as if nothing can get to you here.

"You don't seem frightened in the slightest," you find yourself whispering, the slow thump of his heart loud in your ear.

"'Ts normal 'round here," those are words you certainly do not want to hear, but he says it so calmly that it hardly gets a rise out of your nerves. "You'll get used to it after a while."

When the storm clears, the most damage you find is a dent in Rhett's truck bed from the hail and a few downed branches. Branches that wind up getting hauled down to the ranch, fodder for a fire, exclusively because you both are having cravings for S'mores as of late.

There's plenty of space for you to sit, there are fold-out chairs in the barn, and Rhett's just got done building a third wooden bench, but you're snuggled up in the same damn Adirondack chair. Sharing the same S'more because your eyes were bigger than your stomachs, and now you've got too many.

"'Nother storms a'comin'," he observes aloud, in between pressing a chocolatey kiss to your temple.

But you don't see a single dark cloud in the sky. "How do you know?"

Your question goes unanswered for some time; Rhett's too busy licking the pad of his thumb and trying to wipe off the mess he's left on your skin. Eventually, he bites the bullet and just licks it off you with his tongue. "Y'remember that time I fell off that bull and broke my collarbone?" Pitifully pawing at the wet spot on your head, you nod. "It starts hurtin' every time one rolls in."

Mother Nature allows you a solid five minutes of giggled bickering before she douses you in a downpour. Zero to a hundred in a split second, effectively ending your fire and sending you scurrying toward the Abbott house like a pair of roaches. It's not a good idea for you to go upstairs, but you go anyway because testing your luck with potential tornadoes is better than Cecelia fussing at you for being too touchy.

Thunder booms just as you stumble into the tiny little room, sends you jumping so high that you're surprised your head doesn't hit the ceiling. Rhett settles himself into a small rocking chair in the far corner of the room, beckoning you closer, "Pick a blanket 'n get over 'ere."

Later, you'll have to ask him why he has so many blankets. For now, you're content to steal a brown-striped one from the foot of his bed and curl into his lap once more.

"Why are Wabang storms so violent?" You mutter, mostly to yourself, as you settle into his broad frame.

"This place's cursed."

And he's not kidding. On top of the storms, a freak swarm of locusts takes over the town for the entire last week of April, only thwarted by snowfall. Two and a half feet of it in one damn night. It's gone before the first week of May is over.

The storms only grow worse as summer rolls in, never doing a lot of damage but so violent that you catch yourself thinking that this is it. This is the storm that has a bite as strong as its bark. They show up at the crack of dawn, during high noon, sunset, and in the middle of the night, without warning or indication beforehand.

But, somehow, Rhett always finds a way to you.

A storm catches you by surprise while you're out on a nature trail with a friend; rain comes down in sheets so thick that you can hardly see where you're going. A dark mass appears a few feet in front of you, and what do you know, it's your soaked cowboy hunting you down. All because he saw the clouds and knew there wasn't enough time for you to get back in time.

He turns around on his morning drive to the ranch just to sit next to you while the storm rages on because he fears something bad happening to you while he's gone. Once, he's home playing a game that he's been dying to start, but he puts it on pause the moment lightning flashes. "It can wait," he tells you as he snuggles up behind you, chin resting on your shoulder as he watches what you're doing.

You get used to it, just like he'd said you would, but those visits never cease. It doesn't matter where the two of you are or what's going on; he's there. A quiet, sturdy presence that grounds you just by being there. During his rodeos, he herds you toward the chutes, uncaring of rules because he'll be damned if you stand in the storm alone. During his brief rides, his buddies, even the least observant of them, are careful to keep you close. "Just in case the wind snatches you up," he always says.

Once, he calls you while you're visiting family, "You know, I just caught myself drivin' home because I saw lightnin'."

And as you lay here in bed, listening to rain beat against the roof and wind scream around the corners of this old rental home, you can't help but smile when you hear the door creak open.

"I thought you were supposed to be in a hotel two hours away," yawning as you peer over your shoulder, marveling as he lifts his t-shirt from his gently toned body.

"I'm s'posed to be," the bed dips as he settles in, legs tangling with yours, lips peppering kisses to your neck while he settles in. "Had a feelin' my baby might need some protectin'."

Because he might not be the strongest man in the world, but he's forever ready to take on anything that could hurt you. Even if that's just a silly old downpour.

#thought of this while i was standing in the rain earlier #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert #delgato's thinking #delgato's warmups

[astrhae]

oh give me wesper and 10 please MWAH

10. ...a lazy kiss | post-canon, established relationship, a carriage ride to a ball

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

Jesper flicked the carriage door open, a phantom of a touch as his power did half the work.

They were getting better at channeling Jesper’s gift, even if that blessing did come in erratic flares and bursts. They were also late enough for the Radmakkers’ Ball, the midsummer sun now already brushing the horizon.

Clambering into the carriage first, Jesper held out a hand to help Wylan in.

“Your Excellency,” Jesper teased.

That was the style that came with Wylan’s title. Along with the Esteemed Wylan Van Eck and the Honorable Councilman Van Eck. If Wylan chose to marry, his partner would earn the style of the Illustrious. As it was, Jesper had no title – no matter how illustrious Wylan found him – and Jesper enjoyed teasing Wylan with his wealth of names.

“Your stupid face,” Wylan teased in return.

He shoved the hat on the carriage seat to the other side, squeezing in beside Jesper and closing the door behind him. It was a large carriage, the envy of Ketterdam, with glass windows shielded by ruby-red curtains and plush velvet seats. When it moved, the springs above its wheels made the trip feel a little smoother.

“You like this face,” Jesper shot back, unbothered.

“Just the lips,” Wylan grinned at the red rouge Jesper had put on.

The burgundy suit Jesper wore matched it, but the white mercher gloves he’d conceded to stood stark against them – and against Wylan’s skin as Jesper reached up to curl it behind Wylan’s neck. He let himself be pulled closer, until he could kiss Jesper again, lazy and lingering and longing.

“Just the lips?” Jesper challenged, voice dipped low. The carriage rattled as it turned a curve, pushing them closer still.

“It is excellent at doing – ” Wylan cut himself off as Jesper’s hand moved down to rest by Wylan’s waist, palm pressed just beneath his diaphragm where he might feel every stutter of his decorum fraying, “at doing things,” he lost his train of thought.

Jesper laughed.

His other hand reached down to take Wylan’s right hand, and he lifted it up to his lips to press a kiss over the back of it, the rouge staining Wylan’s own white gloves. All proper and taunting – propriety turned vice, the world unbuilt slipping into his open palm as Wylan felt himself fraying at his edges, undone but still unfinished.

The ghost of Jesper’s breath lingered even through the fabric, coming to rest over his knuckles: evening mist falling over the crags of sunset.

When Jesper pulled away, the red shape of his lips stayed on Wylan’s glove, a mark meant to scar the silk. Jesper could have easily Fabrikated the color away, but by the crooked glint in his eyes – a thief who’d just found the kruge – Wylan knew that Jesper would let it stay for the night, for the length of the ball.

Wylan felt his cheeks flush warm.

“Jes,” he huffed, but couldn’t stop his smile, heart finite for the length of a name.

“You want me to stop?” Jesper asked.

They had around five more minutes before they arrived at the Radmakker mansion, before they’d have to lose this to the crowds at the ball.

“Don’t you dare,” Wylan dragged Jesper back in by the lapel of his suit.

“If Your Excellency insists,” Jesper pressed a kiss beneath Wylan’s jaw, where flesh became pulse and pulse became want.

His own hands traced the dark shadow of the veins climbing up Jesper’s bare neck – a what if on the verge of becoming a what will. Uncurling, a bloom, an implosion: a promise of what he might do when the night was over, when it would just be the two of them again. When the night would fade into the morning and he could spend the sunrise lost in Jesper’s touch, in Jesper’s dreams. Half asleep, but always more than half his world.

“I’m not insisting,” he stole his own kiss from Jesper. Once a thief, always a thief, no matter how honest. “I’m only making a down payment.”

“Oh?” Jesper thumbed the kohl around the edge of Wylan’s eyes. “Payment for what services?”

Wylan grinned into another lingering kiss. “You’ll see,” he promised.

The night was still young, after all.

And so were they.

And so was the world.

#asks #sonseulsoleil #this scene will go into the next installment of my character study series #i've been wanting to write wesper + a carriage #and this fell into my head as soon as i read wesper + a lazy kiss akskdsksdk #as always thank you for the ask 💙 #six of crows #wesper #wesper fic #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #my brain is currently stuck on jesper's lipstick on wylan's gloves #please ignore me going slowly insane akdskdsk

[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾ ☽ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move;  jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record. 

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

My hands are very, very cold.

It is a frigid October afternoon, the kind that warrants moth-ball scented linens and mulled wine. It’s a deceiving kind of cold, too, because the sky is perfect. If someone looked through a window from the inside of their house, maybe they would think it’s the middle of summer or late spring.

The canopy of the jet is closed tight, sealed impeccably, and my suit is thick. It smells of lye soap and skin. There’s perspiration gathering on my brow underneath my helmet and in the pit of my arms, but my hands are still cold.

My hands are cold every time I get nervous, even if I wear wool mittens, even if I wear our father’s thick leather gloves I’d taken before my first winter in Philly.

“How’re your hands? Cold yet?” Crimson asked on the tarmac, after we finished out walk-around.

Her helmet was tucked beneath her arm, resting on her hip, and our jet was looming behind her. It’s the only time my sister looked small to me.

The sun beat down above us, casting a shadow on the lower part of her face; her docile chin, her China-doll lips, the dimple in her left cheek, the blonde freckles over her nose. She reached out and took my left hand, then dropped it like it burned her. She shook her hand, contorting her face into a look of disbelief.

“Phew, Clover, cold as ice!”

Crimson was rarely nervous, and if she was, it never touched any part of her body. We were the same in the sense that we could command stillness in our limbs and slow our hearts with precise, measured breaths. But my hands got cold and hers never did.

Our F-18 was fragged. She watched them load mounds of ammo to our jet--API, HEI, SAPHEI--unblinking, unmoving.

“You’ll be fine,” she said after a moment, bumping me. I stood sturdy on the tarmac, my lime-colored helmet at my feet.

“I know,” I said, looking up at her.

The sun felt good on my cheeks.

She bit a grin and nodded.

“Couldn’t be a me without a you,” she said.

I zipped her khaki flight suit up so it covered her chest and shoulders. Her skin was warm to the touch, like the surface of a cooling kettle. I flattened out her shoulders and straightened her collar.

“Yeah,” I said, “and there couldn’t be a me without a you.”

Up here, approaching what feels like the top of the world, the sky is the kind of blue that seems endless and soft--like it’s made out of tufts of cotton and seamless flower petals.

We are flying somewhere over Europe, early in the afternoon.

“Approaching angels forty-six,” I say into my mask, “Maneater, you got us?”

When I speak, the scent of my smoothie thickens the air of my mask. It still smells sweet--that sick kind of sweet, the kind that would still taste sweet coming back up as bile.

“Roger, Maneater visual.”

The back of Crimson’s helmet is scuffed and scratched. Some of the scratches are so deep that patches of the baby pink color are flaking off, revealing the eggshell slate beneath it. There is a bright blue peace sign on the back of her helmet, and parts of it are chipping away, too. At the base of her neck, half a dusty blonde bun pokes out. I had twisted it into its place there earlier, after I twisted an identical bun at the base of my own neck.

“Banshee two engaging,” Crimson says, her voice crackling over the comm.

All I can hear besides the crackling comm is the sound of my own breathing. When I first came up in the air, it surprised me that I couldn’t hear the wind rushing past me. I feel it press down on my chest and hug me to my seat, but it never whispers to me.

The thinness of the air this high up is something I cherish--the moment I strain to breathe for the first time, when the cool stream of oxygen bursts through the mask and into my mouth, my nose. I like the feeling of the floor dropping out from under me, when I want to scramble around and find purchase on something to hold me in.

Our F-18 noses to the Northeast, tailing Banshee one, which is Maneater. I crane my neck--Banshee three is engaging, too. Jagger’s bright red helmet is like a blemish in the robin’s-egg sky.

“Banshee three engaged,” Jagger says, “sorry to break up the hen party.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Maneater snarks, “you didn’t.”

I know Crimson is smiling, even if I can’t see her face.

We are flying over a rocky terrain that is broken up by sprawling evergreen trees. There is already snow on the ground, the rocks jutting out from the white powder like jagged teeth. It looks very quiet--so soft, like the snow is just a dusting of powder.

“Radar?” Crimson asks.

The blinking screen is empty.

“Picture clean. Nose hot.”

“Roger. Banshee one engaging firewall.”

Maneater’s jets forward, her throttle maxed.

“Banshee two engaging firewall. Ready, kiddo?”

I reach forward to give Crimson a thumbs up. She nods without looking behind her and I hold tightly to my leather seat. The oxygen is racing inside me, like I’m gulping it down.

I’m forced against my seat like someone is holding me there. I strain to hear the wind whistle, but I don’t. One, two, three, four, five. I count the beats of my heart steadily, blinking rapidly as we approach Maneater’s tail. Crimson’s helmet is pressed against her headrest, too. The sky is so completely monochrome that it looks like we’re flying parallel to an endless screen.

“Banshee three engaging firewall,” Jagger follows closely.

For a moment, all I can hear is the jet slicing through the atmosphere, my own breathing, the oxygen hissing into my mouth. My saliva feels thick. I will my heartbeat to steady and mirror Crimson’s, which I know is cool and collected. I could be Crimson’s heart monitor--no actual connected wires required. It feels like there is a left side of myself and a right side of myself--or maybe a top version of myself and a bottom version of myself--and one part of it is always Crimson. I even know what she thinks.

The radar is still empty, blinking precisely nothing. We are approaching the target rapidly, slyly--a Russian submarine somewhere off the coast of Poland, which has been disregarding every warning to evacuate the area they have not been granted access to.

The Atlantic Ocean glimmers ahead of us, deep blue ahead of our fleet, expanding just as vastly as the perpetual sky we are inside of. The water looks deep, and very dark, almost black.

“Regretting that panini yet, Crimson?”

Crimson laughs over comm, shaking her head.

“Of course not,” Crimson answers, “dreaming about it, in fact.”

“Five ‘til target,” Jagger says, then adds, “aioli or pesto?”

“Roger. Pesto on French,” Crimson laughs.

Each time Crimson laughs, I wonder if my laugh is as melodic and infectious. Even over the crackled radio, Crimson’s laugh sounds like music, or the start of music. My sister’s laugh sounds like the split moment of amplified silence when one puts the needle on a record, when the machine seems to think. Maybe Crimson’s laugh even sounds like the first moments of the music, notes dancing from the record over a crackled speaker.

“Comanche 117,” a new voice crackles over comm, a familiar plain-toned one, “Banshees approaching target. Picture clean.”

“Roger. Banshee permission to standby?”

“Comanche 117, permission granted. Banshee continue.”

With that, each of our jets' nose's angle towards the earth below us as they descend, the terrain thinning expeditiously from snow to sand to ocean. I glance over my shoulder and the swirling waves stare back at me. I swallow hard, facing my sister again. The radar is still clean.

“Two until target. Picture clean,” I say, my voice unwavering.

My palms are sweating, but still cold. Clammy.

“Banshees, assume attack formation,” Maneater says, her voice clear and amplified.

Each maneuver of the stick feels like it's been practiced over and over again by Crimson. She flies fast and smooth, never getting ahead of team leader, never falling past the Banshee behind her. She thinks fast and acts faster. She doesn’t worry about catching her breath until she’s on the ground.

We are only a few hundred feet above the ocean now and the waves are so ominous and dark that I imagine them raising high enough to skim the bottom of our jets, knocking us out of the sky before swallowing us whole.

“Comanche 117. Banshees’ signal is buster to target.”

I fill my lungs, the skin at the base of my neck prickling. The air around me is muggy and nippy at the same time. Radar is still clean.

“Roger. One until target.”

We’ve practiced this assignment a many, dogfighting with Cyclone and Warlock, even though the mission itself is supposed to be routine. Maritime strikes are happening more often than not now. And all of us, even Jagger, have flown fragged jets at least a handful of times.

I feel that I’m on auto-pilot and Crimson does, too. If I close my eyes for the rest of the flight, my fingers would still know how to flip the right switches, my eyes would still know when to glance at the radar, and my heart would still know how to slow its own pace.

We are approaching what feels like the middle of the ocean, radars clear, holding our breaths. The land behind us grows smaller and smaller as we approach the target.

“C and C 293 visual?” Maneaster asks.

“Affirmative, C and C 293 visual,” I say.

“Jagger 692 visual?” Crimson asks.

“Roger. Jagger 692 visual.”

“Approaching target. Missile locked. Comanche 117, Banshee permission to fire away?”

“Comanche 117, your signal is bombs away.”

“Here we go,” Crimson whispers.

I look at the radar once more. Clear. Clear as the sky is blue.

“Bombs away,” Maneater repeats.

Red and yellow flames burst from Maneater’s jet, the heavy missile freefalling towards the ocean with a determined nose pointed downward. I turn and check the air around us, just in case the our nose is unknowingly cold. Jagger is trailing closely behind us. He sallutes me. I return it, then swivel back around.

“Clover, engage missile lock,” Crimson says.

It is easy to take orders from her, the older version of myself, even if it’s only by ten measly minutes.

“Roger,” I say, thumbing the heavy metal stick until the small screen squares in on the water and makes tone, “missile lock engaged. Bombs away, bombs away.”

It feels like the bottom of our plane is falling out, but it is a familiar feeling that makes the pit in my belly grows and grow until it feels like my abdomen is full of thick, dark nothing.

“Banshee three, engage missile lock,” Maneater commands.

With my helmet against the glass canopy, I watch Jagger’s missile nosedive right after ours in a plume of black smoke. I swallow hard--glance at the radar. Still nothing.

“Banshee three engaged missile lock. Bombs away.”

“Comanche 117, Banshees signal RTB. Picture clean. Approach angels 30.”

Maneater cuts through the air like it’s softened butter, jet pointing towards the heavens. Maneater is panting behind her mask, which is what she does each time we drop a missile, even during the drills. She’s like Crimson, though--she isn’t stifled by danger.

Crimson pulls the stick back, probably not even having broken a sweat, and our jet mirrors Maneater’s. I turn over my shoulder and watch Jagger follow suit.

I feel oddly naked flying with no clouds to obscure our jets. I stare at the radar, almost willing something to happen, for a bandit to blink alive.

“Comanche 117, Banshees approach angels 40.”

Below us comes a thunderous rumble and the ocean seems to split in half as our missiles destroy the submarine. The water is so high, so cold, that I shiver watching it reach up towards us, even if we are climbing to 40,000 feet. My lungs are hot and heavy, but the radar is still clear.

“Missile launch success. We have direct impace,” Jagger says gleefully, “bullseye!”

The word bullseye makes my toes curl.

“Comanche 117, Banshees approach angels 50.”

“Roger. Maneater 031 RTB.”

Each of us reaches 50,000 feet and radios to Comanche, letting them know we are en route to base. We are 50 minutes out.

When the jets level out, we are flying high and clear over the snowy terrain once more. I bring my shoulders down from my ears. I have always felt more vulnerable over the ocean--like it is waiting to lick our wings and gobble us up.

“Piece of cake,” Crimson says, sighing, “picture clean?”

“Affirmative,” I return, “piece of pie.”

Maneater chuckles over comm.

“Twins are so grotesque,” she says, “Jagger, you alive back there?”

“Alive and well,” Jagger sighs, then clears his throat, “felt a little too easy.”

Like clockwork, I say, “Radar clean, nose hot.”

“Right, right,” Jagger says, “just feel like we’re missing something.”

“Well,” Crimson starts, “I’m missing a hot, hot shower. And then maybe a drink.”

“And then a hot, hot date?” Maneater asks.

“Maybe so,” Crimson sighs, “someone to share with Clover.”

I can feel Crimson batting her lashes.

“I know a guy,” Jagger says, “a pilot. Graduated top of his class at Top Gun.”

“Jagger, you were number three,” Maneater scoffs.

“Number one in everyone’s hearts, though,” Jagger bites back. I can feel him grinning.

Crimson sighs into the comm.

“Think you can handle us both, big dog?”

I slap her shoulder.

“Maggie,” I hiss softly.

My face is burning. Hers is cool and slack. Jagger groans.

“Crimson, you’re making your sister blush,” Maneater laughs, “Hard Deck after we land?”

“Of course,” Crimson says, “we’ll be there.”

It’s nice sometimes to not have to answer. In the same way that I know the temperature of Crimson’s face, the fluttering of her eyelashes, or when she’s hungry, Crimson knows what I’m thinking. She knows what I’ll say, how I’ll answer. We are connected by an invisible string that was once a cord connecting us to the same womb.

The Hard Deck is somewhere we frequent, three to four times a week if we can swing it. It’s mostly a hangout for the Navy, the bar closest to base. Someone dressed in khaki always at the pool table or playing darts, some other uniforms sharing the expensive brandy.

The radar blinks back at me, still empty.

“What’s that God-awful song you played last time? Something about eating cars?” Jagger says this with a grimace evident in his strained voice.

“Rapture,” my sister and I say at the same time.

“That’s where I draw the line,” Maneater says, “no saying shit at the same time, lieutenants.”

I’m smiling behind my mask, glancing out either side of the jet. The sky is still clear. When I glance back at the ocean, the waves are building momentum as they race to shore, washing everything in white foam and black water.

“Who doesn’t like Rapture? Everyone likes Blondie,” Crimson laughs.

“Not their shitty music,” Maneater follows.

“I draw the line at Blondie slander,” I bite.

Crimson nods. Maneater chuckles. I can almost see her dark face reflecting the sun, the smooth parts of her skin shining blue. Her hair is also twisted into a bun at the bottom of her helmet, which I secured for her, maneuvering bobby pins in her black curls.

“Go out to the parking lot and you get in your car and drive real far,” Crimson sings, her voice raspy and amplified, “and you drive all night and then you see a light and it comes on down and lands on the ground and out comes the man from Mars!”

The sky is so blue through the canopy, the world darting past us at the speed of a fluttering eyelash. Crimson’s helmet is bobbing as she crudely sings, shaking her shoulders. She’s being a brat.

“And you try to run, but he’s got a gun! And he shoots you dead and eats your head,” I sing back.

Maneater and Jagger pretend to be exasperated on the other ends of the comm, but they’re laughing, too. Jagger’s thin chest is probably aching as he laughs because of the iron he pumped before taking flight, which was his own private ritual.

“Why does an alien have a gun? What kind of gun?” Jagger asks.

“Crimson, you’re the devil on your sister’s shoulder,” Maneater laughs.

“You’re making her blush,” Crimson exclaims.

My cheeks, as if on cue, grow pink.

Just as I open my mouth to defend myself, it happens. Two bandits blink to life on the radar. Everyone hears the chime.

“Tally two,” I say clearly.

“Position?” Maneater calls, blinking back into her authority.

“Bandits approaching from Northeast. Bandit one low four o’clock, Jagger. Bandit two high seven o’clock, Jagger,” I relay, “bandits firewalled.”

My fingers are so cold that it hurts to uncurl them. My heart jumps once, twice, then falls back into regular rhythm. Pressing my helmet against the canopy, I narrow my eyes on Jagger’s tail. Two SU-57’s approach Jagger.

“Jagger, engage firewall,” Maneater commands, breaking right suddenly to circle back, “C and C 293 visual?”

“C and C 293 visual,” Crimson bites, “Jagger, don’t let them get tone!”

“They’re gaining fast,” Jagger calls.

Suddenly, just as Maneater is falling behind Jagger, circling around to face the SU-57’s, the tone alerts Jagger. A missile drops from the jet at his four o’clock.

“Jagger, break left!” I yell.

Jagger’s jet suddenly cuts and the missile is hot on his tail.

“Deploying flares,” he calls.

Little bursts of yellow trail behind him, confusing the missile, exploding it.

“Crimson to Comanche 117,” Crimson calls, her voice still steady, “bandits engaging dogfight.”

“Comanche 117 to Banshees,” the voice says, “Banshees signal is to fire away, I repeat, fire away.”

“Hell yeah,” Crimson whispers.

My belly drops as Crimson suddenly angles our jets nose to the ground and falls behind Jagger and Maneater, behind the enemy aircraft. It is all so swift--behind them, I angle the missile lock, narrowing my eyes.

“We’ve got tone!” I yell, even though she can hear it.

“Bombs away,” Crimson yells.

The jet at Jagger’s high seven o’clock breaks left suddenly and our missile falls out from under us, cutting through the sky in a fury. The jet deploys flares, but just a moment too late. I watch it happen with my breath in my throat. Our missile explodes in the air, but close enough to his tail so that a piece of it breaks off, thick smoke swirling around the jet.

“We’ve got impact,” I call, “bandit two, high seven.”

“I’ve got tone,” Maneater calls, “bombs away!”

In just a single moment, Maneater deploys her missile and the jet doesn’t even deploy flares. The sleek, black aircraft bursts into flames instantaneously when the missile hits their engine one. A red parachute shoots into the sky just as the aircraft collides with the lip of a mountain.

“Bullseye,” I call, “what a grape.”

“Shit, bandit one has tone,” Jagger alerts us.

I look over, helmet against the glass. Jagger’s nose is straight and the bandit is behind him, missile dropping out from under.

“Break right, deploy flares,” I command.

“Deploying flares,” Jagger calls, pulling his nose suddenly to the right.

The bandit is hard and fast on him, mirroring his movement. Jagger deploys his flares in just the nick of time, only feet away from where it would really count if the missile made contact.

“C and C, time ‘til base?” Maneater asks.

“20 RTB,” I read.

“Jagger, fall back,” Maneater demands, “C and C 293 visual?”

“Affirmative,” Crimson says, “we’ve got you, Maneater.”

The rumble of our engine vibrates my throat. I gulp the oxygen coming in through my mask, blinking rapidly at the radar.

Maneater falls back behind the bandit and we fall below her, to her three o’clock. Jagger falls back suddenly, suddenly enough to confuse the bandit into following him directly into Maneater’s airspace.

“Tone,” she says quickly, “firing.”

Then I hear it. The tone in our jet screams. I look at our radar and it is clean except for the bandit Maneater’s missile is thundering towards. I look to our left, to our right, and there it is: a third bandit, aircraft so polished that it reflects the blue of the sky. It looms at our nine, vapor spreading beneath it as it zeroes in on us.

“Crimson, nose down, break left! Smoke in the air!”

Crimson smoothly follows my directions. I think I can hear her heart skip a beat, her breathing hitch.

“Deploying flares!” I scream out.

The little pops behind us are replaced with the screaming of a missile that only narrowly misses us. My throat aches.

“We’ve got another bandit hot on our tail,” Crimson yells over comm, “Maneater you got us?”

“I can’t shake bandit two,” Jagger calls desperately, “he keeps getting tone!”

Maneater bites suddenly, “Maneater not visual, Banshee one defending Banshee three.”

“Nose cold,” I call, tapping on the radar that has suddenly blinked off, “we’re naked over here!”

Crimson is throttling us through the sky in an almost zig-zag formation, forcing my head against the seat. She’s gulping her oxygen, but she isn’t picnicking, not yet.

“Comanche 117, C and C 293,” Crimson recites, “bandit inbound from East. C and C 293 flying naked, nose cold. Signal?”

“Comanche 117 to C and C 293,” Comanche answers, “Banshee two your signal is bug.”

The tone interrupts Crimson. I turn around and the bandit is on our six, gaining. A missile deposits under its aircraft and screams toward us.

“Smoke in the air, break left! Deploying flares!”

Maneater screams over the comm too, declaring her tone on bandit two.

“Hold tight, girls,” she yells, “bug!”

“We can’t fucking bug,” Crimson bites, “bandit three has tone again!”

The alarm blinks all around our cockpit. The bandit is on our right wing now, faster, vapor screaming out behind the jet.

“Deploying flares!”

I slam my fist against the button as Crimson cuts sharply down.

“Angels 30,” I tell Crimson, “be careful!”

“Hard Deck is angels 5! Decreasing to angels 10,” Crimson decides.

Our plane is racing towards the earth. I watch us behind us, the radar still naked and blinking nothingness. The bandit is smoothly following us, falling behind as Crimson engages the full speed of our F-18. We rapidly fall, my belly in my throat, my neck against the seat.

“Where’s our wingman?” Crimson howls.

Jagger has bandit one hot on his tail, mirroring each of his movements like they, too, are connected by an invisible string. Maneater is hot on the bandit’s tail, but she’s deployed guns.

I realize, as goosebumps prickle my skin, that Maneater is out of missiles. For the first time, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, my spine tingles like someone is ghosting their finger along my spinal column.

“What?” Crimson shouts and I know that her arms have goosebumps, too.

“Banshee one deployed guns,” I call, “we’re flying naked, Crimson!”

We swallow at the same time, both of us blinking rapidly. No wingman.

“Banshee one defending,” Maneater screams, rapidly firing ammo at the jet, “Banshee two hold tight!”

Crimson levels our nose, breaking right and left, but the bandit is still hot on us, nearing us with an ominous speed.

“Faye,” Crimson calls, “nose cold?”

I knock my gloved fist on the screen. It is black and calm as the ocean before our strike.

“Affirmative,” I say.

Our bellies are full of rocks. I can feel the sweat dripping down Crimson’s face. She’s breathing hard, pulling the stick back and forth. Both our mouths are cold and dry. She’s gripping the stick with the strength of a boar, her fingernails ripping and cracking.

“Banshee two, engage firewall!” Maneater calls, still aiming her guns at the jet that is evading her bullets. It’s like an intricate dance that’s been rehearsed, rehearsed, rehearsed.

“We’re already buster to mother,” I yell, “Comanche 117, C and C 293--standby for signal.”

“Comanche 117, your signal is buster.”

“God dammit,” Crimson screeches harshly, “we’re already bustering! Banshee one engaged in dogfight. We can’t bug!”

“Comanche 117, Banshee three, your signal is defend Banshee two.”

Jagger shakily cries over comm, “Banshee three engaged in combat. Hold tight, Crimson and Clover, hold tight!”

There is a single moment of quiet before we hear tone again. I slam my fist against the button again and the button suddenly feels hollow. Behind us, no flares pop in the sky.

“Out of flares,” I yell, “are you able to move into defensive maneuver?”

“No,” Crimson’s yell lurches from her violently, “this guy knows what he’s doing!”

The missile launches out of the sky and slams into out right wing. We jerk with the force of it, my helmet slamming into the back of Crimson’s seat.

“Right wing ablaze,” I shout, tears starting to pour down my face.

“Climbing,” Crimson says, suddenly pulling the stick back so our jet races upwards, “throttle back.”

There’s another sound, a louder one--the right engine bursts, sparks flying everywhere.

“Engine one on fire!”

“Extinguishing engine one,” Crimson cries, flipping switches haphazardly.

Nothing happens. The engine is still on fire. Something feels loose and I wonder if I am feeling the stick beneath Crimson’s palms. Our plane stalls and then, all at once, we are going down.

Crimson wildly tries to bring our nose out of the downfall, pulling back, turning it. Gravity punches us back into our seats.

“I lost control,” Crimson yells, “fuck, we’re going down fast!”

We are plummeting towards the earth and I hear it, then--the whistling of the wind. Except it is screaming, bursting my eardrums.

“Mayday, mayday!”

I have never spoken these words outside of a controlled stall, a drill; just pretend. And now, as we are falling, that’s what everything before this moment feels like. Pretend--like we were just playing.

“Punch out!” Crimson screams suddenly, “Clover, punch out!”

“What?” I cry.

I feel like I’m frozen in the moment, trapped in hardening molasses. The tone hisses in our cockpit, our radar still sleeping. The back of my sister’s helmet is all I can see as my vision blackens, tunnels. I know she’s crying. I can feel the tears on her cheeks, the lump in her throat. It is an involuntary kind of cry--one that is just the body’s reaction to its surroundings. We have never punched out of our aircraft before.

“Punch out now, Faye!”

I grip the cords and pull with all my might and in perfect unison, Crimson and I shoot from our jet as the missile collides with it. It’s like we are being born again into the sky.

The wind is so piercing that I can hardly hear our plane explode. Its heat rushes at us as our parachutes bloom. I rock harshly as the wind catches under the chute. It is freezing and the oxygen that was flowing into my mask has stopped now.

I feel, suddenly, like I’m falling instead of being suspended in the air.

That’s when I turn and see Maggie, her parachute pathetically being beaten by the wind instead of catching in it. Maggie is the one that’s falling, falling fast and hard, her arms flailing as she reaches around for purchase. She’s falling towards our burning jet, her helmet a dot of pink amidst the flames. I can feel the wind ripping the skin on her cheeks, the bile that’s rising in her throat, her stomach sitting in her chest cavity. Her heart is racing and my throat vibrates with her scream. Her fingers ache with the coolness of my own. My thighs grow warm when her bladder releases.

Our 24th birthday was three days ago. It was a Tuesday. She came to my house and we watched ‘Dirty Dancing’, fielding calls and texts from the same people. She brought a bottle of prosecco that we finished and I made an almond cake--an ugly yellow thing with a murky glaze. She showed me a message from an Army boy on Tinder.

Twins, huh? I have two hands.

I had pushed her shoulder as she laughed, laughed that big laugh that vibrated my couch, my chest. She stayed late, later than she should’ve.

“Will you play with my hair?” She’d asked, already sinking to sit on the floor before me.

I scratched her scalp, ran my fingers through her silky length, pulling out any knots gently. It was something I’d done since childhood; played with my sister’s hair. The sun had faded by then, ‘Dirty Dancing’ long finished, and she’d turned on her favorite record. ‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac whispered through the speakers.

“Stevie Nicks was 27 when she wrote this,” I said.

She scoffed in amazement

“Is this what we'll feel like when we're 27?”

She hummed along quietly and her voice felt sweet in my throat.

I know she is going to die the exact same moment she does, the wind shredding her skin, knotting her hair.

“Maggie!” The scream tears from my raw throat the way her parachute suddenly tears free above her, sending her down harder, faster, cords flying freely in the wind.

Maggie is free-falling somewhere over the jagged, snow-dusted rocks.

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: prologue is kind of a doozy bc there's no Rooster but it's important for the setup. let me know what you think!! this is my first fan fiction that isn't about One Direction so I'm a little bit off my game!!

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun bob #top gun cast #dagger squad #original female character #pete mitchell #bradley bradshaw x female reader #faye x bradley #rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #top gun rooster #top gun fandom #top gun fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster fanfic #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley x faye #faye clover ledger

[souurcitrus]

Iceman Origins

May I share part of a fic I was writing telling the origins of the Original Five in my own marvel universe? Based in "X-Men Origins: Iceman". The fic was supposed to focus more in Iceman, so it started with him and it would be tied with the rest of the Five as they are recruited.

(This story mentions others heroes, but they're not as important, just background)

Children of the Atom - Chapter 1

May 5, 1987

Bobby remembers the first time he did something wrong. He was only ten years old, or had just turned.

Mom and Dad had let him spend the whole day in the pool! It was so cool, he spent hours diving, climbing the trampoline or hanging from the tire tied to the tree in the backyard, swinging back and forth before jumping into the water again.

It was a warm day, almost late spring, but still warm. Bobby always hated hot days. Not that they weren't pleasant, but there was something that made him hate them. The pool had been a lovely idea. His father was in charge of making hamburgers for them, while his mother prepared the cake.

And Bobby had been left alone in the pool. Floating in the water, arms and legs spread, blond hair sticking to his face and mouth, he saw his hands crinkle and laughed softly. He wasn't ready to get out of the water yet, even though the sun above him was threatening to fry him alive.

He laughed and defied the heat. He wasn't going to leave.

Mom was singing in the kitchen, calling him to come in and get the burgers that would soon get cold. He didn't want to leave. The sun seemed to get hotter and even in the water, he knew he would get burns. If only it were cold, he thought. Just a little.

He hates the heat, he misses winter. He wishes, he thinks, that it would be nice to be able to have winter.

When Mom calls once more, he stands, his fingers barely touching the bottom of the pool and he huffs, covering his face with his arm as he fights the physics of the water to get to the edge. But he can't.

Before he can get to the edge, Bobby feels the heat disappear, the water begins to cool frighteningly fast. He looks down and almost screams in amazement. Ice, he knows it is ice, appears around his waist, his hands, the transparent and icy layer grows and grows, taking over all the water.

He doesn't want to scream, doesn't want to scare his parents, so he starts moving to get out of the water, mind in panic, moving his arms to get rid of the ice that sticks to his skin. He tries and tries, but the next thing he knows, he's trapped, completely encased in ice.

Strangely, he doesn't feel cold.

"Mommy!" He calls. His mother is standing in the doorway, looking at him with big eyes and a face as white as a ghost. "I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!"

When Mom and Dad get over the shock and manage to get it out of the pool - using a hammer and a pick, in a hurry so no one can see - the ice doesn't disappear, even in the hot sun. However, when Bobby looks out the window at night, the water is normal.

Mom wraps him in sheets and hugs him, but he doesn't feel cold.

"The first thing you have to understand is that you did nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing." His father speaks, hands on his hips, his back turned to his son. "It was just an accident."

Bobby doesn't respond. He is more concerned about the tone of disappointment coming from William. Mom runs her fingers through his blonde hair and he still doesn't look at her.

None of them seem as shocked or scared as he expected. Bobby sane knows exactly what he expected, but it certainly wasn't that... the melancholic way his mother looks at him, and the way his father continues to face the window.

"We heard in the news about people like you, son."

"Like me?" He asks with his eyes on the carpet.

"People that can do... different things. They're special." Madeline says carefully, sounding almost as disappointed as her husband. Bobby slowly turns to face her.

"Is something wrong with me?" He asks, and his father finally turns to sit next to him, on the edge of the bed, still a little too far away. "Say, Daddy. Is something wrong with me?"

William Drake shakes his head with a sigh. Exchanging a look with his wife, he puts his hand on his son's shoulder.

"The news calls them different things. Lately there's been news about different people appearing. They call them mutants."

"Mutants." Bobby repeats, as if testing the word. He thinks for a while.

He's certainly heard about these people, about these fascinating stories that have been unfolding over the last few years, most of them seeming too impossible to be real, some old, some not. About creatures that change shape and take the place of people, about giant green creatures, monsters.

He closes his eyes and thinks. What does this mean for him. Why him?

Mom and Dad are very calm, almost sad, he can't tell. But the way Mom looks at him is very different from the way she looked at him that morning when she wished him a happy birthday, the way she hugs him, as if... as if she's keeping him close for fear of losing him.

Bobby is ten years old, he never did anything strange or out of the ordinary, he was a good child, the best you could ask for. And suddenly, sitting between his parents on his ruined birthday, he feels out of place. An intruder.

He turns to William with sad, pleading eyes and asks in a whisper. "Is that a bad thing?"

It's Mom who responds, a little desperate. She puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls him closer.

"No, no! But if you are – a mutant, I mean – there's nothing wrong. We love you." She smiles and kisses his forehead.

Bobby doesn't know why, but he wishes she would stop doing this. He doesn't want her to act like he's leaving, like she's losing him. Why does she keep talking like that?

"But..." Dad continues, still holding his shoulder firmly. Looking more serious now. "That means you'll have to be careful, son. For the rest of your life."

***********

Strange things continued to occur over the next few months after Bobby's mutation emerged. That's what he is. He began to understand. He is a mutant.

Mom and Dad knew, they always knew. They didn't want him to know more, they didn't want him to use his abilities, talk or ask about it.

They wanted their son to forget about the pool accident and pretend everything was normal. But Bobby wouldn't. Why would he do that?

Things started to change very quickly. The first sign of this would be just a few weeks after Bobby's birthday. If the appearance of green monsters wasn't enough of a sign, this would be. Bobby had heard the news, he kept an eye out after his birthday, looking for any sign of anything "weird" or out of the ordinary, as Dad called it.

They called him Iron Man. The media had gone crazy after his first appearance, and so had Bobby. It was such an incredible thing. For weeks, he followed every report, every newspaper, radio or gossip. Of course, it was everywhere.

First was Stark's kidnapping at the beginning of the year. He left everyone worried. Of course, a super rich and famous guy being unexpectedly kidnapped during another one of his business trips would catch everyone's attention. The world seemed to stop while Stark was missing.

Bobby didn't really care. There were more important things going on in the world and he had no interest in waiting for Stark to be rescued or found. His parents, at least, were as engaged in the news as everyone in his town.

Bobby couldn't help but roll his eyes at his mother's worried sighs during the three months Stark was missing. Then he returned, and Bobby still couldn't care about it. Not even a little.

He thought the world would continue in its normal cycle from then on. Back to the boring and ordinary it always was. Until the news began to change, no one could keep it hidden for long. First it was the Hulk, then it was Iron Man.

It was yet another sign to Bobby that things were going to change. The inner world was watching them, these wonderful new things happening.

At least, that's what Bobby believed they were.

He started training. Every night when Mom and Dad went to bed, he would jump out the window, hang from the tree next to his room, and run into the yard. It took a while, but little by little he learned how his mutation worked. It was harder when it was hot and there wasn't enough moisture for him.

So he trained near the pool. At night, hiding under the high fence so that none of the neighbors would see him. He doesn't know what's worse: that they could see him using his mutation and report him, or how his parents would react if someone found out.

Things were escalating. Not only was Stark in the newspapers, flying over buildings and saving lives in his red and yellow armor. There was also other news about those the public came to call "superhumans". The Hawkeye guy showing on the local newspaper, images of the "Hulk" leaking around, the Wasp and Ant-Man duo changing size, news of people with special abilities.

Mom and Dad got worse every day too. Bobby saw the looks of astonishment on their faces as he sat in front of the TV. Not exactly hate, but fear and despair. He didn't understand how they could be afraid of this, of these new "heroes" emerging. They were not the first.

Bobby had heard the stories of the first heroes, all those years ago, before all these mutants even started showing in the news. Torch, Toro, Captain America, Blue Marvel and everyone else. Why did things have to be different now? What changes? Were they not amazing, just like Bobby is? Why is it different with him?

When the Fantastic Four faced Doom in New York, it felt like the world had entered a new era and couldn't stop now. Not all "supers" are good. Like Doom, there were those who caused chaos out there. Bobby's parents were afraid of them, and consequently of everyone.

He knew it was stupid, but what could he do?

Fort Washington is a nice and safe place. However, even there, Bobby feels that things are becoming more tense, more dangerous. As if the time for small gestures was running out.

He wonders about other “special” people like him. The others called mutants. How many of them are there. And where? Living lives of fear and silent desperation?

He tells himself he's not like them, the ones in the news. He tells himself he's not a freak, or pathetic. He is normal. That's what his parents say every day.

#x men #iceman #bobby drake #first class #original five #marvel #Earth-18104 #citruswriting #original universe

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Jameson finding the shoes and coat that Taron left for him on the back step 👀🥺

(@for-the-love-of-angst is referencing this ask answer)

It's a bad night, when the stray finds his way through the driving rain to the same place as always. It's frigid, freezing late-fall downpour, the kind that soaks right through and turns everything to ice down to your bones.

He's got boots, now - not good ones, they're too big and he's squelching in three pairs of socks. He'll be blistered all to hell before he can find another pair. His jacket's made for a spring with bright sun and a bit of chill wind, not this.

Around him, the windows are dark except for candles flickering or the beam of a flashlight. The power must have gone out this whole side of the city - he'd heard the boom of a transformer blowing nearby.

Some cars, on the streets. But no people.

He has a single flicker of hope, that the guy might be waiting when he makes it to the restaurant. Somewhere dry to hole up, he'll hide in the back. The guy won't have to worry about him making everyone uncomfortable with the way his hair hasn't been washed by anything but rainwater in a week, how his clothes are all he has and he only has the chance to switch them out when he can steal more. The guy will let him warm up, he will.

Has to.

The runaway pet's fingers feel numb on the ends, probably not a good sign. They were hurting for a while.

He moves carefully into an alley, out of the worst of it. Dumpsters and refuse line the gravel and broken pavement in this narrow space, barely large enough for a car, definitely not big enough for two. The rain, at least, dampens the worst of the smell.

Towards the end is the back door to the guy's restaurant, where servers sometimes step out for smoke breaks or to empty trash. The runaway licks his lips, and allows himself to hope the guy will let him have a meal.

But when he knocks, no one answers. His scarred, calloused knuckles start to ache again, as he knocks and knocks just so his hands won't start shaking.

He hitches in a breath, but at least this door has an awning over it and he is, for the moment, not being rained on.

Of course. The rain, the guy probably closed up when the power went out and went home.

"Jesus fucking Christ," The runaway whispers, but the sadness in his voice far outweighs the hostility he tries to paper over it.

He had hoped for a little bit of warmth, maybe some soup or something. But no.

He sits down, soaking a spot into the concrete step, and puts his head in his hands. He doesn't hitch in a sob - that's just a twitch, that's all. His eyes hurt from squinting, not from holding back tears. He isn't dizzy or hungry, he isn't cold and wet and scared of how he's going to survive the winter.

Not him.

He isn't scared.

He sits there until water runs in rivulets down his neck as gravity leads it to escape from his sopping, spiky hair. His lips pull back in a snarl that helps to hide the way he wants to wail.

Then, he sees the bag.

Down at the bottom step, off to one side and hidden by a metal trash can, there's a plastic bag, white, tied in a tight knot at the top. Pinned to it is a note that just says, open me.

It's the guy's writing. The stray knows it.

"Fucking ominous," He mutters, but he leans down and pulls it out. It's the size of a like... beagle or some kind of dog, something hard and maybe round and then what is clearly cloth inside. He pulls it back as he scoots until his back hits the closed and locked door of the empty restaurant.

He opens it up, his chilled fingers unable to undo the knot. He just pulls at the plastic until it thins and comes apart.

Inside, the round thing turns out to be a thermos. When he twists open the lid, steam and the scent of onions and vegetables and spices hits him from the piping-hot beef stew inside. His throat tries to close - the guy saved him some before he left.

Other than that...

A big, big something made of hunter green warm boiled wool, and he finds it's a coat - sized for the guy, big enough to swim in, big enough to stay warm. A whole new pack of white socks, still in the packaging. Sweatpants and a sweater, black and blue. And shoes, his size or nearly, dry as a bone. Black sneakers, supportive, not flat and worn.

Pinned to the coat is another note. Check the pocket.

In the pocket of the coat, he finds a key. He frowns at it, puzzled, then turns and looks back at the locked door to the restaurant.

The key works. The door opens.

The runaway peers inside. "You can't fucking trust me with this," He mutters. "I could rob you fucking blind."

It's dark inside, but dry and still warm. He moves slowly into the kitchen, a little eerie. No one's here and the silence - with no electric sounds - is unsettling.

"Shit, this guy is fucking stupid."

But he doesn't even think about the cash register, or opening the big walk-in to steal.

Instead, he sits down on a stool over by a big metal sink, setting the bag down and opening the thermos again to take a sip.

The heat and flavor breaks open the dam he worked so hard to keep built, and tears run hot down his cheeks as he works through the stew until nothing is left but the bits of fat along the metal sides.

He doesn't cry, not really - he holds back the sobs. But he lets the tears fall, until none are left. Until his eyes, if nothing else, are finally dry.

Stomach full, he sits back, listening to the rain just beyond the windows by the tables and booths.

He can wash using the big sink - not hot water but it'll be fine. Dry off with paper towels, be dry for the first time since the rain began. Put all those new clothes on, and maybe just... nap, for a while, in one of the booths.

Then lock the door behind him, leaving everything clean when he leaves, like he was never here.

Maybe come back and say thank you for the soup and the bread.

Maybe.

Maybe he should just leave a note.

#jameson bb #i love taron #whump #environmental whump #hypothermia #hypothermia whump #cold and frozen #box boy universe #box boy #bbu #for-the-love-of-angst #whump without a whumper #runaway whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #grumpy whumpee #frozen whump #writing

[hiccanna-tidbits]

Jackunzel February Special Week 1 - Spring Passing Glance

***

The seasons come and go dozens of times before he even gathers the courage to talk to her.

They’re not meant to interact, really. Just two ships that pass in the night, bound by duties that only allow them--to their immortal minds, anyways--a few passing moments in each other’s presence.

Jack Frost is supposed to hate the spirit of spring. She shows up after weeks of his hard work--blizzards, icicles, the very frost patterns on windows he’s known for--and undoes it all. Parts the snow with flowers and buds, melts the ice with the spring sunshine she drags with her wherever she treads. Reminds him without fail how Sisyphean the job of a seasonal spirit really is.

Nonetheless, there’s something captivating about her. Her billowing dresses in their delicate whites and flowing pinks. Her lavender, apple blossom, and faint honeysuckle aroma. The way she radiates a kind of warmth he rarely feels in his own season.

Jack loves the winter. He really does. He likes the stillness and the calm, and he likes the chaos and pure fun of a snowstorm or a slippery patch of ice. But after Three months of silvers and whites, it’s refreshing to see some color. It’s nice to get a change.

For a while, he only watches her from a distance. Hiding behind her fresh white blossoms, trying to camouflage his white hair. Frosting and icing a few of her new flowers by accident.

A misstep on a twig almost gets him caught one time. He just barely manages to fly up into a dogwood tree before the spring spirit sees him, his whole body burning with embarrassment as she investigates. A fine excuse he’ll have when she finds him.

Ah, yeah, sorry miss spring spirit, I was just observing you from a comfortable distance because I thought you were...interesting???

That was sure to get him some daffodils growing out of his nose. Or whatever it was spring spirits did when they were mad at you for being a total creep.

The spring spirit gasps, making Jack start. He peers out of the tree to find her leaning down to inspect a patch of buttercups.

Jack bites his lip, suddenly remembering he stepped on that very patch earlier.

She’s probably horrified they’re all frosted up.

The spring spirit crouches down, running bare hands through the brittle yellow flowers. Jack winces, imagining the biting cold against her warm, soft skin.

She doesn’t seem too bothered. She plucks a flower out of the ground and starts to trace its stiff petals with a finger, big green eyes fascinated.

Jack leans forward, trying to get a better look at her expression. A better read on what could possibly be going through that pretty blonde head.

Is it possible she’s like him? Drawn to seasons besides her own?

It seems too good to be true. Too much of a stroke of luck that the spirit he would happen to be enraptured with would also--

Jack leans a bit too far, and his feet lose contact with the branch.

Before he knows it, he’s lying face-down with a mouthful of meadow. Rather than let out the expected shriek, the spring spirit merely laughs in surprise.

“You’re the winter spirit, aren’t you?”

“Uh...yeah. Jack Frost.” He waves awkwardly from his belly flop in the grass. “You may have heard of me.”

“Were you the one who made these beautiful flowers?” she gushes.

Strange, she (once again) sounds far less upset than one would expect.

“That would be me.” He gives her a sheepish thumbs up. “Sorry, uh...didn’t mean to mess up your spring stuff.”

“No, no, they look wonderful! Your season makes pretty things, too.”

A beat passes, and Jack feels a coolness pass over him. He realizes her shadow is blocking out the sun.

“I’m Rapunzel, by the way.” She chuckles. “Now, are you going to lie in the dirt all day, or are you going to frost a few last things before I kick you out for the year?”

He rolls over. Rapunzel is standing over him, offering a hand to help him up. He grins at her, realizing a bit too late that there’s probably grass stuck in his teeth.

If there is, Rapunzel doesn’t seem to mind.

He takes her hand, and her skin is just as soft and warm against his as he always imagined. When she pulls him up, she takes a few seconds too long to let go.

They dance around the meadow together, laughing as they throw petals and snow. Rapunzel gives him leaves and buds and flowers to ice, insisting she doesn’t mind a few bits of frost-nipped greenery.

He still makes an effort not to do it too harshly. Nothing the sun can’t fix, crawling out of hiding as winter ends.

When the sun finally sets over pink, white, and purple trees, Jack and Rapunzel watch it side by side, sitting in the very dogwood tree Jack tried to hide in. He could swear he feels his new friend lean her head on his shoulder. He only hopes the rosy dusk glow around them covers up how red his cheeks must be getting.

Maybe Rapunzel won’t mind if winter sticks around a few more days.

***

HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE ULTIMATE FRANKENSTEIN MOODBOARD AKSBHFOUV

I pieced together SO many pics I really liked but didn’t get to use for other moodboards for this!!! Been wanting to use that poofy pink dress pic and that pink tree pic for ages now :O I also impulse-saved some pics of frosted/iced flowers while looking for pic for another moodboard back in december, and they happened to fit perfectly here XD

I’m really lucking out in finding sunshiney-looking frosted-over yellow flowers to use for my Jackunzel moodboards akajdpisbh. Thank you, natural phenomena, for lining up so that you gave me so many perfect ship symbols to use XD

Obligatory jacaranda cameo had to happen in at least one of my spring-themed moodboards because they’re my fave <3

Pic credits available upon request!

#jackunzelfs23 #jackunzel #jack x rapunzel #rapunzel x jack #moodboard #aesthetic #jack frost #rapunzel #jackxrapunzel #rapunzelxjack #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #tangled #rise of the guardians #rotg #crossover

[scarletooyoroi]

Dear Mother.

Another year, another new era of blessings, adventures and certainly a fair share of mishaps to take hold of. Before all else I’d like to apologize about the backlog of letters that will arrive with this bundle!. Since the elimination of the decrees, there’s been no small shortage of work. Work I’m certain that Father would bask in taking on as well as we know him. I’ve made sure to offer up his favorite brand of Dandelion whine at his grave site. I’m certain he’s sharing a joyous cup full with all his training companions.

Isn’t this time of the year when Mondstadt’s Wine festival? A time of fun, games, and back then no short amount of teasing of how I’d have to wait ‘just a bit longer’ until I could join you two in sharing a good drink. While I sadly can’t join this year’s, I am certainly a lot more open in joining the future ones now! The Kamisato Clan that consider me an honored ally have been making pushes for me lately, to see the world, to experience more and in kind improve myself in ways that I’d require.

No doubt I imagine they could tell of the restlessness that stirs within my bones. So much has happened, experiences I’d have to tell you in person the next time I come to visit my birth home. As of late I’ve been gaining a better image and idea of not just my Father’s view of Loyalty and Righteousness, but the same principles wove by my very own hands. I truly do want to become a person that helps the world at large, but also those close to my beloved circle as well.

Even then with all these changes, there’s a great part of me that can’t wait to just hop back home and get that familiar taste of your freshly baked cookies. I hope you know just how dearly I’ve come to miss you while growing up.

May the Wind be your armor, and your Heart be the light that continues to spring forth endless tunes that helped raise me into the man I am today.

Yours Truly, Thoma.

Allowing for his quill pen to be settled back by the ink bottle, a soft sigh eases from Thoma as weaves the letter into proper mail packaging. Bittersweet thoughts drift within his mind as the golden glow of warmer days spark fresh in his mind. Simpler times, equally happy times, but experiences that often makes him wonder how the people of Mondstadt are faring. If the winds that embrace Teyvat offer any sight, it would be that their stalwart nature has certainly not changed since his departure.

Which is all he could truly ask for.

Bringing himself up into a full stand, giving a good stretch of the limbs and letting an earnest smile settle upon his face. Within a few steps he’d come to press and open a nearby window, letting the warm blue skies and the kiss of the Thousand Winds meet his face. As the gentle glow of sun hums upon his skin, it seeps through the skin and the body as a whole, warming both soul and that nurtured ambition that rests in the depths of his being.

“Let’s see what today brings. There’s a lot we’ll need to cover!”

#| Drabble #Finished the festival event and just #wanted to whip up a lil something of his thoughts #Even if he's not much of a drinker. A special bottle in his pop's honor will be happily taken

[emeraldbabygirl]

BZ Boys they give you their coat uwu

Taewoong: “that was a lovely dinner Taewoong.” You spoke softly as the two of you walked hand in hand down the street. Passing all the shops and streetlights while other people were out as well. You shivered a bit feeling the night chill go through you. Taewoong stopped walking. “You should’ve dressed warmer love.” He said taking his jacket off. You blushed as he wrapped his jacket around your shoulders and held you closer to him. His lips gently kissed your cheek causing you to giggle. “I just wanted to look cute for you. Didn’t think it’d be so cold. Thank you Taewoong.”

Bon: “this restaurant is so beautiful.” You gasped at the high ceilings and all the light fixtures that made this feel like some place in Paris. The soft glow that reflected off the walls made the atmosphere very calming and you were in awe. “They have excellent taste here babe. The food is delicious.” Wonho said taking off his jacket. It was date night and he was dressed in an all black suit to match your dress. Taking off his peacoat he placed it over your legs before sitting himself at the other end of the table. “Thank you Wonho you’re such a gentlemen.” You said smiling warmly at him. He smiled back and you two talked over the menu.

Hamin: you sat in the backseat of the car while your boyfriend Hamin was out calling a tow truck. You could hear his voice go in and out as if he was pacing. You watched his figure in the window, his hands thrown up and his voice raise as if he was arguing with the person on the other end. You pulled you jacket tighter around you and then heard the back door open and Hamin quickly settled in next to you. He let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s going to be awhile before someone can come out here, especially with all the snow.” You gave him a small smile showing you understood and he took his jacket off and put it over you. “I’m just glad there was a blanket in the back. It’s very cold.” Hamin pulled you into him covering his legs with the blanket so you could share body heat. “Hang in there love. Someone will come for us.”

Seunghyun: you and Seunghyun were walking down the street mostly window shopping, talking and laughing when a car sped down the road going through a puddle causing water to shoot up and splash all over you. Seunghyun tried to cover you in time but it was too late you were soaked. You could’ve laughed when Seunghyun joked that you looked like a wet rat but your day was ruined. “As you’ll be okay c’mon.” Seunghyun led you to an alley and took his jacket off holding it in front of you. “Take off your clothes.” You gasped, eyes wide. “Excuse me? Are you crazy?” Seunghyun smirked. “This is not the time to have dirty thoughts y/n. You don’t want to walk home in wet clothes do you? Take them off and wear my jacket, it’s long enough to cover you until we can get home and get you in some warm clothes. Come on silly hurry up.” You rolled your eyes and begun to laugh out of embarrassment.

Double D: you were at a friends wedding with your boyfriend as a date. It was a spring wedding but it was still a bit chilly out. It was held outside and there was flowers of all colors and the decorations were so pretty and the sun was out and everything felt so springy. You and Donghwan sat towards the front, you shivered a bit as a cold wind blow around the area blowing some of the table cloths around. Donghwan noticed and draped his jacket over your shoulders fixing it to cover the exposed skin and pulled your hair out from under the jacket and laid it over the front of you. You smiled at him a gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks, I thought it would be a little warm out since the sun is out.”

I wanted gifs but a lot of them are the members together and not separate gifs and the separate gifs I did find are..well extra lol. BUT I WANTED GIFS AND IF THEY GET PEOPLE TO READ MY THINGY THEN SO BE IT LOL. They’re so chaotic I found them like two years ago on the clock app and I didn’t know who they were until later. No but they’re all so very cute Taewoong is bofie and skskskkks ‘Close Your Eyes’ slaps both song and choreo I highly recommend :)

Thank you to @wh0sthe5pecial0ne for helping me with the last scenario thank you Emmie 💕💕 I actually wanted to write this after our Kyungho convo and I’ve been wanting to write for BZ Boys anyway so thank you for putting the bug in my head. Also also Taewoong has a lovely bottom ~

#bz boys #blue zone boys #taewoong #choi taewoong #seunghyun #jung seunghyun #double d #jeong donghwan #bon #choi wonho #hamin #lee hamin #bz boys taewoong #bz boys seunghyun #bz boys double d #bz boys bon #bz boys hamin #bz boys fanfics #bz boys writing #blue zone boys fanfics #blue zone boys writing

[solradguy]

Nap time​

#sol badguy #guilty gear #my stuff #Sorta kinda requested by theskyprism (thank u) #I originally wanted to draw maybe baby Sin sleeping on his chest with him but then I realized I had never drawn a child before #and wasn't about to draw one just for this rofl Sorry baby Sin enjoyers.... #The original idea for this came from a moment I had back in 2012 or so #I was laying on my bed reading this Asimov scifi stories anthology and the sun was kinda coming through my bedroom window #It was early summer and about a year after I had just gotten out of a really shitty situation #and the sun coming through the window and the warmness of late spring made me realize it had been about a year #and it dawned on me then that everything was going to be ok after all #So I tried kinda channeling that warm feeling here but this is already getting kinda sappy so I'll leave it at that lol #I like to think that Sol had an 'everything's going to be ok' moment #Catch me projecting onto my favorite blorbos instead of going to make dinner ahahah

[lys1]

Congratulations! You waited so patiently <3 This is another Asra x fem!reader for you. NSFW. 5218 words. 

Playing With Potions

—————

The late spring morning air was warming up to be a balmy 75 degrees. You had your skirt pulled down and up, tucked in the back of the waistband, forming makeshift shorts. The shop was somewhat quiet, yet the din from the streets made its nimble way through the open windows.

You descend the ladder to the box of ingredients you were unpacking. They had come in the previous evening and Asra had promptly asked you to “organize them later”. Of course you said yes, the two of you shared this shop after all, and the work that came with it.

Asra himself was bustling behind the counter, sweeping the wooden floors free of the dust and fallen ingredients. He stops momentarily to pick up his cup of tea and take a long sip. The jasmine tea's steam billows into his face as he sighs with content pleasure.

The floorboards creak as you step down and Asra looks over at you, gaze soft. "How's the supplies look, dear?" He asks curiously, returning the cup to it’s coaster.

"Ah," you muse, counting the small containers in your hands. "Looks like we will be all set on lizard toes for a while, I think our supply captain read 1000 instead of 100." You can't help but chuckle, it couldn't be helped, at least you wouldn’t have to order more for a while.

Asra's eyes open a little wider, "oh my." He laughs, "I suppose we won’t". He sets his broom to rest against the counter and bare feet pad over to you, his deep-purple eyes examining the products.

You feel his hand settle on your waist subconsciously; a side effect of being close to one another. You breathe in lightly, smelling the sweet scent of coconut and honied biscuits wash over you. Asra's breakfast choice was apparent.

"Mm," you say, turning so the two of you were face to face. "You smell delicious."

Asra smiles, box in his hand now a little less important. "Care for a taste?" He teases, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sets his lizard toes aside and joins his other hand at your waist. You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod.

He is a mere millimeter from sealing the gap between you when the bell of the shop jingles merrily.

"Ah jeez," you huff good in good nature. "I forgot we have jobs and responsibilities."

Asra laughs at your obvious disappointment and steals a small peck. "Unfortunately, we have to eat somehow." He then turns away and walks back to the counter to greet the customer.

The man is short and has a little round face. He looks extraordinarily nervous, and this catches your attention. Yours and Asra's shop is well known in the city and the townsfolk trust their magicians. You hadn't seen anyone come in here looking so nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Asra asks charmingly, resuming his position behind the counter. Briefly you let yourself admire how nice he looks, comfortable in his shop and expertise, before turning back to the box you were supposed to be dealing with. Not, however, letting your ears miss the conversation.

"I," the man starts, already fumbling with his words. "I, well look. I need help." He finishes plainly, nervously clutching his shirt between his pudgy hands.

Asra smiles kindly, "many do." He says, tilting his head and examining his new client. "Are you here for a card reading? Need to get some answers?"

The man groans as though he is already exhausted with the conversation. "No, I already know what I need. I have the answers. I've heard about this place. The ways you can help people. I live an hour out of the market and I made this trip just to see you."

"We're flattered, for sure." Asra says calmly, you can hear slight annoyance in his tone from all the ambiguity. The visitor is none the wiser though. "To help you though," Asra continues. "I'll need to know what you need."

"Alright I need a potion," the man finally reveals. "One that will help me... with performance." His cheeks are redder than a bell pepper in the sun.

Asra raises a white eyebrow, "performance? Are you an actor?"

"No!" The man's voice came out in a strangled whisper, obviously trying to keep it down. You roll your eyes, chancing a glance over your shoulder. The shop floor wasn't that big, of course you were going to hear everything.

"No," he said again, this time a little more composed. "What I mean is... my sex life performance." The truth comes out. Your visitor wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from his pocket. "My wife and I well.. we've hit a slump," he explains. "And I've heard of potions that can help with that kind of thing. Stuff that will completely change the game." His eyes are shining now, imaging life post-performance potion.

Asra looks uncertain at best. "I see," he starts, shooting you a glance. "That.. does exists. But it takes awhile to make. And the price isn't cheap either."

You shove the last of the crow feathers into their designated drawer while listening. You have never heard of such a potion, but you were also still learning. Asra sounds a little unsure though.

"Price isn't an issue," the man sounds desperate. "I'll pay anything."

Asra sighs, he feels bad for the man wringing his hands before him, practically crying for a cure. "Alright," he finally concedes. "I'll make it, but you'll have to come back in the morning. This kind of thing takes all evening to brew."

Your customer nods vigorously, "I can wait." He says. "Tomorrow morning, yes! I'll be here!" His excitement apparent, he bows a few times while backing out of the door, tripping over his own feet.

The door closes with a sharp bang and the bell rings furiously. Asra blows air out of his mouth so that itf ruffles the curls between his eyes.

"Well," he says after a moment. "A sex performance enhancing potion was not what I was expecting to make today." He rubs his temples, eyes closed and looking thoughtful.

You grin at him from the shelf as you pick up the empty shipping box and rest it on your hip. "That's quite the name, I've never heard of a potion like that."

Asra laughs and opens his beautiful eyes to look at you. "Yes, you'll have to forgive me for not teaching you that kind of magic, it's not the.. safest." He ends uncertainly. "I don't even know how this guy found out about it. It's not talked about much amongst us magicians.. and it's certainly not a common one."

Immediately more questions than your mouth can keep up with flood your brain. "So how did you find out about it? And why isn't it safe?" You ask the two more important ones, eyes following Asra as he finds a piece of paper and quill to use.

He dips his quill in the register's ink well and starts scratching down what you presumed to be ingredients. "I've been studying magic for years, my love." He says simply, "and before you ask, no I haven't used it on myself." He looks up at you, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. "I'd like to think my sex game is up to par." He adds innocently, licking his lips seductively when your ears tinge pink.

You brush imaginary dirt off your shirt sleeves and huff. "I suppose it's pretty good." You mumble. It almost feels like a lie to just describe it as "pretty good" but Asra doesn't need you to stroke his ego right now. You do that enough falling to pieces beneath him every night.

Asra is well aware of your attempt to keep him humble and laughs lightly. "And to answer your other question," he says, turning back to his ingredient list, "messing with ones body like this can be dangerous. You have to be very precise."

You nod as he explains, it makes sense.

Potions are always brewed in pots over a magic fire so you put yourself to work, removing a medium sized iron pot from a hook on the wall and carrying it to a fire stand. Asra is busy himself, opening various drawers and adding seemingly random ingredients to a basket he has looped over his arm. Iris petals, newt eyeball, and some shimmering gold flakes. You smile watching him, your gorgeous magician; smart and able.

In no time at all Asra has a bubbling pot of sweet smelling liquid stirring before him. You stand beside him, observing curiously.

"Why are you wearing gloves?" You ask, taking note of the large leather gloves that clad all the way up your lover's forearm.

Asra continues to stir and looks over at you, happy to hear your eagerness to learn. "I can't risk even a drop of this touching my skin. It's so strong, and will immediately absorb into anyone's skin, leaving them..." He shakes his head and trails off, amused. "That's why it has to brew so long, to burn off some of the potency."

Your mouth opens in amazement, taken aback by the idea. This is the real deal you decide, stepping back a couple inches in precaution. After watching the potion bubble for a couple more minutes you stretch and grab the watering can sitting by the floor of the door.

"I'm going to water the plants," you inform Asra, waving your hand briefly until the can is full of cool, crisp water. Gods knows there are at least three dozen inside and outside of the shop.

Asra is humming in confirmation that he heard you as you open the shop door to the plants hanging outside. You don't get very far before you're blindsided by a streak of purple darting through your legs.

Escape!

"Faust?!" You yelp, dancing around the squirming snake as she winds her way under and into the open shop. A loud, booming bark makes you jump again. This time a large hound dog is rounding the tight corner from the side street and barreling full speed towards you.

All hell breaks loose. The water can is up in the air, crashing wildly into the side of the building. You are thrown back onto the dusty floor and a mass of fur and teeth race past you, paying no mind to your yelling.

Help!

Faust is racing around the floor, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the angry dog she seemed to have aggravated. There's a large crash from inside and you cringe, hearing bottles break and wood crunch. You look back, scared at what you might find.

The shop is a disaster, papers strewn, vials broken, and potion pot toppled. Asra is groaning on the floor, obviously doing no better than the rest. You glance at him worriedly, taking quick notice of the potion he had been making spilled everywhere, even on him.

You snap your fingers and the dog's growl, who was cornering Faust by the bookshelf, turns into a whimper as you lift him up with your magic. "I'm sorry pooch," you sigh, "but we can't have you eating our friend." With a wave of your wrist the hound is out the door and down the street in an instant. The hinges creak and bell rings as the door is once again closed to outside.

Thank you!

Faust wriggles happily, red eyes glowing in relief. You guess she got up to some trouble with the local fauna. She slithers up the stairs quickly, leaving you to look around at the ruined shop.

"Ah, fuck," Asra's words cut through your thoughts like a knife. He's laying flat on the floor, chest heaving as though he just ran a marathon. Sweat glistens on his tan skin, covering him from head to toe.

You step over the broken bottles and kneel at his side. "My love?" You ask, unsure of what to do. It was obvious what had happened, it didn't take an expert. The potion that was supposed to be for your customer was now soaked into Asra's glowing skin.

Asra opens his eyes and you swallow hard. You know that look, and it nearly makes you start trembling where you sit. Lust is prevalent, clouding Asra's eyes until they're a dark amethyst color.

"You-" you start to speak but are cut off by Asra sitting up abruptly. His face is close to yours and his breath washes over your lips, hot and wanton. He looks positively desperate, just the sight of you sitting before him doing wonders.

"Please," Asra's voice comes out low and husky, he watches your chest rise and fall quickly as a result. "Can I please have you, right now."

You could almost call him asking like that soft and innocent, if it wasn't for the raw, hungry look he was giving you. His eyes were traveling everywhere across your body, leaving an invisible line that you could almost feel burning into your skin. Your lips parted and you let out a soft gasp, the power that kind of look had over you was astonishing. You shifted your legs under you subtly, feeling the result of the hot atmosphere low in your stomach.

"Tsk, tsk," you had to tease for a moment. "Closing the shop at midday for some fucking?" You reach up and cup Asra's cheek, feigning uncertainty. His skin on your fingertips burns white hot and you have to hide your amazement.

Asra's eyes narrow, he knew you too well. With a quick flick of his wrist you hear the deadbolt on the door slide into place. It's only a second later and both of his hands have found a place on either side of your hips.

"Why do you torment me?" he asks, pulling you close so your legs straddle him. "Can't you see I'm getting enough of that from this damn mistake of a potion?" His words are almost shaky, as though he can barely speak anymore. He presses his hips up to meet yours, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he finally gets a little friction.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and gasp, the feeling of Asra so obviously in need is enough to make anyone go wild.

You can't resist grinding down lightly and Asra's eyes practically roll back at the sensation. "How can I say no to such a pretty face," you whisper, completely in love with his reaction.

That was enough for Asra and without added words he gathers you up in his strong arms and lifts you both. Your head falls back pleasurably when his lips find your neck. It only takes a few quick steps on his part to bring the two of you into the plush back room.

The purple cushions lining the cozy futon sink in gently as your back hits the mattress. The room has a slight pleasing haze as sandalwood incense burns at the table. The smell washes over your senses and a new wave of sensuality comes over the room.

Asra's hands hold you firmly as his lips continue to press lovingly into your skin. He hovers over you, one leg pressed between your legs, causing your hips to involuntarily move along his thigh.

"I need you out of these clothes," Asra groans, lips being stopped at your chest where your shirt has suddenly become a hindrance. He's already tugging at the hem, untucking the loose fabric from your waistband. You raise yourself to your elbows and help him pull the shirt over your head. At once it is thrown over Asra's shoulder and his eyes are set on your bare skin, drinking in the sight of his lover.

You smile at his admiration and lay back again, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back. You feel his hands on your stomach, traveling up to rest on your breasts. Your skin prickles with desire, flesh lighting on fire from his ministrations.

"How did I get so lucky," he breathes out, looking down at you with a look filled with love and passion. He rests the tips of his fingers on your nipples and swirls them lightly, leaving you to twist in torturous pleasure beneath his touch. "Everything about you is beautiful." Asra continues to flatter, lowering his head so his curls tickle your stomach. He licks a long line from the dip of your hip up to the valley between your breasts.

After a few moments of tasting your supple skin he moves his hands to the top of your skirt and tugs. You lift your hips in compliance and the fabric slides down your legs easily. Asra licks his lips as your body is finally fully presented to him.

"I could feast on you," he announces, voice lowered with need. "And I wouldn't go hungry in a lifetime." These words he whispers into your inner thigh, they tickle your skin softly.

You watch with bated breath as the man before you adores his lover. It's hard to keep your moans controlled as you feel his sinfully good tongue lick you in a way that can only be described as ecstasy.

Asra shifts into a more comfortable position, lying on his stomach and he brings your legs to lay comfortably over his shoulders. You shudder as you feel his hot breath flutter over your dripping slit. He doesn't waste anymore time and lowers his face to enjoy you.

Your thighs squeeze his head lightly as your body arches in response. Asra is devouring you as though you were a feast and it was the only meal he is to have in a lifetime. He grips your legs tightly to keep you from moving and covers your slit with his mouth, sucking for a moment on the tight nub at the top. He groans happily into your skin before moving down to lick your hole.

"Oh please, yes," you run your trembling hand through his hair and raise your hips up to meet his greedy mouth. He laps short, quick strokes first, stimulating you into madness.

After a moment he slows his tongue down to swirl languidly, looking up at you. You make eye contact and groan at the erotic scene of him eating you out. "That mouth of yours is too skilled for its own good," you whisper, fingers digging into his scalp, trying desperately to savor every swipe of his tongue.

Asra smiles against your folds. "I live to make you feel good, my dear." He says, pausing a moment. "You intoxicate me. Your smell, your taste. I couldn't get enough even if I had all the time in the world." He presses his lips on each one of your thighs with hot, open mouth kisses.

You blush at his words, feeling amazing under his praise. "Come here," you command softly, pulling on Asra's hair lightly to guide him back up your body. He kisses every inch of skin he passes before finally reaching your lips.

"Mm," he hums, taking your face in his hands. "But these lips, are like the finest honey in Vesuvia." He lifts your head so your mouths meet. It's a hot and feverish kiss, full of staggering amounts of love.

You press your body into his and relish in the feeling of kissing Asra. Your mouths are opened to one another and your tongues meet in fiery unison. While you enjoy the kiss you allow your hands to roam. Your fingers find his shirt buttons and you start to undo them as best you can, only a little distracted. It takes just a minute and you sigh happily into his mouth when you finally remove the annoying clothing.

You part a moment to admire the divinity of his body; prostrated before you. He was calling himself the lucky one, but you could probably make a pretty good argument for it being the other way around. He looked absolutely glorious in the hazy glow of the room.

As you reach for the waistband of his pants and rest your fingers playfully on the skin above it Asra breaks out in goosebumps at the fluttering feel of your touch.

"Ah," he breaths out, raising himself to his knees and closing his eyes. Clearly, he's enjoying the attention finally being on him.

"You are the one with the potion affecting them." You say, drawing a line from one hip to another. "It'd almost be criminal to ignore you for any longer." Your eyes fall to the bulge straining under Asra's pants, just begging to be free. A smile plays across your lips as his breaths quickens significantly.

"I.. wouldn't complain." He finally manages to say in a strained tone.

You smile, maybe a little too satisfied, and hook your fingers under the band. "I know." You chuckle, pulling. The trousers catch a moment on Asra's hardened length before slipping down to his knees. You take time to admire the sight before you, licking your lips. Asra is panting slightly, looking down at you lustfully as your eyes graze over him.

He grabs your head on either side and looks into your eyes. "Please," is all he can croak out.

You swallow thickly and you feel yourself dampen even more at his begging words. “I’d like nothing more" you say; need dripping heavily from your words. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his leaking slit lightly. Asra's body shivers with pleasure when your soft lips meet his aching shaft.

You take a breath before closing your mouth around his tip. Your cheeks hollow and you suck in deeply, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure emitting from Asra's lips. He groans even deeper as you finally swallow down his whole length, tip sliding down the back of your throat.

"Ah fuck, baby," he stutters through gritted teeth, fingers threading through your hair. He thrusts into your mouth without hesitation, reveling in the way you feel around him. The pace is fast and vicious, leaving no time for extra room for breathing.

You choke back your gasps and feel the involuntary tears prick at the corners or your eyes. Your hands fall to your sides as you let Asra use your mouth how he pleased. Licentious noises ring around the room as he sinks his member into your mouth relentlessly, moaning at each stroke and the salacious feelings that come over him.

His grip tightens in your hair as he pounds into your face. You open your mouth as widely as you can and take him in, ignoring the slight pain of labored breathing. The feeling of being used so mercilessly is intoxicating, and you close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure that overtakes you.

With a loud pop he pulls out of your drooling mouth, leaving you to be the one groaning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry love," he huffs dazedly, need heavy on his features. "But if I don't stop this now I'm cumming in your mouth."

"That doesn't sound so bad," you complain, sticking your tongue out so Asra can view how much you want it. His eyes darken considerably and he looks ready to break.

He takes a breath in sharply, steadying himself before holding your face gently in his hand. "As much as I want you fuck your face, that pussy of yours I know is dripping for me and I have to comply." He chuckles, running his thumb along your lip.

You whimper at his words, practically climaxing at the suggestion. You meet his eyes in a needy manner and nod. "Oh, Asra," you start, already seeing excitement flit across his face at the mention of his name. "I want you more than I can even describe to you."

To this Asra inhales sharply, thumb still hooked in your mouth. "Tell me how you want me," he says, barely able to contain his own desire.

"I want you to fuck me from behind," you begin, knowing exactly how to please his ears. "I'm going to cry and moan, and beg you for relief but you will know better." His eyes widen in ecstasy but you continue anyway. "I want you to give everything you can to me, without holding back."

Asra seems to snap right in front of you. His features immediately seem to plead for consolation. "You'll get what you ask for." He growls, fingers tightening in your mouth. You lick his thumb seductively and the action throws him over the edge.

Asra's hands fly to your waist and hold you firmly, you're flipped over; ass to the heavens greeting him. He swallows at the sight and digs both palms into the flesh, enjoying the feeling immensely. "So needy and ready for me," he groans, finger finding your entrance and slipping in easily. You gulp at the warmth of having fingers enter you. Asra is unrelenting and curls them cruelly against your walls.

"Just fuck me already!" You cry, unable to hide your desires anymore. You hear Asra laugh behind you, yet despite this you know he is dying to sink himself into you.

"Alright, alright." He concedes, taking your hips in his hands. "If you insist."

You feel his tip slide against your slit and shudder, craving the feeling of him inside you. It doesn't take more than a moment before you feel him start to enter you. You lay your head down, turning your face so you can watch Asra take you from behind.

His lips are parted in a silent moan as he relishes in the feeling of your walls around him. You sigh softly as he fully sheaths himself in you, a small tremor passing over your body from the pleasure. One moment, two moments pass as you both bask in the feeling of being connected.

"Give me your hands," he commands, slowly sliding in and out of you, giving no care to his agonizingly slow pace. Soft gasps are falling from your lips as you try to register his request.

Carefully, you cross your arms behind your back. It's no use to keep the blush at bay as you take in the dirty scene. Your face is pressed to the pillows, unable to move much as Asra takes your wrists and pins them to your back. Your ass is raised in the air to meet his rhythmic thrusting.

Asra grips one of your thighs with a free hand and quickens the pace a little. Your eyes shut tightly as your body responds. You can feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. It's unrelenting and you have to catch yourself from begging for more.

You feel the fingers around your wrist tighten a bit as Asra's breathing speeds up behind you. You know that he's set on giving you as much painfully slow torture as he can manage himself, but you also know that potion is working against him. There's nothing he wants more than to let go and pound you into the mattress.

"Baby," you choke out, words bouncing along with your bodies. "I know you want to fuck me so good right now." Your voice is deep with seduction. "Please just fill me up like I know you want to." You finish your plea, watching his face with satisfaction. His eyes are darkened with desire. He takes just a few more strokes before slowly to a stop inside you.

"You asked for it," he warns. He only takes a moment to let go of your wrists and flips your body so you're facing him. He cages you in on either side and licks his lips as he stares into your eyes. His hungry mouth meets yours in a kiss full of fire. You can melt into it for only a second before you feel him grab your hips and pull you flush against him; Your cries drowned by his lips as he sets an erratic pace, skin meeting with loud slaps.

"Fucking hell," he groans, still kissing you between words. "You feel like heaven on earth. You're so hot, and I can feel your insides squeezing me." He explains, hot breath falling over your face. Your cheeks burn at his descriptions.

You loop your arms around his neck and press your chest into his. Your skin meets, shining with sweat and burning from love. Asra presses back, savoring the feeling of your nipples brushing against his.

You start to feel that familiar blossom of unreleased pleasure pool in your lower stomach. Asra's shaft is hitting you just right, sending jolts of satisfaction right to your core.

"Oh-" you stop and whine pleasantly when he shifts angles. "Fuck. Please yes, don't stop!" Your arms drop and nails dip into his biceps and you grit your teeth from the hot delight searing through your body.

"I couldn't even If i wanted to," Asra answers, words strained as his grasp on himself starts to crumble. His breath is leaving his lips in short pants now and you can almost see the resolve to hold on slip away before your eyes.

He falls into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts into you with all of the strength he can muster. You bury your face in his neck and take hold of his hair. You can feel Asra's body shuddering to not let go.

You bring your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. "Won't you come for me sweetheart? Please empty yourself in me." You whisper.

Asra takes in a sharp breath and you hear him choke at your words. They were enough to push him over the edge and he rams into you with a low, strangled cry.

Your head falls back and your mouth opens in a silent scream as Asra lets himself go in you. Your legs shake violently of their own accord as you feel your orgasm wash over you, leaving your body in euphoric fire.

Asra's lips immediately find yours as you ride out your orgasms together. You kiss him passionately, all of your senses in overdrive. His kisses are soft, and sweet, a clear declaration of his love. Happiness rushes in like a flood as you enjoy the afterglow. After a minute Asra removes himself from you and joins you in laying down, sides still heaving from the activities.

"My dear, how I love you." He says with a smile, running his fingers in slow, soft circles on your stomach.

You turn on your side and look into his eyes. He looked content, and his cheeks were dimpled from his growing grin.

"I love you too," you return, hand falling into his. His skin was still warm. The two of you lay there for a while, out of breath and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Eventually, Asra sits up and looks down at you with humor in his eyes. "Well, I think I can tell our buyer that we did an extensive review of his product and it does, in fact, work."

Your face breaks into a smile and you laugh at Asra's words. "Oh goodie, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear all about it."

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